New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 4: Shadows on the HorizonThe air was thick with the scent of damp earth, the weight of an impending storm pressing against the horizon. Emond's Field, ever accustomed to the rhythm of quiet days and peaceful nights, now found itself teetering on the edge of something vast and unknown.

Moiraine stood at the heart of the village, the hood of her fine blue cloak pulled low against the whispering wind. Her eyes—deep pools of wisdom and calculation—swept over the gathered people. Farmers, craftsmen, and shepherds alike wore expressions of unease, their hands gripping whatever crude weapons they had managed to find. The fear in their eyes was not misplaced.

The Trollocs were coming.

The stranger—this being of unmeasured power, untainted by the weave of saidar or saidin—stood quietly beside her, as still as the stones that lined the road. He had spoken little since the moment he had healed the wounded farmer, his presence alone commanding an eerie, reverent silence.

Rand, Mat, and Perrin stood among the crowd, their youthful faces tight with tension. Even Egwene, normally so assured, lingered close to Nynaeve, eyes darting toward the woods as if expecting something monstrous to emerge at any moment.

"I do not know what you are," Moiraine said at last, her voice low, meant for the stranger's ears alone. "But I know this—your presence here is no accident. The Pattern has brought you to this place at this moment, and I will not ignore the weight of that truth."

The stranger turned to face her. His gaze, infinite in its depth yet absent of memory, settled upon her with a quiet curiosity. "I do not know why I am here," he admitted, his voice carrying an ancient resonance that sent a shiver through her bones. "But I feel… drawn. As though the very fabric of this world calls to me."

Moiraine's breath caught. The Creator's hand was at work here—of that she had no doubt. This being, whatever he was, had been woven into the Pattern with a purpose she could not yet comprehend.

Before she could respond, a horn blast shattered the stillness of the morning.

The First AttackA scream rose from the far side of the village as black, twisted forms emerged from the treeline. Trollocs, their hulking bodies a nightmarish fusion of beast and man, crashed through the underbrush with weapons raised high.

Chaos erupted.

Farmers scrambled, their makeshift weapons trembling in their grasp. A volley of arrows soared through the air, striking down the first wave of creatures, but it was not enough. The Trollocs came in droves, their guttural war cries shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

Lan was already moving, his sword a blur of steel and precision as he cut down the first beast that lunged toward him. Moiraine lifted her hands, weaving threads of saidar, and fire erupted from her fingertips, consuming two of the creatures in brilliant white-hot flame.

And then, the stranger stepped forward.

A Divine UnfoldingThe Trollocs turned toward him, sensing something beyond mortal comprehension in his form. The nearest creature—twice the size of a man, its snout twisted into a permanent snarl—let out a roar and swung a massive axe.

The blade struck true—only to shatter into dust upon contact.

The stranger did not move. He did not flinch.

A hush fell over the battlefield. The Trollocs, bound by the cruel will of their masters, hesitated. Fear—not a thing they had ever known—seeped into their bones.

The stranger lifted his hand.

And the world… breathed.

A golden light shimmered at his fingertips, pulsing like the heartbeat of creation itself. It was not saidar. It was not saidin. It was something older, something untouched by the taint of men or gods.

The Trollocs staggered, their bodies trembling. Then, before the eyes of all who bore witness, the creatures unraveled—their very forms dissolving into motes of dust that scattered upon the wind.

Silence.

Moiraine stared. The villagers, still clutching their weapons, stood frozen in disbelief. Even the wind seemed to hush, as if the land itself recognized the presence of something beyond its comprehension.

The stranger lowered his hand.

The Fear of the UnknownRand was the first to speak. "Light…" he breathed. "What… what was that?"

The stranger turned, his expression unreadable. "I do not know," he admitted. "It simply… is."

Moiraine's mind raced. She had felt it—the sheer force of creation in his touch. It was no weave of the One Power, no talent granted by the Pattern. This was something beyond all understanding.

Egwene's voice wavered. "Are you… are you human?"

The stranger hesitated, as if considering the question for the first time.

"I do not know," he said again.

Moiraine felt the weight of those words settle deep within her bones.

This was only the beginning.