The moon hung over the field of Minethereen like a shield painted in crimson, mirroring the butchery below. Mangled forms of both allies and enemies alike lay cold on the hearth of the earth, their lifeblood soaking into the ancient soil. The surviving forces of the Light shared the same shaky, desperate breath—hard and deep—the breath of those who had looked into the Bore and found only the Abyss. This battle was so catastrophic that it had ousted the memory of The Breaking. The Dark One had torn several bores into the sky, and the air stank of the forbidden fire—balefire—which had burned holes in the very fabric of existence.
"Rand," Moiraine Sedai barely whispered. The once-stately Aes Sedai was unrecognizable, her nose was bloodied, her left ear was a jagged ruin, and her clothes were torn into rags. Sweat, dirt, and blood mixed on her face as she approached the Dragon Reborn, her eyes wide and visibly shaken. Gone was the highly dignified advisor; in her place stood a woman who could feel the world ending.
"Something is—" she began, but she was interrupted by a desperate call from Egwene. The Amyrlin Seat walked shakily toward them, her legs nearly giving out before Nynaeve caught her, flinging a steadying arm around her shoulders. Together, they moved toward Rand, their eyes meeting in a silent, terrifying realization of what they all felt.
"The Pattern..." Rand said, his voice thick with worry. He gulped, a dry and painful sound in the sudden, tense silence. He looked at the three women and spoke the truth they were all trembling to acknowledge: "The Pattern is one thread away from unraveling."
As he spoke, the world shook. Nearby, portions of the landscape began to disappear like a burnt thread, replaced by a void that was not the Dark One's prison but a different, hungrier emptiness.
"The thread is stretched too thin!" Egwene interjected hurriedly. "The world is ending. We are being erased from the Pattern."
As the last thread snapped, Nynaeve moved with the fierce desperation of a Wisdom who refused to let her village die. She quickly seized Moiraine and Egwene's hands, channeling the One Power into one last, desperate weave. "We must link!" she cried.
Rand did not hesitate. He joined the link, his mind racing to keep up with Nynaeve's frantic intent. "Ti'miedre Rhiannon," he said, the Ancient Tongue confirming her plan to preserve their essence. Nynaeve nodded sharply. "We must preserve the weaves and prepare those who would follow. Follow my intent!"
She looked into the eyes of her allies: Moiraine, the Aes Sedai who had revoked her vows, Egwene, her Ta'veren sister, and Rand, the brother she had protected since Emond's Field. They were all willing to be burned, willing to be drained of their very life force to channel this last door. The weave caused the shattered pieces of Sakarnen to float in their center, acting as a makeshift anchor for an artifact that was yet to be—a breakthrough Sa'angreal.
But as they poured their souls into the weave, a cold dread washed over them. "It's not enough!" Egwene cried out, her voice breaking with worry. The complexity of the Codex of White Light was too great. They lacked the raw energy to finish the stabilization.
"Help us!" Moiraine pleaded into the wind.
"No!" Nynaeve screamed as she felt the weave's flow begin to fray, the connection about to snap under the sheer pressure. In a final, agonizing effort, Rand upped his connection to the One Power, drawing double the amount of Saidin he had ever held. Smoke seemed to rise from his skin as he showed the first signs of burning out.
Then, it happened. Golden threads of the One Power began to flow through them, coalescing into a tree-like structure around the Sakarnen. They gasped as the burden was suddenly shared. They felt everyone, Saidin and Saidar—the two sides of the Power—working in a perfect, shimmering harmony.
The surviving Aes Sedai of the White Tower and the Asha'man were there, led by Logain Ablar, the once-false Dragon. One by one, they joined the link, channeling the last door and offering themselves to be burned for the sake of the future. With renewed hope and vigor, the massive circle refocused its intent, weaving the Codex of White Light as a last bastion.
The four at the center looked into each other's eyes, recording every last detail of the faces they loved and shedding one final tear. A content smile formed on each of their faces as they nodded a silent goodbye.
As the void finally swallowed time and space, the ethereal Light of the new Sa'angreal shone through the dark, refusing to be dimmed. Time and space rewound in a snap, and a new universe—a new Pattern—was formed firmly on top of the Third Age. A new prophecy was being written, and as the Wheel turned by the new spoke, the Pattern of Encant'adia began to reveal itself.