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November 11 - November 13, 2025
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 Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. 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.
I will sell it to you in exchange for a legacy of peace to balance out the legacy of destruction I gave the world last time.”
“Come to walk on the shards of my dreams, Aviendha?”
“Aviendha carries our honor,”
“Do you realize that this would forbid you from fighting one another?” “Not from fighting,” Aviendha said. “From fighting without cause.” “War is your purpose,” Rand said. “If you believe that, Rand al’Thor,” she said, voice cold, “I have trained you poorly indeed.”
I have buried blood feuds for you, Rand al’Thor. I would not take them up again. I have friends now that I would rather not kill.”
“The Aiel,” Perrin said. “The tool that needs to be used. A treaty that needs to be enforced…”
“This will mean an end to the Aiel.” “A beginning as well,” Rand said.
“We’ve already moved the mountain, Lan. Let’s budge this feather and be through with it.”
He tried to project confidence in case it reached her. Pride in his men. Love for her. He wished deeply for those to be the last things she remembered of him.
My arm will be the sword …
My breast itself a shield …
To defend the Seven Towers …
To hold back the darkness …
I will stand when all others fall.
Al Chalidholara Malkier. For my sweet land Malkier. It was the oath a Malkieri soldier took during their first posting to the Border. Lan had never spoken it. He did so now in his heart. “Al Chalidholara Malkier!”
“Raise my banner high! Malkier lives on this day!”
“Why do we mourn?” The soldiers nearby turned toward him. “Is this not what we have trained for?” Lan shouted. “Is this not our purpose, our very lives? This war is not a thing to mourn. Other men may have been lax, but we have not been. We are prepared, and so this is a time of glory. “Let there be laughter! Let there be joy! Let us cheer the fallen and drink to our forefathers, who taught us well. If you die on the morrow, awaiting your rebirth, be proud. The Last Battle is upon us, and we are ready!”
I figured that once you’ve decided to jump off a cliff, you might as well pick the highest one. Why accept the risk, if not for the greatest prize?
“I will not mourn! Mourning is for those who regret, and I do not regret what we do here! Bulen could not have died a better death. I do not cry for him, I cheer!”
It is not men alone who grow tired, he thought. The mother is weakening.
“My friends die here.” “I thought you were beyond such weaknesses.” “Compassion is not a weakness.”
You have ever been a king, my friend. Elayne taught me to rule, but you … you taught me how to stand. Thank you.”
I’m proud of you. All of you. You’re welcome in my home when this is over. We’ll open a cask or two of Master al’Vere’s best brandy. We’ll remember those who fell, and we’ll tell our children how we stood when the clouds turned black and the world started to die. We’ll tell them we stood shoulder to shoulder, and there was just no space for the Shadow to squeeze through.”
He raised Mah’alleinir toward them, and he bore their cheering. Not because he deserved it, but because they certainly did.
Better to do something desperate than to do nothing at all.”
“I name you Knotai, for you are a bringer of destruction to the Empire’s enemies. Let your new name only be spoken from now into eternity, Knotai. I proclaim that Knotai, Prince of the Ravens, is to be given the rank of Rodholder in our armies. Let it be published as my will.”
This is where I tell you that days will continue, that the land will recover. This is the time when I promise you that the light will return, that hope will survive, that we will continue to live.”
“I am supposed to reassure you,” Elayne shouted to the men. “But I cannot! I will not tell you that the land will survive, that the Light will prevail. Doing so would remove responsibility. “This is our duty! Our blood that will be spilled this day. We have come here to fight. If we do not, then the land will die! The Light will fall to the Shadow. This is not a day for empty promises. Our blood! Our blood is the fire within us. Today, our blood must drive us to defeat the Shadow.”
“Our blood is our passion,” she shouted. “Too much of what I hear from my armies is about resistance. We cannot merely resist! We must show them our anger, our fury, at what they have done. We must not resist. Today, we must destroy. “Our blood is our land. This place is ours, and we claim it! For our fathers and mothers, for our children. “Our blood is our life. We have come to give it. Across the world, other armies are pushed back. We will not retreat. Our task is to spend our blood, to die advancing. We will not remain still, no! “If we are to have the Light again, we must make it ours! We
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Yes, he was going to lose. But with these resources, he’d do it with style.
I’ve had trouble with the words coming out of my mouth lately. Only the stupid ones seem to make it.
Loial did not intend to die here on this hillside. By the Light, he had a book to finish before he went!
If this whole Doomseer title did not work out for her, perhaps she could find work as a chandelier.
“I hate you, bloody Mat Cauthon.” “That’s the spirit,”
Dawn broke that morning on Polov Heights, but the sun did not shine on the Defenders of the Light. Out of the west and out of the north came the armies of Darkness, to win this one last battle and cast a Shadow across the earth; to usher in an Age where the wails of suffering would go unheard. —from the notebook of Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, the Fourth Age
Knock a man down, and you saw what he was made of. That man might run. If he didn’t—if he stood back up with blood at the corner of his mouth and determination in his eyes—then you knew. That man was about to become truly dangerous.
“I had no idea the Pattern would send you to us as well.”
As a woman grows in wisdom, she realizes that what she alone can accomplish pales compared to what her legacy can achieve. “Well, I suppose I can’t claim you entirely as my own, and I wasn’t exactly pleased to be succeeded. But it is … comforting to know I’ve had a hand in shaping what is to come. And if a woman were to wish for a legacy, she could not dream of greater than one such as you. Thank you.
“May the Light illumine a day when men need not kill at all,” Galad said tiredly. “It is not fitting to take joy in death.”
“Son of Tigraine,” Galad said, “who became a Maiden of the Spear. Who gave birth to my brother on Dragonmount, the tomb of Lews Therin. I had two brothers. You killed the other on this battlefield.”
You surrender when you’re dead. Many a man has been given less.”
“I’m sorry,” he said to Bela. “You were a good horse. You ran like Wind couldn’t have. I’m sorry.” She whinnied softly and drew a final breath, then died.
She still did not know what it was she wove. The opposite of balefire. A fire of her own, a weave of light and rebuilding. The Flame of Tar Valon.
“The Amyrlin Seat has fallen,” a nearby Aes Sedai cried amid the crystallized Sharans. “The Amyrlin Seat has fallen!”
Some men would call it brash, foolhardy, suicidal. The world was rarely changed by men who were unwilling to try being at least one of the three.
“Who are you?” Demandred asked. “I am the man who will kill you.”
One last lesson. The hardest …
did not come here to win,” Lan whispered, smiling. “I came here to kill you. Death is lighter than a feather.”
The world grew dark as Lan slipped backward off the sword. He felt Nynaeve’s fear and pain as he did, and he sent his love to her.
