The Road to Caemlyn wound through the forest like a pale scar, wide and worn by the constant passage of wagons and travelers. Yet despite its size, it felt no less isolated. Ancient trees loomed on either side, their gnarled branches stretching skeletal fingers toward the gray sky. Only the pines defied winter, their green needles swaying gently in the wind. The scent of damp earth and dry wood hung in the air, mingling with the subtle aroma of travel-worn blankets and restless horses.
On the third day out from Baerlon, the group moved in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The cold bit at exposed skin, and exhaustion crept into their bones like a persistent shadow.
Egwene let out a long sigh before sliding down against a tree trunk, crossing her arms. Her stomach turned as she stared at the meal before her—more of the same. Hard bread, dried cheese, and a sip of cold water. She picked up a piece of cheese between her fingers and glared at it as if it were a personal enemy.
"I used to like cheese," she muttered, her voice thick with exasperation. The grimace that twisted her face drew a half-smile from Rand, but he said nothing.
Her only comfort came from little Helena, nestled against her chest. From the moment she had first held the child, she had felt an inexplicable bond—a spark of normalcy amid the chaos. The girl, with her dark skin and bright eyes, slept peacefully, oblivious to the danger around them. The entire group had grown fond of her—even Moiraine, ever distant, found time to teach her to read when Rand wasn't available.
A little ways ahead, Nynaeve and Moiraine walked side by side, their conversation laced with thinly veiled tension.
"Tiredweed and andilay root tea," Nynaeve was saying, her voice firm and confident. "They're best for fatigue. They clear the mind and ease muscle pain."
Moiraine didn't respond immediately. She merely cast the Wisdom a sidelong glance, a faint curve to her lips that bordered on mockery.
"I'm sure they are," she murmured at last, her tone dry.
Nynaeve's posture stiffened, and Rand saw the flash of anger in her eyes. She hated being treated like a child. Especially by Moiraine.
Before the argument could escalate, Lan cut in abruptly. His voice was like contained thunder, brooking no argument.
"No tea."
Egwene blinked, startled by the Warder's sharp tone.
"No fire!" Lan continued, his dark eyes scanning the horizon as if they could see beyond the trees. "We can't see them yet, but they're out there—one or two Fades with their Trollocs, and they know we're taking this road. No need to tell them exactly where we are."
Silence fell over the group.
Rand felt a chill crawl up his spine. They were being hunted.
He turned his head instinctively, his body reacting before his mind fully grasped the danger. The biting wind hissed through the branches, carrying a scent he couldn't quite place—something metallic, rust mixed with the smell of damp earth.
And then...
The sound of a horn echoed from the west.
The note pierced the air, a long, mournful wail that made every muscle in Rand's body tense. He didn't need anyone to translate its meaning. It was a hunting call.
They had been found.
Lan whirled immediately to face the road behind them, his eyes narrowed in full alert. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword.
Rand swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. A part of his mind—the logical, cold part, trained by fear—calculated the distance. Ten miles, at most.
Nynaeve's lips parted, her fingers instinctively tightening around the strap of her herb pouch, as if a handful of roots could shield them from what was coming. Egwene, still holding Helena, hugged the girl tighter, her gaze darting nervously between the others.
Moiraine closed her eyes for a brief moment. Perhaps calculating their options. Perhaps praying.
The silence was broken by Lan, his voice sharp as unsheathed steel.
"Mount up. Now."
No one argued.
The sound of the horns cut through the forest's silence like spectral wails, a cruel warning of the approaching threat. The air felt thicker, charged with the anticipation of battle, and every breath was a reminder that there would be no easy escape.
Moiraine, ever composed, kept her eyes fixed on Lan as he delivered the grim news. Her fingers tightened on Aldieb's reins, but her voice remained steady when she gave the order to move. She knew what was coming.
Egwene's stomach twisted at the word "Fade." Fear crawled over her skin like icy fingers, but she refused to show weakness. She held Helena closer, trying to ignore the shiver racing down her spine.
Rand, however, felt fear turn into a burning fire within him. His heart pounded in his chest, but it was the frantic beat of adrenaline, not hesitation. His wand trembled in his fingers, but his gaze was resolute. No matter how many monsters came, he would fight.
Nynaeve shot Lan a fierce glare when he announced the Trollocs were less than two kilometers away. Her hands clenched into fists—not in fear, but frustration. Her instinct to protect her companions was overwhelming, but she knew she couldn't hold back the creatures alone.
Thom, ever the skeptic, cursed under his breath and adjusted the dagger at his belt. Something was wrong about all of this. So many Trollocs, so many Fades—it was as if they were being herded, as if something darker was at play.
Then, the sight at the foot of the hill froze them all.
The Trollocs marched with cruel purpose, their beastial eyes gleaming in the dim light. They snarled, grunted, and beat weapons against makeshift shields as if mocking the idea that their prey could escape. At the center, mounted on a black horse, stood a Fade.
Lan moved without hesitation. His sword cut through the air, meeting the Fade's shadowy blade with a thunderous crash. Blue sparks flew from the impact, and Rand felt the power of the clash reverberate through the ground.
Chaos erupted.
Rand raised his wand and began casting spells, each incantation spoken with a fervor he'd never felt before.
"Bombarda Maxima!"
The explosion tore a hole in the Trolloc line, scattering flesh and steel into the air. The stench of blood and burning filled his nostrils, but he didn't stop.
"Sectumsempra!"
A massive Trolloc roared as invisible slashes tore open its chest, collapsing to never rise again.
Beside him, Moiraine channeled magic with lethal precision. Her staff glowed with blue-white fire, and when she swept it forward, a wave of flames surged like a merciless tide, consuming any creature that came too close.
Egwene clutched Helena tightly, stumbling back as a Trolloc lunged too near. Her eyes were wide with terror, but her mind screamed at her to act.
Nynaeve drew a dagger, snarling as she stepped in front of Egwene. "If it comes, I'll bring it down with my bare hands, monster."
Thom, despite his age, moved with precision, throwing knives with deadly accuracy. One found a Trolloc's eye, and the creature fell with a choked roar.
The Fade, even headless, still gripped its sword. Rand shuddered at the sight. "They don't die like the others," Thom muttered, his dark eyes fixed on the unnatural creature.
The horns sounded again—closer now, coming from all sides.
"Ride!" Lan commanded. His voice was absolute, and no one hesitated.
The group wheeled their horses, fleeing as the sound of monsters filled the night.
Rand felt his chest tighten as three Fades appeared atop the hill, their pale, eyeless forms looming over the frenzied tide of Trollocs. The creatures howled, their distorted cries echoing through the night like a chorus from the Pit of Doom. Fear hung over the group like a suffocating fog.
"Moiraine!" Rand's voice cut through the air, more desperate than he would have liked. He had no choice. "What I'm about to do will leave me unconscious for hours... But if we don't act now—"
His fingers closed around the wand at his belt. Not just any wand. The Elder Wand. The black elder wood seemed to pulse in his grip, as if eager to be used. The thestral tail hair core hummed with ancient, forbidden power.
Rand took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them, staring down their enemies with cold determination.
"Protego Diabolica!"
He slashed the wand through the air, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
The ground trembled beneath his feet. Then, the circle ignited. Blue flames erupted around the group like living walls, burning with an almost divine intensity. The heat was so sudden that Egwene recoiled, a choked gasp escaping her throat. Moiraine's eyes widened as she felt the power radiating from Rand's wand like an overflowing river.
But that was only the beginning.
Rand raised the wand one final time, and from the flames emerged a titanic form—a dragon made entirely of blue fire. Its roar shook the heavens, and its blazing eyes swept across the battlefield. Every scale shimmered like living embers, and its wings spread, casting waves of heat and terror.
The Trollocs hesitated. They never hesitated. They were beasts bred to kill, raised in darkness without fear or mercy. But before the flaming monstrosity, even they froze, letting out high-pitched squeals of terror.
The dragon struck.
It plunged into the horde, its maw opening into a whirlwind of ravenous fire. The impact was devastating. Trollocs burned instantly, their grotesque hides dissolving before they could even scream. The Fades tried to resist, their black blades cutting through the air, but the flames enveloped them like a funeral shroud.
The earth quaked. The sky lit up as if the sun itself had exploded.
The dragon's roar mingled with the shrieks of the damned.
Then—silence.
The wind died. The fire dissipated, leaving only ash and char where an unimaginable force had been. There were no bodies. No broken weapons. Just scorched earth and the shadow of absolute slaughter.
Rand fell to his knees. His vision darkened, and the world spun around him. He heard a distant cry—maybe Egwene, maybe Moiraine. But he could no longer distinguish faces or voices. The ground rushed up to meet him, and then he felt nothing.
The group stood frozen. No one dared move.
Lan, ever the relentless warrior, unclenched his fists at his sides, his dark eyes reflecting the still-glowing embers. Moiraine stood rigid, her face pale and lips pressed into a thin line—not in fear, but in deep concern, perhaps even a flicker of dread at what she had just witnessed.
Egwene trembled.
She looked at Rand, unconscious on the ground, and then at the field of devastation he had left behind. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She knew Rand. Knew the farmboy from the Two Rivers, who laughed while picking apples and dreamed of adventures beyond the green hills.
But what she had just seen...
That was no ordinary man's power.
Moiraine finally moved, kneeling beside Rand and placing a hand on his forehead. "He pushed himself too far..." she whispered. But she didn't voice the rest. She didn't say that such power... that kind of power... should never exist in mortal hands.
Lan gathered Mandarb's reins. "We must move." His voice was cold, controlled, but there was something different in it. He had seen war. He had seen men face death without flinching. But he had never seen anything like this.
"Yes," Moiraine agreed quietly.
The journey would continue. The danger still remained. But they all knew, without needing to say it aloud: something inside Rand al'Thor had awakened.
And the world would never be the same.