That night, Hal finally caved in to basic human desire and collapsed, exhausted, onto her cot. Her feet were sore from standing, her face hurt from smiling. Her head was buzzing from the wine and her skin was hot from the fire. She forgot how sleepy she got after a night of drinking.

Hal didn't remember falling asleep. But for the first time in twelve years, her dreams suddenly shifted. There was no fire or death like she had feared since she escaped the Ra'zac. Instead she was standing on the beach of Illium, the island of Uden, up ahead. It was too far away to see with the naked, human eye. But Hal knew it was there.

Halen.

It is time.

That voice. There was something familiar about it. Like something from a forgotten memory. But she couldn't place it, and she didn't try to. But the familiarity made her feel as though she could trust it. And trust it she did.

She took a small step, then another. The warm water lapped at her bare feet, her body sinking into the sand. The feeling tickled at her skin and she smiled. She lifted her foot and took another step. But this time, unless it was a trick of the light…Hal shook her head, but when she took another step, it became unmistakable.

The water was moving out of her way.

Flabbergasted, Hal stumbled back. From a distance, everything appeared to be normal. But something was tugging at her heart. A familiar longing for a home she had lost so many years before. Steeling her resolve, she ran towards the water. Almost immediately, the water parted, responding to every step she took by gently moving out of her way. Hal lifted her skirts, laughing as she ran through the sea. She could see the fish and the reef going about their daily lives, unconcerned of the woman ogling them as she moved past.

Hal had not felt such joy in ages. She held one hand out, running her fingers through the water when, out of nowhere, she felt something dark. A presence. All-consuming and foreign. She came to a halting stop.

And then she felt a pressure on her chest. Hal coughed, rubbing at the space above her breast. And then the pressure doubled and she gasped in pain. She cried out, dropping to her knees. It was as though a hand was clutching her heart, squeezing it tightly. Panicked, Hal took several steps back. And as she did, the hold on her chest lessened.

She prepared for a hasty retreat when a noise gave her pause. She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing in confusion before growing wide when she realized what was happening. The water was collapsing on itself, heading right towards her. Without thinking she turned on her heel to run forward when the pressure on her chest became so unbearable that she burst into tears, collapsing to her knees. It was as though there was a force that didn't want her to move forward. But she couldn't turn back.

Wake up.

Hal squeezed her eyes shut, curling up and placing her hands over her head as though to protect it. She felt frozen, stuck.

Someone, help me.

She screamed as the water came down right on top of her. And Hal jerked awake, gasping for air. She had actually been holding her breath, which trapped the scream in her throat. She was shaking horribly, covered in a layer of sweat so thick that her nightgown and sheets stuck to her skin. It had felt so real. And the frightful feeling of being trapped, of being powerless, made her burst into tears. She covered her mouth with her hands, suffocating herself in an effort not to wake the others as she rocked back and forth.

After a while, the sobs subsided and she focused on controlling her breathing, using the techniques that Ayo had taught her to ground herself in her reality, not her dreams. She listened to the world around her, felt the cot underneath her and her weight on it. This was real. She was not going to drown, let alone be crushed under a wave. She was not going to be running through the ocean. She was safe, in her bed, in Denu's hut. Her home. She was home and she was safe.

When the feelings passed and only a tremor remained, Hal rolled over so that she faced the wall, curling up tightly as quiet tears continued to fall down her cheeks. She didn't know what it was about the dream that had frightened her so. Perhaps just how real it had felt, the terror and the water coming down on top of her. She felt like she was going insane. And she knew this would only be the first of many dreams that would haunt her now.

In the quiet of the night, for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to miss her family. Her mother, father, and sister. She missed her father's boisterous laughs, her mother's deep wisdom, and her sister's childlike innocence. And the pain felt like a fresh wound, tearing her chest open with callousness. And it felt so very lonely.

Hal knew she wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon, and padded quietly around her room until she found what she was looking for, using only the dim light from the moon. She sat on her cot, under the window to get as much lighting as she could, her sketchbook splayed open in her lap, dipped quill in hand.

All her life on Illium, she had turned to sketching and tracking to clear her mind. It had started out as nothing more than a hobby, made possible by her endless wanderings in the forest when she needed to escape the village. But the deeper she fell into it, the more she realized what peace it brought her. Not to mention it helped her to make sense of things she didn't understand. She was not always good with people and their emotions — even her own confused her at times. But nature itself was simple, if one was patient enough to take the time to observe and reflect.

She stared at the blank page, flinching at the memories of the Ra'zac. She stared at the scars on her hands, which felt like they were aching under the stress of the memory. She had not felt fear like that in so long. She wasn't sure if she would ever truly feel…right. The scars on her fingers from where they had been broken made that hard enough. Then again, she had not ever truly come to terms with the scars on her back either, and what they signified. So perhaps she hadn't truly been 'right' to begin with.

She swallowed, pressing the quill to the page as she began to let the lines and shadowing drip from her mind to the paper. As she sketched, she mulled over her thoughts quietly. The Ra'zac had recognized her scent, and assumed her to be a magic user. Hal didn't consider herself one, but after the first time she had used it, she had hoped she would never see it again. Until the Ra'zac, she had not produced magic before or after the incident. Had even gone as far as to believe, to hope, that perhaps the first time had been some strange fluke. But even this felt different. The pain the creature exerted on her. She had never before felt like she might physically and mentally break, and it was like the magic had been beating against a wall, a dam so to speak, and after enduring more than she could bear, the dam had cracked and bits had spilled out.

Yet she felt nothing now — although she had no inclination to either. Let those who were properly trained use magic wield it, she had no need.

Hal froze at that thought. Those who were properly trained… Then, she sat up so suddenly that she almost spilled ink on her sheets. She set her book aside, the half-done image of the Ra'zac laid open to dry. She completely forgot to cover her nightgown as she ran out of the room and into where Murtagh was staying, barging in without a second thought.

Mind racing, Hal paid little attention as the rider shot up in bed, gripping a weapon of his own until his eyes adjusted and he recognized her rushing towards him. "Halen? What is it? What's wrong?"

She frowned. "What? Nothing. Put that damn thing away before you take my head off."

He held up his finger like he was prepared to scold her, but he thought better of it, gritting his teeth and lowering his knife. Hal sat down on the edge of his bed and got straight to the point. "Could I be taught how to use magic?"

He blinked, looking seconds from falling back asleep but trying to focus. "I suppose. It's a grueling process, and you'd have to learn the Ancient Language to start. But yes, since you show an affinity for it, I don't see why not."

She inhaled sharply. "So, you'll teach me?"

"No."

He began to roll over, attempting to shut down the conversation. Hal huffed irritably, grabbing his shoulder and making him face her. "Why not?"

"Because it's the middle of the night and I'm feeling quite bitter that you woke me up for this." He frowned as if a thought had crossed his mind. "Why are you up?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said quickly, dismissively, hoping he'd drop it.

He didn't.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"It's nothing. Now back to my original —"

"Don't lie to me, Halen. Tell me you don't want to talk about it. Tell me to shove it up my ass. But don't lie to me. You've been crying."

She fell silent, breathing deeply to center herself. To not get defensive. Admittedly, and perhaps surprisingly, she realized there had been very few things they had actually lied to each other about when trading questions. Annoyed by the truth, Hal looked past his head, trying to appear nonchalant as she said, "I had a bad dream, that's all." But the very nature of it made her shiver, which didn't go unnoticed.

"How bad?"

"Bad enough that I am here instead of in bed asleep, as you may have noticed."

"Was it about what happened to you?"

She shook her head. And he just sat there, waiting. Instead she asked, "Why won't you teach me to use my magic?"

"Because I'm not a teacher. And my teacher was as bad as they come. I'm not the proper —"

"That's not a reason, that's an excuse," Hal fired back. "If anything were to happen —"

"Nothing will happen."

"Then why are you still here," she challenged. "Clearly you can be on your merry way, as there is nothing more for you to worry about here." Murtagh's lips were pursed with the dissatisfaction of how quickly she had unraveled his attempt at nonchalance. "You won't be here forever, rider, at least leave us with a fighting chance should something happen when you're not around!" At least help her not leave behind ruin and destruction in her wake.

"You talk of such things as if this were a simple task, a weekend training. To give you a proper, rudimentary introduction to magic would require months and resources we don't have, not to mention you won't even talk about your magic. And now you want me to teach you how to harness that ability without knowing your history —"

"Why are you so hung up on learning about when, why, and how I've used magic?" Hal snapped. "It's of no concern."

"You treat your magic like you're scared of it, Halen. That's absolutely a concern if I'm to help you. It would be like giving a sword to someone afraid of sharp edges! It's baffling — you act as though you've killed someone."

Hal felt like the earth was tilting underneath her, the blood leaving her face. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her hands growing clammy as the memories began to resurface and take shape. The nausea rose in her throat.

Murtagh looked at her, confused, then stricken with realization. "Oh no. Oh, no, Halen, I'm so —"

He reached for her, but Hal darted out of his room, grief and guilt threatening to seize her. She needed air.

It was all coming back, vivid as if it had unfolded yesterday. The smell of the dirt and grass, wet from the rain. Her bare feet silently following the two figures that had disappeared into the woods. Watching. Horror and realization. She hadn't meant to do it — didn't know she could. Her hand had twitched, a surge of hatred and protectiveness and fear unlike anything she had ever felt, even if she didn't quite understand. And nothing left behind but a body.

Nothing, that is, until she was discovered.

Hal moved towards the forest as fast as her feet would carry her, unaware of where she was going, but it was all too much too fast. But she needed to get away from the hut. She could feel herself about to destruct and she could not be close to the village when it happened.

And then, without warning, she dropped to her knees and threw up in the grass, the putrid smell hitting her almost immediately. Whimpers of pain. Her own or from her memory? She couldn't tell as she heaved again, disgusted as the sour stench of wine hit her. But as her memories resurged with ferocity, she heaved again. And again.

It was her fault. Her fault they were dead. She had unknowingly set events into motion that would take everything from her. Her eyes burned from the smell and anguish. She cradled her stomach, rocking back and forth on her heels, waiting for the desire to throw up to subside.

She heard Murtagh approach from behind her. She squeezed her eyes, her throat raw and burning as she hissed, "Get away from me."

His footsteps paused, and she gasped as sobs racked her body. But he refused to listen, coming closer until he was kneeling down beside her. She felt his hand on her arm and she shirked away from him, wanting to wallow in her own misery like the pathetic cretin she was. She didn't want his comfort. She didn't deserve it. When he reached out again, she threw her hand out, pushing him back vehemently. "I said no!"

She saw him fall back, hitting the ground. A twinge of regret curled in her chest but she forced it down. She hugged herself tightly, loneliness enveloping her like a heavy blanket. And rage. A burning rage that she had never been able to direct at those who deserved it most. So instead, she had always directed it at those who had done nothing but try and help. Denu. Amon. Tena. Everyone.

And now, she would direct it at Murtagh.

"I asked you to leave it alone," she seethed. "I explicitly said I didn't want to talk about it. And you pushed it anyway."

"I know. I didn't think —"

"OBVIOUSLY!" She roared. And there it was. All of her hurt, her misery, her pain from the last few days, the last few years. It was like they had bonded together, morphed into some indistinguishable beast she couldn't even recognize anymore. And she threw all of it at him. "You're so conceited and selfish, it didn't even dawn on you that I didn't want to talk about it because I wasn't ready, did it? But no, you had to push and pry into business that wasn't yours to begin with. All I asked for was your help. So that if the Ra'zac showed up, I could actually defend myself instead of kneel in a pool of my own goddamn piss! But you had to make it about you, as if you're the only person hurting on this damn island. As if you're the only person whose life was destroyed by that godforsaken tyrant."

When she was done, she was practically panting, practically foaming at the mouth. But despite the broken expression in his face as she hurled insult after insult at him, making sure they would stick, she wasn't done. She could feel the words leave her throat, her mind unable to stop them as her desire to spite him took its hold. Despite the pain it would bring her to say the words aloud, despite the suffering she knew she would endure, she wanted to hit him with the truth.

"You want to know the truth so badly, rider? Fine. The truth is: the first time I used magic, I killed a soldier of Galbatorix."

…

Murtagh stared at Halen in the darkness, his throat tight, his heart racing. He still hadn't quite processed the harsh insults she had thrown at him, trying to understand why they stung with every hit he took. So her final revelation left him completely blindsided. He blinked, not knowing what to say, how to feel, or if he should even respond.

Halen eventually turned away from him, making a low sound in the back of her throat, a keening cry of pain that unnerved him. She was curled up, hugging herself so tightly as if to make herself smaller. To disappear from view. From him.

"Halen, tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. How to make this right, and I'll do it."

The fact that his carelessness — heeded only by his irritation at being woken up, of all the stupid reasons — had put her in such a state made him feel like the ass she claimed him to be. He couldn't leave her like this. She was such a distressed wreck he almost feared she may hurt herself.

"Go," she moaned, holding herself and rocking as if to ease the pain.

"What?"

"Just go." He hesitated. "Go!" She repeated, much more firmly. Still, he didn't move. "Leave!"

The venom dripped from her voice, seeped out of her eyes and into his very being. Despite his faults, he could take a hint. He rose to his feet, his jaw tightly clenched in anger and regret. He never meant to hurt her. Never meant to reopen old wounds. He wanted her to know that. Wanted her to know how sorry he was.

"GO!" she screamed. His eyes narrowed, almost challenging, and she screamed at him again. "GO!"

He turned on his heel, her biting screams hitting his back as he left, shoulders hunched against the onslaught. When he was far enough away that she was apparently satisfied he wouldn't stay, he could hear Halen burst into tears, heavy, dreadful sobs filling the air around them, sending chills down his spine. He felt his cheeks grow warm with shame, loathing that he had done this. And as he walked back, the sound of her cries carried him all through the night.