Roran

Leo moved swiftly through the dense underbrush of the Spine, his breath coming in steady puffs as he weaved between the towering pines. His feet barely made a sound against the damp earth, honed instincts guiding his path as he distanced himself from Carvahall. The sight of the thousand-strong force camped outside the village had left him shaken. There was no doubt now—King Galbatorix was searching for something, or someone, and Leo had a sinking feeling that Eragon's departure and the sudden military presence were connected.

He was halfway to his cabin when something crashed into him from the side. Years of training had his hands instinctively moving to defend himself, but before he could react, he was tumbling through the undergrowth, arms tangled with another figure.

A grunt of pain escaped Leo's lips as he landed hard on his back, the weight of the other person pressing down on him. He struggled for a moment, muscles tensed, before realizing that the person atop him wasn't a soldier.

It was Roran.

"Leo?" Roran's voice was a hushed whisper, eyes wide with surprise. He scrambled off of Leo, his hands still gripping the hilt of a hunting knife.

"Roran?" Leo pushed himself up, brushing dirt and pine needles from his cloak. "What in the Void are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Roran shot back, glancing around nervously. His usual confident demeanor was replaced by something frantic, something desperate. His face was gaunt, dirt streaked across his cheeks as though he'd been living rough for days.

Leo frowned, scanning Roran's appearance more closely. His clothes were worn, boots scuffed from what must have been long days of travel. A faint cut marred his forehead, dried blood tracing a path down to his temple.

"I was scouting Carvahall," Leo admitted. "Saw the soldiers. The wall. Things have changed since I last set foot in the village."

Roran let out a bitter chuckle, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "You don't know the half of it. The soldiers are searching for something—or someone—and they're not leaving until they get what they want. They've taken over the village, demanding answers. The villagers are doing their best to resist, but it's only a matter of time before things turn ugly."

Leo clenched his jaw. "They're looking for Eragon."

Roran nodded grimly. "And Brom. They're gone, disappeared into the wilds, and the King's dogs aren't happy about it. They've been questioning everyone. They even went after Horst and his family." His expression darkened. "They burned down our farm, Leo. My home. Everything."

Leo inhaled sharply. "Garrow's farm?"

Roran nodded, his voice thick with barely contained rage. "After Garrow died, I couldn't stay in Carvahall. The soldiers were getting too close, and I knew I'd be next. They wanted to break me, to make me talk about Eragon. So I ran. I've been hiding in the Spine ever since."

Leo's mind raced. This was worse than he thought. The King wasn't just searching—he was punishing.

"How long have you been out here?" Leo asked.

Roran exhaled. "A few weeks. I've been moving between different spots, keeping out of sight. I thought about heading to Therinsford, but the roads are watched. Anyone leaving the valley is being questioned. I needed to figure out what to do next." He looked at Leo with renewed hope. "And then I ran into you."

Leo folded his arms, his mind working through the possibilities. Roran couldn't stay in the Spine forever—not with the King's men watching the valley. But where could he go?

"You should come with me," Leo said finally. "I have a place deeper in the Spine. It's safe, hidden. You can rest, recover. Then we can figure out what to do."

Roran hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting soldiers to come charging through the trees. Then he nodded. "Alright. Lead the way."

Together, they slipped into the shadows of the forest, the weight of their situation pressing down upon them. The war had reached Carvahall, and neither of them could afford to stand still any longer.