Yet again, I need to make changes to this chapter. Shit has been going down on my end, and I'm not going to bore you with what. Suffice to say, there's a reason I haven't updated for this long.

Anyway, since I'm sure you're all dying for the next chapter, it will be up soon BARRING COMPLICATIONS. If it's not - assume shit hit the fan.

Now, enjoy - and while you're at it, check out my new Death Note story, M Zenzizenzizenzic. No, I didn't spell that wrong.

Summary: When Brom dies, he strays off the beaten path. Ending up on Earth, he must gather the Four, stop a war and try not to be a bore while he teaches DADA. Add in teenage hormones, exasperating prophecies and medieval meets modern life, then try to survive.

The spirit of Brom Holcombsson watched fondly as his only son Eragon returned to the grave Saphira's namesake had transformed to diamond so long ago. So much of his life had been dedicated to the fight against the mad king that he had not been able to rest in peace, and he had followed the events along with many other spirits who would now be passing on.

Prominently among them were Ajihad, previous leader of the Varden and Nasuada's father; Jarnunvosk, first dragon of Galbatorix; Morzan, his bitter enemy and father of Murtagh; and Vrael, last leader of the old order of the Dragon Riders. Brom didn't know exactly who they were, but he suspected that many, many souls inhabited Alagaësia.

They were all there for different reasons, but they had all stayed in the realm of the living because they weren't quite finished with life yet – or it with them. Jarnunvosk had been here the longest of those Brom would recognise. She thought that the whole mess was her fault and had been consumed by guilt for over a hundred years.

She had passed into the nether, but before Galbatorix died; she passed on when Eragon and the dragons wrought the great spell that made him understand what he had done. In that moment, she knew that he would retreat from the path of twisted darkness and understand what it was that she had tried to tell him for all those years.

Jarnunvosk knew that when Galbatorix cast his final spell, 'Waíse néiat', he hadn't been trying to kill those who had caused his suffering. He had been trying to rid the world of himself and help them destroy the twisted Shruiken, his final gift to the world he had once loved. Knowing that he would soon join her, she became at peace and moved on.

Vrael watched in pride as his partner, Umaroth, helped destroy the misguided man who had killed him and his dragon's body. He smiled when he saw Eragon's intentions to restore the Riders. Though pained by the separation of he and his partner, he knew that eventually Umaroth would join him. But he couldn't abide the idea of the Riders falling forever.

Vrael also approved of the previously rejected notion of enabling Urgals and dwarves to become Riders. Interracial unity was required for the survival of Alagaësia. Knowing that the only home he had ever known was safe – for now – and that the Riders were emerging into the new era, Vrael finally allowed himself to pass on, content to wait until the partner-of-his-mind-and-soul, as Saphira put it, was ready to join him.

Brom listened to Eragon try to convince the dragons to return Brom to life; finally, he accepted that he shouldn't. His son's desire, Brom knew, was born of the burning ache of loss.

As Eragon changed the words on his tomb, Brom felt a strange sensation. If he'd had a body, he would have described it as a ripple of pure energy flowing through it, something denser and more powerful than the energy used by magicians, which suddenly seemed weak and diluted in comparison.

Eragon finished and placed his hand on the sculpture. At last, he said quietly, "Thank you for everything you taught me." Then he slowly mounted Saphira and flew off into the sunset.

Brom felt the energy again, a thousand times more powerful than the first time. It was pure metaphorical adrenaline, exhilarating and making him want to do something. He didn't know what, but it was an urge, like an itch he couldn't scratch but so much stronger.

I wonder if this is death energy? he wondered. Death is more powerful than life, and it is eternal. I wonder if this is it? He broke off his musings when he noticed that he was no longer in the world of his birth.

If Brom had to describe the place he now was in a few words, he would have said 'Nonexistent, yet part of everything.' That was exactly what it was like; there were no words to describe it, yet he could call it anything and it would fit a facet of where he was. He wondered if that was truly the way this place worked.

"That is correct, yes indeed. Now of our words you must take heed," rumbled a harmony of voices, eerily in sync. It – they – didn't quite speak, but he felt an impression of the meaning, clearer than if words had been used. "Part of the universes' flow, is life's end. But for a while you shall escape, beside a close friend."

"Who are you?" Brom tried to ask. He didn't actually say anything, but he got the feeling the voices would know anyway.

"It is not what we are that you need to know. It is what we are doing, where you need to go," replied the voices.

"Voices on the flipside of everything have to rhyme? Really?" Brom responded in a dry voice – well, a dry form of communication.

"This happens more often than you might think. Oftentimes, worlds are on disaster's brink."

"Right. So what am I here for?"

"Listen and recall, both now and before. Upon this will depend the lives of the Four."

"All right, remember everything you said. Got it. Anything of actual weight?"

"Our grasp you now have once eluded, but next your time shall be concluded. You were at our right, with another in dark night. But you escaped the cleft, to stand beside others at the left."

Brom filed away the perplexing answers to study later. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. He assumed the 'cleft', 'night' and 'grasp' were all metaphorical replacements for other things and was hoping the voice's answers would clue him in.

Dead silence.

"So you respond to questions," mused Brom. "Let's try . . . Can you tell me what I need to know?"

"Listen hard, listen well
And you'll remember by a spell,
When and what you need to know
So that onwards you may go.

An end to war of Snake's conceive
Will be born on Hallows' Eve.
Seek three of that which you make four,
As to be done, there still is more.

A silver light on black sky's gorge
For one might say they are their scourge.
Battered, torn, near dead alive
They must struggle to survive.

Wi . . ." The voices went on, but even as he heard the words Brom couldn't remember them – not a single word remained in his mind.

"That doesn't tell me anything unless I can remember what you said," frowned Brom. "Uh . . . what will happen immediately after I arrive in this 'other world'?"

"When you do soon fall to Earth,
There are some you must give berth.
Of trust there are some up to scratch,
Per voyager a different batch.

Trust the man of silver fall,
Trust the son of flower scrawl,
Trust the mage of hair like pitch,
Trust the wife of pepper switch."

"So there are four I can trust, assuming they're all people and not metaphors," mused Brom. "And some I need to avoid. Same as normal life, really. Well, anything else?"

"It will be different, yet the same. To see a true person, you must forget their name," replied the voices. "Now you will leave, take flight, and arrive during darkest night."

"What do you mean take flight-" Brom began but was but off by a whirling sensation that seemed to spin and twist the inner core of his being, seeming to be moulding his very soul into a different shape.

He lost any sense of time as the sensations continued, accompanied by bright flashes of colour, and was surprised when he finally fell to Earth.

Brom Holcombsson fell to the ground of another world in another universe, alive once more.

'Waíse néiat' - Be not