The Final Ripple
written by Trean Sulláne (NPC), Revelin Alder, Durant Antian, Jolartin Votashen, Ashfalcon, and Aynaiss Cuelaen-Walker

The Officer's floor is divided into thirds, with the northern third as the domain of the Keeper of the Chronicles. The east side contains the Amyrlin Seat's studies and chambers, the west contains the M'Hael's. The Officers can view the entire Tower Grounds from their floor through the power-wrought glass that surrounds all of the outer walls. In addition, their ceilings are constructed of power-wrought glass to illuminate their rooms. If they choose to weave a small Spirit weave, this glass can dim its tint. In the Administration Hall, two Accepted or Dedicated are on constant duty to deliver orders and inquiries from the two leaders of the Grey Tower.

Walking very slowly towards the door from the staircase, Trean opened it and entered the corridor that lead to the circular Administration Hall. To his satisfaction, none of the two Accepted he knew to be on duty there were in view of the door. It didn't matter really, for since he was cloaked with weaves that bended the light around him, they would only see the door open and close silently again. If they had been looking straight at him, they might have seen how the air rippled subtly around him as he walked along the corridor.

Fear not, little ones, he thought, smiling cruelly as he saw the two young women sit by a wide desk on the west side of the great symbol with the White Tear and the Black Fang, facing the centre of the room. I will only kill you if you force me to it. He knew them, for they were aspiring to the White Ajah... the same Ajah he had been serving during many years.

The light-haired one of them, whose name was Rellina, looked up in his direction. He stopped, standing very still, but his smile remained. The Accepted narrowed her eyes and looked about in the room, making the other one - ash-haired Feandre - raise her head as well. "What is it?" she whispered to the first, dipping her pen in the small ink-jar.

"Nothing..." replied Rellina, frowning, "I thought I heard something. I guess my nerves are on edge after reading the reports we have received today."

"Small wonder, be quiet now, else the M'Hael or the Keeper might hear," hushed Feandre and returned to her writing, and soon, Rellina did as well. Stepping very lightly, Trean circled in towards their side. His big hands were knotted in fists yet his blue eyes shone with almost fatherly warmth. These two would serve his purposes well.

He looked upon the floor, appalled by the heraldic symbol which stood for one of the resistances towards the Great Lord. Opening his hand, very subtle weaves of Water made a pool of liquid spread across the floor. He had mixed the weave with a fine thread of Earth, and the substance was as red as blood. Soon, the puddle had spread across the whole symbol, and extended towards the desk and the feet of the two Accepted.

He was only a second quick enough to gag them with Air before they saw the blood and tried to scream. They also tried to rise from their seats and run, but Trean only wove cords of Air to keep them in place. While they struggled against their bonds, Trean leaned forward and stroked back a few locks of hair from Rellina's face with his invisible hand. Having succeded in using Compulsion... the forbidden weave that the Black Ajah taught him very long ago... once earlier that day, he had no problem to pierce the weaves of Spirit into the foreheads and ito the minds of the two young women. "Hello dear," he whispered to Rellina, his smile wasted as she could not see him, "I like your hair. You know what? I have an assignment for you. I want you to lie down on the middle of the floor and play dead. Can you do that?"

Her eyes were blank now, but she nodded vigorously.

"Good girl, play dead, and when the M'Hael enters the room, I want you to burn him very badly. Do you understand? I want him to be as dead as you will play to be. Good, now go." He let her go with the invisible cords and did not watch her lie down in the blood. Instead he took another step forward and leaned down to whisper in Feandre's ear. "I don't like your hair. You repulse me. I want you to sit on your knees and know how much I loath you. I will deal you great pain. And when I stop, you will cut the Keeper apart with Air, do you understand? When you are done, you will also try to cut the M'Hael."

The second girl nodded just as vigorously.

"Away with you," he said and sat down by the desk they had previously occupied. In order for the manipulation to work well, he needed to give them very precise instructions. He leaned forward and folded his hands and he could feel his long blonde hair fall forward over his shoulders. The M'Hael might start to wonder over the channeling he was conducting outside his office and come out. Yet one could not be too certain, and the element of surprise was still his. He was the one with the greatest talent in Illusion the Tower had seen for ages, and his greatest strenght lay in Spirit. In the battle in the Green Ajah hall, he had lost his companion who were better than him with the more crude elements of Fire, Earth and Water. Soon after that, the Dawn of Blood had found him, and given him this new mission. And Trean would rather accept than draw more fury from that highly dangerous young man with the white robe.

Extending the weave he had placed on the floor, he also made blood begin to pour down the walls from the ceiling. What more? Ah... Another weave summoned an illusion of a Myrdraal. He made the puppet of Air, Earth and Fire and made it begin to stalk around the two Accepted like a wolf - with its sword drawn. More distraction...

He felt butterflies in his stomach, for it was really time... Sitting perfectly still, only emanating as much potency of saidin as he necessary had, he began to make Accepted Feandre scream on the top of her lungs with pain.

Rising from the floor, yet another few sheets of papers in her hands, Revelin sighed and motioned for Nevella to leave. The girl looked at her with big eyes and swallowed, then put her sheets on the desk, curtsied and all but ran out of the room. Gritting her teeth, Revelin endured the servant maid's complete lack of backbone and rubbed her lower back. The Light knew this day had been crazy, but the lightning that had struck a little earlier topped it off.
So far...
she thought, grimacing as she envisioned worse things to happen. A rebellion among servants, or perhaps a feast to dull the chaotic emotions running through every inhabitant of the Tower? The possibilities were endless.

Still very attentive as she walked over to her highbacked chair, Revelin closed her eyes for a moment and again felt the floor swaying beneath her. The lightning must have struck not much below her window, because she could swear the whole Tower had swayed after the hit. Swallowing again, she sank back in the chair and tossed the documents onto the desk. She had never liked heights, but had been able to not think about it much in her office. A reminder of how vulnerable she was had brought her fine facade to pieces.

Rubbing her temples and reaching for the half-filled cup of tea -which was now cold of course- she managed a sip and frowned at the taste. At least the taste was somewhat closer to food than air. Again, her stressed mind went over the day's events with horrifying clarity. The Accepted outside bounding in reporting that a Drin had been found hanged... Battles everywhere; the Warder Yards, the Green Halls, the Blue Halls... Two men dead in the latter, and again that sent a shiver down her spine. The horrible outcome of Zerenia's betrayal was painfully fresh a memory, and she still looked everywhere for darkfriends and myrddraal. Letting her dark eyes take in the room, she checked for the twentieth time that the torches were well lit, and not about to die out.

Miahala had been up here too, speaking with the Amyrlin for a long time behind closed doors. It didn't matter, Revelin knew it to be about the balefire. Rumours already ran through the Tower like the lightning that had struck earlier, and she briefly sent a wondering thought to Saphire's state of mind at the moment. The impulsive Green was someone she could imagine channeling that forbidden weave, but on the other hand, to do so there must have been great need. And she couldn't shake the feeling that with all the mysterious deaths and occurances, there was something more going on that she didn't see.

Biting her lip and looking at the door without seeing it, she ventured in her mind to touch the spot that was Urikanu. Anxiousness, exhaust, and most of all determination. She hadn't seen him today, but his company had been reassuring whenever she left her office. Myrddraal were good at hiding in shadows. Shaking her head as she closed her eyes, Rev brought a hand to her forehead while resting the elbow on the arm of the chair. She would not think about that. Kirenna and she had done a good job on the Tower walls, and that was that. No more screams, blood, smells of smoke and steel...

A shrill shriek cut through the wailing wind and thunder like a scream from beyond the grave, and it sent her to her feet in an instant, heart beating with the speed of a cantering horse. Swallowing repeatedly, desperately sending fear through the bond, Revelin knuckled and unknuckled her fists. Her gaze was locked at the door, and the scream continued.

And continued. On and on... Light, if it was a human being, when that person breathe? Clenching her jaws so firmly together that it hurt, she draw as much from the One Power as she could without bursting, the sweet paing wrapping her frantic mind in a swirl of energy. Joy seemed so misplaced here, and yet that was what saidar brought with it. Perhaps that was what broke her panic, and she forced herself to take long strides over to the tall oak doors. Reaching out and clasping the doorknob, she felt how sweaty her palm was. It took two tries before she could actually turn it. Why had her fingers gone numb? Licking her lips, she prepared a veil of Spirit and Air which thrown at an enemy would cut through flesh and bone with ease. Presuming there was flesh and bone, of course.

Swinging the door open and backing a step to let it pass her by, a scream of her own stuck in her throat and all that was heard was an awkward retch. The anteroom was a nightmare come alive. For a moment, Rev lunged for the crazy idea that crossed her mind, that she had somehow fallen asleep without noticing and had stepped into the Dreamworld. But she had no Talent whatsoever for Dreamwalking, and she knew this to be real. Her dark eyes were bulging, her nostrils at their widest and her hand still reaching out where the doorknob had been last.

Blood. Blood everywhere. Running from the ceiling, down the walls. The entire floor covered in it... The world was red.
And directly in front of her, a myrddraal stepping forth. Its black sword from Thakan'dar seemed to draw light into it, and yet reflect the glistening blood red colour into its face. Its face.
Do not look! You must not look!
This shattered thought was all she had, and she clung to it like a drowning person. Shutting her eyes as if to make it all go away, she finally managed to take a breath. Yet no scream left her lips this time either. Instead, saidar flowed from her in massive waves, almost more than she could handle, aimed at the dark figure staring at her. In a far corner of her mind she registered the Accepted lying behind it on the floor, the source of all the blood.
Of all the blood on the floor...
The tiny voice in her head babbled, panicked, and she knew it to be her as well. However, she could not panic right now. Whatever happened, she was the Keeper of the Chronicles and must be able to face the Shadow without hesitation.

Well, the hesitation had already come, but that moment had passed in less than the blink of an eye, and now she channeled death. The myrddraal glided away, to the side, blade flashing. A scream of hate and fury rised up inside her, and she redirected her flows without thinking. Thinking would do no good now. Adding water to her flows, she changed them to send needlesharp spears of ice at the shadowspawn, two, three, then seven and ten. They hit the wall behind it and shattered, leaving quickly fading puddles where they landed, as the flows dispersed.
As the myrddraal avoided her attacks, it moved further left, towards Leanna's door. It wasn't until she realized that someone else was channeling that she saw it for what it was -a trick to draw her attention away. Spinning around, she became aware of the maddening silence.

The scream had ended.

Instead, she found herself facing the other Accepted in the room
she must have been hidden behind the desk
holding saidar far above her own ability, and with a face that was a mask of agony and hatred. That was when her stomach turned to ice.

She was alone in this, all alone, and how could she possibly live to see the next day? A channeler stronger than her, and a myrddraal too fast for her flows in a room full of blood...
No, mustn't think. Act, Revelin, act!
All her thoughts, running through her mind in a heartbeat. A heartbeat was all it took for the Accepted to make her first move. Desperation filled her, as Rev split her flows and began the hardest battle of her life.

Durent sprinted down the halls that led to the studies of the leaders of the Tower. Grateful for the morning runs he has taken every morning for years, he almost flies along. As he approached the offices, he let saidin rush through him, enhancing his senses, and slowed down considerably. He noticed that the others were following him as they raced through the hallways, but with the current situation, he couldn't afford to wait to see if they were all keeping up. As he got closer he heard screaming from the antechamber that led to the two offices and he slowed down.

As he walked in, he saw something that cut him to the bone. Blood everywhere, two accepted seemingly hurt or dead, and a Myrddraal stalking the room. The Keeper stood near the door to her study. From the chill that ran through him, she was channeling very heavily at the shadowspawn. However as the screaming stopped, she turned to the accepted...and the myrddraal turned to Durent. Their eyes locked and Durent expected the fear that came with that stare to enter his body, but the fear never came. It was then he realized what was happening. The illusionist was in the room, and this was one of his illusions. Durent wove a sharp scythe of Spirit and slashed horizontally across the shadowspawn's 'body.' He knew it would cause the weaves to dissipate and the illusion to disappear...hopefully anyway.

Durent turned to Jolartin "The darkfriend is here, I need you to find me for him." Durent prepared himself for an attack, he knew one would be coming from his Dark Brother.

Ashfalcon stalked towards his door, every sense alert. With screaming like that... His slender, straight sword was in his hand, and he pulled Saidin through the angreal in the handle, filling himself. He hesitated before opening the door - what he had in mind could be dangerous to anyone outside, but he could always deactivate it.

A gesture of his left hand sent twin weaves of Spirit to touch the ter'angreal that he had mounted on the wall beside the door. It was his own design, and a simple one: when he activated it, it hardened the air in the circular central chamber. The effect started at the floor and went up twelve inches - knee level on most people - so that it would bind them in place without suffocating them.

He drew the door open with a weave of Air, and stepped up onto the platform of hardened air that the ter'angreal had created. The walls and ceiling seemed covered in blood, and he realized that his trap had caught the feet of Durent, Jolartin, Revelin, a Gaidin and a Novice... and that there was a second Novice lying on the floor, apparently busy suffocating beneath the layer of Air. Durent and Jolartin were holding Saidin, and by the prickle of gooseflesh on his arms, at least one of the women held Saidar as well.

Without hesitation, he stepped back through the doorway into his office, where he could see the ter'angreal. Even knowing where it was, he could not channel where he could not see, and he needed a second weave of Spirit to turn it off. As the weave in the central room dissolved, he channeled, a complex weave that armored him in Air. Saidin already swirled along the blade of his sword, ripples of all five elements running through the metal and forming a half-visible halo around it.

He looked out through the doorway, seeing the dripping blood and the mixture of fright and determination on the Keeper's face. Plenty of chaos, came his first conscious thought, but where are our enemies?

Hands folded upon the desk, Tran watched the results of his trap.

The Keeper came from her study, as expected, and was distracted by the Myrdraal illusion enough to be attacked by one of the Accepted he had manipulated. The women locked horns, and Trean's skin prickled by the amount of saidar in the Administrator Hall. Perfect, he thought. He could just as well kill Revelin Alder right then since she did not even know he was there.

However, the next thing that happened had not been a part of his plan. The Sitter and the Seer he had tried to kill together with Castar in the Green Ajah hallways emerged from the door her had come from only a minute or two earlier. Behind him came the two Warders as well... the man and woman warriors who had survived. What! his eyes widened, and it had nothing to do with the irritating fact that Durent Asha'man destroyed the Myrdraal and that the act made him flinch by the recoil. How could he know? There is no way he could have known I should be here. Who has betrayed us? Trean knew he was in danger now, for Jolartin knew exactly where he was despite the fact that no eyes in the room could. Durent knew this all too well, and was not late in asking the Dedicated. His brow clenching in cold anger, Trean Sulláne formed a whip with a thick cord of Air and struck the younger man sideways over the head before any answer would come. The threat was avoided sufficiently for now. The Sitter could wait. It was the Father he really wanted.

While sitting down, he could feel the air tighten around his lower legs. A sound to his left told him that the M'Hael had stirred. The door was open. There you are..... He was half prepared to lash out immediately, but he found that his attack would have come alone. Grounding his teeth, Trean saw the other Accepted, the one he had instructed to kill Ashfalcon Asha'man, was captured in the unexpected weave that covered the floor. Only a Black Ajah member cursed like he did then in his thoughts. Sweat beaded his brow, and he fought to keep the ice in his veins and only strike hen he was guaranteed a kill. Careful, take it easy...

Then, fortune smiled upon him.

The M'Hael released the room from the weave's grip. And the Accepted lying on the blood-covered floor gasped for air and opened her dim eyes. Yes! thought Trean and began to prepare weaves of his own. The Accepted locked eyes with the M'Hael and the prickling on Trean's skin increased dramatically. The young woman in the blood-sodden Accepted's dress began to send balls and great bursts of Fire against their Father.

Enjoying himself again, Trean formed a weave he had mastered long ago. On the other side of the room, he created a replica of his own body... a puppet with striking semblance. The replica smiled his own familiar smile and began to speak while the Father and the Keeper fought for their lives. Well actually, it was Trean himself who spoke, but a trick with Air made it seem to come from the puppet of Fire, Air, and Earth. "Honoured guests," he said in a deafening voice, "welcome to world of the Great Lord of the Dark. Here, you will find the end to all your problems. In death, you will find all answers in endless suffering. Arise! Arise my executioners!"

Another weave made three new Fades emerge out of the blood covering the floor, and the lifted their blades as one in salute before going in different directions. One assaulted the M'Hael, one came for the Keeper, and the last ran to fight the Warders and Durent. The blades they held were sharp Air with a coating of Earth and could kill, but Trean could not fight three blade-fights with the puppets very effectively. The strikes would fall, yet without finesse. Then again, the puppets could only be destroyed with the One Power...

Ashfalcon moved forward again, taking advantage of the doorway of his office to limit the number of enemies which could attack him at once. A simple wall of Air deflected most of the Accepted's attacks, and the aura of Saidin around his blade was sufficient to shear through the rest.

The Myrdraal was a different matter. A steel sword, even one forged for Half-men, would have been sheared in half by contact with the weave around Ashfalcon's blade. This one was not. So it has its own aura of Power, or is nothing but Power. Shifting them emphasis of his weaves from Air to Spirit, he stepped back to take himself out of sight of the Accepted. The Fade hesitated, and in that moment Ashfalcon cut it down, watching is satisfaction as it unraveled into weaves of Saidin. A bit of flame washed over his sword hand, but his Power-created armor kept him from harm. Enough of this.

Stepping further back, he created a Gate. He held it open for a brief moment, then let it close... and at the same time, dropped his weaves and released Saidin. Cat-footed, he pressed himself against the wall beside the door. It was a gamble, but the Myrdraal had been crafted of Saidin, which meant there was a man channeling out there somewhere. An Asha'man would be able to sense the amount of Power required for Traveling, and if he came through the door holding Saidin...

He will get my blade in his guts.

Aynaiss emerged into a room that poured blood, and her hand twitched to cover her mouth but she forced herself to remain calm. Red streamed down the walls...everywhere. She found herself rooted to the spot with some innate fear at all the redness, and her heart seemed to stop as she saw the characters around the room. The M'Hael was centered in the room next to a young woman, and the Keeper appeared to be doing something with another. Her hands tightened with instinct as she prepared to battle, but the immediate arrival of some man came. He spoke with authority, too much for her liking, but his words sent a chill up her spine and into her arms. Aynaiss shook her head, refusing to succomb to this. I am a warder...I must be strong for the Tower, and my family.

Taking a deep breath, she felt for her husband's guidance, and merely blinked as three Myrddraal stalked from the curtain of blood, black and untouched by Air as they walked. Light, let Jerid watch over me. She did not let her spirits flee, noting all the others around her as well. She looked to them with ready eyes for a hint of a moment, before taking her first step toward a Myrddraal. Aynaiss warmed her muscles with a quick twirl of her candelabra and held her pace steady.

Trean Asha'man's eyes traveled back and fourth as he made the three Myrdraals attack.

Ashfalcon defended himself effectively. Revelin had to face both an Accepted and a Fade, and the Gaidar came fourth to meet the third Halfman. The clamour of the initial strikes rang in the Administrator Hall. The replica of his own body stood tall across the room with his arms folded, its head tilted back and laughing. He did not have to laugh himself as he sat and concentrated on the progress around him, for he had manufactured the sound out of Air and fastened it to the puppet's lips. The two Accepted under the power of his weaves of Compulsion did not prove to offer much resistance with their wills, and he was free to make the three Myrdraal dance like demons with blades. His brow was beaded with sweat, but he still maintained control.

The whole board was in his power and the pieces moved by his will. He was a god, invisible and all-mighty. He was truly the Master of Illusions

Then, the balance shifted.

The Father suddenly cut the Myrdraal he fought apart, and the ends of the weaves recoiled... striking the desk Trean sat behind and impacting into his chest. Fighting to hold on to all his other weaves, Trean saw how the blood that ran down the walls and covered the floor shivered, how the puppet that resembled himself dissolved and then returned. I underestimated him, he thought. Then, his eyes widened as he felt the resonance of saidin increase inside the M'Hael's study. Sufficently for Traveling he thought with alarm and kicked back his chair to stand. As he stood, his silhouette of Folded Light rippled faintly in the air.

I have to act! he thought and raised his hands towards the room as he made for the M'Hael's door. The two remaining Myrdraal transformed into his own mirror images, and just as he dissolved the weave that made himself invisible, he summoned more copies of himself. They materialized out of the air, four others that advanced with their fists clenched by their sides... glaring at the servants of the Light with all the menace that he felt himself. Curse them all!

Before he reached the M'Hael's door, he needed to distract Durent Asha'man and the two Warders. Revelin still faced the Accepted that tried to cut her apart with Air. Sweeping his hand against the Green Ajah Asha'man and his followers, he sent a dozen thin yet razor sharp spears of Air against them. As he was to enter Ashfalcon's office, he was almost burned by the Accepted that tried to fill the room beyond the doorframe with flames. An invisible wall that the M'Hael probably had summoned saved his skin, and with an angry flick of his hand, he released the weave of Compulsion from the girl's temples and tore her brain apart inside. The girl's eyes rolled up in her skull and she sank to the blood on the floor. Trean finally entered the M'Hael's office, a sword of black fire flaming to life in his right hand. The blade was no Illusion, but a very real weapon.

As he entered, he feared that he was too late, for the Gateway was nowhere to be seen. Wait, could it be...came a thought much too late, for he should have realized that the M'Hael would never leave the others to his mercy. A trap...

A shadow in his peripheral vision made him spin...

Ashfalcon moved as soon as the unknown Asha'man was across the doorway. He never knew whether the Black saw him, or simply realized the trap at the last possible moment, but the man was turning as Ashfalcon slid his blade forward. Aware that the other held Saidin, the M'hael filled himself with the Source as well.

His body slid through the motions automatically: a short, sharp downward chop, aimed at the top of the wrist to sever the big tendon that controlled the thumb. The motion rolled immediately into a thrust aimed to put six inches of the tip in under the ribcage. No more than a single heartbeat had passed since the Black had entered the room.

Durent watched as the Myrdraal dissolved into nothingness and he once again filled himself to the brink with the Power. As he did so he suddenly saw and sensed the channeling of about a dozen daggers of Air being weaved at him and the others. He quickly wove a large shield of Air, and Fire. Woven correctly it would block and dissipate the weaves that were being woven.

Then, five images of the Black appeared, he knew one to be the real one. At that instant Durent dropped the shield and prepared a circular cutting weave, however it was woven entirely of Spirit. It would pass through any living being unharmingly but it would cut apart any illusion. He released it and watched it spiral outward and into the five images, one would prove to be his next target.

It had been too late.

Trean Sulláne saw his prey just as the sword struck his hand and pierced his side. The impact made him stagger sideways, and the pain him stifle a cry that hissed through his clenched teeth. No! The blade of darkness that he had conjured with a weave of the Black Ajah fell to the floor from his useless hand. The inky flames that licked the weapon flared up and then went out when it left his hand, and the blade itself evaporated into the air. This cannot be...

During a sudden stage of clarity in his miserable agony and sense of defeat, he understood that this was the moment of his life. It was for this minute he had lived, and it was the culmination which would grant him the eternal life he sought. It was as if his master had whispered into his ear; It is time. I am waiting for you. Realization settled on him like a textile of unruffled silk falling over his mind.

His face was an absurd mask of pain, hatred and the insanity of a cornered jackal when he locked eyes with the M'Hael. "It is time for you to die," he snarled, "the will of the Great Lord be done!" He might have lost his weapon, but somehow his grip of the One Power had stayed with him. Ashfalcon Asha'man also held the Source, and as Trean bared his teeth, weaves of the Black Ajah took form all around him like tails of scorpions. Blood was running down his leg and splattered from his shaking swordhand. There was no return for him now, and he drew more and more of saidin... more than he could hold and channel safely, more than he had ever sensed before, more than he could hold without hurting himself. And then even more, to the point where he trailed the very edge of his body's limitations. He was looking out over the unseen abyss which threatened to swallow him, take his life and burn it out. He had climbed to the point where he could not release the fire and ice anymore... conquered a cliff-face which he could never descend. And the man before him was the single point where everything would be focused. Trean lifted his unhurt hand towards his prey in triumph, and the white of his pale blue eyes shone as he was to end it all.

Then...

The weaves he held back in the Administrator Hall were severed rapidly by a giant blade of the Source, and the ends of the threads recoiled through the doorway like one massive fist. The cords of Fire, Earth, Spirit, Water and Air struck him sideways. His whole body cracked like a giant egg-shell and his feet left the ground. His body shattered the wall of Power-wrought glass and he suddenly found himself looking down over the Tower's structure and the mountain-side from a birds perspective, seeing through the eyes of a thing which had been man. There wasn't even any pain. He was flying through the rain, in a cloud of glass. And just as he began his fall downwards, the abyss of saidin took him.

There was no focus anymore, and his body exploded in a supernova which lit even the darkest shadows of the Tower Grounds. In his death, Trean Sulláne could be seen as a second sun in the middle of the storm.

Chapter Five: Where the Ripples End
~Ripple One: Meanings
~Ripple Two: The Hall
~Ripple Three: Decisions
~Ripple Four: The Messenger
~Ripple Five: Shadow
~Ripple Six: The Clawstone
~Riple Seven: The Claw Stone Aftermath
~The Final Ripple

Return to the Ripples Intro