They emerged on a charred landscape. Ashes blanketed the ground from the trees of the mythical Great Blight that had spanned around the world before the Great Lord had been released. Nynaeve, in her rage had summoned a Firestorm that had burned the entire Blight until only the smallest of ashes had remained. Rage against the Great Lord or against Moira and Allen, no one knew.

That was one topic that Perrine never asked her Mother about. Mother still lurked around the world, still fought the Shadow in her own way, but not as zealous as she had back in those days. She had never been close to Mother; she was a cold woman prone to sudden rages, but she was her mother. Her father had been sealed by Randle Thorn before she had been born. She only knew the scant information that Mother had told her; Mother was not proud of her actions that resulted with Perrine. But maybe that would change. Maybe she could soon meet her father, if this strange man, this Dragon Recycled chose to free the Crate'tor.

She did not want to pressure the man. Mother talked on and on about Randle Thorn; she called him Rand though, and how stubborn he was and everything else she blamed all men of being. She decided that it would be best if she let him make up his own mind. If he was the Dragon Recycled truly, then he knew what his job was.

The place that one was called the Great Blight was now called the Wastelands. It was her birthplace and home. People who felt like they didn't fit in the Great Lord's world lived here. Every ten years or so, an army was sent to clear out the squatters and they left for a year or two, sometimes only six months, and returned to their old haunting and hunting grounds. It was an excellent arrangement that fit everyone well.

"Come. She called to them. "This is the Wastelands."

Her voice held a hint of excitement. It was exciting to be part of an adventure without being cold, wet or hungry. She lead them northward to where the Crate'tor was sealed, almost trembling with anticipation and worry. What if he made the wrong choice? What would happen then? The two followed, one silent by nature, the other silent by choice.


Two days later, they were at the foot of the mountain Shayol Ghul. It would be a hard climb to the top, where the Bore was. Good thing that Fain had remembered to bring some state-of-the-art rock-climbing equipment.

Perrine wasn't sure why the Fain, a creature she called a friend, had suggested joining Perrine on this trip. Maybe she was telling the truth of seeing the future and she just wanted to see history in the making. Personally, Perrine would rather be back home right now, watching The Price Is Right on her tee'vee, flicking back and forth from "The High Questioner's Talk Show" to the "How To Make A Meal With A Carrot And A Human" cooking show. After that was the timeless "I Love Lews Therin" and the corny "The Adventures of Arthur Hawking", whose main highlight was the delicious pieces of ass there was on Arthur and his Heroes of the Trumpet gang, who wore…

She shook her head to erase the thought of missing this week's episode. It looked so good on the ad; 'Arthur's Quest To Save Elaida'. Elaida was his beautiful queen, seduced and stolen by the evil Matrim, Horned God of Lucky Men. It sounded like one to remember. But the Dragon Recycled… Now this was a living pay-per-view event.

As Fain prepared their hiking gear, she took the opportunity to watch the man. He had not spoken a word since leaving the cave with The Sword That Isn't A Sword. At first, she had thought that the shock of seeing a creature like that …thing had gotten to him, but now…He seemed to be looking for answers within himself. He was tall and wide-shouldered, brown eyed and brown haired, his hair slightly curling at the nape of his neck. He wore all black, but whether it was his uniform or he wore black by choice, she didn't know. He was silent when it came to his past. All she knew about him was the pin on his trenchcoat, a darkhound, the symbol of the Hounds of the Pack, the elite spymasters of the Great Lord. He was a man of many secrets; she didn't need the pin to tell her that.

He was handsome, in a dark and mysterious way. He was of those men that you chased and chased and chased until he was running away from you, just for the thrill of it.

Mother had always said that she liked to hunt too much; the old Blight was in her veins. He liked her; she had seen earlier his eyes wander over to her when he thought she wasn't looking. She found herself preening herself under his eyes, wearing skin-hugging clothes and trying out new hairstyles. She was playing around with the idea with buying hair blonde hair dye and cutting her hair short before she noticed it. Fool man, stealing her wits! She blushed when she realized how like Mother that sounded.

AHEM. Fain coughed in her thoughts. IT IS TIME TO GO.

She blushed twice as much as she had before. Fain had noticed!

A snort rose in her head. ANYONE WHO ISN'T BLIND WOULD SEE YOUR FEELINGS. REMEMBER WHO HE IS. The voice dug harshly in her head. REMEMBER THAT.

"I will do that." She grumbled to Fain. "That's all that I can."

Fain did not answer her. Perrine wasn't sure whether she should be happy or sad. The Crate'tor help her, she was in love!


After a hard day of climbing the steep mountainside, they stood on weary legs at the summit. Ahead of them was a deep valley. In the middle of the valley would the Bore and the seal of the Great Lord. Anxiety tore at Perrine's guts. He had still not spoken a word; just followed them, like a lost puppy dog, be it a darkhound puppy or not. She was wearing the most skin-tight pants she owned, and he did even notice a thing! She felt so ashamed to have that thought. Surely Mother had not been that bad, mooning and moaning over a man that much. Then again, listening to the legends about Mother, she just might have been.

As they walked down into the valley, he seemed to be becoming more alert, looking around and seeming to mentally argue with someone. She shivered; that reminded her too much of Mother's tales of Randle Thorn. Finally, she could see a large object in the middle of the valley, growing ever and ever closer and larger. The closer they got to it, the more agitated he became. Worry etched lines on both Perrine's and Fain's faces. What would he do? Which stroke of The Sword That Isn't A Sword slays? Which stroke saves? No one knew the answer, not even the man, the Dragon Recycled himself.


Since leaving the cave, he had known what he had to do. He needed to correct the wrong that his former self, Randle Thorn had done. The Wheel needed both Crate'tor and Great Lord. The Crate'tor had to be freed.

He noticed the way Perrine's eyes ran up him whenever she thought he wasn't looking. She was beautiful in her own exotic way, a real tigress. Maybe later…If there was a later, he would ask her to go see a show with him, something good like 'The Prophet's Mobs That Burned New Tear'. On the horizon, he could see a cubic shape. As he walked closer and closer, his skin began to crawl. It was a large box made out of a material that he couldn't begin to guess cut into long planks. Weird beams of light escaped from the cracks between planks and it seemed like there was something, more than just one something moving in there. There was also the hint of a sound barely audible, like elevator music in an expensive hotel.

He barely noticed that the Fain and Perrine stopped walking with him, that the Fain had held Perrine back with a shake of her head. He only saw the box, the light and the nails that lay popped out on the ground, pushed out by the power within the cosmic box.

Slowly, he raised The Sword That Isn't A Sword. He hesitated; memories and stories of the feared Light flickered in his mind. By freeing the Crate'tor from the box, as well as Randle Thorn's companions, he may be dooming the world, the world as he knew it for certain. Nothing would ever be the same again for him. And that is true, no matter what you decide to do, the voice whispered in his head. He had first heard that voice when they had left the cave. He had learned to trust that voice, the voice of Randle Thorn himself. He could just as easily hammer in the nails with The Sword That Isn't A Sword. Balance, it whispered. Balance is the key. He nodded. He agreed. Hoisting The Sword That Isn't A Sword over his head, he slammed it down on the box, severing and letting loose the last Hope of the Light into the world.

Light burned everywhere. Pure white light. It overwhelmed his eyes. He could make out two cloudy figures in the glare. One was darker than the other; black and white it appeared to him. They seemed to be arguing. Then the white one jumped on the black one and they swirled. That swirl reminded him of something, but he could say what.

He wanted to touch saidin, but he thought if he tried right now, the fire of the One Power would surely burn him out, if not burn him in the physical sense. With a cry of YOU BASTARD!, the white one pushed the black one into the Bore. There was a scream of great rage and despair, then all went blank.


Mmmm. Warmth. The sound of the wind. The feel of the grass beneath his body. The sun playing on his closed eyes. The faint smell of a rose. A rose? He opened his eyes. He was lying under a large tree in a beautiful clearing. The grass was of a colour so rich it was beyond his words to explain it, the tree so healthy looking, the sun seemed brighter and the wind more peaceful and pleasant. Everything felt greater, almost as great as when he was holding the One Power. It was like he had been blind all his life and now could finally see.

"Ah. You're awake finally."

Perrine's voice spoke from above him and she moved into his view. She never looked so beautiful as she did then, nor was he so grateful for her presence. For a moment there, he thought he was dead.

"Yes."

He forced himself to get up; lying there was so nice. He stumbled a little, but soon he was fine. He waved off her hand.

"Where's the axe?" He fumbled at his side. She shook her head.

"I don't know. After you did what you did…" She searched for a word, but failing, skipped over it. "I blanked out and found us here."

He didn't ask the obvious question. He only wished the best for the Fain, the last of her species. She had been a brief but excellent companion.

"Where are we?" He gestured with his hand. "I've never seen a place like this before."

She took a deep breath before answering. "It's the Wastelands. At least, it used to be."

He could only stare at her in amazement. She nodded.

"I recognize the general shape of the land. You freed the Crate'tor. Now she's making all thing new again."

"She?"

She looked at him as if he was speaking another language.

"Of course! Do you think a man could make flowers? What are you doing? Stop laughing!"

He couldn't stop; it was so funny and so good. So perfect. She eventually gave up arguing and joined him in mirth. Finally, he could speak again.

"So what else has changed in the world?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to leave you alone to go exploring."

"Then let's explore together."

He looked her straight in the eye. At any other time, he would not have dared to say this but the pure joy of living was pumping through his veins. Let her think him a fool if she wished. At least it would cause a smile to appear on her lips.

"There is no other person that I wish discover this new world, to live in this new Age with." She looked at him, seeming to be caught in his eyes. Suddenly, she turned, a rosy colour tinting her cheeks slightly.

"I don't know what you're saying." She mumbled.

"I…"

He couldn't find the right words to say, so he said it in actions. He cupped her chin in the hands that had done so many crimes in the past in the name of the Great Lord-Dark One, he amended quickly and kissed her lightly on those lovely lips of hers. When they parted, the confusion was gone from her eyes. They walked out of the clearing together, hand in hand and a light shone around them, a light that was called love. The Crate'tor saw this and was pleased.


The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Fourth Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose among the newly-flowering trees in the city of Rafo.

The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

The wind saw the people of the city, whistling and greeting each other as friends. It saw the flowers in their hair and on the walls of the buildings. It saw the Shadow over the land fading. It was happy and ran home quickly to tell the Crate'tor. Because it was young and eager to make a good impression with the reinstated Crate'tor, it missed the entrance of the man and the woman, walking with the tranquility that seemed to be unique to this Age, the Golden Age, the one your parents always seemed to be teenagers in.

The Crate'tor, however, did see their entrance because everyone knows he uses robins and sparrows as Her eyes and ears, and a robin just happened to be sitting on a branch near the city gate. She smiled and thought warm wishs to the newlyweds or were they still just a couple? Nevermind. It didn't matter anyway. She eased Herself into Her lazy-throne and flicked the teevee on. Good; She got out just in time to check Her lottery ticket for the trip to Club Med. Light, She needed a vacation after arranging Her freedom from the Crate and Bore.

The garbage in Her living room was terrible. Old, half-drunken and one-drop-left cans of beer lay thrown around everywhere. When that kid, what's-his-name, Randle Thorn had been born, She had thrown a big party and released way too many taverens at once. She had deserved being sealed for that. The Wheel had nearly died in the morning.

She gathered them up, poured out the last remaining drops down the drain, crumpled the cans and threw then into the Blue Box for Recycling. No one liked to pollute the environment and waste perfectly good and useable Heroes, especially not the Crate'tor. She got up and pulled out a couple of new cans from the basement. She opened one labeled 'Madame X' and downed the can's liquid contents with the haste of one who has really missed her beer brand.

AH. NOW THAT'S SOMETHING I HAVE MISSED.

She grinned lop-sided. He walked and sat down on a chair across from Her. He held up a number of beers.

I HAVE A TWELVE PACK AND ONE. DO YOU WANT TO PLAY 'WAR OF POWER' AGAIN? I PROMISE THAT I WON'T THROW UP IN YOUR GLASS LIKE I DID LAST TIME.

She smiled and cleaned the table, leaving two large glasses for Them. She played because She knew something that He didn't know; She could always outdrink him into a stupor. And she never got hangovers. She poured out her beer into a glass.

LET THE GAME BEGIN AGAIN.