Chapter 8: Shadows in the Spine

The Spine's silence was deceptive. Its dense forest canopy muffled all sound, creating an eerie stillness that unsettled even the most seasoned travelers. Brom treaded carefully through the underbrush, his staff in hand and his sharp blue eyes scanning every shadow. For weeks, he had been wandering the Spine, searching for the source of a growing unease. Something was watching Carvahall, of that he was certain.

At first, Brom had dismissed the sensation as paranoia. But the signs were undeniable—strange tracks too large for wolves, claw marks etched into trees higher than any bear could reach, and the faint scent of smoke in areas where no campfires should have burned.

"It's a dragon," he muttered to himself, crouching beside a shallow depression in the forest floor. The print was unmistakable: the splay of massive claws, the faint scrape of a tail dragging behind. But the size didn't match Shruikan, Galbatorix's monstrous dragon. This one was smaller, lighter, and more precise in its movements.

Brom's thoughts churned as he rose to his feet. "How is this possible?" he whispered. Shruikan was supposed to be the last of the dragons, apart from the eggs Galbatorix kept under lock and key and the egg he had stolen now being ferried between the Varden and the elves. If another dragon existed, it raised troubling questions. Who was its Rider? Were they friend or foe? And why were they here in the Spine, so close to Carvahall?

He tightened his grip on his staff. Answers would come, but for now, he had to keep searching.

Far from Brom's search, in a cave nestled deep within the Spine, Bahamut stirred. The dragon's deep purple scales shimmered faintly in the dim light filtering through the cave's entrance. His once-cozy refuge now felt constricting. As he stretched his massive wings, the tips scraped against the walls, sending a cascade of small stones clattering to the floor.

Too small, he thought, a growl echoing faintly in the confined space. Bahamut stepped outside, his claws clicking against the rocky ledge. From this vantage point, he could see the sprawling forest below, the peaks of the Spine stretching into the horizon. He had called this cave home for years, but it was clear he had outgrown it.

I'll need to find a new home soon. The thought unsettled him. The Spine was vast, but suitable caves were rare, and the search would take him closer to human settlements than he would like.

As he gazed across the forest, another thought struck him, one that made him snarl in frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he growled, slamming his head against the cave wall. How could he have forgotten the Ancient Language? The words of power that defined his kind, that connected him to the magic of the world? He had been so focused on survival that he had let that crucial knowledge slip from his mind.

Taking a deep breath, Bahamut closed his eyes and tried to recall the phrases he had once known. Eka… Eka ai fricai. The words felt foreign, but the meaning came back to him: I am a friend.

It wasn't much, but it was a start. For hours, Bahamut sat in his cave, piecing together fragments of the Ancient Language from the depths of his memory. Progress was slow, and frustration mounted with each forgotten phrase. But he was determined. The Ancient Language was more than just words; it was a key to understanding himself and his place in the world.

Months passed, and the quiet dance between Brom and Bahamut continued. Brom's suspicions grew stronger with each passing day. The signs of the dragon's presence became more frequent, but the creature remained elusive. He found fresh tracks leading to streams, claw marks on trees marking territory, and even faint scorch marks on rocks where the dragon had practiced its flame.

Brom had scoured the forest tirelessly, but the dragon's lair eluded him. What troubled him more was the absence of a Rider. If the dragon wasn't alone, why hadn't its Rider revealed themselves? And if it was alone, how had it survived?

One evening, Brom stood on a ridge overlooking Carvahall. Below, the village bustled with activity, unaware of the danger lurking in the Spine. Brom's gaze drifted to Garrow's farm on the outskirts, where a young Eragon played in the fading sunlight. The boy's laughter echoed faintly, a sound that tugged at Brom's heart.

"Selena's boy," he murmured. He had vowed to protect Eragon, and he would keep that promise, no matter the cost.

Bahamut watched the same scene from a distance, his massive form crouched in the shadows of the trees. He had grown fond of observing the boy and his family, their simple life a stark contrast to the chaos he had known. Eragon's curiosity and innocence reminded him of a time before the world had turned against the Riders.

But tonight, something felt different. Bahamut's keen senses detected a presence nearby. His head snapped toward the source, and his golden eyes locked onto a figure moving cautiously through the trees. It was a man, cloaked and armed with a staff. Bahamut's nostrils flared as he caught the man's scent. There was power in this one, a hint of magic that set him apart from ordinary humans.

Brom.

Bahamut tensed, his tail coiling around his body as he watched the man approach. He had heard stories of Brom, the Dragon Rider who had slain Morzan and stolen Zar'roc. If this was indeed him, it meant danger.

Brom moved slowly, his staff held loosely but ready to strike. His eyes scanned the shadows, searching for the dragon he was certain was nearby. When his gaze finally landed on Bahamut, he froze. The dragon's deep purple scales glimmered faintly in the moonlight, and his eyes burned with intelligence.

"You're not Shruikan," Brom said softly, his voice carrying just enough for Bahamut to hear. "Who are you? And where is your Rider?"

Bahamut didn't move, his amethyst eyes narrowing as he studied the man. He sensed no immediate threat, but the tension between them was palpable. Brom took another step forward, his hand tightening on his staff.

Desperate for answers, Brom risked the only option he had. He extended his mind toward the dragon, probing for information. Bahamut's mental shields were strong, but they were unlike anything Brom had encountered before. The dragon's thoughts were chaotic, filled with loneliness, fear, determination, and a fierce desire to protect something—or someone. But there was no connection to a Rider.

"No Rider?" Brom thought, bewildered. How could that be?

The intrusion startled Bahamut, and panic surged through him. With a roar, he lashed out, his tail smashing into a tree as he launched himself into the air. The sound of the falling tree echoed through the forest, alerting Garrow and his family. Brom shielded his face as branches rained down around him, cursing his recklessness.

From the farm, Garrow and Marian emerged, holding lanterns and peering into the darkness. "What happened?" Garrow called out, his voice tinged with concern.

Brom stepped into the light, forcing a calm expression. "A bear," he lied smoothly. "A very large one. It knocked over the tree before running off. I was tracking it, but I'll need to go after it now before it becomes a danger to the village."

Garrow frowned but nodded. "Be careful," he said.

Brom offered a reassuring smile before disappearing back into the forest. As he walked, his mind raced. The dragon he had seen was unlike any he had ever encountered. A dragon without a Rider? It defied everything he knew about their kind. But one thing was clear: he needed answers.

High above the Spine, Bahamut soared through the night, his heart pounding. The encounter had shaken him. The man's mental probe had been invasive, yet it had also sparked a flicker of hope. Brom hadn't felt like an enemy. Perhaps he could be a friend.

But for now, Bahamut would keep his distance. The forest below stretched endlessly, a sanctuary and a prison all at once. As the stars glittered overhead, he resolved to remain hidden, watching and waiting for the day he could step into the world without fear.