Paaran Disen did not feel like a city on the edge of collapse.
It still gleamed.
Light flowed through its towers like captured sunlight, streets adjusted themselves beneath silent transports, and the air carried the faint hum of systems powered by the One Power—so constant, so natural, that no one thought of it as anything extraordinary.
To Aren Valeris, a child who loved chaos and the game of swords to the heart, it had always been this way.
The world worked. That was simply how things were.
Which was why the closed doors bothered him.
His father rarely closed doors.
Meetings, yes. Privacy, occasionally. But never like this. Not with attendants quietly stationed nearby, not with servants whispering in corridors they normally crossed without hesitation.
"Stay out of the west wing tonight," his mother had said.
Not sternly. Not even suspiciously. Just… deliberately.
That was enough.
For twelve-year-old Aren, curiosity wasn't a habit—it was a reflex.
So he went anyway.
The Valeris estate stretched across multiple terraces overlooking the inner trade districts, its halls wide and luminous. Everything the world had to offer was available here. Its systems were so refined that even silence felt curated. Tonight, that silence felt wrong. Too still. Too careful.
Aren moved through the corridors with practised ease, a projection slate tucked under his arm for appearance's sake. Anyone who saw him would assume he was headed somewhere with purpose. That illusion was usually enough.
Near the west wing, he slowed.
Two attendants stood near the main doors—not guards, but watchful enough to make a direct approach inconvenient. Aren didn't hesitate. He turned casually into a side corridor, slipping into one of the narrower service passages that ran parallel to the main rooms. He knew these well. He had spent years learning the paths people ignored.
His father had once told him, "If you want to understand a place, don't walk where you're meant to."
Aren had taken that seriously.
He reached the thin inner wall of the meeting chamber and pressed himself lightly against it, listening.
At first, nothing.
Then—
Voices.
Muted.
Not just distant—suppressed.
Aren frowned.
That wasn't construction. That was a weave.
Even he knew that.
He leaned closer, focusing.
"…instability… increasing—"
"…not contained—"
"…the Bore—"
The words slipped through unevenly, like something was pushing them away before they could reach him.
Aren pressed his palm against the wall.
"Come on…" he muttered.
He didn't decide to do anything.
Not consciously.
Something inside him simply… responded.
A faint awareness bloomed at the edge of his senses—subtle, unfamiliar, but unmistakably real. It wasn't sight. It wasn't touched. It was something else entirely.
And through that—
He felt it.
The weave. Not as a concept. Not as a theory.
But as a structure.
Threads. Interlocked. Intentional.
And without understanding how—
He pushed.
Lightly.
Curiously.
The resistance was immediate. Precise.
Then—
It shifted.
Not broken.
Not undone.
Just… thinned. His touch slipped through the cracks.
Like a curtain drawn slightly aside.
The voices snapped into clarity.
"—We cannot compensate for unknown fluctuations indefinitely," a woman was saying. Her tone was composed, controlled. Aes Sedai.
"No one is asking for indefinite compensation," Aren's father replied. "We are asking whether the southern lattice remains viable."
"Viable, yes. Stable—less so."
A pause.
Then:
"The Bore is no longer theoretical."
Silence followed.
Aren leaned closer, heart beating faster.
"We do not yet understand what has been touched," the Aes Sedai continued. "Only that the Dark One's prison has been compromised."
Aren blinked.
That sounded… wrong.
Not wrong as in incorrect.
Wrong as in something that didn't belong in a world where everything worked.
His father spoke again, quieter this time. "What does that mean for Paaran Disen?"
"It means," the Aes Sedai said, "that systems we have always trusted may begin to fail."
Something inside Aren tightened.
"…including the Power."
That—
That didn't make sense.
The Power didn't fail.
It just… was.
Aren frowned—
And pushed again.
This time, more deliberately.
The weave responded.
Not collapsing, not unravelling—
Just slipping further.
Inside the room, one of the Aes Sedai stopped speaking.
"…wait."
Aren froze.
"What is it?" his father asked.
"There was a disturbance." The Aes Sedai looked toward the wall.
Aren's breath caught.
That presence surged again—
Stronger now.
Closer.
A vast, cold current brushes against him, not gentle, not welcoming, but there.
For one brief, terrifying moment—
He was holding it.
Not controlling.
Not shaping.
Just—
Touching.
The wall shimmered faintly. Light bent across its surface.
Aren jerked back instinctively.
The connection snapped.
Everything vanished.
Inside the room, silence.
"…it's gone," the Aes Sedai said slowly.
"That was not environmental."
Aren didn't wait. He ran.
He moved quickly, slipping back through the service corridor, his thoughts racing, heart pounding.
"What was that?"
His hand trembled slightly as he looked down at it.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—
Everything had.
He did not sleep well that night.
A faint heat lingered under his skin, not quite fever, but enough to make him restless. When sleep came, it brought strange dreams—threads again, countless threads stretching in patterns just beyond understanding. He reached for them in the dream, fingers brushing something immense—
And woke with a sharp breath, his hand raised in the dark.
"Just a dream," he muttered.
But he didn't believe it.
Morning came, bright and unchanged.
Which somehow made it worse.
Aren entered the dining chamber, expecting—he didn't know what.
Instead, he found his parents exactly where they should be.
His mother sat. His father is near the window.
Both are looking at him.
"You look unwell," his mother said immediately.
"Mother, I look the same I did before," Aren replied, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Headache?" his father asked.
Aren blinked, avoiding eye contact, trying to seem normal. "…yes."
His father nodded once, like that confirmed something.
Before Aren could ask what—
The air shifted.
Aren turned.
She stood in the doorway.
An Aes Sedai.
There was nothing outwardly dramatic about her presence. No display of power. No visible authority.
And yet—
The room changed around her.
His father straightened. "Sedai."
"You felt it," she said.
Not a question.
Aren went still.
His mother's voice sharpened slightly. "Felt what?"
The Aes Sedai didn't answer her.
She was looking at Aren.
"Come here."
Aren didn't move.
"I didn't do anything," he said quickly.
His father's gaze snapped to him.
The Aes Sedai's expression remained calm.
"Come here."
This time, Aren obeyed.
He stepped forward slowly, stopping a few feet away.
The moment he did—
That awareness returned.
Stronger.
Closer.
The same vast presence pressing just at the edge of him.
The Aes Sedai reached out—not physically, but with something else.
A probing.
A test.
Aren flinched.
And the world tilted.
The Power surged.
Not controlled.
Not guided.
Just… there.
The light above flickered. A glass trembled on the table.
His breath caught as that cold, rushing presence filled him again.
"I—"
"You've begun channelling," the Aes Sedai said.
Everything stopped.
The surge vanished as quickly as it had come.
Aren stood there, breathing hard.
Silence filled the room.
His father spoke first. "That's not possible."
"It is," she replied.
A brief pause.
"He is younger than usual, but he has the spark."
The words settled heavily.
No explanation followed.
None was needed.
His parents understood.
Aren saw it in their faces.
"…oh," his mother said quietly.
"Yes," the Aes Sedai said.
Aren frowned. "What does that mean?"
His father answered, not her. "It means you won't be able to stop."
Aren's stomach dropped.
"And if he doesn't train?" his mother asked.
The Aes Sedai's voice remained steady. "Then the progression follows the standard pattern."
A beat.
"You know how that ends."
No one spoke.
Aren's thoughts raced back—fever, dreams, the wall, the voices.
"You felt it yesterday," the Aes Sedai said, watching him.
Aren nodded slowly. "…yes."
"You touched my ward."
His father's expression darkened. "That was you?"
"I didn't mean to, Father," Aren said quickly.
The Aes Sedai studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. "That aligns."
She turned slightly to his parents. "His potential is above average, but not exceptional."
Aren blinked. "…that's good or bad?"
"It means you will survive the training," she said calmly, "and that your path will not be limited. You will have many choices in life—and you will be of use to the world."
Not powerful.
Not essential.
Useful.
Somehow, that felt more real and reassuring.
"The Bore is affecting stability," she continued. "You've seen the reports. This is not unrelated."
His father nodded grimly.
"And him?" his mother asked.
"He would have manifested regardless."
A pause.
"But now it will happen faster."
Aren swallowed.
"If I do nothing?" he asked.
All three of them looked at him.
The answer came more casually than he expected. "You won't survive your eighteenth birthday—especially for someone who awakened so early."
That settled it.
Aren exhaled slowly."…okay."
His parents both turned sharply.
"Aren—"
"I don't want to die," he said, looking at his mother.
Simple.
Clear.
Final.
Silence followed.
Then the Aes Sedai gave a small, approving nod.
"Good," she said.
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Because you've already crossed the threshold."
Aren frowned. "…what does that mean?"
"It means," she said calmly, "you've touched something most people never even feel."
A brief pause.
"And it has already begun to change you."
Aren looked down at his hands.
They looked the same.
Felt the same.
But deep down—
He knew.
They weren't.