New God(wheel of time)

Chapter 6: Whispers of the PatternThe night was quiet, but Moiraine did not trust quiet nights.

Lan moved soundlessly around the camp's perimeter, his sharp gaze scanning the trees for signs of movement. The Warder did not speak, but he did not need to—his presence alone was a warning, a silent guardian ever watchful.

The boy had not moved from his place by the fire. The others had retired for the night, but he remained, staring into the flames with the same unreadable expression. The way the firelight reflected in his silver eyes made him seem almost ethereal, as though he were not quite of the world around him.

Moiraine sat across from him, her own thoughts troubled.

She had felt something shift in the Pattern the moment she met him. It was as though the very weave of the world bent to accommodate his presence, reshaping itself in ways she did not yet understand. It was an unsettling thought.

"You do not sleep," she said at last. It was not a question.

He shook his head. "I do not need to."

She considered this. "Nor do you eat. Nor tire."

He tilted his head slightly, silver eyes thoughtful. "No. But I feel... something. I do not know how to describe it."

Moiraine folded her hands in her lap. "Try."

The boy was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, "I feel as though I am waiting for something. As though I am incomplete."

She studied him carefully. "And do you know what it is you wait for?"

His gaze flickered to hers. "No."

Moiraine exhaled quietly. This was dangerous. There were too many unknowns.

Lan crouched beside her then, his presence a solid weight against her thoughts. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low and edged with warning.

"Something is coming."

Moiraine's spine straightened. "Trollocs?"

Lan shook his head, his sharp eyes locked on the trees beyond their camp. "No. Something else."

She followed his gaze, heart hammering. Then—she felt it. A disturbance in the air, something vast and unknowable pressing at the edges of her awareness. The boy shifted slightly, his silver eyes narrowing.

Then, without warning, the night shifted.

The fire dimmed, shadows lengthening unnaturally. A cold wind swept through the camp, carrying with it the faintest echo of whispers—words that did not belong to this world.

The others stirred in their sleep, uneasy.

And then, from the darkness beyond the trees, a figure emerged.

Tall. Cloaked in black. A Myrddraal.

But this was no ordinary Fade.

The creature's eyeless gaze locked onto the boy, and for the first time since she had met him, Moiraine saw something shift in the strange youth's expression. Not fear. Not confusion.

Recognition.

The Fade took a single step forward. Its mouth opened—not in speech, but in something deeper, something ancient.

And the boy moved.

One moment he was seated by the fire, the next he was standing in front of it, body still as stone. The air around him seemed to bend, space warping in ways Moiraine could not comprehend.

The Myrddraal hesitated.

Then the boy raised his hand.

A soft pulse of energy rippled outward, not of the One Power but of something else entirely. Something older. Something vast.

And the Myrddraal ceased to exist.

No sound. No scream. No trace of its presence remained. It was simply gone.

The others woke with a start, but Moiraine did not look at them. She could not.

She could only stare at the boy.

At the impossible.

At the unknown.

And in that moment, Moiraine Sedai realized one terrifying truth.

She had no idea what she had brought with her on this journey.