New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 18: The Awakening of Names

The night was quiet—too quiet. A stillness clung to the air, the kind of quiet that preceded a storm. Mic stood at the edge of the village, his back to Moraine, watching the stars as they twinkled above, indifferent to the turmoil brewing below. The power within him was ever-present, thrumming through his veins, a constant companion. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it felt like something was missing.

He had felt the strange, unfamiliar stirrings for days now, but tonight they were louder. Stronger. He didn't know what to make of it, couldn't quite grasp the sensation. It was as if something deep within him was beginning to awaken—something more than the god-like power he wielded so effortlessly. Something that had always been there, hidden away, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

"Moraine," he said, his voice softer than usual, a strange sense of gravity pulling his words. He turned to face her, meeting her gaze. "I need to know something."

She met him with a knowing look, a mixture of concern and curiosity in her eyes. "What is it, Mic?"

He hesitated. His thoughts felt fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror, but he couldn't ignore the pull of the question anymore. He had to know. "What is my name? I—" His voice faltered for the briefest moment, as though the question itself was foreign, something he had never truly asked before. "I don't know it. Not really. I don't even know who I am. But I need to."

Moraine's brow furrowed. She had noticed the same things he had—how he seemed to grow, to change, bit by bit. How, despite his immense power, he was still searching for something more, something vital that would complete him.

"You've never asked yourself that before?" she asked gently, though there was a spark of recognition in her voice.

"I've… never needed to," Mic replied, his gaze fixed on her. "I never had a name. Not until now."

It wasn't as though he had forgotten it. It was as if the very concept had never crossed his mind. But now, in this moment, the word—his name—began to hum in his mind. A sensation like the rush of wind before a storm, a whisper from a long-forgotten dream. He reached for it, grasping at the edges of his consciousness, feeling it settle into him as if it had always been there, waiting.

A name. His name.

"I know it now," he murmured, as though speaking it out loud might make it real. "It is… Eryndor."

The name felt ancient, like the sound of time itself unraveling at the edge of the universe. It was vast, timeless, and yet… it felt right, as if it was a part of him that had always been there, just beyond the veil of his awareness.

Moraine's eyes widened slightly, though she didn't speak. She could sense the significance of what had just happened—how the man standing before her had finally come into full awareness of himself, of his existence. She couldn't begin to understand how or why, but she could feel the shift in him. The subtle change, like a piece of a puzzle falling into place.

"Eryndor," she said, her voice thoughtful. "It suits you."

But Mic—Eryndor—didn't seem to hear her. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the deeper currents of his being. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his newfound awareness settle over him. It was as though the name had unlocked something deep within, a connection to something larger than himself, an understanding of his place in the cosmos.

His hands clenched, not in anger, but in a deep, unsettling realization.

The power within him—this force he had always felt coursing through him, this god-like energy—was not just creation. It was destruction as well. He could feel the balance of it now, as if the two halves of his essence were finally aligning. The knowledge that he was not just a being of creation, but of balance, of both creation and destruction, echoed in his very soul.

The weight of it all—of being both the creator and the harbinger—pressed down on him with new clarity.

"What does this mean for me?" Eryndor muttered, more to himself than to Moraine. The question hung in the air like a breath held too long.

Moraine watched him carefully, understanding more now than she had before. She could see the internal struggle, the way he grappled with the enormity of what he was becoming, with what he already was. He wasn't just a god of creation anymore. He was something far greater, something both terrifying and magnificent. And that made him all the more dangerous.

"It means you are no longer just a god, Eryndor," she said, her voice low and steady. "You are a force. A force that can shape worlds, that can break them. And with that power comes responsibility."

"I never asked for this," Eryndor replied, his voice tinged with regret. "I never wanted this kind of responsibility. But now… now I know it's mine to bear."

Moraine stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "You might not have chosen this path, but it's yours nonetheless. And whatever happens, you don't have to walk it alone."

Eryndor met her gaze, something flickering in his eyes—something more than the power, more than the burden he carried. For the first time since he had awakened, he wasn't just a being of limitless power. He was Eryndor. A name. An identity. A purpose, perhaps.

And though the weight of it all was immense, for the first time, he didn't feel so alone.