Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven slowly made his way through the war-camp, wandering without a purpose for the very first time in his life. He considered that odd, because he usually spent every second with a very clear goal in his mind.

There were dead and dying soldiers everywhere. Thousands of corpses were scattered across the battlefield, bloodied and broken and ready to be burned on a pile. The river had run red with blood and the screams of the suffering were calling out to him from every direction. But he didn't care for that –there really wasn't anything going on that could bring him to feel anything that remotely resembled care.

He took a deep breath and stepped over the mangled corpse of an Imperial soldier. His fight with that elf-Shade had taken a surprising amount of energy out of him and his chest hurt with every breath he took. She had managed to pummel him with the strength of a Hunter, all the while moving with the same unrivaled fluency of a Spartan.

It didn't make sense. It did not make any sense. How could that thing have been so lethal? It was like he had been fighting a Spartan-II in the field, as those were the only soldiers capable of outmatching him. Who had made her? Had she made herself? Was she Raia's mistress? Those things he cared about; those things were important. Because he had lost to her –he had lost to that woman. For the first time he had completely failed to take down an opponent in combat and because of that, he had gotten hurt.

And he hadn't been the only one who had gotten hurt. He had not been alone in the fight –there had been someone else. That someone had gotten hurt too, just as she had hurt him.

But why had she left? Why would she leave him alone right when he needed her the most? That didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. Where was the Covenant? Where were the Insurrectionists? Where were the other Spartans?

There was nothing here. There was nobody here. Was he all alone? Again?

He felt someone trying to contact his mind, but he brushed the contact away with a weak flicker of will and kept moving forwards, not even trying to determine where he was going. He was vaguely aware that he was now acting like a shell-shocked marine, stumbling around the battlefield without regard for personal safety, but it didn't do anything to him.

Did he even have a goal? Was he really blindly walking away from the battlefield, or did he know where he was going? He hadn't known where he was going for a long time now. He remembered the war ending…he remembered that humanity was safe in the end. He remembered the Covenant splintering, but it hadn't really been the end of the war. Enemies were still everywhere no matter where he looked. There was no rest for any Spartan, fake or real.

He made his way from the Varden's encampment across the damaged battlefield. That was where the concentration of bodies was the thickest; the enemy's men had all met their demise between the two camps of the Varden, torn to pieces by the other humans. Humans tearing other humans apart. It was funny, because that was exactly the opposite of what he was trying to achieve.

Or at least, what he had been trying to achieve. Now he didn't even know what it was he wanted to achieve anymore.

He kept moving, regardless of the soldiers that were lying at his feet. Normally he would have given the enemy wounded a good curbstomp to make sure they remained down, but he refrained from doing so now. He didn't know why though.

The memories hurt. He had been living in denial for a long time, driving his memories away through compartmentalization. He had stuffed his experiences of that day into a tiny box, locked away within his mind. To be treated with rationalization and clarity, never once lingering on what had truly happened that day. Taking the emotions away. But she –she had destroyed that. She had destroyed the chains he kept wrapped around the memory and that had hurt more than the chemical burns he had received during the actual fighting. It had been his fault…all his fault. If he hadn't been so conspicuous –if he hadn't stood out that much due to his behaviour, he could have avoided that entire encounter. He could have captured the leader without murdering them all. Without murdering the men, the women and the children.

The children. Their glazed expressions had not been much different in death than in life and he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The way they had all come at him…the way she made him relive it. He had lost, twice now. Both times because he hadn't been good enough. Because he had not been good enough as a Spartan.

He marched a mile across the battlefield, stopping for nobody. Most of the soldiers that passed him were with the Varden and those that weren't, he left alone. He didn't know why though. The army of the Varden was busy trying to regroup itself and he didn't get in their way. He was going to the overrun camp, where he felt something important was waiting for him. There were only a few Imperial soldiers left there and when he approached then, they turned tail and ran.

They ran. These grown-up men saw him and fled. He was wearing his armour now. He hadn't been wearing his armour then and they hadn't fled then. They had come at him like a group of Grunts and some of them had been the actual size of grunts.

He stopped in the middle of the camp, glancing around him to make sure that he was secure. A shadow swept over him and he looked up, trying to determine what had cast it. He remembered fighting winged hostiles in the fight, very vividly.

It was a dragon, descending from the black clouds of smoke that had formed from the burning plains. The Spartan felt the urge to open fire on it, but he didn't do it. Something told him to stay his hand and if there was one thing he always wanted to do, it was listening to his instinct.

He glanced at a shattered sword at the ground while something large and heavy landed behind him. The sudden torrents of winds buffeted the ground and moved small pieces of clothes and broken pieces of wood, while he turned around and looked.

´I should not have left you,' said a warm and kind voice in his head.

His reply existed out of a subtle twitch of his thumb, which he knew the dragon spotted. She lowered her head to the point that her great, yellow eyes were at the same level as his red visor and he reached out to touch her jaw with his index finger. He spotted several large, gaping wounds on her side and hind legs and remembered her vicious battle with the several aerial hostiles.

He knew he was supposed to heal her. Did he remember the words needed for the spell? He had healed her before…but what were the words? What would he use to heal her?

'You should sleep. You have not slept in days,' said the voice again. He knew that it was coming from the dragon and it comforted him. It was feminine and worried and so very familiar.

"Why did you go?" he found himself asking.

The dragon averted her gaze. 'I was afraid. You were always the one who lived to protect. But it was the true thought that became unveiled by your own memories that frightened me so much.'

"True thought?"

Her nostrils widened and a gush of smoke enveloped his helmet. 'It does not matter. I should not have left you. Not now, not ever.'

He brought his other hand to her head and gently patted her nose. "I don't want you to leave."

'I won't. I promise.'

He felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards in a smile and he placed his forehead against the side of her head. He remembered seeing something important that she –Aeraleth- needed to know. "Did you see Murtagh?"

'I did.'

"He lived."

'I am aware of that. And he bonded to a dragon.'

"But Galbatorix has his true name. This could be a trap."

'If so, who is the predator and who is prey?'

Her words about predator and prey loosened another memory in his head and he frowned. "Yes, about that…there's something I should tell you." Actually, now that he came to think about it, he needed to tell other people too. He was still in control of his mind and his feelings, but there was a lingering sense of panic growing in his chest and he knew that he was mentally deteriorating. That had to have been the reason for his defeat at the Shade's hands; his mind wasn't as steeled as it had been before and if he was going to have any change at saving this place, he needed to be sharp. He needed to be a Spartan.

'What is it?'

He shook his head and turned back to the main camp of the Varden. Now that the familiar presence of Aeraleth's vast consciousness was pleasantly humming at the back of his mind again, he was able to concentrate again. The full ramifications of what happened the past few minutes, which he hadn't been fully able to grasp, hit him with all the subtlety of a Gravity Hammer. "I need to find someone who is familiar with magic and history."

Aeraleth nervously shook her tail, crushing one of the few intact fences. 'You blocked me out when that creature assaulted you. I could not hear her. What did she tell you? I will tear her into little pieces when we find her!'

Maine doubted that Aeraleth could do anything to that Shade. He had not been capable of beating her, which meant that no living being in this world could. At least, no single living being.

The truth was that he was very disturbed by what he had heard. Because every single link to his past that he found on this world could spell doom for a very large group of living beings and that…that dressed female had told him things that were too specifically named to be a coincidence.

"I need to heal you."

She shook her head in a very human gesture. 'I can manage. Save your energy.´ His partner then lowered her neck and allowed him to climb on, even though there was no need for her to bow as low. He could have simply jumped onto her; it wouldn't have hurt her.

'What happened that day? Why did all the cubs attack you like ravenous dogs?'

He managed to find the mental link he had sealed and tried to formulate his thoughts instead of his words. The first two times he rebounded off of her mind, but the third time he managed to convey his thoughts directly into her consciousness. 'Not now.'

The dragon snorted. 'That, I understand. Though you must tell me what that pale witch told you.'

Why was she so interested in something the Shade had told him? She had no way of knowing that the woman had told him anything at all. What was she playing at?

'Do you remember how the elf lords reacted when I mentioned my origin?'

'Their hostility has not been forgotten.'

'She told me about destiny. Some sort of prophecy.'

'What prophecy?'

'She said that I, because I come from the stars, would set fire to this world.'

A ripple ran through Aeraleth's body and she missed a beat with her wings, automatically decreasing their altitude. 'She speaks lies.'

'But,' he mused, 'the queen knows it. Däthedr knows. They all fear what comes from the stars. And they all fear me.'

'You must not think about such trivial things,' Aeraleth told him, but her voice didn't sound very convincing.

'Trivial? We're talking about a prophecy saying I will bring destruction to this world.'

'It mentioned the stars, not you.'

'What else? The UNSC? You saw them Aeraleth. They just want to get out of here ASAP.'

She remained silent, which was odd because she always had something to say. But he knew to trust her judgment in this scenario. She was basically all he had left now –his own judgment couldn't even help him now. He could feel it in his own body –the way his limbs occasionally shook, how sudden movements caught his attention and how bright lights started to hurt his eyes. The way he remembered it, he had stumbled around like an idiot in trying to find Aeraleth, whose voice had been calling him to the other camp. He had completely lost it for a moment and that was something that had never happened before, not even when he had been captured by the Insurrectionists. It was the final straw that indicated that his mind would soon snap. It must have been all that mental warfare with the powerful enemies everywhere, or the event in the Forerunner structure. He found himself unable to concentrate for a prolonged period and he couldn't but see flashes of his own memories. It was ripping him apart from the inside out and there wasn't anything he could do except for holding on to Aeraleth's consciousness and hoping to keep his degradation a secret from her.

Back in the camp, the Spartan made sure to visit Murtagh and Eragon first. As alarmed as he was by the implications of what the Shade had told him, there were a few things he needed to be sure of first. He had learned of Murtagh's fate through Aeraleth, who in turn had heard it from Saphira herself. The boy, first kidnapped by the Empire, had been tortured and mentally raped by Galbatorix to become his new Rider. The sheer willpower he displayed simply by being near the Varden without attacking them was impressive. However, it was only a matter of time before the king found out about his new apprentice's betrayal and things would turn to worse from there. So his very first concern was making sure that Murtagh wouldn't rampage and kill most of the Varden's leaders.

Aeraleth didn't agree with that though. 'You need rest now, above all else. Eragon can handle the human.'

'Look at him. He barely staying awake –he isn't used to this scale of fighting. He can't fend Murtagh off.'

'Arya can. She approaches.'

With a frown, he gazed around the border of the encampment and saw that it was in fact Arya who was approaching them. He knew how very worried she had been about Eragon's safety. The two Riders had just landed again and not everybody knew that Murtagh didn't mean them any harm. To them, the red dragon was a hostile.

A surge of energy spread through his abdomen and he directed Aeraleth to land next to the two dragons anyway. 'They don't know Murtagh's friendly, they will attack him if they spot him.'

That got her attention as well. Without saying anything else, the black dragon took him down to the two boys and he jumped off, ignoring the protesting screaming of his muscles.

"Spartan," Murtagh said, his eyes widening with panic. He scrambled backwards to get away from him and his eyes widened. "No, no no no!"

The red dragon growled at the Spartan, but he ignored that. Behind him Aeraleth growled as well, albeit louder and with more ferocity. The smaller dragon looked up in surprise and glared at her, as if determining when to attack.

He shot a sideways glance at the red dragon. Aeraleth was larger and older, but she was also wounded and exhausted after her fight with those flying hostiles. When it came to a fight between the two of them, she might win or she might lose. But she would be wounded that much more and he doubted he would be able to properly heal her then.

'Stay frosty,' he ordered her.

'What is that supposed to mean?'

He could have sworn that he had told her that before. 'It means stay alert and out of trouble.'

'Fine. But if that hatchling dares grow at you again, I will tear him apart.'

'Don't you dare; these are allies with valuable Intel on the king.'

"Murtagh," Maine told the older of the two boys. It wasn't as much as a greeting as an assessment.

"Spartan, Murtagh is here to help," Eragon quickly said. "And we are here to help him. He's not our enemy!"

The urgency in Eragon's voice hurt him, even as Murtagh's terrified demeanor. It reminded him of how they saw him –as a ruthless killer dedicated to killing and fighting only. As if he was there to only when the situation demanded pain and death. He supposed that the kid was right though; his last visit to a certain village a few years ago could very much verify that. Still, he wished that Eragon didn't look at him like he was about to kill his best friend…he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't…he never wanted to.

And he wanted to say that, too. He wanted to say that he wanted to help Murtagh as well, that he would make Galbatorix and the Shade pay for what had happened to him and that he would personally make sure that the kid was safe.

What came out instead was, "If Galbatorix knows your true name, you are a threat. We need to make sure that changes."

He could see Murtagh's eyes flashing to his dragon, as if seeking comfort in his presence. Arya reached them before anyone could add another remark though and from the looks of it, she had brought Nasuada as well.

"Eragon!" shouted the elf, before throwing herself at the boy and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a gesture that he recognized as a hug. "You are alright!"

Eragon was blushing. "A-aye...I'm fine…"

"Murtagh," said Nasuada. "It is good to see you again."

"My lady," muttered back Murtagh. "I…did not expect to see you here. You should not be here. It is dangerous."

"Dangerous, Murtagh?" said Nasuada with a low voice. "For who?"

"For you, my lady. I know not when my oath compels me to act-"

"Do not test my patience, Murtagh. I know you would never hurt me –no matter what oath Galbatorix has made you force."

The new Rider opened his mouth, perhaps to give some retort, before closing it again.

"I never understood how one's true name could manipulate his entire being," Nasuada then continued. "It is supposed to be the whole embodiment of who you are, yes?"

Arya nodded, letting go of Eragon with a small blush on her cheeks. "Yes, it is. Your true name is representative of your entire being. Whoever knows it, can control your very being."

But that didn't really make sense. A person could change with one impacting event in their life; he had watched kind-hearted and cheerful marines turn into battle-hardened veterans with one battle. If something were to happen to Murtagh, his true name would change and Galbatorix would have to break him all over again. So if something were to happen to change the kid, he would be free.

Though Maine was now so far that he doubted his own logic. He had once thought he could rationalize everything away and he had been wrong with that too. He didn't know when he was wrong or right anymore.

'Aeraleth?' he asked his partner-of-heart, 'Murtagh can change…right? We don't…I don't need to kill him, right?'

'No little soldier,' she told him with a kind, comforting edge to her tone, 'you will not need to kill him. There is hope for him, as there is hope for you.'

Once again he was unable to properly convey his gratitude and once again, his partner understood without the need for words.

"So what now?" asked Eragon. "What of the troops? Nasuada, you should be rallying the men."

"I am no fool Eragon, thank you very much. My father has recovered enough to command the men and his appearance has bolstered their resolve even more. There are important things I must speak about with you."

"What about Murtagh though? He can't enter the camp yet –the men will think he is their enemy."

"Will they? Murtagh has done nothing to hurt the Varden thus far. If he is in your company, the men will only relish in his appearance. What if you told them that another Rider has joined our ranks? With the three of you, we have a solid chance at stopping Galbatorix."

Maine really didn't want to convey his doubts about fighting in the war, so he kept his mouth shut. The truth was that he was starting to doubt everything now. That Shade had directly insinuated that he was going to bring about some sort of apocalypse…and while he could simply try to brush it off as psychological warfare, he had no way to be sure anymore. He needed time to think.

"What about Thorn?" asked Murtagh.

'What's a Thorn?'

'It is the name of his dragon.'

'Ah.'

Nasuada looked at Murtagh. "What about him?"

"They saw us arrive from the Empire's ranks. I delayed my approach on the Varden as long as I could, but…they still saw him. They will think he is an enemy and if anyone attacks us, I will be forced to defend myself."

"I see what you mean," replied Nasuada. "I know this will be hard, but I think it will be best if Thorn-"she addressed the dragon now –"that is, you, were to stay behind. The men will need to get used to Murtagh fighting on their side again. We can turn this into a major victory if we act right. Eragon, this will be on you."

Eragon nodded. "I will make sure they accept Murtagh. It should not be difficult, seeing as they fought alongside him during the battle under Farthen Dûr."

"You would do that?" Murtagh asked with shock.

"Of course," replied Eragon. "You are my friend. After everything that's happened, you deserve a place you can call safe."

Maine looked back at the other side of the Burning Plains, where the Empire forces had retreated to regroup, and wondered what was safe. The Shade was out there…and if she was strong enough to beat him…there was no saying what was going to happen next. He needed to find Raia and Daenlith and tell them what had happened. If anyone could help him unravel this mess, it would be them.

Of course, if they still wanted to help him after hearing what the elf-Shade had said.

Something was different in Eragon since they had last seen each other, before the battle. It was his stride, which was more self-aware than before. It was his gaze, which he kept lower than normal. It was his shoulders, which were sagged. Eragon had lost a great amount of confidence in spite of the reappearance of his best friend and Arya knew why. It took only one look at his haunted eyes to know why.

Despite the Varden's victory, despite Murtagh's survival, he looked depressed. She had known this would happen. This was Eragon's first true battle against other members of his race and he had performed superbly; no hesitation and no weakness, saving many lives for the Varden. But he had killed many fellow-humans and the realization seemed to finally be getting to him. She recognized the shock that was numbing his body now, as she had felt the same thing when she had first taken the life of another being. She had gotten over it, but could Eragon get over it as well?

As the five of them were making their way through the camp back to the pavilion, Arya took notice of an increasing amount of soldiers stopping in the middle of their tasks to stare at them. She didn't know which one of them elected that much attention, but she supposed that it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was making sure Murtagh would fit in in order to change his true name. That would not only be a personal victory for Eragon, but also a tactical victory for the Varden.

But she was overjoyed to see that he was alright. She had felt terror when the red Rider had appeared from the Imperial army, ascending to engage Eragon even though the air was already filled with Lethrblaka. It was a deep, terrible feeling that had taken root in her stomach, before proceeding to drive her nauseous. When both Saphira as the "enemy" dragon hadn't reappeared again, even though the UNSC people had, her mind had simply refused to believe that Eragon could have been gone. He simply couldn't have left her, ergo he was still alive.

And he was. Fazed by all the death, destruction and exhaustion, but definitely still alive. And those were all things she could help him with. Though her own fight had in no way been easy, it was still far from the taxing sensation that it must have exerted on Eragon's mind. After all, she was numbed to this carnage. A younger version of her might have hesitated and felt sickened due to this fighting, but after the things Durza had done to her…no more. Perhaps that was why Eragon and Murtagh were so different, even when both of them had just met each other. Eragon just lacked the experience in life that was so important. But he was still so young, by everyone's standards he was still a child. Not by her standards though; she knew that Eragon was more than a child. He was a person, already marked by the sudden stack of burdens onto his shoulders.

"Do you think it wise to leave the three of them alone?" Murtagh asked, breaking the silence. "Thorn is still young, even though Galbatorix forced his growth with magic." There was a hint of disgust at the mad king's actions in his voice, which Arya only found appropriate. A Rider should be disgusted with someone who hurt their bonded partner, immediately before having their vengeance with the blade.

"Saphira won't pull anything."

"Aeraleth is also young," Arya said when she noticed that Spartan wasn't going to reply. "They might find something they have in common."

Still no reply. She knew that Spartan was usually very silent, preferring to let his actions speak for him. But she also knew that he had eased up somewhat recently. His stay in Du Weldenvarden had changed him, even though it was only in a minor way. So why wasn't she seeing those changes now? What had he encountered on the battlefield, if not the same slaughter as always?

"At least Thorn won't feel like an outsider then," Murtagh said with a slight smile. "What of the Shade though? She is nearly as dangerous as Galbatorix is. Where did she go?"

"Gone," the Spartan brusquely said.

"Did you kill her?"

"No."

"Blast it! Do you have any idea what she is going to do if she returns to the Varden, Spartan? The entire order would have gathered to face one like her, why did you let her escape!"

"Why don't you go chase her then?"

His sudden desperation and accusing manner surprised Arya, as did the Spartan's equally sudden ferocity. Something had definitely happened on that battlefield, though she did not know what. And what Shade were they even talking about? Had Raia gone rogue, or was this a new one? "What are you two talking about? What Shade?"

Murtagh and Eragon stared at each for a moment, hesitation clearly visible in their demeanor. Arya narrowed her eyes and stopped at the entrance of a smaller tent, roughly ten meters distance from the white pavilion where they were needed.

"What happened out there?" she demanded. "Spartan, what did you fight?"

"It was her," said Murtagh, as if that was supposed to make sense.

"Who?"

"It was a Shade," added Eragon, "though not like Durza…and also not like Raia. She had pointed ears and she was far more powerful than Durza-"

"Fool," she hissed at Eragon, a completely new feeling of terror gripping at her. "Of course she was stronger than Durza! He was human when he turned! What did she look like, how did she act?"

"She is the Mistress," said Murtagh, the extreme level of fear and awe in his voice taking her aback. "More magnificent than the elven queen…more monstrous than the vile Lethrblaka. She can do things that the elves can only dream of and she does them without merit."

"Who is she?" she exclaimed, her voice ringing out louder than in a long time. This couldn't be true –this wasn't true. Galbatorix had not created an elf-Shade –such a vile crime was impossible. The only elves she knew of were beyond his reach, hidden away in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. And there was no elf she knew of that would willingly travel beyond their borders. It had to be a lie –a cruel, manipulative lie. She would have sensed such a presence!

"She," said Murtagh, glancing at the Spartan's direction, "isn't our foremost threat."

Nasuada overtook them and crossed her arms. "You should not be bickering amongst yourselves. This battle is won today."

"My lady, I do not mean offense, but…back in Uru'baen, I only saw the king a few times. When he learned of the Spartan's origin as from the stars, he…became nervous. Aggressive, but nervous."

Arya thought she detected a hint of pain in Murtagh's voice.

"We don't have time for this," the Spartan called as he turned around to leave.

But Murtagh wasn't done yet. "Because there was a prophecy, derived from the elves and, before them, the Gray Folk. A prophecy which depicted the destruction of Alagaesia at the hands of a person coming from the stars."

The Spartan stopped moving for a brief moment, during which Arya could have sworn that he raised his shoulders but lowered his head. Then he kept on walking, leaving the four of them behind.

Nobody made any attempt to stop him though. Arya wondered at the truth of the king's words and, by extent, the truth behind Murtagh's words. She didn't know what to believe, as the Spartan was basically their most powerful ally and vital in their effort in the war. But his origin was an enigma, his people were strange and his equipment was alien. She believed that he came from the stars…and she knew that her mother disliked him because of that. And…the lords as well…and the Spartan did make friends with a Shade, even though Raia is different.

"A prophecy? From the Gray Folk?" asked Nasuada. "Remind me again…who were they?"

"Our predecessors," answered Arya. "They created magic as we know it. If the oath-breaker managed to find something that belonged to them…it must be true."

"No…" muttered Eragon. "No! Spartan might be hostile to everything but Aeraleth, but he wouldn't betray us."

"Enough!" exclaimed Nasuada. "True or not, we must not allow the men to find out about this. If they would…their morale might shatter."

Arya wondered why Murtagh cringed at the mentioning of shattering morale.

"For now," continued the Varden's leader, "we should decide what to do next. My father is conversing with the king of the dwarves as we speak…and I have had a…illuminating conversation with Captain Wren before Arya insisted on coming here."

The elf lowered her head, knowing that she had abandoned her post to sooth her feelings. She also knew Nasuada would understand.

"What about my cousin?" asked Eragon. "And the villagers from Carvahall?"

Nasuada took them to the white pavilion when she gave her reply. "Your cousin assisted the UNSC forces in taking out the traitorous twins before they could do any harm. For that, he is to be commended. I will make sure that every single life on board that ship will be fed and sheltered. But in the meantime, we He There aThe must discuss this Shade and we must discuss Murtagh."

When they entered the white tent, Ajihad and Hrothgar were still discussing troop movements and supply-trades. They stopped as soon they saw that people were intruding on their presence though.

`Nasuada,` exclaimed Ajihad. `You are back. It is good to see you again."

"Murtagh," muttered the king. "it is you? We thought you lost…"

"it was the twin's doing, your majesty," said Eragon. "They abducted him to Uru'baen, where the king was waiting for him."

"And then a dragon hatched for him," guessed Ajihad, displaying a remarkable understanding of the situation.

"Yes sir," answered Murtagh stiffly. Arya could feel his discomfort and she knew that there was nothing she could do for now. This entire situation was growing intolerable and she needed time to sort herself out.

"He must have your true name then?" asked Hrothgar.

"Yes, your majesty."

The ancient king sighed and he bowed his head. "You have my sympathy, young one. How will we resolve this situation?"

"Are you asking me?" said Murtagh, not without anger. "I am fighting the wretched dog's influence as we fight and you ask me how to solve it?"

"Peace, Murtagh," said Arya.

"You did more than anyone could have, if placed in your position," added Nasuada. "The only thing we ask of you now is patience. We will find a way to change your true name…and in doing so, freeing you from the king's grip."

Murtagh gritted his teeth, but he still bowed for Nasuada. His anger didn't seem to be directed at her. "Thank you, my lady."

"Eragon, Arya, you two may go now. Nasuada? I need you here," Ajihad then told them. "Murtagh, it might be wise for you to remain here for the moment. I shall address the men in a moment, to tell them of your courage in coming to us."

Arya took Eragon's hand and led him out of the pavilion, not wanting to be waste any more time. She guided him through a series of tents, until they reached the outskirts of the camp. Then she turned to face him, hoping to gather enough courage to apologize. "I should not have called you a fool," she said.

"That's alright. Why were you so distressed? What plagued you so?"

She averted her gaze. "In your time with your teacher…did you learn anything about Shades?"

Eragon nodded. "When a living being's will and mind is overtaken by the will of a spirit, they die. Everything they were, everything that made them, is purged. The spirit then uses its energy to transform the body…but he said that the magic of spirits is vastly different from ours."

"It is. Therefore, a human Shade is many times more powerful than a normal human. Spirits only seek sentient beings that possess magic, agreed?"

"Agreed. But how does that explain Raia then?"

She shrugged. "That, I know not. Shades are nigh-uncontrollable creatures of evil magic. The only way to control one is to promise it something it wants. The king must have promised atrocities to gain the trust Durza…but Raia does not seem to be evil."

"She made the pain in my back disappear. She made the pain in Ajihad's wounds disappear. She became Spartan's protégé. How can a Shade do that? With the spirits controlling their bodies and all?"

"That is what I am getting at, Eragon." Arya looked at the silvery curves of the river, which streamed ever peaceful when compared to the Burning Plains. "But have you ever learned about a Shade other than a human one?"

"No. Elves rarely trifle with spirits and humans are easier to take over…right?"

Arya looked at Eragon. Despite how elfish he looked with his pointed ears, he still had many of his human features. His eyes, still filled with as much life and personality as before, weren't as slanted as hers and his cheekbones were not as prominent as that of a real elf. He wasn't a real elf, but neither was he a real human. But he was Eragon and that was what mattered. "You have not learned of an elf Shade, because my people speculated it. "

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If one even more powerful than Durza had appeared, would it have gone unnoticed?"

"No. The Riders would have stopped it."

"True…but a being like an elf turned Shade would have caused unimaginable harm. It would have forever gone into history as a threat that must never be forgotten."

"But I haven't learned about it…so according to your theory…no elf-Shade must have existed."

Arya nodded. "That is my point. An elf turned Shade would wield power equal to Galbatorix's at the height of his reign. And as only the most evil of spirits would take advantage of the opportunity to possess a living being and rob it of its life, a Shade is always evil."

"But if this elf-Shade is evil, why haven't we heard of her yet? Is she able to control herself?"

With a heavy sigh, Arya sat down on the ground. Her leather outfit still had patches of blood and ash on it, despite her best attempts to clean it. "That too remains a mystery to me. But…you saw what Durza could do and he was human. Imagine what an elf-Shade could do. This creature might well be unstoppable."

"I refuse to believe that anything is unstoppable. Even the king has a weakness."

Arya smiled. "That attitude will help us win this war. But you must understand. Can you tell me how this female is connected to Murtagh?"

And Eragon told her how afraid his friend had been. The overwhelming fear that he himself had felt and how completely dominating the Shade's presence had been. How Murtagh had pleaded her for more time and how she had declared that Eragon and Spartan were his.

The elf felt a stab of anger at that last one. Not only was the blatant declaration that a life could belong to anyone a blight on everything she believed in, but it was also a personal attack on the only person whom she felt like she had a real bond with these days. And if Eragon belonged to anyone, it would be her.

"And she works for Galbatorix?" she asked.

"I don't know," Eragon said with a shrug. "The king wants a female dragon to rebuild the dragon race. But I don't know if that means Aeraleth or Saphira. And she wants a Rider as well."

"This is worrying. The king must want to rebuild the Riders as well…but this Shade does not seem to share in that plan."

"Murtagh said that she wanted to break Spartan and me."

"That is not going to happen," she furiously said. "I will not permit it."

Eragon sat down as well, next to her. "I know you won't. But I also don't want you to get killed defending me. If this Shade is really as strong as you say…why didn't she destroy the Varden? She had me, Murtagh and Spartan at her mercy. Why didn't she take us?"

That was a very good question, though Arya did not know the answer. The only thing that made sense regarding the Shade's sudden mercy was…the Prophecy. Again. She reached for Eragon's hand and said, "what did Murtagh tell you about the Spartan? Did he attempt to warn you before?"

Eragon didn't pull his hand away. "He said that Spartan was going to kill us all. But I don't believe that."

"Fate can't be fought, Eragon. It would be futile to attempt it."

The boy looked at her with an expression of shock. "Are you saying that he should simply accept it if he was destined to destroy us?"

"No," she replied, wishing that she had something wiser to say. "But if something is meant to be, it is nigh-impossible to change it. But…personally, I think the Shade is lying. Even if she was once elf, that is long gone now."

"You think she lies?"

Arya nodded. "She must seek to destabilize us, now that we have Murtagh back. We should focus on breaking his oath to Galbatorix. Only then can he be free."

Eragon looked at her with an expression of helplessness and longing. He looked so vulnerable…"Do you think we can win this? We have powerful allies, but…the king has even more allies."

She pulled her hand away and pulled the Rider closer with it, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. It were times like these that reminded her that, behind his wisdom and duties, Eragon was still an inexperienced soldier thrust into the battlefield. It was an amazing thing that he could drive himself to do so much simply because he deemed it right. Other people might have grown to resent the Varden for all the forcing and manipulating…but not him. "Some people will never give up and die for their beliefs. I do not seek to die needlessly. If there is no chance at winning…if the king's evil grows so foul that nobody can stop him…it will already be too late. Our power lays in our unity. If we stand together, we will prevail."

He didn't reply to that, but that wasn't necessary. Arya knew when Eragon could keep going and when he needed someone to pick him up. And now, she knew he was strong enough to keep going. And she would stand by his side throughout every moment, to ensure his success.

"Prophecies, Shades and odds…" Eragon said with a sudden smile, looking her in her eyes. "Nothing is ever easy for us, is it?"

"No…it isn't. And when Durza captured me, I thought things would never be easy again." The memory of her torture still haunted her in her dreams, but she could bear it now. She was able to resist thinking about it during the day now and she knew that, once this war was won, she might never be able to let it go forever. "And when I learned that the new Rider was a human boy…I felt like we had lost. But I found that this boy was so much more than what he appeared to be. Eragon, do you know how many humans I harbored positive feelings against?"

"I take it you felt for Nasuada and Spartan?"

She nodded. "Ajihad, Nasuada, Spartan…Murtagh to some extent…you. And none of them understand me like you do."

Eragon gently placed his hand on her waist. "That must have been lonely."

"It was. I always hid myself away and focused on my duty…but that served to alienate me, I guess…"

"But that has changed now. You reconciled with your mother…the species are uniting themselves against our enemy…and you have friends," Eragon told her.

She placed her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes I forget all that…we all lost things when this war raged on. I lost my two only friends…I lost contact with my mother…I …"

"You gained Orik as a friend…you gained Saphira and me as a friend…you found out that, despite everything, Spartan wants to help you," Eragon softly told her and she smiled.

"I know. I must not forget that again."

Whatever Eragon was about to say had to wait, as a sudden distant rumbling distracted both of them from each other. Arya looked up and saw a group of black dots at the horizon steadily growing in size. Her first thought was that they were being attacked by another flock of Lethrblaka, but they were too fast and too loud. Their forms quickly turned into weird triangles and the rumbling grew even louder. They slowed down considerably in front of the Varden camp and she was able to make out what they were. Four of them looked like two black triangles glued together, with an avian shape. There were three others, which looked like some sort of fish. The avian ones were black and the broad fish ones were a dull green. How had they just appeared? They were faster than dragons, that wasn't possible!

"Eragon," she gasped. "What are they!"

Eragon jumped to his feet and drew Zar'roc. "Stay close to me," he told her, despite the fact that she was the better fighter. But the strange objects didn't attack them and instead hovered over to the Varden's camp. She could hear the roaring of dragons and the screaming of men as the objects came within their view as well, but there was no sound of battle anywhere. What were these things? What was going on?"

"Come on," said Eragon. "If these are new creations of Galbatorix, we need to protect everyone."

Arya extended a mental probe towards the flying objects and tried to break into their minds, but what she felt was extremely unlikely. The metal monsters that had already crossed the Varden's camp were devoid of thoughts! Instead, a collection of smaller minds was located somewhere within. That didn't make sense.

"We need to hurry," she replied, seeing both Thorn as Saphira take off to fight the new threat. "I fear this might be beyond our ability to control."

It was with the relaxed attitude of a woman who was finally done with work that Raia leaned back against the ruined fence-work, contemplating her place in life. The battle was over and basically, the Varden had won. But that did not neccesarily have to mean that she had won.

Today, she felt like she was experiencing one of those rare moments where she didn't completely hate the people around her. She had actually been enjoying her day a lot, what with the so-called great battle and all that. Her mood had been lowered by the appearance of a group warriors of the one race that should have been wiped out by the Riders, the urgals. But they had died in droves during the battle, like they so much craved to do, so she guessed it was alright. The battle of the Burning Plains had been a powerful test of her loyalty though; she wasn't loyal to the Varden, nor to the Empire. She was loyal to her mistress, but also to the Spartan. While her Mistress wasn't directly loyal to Galbatorix, she was loyal to herself.

And Raia was to serve those needs, no matter what.

Across from her stood one of the few normal humans she could tolerate near her presence. An old, hairy man with blood-stained armour and a weary, dumb expression on his face. He had come all the way from Furnost looking for a 'man with armour as dark as the night and a gem like blood', which basically meant that he was looking for Spartan. And that was something that she could not have, so she had sought him out to eliminate him as soon as she had heard of him.

That plan had changed, however, when she found out that he had had a direct run-in with Spartan in the past without actually having fought him. Her curiosity had been aroused. So after having saved her favorite human from dying by crushed throat, she had sought him out not to eliminate him, but to keep an eye on him.

She needed to ponder her own future too. Fighting on the front lines and slaying dozens upon dozens of enemy soldiers had been easy enough, but…sensing the presence of her previous partner had not been that easy. As her former assignment of protecting Aeraleth's egg had not been very successful and she had been the one who had gotten the order to hunt it down and kill the Rider. Of course, the rest was history and here she was, having just murdered the fellow guardian whose name she never bothered to learn. In a way it fit, her new name being Shadeslayer. It was more elegant than 'Bane of Man' or something like that, but it had placed her in a precarious position. Namely, the position of one who did not know what to do with their life.

"He does take long," said the man. They were sitting relatively close to the border of the camp, a dozen meters away from the position where the UNSC people were resting.

"He did just wipe out battalions of enemy soldiers," Raia bit back. "I think he deserves to walk back on his own pace."

"I did not mean offense, my lady," said the man, showing a remarkable degree of politeness. It might be because she hadn't told him that she was a Shade yet. It might also be because she had told him that if he wanted to meet his quarry, he had better fall in line and obey her.

She could hear the vague groaning and screaming of the prisoner of the three starborn soldiers. That was part of the reason why she had chosen this position to regroup with her ally; the sounds of the psychopathic Imperial sorcerer being tortured. From what she had gathered from her glimpses of the battlefield, the twins had been cruel people who reveled in the usage of their power to hurt other people. She knew that they were twins because of the memories of random soldiers she had searched; she had never actually had any contact with them, as they had disappeared after the battle in the mountains.

But she knew that, if the starborn soldiers had captured one of the twins, the other twin had to be dead. And she also knew that their survival meant the survival of Murtagh, Eragon's friend. And the other rider that had appeared while she had been fighting her kin...had to have been him. Perhaps Spartan could shed some light on that. He had contacted her with a rather desperate and urgent touch to his mind, which she guessed was why she was here now.

But due to the fact that she had also felt the gracious presence of her Mistress on the battlefield, she was…hard-pressed to focus. She had not contacted Raia to give her further orders and neither had she sought her out. So what was that supposed to mean? What was she supposed to do now?

Raia sighed and then felt the fortified mind of a particular Rider approaching her. She was used to his extremely silent approach by now; he simply did not make any noise when he walked, even though he was heavier than a Kull. But his mind stood out amongst the tidal waves of normal, human ones and that was why she almost never failed to pick him out in a crowd. His armour was a dead giveaway too.

"Spartan," she greeted him.

He replied with the tiniest of nods before asking, "Who's this?"

"We met south of the city of Furnost, my lord. Do you not remember?"

Spartan was silent for a few seconds before he replied. "I kidnapped you from that town."

Raia raised an eyebrow at that. The two had actually met? Under kidnapping circumstances? Did anything normal ever happen to him?

The man bowed slightly. "So you do remember me. I feel honoured."

"Yeah yeah, everybody remembers everybody, great. What happened out there? Why did you need to talk to me?"

"Is Daenlith here?"

She sighed explosively. "I don't know where your accursed elf is. Why, do you need something pondered to death?"

His helmet turned towards her and she felt his eyes staring at her. "No. I need…advice."

Aeraleth seemed to choose that moment to land, with a lot of violence and buffeting winds. The aged soldier stumbled to the ground, while both Raia as her companion remained pretty much unfazed.

"Heavens," breathed the man. "A dragon…I knew the king was lying…"

"What sort of advice?" She asked, ignoring the rambling senior a few meters away from them, though Aeraleth seemed interested enough in him. When Raia looked at the black dragon, who was playfully sweeping her tail across the ground, she noticed that the creature was hurt pretty badly. "What happened to her?"

"We encountered trouble," Spartan replied, glancing at his bonded partner as well. "I already healed some of her more serious wounds."

"Seriously? Just what did you encounter?" she said, surprised that anything could hurt a dragon that badly. She had spotted the Lethrblaka, but Aeraleth should have been capable of outmatching at least three of those things at the same time.

"Half a dozen Lethrblaka and your Mistress," the Spartan coldly replied.

"M-my Mistress?" asked Raia, a chill running down her spine. Her Mistress wanted a Rider of her own very badly…but if both Eragon and Murtagh were still here and Spartan was still alive…what had happened? "You met her? How do you know it was her?"

"I fought her," replied the Spartan. "And she was stronger than you. I guessed the rest."

She groaned in frustration. "I got that, thank you very much. What. Happened. Where did she go and what did she do to you?"

"She disappeared, but that's irrelevant."

"But if she appeared on this battlefield, it was to spirit away a Rider and their dragon. She wouldn't just disappear!"

She felt Aeraleth attempt to contact her and, after a moment of hesitation, she allowed the dragon inside. But she made sure to hide most of her thoughts and feelings from the creature. 'Both you as my Rider are distressed, due to the presence of one woman. Who is your Mistress, Raia?'

"She did," Spartan replied, unaware of the communication going on between her and his dragon. "And this needs to remain classified."

She stared at him with a flat expression.

'It means secret.'

'Ah.'

"Sir," spoke the old guard from Furnost, probably completely unaware of the fact that he was unwanted at the moment, "much has changed since you left. My people have agreed to remain at neutral ends with the Varden."

"How come you are here?" asked Spartan. "Did she take you here?"

"She told me that she could bring me to you. I wished to find you and warn you-"

"About a prophecy?" interrupted the Spartan. "You mentioned one before…I could have…used that info."

For some reason, he sounded off. Depressed, if that was possible. Now that she really thought about it, this entire situation was off. First, the other Shade had turned up to do…something. Then she had felt the presence of her Mistress, who had strode across the battlefield without capturing her Rider or informing her. And now Spartan had contacted her with a high sense of urgency, yet he was stalling by talking to this unimportant human instead of just telling her what was going on. Aeraleth was wounded, Murtagh was a Rider and now he was talking about some prophecy.

Had he gone mad? Had the wounds inflected on his bonded partner brought on some sort of feverish state to his mind? Reptilian bodies were much more resilient to shock and wounds than human ones, she had learned that some time ago. If she was staving off a deadly fever, Spartan might well already be affected by it.

"Let us go back somewhat, shall we?" she said, speaking clearly and slowly. "I sense my Mistress, then Murtagh shows up. Then, I kill a Shade trying to murder the UNSC people, after which you contact me with a rather urgent tone. And now a random human temp told you about some prophecy?"

"Temp?" muttered the old man.

"Basically, yes," the Spartan replied with a small shrug. Yet, despite his familiar cold attitude towards all things serious, Raia could tell that the situation was serious. Even as the Spartan turned towards the old human, she noticed that Aeraleth kept keeping watch for something. "So, tell me about the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" exclaimed Raia, her dwindling patience starting to crumble completely.

"It was a tale handed down my family, ma'am," spoke the old man. It agitated her greatly that a hairless monkey like him could be more useful to the Spartan than her, though she made sure not to show that. She had her dignity after all. "It was a tale known only to a select group of people. It was said that, at one point, a warrior would come from the stars…find a world he could not allow to continue…and burn it."

A cold pit fell in in her stomach and she stared at that blood-red visor that hid the Spartan's face. Her mind was racing to process that new information and she remembered his inhuman feats; how he had disembodied her not once, but twice in close-quarters fight. How he had stolen the egg and hatched it. His memories, which should not belong to any living being, let alone a human. "Did you know about this?" she asked, a faint feeling of fear starting to form in the back of her mind.

"No," replied the Rider.

"You did not?" asked the human, a surprised look on his face. "Why, Lord, this is great news!"

"No," growled Raia, "it is not. Who told you about this prophecy-thing? Was it Murtagh?"

"Relax," the Spartan told her. "Murtagh didn't say a thing." He hesitated, before adding, "Except that if came from some grey people."

"The Grey Folk?" she whispered. She could feel her stomach icing over and she turned towards the bearded human, who was eyeing them with weary but attentive eyes. "Leave us."

"Lady, I think we should-"

"Leave us!" She snapped, making sure that her pointed teeth were visible for the man. She didn't know who he was or what he wanted with the Rider, but had to be the least important factor right now and she couldn't use some human listening in on conversations that were too dangerous to even hold.

The old man looked at her with a serious expression. "Y-yes…of course, I shall tend to my duties…"

As Raia stared at frail, dwindling form of the leaving human, she found that she was breathing heavily. Her chest was heaving and her head felt light. Was she losing her temper? Again?

"And who told you about this?" she asked, doing her best to keep her calm.

"I don-t understand-"

"Just! Tell me." She didn't want to lose her temper with the Spartan, but heavens knew he was testing her patience.

"The elf-Shade. Your Mistress."

She gritted her teeth and attempted to keep herself calm. She did not face the Rider, for fear of him seeing how much she struggled with her anger. "Do you know who the Grey Folk were?"

"I read about this 'folk' in a scroll. The predecessors that shaped magic, but disappeared."

"Yes. And do you know the nature of prophecies in Alagaesia?"

"No."

She smiled bitterly and crossed her arms. "That is because nobody does. A prophecy appears in the ancient language and the very second one reads or hears it…it is written in reality itself. She used to tell me tales about elves panicking because one accidentally stumbled upon a prophecy detailing the death of their king. Lo and behold…he fell during the Rider wars, when Galbatorix slew him."

"You're telling me that a prophecy becomes real when discovered?"

"Yes."

"That makes no sense."

"And you wearing that suit for years at an end does?"

He fell quiet again and Raia could feel the stare of his dragon burning in her back. Perhaps that last remark had been unnecessary.

"It does not need to make sense," she said. "Sometimes, magic just doesn't make sense. If my Mistress told you about it…if she told Murtagh and the King about it…it will happen."

He didn't dismiss it again. That was unlike him.

'You seem indifferent to all of this,' Aeraleth told her.

'Do not mistake my indifference for apathy. I have other things to worry about.'

"So how do we stop this?" the Spartan suddenly asked.

Raia turned to face him and saw that he hadn't moved an inch since they had started this conversation. "How?"

"Yes. The old guard knew this. Your Mistress knew this. Murtagh knew this and soon, Ajihad and Nasuada will. Daenlith will. How do we prevent this from happening?"

"Prevent the others from finding out?"

"No; the "destroy the world" thing."

"You don't get it, do you?" she bit at him. Her frustration over her Mistress' indifference to her position was boiling over and she couldn't deal with it. She couldn't deal with the utter darkness in which she was being kept. If she was discarded because of her failure, that would be understandable. It would mean the end of her life, but at least she had would have closure. "You and this Varden can keep fighting all you want! But if the founders of magic predicted that someone's going to end this land, so be it!"

"I won't accept that."

"It's not a matter of accepting, it's-" Her voice stalled in her throat as she caught the outlines of a dozen flying objects heading their way. At the same time, the Spartan whirled around and stared at the things as well. A faint rumbling noise was growing louder and louder and at the border of the camp, Saphira and Murtagh's dragon started to growl.

"What is that?" she breathed.

"That," said the Spartan, turning towards the probable landing spot of the crafts, "would be UNSC air-support."

"Your ships?"

"Small ones. Looks like four Longsword interceptors and three Pelican dropships."

"You named your ships after swords?"

"No," said the Spartan as the seven vessels flew over the Varden's main camp and sent half of their army in panic. Screams and shouts were already piercing the silent air and Raia had no doubt that the men of the Varden might attempt to attack these new ships from the stars. Could things never be simple?

"Why are they here now? How did they find you?"

But the Spartan ignored her. He stared at the distanced ships for half a minute, no doubt communicating with his dragon or contemplating to go join the humans. Raia watched as the three of the olive-green ships landed and wondered how they could fly if their wings were so small. The main body itself was larger than the two stubby wings combined and there were strange, blue flames coming out of a few holes on the wings and the two short tails. The other four ships she only caught a glimpse of before they broke formation and scattered, circling back around the camp faster than a dragon could fly. Those were flat, black and much larger than the green ones.

Something was not right. Raia looked over her shoulder, seeing that Aeraleth stayed behind. Why wasn't she following?

'What is wrong?' she asked. 'Are you bothered by the prophecy?'

'I could not care less for a prophecy…what bothers me is how close to the truth it is.'

She wondered what that was supposed to mean.