Eragon took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he exited Sloans home, reaching out with his mind to find Arya. Their bond had deepened over time, allowing him to located the bright glow of her mind with ease. After but a moments effort, he felt the familiar presence of her consciousness.

"Arya," he called softly through the mental connection.

Her response was immediate, though tinged with the weariness of her current task. "Eragon? Is everything alright?"

"I spoke with Sloan," Eragon replied, his thoughts steady. "It went about as expected. I can tell there's still a long way for him to go. He might consider returning if he can resolve things with Roran."

Arya's thoughts turned contemplative. "That is a delicate matter. His return could reopen old wounds, especially for Roran and Katrina. I know not if Birgit still lives. She would have the most to say on the matter. But if he's truly changed, then this could also be a chance for them all to heal. Do you think he's ready?"

"I'm not sure," Eragon admitted. "He's afraid, and it's holding him back. But I think it's time. Roran and Katrina and the rest of Carvahall deserve the truth."

A sense of agreement resonated through their connection, Arya's wisdom as always cutting through the complexity. "I will offer what counsel I can, but it seems this will rest on you, Eragon. You know Roran and Sloan better than anyone else."

Eragon sent a brief acknowledgment before shifting the focus of his mind. "How are things on your end? Are Nasuada and Orik aware of Fiolr's ambitions?"

"They are," Arya replied, a hint of frustration coloring her thoughts. "I've also spoken with Garzvhog and Orin, but this situation requires a deft touch. Nasuada's focus is primarily on ensuring stability, while Orik is concerned about how the elven succession will affect trade and alliances.

Orin's concerns mirror Nasuada's, but he is also wary of Fiolr's views on elven superiority. Garzvhog maintains that as long as the elves don't cause trouble in urgal villages, they care not who the leader is. I think the urgals are wary of appearing too influential politically. They've had their fair share of issues since the war, but as the relative newcomers to polite society, they aren't looking to create waves. I'm working to garner enough support before Fiolr can make another move."

"I trust you'll manage it," Eragon responded, admiration in his thoughts.

She had rallied the four leaders to her side in the same amount of time he had spoken to Sloan.

"In the meantime," Eragon said. "I'll turn my attention back to Haroldun and Dorzada. They need to begin their flight training, and I want to guide them personally."

Arya sent a wave of warmth through their bond, her silent gratitude clear. "Good luck with them. I'll let you know if I make any breakthroughs here."

Eragon ended their mental connection and turned his focus back to the task ahead. After leaving Sloan, he made his way toward the Crags of Tel'naeír, where Saphira and Firnen awaited him. The vast cliffs and rugged terrain were ideal for Haroldun's first flight training, and Eragon could feel the anticipation buzzing between his mind and Saphira's.

When he reached the base of the cliffs, Eragon spotted Saphira and Firnen circling above, their gleaming scales catching the light of the sun. Haroldun and Dorzada stood nearby, with the dwarf visibly tense. Dorzada, however, looked eager—his wings quivered with excitement at the prospect of flying with Haroldun for the first time.

Eragon took a moment to gather his energy, drawing on the sun's warmth and channeling it into his body. With a small push of magic, he floated upward, his body weightless as he rose effortlessly to meet Saphira and Firnen at the top of the cliff.

"Show-off," Saphira teased through their mental bond, but her pride and affection for him were evident. Firnen hummed a deep tone in response, clearly agreeing with her.

Landing softly next to Haroldun and Dorzada, Eragon turned to the young dwarf. "Ready?"

Haroldun, his expression caught between excitement and nerves, nodded. "I think so."

Eragon smiled and placed a hand on Dorzada's shoulder, feeling the deep bond between her and Haroldun. "You'll be fine. Remember to trust Dorzada, and let her guide you. Flying takes more instinct than you think."

Haroldun gave a resolute nod, and Dorzada shifted her wings, preparing for flight. With Eragon's mental coaching, they lifted off, Dorzada's wings catching the wind with ease. Haroldun held tightly at first, but as they rose higher, Eragon could feel his mind relaxing into the rhythm of flight. He sent steady, calming thoughts to guide them as they soared through the air, the Crags of Telnaer stretching below them.

After a while, Saphira took over the instruction, guiding Dorzada with mental cues and offering encouragement in the form of images.

Meanwhile, Eragon turned his attention to Haroldun, guiding him on the proper care for Dorzada. They landed gently, and Eragon led Haroldun through the different plants that grew in the forest, explaining their uses for medicinal care for dragons. He showed him how to clean Dorzada's scales and teeth manually, teaching him the importance of bonding through these routines.

Haroldun, though a bit gruff at times, listened intently, his deep respect for Dorzada evident in his actions.

"You'll learn how to use magic to assist with this later on," Eragon said, smiling. "But first, it's important you understand how to do it without relying on magic. The bond you form with Dorzada through these tasks will make you stronger as Rider and dragon."

Haroldun nodded, determination lighting his eyes as they continued the lesson. Eragon was proud of his progress.

"That's enough for today," Eragon said as the sun began to fade below the horizon. "We'll meet on the sparring fields in the morning."

"Of course Ebrithil." Haroldun bowed his head and took off toward Dorzada, leaping into his saddle.

Excitement and a sense of achievement swirled around his newest student, filling Eragon with pride and nostalgia. He took the time then to appreciate the view of Oromis's hut. It had changed little over the years. A simple structure, but one whose sight triggered dozens of memories. This little hut was where he had woken up after he was transformed at the Agaetí Blödhren. He could still picture his old master watching his progress from the doorway. He wondered then if it still looked the same.

His initial reaction was that it looked much the same. The hut itself could be described as simple yet elegant, reflecting the elven affinity for nature and minimalist beauty. It was built into the natural landscape, seamlessly blending with the surrounding environment, much like other elven structures in Ellesméra. It eminated a sense of peaceful retreat.

Inside, the hut was sparsely furnished as before. The same modest hand-carved furniture sat here even now. The interior still looked freshly polised, with smooth, flowing lines rather than hard angles. There were the simple chairs, the table, and the very same shelves holding books, scrolls, and various elven artifacts. Almost nothing had changed.

The only real difference was that the table was now a shrine of sorts. It appeared elves from Oromis's long life had left poems, histories, and stories about him there. Eragon picked up the first that caught his eye. It was a poem:

In ancient woods, where shadows fall,

Among the Crags, both strong and tall,

There lived a Rider, wise and true,

With golden scales and skies of blue.

Oromis, the silent sage,

A warrior bound by time and age,

Once proud and fierce with blade in hand,

Now frail, yet wise, he makes his stand.

A dragon's bond, though years have passed,

With Glaedr, steadfast to the last,

They hide away from cruelest fate,

In secret halls, they watch and wait.

With hands that tremble, heart so still,

He taught the young to bend their will,

To weave the magic, speak the tongue,

And guard the lands from which they sprung.

But illness marked his aging bones,

A curse of pain that chilled and groaned,

Yet still he stood, though weak of flesh,

A mind unbroken, sharp and fresh.

In Eragon, he placed his hope,

A light to climb the mountain's slope,

For though his strength began to fade,

The wisdom of his soul remained.

Through battle's roar and kingdom's fall,

He gave his counsel, gave his all,

A gentle guide in troubled years,

Whose courage banished doubt and fears.

Now silence claims the Crags once more,

But whispers linger from before,

Of Oromis, the sage, the friend,

Whose legacy shall never end.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he read the carefully crafted poem. In that moment, the pain of losing his master was as fresh as the day he had died. In that moment, without even realizing he was doing it, Eragon inadvertently tapped into his magic with the strength of his emotion. He wanted his master back. He needed his guidance. He wished it with every ounce of his being. All at once, Eragon's energy waned and he felt more exhausted than he had in years. Realizing he was about to faint, but not wanting to stop the magic taking place, Eragon reached for the stored energy in Brisingr, which was significant. It steadied him, and when he opened his eyes, Oromis was standing next to him.

A strange, serene aura surrounded the sage. Eragon, still reeling from the suddenness of the event, blinked in disbelief. Was this real? His hands trembled, the energy from Brisingr still coursing through him, but something felt... incomplete. Oromis, however, didn't move from his position near the ancient table.

"Master?" Eragon asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Oromis looked at him with the same calm, knowing gaze he had held during life. "Eragon," he replied softly, though there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "It appears I am bound to this place."

Eragon's heart raced. He hadn't expected his outpouring of emotion to manifest into anything tangible—let alone the return of his master in such a way. He struggled to understand what had just transpired.

"You can't leave?" Eragon asked, his voice steadier now.

Oromis shook his head, glancing toward the hut and the surrounding cliffs. "I tried. The magic that brought me here seems tied to this place. I am certain I cannot pass beyond the Crags of Tel'naeír, though my mind still can."

Eragon furrowed his brow, glancing at Brisingr. The amount of energy he had gone through was astounding. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't even know this was possible."

Oromis smiled faintly, though the confusion still lingered beneath his expression as his eyes found the poem Eragon had been reading. He smiled and a tear formed before spilling over.

"Magic," he said with emphasis, "especially that born from deep emotion, is unpredictable. You reached into the fabric of Alagaësia's magic, pulling me from beyond, but in doing so, you may have tied me to this land."

The implications of Oromis being bound here hit Eragon hard. It was a miracle that his master had returned, but to have him restricted like this... it felt wrong.

"Do you remember anything before appearing here?" Eragon asked, his mind racing for answers.

Oromis closed his eyes briefly, as if searching his memory. "No... only the battle and then peace. A place beyond pain, beyond conflict. But then I felt your call, and it drew me back."

Eragon swallowed hard. He had unknowingly pulled Oromis back from the afterlife, yet now the sage was tethered to these cliffs, unable to leave. There had to be a way to undo this or, at the very least, to understand its limitations. This wouldn't win him any favors if word got out that he'd accidentally brought someone back from the dead.

"What can we do?" Eragon asked, his voice laced with determination. "We need to understand what has happened—how this magic works."

Oromis nodded, his thoughtful gaze settling on Eragon. "Indeed. We must explore the boundaries of this magic and its source. I suspect it is tied not only to the Crags themselves but to your bond with me and the emotions you wielded in the moment."

Eragon felt a mix of gratitude and guilt, knowing that his deep yearning for guidance had brought his master back in a way neither of them had anticipated. But he knew they had to figure this out. Oromis deserved peace, and if there was any way to untether him, Eragon would find it.

They would spend however long they needed exploring the limits of Oromis's newfound existence, trying to understand the strange, ethereal connection that bound him to the Crags of Tel'naeír.