Dear fans. I'm sorry I'm a fuck and barely update my other stories, but don't worry, their time will come. I can only right when I feel inspired to write, which is how I feel about this little number right here.

I'll be honest.

I'm new to the series of Eragon, and I'm just about finished with the first book, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so if I absolutely FUCK something up about the dragons, just let me know in the reviews.

Guts rode through the freezing night air, his thoughts all in a jumble. Cold rain impacted against his skin, and the road ahead of him was nigh invisible against the dark of night, only being able to see about a foot in front of him. The brown horse he rode upon whinnied as it almost slipped on the mud, the wet clopping of multiple pairs of hooves approaching him at a terrifying rate. He heard something shoot past his ear, and Guts curled in on himself as much as he could, trying to make himself a smaller target for the men that pursued him.

That proved innefective however, when he felt an crossbow bolt impact deeply into his side. He clenched his teeth, and tried to maintain his left hand's grip on his steeds reins; that too, unfortunately proved ineffective. Just as he and his horse were making a sharp right turn, he felt himself tumble off of his mount, rolling down the side of a cliff.

The first impact he felt shattered the shaft of the bolt impacted in his side, and drove the point even deeper past his ribs, the pain was searing. The second caused him to lose his grip on his sword, which was now also bouncing haphazardly down the rock infused muddy cliff face. He bounced a few more times on the tumble down, each one rattling his bones and serving to fracture quite a few. His head struck a rock, and his vision blurred with not only tears, but the force of the impact.

By time he rolled to a stop, time ceased to exist, and he had simply lay there, under the rain. His eyes were half shut, the cold no longer bothered him. One feeling refused to leave him however; a deep horrible feeling he recognized as guilt.

So intense it was that he wanted to rip out his own heart. Guts still couldn't believe what had just transpired, so much that, he wanted to believe it to be a terrible nightmare. Sadly however, this was not the case. He had killed his father; plunged a sword right through his throat. He felt as if the blood were still dripping off of his hand.

Time passed, though he was not sure how much, it could have been minutes, or even hours. At some point along that time frame, the rain had stopped pouring on the now moist earth. The dark sky above was now illuminated by the bright light of the full moon above. He stared at it for a little bit, and then looked to his left, seeing that his blade had landed right next to him after his fall.

He glanced down at his wound, seeing the arrow point jutting out of the right side of his chest. He groaned, and then grabbed the hilt of his blade. He shakily got to his feet, using the blade as a crutch. Guts looked all around him, and had no idea where to go next. What was even the point? He might as well have died during that fall, or even before that.

Despite these thoughts, he began marching north, away from the cliff he toppled down. His baggy white shirt and brown cloth pants still damp with rainwater and caked with partially dry mud. He went on like that for a while, simply wandering aimlessly towards no destination. He stumbled after walking a few miles, and looked around at the grass covered hills surrounding him.

He heard the howling of a wolf echoing from behind one of the hills, and a moment afterwords, an entire pack of white wolves emerged all around him atop the hills, glaring at him with their yellow eyes. Guts stood up straight, and then smiled at the beasts. He could see them beginning to tense up, ready to pounce on him.

This was it.

However, just before that could happen, a loud sound erupted right over his head, and in the brief moment he had before he was knocked to the ground, the wolves and the earth was lit up by a brilliant, white light, the wolves were invisible against it. His ears rung with the intensity of it, and the top of his head felt hot.

Then his face hit the ground. His skull bounced off of the ground due to the force of the impact, and there were spots in his vision. He willed himself to stand, and mid-way through the motions (when he was on all fours) some hard… thing hit the back of his head, knocking his face to the ground once more. Guts grunted with irritation, and looked up from the ground, scanning the tops of the hills.

It looked as if the wolves had scattered due to the blast. Leaving him all alone. The only thing nearby was his sword, and a oval shaped, forearm sized black rock. Guts squinted at it, and saw that it shone against the pale moonlight. Guts didn't know why exactly, but he found it fascinating.

He shuffled over to it, and sat down cross legged next to the thing. Was this what caused that explosion just now? It was so tiny, and there were no fuses on it or anything, yet the sound that it came from was louder than even a cannon! Upon closer inspection, it seemed to have several ridges on it, and he put his sword down, reaching his right hand down towards it.

It almost looked like a black jewel, except in the shape of an egg. He stroked his fingers across the surface of the strange gem, and felt an odd sensation spread across his hand. He immediately withdrew his hand, and the feeling stopped.

It felt like… something was evaluating him, judging him on some subject he didn't understand. Whatever this thing was, it was probably worth a whole lot of coin. He reached for it again, and after touching it again, he didn't get that feeling a second time. He hoisted it up, and cradled it in his left arm. He grabbed his sword again, and made way towards absolutely no where once again.

Before he took his second step however… he heard the gem…

Cracking.

There. This was the prologue so that's why it was so short. Leave a fucking review and make me feel good about myself as I sit here a 3:35 AM listening to Sabaton and contemplating my existence over potato chips.