New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 1: The Stranger at DawnThe Two Rivers still held its ancient, quiet rhythms—a gentle hush in the cool predawn air, the fields bathed in silver light as if touched by a forgotten magic. Emond's Field stirred as it always did at the first light of day: a place where the people, simple and steadfast, awoke with little thought of the great powers that once roamed the world. Yet on this morning, an omen had come unbidden.

Moiraine Damodred rode slowly toward the village, her eyes ever watchful beneath her hood. She had come on a quest whose purpose only the Pattern could fully reveal, yet as she neared Emond's Field she felt an unexpected tug at the edges of her mind—a subtle disturbance in the weave. She dismounted at the outskirts, where the morning dew still clung to the grass, and paused.

Before her, as though dropped from the very heavens, a young man lay awake in the open field. His clothing was plain—a tunic of white and a dark cloak that seemed to shimmer with an inner light—and his eyes, large and bewildered, stared at the awakening sky. He neither stirred nor shouted, but his very presence exuded a stillness and a power that even Moiraine felt prick the fine hairs along her neck.

The woman, who had traveled long and hard, regarded him with cautious curiosity. In her years she had encountered wonders and horrors alike, yet never before had she seen one who might be called a stranger of the gods. She approached slowly.

"Who are you?" she asked softly, voice low as if not to disturb the sacred quiet of the morning.

The young man blinked, as if waking from a dream. "I... do not know," he answered, his tone even and untroubled, though his eyes held a quiet wonder. His gaze fell to his hands, and he noted, as if for the first time, that they were unblemished, radiant with a faint luminescence. There was no sign of pain or memory of suffering in his tone—only an emptiness, a blank slate upon which fate would soon write.

Moiraine's brows furrowed. In her long study of the One Power and the threads of the Pattern, she had learned that such an aura was not common among mortals or even channelers. "You are not like the others," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "There is a spark in you—one of creation, perhaps. Tell me, do you feel it? This strength that shields you from harm?"

He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. "I feel… nothing, yet everything. It is as if I am both void and fullness, and my very essence is not my own." He paused, as if considering the weight of the words. "I cannot recall any past, nor do I know what power lies within me."

Moiraine's heart quickened. There was an undeniable presence about him—something divine and ancient, though he appeared young and unformed in his understanding. Without knowing why, she resolved to keep him near. "Come with me," she said at length. "There is danger on the horizon, and I cannot allow you to be left to your own devices. I do not yet know what you are, but I know that nothing here can harm you."

Even as she spoke, the distant rumble of a gathering storm—one that would soon be accompanied by the savage cries of Trollocs—echoed across the field. The villagers of Emond's Field, roused by the uneasy tremor in the earth, began to gather in small clusters near their humble dwellings, eyes lifted to the dawn with a mix of hope and fear.

A Subtle Power RevealedFor hours, the stranger followed Moiraine as she led him toward the center of the village. Though he was silent, his presence spoke louder than words. When a small child, clutching a wound from a recent fall, cried out in pain near the market square, the stranger paused. His gaze, curious and gentle, fixed on the injured child. Without uttering a sound, his hand reached out. A soft glow emanated from his palm, and the wound closed in an instant. The child's tears stilled, replaced by a look of wonder and relief.

The villagers watched in hushed amazement, as if they had witnessed a miracle. Some fell to their knees; others whispered prayers to unknown gods. Moiraine, too, felt the weight of destiny in that quiet act. Here was a being whose very nature rendered him untouchable—no weapon, no dark force, could mar his flesh, for his own divine energy shielded him.

Yet he himself remained unaware of his true nature. His mind was as blank as a newborn scroll, and in that emptiness lay the promise of limitless creation. He felt neither fear nor joy, only a distant curiosity as he looked up at Moiraine, silently asking, "What am I?"

Moiraine answered with a gentle smile, though her eyes betrayed the heavy burden of her knowledge. "You are special," she said softly. "Perhaps more than any mortal, or even channeler, has ever been. I sense that within you lies a power of creation, a divine spark that no man has known before."

The stranger's gaze shifted, lingering on Moiraine's face—a face carved with years of hardship and unspoken determination. Unbeknownst to him, in that moment, a subtle bond was forming—a tether between him and the Aes Sedai, a connection that would eventually shape the fate of the world. He did not know it yet, but he was destined to walk a path that would challenge the very Pattern of Ages.

Multiple Perspectives: The Villagers and the Aes SedaiIn a nearby cottage, an elderly farmer peered out through a cracked window. "By the Light," he whispered, "I've seen wonders before, but never like that boy." His trembling hand rested on a small, weathered Bible, as if seeking solace in ancient words.

At the edge of the village, a group of children clustered together, eyes wide with the sort of reverence reserved for holy relics. "He's like a little angel," one whispered to another. "Not an angel—but a god's child, maybe."

And yet, there were those who feared what they did not understand. A farmer's wife clutched her shawl tightly, murmuring prayers as she watched the stranger follow Moiraine. "May the Creator have mercy," she prayed, uncertain whether the divine might be benevolent or something altogether different.

Moiraine herself observed these reactions with a measured heart. Her training had taught her that the Pattern wove threads of fate in mysterious ways, and this new thread—a being born of creation itself, with no past to anchor him—was unlike any she had encountered. For now, he was an enigma to be guarded, a secret to be revealed only when the time was right.

The Calm Before the StormAs the day wore on, the distant sounds of battle—a harbinger of the Trolloc assault that would soon besiege the village—grew louder. Moiraine urged the villagers to take refuge, her voice calm yet insistent. The stranger lingered at her side, his eyes ever watchful, absorbing the unfolding chaos with an eerie stillness.

In a quiet moment away from the frightened whispers of the crowd, Moiraine spoke softly to him. "I cannot let you wander into the storm alone," she said, her tone both protective and firm. "There are forces in this world that seek to do harm, and while nothing here can touch you, your presence must be hidden until you learn what you truly are."

He nodded, though he did not fully understand. In his heart, there stirred a faint echo of power—a glimmer of something vast and unknowable—but it lay dormant, waiting for awakening. His only awareness was that he felt no pain, no fear, and that he was different from all others in this field of life.

Moiraine's eyes narrowed as she considered him. "You are a new creation," she murmured, "a being without past or prejudice. In time, you will learn that you are both shield and healer, a spark of the divine in a world dimmed by darkness."

Her words resonated with a promise of growth and transformation. For the villagers, for the Aes Sedai, and for the very land itself, the stranger was an omen—a sign that the threads of the Pattern were shifting in ways that none could yet comprehend.

An Ominous QuietIn the twilight, as the Trollocs began their savage attack on the outskirts of Emond's Field, the stranger stood quietly beside Moiraine. Though the battle raged around them, his presence remained untouched by the chaos. Not a wound marred his skin; not a tear stained his eyes. His divine aura, unknown yet undeniable, repelled the darkness.

Moiraine watched as Trollocs crashed against the village walls, their ferocity met only by the unwavering resolve of those who fought to defend their homes. But amid the clamor and bloodshed, the stranger's ability manifested once more. A wounded villager, struck down by a savage blow, lay crumpled in the dust. With a slow, deliberate movement, the young god placed a hand upon the injury. A soft glow emerged, and within moments, the flesh knit itself, and the man stirred as if reborn.

The sight left even the hardened warriors momentarily silent. Even the Trollocs, wild and bloodthirsty, paused as if sensing that the fabric of life had been touched by something far beyond their realm of understanding.

Moiraine's eyes filled with both wonder and caution. "Your power is unlike any I have ever seen," she whispered. "You heal with but a touch, yet you know not what else you might do."

He looked at her with clear, untroubled eyes, and in that moment, she recognized something profoundly familiar in his gaze—a hint of something lost, something sacred. Though he had no memory of his past, his very being pulsed with the promise of creation and the promise of renewal.

A Promise Yet UnfulfilledAs night fell over Emond's Field and the sounds of battle receded into a tentative lull, Moiraine gathered the survivors and led them to a hidden shelter. The stranger remained at her side, an ever-present, silent guardian whose mere presence lent comfort to the fearful.

In the quiet darkness, as villagers huddled and prayed, Moiraine took a moment to consider the enigma at her feet. He was a being of immeasurable strength, yet he remained unaware of his own potential. Slowly, she resolved to keep him near—an unwilling charge, perhaps, but one that might one day reveal the true purpose of his divine gift.

"Rest now," she murmured softly, though she made no move to send him away. "For tomorrow, the Pattern will demand more of us, and you must be ready to learn what it is to be a spark of creation in a world of shadows."

And so, beneath the ancient sky and the ever-shifting tapestry of fate, the young god—untouched by time, unburdened by memory—closed his eyes. The night was long, and though the storm of Trollocs and darkness raged beyond, here in this small haven, the promise of a new dawn waited silently on the horizon.