Chapter 1
Clarke
Clarke knew death wasn't supposed to feel like this.
A strange cold bit into her skin, sharper than any blade, lungs still burning from Praimfaya, the air just felt wrong here, holding a foul odor that made her near gag. She forced her eyes open, and they were nearly forced shut by the sickly green hue above. The landscape around her was odd, jagged blackened trees clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Strange liquid dotted the ground, and beyond the distance, something moved.
Her heart pounded in her chest. "What…?"
The last she remembered was the Death Wave. The searing heat, the knowledge that she'd stayed behind so the others could survive. She'd accepted it, even welcomed it. But this… this wasn't the end she'd been promised. Unless there truly was an afterlife and she was in the less fortunate of them. Unsurprising all things considered.
"Clarke."
She recognized that voice instantly steady, and commanding but it must not be, Luna killed him she knew that for certain. Clarke froze, her voice trapped within. Yet, she turned, and there he was. Roan.
He stood a few feet away, broad frame as imposing as always, blade strapped to his back the very same blade he died with. His face was unreadable, but sharp blue eyes studied her with an intensity she hadn't seen since she left the bunker. He looked alive— too alive.
"Roan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're… you're dead."
His brows rose in a comedic fashion, head tilting slightly. "I would say the same," he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge. "This isn't the afterlife I was expecting."
Clarke's mind raced, struggling to piece together what was happening. "How… how did you get here?"
"I was hoping you'd have an answer to that," he said, glancing around the decrypted arrangement of ghastly trees. "One moment, I was dying on the grounds of the conclave. The next, I woke up here." His eyes sharply returned to her. "What about you?"
Clarke swallowed hard, her throat dry and sore. "The Death Wave. I… I stayed behind. Everyone else made it, but… " She broke off, her chest tightening. The weight of her choice, sacrifices—crashing. She shook her head. "I don't know how this is possible."
Roan stepped closer, face softening just a tiny amount. "Wherever this is," he said, "we're not alone." He nodded towards the expanse of trees beyond, squinting in that direction allowed her to see what he saw the faint outline of a massive, walled city loomed through the distant haze. "That's where we'll find answers."
Her stomach soured, the city looked far from welcoming, walls jagged and blackened. It was the movement in the space between them and their new destination. Some vague glowing eyes that pierced through the sea of dead trees.
"What the hell is that?" she whispered.
Roan's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. His body tensed, instinct taking over. "I don't know," he said. "But they don't look friendly. And under no circumstances should you touch the trees. They're as dangerous as they look." His voice lowered. "I've seen bones and half absorbed bodies within some."
Clarke's heart sank, even imagining that was troubling. She wondered if such was even possible but the way radiation mutated things told her such wasn't necessarily impossible.
The journey through the trees was nothing short of troubling. Her and roan stuck close together avoiding a few near misses where one of them almost touched a tree, many steps accompanied by the crunch of dead and air growing colder with each passing hour, and strange figure seemed to close in, always just on the edge of sight.
Roan, walked a few steps ahead, his posture tense. He had died lost within the chaos of the conclave. And yet here he was, breathing, walking, alive.
Alive. The word felt wrong in her mind. Was this life? Was any of it real?
Her thoughts turned to the City of Light. She had been inside it once, had seen the world ALIE had created—a perfect false 'paradise' designed to enslave. Was this place the same? Another creation of Becca's AI or some other rogue fragment of their technological history? Was she dead and this just her last flare of existence, like Monty's mom—copied into something else, her original self already gone?
The ground crunched under her boots, snapping her from her thoughts. She glanced at Roan again. He hadn't spoken much since they'd woken here, but she knew him well enough to recognize. He was speculating too.
"Do you think…" she started, her voice breaking. Roan slowed, glancing back at her. "Do you think this could be like the City of Light?"
Roan's expression didn't change, but his neck shifted ever so slightly. "I thought of that," he admitted. "But it doesn't feel the same;in any way."
Clarke frowned, her thoughts racing. "Maybe it's different. Maybe it's not ALIE but… something else. Another of Becca's AI. Or… someone else's creation."
"You think this is another fake world?" Roan asked, his tone probing.
Clarke hesitated. "I don't know. But doesn't it feel… wrong? Like it's real, but not? What if this isn't a place at all? What if it's just… us? A copy of us?"
Roan didn't respond immediately, his gaze sweeping the horizon. "If it's a copy," he said finally, "then someone made it. And if someone made it, they might still be here."
Clarke felt a shiver run down her spine. "Who?"
Roan shook his head. "I don't know."
As they walked, Clarke couldn't shake the restlessness — Roan the one time King of Azgeda and the occasional friend and confidant here again, alive and breathing, dredged up feelings she thought long gone. Guilt clung to her, it seems even death would not allow escape from the need to make amends. She stole a glance at him as he paused near a blackened tree, his focus still on distant surroundings.
"Roan," she whispered hesitantly.
He turned to her unreadable. "What?"
"There's something you should know," she began, her words catching in her throat. "After… after you died—"
He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Don't," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Whatever happened after the conclave, it doesn't matter right now."
Clarke recoiled but nodded, biting back the words. She couldn't argue with his reasoning. "You're right," she murmured.
Roan nodded, his eyes sweeping the haze once more. "If we survive, there'll be time for everything else later."
The silence of the dead woods seemed to deepen as they moved forward. The glowing eyes she'd seen earlier were gone or too deep in the haze, but the trees themselves seemed closer making her feel boxed in. Clarke was about to suggest going a different path through the trees, when a faint sound reached her ears, but even still the sound was one she'd grown more and more accustomed to since involving herself with the grounders. The almost rhythmic clop of hooves. A sound of life that seemed completely out of place in this oppressive dead place they found themselves.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Roan's stance went rigid like a statue. "Stay behind me," he said sword already in hand, as he moved to shield her as hoofbeats grew louder.
Moraine
Moiraine kept her horses pace steady. The Blight stretched before them twisted trees and corruption a constant reminder of the Dark One's influence. They had traveled far, but the Blight weighed heavy on all even with Aginor and the eye gone and pass.
Behind her, the Edmonds Fielder's followed, uncertainty evident. Rand al'Thor walked with a forced composure, though Moiraine saw the tension in his shoulders. He was still grappling with the truth she had revealed, the burden of destiny. Indeed, the wheel weaved as it will but still its weight could be quite heavy...
Egwene al'Vere stayed close to Rand, her face holding a quiet determination, perhaps she had the strongest will amongst all of us? Perrin Aybara, scanned the surroundings with golden eyes that hinted at the wolf beneath the green man spoke of. Even Mat Cauthon, despite his usual irreverence, was uncharacteristically silent, hand never far from the dagger that still bore the miserable taint of Shadar Logoth.
"They're restless," Lan said softly, riding beside. He sounded calm, but his words carried caution as they should.
Moiraine inclined her head. "Understandably so. The Blight still tests the spirit as much as body. But they hold strength, stronger than they know. The Pattern would not have allowed them here otherwise."
Lan's gaze looked to the horizon. "Something stirs ahead."
Turning her attention forward. The faintest ripple of saidar tingled at the edge of her senses. It was not the unfortunately familiar taint of the Shadow, yet it was foreign. She frowned.
"You feel it too," Lan said. It wasn't a question.
Moiraine nodded. "Yes. It is not of the Shadow, but it does not belong here. Wait with the others," she instructed, her voice firm. "I will investigate."
Lan's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "I'll follow."
Moiraine opened her mouth to protest, but stopped herself. Long ago she learned arguing with her Warder on such matters was almost always a fruitless endeavor. "Very well," she said turning to the group, her expression carefully neutral. "Stay here. We will return shortly."
Mat opened his mouth to object, but one sharp look from Lan silenced him. Perrin nodded, his golden eyes narrowing as he surveyed the twisted trees. Egwene gave a hesitant nod, while Rand's brow raised. "What's out there?" he asked.
She hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "Something… unexpected. But it is no concern of yours. Stay here and be vigilant."
Without waiting for a response, she urged her horse forward.
The air grew colder as they approached the disturbance. Moiraine felt the trace of energy grow more pronounced unlike anything she had before encountered. It lacked the dark ones taint but it did not hold the warm embrace of the One Power. It was something other? Benevolent or Malevolent she could not yet say.
As they trekked around a particular gnarled cluster of blighted trees, two figures came to view. One stood tall, right hand gripping the hilt of a sword. Posture controlled, eyes aggressive. The other behind him was a woman perhaps more a girl than not. Lookin warily at the two. Both were covered in dirt and grime, their clothing torn and lacking any familiar style.
Lan's hand moved to his sword as he dismounted, gaze locking onto the man. "They're armed," he murmured.
Moiraine dismounted as well staff in hand. "And wary," she whispered. "But not of the Shadow."
The man noticed them first, his grip tightening on his sword. He shifted slightly, positioning himself farther between the woman and her. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Moiraine took a slow step forward. "I might ask you the same question," she said plainly. "You are far from any safe place, and this is no land for wanderers."
The girl stepped beside the man. "We don't know where we are," she said confusion clear. "One moment we were… somewhere else, and the next we woke up here." Her gaze shifted to Moiraine, suspicion clear. "Who are you?"
"I am an Aes Sedai," Moiraine replied. "And this is Lan, my Warder."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Aes Sedai? Warder? Are those… clans?"
Lan's hand lingered on his blade as he exchanged a glance with Moiraine as she shook her head. That question was strange—very few in this world should have been ignorant of the White Tower or its Warders. But neither allowed their confusion to come to their face.
"It means," Lan said evenly, "you are lucky we found you before something else did."
The girl folded her arms. "That doesn't explain anything. Where are we? What is this place?"
"You are in the Blight," Moiraine said. "A land corrupted by the Shadow, where few dare to tread. And you… are not from here."
The man exchanged a troubled glance with the girl. "What do you mean, 'not from here'?"
Moiraine studied them carefully, noting the distance in their stances, the way their eyes darted between her and Lan. "The Wheel weaves as it wills," she said finally. "Perhaps it has brought you here for a purpose. Or perhaps you are an anomaly. Either way, your presence here is... unusual."
The woman's jaw tightened. "That still doesn't answer anything," she snapped. "Are we dead? Is this some kind of... simulation?"
"Dead?" Moiraine echoed, a greater worry aching through her head. "You live and breathe, do you not?"
The man stepped forward, his hand still gripping his sword. "We need answers," he said. "If you can't give them, we'll find someone who can."
Lan's eyes narrowed, his hand never leaving his sword. "It's unlikely you'd last long in the Blight without help even this close to Fal Dara."
Moiraine raised a hand, her expression thoughtful. "You may accompany us," she said after a pause. "But understand this: trust is not given lightly, and the road ahead is perilous."
The man hesitated and looked over at the girl before replying. "I'm Roan, and This is Clarke." He said simply, "We will come but we are not your prisoners."
"Of course not, The Wheel weaves as it will" Moiraine said, her tone betraying nothing silently wondering if these two are yet another strange mystery of the pattern.
Roan
Roan's instincts remained sharp as he followed the strange pair of fine blue and plain black- Moiraine and Lan, as they called themselves. Beside him, Clarke walked silently, her sharp mind no doubt racing as she absorbed everything around them including the twisted terrain.
Ahead, he caught sight of a small group waiting ahead. Their posture was guarded, glaring toward him and Clarke with unveiled suspicion. Moiraine and Lan approached first, but the tension in the group softened only slightly at their presence, His hand instinctively brushing against trusted steel.
The group exchanged uneasy glances, One of the younger men broad-shouldered, orange hair, stepped forward. "Who are they?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of accusation. "Why are they here?"
"That is not your concern," Moiraine replied smoothly. "They are here because the Pattern wills it."
Roan allowed himself to focus on the young man more, noting the way his shoulders strained, and fists clenched. Likely had the strength of a lumberer, perhaps, but his body language showed his inexperience in true combat.
The young man didn't look convinced, but before he could press further, another spoke up—a lankier man with a sharp grin that Roan didn't like. "Blood and ashes. More company in this forsaken place," he muttered.
"We will keep continuing to Fal Dara," Moiraine said tone leaving little room for argument. "These two will accompany us."
"New friends in the Blight?" The lanky one said, dripping with sarcasm. "Seems a strange time for recruiting, Moiraine Sedai."
"Enough, Mat," Lan said icily. "They are coming with us."
Moiraine's piercing gaze narrowed slightly as they flicked to his left hand. Whatever silent reprimand she delivered, made the man stiffen, smirk fading. He muttered something under his breath and fell back into the group.
The dynamic here was odd. Moiraine commanded authority with a precision that reminded him a bit of his Mother, unbent, and seemingly calculated. But the others didn't quite carry her strength. They followed her, yes, but with the hesitance of sheep trailing a shepherd they didn't fully understand. It was certainly worth making note of.
Lan, for his part, was different. His movements were fluid and he had an instinct that only a seasoned warrior held. Yet even still no man was invincible.
As the group began to move again, Roan took stock of those he missed, the other broad-shouldered one, silent one. Roan noticed the way his eyes scanned the surroundings and the curious golden hue. There was strength there, but it came with hesitation, a reluctance. Hesitation got people killed, he thought back to the conclave darkly.
Finally there was the younger woman, Egwene. She knew this ones name since Moraine said it along the trek. She walked closer to the orange haired one. A quiet resolve around her, but the lines etched into her features and the shifts of her eyes made it clear she was terrified beyond the facade.
His eyes narrowed as he noticed another man walking slower than the others he somehow missed its broad, strange features large ears, an impossibly wide nose, and shaggy mane of hair.
Roan stopped abruptly instincts flaring. His hand shot to his sword, and he stepped ahead of Clarke again. "What is that?" he demanded, voice sharp.
The group halted, turning toward him. The towering figure—whatever it was—looked down at him with calm, curious eyes. It smiled faintly, revealing teeth that were chisel-like.
"That," the lanky man—Mat—said with a grin, "is Loial. He's an Ogier. Not a Trolloc. No need to lose your head."
Roan didn't move. His eyes remained locked on the being, grip on his steel firm. "Ogier," he repeated, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. "And what is that?"
Before anyone else could respond, said being spoke. His voice was deep and surprisingly practiced for a creature of such a build. "I am Loial, son of Arent son of Halan," he said. "An Ogier, yes, but I mean no harm human. I promise you."
Roan's instincts told him not to trust especially with the odd comment of human, as if he was something other. He glanced at Clarke, who looked as stunned as he but seemed to be the more composed one at the moment. Her hand hovered near her knife, but she hadn't drawn it.
"It's fine, Roan," she said quietly. "He's with them."
Still, Roan's grip on his sword didn't relax. "Where I'm from, anything that size usually tries to kill you."
"Maybe where you're from," Mat muttered, "but here, he's the nicest one of the bunch."
"Peace," Lan said, stepping forward. His voice holdin* a calm edge. "Loial is no threat. He is a friend."
Roan hesitated, his eyes flicking between Lan and Loial. Slowly, he lowered his hand, though he didn't step back. "Where I'm from," he said, tone cold, "words aren't enough to trust."
"Where you're from must be a grim place," Loial replied simply, his expression thoughtful.
Roan's jaw tightened at the comment, but he said nothing. Clarke shot him a warning glance, and he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to step back.
As they continued walking, Roan couldn't shake the strangeness of the encounter. He had seen many animals and people cursed by praimfaya of old, but none like Loial. The Ogier's calm demeanor unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. And the group's easy acceptance of such a being only deepened this feeling.
His mind drifted to Clarke's earlier speculations. Was this "Wheel" Moiraine spoke of another force like ALIE? The City of Light had been different—cold and sterile, its grand recreations of the very structures the older azgedans claimed once dotted the old world, now hollow and lifeless. The city held no sense of violence or horror to an almost unnerving degree unless of course ALIE needed to torture or use you for some reason or another. He recalled the unsettling peace he had felt under ALIE's influence, a peace that had led to the downfall of many of his own, some of which he was party to.
But this place was different, horror and violence thrive. If this place and these "locals" were any indication. It felt real enough to him but still he wondered. just what was the true nature of this "Wheel" the woman spoke of if it truly existed friend or for?
Roan tightened his stance. Whatever the nature of this world, he wouldn't let himself be a pawn again.
A.N. Long story short this idea came to me not sure if I'll continue. Just a plot thread I felt the need to start. I have a bit of an obsession writing outlandish crossover scenarios that deal with characters with deep baggage. This is but an extension of that.
Hope people enjoy curious if my characterization and understanding was well or if I missed something.
