Rylan's father sat by the wooden table, a huge tankard of ale in front of him, and his son's final note staring at him accusingly. 

He took a huge swig of alcohol, glaring furiously. 

"Found a dragon hatchling," He muttered angrily, shoving a knife into the hard wooden table. "Like some dragon loving weakling from Berk." 

But there was hurt mixed into his fury. The part about his wife had cut him like a knife. Where did Rylan, his disloyal son, get the gall to lecture him about what had happened! As if he understood his father's despair after what he had done. As if he could even comprehend the pain he had felt for months, years, afterward. 

He took out his feelings on the note, crushing it in his massive fists and hurling it into the fire. The flames devoured the scrap of paper, his son's final betrayal. 

The house creaked admonishingly around him, empty and cold. He took deep breaths, trying to control his anger and hurt. 

Though the letter was gone, the words seemed to be imprinted in his mind. 

You were never a great dad

I'll never belong in this clan of killers

Don't come looking for me

 As the last one entered his mind, he sat up in his chair, rage rekindling. Rylan was no longer related to him. He never would be again, even if he got down on his knees and begged.

He had no son.