New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 25: The Cracks Begin to Show

The wind carried the scent of wet earth and damp leaves as Eryndor and Moraine made their way through the dense forest. The deeper they ventured, the more the shadows seemed to shift around them. It was as if the very land itself was growing more restless, reacting to the presence of something ancient and unknown.

Moraine glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. The encounter with the Trolloc had left its mark on her. She had seen the power Eryndor wielded, but even now, a part of her was still grappling with the enormity of it. She didn't fear him—not exactly—but she wasn't entirely sure of him, either.

Eryndor was not like anything she had encountered in all her years of study and service. He wasn't human, or even like the Aes Sedai she had known. He was something else entirely—something far more potent, and the implications of that were only beginning to reveal themselves.

"So, what now?" Moraine asked, breaking the silence.

Eryndor slowed his pace, his gaze distant as he scanned the path ahead. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. "But whatever it is, it's coming fast. I can feel it. Like a storm on the horizon."

Moraine nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her belt. The sounds of the forest had changed. The usual chorus of birds and insects was now muted, replaced by an eerie stillness that put her on edge.

"What's that?" Moraine's voice lowered as she pointed toward a flickering light in the distance. It was small at first—no more than a soft glimmer, like a distant star—but it quickly grew brighter, more intense.

Eryndor's hand shot out, stopping her before she could take a step forward. His eyes burned with an otherworldly light as he assessed the situation.

"It's a trap," he said, his voice low and grave. "Someone or something is waiting for us."

Before Moraine could question him further, a booming voice echoed through the trees—deep and resonant, like thunder rolling through the sky.

"Eryndor…"

The name rang out in the air, vibrating with power. Moraine's heart skipped a beat as she instinctively took a step back.

"I know who you are." The voice continued, tinged with both reverence and malice. "The power you wield is not yours alone. And it will be claimed."

A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light. It was cloaked in a flowing, black robe, its face hidden beneath the hood. The figure's aura was dark—suffocatingly so—and it radiated an ancient malevolence that made the hairs on the back of Moraine's neck stand on end.

Eryndor stood tall, unyielding as the figure approached. He didn't flinch. He had grown accustomed to the presence of such beings. But this… this was different. This was something powerful—something that seemed to tap into the very core of existence itself.

"Who are you?" Eryndor asked, his voice a calm contrast to the rising tension in the air.

The figure's head tilted slightly, as if studying him. "I am one of many who walk between worlds. I am… a guide, perhaps, or a harbinger. But I am not here to answer your questions. I am here to ensure that your path is not your own."

Moraine's grip on her dagger tightened. "You won't stop him," she said, her voice firm. "Eryndor has no master but himself."

The figure chuckled, a sound like the rattle of bones. "You do not understand the gravity of the situation, Aes Sedai. Eryndor may believe he is free, but the truth is, he is bound by forces older than he can comprehend. Forces that have been pulling his strings long before he was born."

Eryndor's eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion. He had suspected as much, but hearing it spoken aloud felt like a cold wind against his soul. The knowledge that there were forces manipulating him, controlling him, was something he hadn't yet fully come to terms with.

"The time of your awakening is nigh," the figure continued, its voice growing softer, yet somehow more sinister. "The forces of creation and destruction are entwined within you. But that does not make you a god, Eryndor. It makes you a tool."

He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "I am no tool," he declared, his voice full of authority. "And I will not be anyone's pawn."

The figure's form began to flicker, as if reality itself were struggling to hold onto it. "We shall see," it whispered, before vanishing into the ether, leaving nothing but the faintest trace of its presence behind.

Eryndor exhaled, his body relaxing slightly. But the unease still lingered in the air, like a thick fog that refused to lift.

Moraine glanced at him, her eyes filled with both concern and curiosity. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Eryndor replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I've been feeling it—this… connection to something much older than I am. And now, I'm certain that whatever it is, it's coming for me. For us."

Moraine's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Is it tied to your powers?"

Eryndor nodded, his gaze distant. "My powers are not of this world. They're… older. And I fear they were not meant to be used."

"But you can control them," Moraine pressed, her eyes searching his. "You've already proven that."

"I can," Eryndor said. "But the cost…" His words trailed off as the weight of his own realization settled upon him.

The world around them felt too quiet, too still. As if even nature itself was holding its breath. Something was coming. And Eryndor wasn't sure whether he was ready to face it.