The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the third age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long pass, a wind rose in the mountains of Iwa no Kuni. 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.
Even though it was late spring, the wind began high in the snowcapped peaks of Iwa. Cold and unforgiving, it swept down the mountain sides, tearing through Iwagakure no Sato, forcing the residents who inhabited the seat of Iwa's power to clutch their coats and tighter to their bodies as they leaned into the wind. The wind didn't notice people in its passing, continuing onwards, ever onwards.
The wind gained momentum as it hit the alluvial flats that surrounded Iwa. These flats were brown and barren, with hardly a hint of green to be seen. But they had been the site of a great many battles, the most recent and harrowing ending with the butchering of an army of ninja arrayed against a single man, the Fourth Hokage of Konoha. It was there that the "flee on sight" order had been issued and Namikaze Minato gained moniker "The Yellow Flash." These details were lost on wind, however, as it swiftly raced across the flats before being forced to turn south as the mountains of Iwa blocked further forward motion. As it approached the border with Taki no Kuni, the wind picked up moisture from the river that determined the border and continued its journey across the vast steppes that comprised Kusa no Kuni, rippling the grass below as it blew, unimpeded in its journey as towards Hi no Kuni.
In the middle of that vast plain, a single worn white stone column sat, resting on its side. It had been there before Kusa no Kuni existed; it had been there before ninja even existed. History had no records of where this stone came from; runes of an unknown nature had once been carved into its side, but little remained of those now, as time and weather had reduced it to the barest semblance of worked stone. Many efforts had been made to move this column over the years, as various empires had tried to claim it as piece of history to glorify their existence, but it had resisted all attempts to remove it from this location. It endured, while the empires had tried to claim it faded away in the mists of time. Eventually, records of its existence were lost as wars flared up and cities burned. It had not been visited by humans since before the First Great Ninja War.
One small portion of the stone seemed to glow briefly, as a series of the obliterated runes became visible for the first time in eons. Where there had been nothing before, a man now knelt, one hand resting against the stone where the runes had glowed. The wind roared past, messing his hair and sending his cloak flaring behind him. The man didn't care in the slightest for his cloak, but a careful observer would have noted a slightly curved sword hanging from his belt. He shakily withdrew his hand from the stone, tracing the carvings under his palm with a finger with intense concentration. He drew out a sheet of parchment, and carefully transcribing the runes, noted the location on the column with as much precision as possible. These were not the runes that would take him home, but at least he now had a reference point for searching for those that would.
Eventually he stood slowly, idly pulling his cloak tight around his body as the wind continued to whip past. It would be hard to say exactly how old he was at this point in time, for he had the appearance of youth but the bearing of a man aged far beyond his time. His tall and sturdy frame easily topped most men by a hand or more, and his unruly dark red hair served to distinguish him further. His clothes were of the finest wool and best craftsmanship, but were unadorned and of muted colors. They served only to confirm what his bearing hinted; that this was a man who had and was used to commanding power. But these features were not what people noted most. It was his eyes that often attracted the most attention; blue-grey and piercing, they betrayed the fact that although his face was that of a youth, his eyes were those of a man hardened through suffering, pain, and death.
Those eyes had already borne witness to sufferings enough to fill any number of lifetimes. The corners of his eyes were pinched, both from the knowledge that he would see even more suffering in the future, and the pain that he lived with on a daily basis.
Rand Al'Thor surveyed the land around him, barely registering the wind that ruffled his hair as the gateway behind him closed. He stood tall, his regal bearing not marred by the fact that his left hand was missing from the wrist. The pain of losing his hand was a pinprick compared to the pain from the unhealed and unbearable wound in his side given to him long ago. That would never, could never be healed. It would kill him in the end, but his sacrifice would wash away the shadow in exchange for man's salvation.
He was many things to many people, and had as many titles to prove it. The Dragon Reborn, Car'a'carn, the Coramoor, the Chosen One; all meant the same thing – that he was the prophesied salvation of man, destined to fight the Dark One and die, spilling his blood on the black rocks of Shayol Ghul, the Dark One's prison.
That salvation would come at a heavy price – the blood of men and the destruction of the world as it was. Rand had already put paid a down payment in blood that soaked the lands from whence he came. Rand now knew that in every world the Creator choose one soul to fight the Dark One. That soul was bound to the Wheel and the Pattern, spun out again and again to confront the evil trapped by the Pattern.
In every world, the cycle was the same. The Dark One was sealed by the Creator of the Wheel and the Pattern, and his evil was unknown to the world. Man becomes curious, Man discovers the power that drives the Wheel, and in so doing, Man unleashes evil upon the world. The prison, made by the Creator, is broken by Man, and evil spreads to all corners of the world. In desperation, Man seeks to recreate what the Creator had wrought, but the solution is never perfect or as elegant as the original seal used by the Creator.
The Chosen One was the Creator's tool on earth to fix the problem, or at least, to seal the Dark One until Man, in his hubris, unleashed him again in the turnings of the Wheel.
Duty was heavier than a mountain, but death was lighter than a feather.
Rand was not here to die today. Disturbing visions had been coming to him in his sleep, all ending with him walking into a white archway filled with light buried deep in a dungeon. Night after night these visions returned, but he could remember nothing but the archway filling his vision as he walked into it, the light searing his eyes as he jolted awake. He had dreamed before, and had walked in the world that was of dreams but real. The word Tel'aran'rhiod floated from the recesses of his consciousness, thanks to his knowledge from Lews Therin.
He knew that whatever this arch was, the Pattern deemed it important enough to divert him from his war against the Shadow.
The pattern had forced him into many things over the course of his life. He no longer fought the Pattern as he had in his youth, even if that was but a few years ago. Rand allowed himself to be drawn to the ter'angreal in his dreams, located in the basement of the Stone of Tear. He walked in, secure in the knowledge that whatever role the Pattern had for him to play was yet unfulfilled, and the Pattern would not allow him to die. The light had filled his vision and knowledge had been burnt into his brain, but beyond the most rudimentary of details he could remember little.
But knew that he must come here to deliver a warning.
Where "here" was exactly was a question for scholars. It was a world apart, bound by the Pattern but independent from his own. Rand had experience traveling to other worlds before, but they were only pale reflections of the world he knew. This one was solid as his own world, but the knowledge imparted by the ter'angreal told him that it was as different from his world as it was possible to be.
He was here for a purpose. Man's salvation was in jeopardy. All worlds were linked to the Pattern; there were as many counterparts to his own world as a hall of mirrors had reflections. Unfortunately for Rand, if the Dark One managed to get free in any one world, it meant the Dark One was free in all worlds. That spelled more than the end of the world he knew. It meant the death of time itself and all of creation remade in the very image of the Dark One.
In this world, the Dark One was stirring, and the Chosen One had not yet been informed of his duty.
Rand's mission was simple. Identify the Chosen One, and set him on the necessary path. He didn't have a lot of time, nor was he here to guide his counterpart. But the Pattern demanded his assistance, and as he had for time immemorial, he responded to the call.
He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter. The Pattern would send him in the right direction. Rand closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on his senses. There. He felt it; a faint, almost imaginary pull to the south and east. He'd felt the like many times. A subtle urging from the Pattern, a pull on Ta'veren like himself that pulled them where they needed to be, rather than where they wanted to be.
He reached out to seize saidin, the male half of the One Power, to travel. He stopped, marveling at the feel of the power on this world. It was… as if he was linked with a woman again; both halves of the one power moved as he spun the weaves, even though he manipulated only saidin. That, more than anything else, told him this world was not his own. He attempted to create a gateway to travel, and discovered that he because he could not separate out the saidar from saidin, his weave collapsed upon itself before the gateway could form. Unused to weaving with both sides of the one power, unused to using saidar, the female half of the source, he'd been unable to form the weave properly.
A moment of panic struck, till unbidden the thoughts on weaving both halves of the power sprung to mind. He knew that these memories weren't his; rather they were Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon. Still, they served his purpose.
He seized the one power again, and began the weaving necessary for a gateway. There was a brief flash of light as a small point of light appeared about waist-high on the plains, which began to elongate into a horizontal line of light the length of a horse. The line rotated vertically and split in half, the halves moving away from each other, leaving expanse of blackness, darker than the deepest night, in their wake. This blackness was featureless, and the wind was unable to shake this apparition, even as the apparition blotted out all the scenery behind it.
It fluctuated briefly, but then snapped into place. Rand frowned. The weave had behaved as if it wasn't supposed to exist. Rand shook his head. Different universe, different rules. He could feel a sense of urgency building. Without further ado, Rand Al'Thor stepped into the open gateway and skimmed in the direction he needed to go. He allowed the Pattern to pull him as he traveled, making minute adjustments to his course as he hopped from gateway to gateway. He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. Tarmon Gai'don, the Last Battle, was quickly approaching.
The fire was carefully built in a small pit cut into the sod so that the light wouldn't travel very far beyond the camp. The only reason Jiraiya could see it at all was that he was currently on small rise looking down at the camp site. He heard a rustling behind him, and signaled for silence. The rustling stopped, and after a few minutes his apprentice slithered up the side of the hill on his belly, carefully peaking over the crest of the hill to see what had spooked his teacher so much.
"What's up, ero-sennin?" Naruto whispered.
Jiraiya grimaced. "You tell me, kid," he replied, his voice focused and quiet, a change from his usually boisterous public persona.
Naruto looked over the hill again, surveying the fire. After a couple of minutes, he dropped his head again so that he was out of line of sight. "I see a small fire. Looks like it was built for a couple of people, max."
"What else?" Jiraiya probed.
Naruto rubbed his chin as he thought. After a few moments, he shrugged, admitting defeat. "Dunno."
Jiraiya sighed. "Think about it, Naruto. There isn't anything even remotely close to this area, so why set up camp out here? The nearest source of water is miles away, so unless they carried water with them, it means they probably have some means of making water for themselves."
Naruto's face hardened a bit as he understood. "Ninja." It wasn't a question.
Jiraiya nodded. "Most likely. What makes it even worse, is that whoever is down there wanted to be seen, or they wouldn't have built that fire. It was intended for us to see it."
"Which means they know where out here." Naruto said.
"Right." Jiraiya grunted. "I can rule out Konoha, since I've not told anyone where we were headed. Which means…"
Neither of them spoke, but the word "Akatsuki" hung in the air between the two of them. Both slid down the hill a bit, careful to stay out sight. With as much care as he could manage, Naruto formed a couple of shadow clones. One transformed into a small woodland creature with a puff of smoke, and climbed back up to the top of the hill to keep watch.
The second turned into a bat, and taking to the night skies flew over the hill and towards the camp fire. It reached the fire in a few minutes, and swooped around the campfire for a few minutes before heading out towards the plains to dispel.
Naruto grunted as the clones memories returned to him. Jiraiya looked at him questioningly. He held up a single finger. "Alone – definitely wearing a cloak, but it didn't look like one of theirs. He's just resting against a log, and looking up the hill towards our position."
"Are you sure he's alone?"
Naruto shook his head. "No, but I couldn't see or sense anyone else." He paused. "What do you want to do?"
"He's obviously waiting for us. Let's go see what he wants." He moved to stand, but before he did so grabbed his apprentice's collar and pulled him close. "Listen, Naruto."
The blonde looked at him strangely. "Yeah?"
"We've got no way of knowing what's waiting down there for us. I want you to be prepared to run at the first sign of trouble."
"What?" Naruto looked outraged, but at least managed to keep his voice down. "I'm not runnin' away!"
Jiraiya's eyes grew hard. "Listen, runt. If he's really with the Akatsuki, then he's after you. If you run, you might be able to get away. But if you stick around to help me, you'll get us both killed. I can't fight my best if I got to worry about you at the same time. Got it?"
Naruto looked rebellious, but nodded sullenly. Jiraiya released his collar. Naruto mumbled under his breath as he tugged his jacket to adjust his collar, but didn't say anything otherwise.
"All right." Jiraiya cracked his knuckles. "Let's go say 'hi.'"
Rand could feel him getting closer. It was as if... he felt an echo in his soul. He could understand now what had happened to Padan Fain, and how maddening it must be for him now to be in a place where he could not follow. The thought brought a bitter smile to Rand's face, but he quickly let it fade as his... echo approached.
The wards he'd set indicated he was not alone.
run backwards. A person who sleeps for fifteen minutes can not go back in time in the World of Dreams, just as a person who spends several hours in Tel'aran'rhiod cannot wake up earlier than the original time that they went to sleep.
A person who visits the Unseen World while sleeping does not get the same rest as someone who sleeps and dreams normally throughout the night.