Prologue
I am a Mystic.
I was once of a great race. A race of beings with light in lieu of flesh and magic in lieu of blood. We had grown so advanced that there was nothing more to live for. Mysteries no longer puzzled us. Nothing hid from our sight -- even the darkest corners of the universe were blinding. So we crossed the sea to the desolate land that later nations would name Alegaesia.
We came before Men.
We came before Dwarves.
We came before Elves.
We even came before the Dragons.
Once we arrived, we gathered together and bound the wild magic in the world to law and language. For this, we paid a heavy price. We were forced into lesser forms, with only a fraction of the strength we once possessed. We stood by and watched as the new beings came and claimed slivers of the land for themselves, starting their primitive cities and governments, dabbling in science, faith, art and war. We taught them the magic language, so that they, too, could grow as we had. We guided them and taught them the concepts of morality and education. We taught them language. All the while we always reminded ourselves that this was not our time. Our time was over. They would have to forge their own path and pen their own history. We kept our distance and only touched the lives around us when they touched us.
Time passed, and most of my kind faded from all thought and memory. Most continued to descend in mind and spirit, slowly becoming almost human -- or less. Others took to the forests and became one with the flora and fauna, giving nature a consciousness of its own. Others disappeared entirely, melting away like the winter snows under the dancing winds of spring.
I'm the only one left.
Now the people of Alegaesia are all under threat from a man named Galbatorix. His magic is strong. His grip is tight. His control is almost complete. With every sunrise he gains strength, and with every sunset I grow weaker. The only hope this world has of lasting and rising above this Dark Age rests in the hands of a young boy and his dragon. I hesitate to lend my hand, sword and mind to him and to all the beings of Alegaesia. I may have weakened, and continue to grow weaker by the day, but I still have enough fire in my spirit to influence the hands of the Fates as well as their threads and scissors.
I wait for a sign. I wait for the land to tell me to take up arms and stand out in the open as the storm gathers. I ask only one question and I await the answer: do I stand by and hope these people are destined to rise above the clouds and continue to grow or do I use the past to influence the future? Only time will tell.
But time is running out.