I'm so glad you like it Nightsky. The following chapters should expand on the matter regarding the void and add some interesting tidbits about Eragon. Let's see what the Vault of Souls looks like!
IronMikeTyson, I'm not fond of the Rider bond either. It's an abomination, and it just doesn't do justice to a relationship forged through mutual trust and understanding.
Crolis-Vaden—the half burried city, as Angela called it—was strangely related to the dwarven ruins Arya had glimpsed in the tomes of the Tialdari Hall.
Large, strangely shaped stones, boulders and broken spires lay around her, scattered into piles of rubble. Grime and lichens coated the dilapidated structures, the nature having already claimed these vestiges.
Arya slowly waded through stone chips and mud, carefully placing her feet on the steady stones and avoiding the narrow gaps between them. In front of her, Angela nimbly jumped from one broken pillar to a block of stone, closely followed by Solembum. Seeing her hurdle over the ruins so gracefully unnerved Arya. Such a desolate, puzzling sight deterred peace. Yet it strangely welcomed Angela.
Behind Arya, Eragon huffed gruffly. None of them knew of Angela's plight, the origin of the ruins, or the reason they crossed them. She had barely talked.
Silence demoralized Arya, almost as much as the looming shadow of the mountain they headed to. Eragon's voice had the power to cast this dreary, pressing atmosphere away, yet he wished not to. Being unimportant made Arya redundant to him, like an object kept for too long in a bag. After a tiresome walk, it weighed hard on the owner's back.
Arya wanted not to be a burden to him. When her comforting attempts failed, she felt a deep regret, but never stopped sympathizing with Eragon. What was she, compared to Saphira? A poor replacement. A confused friend Eragon had no need of.
He will change, Arya thought, glancing at his ruffled form. And I will return to him the hope he has lost.
"We already know you," Angela said curtly, eyeing Eragon, "and you are a simple fellow."
Arya trudged her body closer to Eragon. "I know him better."
"Doubts haunt your frail voice," Angela scoffed, frowning.
Arya glared at her, pouring every drop of anger into her unyielding statement. "Eragon was to be my mate. I know him."
Eragon shifted his bleak face towards her. She failed to mend the terrible wound that transformed him. She was aware of her diminishing power, of the scarcity of the words she recklessly said to him. As she looked into his eyes, Arya found nothing. Save for—
What was that? It wasn't desolation that she saw in his eyes, but something else. A fleeting spark of a half faded dream. Was that regret? Or sympathy, maybe nostalgia? Too fast had it faded, but it lasted long enough to fortify her resolve.
"Eragon," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Uncertainty plagues you. I can see it in your barren eyes; feel it in your few, distant words. This is not who you are."
Angela grumbled, but did not interfere.
"Before this treacherous façade lies a bringer of hope. A steadfast defender who conquered misery and ripped it from my decaying form. The warrior within you fights and kills, but a farmer gives life."
She leaned closer to his head, blinking a few times. Being that close to him made her heart thump in her chest, her hands ooze sweat on his shoulder.
"You are not one of them, but both." She stopped talking.
Eragon stared into her eyes. He did not blink, he did not part lips.
Arya shuddered. Arms, stronger than hers, pushed her away.
What was happening? Had she succeeded? Too many things happened at the same time. Hands—his hands—brushed hers off. Cold, brown eyes looked away. Back, she was forced to go. Away from him.
Too many things. Arya felt her temples pounding, ready to burst, to release that huge pressure welling inside her.
She heard Angela laugh.
"The boy needs no useless praise and hope," she said.
Arya wanted to disagree, to do something, but she couldn't. She was now too far from him. She had failed.
Even tears refused to wet her face. So much of a disgrace she ended to be. The frail, scared princess stood away from Eragon, staring dumbly at the rock she sat on. She had no good answer for herself. No purpose remained for her. She felt redundant now. Useless.
Unimportant.
"Your will is shifting and churning like the whistling winds under the dark clouds. Once it settles, it is hard to unearth it."
Angela brutally turned Eragon's head towards her to look him in the eyes. Eragon did nothing.
"Those eyes," she said. "You have a companion. He likes to stay in the eyes because of their dark color. It never left you since it settled."
"That immortality you now possess was not a gift. It stuck within your mind and body long before Saphira hatched. Why, it's quite obvious," she concluded, chuckling. "That stubbornness makes you so unpleasant."
Angela got up, beckoning onwards furiously. "He knows enough," she said.
Arya almost felt herself hovering over the ruins. No longer was she feeling the pebbles under her feet. No longer did she care about the ruins. She had become a ghost, following Angela without a viable reason.
Arya couldn't be bitter after a defeat. She used to be in control, even among her own kin. Humans regarded her warily, and some said she cannot feel. In that life, she wasn't paying attention to defeat. Now, however, the control she held over her feelings snapped. She felt too much, so much that her body felt deadened.
"Solembum will show us where."
Angela's words snapped Arya to her senses. How long had it passed? A moment? A day and night?
They reached the vertical cliff face of the mountain. Arya knew the rock hadn't been the element's doing, for it was too smooth and even. The same steep slopes extended all the way on her right and left, like a bent wall of mud and rock.
The werecat scuttled forward. The reason evaded Arya, but at the same time, she did not care. Much time had already passed. More, it would not matter.
Not long after the werecat began its search, Solembum roared. A strident, shrieking sound that grated Arya's ears.
The section that he placed his forepaws on looked no different from the other. Angela, however, frowned and beckoned at Eragon.
"You stay away," She said, dropping the sack she had been carrying all along. "Solembum will know if you don't."
A side of Arya wanted to stay, but she complied with a simple nod. It was Eragon's quest, not hers.
She watched the werecat dash into the ruins as Eragon approached the smooth, brown surface. Arya assumed it was dirt, but a closer inspection revealed its rocky nature. A tough one at that. She heard not what Angela told him. Her words were too faint.
Then, it was Eragon who uttered something. Arya did not know the meaning, although there was a strange power dwelling within their resonance.
Arya suddenly quivered. In that same moment, both Eragon and Angela disappeared. Was it a teleporting spell of some sort? Eragon possessed the knowledge, but not the strength to carry two.
Stormonyx the Lasting, he said. The name itself made Arya shuddered. She tried to speak it, but something prompted her not to. It was ancient and powerful. Somewhat private.
It was Eragon's True Name.