OC: Coulter (he/him)
Species: Dragon Rider (human)
Universe: Eragon

It happened almost too fast to recall.

He remembered her scales - cold, icy blue, stained with red blood. He remembered the white-hot fire exploding from her throat, the horrible black sword protruding from her chest, the roars of pain and anger in her last efforts to protect him.

To protect him.

The Dragon Riders would exist as long as dragons did. She was more important than he was. He should have been protecting her.

Yet she stood in the path of Galbatorix’s blade, wings extended, eyes burning as bright and hateful as her fire.

He gasped, a sharp pain stabbing through his own chest as their mental connection took effect.

Run, she whispered.

He obeyed.

He shouldn't have obeyed.

He ducked into the cover of the trees. The elves were waiting, spears and swords and bows at the ready, and they charged into battle as he approached.

It was only a short time later that he felt it.

He... died.

They say you don't realize what you have until it's gone. His mind felt empty. Weak. Alone. Her pain was immeasurable, yet he could do nothing because as quickly as it came, it fizzled away like mist in the wind.

It was worse when the agony went away.

He crumpled to his knees and let out a long, hoarse scream. He was nothing without her, nothing. Certainly not a Dragon Rider, when he had no dragon.

If the gods or fate existed, why would they be this cruel?

He couldn't scream anymore. He couldn't breathe, either. His sobs came in heaving gasps, too much out and not enough in. His tears splattered the ground like raindrops.

He wished it was raining. The cheerful sun seemed like an insult.

Empty. Weak. Alone. It wasn't just his consciousness that was that way.

He was empty. He was weak. He was alone.

When she died, a part of him died too.