A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my new story! This is a full-scale expansion of the one-shot I wrote, "Brothers Under the Sun". There is a VERY long explanation in that story of what the AU here is comprised of, but I'll stick to the basics here. Basically, this will be an abridged rewrite of the Inheritance Cycle, with one major difference; that major difference is explained here in this prologue. Hope you all enjoy!

Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the night sky in a stunning display of nature's raw, primal power. Upon the side of the mountain, two figures grappled with one another, each trying to gain the upper-hand over the other. A blade the color of snow flared brightly under the light, held aloft in a striking position by a lithe man in tan robes. His long, silver hair flowed down his back, jerking with every swift movement of his sword.

Vrael had come here to recover from the injury he'd sustained in Doru Araeba, but the young betrayer had followed him all the way to Edoc'sil. How he had found him… that was another matter. It seemed nowhere in the whole of the kingdom was safe from those who would do him harm. As he battled with the young Rider, the wound in his side continued to steadily leak out a stream of blood, running down his breeches and down to his boots. Every meeting of their swords, every dodge of an attack, a sharp burst of pain exploded along his ribs.

But the Last Rider would not be so easily beaten. His wards, which were far superior to that of the Oathbreaker, protected him from any magical attacks the traitor might carry out. And they both were tired from their previous battle. As far as Vrael knew, none of his comrades had survived the holocaust on Vroengard. His pupil, Oromis, could not help him now, having been tortured by those they once considered brethren and safely hidden in Ellesméra, along with his dragon. Galbatorix's dragon, the one he had enslaved with dark magic, had been killed on Doru Araeba. The only other dragons alive belonged to his accursed Forsworn, not to mention the countless Eldunarí they had captured and subdued over their long campaign. Vrael wanted nothing more than to weep for such a monumental loss, but there was no time for that now.

Sparks flew through the darkened sky as their blades met. Vrael's Rider-sword was far superior to the castle-forged steel that Galbatorix wielded, but his wounds made him weak and slow. Every movement felt like it sapped more and more of his strength. He would not last much longer in this way; this had to end, and quickly.

The Oathbreaker parried his strike, fixing him with a frightful gaze and a wicked grin. Vrael stumbled backwards, taking care to stay away from the edge of the outcropping they currently found themselves on. He swiped at the traitor again, desperate to remain on the offensive. Vrael knew that the moment he was forced to resort to defending himself, he would be lost.

"This is the end, old man," Galbatorix sneered cruelly. "Surrender while you still can, and I may yet spare your life!" This last statement was made with a hasty cut at Vrael's middle, which blessedly missed him by a few inches.

"Don't insult me with your lies," Vrael grunted, shuffling away from his opponent and angling himself so that his back faced the ruined outpost.

They'd been circling one another for quite some time; it was time for him to gain the advantage, otherwise he was as good as dead. Galbatorix watched him as a snake observes its prey, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, backward and forward and back again. His swordpoint was angled towards the leader of the Dragon Riders, poised to skewer him at the first opportunity. Vrael lowered Islingr ever-so-slightly, preparing for the inevitable strike. And when it did finally come, Vrael was ready for it.

Galbatorix lunged at him, a wild, deranged look in his eye, aiming to stab his blade straight through the Elder Rider's stomach. But Vrael had enough strength left in him yet. Summoning the very last vestiges of his power, he jumped to the side, agile as a cat, and watched as the blade sang past him. The traitor had not been expecting this, and Vrael saw that all of his weight had been placed behind the jab, sending him catapulting forward and stumbling over his feet.

This was his moment; he could not waste it again.

With a vicious slash, the Oathbreaker's hamstrings were sliced open, rendering him immobile. Galbatorix screamed in agony, falling to his stomach upon the dark rock. A steady gush of crimson blood came pouring out of both wounds on the backs of his legs, pooling underneath him. Vrael walked forward slowly, standing over him with Islingr positioned under his chin, pushing up so that Vrael might look him in the eye.

Black as pitch, and void of any trace of goodness, Galbatorix's eyes filled with hatred as he gazed up at the man who had defeated him. Vrael kicked at the paltry sword that lay at his feet, sending it flying across the outcropping and straight over the edge, tumbling down the mountainside.

"There is no word in the Ancient Language to describe the atrocities you have committed," Vrael intoned quietly, fighting to subdue his rage. So much loss... it was nearly unfathomable. He'd lived over a thousand years, and in all that time, never had he experienced such sorrow. As the dragons had died, their voices had filled the skies, a haunting chorus that would forever be branded in his memories.

"History will remember me as a revolutionary!" Galbatorix spat, trying in vain to struggle to his feet. "Your order was corrupt, and now it is finished! I will be forever remembered!"

"No," the elf said coldly, setting his jaw. "Whether it be tomorrow, or a hundred years from now, I will scour your name from the memories of all who ever lived, and will ever live. My powers will return. But you... Tonight, you die."

Galbatorix opened his mouth to shout something further, but his breath was cut short as his head separated from his body. Vrael did not even flinch as the traitor's blood sprayed across his face and clothing. Mouth still opened wide, the head rolled off to the side, finally stalling and leaving those malevolent, black eyes staring at the sky. A crack of thunder shook the mountain as Vrael fell to his knees, sagging under the weight of what he'd just accomplished. But also under the weight of all he had lost.

Alone.

The word rang through him like a death knell. He could feel the emptiness, a hollow pit in his heart where once the energy of magic and life had flowed. But as the Oathbreaker's life-force ebbed away into the void of death, the spell he himself had cast only hours ago restored his memory. A cache of eggs and Eldunarí—including his own, beloved Umaroth—lay safely hidden back on Vroengard. The Riders were not yet finished; they would rise again, better than before. A small measure of hope swelled in the ancient elf's chest, and he was able to sit up a little straighter.

Thuviel's madness had destroyed a large portion of Doru Araeba, but Vrael knew he could restore it, given some time to regain his strength. Until then, he would just have to trust that no one with any knowledge of the Vault had survived; or if they had, that they were not an enemy. And while he recovered from his injuries, he would lie in wait within the safety of Du Weldenvarden. Morzan and the other traitors would have already taken Ilirea; it was too late for them, but not for the rest of the world.

Driving Islingr's point into the ground, Vrael braced against the sword and struggled to his feet. The wound in his side pained him greatly, but it was a wound of the flesh, and would heal, either by his hand or another's. But the wounds of his heart... those would take longer to heal. The memories flashed through him then, of all the signs he'd missed, the choices he could have made differently that would have stopped Galbatorix before he ever began. Such promise...wasted...

But no, there was naught that could have been done. The darkness that lived within the Oathbreaker had been there long before his dragon, Jarnunvösk, had been killed. Vrael took consolation in the fact that the pitiable dragon the traitor had forced to serve him was now dead, destroyed along with so many others after Thuviel's foolish suicide. How it angered him, thinking about the wild and bonded dragons that had been killed in the blast. Good intentions had nearly decimated their order in a single moment... But Thuviel was not to blame; all hope had seemed lost. Vrael could not blame anyone but the dead man at his feet.

It was an aberrant thought, to know that almost every member of his order was dead. The dragons would have gone extinct in one fell swoop, if not for the brave actions of a few Riders. What kind of monster tries to exterminate an entire race of creatures for his own pride?

Vrael looked once more at that monster, cleft in two pieces. His struggle was not over, though; not even remotely. Galbatorix's followers were powerful in their own right, and Morzan was more cunning than Galbatorix would ever be. They would have to be dealt with, and quickly,

But for now, Vrael would leave this place, and attempt to gather up the scraps of what his life had been. And Edoc'sil, along with Vrael himself, would remain as they always had been... Unconquerable.