Another long chapter, with a lot happening. I will probably go back to shorter chapters after this one.

A little warning ahead. There is a short violent scene coming up in Urû'baen. Also, aspects of "Murtagh" are going to appear soon, but I don't plan on including either Bachel or Nal Gorgoth.

Thank you, Bearsona09 for your help in writing the chapter! Also thank you to androidrainbow and Hyokage for giving me ideas for Harry's gift for the Agaetí Blödhren.

I hope you like it.

I do not own any part of the Harry Potter or Eragon universes.

Slowly, he ran his fingers over his ankle. Over the past few months, he had repeatedly caught himself touching or staring at it, at first unconsciously. After all, that bastard had stomped on his ankle like a madman. But now, it was healed. By magic.

Kent gazed across the lake. According to the maps he had obtained in Daret, it was called Woadoark Lake. It lay nestled between mountain peaks, opening a path toward Teirm. The Toark River flowed westward from the lake, and if Kent continued on foot, he wouldn't reach Teirm until evening at the earliest.

After fleeing from Gil'ead, he had travelled to Daret with what little he possessed. The village had taken him in temporarily in exchange for his skills as a blacksmith - after all, his father had taught him a thing or two. He could have stayed there.

But after Gil'ead, he just couldn't.

When he lay awake at night, watching the stars shimmer against the dark sky like the polished armour of a warrior, he saw it descending upon him.

White scales and powerful wings. Sharp claws and teeth capable of tearing flesh from bone.

"A dragon," he murmured, rising to return to his camp. He knew they weren't just myths - Durza had boasted far too much about fighting and defeating the old Order of Dragons and their Riders. But seeing a dragon with his own eyes was more impressive than any word that monster had uttered out of his mouth.

In addition, the unknown mage who had helped him free the elf must have been the Rider of the Dragon.

A free Dragon Rider in Alagaёsia.

Kent's father had been betrayed by Gareth, that wretched soldier, and was ultimately killed by Durza himself. He was proud that his father had refused to forge weapons for Durza. He just wished it hadn't cost him his life.

Because apart from his father, Kent had no one. His mother had been sick and died when he was young. Kent knew he had an uncle somewhere, but according to his father, his uncle had simply disappeared one day.

And Kent was tired of witnessing all the suffering in Gil'ead caused by Durza and his soldiers. He wanted to change things, and now there was only one choice: To travel to Surda and join the Varden.

Kent grimaced as he stepped on an uneven stone. Even through his boots, he could feel the pain of the blisters he had earned on his long journey to Teirm.

He should have just stolen a horse from Daret since they had refused to give him one.

Kent sighed and looked up when he heard a noise.

A black horse stood in front of him, rummaging through his backpack in search of food. To its disappointment, it found nothing and whinnied in frustration. It tossed its head, and his backpack landed in the still-glowing embers of his fire.

"Oi! What the hell?!" he shouted, rushing to the firepit to snatch his backpack out and brush off the embers.

The horse lifted its head and looked at him. It whinnied again.

"Are you making fun of me?"

The horse bared its teeth, which was answer enough for Kent. He took a closer look at the creature in front of him. It was a magnificent horse, with strong muscles that suggested it had endured long travels. Then he noticed the saddle on its back. It was quite worn but still in decent condition. So, it belonged to someone.

He pulled a potato from his backpack and slowly approached the horse, which eyed him warily. But when its gaze fell on the potato, it stepped forward and swallowed it whole.

"Are you alone?" Kent asked.

To his surprise, the horse lowered its head and looked sadly at the ground. Kent ran a hand through its mane.

"You lost your rider," he said. "Do you want to come with me? To Teirm?"

At the word, the horse pinned its ears back and snorted. Kent took that as a yes, grabbed his backpack, and climbed into the saddle. It was comfortable, and whoever it had belonged to, Kent was grateful. There was nothing worse than traveling long distances on an unsaddled horse.

He tightened the reins. "Let's go!"

Teirm

The sun shone brightly through the grey clouds hovering over Teirm as the town came into view. He had heard travellers say that the town was little more than a single fortress - compared to Gil'ead - but these massive walls were simply incredible. He wouldn't be surprised if even a dragon had trouble taking this city.

Before long, he reached the road leading to Teirm's southern gate. Ahead of him stretched a massive line of people waiting to enter the town, at least a mile long. Alongside the road, he saw scattered soldiers patrolling, armed with bows and arrows. He spurred his horse forward and rode toward the crowd.

"Boy! Get in line!" a man called out to him. He was a farmer, driving two oxen ahead of his cart.

"Why is everyone waiting here?" Kent asked, dismounting as his horse anxiously tossed its head.

The man eyed him. "Because everyone else is. It's only fair that you do the same, isn't it?"

Kent nodded. He didn't want to attract attention. His goal was to discreetly secure passage on a ship bound for Surda.

"Do you know why?"

The man tilted his head. "There was some kind of incident a few months ago. I don't know exactly what happened, but Teirm has tightened security ever since. That's why it's taking so long to get inside."

Kent frowned. "I see… Thank you."

He pulled the reins to guide his horse behind the man with the oxen, passing a group of people as he walked. A man and two women looked up as he passed. Kent nodded politely to them. The women returned the gesture, but the man ignored him, his expression tense. Kent didn't take it personally - there were plenty of reasons to be on edge in times like these.

He was about to continue when he was suddenly yanked back. His horse had stopped and refused to move, no matter how hard he pulled.

"Come on, you stubborn beast," Kent growled, his cheeks flushing as people around him started watching.

"Need some help?" one of the women ahead of him asked. Streaks of grey ran through her hair, and she looked exhausted, as if she had been through hard times. But her eyes burned with determination.

"Gertrude-" the man beside her muttered, but the woman named Gertrude waved him off.

"If you have any idea how to get this stubborn creature to move, I'd love to hear it," Kent grunted. "I've never met a horse like this."

Gertrude smiled and rummaged through her bag. "I don't know much about horses. You see, I'm an herbalist. But I knew someone who owned a similarly stubborn beast. The only way to get it to do what you wanted was to give it an apple-"

The moment she said the word, the horse perked up and eagerly trotted towards her, eyes fixed on the apple in her hand.

Gertrude laughed as Kent was dragged along, and the apple disappeared in a single bite.

"You like apples, don't you?" she said, stroking the horse's dark coat. The stallion, convinced there were more apples to be had, sniffed at Gertrude's pockets.

"Gertrude - we need to keep moving!" the man beside her demanded, tugging at her arm.

"Oh, calm down, Roran," Gertrude said. "We have to wait anyway-"

She didn't get to finish. The black stallion suddenly turned away from her and trotted straight to the man named Roran, nudging him repeatedly in the chest with its head.

"What the-" Roran began, but the horse didn't relent. It only stopped when Gertrude offered it another apple.

"Sorry," Kent said. "He found me in the wilderness, and-"

"He's not yours?" Gertrude asked.

Kent shook his head. "No, I took him with me."

"Gertrude, what's wrong?" Roran asked, noticing her stunned expression as she stared at the stallion.

"He might belong to Harry," she said, and the horse suddenly whinnied.

"Harry?" Roran muttered, as the horse lifted its head and began scanning its surroundings, as if searching for someone.

"I've seen Harry ride through Carvahall often. His horse looked a lot like this one," said the third person in their group, a middle-aged woman.

"It could really be him, Birgit. But it's been many months, and I could be mistaken. Besides, I can't imagine why he'd be here alone," Gertrude frowned.

"Young man-" Gertrude began.

"Kent."

Gertrude nodded. "Kent… You said this horse followed you?"

"Yes, just recently. Do you know him?" Kent asked.

"It's possible," Roran said. "Tell me, was there a young man nearby when you found him?"

Gertrude rolled her eyes. "How is he supposed to remember something that vague?"

Roran looked embarrassed.

Gertrude turned back to Kent. "There's a young man who might own this horse. His name is Harry. He's slim, strong and tall, with wind-tousled hair."

Kent didn't have to think long. Every night, he had replayed those images in his mind. He would never forget that night.

Roran's expression darkened. "He doesn't know him."

"Maybe," Birgit said, looking Kent in the eyes. "But he knows something."

Roran rested his hand on his hip, where Kent noticed a hammer hanging from his belt.

"I don't know the person you're describing," Kent said hesitantly. "But I have seen someone who matches that description."

"That doesn't help much," Gertrude said. "If this really is Harry's horse, then something must have happened to him!"

Kent watched as Roran rubbed his chin. "Maybe. But there's one thing we haven't tried yet."

Birgit raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be, Stronghammer?"

"Ares."

The stallion reared up on his hind legs. When he landed, he whinnied joyfully and nudged them all. His deep brown eyes gave them all the answer they needed.

"I don't believe it. It really is him," Gertrude said, running a hand through Ares' mane as he nuzzled against her.

"But if this is Ares, then where's Harry? Is he in Teirm?" Birgit asked.

"No," Gertrude said firmly. "Harry wouldn't leave Ares behind. Something must have happened to separate them."

Kent cleared his throat awkwardly. "I don't know what happened, but I might have an idea where Harry is. I saw him in Gil'ead."

Roran raised an eyebrow. "Gil'ead? What was he doing there? Was anyone with him?"

Kent shook his head. "No one was with him, but he wasn't alone."

Roran furrowed his brow, his eyes sharpening in the sunlight, turning a striking shade of gold. "Stop speaking in riddles, or I'll personally make sure you never set foot in Teirm."

Kent gave a strained smile. "Empty threats, Roran. You see the soldiers patrolling this road just as well as I do. And judging by the way you all look, you have your own secrets to keep."

Birgit placed a hand on Roran's arm. "Let it go, Roran. Maybe now we can finally learn what happened to Harry and why the soldiers came to Carvahall."

Roran took a deep breath. "Fine," he grumbled, glancing past the crowd toward Teirm's southern gate. "Tell us your story, Kent. Looks like we'll be here for a while."

"Carvahall? Isn't that in the north?" Kent asked.

"If you speak any louder, we might as well announce it to everyone," Roran grumbled.

Kent hunched his shoulders. "Sorry," he murmured and repeated the question in a whisper.

"Yes, we're from the north," Birgit replied, her expression grim. "It was once a beautiful village, but by now it was probably trampled by the King's soldiers!"

Roran glanced around to see if anyone had overheard Birgit's outburst, but no one turned their heads. He shot her a sharp look, and she fell silent, though her face remained like carved stone, staring into the distance. He understood her anger - he carried it within himself as well. The Empire would pay for what they had done to his father, Garrow, and to Katrina.

Katrina… He would rescue her, no matter the cost.

"I was once a soldier myself," Kent whispered beside them. Roran's hand shot to his hammer, the metal feeling cold against his skin. Gertrude gave him a warning glance, and he loosened his grip.

"What do you mean by was?" she asked.

Kent shrugged dejectedly. "I wanted to do good, not just be a blacksmith like my father. He taught me a lot, but I wanted to do more. So, I enlisted - and quickly realized how wrong I had been about everything."

"Gil'ead was guarded by a monster - a Shade," Kent said. Gertrude gasped, and Roran shot her a questioning look. He would have to ask her about that later.

"As a child, I didn't notice much - probably because I spent so many hours at the forge that I barely had time to see the city - but when Durza killed my father, I realized one thing: If such a monster serves the King… what does that say about the King himself?"

At the mention of Durza's name, Roran instinctively grasped his shoulder as a sudden pain flared from where the Ra'zac had wounded him.

"So, I decided for myself to free the elf-"

Roran shook his head. "I still don't believe the empire actually caught an elf. Those are just children's stories-"

"I know what I saw!" Kent growled. It was a good thing that he didn't mention that Harry had escaped on a dragon. They would never believe him.

Gertrude calmed him. "Even if it wasn't an elf, you deserted and left Gil'ead. What do you plan to do now?"

Roran looked into Kent's face and saw the determination returning to his eyes.

"I have no family left, so I have only one goal," Kent said.

"And what is that?" Roran asked.

Kent met his gaze. "I assume the same as yours."

It remained unspoken, but both knew what he meant - to join the Varden.

"Can we trust you?" Roran asked, extending his hand.

Kent clasped it without hesitation. "I swear it."

Roran tilted his head upward as the portcullis loomed above them. The evening sun shone through its iron bars, casting shadows over them as they passed beneath.

But before they could enter Teirm, a soldier stepped into their path.

"Your names, purpose, and duration of stay," he said without looking up, his quill scratching against a parchment. Roran was grateful for that - less risk of being recognized.

"My name is Garrow. These are Birgit, Gertrude, and Kent," Roran said. He was certain the others weren't being hunted like he was, so he chose a false name only for himself.

"What are you seeking in Teirm? Work?" the soldier asked.

Roran nodded and pulled Kent slightly closer. "We're looking for work as sailors."

The soldier's hand paused, and for the first time, he looked up. He had a friendly face, but his eyes carried a weary, distant fatigue.

"That will be in vain. Lord Risthart has decreed that no ship is allowed to leave the harbour until further notice. Not since the incident a few months ago. I'll note that you may stay for three days. If you haven't found work by then, you can enlist as soldiers or try your luck further south. You may pass."

Roran's stomach dropped. No ship was allowed to leave the harbour?

How was he supposed to get the villagers to Surda now? Even if they stole Clovis' barges, he doubted they would make it.

Clovis had warned him not to even try. So far, his barges had only travelled along the coast, but past Teirm, the currents were too strong. Attempting the journey without a sturdy ship would be suicide.

He clenched his fists.

"What happened there?" Kent asked beside him.

The soldier gestured with his head toward the side. Roran followed his gaze and saw a massive scaffold rising up against the city wall. Several men were working there, repairing the damage done to the stone.

"A dragon! Pah!" Roran grumbled. "The people of Teirm must have spent too much time staring into their empty mugs if they believe in such tales."

They sat together at a table in a tavern tucked away in one of Teirm's side streets. Ares had been tied to a post outside.

"Maybe there's some truth to it," Kent murmured cautiously. "After all, the wall was destroyed from the inside. Not from the outside."

Birgit raised an eyebrow. "But a dragon? I agree with Roran - it sounds like the soldier was just pulling our leg. We look like we've been living on the streets."

"It's not just looks – we have been living in the wild for very long. It will be difficult to find someone who takes us seriously," Gertrude said gently.

Roran shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Did you find out anything? I asked around, and everyone confirmed that no ship is allowed to leave the harbour."

Birgit nodded. "I learned the same. But I also found this-"

She pulled out several rolled-up parchments and spread them across the table. They were drawings.

"Are those-"

Birgit nodded. "I found them posted on a notice board, the kind where they put up wanted criminals. This one is you, Roran."

He had seen his likeness in Narda before, and this one also depicted him without his beard.

"A considerable bounty," Kent remarked.

Birgit chuckled softly. "But nothing compared to these two. That's Eragon and Harry… Whatever they did, it's a fortune - even for a king."

Roran nodded weakly. He had assumed his own bounty was high, but compared to his cousin and Harry, he was nothing.

"What did you drag us into, Eragon?"

His shoulder throbbed, and for a brief moment, greed flickered through him. With that gold, they could rebuild Carvahall - make it bigger than Teirm ever was!

He shook his head, and the thought vanished along with the pulsing pain in his shoulder. He would never turn in Eragon, nor Harry. If he did, Katrina would never look him in the eyes again.

Roran stared at Harry's drawing. "He looks like a warrior."

Gertrude scoffed. "Then they don't know our Harry. He is a kind soul, not a fighter. I doubt he's ever held a sword in his life."

Birgit rolled up the parchments. "I wouldn't be so sure. There were rumours that Brom and Harry were seen training together outside the village."

"Brom? You must be mistaken. The only thing he could do was tell stories and curse the king in his boredom," Gertrude said in astonishment.

"The more I hear about him, the less I believe he was just a storyteller," Roran muttered before turning to Kent.

"Did you find out anything about the ships?"

Kent frowned. "There are only a few ships left in the harbour. And the soldier at the gate was right - Lord Risthart has issued strict orders. No ship is allowed to leave."

Roran tapped his finger on the table, deep in thought. "That leaves us with only one choice: we have to steal a ship."

Kent nodded, while the two women turned pale.

"Roran, that's madness-!"

He raised his hand, and Gertrude fell silent.

"We have no choice. We'll never reach Surda on foot, and the barges aren't fit for the open sea. Kent, do you know of anyone who owns a ship?"

Kent nodded slowly. "There's the Dragon Wing. It's the Empire's newest ship, but it still hasn't had its maiden voyage. From what I saw, it's the finest ship in the harbour."

Roran nodded. "Which means it's also heavily guarded."

"Maybe. But there are other merchants who own ships. Their ships would be enough to get us - and your people - to Surda."

Roran clapped his hands together. "Good. Then it's decided. We'll speak with one of these merchants and convince them to take us."

Kent raised an eyebrow. "And if they refuse?"

Roran said nothing, but his hand tightened around the hilt of his hammer.

"I don't think I can be of any help to you. Everything you see here no longer belongs to me," Jeod said. They were seated together in his study, where books and scrolls cluttered every inch of the walls.

Roran sat across from Jeod at his desk. They had found him after asking around - someone on the street had recommended him.

"What do you mean by that?" Kent asked from Roran's right. Birgit and Gertrude sat to his left.

"You're not from around here, are you? I'd guess you're from the north," Jeod said.

Birgit furrowed her brow. "How did you-?"

Jeod simply smirked. "If you knew what had happened here recently, you wouldn't have come to Teirm. The rumours must have reached even as far south as Belatona by now."

"Trade has slowed and become more cautious, but the north is more isolated… The events in Yazuac, however, have spread far and wide. Every merchant traveling north has heard about it - especially those going to places like Carvahall," Jeod said, giving Roran a piercing look.

Roran tensed. Did Jeod know where they were from? Did he know who he was?

"What exactly happened?" Gertrude asked politely.

Jeod's eyes gleamed. "Something extraordinary. The Shade Durza came to Teirm - along with the King's right hand, Morzan."

Roran heard a sharp intake of breath beside him and turned to Kent, who looked shaken.

"What is it?" Roran asked.

"Well," Kent began, searching for the right words, "Morzan is known to be brutal… The rumours say that not even Durza can match his cruelty."

"It's hard to find someone in this land responsible for more bloodshed and suffering than Morzan. Perhaps only the King himself," Jeod said. "We've lost so much knowledge because of them… But I digress. Both of them were attacked in this city-"

"By a dragon."

They all turned to Kent, who looked slightly embarrassed.

Roran rolled his eyes. "Enough with the dragons already. This is getting ridiculous."

Jeod shook his head. "No, he is right. It was a dragon. Why do you deny it so strongly, Roran Garrowsson? I am sure, your cousin Eragon would believe me."

Roran shot up, hammer drawn, but Jeod didn't flinch.

"Who are you? And how do you know my name?" Roran growled, pointing his hammer at him.

Jeod regarded him with amusement. "My name is Jeod Longshanks, and I know your name, Roran, because Eragon told him to me. He described you well. You two are very alike - the same fire burns within you both… Besides, your face is plastered all over the city. That beard of yours might help, but anyone looking closely would recognize you."

Jeod stood and turned his back to them. It would have been easy to overpower him now.

"Sit down, Roran. I can - no, I will help you. But I need to hear your story. And the real reason you need a ship," Jeod said, sitting back down with a fresh parchment.

His eyes flicked to Kent. "I think we should start with you. You seem to know the most about what's happening in Alagaёsia."

Kent hesitated, but Roran was too eager to learn what had happened to Eragon since leaving Carvahall. And Jeod clearly knew something about his cousin.

"Tell him what happened in Gil'ead. And this time, everything," Roran said.

Kent took a sip of wine, and when he opened his mouth, the words poured out. Roran listened as he spoke of avenging his father's murder - something Roran understood all too well - of meeting Harry and how Harry had healed Kent's ankle with magic.

"Magic?" Gertrude whispered, eyes wide.

Jeod nodded. "Harry is a mage, though he's… different than others. I saw him use magic myself once. But go on, Kent. It looks like this will be a long night for us."

And so, Kent continued, describing how Harry conjured shapes of fire and how they freed the elf.

"And then they disappeared on a dragon," Kent finished quietly.

Roran snorted, but Jeod nodded solemnly.

"You don't actually believe him, do you?" Roran asked.

"Of course I do, and you should too, Roran. A few months ago, I saw a white dragon with my own eyes - diving from the clouds, landing in Teirm, and carrying Harry away in its claws," Jeod said.

Gertrude gasped. "Then the stories are true? Harry is a Dragon Rider? Is that why he disappeared from Carvahall?"

Jeod sighed. "Yes and no. Because he's not the only Rider. Much has happened, and fate has chosen your family as well, Roran."

Roran's throat went dry, and his hands trembled. "Eragon?" he whispered. "The stone!"

"Yes," Jeod said. "I've never seen her myself, but Brom told me about her. Eragon found Saphira's egg, and she hatched for him. Eragon and Harry are Dragon Riders, and they are the greatest hope for the Varden - and the last hope for Alagaёsia."

As Jeod continued explaining why Garrow had died, rage built up inside Roran. It was Eragon's fault for keeping the dragon a secret.

"What was he thinking?" Roran burst out.

"I doubt Eragon knew what he was doing," Jeod said. "A Rider and their Dragon share a bond beyond what any ordinary person can comprehend - even more than with their own family."

"That doesn't justify what Eragon did to us! If he had told us, we could have hidden the dragon! This all happened because Harry showed up in our village - "

Jeod shook his head. "Roran, grow up. Eragon isn't to blame for what happened to your father. The King and his minions are. Alagaёsia is heading toward a war that will decide the fate of the world! And both Harry and Eragon will lead the fight."

Roran grabbed his mug and took a long drink. The wine soothed his dry throat.

"Have you calmed down now?" Birgit asked dryly.

Roran sighed. "Fine. What do we do now, Jeod? You know our situation - we need a ship."

Jeod nodded eagerly as he wrote on his parchment. "I have a ship. And if you give me until tomorrow evening, I'll have a crew willing to sail to the Varden. I'll also give you a letter with my seal to deliver to Hamill. He should provide enough supplies for the journey to Feinster. We just need to get everything onto the ship unnoticed, at night."

Roran grinned. "So, we're stealing your own ship."

Jeod nodded. "Exactly."

"And how do we get past all the soldiers? The harbour will be crawling with them," Birgit pointed out.

Jeod waved a hand dismissively. "The soldiers in Teirm are lazy, because of the walls surrounding the city. Once they're drunk, they won't notice a thing. But yes, it will be dangerous. Let's hope fate is on our side."

Birgit raised an eyebrow. "And who's making sure they get drunk?"

Gertrude cleared her throat and everyone turned to her. "Well, I do have a fair amount of knowledge about herbs and plants."

Jeod came down the stairs, a rapier at his side and a letter in his hand, sealed with wax bearing the image of a dragon. Roran felt a tingling sensation in his wounded shoulder.

"You look like you had a rough night," Roran said when he saw Jeod's exhausted face.

Jeod gave a weak smile. "I suppose we were overheard, weren't we? I should have told my wife, Helen, long ago who I truly am - that I am a spy for the Varden. A little honesty would have spared us some arguments."

Roran nodded and watched as a servant hurried down the hall. Jeod handed him the letter.

"Take this to Fjalar as quickly as possible. Ride fast, and I hope the Forgotten One has answers for the visions I've been having - because I fear the unnamed shadow has started moving again," Jeod said.

"Yes, my lord," the servant replied before disappearing through the door.

Roran furrowed his brow, pulling his hood up. "What's this about Fjalar? And who is the Forgotten One?"

Jeod smiled. "The Forgotten One has been… well forgotten by everyone except for his followers, such as I, and as for Fjalar… well, it is an unusual title for the leader of my order, but it serves its purpose."

Roran raised an eyebrow. "Your order? You mean the Varden?"

"No, not the Varden. In my younger years, I joined a different order. They call themselves the Arcaena. A brotherhood that holds all knowledge sacred and seeks to prevent the catastrophe."

"A catastrophe? Like the one we're heading toward?" Kent asked, stepping inside with Gertrude, both carrying empty crates.

"Something like that," Jeod said. "Were you successful?"

Kent grinned. "There were only a few soldiers there. Most of them are stationed outside the city on patrols, so we were mistaken about their numbers."

"And the ones who were there drank like pigs," Gertrude added dryly.

Roran nodded in satisfaction. "Good. That should make things easier. Your people are meeting us at the harbour, right, Jeod?"

Jeod cast a glance at his house. There was no sign of Helen. "Yes, they have their orders. Come! We don't have much time before the gates close and the guards at the harbour change shifts!"

Moving through the shadows of the side streets, they walked quickly toward the eastern gate, beyond which lay the harbour. The closer they got, the fewer people they saw.

"Where is everyone?" Roran murmured.

"At the western gate," Jeod answered. "Since only foot traffic is allowed in and out of the city right now, it's not worth setting up market stalls on this side. There are not many reasons for ordinary people to gather around this area."

As they neared the gate, a soldier stepped in their path. Roran noticed he was holding a tankard, and the way he leaned on his spear for support told him the man had already had more than enough to drink.

"W-why are you leaving?" the soldier mumbled.

Kent frowned and whispered to Roran, "Aren't we trying to get in?"

Roran smirked. "Gertrude, what exactly did you put in that wine?"

Gertrude grinned. "Wormwood and St. John's Wort. A dangerous mix with alcohol."

Jeod helped the soldier sit down, and he didn't even protest. The moment he hit the ground; he started snoring deeply.

They slipped through the gate, and it seemed Kent had been right - the remaining soldiers who could still move were groaning on the ground, too sick to stand. Even so, they treaded carefully as they made their way through the harbour, focused on reaching Jeod's ship.

They arrived, but to their misfortune, not all of the soldiers had been drinking. A group of three stood in their path, swords drawn.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" one of them called.

"We need to retrieve Hamill's goods. They were confiscated, but Lord Risthart has ordered-"

"Don't lie! I recognize you, Jeod Longshanks! You're under arrest! Seize them!"

Then everything happened at once.

Roran grabbed his hammer as one of the soldiers made the mistake of stepping forward. He swung his arm and struck the soldier's sword hilt, taking advantage of his hesitation.

Naive, Roran thought.

A loud crack sounded - Roran knew he had broken the man's wrist. The sword clattered to the ground, and Roran swung again, striking his temple this time, sending him down, who collapsed like a sack of grain.

Then from the side, a dozen men charged at the remaining two soldiers. A massive man grabbed one by the throat and, with a sharp twist, snapped his neck.

Birgit dodged a soldier's swing and drove her knee hard between his legs, making him double over. She grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and slit his throat.

"Shit," Kent muttered, staring at the dead soldiers.

"Uthar, good to see you and your men," Jeod said, shaking hands with the massive man who had snapped the soldier's neck.

" I'll be glad to leave this cursed city," Uthar growled, turning to his men. "Move! Get the supplies on the ship, or I'll leave you all behind!"

While the sailors worked, Roran turned to the others. "Throw the bodies into the water. We need to avoid drawing attention for as long as possible."

Kent took a deep breath and helped Roran lift a soldier's corpse into the sea. Roran gave him a long look. "If you plan to fight for the Varden, you'll have to learn to fight - and to kill."

"I know," Kent muttered, brushing past Roran. As he did, his arm accidentally struck Roran's wounded shoulder, sending pain flaring through it.

"Bastard," Roran muttered with a grin.

As Roran stepped onto the ship, he heard someone else boarding. His hand went to his hammer - but it was only Helen, Jeod's wife.

"You came!" Jeod beamed with joy.

"Of course, I'm your wife," she said, standing by his side.

Roran smiled, but then his eyes fell on strange symbols carved into the wood of the ship.

"Jeod, what do these markings mean?"

Jeod glanced at Roran, and his eyes glimmered. "These aren't just markings, Roran. They're runes - Pertho, Algiz, and Lagaz. They'll help us reach Surda - or at least, that's what Harry said."

Roran nodded, but then they all flinched as an explosion echoed across the harbour.

One of the sailors had fired a catapult - aiming straight at the Dragon Wing, the Empire's newest ship. Flames erupted across the deck.

At last, they were setting sail.

In the distance, the screams of soldiers rang out.

"Now, let's pick up the rest of you, you sea rats!" Uthar bellowed but was interrupted when Ares came up to him and bonked him on the head with his nose.

"I think he doesn't like it when you insult the villagers," Kent said, who was holding Ares back with Roran.

Urû'baen

"You have returned, my King," Morzan said, kneeling before the throne.

"I have. And I bring good news," Galbatorix said, holding a small dessert in his hands. He grimaced. "Too salty… I will have to punish the responsible cook for that."

He turned to Morzan. "Have you carried out my orders as I commanded?"

"Yes, my King," Morzan replied. "A large part of our army has set out towards the south. The Ra'zac have flown to Ceunon, as you ordered. The Twins are stationed in the bay near Kuasta and will burn any ship that dares to help Surda. There is no longer a route they could take to Surda for the villagers beyond the Spine, and sooner or later, they will perish. No ordinary people can survive there for long."

"I see… Has Risthart followed my instructions that no ship may leave Teirm?" Galbatorix asked.

"He received them, but you know him, my King. Risthart is a fool and does only the bare minimum."

Galbatorix stroked his beard. "That is true. Perhaps it is time for Teirm to receive a new lord. Risthart's laziness has been a thorn in my side for too long."

"I will see to it," Morzan said in agreement.

"The Varden will be attacked in the South and the elves… they will soon have to reveal themselves, because of our plans," Galbatorix nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, for a little surprise while I was away. Bring them in!"

The doors to the throne room swung open, and Murtagh was led in chains. At his side walked Thorn. They advanced to the throne, and Thorn growled angrily.

Galbatorix leaned forward, regarding Thorn with interest. He turned first to Murtagh. "You will no longer need these chains. Ládrin."

Murtagh's and Thorn's chains fell tinkling to the ground.

"So, Murtagh, I am pleased that the… dragon hatched for you. Now that you are, for the time being, a Dragon Rider, you will be very useful to me."

Murtagh lifted his head from the ground and glared at the King. "His name is Thorn."

Galbatorix nodded thoughtfully. "Having a name is good… It gives one meaning, does it not, Morzan?"

Morzan's faced hardened. "Yes, my King."

Galbatorix folded his hands over his lap. "Now then, I have received a message from the Twins. They have discovered something. It concerns the both of you. Would you like to hear it?"

Morzan nodded slowly. Murtagh remained motionless.

"Murtagh, I value your opinion and would like to hear it. Do you wish to know what is in this message?" Galbatorix asked, staring at the son of his right hand.

Murtagh met the King's gaze. He knew that defiance would bring him suffering. He looked away, glancing at Thorn.

And he was no longer alone.

"I am… curious, Lord."

Galbatorix's lips curled into a smile. "Very well, Murtagh. I shall read it to you."

While we served among the Varden, fortune favoured us, for we were granted a brief glimpse into Eragon's memories before the traitor Brom could stop us.

Galbatorix looked up. "You remember Brom, do you not? He was the one who killed your dragon."

From the corner of his eye, Murtagh saw Morzan's face tense. He set his jaw.

"I remember."

Galbatorix smiled knowingly. "Good. Let us continue."

And within those memories, we found something peculiar. The memories showed Eragon in Carvahall, his home. A simple farm, and there he was raised by his uncle.

"Tragic, is it not?" Galbatorix mused. "A mere farm boy becomes a Dragon Rider. But it gets even better."

His father is unknown to him. Eragon was left with his uncle by his mother. The uncle's name is Garrow Cadocsson.

Beside Murtagh, Morzan gasped. "What exactly does this mean?!" he growled.

Galbatorix's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Your father has realized the truth, Murtagh. Did he ever teach you anything about your family?"

Murtagh glanced at Morzan. He could feel the rage radiating from him, a rage reminiscent of when he had inflicted the scar upon Murtagh's back.

"Not much."

Galbatorix shook his head. "Pathetic, but no matter. You must know that your father once met your mother, Selena, in Carvahall. And she did not live there alone, for she had a single brother. Do you have any idea what his name might be?"

Murtagh's throat went dry. Very softly, he whispered, "Garrow… So, I have a brother?"

Galbatorix chuckled. "Yes, marvellous, is it not? Another son of my faithful servant, a child hidden by the mother, unknown to the father. Morzan, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Morzan trembled with fury. "That bitch! How dare she keep this from me-?!"

"Letta!"

The word echoed through the throne room, freezing Murtagh in place. He had leaped up, intending to lunge at Morzan with all his strength.

Morzan stared at him in shock. "Did you mean to strike me? I am your father, you miserable wretch!"

Murtagh longed to drive a sword into his skull. "No one insults my mother in my presence. No one!"

"Be silent, both of you," Galbatorix said, bored. "I care little that you were unaware of your brother, Murtagh, or that you, Morzan, did not know of another son. What interests me far more is Eragon and the other Rider."

"Harry," Murtagh murmured.

Galbatorix's face darkened. "Precisely. As you know, Murtagh, they have chosen to fight against my kingdom, and I want you to fight them. It will be your first proof of loyalty to me when you bring me either of their heads."

Murtagh turned pale. "You want me to kill Eragon… my brother?"

Galbatorix nodded thoughtfully. "Should you fall against him, Eragon will sooner or later appear before me, and then he will swear loyalty to me… until we have killed every single elf. Either way, I will have a son of Morzan at my side. And as for Harry Potter… I admit, he may be more of a task for you, Morzan. If our captive fails to kill him, you will finish the job."

Galbatorix rose and slowly stepped toward Murtagh. "But to do this, you must swear loyalty to me, Murtagh. You understand this, don't you?"

Murtagh spat at the King's feet.

"I would rather die than be caged again! I will not swear an oath to serve you, Galbatorix, nor will I fight my brother!" Murtagh shouted, and Thorn growled beside him, still unable to move.

Galbatorix sighed. "I am saddened to hear that… Then you leave me no choice, Murtagh."

He drew a black, gleaming dagger from his robe, and Murtagh would have stepped back if he could. But the magic held him there, frozen in place.

"You will swear the oath willingly, Murtagh. Before you leave this throne room, you will serve me."

And then Galbatorix did something that shocked Murtagh to his core. He turned away from Murtagh and approached-

"No!" Murtagh shouted. "Leave him alone! It's my decision, not his! He has done nothing!"

Galbatorix looked down at Thorn, who stared back at him with nothing but hatred in his gaze. "You're mistaken, Murtagh. It is his decision as well, and I believe both of you need a lesson in obedience. So, Thorn, what is your answer? Will you swear loyalty to me?"

"No."

Galbatorix sighed. "So be it." With a swift movement, Galbatorix lunged forward and stabbed his dagger beneath one of Thorn's red scales, ripping it out.

Thorn roared in agony, and Murtagh screamed alongside him.

"You dragons are so proud of your scales," Galbatorix said calmly, twirling the bloodstained scale between his fingers. "But what remains of that pride when I take them from you one by one? You'll finally look like what you were always meant to be... a wingless dragon… a wyrm."

Thorn panted, his body shaking with pain and rage. Yet his eyes, burning with fire, remained fixed on the king. "I... will... never... fight for you," he growled, his voice a rumbling promise.

Galbatorix chuckled softly. "Oh, but you will, my red fool. Sooner or later."

Again, he raised the dagger, this time slicing a scale from Thorn's leg. Murtagh felt every cut as if the blade was piercing his own skin. He shared Thorn's pain.

And so, it went on and on. One scale after another. Each pain greater than the last. Morzan watched the torture without moving a muscle.

Time passed, and Murtagh only wanted it to end. He could no longer bear Thorn's screams.

Galbatorix lifted the blade once more, this time aiming for a scale just above Thorn's heart. Murtagh tried to rise, his head pounding, but he could feel the shadow of the dark magic binding him.

"S-Stop! I... I'll do what you ask, but don't hurt him!" Murtagh's voice was hoarse, full of desperation.

Galbatorix halted, his gaze piercing. Then he smiled. "I thought as much."

He stepped back, lowering the blade, while Murtagh fell to his knees, gasping. Thorn trembled, his blood pooling on the cold stone floor.

"Swear it," Galbatorix demanded.

Murtagh hesitated. He could hear Thorn's ragged breathing, feel his agony through their bond. He knew what he had to do - and the price he would pay. They would both pay.

Slowly, he lifted his head. "I swear it," he sobbed. His voice was broken.

Galbatorix's smile widened. Madness gleamed in his eyes. "And now in the Ancient Language. And then, we shall deal with your Eldunarí, Thorn..."

And if someone had stood outside the throne room, they would have heard Murtagh's screams - but in the end, even they fell silent.

Katrina flinched as she heard the sound of an iron key turning in the lock. Beside her, she felt Shadowhunter leap up the wall and disappear through the window into the darkness.

The door swung open, and two soldiers stepped inside - but they did not bring Murtagh back. He had been gone for hours now. She prayed nothing had happened to him.

"Come on, lock them up, and then let's grab something to eat from the kitchen," one of the soldiers said.

The other soldier shoved two prisoners into the cell beside Katrina. They crashed against the stone wall and remained motionless.

"Good idea. I haven't had a decent meal in ages. My wife only knows how to make barely edible stew..."

The soldiers left, their footsteps fading as they marched off to fill their bellies.

In the opposite cell, Nott stood up and stared at the new arrivals, who still hadn't moved.

"Fresh meat," he murmured. "Let's see what fools they've caught this time."

Katrina stepped forward and, without hesitation, swung her foot hard - straight into Nott's groin.

He collapsed instantly with a strangled groan.

"Shut up for once, you dried-up trout," she snapped, turning away from him.

Slowly, she approached the new prisoners.

"Are you all right?" she asked. No response.

Cautiously, she stepped closer and reached out to touch the first one. No reaction.

She sighed and grabbed at his tattered clothing, pulling with effort until she managed to roll him onto his back.

She gasped.

The man had a pale face with sharp, defined features. His skin was marred with cuts, and his gaunt expression spoke of long periods without food. Yet, despite his suffering, there was something undeniably striking about him. His frame was lean but strong.

Her gaze drifted past his face, and then she saw it - silver hair and pointed ears.

Her eyes widened.

Heart pounding, Katrina scrambled to turn over the second prisoner. He had red hair… and pointed ears as well.

She inhaled sharply.

"They're elves!"

Ellesméra

"That was truly one of the most beautiful plays I've ever seen!" Harry said.

Arya rolled her eyes. "You almost fell asleep twice - if I hadn't shaken you awake."

Harry clutched his chest dramatically. "I would never do such a thing! Not after you introduced me to practically every elf in Ellesméra. I've already forgotten half their names."

Arya snorted. "You should still try to remember them. Some of our greatest warriors, artists, and poets were among them. They will remember you."

"I would wager there is a small difference, between remembering one name or a couple of dozen," Harry sighed. "I'll try. And you were almost asleep at the last concert yourself! You leaned against my shoulder."

"I did not," Arya retorted, then muttered under her breath, "Anyone would have been tired seeing that."

Harry heard her and just grinned. "Just promise me I won't have to watch another play about the Dragon War. That was the third one this week!" he grumbled.

Arya shrugged. "The preparations for the Agaetí Blödhren have been going on for a long time, and tomorrow it's finally happening. Everyone is excited to celebrate the pact with the dragons and the end of Du Fyrn Skulblaka."

Harry nodded thoughtfully and walked over to his table. They were at his home. "Were you there the last time it was held?"

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. "How old do you think I am?"

Harry held up his hands innocently. "So beautiful that I could travel the world and not find a single flower that compares to you."

A deep blush spread across Arya's face. "That's not what I asked you."

Harry smirked playfully. "I know."

Arya shook her head. "To answer your original question - no, I've never attended an Agaetí Blödhren. The last Blood-Oath Celebration was almost exactly 100 years ago, and I was too young to attend. I barely remember anything, except how beautiful that time was."

Harry sat down and pulled a piece of wood toward him that lay on the table. He picked up his knife and began carving.

"That sounds wonderful. Your father was still alive then, wasn't he?"

Arya nodded, but a shadow passed over her eyes. She sat beside Harry and noticed a fairth standing in front of her. She picked it up.

"Did you make this?" she asked, surprised. It depicted Hogwarts at night.

Harry paused his carving and glanced over at her. "Oromis taught us yesterday how to create a fairth. He wanted to show us that we shouldn't just focus on grand things, but also on the small ones. I asked him to make one for me."

"He did well," Arya said, examining it closely.

Hogwarts' towers stretched into the night sky; their peaks bathed in moonlight. Gentle lights shimmered in the windows of the Great Hall, while wisps of mist drifted over the Black Lake.

"Is this from your first day at Hogwarts?"

"Yes… when Hagrid took us across the lake for the first time. Alagaёsia is my home now, but I don't want to forget where I came from," Harry said, refocusing on his carving.

"I would have preferred to create the fairth myself, but as you know…"

Arya set the image back down. "…Your magic still refuses to cooperate. Have you at least seen the healers?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I haven't gotten around to it."

"Harry, you promised!"

"I will… when I have time. But with Oromis and your training, I never get a chance," Harry replied.

Arya crossed her arms. "Then you need to stop training me. Your lessons with Oromis are too important to be interrupted, Harry."

"No."

"Yes."

He stared at Arya in annoyance, but she met his gaze with quiet determination. "I'm sure Artemis would say the same thing if she were here."

Harry put his knife down on the table. "You and her are conspiring against me."

Arya's eyes softened. "Harry, we just worry about you."

Harry sighed. "I know… Fine. The first thing I'll do after the Blood-Oath Celebration is speak with the healers. Deal?"

Arya nodded in satisfaction. "I'd rather you go now, but I know you - and you're too stubborn for that."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You do realize I'm sitting right here?"

Arya grinned. "I say it in the hopes that, for once, you might actually listen to me."

"I do listen to you! I just sometimes choose to do something else, when you are not looking…"

Arya stood up, and Harry's eyes followed her. When she turned around and caught him looking, his ears turned red.

Clearing his throat, he quickly lifted his carving. "Finally finished!"

"What is it?" Arya asked.

"I made it for the Blood-Oath Celebration. Oromis said everyone should bring a gift… Now I just need to carve the rune Eihwaz, and I'll be ready for tomorrow," Harry said.

"But he also told you to craft it without magic, didn't he? The other elves won't respect your gift otherwise," Arya said, frowning.

Harry just grinned. "I don't care whether they respect my gift or not. What's more important is giving your people a little hope, don't you think?"

Arya turned toward the door. With one last glance at Harry, who was still working on his gift, she whispered, "Harry, you have no idea how much you already mean to us elves."

"Oh, Arya - do you have a moment? I could use your help with my gift," Harry called after her.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Oromis asked, weighing Harry's gift in his hands.

He handed it back to Harry, who carefully wrapped it in a grey cloth. "Yes, I'm sure."

Oromis' lips curled into a small smile. "Then let's go. We wouldn't want to keep the queen waiting."

Harry grimaced. "There are not many things in life that are worse than an angry Islanzadí."

Oromis' eyes gleamed with amusement as they walked. Soon, they would reach the Menoa Tree, where the Agaetí Blödhren would begin - a celebration lasting for three days.

Then, suddenly, Oromis pulled Harry aside into the shadows of the trees. Harry was taken aback when Oromis placed both hands on his shoulders. What shocked him even more was the expression on his master's face - guilt.

"Ebrithil?" Harry asked.

Oromis sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. I have failed you."

Harry's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about, Ebrithil? You couldn't have known-"

Oromis raised a finger, and Harry fell silent. "And that is precisely the point, isn't it? I have failed as your teacher. How can I claim to guide you, to instruct you, when I did not see the weight of frustration and sorrow that you carry? I suspected that your past haunted you, but I never realized how deeply it went."

For a fleeting moment, Oromis' eyes lost their usual glow - the wisdom of centuries dimmed by something more human. "I must admit, when Eragon and you arrived, I felt relieved. After so many years of guilt, unable to act… So many years of grief, remembering the Dragon War… When I saw you both, I thought I could finally pass the sword to you. That my time had come to fade into the Void."

Harry gripped Oromis' shoulders in return. "Master, you mustn't think that way! Eragon and I - we need you! No one else has the patience to teach me-"

He stopped when Oromis' hands tightened.

"And then I realized what remarkable students you both are. Eragon, constantly questioning everything about the world, and you, Harry, staring into the distance, consumed by your fight against past. You both gave me purpose again. And then you, in your foolishness, decided to heal me."

Oromis smiled. "You have no idea what a burden you lifted from me. We elves are so deeply connected to the dragons that magic flows through us as it does through them. To be unable to use it was like losing myself entirely."

"And yet, all this time, I have neglected you," Oromis sighed, letting one hand slide from Harry's shoulder to rest on his forehead, where his scar glowed faintly in the evening light.

"I did not see the weight you carry. A burden far greater than mine. And now, once again, you bear the weight of the world on your very young shoulders. And you are still willing to carry it."

Harry averted his gaze. "I wasn't always - I didn't want to fight another war."

Oromis nodded. "And yet, you followed your path. And I am certain that no matter which choices you had made, no matter which path you had taken, it would have led you here."

Harry's expression darkened. "You speak of fate."

Oromis' gaze softened, and he placed a hand over Harry's heart. "No. I know who you are, Harry. You tried to run from yourself, but in the end, you stayed true to who you are. And now, I will give you the help you need to continue growing. And for that we will talk."

Harry frowned. "Talk?"

Oromis' long silver hair shimmered as he shook his head, seeing Harry's confusion. "Don't worry - I won't force you to speak about anything you're not ready for. But we will talk nonetheless."

"About what?" Harry asked, still puzzled.

Oromis smiled. "About whatever interests us most. That is the beauty of words. They can wound, heal, inspire, or make us reflect. Words have the power to shape emotions and thoughts - and who knows what adventures we might embark on from there?"

Oromis took a step back and bowed. "Thank you, Harry. From the depths of my heart."

Harry felt heat rise up his neck, but then he remembered something Arya had once told him. It seemed so long ago. You must learn to accept praise.

"I thank you, Ebrithil," he said, bowing as well.

Oromis smiled, but before he could speak again, something small collided with Harry's side.

"Uncle Harry! Where have you been? We've been waiting for you forever!" Lily screamed in his ear.

Harry flinched. "Sorry, little flower! But I'm here now, aren't I?"

Lily furrowed her brows and planted her hands on her hips. "Yes, and you're not going anywhere else!"

Harry chuckled. "I don't plan to. Did you check out the spell, Sirius?"

Sirius and Thiora stepped up beside them.

Sirius grinned mischievously. "Of course! I can't wait to do it."

He wore a dark tunic of fine fabric, embroidered with elegant silver lines. Upon closer inspection, the patterns intertwined to form the silhouettes of a dog and a stag.

"What exactly are you two up to?" Thiora asked suspiciously.

She was dressed in a sleek, silvery gown that shimmered like flowing water with every step. Golden embroidery curled along the sleeves and collar in intricate patterns.

"You'll see, darling," Sirius said, winking at Harry and his daughter.

"Thiora, you look stunning," Harry said stepping forward and giving her a hug, that she eagerly returned.

"So do you, Harry," Thiora replied, giving him an approving look. "See, Sirius? Harry has manners, unlike you."

Sirius groaned. "I already apologized, didn't I?"

"Maybe you should try not needing to apologize in the first place, Sirius," came Arya's voice.

Harry turned, and there she was, standing in the golden light of the setting sun, leaning against a tree with her piercing gaze fixed on him.

The sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting her in a glow of gold, green, and crimson. Her dark hair cascaded down in a sleek braid, soft waves flowing over her shoulder. Among the strands shimmered silver leaves, catching the light like trapped stars. Her emerald eyes gleamed with quiet intensity, and the grace in her stance made her seem almost ethereal.

Arya's gown was a deep, forest green. The fabric clung to her form like flowing water, moving with every step as though it had a life of its own. Fine silver embroidery wove across the sleeves and hem, like vines spun from moonlight.

A slender belt of woven leaves encircled her waist, and when the light hit it just right, it seemed to glisten with tiny dewdrops.

Harry swallowed hard. For a moment, only one thought filled his mind:

Merlin. She is the most beautiful woman in the world.

Sirius and Thiora exchanged a brief, amused glance.

Arya stepped closer, and Lily looked up at Harry with a mischievous smile. "I helped Aunt Arya weave the leaves into her hair and it took forever, but doesn't she look amazing, Uncle Harry?"

Lily winked at her father, who gave her a thumbs-up.

"She does… You look beautiful," Harry murmured.

"Thank you, Harry. You look handsome as well," Arya smiled, and a shiver ran down his spine as she let her gaze trail over him from head to toe.

Harry wore a simple yet elegant dark green tunic, over which he had draped a black cloak. Embroidered in silver thread on the fabric was a proud griffin - the sigil of his house.

Harry extended his arm to her. "Are you ready?"

Arya hesitated for a moment, her gaze shifting from his face to his outstretched arm. Then, with a graceful motion, and a smile, she placed her hand upon his.

"I am ready," she said softly, her voice steady, though something in her eyes held an unreadable expression.

A cool breeze rustled through the trees, making the silver leaves in her hair shimmer. For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Wherever Harry looked, he saw elves who had travelled from all across Du Weldenvarden to attend the Agaetí Blödhren. Arya and Oromis had told him that elves could change their appearance however they wished - but he hadn't realized how literally they took it.

Among the usual beauty of the elves, he saw some with fur on their faces, while others had shimmering scales on their skin, as if they had just emerged from the depths of the sea for the festival. It amused him to see the sheer creativity with which the elves chose to alter their appearances. And yet, despite their differences, they all had one thing in common.

No matter how they decided to present themselves, they were all breathtakingly beautiful in their own way.

Arya nudged him. "Why are you giggling like that?"

"I was thinking about Hermione when I saw that elf walk past us," Harry sniggered.

Arya frowned for a moment before realization dawned. "Ah! You mean when she drank the Polyjuice Potion?"

"Yep," Harry chuckled.

They then greeted Lifaen and Narí, who had also come to the ceremony.

"Look, even Vanir showed up," Harry said to Arya. "After we spoke, I still haven't seen him at the training grounds. I wasn't sure if he'd even come today."

"Yes, the queen relieved him of his duties for the time being. He brought great shame upon himself," Arya said, pressing her lips together.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like much of a punishment, though."

Arya's eyes glinted sternly. "The queen only exiled me for a short while as well. In the end, it was almost 80 years, Harry."

"Ah, the elven sense of time."

"Exactly."

Soon, they reached Islanzadí, who stood near the Menoa Tree with Blagden perched on her shoulder. Eragon and Orik were at her side, and Eragon looked relieved when they approached.

Islanzadí narrowed her eyes slightly when she saw Arya and Harry. For a brief moment, Harry sensed a flicker of tension from Arya, but it disappeared as he greeted the queen.

"You look magnificent this evening, Your Majesty," Harry said, completing his bow.

"Thank you, Harry. I see you are representing your house tonight?" the queen inquired formally, glancing at the griffin embroidered on his tunic.

Harry looked down at himself. "I think it's time that House Potter and House Black contribute to freeing Alagaёsia from that runt. And what better night to show it than this?"

Islanzadí nodded. "Well said, young Rider. We should begin soon-"

But before she could continue, loud voices approached. Dellanir and Rhunön were making their way through the crowd.

"Stop pushing - I'm walking as fast as I can," Rhunön grumbled.

"You're younger than I am! How can you move so sluggishly?" Dellanir retorted.

"Ha! I'd like to see you walk after spending all day in a forge!"

"Then do something else! Magic is far more interesting than grinding metal all day," Dellanir countered.

"I never said I wanted to do anything else," Rhunön grinned. "After all, nothing in the world is better than admiring a finished masterpiece made with your own hands. Isn't that right, Shadeslayer?"

Eragon blinked as he was suddenly dragged into the conversation. But Arya came to his rescue.

"Leave Eragon out of your quarrels, Ebrithil. Can you two not go through the ceremony without bickering like children?" Arya asked, her expression serious.

Rhunön smirked. "She called you a child."

Dellanir sighed. "No, she called us children - and my granddaughter is probably right. Well, in any case, I will grant your request, Arya. For the next three days, I shall not utter a single bad word about our best smith!"

Arya nodded in satisfaction, then turned her expectant gaze to Rhunön.

"Fine," the smith grumbled.

Harry chuckled, but then both elves turned their attention to him.

"We may have promised not to argue," Rhunön said.

"But that only means-" Dellanir continued.

"That we can direct all our wit toward you, Potter!"

The two elves burst into laughter, threw their arms around each other, and disappeared into the crowd.

Harry turned to Arya. "Are they drunk?"

"Yep," Lily chimed in and mimicked drinking from an imaginary bottle. "I was with my dad at Rhunön-Elda's forge and saw them staring deeply into their Faelnirv bottles!"

"Drunken old elves… who have set their sights on me. Arya, help me!" Harry said with wide eyes.

Arya smiled herself now. "They're not that bad. In truth, those two are quite good friends."

"That doesn't help me at all-"

She was interrupted by a loud hum as three massive shadows passed over their heads and landed in their midst.

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up," Harry said, reaching out to touch Artemis' cheek.

"As you humans like to say, the best comes at the end," Artemis replied, leaning into his hand. Her scales radiated warmth beneath his touch.

Then she opened her eyes. "Look."

Harry followed her gaze, as did the rest of the elves. Islanzadí stood at the base of the tree, atop a massive root, and raised her left arm toward the moon. In her palm, a bright white orb appeared, shimmering with ethereal light. Gently, she placed it into a hollow within the Menoa Tree.

The ceremony had begun.

Harry felt like he had never laughed so much in his life. Of course, he and Sirius had planned ahead, preparing something special for the beginning of the festival.

As the elves conjured tables laden with food - delicacies surely gathered from the depths of the forest - Harry and Sirius raised their wands toward the starry sky.

"Ready, Sirius?!" Harry called, weaving through the crowd.

"More than ready!" Sirius laughed.

There were two loud bangs, and dazzling colours burst from their wands, swirling above the elves' heads. Then, with a flick of Harry's wand, the colours began to take shape. First a leg… then a wing… and finally, in thousands of fiery hues-

"That's a dragon!" Lily laughed, clapping her hands.

Every elf in Ellesméra gazed upward in awe as the dragon arched its back, spreading its mighty wings before soaring toward the moon.

As it became a mere speck in the sky, there was a brilliant explosion, and the night was bathed in a sea of twinkling lights. Golden, silver, red, and blue sparks rained down, and the elves erupted in joyous applause.

Harry and Sirius exchanged a quick glance before bowing deeply.

Harry's eyes searched the crowd until he found Arya. She was rolling her eyes - but she still looked at him with a radiant expression.

Encouraged by the magic in the air, the elves began to sing, and the hairs on Harry's neck stood on end. The melody was enchanting, and as one song faded, another seamlessly took its place. It continued on and on until even the flowers around them responded, unfurling their petals in full bloom.

The elves sang with such pure joy and happiness that Harry felt as if he had taken a sip of Felix… his very soul felt light and content, and all his worries faded away.

He found himself perched on one of the many branches of the Menoa Tree, sitting beside Arya as they laughed at Artemis' responses to the riddles the elves posed to her.

Hours passed, and the night melted into day. He remembered dancing with Thiora, until Lily came and demanded a turn. He let her stand on his feet, and together they twirled until she needed a break.

He recalled how he and Sirius had been chased by Moony, who had played a prank on them - only for the two of them to transform into their Animagus forms, darting between the elves and trees, leaping among the woodland animals that were drawn to the festival.

Until Moony finally caught them and gave them both a sharp bonk on the head with his beak.

Then, on the third day, came the gifts.

Orik, representing the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, had crafted an intricate wooden puzzle pyramid, which the elves loved so much that they affectionately dubbed him "Master Longbeard."

Harry listened to Islanzadí's poem, though it was so long that Artemis shielded him with her wing as he leaned back and closed his eyes for just a moment. When she nudged him awake, he sat up with a clear mind, listening to the songs and poems the elves had prepared.

One song, in particular, stayed with him - Thiora's.

It told of the Dragon War, of loss and sorrow, of the battles against Galbatorix and the Forsworn… the Battle of the Burning Plains… the sieges of Dorû Areaba and Ilirea… and finally, the fall of Vrael in his duel against Galbatorix at Utgard.

Yet, she also sang of renewal - of a new chance, a future they could now reclaim.

Sirius presented a map of Ellesméra, showing every river, every tree - and, to Harry's surprise, the name of every elf that was currently in Ellesméra.

He winked at Harry before stepping aside for Lily, who nervously took her place at the front. Harry and Sirius both gave her a thumbs-up, encouraging her.

Then she lifted her scroll, revealing a charcoal drawing of Artemis and Saphira. The two dragons had stood still for hours so she could complete it, and their joyous roars of approval were the loudest of all.

Dellanir followed, presenting a grand painting of all of Alagaёsia.

"I have named the capital Ilirea once more," she declared. "Many may not notice, but this is not the Alagaёsia of the past, as some of us remember it. And I did not change the name simply because Urû'baen sounds absurd, but because I firmly believe we will overthrow the traitor. It is a promise to us all."

Then it was Arya's turn. She sought out Harry's gaze before reciting her poem:

In the night, the dark and heavy night,

Flutter shadows, confused shadows,

Where once…

Harry listened intently, and when she finished, silence fell - before he started clapping and a great wave of applause followed. Arya bowed in gratitude, though Harry knew how difficult it had been for her to share those words. He doubted most truly understood the depth of its meaning.

She walked past her mother, who looked displeased - but Harry felt little sympathy for her.

Next was Glaedr, who presented a massive panel of red oak, masterfully carved with his own claw to depict an aerial view of Ellesméra.

Oromis unfurled a scroll, revealing a breathtaking painting of a landscape.

Then came Eragon's turn. To Harry's surprise, he and Niduen presented their gift together. Niduen played her flute, her melody weaving through the air as Eragon recited the poem he had worked on so intensely. They each shared a grin when they finished and went off holding arms.

Saphira brought forth a massive stone she had polished with her own tongue, its surface spiralling inwards like a natural sculpture.

And finally, it was Harry and Artemis' turn.

Artemis unveiled a towering oak sculpture. Its pale wood was seared black in intricate, interwoven patterns - almost fractal in nature.

"How did you make this?" Harry asked curiously.

"With a small flame and a single claw. But the best part? Put your ear against it. Try it," Artemis encouraged.

Harry stepped forward, pressing his ear to the sculpture.

And he heard it - the whisper of fire.

One by one, the elves followed suit, listening in reverence before stepping back in awe.

Artemis looked on in satisfaction.

Harry cleared his throat.

"I bring you two gifts," he said. "The first is a Pensieve, the one I told you about. If you allow it, I would like to place it in the Tialdarí Hall, so that any elf or dragon may use it to glimpse memories of their loved ones."

Islanzadí raised a pale hand. "You can show any memory?"

Harry nodded. "As long as you remember them, it will work."

The queen swallowed hard. "Thank you… Harry. Many of us have lost those who meant the world to us. To grant us the ability to see them again… That is a most precious gift."

"It is," Harry agreed gently. "But dwelling too long in the past can be dangerous."

An elven lord stepped forward. "Wise words from you, Harry Potter. We shall heed them."

Harry nodded, then reached for his final gift, presenting it to Islanzadí.

"What is this, Harry?" the queen asked, perplexed. In her hands, she held a finely crafted piece of wood.

"Is it a wand?" Sirius asked surprised. "Do you know how to make them?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not a wand. Some of you may recognize it - I spent the last night before the Blood-Oath Ceremony visiting elves, asking them to use it."

"Use it?" Islanzadí waved it through the air, but nothing happened.

Harry smiled gently. "Your Majesty, focus on your emotions. Look inward. When you are ready, channel a small amount of magic into the Vaeta."

Islanzadí closed her eyes and did as he instructed - suddenly, the object glowed silver.

Before them, a majestic stag took shape, shimmering with pure energy. A reverent murmur spread through the elves as they felt the warmth it radiated.

"This is… What exactly is-" Islanzadí whispered.

Harry nodded. "Similar to a Patronus. A ward of protection, born from the hopes of countless elves. The rune Eihwaz symbolizes a turning point in life, just as we stand at one now. I want to give you all hope. If you ever find yourselves in doubt - use the Vaeta and let hope return to you."

The stag lifted its proud head, its gaze calm and unwavering. Light danced around it, filling the glade with warmth.

As Islanzadí lowered the Vaeta, the stag faded into soft, glowing embers.

"Vaeta - Hope - A fitting name, Harry Potter," she said quietly.

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

Blagden cawed, fluttering onto Harry's shoulder.

"Wyrda!"

Islanzadí shook her head gently. "No, we thank you. You, Artemis - Eragon and Saphira - and you as well, my daughter. It is because of you that we have been given this one chance to defeat Galbatorix, and we will seize it!"

The elves erupted into cheers and applause.

"We will also place your gift - the Vaeta - in the Tialdarí Hall, so that every elf may find light even in their darkest hour."

Harry was eating a piece of bread when Arya suddenly took his hand and led him toward the Menoa Tree. In the hollow, the orb of light that Islanzadí had placed there was slowly fading.

"There are only a few hours left until the Agaetí Blödhren ends," she whispered to him.

The elves had gathered around the massive pine tree, forming a circle at its base with lantern poles. Islanzadí stepped forward from the crowd and called out, "According to our tradition, as set forth by Queen Tarmunora, the first Eragon, and the White Dragon - whose name cannot be spoken in any language we know - we have come together to honour the Blood-Oath with music and dance."

She paused for a moment, letting her gaze sweep over the assembled elves.

"A hundred years ago, we sat here just as we do now, facing a desperate situation. And through the combined efforts of the dwarves, the Varden, and our own people, much has improved. Yet still, the last of the Wyrdfell and the self-proclaimed king loom over us like a shadow - and we must bear the shame of having abandoned the dragons.

Of all the ancient Riders, only Brom, Oromis, and Glaedr remain. Brom, who won victory against countless Wyrdfell, and Oromis, who until recently was plagued by illness. But fortune has favoured us, for hope appeared in the form of Eragon and Saphira – who hatched out of one of the three dragon eggs that were saved. And Artemis and Harry, whose arrival brought new light into our ranks.

Even the stars themselves seem to realign as fate continues to weave its threads. Now we stand at the threshold of a new era - but whether it brings us light, or darkness is not determined by fate alone, but by our own hands."

Islanzadí ended her speech and stepped back. At her signal, two young elven women stepped into the centre of the circle.

Blagden took flight from Harry's shoulder, where he sat between Arya and Artemis, and cawed loudly, "Wyrda!"

Arya squeezed Harry's hand. "Watch closely, Harry. This is the beginning of yours and Eragon's inheritance."

Harry exchanged a brief glance with Eragon, who sat between Glaedr and Saphira as if surrounded by two towering mountains, then turned his eyes toward the performance before him.

"Wyrda!" Blagden cried again.

The two elven women were identical, down to the last strand of hair. The only difference was that one had hair as black as the night, while the other's shimmered silver like moonlight.

"I think these are the first twin elves I've ever seen. I wonder if they talk like the Weasley twins," Harry murmured.

Arya grinned and whispered, "Those are the caretakers, Iduna and Nёya."

The two reached for the brooches at their throats, and as their white robes fell away, an incredible dragon tattoo was revealed.

It started at Iduna's ankle, coiling up her calf, wrapping around her thigh, and continuing across her torso before seamlessly merging onto Nёya's back, where it ended with the dragon's head. Every single scale was meticulously inked in detail, and Harry was certain that each one represented a different dragon's colour. In the light, the tattoo shimmered like a rainbow.

Thump.

Iduna and Nёya struck the earth, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Thump.

Again, they stomped one foot on the ground, joined by elves beating drums.

Thump.

On the third beat, musicians joined in, plucking the strings of their harps and playing melodies on their flutes.

Iduna and Nёya pounded the ground rhythmically, moving in sinuous, serpentine patterns around each other - making it seem as if the tattooed dragon itself was coming to life.

Then, they began to sing. Their voices wove into an ancient spell, one so old that Harry could only grasp fragments of its meaning. Like wind rising in a storm, the song grew in intensity as the surrounding elves joined in, their bodies and spirits resonating with the magic.

Beside him, Arya's voice joined the chant, and though Harry didn't know the words, he, too, felt compelled to sing. When he heard the low hum of Artemis, he sensed the air vibrate with magic, charged and alive.

Thump.

Iduna and Nёya danced faster, their feet striking the earth with increasing speed, moving so quickly it seemed as though they were floating above the ground. Then, a light flared over the dragon tattoo - from its head to the very tip of its tail.

Suddenly, fire burst from the dragon's nostrils, shooting high into the sky.

And then - it detached from their skin.

Thump.

The dragon threw back its head and let out a thunderous roar, so powerful that Harry swore the very air trembled with magic.

Beside him, Arya gasped.

He turned and saw why.

A white light wove through the branches of the Menoa Tree. One by one, the elves noticed it, pointing as it circled the dragon's head before drifting forward - toward Harry.

"That's a spirit," Arya whispered, but her voice sounded distant, far away.

The dragon's gaze locked onto Harry, and instinctively, he raised his right hand, palm up - the Gedwëy Ignasia gleaming with silver light.

The spirit pulsed, then shot toward his outstretched palm, making contact.

A jolt surged through him, as though a spark passed between him and the spirit. His vision blurred into a cascade of shifting colours and patterns, and for a moment, he felt as if the entire world was unravelling before him.

And then, he saw him.

Like a rift, the world split open before him. The dragon loomed over the rift, standing watch like a guardian, as a single figure stepped through the gap.

He had long white hair, his shoulders were squared and tense, and his face was sharp with a prominent hooked nose that cast a shadow over his slanted eyes. His gaze was filled with kindness and a wisdom that Harry had only ever sensed in the oldest elves, like Dellanir.

Even Oromis seemed like a mere fledgling compared to the being standing before him.

With his mouth slightly open, Harry looked past the figure and saw hundreds of lights - no, spirits - flitting back and forth. But nothing made him feel smaller, more powerless, than the massive white mountain looming in the far distance.

The stranger opened his mouth, and his words resonated in Harry's mind as if they had travelled from a place far beyond his reach.

"At last, we meet, Harry Potter."

Harry looked around, but time itself seemed to have frozen. Arya's eyes were wide in shock, just as they had been when the white spirit had touched him. Artemis, too, stared, her gaze locked on the dragon before them. Yet no one moved.

"Who are you?"

The man stepped forward. "A friend. Just like the spirit that touched you. She has been watching over you for many years."

"She?"

The stranger nodded. "She has always watched over you. When Voldemort came that night to kill you. And when you sacrificed yourself for the lives of others. She allowed me to bring you to these lands… to speak with you today."

"You were the one to bring me to Alagaёsia?"

The stranger knelt before Harry, placing a hand on his forehead. He shimmered, almost translucent, as if he were more an illusion than a living being. He did not belong to this world.

"Yes and no… and I don't have much time left, Harry. You must listen carefully: The Draumar walk the earth once more, and in the shadows, the Hunger stirs. Beware of the dreamer of dreams, young Dragon Rider."

"Draumar? Hunger? What are you talking about?"

The stranger's eyes shone gently. "You have already felt his presence, Harry - when you healed Oromis. I am sorry, but there is no time left. I must go… but not before freeing you from this burden."

His hand shot forward, and Harry nearly screamed in shock as the nearly transparent fingers slid effortlessly into his forehead. He felt them grasp something deep within him.

The stranger clenched his fist and pulled back.

Harry suddenly felt lighter. Liberated.

Blinking, he collapsed forward, barely catching himself in time. He lifted his head just in time to see the stranger holding a sphere of dark energy in his palm. Within it, two crimson eyes pulsed.

"Voldemort will no longer haunt you. You are free, Harry - just as you were always meant to be."

Harry fell to the ground. His vision blurred with exhaustion.

"Who are you?"

"I am the First… and the Forgotten."

The stranger smiled, and for a brief moment, Harry was reminded of a mural he had seen months ago in the dwarven city of Tarnag. In the Celbedeil, the origins of the world had been carved into stone - starting with Helzvog, the god who created the first dwarves, and depicting Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the war between elves and dragons, which had been ended by the very first Dragon Rider.

An elf named-

"Eragon."

Eragon nodded, his form growing ever more transparent. The colours of the world returned as the dragon turned back towards Iduna and Nёya. The rift began to close.

Eragon, the first of the Dragon Riders, raised his hand in farewell as his voice faded.

"One day, we will meet again, Harry. Stay strong… and beware of our true enemy, the one lurking in our dreams. Seek the one who calls himself Fjalar…"

"Father, when will we finally get there?" a girl asked as she adjusted her backpack above her grey clothes. The sun shone down on them as they followed the paved path.

"Soon, my angel. We'll be there soon," her father replied.

"Will we stay longer this time?" the girl asked again.

"As long as there is work for us, my angel. But I think this time, we will stay for a few years."

The girl's eyes widened. "That long? But we're so far from home!"

"I know, my angel. But-"

"Father! Look! There's a boy lying by the river!"

Her father followed her gaze. "You're right! Come, Elyana!"

Harry woke from his dream.

He was alone - or so he thought, until he found himself staring into two large, bulbous blue eyes.

"I swear I'll set your favourite pants on fire if you ever describe my eyes like that again," Artemis growled.

Rubbing his own eyes, Harry grinned. "I won't do it again, promise. How long was I out?"

Artemis gazed at him with concern, smoke curling from her nostrils. "Just an hour. How do you feel?"

"I feel… good. I've never felt this free before. And I can sense you more clearly than ever!"

Artemis snorted. "I feel it too… He's gone, isn't he?"

Harry frowned. "Who?"

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Voldemort. Ever since the ritual with Oromis, I could always sense him inside you. But now… I can't feel him anymore."

Harry's hand slowly rose to his forehead as he reached inward with his mind. "You're right. He's… gone."

Matching grins spread across both Rider and Dragon. Artemis lunged forward and licked Harry across the face.

"Stop! Ouch! Artemis, cut it out!" Harry gasped. "Your tongue is anything but gentle," he grumbled.

"Sorry, but I'm just happy for you. You're finally free of him."

Harry grinned, and Artemis tilted her head. "Do you think you can use it now?"

Harry mirrored her movement. "Use what?"

"The Ancient Language, you idiot."

Harry's mouth opened then closed. "I hadn't even thought about that."

"That's why I'm here. Try it," Artemis urged eagerly, clearly curious. She pulled her head out of his room, and Harry followed her outside.

"What are you looking for?" Artemis asked.

"A stone - reminds me of Teirm, when I first tried it, you know?"

A small flame puffed from Artemis' nostrils. "Use that one. It's nice and round."

Harry picked up the stone and took a deep breath. He focused and said firmly, "Stenr rïsa!"

Had anyone been watching, they would have been infected by the sheer joy radiating from Harry and seeing a jumping Artemis. Previously, the stone had only wobbled slightly when he attempted this spell - but now, it shot uncontrollably into the air. Only when Harry felt the magic draining his strength did he finally release it.

"You did it!" Artemis bellowed excitedly.

Harry grinned. "I did. It's going to take some getting used to - casting magic with restraint."

Artemis straightened up. "Then maybe you should learn not to throw stunning spells at everything that slightly moves."

Harry laughed. "Finally, I can use the Ancient Language."

Then he groaned.

"What's wrong?" Artemis asked.

"Oromis is going to push me even harder now," Harry complained.

Artemis nudged him with her nose. "Everyone was really worried when Sirius and Oromis brought you here. And if it means we can protect the ones we love, isn't it worth it?"

Harry gave her a small smile. "Of course… Do you know where Arya is?"

Artemis hesitated for a moment. "She said she was going to the flower gardens of the Tialdarí Hall. Do you want to-"

Harry was already standing. "Yes."

Harry reached an archway grown between two trees, marking the entrance to a vast garden.

"Root of tree, fruit of vine, let me pass by this blood of mine," he recited quickly in the Ancient Language, shivering slightly as he felt the small drain of energy.

This feels strange.

He stepped through the archway and found himself in a massive flower garden. Wandering through it, he finally spotted Arya, sitting cross-legged near the edge of a large tree.

Her soft voice hummed a melody, and Harry sat down on the grass beside her. Fireflies danced in time with her tune as he closed his eyes, just as she had.

"This is for you," he heard Arya say, and he felt her fingers searching for his hand. She took it, leaving something cold in his palm before pulling away.

He opened his eyes and held it up to inspect it. It was a necklace, with a ring attached, bearing a familiar symbol. Harry had seen it before.

He narrowed his eyes. "Isn't this the same symbol you have on your shoulder?"

"Yes, this is the Yawë-"

"The bond of trust," Harry finished for her.

Arya opened her eyes, watching him patiently. "I had to memorize hundreds of glyphs from the Liduen Kvaedhí. Are you really surprised that I'd recognize a rune I've seen before?"

"No, I suppose not, Harry. You've learned much since we entered Du Weldenvarden. This ring is a gift from the Queen to you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "A gift? Why didn't your mother give it to me personally? I'm not that intimidating, am I?"

The corners of Arya's lips twitched. "No, I requested that I was the one to give it to you."

Harry tilted his head. "Why?"

Arya turned to face him. "Because I made it for you. The Queen - no, my people - wanted to thank you. And there is no greater token of gratitude than wearing the symbol of the trust you have placed in my people, Harry."

For a moment, Harry was silent. Then, he took the necklace and carefully slipped it over his head. The ring slid down the silver chain and rested against his tunic, pressing gently into the fabric. His gaze lingered on it for a moment before looking back at Arya.

"What will you name it?" Arya asked.

"I'm supposed to name it?"

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Remember your lessons: names hold power."

Harry nodded, thinking for a moment. The white sapphire reminded him of Artemis' scales, of the pale moonlight. He clenched the gem tightly in his hand.

"I think I'll call it… Lunis."

Arya nodded in approval. "A good name. I'm proud that you wear Lunis around your neck - and to call you my friend," she said.

Harry swallowed hard. He didn't know what to say. Then, an idea came to him.

He clasped the ring tightly in his fist and closed his eyes.

"Arget!" Harry whispered in the Ancient Language, feeling the spell drain his energy. When he opened his hand, an identical copy of the ring lay in his palm, with one small difference.

Engraved into the white sapphire was a sharp, jagged lightning bolt, striking through its centre, with a flame flickering behind it as though ignited by the bolt.

Arya gasped beside him. Eyes wide, she took the ring in her hand. "You used the Ancient Language for this…"

She looked up at him, mouth slightly open. "I thought you couldn't use it because it shielded you from Voldemort - unless that means… you're free of him? Once and for all?"

Harry grinned and nodded. Arya's face lit up with a brilliant smile, and she threw her arms around his neck.

Harry's face burned red, and his heart pounded against his ribs. Especially when Arya leaned back and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

A soft pink hue dusted her cheeks, and her long lashes fluttered slightly as she lowered her gaze. A strange ache spread through Harry's chest.

What's wrong with me?

"You can finally be yourself," Arya murmured. "I'm happy for you, Harry. I can't imagine what it must be like, knowing you never have to think about Voldemort again."

Harry nodded. "It feels… like I can breathe freely for the first time. Even my bond with Artemis feels stronger. It's hard to put into words."

Arya nodded, her gaze flickering to his forehead. "But the scar is still there. You can only see it up close, though."

Harry brushed his hair back. "Honestly, I'm glad it's still there. After everything I've been through, it's a part of me now. It's as important to me as my left hand."

Arya pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She tucked the duplicate ring into her pocket. "Did the dragons do this to you during the ritual? I spoke with Oromis, and he said… they changed Eragon."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Did the same thing happen to Eragon?

He told her everything that had happened, and Arya's eyes widened.

"You really think it was Eragon? The first Rider?" Arya asked seriously.

Harry nodded firmly. "I remember his image in Tarnag, Arya. He looked exactly the same, the nose and everything - just… not as alive as we are," he said, touching his own hand.

"He seemed almost translucent… Like a ghost, as if he didn't belong in our world."

"If what you're saying is true - and I believe you - then we have a much bigger problem," Arya said grimly.

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Arya turned to face him. "Have you ever wondered why no elf ever speaks of him? No texts? No paintings? Songs?"

Harry tilted his head in thought. "Now that you mention it, Oromis only referenced him once… Even the dwarves have a carving of him."

Arya nodded. "Exactly… My people would never forget him. And I must confess, I only started thinking about him recently. Ever since we entered Du Weldenvarden, his name has surfaced in my dreams, and I can't get it out of my head. It's like an itch I can't scratch."

"So… There's magic at work here," Harry said slowly. "Maybe a memory spell?"

Arya sighed. "Yes, and it seems like Artemis, and we are the only ones who remember his name. Not even our Eragon, who questions everything, asks about him. But why just us? And where is he?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we need to follow the spirits - one seems to have taken a liking to me."

Arya smirked. "Follow the spirits instead of spiders?"

Harry laughed. "Ron would be much happier with that."

They fell into silence until Arya sighed.

"Why does everything have to be so difficult?" she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know," Harry sighed.

"Did you like my poem?" Arya finally asked softly.

"It suited you. It showed everything you've endured to become the person you are today, and I'm proud to call you my friend," Harry said, and Arya closed her eyes.

"My mother wasn't particularly pleased."

Harry snorted. "No, she wasn't. But she'll have to live with it."

He noticed Arya shifting beside him, following her gaze to a flower - a black morning glory.

Arya caught his look and leaned forward. "Open."

The flower unfurled, revealing a shimmering royal blue centre that faded into deep black at the petal tips. But pale specks were beginning to spread through the bloom. Its colour was fading.

"It was once the most beautiful flower," Arya whispered, tracing the drooping petals with her fingertips.

"What's wrong with it? It looks sick," Harry asked gently.

Arya hugged her legs tighter. "It no longer has the strength to stand tall. Soon, its time will come to wither."

Harry glanced at Arya, watching her shoulders tremble slightly. He had a feeling they weren't just talking about the flower anymore.

Without thinking, he pressed his hand into the earth beside it and began to sing softly in the Ancient Language.

The words Harry sang in the Ancient Language were unfamiliar and yet felt as natural as breathing. They flowed from his lips like water over smooth stone -gentle, yet powerful, sinking deep into the earth. A faint breeze stirred the grass, making the flower tremble as though taking one final breath.

Arya slowly lifted her head. Her dark green eyes, deep as a forest lake, settled on Harry. The trembling of her shoulders eased, but something in her gaze remained - something raw and unspoken. Pain. Hope. Perhaps even disbelief.

"What… what are you doing?" she whispered.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, ever so gently, something stirred in the soil.

A tiny green bud emerged from the earth, fragile but determined, reaching for the sky. Slowly, it grew, its stem stretching upward, until finally, its petals unfurled.

A white lily.

It glowed softly in the dim evening light, its petals pristine and untouched. The delicate flower curled around the black morning glory, supporting it, as if whispering that it was not alone.

Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Not bad for my third spell - but Merlin, that was exhausting. Who knew to grow a single flower could take so much energy?"

Arya stared at him, her lips slightly parted. "You… you did - why?"

Harry only shrugged. "I've learned a lot from Oromis. Theoretically, I can cast these spells, but I'm still figuring out my limits. And I did it for you. I don't know what this flower means to you, but… I can see in your eyes that it does."

He stood up, ready to leave, but Arya caught his hand.

He turned, but her face was hidden behind her dark hair.

"Arya - are you all right?"

"No - yes," she whispered and dropped his hand. "Harry… can you leave me alone for a moment? I need to… think."

A sharp ache bloomed in Harry's chest. He nodded, though it pained him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Arya hesitated. Her voice was hollow. "I'm leaving tomorrow… returning to the Varden."

"Oh," Harry murmured. "Will you-?"

But he fell silent when she turned away.

Slowly, he stepped back, and after a few more paces, the pain in his chest twisted sharply.

He glanced over his shoulder one last time.

Arya sat alone beneath the tree.

Then, the archway's enchanted doors closed before him, cutting her from his sight.

Harry exhaled heavily, leaning against the cold wood before sinking down onto the ground.

His right hand clutched his aching chest.

"Damn," he muttered, closing his eyes as the weight of the moment settled over him. His breath was heavy, uneven.

But he understood it now. He knew where the pain came from. It was his heart that was hurting. He was in love.

Harry sighed as he sank into a chair later that night. In his hand, he held a mug filled with Faelnirv.

"What's the matter, Potter?"

Harry turned to see Dellanir standing behind him, holding two full mugs.

"It's nothing."

She snapped her fingers, and a chair flew over from a nearby table, landing gracefully beside him. She took a seat.

"Really? Silent magic? Isn't that dangerous?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dellanir laughed. "Ah, life would be far too dull otherwise. When you get to be as old as I am… and as talented," she winked, "you'll learn to challenge life in the small things."

She held out a mug to Harry.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Faelnirv, but with a few herbs from a plant that grows on the eastern banks of the Röna River. I've studied plants for a long time and discovered this mixture years ago. It gives the Faelnirv a little… extra strength. And judging by how lost you look, I'd say you could use it."

Harry accepted the mug and lifted his own. "Skal rïsa."

His mug floated into the air until he caught it at just the right height to drink.

Dellanir arched an elegant eyebrow. "So, you've finally rid yourself of that plague."

"Yes," Harry murmured, taking a deep swig. The Faelnirv burned so fiercely down his throat that his eyes watered.

"Not even Firewhisky is this strong," he coughed.

Dellanir laughed, giving him a light pat on the back. "So, what's bothering you? I expected you to be grinning like the sun itself, now that you have freed yourself."

Harry's thoughts drifted to Arya, and he sighed again.

"Oh dear, you've got it bad," Dellanir said, taking a sip from her own mug.

"It's nothing-"

"Don't insult my intelligence, child. I've been alive too long, and you are entirely too smitten with my granddaughter."

Unbeknownst to them, Arya had approached from behind, only to freeze in the shadows of a nearby tree when she caught Dellanir's words.

Heat rushed to Harry's face. "I never said that-"

Dellanir rolled her eyes. "Oh, come now. It's obvious. And if you think you can lie to me, let me remind you - I was the queen of the elves for centuries."

Harry shot her a glare, but Dellanir only grinned into her mug.

Arya stood motionless, listening intently.

"You're right. It's Arya - I think… I love her."

Dellanir lifted an eyebrow. "You think or you know?"

Harry sighed. "I know. Satisfied?"

Dellanir smirked. "Only a little. Would you like to see a memory of her when she was younger? I've heard you shared your own memories with her and the others - it would only be fair. Besides, you have to show me your memories at some point. I'm quite curious to see how your magic is taught, Harry."

Harry took another sip. "You can look at them anytime. I left them in the Pensieve."

"Oh, how generous."

Harry shrugged. "Artemis and Thiora convinced me. They said others should know about my… adventures. Not that I care. And about your offer-"

Arya's fingers dug into the bark of the oak tree she was hiding behind. She couldn't face Harry after what she had just heard. She simply couldn't.

Harry smiled. "-I have to decline. I'd rather learn about Arya on my own. What she likes, what she doesn't. Did you know that Arya's ear tips turn slightly red when she's embarrassed?"

And Harry kept talking. He told Dellanir about his first meeting with Arya - how she challenged him, pushed him to always be his best, yet somehow knew when to give him space. How she was demanding but not unkind, strict but compassionate. How she drove him to his limits, only to give him time to come back stronger.

Dellanir listened with a growing smile.

"Why don't you just tell her?" she asked gently.

"She's now my best friend, aside from Artemis. I don't want to lose her-"

Dellanir groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Then tell me what I should do! Give me some of that ancient elven wisdom!" Harry shot back.

Dellanir glanced up at the night sky and held up a finger. "First of, I am not ancient! If you ever say that to me again, I will make you turn bald! Secondly, you're an idiot, Harry. But if you really want some advice… you're too caught up in where you've been. You keep looking backward instead of forward."

Hogwarts… Carvahall … the Varden - places flashed through Harry's mind, each tugging at him in different ways.

"Yes… I feel stuck," Harry admitted.

Dellanir snapped her fingers. "Imagine if you could snap your fingers right now and relive any moment from your past. I bet you'd still feel this way – like something is missing. The point is, Harry, that you can't get so hung up in what was. If you spend too much time dwelling on the past, you'll forget how to make the most of where you currently are."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you telling me?"

Dellanir gave him a knowing smile and patted his shoulder. "Stop worrying about what you can't control. Live a little."

Harry took another drink. "Live a little… That doesn't sound easy."

"It's not. Believe me, I know," Dellanir grumbled, taking a final swig.

Harry set his empty mug down. "Well then, would you care to dance? Sunrise is almost here."

Dellanir snorted. "An old woman like me? Shouldn't you be asking someone else?"

Harry only grinned. "You told me to live in the moment - so that's what I'm doing. And besides you just told me that you aren't old."

Dellanir sighed, shaking her head. "If you put it that way, I suppose I can't refuse, but there is still a difference between ancient and old…"

Lily walked alongside Moony through the forest. They hopped between the trees when she suddenly spotted her grandmother and Uncle Harry sitting together. Their backs were turned towards her.

She lifted her arm, about to call out, when Moony tugged at her sleeve.

Lily frowned. "What is it, Moony?"

Moony nodded toward a tree, and Lily's eyes widened. "Aunt Arya-!"

But as she stepped closer, she saw Arya leaning against the tree, her knees drawn up to her chest.

Her aunt lifted her head, and Lily saw that her eyes were red.

"Aunt Arya - why are you crying?"

Arya blinked rapidly and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, as if hoping Lily wouldn't notice. But it was too late. The moonlight streamed gently through the leaves above them, and in its silver glow, the faint traces of tears still shimmered on Arya's face.

Lily didn't hesitate. She closed the last few steps between them, dropped to her knees in front of Arya, and carefully reached for her hand.

"Do you want a hug? My mum says - oof."

Before Lily could even finish her sentence, Arya had already pulled her into a firm embrace. Lily blinked in surprise but quickly melted into it, feeling the warmth radiating from Arya's body.

"My mum says hugs always help," Lily murmured against Arya's shoulder, tightening her arms around her.

Arya let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was both sad and grateful. "Your mum is very wise, little flower."

Moony sat down beside them, his ears twitching slightly as he rested his head against Arya's side. For a moment, no one said a word. The wind rustled gently through the leaves above them, and in the distance, the soft murmuring of Uncle Harry and her grandmother could be heard.

Ellesméra – Two Weeks later

The gentle chirping of birds blended with the rustling of leaves as Lily carefully slipped out of the front door.

Her grandmother's voice made her freeze. "Where are you going?"

Lily coughed awkwardly into her hand. Moony leaned against her side. "I'm going home."

"You said you'd be staying here for the next few days," Dellanir remarked absentmindedly, her face twisting in concentration as she wrote on a scroll titled The Rapid Change of Animals in Du Weldenvarden.

Nagra - Shrrg - Urzhad – Feldûnost

Possible Connection?

Black Smoke

Fricai Andlát

Lily rolled her eyes. "I changed my mind! See you soon, Grandma!"

She took a running start and jumped onto Moony's back, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Are you ready?"

Moony, however, was anything but ready. He gripped her sleeve with his sharp beak and let out a warning growl.

"Oh, Moony, don't be such a chicken," Lily muttered, shaking free from his grip. "I just want to find that mushroom. Angela was probably exaggerating."

Moony flared his nostrils and pinned his ears back. Angela had been very clear about staying away from the Fricai Andlát, but Lily's curiosity was stronger than any warning.

And Lily was as stubborn as ever.

"Hey, I am not stubborn!" Lily shot back at Moony, who simply stared at her defiantly. She might not understand Moony as well as she could Artemis, since Moony didn't speak in words, but the more time they spent together, the better they understood each other. Especially now that he was bigger than she was, and she had flown on his back several times since the Agaetí Blödhren.

They hovered over the forest-green treetops of Ellesméra, careful not to be seen - otherwise, she'd be grounded for weeks.

If there was one strict rule for Lily, it was that she was never to leave Ellesméra alone.

But really, what could possibly happen? She would only be outside for a short time and Moony was with her as well.

"Fly down there," Lily murmured, spotting a massive tree that towered above the others. Moony clacked his beak and swooped through a gap between two treetops, and Lily landed with the grace of a young and skilled flyer.

"Oof," Lily groaned, rubbing her backside. "We really need to work on that landing."

Moony bent down to help her up. She looked around. Aside from the towering trees surrounding them, there was nothing in sight. They were alone.

"Come on, the sooner we find one, the sooner we can go home."

They followed a narrow path lined with ancient tree trunks, their eyes sweeping the forest floor. Eventually, they reached the enormous tree Lily had spotted from the air. At its roots, a cluster of deep black mushrooms gleamed, speckled with orange and blue flashes.

"That's it!" Lily cheered, stepping forward.

Moony growled.

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the trees, making the leaves whisper as if the forest itself was trying to warn her. A shadow flickered through the branches.

Lily shivered.

Then - a noise. A faint, yet ominous scraping sound behind her.

Black smoke slithered from cracks in the ground beneath the mushroom, curling upward like grasping fingers. A sickening stench hit her nose.

It smelled like brimstone.

Moony stepped protectively in front of her, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim forest light. Lily's stomach twisted. Maybe they shouldn't have come after all.

She sighed in relief when an elf emerged from the thicket into the light.

"Oh, it's just you. I thought you were a wild animal - or worse, my mum-"

The elf smiled. "You'll soon wish it was your dear mother, foolish elf... Seize her!"

Everything happened too fast.

She heard Moony's cry as two dark figures lunged from behind the elf. Moony lashed out, his claws raking against them, but he was quickly restrained.

Before Lily could react, the elf grabbed her by the collar and slammed her to the ground.

Lily looked up with wide, fearful eyes - into a pair of sinister yellow eyes.

"It's best if you sleep now... and dream of something pleasant, Lily."

Then, the elf spoke a word in the ancient language, and everything went dark.

The elf straightened and turned to the griffin, who was still struggling against his captors.

"Tie him to a tree. We can't risk him escaping."

"Ssshouldn't, we kill it?"

The elf's silver hair whipped around as she spun toward him, her teeth bared.

"No. We don't know what happens if we kill him. We can't risk the girl dying. Take her to Ceunon as planned. It won't take long for them to find out that she is missing."

"Lord Tarrant-"

The elf clenched her jaw. "He knows. Now move. Or do you wish to linger near the Menoa Tree any longer?"

The figure hissed and slung Lily over his shoulder. With a single leap, they vanished into the shadows.

The elf watched them disappear before pulling her hood over her face, concealing everything but her glowing yellow eyes.

"It's all for my people. Everything."

A/N: After the memories, I felt that a longer chapter with a lot happening was needed. I am also not completely sure about Thorn's Eldunari - if it doesn't work out, I will change it back. The Arcaena and Draumar are both organisations and will take important roles going forward, and Harry will soon have his first interaction with the Draumar. Next chapter, Harry Artemis will be finally leaving Du Weldenvarden.

The ending dialogue between Dellanir and Harry is a scene from Passenger. I always wanted to use that dialogue in a way, and I hope it worked out.

Ancient Language:

Ládrin - Open

Letta - Stop

Stenr rïsa - Rise Stone

Skal rïsa - Rise Drinking Cup

Vaeta - Hope

Wyrda - Fate

Wyrdfell - The Forsworn