Cedric and Eragon stood in a clearing. It was empty, but something called the place home. Not only was the brush trodden, bark scratched and twigs snapped, but a nest hung in one of the trees, animal bones scattered below.

"…that's… not a bird. Some type of mountain cat, perhaps? But they don't make nests in trees, not to my knowledge."

Cedric scanned the area with narrowed eyes, his posture cautious. Behind him, Eragon wore a frustrated expression. He tried dissuading the other boy, but it was useless.

"I don't know, maybe we should go back. If it's still hanging around, we could be in trouble. As you said, I don't have my bow with me, and you're not carrying any weapons either."

Telling such a plain-faced lie made Eragon deeply uncomfortable, but he really didn't want Cedric snooping around, stumbling across something he shouldn't.

The red-haired youth turned around, fixing Eragon with a stare.

"Maybe you're right. Whatever it is, it's probably dangerous. But… I can't help feeling you're acting odd. Could it be… you know what's going on?"

Eragon felt the blood draining out of his face. It took every ounce of willpower to maintain his façade. Damn it, he was kicking himself for keeping Saphira this close to home, but it was too late now.

"What are you talking about? It's the first time I've seen all this. Stay if you want, but I'm going back to the farm. It's not safe out here…"

Giving Cedric one last look, he returned from where they came, trusting he would follow. A short while later, he heard footsteps on the path behind him, quietly letting out a relieved sigh.

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"That… stone. It wasn't really a stone, was it?"

During supper, Cedric cornered Brom, feeling there was no sense in all this secrecy. With the dragon already having hatched, time was short. Instead of letting Eragon fumble around on his own, it was better for Brom to step in and start his training.

The old man's grey eyes moved from the stew to Cedric's face.

"What are you talking about? Don't waste your time on that thing. If you've thoughts to spare, spend them on your lessons."

The red-haired boy frowned. He wasn't happy about Brom's attempt at misdirection, and the so-called 'lessons' - a type of mental exercise - were just a waste of time. He didn't know whether to blame his 'teacher' for being overcautious, or if he was simply following in the footsteps of his own trainers.

"I'm not convinced it's a waste of time, and I don't think you believe so either. Are you aware it disappeared? Eragon doesn't have it anymore, and he's acting suspicious…"

He saw Brom's eyes flickering.

"…and some kind of beast appeared in the forest outside Carvahall. Coincidental, isn't it? The more I think about it, the odder that 'stone' seems in my mind."

The old man's spoon stilled, halfway between his mouth and the bowl. The only sound in the room was that of splashing liquid, as soup droplets and vegetable chunks fell into the stew.

"…you're… certain of this?"

Hearing Brom's tone, a mixture of disbelief and excitement, Cedric wanted to facepalm. How was this possible? Did Brom not know it was a dragon egg? Of course he knew! He'd seen it when he was still with the Varden.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

So, what then? Did he not think it would hatch for Eragon? Perhaps that was the case. Indeed, both father and son being chosen by a dragon was a bit too coincidental…

"Damn you, what are you even saying, old man? You caught on to me, but you're unable to find a living, breathing dragon? What do you take me for? What exactly are you planning?"

Getting to his feat, Cedric slammed his hands on the table. He was halfway through his rant before his voice lowered, realizing the walls were thin and the neighbors nosy.

The shock on Brom's face was far too raw to be faked. Suddenly, he too stood, nearly sending his bowl to the floor.

"It can't be… Eragon, a rider…? But it's been so long, the egg never-…"

His hand went to his head, searching for his hat. Finding it absent, he looked around, grabbing it and his staff before suddenly rushing out of the house, leaving Cedric behind.

The boy stood there, his mouth half-open. What just happened? Did Brom really not have a clue? He knew the egg was with Eragon, but he never expected it to hatch, nor did he do anything otherwise with it?

Thinking back to the novel's events, Cedric remembered something about it being paraded between human and elf lands for decades. Given it never hatched for a member of either race, perhaps Brom had indeed started to give up hope.

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Brom didn't return that day, so Cedic made good use of his free time. He'd his own training regimen, one far more productive than his teacher's overly cautious one.

Digging up old memories, he recalled Brom's caution of magic, not teaching Eragon until the protagonist accidentally discovered it on his own. Despite it being stated in the books, as well as his own reservations, Cedric was still surprised and frustrated with how difficult it was to get anything out of him.

They'd been sharing a house for nearly two weeks, yet he hadn't managed to extract so much as a single ancient word out of the geezer. Nor was there any combat training. What he'd deigned to teach Cedric could be summed up in two words—meditation and exercises. The former was self-explanatory, while the latter involved basic physical conditioning and a series of stretches.

Alone in the darkening forest, the boy took a deep breath. He supposed it wasn't fair of him to blame Brom—usually, he'd have no problem with taking things slow, staring with the basics, but there just wasn't time. Besides, he was long past the point where such things presented him with any difficulty.

Shoving such thoughts to the back of his mind, he simply stood there, taking in the environment. Winter had arrived, and a biting chill was in the air. The vegetation was bare and dry, and blanketed by a shallow sheet of white. The air was dry as well, which is why he'd decided to try this today.

Not wanting to make a mess of things, he took his time, clearing his mind. When he was as tranquil as he'd ever be, Cedric raised his hand, the tips of his five fingers pointing toward a trunk. He conjured an image in his mind's eye, of a haze surrounding the gnarly old thing like a swarm of fireflies, crackling and sparking with charge.

Like he'd done many times before, pushing and pulling objects telekinetically, he clenched his fist, drawing on the 'mana' inside him to pull, stripping the trunk of its charges. In an instant, he felt himself crackling with electricity, his skin crawling as if covered in ants, and his hair standing on end. A metallic taste filled his mouth, which he hoped wasn't blood.

However, there wasn't much time for thought on his part. The trunk, which had been close to neutrally charged, had swung to the extreme end of positive. And like water rushing from high to low pressure, or heat transferring from hot to cold, charges surged from the environment, positive attracting negative.

There was a flash of light, like a lightning strike. Blue and violet bolts of electricity struck the trunk, producing a tremendous sound. Cedric had narrowed his eyes in preparation, but afterimages were still burned into his retina, and his ears rang with a high-pitched whine, drowning all other sound.

Blinking frantically while rubbing his eyes, Cedric smelled it before he saw it—the trunk had been blown to pieces, nothing but a smoldering stump of wood remaining, stuck in the ground. Even from this distance, he'd felt the shrapnel pelting him, along with the shockwave ruffling his clothes.

Regaining his vision, he saw the wood engulfed in blue flames, and the circle of destruction surrounding it. If that was a person, well… the damage would've extended a lot further than some singed hair.

Coughing into his fist, Cedric barely kept his composure, refraining from grinning like a madman. It'd worked far better than he expected. Not the destruction—while that was certainly satisfactory—but the mana consumption.

It confirmed a long-standing hypothesis of his; if done right, a spell could off-load most of the heavy lifting to natural processes. If he were to depend on his own body for those lightning bolts, he'd be huffing and wheezing, but as it was, he barely felt the drain.

The technique had a lot of potential, a lot indeed…

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