Part I: The Beginning of All Stories (2024)

Chapter 1: A Strange Meeting for a Strange Boy[]

In a hidden, unknown, and nameless village of the Dark Empire began this story. At that time, Eragon was likely sixteen years old.

He had an oval face and his skin had such a tone one could have mistaken Eragon with a porcelain statue. On his face could be seen almond-shaped sky blue eyes that embodied his tranquillity and whose gaze expressed his laziness, a small straight nose, a full mouth with thin peach lips, high cheekbones, a chiselled jawline, and short, well-combed blond hair.

Eragon was slim, but neither tall, nor short, a height that’s between both; an average height. He had a relaxed yet lazy posture, even though he was training with his father to prepare himself for the fights he would face when he’ll join the army. His hands were average-sized, slender and firm—much like his arms and legs. His hands were hot and sweating because of the long training he was having with his father. His torso was curvy and chiselled, but not much muscled; Eragon wasn’t truly strong nor was he truly fast physically and his muscles were forgettable.

Eragon wore a blue jacket, a white shirt, black and white shorts, and dark shoes. And this, regardless of the season, temperature, or weather; he wore this.

Both the father and the son wielded wooden swords, swinging them almost perfectly, attacking, parrying, blocking and sometimes disarming each other. Eragon had nothing to learn from swordsmanship neither did his father. However, said father suddenly decided to stop. It was time. He was ready.

"Eragon," his father uttered as they engaged in their training.

"Yes, father?" Eragon replied, poised for the opportune moment to inject a jest or, if you prefer, a pun.

"Don't call me that anymore," his "father" responded gruffly. Eragon was left bewildered, grappling with a sudden cascade of questions. Was he adopted? Who were his true parents? Was the man before him not his father? The confusion prompted a surge of anger within him.

"What do you mean? Answer!" Eragon exclaimed, trembling in anticipation of the impending revelation.

"I'm not your father," he declared. A heavy silence ensued, and Eragon, too mature to cry, too befuddled to shout, too sorrowful to muster a smile, merely gazed with a limited emotional repertoire.

"I'm just your uncle... and what's worse is that your father... is him," his uncle divulged. Eragon stood in shocked paralysis. His keen intellect swiftly grasped the identity of "Him"–the Dark King, the tyrant responsible for countless atrocities. Eragon remained motionless, silent, but deep within, he felt the profound sting of betrayal. Him, the merciless ruler who had perpetrated unspeakable horrors, was purportedly his father?

Picture the ultimate nightmare: discovering your supposed father isn't your real father, and instead, your true paternal figure is a malevolent, power-hungry king responsible for massacring millions in a bid for god-like supremacy. That's the harsh reality Eragon found himself in.

"Wait, Eragon! There's something else I need to tell you..." His uncle interjected, grasping his arm as Eragon teetered on the edge of fleeing, aching to escape into the depths of the forest, never to return.

"You're..." Eragon discerned his uncle's struggle to articulate the revelation.

"You're... the Host of the Gift, and her son," he finally confessed, sinking to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he implored Eragon's forgiveness for concealing the truth for so long.

Eragon was utterly dumbfounded, an array of questions swirling in his mind. Was the prophecy genuine? What exactly was The Gift? Could his uncle be absolutely certain this wasn't a grave error? He, it appeared, was the offspring of Her—the Last Hope of the world, rumoured to have been utterly devastated, physically, spiritually, conceptually, and mentally, by the Dark King to bear him a son. She had suffered rape, violent injuries, broken bones, torn muscles, and bled so profusely it formed a river. And he was the son of this monstrous man?

Lost, tainted by his own existence, repulsed by his uncle's web of lies, enraged by his origins—his body and mind were a tumult of conflicting emotions.

And so, he began to stride away, each step quickening. He passed the inn, the butcher, the haircutter, the barber, the Chief's house, and exited the village. Unimpeded, nothing and no one hindered his departure; at last, he found solace in solitude. Meandering through the nearby forest, he gauged the growing distance from the village with each stride. One kilometre, two, three, four, five... satisfied with the distance, he ceased running, finding himself on a dirt path. Seating himself near a tree, he waited, pondering his next move.

In that quiet interlude, he noticed a man atop a horse, donned in a broad hat concealing his face. The man's attire combined dark and white fabrics, hidden beneath a cloak shielding him from the rain. Slightly shorter than Eragon, standing at around one metre seventy.

"Greetings, young boy. What are you doing here?" inquired the man. Eragon hesitated for a moment before responding.

"I-I don't deserve your time."

"I sense a bit of despair. Come with me; I'll treat you to a small inn run by a friend, and we can talk over a fine glass, shall we?" the man proposed, extending his hand. A dilemma gripped Eragon. Should he accompany the man? What if it was a trap? Was this a ploy to deliver him to the Dark King?

But...

Did he really have a better choice? He had departed from the village, and returning was not just forbidden by the rules but also something he had no desire to do. Moreover, as the Host of the Gift, he needed training to fulfil his newfound purpose—to vanquish his father and liberate the Empire once and for all.

Yes, that was his newfound life's goal.

For what the Dark King had done to his mother, Eragon swore to dismember him into a thousand pieces.

And so, Eragon rose...

and clasped the hand extended by the man.

Chapter 2: The Imperial Prophet[]

Hours later, after sacrificing the horse for sustenance due to its inability to keep pace on the narrow roads, Eragon and the man reached the inn. The man ordered a glass of beer, while Eragon chose water.

"So... what's your name?" inquired Eragon.

"Hehe... I'm pleased you asked," the man replied, emitting a small chuckle.

"I'm..." The man then removed his hat, revealing his face.

"I'm Brom, the Prophet and Archmage of the Empire," he declared, unveiling an oval-shaped face with almond-shaped eyes that were green, like the lush greenery of a dense forest. Their hue exhibited a dark yet intense green tone. Looking into his eyes, one could see an enigmatic forest dancing in his pupils, coming to life. His nose was straight, well-defined, sitting elegantly in the centre of his face, leading down to soft, pink lips.

Framing his face was a cascade of wavy, chestnut-brown hair, falling just below his shoulders. His hair was too short for Eragon to label him a “girl” and too long to classify him as a “man”; yet, Brom would become one of the most human people Eragon would ever encounter.

A tailored white blazer, fitted and crisp, formed the centrepiece of his outfit. Paired with it were high-waisted black trousers, creating a sharp contrast. Beneath the blazer, a white silk blouse with delicate black polka dots peeked through. The accessories continued the theme with a wide black belt cinched at his waist, creating a striking silhouette. In his hands, he held a black leather tote bag, which Brom put on his back when travelling with Eragon. The ensemble was completed with classic black and white oxford shoes.

Eragon, judging by the minority of white hair forming amidst his chestnut-brown locks, by the overall appearance of the man, and by several other criteria, deduced that he was around forty years old—old enough for Eragon to jokingly call him an old man later on.

"The... Prophet? So, you're the one who-"

"Yes, my child. The prophecy originates from me," declared Brom.

"You're the host of the Gift, right? No need to answer; looking at you, I'm sure it's you at ninety-nine percent. And hey, it's my prophecy; I'm the one who decides who is the Chosen," Brom continued, chuckling.

"W-wait, you said you were an Archmage of the Empire. Does that mean you'll help me master the Gift?" Eragon inquired.

"Yes, my child. Tomorrow, the training will commence. We're also heading to the Elves' Kingdom so that I can meet an old friend of mine. But their Kingdom is quite distant, and we're going to need to travel a bit," answered Brom.

"Alright then, what are we waiting for?" said Eragon before swiftly departing from the inn.

The child... he's resolute, displaying great potential, Brom mused before he, too, left the inn.

Chapter 3: Travelling Travellers and Merchanding Merchant[]

After hours of travel, during which Brom expressed dissatisfaction with the locations Eragon had chosen, deeming them, in his words, "unsuitable for training", they finally stumbled upon an expansive plain adorned with green grass and scattered grey rocks. Seating themselves on substantial stones for support, Brom commenced the process of elucidating the intricacies of magic.

“So basically, it’s all about things like spiritual and elemental principles, where you need to concentrate and summon magical forces within your body to unleash an attack, defying the laws of physics?” Eragon inquired.

“Yeah, like Fire, Water, Air, Earth, ... But, instead of simply utilising these Elements, you can also merge them. There are two combinations I would like you to remember. Merging Earth and Fire results in Magma, more commonly known as Lava, while Air or Water, merged with Earth, creates Sand.

But Elements don’t define Magic; they're just a part of it. Magic empowers you to accomplish anything you desire, as long as you concentrate and have the ability. It’s akin to learning Chinese; challenging at first, but it becomes second nature with practice.

For instance, one could manipulate the aspects of space and time simply because Magic allows it.

Magic is measured by your stamina and spiritual energy. The more you use it, the more fatigued you become. Initially, you might just sweat, but with excessive use, you could faint or even risk death,” Brom explained.

“So basically, somewhat like mana,” Eragon summarised, to which Brom sighed.

“If you want…” Brom replied.

“Well, let’s start with one of the most emblematic and straightforward elements: Fire. You’re going to create a fireball,” Brom instructed.

“And how many Elements must I master?” Eragon asked.

“The ones I've introduced would be an excellent start. Plus, being the son of both the Dark King and Light, you won't encounter difficulties with Elemental Affinities.

"Elemental Affinities, essentially, are—”

"No need to explain, old man; I got it," Eragon interrupted as he delved into contemplating the creation of a fireball. Hours passed, feeling like days, during which Brom decided to take a well-deserved nap. Finally, Eragon discovered a method, and a small fireball materialized in the palm of his hand. Though not impressive, it marked a significant stride into the realm of Magic for him.

“So, how did you manage to create a fireball?” Brom inquired.

"Well, basically, I figured out that I had to focus my 'mana' on the palm of my hand; otherwise, the issue could have been that the accumulated energy might have found other exits, such as my mouth or more sensitive areas. By concentrating the energy on my palm, the heat increases.

"I had the energy source, I had the oxidant—dioxygen—but I was missing the propellant. Then, I remembered you told me that Magic transcended the laws of physics, and I realised that the propellant would be nothing but Magic itself.

I thus came to the conclusion that Magic is the propellant for the element of Fire, while Mana is its source of energy, and the dioxygen in the air serves as its oxidant—though I suppose Magic could also replace the oxidant.

With this, I concentrated the shape of the fire into a rounded orb, bending its form while it was still manipulable. I also had the idea to include rotation within the production, increasing the speed and size of the fireball.

And that’s how I—”

“Yeah yeah, good stuff, young one,” Brom snapped, before laughing, while Eragon stayed expressionless.

“Unfunny—”

“Anyways, good job, truly,” Brom congratulated as he gently tapped on Eragon's shoulder.

This child truly is special. While most apprentice mages create a fireball without truly knowing how they managed to do that, this kid managed to explain to me how he did it perfectly. It was like I was being taught by an Archmage.

In fact, he understood how to create one faster than I did when I was his age, Brom thought, reminiscing about old times.

“Hey, old man,” Eragon addressed—he rarely called Brom by his true name.

“Yes?” Brom responded as he packed up his belongings, preparing to hit the road again.

“How long will you teach me Magic exactly?” Eragon asked. Brom looked at Eragon before gently putting a hand on his right shoulder. It seemed like a sign of confidence and kindness.

“Ain’t dying until you master the Elements, that’s the answer.

"You better not die too, kid,” Brom replied as he and Eragon resumed their journey, heading towards the Elves Kingdom. They travelled until they encountered someone.

He, she, or whoever they were, wore a large trench coat and a fedora. His skin—was it hidden in the shadows, or was it the shadows themselves? His face—none could say what it looked like. No gaze could be seen, no red lips were visible, and no nose protruded from the shadows. It was only a shadow dressed in a trench coat and a fedora.

Yet, even without seeing it, the obscurity exuded a luminous and piercing gaze. It wasn’t blind, yet eyes couldn’t be seen; it wasn’t deaf, yet ears couldn’t be observed; it had a face, yet it couldn’t be guessed; all these were only shadows as dark as the pure obscurity of the void. This figure, emitting an aura in black hues, seemed to embody the darkness that formed them. It seemed like darkness was present on Earth, speaking with an invisible mouth, given human characteristics.

This man was travelling on the same road as them but going in the opposite way. He was riding a mediaeval caravan built with dark brown wood and filled with merchant goods.

“Greetings, travellers,” he said. “I could see both of you coming from far away. Why don't you sit there and rest, and you could also browse my wares in case you need something?” he suggested. Brom thought, gazing at the silhouette with a piercing look, trying to analyse this shadow as if it were a threat—evaluating its capabilities, strength, and other aspects. However, his suspicious gaze found nothing.

Must just be a sort of weird shadow-ish merchant and stuff, Brom thought.

“Hey, old man, I suggest we rest there. This man looks cool,” Eragon said.

“Alright, alright, we'll stay,” Brom replied as they both accepted the man’s offer.

“Perhaps you would like to have a drink? I can give you the menu,” the merchant suggested. Both of them accepted, and he handed them the menu. The menu was made of dark brown leather, and its pages were as white as cow milk. They only dared to read the first page, where most of the drinks were listed. They could choose from Cola, water, Sprite, tea, coffee, juice of any fruity flavour, Lean, Bloxy Cola, Gay-torade, Adrenaline C-rush, Honey of Gods, or whatever would have been the "default drink" in their minds. Boldly written on the page was "Sprite Ultimatum." Funnily enough, they didn’t know what most of the drinks were, as if they came from a whole other futuristic eon.

“Yooo, Sprite Ultimatum sounds cool as hell. One for me, Merchant!” Eragon exclaimed.

“Hold on, maybe it’s—” but Brom only sighed, desperate at this point, “just a tea for me.”

“Very well, I’ll be right back with the drinks. Please have some cookies while I prepare them,” the Merchant said. He not only handed them two chairs and a table for sitting but also a plate of cookies. They appeared to be basic chocolate cookies, with brownish dough and dark chocolate chips. Brom wasn’t hungry, but Eragon, the glutton, ate all of them, like a bear preparing for winter or a whale in the wide oceans.

“Here are your drinks,” the Merchant said as he gave Brom his tea and Eragon his Sprite Ultimatum. Brom’s tea seemed normal, a green tea, even though he discreetly used a poison detection spell, just in case. However, the Sprite Ultimatum was... indescribable.

“I wonder what the Honey of Gods tastes like. Perhaps it’ll make me immortal?” Eragon wondered.

“Hey kid, remember I’m the one paying here,” Brom said, to which the Merchant lightly laughed.

“Eh, Honey of Gods is the rarest and most expensive drink in the world. Only one bottle can increase your strength and lifespan to such an extent you feel immortal. The taste? Find it by yourself,” the Merchant stated.

“How much does it cost?” Brom asked before Eragon could say anything.

“One million of our beautiful currency, made of the pure gold from the mines of the richest kingdom in the world; one million AurumCoins. Oh! And per bottle, of course,” the Merchant said.

“Alright, then the kiddo will pay,” Brom replied.

“But I have no money—” However, Brom took the bottle, opened it, gave it to Eragon, and disappeared in an instant through the aid of teleportation.

“Alright, kid, you gotta pay now,” the Merchant ordered.

“But I have no money—” Eragon repeated.

“I don’t care,” the Merchant said. However, as the Merchant was about to give Eragon whatever treatment he would have found worthy, Brom appeared back and handed him the impressive amount of money that this meant.

“But you said—”

“It was a test,” Brom snapped, cutting Eragon off.

“Did I win—”

“Definitely not.”

“Can I even—”

“No, you cannot talk. In fact, I would advise you to shut your childish mouth and drink,” Brom coldly spoke as Eragon looked at his Sprite Ultimatum and immediately began drinking it. Brom, on the other hand, kept the Honey of Gods with him while sipping his tea. The man was old; he was the lion whose mane took white hues, yet he was as intimidating as a young dominant.

“Enjoy your drinks,” the Merchant said as he drank some “Golden Chalice.”

Probably a drink that was on the other page, thought Eragon as he finished his Sprite Ultimatum. As he did so, he felt like his whole body was being electrocuted by millions of volts.

“W-w-what the f-f–f-ff*ckkkkk?” Eragon said, trembling on the ground.

“In this world, we call this karma, kiddo,” Brom said.

“Should’ve picked the regular one,” the Merchant said, laughing lightly.

“And I’m not calling a doctor,” Brom added.

“I-it’s fine… I can take it,” Eragon replied as he began to stand up.

“Thank you for everything, Merchant. Don’t you have anything for the kiddo’s training?” Brom asked.

“I got everything, as long as you’re powerful enough to handle the mighty artifacts I have in my drawers,” the Merchant replied.

“I see… but I’ll just take healing potions for the kid. The training is going to be rough,” Brom added.

“What do you mean by rough—”

“Mmmmh… can the kid come over for a second? I need to check something,” the Merchant asked.

“Alright,” Brom replied as he pushed Eragon towards the Merchant, respectfully taking distance so he wouldn't hear them speaking. The Merchant analysed Eragon with a piercing gaze. Eragon was astonished in front of such charisma and power, sensing it in his immaterial gaze and aura.

“Honestly, kid, you’re weak as hell. However, you have a lot of potential, perhaps the greatest I’ve ever seen. Maybe Brom was right after all; maybe you’re truly the Host of God’s Blade,” the Merchant said as he gave him ten health vials.

“That’ll be five hundred AurumCoins,” he then added. Eragon paid with Brom’s money and was about to leave when a question came to his mind:

“Hold up. Sir, what the heck is that Prophecy stuff? Is it the Gift? Is it God’s Blade? I don’t get it—”

“ERAGON! HURRY UP!” Brom shouted.

“Yes, sensei, coming!” Eragon exclaimed as he ran towards Brom. The Merchant, now unseen by the others, began to disappear, fading away into the shadows.

You’re a good child, Eragon, someone with great potential and power. However…

I’m afraid you came into this world too early, the Merchant thought before completely fading away. Nothing was left of him.

Chapter 4: Raz'Zor[]

Each step was torture for Eragon, but a pleasure cruise for Brom. They had been walking for about a week since encountering the Travelling Merchant. Eragon wasn't just exhausted from all the travelling but also from Brom's rigorous training. Even so, Eragon had made a lot of progress, and the training continued at its own rhythm. Fire, Water, Wind, Earth—the most emblematic Elements had been worked on, and Eragon knew he would use them one day. Brom also mentioned they would work on more uncommon Elements later, but not tomorrow, as they were finally close to the Elven Kingdom's frontiers.

"Alright, we're gonna take a break," said Brom, as they were literally a few kilometres away from the frontier.

"I'm soooooo hungry. I hope the dinner will be good because I'm exhausted," replied Eragon.

"Yeah, sure, but what's the quote again? Any work deserves gifts?" answered Brom.

"Uh oh, please don't tell me—"

"You're gonna watch around. Just imagine, the enemy could be hiding behind the living and dead trees surrounding us. It could be hiding in the green bushes, crouched onto the grass, wearing a 'natural' outfit acting as camouflage. These roads are dangerous; they’re frequented by muggers, murderers, and stuff. I bet your head must be on a bounty now that you ran away from the town. You'll get your dinner after I've had mine; we need to be cautious," Brom said as he began to set up their camp.

"I didn't sign up for that—" but he simply listened and went away, concentrating and becoming aware of his environment.

I have a bad feeling… Brom thought as he built the firecamp, keeping an eye on Eragon. This was a lucky reaction, as a towering figure suddenly materialised behind Eragon. Cloaked in a voluminous dark cape that concealed his entire body, it hinted at the possibility of a substantial coat underneath. The mysterious figure donned a wide rice hat and a crow mask, effectively obscuring any recognizable facial features.

His physique was slender and tall, almost unnaturally so, measuring at least two and a half metres. Poised and possessing subtle muscularity, he moved with the stealth and grace reminiscent of a seasoned thief infiltrating a residence—silent, agile, and exceptionally swift, exceeding speeds many times faster than the velocity of sound.

In his left hand, he tightly gripped a menacing, poisoned knife, a detail that unsettled Eragon, as convention dictated the dominant use of the right hand. The intruder moved with an almost preternatural finesse, poised to strike, and Eragon couldn't help but feel the imminent threat of the deadly blade.

How did he just— He managed to mask his aura; I couldn't sense it, nor could I see him or guess his presence! But now that I sense it, it's incredible, so dark, so horrible, and so… powerful… But I can hear something deeper, I can hear screams… I can hear the screams of those he killed, the screams of the souls he has taken, Eragon thought, many questions flowing in his head, only for him not to have time to turn around and face the enemy.

This mask… thought Brom. He then dashed, took a knife from his bag, and clashed with the man, their knives meeting. Eragon was safe, but he had fallen and sat on the ground, still shocked.

"Kiddo, watch out! This is a Raz'Zor! An Elite Troop of the Dark King! Hide somewhere; I'll meet you back!" Brom shouted.

"A-alright," Eragon said, running fast, faster than what Brom would’ve ever expected.

Eh, death truly accelerates one’s movement speed after all, Brom thought before turning his head to the Raz’zor, who hadn’t spoken a word since his appearance.

"It's only you and me now,” said Brom. Eragon hid behind a tree, which wasn’t very useful, as the distance between him and the fight was only around one hundred metres. Though, all he did against this was cross his fingers.

"Light Style: White Drag—" Brom began to say, only to be cut off by the Raz'zor, who punched his stomach, interrupting him in his sentence and making him cough blood. The punch was powerful, enhanced by some sort of dark magic, and one of his ribs had probably broken.

"I don't have time for your stupid techniques, Brom the Archmage," the Raz'zor said in a distorted and dark voice, finally speaking.

"In fact, I don't even need any magic or tricks such as illusions to beat you; my enhanced martial arts techniques will be enough,” he added.

"You underestimate me, you and your whole race; all you do is kneel in front of the Dark King, licking his boots," Brom replied as the fight quickly took another turn, both imposing their monstrous auras and creating shockwaves of pure energy that uprooted the trees around. However, the Raz'zor won this one. He then charged, at a speed way beyond that of sound, and uppercutted Brom. He continued, ruthless, with punches after punches, kicks after kicks. Brom couldn't even follow as blood began to drop, and his old body began to crumble. He had lost the power of youth; his Magic might have been strong, but his body was weak and old, fragile, his weakness exposed.

“What a shame for an Archmage to lose against simple martial arts,” the Raz’zor snapped as he took his poisonous knife and threw multiple knives, which Brom fortunately dodged. However, Brom slowly began to lose stamina as the Raz’zor disappeared in a dark mist.

A clone, Brom thought but too late as the real Raz’zor appeared behind him and threw a hit with the palm of his hand onto the back of his head, sending him flying towards the trees that still stood.

"Pathetic," the Raz'zor said. He was going to deliver the final blow. However, the Raz’zor suddenly put his middle finger and his index finger on his forehead, the top of his crow mask, as he was receiving a telepathic message from a distant entity.

"Mmmmh... Alright, I understand… Yes... Yes, sir, I'll take care of him fast and bring the Host to the Throne fast," he stammered. He then stopped, his fingers dropping back to normal, and looked back at Brom. Brom, thinking this would be his last fight, could see the mask more in detail. It was a black crow mask made of leather with two obscure and opaque round black glasses that served as his eyes. In fact, it reminded Brom of those masks the plague doctors wore in the past.

"Changing my mind, Brom, I have other things to do, so I’ll have to fight you seriously. I sincerely apologize I couldn’t make the torture longer,” the Raz'zor said as he took off his mask.

"HOLD ON, THIS DOESN'T NEED TO HAPPEN—" But it was too late; the mask was removed, along with his large rice hat and his cape and coat. His face wasn’t human, nor was it Elf-like, nor was it Dwarf-like; it was a black hole upon a compact amount of pure darkness and energy.

This… this is how they look. There are four races in our world: Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and Raz’zors, the most ancient one. It is an extinct and lost race with only a few still being members of it, most of them being the elite troops of the Dark King. Their God, now lying in the realms of Hell, is the Lord of Shadows himself, and their current King, their Chief, is a ruthless cluster of dark energy and matter whose sole purpose is to serve the Dark King.

Raz’zors embody darkness, straight up, with their faces being black holes. With such power, could they destroy the Milky Way while their link with shadows grants them extreme regeneration and resilience. Fortunately, they do not depend on such a concept, or else I would already be dead, Brom thought. But then, his black hole face began to glow as it sucked everything near—grass, mud, trees, and their leaves, growing bigger and bigger as everything would soon be sucked out if he didn’t do anything. So Brom casted Magic, using the pure spiritual energy that came from his soul, and imagined another black hole, bigger and more potent, to outclass the black hole of the Raz’zor. It appeared, beginning a battle of gravitational forces, as what was sucked by the black hole of Brom would land in a spiritual dimension of his, while what was sucked by the black hole of the Raz’zor would follow the same fate that is known to those adventuring there: the Unknown.

However, Brom was human and depended on these characteristics, including stamina, while Raz’zor was unbound by such things; his stamina was infinite, and he could do this all day.

"OLD MAN!" someone said in the distance. Brom turned around to see Eragon casting a gigantic fireball.

"What? Kiddo?” Brom asked, but it was too late. The fireball traveled, charging towards the Raz’zor. However, Brom saw something that made the fireball special: it was filled with an infinitesimal fraction of light energy. However small, Brom knew it would be enough to greatly damage the Raz’zor, whose weakness was the Element of Light. They didn’t have time to miss it, but fortunately, Brom had the time to create a water-dome-like shield, protecting him from the hot fire of the fireball, which hit and exploded on the Raz’zor, heavily wounding him as he was sent away towards a line of trees. When the smoke caused by the explosion dropped down, Eragon, Brom, and the Raz’zor stood still. However, Eragon and Brom didn’t get wounded by the fireball, as Eragon was too far and Brom was protected; that wasn’t the case for the animated Shadows, who had lost half of his body, head included.

However, the Raz’zor said nothing, nor was he surprised. He also knew what happened and kept his superior attitude as his body began regenerating, his corrupted form spreading back into reality.

I have to speak to Zar’Roz, the Raz’zor thought.

"Good job, kiddo,” Brom thought.

"Brom the Archmage... We will meet again, and this time, you and the kid will die from endless suffering as your old sack of bones crumbles, and your name will be forgotten from history," the Raz’zor threatened as he left through teleportation, and so did his aura, chilling the whole atmosphere.

"Welp, I could’ve definitely beaten his ass if—"

"Yeah sure, old man, just say you're becoming too old, and maybe I won't tell the Queen of Elves you got your ass beaten by a random darkness entity," Eragon said, leaving Brom astonished.

"You little brat—”

"Heh heh,” he chuckled before finally resting.

Chapter 5: The Beginning of the Elven Training[]

The next day, they packed up their belongings and continued traveling, sometimes setting up camp to rest, sometimes facing enemies like muggers and even an enraged dog. After two long weeks of adventure, they finally arrived at the Elves Kingdom.

In the North-West of the mystical Dark Empire, within the Prime Leaf, this independent kingdom, which was so large even France was dwarfed, stood tall, resisting against the shadows and facing them. Where the golden sunlight filters through the ancient leaves of colossal trees, lies the breathtaking Elves Kingdom.

The Elves Kingdom was nestled within a vast, enchanted forest, where the trees reached towering heights, their branches intertwined to form majestic canopies. Luminescent flowers bloomed in a myriad of colours along winding pathways, and crystal-clear streams babbled softly as they weaved through the land. The air was filled with the sweet scent of exotic blossoms, creating an atmosphere of perpetual spring.

Elaborate tree houses with intricately carved wooden details were suspended among the branches, connected by gracefully arched bridges made of woven vines. The Elves Kingdom pulsated with elemental magic, seamlessly integrated into daily life. Luminescent orbs of light hovered in the air, casting a gentle glow over the city at night. The Elves channelled the magic of the land to grow floating gardens and shape protective barriers, ensuring the safety and prosperity of their kingdom.

The Elves of the Kingdom were deeply connected to the natural world, practising sustainable living and living in harmony with the creatures of the forest. Magical creatures such as unicorns, sprites, and ethereal songbirds coexisted peacefully with the Elves and could be seen easily.

At the heart of the Elves Kingdom laid the Eternal Library, a repository of elven knowledge spanning millennia. Ancient tomes, written in elegant script, lined shelves made of living wood. Scholars and mages from all corners of the Kingdom came to study the accumulated wisdom, delving into the mysteries of magic, nature, and the history of their people.

The governance of the Elves Kingdom was entrusted to the Council of Elders, wise Elves who had lived for centuries, led by Ellesmera, the Queen of Elves. Their decisions were guided by a deep understanding of the delicate balance between nature and magic.

Perched high atop the ancient boughs of the Eldertree, the Council Sanctum of the Elves Kingdom served as the serene and contemplative seat of the Council of Elders. This sanctum was an awe-inspiring structure seamlessly integrated into the colossal branches of the Eldertree, the largest and oldest tree in the enchanted forest. The Eldertree was a colossal, sentient tree that stood at the heart of the Kingdom with, at the level of its roots, there standing the Eternal Library. Its massive trunk served as the foundation for the Council Sanctum, with branches spreading wide to create a vast, open platform suspended in the upper reaches of the forest canopy. The Eldertree was said to be the embodiment of the wisdom and life force that sustains the Elves of the Kingdom. If it were to fall, all the Elves would along with the Elves Kingdom itself.

The Council Sanctum was a masterpiece of elven craftsmanship, seamlessly blending with the natural contours of the Eldertree. Elaborate arches of living wood created an open-air platform, providing a breathtaking view of the surrounding forest. Delicate silver filigree weaves through the structure, reflecting the magical essence that permeated the Kingdom. At the centre of the platform stood the Council's Arbor, a circular gathering space adorned with floating crystal orbs that radiate a soft, soothing light. Elven runes and symbols were engraved into the wooden floor, imbuing the space with a sense of ancient mysticism. Tall, intricately carved chairs made of enchanted wood encircle a central platform, where discussions and decisions take place. Adjacent to the Council's Arbor was the Wisdom Pool, a tranquil reflecting pool that mirrored the starlit sky above. The pool was surrounded by bioluminescent plants, creating a serene ambiance. Elves believed that gazing into the Wisdom Pool allowed the Council members to attune themselves to the ancient wisdom of the Eldertree, aiding them in making enlightened decisions.

Connected to the Council Sanctum was a spiralling tower that ascended even higher into the treetops. This tower served as a private observatory for the Council of Elders, allowing them to study celestial movements and consult the stars when making decisions of great importance.

The entrance to the Elves Kingdom was a magical and awe-inspiring gateway that marked the transition from the ordinary realms of the Dark Empire into the enchanted heart of the elven domain. This entrance was known as the Verdant Archway, a living portal crafted with elven artistry and attuned to the mystical energies of the surrounding forest. Approaching the entrance, visitors were guided through a meandering pathway beneath a lush living canopy. Elven trees with intertwined branches formed an arched corridor, creating a sense of anticipation as sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a dappled pattern on the forest floor. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms, creating a serene and enchanting atmosphere.

As Eragon and Brom approached the Verdant Archway, luminescent runes embedded in the bark of the surrounding trees began to softly glow, illuminating the pathway. These ancient symbols were part of an elven warding system, ensuring that only those with good intentions may enter. The entrance itself was an imposing structure woven from living vines and branches. The Verdant Archway was a grand arched portal, standing tall and adorned with vibrant, blooming flowers that changed colour with the seasons. Elven craftsmanship had shaped the archway into intricate patterns, blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings.

Flanking the entrance were guardian statues sculpted from enchanted stone, depicting majestic creatures such as unicorns, griffins, and mythical stags. These statues were not only symbolic protectors but also enchanted sentinels that came to life to defend the kingdom when needed.

As the student and the Archmage passed through the Verdant Archway, they were greeted by the gentle sounds of elven harps and ethereal melodies. Hidden among the foliage were enchanted wind chimes that create harmonious tunes with every passing breeze, welcoming guests into the magical realm. At the entrance, ethereal beings known as Portal Attendants, elven guardians with flowing garments and nature-inspired adornments, stood and watched. They greeted the newcomers with a sign of their hand and with a sense of warmth and serenity, ensuring that all who enter do so with respect for the balance and magic of the Elves Kingdom.

Upon passing through the Verdant Archway, Brom and Eragon experienced a subtle shift in the quality of light. The forest within Luminaris seemed to glow with an otherworldly radiance, and the air became charged with magical energies. This transition marked the crossing into a realm where nature and magic were interwoven in perfect harmony.

Behind the Verdant Archway, a woman was waiting for them. She had a diamond-shaped face and cheeks, pale white skin, celeste eyes, an upturned nose, lips resembling Cupid’s bow with such colours it was like staring at a rose’s petal and a U-shaped jawline. Her hair was long and chocolate-coloured, like the Elder Tree’s trunk colour. Despite looking young and slim, she was easily around forty to fifty years old and was easily taller than both of them. Her apparent youth could be justified by the incredible longevity Elves possessed, ageing far more slowly than other Humans or Dwarves, as the oldest Elf had lived for more than three hundred years.

She had an hourglass body and a posture that expressed royalty. Her hands were graceful whilst her legs and arms were long. Her chest was fairly large and her waist was elongated.

She moved gracefully towards them, wearing a flowing gown of luminous fabric, reminiscent of moonlight on a tranquil Elven night. The gown cascaded in layers, creating a waterfall effect that gently brushed the floor as she moved. The gown was crafted from an enchanted silk, woven by Elven artisans and imbued with the magic of the ancient forests. The fabric shimmered with a subtle iridescence, reflecting the hues of the surrounding nature.Elaborate embroidery adorned the gown, featuring delicate patterns inspired by the flora and fauna of the Elven realms. Intricate vines, leaves, and blossoms intertwined gracefully along the hem and sleeves. Her gown boasted cascading, bell-shaped sleeves that evoked the gracefulness of willow branches swaying in the breeze. The edges of the sleeves were adorned with silver or gold thread, resembling dewdrops glistening in the morning sunlight.

A delicate circlet graced her regal brow, crafted from mithril and adorned with moonstones and sapphires along with some jewellery crafted from enchanted crystals, capturing the essence of the Elven forests. Elven runes, symbols of protection and wisdom, were intricately carved into the crystals.

The gown extended into an ethereal train adorned with delicate embroidery, featuring motifs of celestial bodies. She wore pointed, elfin shoes made from the finest Elven leather, adorned with delicate lacing and embroidery. The shoes seemed to meld seamlessly with the natural surroundings.

Draped over her shoulders was a regal mantle made from the pearlescent-glowing feathers of mythical Elven birds, and a subtle, softly-glowing, magical aura surrounded her.

The one who was waiting for them was none other than Ellesmera, the Queen of Elves.

"May Anacres be with you, Brom," she said.

"And may he be with all of us in these dark ages, Ellesmera," Brom replied while he and Eragon were kneeling.

"Get up, get up, my friends," Ellesmera ordered.

“Hey, old man, who is Anac—”

"Who is this little child, Brom?" asked Ellesmera.

"LITTLE CHILD?!? I'M SIXTEEN YEARS OLD!" Eragon shouted.

"Quiet in front of the Queen!" Brom scolded, “Who in the world would dare to shout at the Queen like that?”

"Sorry—" Eragon said.

"This child, as you said, is my student and also the Chosen of my Prophecy. I believe he will one day slay the Dark King and banish him from his throne, freeing our world," Brom said.

“Then he is more than welcome with us,” she said as she began walking towards the heart of the Kingdom.

"I've prepared houses for both of you so you can rest. The dinner will take place in the Council Sanctum as we and the Elder discuss your arrival and the next plan to defeat the King; you're my guests, after all. My daughter will also be there," she added.

"Your daughter? You mean the Princess? The one who will become the Queen after you die?" Eragon said, only for Brom to give him a slap on the back of his head.

"WHO THE HELL IN THE WORLD TALKS LIKE THAT TO A QUEEN?!" Brom shouted.

"THEN TEACH ME THE MANNERS, OLD MAN!" Eragon shouted back. However, Ellesmera’s reaction shocked both of them as she had a crystalline laughter.

"Yes, we could say that,” she said between two laughs, amused by the situation.

“Though the child is right, Brom. You should teach me the manners to have in front of a Queen, or he could get in trouble,” Ellesmera advised as she regained her seriousness.

Why is it always my fault… Brom thought. Then, as they saluted the Queen, they directed themselves towards another direction. It wasn’t the houses Ellesmera gave them; they were going towards a huge hill. They climbed it and arrived at its peak.

"So, do you even know why you are here?" Brom asked Eragon.

"Ummmmm... not really. Well, it's not my fault; you didn't explain it to me after all," Eragon replied.

"Right..." Brom said.

"So, if we're here, it's because the Magical Energy and other stuff that's unleashed there will make our training easier. That's what you have to remember... hold up…

Did anyone even teach you the Elemental Affinities?" he then asked.

"The what again?" Eragon asked in a stupid tone.

"... DID YOU EVEN GO TO SCHOOL?!" Brom shouted.

"Yeah, I learned that two plus two makes four and sh*t. I'm not an idiot old man, but you must remember I lived in a forgotten and lost town in THE FREAKING ASSHOLE OF THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. They didn't teach me the same things they taught you," Eragon replied.

"Okay, okay, fair, you got a point. So, I'll make a drawing to make things clearer," Brom said as he took a scroll from his bag as long as a pen and then drew on it four Elements and their signs: Fire, Water, Air, and Earth.

"So, to make it short, if you use Water on a Fire spell, what will happen? It'll extinguish it, right? But if you use Air on Fire, Fire will amplify the spell, and not nullify it.

"If you use Air on Earth, it'll be very efficient, but not if you use Water, as it'll amplify the attack again.

This creates affinities, with Elements being stronger on some, weaker on the others. There, I showed you examples with the first four Elements, but there are ten in total. The six I didn’t talk about are Darkness, Light, Metal, Lightning, Lava, and Ice.

Some of these Elements are even fusions of other Elements and bla bla bla. You’ll understand easily when the time comes.

"Okay, can you give me paracetamol, though?" Eragon ironically asked, only for Brom to slap him on the back of the head.

“Hold up, but Elemental Magic is only a branch of Magic with a grand M, right?” Eragon asked.

“Yeah, why?” Brom answered.

“What other ‘branches’ of Magic are there to discover?” Eragon asked.

"Well, there is stuff like Creative and Destructive Magic, things like manipulating Space or Time… truly, all abilities are linked with Magic. It is like a grand tree: each leaf is a spell; each branch is a group of spells that share common points, with there being smaller branches linking to greater branches; and then, there is Magic, there is the trunk where all is linked and where everything starts.”

"Have you mastered the entirety of Magic? Can you use all spells and forms of Magic known to this day?" Eragon asked. Brom took a great amount of time before answering.

"No. Perhaps, I don't know anyone who is capable of such a feat... except one," he replied.

"WHO? I WANNA MEET HIM!" Eragon shouted.

"... None other than the creator of the Celestial Empire, an Omnimage who is called by many names such as the Dark One, the Lord with the Pale Crown, the Shadow Emperor, and many more nicknames.

However, one name was remembered by History more than the others... it is the name of…

Sarcean Tenebrion, the Dark King…

and your father," Brom revealed. Eragon's stare, after Brom’s revelation, was empty and cold. He never loved his father. He didn't love the Dark King, yet he didn't even know him. But he knew what he did…

"Hey! Stop being a depressed, emotionless kid and show me what you learned with me,” snapped Brom. Eragon's stare then regained its colours. He was happy with the old man, with his master, with the one who taught him, who revealed and told him everything. The one who would always be there for him.

And as Brom said that, he and Eragon took a fighting position.

"Show me what you got," Brom said.

"Today, I'll beat you, old man!"

"Sure, keep dreaming while you can," he replied. They went blow for blow. Eragon was faster and stronger, but Brom was more knowledgeable and more experienced. Eragon then decided to stop using simple hand-to-hand techniques and tried to use some Magic, creating a fireball which he held in his right hand but was larger than himself.

The fireball was a mesmerising and intense sphere of blazing flames, radiant with vibrant hues of orange, yellow, and red; it was a dynamic and swirling mass of heat and light, dancing in a chaotic yet captivating display. The core of the fireball emitted the most scorching and brilliant flames, while the outer edges transitioned into cooler shades. Sparks sporadically bursted from its surface, creating a sparkling halo around the ball of fire. The heat emanating from the fireball was palpable, radiating a searing warmth that could be felt even from a distance, the visual spectacle accompanied by the sound of the crackling flames.

Holy sh*t… that’s… a very good fireball, Brom thought, in shock and awe. Eragon then launched the fireball with all his might as it sped towards Brom at twice the speed of sound.

A bit slow, however, Brom thought but didn’t dodge. The fireball exploded upon contact with what Eragon believed to be his skin. Smoke billowed, concealing the aftermath.

"YAY! I WON!" Eragon shouted, prematurely celebrating. However, his triumph was short-lived. As the smoke dissipated, Eragon witnessed Brom standing unscathed, devoid of any wounds. Observing the lingering water on the ground and Brom’s drenched attire, Eragon realised what had transpired.

“You created a dome of water around you, nullifying the impact of my fireball…” Eragon deduced.

“You're smart, kid… but you’re weak,” Brom retorted, inciting Eragon's ire.

"You know I'm much stronger than you! My full potential is yet to be revealed!" Eragon countered.

"It’s wise to hold your cards close, but foolish to underestimate your elder," Brom cautioned, but Eragon remained silent. They prepared for another exchange...

Chapter 6: A Royal Buffet[]

Once their training was done, they went to their house and changed their clothes.

The Elven house was an harmonious blend of nature and craftsmanship, seamlessly integrated into the surrounding landscape of an enchanted forest. It was a structure that appeared to grow organically from the trees, as if it was an extension of the forest itself. The dwelling was nestled amidst ancient, towering trees with branches gently cradling the delicate structure.

The exterior of the houses was adorned with intricate, nature-inspired carvings and delicate designs that seemed to flow with the natural lines of the trees. The building materials included ethereal, luminescent leaves, polished wood, and unknown, enchanted elements that gave the dwelling an otherworldly glow.

Inside, the house was cosy and inviting, with warm and earthy tones dominating the decor. Large windows allowed the soft, dappled light of the forest to filter in, creating a serene and calming atmosphere. Elven craftsmanship was evident in every detail, from elegantly carved furniture to tapestries depicting scenes of nature and elven lore.

The living spaces were designed to be in harmony with the environment, and the house had open spaces that seamlessly transitioned into outdoor areas like gardens or balconies, where communing with nature was an easy task. There also were a few rooms dedicated to the study of magic or arts.

The sounds of the forest, such as rustling leaves and distant whispers of the wind, were ever-present in the house, creating a sense of tranquillity and unity with the natural surroundings.

Cosy, Eragon thought as he and Brom put their belongings in the house and organised stuff.

“Should I cook ya’ a meal, old man?” Eragon suggested.

“No. We’re having a ‘royal’ buffet with the Queen and her Daughter in the Council Sanctum, at the top of the Eldertree. We’ll then have a meeting with them and the Elder to discuss the following plan about our war against the Dark King and other strategic matters,” announced Brom.

“Cool,” said Eragon, hands in his pockets, relaxed and all nice. Once they were ready, in their best suits—well, this only applied for Brom as Eragon made little to no efforts—, they directed themselves towards the Eldertree. At the bottom of it was the Eternal Library, but they ignored it and looked directly at the large trunk. It was of oak wood and, in front of them, what looked to be an infinitesimal fraction of it was replaced by two grand Elven doors. The doors were tall and imposing, reaching great heights of dozens of metres, yet they felt like an ant in comparison to the Eldertree’s majestic height. They were made from a combination of enchanted wood, metals, and crystals, which imbued the doors with a radiant and otherworldly glow. Elven runes and symbols, representing ancient magic and wisdom, were delicately inscribed across the surface of the doors.

The doors had a flowing and organic design, resembling the intertwined branches of ancient trees and the graceful curves of Elven script. They depicted scenes from Elven history, nature, and mythology, telling a story that our duo didn’t have time to decipher. The craftsmanship was so precise that the details seemed to come alive, creating a sense of movement within the carvings.

Two guards were standing at each side of the grand doors, guarding the entrance of the Council Sanctum and holding long Elven halberds, so long they seemed to be taller than conventional halberds.

The guards were tall and fair, with ethereal beauty that reflected their close ties to the natural world. They wore finely crafted armour made from enchanted wood, lightweight metals, and enchanted fabrics that provided both protection and flexibility. Their attire was adorned with intricate elven designs and symbols, showcasing their connection to their heritage.

The Elven halberds featured a slender and elongated shaft made from enchanted wood and lightweight metals. The shaft was adorned with intricate Elven engravings and symbols, showcasing the elegance of Elven artistry. The overall design emphasised balance, ensuring that the weapon was not only deadly in combat but also easy to wield.

The blade was crafted with precision, showcasing a keen edge that reflected Elven mastery in metallurgy. It combined elements of both a spear and an axe, featuring a spearhead for thrusting attacks and an axe blade for cutting and slashing. The blade was enchanted to enhance its sharpness and durability, making it capable of piercing through armour with ease.

“Damn, everything there is cooler than in my town,” Eragon said.

“The Elves Kingdom truly is the most beautiful country throughout the world,” replied Brom. As the guards saw them, they opened the doors wide, showing the importance of a guest like an Archmage — Mages who mastered a great Branch of Magic. As they stepped into the heart of the Eldertree, they saw a realm of wonders hidden within it. The interior was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow that emanated from luminescent moss hanging from the ceiling. The air was rich with the scent of earth and ancient Magic. Before them, a spiralling staircase made of a combination of living vines and aged wood revealed itself, seemingly grown and shaped by the very essence of the Eldertree.

The staircase ascended gracefully, winding its way up the massive trunk. As they took their first step, they felt the warmth of the wood beneath their feet, and the vines curled and shifted in response to their presence, creating a living pathway. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings depicting the history of the Eldertree and the mystical creatures that called it home, but the Archmage and his student ignored them as they did with the grand doors.

As they climbed higher, the air became even more enchanting, resonating with whispers of ancient knowledge. Soft beams of light filtered through small openings in the trunk, creating patterns that danced along the staircase. Along the way, they encountered small alcoves filled with vibrant flowers, tiny glowing insects, and miniature waterfalls that cascaded down the walls.

Reaching the top, they emerged into a spacious chamber within the Council Sanctum, nestled within the heart of the Eldertree. The room was a sanctuary of tranquillity, with panoramic views of the surrounding forest through arched windows made of magically transparent leaves. The Eldertree's branches intertwined overhead, creating a natural canopy that filtered the sunlight and casted a gentle glow throughout the room.

In the centre of the chamber, there was a dinner table. The table itself was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, made from rich, dark wood that gleamed under the soft glow of elaborate chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling. The table was rectangular, allowing for a clear line of sight among all members seated around it. Its surface was polished to a flawless finish, reflecting the ambient light and highlighting the intricate carvings along its edges.

At the centre of the table was laying an arrangement of fresh flowers in a gold vase. The fragrance of these blooms subtly permeated the air, creating a pleasant atmosphere within the chamber.

Each place setting was meticulously arranged with fine porcelain dishes and polished silverware. Crystal goblets, intricately etched with the insignia of the council, awaited the finest wines and other beverages chosen for the royal buffet that would take place. The chairs surrounding the table were crafted from the same dark wood as the table itself, upholstered in luxurious fabrics, providing comfort without sacrificing style. On one of those chairs, in the upper part of the table, sat Ellesmera, Queen of the Elves, and, next to her, on another chair, her daughter, Arya. Old-looking Elves—the Elders—sat on the other chairs; Eragon and Brom were the last to arrive.

Eragon looked at the food on the table with appetite and hunger. The selection of food on the table was diverse, representing a fusion of culinary traditions and ensuring there was something to satisfy every taste. There were a variety of appetisers, including delicate canapés with smoked salmon and cream cheese, stuffed mushrooms with a savoury blend of herbs and breadcrumbs, and artisanal cheeses with a selection of crackers and grapes.

Salads featured prominently, offering options such as a vibrant Mediterranean salad with olives, feta cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes; a fresh Caesar salad with crisp romaine lettuce, Parmesan cheese, and homemade croutons; and a Quinoa salad with roasted vegetables and a zesty vinaigrette.

Main courses were a culinary delight, with choices ranging from roast beef carved to perfection, accompanied by a rich red wine reduction, to grilled salmon fillets with a lemon-dill sauce, and a delectable vegetarian lasagna with layers of roasted vegetables and creamy béchamel.

Sides complemented the main courses, featuring truffle-infused mashed potatoes, steamed asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and a wild rice pilaf with toasted almonds.

An assortment of breads and rolls was available, including freshly baked artisan bread with flavoured butters, as well as assorted rolls and breadsticks.

Desserts were a sweet finale, offering decadent chocolate fondue with a variety of dipping options, miniature fruit tarts and pastries, and crème brûlée with a perfectly caramelised sugar crust.

To accompany the meal, there was a selection of fine wines in both red and white varieties, sparkling water with fresh citrus garnishes, and artfully crafted mocktails and co*cktails as beverages.

“Greetings, Queen of Elves and mighty Elders,” Brom greeted respectfully, kneeling down.

“Yeah yeah, sup,” Eragon added irreverently, remaining upright.

“Stop kneeling, Brom the Archmage. You and the boy are considered as our friends in this place,” said Ellesmera as Brom rose to his feet. Ellesmera then stood up, raising a glass of red wine in her right hand.

“Well, if everyone is ready, I declare the buffet… OPEN!” she exclaimed as cheers erupted, filling the room with jubilation. Eragon and Brom settled near each other, diving into the feast with gusto as if it were their first meal in ages. They sampled everything, from roast beef to salads, appetisers to breads, desserts, and beverages. Despite alcohol typically being off-limits for minors, their superior metabolisms allowed them to partake. Observers might easily mistake them for father and son, given their camaraderie and appetite.

As Eragon's gaze shifted to Arya, he was immediately captivated by her striking beauty. Her skin, of a medium and smooth texture, framed an oval face with emerald-green, hooded eyes, and a straight nose. Her lips, brown and straight, complemented full cheekbones and a well-defined jawline. Long, gingerbread-coloured hair framed her face, adding to the allure. Eragon surmised that she was likely around his age, yet to enter adulthood.

Lowering his gaze, Eragon scrutinised her physique. Arya stood with regal poise, her slim and athletic figure revealing muscles uncommonly seen in a girl. Seated, she appeared slightly shorter than him, indicating a noticeable but not significant difference in height. Her rough hands hinted at rigorous training, while her long, muscular arms and legs showcased her physical strength. A curvaceous waist and hips emphasised her feminine form, but what struck Eragon most were her substantial, full, and lustrous breasts, a sight that evoked both envy and desire.

For the day's festivities, she carefully selected a flowing, leaf-green lace dress with sleek black heels. A touch of makeup graced her face, enhancing the natural glow of her skin. Soft shades of moss and forest green adorned her eyelids, framing eyes that sparkled like dewdrops in the morning sunlight. A hint of rose tinted her lips, reminiscent of the blossoms that adorned the ancient trees.

Adorning herself with royal jewellery, she wore a necklace crafted from intertwined gold and silver, each link adorned with the brilliance of diamonds. The necklace rested gracefully against her collarbone, a testament to her regal lineage. Matching bracelets adorned her wrists, each one a symphony of precious stones—sapphires, emeralds, and rubies—that caught the sunlight and scattered it in a dazzling display.

“Enjoying the food, Eragon?” Brom whispered.

“Both the food and the girl, hehe,” Eragon whispered back.

“Remind me to give you the ‘disappointing son’ treatment after we get out of there,” Brom said with such a serious tone Eragon believed it and stopped talking. He then looked at Arya again while eating some potatoes, but she did something unexpected: she stared back. They both stared at each other like that for a few minutes, each one trying to analyse the other and to understand what they were feeling while the other guests were eating and discussing happily, not bothering to look at them. They then quickly averted their eyes and exaggerated their attention on their food, hiding their blushes from the others.

Chapter 7: A Strategy Against Divine Darkness[]

As the dinner slowly drew to a close and conversation tapered off, the Queen directed everyone to convene at the Council’s Arbor for their meeting. The Elders, the Queen, Arya, and Brom all adhered to tradition, pausing to gaze at the Wisdom Pool for one minute before taking their seats. However, Eragon simply didn’t care and sat down immediately.

“So I think you all know why I called this Council reunion today, but I’ll reiterate in case it wasn’t clear: our people have remained stagnant for too long now; it's time we ousted the Dark King from his throne. However, we need a strategy,” Ellesmera declared with a resonant and authoritative voice, showcasing her exceptional oratory skills.

“Attacking the Dark Castle is too risky. The environment makes it well-defended, and Zar’Roz and his Raz’Zors are too dangerous. Even Brom, an Archmage, struggles to combat them,” an Elder cautioned, eliciting nods of agreement from the assembly.

“There is also the issue of the Dark Lords,” another Elder interjected.

“Hey, old man, did you forget to catch the bus of recent knowledge? Because I can assure you that the Dark Lords are no more,” Arya retorted sharply.

“Watch your tone, Princess. Although they may be deceased, they still pose a threat, especially Free’s Death Abstraficon, which remains at large,” the Elder snapped back, momentarily silencing Arya before she continued:

“All of this is foolishness. We have all our soldiers and people with us, we have me, we have the Queen, we have the Archmage, we have Eragon who is the f*ckING Chosen of God! The Dark King doesn’t stand a chance!” Arya exclaimed angrily.

“You’re the one being foolish there,” Brom said, his tone grave. “You underestimate the Dark King. Do you think sheer numbers will kill him? He will send a meteor. Do you believe your muscles can pierce his armour? He will show you what true physical strength is. Do you think your mother can defeat him? You know she doesn’t fight. And me, an Archmage? He is an Omnimage—one who has mastered and can wield all of Magic—far surpassing me.

The Dark King is a God born on Earth.

But you do have a point: Eragon is the one who can stand against him because he is of the Prophecy, because he is born to kill him,” Brom added, casting a meaningful glance at Eragon, who swaggered his torso confidently.

“Yeah, I’d win,” Eragon said with a co*cky grin.

“So it is decided. Brom will train Eragon until he is ready to face the Dark King,” Ellesmera declared. Another Elder then spoke:

“This is going to take a lot of time. At a bare minimum, it will take him decades to master magic—” But Arya abruptly stood up and roughly punched the table with her fist, nearly breaking it.

“SARCEAN MASTERED MAGIC WHEN HE WAS FIVE YEARS OLD!” she shouted, her face flushed with anger. She then regained her composure and took her seat once more.

“There is no reason he cannot; I believe in him,” Arya added with a small smile, her cheeks tinged with a blush.

“Hey, I’m the one who should be flirting—”

“Shut up,” Brom interjected.

“All this is good, but we need a backup plan. The Elven Kingdom can defend itself against the Raz’zors and Zar’Roz, but it won’t stand against the Dark King. We need to be ready if he comes,” a fourth Elder chimed in.

“Then our Kingdom must prepare. Train our troops, enhance weapons, tame mythological creatures, and let’s kick his ass when he comes!” Arya declared, rallying everyone's spirits. After ironing out some details, they adjourned the meeting. Eragon and Brom took the stairs, pushed open the grand doors, and stepped outside.

“Finally, we’re going to get some rest—”

“Eragon, your next mission will be to find me a book in the Eternal Library,” Brom ordered.

“OH COME ON!” Eragon exclaimed in annoyance. He was tired and wanted to rest. He then sighed.

“Ugh, fine, what is it?” Eragon asked, resigning himself to the task.

“Any book, as long as it talks about Magic and stuff. Elemental Magic would be preferable,” Brom replied.

“Fine…” Eragon said with little enthusiasm as he walked towards the Eternal Library. The Eternal Library was an extraordinary repository of information, providing a sacred space for the preservation of ancient lore and the pursuit of wisdom. The exterior of the Eternal Library seamlessly integrated with the surrounding forest. The building was a combination of living wood and enchanted crystal, harmonising with the trees and vegetation of Luminaris.

Elven runes and symbols, intricately carved into the living wood of the library, adorned every surface. These symbols were not merely decorative; they were part of a magical warding system that protected the vast knowledge contained within. The runes shimmered softly, responding to the touch of those with a genuine thirst for knowledge.

Before entering the library, Eragon passed through the Whispering Gardens, a serene courtyard filled with exotic plants and magical blooms. Here, Elves were engaging in quiet contemplation, reading, and scholarly discussions amidst the enchanting fragrance of rare flowers that seemed to respond to the thoughts and emotions of those nearby.

Upon entering the library, Eragon found himself in a grand crystal atrium filled with soft, natural light filtering through the translucent ceiling. The floor was adorned with a mosaic of elven constellations, depicting the interconnectedness of knowledge and the cosmos. Spiral staircases, adorned with delicate vines, led to different levels of the library.

The shelves of the Eternal Library housed countless ancient tomes and scrolls, written in an elegant script that spanned the history of the elves. Each book was a work of art, its cover crafted from enchanted materials and adorned with silver and gold filigree. The library's collection included volumes on magic—Eragon chose one of these volumes and held it with his right hand, but decided to continue his visit—, history, philosophy, and the natural world.

Scattered throughout the library were Wisdom Wells—enchanted pools that contained liquid crystal. Elves used these wells for scrying and divination, seeking insights into the mysteries of the future or unravelling ancient secrets. The soft glow emanating from the Wisdom Wells added to the ethereal ambiance.

At the highest levels of the library, there were celestial observatories equipped with telescopes and magical instruments. Elves studied the movements of the stars, planets, and celestial bodies, seeking to understand the cosmic forces that influenced the magic within their realm.

Interspersed within the library were secluded alcoves and chambers where scholars, Mages, and seekers of knowledge can retreat for focused study and contemplation. Each retreat was adorned with intricate tapestries, comfortable reading nooks, and magical globes that showcased different realms of existence.

As Eragon was heading back to the exit, he met Arya, who seemingly had the same intention. Her attire had undergone a transformation. Adorning shorts with a bronze hue, Arya paired them with a leaf-green bralette adorned with intricate patterns of vines and blue flowers. The top was secured with brown leather straps, creating an earthy and natural aesthetic. Over this ensemble, she wore a semi-transparent white blouse, adding an ethereal touch to her overall appearance. She had attached her hair, which now weren’t arriving to the half of her back, but were as short as his.

“Heya, Gingerbread Princess, watchu doin’?” Eragon asked in a comical tone, to which Arya puffed.

“Taking a book for martial techniques with me before going to training, as you can see,” she replied, showing him the book she was holding. It looked recent, with a bright red cover, and the main title “101 Martial Techniques to Kill Instantly” written in golden letters.

“Cool, me, I just took a random book on Magic, I guess,” Eragon said as he showed his. It looked extremely ancient, with a dark brown and patched cover, and the pages seemed old and about to get ripped off in one movement. The title, written in archaic words, was “How to Augment Thine Elemental Sorcery.”

“Are you sure you’re gonna understand what this book says? It looks archaic as hell,” she said in shock, observing the book's age. “This book must be hundreds of years old.”

“Don’t worry, my uncle sometimes talks to me like that, I’ll understand,” he reassured her as she nodded in confidence, though still a bit worried. They both then exited the Eternal Library and met Brom.

“Ah, you’re finally back, Era— oh! Greetings, Princess Arya. I see you’ve befriended my student,” Brom said, initially in impatience then surprise.

“Likewise,” she replied simply.

“Hey, Master, can I train with Arya?! Please, please, please, please!” Eragon begged in excitement, so much that it quickly overwhelmed Brom.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! You can!” Brom replied out loud.

“Yay! Where are we going, Ginger?” Eragon asked. These nicknames looked comical at first glance, but to Arya, they were so cute she even blushed a bit and quickly hid her face by turning around, acting as if she saw something.

“What did you call her— you know what? Never mind, just go, I need some rest,” Brom said as he walked towards his house.

“Well, to reply to your question, I know a little spot in the forest. Oh, and don’t lessen your grasp on the Fire element; there are so many trees there you can get rid of a few, I won’t mind,” Arya said with a wink, to which Eragon nodded. They began walking through the roads and trees, avoiding rocks and jumping over dead trees, as Eragon followed Arya, who was leading him to a location he didn’t know. Eragon then noticed that she had a scabbard on her back.

“What’s that for?” Eragon asked in curiosity.

“Luminalith,” she simply replied. Eragon was about to ask many questions like “Luminalith? Is it a sword? Is it powerful?” and many others.

“You’ll understand when we get there.” Arya, who had understood his thirst of curiosity, added as they continued walking. They then arrived in expansive training grounds, nestled deep within the vast and enchanting grand forest of the Elves Kingdom. It was a flat and sizable plain serving as a sacred space where Elves honed their skills, refined their magic, and mastered the arts of combat.

It unfolded like an emerald carpet beneath the towering canopies of ancient trees. Stretching for miles in every direction, this flat plain provided a boundless horizon that allowed Elves to engage in wide-ranging manoeuvres and practise various disciplines without obstruction.

Throughout the plain, hidden within the verdant grass, were elemental nodes—magical focal points that resonated with the natural forces of the Elves Kingdom. These nodes served as conduits for Elves to amplify their elemental powers during training, allowing them to synchronise with the magic inherent in the land.

Scattered across the training area were agile training platforms crafted from living wood and combat dummies made of hay with targets painted in red on them on the head and the torso. Elves used these platforms for acrobatic exercises, archery practice, and magical sparring. These platforms were designed to blend seamlessly with the natural environment while offering elevation for dynamic training scenarios.

At one end of the training grounds, there was the Whispering Winds Arena, a circular space where elves practised telepathic communication and enhanced their sensory awareness. The arena was surrounded by trees with leaves that seemed to whisper ancient secrets, creating an environment conducive to developing heightened instincts.

Guarding the perimeter of the training grounds were elemental obelisks, each representing a different facet of the natural Elements. Elves used these obelisks as focal points for group training exercises, learning to harmonise their powers and work together in unity.

Nestled in a secluded corner was the Tranquil Meditation Grove, a serene area where Elves could retreat for contemplation and mental focus. The grove was surrounded by cascading waterfalls and adorned with luminescent flowers, offering a peaceful sanctuary for meditation and reflection.

To ensure the safety of both trainees and the surrounding forest, enchanted warding barriers were discreetly woven into the landscape. These barriers could be activated to create protective enclosures, allowing for controlled training environments and preventing the accidental release of powerful magical energies.

“Welcome to our secret garden, the Verdant Expanse.” Arya said with pride.

“Cool,” Eragon simply replied, “Now show me your sword, pleaseeeeee,” Eragon begged politely as his pleading eyes shined.

“Ugh fine,” Arya said as she took the scabbard that was as black as night, took the handle of the sword and pulled it off the scabbard. Eragon inspected the sword carefully. It was called Luminalith—this name being engraved on the blade itself. Luminalith was a sword of unparalleled elegance, with a blade forged from a rare and enchanted metal known as Starlight Steel. The metal possessed a natural luminosity, giving the blade an ethereal glow that mirrored the starry skies of the Dark Empire when night dropped.

Elven runes, intricately carved along the length of the blade, pulsed with magical energy. Probably they were not just decorative but served as conduits for Arya’s magic, allowing the sword to channel and amplify her elemental forces. Perhaps Luminalith was attuned to the elemental forces of Luminaris, with its magic resonating with the Elements, allowing Arya to harness her elemental abilities with every strike.

But why? he thought, mmh… perhaps because she cannot do normally. That’s it, she has a problem with her magic: she can’t let it out normally and needs a conduit for it. An annoying handicap not gonna lie.

He then looked at the hilt. The hilt of Luminalith was adorned with a celestial gemstone, a rare crystal infused with the essence of the stars. Crafted by master swordsmiths and infused with elven wisdom, Luminalith achieved a perfect balance between strength and finesse. The blade was exceptionally sharp and durable, it probably would be able to cut a whole mountain, while the hilt was designed for agile and precise manoeuvres.

Finally, Luminalith was not only a weapon of offence but also a shield of protection. The blade was imbued with protective wards that could deflect magical attacks, making it a formidable tool in both offensive and defensive situations.

“How did ya get such a sword?” Eragon asked.

“It chooses its wielder,” she replied, to which Eragon nodded.

“But you already understood how it works, don't you?” she asked, to which Eragon stayed silent. “I know you did. Watch this, then,” she added. As she said that, Luminalith began to glow in an electric aura before sending a thunderbolt towards a tree that was far away. The impact cut the tree at its base, and it fell onto the plain.

"Lightning, huh? That's Mach one thousand two hundred and eight. Impressive, but slow,” Eragon said as he crossed his arms.

“How did you—”

“I can tell you such things easily, like I can tell you the first twenty decimals of Pi,” Eragon replied.

"Okay, now that’s a lie,” Arya said, sure of it.

“Watch this then,” Eragon said with confidence as his fingers lit up with fire. In the air, he drew Pi and its twenty-first decimals with the flames: “3.14159265358979323846”.

“That’s impossible…” Arya said.

“No, you just have to know, to learn, and to understand the world around you,” Eragon replied.

"I don't believe I will ever be able to reach your level one day. However, know that I'm not weak nor am I dumb,” Arya replied.

"Sure, you look like a strong woman. I wouldn't want to be in the place of the one who would marry you," Eragon said with a wink.

"Oh gosh, you're annoying," Arya replied as she gave him a punch on the shoulder, to which Eragon didn't even defend.

"Hey, that hurts!" Eragon said aloud.

"If you want, I can also take your fertility," she said as she prepared a kick.

"Okay, okay, fine. After all, I should be a gentleman with women like you, right?" Eragon said.

"I'm not a woman—”

"Same thing," Eragon smirked.

"NO, IT'S NOT!" She shouted as she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him one hundred metres away with her incredible strength. Fortunately, Eragon landed safely on a bush and got up with no broken bones or wounds. They cheered and roasted each other for some more time, but spending time with Eragon, Arya had a flashback:

"You know, you're the Princess... That's why a lot of children like you will hate you. Even if the adults will stay polite, the children won't, because children don't have enough wisdom and experience to do so. They don't know they should be polite with the Princess, and some will even hate you because you have a superior rank and they think you think you're, therefore, superior to them," her mother calmly told her when she was not even seven years old.

“All I mean is that if there is anyone other than me who will truly cherish and take care of you, ask if you’re okay, then promise me… promise me you’ll cherish and like them back. You don’t have to fall in love with them, but at least make them your friend.”

"I promise, mother," the younger Arya said. All her life, Arya was bullied and insulted because of her superior rank, as her mother had predicted. She trained again and again, over and over, to protect the mother who loved her, to protect the nation she was the Princess of. She remembered the rumours the children were spreading around her, the insults that were said to her, the lunches that were stolen... All that reminded her of the reasons for her training: to prove her love to her mother and to prove those children a Princess can be strong.

“Hey, Ginger,” Eragon said as he saw Arya lost in thought. She snapped back to reality.

“Sorry, I had a flashback,” she replied, confused.

“You alright?” Eragon asked with a bit of worry in his voice.

“Yeah… wanna be friends?” she asked, remembering her flashback.

“Okay… ‘Gingerbreast’,” Eragon replied with a wink.

“Call me that again and I'll kill you,” she threatened, clenching her fists to emphasise that she wasn’t joking.

“Sorry, miss. I meant bread, not breast,” he responded with a smirk.

“And I’m Santa Claus…” she sighed.

Chapter 8: Strong Relationships[]

After some training together, where Arya displayed impressive abilities but wasn't near Eragon’s power and potential, they waved to each other and left the Verdant Expanse. Eragon noted that Arya was, however, stronger than him physically.

“Meh, at least I found a girl that can be useful,” he said. As he arrived in the capital and singular city of the Elves Kingdom—Thalas—, he saw Brom was waiting for him, sitting on a bench near the “entrance” of the forest.

“How did you know I was in the Verdant Expanse?” Eragon asked, a bit surprised.

“I've got my tricks. Now come with me; I would like to show you something,” Brom replied with a bit of mysteriousness in his voice. Eragon followed Brom, who brought him to an ice cream stand.

“They got ICE CREAM STANDS?! IN WHAT THE f*ckING YEAR ARE WE!?” Eragon shouted in happiness yet surprise.

“Ask the author, he messed it up,” Brom replied.

“Oh yeah, him.” Eragon said with a wide smirk as both laughed.

“Anyways, what kind of ice cream do you want?” Brom asked.

“Old good chocolate-vanilla ice cream for God’s sake,” Eragon said, showing his strong preference.

“Two of them then,” Brom said to the ice cream vendor who left, later coming back with two chocolate-vanilla ice creams.

"Saw you combatting Arya. You did so good I felt like giving you that one," Brom added as he gave Eragon his ice cream. They sat on benches, eating them in silence.

"Thanks, Dad," Eragon said. Both Brom and him stayed silent for a long while.

"Ummm… I think you meant 'Master', kiddo. Or 'old man' or whatever you call me," Brom responded, shocked.

"Sorry, but I felt like having a father-son bond moment whilst eating that ice cream with you, you know…" Eragon said as small tears began drooling from his eyes. Brom then did something unexpected: he took Eragon and hugged him tightly, whispering some reassuring words to him.

"I’ll be there for you, son," Brom said. Eragon then whispered:

"Heard about that new restaurant called 'Karma'? There you don’t choose your food, you get what you deserve." Brom stayed silent, stopped hugging him, and then said:

"Already heard about the claustrophobic astronaut? He just needed a little bit of space." They stayed silent, both staring at each other, before bursting out a loud laughter at the same time.

"Love you, old man," Eragon said.

"Love you too, young one," Brom replied.

"Would you be there as my father if I were to marry someone?" Eragon asked.

"Arya? That’s not happening." Brom replied immediately.

"THAT’S NOT THE QUESTION!" Eragon shouted to which Brom puffed.

"Yeah, I would, kiddo," Brom replied. Tears began drooling from Eragon’s eyes again. He had never been so close to someone, never been so close to someone as if they were his father.

"Come on, kiddo, you’re a man—" However, before he could finish his sentence, directed towards the Eldertree…

An explosion occurred.

Chapter 9: The Queen's Departure[]

“MOM!” Arya screamed as she ran towards the Eldertree at the speed of sound itself, but Eragon catched her arm.

“Wait, it could be dangerous,” Eragon said, trying to convince her to not go, but she forced him to let her go and began running again. Eragon rolled his eyes before following her with the intention to protect her in case. On their way, they saw fragmented buildings, some having even been reduced to the state of ashes or worse. Fire was almost omnipresent, quickly spreading and burning the forest. Yet, those who made that were still unseen.

They then arrived in an area of pure havoc and destruction and saw a familiar figure, the Travelling Merchant. It threw something to Eragon, which he catched. It was a letter. He read its content to Arya:

“I’ll rescue the Elves that are still alive. Tell your friend to rescue her mother while you go and fight these guys. Brom is already against them, but he is alone,” he said. They both looked at each other and nodded in agreement as Arya headed to the Eldertree while he searched Brom in the gigantic Kingdom.

Eventually, Arya arrived in what remained of the Eldertree, which was burning.

“What?! The Eldertree fell?! The Elves! Why am I not dead? What’s happening!” she thought to herself.

“MOTHER!” she then gasped. She made her way, lifting or collapsing all obstacles in her path with an impressive strength coming from her extreme rage and worry. She pushed the grand doors, climbed the stairs quickly, arriving in the Council Sanctum. Arya saw bodies of old Elves, bodies of the Elder, but her mother wasn’t there.

She pushed a door and found her. She was reassured at first, but something was wrong. She was bleeding horribly as large black rods had stabbed her body and one arm was missing. She was still conscious, but under ruins and slowly dying.

"MOTHER!" Arya screamed as she lifted the ruins.

"A... rya..." Ellesmera said weakly, coughing some blood.

"My beautiful daughter, get... closer to me..." she said as Arya then got closer. Ellesmera, with huge efforts, lifted her hand to caress her hair and her right cheek.

"Listen to me now... I don't have much time... don't try to get a medic or such, it is too late... but I want you to know that..." she began to say, but was interrupted by the blood she coughed. Arya sensed her heart was beating slower, could hear her breathing getting less intense, and felt her body becoming colder.

"I want you to know that... that I always loved you, daughter. I never saw you as the Princess of... of the Elves, but as my daughter, as Arya... Now, here is my last order as the Queen of the Elves... do everything you can to protect the Kingdom... but also..." she added. Her body was having spasms and was shaking. She was on the verge of death, but a mysterious and strange force was holding its grip tightly to Life… Love.

"But also... protect and cherish this young, blond-haired, determined boy that you befriended, and... and I know you never liked the idea of being the future Queen, so I don't force you... do whatever you want to do, I'll always be... be proud of you..." she whispered weakly.

"MOTHER! WAIT!" Arya screamed, tears coming from her eyes.

"Last thing... if you see him, run away. Don't try to fight, and run away, because I couldn't support the idea of having you with me in Heaven this soon… and, for me... promise me..." she said. Her strength was abandoning her, but she kept fighting, holding tightly the rope of life.

"Promise me... to take down... the Dark King... He—" but she suddenly stopped, taking one last breath, before muttering, "I love you, Arya."

The hand that was caressing Arya fell down, her body became colder, her heart stopped beating, and her breathing couldn’t be heard anymore.

The Queen of Elves died.

"MOOOOOOTHEEEER!" Arya screamed out loud, so loud that it could be heard from far distances, as if a sort of energy was enhancing her vocal cords. She then sat down and cried over her body for short minutes.

"Mother... I promise... I promise you… we’ll take that bastard down,” she murmured. She stayed here for a long moment, unable to stop her cries... Multiple flashbacks were coming back. She remembered her young days with the only one she loved…

With Ellesmera, her mother.

“Wait… THE ELDERTREE!” she shouted in panic as she saw the Eldertree, now fallen on the ground and consumed by dark flames. She witnessed multiple dead Elves, their bodies transforming into particles of light resembling pollen. Checking her own skin, she was astonished to find… nothing happening.

Wait, why am I not dying? Arya pondered. Surveying her surroundings for an explanation yielded nothing. Recalling her recent experiences and encounters, she arrived at a realisation:

Is it… she mused, closing her eyes and envisioning Eragon’s towering figure. She pictured the boy she loved, the blond-haired warrior with striking sky-blue eyes.

“Is it Love?” she uttered aloud. With this thought, a barrier was shattered. A barrier of glass that fragmented into oblivion. Causality seemed inconsequential to her, the Eldertree and all the complexities of Elven and Human races seemed insignificant. Love transcended all concepts under its dominion as Arya became wholly independent of cause and effect. No matter what attempts were made to revert her to the influence of causality, they would fail. Love proved to be the most potent force she had ever encountered, and instead of resisting it, she embraced it.

Chapter 10: Love Fights for Life[]

Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Brom faced the chief of the Raz’Zors. Towering over the Raz’Zors surrounding and escorting him, the chief exuded a formidable aura, wielding a long black rod of corroded metal stained with blood.

“Finally, I’ve found you, Brom,” the chief declared.

“MASTER!” a voice cried out in the distance. All present turned to see Eragon approaching at unparalleled speeds.

“Ah, finally, you’ve arrived,” the chief remarked, his aura suddenly expanding with increased intensity, leaving cracks in the ground and generating shockwaves.

“This level of power is tremendous!” Eragon exclaimed.

“This aura… wait, you’re…” Brom began, but he couldn’t finish as he narrowly evaded a ray of pure darkness, shot by the chief at lightning speed.

“You’re under arrest for betrayal against the Dark King,” Zar’Roz declared. However, Eragon began conjuring a fireball.

“Oh? Trying some beginner-level spells against me, perhaps?” Zar’Roz taunted.

“Kiddo, he ain’t on your level. Just stand back!” Brom exclaimed.

“Get the Host, now,” Zar’Roz ordered as the five Raz’Zors flew towards Eragon, who didn’t move an inch, thinking he had the situation under control. A Raz'Zor created a black rod and was about to launch it when, suddenly, his mask broke in half, severed by formidable strength. All the Raz’Zors looked at their comrade, shocked, whose body began to disintegrate. They saw the culprit of his death; they saw Arya, standing tall with Luminarith in her right hand. Eragon looked at her and saw her eyes were slightly red, likely from tears. Understanding what it meant, he stayed quiet.

“Thank you,” he simply said.

“Oh? Look at this, a bitch quit the streets to help you!” Zar’Roz sneered.

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A BITCH YOU f*ckING PIECE OF A—” Arya began.

“Kill them. All of them,” Zar’Roz interrupted as all Raz’Zors flew towards the children while Zar’Roz would engage the Archmage in the background.

"Let's kill them all, okay?" Arya said sweetly to Eragon. Then, to Eragon’s eyes, there was nothing. No background, no battle, nothing.

“Wait, what is this?” Eragon pondered as he only saw Arya, her beautiful body, and her shining gingerbread hair. It was as if time stopped just so he could behold her.

Is this… he mused, his thoughts trailing off, captivated by her presence. Whether it was for her enchanting beauty or her endearing personality…

Is this Love? he uttered to himself, the realisation dawning upon him. Indeed, he loved her.

Then, the background returned to Eragon's vision, time resumed its course, and the first thing he witnessed was a Raz'Zor attempting to stab Arya. In that moment, a surge of determination flooded through Eragon. He decided to unleash a torrent of fury. He unleashed his full speed, moving at velocities that matched the speed of light itself. Alone, he blitzed the four Raz’Zors, delivering rapid punches and kicks to their crow masks at lightning speed, while Arya could only watch in awe. With each blow, Eragon ascended into the air, the Raz’Zors propelled upwards along with him.

Their crow masks were on the verge of shattering, but it wasn’t enough. Eragon, fueled by his determination to protect Arya and to realise his dreams, delivered a final punch, enveloped in a radiant white aura; surrounded by pure light. The force behind the punch was so immense that upon impact, it not only obliterated the Raz’Zors’ masks but obliterated them entirely. As Eragon descended, his body weakened by the exertion of such speed and power, he coughed up blood. Arya rushed to his side, her concern evident.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry…” Eragon reassured Arya, though his hand instinctively sought out one of the healing vials Brom had procured from the Travelling Merchant. With practised efficiency, he uncorked the vial and downed its contents in one swift gulp, feeling the restorative magic begin to mend his wounds.

“Glad to know we weren’t scammed, lol—” Eragon quipped lightly. However, his jest was cut short as another black rod materialised in the sky, hurtling towards Eragon with alarming speed.

“Another one?” Eragon thought, his mind racing to assess the situation. He barely had time to react before the rod reached him. However, before it could strike, Arya sprang into action. Seizing Luminarith, she intercepted the rod and split it in half with a deft stroke.

Impressed by Arya's quick thinking, Eragon watched as she dispatched the Raz'Zor with remarkable skill and ferocity. Her swift movements and powerful attacks left him momentarily awestruck, unable to suppress a chuckle at her display of prowess.

"Am I witnessing the birth of One Punch Woman—" Eragon mused with amusem*nt.

“Oh, shut up. Now, where is Brom and the Tallest Bitch In The World?” Arya demanded, her attention swiftly turning to the whereabouts of their missing companions. Eragon spun around, scanning the area, only to find that both the Archmage and Zar’Roz had vanished without a trace.

Chapter 11: Final Judgement[]

Brom and Zar'Roz were found alone, far away from where they had left Arya and Eragon.

"Heh, thanks for giving us a chance at a fair one-on-one," Brom chuckled wryly.

"I've never been one for injustice. The Dark King alone holds judgement, and I am but his righteous and proud hand. Besides, this fight plays to my advantage. Once I dispose of you, Brom the Archmage, Eragon will be at our mercy. His father wants a word with him personally," Zar'Roz declared, a hint of malice in his tone.

“Yeah, I'm sure that'll be a lovely chat,” Brom retorted sarcastically, his irritation evident.

"Light Series: the Celestial Dragon!" Brom bellowed, a radiant aura enveloping his form as he transformed into a towering dragon of pure light, its majestic form stretching up to the very clouds.

"Still fond of your dragon motifs, 'Prophet'?" Zar'Roz jeered mockingly, his tone dripping with disdain.

"Call me what you will. Your words are nothing but empty taunts," Brom shot back, his irritation boiling over into anger. With a fierce growl, the Celestial Dragon lashed out with a massive claw, aiming to strike Zar'Roz, but the attack passed through him as if he were mere shadow.

"Your dragon is quite fascinating, Brom. By infusing it with so much energy, you've elevated it to a higher-dimensional state, existing beyond our standard three-dimensional plane. In essence, it's a four-dimensional entity, albeit with four spatial dimensions instead of our usual three," Zar'Roz remarked, his tone tinged with genuine interest as Brom pondered why his attack had failed.

"Unfortunately..." Zar'Roz continued as the dragon vanished, leaving Brom to face a barrage of attacks from seven Zar'Roz duplicates, while the original hung back.

Clones? No, that's not it... They're... Brom trailed off, trying to discern their true nature, but it was too late.

"You're slipping, Archmage," Zar'Roz taunted as one of the duplicates plunged a sharp black rod into Brom's chest, pinning him to the ground. More duplicates followed suit, each inflicting excruciating pain as Brom struggled to free himself.

"You manipulate the bodies of innocents to resemble your own, controlling their lifeless forms as your puppets," Brom gasped between coughs of blood, his voice strained with agony.

"Ah, you still retain your sharp wit," Zar'Roz remarked, unfazed by Brom's revelation. As blood spilled onto his mask, Zar'Roz remained indifferent.

"The Raz'Zors' weaknesses lie in their affinity for shadows and their masks. Light serves as their antithesis, and their masks are their vulnerabilities," Brom explained through clenched teeth, his breath ragged as he fought against the relentless assault.

"As for the Mask, I envision it as a bridge connecting our worlds—the Universe we inhabit and the realm of the Raz'Zors. The Raz'Zor Land exists in a dimension beyond our Universe, where you, Raz'Zors, can exist in your true forms, at the height of your power. However, your true forms cannot withstand the cosmic fabric of our Universe and would collapse upon contact. To navigate our realm, the Dark King devised the Masks, crafted with a blend of the cosmic essence from your dimension and ours. These Masks enable you to exist here without succumbing to collapse," Brom explained, his voice strained and interspersed with painful coughs.

"Have I grasped the concept correctly?" Brom inquired weakly.

"...For the most part, yes," Zar'Roz conceded tersely.

"In that case, your time is up. The boy surpasses me in intellect, and with each passing moment, he grows stronger," Brom declared, his words punctuated by fits of coughing. Wounds covered his body, and his energy reserves were depleted, leaving him unable to heal. Zar'Roz remained silent, unmoving in the face of Brom's declaration.

"At least I'll die with a bit more wisdom..." Brom whispered hoarsely.

"And then Hell will punish you for your crimes," Zar'Roz snapped.

"This... this was so short... I feel like I disappointed everyone... Eragon, Arya, Ellesmera, the ones who are watching behind the screen..."

"What did you say?" Zar'Roz asked.

"Oh, nothing," Brom replied softly.

"... I'll grant you an honourable death; you deserve to meet your end by my hand, Archmage," Zar'Roz announced as he conjured a long, dark, and sharply pointed rod that seemed almost cosmic in nature.

"You're... oh well, it doesn't matter now. The boy will understand anyway..." Brom whispered tearfully, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“The Tale of Brom has ended... Now, what should I call the new prophecy... The Tale of Eragon? Yes, that sounds fitting..." he thought to himself as Zar'Roz advanced slowly toward him.

"Eragon... I'm sorry, kiddo... I would have liked to teach you more... about our world, about Magic, about the Elements, about the manners you should have when dining with a Queen and her Princess...

I would have cherished more time with you..." Brom said, closing his eyes, his final moments drawing near.

"Are you done? You're boring," Zar'Roz interjected, poised to deliver the fatal blow. Despite being aligned with Evil, Brom found a semblance of respect for Zar'Roz's loyalty and sense of fairness.

"Yes... Yes, these are... my last words... Goodbye, kiddo, I love you...

Goodbye, son..." Brom's voice trailed off as Zar'Roz ruthlessly drove the sharp rod into his brain, snuffing out his life in milliseconds.

Brom the Archmage died...

Before his very eyes.

Chapter 12: Vengeance[]

“Oh? What do we have here?” Zar’Roz sneered, turning to see Eragon standing there. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes devoid of emotion, empty and hollow; he had witnessed it all but was powerless to act. Arya stood behind him, a mix of worry and determination etched on her features. Suddenly, Eragon clenched his fists and strode purposefully toward Zar’Roz.

“Eragon, wait!” Arya cried out, but her words fell on deaf ears.

“You killed him… you killed Brom, you killed my Master…” Eragon's voice seethed with rage, his eyes ablaze with fury.

“Yes, and what are you going to do? You’re dumber, weaker, and less experienced—” Zar’Roz began, but before he could finish, Eragon's fist connected with his face, cracking his crow mask. Stunned by the unexpected blow, Zar’Roz struggled to regain his composure.

“YOU LITTLE PIECE OF A— I’LL KILL YOU!” Zar’Roz roared, his anger fueling his next move.

"Light Series: White Sun," Eragon muttered, conjuring an orb of blinding light that radiated intense brilliance, enveloping the area in its luminous glow.

“Think you can blind me? I wear a mask, kid," Zar'Roz taunted, only to realise Eragon had vanished from his sight.

"Where is he—” Zar’Roz began, but before he could finish, Eragon appeared, wielding a bow of pure light.

"Light Series: The Bow of Apollo," Eragon declared, drawing back three arrows imbued with dazzling light energy.

He's faster, but I’m smarter, Zar'Roz boasted, as one of his decoys intercepted the arrows, sacrificing itself to protect him.

"You're using—” Eragon started, but Zar’Roz interrupted him with a dismissive retort.

"Yeah I know I'm using dead bodies and controlling their dead minds to make flesh shields and clones, was it really that easy to guess?!" Zar’Roz countered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Only six left... Eragon calculated, his mind focused on the dwindling number of adversaries. Suddenly, a fake Zar'Roz struck him with a tentacle, but Eragon swiftly transformed into pure light particles, evading the attack as he vanished into thin air. Arya, witnessing the unfolding battle, could no longer stand idly by while her close friend fought alone. Gripping Luminarith tightly, she joined the fray with determination.

"You six, deal with the street bitch while I handle the orphan," Zar'Roz commanded his remaining decoys, who promptly engaged Arya in combat.

"I won't stand for you calling her that!" Eragon declared, launching a surprise attack on Zar'Roz from behind. However, a tentacle intercepted him, hurling him away. Yet, Eragon managed to disperse his form into light particles before reconstituting himself.

"You must be expending a significant amount of stamina," Zar'Roz observed with a chuckle.

"Your naivety knows no bounds," Eragon retorted. He bided his time, waiting for Arya to clear the vicinity before executing his next attack, knowing its formidable range could be difficult to control.

"Light Series: Star Armada,” Eragon intoned, and suddenly, billions upon billions of light rays, emanating from each star in the Universe, converged on Zar'Roz at lightspeed.

"HOLY sh*t WHAT OF FU—" Zar'Roz's cry was cut short as he absorbed the full force of the onslaught, unable to move. Smoke billowed as the massive attack subsided, revealing Zar’Roz standing there, virtually unscathed except for some tears in his garments.

How…? Eragon pondered, bewildered by the outcome.

"Your physical attacks ain't doing any sh*t against me,” Zar'Roz declared confidently.

"Darkness Series: Infinite Blackout," Zar'Roz invoked, plunging their surroundings into absolute darkness. Eragon found himself blind, unable to discern anything in the pitch-black void.

"Looks like this is turning into my advantage," Zar'Roz gloated.

"C'mon, give up! You obviously have no stamina left!" he taunted, eliciting a defiant huff from Eragon.

"Foolishness, giraffe, foolishness,” Eragon retorted.

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A GIRAFFE—”

"LIGHT SERIES: THE CELESTIAL DRAGON!" Eragon roared, summoning the same dragon as Brom's, but larger and more formidable, radiating an intense aura and dispersing light in all directions, nearly neutralising Zar'Roz's ability.

"Impressive... you mastered this technique too... no, you didn't only master it, you did better than Brom... yes, yes..." Zar'Roz thought to himself.

"ERAGON TENEBRION, I DECLARE THAT..." Zar'Roz shouted as a giant claw was about to slash him.

"THE STUDENT EXCEEDED THE MASTER!" he screamed as the claw tore through him. However, both the dragon and Eragon then disappeared, leaving behind light particles in their wake.

A light clone??? Zar'Roz wondered. He turned around, only to witness a scene that filled him with horror.

"You're really stupid, because..." Eragon charged at Zar'Roz, a swirling orb of energy in his left hand growing brighter and faster with each passing moment.

"MY RAGE ISN'T BOUND BY STAMINA ANYMORE!" Eragon declared, moving at speeds faster than light itself. He transcended the laws of physics, driven by his determination and fury. The orb struck the Mask, inflicting massive damage upon it.

"Light Series:

Vengeful Star," Eragon murmured as the orb exploded, hurling both combatants away and shrouding the area in smoke. When the smoke cleared, Eragon was seen clutching his arm, blood trickling from a wound. This technique was of his own invention and he had yet to master it fully, but the injury was inconsequential compared to the blow dealt to Zar'Roz.

Meanwhile, Zar'Roz stood up.

"LOOKS LIKE YOUR ATTACK HAD NO EFFECT!" Zar'Roz screamed before bursting into laughter. However, Eragon smirked.

"You're dead—" Zar’Roz began. However, the crow mask suddenly fell. They both gazed at it intensely as it descended slowly, slower than Newton’s apple, faster than Lucifer’s descent to Hell. But when it hit the ground…

It broke in half.

Chapter 13: The Fake Appearances of a Fake God[]

Eragon interpreted the falling mask as a victory, while Zar'Roz seemed frozen in horror—or at least, that's what Eragon assumed, considering Zar’Roz lacked facial features.

"Looks like you were right, I could avenge my Master," Eragon said triumphantly. But Zar'Roz chuckled, then erupted into a distorted, dark laughter.

"Oh, well, I think it's time… Remember to never trust... appearances!" shouted Zar'Roz as he swiftly removed all his clothes in a single movement, revealing his true and formidable transformation. Unlike the other Raz’Zors made of darkness, Zar’Roz's body seemed composed of pure cosmic substance, as if it contained stars and galaxies within. Eragon watched in horror and confusion as the transformation unfolded before him.

"Awww, you really thought you could beat me by breaking my mask? Brom already told you, I'm special, I’m different. It isn't my Mask that "links" me to this uniiverse. No, it is… this," Zar'Roz revealed, pointing to a shiny and cosmic armour plate he wore, covering his body from the neck to his waist. In his truest state, Eragon could better see the cosmic tendrils he had already used a few times.

"After all, I'm the current Lord of the Raz'Zors, I deserve better treatment,” he added, casting a glance at the horizon where Arya and the fake Raz'Zors were locked in battle, slowly losing ground.

"Although it looks like I'm the last one..." he sighed.

"I miss the Third Shadow Lord... Eh, anyways. Eragon, now you've got two issues..." He said.

"You either beat me and the Raz'Zor kind will fall...."

"Or you die in our fight, and Humanity will be following the reign of our one and only Lord, the Dark King! HAHHAHAHHAH!" he laughed at Eragon, who remained silent.

"That's what I thought," he said.

"World Dominance: The Home of the Dark Eagles!" He exclaimed as both he and Eragon were teleported to another dimension, to an infinite and dark space. There was no house, no road, no signs of life… only him, Zar'Roz, and never-ending nothingness.

"Welcome... to our Land," Zar'Roz announced.

"Impossible… you teleported us there?" Eragon asked.

"Nothing is impossible to me. I have no stamina... no, better, stamina is irrelevant to me.

You're now going to face death. Now you have two options: either you give up and face a quick and calm death after a meeting with the Dark King..." Zar'Roz said.

"Or you fight, and die slowly and painfully,” he then announced. Eragon then rushed towards the Raz’Zor.

"That's what I thought. Give up. The distance between us is infinite; this dimension is infinite. You’ll never reach me, even if you go at speeds one, two, ten, hundreds, thousands or even billions of times faster than light!" Zar'Roz yelled, but Eragon stayed silent.

"But my attacks can still reach you,” he stated as he extended one of his cosmic tentacles to infinite extents. Meanwhile, Eragon was running towards Zar’Roz, dodging his relentless assaults and accelerating each second, doubling his previous speed. He was twice as fast as light… no, he was hundreds of times faster... no, it was even beyond billions! However, it was never enough.

"GIVE UP! Even if you reach the necessary speed, which would be impossible with a finite baseline of speed, I'm not physical! The cosmic matter that makes my body makes me intangible!" Zar’Roz exclaimed, but Eragon never gave up, getting faster and faster and, surprisingly, closer.

"Goodbye, Eragon," Zar'Roz said as he slammed his tentacle onto the ground. However, Eragon would dodge easily. It almost felt like he teleported, but he didn't.

"HOW?! HOW IS HE THAT FAST!?" Zar'Roz shouted as Eragon was, with his new speed, leaving afterimages and confusing Zar'Roz.

"YOU'LL NEVER REACH MY LEVEL, ERAGON! I'M INACCESSIBLE TO YOU!" Zar'Roz screamed, but Eragon stayed silent. He then threw a few long, dark, and sharp rods.

"GET LOOOOOST!" He shouted, but Eragon slided under them with such speed it again felt like he teleported. He then stopped, put his feet in a dashing position, and then made such an acceleration it felt like he teleported towards Zar’Roz.

And he reached him.

"IMPOSSIBLE! YOU CAN'T WIN, I'M THE LORD OF THE RAZ'ZORS, THE STRONGEST, THE RIGHTEOUS HAND OF THE DARK KING! YOU JUST CAN’T—” However, Eragon blitzed him and punched him right in his armour plate, breaking it into pieces. Zar’Roz was now holding his torso painfully, a knee on the ground.

"How did he hit me? Okay, the armour plate was physical, but the body below it wasn't! I'M INTANGIBLE! I CAN'T LOSE—" Zar’Roz wondered, but again, Eragon punched him in the face, throwing him away and sending shockwaves, confirming Zar’Roz’s most feared thoughts:

Eragon could interact with intangible matter.

"You really don't understand a sh*t. As long as I don’t win, my wrath, my anger, my desire for vengeance…

WILL KNOW NO LIMITS!" Eragon shouted as then Zar'Roz touched his face in order to grab a substance he looked at in horror... cosmic blood.

No... impossible, I can't bleed... I... can't... Zar'Roz thought to himself.

"Your vital organs have been touched, you won't stay in this world for long," Eragon said.

"You forgot this is my dimension, this is my land! I can do anything with it!" Zar'Roz shouted as the dimension began to collapse into itself and grew giant tentacles going in every angle and direction to grab Eragon.

"... Spatial Distortion: Dimensional Rupture," Eragon murmured as he touched the infinite nothingness with his hand. Suddenly, the dimension stopped collapsing and shaking, the tentacles ceased moving, and the dimension was split in two. They were back in the Universe, exactly where they were before it all started.

"NOOOOOO I CAN'T LOSE LIKE THIS, I CAN'T LOSE TO A FREAKING CHILD LIKE HIM! HOW CAN YOU EVEN MANIPULATE SPACE WHILE YOUR MASTER COULDN'T?!" He yelled as his body was turning into cosmic dust, due to the Universe’s cosmic structure being deadly to him.

"I WILL COME BACK! I, THE LORD OF RAZ'ZORS, WILL DESTROY YOU AND YOUR FAMILY! I WILL HAUNT YOU LIKE A GHOST AND KILL YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN IN THE AFTERLIFE, I WILL—" Zar'Roz screamed. However, his mouth, like ninety-five percent of his body, turned into dust.

“Do you know why you lost? You lost because you threatened my family. You killed my truest father, you insulted my love, and now you were expecting to win?

Rage is a blinding force, but wielded within the right hands, it becomes an unstoppable cataclysm.” Eragon stated. A few seconds passed and then, there was nothing left of Zar’Roz’s body, except for some dust. Eragon then casually crushed the cosmic dust before kicking him away. He then sat on a rock nearby, took some minutes to rest a bit, to catch his breath, to understand all that happened, before putting his eyes on his hands and beginning to cry.

Brom… I miss you…

I miss you… dad… Eragon cried in pain, in suffering, in sadness… but also in regret, as he regretted that he hadn’t taken the necessary measures…

When he had won their battle.

Chapter 14: A Love Originating from Death's Kiss[]

After a couple more minutes, he decided to lay on the green and fresh grass. He wanted to sleep for at least a whole day, but that's when a strong hand grabbed him by the neck and pulled him out, throwing him near Arya.

"EEEEEH?!" He exclaimed. He then looked around, but saw no one except Arya.

"You're the one who did that?" Eragon asked.

"No, it was— actually, who cares? And WHAT THE f*ck WERE YOU DOING?!" She shouted as she slapped him, almost throwing him metres away. However, before he could even fly away, she grabbed him by the arm and hugged him.

"I was so worried..." She murmured, almost crying.

"Hey hey, it's fine, I'm here now," he said, patting her back. He then remembered something. He grabbed the remaining healing vials the Travelling Merchant had given him and drank them all as he remembered they could heal both wounds and stamina.

"Ah! I feel better now,” he said after his drink as his pale skin began to take its colours back.

"YOU f*ckING DUMBASS, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED YOURSELF BY DRINKING THIS FAST!!!" Arya yelled as she grabbed Eragon and shook him violently, but then grabbed his head and forced him to kiss her on the lips. Her lips were hot and soft, and they had a strawberry taste; it felt good.

"You're so goddamn annoying,” she murmured while they both were kissing.

"That's why you love me," he replied in a blink.

"SHUT UP!" she shouted as she punched him on the face, this time throwing him metres away.

"Should've kept one healing vial for cases like that," Eragon murmured. She then approached and they kissed back, more passionately. They laid on the grass, caressing each other’s warm and soft bodies, heating up their actions at each second.

“Love you,” Eragon said.

“Love you too,” Arya replied as they lost themselves in the warm arms of victory.

However, weeks later, they were crying in front of the tombs of Brom, Ellesmera, and many other Elves. The tomb of Brom was made of diamond, while the tomb of Ellesmera was made of the same material. On Brom’s tomb was written:

“To the most heroic Archmage who sacrificed everything, even his life, to protect those who will guide the world against the darkest forces,

Requiescat In Pace.”

Instead, on Ellesmera’s tomb was written:

“To the one and only Queen of the Elves Kingdom who remained calm and wise, even in the face of the hardest decisions; and to a loving mother who guided her daughter towards the path of new love,

Requiescat In Pace.”

All of them were buried on the top of a hill.

As the news spread, the Council of the Mages, a secret organisation that had to stay hidden because of the Dark King’s reign, officially declared Eragon as an Archmage and stated he might reach higher ranks in the future.

And now, since the Elves Kingdom had fallen, Arya was certain of her decision: she would follow Eragon wherever he’d go.

"Do you at least know how to cook?" Eragon asked.

"Do you know how to build a house?" She snapped.

"Fine, fine," he replied. Eragon then looked at another tomb, located on a hill further away. However, it was a dark tomb. On it was engraved in white:

"To Zar'Roz, the Lord of Raz'Zors, and his entire kind, who were born in the hands of Evil and unintentionally followed the wrong path, dying for their nation whatever the cost,

Requiescat In Pace."

"Are you going?" Arya asked while Eragon was looking at the tomb.

"Oh, yeah, apologies," Eragon replied. They then shared a kiss before heading towards the setting Sun, holding hands and embracing the unknown future.

Ready to face their fate.