New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 14: Whispers of Fate The fire crackled softly in the corner of the inn's common room, its warmth providing a small comfort against the cold evening. Mic sat near the hearth, his gaze fixed on the flames as they flickered and danced. His thoughts were scattered, like leaves caught in the wind. He had been trying to make sense of the voice in his mind—what it had said, what it meant—but the more he thought about it, the more it eluded him.

Child of creation... The words kept echoing in his mind, a constant hum in the back of his thoughts. But what did it mean? Who—or what—was he? The lack of answers gnawed at him, and with each passing moment, the frustration grew.

Moraine entered the room, her presence cutting through his thoughts like a sharp knife. He turned to look at her, though he was still lost in the confusion swirling inside him.

"Are you well?" Moraine asked, her voice steady but filled with concern. "You have been quiet since we arrived."

"I... I don't know," Mic replied, rubbing his temples. "There's something inside me, something powerful. I feel it, but I don't understand it. And that voice... it spoke to me again."

Moraine sat down across from him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. "The voice you heard," she began carefully, "could it be related to what you are? To your power?"

Mic nodded slowly. "I don't know. But it feels ancient, like something... much older than me."

"Perhaps," Moraine mused, "it is a part of you, or something that has been with you since your... creation. But there is much we do not understand. You have only just begun to explore what you are capable of."

Mic's gaze drifted to the window, where the moonlight shone through the thin curtains. "I can't help but feel that there's more—so much more—that I'm meant to do. But I don't even know where to begin."

Moraine's voice softened, her tone gentle but firm. "You must be patient. Sometimes, the answers come when we least expect them."

He wanted to believe her, but the uncertainty was overwhelming. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that his power was tied to something far beyond his understanding. The ability to heal, to restore life—it was just the beginning. There had to be more to it. And yet, he was left with nothing but questions.

Just as Mic was about to speak again, the door to the common room opened, and a figure stepped inside. The innkeeper appeared, her face pale and worried. She looked between the two of them before speaking, her voice low and filled with urgency.

"Aes Sedai... there are travelers approaching. They carry strange weapons, and their presence is unsettling. I... I fear they may not be here with good intentions."

Moraine rose to her feet immediately, her expression hardening. "Where are they now?"

"At the edge of the village," the innkeeper replied. "I... I don't know who they are, but they do not belong here."

Without a word, Moraine moved toward the door, her cloak flowing behind her like a shadow. Mic followed, a growing sense of unease settling in his chest. He could feel the tension in the air, a sharpness that matched the foreboding feeling in his gut.

As they stepped outside, the cold night air hit them like a wall. The village was quiet, too quiet. The normal hum of life had disappeared, replaced by an eerie stillness. In the distance, the faint sound of boots crunching against the frozen ground echoed through the trees.

Moraine's eyes narrowed as she scanned the area, her senses alert. "Stay close, Mic," she said softly. "And be ready."

Mic nodded, though a flicker of doubt remained in the back of his mind. He didn't know who these travelers were, but the way the villagers reacted to their arrival told him enough. They were not ordinary travelers.

As they approached the edge of the village, they saw them—three figures, cloaked in shadow, moving with a purpose that was unmistakable. The air around them seemed to shift, a strange pressure building in the atmosphere.

Moraine stepped forward, her presence commanding attention. "Who are you?" she called, her voice sharp. "State your business."

One of the figures—a tall man with an air of authority—stepped forward. His face was hidden beneath a dark hood, but his eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.

"We seek the one who walks among you," the man said, his voice cold and calculating. "The one who carries the power of life and death."

Mic felt a shiver run down his spine as the words sank in. They were looking for him. But why? And what did they mean by the power of life and death?

Moraine's hand moved subtly toward her staff, her fingers brushing the smooth wood, as if preparing for a confrontation. "I will not allow you to harm him," she said, her tone steady but filled with warning.

The man chuckled darkly, his laughter echoing in the still night. "You misunderstand, Aes Sedai. We do not seek to harm him. We seek... to use him."

Mic felt the weight of the words settle over him like a storm cloud. Use him? What did they want from him? And why?

Before he could react, one of the other figures—this one shorter, with dark hair and sharp features—raised a hand. A pulse of energy rippled through the air, and Mic felt something shift within him, a sense of danger rising in his chest.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," the figure said, his voice smooth and chilling. "The power that you wield is not yours to control."

Mic's heart pounded in his chest as the words echoed in his mind. The power he wielded—what did they mean? And why did they think he couldn't control it?

A flash of movement caught his eye. Moraine stepped forward, her staff raised, ready to defend him. But Mic wasn't about to let her fight alone. Something within him stirred—something deep, something primal. It was as if the energy inside him was waiting, ready to be unleashed.

With a sudden surge of power, Mic raised his hand, and the air around them seemed to vibrate with intensity. The earth trembled beneath their feet, and a pulse of energy erupted from his body, knocking the three figures back several paces.

"Stay away from me," Mic said, his voice low and filled with an authority that surprised even him. "I will not be used."

The figures recovered quickly, though there was no mistaking the shock in their eyes. They had underestimated him. They had thought he was nothing more than a curiosity, something to be controlled.

But they were wrong.

Moraine looked at him, her expression unreadable. But Mic could sense the pride in her gaze. She hadn't expected this from him, not yet, but he had shown them all the depth of his power.

The tall man with the glowing eyes narrowed his gaze. "We will meet again, child of creation," he said, his voice heavy with menace. "And when we do, you will understand just how small you truly are."

With that, the three figures turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the echoes of their threat behind.

Moraine turned to Mic, her eyes searching his face. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

Mic nodded slowly, his mind racing. "I... I think so. But I don't understand. Who were they? What did they want from me?"

"They are a mystery," Moraine said, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. "But one thing is clear—they fear you. And they will not stop until they have what they seek."

Mic looked out into the night, his thoughts heavy. The power within him was still a mystery, but the more he learned about it, the more he realized that his journey had just begun.

And he would face whatever came next—no matter the cost.