Chapter Text

Cenn was still afraid.

Dallet had told him there was no need to be nervous. That this squad rarely suffered casualties. They were well known among the enemy Veden forces, and to a man, each one was an expert warrior of incredible strength and skill. They’d be avoided on the battlefield, and when they weren’t, their skill and training would carry them through.

He was still terrified. At their advice, he’d peed, double checked his equipment, taken a few deep breaths. They’d tried to get his mind off it with conversation, then tasks, but still at the back of his mind he was sure he would die.

It bewildered him. The squad he’d been moved to was calm. They could laugh and joke easily before a major battle- a group of scarred men, each one looking like they had been to Damnation and back, but with a light in their eyes that Cenn couldn’t understand. Deserters, criminals, drunks, now grinning and patting each other’s shoulders. Something had changed them.

Someone had changed them.

Well, if he could change all these other men, maybe he could change Cenn too. What kind of man led this squad? Why had he suddenly requested Cenn be moved to his squad? His old squadmates had acted strangely when they heard. Said he'd been moved to the coward's squadron, and it was what he deserved for turning to run in a battle. But now that he was here, he didn't understand. They didn't seem like cowards. What was so special about the man they called Stormblessed?

“Cenn, right?”

Cenn jumped nearly a foot in the air. He hadn’t noticed anyone behind him- not until the man had spoken. He turned, flustered, to find himself face to face with the squadleader.

It had to be him. Cenn had never met Stormblessed, but the man’s charisma immediately drew him in. That warm smile. His clean shaven face, powerful build, crisp uniform. Not fresh or new- it was worn in places, but that somehow made it look more real. It looked... right. It should have been the same color as Cenn’s- a deep forest green, the colors of Highprince Sadeas- but the squadleader’s uniform seemed more vibrant. How could a uniform the same color as everyone else's stand out so much?

He looked less like a man, and more like the idealized image of the perfect squadleader. Strong, kind, protective. He carried a spear and shield, with a knife at his belt, exactly like the other squadleaders, but it fit him. As if this was the person that the uniform had been designed for. Only the shield was unusual- larger than normal, he must have gotten special permission to use it. Squadleaders sometimes got that privilege.

The smile broadened. His voice was deep, comforting, like an older brother here to protect his sibling. “I heard they caught you trying to desert. Ran from your first battle. It’s pretty scary out here, huh?”

Cenn gulped and managed a nod. “Yes, sir.” To his amazement, his voice was firm. He already felt calmer. It was as if the very presence of Stormblessed was comforting.

“Everyone always says not to worry. In my experience, that’s the fastest way to get someone worrying.” The squadleader reached into his pocket, and pulled out something small and wooden. A charm? It was hand carved, shaped like an axehound. The detail was incredible- the ridged carapace plates on the creature were perfectly textured, the teeth and claws perfectly shaped. “It’s okay to worry. But worry knowing that we’ve got each others’ backs.” Stormblessed pressed the small wooden axehound into Cenn’s palm. “Welcome to the pack, Cenn.” Then he patted Cenn on the shoulder and stood, turning to head towards the others and plan the attack.

“T-thank you, Stormblessed sir!” Cenn stuttered out louder than he’d expected, not from fear, but awe. He felt like he’d just met one of the ten Heralds of legend, or the Almighty himself. Strangely, the terror he’d felt earlier was gone. He didn’t know why he felt so confident, but suddenly he was sure that no matter what happened in this battle, he would be okay as long as Stormblessed was with them.

The squadleader turned back, gracing Cenn with another of those soft smiles. There was something in his eyes, though, if only for a moment. A sadness that must have been a trick of the light. It was gone a moment later, as he laughed- a hearty chuckle that seemed to linger, even in the clamor of an army preparing to go to battle.

“Please, I don’t deserve such a dramatic title. Certainly not from my own squad members. As long as you’re in this squad, we call each other by name. Call me Tien.”

Cenn nodded dumbly, as Stormblessed- no, Tien squeezed his shoulder and walked away to talk tactics with Dallet. Behind him, the ranks of spearmen formed up, archers at the sides nocked arrows, and squads made final preparations. Dallet returned, filing in right next to Cenn. That made him feel a little better. But it wasn't until Tien took a position at the front, unhooking his huge shield, that Cenn actually started to feel like everything was going to be okay.

For the first time, he didn't feel like running. It wasn't even that he was sure he wouldn't die- or even that he wasn't afraid of death anymore. All he knew was that he would follow that man into damnation itself, whatever came. It didn't make sense- Cenn had only known him for minutes.

But before he had time to think about feelings, a lighteyed officer passed on horseback. “Be ready to fight! I want their blood, men. Fight and kill!”

Tien noticeably grimaced at that, shaking his head. “Remember. We survive. Don't do anything dumb.”

“Be ready to run,” Dallet added.

“Run? I thought we were supposed to march in formation!”

“We are. But all the soldiers who know how to march in formation get sent to the shattered plains, to avenge the king. The whole group will break and charge within seconds. Just stay with us and run.”

The horn blew. The army moved. Cenn ran.

In seconds, they were ahead of the rest of the ranks, veering sharply right. Then Tien abruptly stopped, in a rocky area, a dip beneath two boulders. The group formed a tight formation, shields locked, waiting. The enemy forces had broken ranks too- and crashed around them like a rock in a stream.

The footing here was unstable- but it barely mattered. Tien’s group stayed low, in the shade behind the rocks, and it was as if the enemy didn't even see them. An occasional spearman charged up to them, sometimes even two or three, but they rarely committed to the charge. Instead they pulled up short of the little wall of shields in the shadows, bristling with spears, and looked for easier prey.

“This... Is this it?” Cenn asked Dallet, confused. For long minutes they stood there, at the ready, but rarely actually engaging an enemy.

Dallet chuckled. “This is it, for the most part. Sometimes we're unlucky, and don't get a good place to set up. Then we do some actual fighting. But Tien doesn't like killing unless we have to.”

“What about... Blood and glory? The thrill of the battle?”

“Would you prefer that?” Dallet seemed serious. Not judging, but actually asking.

Cenn considered for a long moment before answering. “No. I don't think I mind this way.”

Dallet grinned. “That's what I thought. Most of us in this squad? We're here to survive. Make it through our enlistment period, and get back home to our families.”

In the distance, an armored man was swinging a mace from horseback, cleaving through any of Amaram’s forces that had strayed too far from the protection of the main army. A spike of panic went through Cenn. “A shardbearer?”

“No,” Tien answered, surprising Cenn. “Shardbearers won't be at a battle this unimportant. Just a brightlord doing what they do best.” He didn't seem angry, just... Sad. Had Tien lost someone to a brightlord like that?

“Fall back. The lines are solidifying again. Let's get our place in them.” The whole group carefully shifted to a more mobile formation, keeping their shields up but slowly moving back towards Amaram’s lines.

Cenn was surprised again at how smoothly they transitioned from formation to movement. “I always thought squads that avoided fighting would be... Less well trained.”

Tien had gone quiet again, so it was Dallet that answered. “We aren't cowards, son. We just want to stay alive. Training keeps us alive, but so does avoiding pointless skirmishes. We keep our place, we charge into battle. The lighteyes can't be mad at us as long as we're technically doing as commanded. But there's no sense in throwing your safety away chasing after people to kill.”

There seemed to be some sense in that. This squad really was different.

Then Dallet cursed. Off to the left, a massive black horse galloped across the field. Its rider wore shining, beautiful armor. Impossible armor. With an equally impossible sword, ridged like flames and waves frozen into metal. It cleaved through their ranks, and it took Cenn a moment to realize that the beautiful, fantastical warrior was killing their men.

Tien turned away, grimacing again. “Let's pick up the pace and get back into the formation. Further to the right. He's headed for Brightlord Amaram’s section, and I don't want to be anywhere near that battle.”

Cenn was surprised to hear himself ask, “We're not going to help?”

But Tien just chuckled, shaking his head. “Against a shardbearer? No, that's a great way to get the whole squad killed. And I try to avoid picking battles that will get us killed.”

That made sense. After all, the shining figure looked like the Almighty himself, descended to deliver divine judgement. And who would want to fight the Almighty?

Cenn joined ranks in formation with the rest of the squad as they made it to Amaram’s side of the battlefield.

It wasn't until hours after the battle that they got the news. Brightlord Amaram was dead.

Chapter Text

Elhokar Kholin, king of Alethkar, was increasingly certain that someone wanted him dead.

Too many people had reason to kill him. The highprinces were barely held together by the vengeance pact, and any one of them could decide that they should be king. Even the shadows seemed to creep towards him- figures in the corner of his eye when he should have been alone in an empty room, behind him in mirrors, moving in the shadows, spiraling, entwining...

But at least he had one person he knew he could trust. Highprince Sadeas. After that fateful night, six years ago, when the assassin had killed both his father and uncle, Sadeas had taken him in. Treated him like his own son. And Sadeas said there was nothing to worry about. That he was jumping at shadows, and just needed more rest.

But Elhokar had rested plenty. It seemed all he did was rest. Rest, and attend parties, and go on hunts, and then rest some more... He'd imagined that being king would be more work. But Sadeas handled all the paperwork and administrative duties, just telling him where to sign and what to say. Elhokar just... Rested.

As he watched Highprince Kholin ride back from a plateau run, triumphantly holding the gemheart aloft in the gauntlet of his radiant blue shardplate, he couldn't help feeling a spark of jealousy. Shouldn't he be doing... Something? While Adolin and Torol rode out for glory and vengeance, he sat in his palace, collecting dust. Too important to risk, they said.

He didn't feel very important.

But he plastered on a smile nonetheless, riding out to greet Adolin, raising a hand in greeting. “Ho, cousin!”

Adolin responded with a raised gauntlet of his own. His helmet was off, his hair somehow perfect despite the recent battle- Elhokar had heard jokes that the highprince brought his hair stylist with him to battle. He wouldn't be surprised if it was true. All in the name of ‘presenting a good image for the troops’, surely. Nothing inspired Kholin troops like perfectly combed hair, apparently.

Adolin said a few last words to his aide, handing off the gemstone like a protective parent passing a newborn to be held. With a smile and a laugh, the two parted ways, and the Kholin army began the long process of dismissing the men to return to their barracks. Adolin instead made his way over to the king, grinning. “Another victory for the crown!”

The man's enthusiasm was infectious, and Elhokar found himself grinning too. “How was it? Raining down vengeance out there?”

“Oh, yes. Heads rolled, rivers of orange blood, the works. How was the meeting?”

“Riveting. Sebarial made three separate fart jokes.”

Adolin chuckled as the two started riding back to the palace. Elhokar had bonded with the Kholin highprince after the tragedy six years ago- when the assassin in white had come for king Gavilar, his father. Adolin’s father had leapt to his defense- only to be cut down as well.

Both Kholin boys had found themselves suddenly thrust into leadership, though Adolin had taken to it more smoothly than Elhokar. Where Elhokar felt he bumbled through politics and social encounters, Adolin glided smoothly. While Elhokar felt stuck in a rut, never sure who he was or what he should be doing, Adolin had grown and matured. Even though he was three years older, Elhokar increasingly felt like the younger cousin.

“Highstorm tonight.” Adolin was gazing up at the clouds, as if trying to see the storm, though the clouds wouldn't be visible for hours yet. “Have you ever... You know, thought about what's next?”

Elhokar furrowed how brow, frowning. “Next?”

“You know. After we get our vengeance. Defeat the Parshendi, take our revenge. Head back to Kholinar. Then what?”

“I don't know, Adolin. Honestly, I'm not even really sure what we're doing out here.”

“We're avenging our fathers. Fulfilling the vengeance pact!”

“How? What are we doing to do when we get there? Slaughter the camp? Kill their leaders?”

Adolin was quiet. They continued riding for awhile- Adolin on Sureblood, his massive white Ryshadium, and Elhokar on a fine- but still small, compared to Ryshadium- black stallion. Even the biggest horses seemed dwarfed by their huge cousins.

They were almost at the palace gates when Adolin spoke again. “I just... I'm worried about what will happen to the kingdom, once the war is over. Sometimes it feels like fighting is all that's keeping the highprinces pointed in the same direction. Without the constant battles, how long until they start squabbling? Your father brought them together, but are they really... United? Or just waiting for an opportunity to break off?”

Elhokar was surprised. Most people saw Adolin as a dandy. Certainly, before he had taken up the highprincedom, he had been known for living a more... Relaxed and lavish lifestyle. And he still made an effort to dress well, and had his fair share of courting and drama. But lately, more and more, he seemed quiet and introspective. Spending highstorms in his quarters, rather than the winehouse. And now this. “I know. I'm not my father. I don't know if I can keep them together. But what can I do? What should a king do? What do they need? It's all so much. I can't help but think that if our dads were here, they would know...”

Overhead, thunder rumbled loudly. Adolin jumped a little, glancing back nervously. “Wasn't the highstorm supposed to still be a couple hours out?”

“Maybe the stormwardens were wrong. The time is off, every now and then...”

Indeed, the clouds on the horizon were rapidly darkening. The warcamps below were in a panic, people pulling indoors and closing shutters. Elhokar looked up the hill. They were almost at the palace. Just a few more minutes...

Both men took off at a gallop, rushing to the gates. Stablehands took their horses and ushered them inside, Adolin still towering over them all in his blue plate. The stormwall loomed closer, already over the warcamps now, the wall of water and debris crashing towards them.

The two made it inside the palace doors, guards pulling them closed and barring them as they entered. Soon after, the stormwall hit, audibly crashing against the door and thundering against the roof.

Adolin began tugging at his shardplate, setting the helmet down before the armorers could even get to him to help him out of it. He removed one gauntlet, then another, almost in a panic.

“There's no rush, cousin. We have plenty of time to-”

Then Adolin collapsed on the floor.

Chapter Text

Helaran Davar returned to his room at the Veden safe house. Though he was the only one using it currently, the Skybreakers kept it prepared specifically for missions like his. A stable nearby watched the Ryshadium, no questions asked- after a sizable tip. They wouldn't be used to taking care of the creature, but it would get food and a place to rest for the night. He could care for it properly when he returned to the fortress in Marabethia.

He had removed his shardplate to avoid drawing attention, and now stashed the bag holding the heavy pieces on a shelf laden with weapons, rations, spheres, and other devices. He retrieved one of those devices now- a metal box, which he activated and opened carefully, revealing a brilliant ball of energy inside.

The glowing orb of light floated out of the box in Helaran’s hands, morphing into a face- the face of Master Warren. Helaran held the box almost reverently, trying awkwardly to salute while still holding it.

Then the face spoke. “Initiate Helaran Davar. Do you have an update on your mission progress?”

“Yes, sir. The mission is complete. Highmarshal Meridas Amaram is dead. I have found him guilty of conspiracy with voidbringers, and treason against Roshar. The punishment for such crimes is death.”

“This is sooner than expected, initiate. The nobility offered no resistance to his execution? Our intelligence in the region says that he was well beloved, and remarkably good at keeping his public image clean.”

“I used a loophole, sir.”

“Dangerous territory, initiate. Elaborate.”

“Yes, sir.” Helaran took a deep breath, nervous but confident in his approach. “Alethi law allows for challenge of a commander by any lighteyed enemy officer on the battlefield. As Amaram was on campaign defending the Alethi-Veden border, it was a simple matter of requesting temporary officership under the Veden banner for a single battle. With the shards provided, they were only too happy to accept my aid and wait for his position to be exposed. I met Amaram on the field of battle, where I defeated and killed him in fair combat.”

There was a long silence. Helaran could hear his own heartbeat. Finally, Warren spoke again. “You have followed the law, and accomplished your mission. But your methods border on assassination, initiate. Do not forget- we serve the law.”

“Yes, sir. But such serious crimes must be addressed immediately. As you said yourself, the Alethi were unlikely to take one of their own commanders into custody, and every day he was left alive is another day he spent furthering his organization's nefarious motives. Not to mention, at the time of execution, he was past the border- and by Veden law, could be challenged and killed as part of an invading army."

The glowing image of Warren nodded slowly. “You have acted with prudence and respect for the laws of your area, and proven yourself worthy to swear the second ideal. Usually, you would return and swear this oath at the place you trained and swore the first, and seek a master to take you on as you progress towards bonding a spren and speaking the third. However, your circumstances are unusual. A master has already requested to take you on as a squire, as soon as you finished your mission, so long as you proved worthy. This request has been approved.”

His heart soared. Finally, this was it. Justice. He would be part of the force that kept Roshar from sinking into chaos. He swallowed his excitement, trying to keep his tone controlled and neutral. “May I ask who it is, sir?”

“You have not met her, initiate. Master Reila is currently on a mission herself, at the shattered plains, investigating any clandestine threats. You have spent considerable time investigating the Sons of Honor, which makes you ideal for assisting her.”

Helaran had never heard of a Master Reila- but then, there were probably many masters he knew nothing about. He only knew the ones from the training camp, and many were out on missions and rarely spent time at the fortress. “Will I bond a spren if I succeed at this mission?”

“Spren bonds are not rewards for successful missions, initiate. The masters deliberate with spren willing to bond a new knight, and decide on the most worthy. Prove yourself, and one may well be assigned to you; however, do not think yourself entitled to one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will need to be cautious. The Veden leadership knows that you have shards. Set out for the Unclaimed Hills immediately- your new master will meet with you in the warcamp outskirts, well out of sight of the usual patrols. Once there, you will have to relinquish the shards, both to avoid drawing attention and because the nature of your squireship will render them impractical to use. Master Reila will help you discreetly return them to us for further use.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And... Initiate?”

“Yes, Master Warren?”

“Congratulations on your mission. You have removed a potentially very dangerous figurehead, and made this world a safer place. I look forward to your progress.”

Helaran swelled with pride, trying not to let it show. The connection was two way- master Warren would be able to see his face as well. “Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

The image faded, and the ball of light returned to the box, which he sealed shut again and replaced on the shelf. Then he slumped into a chair, overwhelmed and exhausted, sweaty and covered in the blood and dust of the battlefield.

A master. He was to be officially accepted as a skybreaker squire. Trained in the Surges, allowed a position in their ranks. He would be law and justice for those who were oppressed and helpless. A shining light in the darkness.

It would be a long journey to the unclaimed hills, but with the Ryshadium, he would make it in a fraction of the time a normal horse could. And with the plate and blade, as long as he was careful and didn't draw undue attention, he should be safe from bandits and deserters. And when he arrived... A secret mission at the Shattered Plains! Investigating clandestine threats. Perhaps the Sons of Honor again- surely they had other leaders besides Amaram. Or, if he was lucky, the Ghostbloods.

The thought of the Ghostbloods made Helaran grit his teeth and stand up, suddenly anxious to be moving. He bathed and changed clothing quickly, with meticulous efficiency, into a simple Veden enforcer's uniform from one of the shelves. Every trail led back to them. His father's servant, the mysterious visitors, their family's sudden wealth.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the mental images. Blood on the walls. The scent of death and decay, the sightless, burnt out eyes... Helaran bent over, trying not to vomit, head spinning. He would find the Ghostbloods eventually, whether at the Shattered Plains or whatever other hole they had crawled into. He would avenge his father and brothers.

And he would rescue his little sister. He had to believe that somewhere out there, Shallan was still alive.

Dressed, packed, and filled with motivation, Helaran retrieved his Ryshadium, who had just finished devouring several horses’ worth of lavis grain, and strapped the saddlebags of armor and provisions to him. Despite his fervor, he took a moment to stroke Tempest, looking into his eyes.

Sometimes he found the horse more wondrous than either of the shards. Weapons and armor were one thing, but they hadn't given him the horse so much as commanded it to go with him. As if it was a skybreaker as much as he was- and a more senior member, at that. What feats of heroism had this massive beast seen? How many innocents had it helped to protect?

Helaran gave Tempest a sugar cube, which the Ryshadium happily devoured, then led him out of town before swinging up into the saddle. It was a long journey ahead of him before he even made it to the Shattered Plains. But with a friend like this, and ancient weapons of incredible power, what was the worst that could happen?

Chapter Text

Elid-daughter-Zeenid, truthless of Shinovar, was increasingly certain that she was being followed.

Whoever it was had skill in concealing themselves. As she wandered the bustling streets of Kharbranth, trying to appear aimless, she didn't see anyone staring at her. No shadowy cloaked figure weaving through the crowds. But someone followed her nonetheless.

She saw it in the rest of the crowd, more than the follower. More a feeling, a hundred tiny things, than one clear sign. The way the people behind her parted when she picked up the pace. The way the crowd slowed when she did. A crowd moved like a liquid, and she dipped her fingers into the flow, feeling the ripples and eddies that seemed to follow her.

Whoever it was, they hadn't approached any closer. They kept their distance and watched. Somehow, that made her more nervous. What did they want? Had someone tracked her here? Did they know who she was? What she had?

Did they know that she had killed the Alethi king and his brother?

She had long since disposed of the flowing white clothing that the Parshendi had asked her to wear. Now she had on simple merchants’ clothing- a grey shirt, orange sleeveless coat, and brown pants. Between that and her eyes- dark green, instead of the bright crimson they took on when she used her blade- no one would ever think this small, unassuming shin girl was the legendary assassin in white.

Because she wasn't. Not anymore. That was why she was here. A good truthless would have stayed nearby when the Parshendi fled, looking for a new master to present their oathstone to. Instead she had spent six years, determined to prove what she had suspected all along- she wasn't truthless. The stone shamans were probably searching for her too, either to execute her or at least to reclaim her blade. She was worse than truthless- she was an oathbreaker.

Unless, of course, she was right.

Finally deciding she couldn't worry about the tail, she headed for the Conclave. The white doors at the top of the city led deep within the mountain, to the Palanaeum- the massive library where, hopefully she would find the information she needed. Possibly the largest collection of public information on all of Roshar, with records dating back millennia... If anywhere had proof that she wasn't truthless, this would be the place.

But how to get in? She had done some research on the place in advance. The Conclave lobby was open to the public, within reason. The Palanaeum technically was as well- to the tune of a thousand sapphire broams. More money than she could probably make in a lifetime- after six years of taking odd jobs and saving whatever she could, her entire worth currently amounted to less than two.

But the place had a single entrance, guarded day and night. Apparently it also served as the city treasury. She doubted she could bluff or trick her way in- maybe if she'd had a blade with the surge of illumination. Instead she had division and abrasion. Abrasion wouldn't be much use unless she could find a vent to slip through. But division... It could work, though it would be dangerous.

Elid walked through the grand white doors into the conclave and did her best to keep her face neutral. In Shinovar, she had lived in cities, seen beautifully sculpted monasteries... But compared to larger cities throughout the rest of Roshar, those were small towns, the grand monasteries quaint little monuments. The conclave was massive.

Carved directly into the mountainside, it should have felt cramped. Instead the high vaulted ceilings felt like enough room to fly around. The wide passages to the side held hundreds of people bustling about- scribes, ardents, lighteyes.

But her destination was forward. Deeper into the heart of the mountain. She knew the way from her research of the place, and walked with confidence, absently noting that there was no sign of her tail any longer. No one stopped her, despite being darkeyed in a room of almost entirely lighteyed women. Down the well-lit hallways, gently but inevitably sloped. Down, and down...

It was bigger than she had ever imagined. Maps and explanations could only convey so much. The palace in Kholinar had been big, but these hallways seemed endless. For half an hour she walked, ever downward, in disbelief that she could still be in the same structure. You could fit an entire town down here. They probably did, in a way- she had seen signs for residential quarters.

Finally, she arrived at the doors. Every bit as elegant as the main doors to the Conclave, the Palanaeum doors were decorated in fine lines and etchings, forming endless patterns. A work of art in their own right, but one that Elid was not in a state to appreciate. Behind those doors would be the Veil- a private reading and study area, with dozens of chambers to rent- and beyond that, the halls upon halls of books.

Thankfully, the doors to the Veil were unguarded. She slipped inside into the room beyond, and her breath caught.

The room was massive.

It was already wide enough to be bigger inside than many buildings she'd been in. But the height... In the dim light, the chamber stretched up into darkness, giving the impression that it was infinite, going upward forever. Once again, the maps and descriptions did it no credit. She'd heard the room was big. She'd never expected it to be so large that she felt dwarfed. Tiny.

And this was just the antechamber. How big was the Palanaeum proper?

But this worked to her advantage. Despite the servants, in a chamber this big, dimly lit, and with all the little side passages around the walls, perhaps her plan would work. She could slip in, hopefully unnoticed, and get lost in those shelves. Hide away, search through books and records unseen, and figure out all the things she was missing. What was a voidbringer? How would they know when they returned? What did they look like? What had she seen, in that cave in Shinovar?

She just had to find a way to break in.

Chapter Text

Tien cried.

It was all so much. They had almost died. They ALWAYS almost died. And their spirits were down, and they thought he was a coward, and he should have helped Brightlord Amaram, and surely they all hated him...

The boy sobbing in his private quarters- quietly, so none of the men would hear him and get discouraged- was an entirely different person than the brave squadleader who had fought to protect and uplift his men out there. He was tired. Broken. Exhausted.

Why had he ever renewed this contract? After Kaladin died, he should have gone home. Lived out the rest of his days quietly, with his mom and dad, away from all the pain and blood and war.

He had tried to. But the looks on the faces of his squad. The ones who couldn't leave. The ones who still had time left in their enlistment. They needed him. He didn't understand why anyone would need someone like him, someone so cowardly and useless who had let his own brother die to protect him, but they did.

How could he say no? The feeling was intoxicating. He just had to wear the armor, be strong and bold, stand up straight and inspire them. It gave them hope again. All of them.

Dallet, who had been a weathered, drunken, washed out veteran, now his second in command. Coreb, constantly getting into fights, now a proud and valiant warrior. Toorim, a petty thief and kleptomaniac, now using his quick fingers as a medic. Hab. Alabet. Reesh. Acis, Hamel, Raksha, Navar...

And now Cenn. A deserter, running away from the army, who he had managed to get transferred to his squad instead. Already he could see the man Cenn could become- not his future, but the best version of him. The man he could have been, and would be, with just a little push. Afraid, but brave. A hero like the rest.

He couldn't stop. They looked up to him, needed him, and it was stronger than the strongest wine. The feeling of being needed- being important. He was pouring every last drop of energy into helping them. And it was killing him.

So he sat on his bunk, face in his hands, silent tears streaming around his fingers, until he heard a call from outside his tent. A message from the companylord. Immediately, he stood up, taking a deep breath. Energy filled his lungs, then his body. This was his routine. A deep breath in, and out, and he calmed. The tears were a distant memory- that was the weak side of himself, and it had no place here. He was tall, strong, and in control. Visibly so- but surely he was just standing up straighter, not actually getting taller, right?

He opened the tent flap with a warm smile and beckoned the messenger boy in. The boy was young. The age he had been, when...

Tien put those thoughts away. “A message for me?”

The boy nodded meekly, eyes wide, transfixed. People often looked at Tien like that, for some reason. “Y-yes. Um, in light of the unfortunate death of the highmarshal, the division here is being dissolved.”

Tien held back an internal cheer. Freedom. The decision was taken out of his hands. Finally, it was all over. “We'll be going home, then? Or perhaps to barracks or a guard force near Kholinar?”

“Um... N-no, sir. Sorry, sir. Most of the force, your squadron included, is being sent to reinforce the main army at the Shattered Plains. Highprince Sadeas has requested that most of the experienced squadrons be sent there to fight for vengeance.”

His heart crashed. The shattered plains? Further east. Away from home. More danger, more bloodshed- no more little skirmishes. They'd be in full, organized conflicts. He'd be expected to kill constantly- multiple times per week, conflicts never ending. He couldn't. This would be the last straw. He had to quit, ask for leave, run, something, but-

“Thank you for the message. I'll prepare my squad and have them pack up to move out.”

Tien tipped the boy a clearmark, but his mind was elsewhere. He barely even registered that the messenger left until he was shrinking down again, emotionally exhausted, sinking onto his bunk.

He couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't stay another minute. Couldn't leave his men alone. No way out.

As his thoughts spiralled darker, the shadows watched him. The sheets on his bunk seemed to form a vortex, wrinkles spiraling out.

He closed his eyes, shutting it all out, and felt he was drowning in the blackness. But there, with him in the darkness, a robed figure watched him. Its head was all lines and spirals, shifting endlessly. But somehow, without a mouth, it spoke.

“What are you?”

“I'm...” He sobbed, voice hitching. “A leader... Their inspiration... I need to save them...”

“No. Lies...”

No? “I'm strong! Stormblessed! I can do this, I can... Protect them...”

“Mm... These words are not accepted.”

The robed figure vanished, and he was alone. So,so alone. He just wanted his brother. Kaladin would have known what to do. But Kaladin was dead. Because of him.

He deserved to be alone.

Chapter Text

Elid made her way to the parshman porters, trying to exude confidence. Act like you belonged. “Second floor, please.”

They did as asked, which wasn't surprising. She smiled and thanked them anyways, to no visible reaction. Elid had been fascinated by the parshmen since her earliest encounters- so docile, so... Empty. She almost felt bad for them. But right now, quiet and obedient was exactly what she needed.

Unfortunately, an attendant noticed her on the second floor, and despite her bright smile and best attempt to look natural, they still stopped her, bowing. “Can I help you, Miss? These alcoves are only available to those who have paid to rent them.” Well, crem.

Still, she did her best not to miss a beat. “Oh, yes! Thank you! I'm looking for brightness Pashav. I was told to meet her on the second floor, in one of the end rooms, to do some delivery work.” Brightness Pashav, of course, didn't exist. But for a darkeyed woman in an area like this, it was the most reasonable response. Better at least than ‘I'm looking for the bathroom’.

The attendant cocked her head, thinking. “I don't think I know of a Brightness Pashev, but I can check the records for you. Perhaps she arrived recently?”

Elid nodded enthusiastically, all warmth and smiles. “Yes, that would be amazing! Thank you SO much.”

The attendant smiled back, instructing her to stay right here while she checked. As soon as she went down the lift, Elid turned and jogged down the hall. Storming place was so BIG. Luckily, many of the rooms were unoccupied- including, as she’d hoped, the room at the end of the hall. Closest to the Palanaeum proper.

Moving quickly- she only had until the attendant returned- Elid slipped into the room, scanning it. One side open to the wider hall, with its dizzyingly high ceiling. A desk, a door, and... A large shelf, pressed against the wall between this room and her destination beyond. Perfect. She closed the door- no lock, sadly- and reached a hand out, closing her eyes and breathing deep.

Ten heartbeats later, a thin blade with a long gap down the center, like a sharpened tuning fork, appeared in her hand. Quickly, she sharply inhaled, draining Stormlight from a few spheres in her waist pouch, and began to glow. Softly- the balcony was still open, and she didn't want to send light blazing out that opening.

Time to move quickly. Elid reached down towards the base of the shelf and pressed a hand to where it met the floor, pushing some of the Stormlight into it. It became slippery, frictionless where it met the floor, and with a careful tug Elid moved it away from the wall. It glided as if on wheels, and she steadied it a moment later, a couple feet from the wall.

Then, slipping behind it, she squatted low, rested a hand against the wall, and reached out to the stone. Focusing. Feeling it, the connections, the bonds. Then pulsing energy into it, and… watching it dissolve into dust. The same stone, separated into tiny grains, flooded out into the room. Unfortunate, but it was the best plan she had come up with. She had long ago needed to accustom herself to the ‘blasphemy’ of breaking down rock. It was worse than walking on it, which had felt strange enough in this land of endless stone. But Elid had always been more practical than religious.

What resulted from her pulse of energywas a small hole- a smooth tunnel of rock turned to dust that she scooped aside easily. Not quite long enough yet to reach the Palanaeum, as that was a good ten feet of rock at least. But enough for her to hide in and make her way through.

Not for the first time, she thought of how much easier this would have been with many of the other blades. Using one of the far upper floors, she likely could have used gravitation to descend, as long as there was no one to see her glow. With illumination she probably could have walked right in disguised as another lighteyes, cohesion or transformation could have made a tunnel with much less mess and no evidence…

But there was no use thinking about surges she had no access to. She should be thankful that she had incredible divine powers at her disposal at all. Crawling low, she sucked in a little more light- covering her nose and mouth so she didn't breathe in the dust- and proceeded to quickly and efficiently ‘dig’ a tunnel through the solid stone. Separate, scoop, forward another foot. She had to be careful each time- division could be loud and messy. As it was she had to hope that the stone wouldn't cave in on her. Or maybe…

Elid paused, almost through the tunnel, and smiled. It was a very stupid idea. But it would solve her main problem- anyone could find her tunnel, and realize she had broken in. Just a little extra use of Division, carefully applied, to cave in a section of that room. Even if they cleaned it out, the tunnel would look like a result of the cave-in, or perhaps a natural tunnel revealed by it. And the distraction would give her plenty of time to find somewhere safe. She had planned to just move the shelf back into place to hide her tunnel, but with all the dust, it was only a matter of time before the administration here realized something had happened, even if they didn't understand what.

She continued, finishing the tunnel- she felt the end of the stone even before Dividing it, opening into the space beyond- and carefully scooping the dust back so as little as possible fell into the space beyond.

This was very stupid, and very, very reckless. But it had style. Elid breathed in the last of her Stormlight, and some from the lamps nearby, just outside the end of her tunnel- and poured almost all of it into the stone. She felt like she was part of it, at times like this. The stone was alive- it could feel where it was weakest, where it was most burdened. Carefully dividing it, weakening it along some natural seams, cracking it near her tunnel and the room she'd been in. She left a sliver of it in her lungs, burning and churning, as the rumbling began. Then she jumped out.

Elid had purposefully gone to the second floor so no one would notice a tunnel just walking by. Higher would be dangerous to jump from even with Stormlight, but with a bit swirling inside her, she managed the ten foot drop and even landed gracefully in a crouch. That took up the rest- a good thing. She didn't want to glow right now.

The rumbling grew, and she darted away, not wanting to be seen near where it happened. Already, attendants, ardents, master-servants, even parshmen looked up at the growing noise, before there was an audible crash. Panic set in around her, and people ran for the exit- as she ran deeper inside, praying to the spren and stones that it wouldn't set off a chain reaction and actually hurt anyone. Not that the stones would probably listen after she'd just torn so many of them apart.

Thankfully, within a minute or so, the rumbling died down. More importantly, she had made her way far along the winding downward walkway, and found a shadowy alcove to catch her breath. No one seemed to have noticed her, in the chaos.

She was in.

Chapter Text

Elhokar panicked as Adolin shuddered, then flailed on the floor. Babbling, then yelling nonsense words. But much more worrying was his flailing. In still-powered shardplate.

The guards barring the door against the highstorm outside turned around in shock. The attendants coming to help Adolin with his armor jumped back. And Elhokar froze.

It was Niter, head of the Cobalt Guard, who took control instead. “Back! Everyone step back. His gauntlets might be off, but one kick from those legs and you'll be coughing up your ribs! Tibon, Marks, get the other suits of plate!”

The Guard immediately formed up around Elhokar, tugging him away from Adolin as the young highprince flailed on the floor.

Adolin stood up.

His eyes glowed blue, like twin infused sapphires, as he took a dueling pose and began swinging about him. The Cobalt Guard pulled Elhokar further back, and the other guards and attendants scattered. Luckily he didn't have a weapon on him- and his shardblade didn't manifest- but a trained duelist in shardplate swinging his arms about was something no one wanted to be anywhere near.

As Adolin lunged forward suddenly in a thrust, Elhokar finally regained his senses. “We have to stop him! He's going to hurt someone! Or himself!”

Niter held the young king back, shaking his head. “No. Hold. It'll be over soon enough- we just need to give him space.”

“You don't know that! He-” Elhokar whirled on Niter as it clicked. “This has happened before‽”

Niter grimaced, but nodded. “Never in shardplate, though. Hopefully this isn't a bad one.”

Adolin suddenly took off, looking around in a frenzy, running towards a wall. Elhokar gritted his teeth. “How much longer will it last?”

“Usually through the main body of the highstorm. An hour or two, at least. But he'll be okay once-”

“We can't wait that long!” Elhokar pulled free and ran after Adolin, leaving the stunned Cobalt Guard behind. This was what he'd been looking for. A chance to prove himself. That he could be strong like his father.

He could be a hero.

Elhokar raced forward, after the armored highprince, who had stopped and looked like he was fending off a group. Windstance, he recognized. What was going on in Adolin's head? Did he think he was surrounded? He didn't react to anyone- it was like they weren't even there. But he could use that. He just had to get the gemstones out of the armor, and the whole thing would shut down. The gauntlets were already off, and Adolin's left shoulder hole was open. If he could just reach in there...

With cries behind him to stop, he ducked in close behind Adolin before the guards could reach him. Adolin didn't notice, even as Elhokar’s trembling hand reached across his shoulder, in the armor, down towards the gemstones...

Adolin moved forward. Instinctively, Elhokar grabbed onto his back, narrowly avoiding his wrist being yanked from its socket. But now he was riding Adolin like some kind of ridiculous whitespine wrangler at a menagerie. Clinging for dear life as Adolin whirled left, then right, cutting down invisible foes, until one sudden maneuver sent Elhokar flying across the ground. As Adolin sprinted right towards him, gleaming greaves descending towards his head, he closed his eyes in shame.

Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he should have died and let someone more capable take the throne a long time ago. Maybe-

The sound of shattering metal rang in his ears.

Niter kneeled in front of him, one of Adolin's discarded vambraces on his forearm, helmet held like a buckler- or at least it apparently had been, until it had taken the full force of a plate-empowered shin running right into it. Niter’s wrist hung at the wrong angle, but he still had strength enough in his other hand to grab Elhokar and tow him away.

Elhokar watched as Tibon and Marks returned in gold and grey plate- his father's and uncle's. The gold one was his, now, for all the good it had done him. The two guardsmen carefully subdued Adolin, pulling off the breastplate so the rest of the pieces went dead, then gingerly lowering him to the ground as he continued to twitch and flail against the weight of his armor.

That would have been the smart thing to do, Elhokar thought, as he looked at the swirling shadows watching him from the polished shards of plate. Get his armor, think things through. But he had never been good at thinking things through.

In this, like everything else, Elhokar had failed.

---

As the storm passed, the riddens lightly tapping at the walls of the king’s castle, Adolin came to. His eyes cleared, he stopped flailing, and spoke Alethi again- asking where he was, cursing softly, getting the rest of his armor off.

Elhokar, brooding in a corner, saw none of this. It had felt irresponsible to just leave Adolin and go to his quarters, despite Niter’s insistence. But he didn't want to be involved either. He didn't deserve to. He should just sit back and let the actually capable people handle it.

He sat there, stewing in his own irritation and self loathing, right up until Adolin came over to stew with him. “Hey, cousin. Seems pretty gloomy over here.”

Elhokar shrugged.

Adolin sighed, but didn't give up. “Tibon says you tried to help me. Ran in all by yourself. Pretty brave.”

“Pretty stupid, more like. Almost got myself killed.”

“Eh, half the time they're the same thing. You could have been smarter about it, sure, but your heart was in the right place. I've done stupider things trying to be a hero.”

Elhokar finally looked up. “Stupider than climbing on the back of a guy in shardplate, unarmed?”

Adolin grinned. “Remember that time with the whitespine?”

Despite himself, Elhokar actually chuckled. “That was pretty stupid. You were in the infirmary for days.

“See? And you've just got a couple bruises. Not to mention what happened with Deeli.”

“Okay, fine, you win. You're stupider than I am.”

Adolin shoved Elhokar playfully, smiling. Storms, his enthusiasm was infectious. “We're all stupid sometimes. At least your stupid was trying to save my life. You're a good guy.”

Elhokar nodded slowly. He didn't believe it, not really, but you couldn't say no to Adolin at times like this. He was trying to help. And storms, it was working. Elhokar stood up, stretching. “I've been thinking about what you said.”

“What, just now?”

“No, about... Alethkar. What's next. Maybe you're right. Maybe we should be trying harder to win. To avenge them. This siege is taking so long. I'm worried about Aesudan, back in the capital...”

Adolin was uncharacteristically quiet, eyes unfocused, as if staring far away. “Unite them...”

“Huh?”

He blinked, looking back at Elhokar. “I just... I mean, if we're going to stand any chance of making a large scale assault work, we'll need to bring the princedoms together. Unite them.”

The two started up towards Elhokar's quarters, as the guards and attendants dispersed, talking in hushed tones. This would be the talk of the camps, soon enough.

Elhokar nodded slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense. I wonder if Sadeas could do that. Or if we could get Jasnah to-”

“Elhokar. Really?”

“What?”

“Sadeas isn't king. Jasnah isn't- uh, queen. You are. King, I mean.”

“Yeah, but- you can't really expect me to do that. They don't listen to me! I can barely get them to pay taxes, let alone go on a risky campaign.”

“Well, you've got me! That's one.”

Elhokar scoffed. “Great. Just nine more to go.”

“That's the spirit!” Adolin grinned. Storms. He was serious.

“Well... I guess we could ask Sadeas.”

“No way. Roion, maybe.”

As the two began planning in earnest, Elhokar felt strangely confident. After all, he was king. They would have to listen to him. He could live up to his father's legacy.

He would lead his people to victory, and no one would question his leadership again.

Chapter Text

Elid flicked through page after page, growing increasingly frustrated. So many words, to say so much... Nothing.

‘After further deliberation and research, we have found that the legends and folk tales surrounding voidbringers result in an inconclusive, vague picture-’

So, they have no clue either. Book after book. ‘We don't know’. The greatest collection of knowledge in the world, and not a scrap of solid information.

Of course, some books looked promising- but every one she'd gotten ahold of had sections ripped, burned, or blotted out. And if it wasn't that...

It was Jasnah storming Kholin.

Time after time, she'd tracked down a book that seemed like exactly what she needed- prominent historians, folk tales, serious research. But every book that wasn't useless or ruined? Missing off the shelf. And when she checked the records... Yep. Checked out. By the Alethi princess herself.

Elid settled back, tossing her book onto the stack with a muted thump. She was reading by spherelight, in a tiny, cramped space that she had risked using Division to carve out behind another bookcase. It made for a perfect hiding spot- even if someone knew she was there, without removing the friction from the bookcase, it was exceptionally difficult to slide it open. She'd disposed of the rock dust over the edge of the walkway, letting it drift down to... However deep this library went.

It was lit all the way down, so she could see the bottom when she stood out on the walkway- barely. But it will boggled her mind how huge this place was. The ghostly green glow that lit the whole place from the sheer mass of emerald lamps was both ethereal and extravagant- they must be worth a fortune. But she wasn't going to draw attention to herself by stealing any, even if division would have made it easy.

The chaos over the cave-in had calmed down after a couple days. Apparently, there had been aftershocks, but no one had been hurt. The king’s granddaughter had been trapped briefly, but the arrival of the Alethi princess had solved that. Apparently she had a soulcaster- how had she managed that? Elid didn't know politics well, but from what she understood, the devotaries were quite secretive with the fabrials. Even if she had found one, keeping it must be a nightmare.

She sighed and stretched out in the makeshift stone chair she'd Divided into the wall of her hideaway. A stolen cushion made it a little more comfortable, but her back still ached. What was she doing here, really?

Elid could read, but she was no scholar. She was a shepherd, then a warrior, then an assassin, and now... What? A renegade? A middle aged woman, on the run from her own people, hoping that she'd find a book that said ‘oh yes, the voidbringers totally worked with a magic voice in your head that told you to kill’?

The last desolation was over four thousand years ago. All anyone had was theories and guesses. There was one book on the unmade that looked interesting, and another on the knights radiant that could be relevant, but of course... Jasnah storming Kholin.

What could that lady be up to, anyways? Why was a prominent Alethi political figure investigating voidbringers? Even if she was a scholar and historian, it was a strange thing to study for such an important woman. Could she...

Elid sat bolt upright. Could she know something?

If anyone had intel that the voidbringers had returned, that the time for Truth had come, it would be the princess of one of the most powerful nations in the world. Maybe she'd heard something, there'd been a secret attack, she had heard a voice or discovered one of the unmade like Elid had... It made sense. Why else would Jasnah be checking out every book in the library about the knights radiant and voidbringers?

But she couldn't just walk up to the woman. For one, getting out to the Veil would likely be a one way trip, unless she wanted to make another tunnel. She'd be recognized immediately trying to leave through the main entrance- a darkeyed woman like her stood out in a place like this. No one stopped her from walking about down here, but they checked everyone going in and out. Summoning her blade would brighten her eyes to a brilliant crimson briefly, but that would present its own problems- and being lighteyed didn't make her clothing nicer, or give her an admittance chit.

Getting Jasnah down here would be ideal, but how? And what then? Surely a woman that important didn't need to retrieve her own books. She'd have parshman porters and servants to get them for her, perhaps even a ward or two.

She needed to think. Get out of this little nook and stretch. Elid stood, summoning her blade before breathing in a little Stormlight. Pressing a hand to the bookshelf, she reduced the abrasive force on the bottom of the entrance to her hideout, gently cracking it open and peeking out. No one.

She pushed it open a little further and slipped out, then replaced it as the stormlight faded and the friction returned. No friction meant no scuff marks- no evidence that anything lay behind that bookcase.

Elid walked out of the section- an out of the way area with books mostly focused on botany- and out towards the central walkway. Perhaps she could do something dramatic that would draw Jasnah down here? Burn a big glyph in a popular area, or leave a message in a book she was likely to check out? Both seemed questionable at best.

She was so lost in thought that she turned a corner and almost walked right into the king of Kharbranth.

Chapter Text

Helaran had been instructed to avoid the patrols, which made sense. A Ryshadium and bundled shardplate right next to a major war effort would draw attention- if not outright assassination attempts. He felt uncomfortable about avoiding the guards and leadership of the region, but he told himself it was just until he could send the shards someplace safe.

But that was an issue for later. Right now, it just meant he couldn't use the same trick as before and travel with the Alethi military. Not to mention if they recognized his Ryshadium, they might not take kindly to his killing of one of their highmarshals. No, it was better to find a civilian group to travel with. A small, discreet one, that wouldn’t question his steed or the bulging sack of armor strapped to its side.

Traveling alone was also impractical for this distance. The unclaimed hills were, well, unclaimed. Few towns or shelters dotted their rocky expanse, which meant little shelter from highstorms. Perhaps he could carve out a shelter, but cutting out a space big enough to fit himself and Tempest, hauling the rock out of the cave, and then doing it again a few days later... It was both impractical and unattractive.

So after a few days of hard riding, he stopped at a town just outside Kholinar and found a caravan setting out for the Shattered Plains. A man named Jam was leaving that afternoon with a mid-sized group of merchants and guards, and he was more than happy to have another capable fighter in his company, no questions asked. “The hills are filled with deserters and bandits, these days. No law and a lot of merchants coming to the warcamps ain't a good mix, see? This won't be no vacation trip.”

Helaran haggled with the man briefly, eventually agreeing to work as a guard for the trip in exchange for shelter from the highstorms in a mobile shelter cart and meals along the way. Helaran wasn't entirely sure he trusted the man not to talk, but he trusted him not to betray him before they reached the Plains, and after that he wouldn't have the shards anyways.

As he headed back to Tempest, Helaran felt eyes on him, prickling the back of his neck. A lean man with a narrow, hawkish face was staring at him. His dark brown eyes flicked from Helaran, to the Ryshadium, then to the bulging saddlebag. Though it wasn't obvious that the bag was full of shardplate, there were few things that had such bulk and rigidity. Helaran stared right back at the man, until he was forced to nod in acknowledgement. “Nice horse.”

“Thanks. He's saved me on more than one occasion.”

“How'd a darkeyes get a Ryshadium in the first place?”

Helaran sized the man up. He didn't seem like too bad a type, though he had a dark, angry look behind his eyes. Like everything he saw pissed him off. Best to keep it vague. “Military service. Long story.”

The man nodded, accepting it, as if he'd expected something like that. “That's where I'm headed. Make a name for myself. Win a shardblade. Make a difference.”

Helaran nodded slowly. Lots of kids fantasized about winning a shardblade at war. Damnation, so had he, and in a way, he'd done it. But most of them grew out of it by this age. This man looked only a year or two younger than him, but he said it so seriously, like he seriously intended to fight a shardbearer and win.

The hawkish man looked at Helaran curiously. “What about you? Joining up?”

“No, I'm... Just looking for someone. My sister.”

“Mm. Hope you find her.”

“Thanks. Hope you, uh, win your shards.”

There was an awkward silence, as Helaran continued tending to Tempest, pulling out a sugar cube, which the stallion happily chomped down on.

Finally, the man reached a hand out. “Well, I'll be seeing plenty of you. Long trip. See you around, uh...?”

Helaran took the hand, shaking it firmly. “Helaran.”

“Helaran. Nice to meet you. Name's Moash.”

“I'll see you around, Moash.”

A few hours later, Jam’s caravan set out for the shattered plains. Helaran got in line and started the long journey east. But he couldn't shake the constant feeling of Moash’s eyes on him. Maybe he was being too paranoid.

Best to watch out for that one anyways.

Chapter Text

The journey had been Tien’s favorite part of being in the military. The unclaimed hills were fascinating, filled with unusual rock formations and plants he'd never seen before. He had felt embarrassed, at first, every time he went to inspect a rock with little crystal inclusions, or a bit of shalebark covered in cremlings. But his men didn't seem to mind. They knew their squadleader was a bit eccentric, and if anything it seemed to make them smile a bit when he brought back particularly interesting bits to show them.

No one seemed to really, truly share his interest and love for these things. He could accept that, though it confused him at times. Was something wrong with him? Why did others seem content to just walk and chat? He could do those things- he'd figured out, with some effort, how to talk and socialize and fit in when needed. But all the time? When there were so many fascinating things in the world around him?

Just once, he wished that someone would share his enthusiasm. More than just smiling and nodding along. No one was mean about it, but he could tell they were only paying attention to be polite. Couldn't they see how incredible it was? The history these rocks told- millennia of storms that had hardened crem and worn it away, compressed it, then sent a boulder hurtling through and revealing beautiful strata of compressed rock, each layer telling a story of the years it had been on top. Tien could have sworn the stone was alive- he talked to it sometimes when no one was around, though he knew it couldn't hear him.

He had started to dread actually arriving at the Shattered Plains, when they crested a rocky bluff and he saw it for the first time.

It was incredible.

All thoughts of war and battle and bloodshed and pain fled his mind as he saw the vast, flattened plains, filled with lines that criscrossed and twined and curved. At this distance, that was all they were- little lines on the vast slate of stone that bled into the horizon.

And, much closer, the warcamps. He had imagined something much like the temporary camps they'd had for the border skirmishes. Tents, a few camp followers. No, this was a city. Ten cities. Each surrounded by, apparently, a natural stone wall. He couldn't see much from here, but they curved inward like domes that had cracked on the top - massive eggs buried in the stone, long since hatched.

“Sir?”

Tien was snapped out of his staring by Cenn. The boy was looking at him strangely, so he turned around- the squad was waiting on him. They had fallen out of their position in the march. How long had he been standing there?

The mask went up, and Tien cursed himself for being so complacent. He had let his facade slip too much on this journey. It had been nice, not worrying about fighting. But that was over now.

Squadleader Stormblessed turned back to the group, tall and strong, smiling bright. “Just taking in our new home! Let's keep moving. We'll be sleeping in actual bunks tonight!”

***

The warcamps themselves were much messier, close up. From far away, you couldn't see the dirt and crem, smell the latrines and booze, hear the brothels calling out to the men lounging in crumpled uniforms.

It was a mess. If Tien had felt out of place in the tents at the borders, this was far worse. Weren't these supposed to be the best? Amaram had run a much tighter army. This looked more like a den of thugs in military uniforms.

But they didn't need Tien right now. They needed Stormblessed. So he stood up straight and acted unfazed by it all. He got more than a few odd looks from the soldiers lounging on the side of the street- even a few scowls- but he kept going. Reported in to his new unit, under Captainlord Selinar (a grumpy looking lighteyes with a perpetually furrowed brow). Got directions to the barracks his squad was assigned, walked his men there, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the barracks included a private room for the squadleader.

Other than that, the soulcast buildings were unremarkable. Just beds and a roof, with a single desk in the squadleader cabin- his was covered in crude graffiti drawings of genetalia and safehands. Classy. Well, at least he would have an actual place to do some carving instead of sitting on his bunk. Maybe he could even cover up the graffiti with more tasteful carvings.

By the time he was unpacked and settled in, the rest of the squad was excited to spend their first night out on the town. Stormblessed checked that they were all properly settled, reminded them to maintain their gear at some point, then dismissed them.

Then Tien collapsed on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind was exhausted. Utterly empty. The journey, arriving, getting the squad settled in... It had been a long day. He tried to cry, but his emotions were too worn down for that. Sleep wouldn't come either. After a long while, he got up, changed into civilian clothes and a hooded cloak, and slipped out into the night.

He didn't feel any less out of place. But at least, for once, it was Tien who was out here, exploring the camp. He was free to feel out of place. Free to go where he wanted. Free to be himself.

At first he didn't know where to go. He wandered, keeping to the main streets- the alleys were unlit and felt dangerous, despite being in the center of a military camp. He drifted through the camp as if in a daze, colors and sounds and lights drifting past. Laughing, shouting, alcohol and sweat, brightly colored fabrics and crem-laden roofs.

What would Kaladin have thought of all this? He had always been the fighter. Would he have fit in? Would he have gone out for drinks with his squad? Or would he hole up, gloomy and grumpy? The thought of cheering his sulking brother up again brought a smile to his face- then, a moment later, tears. Suddenly self conscious, he turned down a side road and away from the crowds. No thieves or killers here, thankfully. Just a passed out, grizzled man, bent over an empty firemoss bowl. But that movement in the shadows... No. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

Tien wiped the tears from his cheeks and took a deep, determined breath. Tonight, he would do what he wanted to do. Not what Kaladin would have done, not what Squadleader Stormblessed should do. What he wanted. He felt determined. Energized, even. So at a brisk walk, he set off towards the edge of camp, where the natural dome-like stone formation rose from the ground.

Tien was going to go look at some very large, very cool rocks.

Chapter Text

Elid-daughter-Zeenid, truthless of Shinovar, was not expecting to run into a king.

She had a number of scenarios planned out, in case she ran into a scribe, an ardent, even Jasnah Kholin down here. But the king was not one of them.

The elderly man was in fancy livery of burnt orange and white. He didn't look much like a king, but she recognized him from illustrations. He looked much less imposing in person. Frizzy white hair, partially balding. Thin, bony hands sticking from long, drooping sleeves. Spectacles that slipped too far down his nose, and thin, pointed facial hair. But it was undeniably him.

Elid contained her shock as best she could, and tried to smile, nod, and duck past him.

“I know what you're searching for, Truthless.”

For the second time in only a few seconds, she stumbled to a stop in shock. Had she misheard? How could he know? She reached out a hand, counting out heartbeats. If she had been found out... If the Stone Shamans were on their way to reclaim her blade and execute her...

But the kindly old man just smiled. “No one knows, Elid-daughter-Zeenid. Please. Walk with me.”

At the ninth heartbeat, she sighed, stopping the summoning. Still, she looked around furtively. The king was accompanied by a green-eyed woman with wispy silver hair, and a muscular woman with a sword conspicuously worn- probably a bodyguard. Both stayed back, but followed at a distance as the king beckoned her to walk. After a few moments of hesitation, she did.

The king’s smile widened. “You are a fascinating woman, Elid-daughter-Zeenid. Did you know that the Palanaeum also functions as the city treasury? Thieves have snuck in before, but always for the emeralds. I don't think anyone has ever snuck in here for the books!” He let out a hearty chuckle, but she was still on edge.

“Your majesty... If you knew I was here, why haven't I been arrested? Or at least kicked out?” She followed him, not towards the entrance, but deeper into the almost bottomless room. Down a staircase that spiraled down in a square shape, down the perimeter of the cavernous room shaped like an inverted pyramid.

Taravangian smiled again and shook his head. “Arrest a surgebinder? A shardbearer is hard enough to keep in a cell. No, I'm not sure I could keep you locked up, even if I wanted to. You might cause another cave-in.”

Elid winced. How did he know all this? “Then why are you here?”

“Because I know what you're looking for. You want proof. Evidence that you were never truthless.”

Elid was speechless. She nodded slowly, still following the elderly king down, down, further...

He spoke up again as they turned another corner. “I'm sure you've already noticed, but you're not the only one looking into the topic.”

“Right. But Jasnah- I mean, Brightlady Kholin is in the Veil, surely. She has no reason to come down here herself.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps...” Taravangian stopped. This deep, no one was nearby. The books down here weren't dark, terrible secrets- just the books that were unimportant enough that they didn't need to be referenced anytime soon. The lifts didn't even go down this far. She could see some of the rock dust that she had dumped dusting the walls- no, some of it was probably far older than that.

Then he reached into his robes. By reflex, Elid reached out a hand to summon her Blade again, but Taravangian smiled and shook his head again, withdrawing a small piece of paper with an official Kharbranthian seal. He pressed it into her hand. “Brightlady Kholin is fascinated by surgebinding as well, you know. She would surely love to learn anything you know about the Knights Radiant. And perhaps would even share some of her own findings in return.”

Then he bowed, turned, and walked away. Elid wasn't sure how to respond. She looked down at the paper- an admittance chit into the Palanaeum. Permission to come and go freely. “Wait!”

The king paused, turning to look over his shoulder.

Elid clutched the paper, face scrunched up. “Why are you helping me?”

Taravangian paused, taking awhile to consider his answer. “You are a fascinating woman, Elid-daughter-Zeenid. I simply want to see what you discover. I hope that you and Jasnah will inform me of any groundbreaking discoveries.”

Then he was gone. Turned a corner, up the stairs and presumably towards the lifts. Elid stood for a moment on the stairs near the bottom of the Palanaeum, bathed in the emerald glow of lamps, confused but relieved. It felt so strange, knowing that all her planning and hard work was unnecessary. Would the king have let her in if she'd just come to him and asked? But then, even if so, how could she have known that?

With a deep sigh, she tucked the admittance chit away and shook her head. In the end, it didn't matter why, or how. Everything had become much easier. Elid looked up into the emerald-speckled darkness far above, feeling hopeful. Things were looking up. She would finally have answers.

Then she set out towards the nearest lift, thinking of what she was going to say. Her next course of action was obvious.

She needed to go talk to Jasnah Kholin.

Chapter Text

Szeth-son-Neturo was fighting a losing battle.

The mindless hordes came for them every night. Rushed the walls. Tried to climb them, break them, sneak in.

So every night, the rebellion took to the walls to defend. Vastly outnumbered by troops that did not flinch from death, only three things stood between the people of the rebellion and a quick and decisive annihilation.

Sivi-daughter-Sivi, bearer of the Willshaper honorblade, who kept the stone walls patched and scouted the enemy from Shadesmar. Without her, they would have long sense been overrun by sheer numbers.

Tuko-son-Tuko, bearer of the Windrunner honorblade, who trained troops and gathered allies to their cause. Without him, they would never have rallied enough troops to their cause. Never would have turned farmers and craftsmen into wall guards and warriors.

And Szeth-son-Neturo, Knight Radiant. Who stopped the enemy from breaking down those walls and killing everyone inside.

“Sivi says there's a lot of them tonight, Szeth. This one is gonna be bad.” A tiny blue woman dangled upside down in midair, as if hanging from an invisible bar at her knees. Somehow, her dress stayed down- or was it up?- covering her legs, while her hair dangled down towards the ground as she swung back and forth.

Szeth nodded, contemplative. He hated this. He hated all of it. The killing, the planning, watching people die. On both sides. But he had made his decision. They all had. The two honorblades were a symbol of what this camp stood for. Protection and freedom. “Where are we needed?”

Sylphrena zipped down to a map of the city, on the table in front of them. “They have gatebusters this time, at the North and West gates. If you take those out, they might retreat. Or at least slow down. They seem to be counting on those to get in. Other than that... The crops, mostly. Though they usually don't go after those.

Outside, there were shouts. The attack had begun. Szeth scanned the map one last time, as if desperately hoping for some other way to resolve this. Then he stepped outside, drew in Stormlight, and summoned Syl as a long, curved blade. “Life before death,” he whispered, light streaming from his lips.

Life before death, Syl replied in his mind.

Then Szeth lashed himself upwards, and shot off towards the west gate. His squires, down below, shot into the sky after him, trailing lines of light. Below, the hordes of villagers from other towns poured towards their walls, carrying heavy clubs and hammers to smash them down.

Szeth had long ago given up deciding whether this was right. He couldn't just let them die- or worse. Right or wrong, he would protect, and if he went to Damnation for it, so be it.

He would protect them all.

Chapter Text

Teft sat alone in an alleyway in the warcamps, hating himself.

His wallet was empty again. The high was fading, leaving being an aching, hateful void in his chest. A reminder of his failure. The pain he deserved.

What was he doing with his life? He'd dreamed of being a hero, once. Those dreams were distant now, hazy like the smoke that clouded his mind. He'd come out here to fight, to win glory, to... Something. Find a purpose, maybe.

Instead he found war. Pain. And a blessed release from that pain. It intoxicated him, affected him like it didn't seem to affect the others. They did a bowl for fun, got a thrill out of it, then left.

How did they leave? Didn't they feel the craving? The desperation? The emptiness inside, without it?

Storms, he wished he could leave. Walk away from it, and never come back. But here he was, blinking awake in an alleyway again, covered in crem, a bit of puke- probably his- and smelling... Stew?

On the box next to him, a cremware bowl was filled with warm, steaming stew. It smelled incredible. Lightly spiced, warm broth, with small bits of meat and vegetables... Not too heavy or rich, clearly it had been made for someone suffering a firemoss hangover.

He looked around to see whose it was. No one else seemed to be nearby. Had someone left it for him? He slowly, gingerly reached for the bowl, feeling like he'd get in trouble for it at any moment.

“Ah! You are awake! Good, good. Eat.”

Teft nearly jumped out of his skin as the massive horneater poked his head out from the back door of what was, apparently, a mess hall. Still shaky and trembling from the aftereffects, he grimaced, suddenly feeling self conscious. “I don't want some pity meal. I'm fine.”

“Sure you are! Which is why you will eat this thing. It will go to waste otherwise. And wasting good food is a serious crime.”

“Not any crime that I'm aware of,” Teft grumbled, but begrudgingly took the stew and sipped at it. It was, unfortunately, perfect. The warm broth soothed him from inside, and he felt his stomach uncramp a little.

“That is because you don't know the proper way of things down here. I can think of few worse things than wasting a good meal. Airsick lowlanders. Think food grows on trees.” He chuckled to himself, enjoying some joke that Teft, in his current state, couldn't spare the mental power to consider.

“What's in this stuff? I feel... Hm. Something.”

“Old horneater recipe! For babies, the elderly, and to eat after a night of partying too hard. And you certainly look like you have partied much too hard.”

“Can say that again.” Teft sipped at the broth again. He still felt like crem, but at least he was keeping it down, and the headache had subsided just a little. “...Thanks.”

“This thing is not worth mentioning! You have given me an opportunity to test my recipes again. It is good to see that some people here still have a tongue in their mouths that can taste properly. ‘Not fit for lighteyed consumption’, pah. Airsick lowlanders wouldn't know good food if it slapped them in the face.”

Teft chuckled a little at that, then immediately regretted it, wincing. “Well, either way, thanks, er...?”

“Rock.”

“Rock?”

“Or numuhukumakiakiaia’lunamor, if you prefer.”

Teft blinked. “Which means...”

The massive horneater grinned, laughing again. “A kind of rock.”

“Right. Rock.”

“And you are?”

“Teft.”

“Well, Teft, if you're ever looking for a bowl of something that doesn't make you puke your insides up the next morning, come by again! But perhaps the front door, next time.”

Teft nodded slowly, then rested his head back against the wall. Well, he'd wanted to stop, hadn't he? He'd tried before, but maybe having someone to talk to, something to do instead...

“Maybe I will, Rock. That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.”

Chapter Text

Tyn was unnerved by the woman sent to help her. She rarely took her hood off, and the inside of the cloak seemed darker than it should be, somehow. Even the woman's facial features seemed perpetually blurred in the darkness- there was a face there, of course, two eyes (light? Maybe?), nose, mouth, but it was... Generic, somehow. Impossibly detail-less. It was unnerving. Sent by Mraize himself, she was clearly a full Ghostblood, wearing the diamond mark prominently on the back of her right hand.

Help. Yeah, right. The woman was clearly there to make sure the job got done properly. She went by ‘Dagger’, and wore a prodigious number of them. On her belt, strapped to her thighs, with one usually in her hand, twirled between her fingers with perfect precision. It seemed there would be no tolerating failure- which made sense, given the scale of the operation. You didn't plan to assassinate an Alethi princess casually.

But Kabsal was a professional. A bit unorthodox, but charming and clever. If this all went well, Tyn wouldn't even have to get her hands dirty. If he failed, she'd been working on a backup- she had ears out for whenever Jasnah reserved a ship out of Kharbranth, and was ready to hire mercenaries to pose as sailors. A ship was an easy place for a knife in the dark.

And failing that... Well, she'd have to get her hands dirty for once. So here she was, in a little port town in the Frostlands, sitting in a dingy tavern, drinking cheap wine while Dagger, well... Stared daggers at her from under that hood.

“Yeh seem cheery t’day, lass.” Tyn quipped sarcastically in a bav accent. Dagger never seemed cheery. Or sad, or angry, or... Anything.

No response.

She switched to Herdazian. “Oi, c’mon, gancho. Can't, sure, be quiet as a rock all the time. Gotta open up eventually.”

“I don't have anything to talk about with you.” The woman's voice was monotone, soft, and... Veden, perhaps? It was surprising that she had replied at all.

Tyn switched to a Veden accent to match. “Oh, I'm sure we can talk about something, brightlady! What do you do for fun, when you aren't lurking ominously in the shadows?”

Dagger was silent for a long moment, and Tyn figured she wasn't getting anything else out of the woman. But then... “I sketch sometimes.”

Tyn raised an eyebrow. This hardened spy, assassin, and killer liked to... Draw pictures? “Can I see?”

“No.”

Well, couldn't blame her for trying. Tyn settled back, sighing deeply. But hey, at least she was talking. “How about you? Any chance I can get you to take the hood off for a few seconds? Or does that ruin your edgy, mysterious vibe?”

Another long pause. Then, to her surprise, Dagger looked around at the empty room, reached up, and pulled her hood back. The shadows and blurriness seemed to fade as well, revealing... Well, not what she had expected.

Dagger was young. She couldn't place the age exactly. But twenty at most, probably younger. Blazing red hair, slightly unruly. Definitely Veden. Storms, she'd been this afraid of a little girl?

Those eyes- blue, definitely light- were hard, though. Empty. Young she might be, but she clearly was still not someone to underestimate.

“Happy?” The girl raised her eyebrows, then flipped the hood back up, darkness consuming her face again.

“Ecstatic.” This was going to be a long wait. Last she'd heard, Kabsal was planning a long game, trying to get close to Jasnah and offer her bread dusted with backbreaker powder. Sounded crazy, but the man had a way of making things work that shouldn't. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long.

She couldn't take much more of this woman's riveting, witty banter.

Chapter Text

After that first conversation, Helaran had taken to talking to Moash a few times a day, usually during their breaks. His parents had died when he was young, and he was raised by his grandparents, but now they were dead too. He didn't say how they died, and Helaran didn't push. It seemed to darken the man's mood even thinking about it.

Instead they talked about politics. Moash was passionate about the topic, surprisingly knowledgeable for a caravan worker. He spoke at great length about corruption in the government, how highprinces and kings thought themselves above the law. Helaran had to admit, he agreed with a lot of what the man was saying.

It made him think of his oaths- or at least, the oaths he would swear. Already he felt he followed the second- to seek justice- but until he had a master, it wasn't quite official. But his eventual oaths would be to law and justice. What did that mean? If a corrupt king made an injust law, would he have to obey it? But then, who was he to decide what laws were just or unjust? The whole point of skybreaker oaths was supposed to be to submit yourself to a higher authority, to understand that you were imperfect and had to trust that a higher law, made by experienced people and years of refinement, was a better guide than your own subjective morality.

It turned around in his head, over and over. Justice couldn't just be to blindly obey laws that were clearly evil. Neither could it be to just do whatever felt right at the moment. Was there a middle ground?

Moash tended far to the revolutionary side. “Sure, laws are important for society. But only when they're made by the people that they supposedly protect. Darkeyes should make our own laws, not just let lighteyes walk all over us.” He glanced at Helaran then looked away awkwardly, as if he forgot that he was talking to a lighteyes already. “No offense.”

“None taken. I know exactly what you mean.” He thought to his father's petty attempts at gaining political power. Using the darkeyes in his area for wealth, never thinking of how they felt... Was that it? Could there be a middle ground in ensuring every group of people had representation, a say in their own laws? Though the way Moash spoke, it was like he wanted the lighteyes overthrown entirely, rather than just giving darkeyes representation.

“So, is that why you want a shardblade?” Helaran asked suddenly, late one evening. The caravan had set up camp, and the two were eating a late meal of ‘curry’- really more of a spiced lavis grain gruel- in one of the portable storm shelters. The storm wasn't due for hours yet, but it was always best to set up well in advance.

Moash seemed taken aback by the sudden topic shift. “Huh? I mean, I guess. No one's going to listen to me otherwise.”

“Makes sense. Shame that you need a big sword to get people to listen to you, though.”

“Just the world we live in. Maybe someday-”

He was cut off by a horn sounding, and shouts from outside. Helaran cursed, grabbing a sword- a normal one. He'd brought a couple of those, just simple steel. Sometimes a short blade was simpler to use than a shardblade. Sometimes he needed to draw it quickly. But mostly, he didn't want to show it off unless absolutely necessary.

He pulled on a leather breastplate and darted out the door, into chaos. Outside, things weren't going well. Their caravan was surrounded by bandits attacking from multiple sides, and the guards hadn't been expecting an attack this close to the highstorm. Moash came out beside him, clearly planning to fight. Helaran almost objected, but the screams made him pause. They might need every hand they could get.

The two ran for the north side of camp, where things looked worst. A dozen bandits were surrounding three guards- no, two now, as one fell gurgling with a slit throat, spear clattering to the rock. Helaran replaced the fallen guard a moment later, exploding into smokestance in a whirlwind of movement. His blade knocked aside two other attacks, seemingly bouncing back and forth between daggers and spears, deflecting them inches before they landed - before suddenly lunging forward into a thrust that speared one of the bandits through the throat.

The others paused at that, then more carefully fanned out to surround him. The other guards trembled, backs to his. “Blood of my fathers...” one moaned. Moash had picked up a fallen spear and was holding it out wardingly, though it was clear he didn't know how to use it.

It doesn't look good, but surely if they were careful they could hold out-

The bandits attacked. At first it seemed to be going okay- Helaran switched to stonestance, as smokestance required a lot of movement, and he needed to watch the others’ backs so they could watch his. He rooted himself, expertly blocking attacks and holding them off. But only three of them focused on him.

They had quickly realized that the others were the weak link. Each were fighting four on one, and in the chaos neither of them had shields. He was too busy defending himself to see it, but he heard and felt one collapse, and then heard Moash cry out in pain. The few on him were fighting defensively, dancing out of range when he lunged. His sword didn't have the range to go after them without abandoning the others. If this continued, they would all be dead in seconds.

Ten heartbeats was an agonizingly long time at moments like this. Each one was a blade pinging off his sword, an attack that could have killed him. At the seventh, he heard the last guard crumple to the ground. He narrowly ducked a blow from behind, deflected one from the side, took a cut on the shoulder-

Ten.

The blade materialized, and he swung wide, in a huge circle, his side sword falling to the ground in the same breath. Only one of the bandits had realized something was wrong in time. The rest had all charged in.

Twenty eyes burned in unison. Ten bodies dropped to the ground. The last one dropped his spear and scrambled back, eyes wide in fear.

Helaran should have killed him. The man was guilty of a crime, and while hired as a guard, he had legal justification to execute bandits that attacked on the road. And that was assuming they were under Alethi law, from the nearest settlement- really, the Frostlands had no government or law, so he would be under... The jurisdiction of the caravan owner, presumably? Certainly he would want these men dead. But no, running a caravan through here didn't make you in charge of the law in this area. It was up to him. Whatever he did here, it was legal. What did you do when the law refused to give you an answer?

He'd never been good at this part. Even with his father, all that time ago... It was hard to execute a man who was defenseless and afraid of you, let alone begging for mercy. Which the bandit began to do, the moment he saw hesitation. Beg, whimper, promise never to steal or harm again. Helaran didn't believe him. Still...

He looked around, dismissing the shardblade. No one else had seen. Moash appeared to be unconscious. The other guards were bleeding out, and even if they could be saved, they wouldn't remember or believe that he had a shardblade. Helaran picked up his side sword, and stepped towards the last bandit. It would be so easy to finish this man off, and...

No. He was headed to meet his new master and swear an oath. An oath to law and justice. Maybe he had legal justification. Maybe it would be easier. But this wasn't justice.

Helaran sheathed his blade, and roughly grabbed the bandit, pulling his arms behind his back. The other guards had fared better, around the rest of the camp. They'd taken casualties, but the battle was over almost as soon as it had begun. “Don't run, and you keep your life. Understood?”

The man nodded, breathing out a sob of relief. Helaran led him towards the center of camp, and made sure he was watched before rushing to get aid for the other fallen guards. If it had been the right thing to do, why did he feel so bitter about it?

Chapter Text

Being a messenger wasn't as bad as Tien had expected. Those first days, ripped away from his family, barely even seeing Kal? Those had been terrifying, sure. He still missed home. But, he realized, so did a lot of the others.

Many didn't show it. Jost and Abry put up a big show of bravado, teasing the other boys- teasing Tien, when he was around. He could tell they missed home too, despite everything they did to hide it, but pointing that out just earned him more bullying. So he hid, instead.

They weren't around often, anyways- like Kal, they had gone to train as actual soldiers, while he was left with the other kids and rejects in the messenger corps. Here, there was no bravado. Most of the boys here were here unwillingly, like him. They all handled it in different ways- some sulked quietly, some yelled and cried and begged to go home. One tried to run away, but was there again a couple days later, with the sulking quiet boys, bruises on his arms and face. No one tried to run away after that.

But slowly, gradually, the mood improved. They just had to get through. A few years out here, just running messages, mostly out of danger, and they could go home. They'd even make money and help their family. Tien pulled himself out of it before anyone else, partially because he couldn't take the gloom anymore. He couldn't make these boys happy, but he could help them make it through this.

He talked to them. Learned their names- he already knew Agil, Jorna, and Caull from Hearthstone, though Habrin had been deemed willing and fit for combat and joined the others. But soon he met Aron, Jerick, Moll. A dozen others. He didn't know what else to do, so he showed them the cool rocks he'd found along the way, and talked. They didn't respond at first, but most at least listened. Sometimes words didn't work, so he just sat next to them with his knife and a chunk of wood, carving. They tried to hide it, but he saw them stealing glances at what he was making, curious.

After a few weeks, they all talked, at least. He wasn't their leader or anything- but he was like a bridge. The shy ones hid behind him, and whispered in his ear when they had something to say. They talked to him, and eventually to each other. It was hardly a bright, happy group chatting raucously like the soldier boys in the evenings, full of suggestive jokes and boisterous laughter. But it was a group, and they clung to each other for support. Hopelessness had been replaced with one bright thought, like a single guiding star in the darkness- ‘We can get through this, if we stick together’.

Until, only a month in, they received news. Recruitment was down. The messengers were to be trained as reserve soldiers. The despair returned in force. Only the thought that they wouldn't have to fight, wouldn't have to face death, had kept them going until now, and that had been ripped away as well.

These boys were the dregs, and they knew it. Blood weakness, tiny bodies, timid personalities. One boy- Salos- was missing two fingers on his right hand. Another could barely see a few feet in front of him. They all sank down into terror and despair. All of them but Tien.

No. Not again.

Before it had been casual- almost accidental. Now he was intentional. He was terrified too. He wanted to cry, and find somewhere to hide, and sulk to training and let his eyes glaze over. But he wouldn't. He'd just seen life return to the eyes of his new friends, and he wasn't about to let them go dark already.

He would be strong for them. In the face of overwhelming despair and hopelessness, he would be their strength. They would make it through this. Together.

As he toyed with a piece of carving wood, turning it over and over in his hands, Tien could have sworn the grain shifted under his fingers, making a sort of spiraling pattern as he turned it. It was beautiful, if a little disorienting. He'd have to find a way to show Kal later.

Chapter Text

When Tien arrived at the rocky formation near the edge of Sadeas’ camp, someone was already there. The rocky formations were twenty feet tall, higher in some places, but for some reason there was a man sitting on top of one section. Playing a flute, of all things. The man had black hair and a hawkish face, and played quietly enough that it couldn't be heard amidst the commotion of the warcamp- but out here, by the border, it echoed unnaturally between the walls of the buildings and the rock formation he sat on. He was very good- Tien didn't know much about music, but the song tugged at his heart, made him want to cry. It felt so... Alone. There was a flickering light next to him on the wall, like a candle or torch placed in a cleft.

Naturally, Tien ignored him and kept walking. He wanted to see the rock formation up close. A strange looking cremling scuttled into a crack nearby, watching him as he tried to slip quietly past the strange man.

But of course, it wasn't that easy. As he walked past, the flautist stopped playing, the last notes of his song echoing in the night, as if carried back and forth on the wind.

“I always worry that I'll forget how to play her.” The hawkish man's voice was soft, but it carried. He cocked his head, looking at Tien strangely. His eyes were a brilliant blue. What was a lighteyes doing up there? “Hm. You're not a bridgeman.”

This was getting weirder and weirder. “No?” Tien replied, confused. “Um, what's a bridgeman?”

“A war crime most places I've been, but you don't seem to have invented those yet here.”

“Oh.” The man's face was unreadable, maintaining a polite smile. Was he serious? “What are you doing up there?”

“Sitting. Occasionally playing. Have you ever wondered if some things are destined to happen?”

“Like, predestination?”

“If I wanted to be a bit pretentious, yes. And I usually do.”

“I don't know. How would we know if something was supposed to happen? Once it happens, how could you tell if something different should have happened?”

“How indeed?” The man seemed to be giving it serious thought.

Tien blinked. “So... Who are you?”

“Ah. Right. Introductions before theology. Unfortunately, that's always a difficult one for me. I have a few too many names to keep track of. I was even named after a rock, at one point.”

Tien’s eyes brightened at that. “Really? What kind?”

“Oh, a beautiful one. A gemstone, even. Quite ironically, the gemstone of rocks, as it's known here.”

Tien had to think through that for a moment. He'd learned this in lessons with his father at some point, the elements that each of the polestones represented, and how they were used in soulcasting. Sapphire for air, ruby for fire, emeralds for grains... “...Topaz?”

The man clapped lightly, fingers quickly tapping against his palm. Somehow even his praise seemed mocking. “Very good, squadleader! But I haven't been called that for a long... No, a very, very long time. Now, when they aren't calling me something much less polite, they usually call me Hoid.”

Squadleader? Tien nervously pulled his cloak tighter, then realized he was in civilian clothes. How had he known? “It's a pleasure to meet you, Hoid. I'm-”

“I doubt it is. But continue.”

“... I'm Tien.”

“Tien. Well, it's quite a surprise to meet you here, Tien.”

“A surprise?”

“Well, I don't get much of an audience out here. Not trying to sneak out and desert, are you?”

“No! No, I mean, I... Actually, I, uh. Wanted to see the rocks.”

That caught Hoid off guard. He blinked a few times, then laughed heartily.

Tien blushed. “It's stupid, right? I mean, I'm sure they're just like any other rocks around here, but...”

“Oh, they aren't! These were, indeed, pretty important rocks once upon a time. Not what you'd call a natural formation.”

“Like... They were soulcast?”

“No, not quite. But close! By all means, admire away. Though the interesting parts are long since buried under crem. Probably for the best, or they'd have long since crumbled away.”

“Oh.” How disappointing. But what had he expected? Of course ancient rock formations like this would be covered in centuries, even millennia of crem. And yet, still... Those tidbits were fascinating. Not quite soulcast, but close... If they were intentionally put here, then long ago, someone had created these- all ten massive, city sized barriers of stone. Why? To protect against something?

The more he looked, the jagged edges seemed to reach skyward, curving up... Had they once been a dome, completely enclosing the city? Or was it more like a crater, with stone flung up at the edges? What kind of impact could create a crater the size of an entire warcamp?

Up above, Hoid continued playing his wooden flute, then paused, smiling, a twinkle in his eye. The music still echoed unnaturally, providing almost background music to his words. “Ever seen a flute like this before?”

Tien sighed. This guy just wasn't going to leave him alone. “No, I don't think so. Did you carve it yourself?”

The man chuckled, as the echoing music faded. “No, I can't say I'm talented in that way. This is a Trailman’s flute. It's made to be played while telling a story.”

“Well, it's very nice, but-”

“Would you like to hear one?”

Tien blinked. “Um... Sure?” There was no escaping this man.

Hoid grinned, then started playing quick, cheerful notes. “This story is called ‘The Woodsman and the Nightwatcher’.” The staccato notes bounced back, bright and varied, giving the impression that the warcamps were near a forest of chirping birds.

“In the deep, overgrown valleys where the Nightwatcher dwells, a woodcutter lived with his wife and children. He was strong and diligent, and loved his work, taking wood from the bountiful life of the forest to provide for his family.”

Hoid paused to play a stately rhythm, alternating with the chirping notes. With the music echoing back, it seemed that he was playing both at the same time. Tien could see the man in his mind, somehow- thick and muscled, with a long beard and a heavy axe.

“One day, an ardent came, on a mission spreading the word of the Almighty. To the woodcutter he said, ‘Surely, you are strong and diligent, and deserve to be elevated for your great skill. But you never pray, or acknowledge the Almighty!’

The chirping of the birds quieted, and the song became solemn and religious, like a Vorin chant.

“The woodcutter was a practical man, and responded, ‘I have no time to pray or think of gods. If you had a wife and children to provide for, neither would you!’

The ardent was angry at this, and began telling the man of the horrors of damnation, of pain and fire and death. Terrified, the woodcutter swore that he would pray more, and the ardent left, satisfied with his success.”

Tien could almost see the man there, kneeling in front of the ardent below Hoid’s dangling feet, eyes wide in fear. In fact, maybe he could see him. Did Hoid see the ghostly image? If so, he showed no indication, continuing right along with the story.

“But the man did nothing but pray. For hours he would pray, alone in the forest, meditating on the Almighty. He neglected his work, bought charms and glyphwards to burn instead of food, and his wife and children, who had been well provided for until then, began to starve.”

Tien frowned. What kind of story was this? It seemed to be saying that prayer and religion were... Bad? The ardents would run this storyteller out of camp if they heard that kind of blasphemy. But still he listened politely. The music slowed, the birds chirping quietly again, the trees rustling, but that choral hum echoing through everything.

“So the woodcutter’s wife grew angry, and cried out for him to go into the city and get a better job to provide them with food. He was loath to abandon the trees that he loved, but she talked of herself and his children withering and dying away, dead because of his neglect. ‘If woodcutting cannot feed us while you spend money on prayers, we will die slow, painful deaths! Then what good will all your prayers do?,’ she exclaimed.

“Once again, he was horrified at himself, and rushed into the city to get a job that would provide better for his family. He began to work at a store, and made barely enough to feed his family again, while trying to maintain his prayers. He was busy, constantly either praying or working, and had little time to spend with his family or rest.”

The chirping echoed and faded, replaced by a soft but chaotic background of low notes. And other sounds, that shouldn't have been possible from a flute. Tien knew that it was the sound of the city, and even as he knew it, he could hear the city. Chulls pulling wagons, merchants shouting, parshman porters hauling loads. Perhaps it was the actual sounds of the warcamps behind him, but... No, it was night, and the camp was rowdier and full of the sounds of moaning and brawling, not trade and chatter. Was it all in his mind?

“But while the woodsman was there, a scholar looked at him with disdain, telling him how he would never be able to get a real job without learning and educating himself. He told the man of how terrible it was to be uneducated and foolish, knowing nothing of the world or how it worked. He insisted that the world was changing, and if the woodcutter didn't learn, he would be left behind, losing his job and his family, exploited by scammers and con artists and politicians. So, once again worried about this future he'd been shown, the woodcutter went to find a tutor, and paid from what little money he had to take classes and learn of strategy and politics and culture and spearfighting and other... Masculine pursuits.”

Hoid almost seemed to smirk at that, lips twitching as he brought them back to his flute. Did he find something funny about what the man was taught? The music slowed to a crawl. Instead of strong and stately, it was weak, tired, and erratic. There were no birds, and the sounds of the chants and the city now blended with a low, droning hum.

Tien felt himself growing stressed just listening to it all- it felt familiar, somehow. Juggling expectations and fears and life, all blending together into an insufferable din. He looked down and saw his own hands, thick and strong like the woodsman's, shaking from lack of sleep and stress. Was that a trick of his mind? He didn't need a story for that- he really hadn't gotten enough sleep lately, and so much had been going on lately...

“The man was burdened now, trying to maintain his prayers so he wouldn't go to Damnation, and working his job so that his family wouldn't starve, and meeting his tutor so he wouldn't be foolish. His own health began to suffer, stressed as he constantly was. Eventually, he could take no more, and went to seek the Nightwatcher near the forest where he lived.”

Now the music grew quiet again. The chaos melted away, echoing on the breeze, but a new sound played, humming. A powerful thrum, like a heartbeat. Stark and staccato like the birdsong, but low and resonating, constantly feeling as if it was building to a crescendo that never came. Tien had never heard a rhythm like it before, but it seemed familiar somehow, as if he'd known it all his life.

“Deep in the valley he found her, like a great spren amidst the trees, black as night with green eyes that watched from the shadows of the vines. ‘What do you desire?’ She asked of him.

Tien jumped as the shadows around him moved, brilliant green eyes constantly at the corner of his vision. He whirled around, but they stayed constantly just at the edge, disappearing when he turned and reappearing in a different shadow. This time he was certain- it wasn't in his mind. That storyteller must be doing something, hiding emerald chips in the shadows, perhaps... Getting assistants to hide and reveal them? No, that was too convoluted. But how?

“’Please,’ he begged, ‘I must have more time in the day. I must educate myself, and provide for my family, and pray, and have no time to sleep or eat or care for myself. I cannot even enjoy time with my family that I care for. What must I give to have more hours in the day?’

“The Nightwatcher considered long, for though she had great power to change men, she could do little to add hours to the day. When she finally responded, it was with curiosity. ‘Are you so desperate to learn of the world?’

“‘No,’ he replied, ‘but without an education how am I to survive in the city, and get a better job to provide for my family?’

The stately rhythm of the woodsman began to return, pulsing back and forth with the building, sharp rhythm of the Nightwatcher.

“This only made her more curious. ‘Are you not the woodcutter who lives in my forest?’

“‘I am,’ he replied.

‘Did your family ever starve while you were cutting wood? Were you in danger from scammers and politicians?’

“‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I could not provide for my family just by cutting wood, while taking time to pray every day, to save my soul from damnation.’

“Finally, the Nightwatcher understood. ‘Could damnation be any worse than what you are living right now?’

“Slowly, the woodcutter shook his head. ‘I cannot imagine any pain worse than living with such burdens on me.’

“And so, for the first time, the Nightwatcher turned away someone who came selling a boon. ‘It seems to me’ the Nightwatcher replied, ‘that you have nothing to ask of me. Go return home, and do what you love. Surely the Almighty will forgive you for praying a little less- for does he not want his people to be happy?’

The woodsman’s song found its full power again, stronger than even at the beginning of the story, rumbling so loudly that Tien was worried people would come running from the warcamp to see the disturbance.

“So the woodsman did. He returned home, and cut wood again, and he was happy with his family. At times he would go to pray in the woods, or at the town devotary, when it brought him peace. If his woodcutting work was slow, or he needed extra spheres to buy his children gifts, he would help at the town store. And every now and then, he would visit his tutor, with a few spheres, to ask about the world. But never again did he forget his love for the forest, or his family.”

The music faded, and Tien blinked. The images in his mind faded as well, and the strange things dancing at the corners of his vision. “How did you do that?”

Hoid grinned. “Well, you see, I put my fingers in the holes and blow, and then while the music is echoing, I start telling the story...”

“No, I mean the images. The other sounds. The mist. You were doing something with the Nightwatcher part, at least, right?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid. Anything you might have seen was your own addition to the story.” His eyes twinkled.

Tien didn't trust the man, but clearly he wasn't going to say any more about it. “So... The story is about not letting other people tell you who to be, or what to do. The woodsman let other people scare and bully him into doing things, and it almost destroyed his life.”

“That's one interpretation! But we often see in stories what is already inside us. So what have you been bullied into doing, Squadleader?”

Tien's eyes went wide. “What? I'm not- what do you mean?”

Hoid stood up, which seemed dangerous, perched on a precarious rock formation like that. “Oh, nothing. Just an idle comment.” He dropped something, and a moment later, Tien heard a soft metallic ‘plink’ on the stone below. Then, to his shock, the man jumped- only to slow a few feet before hitting the ground, and land lightly on his feet.

“What... Who are you? Really?”

Hoid was bending over to pick the bit of metal up off the ground. It looked round, and decorated with little grooves. Some kind of decoration, or trinket? “Ah, you've caught me. I'm the king’s wit, off causing trouble and tormenting the troops.”

“His... Wit?”

“Yes, his wit. It's a very difficult job. Mostly involves sitting around and making fun of lighteyes who have gotten too full of themselves.”

Yep, that made sense. “Well, Hoid, thank you for the story, but-”

Hoid held the flute out to him. “Here. For you.”

“Oh, I couldn't-”

“It's not much use in making fun of lighteyes, I assure you.”

“I don't even know how to play it!”

“Then practice. When the wind plays it back to you, you'll know you've mastered it.”

Tien hesitantly took the flute. “Um, thank you...”

“You can thank me by learning to play it. I'll expect a story in return next time we meet.” Hoid started walking backwards, disappearing into the shadows.

“What? I don't know any stories!” Tien started towards him, still holding the flute gingerly, as if he would break it by grabbing it too hard.

“Then make one!”

Then he turned a corner into an alley, and was gone. Tien followed, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He looked down at the flute in his hands. It was a wood he'd never seen before, in his training as a woodworker or anywhere else. Dark and smooth, it felt warm beneath his fingers. At least he could tell it was well carved and cared for, if a bit simple. Hesitantly, he held it up to his lips and blew. A breathy, hollow, trembling note floated out, making him wince.

Shaking his head, Tien turned back to the rocks and ran a hand along them, finally alone. Who did he want to be? What would he do, if he didn't have to be a captain for his squad of misfits? He missed the old days, at home with Kal, just carving little wood sculptures and trying to cheer his gloomy brother up. It was nice, seeing a smile return to his face with a few words and a hug.

But he couldn't do that here. Hugs didn't help hardened soldiers. Dejected, Tien let his fingers trail off the rock, and turned away. He should get some sleep.

Tomorrow they would start to join the rest of the squads on plateau runs.

Chapter Text

As she climbed the endless steps out of the Palanaeum, Elid considered everything she knew about Jasnah Kholin. The emerald lights shone on little ripples in the air around her- concentrationspren, which seemed plentiful here, though she had often seemed to draw them recently anytime she started thinking. Spren in general were plentiful in the Palanaeum. Concentrationspren, logicspren, exhaustionspren, the occasional creationspren. She even saw a strange spren like refracted light once or twice- or perhaps it was just a trick of how the Stormlight from the emeralds shone through the glass. But though the spren were interesting, her first impression on Jasnah was more important.

First, and perhaps most troublesome, was that she was the daughter of Gavilar Kholin, previous king of Alethkar. Previous, since Elid had destroyed a balcony beneath him... Then set him on fire. Not that she'd particularly wanted to, but those had been dark days, before she had rejected her status as truthless. The smell of burning flesh and broken stone still filled her nose, at times, when she remembered that terrible day. She tried not to remember it now.

Unfortunately, Jasnah surely remembered it as much as her- probably more, given that it was her father's body Elid had left broken, along with his brother, Dalinar. Would Elid forgive someone who had killed her brother, Szeth? Her father, Neturo? Her mother... Well, maybe her mother was a special case. Regardless, it was probably best Jasnah didn't know she was the assassin in white.

Luckily, six years of wandering the world had changed her appearance somewhat. A few grey hairs had appeared, and she'd gained weight despite her blade practice to ensure she didn't lose her touch. Her hair was longer, instead of the short cut she'd made when she was named truthless, and it was a bit unruly from years of neglect. Indeed, many sources she'd seen thought that the assassin in white was a man- presumably a function of their culture as much as her appearance. Women didn't fight here, so they saw what they expected- surely that shin ‘man’ with a sword just had a particularly feminine face, and with the flowing clothing and poor lighting... Well, without that white clothing, and with her eyes dark green instead of brilliant red, even Jasnah was unlikely to suspect her identity as Gavilar’s killer.

As long as, of course, she didn't summon her Blade, or use her Surges. How much did Taravangian know? Would he tell Jasnah? He seemed to be on her side, but she was wary of the man.

Still, assuming she could keep that quiet, what WAS her story? Elid mulled that over as she walked, and came to a simple answer. The truth.

No one knew much about the assassin in white- her name, where she came from, nothing. So far as she knew, aside from being Shin, no one knew that it had even been a Truthless, nor would the average person know what that meant. Jasnah might- but she would also know that, although rare, there had been other Truthless made over the years. A renegade Truthless hoping to prove herself was reasonable, without getting into the assassinations she'd been made to perform. If anything, from what she knew of Jasnah, it was perfect. A woman who was well known for decrying religion and tradition in favor of finding the truth? Surely she would be sympathetic to a fellow truth-seeker, cast out by her religion and culture.

The pieces fit together in Elid’s head like a puzzle. The best way to approach, the story to tell, the things to omit. She'd always been good with people, but her years on the run had only improved that. Of course, she had to be careful- Jasnah was an intelligent, well known scholar, and all Elid’s knowledge of her was secondhand. She hadn't even seen the woman on... That night. Regardless, she was confident of her approach. Don't get attached. Get in, get the woman's sympathy, find out what she knows, and get out.

She double checked her plan in her head, looking for problems, as she finally reached the top of the steps and exited into the Veil. That was another thing that had changed since her childhood, too. She still made reckless plans, but now she checked them twice. Was there anything she was missing? Jasnah famously had a soulcaster. Strange, but as an Alethi princess it wasn't impossible that she'd found one somewhere. She was interested in Surges, possibly because of the soulcaster, though that shouldn't be any reason she'd suspect Elid. It was something to be wary of, though. Mentioning her knowledge of the surges was sure to draw interest, but if Jasnah pieced together that Elid knew because of her history as an Honorbearer, it could get dangerous.

Finding Jasnah was simple, now that she didn't have to worry about being thrown out. She found a master-servant and showed her admittance chit, and was shown to Jasnah’s room. Much easier than sneaking around and finding records, making up excuses and lies. The servant even knocked on the door for her.

“I'm really not interested, Kabsal. Isn't two attempts enough for today? I do have actual work to do in here, you know.” Interesting, Elid thought. She wasn't the only visitor?

The master-servant cleared her throat awkwardly. “Brightness, it's not the Ardent, this time. There's a woman here who says she's here to see you about your research.”

There was a brief pause, then footsteps, and the door to the alcove swung open. Jasnah Kholin stood in the doorway, a look of irritation mixed with curiosity on her face. She was... Surprisingly beautiful, actually. Elid had expected a frumpy scholar, or some kind of ugly crone, from the way public accounts described her. She only realized now that those accounts, often religious in nature, may have been less than generous in their descriptions.

In fact, Jasnah was the picture of a perfect Alethi princess. A few years younger than Elid, both of them well into adulthood but not quite into middle age. Jasnah had the same strangely small eyes that everyone outside Shinovar seemed to have, though Elid was well accustomed to that by now. But where Elid simply didn't care much about her appearance beyond basic hygiene, Jasnah had, for whatever reason, applied makeup and done her hair before a day of research alone in a library alcove- in fact, she even smelled of perfume. Did she bathe every day? Elid had heard that nobles here often did, but found the idea strange. How much time did that take? Stones, though, she smelled fantastic. Maybe Elid needed to see if she could find a way to take a bath without paying broams for it.

Jasnah cleared her throat, and Elid snapped out of her thoughts. “Brightness, my name is Elid-daughter-Zeenid, and I have spent years trying to investigate Voidbringers. I was cast out by the shamans of my home country for my beliefs that they are returning, and named Truthless. I have heard that you also have been researching this, and hoped that we might share what we have learned.”

The woman considered for a moment, and despite being the older of the two, Elid felt very self conscious for a moment. Like a teacher was evaluating her, looking over her plain clothing and into her eyes. She tried not to squirm beneath that piercing gaze. Jasnah couldn't know, could she?

After a long moment, Jasnah sighed and waved her in. Elid thanked the master-servant and shut the door behind her, stepping into a room stacked high with books- all the books she had tried to find, but discovered to be already checked out. “Thank you, brightness. I-”

“There's no need for thanks, Elid. Most scholars would leap at a chance to talk about their research. A second mind could be exactly what I need. Certainly I've had worse distractions today.”

“Yes, Brightness.” Jasnah was already surprising her again. Still, best to stay on the polite side. “So many books! You must be busy here. Have you learned much?”

“Unfortunately, a lot of books does not seem to equate to a lot of useful information. But before we discuss my research, I would know more of you, Elid-daughter-Zeenid. The Shin people do not declare the status of Truthless lightly. You must have caused quite the stir, to be exiled and punished in such a way.”

Elid nodded slowly. “Yes, Brightness. I... Was labeled a disturber of the peace after insisting that the Voidbringers were returning already. I resisted the Shamans, and claimed they had abandoned Truth. They ignored me at first, but when people started to listen, I was declared Truthless.” She didn't need to fake the anger and bitterness in her voice. She'd left some parts out, but it was mostly true.

Jasnah looked deep in thought. “You believed... They had already returned? Have you seen them?”

“No, brightness. I'm not sure what they even look like, actually,” Elid admitted.

“Then why go to such lengths? What had you so persuaded that they were returning, if you never saw one?”

This was the most critical part- and the biggest lie. But like the best lies, it was mixed with a bit of truth. “I grew suspicious of the monasteries, brightness, and thought they were hiding something. After some investigation, I discovered that the Shamans were being controlled by one of the Unmade.”

Jasnah sat down, sighing and rubbing her temple. “And naturally, you had proof, right? Not just empty claims and suspicions based on your own grievances?” Stones. Jasnah thought she was making it up.

“Yes, Brightness. I heard it myself. A voice in my head, telling me to worship it. And I found a cave of spren, trapped and tortured... And a darkness. I can't explain, but it was just wrong somehow. I'm sure what I saw, Brightness.” Jasnah still looked skeptical. How much more could she say, without giving herself away?

Luckily, she didn't have to, as Jasnah spoke first, waving a hand dismissively. “Well, you at least seem sincere in your belief. Forgive me if I'm not quick to believe you until I find evidence to corroborate your story, but I assure you I will not dismiss it out of hand.”

“Thank- I mean, yes, Brightness.” Stones, how did this woman make her feel like a child still learning to speak properly?

“As for what I have learned... Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's not much I can say for certain. Folk stories and legends, mostly. I do have a theory, but I don't think you'll like it.”

“Why not, Brightness?”

“I'd rather not say yet. I've barely scratched the surface of what this library has to offer, and I would hate to share an incomplete theory only to prove myself wrong. However... If you can keep an open mind, I would invite you to research with me. Two women will read much faster than one. I only ask that you remain impartial in your research, no matter how much you desire to prove your case. Can you do that?”

It wasn't perfect. Every moment Elid spent here was a risk that Jasnah would figure her out.

But one way or another, she would have the answers she'd been searching for. She was not Truthless, no matter what anyone said. She would prove it.

“Yes, Brightness. I'll do my best.”

Chapter Text

“That,” Torol Sadeas said, “is the stupidest idea I've heard in a long while. Your Majesty.”

Adolin and Elhokar sat at a table in Sadeas’ warcamp. Ialai had poured them wine- some fancy vintage from Shinovar made from grapes, of all things. Adolin sipped at it eagerly. Elhokar swished his around nervously.

Sadeas gulped his down, to an almost imperceptible twitch in his wife's eye. “Six years of siege and you want to abandon our advantage now? Their numbers are dwindling, and the gemhearts we bring in fund half the kingdom. Your kingdom. Including your wife's little parties back home.”

Elhokar nodded quietly. It made sense- of course it made sense. Why charge a fortified position when they were doing just fine out here? It was why they had agreed to this plan to begin with.

Adolin was more determined, though. “No, I don't think anyone thought it would take this long to break them. And who says we can't keep bringing in gemhearts after we defeat the Parshendi? If anything, we'll bring in twice as many. Maybe more! For all we know, there's more gemhearts to the North, South, and East that we can't easily contest as long as we don't fully control the plains! We could do it, Torol.”

“Perhaps. But then what? Have you considered, Highprince,” Sadeas said dramatically, almost mockingly, “that this war is the glue holding our people together? The truth is, Adolin, we haven't ended it because no one really wants to. So long as we're working together, even if only barely, no one needs to worry about going back to territory squabbles. Alethi fight. It's what we do. Better to fight some savages out here than each other.”

Elhokar's eyes went wide. “But the vengeance pact! Our fathers!”

“Pretense.” Sadeas laughed grimly, raising his glass for more. Ialai poured him a more standard violet, though he sipped it slowly this time. “Did you both honestly think the highprinces all cared so much for your fathers that they would spend years dedicating their lives to vengeance? No, boys. If we wanted these savages dead, they would have been dead long ago.”

Adolin put his glass down, looking almost as shocked as Elhokar. “Why are you only telling us this now?”

“Well, for one, I didn't think I had to. Until I heard your fool plan, I didn't realize just how idealistic you boys still were.” His expression softened. “But look. It's not like we don't care about vengeance, or the memory of your fathers. We do. But you boys need to face reality- you especially, Elhokar. We can't afford to have a king who puts his emotions before his people. This war is profitable, and it keeps the men fighting, and the highprinces working together. It's not worth ending- in a risky assault that could leave a lot of men dead, attacking an entrenched position that we don't even know the location of- just over some childish notion of justice. With all due respect to the both of you, grow up.”

His words stung, and left Elhokar and Adolin both in shocked silence. Sadeas seemed willing to let his words soak in, sipping his wine and watching their expressions carefully.

It was Elhokar who finally spoke up. “So we continue... Forever?”

“Hardly. I doubt the savages can last more than another year or two. Our estimates show them running low on troops. It's only a matter of time before they have to make their own assault, trying to break free, or surrender. If you ask me, your majesty, we need to spend that time cementing your role as king. This kingdom is still fresh, and I'll go to Damnation myself before I let everything I built with your fathers fall apart as soon as it was built. You want to honor their memories? Start there instead. Be a king and a highprince they would be proud of. Not with meaningless assaults and emotional choices, but with strong leadership.”

“How do I do that?” Elhokar's voice was shaky. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Just when he thought he'd finally figured out what he had to do do be a good king, Sadeas upended all of it. Was he right? Elhokar felt lost in a sea of choices. He didn't know what to do, and even when people handed him answers and options, how was he to know if they were right or wrong? Opinions mixed with faces, manipulation and lies, assassins with smiles. Dark figures in robes, swirling lines beneath their hoods, watching him...

He shook his head clear, sighing. Sadeas had been saying something, but he'd lost focus for a moment. What had that been? “... would be just the thing. Don't you think so, Adolin?”

Adolin had just taken a sip of wine and seemed lost in thought as well, but at least he was apparently paying enough attention to answer. “I've never liked them, but perhaps in this case you're right. A hunt would be a good way to get the king out there. Show his face, talk, get the highprinces working together...”

Sadeas sighed. “I see I'm not going to disabuse you of your notions of working together anytime soon. Very well, try all you like, if you can get anyone to agree. But I think you'll see soon enough that Alethi work best when competing, not cooperating.”

Elhokar nodded and pretended he'd been following along. A hunt? A hunt would be good. He hadn't worn his blade and plate enough lately. He always felt stronger in his plate- not just physically, but safe, away from an ever-present anxiety he couldn't name. Shadows in the corners of your vision didn't matter when you had nigh-invulnerable ancient armor to defend you. “A hunt, then. Next time one of those fiends is sighted.”

Sadeas raised his glass, then gulped it down again and sighed. “I'll make the arrangements. See who we can get to come with us. It'll be a good opportunity to remind them you're in charge, discuss soulcasting fees, find ways to cement your power. It might not be fun, Elhokar, but this is what really makes a good king. You have to have control. And I'll get that for you. You just have to trust me.”

Elhokar looked to Adolin, who was silent and still seemed to be gazing into the distance with empty eyes, then back to the ruddy-faced highprince. Sadeas was one of his father's oldest and most trusted friends, and he knew the politics of the highprinces better than almost anyone. If he couldn't trust Sadeas, who could he trust?

He nodded slowly. “I trust you. Let's do it.”

Chapter Text

It was worse than Tien had expected. Far worse.

At least in a border skirmish, the objective was just to push back. It was more of a show of force than an actual battle; you could get away with just charging in, yelling a lot, stabbing a few unfortunate people, and waiting for one side to back down.

But the plateaus were tiny, on the scale of war. There was no hiding in a rocky cleft. And even worse, the objective wasn't just to make the other side back down. The objective was the gemheart. Tien and his squad were expected to hack and kill their way through to it, no matter what it took.

Nowhere to run. No way to avoid the blood and death. Just killing, and more killing, and dying, and...

Today had been a fairly easy run. They had gotten there early, halfway through hacking open the chrysalis when the Parshendi had arrived. Sometimes they would turn around and leave when that happened. But today they seemed desperate. Or perhaps they felt brave. They leaped the chasm and charged in warpairs.

Tien was on the front lines. At least here they could hold a line, so it was relatively safe. They would rotate out periodically as the ones in front weakened, with practiced precision. His squad had it drilled into them a hundred times over the last few weeks, until they could all do it in their sleep.

But it wasn't dying that scared Tien. It was killing.

They'd lost Reesh a week and a half in. The pain of that still stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain of killing, over and over. It became rote. Spear in, spear out. Blood gushed. Another dropped.

The problem was that Tien still saw their eyes.

Everyone else seemed to have no problem seeing these carapace-clad warriors as enemies, savages, things to slaughter without regret. But he met their eyes far too often.

One had all purple crystals in his beard. Was it his favorite color? Or did they symbolize something?

Another looked regretful even as Tien’s spear pierced their neck. Were they forced to fight, like he was? They had no beard, and their face looked thin, eyes different somehow. Were there women among the Parshendi? Did anyone else know?

Every time he made eye contact he saw too much. Sadness. Hope. Determination. Even rage, hatred, desperation- he couldn't help but see them as proof that it was a person there. Not a savage, or an enemy, but a person.

And then he killed them. How could he do otherwise? Perhaps he should have put down the spear, walked away, but he knew he would be labeled a deserter himself. Worse, he would be abandoning his men. So he killed again.

He killed until tears ran down his face and orange blood ran down his spear, screaming as they fell around him. Somehow he killed more than the others. They were impressed. “That's our squadleader!”, they said. “He's incredible! No wonder they call him Stormblessed.”

No one ever saw the tears. He wiped them away, putting on strength for them. They thought it was sweat, his face red from exertion. Surely they had noticed his eyes red and puffy? No one saw. They only saw what he showed them- a strong leader, there to protect them when they couldn't protect themselves. It was a lie that they readily accepted.

The battle ended suddenly, like most did. The Parshendi leader called for a retreat, and they all pulled back, leaping across the chasm. Tien suddenly felt exhausted. He checked in a few places where he thought he'd been hit, but there was no blood. Just a rip in his uniform here and there. Once again, he'd gotten through the battle without a single scratch. Even his best usually took a hit or two every now and then. Tien’s seeming invulnerability had only added to his legend.

He was supposed to stand at attention until the chrysalis was opened and the gemheart retrieved, but he was nauseous, tired, emotionally empty. It was too much. Worse every time, it seemed.

The battle this time had taken place near a large rock formation- almost a small mountain in its own right. These occasionally dotted the Plains, especially as you got deeper in. Perhaps it had been a rocky, hilly area before all the chasms. He stepped towards the formation, then looked back to his commanding officer. Selinar was distracted, laughing with one of the other officers nearby. Tien patted Dallet on the shoulder and discreetly motioned over towards the formation. “I'll be right back.”

Dallet cocked his head, then chuckled. “Even the storm has to drop some crem sometimes. I've got you covered.”

Tien smiled in thanks and slipped away. It was funny how in battle the others seemed to rally around him, like he was a shining beacon of hope at the front- but when he wanted to, no one seemed to notice him at all. He got around the other side of the formation and out of sight, and a few moments later puked his guts out.

It was destroying him. He couldn't live like this much longer. He couldn't...

Was that a door in the mountain?

Tien blinked a few times, wiping his mouth, but welcome for the distraction from his nausea and the memories of blood and death. A dark archway, barely visible in the shadow of a rocky cleft, seemed to lead into the stone. Was he hallucinating now? Why would there be a door here?

He crept closer, on guard for reasons he couldn't explain, touching the edge of the archway. It was rough, as if someone had made it with a hammer, but after a few inches the rough strata of crem gave way to an actual stone doorframe. Beyond that, pitch black.

Tien fished in his pouch for a sphere, picking through a few dun ones- he swore he'd just gotten fresh ones, were they already going dun?- before pulling out one that still glowed weakly, holding it up. And gasped.

It wasn't a tunnel, like he'd expected. It was entirely hollow. A whole building, covered in crem for what must have been centuries. Inside, old murals decorated the walls in the dim red light of the garnet he held up. Murals of spren, of knights in brilliant armor. He stopped in front of one that depicted a knight with their hand outstretched towards a Parshendi. Not in violence, but... The two appeared to be reaching to shake hands. In peace.

Had they been friends, long ago? Humans and Parshendi? His mind was staggered by the implications. Hadn't King Gavilar only discovered the Parshendi a few years ago? But these murals were centuries, maybe millennia old.

A groan deeper in the darkness made him jump, reaching for his knife. He'd left his spear back with Dallet. Tien whirled around, raising his gemstone to see one of the Parshendi, leg carapace cracked, trickling orange blood. The man weakly held his own knife, shaky hand holding it wardingly towards Tien.

Tien crept closer, hand drifting away from his own knife. “They left you here, didn't they? You couldn't walk, or jump the chasm, so they left you behind...”

“No. Not left...” The Parshendi grunted weakly. “Coming back. Once safe... Coming back...”

“Wait, you speak Alethi?” Tien knelt by the man, just out of range of the knife. “You're hurt pretty badly, though. You could bleed out before they return.”

Just then, a voice called out from outside the doorway. “Squadleader? Everything okay? You've been awhile! You still back here?”

Tien cursed softly, then made a snap decision. He'd never been good at surgery like his father or Kal, but he could bind a wound. He ripped at an already-torn part of his uniform, then held up the long strip of green cloth. “I can help.” He whispered. “Help.”

The man lowered the knife, sensing his urgency, and Tien quickly wrapped the cloth around the wound, pulling it tight. The Parshendi winced at the pressure, but the bleeding slowed.

“I'm sorry I can't do more. I have to go.” Tien stood and backed towards the entrance.

The man reached out a hand, like in the mural. He looked at it, then at Tien. “Thank you.”

Tien paused long enough to take the hand, smiling. Then he turned and fled out the doorway, quietly ducking out. He made excuses about an upset stomach, said he had ducked around a corner into the shadows, apologized for being gone so long. He would tell his squad about the building hidden in the rocks later, when there were less people around. For some reason, it didn't feel like a good idea to tell everyone.

But he felt a little better. Helping one Parshendi’s leg after killing dozens shouldn't have been enough. But it was something. It was a choice that he could make. It was a spark of hope- hope for an end to the bloodshed.

As they marched back to camp, Tien couldn't stop thinking about that mural. If they had been friends once, maybe they could be again.

Chapter Text

“So. Are you ever going to... Talk about it?” Moash looked smug as the caravan continued east. They were getting close to the Shattered Plains now- just a few more days, and Helaran would meet this mysterious Skybreaker master.

“No clue what you mean.” Inwardly he sighed. No one had openly mentioned the shardblade to him after that day- they seemed to realize he didn't want to talk about it. But he'd heard them whispering, and they treated him differently. People stood up straighter around him, hid anything sketchy they were doing, acted a little colder. As a lighteyes in a mostly darkeyed caravan he'd already been respected and avoided, but it had gotten worse as the rumor spread.

“Don't play dumb. C'mon. We're friends now, right? Good acquaintances, at least.” It was true enough. Moash had kept talking to him when everyone else avoided him. He was grateful for the company, but...

“It's complicated, Moash. I'm... Only borrowing it.”

Moash whistled softly. “Still. People have paid thousands of broams to borrow one of those for a battle or two. Who are you?”

Helaran shifted as he walked, thinking. He didn't have approval to reveal Skybreaker secrets. Their organization needed to remain in the shadows. Ordinary people couldn't know about it. But Moash was uniquely interested in justice. In fact, more than anyone Helaran had ever met, this man cared deeply about right and wrong, punishing the wicked and protecting the innocent. That was what the skybreakers stood for, wasn't it?

But it wasn't his call. “I can't tell you. Not the things you want to know. I'm sorry.”

“Oh.” Moash deflated, and stayed quiet.

“But...”

“Hm?” He perked right back up, like a puppy eager for attention.

“I'm meeting someone outside the warcamps who could. They might even be able to... I mean, maybe you could help.” Helaran grimaced at how awkward he sounded. Dancing around words, making sure he didn't give anything away.

“Would I get-”

“No, you probably wouldn't get a shardblade.”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean. Makes sense.”

“But I still think you'd be interested. You could get... Well, you care about law and justice a lot, right? You could change things. It would mean a really different path for you. You probably couldn't apply for the army. But you could really make a difference.”

Moash grimaced. “I don't think... The person that I want to really punish? I doubt anyone could ever bring justice to him. He's... Out of reach.”

“No one is above justice, Moash. No one.” The intensity of his own voice surprised him.

Moash considered this for awhile, and they just walked. They passed colorful shalebark and fingermoss, and absently Helaran thought of Shallan. She would have loved that kind of thing. Was she at the shattered plains, too? Months of searching, even with the help of the Skybreakers, and there had been no sight of her. Their response when he first told them she was missing was heartening. Nale had seemed almost panicked, in a way he had never seen the normally stoic man. Immediately they had mobilized groups and started gathering information to find her. He had been encouraged at first, but... Nothing.

All they knew was that she had likely been taken by the Ghostbloods following the death of his father- a mysterious group that he now knew his father had been doing business with. They were probably one of the secret organizations he was going to investigate in the shattered plains, which meant there was a chance he would find her there.

“I'll do it.” Moash’s determined voice broke the silence.

“What?”

“Your contact. I want to meet with them. I don't know if they can really do what you say, but... It's a better plan than joining the army and hoping to win a shard.”

“I don't know if they'll actually-”

“Just... Introduce me,” Moash cut him off. “I'm not asking you to guarantee that I'll be able to join up. I'm not even sure I want to, yet. Just... If your friends really could help, if you're not all talk... I might never get a chance like this again.”

Helaran thought for a moment, then nodded. “Just don't tell anyone else about it.”

“My lips are sealed.” He didn't seem excited about it, but grimly nodded, as if he'd decided something serious. What was he so angry about? What had happened with Moash’s grandparents? Passion for justice was good, surely, but there was a darkness underneath. Anger, perhaps hate. Would he be able to control himself?

Well, it was none of his business. Master Reila would know what to do with him. At a command from the caravan leader, the two men jogged off to scout ahead, climbing rocky terrain to the top of a tall slope. There, Helaran finally got his first good look at the warcamps, far in the distance. Even on the horizon they spread wide- ten small cities, forced to build in a wide, curved line by circumstance. They stood proud at the border, mountains to the north and south. A seal, stopping up the only way out of the Plains. Anyone going in or out would have to go through one of those camps.

In the sky above, thick grey clouds roiled like smoke. A highstorm was coming tonight, which was part of why they were scouting the area. Helaran scanned the surroundings, looking for anywhere an ambush could hide. Attacking before a highstorm was risky- if you failed, you were caught out in the storm. But it was also easy to catch a caravan off guard while they were hunkering down for a storm. That sort of attack could be deadly, because the bandits wouldn't just want your valuables, they needed your storm shelter. And they usually didn't want you alive and sharing it with them.

But no bandits lay in wait. No easy ambush points, no one on the other side of the steep slope they'd climbed. Ever since they'd all but annihilated that first ambush, it seemed no one wanted to mess with them.

The caravan would probably stop here for the storm, the hill acting as a natural windbreak, before continuing on in the morning. Moash turned to start back down, but Helaran cast one more wistful glance at the tiny cities on the horizon. He couldn't help but feel that everything would change at those warcamps.

Anticipation and apprehension filled him in equal measure. But for now, he turned to follow Moash back to camp. The caravan had already started chaining down wagons and setting up shelters. Helaran pitched in eagerly. One more storm, and they'd be there. It had been a long journey, but he suspected his true journey was only about to begin.

Chapter Text

Elid was starting to feel like she didn't really know the Alethi language after all. She wasn't the fastest reader, and she'd underestimated just how flowery and complicated the language of scholars could be.

“Indeed, if we view the very substance of ‘folktale’ as more than an effervescent, insubstantial manifestation of the commoner's psyche, and instead consider it a repository of forgotten history and half-buried truths, we can begin to form a fragmentary connection, an emergent pattern only apparent to those with the wherewithal to consider the subjective point of view that formed a foundation for the paradigm of the less fortunate.”

She closed the book and massaged her temples, slumping back into the chair Jasnah had asked to be brought up to this alcove of the Veil. “So... She's just saying ‘maybe there's some truth buried in these stories’?”

Jasnah nodded absently, absorbed in her own research, posture perfect. Elid had never seen her slump. Reading another thick tome, pausing occasionally to scribble- if her practiced handwriting could really be called scribbling- quick notes in shorthand. “Something like that, yes. You can skip the foreword, I imagine neither of us needs convincing that there's some truth to the Voidbringer stories.”

“It's just...” Elid sighed, not feeling eager to open the book again. “These stories are so ridiculous. Monsters under floorboards, like devious spren that you need to trick with wordplay. Doesn't the Alethi religion teach that they were an army, too?”

Jasnah set down her pen, a glint of curiosity in her eye. “Indeed. The Vorin religion- remember, the Vedens and a good deal of others believe it too, it's not strictly Alethi- teaches that the Voidbringers cast humanity from the Tranquiline Halls, then brought the war to us here. The Heralds then defeated the Voidbringers after numerous battles, and took the battle to them in the Halls, where all men go after they die to join the battle to reclaim them. I cannot say I believe in most of that, but it is evident to me that humanity really did fight in wars against these Voidbringers in times past.”

Elid pondered that. “The Shin religion- Stone Shamanism, I guess, though I don't know of any other countries that believe it- is a little different. We are taught that the Heralds entrusted our people with a sacred Truth- that the Voidbringers were not defeated, but sealed away somehow, and would return. That's why our people train for battle at monasteries, despite never fighting in wars like your people do. It's tradition that we should always be ready to fight the Voidbringers when they return.”

“I had heard about your Truth, but I admit I am fairly ignorant about the Shin religion,” Jasnah said, tapping a pen against her full, deep red lips. Lipstick in a library might have looked vain or shallow on another woman, but it was simply part of who Jasnah Kholin was. She would look stranger without it. “Your people are secretive, and even your philosophers and scholars rarely speak of your religion in their books.”

“The leaders are secretive, and some are even... Extreme. There are a few who would send assassins if they thought anyone was spilling our secrets to ‘heathen stonewalkers’.”

“Like you're doing now?”

“Like I'm doing now.” Elid grimaced. “Please... Don't publish my words. At least not with my name attached to them.”

“I never publish quotes without explicit permission. Regardless, thank you for sharing. Do you have parshmen in Shinovar?”

“I've... Never seen any,” Elid admitted. “Is that relevant?”

“Perhaps. I'm simply researching for now. Collecting information and trying to make connections-”

Elid’s eyes went wide. “You think it's them. You think the Parshmen are the Voidbringers.”

“I'm not going to draw any conclusions until-”

She ignored Jasnah’s protests now, deep in thought. Elid could almost see the bits of information, like a puzzle. Pieces that weren't fitting together. “But why? I've seen them. They're harmless. They don't think or speak, let alone form armies and fight. Except for...” There it was. The cornerstone. “The Parshendi.”

Jasnah looked... Irritated. For the first time since she'd met the princess, she seemed to be genuinely upset, though she was hiding it well. “Yes, you're... Very insightful. The Parshendi were what made me originally suspect that the Parshmen as a whole were more than they seemed.”

Elid had to suppress a smirk, despite herself. Jasnah had wanted to reveal this dramatically, perhaps, or thought that it was a major revelation that would take her awhile to figure out. It would have, perhaps, if Elid wasn't so good at reading people. Her talents had never been in overwhelming combat ability, or a brilliant logical mind. But words, people... She naturally disassembled what people said into what they meant. Pulled apart the connotations and implications, then pieced them into the thoughts hidden underneath.

But that also meant knowing what to say. If there was one thing age and maturity had taught her, it was that pride was the enemy of a good cooperative relationship. “It was just a guess, Brightness. You brought them up out of nowhere like that, and... What was it that one legend said? Beings of ash and fire? I could see that being them. Red and white and black.”

“A very good guess. I think you're being far too modest.” Jasnah looked at her now in a way that made Elid shiver. She might be the older of the two, but Jasnah made her feel like a child being chastised at times. Still, Jasnah continued, despite the suspicion plain on her face. “My father and uncle both died when the Parshendi sent an assassin. On the night we were to sign a peace treaty.” She flicked through pages of notes, tugging one out. “Like a calm day that became a tempest. That's how one story described the Voidbringers.”

“And these Parshendi were calm. They wanted peace, and then... Attacked. But you could say that about a lot of things. A lot of people.”

Jasnah sighed and leaned back, nodding. “Which is why I hesitate. I'm biased. Of course I would want my father's killers to be Voidbringers. My scholarly instinct says there's too many coincidences, but I'm not certain. I have no proof. So I gather facts.”

“And how many facts until you're satisfied? Until you're sure?”

“More. Many more. We've barely scratched the surface. I think I've underestimated, however, the value of your perspective. Something tells me that the Shin people hold the key to all of this. That they know far more than they're letting on.”

“That's... Hard to say, brightness. I was hardly a scholar among my people, and I'm not sure what I know that you don't.” Elid breathed deep, trying not to panic. This conversation was getting dangerously close to topics that she would rather not get into.

“Then we will just have to be thorough. Rigor, fortunately, is something that I excel in.” Jasnah paused, and seemed to contain her excitement a bit, regaining her composure. “But I am getting ahead of myself. Do you understand the implications of this? If I'm right, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Elid frowned. “Why is that? The Parshmen are still harmless. Perhaps exterminating them would be needlessly cruel, but surely you could just... Lock them up?”

Jasnah shook her head. “I don't think you realize the logistical and political difficulties involved. There are almost as many Parshmen in any given city as there are humans. How would you ‘lock up’ an entire city worth of people? We don't even know if the stories of them having strange powers or supernatural strength are true. If they're anything like the warriors on the Shattered Plains, from what I've heard, it would be nearly impossible to contain that many. But that's hardly even the most difficult part.”

Elid only had to think a moment before understanding. “Their owners.”

“Insightful yet again. People are rarely logical. Even if we had undeniable proof, there are those who would stubbornly deny anything that went against their own interests. They would cling to their Parshmen right up until they stabbed them in the literal and figurative back. And our proof is anything but undeniable at present.”

“So we only need to convince the entire world to give up their force of free labor, and invest substantial amounts into containing them, before whatever happened to the Parshendi happens to the rest of the Parshmen.”

“Precisely. So we need proof.”

Elid looked at the stacks of books in a new light. “I wish you'd told me sooner. It would have been a lot easier to search if I had known what I was looking for.”

“I'm not entirely certain I can't trust you even now, Elid. And it would have been better, had you come to this conclusion on your own. I'm still not fully convinced that my bias hasn't clouded my research.”

“Then we keep searching.” Elid picked up her discarded book, mentally preparing for more ten-broam words and needlessly complicated sentences.

“Indeed. But first, I think it best we exchange what we already know.” Jasnah picked up her pen and a fresh sheet of paper. “If you are willing to work with me, despite the heavy burden we will bear, let us start with the beliefs and teachings of Stone Shamanism. I think you will agree that the risk to the world warrants discarding any secrecy your religion prefers.”

Elid closed her eyes, breathing deep. She had really hoped to avoid this for now. She wasn't ready yet. But it seemed she didn't have much of a choice. “Of course. I was never that religious anyways.”

Chapter Text

“Today,” King Elhokar announced, riding beneath the bright open sky, “is an excellent day to slay a god. Wouldn't you say?”

“Undoubtedly, Your Majesty.” Sadeas seemed very pleased with himself. Perhaps because this had been his idea; perhaps because he was certain that this hunt was the turning point for making Elhokar into a proper king.

What are you?

The words haunted him. He was King, of course. Wasn't he? He might not be perfect at it, but he was doing well enough, all things considered.

“...most of us, at least.” Sadeas had been speaking. He smirked at Adolin with a pointed glance.

Adolin was scowling. He'd been irritable about all of this, probably still sore about getting shot down by Sadeas. “Yes, that's probably why they stay up in the Halls, away from us. Either that or the stench.” He glared right back at Sadeas.

It had always annoyed Elhokar just how much of an event it had to be anytime he did anything. Over a thousand people, coming along just to watch, scribe accounts, carry equipment and food and set up shade and comfortable chairs... Sure, they were fighting a grand monster, one that would be impossible- or at least very risky and difficult- to fell without the shardplate and shardblades they used. It would make a great story, remind everyone of the power and nobility of the King and the Highprinces.

That was what Sadeas was really after, of course. Elhokar was no expert in political maneuvering, but he could see how this worked. Just being here in his radiant golden shardplate made him look many times more regal than he ever would in fancy clothing, sitting on the grandest throne.

In the end, only Vamah had come along, but with Adolin and Sadeas that was almost a third of the highprinces. He looked almost puny beside the three shardbearers- the king in gold, Adolin in blue, Sadeas in red. Why red? He'd never understood. Sadeas' uniforms were usually a forest green- perhaps he'd painted it that way to stand out from them? The red armor certainly looked stunning in a sea of green uniforms. By contrast, Adolin's blue matched his troops. Made him look like one of them- and with how it shone in the sun, he was no harder to pick out, really.

Two very different shardbearers. ‘I'm one of you,’ Adolin's armor said. ‘Remember I'm above you,’ Sadeas' proclaimed. Which was Elhokar? What did his gold armor say?

What are you?

Well, it said he was king, of course. Only a king could shine as brilliantly as he did.

Adolin had broken away from Sadeas and was whispering with Renarin, who looked concerned. Elhokar always forgot the boy was back there. Perhaps he shouldn't think of Renarin as ‘boy’- he wasn't that much younger than Adolin. But the boy- the man in glasses was so quiet and unassuming. He hadn't taken his father's shardplate, or blade- technically he owned them, but he never wore or used either. One of the Cobalt guard usually wore it on Kholin plateau runs, but it hadn't been brought along to the hunt. Adolin had probably tried to persuade Renarin to wear them, but the boy was stubborn about such things, and actively seemed to avoid even touching his shardblade, as if allergic.

The Kholin family was swimming in Shards, really- something that grated on Sadeas to no end. More than once, Sadeas had tried to bargain for Oathbringer, claiming that Renarin had no need for it- even implied that he didn't deserve it- with his blood weakness, but Adolin refused on principle. But between Adolin's plate and blade and Renarin's plate and blade, they already had more than any of the other highprinces. To the degree that when Adolin had won a full set off a Parshendi warrior early in the war, he had instead gifted it to Elhokar (in addition to the set he now wore, and his late father's that was now used for training) to give to ‘anyone but Sadeas’. Well, officially he had said ‘for the king to grant to a worthy warrior to honor their strength and bravery’, but he'd made the distinction quite clear in private.

Sadeas, meanwhile, was grandstanding, talking about some victory a couple days ago. Talking to him, in part, Elhokar realized as the ruddy-faced man paused expectantly, turning to smile proudly at him. Well, placating Torol was part of the job. “What you achieve is nothing short of incredible, Sadeas. You've done very well in capturing gemhearts. You are to be commended.”

“Thank you, your majesty. A shame that some don't seem interested in participating. I suppose not everything runs in the family after all.”

Elhokar looked back at Adolin, who was twitching, hand out to the side as if to summon his blade. Instead he took the reins at more whispers from Renarin, but the tension was palpable. Elhokar felt like he was caught in the middle of a couples’ squabble. It was getting exhausting.

“Shouldn't we be there by now?” he asked, irritated. At least once they got to the actual hunting part there would be less time for politics and squabbling.

“No, probably another hour out.” Adolin seemed happy for a more neutral topic. “Probably could see the pavilion from here, if not for the rocky terrain. Maybe from up higher?” He grinned at Elhokar, who grinned back.

“Bet you five broams I can beat you to the top of that tower.”

“You're on.”

And with Sadeas cursing and spluttering behind them, the two kicked their horses into a full gallop, exploding away from the rest of the group.

***

“You got lucky.” Adolin sounded grumpy that he'd lost, but had a good natured smile as he pulled his helmet off.

Elhokar beamed brightly amidst a few gloryspren. Storms, but it had felt good to get away from the procession and the arguing. Just ride, and run, and climb... He was still panting, blood pumping. The procession below looked so tiny from up here. And in the distance... “There.” He could see their destination- the flags and bridges far below.

Adolin seemed out of it, though. “Hm?”

“The hunting pavilion.”

“Oh. Right.”

They stood awkwardly in silence, now that the contest was over. Neither knew what to say.

“Elhokar... It happened again. I wanted to tell you about... I've never really had the chance to explain...” Adolin was uncharacteristically nervous, stumbling over words.

“What happened again? Another fit? Is it... Like your brother, you think? Some kind of... blood weakness?” He winced at how cruel that sounded, but it was the most likely thing.

“No. It's... I see things during the storms. Visions. Sometimes I have to fight, sometimes I watch everything burn... But each time, it says to unite them.”

“Unite who?”

“Our people. That's what it says. Build of them a fortress. A wall to resist the winds.”

“Sounds... Ominous.” What to make of that? Craziness? Foolishness? Exhaustion? Or was it possible that Adolin was actually seeing... What, something from the Almighty?

“It is. It's silly. I know that. But it feels so real. I'm worried, Elhokar. What if it's true? What if something is going to attack our home, while we're out here fighting for years more like Sadeas wants? What if we come back and it's already too late?” Adolin was looking out over the Plains, a faraway look in his eye. Storms, he was serious.

Elhokar didn't have a response to that. It made a lot more sense, but Sadeas wouldn't act on such a nebulous reason. Probably why Adolin hesitated to even bring it up.

“Don't tell anyone about this, okay? If the ardents got ahold of it... If they thought I was claiming I was chosen by the Almighty or some such nonsense...”

“I won't. Honestly... I wonder if it's related to... You know.”

“The assassins?”

“Whatever they are. I saw them again that same night. Watching from my balcony in the storm.”

“No one would be on a balcony in a storm, Elhokar.”

“And highprinces don't have visions of the end of the world. But here we are.”

They stood in silence awhile longer before Adolin nodded to him and climbed back down. Elhokar felt a little silly, now. At first it had seemed heroic, standing up here as an icon to the army below, cape flapping in the wind. Was he to scramble back down, looking undignified like that?

No, a king should look heroic. Before he could think too hard about it, Elhokar launched himself off the top of the formation, plummeting past a confused and shocked Adolin, and crunching to the ground. The stone cracked beneath him, leaving little craters where his feet and knee had impacted, a smaller one where his hand had steadied him. A puff of Stormlight seeped out around him, adding to the effect.

It felt wrong, still. Sure, some of the soldiers and women looked at him with wide, admiring eyes. Jealous of the shardplate, of the power, of the impressive move. But just as many rolled their eyes, and it struck him just how childish the move had been. Like a hero from some play- but those plays weren't real, were they?

What are you?

He felt like he was close to acknowledging something, as he retrieved his Ryshadium and rode onwards towards the destination. Something important about himself.

But before he could think further on it, he was shocked out of his contemplation by Adolin, returning from getting scout reports. “You'll never guess who managed to come along unnoticed!”

Elhokar frowned. “Unnoticed? Who?”

Adolin just pointed at a figure in black, riding effortlessly on a horse of the same color. Elhokar's frown turned into a grin.

Wit had returned. And judging by how Sadeas’ eyebrow was twitching and his face was even more red than usual, he had already gotten to work. Perhaps this hunt wouldn't be as stressful as he'd thought.

Chapter Text

Wood shavings piled up on the floor. There hadn't been a run since he'd helped that Parshendi- not a single chrysalis in days spotted close enough for Sadeas to contest. Bad luck for the highprince, who had reportedly gone off on a hunt with some other highprinces to occupy himself. Some of the other squads complained at the lack of action. They wanted to be off fighting savages.

Tien, however, was more than happy to get some time to rest and think. They were still assigned to training and camp duties, but between all that, he'd had plenty of time in his private quarters. Time he'd mostly spent with a knife and blocks of scrap wood from the carpentry yard.

The results were rough figurines with blocky features, big enough to fit in his palm and wrap his fingers around like a spear. One figurine did exactly that- held a long spear in one hand, standing tall and proud. Like Kaladin would- but it was Tien’s face on the figure. Not that anyone could probably tell- it was a rough figure, whittled with a soldier's knife. But Tien could tell. Somehow, he could- this figure was him. A version of him, at least. Stormblessed.

But he didn't like that one. Despite all the effort he'd put into making it- both the figure, and the persona it represented- it made him frustrated and anxious to look at. It had killed so many in the name of protecting others. It wasn't even that he thought that was wrong, exactly- he just hated it. Hated being that person. Having to do those things. That figurine lay on his bunk next to him.

There was another figurine, laying on the other side. A child. Curled up, as if to lay on the ground. Hiding. You couldn't even see its face- he'd barely given it any detail. That didn't matter- it was him too. The child he'd been. Afraid, helpless... Useless. That child had gotten his brother killed. He couldn't be that again. Not now. Going back to that kid would mean failing all the people who depended on him. Not that he was prideful enough to think they'd get killed without him. But this little group of rejects, deserters, thieves, and cowards... They had come so far. Been so strong. If they couldn't go back to how they'd been, how could he?

There was a third figurine. Or there would be, probably. Because those couldn't be the only two options, right? He turned the block over in his hands. He'd carved it into a sort of flattened cylinder shape, with plenty of space around the torso to pose the arms- an outline to start working from. But what to carve from here? All he knew for now was that this figurine was standing up.

What are you?

He wondered that sometimes. If he wasn't a kid anymore, and he didn't have to be a soldier, what was he? Another deserter? A coward? A fool, in over his head?

No. Thinking like that wouldn't get him anywhere. Rather than thinking about what he was running away from- who he didn't want to be- what did he want?

He liked rocks. The colors in them, the layers of crem, the hidden things you could discover in them. But could he do anything with that? Join the ardents as a... Rock scholar? Maybe research things like that building he'd found, out on the plains? That didn't feel right, somehow. He liked learning new things, but studying had never suited him. Back when his father had still had hope that Tien would be a surgeon... All he'd wanted to do was escape the lessons to go hunting for lurgs, or find fun rocks to show Kal.

A carpenter? He'd tried that, with much the same problem. Carving fun shapes was one thing, but people didn't pay for that. People paid carpenters for sturdy chairs, and tables, and maybe- if you were lucky, and very skilled- decorative items to be soulcast for some rich noble. That sounded terribly boring. Was it wrong to reject a life path for being boring? But how many times had he been reprimanded for losing focus, forgetting work, carving horses and axehounds and chasmfiends and knights out of scrap wood instead?

There was a common thread here, he could feel it. Tien started shaping the wood, carving off a little at a time. Why did he like carving fun shapes? It wasn't for himself. He had liked showing Kal. Even now, he liked giving them to his squad members. They had always been a little confused by his odd hobby- it was just close enough to art to seem a little feminine, for such a proud, strong squadleader. But he could tell they still appreciated the gifts. Some of the older members even treasured them- measured seniority in how many of the little pieces of wood they had by their bunk. Ridiculous, sentimental... But they appreciated him. They really did.

Same with the rocks. They connected him to Kal. He'd always run to show them off. Fundamentally, Tien realized, he was a person who liked connecting with people. Connecting them with each other. Inspiring them, changing them, making them the best versions of themselves

Like that mural.

An idea started to form. A version of himself that felt stupidly optimistic, idealistic, and completely unrealistic. But as he thought of that knight in the mural, reaching out a hand towards the Parshendi, the carving started to take shape.

What are you?

Could Tien be someone who connected others? Even those who hated each other? He couldn't take all this death and killing anymore. Couldn't he try to save lives instead?

It would be hard. He was a single darkeyes suggesting something that went against Alethi beliefs entirely. Did he have the strength for that? Tien didn't know. But he would have to try.

Because he realized, as he finished that third figurine, that it didn't really matter whether he could or not. Maybe that goal was out of reach. Maybe it was impossible in his life, or ever. But even so, that was the kind of person he wanted to be. Even if that person was doomed to fail, he would rather be a failure of a peacemaker than a successful and famous warrior.

What was he? “Nothing, yet. Nothing that I want to be, at least.” Tien whispered to himself, as he held up the little wooden figure. It had eyes that only he could tell were bright and smiling, its hand reaching out in welcome. “But I'm going to become someone that I can be proud of.”

Tien felt a shiver down his spine. Like ice in his veins. His quarters felt brighter- was it his imagination? Saying it out loud made him feel empowered. Determined. Full of energy. He had a lot to do, if he wanted those words to be more than just empty promises. “Starting now.” He set down the figurine, ready to get to work.

These words are accepted.

Chapter Text

“Ah, speaking of people unfairly getting more women- Highprince Adolin! How kind of you to tear yourself away from the ladies long enough to join us for a hunt.”

Wit was being his usual self, teasing and prodding at anyone within earshot. By the time Elhokar was close enough to tell what was happening, Renarin was already blushing furiously, and Adolin was pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Hello, Wit. As usual, it's a pleasure, so long as you're focused on someone else.”

“What a coincidence. I hear that ‘being with one person but focused on someone else’ is exactly the difficulty you've had in relationships lately.”

Adolin winced, then sighed. This sort of thing was to be expected, but it still got under his skin somehow. “As usual, your knowledge of the intimate details of my romantic life is uncanny. But do you have to go after my brother?” Wit was almost always good-natured with Renarin, but Adolin could get a touch protective when it came to the boy.

“Your brother is less fragile than you think him, Brightlord. Perhaps he's past the days of needing a hero to protect him.” Wit winked, then turned his horse to maneuver over the bridge. It seemed they were finally arriving at the observation plateau proper.

Adolin sighed again. Elhokar knew that look. Perhaps the two of them would have enjoyed these antics a little more when they had been younger and more carefree, before their fathers had died. Elhokar still appreciated them, but couldn't find the joy in them he wished he could.

Adolin seemed to be thinking something similar. “Best Wit we've had in a long while, but...”

Renarin nodded. “He's unnerving.”

Elhokar took the opportunity from the break in their conversation and pulled up beside them, trying to look regal as the huntmaster joined them. But before he could get a word in, Bashin noticed them and wobbled over. He was a particularly large man, but his service had been nothing short of perfect. Even in his role as a huntmaster, he had done well enough for himself that he had reached the first nahn. Legally, though he was darkeyed, he could even marry into a lighteyed family.

“Your Majesty! Wonderful timing! We've just tossed down the bait.”

“Excellent,” Elhokar said, climbing down from his saddle. Adolin did the same. From their point of view on the observation plateau, they could see the neighboring, smaller plateau, where the actual fighting would happen. Only shardbearers would be going over there, once the fiend had been lured out- everyone else would stay well away from that plateau, keeping to the relative safety of the larger one they were currently on. Women had easels set for drawing or painting, boards for writing accounts of the battle.

On the hunting plateau itself, a group of hunters led a chull around the perimeter, towing a rope draped over the side of the cliff, presumably with something large and meaty on the other end as bait.

“We're using hog carcasses,” Bashin explained. “Already poured blood over the sides. The chasmfiend has been spotted by patrols here a good dozen times. Too big to be pupating. But a bigger fiend makes for a better hunt, right? We've got hogs ready to release as distractions- for the hunters and chull to get away- and then we can start weakening it with arrows.”

A rack of grandbows sat on the far edge of the observation plateau, massive things enhanced with Fabrials to be strong enough to launch arrows thicker than spears. Elhokar felt a pang of loneliness. His mother had developed those- Navani had stayed behind with his wife, Aesudan, in the capital. Sometimes he wished they had both come here instead. Aesudan always seemed to know what to do. She was so sure, so firm, when he was confused and hesitant. But no, it wouldn't do for ALL the leadership to leave the capital...

“...larger than you've ever slain before, Brightlords.” He'd done it again. Why couldn't he just stay focused?

Adolin was watching the chull as Bashin continued giving advice. Elhokar had heard it before. Go for the legs, watch the claws, use distractions, blah blah blah. Yes, don't get crushed by the giant scaly monster, got it.

“I'm sorry, Brightlord.” Bashin was talking about the chull now. “It's been doing this all day.” He drew his focus in that direction, following Adolin's gaze. The stupid thing was ignoring its handlers and wandering off again.

Shouldn't he have something to say about that? As king? “Well, let's send for another one. It shouldn't take too long to get a replacement out there, right? There's others that we brought along, even. Surely...” He trailed off as the screaming began. The sun suddenly seemed a lot dimmer as he turned away from the hunting plateau, to his left. Where a mind-numbingly enormous figure blotted out the sun over the observation plateau.

“Aw, damnation.” Bashin said.

Elhokar grinned. Finally, an opportunity to really be a hero. He swung right back up into the saddle of Gallant- his uncle Dalinar’s horse, once, who he'd painstakingly bonded with after the Assassin had taken him- reaching out a hand to summon his blade as he charged the beast. “To arms! To arms! Archers, fire!”

The chasmfiend grabbed an entire chull- a thick, heavy thing half the size of a house- effortlessly with one claw. The fiend crunched down on it, shattering the shell into fragments that fell on the tents and plateau below.

Storms, but Shardblades took a long time to summon. He rarely counted the heartbeats. It would come when it came. “Adolin, with me! Sadeas, get a bow!” The bladeless highprince would be much more use with one of those than charging in with them. This was what being a king was. The moments he lived for. Surely there were no rolling eyes now- not with his cape majestically flapping behind him, calling out orders, riding into battle against an impossible enemy, to save the innocent, with golden shardplate and his loyal steed.

His blade appeared in his hand, raised up to catch the light heroically, like a Knight Radiant from the old stories. Sunraiser was long and thin, with the ten glyphs etched along its length. A blade of legend. His blade.

The blade that would smite this vile foe. It would not get away. “Make it angry!” He called out. This fight would be legendary. Archers loosed arrows. The chasmfiend swiped at the soldiers closest to it, sending bodies flying.

Adolin rode up beside him on Sureblood. The two of them, shardplate blue and gold, horses black and white, against a beast that could lay waste to armies. Arrows fell like rain on the creature, but it barely seemed to notice.

“Soldiers! Fall back! Let the shardbearers handle this!” Did that sound heroic enough? The troops, with their useless mundane spears and swords, seemed more than happy enough to turn and flee.

“Left or right?” Adolin asked, pulling up next to Elhokar.

“Right.” Elhokar raised his blade again and charged. Adolin followed suit. The two split, charging for the legs supporting the creature. They rode past troops, some fleeing, others frozen in fear. Elhokar swung Sunraiser in a wide arc, slicing through one leg as Adolin took another on the other side. Both legs fell limp.

The monster roared, head whipping towards Elhokar. Despite his heroics, the king felt a spike of terror. He forced it down. No fear. The people must see true bravery. Glory. “Meet your enemy, monster!” He turned to meet it, charging for its roaring maw. It swung a claw and he ducked, adrenaline pulsing as the massive limb whooshed inches over him, cracking into a stone outcropping. “You get the other legs, Adolin! I'll fend it off!”

Indeed, as he heroically faced the thing down, Adolin sliced another leg. Three down... A lot to go. The beast screamed, multiple voices in chorus. It tried to turn towards Adolin, but Elhokar got in close and sliced clean across its face, down the chitin of its collar. “Ha! Don't get distracted, now! Your foe is me!”

That got its attention. The chasmfiend smashed a claw down in front of him. But Elhokar was on a Ryshadium. He hardly even needed to direct it to turn, sharply whipping around to the side-

Snap.

Suddenly he was flying. The claw hadn't hit him, he was certain of it. He still held to the saddle horn. But the saddle was no longer attached to his black steed.

Elhokar crashed to the ground violently. His shardplate cracked, light streaming out of it, and he felt dizzy. Why... Where...?

Too late, he saw the shadow above him. He realized his foolishness, all at once, too late. As always. This was how he died. A fool of a king, throwing his life away for meaningless theatrics, thinking himself a hero in a play. The claw descended as if in slow motion.

Elhokar looked around. At the bodies. The people, screaming in terror. This was no heroic tale. It was a nightmare. No one was recording his glory, or even looking at him, as they fled for safety. Wasn't that his job? Keeping them safe? That was what a king did, not show off. Perhaps he deserved this.

The claw fell, like the arm of the Almighty in judgement.

Until it stopped.

An arrow sprouted from the chasmfiend’s head- a massive one, not like the thin arrows the archers shot. This one cracked through the chitin, and purple gore exploded out. The claw crashed to the stone beside him as the fiend looked around in confusion.

A second arrow crashed through its shoulder. Elhokar saw where it came from now. Sadeas. The man raised his shardbow in salute. Storming glorious man.

He sat up, plate crunching against stone. Perhaps he had been foolish. But he could see now. The people were what mattered. They trusted him. Their lives were more important than looking heroic- more important, even, than killing this beast.

Elhokar pushed to his feet, sore all over despite the plate. Tired. He shouldn't have exerted himself racing Adolin. But he didn't have time to be weak right now. Not when there were still soldiers, his men, in harm's way. He had to be strong. His hand went out to the side, summoning back the blade that had vanished when he fell.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to flee. Another blow could finish him. But as Adolin cut a fourth leg, the creature began lashing out in a frenzy. He couldn't leave those men. Couldn't leave Adolin. It wasn't about whether he would win or not, whether he could. Even if he knew he would lose for sure, he still had to fight. It was right.

So with heavily cracked shardplate, alone beneath a mountain of a creature, King Elhokar raised his shardblade, took a deep breath, and called out as loudly as he could. His voice seemed to resonate far louder than it should have, like a trumpet over the plains. “Are you a god?”

Men turned to look at him in shock. He pointed Sunraiser at the chasmfiend- not in a show of heroism, but to save these people. “I! Defy! You!” His headache had faded, his body feeling stronger. He lunged in, slashing at the chest of the fiend, which turned away from Adolin and roared. He stabbed again, deep, seeking its heart. “You will not claim the lives of my people! You will fall here, before you claim a single soul more!”

The beast shook, sending him flying again, almost ripping the blade from his hands. But he felt different. Stronger. The chasmfiend whirled, but he slid underneath, slashing at the tail above him as it passed.

“Elhokar!” Adolin shouted. He had narrowly avoided being knocked from his own Ryshadium. Renarin was shouting too. That didn't matter right now. He was so close.

Chunks of carapace fell around him. If he could just find the heart, this would all be over. Adolin had stopped cutting legs, instead leaping from Sureblood to stand beside him. Elhokar was welcome for the backup as claws came for both of them. Damnation. He backed away from the heart and stood back to back with Adolin. Killing this creature didn't matter, even if it was the quickest way to end this all. They just had to keep it away from the others.

Adolin slashed at a claw coming for Elhokar's head, and Elhokar deflected one that would have struck Adolin from behind. There were four claws, but between the two of them they could handle it. One smashed at the ground, sending chips flying and almost knocking Elhokar off his feet, but Adolin caught him and deflected another claw.

Their fathers were long gone, but something else had taken their place. A bond forged from a shared emptiness, of the understanding of a burden that neither of them could ever live up to.

Adolin would never be the blackthorn. He didn't have the ferocity, the raw power. But he could protect his cousin.

And Elhokar would never be his father. He couldn't be the ruthless political giant that pulled together the princedoms, that forced everyone to bow before him. But he could kill a god.

Adolin sliced one claw cleanly free of its limb. Then he turned to nod at Elhokar. They'd both seen it.

In the center of the chasmfiend’s chest, where he'd hacked at the carapace, pulsing flesh jutted out. Right where the heart would be.

Adolin shifted to windstance and battered away all three remaining claws, a whirlwind of motion, as Elhokar ducked in low and ran.

A claw caught Adolin's shoulder, then smacked his blade away, making it vanish to mist. Adolin dodged, holding out his hand, but it would be too late to summon it again. “Any day now!”

The beast went limp.

Sunraiser was stabbed right through the hole, thrust clean and true. With a crunch, the beast slowly fell forward and collapsed onto the rock, carapace cracking against the plateau.

Panting, the king fell back, next to a similarly exhausted Adolin. They'd done it. His blade had cut the chasmfiend's core, killing it. He turned to look behind him. Exhausted soldiers. Medics running for the injured. As much as he wanted to revel in the glory, this was a disaster.

Sadeas jogged up beside them. “Get the gemstone, boy.”

Elhokar started. “What? There are injured. We need- we should help. Maybe we can lift debris-”

“Everyone's eyes are on you, your majesty. They need to know we won. If you leave now, if you go to help, the story when we get back is simple. ‘It was a disaster. We were ambushed, and barely killed it.’”

“It WAS a disaster, Sadeas. Look at all this.”

“Only if we let it be. Go get the gemstone. Hold it aloft.” Sadeas raised his shardbow, then bowed deeply. Elhokar was conflicted, but the despairing looks around convinced him. The people were safe. He'd done what he needed to. Now they needed hope, more than anything else he could do.

So, taking a deep breath, he stood tall, his shardplate gleaming even brighter than usual in the sun. He strode to the place he'd stabbed Sunraiser and thrust a hand in, surprised at how the flesh seemed to melt away almost at his touch. Immediately he found it- an emerald larger than his head. Worth a fortune. But was a fortune worth the lives lost here? Every day, just as many were lost in battle anyways. Why did that make him feel sick now, in this moment of triumph?

Still, he held the massive emerald high, still dripping with purple blood. The soldiers yelled in triumph.

Maybe sometimes the people did need their king to be a hero.

Chapter Text

“Alright, squadleader. Why’d you really call us out here?” Dallet asked. “You've never been much for drinking. I know we're not here just to chat about old times.” The private rooms in the Ornery Chull were convenient for meetings like this, away from prying ears. Not that Tien expected anyone to be spying on them, but he wanted to have a serious conversation, and found it hard to focus in loud, busy spaces.

His second in command, Dallet, loomed over the other three men in the booth. Dallet was a mountain of a man, with a neatly trimmed black beard speckled with grey. Gruff and straightforward, he rarely minced words, and Tien appreciated having a second who could speak his mind- and tell his squadleader if he was being an idiot. Together with Coreb and Toorim, this was Tien’s inner circle.

He had been busy for the last week setting his plan in motion. He probably should have talked to them about this all by now, but... Storms, starting conversations was so awkward. What did you say? It shouldn't be as nerve wracking as it was- maybe it was because talking openly about his plans felt too vulnerable. But he was a squadleader. They looked up to him. He just had to be confident and commanding.

“I discovered something, a couple plateau runs ago. Something I've been talking to the leadership about.” The Squadleader leaned in, like he was sharing a secret. “There are ruins in the Plains. Ancient buildings.”

Coreb frowned, looking confused. “Ruins? From what? Didn't think anyone but the Alethi were crazy enough to try to live out here.” Coreb was a wiry and muscular Veden, with firey red hair, a crooked nose, and a finger that wasn't quite straight from his days of brawling.

“There are cities out here. An entire country, once. But still some coastal cities.” Toorim was the smallest of any of them- the Iri man was older than he looked, but with his still-golden hair and short, youthful stature, he was often mistaken for a boy barely of age to join the army. In reality, he was probably closer to Dallet's age. Tien was the youngest of them all, but they still looked up to him. In fact, half his squad was older than him. But most of them had been ‘rescued’ by Tien in one way or another, and treated him like anything from a father figure, to an ardent, to some kind of mythological figure.

Out here on the shattered plains, their reputation was less mythical than it had once been. Back with Amaram, fresh uniforms, oiled armor, and maintained weapons went a long way, and a little strength and extra training had made them almost famous.

Here with Sadeas' troops, none of that mattered. Everyone knew the formations that they needed, and training extra earned you scorn, if anything. Not to mention the outright laughter they got for polishing their armor. Tien knew the other squadrons called them names behind their backs, and quite often. But scorn didn't sting when he'd never been looking for praise to begin with.

“Natanatan.” Tien said, nodding at Toorim.

Coreb’s eyes widened in recognition. “Like the blue people?”

That got a chuckle out of the other three. “Yes, Coreb.” Tien smiled. “Like the blue people. Point is, I stumbled into one of these ruins. It was full of murals of the Knights Radiant, and the Parshendi.”

Dallet furrowed his brow. “The lost knights? I'd expected ruins to be a house. Or a shop, maybe. That sounds more like a temple.”

“Sounds unlucky to me.” Coreb scowled. “Natan people are one thing, but the traitor knights? I'd stay away from those ruins.”

“You're missing something, Coreb,” Tien said. “Shards.”

Toorim nodded in agreement, clearly thinking the same. “Shardblades and Shardplate were said to have once belonged to those ‘traitor knights’. If there's a temple dedicated to them, there's a chance those ruins have their armor or weapons left behind- or other ancient fabrials.”

Dallet grunted. “Imagine being the squadron to bring Sadeas a soulcaster. Or shardblade.”

“Storms, imagine having a shardblade for yourself.” Coreb was back to being eager again, despite his trepidation just seconds ago, but that was just how he was. Capricious and passionate, he jumped from one burning emotion to the next in a way that... Well, had gotten him into a lot of fights.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Tien said. “For all we know, it's just the one temple out there. Might have been an old waystop on the road, and there might never have been anything of value, or it might have been picked clean. But even so, we're going to go look.”

“We are?” Coreb grinned wide, fears of bad luck apparently long forgotten.

“Are we, now?” Dallet seemed more cautious. “And how are we doing that?”

“I told some of the higher-ups about what I'd found. Actually, I arranged to tell Captain Selinar when Battalionlord Matal was there. Both to keep Selinar from taking all the credit- you know how he is- and because the Battalionlord’s sister is a historian.”

“You've really thought this through, haven't you?” Dallet said. “So they agreed to let us go? Just like that?”

“Something like that. I implied that the entrance was difficult to find, but that I could probably find it. I let them suggest the idea of sending our squadron, along with a contingent of scholars, a bridge crew, and... Unfortunately, Selinar himself.”

Selinar was known for being cruel, selfish, and callous. Not unusual for an Alethi captain, but the man seemed to revel in it, as if being uncaring made him superior. Usually Tien did his best to interact with the captainlord as little as possible, but this time it looked like there wouldn't be a way around it.

“That isn't the whole story, is it?” Toorim asked quietly. “You know something, or you wouldn't be dragging the whole squad away from battle to go look at murals and stand in the sun guarding lighteyed scholars. What are you hiding?”

Tien did his best to keep a straight face. Toorim was insightful as usual. He was tempted to tell them, but that would shatter their image of him. What would they say if they found out their stoic, determined captain was tired of fighting? Trying for peace? What an un-Alethi way of thinking. He'd get laughed out of the warcamps, and lose any credibility and respect his own squadron had for him.

So instead, he smiled mysteriously. “I'm almost certain there's something out there, Toorim. We've been missing something. Pieces don't add up. Why would the Parshendi have shards? Where did they get them? How are they surviving, out in the middle of the Plains somewhere? There's more to this. I can feel it. We might not find a shardblade, but there's secrets out there. If this goes well, we could all end up rich. This squad has never been about fighting for honor and glory and patriotism. If we make a big enough discovery, we could all retire together in comfort. Kick our feet up. I think we all deserve it by now, don't you?”

He waited, smiling and confident on the outside, panicking on the inside as the other three mulled that over. Was it flimsy? Did it sound like a hollow justification? It was the best excuse he'd been able to come up with for why a seasoned Alethi veteran would want to go on an expedition like this instead of going on plateau runs.

Coreb broke the silence, Heralds bless him. “Ha! I like it. A nice big house in Kholinar, enough money to go up a few Nahn, especially after our years of military service- not to mention our grand discovery! And storms, if we do find a shardblade, maybe one of us can bond it and become a lighteyes ourselves! It'll be like one of the old legends!”

Dallet chuckled. “Well, I might not share his enthusiasm, but I say it's worth a shot. At worst, it's a wasted few days, and at best we're set for life. I'll take those odds.”

Toorim finally smiled, shaking his head. “Well, when these two idiots agree, I know it'll be interesting at least. Let's just be careful about it. For all we know, ancient Natan ruins could be just as dangerous as a plateau run.”

Tien let out a sigh of relief. “I'll get the details set, but it seems they want to move fast. Probably within days. We're off plateau runs until then.”

And just like that, he'd earned a few more days without fighting- and maybe, if he was lucky, those ruins held clues about the peace humans once had with Parshendi. Enough to convince the highprinces to end the war. Shardblades, fabrials, ancient treasures... None of that compared to the idea of never having to fight again.

End of Part 2

Chapter Text

Navani Kholin was not a scholar. But she let herself pretend.

These days, it was all she had left.

Her husband and Dalinar, both taken from her that same fateful night, years ago. Gavilar had deserved it, maybe, but Dalinar... He had finally been trying to get his life back together. For once, he hadn't been drinking. At a feast, no less. It was cruel of the Almighty to take him just as he was starting to recover, but she took some solace in knowing that the Heralds had gained an incredible warrior and a powerful king that night for the war to reclaim the Tranquiline Halls. Two strong, passionate men. One of which had almost been honorable, at the end.

Unfortunately, that left her with none for herself.

She was tired of it all. Kholinar was, in theory, a major city for technological progress and fabrial science. It might not have the scale and funding of the Azish empire, or the Thaylen trade secrets, but the Alethi workshops were full of passionate, organized workers willing to push the boundaries of fabrials and try new things.

Unfortunately, that workshop was in the middle of a city of idiots.

Or at least it had been. Court women chattered as she had her goods loaded onto a caravan headed east- a caravan comprised largely of the best and brightest workers. Women and ardents of a good temperament and brilliant minds, selected by her from the workshop to travel to the Shattered Plains. She couldn't take all of them, of course. Half of Kholinar was using the new fabrial heated baths by now, with orders for plenty more, and production required some staff to stay behind.

But her favorites were coming with her. She would continue her experiments out there, on the front lines of the war. It was the subject of most of the gossip for the last week or so. Navani claimed she wanted to be able to put new battlefield designs to work more easily, needed more space for large scale experiments, and a dozen other excuses. The truth was, she was just sick of all the politics.

“It's a shame to see you go, Mashala.” The queen stepped primly down the stairs from the palace, putting on a sad face that seemed only too fake to Navani. Aesudan belonged in this court. She reveled in it- quite literally, at times. She was also a large part of the reason Navani was leaving. What was the point in staying here to advise a woman who refused to listen to advice? Oh, openly she would gratefully accept, gushing about how lucky she was to have such a mature, wise, intelligent mother in law there to help her. But she conveniently forgot to actually follow any of that advice, and somehow every time the gossip turned back to the old king’s wife, it got a little more hostile.

Strange. Crazy. Spinster. Aesudan was at the center of it all. She'd told Elhokar she would advise this woman, but six years was enough. She was done. “It's a shame to go, child. But you hardly seem to need my advice anymore, and it's been years since I've checked on my son and nephews. Perhaps my advice will be of more use there.” The implication was clear in the tense atmosphere beneath their polite words. Perhaps Adolin and Elhokar might actually listen to her.

Aesudan gave a fake smile, and more fake polite words, before leaving Navani to her departure. She triple checked the supply list and schedule, ensured everything was in proper order, and finally, at long last, set off for the Plains.

It might not be a capital city. But at least out there, a crazy old scholar might be useful for something.

Not that she was a scholar, of course.

Chapter Text

“C’mon, gancho! Move it!” The Lopen called out, running at the head of Bridge Nine. “Last one down is a rotten cremling!”

That was worse than a normal cremling, sure. The rotten ones had to be dead first. Which they would probably all be soon enough.

But not this time. Not as long as the Lopen had his lucky rock.

Bridge Nine charged across the plateau, arrows thunking against them. It was hard running at the front of a bridge with only one arm, but that's what he did.

An arrow flew true, straight for his heart, just between the straps of his leather vest.

And thunked off the thin fabric underneath.

Lopen had figured it out, sure. Some god up there- the Almighty or whatever- had decided to reward him for his good looks and fantastic sense of humor by making him invincible. Maybe it was also an apology for when his arm had been cut off. Point was, as long he carried his lucky rock and a few spheres, nothing could stop him. And if the arrows bounced off your clothes, you might as well run at the front, sure. After long enough not dying, they even made you bridgeleader.

“Down!”

The bridge went down smoothly. Then pushed forward. First again. Take that, bridge eleven.

The rest of Bridge Nine- and the other bridge crews, honestly- had been bewildered when he'd started treating bridge runs like a race. But the Lopen wasn't going to let the pressure get to him. Sure, everything was pretty hopeless and they were all probably going to die. Even with his dashing good looks and lucky rock, he probably wouldn't last long either. But that didn't mean you had to just lay down and die, right? Journey before pancakes, or something.

He could really use some pancakes right about now. But that would have to wait. Pancakes could be a reward for when he figured out a way to get lucky rocks to everyone out here. For now, he got everyone off to the sides, behind a nice big rock that looked weirdly like a house. Lots of weird rocks out here on the plains, but it was probably just his imagination. Rocks could look like anything if you had enough imagination, sure.

Honestly, life as a bridgeman wasn't too bad once you got past the constant impending doom hanging over your head. Lots of work and heavy lifting, but he got a free place to stay, the guys were nice enough, and he even got paid. They'd been a bit gloomy when he'd first arrived, sure, but now they joked and laughed naturally as a room full of cousins. They went out for drinks together, and Doral- an older guy who'd been there even before Lopen- had introduced them to this fantastic place with a Horneater cook. Best stew he'd ever tasted, sure.

Not to mention, apparently they'd be safe for the next few days. After this plateau run, his bridge crew was being assigned to a scholarly expedition. What scholars could want to see out in this dusty wasteland, the Lopen had no idea. He just carried the bridge. But it would be nice to carry it without anyone shooting at them for a few days.

After that, he'd just have to keep trying to make friends with his rock. Sometimes it seemed like it moved, or tried to talk to him, if only he could figure out what it wanted. One thing was for sure, though. If there was one man you could trust to stand tall, even when everyone else seemed ready to give up, it was a one-armed Herdazian.

After all, it was easier to stand tall with one less arm weighing you down. Tall, and maybe leaning a little to one side.

Chapter Text

Kabsal was growing increasingly annoyed.

Jasnah Kholin was more than suspicious and intelligent- she was downright dismissive.

Usually, even those who weren't particularly religious had enough respect for the ardentia to at least suffer them. Jasnah, instead, had grown increasingly brusque. More annoyingly, she was frustratingly knowledgeable, probably from years of ardents doing what he was pretending to do now. Hadn't even blinked an eye at the cymatics. Who didn't like cymatics?

His fallback plans were falling apart one at a time, too. Not that he'd exactly expected a princess to fall head over heels for him, but... Well, he was used to women at least getting flustered enough at a bit of flirting for him to get close. Kabsal had hoped that perhaps Jasnah was aloof in romance because she preferred private dalliances, out of the public eye. A heathen woman looking for scandalous romance, like in that novel series that had been popular with the ardent women lately. Yet last time he had come, with a fresh basket of admittedly very poisoned bread and some of his best lines, she hadn't even looked up at him. He'd knocked, gotten one step in the door, and she'd ordered him out while still writing notes. It was as if she had no interest in men, or romance, at all. Another closed door.

He wasn't sure what to make of the other woman with her. The Shin woman, Elid, was too old to be a ward. Probably. It was hard to tell with those childish faces and wide eyes, but she certainly acted mature. She had appeared out of nowhere one day and started helping with research. A colleague, perhaps? No one had heard of her, and his searches proved fruitless, though at least one Shin information broker had seemed very interested in hearing her name. They had refused to explain why, however, claiming it was of a cultural and religious nature.

It hardly mattered, though. Elid was just as resistant to his advances as Jasnah, in an entirely different way. Where Jasnah was a brick wall, Elid was a feather on the wind. She would smile, politely respond in a friendly tone, then deflect. Kabsal considered himself witty, but it wasn't a matter of wit- whoever this woman was, she was clearly highly adept in conversation. Every word felt like the blade of a professional duelist, casually turning his own words aside and sending him away. Kabsal zero, Elid eight. Not that he'd been counting.

Was he losing his touch? Every other woman in the building smiled and blushed as he teased and prodded. But he couldn't get the one woman that mattered to eat a measly piece of bread.

Perhaps it was time for slightly less subtle tactics. Kabsal hated to make a scene, but it's not like he planned to come charging in with armed mercenaries. His employers were getting impatient, and they weren't the kind of people you wanted to be on the bad side of. Failure wasn't an option. He'd just have to get a little creative. One way or another, Jasnah Kholin would get some of that poison in her system. It only took a bit. Surely he could work something out without arousing too much suspicion.

Kabsal took a deep breath, calming his nerves. He could do this. Even the famed heretic princess of Alethkar couldn't survive a full dose of backbreaker powder. She was only human.

Chapter Text

“So what's he like?” Moash asked. They'd said goodbye to the caravan at the outer markets, and Helaran now led Tempest around the perimeter towards the north side.

“She. And I don't know. Never met her.” Helaran had asked around in the markets, and a woman by that name apparently lived on the outskirts. She was well known among the informants here, and had even told them to send Helaran to her when he asked around. Convenient.

Moash was staring at him. “Wait, your contact is a woman?”

“The Sky- er, this organization accepts all types, regardless of gender. As long as you respect law and justice.”

“That's... I mean... Well, I guess. Does she...?”

“She probably has a shardblade, yes.” In fact, she would have her own spren and almost certainly be of at least the third ideal, so she had more of a shardblade than Moash would expect. Maybe even fourth ideal, though full skybreakers were rare even among the masters.

“A woman with a shardblade.” Moash smiled, as if he liked the idea. “Like something out of a story. Do you think any of the Lost Radiants were women?”

Helaran had to suppress a laugh at that one. He made a mental note to rib Moash about that comment later, if he was accepted. “Who could say?”

Their destination was a very ordinary, soulcast stone building. Nothing about it really screamed ‘secret headquarters’, but then, it would defeat the point if it did. Helaran would have doubted whether this was even the right place, if not for a small ‘Nan’ glyph etched into the doorframe. One of the ten fundamental glyphs, it represented smoke, the number two, the herald Nalan- apparently just Nale, he'd learned- and the order of the Skybreakers. The same glyph had been on the safehouse he used. This was almost definitely the place.

And they were standing there. At the front door. Despite his eagerness, Helaran suddenly felt a little awkward. How did you introduce yourself to a skybreaker master? What kind of first impression to make? ‘Hey, what's up, I'm your new student and I brought a friend!’ didn't seem right. Just walking up and knocking on the door felt weird. Wasn't there supposed to be some secret test? A backdoor down into a secret lair?

“You... gonna knock?” Moash was looking at him with concern. Or amusement. Probably both. He was overthinking, right? Helaran reached up and knocked, trying not to think about whether it mattered how many times he knocked, or how hard. (Three, fairly hard to convey a confident sense of strength, and a fourth that was softer as he almost stopped halfway through and made him cringe at himself a little.)

“Just a sec!” A voice came from inside. The two waited awkwardly outside as there was a shuffling, then footsteps, before finally the door opened.

The woman who answered did not look like a legendary warrior or knight. She didn't look like a mysterious spy, either, or even an old but dignified veteran. She was in loose clothing- the pants looked rather like the soft, comfortable type you'd wear to bed- with frizzy black hair. There was a spot of gravy on her upper lip that she didn't seem to realize was there, and a little more on one of her fingers that she was licking clean. “Look, I don't wanna buy your-” she started, then stopped herself, looking at Helaran, then the Ryshadium with the bulging saddlebag of Shardplate, then back at Helaran. “Oh. Crem. You're here already? Nale’s nu- er, nice coat, I didn't expect you for another week.” She wiped off the mostly gravyless finger on her clothes, then opened the door the rest of the way and beckoned them in. “Come on in, I'll just, um, clean up a little.”

“You've certainly... Made yourself at home. Master.” Helaran quipped. The safehouse was a bit of a mess. Master Reila was snatching at bits of clothing and trash, and Helaran tried not to judge. She'd lived here alone for months now, right? But still, he'd expected more... Self control? Dignity? “You are my new master, right?”

The woman huffed, tossing a paper wrapping into a trash can and the ball of clothes she'd collected back into another room, shutting the door. “Yes, Helaran Davar, I am. Just because I haven't cleaned up in a bit doesn't make me any less of a legendary warrior, you know.” She cleared off a couple chairs around a rough wooden table, gesturing for him to take a seat as she put things away with surprising efficiency. “I see you've brought a friend. Care to introduce me?”

“Ah. Yes, this is Moash.” Helaran said, taking a seat. “He was in my caravan here and seemed like a good potential candidate, so I, um, told him I'd introduce him.” Moash waved, bewildered, then sat down in the empty seat next to Helaran. There were two other chairs, though only one was empty- with a half-eaten plate of food in front of it. Some kind of flatbread wrapped around a mess of gravy and meat.

Master Reila sank down into that seat, finally, looking the two of them over. “A new recruit. That's... Not exactly how we usually do things, you know. Helaran, you're still barely above a recruit yourself.”

“I know, but... He really seems to care. About justice, and... What's right.”

“Does he now?” Reila leaned forward, and for the first time since they'd met her, Helaran felt like he saw a hint of the Skybreakers master in her. Her loose clothing shifted, and he got a glimpse of powerful muscles. Her brilliant grey eyes were piercing as she looked Moash over, making him squirm uncomfortably. “Why are you here, Moash?”

“I, um. I want to help bring justice to-”

“No. Crem. Don't give me that. Why are you really here?”

“My grandparents, Brightness.” Helaran noticed, with some amusement, that he had straightened up like a scolded child. Reila did have a commanding air to her- not the usual sort of pretentious, condescending nonsense you got from full-of-themselves lighteyes like Helaran's father had been, but the serious, no nonsense type of attitude you'd expect from a commanding officer. Or a particularly strict mom.

“What about them?”

“They're dead. Killed by an incompetent brightlord who threw them in prison on false charges until they died.”

“Mm.” The piercing eyes faded, and she seemed to consider that as she took a bite of her flatbread wrap. She chewed and swallowed as the two boys sat in suspense for a long few seconds. “Denied.”

“What?” Moash stood up angrily, hands clenched into fists. “What do you mean, denied? Why?”

“Revenge isn't justice. You're full of anger. Driven by hate. You don't want justice, you want to punish the person who hurt them.”

“Of course I do! That's what justice is! He killed innocent people, doesn't he deserve to die?” Moash was almost yelling now, fingernails digging into his palms. He wouldn't be stupid enough to attack a shardbearer barehanded, right?

Reila, unfazed, licked gravy off another finger. “The problem isn't what he deserves. It's your motives. You don't want to protect the innocent, or even avenge them. You’re sad and angry because people you care about got hurt, and you're looking for someone to take it out on. That's the type of motivation that makes people rushed and emotional. You'll ignore any nuance to the situation, because it's not about doing what's right. It's about soothing your hurt feelings by hurting someone else. We don't need someone like that.”

Moash looked like he'd been slapped. He sat down, hard, speechless.

“Master, I... I think that's a little far. Moash helped fight off bandits when we were attacked. He protected people in need, and we've talked a lot about laws and government. He wants to make a difference, but he's a darkeyed caravan runner. Isn't that what we do? Help people who care and give them the power to make the world a better place?”

Reila put down the wrap, fixing Helaran with a long, level look. Helaran stared back, hoping he wasn't blowing his own chances standing up for this man he'd met only weeks ago.

Finally she sighed and shrugged. “Fine. Moash, right? Listen. We're not a vigilante group. You might not ever get revenge for your grandparents. We could be right in front of the man that did it, and I would still expect you to follow orders and walk away until we have the evidence, time, and means to sentence him. Understand?”

Moash looked up, hopeful again. “I... Yes, ma’am.”

“And you, Helaran. He's your responsibility, you realize. I'll tell headquarters and handle the official stuff, but you're in charge of keeping him in line. Don't make me regret this.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Helaran nodded stiffly.

“Right, then. Moash, welcome to the Skybreakers. Secret heroes of justice, ancient order of knights, all that. Helaran can fill you in on all the details later, now that you're one of us. For now, let's talk about how we're going to stop the end of the world.”

Chapter Text

“I think I see it, Squadleader!” Cenn was excitable today, darting across the bridges almost before the crew set them down. Bridge Nine, apparently. Tien grimaced as he saw the motley crew of old men, thieves, and slaves forced to carry their bridge from plateau to plateau. It looked miserable. He was glad it wasn't him under one of those, but all things considered, they looked almost happy. Probably as pleased as he was to not be running into battle.

Brightness Matal had prepared a map with a number of potential sites that scouts had marked as suspicious, and the message had spread that they were out here for ‘Chasmfiend pupation research’. Apparently Sadeas didn't want the other highprinces catching on too quickly if there really was anything hidden out here. The excuse had not helped their reputation, however. Once word had gotten out that Tien had volunteered his crew for a scholarly expedition, their image in camp had gone from ‘a bit strange’ to ‘girly wimps’. Not that he cared about their image, but he could tell the squad was getting tired of being the butt of jokes and pranks. It was like growing up in hearthstone all over again, the farming boys teasing him for learning and reading glyphs, except there was no Kaladin to...

...Stormblessed forced his mind away from that line of thought and stood up straighter, leading his crew to the ruins. Cenn was right, it did look like the building he'd entered before. “I think that's it!” He called back to Brightness Matal. “The hole is just around the other-”

Suddenly, Parshendi leaped up from the chasms all around them. Two heaved at the bridge, toppling it into the chasm as the last few scholars scrambled across it and towards the center of the plateau. Selinar blew the horn, then drew his longsword, as the rest of Stormblessed’s squadron drew spears and shields, forming up smoothly in a defensive formation around the scholars and other noncombatants. He was proud to see even Cenn slide into formation with the rest, shield up and ready. The boy had really grown.

The Parshendi seemed hesitant, like they hadn't expected such a quick recovery. They circled, the numbers roughly even, but the Alethi at a disadvantage as they were cut off and forced to defend the scholars’ wagon.

Tien stepped forward gingerly, lowering his weapon. “Let's not make any rash moves!” He called out to them, trying to raise a hand in peace. “Perhaps we can work something out. No one has to die-”

He was cut off by a furious bellow of a war cry. The Parshendi snapped their attention to Selinar, who was charging towards them with his sword raised high and the blood red thrill of combat in his eyes. He downed two Parshendi before they could react, and the rest turned towards him, rushing to surround him.

Tien cursed and raised his own weapons again, gesturing his squad forward towards their fool of a captain. So much for not having to kill anymore.

The next few minutes were a blur. He never remembered this part. He didn't want to, honestly. Stab, block, stay alive. Let the training take over, and make sure none of your friends died.

Don't look at their eyes as they fall.

Don't think about what it would be like to be on their side, seeing Alethi eyes burning red with rage, watching your friends fall one by one, panicking as your people die a slow death-

“Squadleader! Are you alright?”

Tien blinked, realizing the battle was over. The last few Parshendi had escaped across the chasms, fleeing. The plateau was covered in orange blood, bodies littering the area. Selinar kicked one off the edge, still on the battle high but without anyone to fight. He wheeled around, looking for someone to take it out on, and found Tien.

“WHAT IN THE TEN FOOLS WAS THAT, SQUADLEADER?”

Tien was at a loss for words. “What was what? ... Sir?”

“Perhaps we can work something out? No one has to die?” Selinar stood tall and angry over Tien, who could swear he almost saw steam coming out of the man's ears.

He almost stood his ground. Part of him was fully ready to escalate this, argue back, let it turn into a fight. Selinar was a good fighter, but almost every man here was one of Tien’s squad, and they were already subtly preparing to form up and defend him if he needed it. Selinar didn't stand a chance against them all working together, no matter how angry he was.

But what would that accomplish? Maybe it would be easier to figure this all out without him, but they would likely get in trouble for insubordination if they captured him, and a dead brightlord would complicate things immensely. There had been enough death today. Tien had decided he would try to bring people together, after all.

“Brightlord. Sir.” Tien said calmly, instead, trying to control himself. “Everyone is watching us right now. We are without a bridge, in a dangerous part of the Plains, and with Parshendi that might return with backup. Whatever disagreement we might have, it can wait until we get back. Right now, the people are looking to you to lead.”

Selinar’s eyes dimmed, and he looked as if for the first time at the others. Women, scribes, ardents, watching with mixed horror and fascination. Soldiers, on edge, worried that their own captain would attack their squadleader.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “Cowards. You'll be investigated for cowardice and fraternizing with the enemy later, squadleader. For now, get a spanreed connected back to the camps requesting another bridge crew to pick us up. Everyone else, fan out and scout the area. Food, shelter, enemy patrols. I don't want to be ambushed again.

Tien joined the rest of his unit scouting. The plateau had an odd ripple near the edges that had sheltered the ambushers, with a ledge underneath that ran all the way around the squareish plateau. Something about it seemed odd to Tien. Too consistent. Too regular.

He carefully tried to climb down the edge, mindful of the chasm below and the drop to almost certain death, and swung onto the ledge. He could walk almost the entire perimeter of the plateau down here. And one part of the ledge jutted out further. Almost like...

He turned towards the plateau, opposite the wide part of the ledge. Squinted at the faint, rectangular ripple in the stone. Touched it. Pressed against it. Smashed the pommel of his sword against it.

The cremstone refused to give way, but he swore as he crashed the metal against it, there was a hollow, echoing sound.

Stepping back onto the wider part of the ledge, he called up to Dallet, who looked around for a moment before realizing the call was coming from below.

“Sir, what are you doing down there?”

“I need a hammer, Dallet. A big one. And maybe a chisel, if you can find one.”

“Sir?” He looked bewildered. Dallet had been with Tien through a lot, but he could be slow to catch on at times.

“I think I've found a very, very old door. Humor me. A hammer. If I'm right, we've found our shelter. And maybe a lot more.”

Chapter Text

Elhokar lay there, breastplate shattered, as Adolin stood over him. His Shardplate was depleted, his arms like lead, and Adolin’s Blade hovered an inch from his chest. “I'm sorry, El. But you've messed up too many times. I should never have taken your side.”

The other highprinces watched. Approving? Indifferent? None stepped in to help him. Aesudan watched, shaking her head in disappointment. He'd never been strong enough for her. Even Navani, his own mother... Looked away. She knew this was the right answer. His father was there with her. How was he there? But Gavilar was who they’d all wanted, anyways. Not the pale imitation he'd turned out to be.

He deserved this.

Adolin's Blade flicked forward, through Elhokar’s spine. His eyes burned.

What are you?

Twisting symbols filled his vision. Surrounding him on all sides. A swirling vortex he could never escape.

Elhokar woke up. The sheets were a mess around him, bags under his eyes, limbs like lead. Sleep seemed less and less refreshing lately. How could he sleep properly with dreams like that?

It was ridiculous, of course. Adolin wouldn't betray him like that. None of them would. And yet...

How had his saddle broken?

The thought had haunted him since that day. His memories from before the hunt were hazy, but not many people had been near his horse, right? Just him, and his grooms, and... Adolin. Perhaps the saddle was simply old, or neglected. But somehow he knew. This was intentional. How did he know? Was he just paranoid? A memory teased at the corner of his mind...

A knock came at his door as he finished washing and dressing. Torol’s voice rang out. “Your majesty?”

“It's rather early, Torol.”

“This is important. I've finished looking into the matter you requested.”

Elhokar pulled his belt tight and told the guards to let him in. Sadeas entered the sitting area and took a seat immediately. Technically against etiquette, since Elhokar ranked above him in theory. But Sadeas was a friend of his father's. Surely they were past that. Elhokar sat opposite him. “What have you found?”

Sadeas pulled out the strap, tracing the edge with his fingertip. “I've asked around, and every expert I could find was in agreement. This was cut, not a natural tear or neglect. Some suggested that a sharp portion of the harness could be responsible, but I had the grooms saddle up your horse as usual, and saw nothing of the sort that could have been near that portion of strap without being put on wrong in a very noticeable way.”

Elhokar's breath caught. “So...”

“So, yes, your majesty. It appears your fears are justified.”

The king sank lower into his chair. “Storms. I... Who would do this?”

“It could be anyone, your majesty. A highprince hungry for power. A discontent darkeyes. We can narrow it down, see who was near your horse, check when the last inspection was. That could give us a time frame, and possible suspects. But...”

“But what?”

“Such things lie outside my domain of power. The stablehands are under your banner, and I have no legal power to investigations. Thus far I have only looked into what I could by asking those I trust, but to do any more, I would need express commission to carry out investigations from you.”

“From me? That seems excessive. I'm sure the stablehands will talk to you if I order them to, but an investigation?”

Sadeas said nothing, instead standing up to slowly walk to Elhokar’s wine cabinet, pouring two glasses of orange wine. He took a sip from one, handing the other to Elhokar. “Your majesty, I think you suspect as well as I do that this goes much deeper than a cut strap and a discontent stablehand. Something dark has taken root in the warcamps. Something, or someone, that wants you dead.”

He took a long draught, lounging back in a chair again. “Now, I'm more than willing to investigate this. Your father brought this nation together, and I'll go to damnation itself before I let some coward take his legacy away and tear it apart. But I can't do that while coming back to ask you for separate orders for every person I need to talk to, every matter I need to investigate. A commission as your personal investigator will make this much easier, and smoother. Think, boy. Would your father have bothered himself with such trivial details? Or would he have trusted his allies to do what needed to be done?”

His father. Elhokar took a gulp of wine, closing his eyes, thinking. His father would have trusted Sadeas, wouldn't he? This man was far more experienced in politics, in leading, in... Being a brightlord, really. Surely he knew best. If Sadeas said it was important, then... “I understand. I'll have the commission written right away. Thank you, Torol. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“It's my pleasure, your majesty. I assure you, I will use this commission well.”

He drained the rest of his glass, set it on a table, and rose to walk out of the room. Elhokar sipped his in silence, still drowsy. This was a good thing. Sadeas would protect him from these assassins, get to the root of whatever darkness was growing here. So why was he so uneasy?

Shadows twisted at the edge of his vision. They hummed, a droning buzz in the back of his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, like eyes were watching him from every corner, and he resisted the urge to turn and look. Experience told him he'd find nothing. But still...

Perhaps a walk would be best. In Shardplate.

Chapter Text

Tien put the chisel away. The crack wasn’t getting any bigger this way. Instead he took the hammer in one hand and hefted it, then swung. It was a small hammer brought by one of the women doing research out here, meant to crack small rocks and plants. Definitely not as big as he would have liked. But the head was solid and heavy, and Tien was relentless.

Thunk.

Thunk.

THUNK.

Crash.

It was a tiny section of cremstone, barely the size of his thumb, but it made his heart soar. Because it opened into a dark, but clearly very open, space. The crem was thicker than his fingers were long, hundreds of layers of strata deep, but on the other side a massive space opened up. A room.

He was right. This wasn't an ordinary plateau.

A lot of smashing and tugging and shifting later, switching between chisel to strategically make cracks and pounding with the hammer to break them free, he'd gotten a section open wide enough to crawl in. He fished a clearmark out and held it through the hole, white light illuminating the pitch black.

The room beyond was big enough that the mark he held didn't illuminate the far wall. On the other side of the crem he'd been hammering through, the ground continued up to a stone railing. Some kind of balcony? He couldn't see any further past that.

Probably best not to continue alone. Tien pulled his head from the stone and called up to the rest. Dallet had been waiting above, and it wasn't long before a rope was thrown down over the edge. The squad came down with more hammers, followed by curious soldiers and scholars. One by one, they crawled through the hole and began smashing at the crem, chipping it away until a doorway wide enough to fit two people side by side had opened up.

Tien, meanwhile, was inside already, looking over the balcony with wide eyes at the sea of bones below.

The balcony looked over a wide, central space. A fallen statue lay across the floor, along with wide, flat chunks of rock- judging by the massive crem stalactites coming out of a gap in the ceiling, those chunks had once been part of the structure.

Amidst the debris, bones lay on the tiled stone floor. Undisturbed, some looked strangely human, bones still where they would be on a person. Tien remembered some of the bones still from when his father hadn't given up on making him a surgeon. His mother's songs to help him remember the names of the bones echoed in his head, feeling more macabre in the face of this horrific sight.

A small skull lay in the lap of a larger skeleton, across ancient femurs, with the ribcage and pelvis and spine connected to those femurs propped up. Still sitting up, precariously balanced after all these years after the flesh and skin and fat had long rotted away, picked clean by cremlings. Finger bones and metacarpals scattered around the tiny skull. Tien teared up, trying not to think of a parent holding a child, whispering that everything would be okay, as... As...

How had these people died? The skeletons weren't scattered about, or crushed under rocks. Not most of them, at least. They were resigned, sitting down. Waiting to die. Trapped, maybe?

Tien tried to take a breath, bring up the steady, dependable mask. Squadleader Stormblessed...

Stormblessed...

He cried too.

Even Kaladin would be hurt by this, right? Tien remembered back to days when his brother had been particularly dark, after he'd failed to save lives, after a girl died in his arms, after Roshone’s son. No one was invincible. Instead Tien turned from the sight, looking to the sides of the door-

And screamed.

A skeleton lay slumped against the wall next to the door, much like the others downstairs. Motionless, like the rest. But up close... It felt so much more real. Empty eye sockets staring at him.

Dallet came in, weapon drawn. “What is it? Parshendi?”

Tien staggered backwards, breathing heavy. “Storms... I'm sorry, but... Storms...”

Dallet relaxed a moment later, realizing that there was no imminent danger. “It's alright, everyone. Looks safe. Come on in.” He pulled Tien aside, patting him on the back as scholars and soldiers streamed in.

Cenn glanced at his squadleader, curious, and Tien tried to wipe his eyes and calm his breathing. “I'm sorry, Dallet, I just... It's so much. All these people. All this death. What happened here?”

“I don't know, sir. But take a moment to recover. You should feel proud. You've found us shelter, and the scholars will probably be in a frenzy over this.”

Indeed, one woman was already screaming at a soldier who had prodded the skeleton by the door with his sword, lecturing him about disturbing thousands of years of history.

Tien almost smiled at that. The tiny, golden haired Iri woman, face red with fury, contrasted with the massive Alethi man trying- and failing- to maintain his composure and dignity. The skeletons were still horrible, but as spherelight filled the chamber from the people filing in, the room lost its terrifying atmosphere. Scholars began chattering, discussing what era these ruins were from, what could have happened here, and soldiers scouted out the lower floor, bringing in large sphere lamps that cleared the rest of the shadows down below. What had felt like a horror story only moments ago became a shelter for an expedition, a scholarly puzzle, a routine scouting mission.

Still, Tien had trouble catching his breath. What was wrong with him? He tried to control his emotions, be the leader they looked up to, but his body and mind refused to come under control. He had to keep dabbing tears from his eyes, steady himself against the wall as his legs threatened to wobble and collapse from beneath him. “I'm sorry...” He managed to breathe out between shaky gasps. “I'm... I'll... Any second now, I just... Just need...”

Dallet’s eyes softened, and Tien winced inside. No, Dallet, don't pity me. You have enough on your shoulders. Don't start thinking you need to look after your pathetic excuse for a squadleader too.

But Dallet simply clapped him on the shoulder firmly. “Everyone needs a second sometimes, sir. No need to be ashamed of it. Gets to the best of us.”

Tien shook his head clear, finally managing to shake off the shock and weakness. He still felt like crem inside, but Dallet was wrong. He couldn't afford a second to himself. Not at a time like this. Toorim was already returning from downstairs, eyes sparkling like a child on light day. Still, the Iri man had enough wisdom to keep quiet and act surreptitious as he sidled up to Tien, leaning against the wall as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Just two soldiers chatting. “Sir. There's a room downstairs that I think you'll want to see.”

Tien smiled and nodded casually, looking around to see if anyone was watching them. His legs still shook, but he could walk. Now that he had calmed down, any weird looks and watching people had started to leak away, distracted by the interest of this new and fascinating place.

Toorim nodded back, then started leading the way. Down a staircase to the lower floor- it was even lower than it looked- and into a small dark hallway that most of the group had ignored so far. A few marks had been rolled down the hall to ensure no threats were down there, but no one had really explored down here yet. No one, it seemed, except Toorim. The man had a knack for finding the unusual... And valuable.

What Tien found at the end of the hallway fell more into that first category. A number of skeletons were here, where the entire hallway seemed to be abruptly cut off. Clearly it was supposed to continue, but the next section of floor was instead barely within reach, only a couple inches of gap exposed between the floor of the next section and the ceiling of the part they were in. It was as if the whole hallway had been cut in two, and part of it lifted five or six feet up, the floor of the section tilted at a slight angle.

The whole edge was dusted with a red powdery substance that smelled metallic, but what had caught Toorim’s eye was beyond the ledge, in the chamber beyond this disjointed hallway. Inside, gemstones and metal sparkled. As Tien pulled himself up, trying to peek through the tiny gap, he saw a number of unset gemstones of different types. A small fortune. But none of that compared to what sparked on the pedestal in the center.

An ancient fabrial of some kind. Like a soulcaster, but not quite the right shape. He couldn't see exactly what it was from this distance, but it was clear that it was important and valuable.

Tien dropped back down to the ground, nodding thoughtfully. Toorim smirked. “So we're totally getting in there somehow, right?”

Tien smiled back, happy to have something to distract him from the skeletons surrounding him even now. “Oh, absolutely. Go get Cenn, he's the smallest. I'm going to see if I can widen this gap a bit.”