Point of View: Eragon
The forest was alive.
The soft rustling of leaves, the occasional snap of twigs under small animals, the steady wind weaving through the trees — everything spoke of movement. Everything spoke of opportunity.
Eragon held his bow steady, body low, steps measured.
He had already found signs.
Fresh tracks.
A faint trail through the underbrush.
Something small, perhaps a young deer… or a large rabbit.
He moved carefully, controlling his breathing, eyes fixed ahead.
Then—
The world exploded in light.
A blue flash tore through the forest with violent intensity.
The sound followed a heartbeat later — a sharp, abrupt crack, like something splitting in the very air.
Birds burst into flight in panic.
The sound of fleeing echoed in every direction.
The trail… vanished.
Eragon threw himself backward on instinct, bow already raised, heart racing.
For a few seconds, he did not move.
He only listened.
The silence that followed was not natural.
It was heavy.
Dense.
As if the forest itself had stopped to watch.
He swallowed hard.
That was not normal.
Slowly, he turned toward the source of the flash.
A faint column of smoke drifted between the trees.
He hesitated.
His instincts screamed danger.
But there was something else.
An unsettling curiosity.
A feeling that was difficult to ignore.
Cautiously, he moved forward.
Each step measured.
Eyes alert.
Muscles ready to react.
As he approached, the smell of scorched earth grew stronger.
The vegetation had been marked — not completely destroyed, but altered, as if exposed to something intense for a brief moment.
And then he saw it.
At the center of a small impact-scarred clearing, there was a stone.
Blue.
Not merely blue — deep.
Its smooth surface reflected light in a strange way, and something within it seemed to move, as if it held a glow of its own, alive yet contained.
Eragon frowned.
That did not belong in this forest.
And yet… he could not step away.
He took another step.
Then another.
Slowly, he knelt, eyes fixed on it.
He hesitated before touching it.
Common sense told him to leave.
But something else… held him there.
His fingers finally brushed the surface.
Warm.
Not hot enough to burn, but far from cold.
He picked it up.
For a brief moment, he felt something.
Not a sound.
Not a voice.
A sensation.
Like a faint echo in his mind.
Too subtle to understand.
He froze.
Waiting.
Nothing happened.
Only the silence slowly returning.
The distant sound of birds.
The wind.
The forest settling back into itself.
Eragon let out a slow breath.
Still looking at the stone.
"Strange…" he murmured.
Even without understanding, he placed it in his pack.
Leaving it behind… did not feel right.
He stood.
The hunt was over.
Anything nearby had already fled.
With one last glance at the marked clearing, he turned and began his way back to Carvahall.
During the walk, his mind did not stay quiet.
The stone felt heavier than it should.
Not physically.
But in thought.
From time to time, he touched his pack, as if needing to confirm it was still there.
As he approached the village, an idea began to form.
Maybe he could trade it.
Sloan always had meat.
And this… might be worth something.
Eragon adjusted the pack on his shoulder, nearly convinced.
Then he stopped.
A discomfort surfaced.
Sudden.
Subtle… but persistent.
He frowned.
Looked around.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Still, the feeling did not fade.
If anything—
It grew.
And then the thought came.
Clear.
Direct.
'Hide the stone.'
Eragon blinked, startled.
His gaze swept the area.
No one.
Nothing.
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
That did not feel like a normal thought.
And yet, it was not entirely foreign.
It felt… familiar.
Like instinct.
And his instincts had never failed him.
He hesitated.
Trading it for meat still made sense.
But something inside him rejected that idea with force.
A tight pressure in his chest.
A sense of wrongness.
He took a deep breath.
Gripped the pack more firmly.
"Alright…" he muttered softly.
The decision brought immediate relief.
Small.
But real.
Without further questioning, he continued toward the village.
Unaware of the gaze that followed him.
Among the trees, partially concealed by shadow and distance, a figure remained still.
Watching.
Eyes fixed.
Not on the path.
Not on the village.
But on the pack.
Attention steady.
Precise.
No visible emotion.
No visible interference.
Only observation.
And silence.
Point of View: Geralt
The meeting ended shortly before Eragon returned to the village.
The timing was precise.
Not by chance.
From an elevated position, partially concealed among trees and distant structures, I maintained my vantage point.
Far enough to remain unnoticed.
Close enough to observe.
Eragon entered Sloan's butcher shop.
No haste.
No sign of urgency.
Normal.
I maintained focus.
I channeled a minimal amount of energy — enough to extend auditory perception without causing noticeable disturbances in the environment.
Voices came through clearly.
Sloan first.
Direct tone, impatient as usual.
Eragon responded simply.
No hesitation.
No deviation.
The negotiation was quick.
Meat now.
Payment next week.
Fresh vegetables.
Nothing unexpected.
No pause.
No shift in tone.
No mention.
No reference.
The stone remained outside the conversation.
Out of sight.
Out of reach.
Silence.
I cut off the flow of magic.
Observed for a few more seconds.
Nothing.
No delayed reaction.
No sign of suspicion.
I exhaled slowly.
My shoulders relaxed slightly — tension accumulated, only then noticed.
Sloan… here, he was not the same as I remembered.
Still, unnecessary information generates risk.
And at this stage, risk is a variable not worth testing.
My gaze followed Eragon as he left the shop.
Natural movement.
Light posture.
No signs of abnormal cognitive load.
Good.
Perhaps that is enough.
Perhaps…
More than one life has been preserved.
I adjusted my stance.
Looked away from the village.
Observation, for now, was sufficient.
I turned and began the walk back.
Silent steps.
Steady pace.
My mind already moving toward the next problem.
Tomorrow would bring new decisions.
And inevitably,
new risks.