The Wheel of Kin: A Daughter's Journey

Bannered cross the sky...

The beach, once a battleground, now bore the scars of a vanquished foe. Moiraine's channeling echoed with the distant cries of retreating Seanchan soldiers, their once formidable fleet reduced to smoldering wreckage. As the last remnants of the enemy scattered, Lan returned to Moiraine's side, surveying the aftermath of their desperate stand, "They're retreating."

Moiraine released her weaves, the tension in the air dissipating like the smoke on the horizon saying, "Above the Watchers shall the Dragon be proclaimed, bannered 'cross the sky in fire."

The words hung in the air, a proclamation of the Dragon's presence. Lan observed Moiraine as she crafted another weave, this time reaching up toward the Tower.

Atop the Tower, Rand, the reluctant savior, looked down upon the city. The tolling of a bell echoed through the air, a herald to the unfolding spectacle. Moiraine's weaves took form, weaving a dragon of fire that spiraled around the Tower, its fiery roar echoing through the city. The people in the streets, once cowed by fear, now erupted in cheers and applause, their gazes lifted toward the Tower.

Aviendha, Bain, and Chiad, the warriors of the Aiel, lowered their veils in solemn acknowledgment of the moment's significance. The Heroes of the Horn, their valor written in the annals of time, faded into the mist, leaving behind a legacy of courage.

In the streets below, Masema, and Loial looked up, drawn from their individual contemplations by the ethereal display. The fiery dragon roared its proclamation one last time before gracefully fading away, leaving the city of Falme in the aftermath of a conflict that had transcended the mortal realm.

The battle was won, but the echoes of the prophecies lingered, leaving the defenders of the Light to navigate a world forever changed by the forces that sought to unravel the Pattern itself.

----

Meanwhile, Lanfear strolls through the opulent halls of the palace, an air of triumph surrounding her. The weight of accomplishment settled on her shoulders as she entered Ishamael's room, expecting to find the Forsaken seals intact. However, the scene before her revealed a different reality – all six seals were shattered, and a woman, hidden in the shadows, worked strands of a delicate web.

Moghedien, the Spider of the Black Ajah, acknowledged Lanfear's presence with a soft chant.

"Softly, softly, from the shadows."

Lanfear surprised and in fear uttered, "Moghedien."

Moghedien's chuckle echoed in the room, a subtle melody of amusement. "The lovely young Elara let us out. All of us. I'm sure Ishamael led her to it. He had this sneaking suspicion you were going to betray him."

Lanfear, not easily taken aback, says, "Where are the others?"

Moghedien merely shrugged.

Lanfear, driven by a mix of curiosity and suspicion began to channel. Moghedien quickly channeled and encased Lanfear in a tunnel of woven threads. It was a web of intricate design, a metaphorical trap set by the Spider.

"Yeah. You and Ishamael were always too close to the Dragon. The rest of us don't share that failing. 'Softly, softly, from the shadows.' That's what you always said about me, isn't it? That I was too cautious, too afraid... too weak."

Lanfear, trapped but undeterred, issued a warning. "You don't want to fight me."

Moghedien, in her characteristic fashion, laughed off the notion. "Mm, this is not a fight. This is a warning. When I strike, I don't miss. Stay away, Lanfear. She's ours now. All six of them are."

Lanfear, retorted defiantly. "Elara will never join you."

With a final chuckle, Moghedien retreated into the shadows, leaving Lanfear released from her entangled weave. Gasping for breath, Lanfear's gaze shifted to the broken seals, a silent oath whispered. "Light help you, Rand al'Thor."

--

Elara stumbled back onto the beach, her steps uneven and faltering. The once vibrant young woman now appeared as a mere shadow of herself. Moiraine and Lan watched in shared concern as Elara drained and weakened, approached them.

Her movements were slow, almost agonizing, as she traversed the sandy shore. The telltale signs of exhaustion etched across her face, and the faint glow of her eyes held a haunting shade of red. The previous ordeal had taken a toll on her, both physically and spiritually.

As Elara reached the point of collapse, Moiraine with a swiftness rushed forward, catching her daughter just in time. Elara's body sagged against her mother's, a frail vessel battered by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

Moiraine, cradling Elara in her arms, spoke with a soothing assurance. "It's alright now, love. It's over."

Lan, ever the stoic guardian, approached and began gently rubbing Elara's head.

Moiraine, observing the vanishing tether markings on her daughter's neck, exchanged a wordless look with Lan. The moment hung in the air, a fragile balance between relief and uncertainty.

A peace settled on the beach if only for a moment, Elara's eyelids drooped, and her body grew limp in Moiraine's embrace. A disconcerting stillness overcame the scene.

"Elara?" she whispered, caressing her daughter's face.

Moiraine and Lan, panic creeping into their voices, called out to Elara, desperately trying to rouse her from the depths of her unconsciousness. The air crackled with uncertainty.

The beach, once a witness to their unity, now held a heavy silence. A chilling breeze whispered of untold secrets, leaving the fate of Elara Damodred Sanche in precarious suspense.