New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 3: The First Signs of Divinity—a chapter written in a style and cadence reminiscent of The Wheel of Time, continuing the tale of the mysterious new creation god who has come to Emond's Field alongside Moiraine Damodred.

The dew of early morning still clung to the grass as the sun's first rays crept over the Two Rivers. The village of Emond's Field, though accustomed to the gentle rhythms of harvest and hearth, now seemed to hold its breath. In the clearing at the edge of the fields—where Moiraine had escorted the enigmatic stranger the previous day—an atmosphere of quiet expectancy had taken root.

Moiraine's Watchful GazeMoiraine stood near an ancient oak that had witnessed many cycles of the Pattern. Her thoughts, always attuned to the subtle shifts in the weave, wandered as she considered the stranger at her side. Though he remained silent, his presence was palpable—a subtle radiance in his eyes, an unexplainable glow upon his skin. There was something ineffable about him, a divine spark that set him apart from any ordinary man or even a channeler of saidin.

She recalled the miracle of healing he had performed the day before—a soft, unassuming touch that had sealed a wound as if time itself had bent in deference. And now, as the distant rumble of unrest stirred in the east, her concern grew. The Pattern whispered of darkness gathering, and the stranger's power, dormant though it might seem, would not remain unnoticed for long.

"Stay close," she murmured, her voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of caution. "There is more to you than you yet understand. The Pattern has set you upon a path, and I will not let you wander it alone."

The stranger inclined his head in a gesture that might have been acknowledgment. His eyes, vast and untroubled, reflected only a quiet curiosity—as if he sensed that something greater than his own existence was stirring in the world around him. He knew not his name nor his purpose, only that he felt an inexplicable pull toward creation and healing, and that nothing could harm him.

A Village ReactsIn a small cottage near the center of Emond's Field, Old Jomer, a farmer whose weathered face was etched with lines of wisdom and hardship, peered out his window. He had seen many strange things in his life, but never had the morning air itself trembled with the promise of divine intervention. "By the Light," he whispered, "there's a sign upon us." His voice wavered between hope and fear as he gathered his few belongings and stepped out into the chill dawn.

A group of children, still playing near the market square, paused their game when they saw the stranger walking with Moiraine. One of them, a small girl with bright eyes, tugged at her mother's skirt. "Mama, is he a man or a miracle?" she asked in a hushed tone. The mother could only shake her head in wonder, for the child's question rang with a truth that none could deny.

Across the fields, other villagers began to speak in low, awed voices. They recalled old tales of beings born of the Creator's own hand—legends of divine intervention when the world was young. And though many dismissed such stories as the fancies of ancient lore, today, those whispers found a new home in their hearts.

An Ominous Stir in the EastAs the day unfolded, the distant sounds of marching and the clash of steel began to echo across the countryside. Trollocs, with their savage war cries, were closing in. The threat of an attack had always been a part of life in the Two Rivers, but now the air seemed charged with both dread and possibility.

Moiraine's expression hardened as she spurred her horse toward the village edge. "We must warn the others," she said, her tone brooking no delay. "I fear the darkness is at our very door."

The stranger followed in silence, his steps unhurried and measured. There was an aura about him—a subtle barrier of divine energy—that made it seem as though even the threat of the Trollocs could scarcely approach him. As he walked beside Moiraine, his presence seemed to smooth the edges of chaos, a calm amid the brewing storm.

A Moment of ManifestationNot long after, a cry of alarm rang out from near the western gate. A small band of villagers had encountered a single Trolloc, its twisted form bearing down upon them with brutal intent. Moiraine, ever vigilant, spurred her horse faster. The stranger halted a few paces from a trembling family gathered in the open. Their eyes, wide with terror, searched for deliverance.

In that moment, the stranger stepped forward. His face, still marked with the blank slate of his mysterious origins, softened as he reached out a hand toward the wounded farmer who had been struck by the creature's crude weapon. A gentle luminescence spread from his palm, and the man's blood seemed to knit itself back together. The injury closed as if by magic, the pain vanishing from his features.

A collective murmur rose from the assembled villagers. They had seen many miracles over the years—cures wrought by the One Power, the guidance of wise Aes Sedai—but none so profound as this. The divine radiance that flowed from the stranger was unmistakable. It spoke of a power untainted by mortal frailty—a force of creation that could mend even the deepest wounds.

Moiraine's eyes narrowed as she regarded him, her mind racing. "What are you?" she asked softly, though not without a hint of reverence. "I sense within you a spark of something beyond even the Pattern's weave—a touch of divinity that defies explanation."

The stranger's gaze met hers, calm and unassuming. "I know not what I am," he replied in a voice that was both gentle and resonant. "I feel only... that I exist, and that my being is intertwined with the light of creation itself." His words were simple, unburdened by the weight of memory or identity, yet they carried an inherent truth that belied his youthful appearance.

Moiraine regarded him for a long, measured moment. Though she could not place his origins, she felt in her bones that the Pattern had woven him into the tapestry for a purpose beyond mortal reckoning. "Then you must come with me," she said firmly. "There is much to learn, and dangers on the horizon that would seek to exploit such power."

Multiple Voices in the DawnFrom a nearby stable, a stablehand named Garin listened to the exchange, his voice trembling as he confided to another: "I've seen legends, told by my old ma about a child of the Creator. Never thought I'd see such a sign. Perhaps our world is changing for the better."

Across the fields, an elder woman knelt by a well, murmuring prayers to the Light. "May the Creator guide him," she whispered, as if invoking the ancient words of a long-forgotten prophecy. "For in his innocence, there is hope. And in his healing touch, a promise that our suffering may one day be undone."

Even the winds seemed to carry a message—a soft sigh that whispered of renewal and destiny yet to be fulfilled.

The Path UnfoldsAs the day advanced and the threat of Trollocs grew ever nearer, Moiraine gathered the villagers in a secluded clearing. With a stern yet compassionate tone, she urged them to fortify their defenses and prepare for the inevitable assault. Amidst the anxious faces, her eyes continually strayed to the stranger who stood silently at her side. Though he contributed little in words, his presence spoke volumes. It was as if the very essence of creation had chosen him to be its silent guardian—a beacon amid the encroaching darkness.

"You must understand," Moiraine said, her voice hushed and serious, "that the Pattern is not merely a tapestry of fate, but a living, breathing weave that responds to power. You, my friend, are unlike any mortal—and even any channeler—that I have known. Your power protects you, making you untouchable by the forces of the Shadow. But it is also a sign that you are destined for something far greater than these troubled times."

The stranger nodded, though no true understanding gleamed in his eyes yet—only a quiet acceptance of the truth he had yet to learn. There was no memory of a past, no notion of origin, only the stirring of divine potential that he could neither deny nor explain.

And so, as the sun began its slow ascent into a sky that promised both warmth and unspoken omens, the young god remained by Moiraine's side. The world outside prepared for battle; Trollocs began to press along the distant treelines, their guttural cries echoing with malevolent intent. But within that small pocket of Emond's Field, a new destiny was quietly taking shape—a destiny woven from the threads of creation and blessed with the power to heal, to protect, and, one day, to reshape the very world itself.