Reborn as a Dragon in Alagaësia

The wind howled in James's ears as he soared through the crisp morning air, his wings spread wide to catch the updrafts over the Spine. Though his movements were clumsy and unrefined, flying was slowly becoming less terrifying and more exhilarating. The sheer power of his wings was intoxicating, even as his stomach growled, a reminder of his purpose today.

Focus, he reminded himself. This isn't just for fun. You need to eat.

Far below, the dense forest stretched endlessly, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. His sharp eyes scanned the ground, searching for movement. Everything felt amplified—every flicker of a shadow, every rustle of leaves, every scent on the wind. The sensory overload was disorienting, but he pushed through it.

Then, he saw it: a deer grazing in a small clearing. Its coat, mottled brown and tan, blended into the forest floor, but to James, it stood out vividly. Instinct roared to life, urging him to act.

Just like a hawk diving for prey, he thought. Quick, precise, no hesitation.

He angled his wings, tucking them close to his body as he dove. The rush of air was deafening, his heart pounding as he neared the ground. This would be his first real hunt, a test of his abilities. Closer, closer—

CRASH!

The impact sent dirt and leaves flying in every direction as James hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Pain flared in his limbs, and he groaned, sprawled awkwardly across the forest floor. Beneath him, the deer lay motionless, utterly crushed under his weight.

"Well, that's one way to do it," he muttered, wincing as he stood and shook the dirt from his scales. His wings ached from the landing, and his pride stung even more.

Smooth. Real smooth.

Despite the messy execution, the hunt had been a success. Hunger trumped embarrassment, and James clamped his jaws around the deer, carrying it back to his cave.

Back in the cool, shadowy confines of his cave, James tore into the deer. The raw, bloody meat wasn't what he would have chosen as a human, but to his draconic senses, it was deeply satisfying. The primal hunger faded as he ate, leaving him sated and calm for the first time since awakening in this body.

As he licked his claws clean, his thoughts wandered. He had spent days trying to piece together when in Alagaësia's timeline he might be. The books were vivid in his memory, but this world felt... alive, not like a story but like reality.

Has Saphira hatched yet? The thought gnawed at him. If she had, then Eragon would already be taking his first steps on the journey to challenge Galbatorix. If she hadn't, then the world was still waiting for its spark of hope. Either way, the knowledge unsettled him. He had no idea how long he had before events spiraled into chaos.

He huffed, a plume of warm air swirling around him. No use dwelling on it. You can't help anyone if you don't survive.

His gaze shifted to the remains of the deer. Survival wasn't just about food—it was about learning what he could do, about understanding his strengths and limitations.

Fire, he thought, excitement bubbling within him.

Dragons breathed fire. It was one of the most iconic and powerful abilities, and if he was going to survive in this world, it was a skill he needed to master. Closing his eyes, James focused on the image of flames—roaring infernos, intense heat, and blinding light. He inhaled deeply, feeling for the spark within.

He exhaled.

A puff of dark smoke wafted from his nostrils.

He frowned and tried again. And again. Each attempt yielded the same result: smoke, but no flame. Frustration bubbled up, but he forced himself to stay calm.

You're too young, he realized, recalling Saphira's struggles in the books. She hadn't been able to breathe fire until much later. If he was around her age when she first left Carvahall, then his own fire-breathing abilities were likely still developing.

The realization brought a mix of disappointment and relief. At least it wasn't something he was doing wrong—it was simply a matter of time.

After cleaning up the remains of his meal, James turned his thoughts to something more pressing: his mind.

In Alagaësia, magicians could invade unprotected minds with terrifying ease. The thought sent a shiver through him, his tail flicking anxiously. His memories and thoughts, fragmented as they were, were all that connected him to his humanity. The idea of someone like Galbatorix prying into them made his scales crawl.

I need to protect myself. But how?

He wracked his brain for answers, and then it hit him—a flash of inspiration from another world. Harry Potter. He had loved the series almost as much as The Inheritance Cycle. In those books, there was a magical art called Occlumency, used to shield one's mind from intrusion.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

James settled himself on the cave floor, folding his wings close to his body and curling his tail around him. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, letting the sound of the wind outside the cave fill his thoughts. The first step in Occlumency was to clear the mind, to block out distractions and emotions.

It was harder than he expected. His mind raced with questions, fears, and doubts. Flashes of his old life mixed with thoughts of Alagaësia and the dangers it held. But he persisted, breathing deeply, forcing himself to let go of each intrusive thought as it came.

Gradually, a sense of calm began to settle over him. His thoughts slowed, and the noise in his mind dulled to a faint hum. It wasn't perfect—he still felt the occasional flicker of doubt—but it was progress.

This will have to do for now, he thought, opening his eyes as the last light of day faded from the cave entrance. The shadows grew longer, the world outside bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

If he could master this, perhaps he could build a shield strong enough to protect himself from any magician who might try to invade his mind.

For the first time since awakening as a dragon, James felt a flicker of hope. He was learning, adapting, and taking steps toward survival—one day at a time.