Very random, sort of just what the one-shot Betrayal might have been.
Betrayal, they had been betrayed.
By one of their own.
And so history repeated itself, with the bloodshed, hunger, sickness and death.
Saphira had died protecting him, from his former student's wrath. She died a quick clean death. He missed her, mourned for her. She was his other half, and now she was gone.
Many of his students were killed by them.
He knew that his former student while smart, was arrogant, proud and very confident in his abilities. His former student wouldn't resist the urge to show-off.
So he waited.
When the traitor finally came he ignored the arrogant look of disdain, the taunts, the comments the traitor intended to hurt him. Instead, he let the numbness take over.
He was numb.
Emotionally, physically, spiritually, whatever.
He ignored his anger, his want no need, for revenge. He ignored his sorrow and all those other emotions.
The blood stained the ground. It was only a light drizzle. Yet it awakened his former stu-no, it was now the traitor.
The traitor was now taking it slightly more seriously. He taunted and sneered. There were many times Eragon could've wounded him.
Damn it.
Why couldn't he?
Why?
Blood.
Splattering sounds.
Red on the dusty floor.
A small puddle.
He ignored the pain because he was numb. He deserved that deep stinging cut. How many had died because of his weakness?
Saphira, Aiedail, Datia,Evarinya and many more.
The traitor was now taunting him because of while he was thinking.
He ignored them again, just like he had ignored all those other comments. Those were nothing to him.
He surged forwards. The traitor was desperately fighting now, using magic and whatever he could think of.
Eragon was older, he had more experience, no matter how many Eldunari the traitor had managed to get.
And so the sickly, sweet smell of blood tainted the air.
The traitor was dead.
And history didn't entirely repeat itself.
But Saphira was dead.
And it was all his fault.