New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 27: The Gathering Darkness

The night air felt thick with anticipation. Eryndor's senses tingled, a heavy silence hanging over the forest as if the very world was waiting for something to break. The Trollocs, suspended in midair by his will, remained unmoving, their twisted forms locked in a silent struggle. His power flowed effortlessly, an extension of himself, shaping reality around him as he willed it.

Moraine stood close behind him, her presence a steady anchor in the tumult of his thoughts. Though he had no true memory of where he came from, or even who he was before the day he appeared in this world, he felt as if everything—every step he took, every action he made—was leading him somewhere, toward something. But for now, it was a path that twisted and turned in shadows, obscured by the looming threat of whatever forces sought to disrupt the balance he had not yet fully understood.

"What was that?" Moraine's voice broke the heavy stillness, her tone sharp with concern.

"I don't know," Eryndor replied, his eyes still locked on the empty space where the shadowed figure had stood. "But it is clear they are not like the others."

The air was still thick with tension, but the darkness that had once swirled around them was now gone, leaving only the aftereffects of its touch. The Trollocs were slowly descending, their bodies shuddering as Eryndor's power released its hold on them. But as they hit the ground, the creatures remained still, groaning in pain, confused by their abrupt halt.

"They were controlled," Moraine muttered under her breath, stepping closer to examine one of the fallen Trollocs. Her eyes narrowed, studying the wounds that hadn't been there before, but Eryndor's attention was still fixed on the space where the dark figure had vanished.

"I've never felt anything like this," he said, more to himself than to Moraine. "A force that powerful… it wasn't just the Trollocs they were controlling. It was me they were testing."

"What do you mean?" Moraine asked, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

"There is power—an old, dark power—following me. It wants something from me. And I don't think it will stop until it gets it."

Moraine stepped closer, her expression a mixture of resolve and worry. "What is it you think it wants, Eryndor?"

He turned toward her, his expression unreadable, though his eyes shone with a strange light. "It wants me. But not just as I am. It wants what I can become. What I am destined to be."

A moment of silence passed between them, and Eryndor felt something stir deep inside him—a certainty, an instinct, as if his very being was attuned to something that lay just beyond reach. His memories of the past, fragments that occasionally flitted through his mind, were still shrouded in mystery. But one thing was clear: he had not been born of this world. His powers were too vast, his purpose too ancient. He had to be a being of creation, something far beyond mortal comprehension.

He could feel the threads of fate weaving around him, pulling him toward an unknown destiny. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was inevitable.

"I will not be controlled," he muttered, more to himself than to Moraine. "I will not let them dictate my purpose."

Moraine's brow furrowed, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her dagger. "You're stronger than they are, Eryndor. I've seen what you can do. But this… whatever this is, it will not be defeated easily."

Eryndor turned to her, his eyes softer than they had been moments ago. "I know," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "But I will not face it alone."

For a moment, Moraine met his gaze, and in that brief exchange, something unspoken passed between them. She had been his guide through this world, his only anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Though he had no memory of his origins, no understanding of his true nature, she had been there—steady, unwavering. He owed her much, more than words could express.

"You'll never be alone, Eryndor," she said softly, her voice tinged with a warmth that he hadn't expected. "We'll face this together."

The sincerity in her words made something stir within him, but he pushed it aside. His purpose was greater than the comfort of companionship, and yet… he couldn't shake the sense of something deeper. Something connected between them.

"I trust you," Eryndor said, his voice low. "But I must find the answers to this. To who I am. What I am."

Moraine gave him a nod, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight of his words. She, too, was searching for answers—though hers were rooted in the world she knew, and his… were not. But together, they would find the path forward.

Suddenly, Eryndor felt it—a pull, deep within him, a presence that called to him with the force of the very earth beneath his feet. He could sense the divine energies swirling around him, threading through the air, resonating with his own.

"The pull…" Eryndor murmured. "It's stronger now."

Moraine's expression shifted to one of concern. "What is it, Eryndor?"

"I don't know," he replied, his voice filled with awe. "But I must follow it."

He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering as he moved toward the source of the strange force. His senses were alight with the feeling of something ancient and powerful waiting for him. With every step, the air seemed to thrum with energy, as though the very land itself was alive, breathing in sync with his movements.

Moraine fell into step behind him, her hand still resting on her dagger, though she knew she couldn't protect him from whatever waited ahead.

"What do you think is calling you?" she asked, her voice low, careful.

"I don't know," he said, his voice distant. "But I will find out."

As they pressed deeper into the forest, the trees began to thin out, the canopy above them giving way to an open clearing. In the center of the clearing, a stone archway stood, ancient and weathered, though strangely intact. The air around it shimmered with energy, a pulsating rhythm that matched the beat of Eryndor's heart.

"I've never seen anything like this," Moraine murmured, her voice awed. "What is this place?"

Eryndor stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the arch. "This is where I must go," he said, his voice steady, yet filled with a sense of inevitability. "I can feel it. This is the answer."

With that, he crossed the threshold of the arch, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to tilt. Time stretched, bending and warping as if reality itself was being unraveled before him. But as quickly as it came, the sensation faded, and he found himself standing on the edge of a vast expanse, a place that felt both familiar and utterly alien.

Before him stood a figure—a being of light, impossibly radiant, its form shifting and undulating like pure energy.

"You have come," the figure said, its voice resonating in his mind, not with sound, but with meaning. "At last."

Eryndor's heart stilled, his entire being drawn toward the figure. "Who are you?" he demanded, though he already knew the answer, deep within.

"I am the beginning," the figure intoned. "And so are you."