THE END
Darkness. All-encompassing, shrouding the earth and the sky. Extinguishing life, muting sound, swallowing light.
Only the Hall of Servants remained standing, its floor littered with bodies.
Within, the Forsaken circled around the Dragon, awaiting their Great Lord's pronouncement.
Rand al'Thor cried. From the depths of his heart came tears of anguish, for all that was lost. He cried for Emond's Field, for the Ogier groves, and for Rhuidean. For Lan and Moiraine. For Mat and Perrin. For Min and Avienda. But most of all for Elayne, for Ilyena. She was smiling at him, not three paces away, her eyes glazed over in death. He could not stand the beauty that had perished, the pain like an icy knife tearing at him from the inside, worse than the touch of Semirhage. Once more, Rand al'Thor reached for saidin. Only emptiness was there. The Creator had deserted him.
A door opened into the Hall, a door Rand could not remember being there, though memories from an Age long past stirred in the recesses of his mind. Through the door stepped a wizened old man, garbed in a hooded grey robe, hunched over with age. The man's wrinkled hands gripped a gnarled wooden cane that could have been older the man himself. On one finger he bore a plain white ring, as smooth as the cane was gnarled.
"NO!" Rand tried to yell, his mouth moving soundlessly, as if the stifling darkness had already engulfed the Hall. "It's useless! They'll butcher you too, like they've done with everyone else. Get away!" Despite the countless deaths that he had witnessed, he could not bear to see yet another soul succumb to the Dark One's will. But he, no, the World, had lost; all that was left was anguish, and regret. Silent tears mixed with blood, as the Dragon Reborn lay crumpled in defeat on the floor of the Hall of Servants.
Unspoken warning unheeded, the old man continued towards him, one hand on his cane, the other rising, as if to reach ahead.
The Forsaken had noticed the man. Demandred, his face a twisted sneer of arrogance and hatred, spat: "Who is this? Another Asha'man to kill before we finish off Lews Therin? Don't they know it's over for them?"
The old man stopped eight paces from where Rand lay, opposite the Forsaken, and stated simply "I am Nal ban'Dian." He spoke slowly and softly, his voice filled with a great weariness, as if he had lived his long life with a great burden that only became heavier with the countless passing of the years. But the man's crinkled green eyes shone brightly, and as he spoke the sound carried clearly through the Hall. He began again:
"Perhaps you remember me, Barid. I remember when we all stood together in this Hall, as Servants of All. I remember when Nemene Healed me after the ill-fated sa'angreal Experiment went disastrously wrong. I remember when Joar and Saine first discovered the use of Portal Stones, at Mar d'Alta. And I remember when Mierin found the True Source, at Collam Dar."
As the man spoke, the events of an Age past played again in Rand's mind, as if he had just lived them, anew. The Forsaken were frozen in place, their eyes locked on the ancient speaker, whose ring now gave off a soft white glow. The man continued, more strongly:
"We had built the greatest society of any Age. With the Power, we had achieved what many thought impossible, what even the Creator would admire. But you chose to betray us. Perhaps we had grown arrogant in our own power and wealth, and let the Lord of the Dark sway our ambitions. In our weakness, the world was Broken, and much was lost."
The air was still and the Hall utterly silent as the old man paused again. Sweat ran down the Forsaken's faces, but not one moved a hair. The man stood tall, and a look of terrible intensity painted his now ageless features. His voice quieted to a conspiratorial whisper:
"But you see, the Age of Legends never truly ended. Then, I was a maker of ter'angreal, and other objects of the Power. For three thousand years, I have continued the progress that we had begun. And now the time is come that I reveal to you the fruits of my labor."
Suddenly, Rand felt the One Power surge in the room. The man's ring shone brightly, then blindingly, as if it were the sun itself, piercing the clouds of darkness. Everywhere, weaves of saidin and what must have been saidar spun in intricate patterns that seemed to form even greater patterns which themselves were only pieces of the Pattern itself. Rand felt like a leaf caught in a storm, carried along by flows of the Power. Somewhere distant, a voice raged, howling with the infernal fury that could only be Shai'tan.
Time lost all meaning. Seconds, years, or Ages became indistinguishable. But finally the light dimmed and the Power faded...