New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 36: Whispers of the Forgotten

The road stretched before them, winding through the dense forests of Andor. The air was thick with morning mist, muffling the sound of hooves against damp earth. They rode in silence, the encounter with Seliah weighing heavily upon them.

Eryndor had not spoken since she vanished.

Moraine watched him from the corner of her eye, searching for any sign of unease, but his face remained calm, unreadable.

Lan guided his horse beside hers. "That woman. She knew him."

"She did," Moraine said grimly. "And I doubt she was the last of her kind."

Lan's grip tightened on Drak'vaar's hilt. "What if more come? What if they are not so… peaceful?"

Moraine exhaled. That was the question that plagued her.

Because the Pattern had shifted again. She could feel it.

Something was stirring beyond their understanding.

A Village in the MistThe group reached a small village by midday, its stone buildings nestled at the edge of a vast river. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the scent of fresh bread lingered in the air.

Rand and the others looked relieved. A warm meal and a real bed, even for a night, would do them good.

Eryndor, however, did not dismount.

He remained still, his eyes scanning the village. Then, softly, he murmured, "This place is wrong."

Moraine turned sharply. "What do you mean?"

Eryndor's gaze darkened. "Something is… missing."

A flicker of movement caught Lan's attention. A villager had stepped out from a nearby house, her expression eerily blank.

And then Moraine felt it.

No weaves.

She inhaled sharply, extending her senses—but where there should have been the natural flow of the world, there was nothing.

As if the very Pattern itself had been… silenced.

Lan's hand went to his sword. "Moraine?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I have never felt anything like this."

Eryndor swung off his horse. "I have."

They turned to him.

He met Moraine's gaze. "This village is not real."

Rand frowned. "What do you mean?"

Eryndor did not answer immediately. He took a slow step forward, his hands at his sides.

Then, softly, he whispered, "Wake."

The world shattered.

The village dissolved in a ripple of light, houses crumbling into mist, the sky warping as reality bent around them.

And then they were somewhere else.

A vast ruin stretched before them, ancient stones cracked and weathered by time.

No village. No people.

Only silence.

Rand's breath caught. "Light…"

Moraine gripped her reins. "This was an illusion?"

Eryndor studied the ruins, his expression unreadable. "No. This was a memory."

The words sent a chill down her spine.

"Whose memory?" Lan asked quietly.

Eryndor closed his eyes. And for the first time, his voice held something new.

Recognition.

"…Mine."

A Name in the DarkThe realization hung heavy in the air.

Rand, Mat, and Perrin exchanged uneasy glances. Even Egwene looked shaken.

Moraine's mind raced. If this place was a memory… if the illusion had been his doing without him even realizing it—

Then what else had Eryndor forgotten?

The young man—if he could even be called that—walked forward, his steps slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed along the ancient stones, and the very air trembled around him.

Then, softly, he spoke.

"Velrion."

Moraine blinked. "What?"

Eryndor turned back to them, his golden eyes unreadable. "That is my name."

The name carried weight, settling over them like a physical force. Moraine had heard many names in her life, but this—

It was power.

Lan exhaled through his nose. "You're certain?"

Eryndor—Velrion—gave a small nod. "I… do not know how. But I know it is mine."

Moraine studied him carefully. He looked the same, but something about him had changed.

Perhaps he was not just remembering his name.

Perhaps he was beginning to awaken.

And that, more than anything, frightened her.

Because a god had just learned what to call himself.

And the Pattern would never be the same again.