Toothless’s daughter.

Hiccup, Zephyr, and Toothless fly together over a moonlit sea. Below, the village watches not with fear, but with wonder.

“My dad tripped over a bucket and fell off a cliff during last year’s parade.” She pulled her fur cloak tighter. “The real dragons left because… because they wanted to. Not because we defeated them.”

From the clouds, a shadow descended—not a costume, but a real Night Fury, larger than memory, with a missing left tail fin replaced by a familiar, handmade prosthetic. Toothless landed in the square. And on his back, grinning, was a young dragon with bright green eyes and a playful nub for a horn.

“So,” Zephyr shouts over the wind, “do we still do the play next year?”