There are no endings, nor any startings to the Wheel of Time. The wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and all are subject to its pattern. This realization came to The Dark One from within its new prison. Its battle would never be won, for the wheel would counterstroke any attempts at its destruction. Destruction and fulfillment would never come to the being that was The Dark One.

Accepting this defeat went against the very nature of the being that was The Dark One. Evil and chaos did not have the capacity to surrender, to feel fear.

It was lesser and knew this from within its bonds. The battle had been lost and with it came a terrible price. The adversary had almost killed with his move of creating this prison, and the process was still not over. Black raving essence writhed vainly, leaking from the prison while it compressed smaller and smaller, bleeding out The Dark One as he lost control of his essence beyond the thick bonds of power.

Struggling, it noticed that the giant layer of its own essence, used to coat and protect the bonds, was different from his own essence which bled from him. If The Dark One itself could have been described as the blackest midnight, a pitch so dark it sucked in light from around it, then the essence covering those new bonds was a deep grey.

Despite the darkness of this grey and its remaining ability to absorb the light from around it, it was silvery. Light and flashy somehow, it defied its other attributes. It almost seemed like a glassy coating atop the darker coating. The prisoner hesitated. It knew not what to do, only that the only salvation from his prison lay in that silver coating of the essence. It would take this path. Chains were something it would not accept. Could not accept. It would survive, feed, and grow. No matter the cost.

The prisoner writhed, bleeding onto the silvery coating of his chains. The lifeblood began to change immediately, growing rapidly like an infection. As the prison approached its minimum, trembling as he was made more compact, a small clump of his lifeblood returned to him, pulsing with that silvery coating.

There was no time for anything to be made of this here. It could send this out, to one, the only one of The Chosen he had kept a part of close. It felt from the very nature of this silver essence that the pattern would allow it to cross through, despite its nature. Change the boy, as it now had, then give out orders to support him. The boy would regain all that was lost, and besides that, there was one other tool laying in place already prepared. It had been a very long time since The Dark One had put together a plan so desperate.

Demandred plunged out out the ocean, his head finally breaking surface again. Out here, in the open air of this dark night, one similarity between the open air of the night and the depths pricked him. It was still dark. Where were the stars?

The question surprised him. Demandred did not know what stars were, but still, the question had come. Out of his thoughts, he noticed the water splashing more and more in his wake, and stopped.

A dozen paces away stood the shoreline, where the dark water met sand almost as dark. Demandred felt something come over his eyes. A slickness, a black smooth and slick lense sliding over his eyes. The feeling passed.

There was no moonlight on this night, but now, even in the shadows, Demandred could see. Not as brightly as a feline's eye may have, but the shadows did not seem to block his view of distant objects. They almost shied away from wherever his gaze fell. No noise save the constant splashing of the waves could be heard on this night, but in their constant melody, Demandred paid no attention. For a split second, still standing a dozen paces away from the shoreline, Demandred felt his world. A million emotions surged through his heart, the only discernable one being wonder directed towards finally being at surface level, while his other emotions flew and reacted to both everything around him and his own, personal, depths. Then it was gone, and Demandred was once again wrapped in his void. Nothing could touch him here, not his weary burning muscles nor the cold.

"Deeemaaandreed... " a voice crooned. This voice came from within the void Demandred had automatically sought before he resurface, and his shock at hearing it temporarily broke it.

A fracture, for just a second. The void trick he used was old, something learned in his youth but forsaken when he broke free from the seal. Despite neglect, the skill was hard learned. It was resilient.

"Deeemaaandreeed... " the voice crooned again, and with it came more memories. The Dark One was the voice. He did not know where he was, how the last battle had fared, or how he even lived, but the void kept him whole.

"Yes, Master?" He proudly asked the silent crashing waves. A silence hung over the dark motion for minutes as Demandred stood still as a stone.

"I speeaak too youu throuugh thee lasst remnants off my esssence youu holld." The Dark One said in a rasping tone. "II havve beeen seealeed aand crippleed. Youu mussst fiind Ishaar Morrraad Chuuaain. Hee will haave youur ordersss"

Demandred stiffened, the void wavering. Why had his master referred to Aginor by his original name? Names were important to the Great Lord. It was something he, as Demandred had once guessed, used as a measure of control and dominance.

Before Demandred could respond, something left him. A deafness? The waves crashed in his ears again, and he could now hear the wind. A sudden flow of power and ecstasy rushed into Demandred, the True Power coursing through his veins and into his very soul. He wanted to scream for an eternity inside those few seconds, howl as his soul was rent to dust, but as fast it had come the True Power was gone.

Not completely gone. He could feel it behind him, a small reserve he knew was finite. A small passing gift from The Dark One. Demandred smiled, reaching for saidin to make a gateway to the end of the beach. He froze. There was nothing there. Nothing there at all. No raging firestorm ready to be grabbed, no freezing blizzard ready to slice up his very soul. The familiar raging torrent of power was completely gone. The void shattered, and Demandred found himself throwing up a mouthful full of saltwater on his knees. He felt... Broken. What was wrong with him? He was fully inside the void, and besides, he was Chosen. No chosen would throw up and cry because of a loss like this. No man would.

Something was different about him. He had not realized it until this moment. Why did he refer to himself as Demandred? He had become Bao the Wyld, and not to mention the man who would slay The Dragon to become the world's savior. The intensity of hatred and pride he felt in thinking those thoughts slowly faded away, like foam on water becoming the water. The void returned, weaker than before.

These new reactions and feelings surprised him. Demandred did not move after he managed to stand again, leaving him standing heedless in those water for minutes. How curious... How very curious.

Demandred surged through the knee-high waters, creating more crashing in his wake. He would think on these things later and decide what to do. Besides, he rather liked this change. He felt calmer, more broad-minded, and knew now that his madness had left him. What a good clarifying feeling. It had been so very long since Demandred felt good.

Even though the sudden surge of the True One Power had stung the void, he felt... clean.

Standing on the beach he felt a pulse from his reserve of The Dark One's essence. A slight faint pulse. It came again, the mere slightest tug Demandred probably could have felt. He turned to his left, the open ocean, and knew where The Dark One wanted him to go. To Aginor? For orders?

He licked his lips, and started. This in turn caused him to start again. How sudden and immense this change had affected him, licking his lips like a fool. There was no time for this, as such a problem would need revaluation. Heavily revaluation. Cursing, he turned to his right and started walking up the island. Not daring to waste his small reserve of power, he set out to find a boat.

Rand rode into the small town as the sun began to set. His first stop in his new journey. The first stop in his new life. Of course, he had been riding for days, sleeping under the trees of the massive new forest that had sprouted in the blight, but he figured those nights did not count.

Rand figured he would be in Kandor by now. The small village fit the descriptions he had read. Scanning the small town, he considered sleeping outside in the bushes once more. He had all the accommodations he needed, and a part of him wanted simply to sleep under the stars again. He resisted the urge. There was no reason to avoid sleeping in town just because of its one shabby-looking inn. That was a reason he had considered.

A surprising amount of people walked through the dirty streets. Chatting or doing business, to one it might have seemed that the entire town was out in a festival. Rand had a feeling it was not so, that this town simply harbored an exceptional amount of people. Many different types of people were in that busy mill. Rand could pick out men from Andor, Tarabon, Arad Doman, Cairhien, and even Illian. It was odd to see so many different people acting so similarly, without any of the dispositions Rand had come to expect from these people and each of their 'competitors'. He supposed he had seen more people acting like this in the recent months, but that was under his affliction. This town seemed old and unchanged. The moving crowd almost seemed to act as one massive body. Rand had a strange feeling he wouldn't need to watch his pockets in this crowd, despite the labels men sometimes placed upon a select few of these peoples. Everyone kept to themselves despite business. Remembering that he had not departed with any coin, Rand made one of his back pockets a little heavier.

The inn Rand approached was a beat-up wooden place, a bit larger than he had originally guessed. If not for the cracked wood and dusty windows, the inn might have given off an air of grandiose. It was peculiarly large and open. A dusty-looking young man sprang up from a chair as Rand passed the side of the building and entered its back stall.

"G'd Evening sir" He said, taking the reins of Rand's horse, then proceeding to walk the horse to a stall. As the youth returned Rand held his tongue in a moment of hesitation. Something was off about him. There was no air of welcome or sociability. He had not asked for Rand's name, had not asked where he had come from, or for any instructions for his horse. The lad's eyes were also cast down as if he had a dedication to not make eye contact.

"Tell me, lad", Rand said hesitantly, "What is the name of this town?". The boy's eyes jerked up to Rand's face in a look of shock, immediately followed by a look of terror. His eyes immediately snapped back down to the floor.

"W-why M-m'lord" the youth said with a shaky voice, "A-are you t-testing me? We are n-not to speak the name of this t-town. Are you new here M'Lord?"

As the boy spoke he slowly calmed down, his voice becoming steadier and steadier. Rand frowned. It could be possible that this was a darkfriend village, used for supply runs and stockpiling. It might have been close enough to Shayol Ghul to support the war easily by gateway. There were too many people for that, however, and the town itself didn't look too bad.

Rand froze, remembering something he had failed to pay attention to earlier. The actual state of the village was alright, the business and goods seemed decent enough for the times, but the villagers were worn. Not of spirit, they seemed busy and determined, but the faces were sunken. Rand could even remember seeing a few hollow eyes that could have belonged to Dreadlords. He did not chide himself too much for missing these things. It was the fourth age after all! The Dark One had been sealed and men would live once more in the dawn of the light. He was a little tempted to get as drunk as he could at this inn. He deserved it. Rand grinned despite the immediate situation, but it faded. He did deserve it, but should put those feelings aside to stay wary in this place. He decided to leave the boy alone with questioning in hope of finding a better source of information.

Realizing that he had left the boy standing, eyes lowered, in silence, Rand fished out a few recently come-by coins from his pocket and held them out in his hand palm up. The boy briefly raised his eyes and jumped. Rand saw his eyes go as wide as he thought they could, then wider still.

"M-m-masterr" the boy managed to croak out, trembling and hunching away from the coins as if taking them would damn his very soul. "Y-you need not-t test-t me. I-I a-accept n-no coin-n" This brought a frown to Rand's face, this situation was getting odder and odder by the second, but he did not want to press the boy further. No drinking this night. A keen eye would be needed to watch this village. This place could be dangerous.

Ignoring the boy and slipping the coins into his back pocket, he would need to relocate them later so he could eat and sit, Rand turned around and entered the inn. The large inn reminded Rand of a grand log cabin filled with dust. The entire inside of the building was dusty and grey. Rand felt as if someone had slipped a grey filter over his eyes as he entered. Strangely the air was not nearly as dusty as everything else. No, the air had a sawdust smell to it. Better than how the place looked it would smell like, but Rand would have preferred a different smell to lounge in.

Though the inn was fairly busy, men were huddled in groups whispering. Large groups, of 6-10 people. Rand counted 7 groups in total, and they all managed to crowd around one target area without infringing on another group's space. The serving women stood out to Rand. Compared to the villagers of this town, who seemed a foot away from the grave and lacking emotions, the young women who served mugs of ale and bowls of soup were bright bulbs. Rand frowned at the comparison. While it did slightly work to describe the difference, he thought it too bright, for the women serving looked distraught. Very distraught. One of the younger ones had a tear-streaked face, which alone served to outweigh the emotions Rand had seen on every other face so far. The others simply looked upset, uncomfortable. After a few moments, he noticed others whose faces had only recently dried.

Rand stifled back the urge to intervene immediately. Something was obviously wrong here, not just with these women but with the whole village, but making a scene would do no good. It would be wiser to collect information rather than act brashly.

Realizing that he had been standing in the doorway and slowly attracting stares, Rand slowly walked towards the seats near where the innkeeper was busy preparing some drinks. He cleared his throat as he sat down. The innkeeper turned around and froze in a look of horror. No one else seemed affected by whatever the innkeeper saw. A few men to Rand's right noticed the look and turned to look at Rand, the focus of the innkeeper's horrified gaze, but only became confused. She stared at Rand as if he was The Dark One himself, come to collect the innkeeper herself. After a few dozen moments in which Rand became impatient, wanting the plump innkeeper to explain herself rather than breaking the silence himself. Suddenly she straightened up, whirling around, and walked to her back room.

This irritated Rand but also caused him to remember something. Rand Al Thor though he was, he no longer wore that body. He was in the body of Elan Morin Tedronai, or rather the body Ishamael had been given by The Dark One upon his first death by Rand's hand. If this was a darkfriend village, it was likely he was to be recognized as Moridin. It then made sense for the innkeeper to recognize him and not the village people. She would be more important, and Ishamael was never foolish enough to reveal himself to his lowest minions. This village could be dangerous indeed. Regretting standing up after sitting down so soon, Rand followed the innkeeper towards her back room.