CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Stillness before the Tempest

Brom's POV

The month since Mark's departure had been a turbulent one, and the weeks following Eragon's journey to Ellesméra with Arya and Orik had been no less eventful. King Hrothgar, in his wisdom—and his stubbornness—insisted that the dwarves deserved representation in Eragon's training. His decision to send Orik was a calculated move, a reminder of the intricate political webs we navigated.

Rumors swirled that the dwarf king had offered to adopt Eragon into his clan, Durgrimst Ingeitum, cementing a bond that would tie the Rider to their people forever. Thankfully, Eragon had the foresight to decline, and my heart swelled with pride that my lessons on the political machinations of the Varden and the dwarves had borne fruit.

Hrothgar had been furious at the refusal, of course. The air in Tronjheim had been heavy with his anger, and when I sought an audience with him, I found him brooding in his throne room. The chamber was grand and imposing, carved into the mountain with runes of power etched into every pillar. The faint glow of enchanted crystals illuminated his stern face as I approached. After listening to his grievances, I posed a simple question: "How would you feel, Your Majesty, if I sought to adopt your son without your consent?" The dwarf king's fiery temper cooled as he mulled it over, and finally, he conceded, though not without a gruff muttering about meddling old men.

With the matter resolved, we spoke more amicably about the Varden's progress. I updated him on our logistics, troop movements, and alliances, though my mind often wandered to the darker issues at hand. Ajihad's ambush haunted me. The memory of his near-death weighed heavily on us all. Had it not been for the silver ring Mark crafted—imbued with complex healing spells—it would have been the end of the Varden's leader. Even the attackers had thought him dead, their gloating echoing in his recollections: the twins, traitorous snakes, ordering the Urgals to strip Murtagh's armor and soak it in blood to fake his death. The thought of Murtagh, alive but captured and now likely enduring unspeakable torment under Galbatorix, was a wound that festered in my heart. No one deserved that fate.

Ajihad had wasted no time declaring the twins traitors. With their betrayal exposed, he turned to me, placing the Du Vrangr Gata—our fledgling group of magicians—under my leadership. Most were amateurs, more concerned with gaining political clout than mastering true magic. Their very name betrayed their ignorance of the ancient language. Still, I took the role. Even diminished, I remained a former Rider, my strength bolstered by the energy Mark had left me. These magicians, for all their flaws, could be honed into a force if guided properly.

Mark… The boy lingered in my thoughts, a puzzle I couldn't piece together. His foresight bordered on the uncanny. How had he known Ajihad would need the enchanted ring? His knowledge of dragons, Galbatorix, and strategies far exceeded what one so young should possess. He claimed divine intervention, and otherworldly knowledge, yet my instincts whispered there was more to him. Answers would come in time, I vowed, but for now, I had responsibilities to shoulder.

Ajihad, after his close encounter with death, had begun preparing for the worst. He worked closely with Nasuada, grooming her to lead the Varden should he fall. She was already handling much of the day-to-day operations, proving herself capable and shrewd. Meanwhile, Jeod's wife, Helen, had orchestrated a trading network in Surda and Tronjheim at Mark's suggestion, her cunning business acumen filling the Varden's coffers. Jeod's grin of pride whenever her name was mentioned was infectious, a rare light in these dark times.

In the wake of Sloan's trial, most of Carvahall's refugees had elected to remain in Surda. Roran, Katrina and a few warriors from the village, remained with the Varden, steadfast in their loyalty. Horst, Elain, and their sons had integrated seamlessly, aiding with Mark's ingenious designs. His horseless caravans—powered by clever mechanisms and a touch of magic—transformed our supply lines, easing the burden of moving the Varden's resources. The sight of those inventions rumbling across the plains was both surreal and inspiring.

Still, my thoughts often returned to Eragon. My son. The scar on his back was a permanent reminder of his suffering, and seeing it had cut deeper than I could ever admit. He bore his pain with courage, but I prayed Ellesméra would offer him healing—not just of his body, but of his spirit. Saphira's presence would be his solace, and I trusted the elves, and my own teachers, Oromis and Glaedr, to guide them both.

The weight of the coming battles pressed on me. Galbatorix loomed large in our future, a shadow that threatened to engulf us all. Yet amid the chaos, there was hope. The Varden was strong, its people resilient, and with Eragon, Saphira, and Mark's return on the horizon, I felt the stirrings of possibility. The pieces were moving into place, and though the road ahead would be fraught with peril, I clung to the belief that we could prevail.

Ajihad approached me with his usual commanding presence, his expression a mixture of weariness and determination. "How go the preparations?" he asked, his voice low but firm. His dark eyes bore into mine as if he could extract the answers by sheer will.

I set aside the parchment I'd been studying and met his gaze. "Soon," I replied evenly.

"Good," he muttered, sinking into the chair across from me. His posture was rigid, his hands resting on the armrests as if ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. The air between us crackled with unspoken urgency, a shared understanding of the monumental tasks that lay ahead.

The room was a modest one by Ajihad's standards, with walls of polished stone and a single tapestry depicting the Varden's emblem hanging behind my desk. The faint hum of activity from the corridors beyond reminded me of the constant motion of our forces. The accommodation was a gift from King Orrin, the King of Surda. Outside, Nasuada was working tirelessly with Helena to manage logistics. I had assigned Trianna to oversee the Du Vrang Gata, a task that kept her and her magicians occupied with their endless squabbles and petty displays of power.

Ajihad leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze softening for a moment. "Any word from the Hornbreaker?" The nickname hung in the air like an unwanted guest, and I could feel the faint flicker of irritation it sparked within me. Mark had earned that title during the battle of Tronjheim, though he despised it, and I understood why.

I shook my head. "No, nothing yet. He mentioned he'd be gone for two months, so I'm not worried—yet. As for Eragon and Saphira, no word from the elves either, but that's to be expected. Still…" My voice trailed off, and I felt the familiar pang of concern settle in my chest.

Ajihad's lips quirked into a wry smile, though his eyes betrayed a shared worry. "I know your pain, my friend. To see your child hurt; to feel powerless to protect them… any father would struggle with that."

Before I could reply, Jörmundur entered the room, bowing respectfully. "My lord," he addressed Ajihad.

Ajihad's gaze snapped to him, sharp and attentive. "What is it, Jörmundur?"

Jörmundur hesitated, his expression grave. "Do you recall the child Eragon blessed?"

I felt the muscles in my jaw tighten as I pressed my fingertips against my temple. The memory of that disastrous attempt still burned fresh in my mind. The girl Eragon tried to bless; I corrected him in my mind. Eragon had botched that spell, and I feared we were about to deal with the consequences.

Ajihad turned back to Jörmundur, his brow furrowed. "What about her?"

"She… someone has requested your presence, my lord. And Brom's as well."

Ajihad's confusion was evident. "Requested? By whom? And for what purpose?"

Jörmundur explained how he'd been approached by a boy in the fields, one whose description strongly suggested he was no ordinary child. The mention of the werecat that often-accompanied Angela sent a shiver of unease through me. Ignoring a werecat was unwise, even for someone as seasoned as Ajihad.

Ajihad glanced at me, and I shrugged, suppressing my own reluctance. Angela's involvement always felt like stepping into a storm, unpredictable and possibly treacherous.

"Very well," Ajihad sighed, standing. "Let's meet this child."

The walk through the corridors to King Orrin's guest quarters was uneventful but charged with tension. The king was an eccentric figure, obsessed with his alchemical pursuits, which I found both amusing and troubling. As we approached the designated room, Jörmundur knocked on the door.

A voice from within demanded identification. Jörmundur responded, and after a brief exchange of a secret code—a practice I found both tedious and necessary—the door creaked open.

The room was unsettling. The walls and ceiling were draped in heavy, dark fabric, giving the space an oppressive, cave-like atmosphere. The air was chill, almost biting, and the faint glow of dwarf lanterns cast eerie, shifting colors across the room. A black mesh curtain separated the entryway from the main chamber, and brushing it aside, we stepped into a starkly barren space.

Angela stood in one corner, flanked by the werecat, whose hackles were raised in unmistakable warning. A bent crone sat beside them, her eyes glinting with unsettling awareness. At the room's center knelt a child—a pale girl no older than three or four, her small fingers picking delicately at a platter of food in her lap.

Ajihad broke the silence, his voice laced with confusion. "Where is the baby?"

The girl raised her head, and the room seemed to freeze. Her violet eyes gleamed with a wisdom far beyond her years, and the dragon mark on her brow glowed faintly in the dim light. Her lips curled into a smile that was both eerie and knowing.

"I am Elva," she said, her voice soft yet commanding, carrying a weight that seemed to reverberate through the air.

Ajihad gasped, and I felt my stomach churn. Damn it, Eragon. My frustration flared anew as I realized the depth of his mistake. Whatever he'd intended with that spell, this was the result—a child transformed into something far more than she should have been.

As Ajihad engaged the girl in conversation, his tone cautious but probing, I stood back, observing the scene with growing dread. The weight of cleaning up my son's mess pressed heavily on my shoulders. This was not going to be easy.

Galbatorix's POV

The boy's screams echoed through the cold, unyielding stone of the chamber, laced with raw defiance. "Never! I will never surrender to you!" His voice, though hoarse and cracked, carried a determination that even the unrelenting agony could not extinguish. Murtagh was a marvel of resilience, though his body betrayed his suffering—his weakened form trembling, blood pooling around him in a dark, crimson stain that seeped into the cracks of the floor.

I leaned back in my seat, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It had been a month of this relentless game, and still, he refused to bend. Most others would have shattered by now, their spirits crushed beneath the weight of my will, but not Murtagh. Not yet.

A chuckle escaped me as I tightened my mental grip, thrusting deeper into his memories. I twisted my blade of thought into the most vulnerable recesses of his mind, probing for weaknesses, exploiting old wounds, yet he endured. He bled, he wept, but he did not yield. A flicker of admiration sparked within me—an emotion I quickly smothered. His strength was infuriating, yes, but also useful. It was a quality I could mold, one that would make him a valuable weapon once he broke.

The surviving Ra'zac skittered around the edges of the chamber, their clicking mandibles a constant, unnerving reminder of their presence. Their oily forms slithered closer, administering the seithr oil that had reduced so many to gibbering wrecks. But Murtagh? He merely shivered, his muscles convulsing with each application, yet his spirit stood tall, refusing the sweet release of surrender.

Through chattering teeth, he let out a laugh, weak but mocking. "Save yourself the trouble, Galbatorix," he rasped, each word a labored effort. "Kill me now. I will never swear fealty to you."

I tilted my head, feigning sweetness in my tone as I leaned closer. "Oh, my dear boy, why would I ever do that?" My voice was honeyed, soft yet laced with menace. "You have no idea the wonderful plans I have in store for you."

His trembling grew worse, whether from the cold floor, his injuries, or the chilling implications of my words, I could not tell. He coughed violently, his body convulsing as blood flecked his lips. Despite his condition, he raised his eyes to meet mine, his gaze defiant, though his strength faltered.

"What plans?" he croaked, barely audible.

I allowed myself a grin, sharp and predatory. "You shall be my reckoning, Murtagh. You will destroy the Varden, strike down their meddlesome leaders, and deliver Eragon, Saphira, and…" My smile widened, my voice dripping with mockery. "That boy they call the Hornbreaker."

The mention of the name caused his eyes to widen, and a fit of coughing wracked his body. "Impossible…" he whispered through ragged breaths. "Mark alone… I've seen what he can do. He's—he's unstoppable. And Eragon… and Saphira…"

His words trailed off, but his doubt lingered in the air. I let out a low chuckle, savoring his moment of despair. "Ah, yes. Mark." I leaned back, steepling my fingers. "The boy is strong; I'll grant you that. His little 'airship,' as he calls it, is intriguing. Ingenious, even. But did you really think I wouldn't take note of its workings? You spoke too freely around him, dear Murtagh. He revealed much in his arrogance."

The faintest flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. I continued, reveling in my triumph. "Even now, I have instructed my smiths and craftsmen to construct a ship of my own for my general, Lord Barst. All that remains is a suitable power source. The boy may have discovered an Eldunarí to fuel his contraption, and augment his powers, but I have hundreds. Hundreds, Murtagh. And I will use them to show him—and all others—the true meaning of power."

I could see the turmoil in his eyes, the conflict tearing at his already battered soul. He was faltering, his belief in the inevitability of his rebellion crumbling under the weight of my words. I allowed the silence to stretch, letting my dominance suffuse the room like a choking fog.

"You see," I said at last, my voice soft, almost kind, "you have no choice but to serve me. Your resistance is admirable, but futile. The Varden will fall. Eragon and Saphira will kneel. Even your beloved Mark will learn his place. And you, Murtagh… you will help make it happen."

He turned his head away, his breath ragged, his body shivering violently. Yet still, he muttered, "I'll… never…"

I leaned in closer, my shadow engulfing him. "Oh, you will, Murtagh. You will."

The chamber was cold, the air thick with the scent of blood, seithr oil, and despair. The Ra'zac hissed softly in the background, eager for their next meal. But I remained patient. Breaking a strong spirit required time, effort, and precision. And when Murtagh finally shattered, when his defiance crumbled to ash, he would be mine.

I smiled. This was only the beginning.

From my throne, the echoes of the boy's screams lingered in the vast halls as his unconscious body was dragged away. I waved a hand lazily, summoning the healers. "Tend to him," I commanded. "Make him whole again, we continue tomorrow." Their hurried footsteps barely registered as I leaned back, fingers steepled in thought. Victory was near. Murtagh's resistance was admirable, yes, but futile. He teetered on the precipice of surrender, and soon, he would belong to me.

The chamber fell silent as Shruikan stirred, his massive bulk shifting in the shadows, his blue eyes glinting with predatory interest. "Peace, Shruikan," I spoke, mentally, his growl tapering off into a low rumble. His thoughts, ever a chaotic storm of fury and pain, brushed against mine. Shruikan's rage was eternal, but it served me well.

Destiny's hand was at work—of that, I was certain. Murtagh, as Morzan's spawn, was meant to be a rider, the red egg was meant for him, just as Saphira's blue shell had hatched for Eragon. Brom's whelp had been an unpredictable twist of fate, but this... This alignment of bloodlines and circumstances was far more intriguing. I laughed softly to myself. Yes, the egg would hatch, and with it, Murtagh's will would become mine.

I descended into the vault, the air thick with magic and the scent of old stone. My footsteps echoed as I approached the pedestal where the crimson egg rested. It gleamed under the enchanted light, its surface a kaleidoscope of fiery reds and oranges. I cradled it in my hands, feeling the latent energy within. This would be the key, the final strike to break the boy's resolve.

Back in the throne room, I placed the egg beside me. Its presence was a silent promise, a harbinger of what was to come. The days passed as I planned my next move, studying the ancient language, its secrets still elusive despite my century of mastery. The egg remained a constant companion, its destiny entwined with the boy's.

Finally, the night arrived. My servants had cleaned Murtagh and dressed him in simple, yet refined garments. The long dining hall was prepared, the table set with an array of delicacies—wine that glinted ruby-red in golden goblets, meats roasted to perfection, and bread still warm from the ovens. At the head of the table, I sat, the egg hidden from sight but ever-present in my mind.

When Murtagh entered, led by a servant, he was a shadow of his former self. Yet even in his battered state, his eyes burned with defiance. I gestured to the chair at my right hand. "Sit, boy," I said smoothly. To my left sat Barst, his hulking frame filling the space with an air of menace. The general's expression was as sour as ever, his disdain for Murtagh barely concealed. The tension between them was palpable, but neither dared speak out of turn.

Pouring wine into my goblet, I broke the silence. "Well, Murtagh, tonight you shall swear fealty to me," I began, my tone light, almost conversational. "And after you do, you will be my sword and shield, my instrument against the Varden." His silence was predictable, but his clenched jaw betrayed the war raging within him.

Barst's calculating gaze flitted between us, ever the strategist. I tilted my head, studying Murtagh. "You and I could play this game for years, but why waste such precious time?" I said with a faint smile. "I have a solution—a way to end this here and now."

From beneath the table, I revealed the egg, setting it before him with deliberate care. Murtagh's eyes widened, his breath hitching as recognition dawned. "That... will never work," he rasped. "The egg, it will not hatch for me."

"Ah, but you underestimate destiny, my dear boy," I replied, my voice brimming with confidence. I leaned forward, the egg between us like a ticking clock. As if on cue, the shell began to quiver, faint at first, then with growing intensity. Murtagh's disbelief was almost tangible, his expression a mixture of shock and something he desperately tried to suppress—fear and anger.

The egg cracked, a thin fracture splitting its surface. Then, with a final shudder, it shattered. A hatchling emerged, its crimson scales shimmering in the light, raw and unformed but breathtakingly beautiful. The creature blinked up at Murtagh, its eyes filled with curiosity and an undeniable connection.

"See?" I said, my voice triumphant. "Even the dragon agrees with me, it chooses you." Grasping Murtagh's hand, I forced it to the dragon's snout. The boy yelped as the bond took hold, the dragon curling onto his chest as he collapsed into unconsciousness. The room was silent save for the soft breaths of the hatchling, now perched protectively atop its new rider.

Barst raised an eyebrow, his disdain of Murtagh giving way to grudging respect. I leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on my lips. "Good," I murmured to myself. "Now he will finally break, he will be mine."

Plans began to crystallize in my mind. With Murtagh bonded to his dragon and the twins enhanced, the Varden would crumble under my might. Eragon, Saphira, and even this enigmatic Mark would fall before my servants. The age of resistance was over. The true age of the riders had begun.

Mark's POV

Two months. Two brutal, unrelenting months. Looking back, I thought Brom's training was merciless, but Valinor and Erukar's methods? They were on an entirely different level, bordering on inhuman. From dawn until well past dusk, they pushed me beyond anything I thought possible. Each session was a battlefield—mental, physical, and magical—designed to break me and rebuild me stronger. The other Eldunarí were no passive observers either; they regularly intervened to share their ancient wisdom or critique my every move. Their guidance was invaluable, though their standards were impossibly high.

It was Erukar who had suggested a new approach. "Hatchlings," he had said, his voice resonating like the echoes of mountains, "You must learn to defend against many minds at once. Galbatorix's strength lies in overwhelming his enemies with the many Eldunarí in his possession, you must be ready to weather his might when you face him, our collective might is but a puddle in comparison to the river he is, but it will give you an idea of what you will face."

So it began. Olympia and I stood against all ten Eldunarí, their minds like a tidal wave crashing against our defenses. At first, we were hopelessly outmatched, our barriers crumbling under their collective assault. The initial defeats stung, but they were lessons. With every session, we adapted, growing stronger and more synchronized. Soon, we not only held our ground but began to push them back, even subduing their attacks—though it took everything we had.

Then they upped the stakes.

Olympia joined their ranks, and I stood alone, facing eleven dragon minds. Alone against such ancient and powerful intellects, it felt like standing in the eye of a storm, with chaos tearing at me from every direction. But the fire forged me. My mental discipline became sharper than any blade. If Durza were to rise again, I felt confident I could dismantle him with ease. Galbatorix? That was another matter entirely.

While Olympia and I honed our minds, Kargvek and Nadara underwent their own transformations. Kargvek, despite lacking magical talent, proved to be a quick learner. The Eldunarí taught him to guard his mind, a crucial skill in our battles ahead. They also instructed him in the histories of Alagaësia, literacy, and various combat styles. By the end of our time on Vroengard, he was nearly my equal in battle—a fact I didn't admit lightly.

Nadara, on the other hand, was a revelation. Part Urgal, part Human, she possessed an innate affinity for magic that rivaled even the elves. Her progress in the ancient language was staggering, and she absorbed lessons with the fervor of a parched traveler at a well. She chose a staff as her weapon, using it to channel her formidable magic with precision. Watching her fight was like witnessing a dance—graceful yet devastating.

There were personal victories as well. The Eldunarí shared with me the knowledge to craft Kargvek a new arm and leg. Using ancient songs of creation, I shaped flesh and bone from magic itself. When Kargvek took his first steps with his new limbs, his joy was overwhelming. He embraced me, tears streaming down his face, and for once, even the Eldunarí radiated a quiet, contented warmth.

Meanwhile, Olympia grew—literally. Through spells of accelerated growth taught by the Eldunarí, she was now larger than Saphira had been when we left for the island. Her new size came with challenges; she struggled to adjust to her heightened senses and newfound strength. But with the Eldunarí's guidance, she began to master her evolving form. Olympia and Nadara became fast friends, their laughter often echoing through the halls as they shared stories and dreams.

Kargvek and I grew closer too. He looked to me as an older brother, seeking advice in moments of doubt or asking endless questions about the world outside Vroengard. Nadara and I shared a different bond—teasing banter that belied the deeper feelings I was beginning to harbor for her. She was kind, wise, and unflinchingly brave. I valued her friendship too much to risk it by confessing my feelings. Olympia, ever perceptive, advised me to wait until the time felt right.

In the first month, we began an ambitious project: a new ship. No more wood. No more vulnerability. This time, we would craft something truly extraordinary. Using the island's rich metal ores, we shaped and refined the hull with spells, creating a vessel that could withstand the harshest conditions—even the void of space.

The Eldunarí were curious about our intentions. "Why take such precautions, Hatchlings?" one asked.

I explained, detailing the myriad dangers of space: cosmic radiation, freezing temperatures, the vacuum that could rip the breath from your lungs, pressure differentials, lack of gravity. They listened intently, then offered spells and enchantments to shield us from these threats.

The result was breathtaking. The ship, christened Achilles by Olympia, resembled a smaller version of the Star Wars Super Star Destroyer—sleek, imposing, and powerful. At 400 meters long, it was almost three times the size of my old airship, its hull a fusion of steel and enchantments. A massive gem, ten times the size of the Golden Heart, sitting in the center of the ship, using the hulls as a sort of solar panel, powered it—a feat of magical engineering that drained all of us but was worth the effort.

Inside, the ship was as magnificent as its exterior. The ceilings were high enough to accommodate Olympia's size, with the lower deck housing quarters that contained a dining hall, bathrooms, and sleeping area for 50 people, a sprawling cargo bay, a large forge, a medical bay, and a grand hall with a round table fit for a Rider's assembly. The upper deck housed a cockpit outfitted with scrying mirrors and controls to pilot the ship, luxurious private quarters with amenities for 10 riders and dragons almost twice as big as Olympia, and a serene garden illuminated by sunlight streaming through a vast glass dome. Every detail was meticulously crafted to be both functional and beautiful.

Finally, the Achilles was ready. It felt like more than a ship—it was a fortress, a sanctuary, and a symbol of everything we had built together. But before we could return to the Varden, one task remained: obtaining bright steel.

The thought of dealing with the Menoa Tree sent a shiver down my spine. Olympia agreed. Space, with all its dangers, seemed the more sensible choice. Together, we would brave the stars, ready to face whatever awaited us.

The Achilles roared to life as we ascended from Vroengard, its thrusters a harmonious blend of raw power and intricate spellwork. The ship moved faster than anything I'd ever piloted, its sleek, reinforced hull cutting through the air with grace. Every enchantment, every carefully woven spell, hummed in sync, a testament to the relentless effort we'd poured into this project. The cockpit thrummed with energy, and a sense of collective pride filled the air.

Valindor's voice resonated through the room. "Congratulations, Hatchlings. Your craft is a marvel. Your ingenuity truly knows no bounds."

I glanced at Olympia, who sat beside me, her massive purple form somehow managing to radiate smug satisfaction. Through our mental link, I could sense her pride, particularly in her prized creation—the colossal railgun mounted along the ship's underside.

"Everyone played a part," she said humbly, though I knew how much of herself she'd poured into that weapon. With the help of Erukar and the Eldunarí, she'd managed to replicate electromagnetism using spells, a feat I still barely understood. "But," she added in my mind, "you're the one who brought it all together little brother."

Valindor let out a low chuckle, her excitement palpable. "To think, we're about to break through to the stars. When we had bodies, we never dreamed of flying so high."

The other Eldunarí chimed in, their tones varying from nostalgic to awestruck. It struck me how extraordinary this journey was for all of us. These beings, ancient and wise, were experiencing something entirely new.

As the Achilles climbed higher, the cockpit fell quiet, each of us lost in our thoughts. Olympia nudged me mentally, a reminder to cast a spell to negate g-forces. "Wouldn't want anyone blacking out before the fun starts," she teased.

The ship broke through the atmosphere, and suddenly, the vast expanse of space surrounded us. The darkness was alive with stars, their light a sharp contrast against the infinite void.

Kargvek, pressed against the glass, stared wide-eyed at the planet below. "The world… it's round," he whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "The elders always told us it was flat, but this…"

Nadara stood beside him, her golden eyes reflecting the brilliance of the view. She said nothing, but the wonder etched across her face spoke volumes.

Olympia's voice brushed against my mind, soft but amused. "Look at them, their entire belief system is being challenged, we take so much for granted, don't we? What we view as rudimentary, for them, this challenges everything they've been taught."

I nodded, sharing her sentiment. The Eldunarí seemed less shaken, their logic-driven minds better equipped to handle this revelation. Still, even they radiated a quiet awe.

"We're looking for asteroids rich in metals," I explained aloud and mentally, breaking the silence. The Eldunarí, ever curious, asked a flurry of questions about our methods and objectives.

Olympia and I guided the ship towards two promising targets, the Eldunarí assisting in scanning for their unique properties.

The first asteroid yielded a massive deposit of bright steel. The second contained metals the Eldunarí had never encountered. Aethyra, one of the oldest among them, suggested we keep it for further study. Her voice, warm and wise, carried a reverence for discovery that mirrored our own.

As we secured our findings and prepared to return, Nadara broke the silence. "Mark, please tell me, how… how are you and Olympia so good at this?" she asked, her voice tinged with awe and curiosity. "You understand things that leave us questioning everything we know, you behave as if to you this is another normal day and nothing extraordinary is happening. Are you perhaps, fallen gods."

I hesitated, glancing at Olympia. She met my gaze, her green eye fixed on me as her mental voice urged, "Tell them."

I took a deep breath. "We're not gods," I began, turning to Nadara and Kargvek. "We're from another world."

Nadara nodded slowly. "I know this. You mentioned this when we first met," she murmured.

I continued, explaining how our world lacked magic, how we relied on science and technology to achieve what seemed impossible here. "The knowledge we use—it's not divine. It's just… Science. Chemistry, physics, maths, we combine all that with the magic from this land, the results produced exceed anything dreamed up from both worlds individually."

Kargvek's brow furrowed as he processed this. Then, his youthful curiosity sparked. "In your world, did you have warriors? Legends of note?"

I rolled my eyes, a grin tugging at my lips. "Man, sometimes, I forget how young you are," I teased.

Olympia chuckled; her mental voice filled with amusement. "Oh, buddy, do I have tales for you. Let's start with one I know you will like—Achilles." She launched into the story, her dramatic retelling captivating Kargvek, who hung on every word.

Nadara, however, remained quiet. Her golden eyes were distant, lost in thought. I moved to sit beside her as the ship maintained its steady course. "Hey," I said softly. "What's wrong?"

She glanced at me, her expression vulnerable. "The more I learn, the more I realize how ignorant I've been. I've been moving through the world with my head stuck in the sand."

I took her hand, meeting her gaze. "You're not ignorant," I said firmly. "You're the most inquisitive person I've ever met. Even before the Eldunari taught you, you sought answers, tried to understand how things worked. That's not ignorance—that's brilliance. If you were in my world, you'd fit right in."

I decided to lighten the tension in the air, letting a playful smile tug at my lips. "You know," I said, my tone teasing, "come to think of it, you would not fit in, your breathtaking beauty would surely turn heads everywhere."

Her golden eyes widened for a heartbeat before a faint blush colored her cheeks. She laughed softly, the sound like a warm breeze cutting through the weight of space and secrets. "Oh, stop it," she said, playfully shoving my shoulder. But there was a glimmer of something in her gaze—a mixture of shyness and gratitude—that lingered even as she looked away.

She glanced back at me, her expression softening. "Thank you, Mark," she said quietly, her voice carrying a sincerity that struck me to my core. "It's good that we're friends."

I felt my chest tighten, the steady beat of my heart now pounding loudly in my ears. I held her gaze, my lips curving into a smile. "Yes," I replied, the words heavy with unspoken emotion, "it really is good."

My pulse quickened, and I knew I couldn't let this moment slip away. This was the time—the perfect time—to tell her what I'd been holding back. I drew a deep breath, steeling myself, my gaze fixed on her as the words formed in my mind.

But just as I opened my mouth, the ship trembled, a subtle shudder coursing through its frame as we pierced the planet's atmosphere. The change in pressure and the roaring sound of reentry jolted me back to the present. My eyes darted to the controls, and instinct took over.

"I—uh—hold that thought," I stammered, rising quickly and making my way to the cockpit. My fingers danced across the console as I adjusted the ship's trajectory, ensuring a smooth descent. The cloaking spell activated seamlessly, rendering us invisible as we neared the island.

Behind me, I could still feel her presence, her gaze lingering. The moment had slipped through my fingers, but the emotions swirling in my chest remained, unspoken yet undeniable.

The ship roared through the atmosphere, the shimmering flames licking at its surface as the protective spells kept the heat at bay. Inside, the cockpit was tense with anticipation but devoid of panic, thanks to the meticulous explanations we had given everyone about what to expect during reentry. The Achillies, a vessel born from a blend of our Earth knowledge and Alagaësian magic, was a marvel to behold, cutting through the sky with unyielding determination. Each spell hummed with life; the ship seemingly alive as it embraced the fiery descent.

As we broke through the atmosphere, the landscape of Vroengard unfurled below us, a tapestry of ruins and verdant wilds. The ship's landing was smooth, almost reverent, as it touched down on the hallowed ground of the Riders' old domain. Everyone onboard moved with purpose, their eyes shining with the thrill of discovery. The Eldunarí, their radiant presences brimming with ancient wisdom, shared in the collective excitement as we prepared to examine the newly acquired metals.

The analysis began immediately, with Olympia at the helm of our research efforts. Her glee was palpable as she oversaw the separation and categorization of the mysterious ore and the brightsteel. While the Eldunarí contributed their vast knowledge, Olympia and I relied on the ingenuity honed from our previous world. Brightsteel weapons and armor took shape under our hands, their craftsmanship a testament to the synergy of magic and technology.

Kargvek, who had become enamored with Earth's tales of ancient warriors, eagerly awaited his new equipment. I poured every ounce of skill into forging him armor reminiscent of the Greek designs I'd worn during the Battle of Tronjheim. The cuirass was sturdy yet elegant, its golden hue glinting in the sunlight, and the helmet was a masterpiece, accommodating his horns while evoking the imagery of a warrior king. His weapon—a massive two-handed axe with a broad head reminiscent of a fireman's tool—exuded raw power. Kargvek's grin stretched wide as he tested its heft, clearly envisioning himself as a hero in the stories he loved.

Nadara opted for practicality, her preferences leaning toward mobility and precision. Her armor was understated yet beautiful: enchanted leather paired with a golden brightsteel cuirass and tassets, the metal gleaming in her favorite shade of gold. Her weapon, a brightsteel staff with retractable scythe blades at either end, was a marvel of engineering and magic. Watching her twirl the staff with fluid grace was mesmerizing, though the sheer complexity of its design baffled me. Olympia's laughter filled my mind as she remarked that Nadara's simplicity was deceptive—she had an uncanny knack for mastering the unconventional.

My own preparations were a labor of love. The sword I forged was a reflection of my bond with Olympia—a purple hand-and-a-half blade that shimmered with iridescent enchantments. The hilt, wrapped in gold wire, rested comfortably in my grip, and the pommel housed a power crystal that absorbed sunlight to store energy, a contingency for battles yet to come. The blade itself was a hybrid of elegance and utility, its design blending the best of both worlds.

The armor I crafted for myself was equally unique. It was lighter than my previous designs, combining supple leather with brightsteel chainmail that gleamed in shifting hues of purple and green. The cuirass bore a roaring dragon emblem—a symbol of the Riders' resurgence—the shaped gem serving as a power crystal. The design was a modern interpretation of classic plate armor, balancing protection with mobility. The helmet was an imposing full-face piece, its Roman-inspired visage enchanted to emit a menacing red glow and deepen my voice, an addition Olympia insisted on for its psychological impact. "Let it Inspire fear in your enemies," she said with a mischievous mental grin.

As we stood back to admire our work, Olympia approached me with a mental whisper. "The ship's power source is essentially a near-infinite reservoir of magical energy," she noted. "As long as we remain near it, we'll have access to its strength."

Valinor and Erukar, ever the wise, agreed. "It is both a seat of power and symbolic," Erukar said, his mental tone contemplative. "It represents the rebirth of the Riders and the strength they shall wield."

Privately, Olympia's thoughts flickered to me. "Sure, it's nearly impenetrable to most magicians, due to our enchantments of protection," she mused, "but if Galbatorix were to get this, with the Word of Power, he could exploit it."

I nodded grimly. "So, to defeat him at his own game, we—"

"—must uncover the true name of the ancient language," Olympia finished, her voice tinged with urgency. "Which means we need to find the Grey Folk or any knowledge of them."

Her mental gasp stopped me in my tracks. "Tenga!" when I looked at her in confusion, she continued, "Think about it," she said, excitement bubbling in her tone. "In the books, Eragon mentioned Tenga's library held knowledge even the elves lacked. If anyone could point us toward the Grey Folk, it's him."

I agreed, though the thought of bartering with the eccentric hermit was daunting. "We'll need something of immense value to trade for that kind of knowledge."

Olympia's mental grin was sly. "Oh, we have it. Our knowledge, specifically the concept of absorbing light to create energy—that will catch his interest."

Our plans began to crystallize as we stood in the shadow of the Achillies, the enormity of our mission settling over us. This was more than a battle against Galbatorix—it was the forging of a new legacy for the Riders and the world.

It was a late afternoon, the sky streaked with vibrant hues of gold and amber as the sun prepared to descend. Two weeks had passed since we harvested the brightsteel from the depths of space. The atmosphere within the Achillies was one of quiet determination. The Eldunarí rested securely in the cockpit with Nadara, their ancient wisdom humming faintly in the back of my mind, while Kargvek practiced relentlessly in the lush garden atop the ship. His movements were fluid and powerful, a reflection of the discipline he had honed over countless training sessions.

Meanwhile, Olympia and I soared through the skies on one of our regular flights. Each session was a perfect blend of exercise and a chance to refine our synergy in the air, ensuring I could read every subtle shift in her movements—a necessity for the inevitable battles to come. The air was crisp, the wind whipping past us as Olympia's massive wings cut through the heavens. Her scales shimmered in the fading sunlight, a dazzling mosaic of deep purples and golds.

"Mark," Olympia's voice echoed in my mind, gentle yet laced with an unspoken tension. "What exactly are we up against? I mean after Galbatorix. I see the turmoil I your mind, and I heard something from Angvard, but I wasn't truly paying attention."

Her question wasn't unexpected, yet it stirred the weight of Angvard's warnings in my chest. I exhaled slowly and told her of the looming shadow Angvard had described—a threat far surpassing even Galbatorix in its magnitude. For a moment, silence enveloped us, broken only by the rhythmic beating of her wings.

"Do you really think we stand a chance? We cant even defeat Galbatorix now." she asked after a pause, her tone carrying both skepticism and a hint of fear. "Did you see how Eragon struggled to defeat him? And let's not forget—it was sheer luck that saved him."

I chuckled softly, the sound a mixture of amusement and defiance. "If strength alone isn't enough, then we'll find another way. There's always a way, and when the greater threat arrives, we will be ready."

Olympia seemed to consider this, her mental presence nodding in agreement. Then, with a shift in mood, she added, "I can't wait to meet Saphira and see how she reacts to me."

Her excitement was infectious, and I grinned. "She's probably going to want to know where you came from."

Olympia's reply came swiftly, her tone tinged with mischief. "No other explanation will satisfy them logically, so we'll tell them I was a gift from the gods. There's no need to bring up Vroengard just yet. Galbatorix must never learn of it."

"Agreed," I said firmly.

Olympia's voice turned playful again. "Enough of the grim topics. So, tell me—how's your friendship with Nadara? Has she shown interest in you, romantically, I mean."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Shouldn't you be the one telling me? You two being best friends for life? Sometimes I think she's your Rider, not me."

Her mental laughter rang out, light and teasing. "Oh, don't be jealous, little brother."

For the next hour, we flew in comfortable camaraderie, the conversation drifting to lighter topics. She teased me about my "almost" love life, and we discussed Angela's cryptic prophecy. Olympia, ever the pragmatist, dismissed the prophecy's ambiguity as a reason to tread carefully.

Suddenly, a mental shout from Valinor shattered the tranquility. "Hatchlings, come quick! We have trouble. Your friends scry you; they need your assistance."

Without hesitation, we turned back toward the Achillies. Olympia folded her wings and dove, pulling energy from the saddle's power crystal to increase her speed. The saddle's enchantments were a point of contention among the Eldunarí at first. They had argued that using enhancements in combat was dishonorable. Olympia, however, had been resolute.

"Galbatorix used your honor against you. That's why he won," she had said, her tone unwavering. "I'll need every advantage when the time comes to face Shruikan."

Reluctantly, they had conceded, and we had sung the enchantments into the saddle. Now, those very enhancements propelled us at breakneck speeds toward the massive airship hovering above the horizon.

We landed on the Achillies, the ship vibrating faintly with power as it prepared to depart. Olympia and I headed straight to the cockpit, where the scrying mirrors flickered with activity. Brom's weathered face appeared in the central mirror, his expression both relieved and grim.

"Mark, it's good to see you, my boy," he greeted me.

I leaned closer, the tension in his voice setting me on edge. "What's wrong, Elda Brom? Has Galbatorix finally attacked? Are Eragon and Saphira safe? Is the Varden safe?"

Though I knew Eragon's transformation should have strengthened him, worry still gnawed at me. Brom waved off my concerns.

"Eragon is fine. He's on his way to join us at the Burning Plains. But Galbatorix's forces have been spotted. They'll arrive tomorrow afternoon, and his army far outnumbers ours. Worse, he has an airship identical to yours."

A chill ran through me. The realization struck like a thunderbolt. "Murtagh," I whispered. Galbatorix must have tortured the information out of him.

My resolve hardened. "We'll come to the Burning Plains. We'll be there in a day."

Brom nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Thank you, Mark. We'll hold out until you arrive."

As the scrying mirror faded to black, Olympia moved closer, her massive head nearly brushing the control panels. Her green eye fixed on me.

"I guess it's time for our grand entrance, eh?" she said with a sly grin in her voice.

I chuckled, patting her scaled cheek. "It's time, sis."

Kargvek stepped into the room, his tunic stretched taut over his muscled frame. "This is it," he said, a wide grin splitting his face. "The time has come to write our legend and become heroes."

I smirked at his enthusiasm. "Yes, Kargvek. This time, you'll be fighting."

He flexed his arms, the seams of his tunic protesting under the strain. Nadara entered, her staff gleaming faintly, and she rolled her eyes at Kargvek's antics.

From their perch, Valinor and Erukar spoke in unison. "Remember, Hatchlings, do not reveal our existence to anyone but Brom, Eragon and Saphira. Only after they swear an oath of secrecy."

"Understood, masters," we both said.

Erukar's voice carried a note of finality. "Good, my students. Now, let us go, hatchlings. Destiny awaits."

With that, I piloted the cloaked Achillies off the island and set course for Alagaësia. The Empire would soon feel the fruits of our labor—and the wrath of our resolve.