Lunch with Nasuada felt like someone had spiked the water with happy juice.
The command tent was packed—generals, Urgal captains, a couple of those creepy Nightstalkers lurking in the corners like they were allergic to sunlight. Nasuada sat at the head like she owned the place (which, she kinda did), laughing at something one of the Urgals said. Plates were piled high with roast boar, flatbread, and those weird glowing fruits the elves kept insisting were "nutritious." Percy poked one suspiciously. "This thing's glowing. Is it gonna explode or just make me sound?"
Annabeth elbowed me. "It's just bioluminescent. Relax, Seaweed Brain."
"Easy for you to say. Last glowing thing I ate tried to eat me."
Nasuada overheard and actually cracked up—proper, head-thrown-back laugh. "You two are impossible," she said, wiping her eyes. "I needed that."
The mood was light for once. Urgals roared drinking songs, generals swapped war stories, and even the Nightstalkers looked almost... chill. Percy leaned over to Annabeth, whispering, "Think we could get them to do karaoke later?"
She snorted. "Only if you go first."
"Deal. I'll do 'Under the Sea.' Full choreography."
By the time we finished eating, the tent felt less like a war council and more like a really weird family reunion. Nasuada caught us on the way out, still smiling. "You two are good for morale. Don't die tomorrow."
"No promises," I shot back. Annabeth dragged me away before I could make it worse.
We headed for an empty clearing near the edge of camp, close enough that a cluster of villagers could watch from a safe distance. The grass was trampled flat—perfect for training. Shorai and Furnöst lounged nearby like oversized guard dogs, wings half-spread, tails flicking lazily.
Annabeth stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Ready to get your butt kicked, Seaweed Brain?"
I grinned, uncapping Riptide. "Bring it, Wise Girl."
We fell into our routine like breathing. Sparring first—blades clashing, dodging, parrying. She was faster now, sharper, those new elven reflexes making her a nightmare to hit. I countered with some of the "ancient language and my natural abilities—little waves that tripped her up, a few flying boulders. She adapted quickly, slicing through my tricks like they were paper.
The villagers watched from the side, a respectful distance away, as they grabbed their jaws off the floor. Kids pointed, adults whispered. One old guy actually dropped his walking stick.
We moved to magic next. Annabeth lifted boulders with a few words, stacking them into neat towers. I summoned a mini whirlpool of fire in the air, spinning it into shapes—dolphins, tridents, a tiny version of Blackjack that galloped across the clearing before bursting into smoke. The villagers gasped every time.
Halfway through a spell drill, I froze.
A familiar face stood at the edge of the crowd, half-hidden by a tree.
Eragon.
He looked... different. Tired, maybe. His hair was longer, his eyes shadowed. Saphira wasn't with him—she must've been hunting or something—but he was watching us like he'd seen a ghost.
Annabeth noticed me stop. "What?"
I jerked my chin. "Eragon."
She followed my gaze. Her expression softened—just a fraction. "He's been avoiding us since the battle."
"Yeah. Wonder why."
Eragon lingered at the edge of the clearing like he wasn't sure he belonged anymore. Annabeth sheathed her dagger, wiping sweat from her brow. "You just gonna stand there looking broody, or are you joining the circus?"
He managed a half-smile. "I've had enough spotlight for one lifetime."
I capped Riptide. "Dude, you look like someone kicked your dragon. What's up?"
Eragon rubbed the back of his neck—classic guilty move. "I've been... spending time with Roran. My cousin. Brother, really. He's here with the villagers from Carvahall."
Annabeth's eyes lit up. "The hammer guy? He's the one who led the villager's exodeus right?"
Eragon nodded, surprised. "You know about that?"
Annabeth's eyes lit up like someone flipped a switch. "The hammer guy? The one who led that whole village exodus thing?"
Eragon blinked. "You know about that?"
"We heard stories," I said, shrugging. "Big dude, scary hammer. Sounds like we could be family. You wanna take us to meet him?"
Eragon opened his mouth—probably to say something like "maybe later" or "it's complicated"—but I was already bouncing on my toes. "Come on, man. Family reunion. We're basically experts at awkward family reunions. Let's go."
Annabeth elbowed me. "Smooth."
Eragon sighed, but there was this tiny spark in his eyes. "Fine, but it's not so much awkward as it is angry. Follow me, he's with the other villagers."
We both shared a look and started silently laughing, straightening up when he turned back around.
We trailed him through the camp, Furnöst and Shorai lumbering behind like they were on a casual stroll instead of being the size of small houses. Villagers parted for Eragon like he was royalty, whispering "Shadeslayer" every five seconds. Wondering what the title was we continued on.
We found Roran near the supply wagons, assisting a couple of men loading crates. Same broad shoulders, same hammer hanging at his belt. He turned when Eragon called his name, and his face molded into something that started out angry and then changed into something else.
"Eragon!" He greeted him in a friendly enough manner. "Thought you'd forgotten your own blood."
"Never," Eragon laughed—sounding surprised and relieved.
Then Roran's eyes landed on us. "Who're your friends?"
Eragon stepped back. "Percy Jackson. Annabeth Chase. They're... Riders. Like me."
Roran's eyebrows shot up. "Two more? Gods, the world really is changing." He stuck out a hand the size of a dinner plate. "Roran Stronghammer."
I shook it—firm grip, calluses like leather. "Percy. Nice to finally meet someone who values the important women in their life.
Roran looked appalled as he turned toward Eragon. "You told them about Katrina?"
"That was my bad, I always read the minds of those around me, you know, checking threats and whatnot, when I stumbled upon your interesting story," I responded, "saving" Eragon from Roran's glare.
We talked about his journey, causing a bit of sadness to appear on his face, "We lost too many to do it. But we got here. That's what matters."
We talked for a while—easy at first. Roran told stories about Carvahall: the Ra'zac raids, the night the soldiers came, how he convinced the whole village to run rather than fight. I swapped a couple of camp tales—leaving out the gods and Titans parts, keeping it vague. Annabeth asked questions about morale and supply lines that only a troop would know.
Then the mood shifted.
Roran's jaw tightened. "Eragon and I are leaving tonight. Heading east."
Eragon nodded, eyes hard. "The Ra'zac. They're still out there. We're going to Helgrind so we can finally finish what they started. "
I blinked. "Wait, what? Now? In the middle of a war?"
Roran's voice was pure steel. "They took my father. Killed him. They don't get to live while we fight someone else's battles."
Annabeth crossed her arms. "And Galbatorix just lets his pet monsters roam free?"
Eragon's smile was bitter. "He thinks they're untouchable now. We'll prove him wrong."
I looked at Annabeth. She looked at me. Same thought: This is a terrible idea.
But Roran's eyes—man, I knew that look. It was the same one I had when I thought Annabeth was missing for months. The same one when I went after the Doors of Death. You don't talk someone out of that. You go with them or you get out of the way.
We wished them luck, and then Eragon headed off to talk out his plan with Nasuada. We left to our tents while Roran prepared for their trip.