Chapter 36

Another five days had passed, and at last, everything seemed to have stabilized—both on the surface and beneath it. The murmurs that once filled the city of Caemlyn had changed. There was a tension in the air, thick and nearly tangible. It was no longer the chaos of the unknown, but the restrained anticipation of something monumental about to happen. Rand now had eyes and ears all over the city—his Elves maintained constant vigilance. The streets were more crowded than ever. The reason? The false Dragon was finally arriving. Logain Ablar, the man who had proclaimed himself bearer of the ancient power, was about to cross the city gates.

Rand and Helena stood ready on the hotel balcony, a spot with a perfect view of the grand avenue where the parade would pass. Many had rented balconies for a high price, but it was worth every coin. Nobles and merchants gathered to witness this historic moment up close. Rand and Helena, however, were in a private section of the balcony, reserved exclusively for him—a privileged position with a wide view of the main street. Of course, as the owner, he had kept the best spot for himself and Helena.

The streets were kept clear by solid lines of Queen's Guards and spearmen in red cloaks. The spears gleamed in the sunlight like flaming needles, aligned with military precision. Even so, people crowded around, shoulder to shoulder, pushing, stretching their necks, trying to glimpse something between the gaps of spears and shields. Murmurs rippled through the length of the crowd, filled with fear, reverence, and curiosity.

Then came the sounds: excited cries, the rising roar of the crowd, the solemn blare of trumpets and the martial beat of drums. Rand's heart quickened. It was the moment. Logain and his escort were in Caemlyn—and they were close.

The wagon carrying the false Dragon advanced slowly down the main road, flanked by rows of infantry soldiers. Between the wagon and the soldiers rode a dozen Warders, their cloaks billowing in the wind, their presence so intense they seemed to bend the light around them. Their expressions were grim, eyes scanning the crowd with an almost animal-like suspicion. While the Aes Sedai ignored the crowd, lofty and cold, the Warders did the opposite: they watched every face, every movement, as if always a heartbeat away from battle.

Yet, amid it all, it was the man in the cage who held Rand's gaze.

Logain.

The false Dragon was a tall, imposing man, with long dark hair cascading over broad shoulders. He stood firm, as if the wagon's sway meant nothing. One hand gripped a bar above his head—not from weakness, but as a gesture of command. His clothes were simple—a cloak, a coat, and trousers any peasant might wear. And yet, on him, they seemed regal. It was the way he wore them. The way he carried himself. Logain was a king, to the last strand of hair, even locked inside a cage of iron.

The crowd reacted to his presence in strange ways. Silence fell abruptly wherever his gaze landed. Eyes widened in awe, others in fear. Logain didn't look like a prisoner. He looked like a conqueror. Like someone who knew, with near divine certainty, that his destiny was greater than those chains. To many there, that man seemed more dangerous than all the soldiers around him.

"He looks like a king…" Helena murmured, her voice caught between admiration and apprehension.

Rand didn't reply. He just watched. The scene stirred something deep within him, though he couldn't say exactly what.

Right behind the wagon came the banners. Flags from every region and house that had taken part in Logain's defeat. The Golden Bees of Illian, the Three White Crescents of Tear, the Rising Sun of Cairhien… dozens more. Each with its own men, its own instruments, drums and trumpets playing in an attempt to drown out the presence of the one they had conquered. But it was useless. They were just a distant echo after the storm that was Logain.

When the wagon passed in front of the hotel, Rand and Helena exchanged a brief glance. And without a word, they decided to follow Logain from the rooftops. They wanted a closer look—or maybe… maybe just to keep eyes on him. Rand felt he needed this. Needed to see more. Needed to understand.

They left through the back of the hotel, climbing a service ladder until they reached the roof. From there, they ran from rooftop to rooftop, with Helena enjoying it as if it were a game. The wind tousled her golden hair as she laughed, chasing after Rand like a mischievous child. But when Rand tried to climb a higher wall, things got out of hand.

He lost his balance, slipping, and instinctively grabbed the top of the wall. Helena, still laughing, ran to him and helped him back up, a teasing smile on her lips.

"That's what you get for trying to be a hero with your boots untied," she said, mocking.

Rand muttered something unintelligible, but smiled too. The moment had something magical about it, as if for a heartbeat the world below had ceased to exist. They stood there, side by side, watching the procession slowly fade into the crowded streets.

"Why are the Aes Sedai watching him so closely?" Helena asked, more serious now, her voice echoing along the eaves.

Rand turned to her, a little surprised by the question. But before he could answer, a voice from above them cut through the air like lightning:

"They're keeping him from touching the True Source, you fool."