Chapter 17: Farewell and New Beginnings

The quiet hours of the night were filled with a heavy stillness, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in Gertrude's home. Eragon sat vigil by Garrow's bedside, his eyes red and swollen from exhaustion and grief. Every ragged breath his uncle took felt like a dagger twisting in Eragon's heart. He held Garrow's frail hand, willing him to hold on, though deep down he feared the inevitable.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Garrow's breaths grew shallower and slower until, at last, they stopped altogether. The stillness in the room was absolute, the weight of loss pressing down on Eragon like a crushing wave.

"No..." Eragon whispered, his voice breaking. He slumped forward, gripping Garrow's hand tightly as sobs wracked his body. "Uncle Garrow... please, no..."

Gertrude entered the room quietly, her face etched with sorrow. She placed a comforting hand on Eragon's shoulder but said nothing. There were no words that could ease his pain.

A Village Mourns

By midmorning, word of Garrow's passing had spread through Carvahall. The villagers, many of whom had known and respected Garrow, gathered to help Eragon give him a proper burial. Horst, the village blacksmith, took charge, guiding the others as they prepared Garrow's body and selected a peaceful spot on the outskirts of the village for his final resting place.

Eragon worked alongside them, though his hands trembled with grief. He dug into the frozen earth with a determination born of despair, tears streaming down his face. Every shovelful of dirt felt like another piece of his heart being torn away.

When the grave was ready, Garrow's body was gently lowered into it. The villagers stood in solemn silence as Eragon knelt beside the grave, clutching a handful of earth.

"I'm so sorry," Eragon whispered, his voice cracking. "I couldn't save you. I'll make them pay for this, Uncle. I swear I will." He let the soil fall through his fingers, watching as it scattered across the simple wooden coffin.

The villagers murmured their condolences before departing, leaving Eragon alone with Horst, Gertrude, and Brom. Horst placed a comforting hand on Eragon's shoulder. "If you ever need anything, lad, you know where to find me."

Eragon nodded numbly, unable to speak.

Brom's Revelation

That evening, Brom approached Eragon as he sat outside the remnants of his family's farm, staring blankly into the distance. Without a word, Brom seized his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Eragon protested, stumbling after the older man.

"We need to talk," Brom said curtly, leading him toward his home.

Once inside, Brom closed the door firmly and turned to face Eragon, his expression grave. "You're a Rider, aren't you?"

Eragon's eyes widened in shock. "I—what? How do you know about that?"

Brom leaned on his staff, his piercing gaze locking onto Eragon. "Don't play coy with me, boy. I've lived long enough to recognize the signs. The strange wounds on your legs, the destruction of your farm, the whispers of the Ra'zac. All of it points to one thing—a dragon has hatched, and you're its Rider."

Eragon hesitated, his mind racing. "How do you know about the Ra'zac?" he asked, deflecting.

Brom's jaw tightened. "Because they work for Galbatorix. They're the king's personal dragon hunters, ruthless and deadly. They were the ones who destroyed your farm and killed your uncle."

Eragon's heart clenched with rage, his hands balling into fists. "Then I'll hunt them down," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll kill them for what they did to Garrow."

Brom frowned. "Revenge is a dangerous path, boy. But if that's your decision, then you'll need my help. The Ra'zac are cunning and brutal. You won't survive without guidance."

Eragon met Brom's gaze, his determination unwavering. "Then teach me."

Brom nodded, though his expression remained stern. "We'll leave at first light. There's no time to waste."

The Dragon Revealed

As dawn broke, Brom and Eragon made their final preparations. Brom handed Eragon a satchel filled with supplies and a sturdy sword.

"You'll need this," Brom said, his tone brisk. "Now, call your dragon. It's time I met her."

Eragon closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. Saphira, he called. We're leaving. Come to me.

Moments later, the sky darkened as Saphira descended from above, her sapphire scales gleaming in the sunlight. She landed gracefully, her wings folding neatly against her sides.

"This is Saphira," Eragon said, pride evident in his voice.

Brom's eyes widened slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise. He stepped closer, his gaze appraising. "A fine young dragon," he said, running a hand over her scales. "Strong claws, a sleek tail... though her legs are a bit thin."

Saphira growled softly, baring her teeth in indignation.

Brom chuckled. "She's spirited, too. That's good."

Eragon smirked despite himself. "Should we go now?"

"Not yet," Brom said. "There's one more joining us."

Eragon frowned in confusion, but before he could ask, Brom closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. Bahamut, come to us. We need your aid.

Bahamut's Arrival

The sky seemed to shimmer as a massive figure emerged from the clouds. The sunlight caught on deep royal purple scales, which glistened like polished gemstones. As the dragon descended, his enormous wings cast a shadow over the clearing, and his amethyst eyes glowed with a serene yet commanding presence.

Bahamut landed with a thunderous grace, his claws digging into the earth. His regal form exuded an aura of wisdom and raw power.

Eragon staggered back, his heart racing. "Is... is that your dragon?" he stammered, staring up at the magnificent creature.

Brom shook his head. "No, I'm not a Rider. Bahamut is an ally, not my dragon."

Bahamut's voice resonated in their minds, deep and resonant, yet gentle. Greetings, young Rider. I am Bahamut. I have no Rider of my own, but I have chosen to aid you in your journey.

Saphira's eyes widened, her body stiffening as she stared at Bahamut in awe. She sat ramrod straight, her head barely reaching his chest. Another dragon... she whispered, her mind reeling.

Bahamut lowered his head, his massive snout close to Saphira. He gently sniffed her, his voice warm. It is good to see another of our kind. You are young, but you have great potential.

Saphira's chest swelled with pride, though she remained silent, still overwhelmed by his presence. She noted his sheer size—her head barely reached his chest—and the intricate patterns on his shimmering purple scales.

Brom watched the exchange with a faint smile. "With Bahamut's help, we stand a better chance against the Ra'zac."

Eragon nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the royal purple dragon. The enormity of the journey ahead weighed heavily on him, but for the first time since Garrow's death, a flicker of hope stirred within him.

To Be Continued

With their small yet formidable group assembled, Eragon, Saphira, Brom, and Bahamut set out into the unknown, their path fraught with danger and uncertainty. But together, they carried the spark of resistance—and the hope of a brighter future.