From what I saw, I know the days of peace in Carvahall have come to an end.
The problem… is how to say it.
Darkness had already taken over the forest when I realized I still hadn't gone back.
The path was the same as always. Familiar.
And yet, my steps did not move forward.
I turned aside.
Once.
Then again.
For no real reason—
or perhaps for far too many reasons.
The dry leaves beneath my boots sounded far too loud for such an empty night. Every step felt like it was exposing something that had not even been spoken yet. The wind passed through the trees in uneven gusts, carrying a chill that had nothing to do with the air.
I ran a hand over my face, taking longer than necessary.
I could start directly.
Simply report what I saw.
Simple.
Quick.
Useless.
I kept walking.
I walked around a tree that wasn't even in my way. I stopped shortly after, staring into the emptiness between the trunks—as if there might be some answer there that I still didn't know how to put into words.
I let the air out slowly.
It didn't help.
Nothing helped.
If I said too much… there would be questions.
If I said too little… there would be doubts.
And both were dangerous.
My hand found the hilt of my weapon by reflex. My fingers adjusted around the worn leather, firm—ready.
I let go.
There was nothing there.
Not yet.
But the feeling remained, low and constant, like something that had started long before it was ever seen.
I resumed walking.
Slower now.
Each step measured, calculated—as if delaying a few more seconds could somehow change what awaited me in the village.
I stopped again.
Between the trees, Carvahall was still hidden. No visible lights. No sound.
Only silence.
I took a deep breath. Short. Controlled.
Then I started walking again.
The report would be simple.
Only what I saw.
Nothing more.
Some time later, in Carvahall.
When Geralt returned home, he called everyone for a meeting.
Within minutes, everyone had gathered. The atmosphere in the house had changed before any explanation was given—the dry tone, the restrained urgency, the way he avoided any conversation before sitting at the table.
That was enough.
Their expressions were tense. No one asked questions. They simply waited.
With everyone seated, I began to recount what I had seen.
I spoke about the dragon egg.
About the captured elf.
About Eragon finding the egg.
I hid nothing.
Each detail seemed to make the air in the room heavier. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, almost timid against the silence that formed between one sentence and the next.
No one interrupted me.
When I finished, I let out a slow breath, as if only then realizing I had been holding it for far too long.
Part of the weight lifted.
Only part.
The worst still remained.
I rested my arms on the table, watching each of them before continuing.
"As we know, Eragon has never left Carvahall… and that elf was probably trying to send the egg somewhere safe."
I paused for a moment.
Glances were exchanged. Small nods followed. Everyone seemed to agree, at least up to that point.
I continued.
"So if she had no intention of delivering the egg to Eragon, and yet it still ended up in his hands… it means something interfered. Something decided he was the safest choice."
The silence returned, heavier this time.
Gertrudes was the first to speak, her voice low but firm.
"According to the stories… the dragon chooses its Rider while still inside the egg."
I nodded slowly.
"Exactly."
I let the words settle for a moment before concluding.
"And that is why I am almost certain Eragon has become a Dragon Rider."
The reaction did not come immediately.
First, there was only silence.
Then I saw understanding appear in Gilbert's eyes—slow, heavy, inevitable. His fingers tapped once against the wooden table before he leaned back in his chair.
He muttered, almost to himself:
"Problems."
But in the absolute silence that filled the room, everyone heard it.
"The Empire must have some way of tracking the egg, and when they find it… the entire village will be in danger," he added.
"Yes. That is why we are gathered here. To decide what to do. We can no longer pretend we are just a forgotten village on the map. And getting rid of the egg would not solve anything either—there is a chance they would simply leave no witnesses."
My voice came out more tense than I would have liked.
The silence that followed was heavy.
My mother was the first to break it.
"So do we tell the others?"
Before I could answer, Gertrudes spoke, firm as always.
"Better not. We cannot guarantee that someone won't panic and, to save their own neck, hand us over on a silver platter."
Some nodded silently.
Little did they know how close that was to the truth.
I knew that risk was not just paranoia.
I pushed the thought away before it betrayed itself on my face.
"I think we should talk to Brom first. From what I've discovered, he has been keeping an eye on the boy. I'm almost certain he is the father… or at the very least, a close relative. And considering the knowledge he has of magic, it would be better to approach him before speaking directly to Eragon."
The mention of Brom added another layer of weight to the conversation.
Everyone fell into thought.
No one answered immediately.
A minute later, the nods began.
Slow. Agreeing.
Gilbert crossed his arms.
"Then it's decided."
I nodded.
"I'll speak to Brom tomorrow."
Elena, who had remained silent until then, finally looked up.
"And what will we do if the Empire comes knocking at our door? We need a plan to deal with them."
It was the right question.
Perhaps the most important one that night.
I ran my hand across the table, mentally organizing everything I had been studying over the past few days.
"I think I can create a surveillance system. Using the magic I discovered, with the help of runes, I can build something that allows us to observe specific areas from a distance… clear images, from a safe location."
Now I had their full attention.
I explained calmly.
How it would work.
Its limits.
The time required.
The problem of constant maintenance.
Unfortunately, it would require someone to monitor it regularly, so we would have to take turns.
The conversation stretched on for hours.
Three, perhaps more.
The fire in the hearth was already burning low by the time we finished.
We discarded some ideas, refined others.
Now we had enough contingencies—from concealment and escape routes, to complete evacuation of the village.
Nothing perfect.
But better than waiting with crossed arms.
I looked at each of them before finishing.
"We will have to adapt according to what happens. The evacuation plan only moves forward as a last resort… if the Empire decides to send enough force to wipe us out."
No one answered.
It wasn't necessary.
Everyone there knew that, from that night onward, Carvahall was no longer just an isolated village between the mountains.
The peace was over.
And there was no going back.