Into the Ashes

The midday sun was low, casting a pale light over the burned remains of Garrow's farm. Leo and Horst approached the charred ruins in silence, their boots crunching on the frosted ground. The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the faint chill of early spring.

Horst stopped a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders tense as he took in the devastation. "By the gods," he muttered, his deep voice thick with disbelief.

Leo said nothing, his sharp eyes scanning the wreckage. The farmhouse was barely more than a skeletal frame of blackened beams and crumbling walls. The fire had consumed nearly everything. He stepped forward cautiously, his boots stirring the ash beneath him.

"We'll have to be careful," Horst said, gesturing toward a sagging beam that looked ready to collapse. "If the strangers didn't find what they were looking for, they might've left something behind."

Leo nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. As he stepped closer to the center of the wreckage, something caught his eye—a faint glimmer, so subtle he might have missed it if he hadn't been looking carefully.

It wasn't firelight or the reflection of the sun on ash. It was something else entirely. A shimmer of blue, faint and otherworldly, hung in the air like the afterimage of a dream.

Leo froze, his breath catching in his throat. He knew that shimmer. He'd seen it before in the Spine, near the stone Eragon had found. It was magic, a lingering trace of something powerful.

"Leo?" Horst's voice broke through his thoughts.

He quickly straightened, forcing his expression to remain neutral. "What?"

"You find anything?" Horst asked, his eyes scanning the rubble.

Leo shook his head, stepping away from the shimmer. "No. Just ashes and broken wood."

Horst grunted and continued his search, carefully overturning debris with his axe. Leo stayed quiet, his mind racing. The strangers had been here for the stone—that much was clear. But the traces of magic meant something more. Whatever the stone truly was, it was more than just a gemstone or trinket. It was dangerous.

And now it was with Eragon.

"Looks like they didn't leave anything behind," Horst said after a while, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "No clues, no tracks, nothing."

Leo nodded, feigning indifference. "Doesn't look like it."

They spent another few minutes poking through the ruins, but it was clear the fire had destroyed any evidence of the strangers' search. Horst eventually sighed and slung his axe over his shoulder. "We should head back. Nothing more we can do here."

"Agreed," Leo said, stepping around the lingering shimmer carefully, as though avoiding a live wire. He didn't dare look at it again.

As they walked back toward the village, Horst kept talking, voicing his frustrations about the strangers and the danger they'd brought to Carvahall. Leo only half-listened, his thoughts elsewhere.

The traces of magic hadn't just been a clue—they were a warning. The strangers might be gone for now, but they'd come back. And when they did, they wouldn't stop until they found what they were looking for.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. Eragon didn't know what he was carrying, but Leo did. He needed to figure out what the stone truly was—and fast.

For now, though, he kept his discovery to himself. Horst didn't need to know, and neither did anyone else in Carvahall. The less they knew, the safer they'd be.

As they neared the edge of the village, Leo glanced back at the distant outline of the Spine, its dark peaks looming like silent sentinels. Whatever was coming, he had a feeling it would change everything.

 On the way back to the village Leo stopped by Gertrude's small home, the familiar scent of herbs and ointments thick in the air. The room was warm, a stark contrast to the bitter chill outside, with a low fire crackling in the hearth. Bundles of dried plants hung from the ceiling, their earthy aroma mingling with the faint tang of medicine.

"Close the door! You think I'm trying to heat the entire village?" Gertrude's sharp voice snapped at him before he could even take two steps inside.

Leo smirked to himself and quickly shut the door behind him. "Good to see you too, Gertrude."

The healer stood by her workbench, her hands busy grinding something in a mortar. She didn't look up, her sharp eyes focused on her task. "If you're here to chat, boy, save it. I've got work to do."

"I just wanted to check on Eragon," Leo said, taking a cautious step forward. "How's he doing?"

Gertrude snorted, setting the mortar aside with a sharp clink. "Sleeping like a log, as he should be. Poor lad nearly worked himself to death dragging his uncle all the way here. Cuts on his legs, bruises all over, and don't even get me started on the state of his hands. If he weren't so young and stubborn, I'd have half a mind to tie him to that bed until he healed properly."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "You sure he's not already tied to it? Sounds like something you'd do."

Gertrude turned to him then, one eyebrow arched and her hands on her hips. "Don't tempt me, Leo Hawthorne. I might just tie you to a chair for the winter if you keep mouthing off."

He chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll behave."

She huffed but didn't press the matter further. "He's still asleep," she said, nodding toward a small room off to the side. "Go on, but don't wake him. The boy needs rest more than anything else right now."

Leo nodded and made his way toward the room. The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open quietly. Eragon lay on the narrow bed, his face pale but peaceful. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the signs of exhaustion still etched into his features.

Leo leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched his friend. Eragon looked so young like this—barely more than a boy, despite the weight of everything he'd been through. The image of Garrow's burned farm flashed in Leo's mind, followed by the shimmering traces of magic he'd seen there.

"You'll have to be careful," he murmured under his breath. "They're still looking for that stone."

"You talking to him or yourself?" Gertrude's voice startled him, and he turned to see her standing behind him, arms crossed and a knowing look in her eyes.

"Both, I guess," Leo admitted, stepping out of the room and closing the door softly behind him.

Gertrude studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You've got that look again."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're thinking too much. I've seen it on your face every time you come back from the Spine. Whatever's weighing on you, boy, don't let it crush you. You're no good to anyone if you break."

Leo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's nothing. Just... everything that's happened lately. The strangers, Garrow, Eragon... it's a lot."

She softened slightly, her hands falling to her sides. "It's been a hard few days for all of us. But you're stronger than you think, Leo. You've survived the Spine; you can survive this."

He managed a small smile. "Thanks, Gertrude. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. Now, unless you're planning to help me grind herbs or clean bandages, you can show yourself out. I've got patients to tend to and no time for brooding boys cluttering up my workspace."

Leo chuckled, raising his hands in surrender again. "Alright, I'm going. But if you need anything—"

"I'll send for you," she cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. "Now go on, get out of here."

He left with a grin, stepping back into the cold air outside. The warmth of Gertrude's home lingered, but so did her words. She was right—he couldn't let everything that was happening crush him.

As he walked back toward the center of the village, he glanced up at the Spine in the distance, its dark peaks looming against the gray sky. Trouble was coming, he could feel it. And whether he liked it or not, he'd have to be ready.