In Eragon as a Mage

The forest was unnervingly still in the wake of the battle, the air thick with the scent of blood and charred earth. Leo knelt beside the Roc's massive body, his breathing ragged as he tried to steady his trembling hands. The broken arrow was still embedded in the creature's chest, its feathers slick with crimson.

The compendium lay on the ground where he had dropped it, its leather-bound cover somehow untouched by the chaos that had unfolded. As he reached for it, a strange sensation rippled through the air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The compendium's cover glowed faintly, veins of dark red light spiderwebbing across its surface. Slowly, as if drawn by some unseen force, the blood pooling around the Roc began to slither toward the book. Thick, glistening rivulets of red crept across the dirt and over the edges of the compendium, soaking into its pages.

Leo stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat. The whispers returned, soft at first, like the murmuring of a distant crowd. But as the blood vanished into the book, the voices grew louder, insistent, speaking in a language he could not fully comprehend.

"A price paid... A debt owed..." the compendium hissed, its voice low and resonant. The words seemed to vibrate in Leo's chest, filling him with a mix of dread and awe.

"What price?" Leo asked aloud, his voice hoarse. But the book offered no reply. The whispers faded into silence, and the glow on the compendium's cover dimmed until it was just a book once more—ordinary and unassuming, save for the faint, metallic scent of blood that lingered.

Shaking off his unease, Leo turned his attention back to the Roc. The creature's massive body lay motionless, its red eyes now dull and lifeless. Despite the exhaustion that weighed on him like a leaden cloak, Leo knew he couldn't waste this opportunity. The Roc's feathers, talons, and bones were valuable—not only as materials but as trophies of his victory.

Drawing his knife, Leo approached the Roc's carcass with caution. Even in death, the beast was imposing, its sharp features and powerful form a reminder of the danger it had posed. He began his work methodically, starting with the feathers.

The plumage was dark as midnight, each feather glinting faintly as if woven with threads of shadow. Carefully, he plucked the largest feathers from the wings, bundling them together with strips of cord. He couldn't help but marvel at their strength; they were surprisingly light but firm enough to turn aside a blade.

Next, he moved to the talons. The Roc's claws were massive, curved like scythes and sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone. Leo used his knife to sever them from the creature's feet, wrapping them in cloth to keep them safe. These could be fashioned into weapons or tools—or perhaps traded for supplies in Carvahall.

As he worked, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The forest was quiet, but the weight of unseen eyes pressed down on him. He glanced over his shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see another predator lurking in the shadows. But there was nothing—only the stillness of the Spine.

Finally, he turned his attention to the Roc's beak. The serrated jaws, which had reminded him so much of a wolf's, were as fearsome in death as they had been in life. It took all of his strength to break the lower jaw free, the process leaving his hands slick with blood.

By the time he finished, the sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing. Leo wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles aching from the effort. He had harvested everything he could carry, bundling the feathers, talons, and beak together in a makeshift pack.

As he slung the pack over his shoulder, his gaze fell once more on the compendium. It sat in the dirt, silent and inert, as if nothing unusual had happened. But Leo knew better. The book's hunger had been sated—for now.

He hesitated before picking it up, half-expecting it to spark to life again. When it didn't, he tucked it carefully into his satchel, the weight of it a constant reminder of the power it held—and the danger it posed.

The whispers of the compendium echoed faintly in his mind as he turned toward the path home, their meaning as elusive as ever. But one phrase stood out, clear and chilling:

"The price has been paid, but the debt remains."

With the Spine growing darker around him, Leo began the long trek back to the cabin, his thoughts heavy with questions he had no answers to.

Leo trudged through the dense undergrowth of the Spine, his body weary and his pack heavier than usual. The hunt for the Roc had left him battered and bruised, but he had survived. The compendium's whispers about a price paid still lingered in his mind, and the sight of its faintly pulsing cover was unsettling as it lay secured in his pack.

The Spine's familiar stillness surrounded him as he neared the clearing where his family's log cabin lay nestled into the mountainside. It was home—a haven from the dangers he had faced. As he stepped closer to the tree line, he paused, a faint rustling sound drawing his attention. His hand instinctively reached for his knife, his bow still broken and strapped to his pack.

Crouching low, Leo moved cautiously toward the sound. He emerged into the clearing to see a boy standing awkwardly in the brush, holding a crude bow. The boy's stance was unsteady, his aim wavering as he tried to draw a bead on a rabbit nibbling on a patch of grass. Leo recognized him immediately: it was Eragon, the boy he had met in Carvahall.

Eragon loosed the arrow, but it flew wide, striking a tree several feet away from the rabbit, which darted into the undergrowth. Eragon cursed under his breath, lowering the bow in frustration. His shoulders slumped, and he looked at the ground, clearly defeated by his failure.

"Not bad," Leo said, stepping into the clearing.

Eragon spun around, startled, his face lighting up with both surprise and relief. "Leo! I didn't expect to see you here."

Leo smiled, though the weariness from his hunt tugged at his expression. "Didn't expect to see you either. What are you doing out here?"

Eragon gestured to the bow in his hand. "Trying to hunt. Uncle Garrow thought it'd be good for me to learn, but…" He glanced at the tree where his arrow was embedded and sighed. "I'm not very good at it."

Leo chuckled softly. "Takes practice. That bow doesn't help much either." He approached Eragon and examined the weapon. The wood was poorly shaped, and the string looked like it would snap under too much tension.

"Yeah, I made it myself," Eragon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's all I've got for now."

Leo nodded, understanding. "It's a start. But hunting isn't just about the bow. It's about patience, knowing your surroundings, and understanding the animals." He glanced around the clearing. "You're in the right place for it. The Spine is full of game, but it's also full of dangers. You need to be careful."

Eragon's eyes widened slightly. "You've seen some of those dangers, haven't you? People talk about the creatures in the Spine, but no one really knows what's out there."

Leo hesitated, the memory of the Roc flashing through his mind. He glanced at the compendium in his pack, then back at Eragon. "I've seen enough to know that the stories aren't just stories. But if you're smart and prepared, you can handle yourself."

Eragon looked at him with a mix of awe and curiosity. "Will you teach me?"

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Teach you?"

"How to hunt," Eragon said quickly. "How to move quietly, how to track. I don't want to go back empty-handed."

Leo considered this for a moment. Teaching Eragon might delay his return home, but something about the boy's determination resonated with him. He nodded. "Alright. First lesson: patience. Let's see if we can find another rabbit, and this time, you'll wait until you're sure you can make the shot."

Eragon's face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

"Good," Leo said. "Now, let's get started."

The two boys moved into the forest, Leo quietly pointing out tracks and signs of animals, teaching Eragon how to read the forest as they went. For a while, the weight of the Roc and the compendium's whispers faded from Leo's mind, replaced by the simplicity of sharing knowledge with someone eager to learn.