Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

A God's Confession

((Not going to lie, sometimes when my alarm for updating this book goes off, I'll hop on Discord and just randomly text literally everyone that IT'S TIME.
Speaking of which...

IT'S TIME.))

The sun was sitting on the horizon as Cicállaé silently followed Eragon and Nasuada, knowing exactly where they were going and wanting to join them.

As the leader of the Varden and Rider entered the large tents that were being used as field hospitals, the merged god entered a minute or so later.

They had taken their fill of positivity from the site of the wedding, and now a closeness to negativity was all they needed- though they both knew what they were going to do regardless.

Cicállaé wandered the aisles of injured and sickened soldiers, low moans and groaning all around them as the men lay in agony.

As they wandered, their previously immobile and stiffened branches grew looser, eventually draping over a few bodies as they healed the worst aliments of the miserable men.

They paused when they noticed a conversation Eragon started with one particular broken swordsman, something drawing them closer to listen and perhaps join in.

"I have no brother." Eragon was saying, unsettled. The man on the cot laughed harshly, voice cracking.
"You cannot fool me, Shadeslayer. I know better. The world burns around me, and from the fire, I hear the whisper of minds, and I learn things from the whispers. You hide yourself from me now, but I can still see you, a man of yellow flame with twelve stars floating around your waist and another star, brighter than the others, upon your right hand."

The Rider checked the belt he wore with it's concealed gemstones, seeing they were still hidden- strange thing to do in front of a blindfolded human- and was about to speak when the man tugged him closer, whispering even though it was easily loud enough for the god of emotion to hear.

"Listen to me, Shadeslayer. I saw your brother, and he burned. But he did not burn like you. Oh no. The light from his soul shone through him, as if it came from somewhere else. He, he was a void, a shape of a man. And through that shape came the brilliance that burned. Do you understand? Others illuminated him."
"Where were these others? Did you see them as well?"

The man paused, drifting slightly to the side where he noticed the god faintly. He spoke a tad bit louder, as if to include Cicállaé as well.
"I could feel them close at hand, raging at the world as if they hated everything in it, but their bodies were hidden from my sight. They were there and not there. I cannot explain better than that…. I would not want to get any closer to those creatures, Shadeslayer. They aren't human, of that I'm sure, and their hate, it was like the largest thunderstorm you've ever seen crammed into a tiny glass bottle."

"And when the bottle breaks…" Eragon pondered aloud.
"Exactly, Shadeslayer." The man agreed, daring to peer at Cicállaé before continuing. "Sometimes I wonder if Galbatorix has managed to capture gods themselves and make them his slaves, but then I laugh and call myself a fool."

"Whose gods, though? The dwarves'? Monsterkinds'? Those of the wandering tribes?"
"Does it matter, Shadeslayer? A god is a god, regardless of where he comes from."
The Rider grunted, straightening. "Perhaps you're right." He regarded Cicállaé before stepping away, leaving them to the man.

"You see the blaze of the world as well." The man stated, not a question. They didn't bother to conceal their consciousnesses from him.
"Indeed we do. We have seen others who have gained your ability as well."

The man sighed, head lolling to the side as he struggled to think of what more he wanted to say.

"Are they gods?" He finally managed. His voice wobbled slightly, frightened.
Cicállaé shook their skull.
"Gods cannot be contained by mortals, nor even immortals. Those beings are powerful, but they are not gods. We felt their rage." They glanced away, sighing.