Reborn as a Dragon in Alagaësia

The crackle of the hearthfire filled Brom's small home as Eragon sat across from the village storyteller, sipping on a warm cup of tea. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the flickering flames, and the room carried the faint scent of herbs and old parchment. Brom leaned back in his chair, his face lined with years of wisdom, though his piercing eyes seemed to see more than he let on.

"I was wondering, Brom," Eragon began hesitantly, "do you know any dragon names? You've told so many stories about the Riders, and I thought… well, I thought dragons must've had names, too."

Brom arched a brow, setting his mug on the table. "Dragon names, you say? That's an interesting question. Why the sudden curiosity?"

Eragon shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I've just been thinking about your stories lately. About the Riders, their dragons… how they must have had to name them, right?"

The old man studied him for a moment, his expression inscrutable, before nodding. "Indeed, dragons were given names. But they weren't chosen lightly. A dragon's name reflected their strength, wisdom, and soul. The bond between a Rider and their dragon wasn't just forged in battle—it began with the act of naming."

Eragon leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "What were some of their names?"

Brom rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "There were many. Galzra, with scales like molten silver. Thorn, fierce and unyielding. Bahamut, whose strength was said to rival the heavens themselves." His voice softened slightly. "And Saphira, a name once spoken with reverence. She was… one of the most beautiful dragons to ever take to the skies."

Eragon noticed a flicker of sadness in Brom's eyes as he said the last name. It was brief, but unmistakable, as if he were recalling a memory too painful to dwell on.

"Saphira…" Eragon repeated, testing the name. "It's beautiful."

"It is," Brom said, his tone distant. Then he straightened in his chair, his gaze sharpening. "Why such an interest in dragons, boy? They've been gone for decades—nothing more than echoes of a time long past."

Eragon shrugged again, feigning innocence. "I just like the stories. That's all."

Brom narrowed his eyes but said nothing further.

A Decision

Later that evening, Eragon made his way to the secluded clearing where he had hidden the young dragon. The stars glittered above, their light barely piercing the thick canopy of trees in the Spine.

The dragon chirped in greeting as he approached, its small, sleek form shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Though still a hatchling, it carried an undeniable grace, and its sapphire-blue scales caught the faint light like a field of stars.

"I've been thinking about names for you," Eragon said, sitting cross-legged beside her. "Brom told me some. Let's see if any of them suit you."

The dragon tilted its head, listening intently as he began to recite the names.

"Galzra?" he suggested. The dragon snorted, shaking its head.

"Thorn?" Another snort, accompanied by a flick of her tail.

"Bahamut?" The dragon cocked her head but didn't react further.

Eragon chuckled. "You're picky, aren't you? Fine. How about Saphira?"

At the sound of the name, the dragon paused. She turned to face him fully, her deep blue eyes locking onto his with an intensity that took his breath away. Slowly, she nodded, a soft rumble emanating from her chest.

"Saphira it is, then," Eragon said, a smile spreading across his face. "It suits you."

A New Home

Over the next few days, Eragon worked tirelessly to ensure Saphira's safety. He couldn't risk keeping her near the farm—Roran and Garrow would notice her eventually, and there was no telling how the villagers of Carvahall would react if they discovered a dragon in their midst.

He found a secluded grove deep in the Spine, surrounded by towering trees and hidden from prying eyes. There, he built a crude shelter for Saphira, using fallen branches and leaves to create a place where she could rest and stay out of sight.

"This will have to do for now," he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Saphira chirped softly, nuzzling his hand in gratitude.

Watching from the Shadows

Unbeknownst to Eragon, Bahamut was perched on a rocky outcrop high above, his amethyst eyes fixed on the pair below. He had been watching the boy closely since the dragon had hatched, his keen senses attuned to every movement and emotion.

There was something about Eragon that intrigued him—a spark of potential, a glimmer of destiny that seemed to shimmer in the boy's aura. And then there was Saphira, her presence a radiant beacon that filled him with both hope and unease.

As Eragon guided Saphira into her new home, Bahamut shifted slightly, his wings rustling against the wind. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as he observed the boy's care and dedication. But his pride was tempered by caution. The world was a dangerous place, and the return of dragons would not go unnoticed for long.

Just as he was about to take flight, Saphira's head snapped up. She turned in his direction, her gaze searching the darkness. Bahamut froze, his massive form blending seamlessly with the shadows.

She can sense me, he realized, his heart racing. Even as a hatchling, her instincts were sharp.

Not wanting to alarm her, Bahamut silently spread his wings and took to the sky, his form vanishing into the night.

A Quiet Resolve

Back in her shelter, Saphira tilted her head, her eyes scanning the trees as if searching for something unseen. Eragon placed a reassuring hand on her back.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

The dragon rumbled but didn't answer, her gaze lingering on the horizon for a moment longer before settling down.

Eragon watched her curiously, a sense of unease creeping over him. But he shook it off, focusing instead on the bond they were building. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

And high above, Bahamut soared through the night, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. The world was changing, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that it changed for the better.

For weeks, Eragon's visits to the Spine remained routine. He brought food, ensured Saphira was safe, and marveled at her rapid growth. Her scales gleamed with increasing brilliance, and her wings were beginning to grow strong enough to lift her off the ground for short glides. But more than her physical changes, it was the bond between them that deepened.

It happened one crisp morning when Eragon was resting beneath the tree that sheltered Saphira. She lay nearby, her tail curling lazily as the sunlight danced across her sapphire-blue scales.

Eragon.

The voice was faint but clear, as though someone were whispering directly into his mind. Startled, he shot upright and glanced around.

"Who's there?" he asked, his heart pounding.

It is I, the voice came again, soft but firm. Saphira.

Eragon's eyes widened, and he stared at her in astonishment. "You… you can talk?"

Saphira nodded, her expression serene. I have always understood you, Eragon. But only now am I able to speak with you in this way.

Eragon sat down heavily, overwhelmed by this new development. "This is… amazing," he said. A grin spread across his face as he realized how much closer this would bring them. "We can talk now! Really talk!"

Saphira rumbled softly, a sound of amusement. Yes. And there is much to discuss.

A Growing Awareness

As the days passed, Saphira's newfound ability to communicate added a new dimension to their bond. They shared thoughts, feelings, and ideas, and Eragon found comfort in her wisdom, even though she was still young.

One day, as they were exploring the Spine together, Saphira paused abruptly. She lifted her head, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air.

Something is here, she said, her tone cautious.

Eragon frowned. "What do you mean? I don't see anything."

Saphira's gaze scanned the trees, her eyes narrowing. I do not see it either, but I can smell it. It is faint, like the wind carries it from far away, but it is there.

"Smell what?" Eragon asked, his voice low.

Something old, something… powerful. But it is not like me. Not a dragon.

Eragon felt a chill run down his spine. "Could it be a bear? Or maybe a wolf?"

No, Saphira replied firmly. This is different. It is… hard to describe.

From then on, whenever they ventured into the Spine, Saphira seemed more alert, her senses attuned to something unseen. She didn't mention the scent often, but Eragon could tell it was on her mind.

The Strangers Arrive

Months passed, and the quiet life they had managed to maintain began to unravel. Saphira had grown large enough that Eragon feared even the villagers of Carvahall might notice her if they ventured too close to the Spine. Her ability to communicate had strengthened their bond, but it also made it harder to keep her hidden—she was growing restless, and her questions about the mysterious scent in the forest had only deepened her curiosity.

Then, one fateful morning, Eragon's fears were realized.

It started as an ordinary day. He had just returned from visiting Saphira when he noticed a commotion in Carvahall's village square. Curious, he wandered closer, blending into the crowd that had gathered.

At the center of the square stood two figures, cloaked and hooded in dark robes that billowed slightly in the breeze. Even from a distance, their presence sent a shiver down Eragon's spine.

"Who are they?" he whispered to a nearby villager.

The man shrugged nervously. "Don't know. Outsiders. Haven't seen their kind here before."

Eragon studied the strangers carefully. They moved with an unsettling grace, their steps silent despite the uneven cobblestones. Though their faces were hidden, there was an air of menace about them that made the villagers keep their distance.

A Deadly Revelation

Eragon's pulse quickened as he ducked into the shadows of the nearby building, straining to hear the exchange between the Ra'zac and Sloan. Their voices, though low, carried an unmistakable menace, each word punctuated by a chilling hiss that seemed to snake its way into the bones of anyone listening.

"You sssaw a blue sssstone?" the taller Ra'zac hissed, leaning closer to the visibly trembling butcher.

Sloan swallowed hard, his hands clutching the edge of the counter for support. "Yes. A few months ago, a boy from the village—Eragon—brought it to me. But I turned him away! I don't deal with anything from the Spine. You know how cursed that place is."

The shorter Ra'zac tilted its head, and though its face was hidden beneath its hood, Eragon could feel its calculating gaze sweeping over the room. "Where… isss thisss boy?"

"I don't know!" Sloan stammered, his voice rising in desperation. "He lives on a farm, out past the village. But I haven't seen him with that stone since!"

The taller Ra'zac leaned back slightly, its movements unsettlingly fluid. "We ssshall find him," it hissed, its tone both a promise and a threat.

Sloan visibly sagged with relief as the Ra'zac turned to leave, but Eragon's heart sank. They were heading straight for Garrow's farm.

A Heated Argument

Saphira carried him high above the trees, her powerful wings propelling them toward the Spine. Eragon fought against her hold, but her claws were unyielding.

"You don't understand!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the rush of wind. "Garrow's alone! If the Ra'zac get there before I can warn him—"

You cannot help him if you are dead, Saphira interrupted, her tone sharp but tinged with concern. I will not let them take you, Eragon. You are my Rider. We must stay hidden.

Eragon's heart twisted at her words. He knew she was trying to protect him, but anger and guilt burned within him. "You don't get to decide that!" he snapped. "Garrow is my family! I can't just leave him to face this alone!"

Saphira didn't respond, but her wings beat harder, propelling them deeper into the Spine.

Painful Consequences

Eragon's frustration soon gave way to physical pain. Without a saddle, the rough edges of Saphira's scales rubbed against the inside of his legs, tearing through his pants and scraping his skin raw. He clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out, but the pain was relentless.

After what felt like hours, Saphira finally descended into a secluded clearing deep within the Spine. The dense trees formed a natural barrier, and the sound of a nearby stream filled the air with a soothing melody.

Saphira landed gracefully, releasing Eragon onto the soft forest floor. He stumbled as his legs gave out beneath him, collapsing in a heap. His thighs throbbed with agony, and when he looked down, he saw blood staining his torn pants. The skin on the inside of his legs had been rubbed raw, and patches of it were missing entirely.

Saphira lowered her head, her eyes filled with regret. You are hurt, she said softly.

Eragon glared at her, his anger flaring once more. "Of course I'm hurt!" he snapped, tearing a strip of cloth from his tunic to wrap his wounds. "You didn't have to take me! I could've warned Garrow, but now I'm stuck out here while he's in danger!"

Saphira rumbled, her sorrow evident. I had no choice. If they found you, they would kill you—and Garrow too. You are not ready to face them.

Eragon shook his head, his hands trembling as he tied the makeshift bandages around his legs. "You don't understand," he muttered. "Garrow's all I have left. If anything happens to him because of me..."

Saphira nudged him gently with her snout, her eyes searching his. I do understand. But you must trust me, Eragon. We will find a way to protect him—but we cannot do that if you are captured.

He looked away, his anger ebbing into a heavy, bitter sorrow. Deep down, he knew she was right. The Ra'zac were too dangerous, too powerful for him to face alone. But the thought of leaving Garrow unprotected gnawed at his heart.

A Heavy Silence

The clearing was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the murmuring of the stream. Eragon leaned back against a tree, his body aching and his mind racing.

Saphira lay nearby, her gaze fixed on him. She didn't speak, sensing his need for space. But her presence was a silent reassurance, a reminder that he wasn't entirely alone.

As the sky darkened, Eragon stared up at the canopy of trees, his thoughts a storm of worry and regret. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: the Ra'zac's arrival had changed everything.