Prologue

"It started as a myth, simply a legend told by young boys. This legend told of the Vrael, Anurin, and Eragon. They were known as the greatest of the great, the Elite. They were the the Leaders of the Dragon Riders; Eragon being the first, when he found Bid'Daum's egg, succeeded by Anurin and his dragon, and finally Vrael and Umaroth. Anurin's death was never confirmed, and neither was his Dragon's name. Vrael's death was confirmed only by Galbatorix, who came back mortally wounded after killing Vrael. It was said that Vrael had injured Galbatorix so severely, his scars never healed, and every night, a hellfire burns them, causing the wounds to open again; never to be healed, never to be seen."

Chapter 1

{THIRD PERSON POV}

Eragon ran past, scraping his arm against a wet, broken tree branch. His brother continued to chase him, until Eragon came to a thick, old tree. He began to climb. Left arm, left leg, right arm, right leg, he thought as he quickly climb up the tree's solid trunk.

Thunk.

He looked down, seeing his brother Murtagh and cousin Roran throwing small stones at him as he climbed. They didn't know how to climb a tree like he did, as they always spent their time in the field, while Eragon spent his time in the forest; he was the "hunter" for the family, although he was a bit young a didn't do much hunting; he usually just played. He always spent his time outdoors and was well acquainted with the nearby area.

"Eragon!" shouted a deep voice, "Come down from there!"

"Never!" he shouted back.

Crack!

A branch broke. Eragon wasn't paying attention and he slipped on a small branch, causing him to fall off the tree. Scraping his leg on his fall down, he fell on the dead fall leaves, leaving a trail of dark red blood dripping down the tree. Eragon knew better than to cry out. Murtagh and Roran were watching, and the animals would be scared away. But he couldn't help himself; he had just fallen from a tree, scraped himself, and was bleeding. He began to cry.

"Shhh.. Eragon, its okay!", whispered Roran. Roran was the oldest, followed by Murtagh, then finally, Eragon.

"Eragon! Please be quiet. We'll get in trouble," said Murtagh with a soft voice, "We won't be able to play games with you anymore if you cry."

"Okay, Murtagh," Eragon replied, wiping tears from his face, "Please get me some water; my cut hurts."

Roran attempted to pick up little 5-year-old Eragon, but he was only 7 himself.

"Murtagh! Help me with Eragon. He's heavy!" shouted Roran. Murtagh fumbled through the seemingly impenetrable wall of trees. Murtagh grabbed Eragon's legs, but unfortunately, Murtagh wasn't prepared, and Eragon's head hit the ground again. Roran lifted Eragon's upper body as soon as he saw Eragon hitting the cold forest floor. They managed to carry Eragon all the way to Roran's father's house. Roran's father, Garrow, had raised the three boys. Murtagh and Eragon were half brothers. Garrow hadn't told them much about their parents, though they had an idea of what they could be like. Quite obviously, Garrow was not pleased when he saw Murtagh and Roran walking toward the house carrying Eragon.

"You've got to be kidding me! Eragon, how many times have I told you to be cautious while climbing trees! I really do wish you would just listen to me for once," Garrow exclaimed, "Go get washed up and ready for supper."

A chorus of either "Okay Uncle Garrow," or "Okay father," was mumbled by the three boys.

Line Break

"Eragon!" Garrow called out, "Can you go into the forest and pick some berries? Oh, and also grab some of the vegetables for me will you?"

Eragon sprinted out the door, glad to be given an excuse to go into the forest and not have to do chores. He sprinted as fast as his little legs could carry him, running along the cobblestones as the path faded into the forest.

Nearby, he heard something burning and saw smoke. In the middle of a few trees lay a egg. However, this egg was like no other Eragon had seen. It was a brilliant sapphire blue, with dark blue and golden tendrils like veins along an arm. The egg was about the size of his head. Eragon picked it up, thinking his Uncle could cook it for breakfast. His arms could barely fit around the circumference of the egg, and he ended up stumbling around with the egg on top of his chest, arms wrapped around it.

Upon seeing a bush of edible berries, he dropped the mysterious egg and began picking berries. He began plucking the ripest ones, one by one, putting them into a small sack made of cloth. Unknown to Eragon, something or some things were creeping behind him, stealing glances at him.

"Is he the one?" whispered one voice.

"I am positive," another proclaimed.

"What if it isn't him?" a lighter voice questioned.

"If not, we can erase his memory and bring him back. But I am positive, as I said before," said the former voice said.

Slowly, a shadow engulfed Eragon's small body,

forcing Eragon to look behind to see what it was. However, he was too late. He let out a piercing scream as he was met with darkness.