A Changed Body

Leo woke with a start, his breath ragged as if he had run for miles. His body felt… wrong. Heavy. Unfamiliar. He pushed himself upright, but the motion was sluggish, uncoordinated. The world tilted as he tried to stand, his legs buckling beneath him. He caught himself on the edge of his small table, the wood creaking under his unexpected weight.

Something was different.

He staggered to the small mirror hanging against the cabin wall. What he saw made his stomach drop.

His skin—once tanned from years of hunting in the Spine—was now completely devoid of color, pale as untouched snow. His muscles had thickened, not in bulk but in density, making his movements feel clumsy and awkward. His shoulders were broader, his frame taller. He had grown inches overnight, his balance thrown completely off.

Leo raised a hand to his face. His fingers were longer, more defined, like the hands of a seasoned warrior, not a mere hunter. His nails looked harder, darker, more akin to claws than before.

His heart pounded. What did I do?

He looked down at his chest, pressing a hand against his ribs. His breathing was deeper, slower, his body stronger but foreign. Every movement felt unnatural, as though he was trapped inside someone else's skin.

The memories of the Urgal's life flashed through his mind. The pain, the rage, the endurance. His body had changed. It had reshaped itself.

A sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he braced himself against the wall, forcing steady breaths. Adjust. Adapt. Survive.

The words came unbidden, echoes of the Urgal's own survival instincts.

He needed to learn this new body. To master it.

Leo turned toward the door. He had spent his entire life learning how to move, how to hunt. He would have to do it all over again.

Leo slung his roc bow over his shoulder, the familiar weight grounding him as he stepped out into the cold morning air. The Spine stretched before him, its dense trees dusted with the remnants of winter. The crisp air burned in his lungs, sharper than he remembered, and every step felt like he was walking in a body that wasn't his own.

He tightened his grip on the bowstring, inhaling deeply. Focus. Adjust. Adapt. The words echoed in his mind, the remnants of the Urgal's memories guiding him.

The old trails called to him, the paths where his father had taught him to move silently, to read the land, to understand the way of the hunt. His boots crunched against the frost-covered ground as he followed a familiar route, one carved into his mind from years of experience.

Yet something was off.

His movements felt unnatural. Where once he had been light on his feet, he now felt heavy, unbalanced. Every step took more effort than it should have. The trees seemed smaller, the world around him slightly different. His perspective had changed—because he had changed.

Frustration burned in his chest. He nocked an arrow, pulling the string back. The tension was wrong. Too easy. He was stronger now, the roc bow—which had once required all his strength to draw—felt almost weak in his hands.

A rustling in the underbrush caught his attention. His sharp eyes locked onto a stag moving cautiously through the trees, its antlers like dark branches against the sky. A perfect target.

Leo exhaled, steadying himself, but as he released the arrow, his aim was slightly off. The arrow struck, but not where he had intended—it lodged itself into the stag's flank instead of its heart. The beast bolted, blood trailing behind it.

Cursing under his breath, Leo took off after it. He had miscalculated. His muscles were different, his strength greater, and even something as simple as aiming his bow required adjustments.

The chase didn't last long. Within moments, he closed the distance far faster than he should have, overtaking the wounded stag as it struggled through the underbrush. He hadn't expected to move this quickly.

A final arrow ended the hunt.

Standing over the fallen animal, he exhaled, his heart still hammering in his chest. He had hunted countless times before, but this was different. His body was different.

He knelt beside the stag, running a hand over its fur. Hunting had always been second nature to him, but now he had to learn everything again.

And he would.

He would master this body, just as he had mastered the hunt.

Leo moved through the dense undergrowth, his footfalls eerily silent despite his newfound weight. The hunt had taken him farther than expected, leading him to the farthest edge of the Spine, where the land sloped downward into a sheer overlook. Here, the trees thinned, giving way to a breathtaking view of the valley below.

He knelt at the cliff's edge, his breath visible in the crisp morning air, and Carvahall stretched before him—but it was not the village he remembered.

A wooden wall now encircled the town.

Leo's brows furrowed as he took in the sight. The wall was sturdy, hastily built but reinforced well enough to keep out wild animals—and perhaps something more. Fear had taken root in Carvahall.

His sharp eyes scanned the roads leading in and out of the village. No traders. No travelers. It was eerily still, as if the village itself was holding its breath.

The attack on Eragon's farm. The strangers in black. The whispers of the King's soldiers searching for something. It was all connected.

Leo exhaled, his grip tightening around his bow. Whatever had happened in Carvahall while he had been gone, it was clear—war was coming. 

Leo narrowed his eyes, scanning the valley with growing unease. The wooden wall around Carvahall was no simple precaution—it was a desperate measure. Something had forced the villagers to act, to defend themselves.

Then, he saw it.

Beyond the valley, nestled in the distance like a dark stain on the land, rows upon rows of tents stretched across the fields.

A detachment of the King's army.

Leo's heartbeat thundered in his ears as he counted the banners, the movement of patrols. There were at least a thousand soldiers. They weren't just passing through—they were settling in.

His stomach twisted. This was an occupation.

The air felt heavier, as if the weight of unseen forces pressed down on him. What had happened in Carvahall since Eragon left? Was it because of the strangers? Were they searching for him now?

Leo's fingers curled into a fist, his nails biting into his palm.

He had avoided war his whole life. The Spine was his refuge, his home. But now, it seemed the world had found him once again.