New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 13: Echoes of Power The wind swept across the land as the group made their way through the forest toward the distant village. Moraine moved with purpose, her cloak billowing slightly in the breeze, while Mic walked silently beside her. He had been unusually quiet since they left Emond's Field, as though a weight had settled upon him, and Moraine could feel the change in him, something stirring beneath his calm exterior.

The memories of the Trollocs' attack still haunted the people of Emond's Field. Despite their best efforts to rebuild, the village remained shaken, its people on edge. The destruction had only just begun to settle in their minds, and yet they were already facing an unknown future. The arrival of Mic—this strange being with no memory of where he came from, no memory of anything—added a layer of complexity that no one knew how to deal with.

Mic's ability to heal, to restore life and energy, had become more than just a wonder—it was a mystery. More than once, Moraine had witnessed the way his hands glowed faintly with a light that seemed to heal wounds as if they were nothing but scratches. She wasn't sure how he did it or why, but the power he wielded was undeniable. There was a quiet strength to him, one that went beyond physical prowess. The energy within him resonated with something ancient, something old and vast.

Yet, even as his power continued to unfold, Mic remained unaware of his origins. He felt a kinship to those around him, particularly Moraine, but there was a deep sense of loss in his eyes whenever the topic of his past arose. It was as though he knew he had once been something more, but the pieces of that past eluded him.

"I don't understand why you stay with me," Mic said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, contemplative.

Moraine turned her head slightly to glance at him. "What do you mean?"

"I... I don't know what I am," he said, his brow furrowing. "I don't remember anything before the moment I arrived in Emond's Field. And yet you treat me like... like I'm someone important."

She was silent for a moment. His words were filled with confusion, but there was also a quiet strength behind them. He had no memory of who he was or where he came from, but he was not lost. Not yet.

"Sometimes, the answers don't come quickly," Moraine said, her voice steady. "But that doesn't mean you're without purpose. I have seen your power. And it is more than just power—it is something deeper. There is purpose in that, even if it takes time for you to discover it."

Mic paused, considering her words. His eyes were distant, though, as if something far beyond the trees had captured his attention.

As they continued their journey, the evening light dimmed further, and the air grew cooler. The path ahead was clear, but there was a feeling of foreboding in the air—a sense of something looming just beyond the horizon. It was a feeling that neither Moraine nor Mic could ignore.

Eventually, they reached the outskirts of a small village. The fires within the homes still burned brightly against the darkening sky, and the sounds of children laughing could be heard drifting on the wind. As they walked into the village, the villagers looked up in surprise. The group, led by Moraine, had not made an effort to disguise their presence, and the sight of an Aes Sedai walking through their streets, accompanied by a stranger they did not know, caused them to pause in their daily activities.

Moraine, sensing the tension in the air, nodded in greeting to the villagers. "We mean no harm," she said, her voice calm but firm. "We seek rest for the night and will leave at dawn."

The villagers exchanged wary glances, but none moved to stop them. As they made their way to the inn, Moraine could feel Mic's unease grow. It was subtle, but there was something about the way he carried himself that suggested a growing tension—like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Inside the inn, they were greeted by a woman who introduced herself as the innkeeper. Her eyes quickly darted to Mic, lingering for a moment on him before she turned her attention back to Moraine.

"You will have a room, Aes Sedai," the innkeeper said, her voice steady. "But I must ask—who is your companion? He is... not like other travelers."

Mic stiffened at the question, his brow furrowing. He had been receiving that look from people ever since he arrived. It was a look that carried suspicion, but also curiosity—curiosity about the unknown, about the strange power that emanated from him.

"He is... a traveler," Moraine said, her voice even, though there was a certain weight to her words. "And he has his own journey to undertake. For now, he will remain with us."

The innkeeper nodded, though her eyes lingered on Mic for just a moment longer.

After they were shown to their room, Moraine made sure that Mic was settled before she stepped outside briefly to check on the surroundings. As she did, Mic's thoughts wandered. He had been trying to process what little he knew about himself, about his power. But the more he tried to understand, the more it slipped away, like sand through his fingers. It was frustrating, the uncertainty of it all. He wanted to know who he was, what he was capable of, and why he felt this deep, primal connection to the world around him.

But just as quickly as the thoughts entered his mind, they left, replaced by an undeniable pull—a connection to something deeper within him.

A voice echoed in his mind, soft and ancient, like the whisper of the wind through the trees: You are not what you think you are, child of creation. Your path has not yet fully formed.

The words sent a shiver down his spine, and Mic shook his head, trying to clear the lingering sensation of the voice. But the feeling stayed with him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

In the quiet of the room, he felt the weight of the world pressing in on him—his purpose, his power, and the vast unknowns that stretched out before him.

But one thing was certain: whatever came next, he would face it head-on.

And with that, he knew his journey was far from over.