Chapter 4: Bonds and Secrets

[2,541 words]

The sun peeked over the horizon, painting the fields with soft golden light as Eragon sat at the breakfast table with Roran and Garrow.

The smell of fresh bread and sizzling bacon filled the air as Garrow served their morning meal. Eragon looked down at his plate and then across the table at Roran, who was already wolfing down his food. Garrow, as always, ate slowly, savoring every bite.

"How did the hunt go, Eragon?" Garrow asked, breaking the comfortable silence. His gaze was sharp, curious as always, as he examined his nephew's face for any sign of fatigue.

Eragon smiled, picking at his bread. "It went well, all things considered. Nothing unexpected. Luckily, I didn't encounter any predatory animals, but I also didn't have the luck to find a dear or a wild boar. Though at least I did manage to bring back those two feral chickens," he said, his voice casual, though inside he felt a strange pride. They didn't know he had spent the majority of the time training rather than hunting. To them, those chickens were the result of his hard work.

Roran looked up, grinning. "Two chickens, eh? Not bad! We'll be eating chicken meat for the next few days. You did good, Eragon."

A small laugh escaped Eragon. "I'm just glad I didn't come back empty-handed or else you wouldn't have let me hear the end of it hehe." He paused, eyeing the others. "What about you two? How's the plowing and planting going? I'm bet you made some headway while I was away."

Garrow chuckled softly. "Well, we're getting there. It's been tough without your help, but we've managed. The weather's been good for it."

Roran added, "Yeah, but we could always use an extra set of hands. The planting's just getting started, so you came back at the right time."

Eragon nodded. He knew he would have to spend the day working in the fields again, something he wasn't particularly excited about. After four days of intense training and feeling his body grow stronger, the idea of plowing and planting seemed almost... mundane.

After they finished breakfast, the three of them headed out to the fields. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly tilled earth. Eragon took a deep breath, feeling the slight soreness in his muscles from the training, but he pushed it aside. Today would be another challenge—just of a different kind.

As they worked, Roran and Garrow began to notice something strange. Eragon was more efficient than usual, lifting heavier sacks of seeds and pushing the plow with more ease than before. His movements were smoother, faster, and he seemed far less fatigued than he usually would be after such laborious tasks. Roran raised an eyebrow, casting a glance at him.

"You're in good shape after that hunt, huh?" Roran said with a small grin. "You're working faster than usual."

Eragon shrugged while smiling, not trying to hide his satisfaction. "I guess I'm just finally hitting puberty. Maybe the time in the woods did me some good."

Garrow nodded approvingly, though a hint of curiosity lingered in his gaze. "You're doing well, Eragon. Keep this up, and the field will be ready in no time."

Eragon nodded and kept his face neutral, though inside he sighed. He didn't like working in the fields, not because it was hard, but because it felt like a waste of time. Every second spent here was a second he could be using to grow stronger, to prepare himself for the challenges that would inevitably come. Still, he reminded himself that this was his home for now, and Garrow and Roran had provided for him. He owed them this much.

"Just think of it as rent," he muttered under his breath as he dug the plow into the soil. "For the bed, the food, and the roof over my head. At least I get some form of training from this and also raise my fatigue, radiation and abrasion resistance..."

The day passed in a blur of labor, and by the time the sun began to set, they had finished plowing another part of the field. Eragon wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Not because of the work itself, but because he had proven to himself that his body had indeed grown stronger after those four days of training.

As they gathered around the dinner table that evening, Roran leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. "Hey, Eragon," he said. "I'm heading to Carvahall tonight. Want to come with me?"

Eragon hesitated for a moment. He had planned on staying in to rest and train some more, but something about the offer intrigued him. Perhaps it was the thought of a change of scenery, or maybe he was just curious about the village. Either way, he nodded.

"Sure, I'll come," Eragon said, earning a smile from Roran.

After dinner, the two of them washed up quickly and headed out. The cool evening air greeted them as they walked the familiar dirt path to Carvahall. The sun was dipping below the mountains, casting long shadows over the land. As they walked, their conversation turned lighthearted.

"So, how's Katrina?" Eragon asked with a knowing grin. "I'm guessing that's why you're heading to Carvahall again so soon, right?"

Roran's cheeks flushed a little, and he gave a sheepish smile. "She's... she's amazing, Eragon. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But, well, you know how Sloan is. He doesn't like me much, or dad for that matter."

Eragon nodded. "Yeah, that grumpy old man sure is a handful. Why don't you go to Therinsford for a while? Make some money, build a house. Then you could show Sloan that you're serious about supporting his daughter."

Roran frowned, considering the idea. "You know, I've thought about it... but I don't want to leave you and dad alone. There's still so much work to be done around here and dad isn't getting any younger, so I have to help him"

Eragon shrugged. "You won't be gone forever, the sooner you go the faster you will return. And besides, if it's for Katrina, I'm sure it'll be worth it."

Roran chuckled softly. "Maybe. I'll think about it."

As they entered Carvahall, the village was bathed in the soft glow of twilight. Most of the houses were small, stout log buildings with low roofs and wide porches, perfect for the villagers to sit and chat or conduct business. Eragon greeted a few familiar faces as they walked past, recognizing them from his inherited memories.

They soon reached the village square, where Roran turned to Eragon with a grin. "I'll be off to see Katrina now. Don't wait up for me."

Eragon smirked. "I won't. Go on, lover boy."

With a laugh, Roran disappeared into the shadows, heading for Sloan's house. Eragon, now alone, wandered through the village. He greeted Horst, the blacksmith, who was standing outside his blacksmith shop with his two sons, and exchanged a few polite words before continuing on his way.

As Eragon walked through the village, his thoughts wandered back to the memories of the movie adaptation. 'There are no soldiers around...' he noted, feeling a slight sense of relief. 'This is definitely the world from the books. It's richer, deeper...'He shook his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. 'The movie never did it justice. It all felt so... shallow.' Living in this world himself, Eragon felt the difference in every detail. 'I'm glad this isn't some watered-down version.' The thought brought him a strange comfort.

Eventually, Eragon found himself standing outside the Seven Sheaves, the local tavern. Deciding he could use a drink and some company, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The tavern was warm and filled with the greasy smoke of tallow candles. It was a little dim, but cozy in its own way. Mounted over the door were a pair of large black Urgal horns, and the bar stretched long and low across one side of the room, where customers were busy carving into the wood with sharp staves.

Morn, the owner of the tavern, greeted him with a nod as Eragon approached the bar. "Evening, Eragon. Haven't seen you in here for a while."

"Evening, Morn," Eragon replied with a smile. "Been busy helping Garrow in the fields, you know how it is."

"Aye, I do," Morn said with a chuckle. "What'll it be tonight?"

"Just a mug of ale," Eragon said, glancing around the room. There were a few villagers scattered about, drinking and talking quietly. In the corner, an old man with white beard and silver hair sat alone, nursing a drink while smoking tobacco from a wooden pipe . Eragon recognized him instantly—Brom.

As Morn handed him his drink, Eragon couldn't help but glance back at the old storyteller. Brom was the figure of storyteller in the village, though none knew just how much he had seen and done in his younger years.

[Alcohol Resistance Level 1] Gained. This skill passively increases resistance to intoxication.

Taking a sip of his ale, he ignored the new resistance he received as he approached Brom's table. "Mind if I sit?" he asked.

Brom looked up, his sharp blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Not at all," he said with a smile. "Eragon, are you here for another story?"

Eragon nodded, sitting down across from him. "That's right. If you are willing to share some of course"

The two exchanged a few pleasantries, though Eragon could feel the weight of Brom's gaze as if the old man was trying to discern something about him.

As the conversation progressed, Brom quietly began to weave tales of the ancient times, recounting the days before Galbatorix destroyed the Dragon Riders and seized the throne. He spoke of the elves, their grace and wisdom, and of the Dragon Riders, their honor and strength.

His tone and words painted vivid pictures of battles fought in the sky, dragons soaring high above the clouds, and the deep bonds between Riders and their dragons.

Eragon listened politely, but his mind began to wander as he regretted approaching Brom. He already knew these stories—better than most, in fact. He had read about them countless times in the books and seen their adaptations in the movie.

Now, hearing them again in this setting, without the visual spectacle or the immediacy of modern technology, it just didn't have the same impact. He found himself missing the fast pace of 21st-century entertainment—movies, video games, the constant flow of information at his fingertips. It felt strange to be sitting in a tavern, listening to an old man tell stories, when he was so used to the instant gratification of his previous life.

He sighed inwardly, longing for the comforting glow of a smartphone screen, the ability to distract himself with a quick scroll through social media or a video game. But that world was gone, and this was his reality now.

After a while, Eragon shifted in his seat and glanced toward the door. Brom was still deep in his tale, but Eragon couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness creeping up on him. He didn't want to offend Brom considering he would definitely need his guidance in the future, but tonight just wasn't the night for long-winded stories.

"Well, it was nice chatting with you, Brom," Eragon said after a pause in the conversation, offering the old man a polite smile. "But I think I'll head out."

Brom nodded knowingly, raising his mug. "Take care, Eragon. And if you ever want to hear more tales of old, you know where to find me."

Eragon returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

With that, he stood up and made his way out of the tavern, breathing in the cool evening air as soon as he stepped outside. The night was quiet, save for the occasional distant chatter from the village.

The evening air was cooler now, and the sky above was painted with the deep purples and blues of twilight. He paused just outside the Seven Sheaves and glanced back at the village square. It was quieter now; most of the villagers had retreated to their homes for the night.

'I really, really miss my smartphone,' Eragon thought with a wistful sigh as he began walking back toward the house. 'If only I had it here, I'd have something to do when things got dull...' He let the thought trail off, shaking his head slightly. This was his reality now, for better or worse, and he had to adjust.

The walk back home was peaceful, with only the sounds of the night and his footsteps to accompany him.

After about fifteen minutes, Eragon reached the small wooden house that he called home. The windows glowed warmly from within, and he could hear the familiar creak of the door as he stepped inside. Garrow was in the kitchen, quietly tidying up the remnants of dinner, while the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

"Back already?" Garrow asked without looking up.

"Yeah," Eragon replied, kicking off his boots and setting them by the door. "Roran's still at Carvahall. I figured I'd let him have his time."

Garrow nodded, not pressing for details. Eragon gave him a small wave goodnight and retreated to his room. It was modest—a small bed in the corner, a chest for his clothes, and a simple desk where he kept a few of his belongings. The room was quiet, a sanctuary of sorts, and he felt the tension in his body begin to ease as he closed the door behind him.

But before sleep could claim him, Eragon knew he still had some work to do. His body had been sore from the day's labor, but he didn't want to let that stop him from continuing his training. He set himself up in the center of the room, stretching out his arms and legs, and prepared for another round of resistance training.

For the next hour, he used a small stick to hit various parts of his body. The dull ache in his muscles was ever-present, but Eragon welcomed it. It was a reminder that he was growing, that every effort he made brought him closer to his goals. By the time he finished, his clothes were drenched in sweat, and his limbs felt heavy and bruised.

[Blunt Force Resistance Level 8]

'It finally leveled up' he thought to himself with a wry smile as he now allowed himself to collapse onto the bed. He had raised his blunt force resistance by two levels, a small but meaningful victory in his mind.

With a contented sigh, Eragon closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him. His thoughts drifted back to the forest, to the clearing where he had spent four days pushing his limits. Tomorrow would be another day of work in the fields, but soon enough, he would return to his training. And when the time came, he would be ready for whatever challenges awaited him.

Sleep took him quickly, and for the first time in days, his dreams were peaceful.

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A/N: I've decided I would post the list and progress of his resistances at the end of each chapter if I didn't put them in the chapter itself, so here it is:

[Pain Resistance Level 14]

[Radiation Resistance Level 15]

[Fatigue Resistance Level 18]

[Abrasion Resistance Level 12]

[Heat Resistance Level 10]

[Blunt Force Resistance Level 8]

[Oxygen Deprivation Resistance Level 3]

[Vertigo Resistance Level 2]

[Irritant Resistance Level 3]

[Cold Resistance Level 11]

[Poison Resistance Level 5]

[Sleep Deprivation Resistance Level 8]

[Alcohol Resistance Level 2]