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Chapter Text

5 months after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin knew that Kaladin Stormblessed was alive.

He just didn't know where the storming man was.

Adolin, I have news! Adolin froze, immediately becoming alert as Maya’s tense voice spoke in his mind. Skar, his current sparring partner, barely managed to redirect his attack to avoid hitting Adolin. 

“Storms Adolin, what are you -” Adolin held up a hand to stop the other man as he spoke to Maya in his mind. 

News? What news? Shallan? He hadn’t heard anything new since the confirmation that she was alive he had received shortly after the contest of champions. 

No , Maya said. She sounded…nervous? It’s Kaladin. 

“Kaladin,” Adolin breathed aloud, relief settling over him. Skar and Drehy - who had jogged over from where he was watching the bout - both looked up sharply at the mention of the name. Maya had been able to get information about what had happened to Renarin, Navani, and Dalinar from Jasnah via the spren gathered at Urithiru, and the Oathgate spren had told her about Shallan. But she had not been able to find any information about Kaladin. The last anyone at the Tower knew, he had been with Szeth in Shinover. Maya had been looking around in Shadesmar for anyone that knew what had happened to him, but there were so few spren in Shinovar.

Adolin had assumed that with the formation of Retribution, Kaladin would make his way to the remnants of the coalition, either Urithiru or Azir. He knew the journey would be long with the lack of Stormlight, but someone should have seen the man. He tended to stand out.

“Well, where is he?” Adolin spoke aloud for the benefit of Skar and Drehy, who like Adolin had been eagerly awaiting news of their former Captain. 

Adolin…Kaladin is dead.

DEAD? Adolin demanded. He switched back to mental communication with Maya, again for the sake of the former bridgemen. Kaladin isn’t dead, Maya. What exactly did you hear?

He heard what he interpreted as a resigned sigh in his mind, as if she had known this would be his reaction. Szeth said - 

“Szeth!?” he interrupted aloud. Skar and Drehy glared at him, clearly annoyed at the disjointed snippets of conversation he was providing them. Adolin ignored them. What do you mean ‘Szeth said’? Szeth’s spren was able to appear in Shadesmar?

No, Maya said. I actually spoke to Szeth himself. He said Nightblood - his sword - had been learning to confer Radiant powers, as the Honorblades did. He had finally managed to Elsecall into Shadesmar using the sword. Nightblood’s appearance in Shadesmar caused a disturbance, and I was already in the Shinovar area of Shadesmar looking for Kaladin. I was able to follow the other spren to Nightblood, and by extension, Szeth.

Okay… Adolin did not really follow that explanation, and had a lot of questions about that storming sword, but that didn’t matter right now. He understood enough that he believed Maya had spoken with the real Szeth. He didn’t think anything could imitate Nightblood. So what did Szeth say, exactly?

He said that he buried Kaladin Stormblessed’s corpse, Adolin. I’m sorry. 

Adolin heard the words and nearly collapsed, but Drehy caught his arm before he could - as always. Maya was saying more, explaining the details of the circumstances as Szeth had relayed them to her. Adolin barely heard her. Her words kept echoing in his mind, drowning out everything else. Kaladin Stormblessed’s corpse. 

Maya finally finished talking, apologizing again for the news. Adolin thanked her, then took a deep breath and turned to Skar and Drehy. The two men were staring at him with a mix of anger and concern. They had been patient for the last few minutes as Adolin had dealt with the shock, but he sensed they wouldn’t wait much longer. 

“Well?” Skar demanded. 

“Maya…Maya finally heard about Kaladin.”

“Yes, we got that, Adolin.” Drehy said. “We also have deduced that it’s storming bad news . So spit it out.”

“Skar, Drehy…she says he’s dead.”

They did not react as Adolin might have expected. They exchanged a glance, and then Skar shrugged. “Dead, huh? Hey Drehy, how many times have you been told Kal was dead?”

“At least three, off the top of my head. It hasn’t seemed to stick.” He eyed Adolin. “What’s her evidence?”

“She heard directly from Szeth. Who said that he buried Kaladin’s corpse.”

“Uh huh. Compelling evidence, I’ll give her that.” Still, neither of them looked particularly concerned.

“You think Szeth was lying?” Adolin asked. 

“Nah,” Drehy said. “The Assassin in White is a lot of things, but he never struck me as a liar. I believe him.”

Adolin eyed them both. “He buried Kaladin’s corpse, ” he repeated, as if the two bridgemen hadn’t heard him the first time. 

“And?” Skar asked. “You believe that means Kal’s dead?”

Adolin paused. Considered.

I’m pretty sure you could survive anything. Storms, bridgeboy, the Almighty used some of the same stuff he put into Shardblades when he made you. 

Adolin found himself smiling, thinking of the conversation he had just had with his ‘dead’ Shardblade. 

“Not a chance. He owes me a drink.”

Chapter Text

7 months after the creation of Retribution

“Ala?” Shallan Kholin called to her Seon spren from where she sat in her bedroom. Well, it was also her living room. It was just…her room. Her quarters in Lasting Integrity weren’t fancy, not even by darkeyed standards, let alone the luxury she was accustomed to. But when, after several months of wandering Shadesmar after leaving Cultivation’s abandoned perpendicularity, she had shown up to the fortress desperate for refuge, the Honorspren had - surprisingly- taken her in. So she really couldn’t complain. 

“Ala!” She called again to the Seon spren. She could go search her out, but her feet were swollen and her back hurt and she was feeling vaguely nauseous and she did not want to go wandering around on streets where storming gravity didn’t even apply properly. Being pregnant alone was hard enough even when the laws of nature weren’t up for debate. She had always assumed that if - when - she had a child, Adolin would be there to rub her feet and bring her things and cook for her and…well none of that was really what mattered was it? What mattered is that he should have been there.

She banished those thoughts from her mind as Ala - finally - entered the room. It was time to call Adolin, and she tried not to let her pain at being apart show too much when they spoke. She knew he felt it enough without her adding to it. 

The frequency with which they spoke varied. When Ala had first made contact with Olo, they had been so relieved to be able to speak with one another that they had spoken nearly every single day. As Adolin had become busy with his leadership responsibilities in Urithiru, their conversations had grown less frequent. While they usually spoke at least once per week, it had been almost a month since they had last been able to talk beyond greetings and brief check-ins. 

But Ala had received a message from Olo that Adolin would have time today. She turned to the Seon spren. 

“Show me Adolin.”

Ala’s soft blue glow fuzzed, and then she was looking at an image of her husband. His hair, as always, was purposefully messy. Although the projected image of him made his hair look one pale blue color, almost like an honorspren, she could picture his natural blonde locks, interspersed with strands of black. What color hair would their child have? All three colors? She hoped the black wouldn’t get lost. 

“Hey Shallan,” he said, smiling. “I missed you.”

Shallan felt tears welling up behind her eyes immediately, and quickly tried to blink them away. Stupid hormones. “I missed you too.”

A pause.

“Adolin, I -”

“Shallan, I -”

They spoke at the same time. Shallan laughed, while Adolin smiled sheepishly. “You go ahead.”

“Shallan, I have news.”

Another pause. These halting, short sentences weren’t like Adolin. Shallan began to feel worried. 

“It’s about Kaladin.”

Ah. That would do it. It also likely wasn’t good news, or he wouldn’t look ill as he forced out the words bit by bit. 

You can handle this, Shallan. Veil’s voice spoke in the back of her mind. Whatever it is. We will face it together. 

“What is it, Adolin?” She asked gently. “Just tell me.”

He hesitated, appearing to choose his words carefully. “Maya received word from Szeth that Kaladin is dead, Shallan.”

Shallan’s mind froze. Dead. Kaladin was dead. Like her father. Like Tyn. Like Mraize. Like Dalinar. Like her mother. 

Your mother isn’t dead, Shallan . Radiant’s voice cut in, gentle but firm. 

No, Shallan thought back, partitioning a small portion of her mind to sarcasm while the rest of her was still in shock. Technically, I suppose she’s not. She is one of the Heralds, none of whom have been seen since the formation of Retribution, and is presumably being tortured on Braize for eternity. Which is not only a pedantic difference, but doesn’t apply at all to Kaladin!

The disappearance of the Heralds was an unresolved mystery, and one of the reasons she had initially come to Lasting Integrity. After entering her employ with Thaidaker’s permission, Ala had admitted that she and Felt had held Kalak prisoner in the honorspren fortress. When Shallan had inquired further, Ala explained that just after the formation of Retribution, Kalak had disappeared from where they had been holding him. Not escaped. Literally disappeared. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. When she arrived to Lasting Integrity she investigated further, but so far none of the honorspren knew anything helpful. 

“Shallan?” Adolin’s voice brought her back to the present. “Are you alright?”

“Dead?” Shallan whispered, barely audible. “You’re sure?”

Adolin opened his mouth to answer, but another voice cut in before he could. “Mmm….lies. Delicious lies.” Pattern’s distinct voice spoke softly near the door, trailing off into a hum. She hadn’t seen him enter. 

“What? Pattern, no, it’s not a lie. Adolin wouldn’t lie about this. Kaladin is….” She trailed off, then narrowed her eyes at the floating image of Adolin’s head. He still looked somber, serious. No, of course he wasn’t lying. But there was a distinct sparkle to his eyes that seemed at odds with the rest of his expression. 

“Adolin, what exactly did you hear?”

“Maya spoke to Szeth in the cognitive realm. Szeth stated that he buried Kaladin’s corpse, with burned out eyes, in Shinover.”

Pattern didn’t say anything.

“That,” she said slowly, “does make it sound like he’s dead.”

“Liiesssss,” came Pattern’s voice again. 

She whipped her head towards him, as she heard Adolin chuckle behind her. 

“What?” Shallan asked sharply, turning back to the Seon spren. “What am I missing?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Adolin assured her. “It’s just…Pattern’s reaction is pretty much the same as Skar and Drehy’s.” 

“What, they think Szeth is lying?”

“No, they think that the bridgeboy doesn’t die so easily. And I’m thinking they have a storming good point.”

“I did fall down a chasm with him, and he was barely bruised. But he had Stormlight then.”

“Didn’t he then fight a chasmfiend without Stormlight? And win?”

“Yes. Then we survived a highstorm in the chasms.”

“And Skar and Drehy won’t shut up about that time that he survived a highstorm tied to the roof of the barracks.”

“But again, Adolin, he had Stormlight! This is different.”

“He didn’t have Stormlight when he jumped off the roof of Urithiru during the occupation of the tower.”

“Or when he killed Heleran.”

“Or when he killed the Pursuer in Hearthstone.”

“And he only had partial surges when he killed the Pursuer again in the tower.”

“To be fair, he did have Stormlight when he jumped into the arena with me.”

“You mean when he jumped into a battle between six Shardbearers with nothing but his spear and good looks?”

“Shallan!”

“Sorry, sorry….he really should be dead, shouldn’t he?”

“At least ten times over,” Adolin agreed. 

“You know,” Shallan mused, warming up to the idea, “I once saw Jasnah die. Stabbed, right through the chest.”

“Jasnah wasn’t dead, though.”

“My point exactly.”

“She can Elsecall, though, Shallan. And she had Stormlight. Neither of which Kaladin had. Are we being delusional, thinking he could be alive?” Adolin looked pained, torn between wanting to hope and knowing he shouldn’t.

“Not at all, Adolin,” Shallan said, putting on a somewhat exaggerated scholarly voice. “Rather, I think it would be delusional to think he’s truly dead. Both Navani and Jasnah would agree that in both historical and scientific scholarly pursuits, the best evidence of what will happen in the future is what has occurred in the past.” 

She paused, returning to her normal voice, and looking straight into Adolin’s eyes. She willed him to see her conviction, across hundreds of miles and through dimensions. “Kaladin Stormblessed has been said to be dead many, many times. And it has never been true.”

She smiled, then added “Besides, he owes us both a drink.”

“That’s what I said!” Adolin broke into a full grin, bellowing out a genuine laugh. Storms, she loved that laugh. She remembered the first time she heard it, that day when they watched the highstorm together. She had asked about how he - ! Oh. His Shardplate was living now, wasn’t it? She wondered if he’d ever asked his armorspren what they thought about his battlefield habits. She filed that away to ask about another time.

“I think you’re right,” Adolin was saying. “He isn’t dead. Honor may be dead, but Kaladin isn’t. Hearing you agree…it gives me confidence. And hope. Thank you, Shallan.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “What were you going to say? When we first started talking?”

“Oh!” Shallan smiled. “The honorspren have a way of telling…I don’t know how Adolin, so don’t ask me. But they say…they say it’s a boy. We’re having a son.”

Adolin’s face froze, and for a moment Shallan thought the Seon spren had stopped working, but then she saw him blink. She took a Memory of his expression, just before it morphed into a huge smile that made every other smile she had ever seen from him look like Kaladin’s scowl. The only brighter one she had ever seen was on the first day she was able to speak to him via Ala, and told him she was pregnant.

“Shallan, that’s…that’s amazing. I don’t even have words…a son! We’re having a son! We’ll have to start thinking of names….”

“About that, Adolin.” She hesitated. Would Adolin think it was overstepping? His father’s death was a fresh wound, after all. Maybe he would want Dalinar to be the child’s namesake, to name the child after family. But Kaladin was family.

“I don’t want to jinx it. I believe Kaladin’s alive. I do. But in case we’re wrong, and he’s not…”

Adolin smiled. “It’s perfect, Shallan. Yes. Little Kaladin. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Just don’t call him bridgeboy.”

Chapter Text

1 year, 6 months, and 3 days after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin knew that Kaladin Stormblessed was alive. 

He hadn’t quite said as much when he returned to Urithiru last month. And unlike some formerly-one-armed former bridgemen, he continued to keep his opinions to himself, unless around one of the few original Bridge Four members - well, almost all of them. He knew Renarin would process in his own time, although he didn’t know what conclusion his younger brother would come to. 

He was aware he sounded storming mad. He had told the story so many times now. To Shallan, to Bridge Four, to Kaladin’s parents - that one had been painful to get through, to Jasnah, to anyone who would ask. Given that Szeth was in Shinover and Maya was, well, Maya, Adolin became the closest thing to a primary source on Kaladin. And every time he explained, he heard himself say the same words: Szeth buried Kaladin Stormblessed’s corpse. 

He would have moments of doubt. When Renarin wouldn’t meet his eyes when he made a slip up and referred to Kaladin as “is” instead of “was.” When Jasnah calmly but unwaveringly explained how there was no possible manipulation of Kaladin’s surges that could have let him survive when his corpse was in the ground. When he would walk past Hearthstone’s surgeon’s quarters and hear quiet sobbing. 

But then he’d meet Drehy or Rlain or Skar or Lopen at Jez’s Duty, and they’d talk about Kaladin, and what he’d say when he got back, and all the times the man should have died but never quite did. And he’d smile, and drink his wine, and affirm to himself what he knew in his heart: Kaladin Stormblessed was alive. 

Chapter Text

2 years after the creation of Retribution

Renarin Kholin was, against all odds, happy. Two years ago, if someone had told him that, he wouldn’t have believed it to be possible. But things had started to work out, as they tended to do. Adolin had been elected as Ministerial Exemplar of Urithiru - Renarin really had wanted to transfer power from the Kholins, but Adolin was the only one everyone could agree on. Adolin had brought a Seon with him to the tower, and so he was able to have regular communication with his sister-in-law and little Kal. 

After a rocky year or so at the start of things, Gavinor was finally starting to integrate with the rest of the tower, and seemed to be recovering from the damage Taravangian had inflicted on him. Adolin arriving, after they figured out how to take  down the shield, had really helped. Renarin smiled to himself, remembering all the nights he had spotted the two staying up together talking about Dalinar. Adolin’s perspective - much more critical of their father than the near-deific way many others spoke of him - actually seemed to help Gav see him as something other than a monster. And of course, Jasnah continued to support the representative governments of both Alethkar-in-exile and Urithiru. All of this meant that Renarin himself was able to spend time as the ambassador to the Singers. 

Well, one of the ambassadors. 

“Rlain?” Renarin turned to the man laying beside him, close but not quite touching. The worries they had had about being accepted as a couple were largely unfounded. Turns out, after watching a man ascend and descend from godhood in the span of several minutes, a boy age 20 years in a week, and an evil god usher in the True Desolation in the form of a constant Everstorm…well, a slightly unconventional relationship barely caused a stir. 

Most people hadn’t commented one way or the other. A few, admittedly, had been vocally against them, but they weren’t the sort whose opinions Renarin had any care for anyway. And of course Adolin had been…enthusiastic.

Rlain hummed to the Rhythm of Curiosity, not bothered with a verbal response these days. He knew that Renarin could parse most of the Rhythms without trouble, and even hum quite a few himself. 

“Do you think Kaladin is dead?” Renarin made an effort to speak his words to the Rhythm of the Lost. 

Rlain sat up and looked at Renarin. Renarin’s forehead, to be specific. He had never actually told Rlain he didn’t like eye contact, but the listener paid attention to him. 

“What, did you hear something new?” Rlain still attuned the Rhythm of Curiosity. It was one of Renarin’s favorites.

No, Renarin hadn’t heard anything new. Shortly after Adolin had arrived to Urithiru, he had sat down with Renarin, Rlain, and Lopen - the only original members of Bridge Four left at the tower - and explained what he knew about Kaladin. Specifically, that Szeth had reported burying Kaladin Stormblessed’s corpse.

That had been months ago, but Renarin hadn’t been ready to talk about it before now. He had listened when Adolin told him, thanked him for the news, and excused himself. He had heard Lopen laughing to the others as he left the room - “He ain’t dead, Gancho! Nothing’s ever been able to kill Kaladin Stormblessed, and nothing ever will!” - but he couldn’t face that seemingly futile denial. 

In part, he was worried they wouldn’t understand his distress. Everyone knew the bond of Bridge Four, and would be sympathetic to the bridgemen losing their captain. And the close friendship of Adolin, Shallan, and Kaladin had been clear to all in the year after their mission to Kholinar, when the three of them would be seen in Jez’s Duty together as often as they were seen on the battlefield. Kaladin's family, of course, would be expected to be devastated. But Renarin? Yes, he was Bridge Four, but he had always been a bit outside the group. They accepted him, even loved him, he knew that. But he hadn’t gone through the crucible of the bridge crews, and most people would think he didn’t care about Kaladin in the same way the others did. 

And besides that, Renarin had never quite made friends like everyone else. He didn’t quite relate to people like others did, and that meant that sometimes people he thought were good friends…well, weren’t. Conversely, he often struggled to show his emotions in a way that others could relate to, making people think he didn’t care.

Yes, Renarin was bad at making friends, and that was really the crux of it. He had found not just friends, but a second family in Bridge Four. A place where they didn’t care that he was weird, because they were all weird. They didn’t try to pretend he was normal - they loved him because of who he was, not in spite of it. It was how he had met Rlain, and it was how he had begun to gain the confidence in himself he now bore. 

And it had started with Kaladin Stormblessed. That day he had gone out to the barracks to ask Kaladin to join Bridge Four. He had been so, so nervous. It was clear that Kaladin had an - understandable - grudge against lighteyes, and there had been constant animosity between the captain and Adolin in those days. Renarin was sure that Kaladin would reject him outright, either for his rank or his last name. But Kaladin hadn’t. He had listened, and he had accepted him. And he had continued to do so for over a year, listening to what Renarin needed and accommodating his needs without complaint. Kaladin was one of the very first people - the only others really had been Adolin and Jasnah - who welcomed Renarin for who he was, and didn’t want him to change or be something he would never be. Renarin knew he wasn’t that important to Kaladin, compared to the rest of Bridge Four, but Kaladin was one of the most important people in Renarin’s life. 

And so when Adolin had said that he was dead, Renarin couldn’t face any of them. He didn’t want to explain why he was crying and humming the Rhythm of the Lost and how much Kaladin meant to him. How he was strangely sorrowful at the idea that Kaladin would never know about him and Rlain. So he didn’t.

And bless them all. Adolin, Jasnah, Rlain, Lopen - none of them had pushed him to talk about it. They didn’t try to convince him Kaladin was alive or that he was dead. Didn’t try to make him feel better. They knew he needed time to himself to process before he was ready to talk about it. And now he finally was. 

“No, nothing new,” Renarin answered Rlain’s question to the Rhythm of the Lost. “I was just thinking…I know Lopen says that Kaladin’s alive,” he continued, switching to the Rhythm of Skepticism. “He won’t shut up about it, actually. Adolin thinks so too, I can tell, but he hasn’t said anything to me. But I don’t know what you think.”

“Renarin, did I ever tell you about my first day in the bridge crews?” Rlain asked, attuning the Rhythm of Remembrance.

“I…no, you haven’t.” Renarin refrained from asking Rlain the relevance of this detour, as he trusted him to make the connection. 

“I had been sent there after my master began to fear I was too intelligent - I had answered an addition question, you see. I was in dullform at the time - not the brightest of our forms by any means, but nothing like slaveform. I could speak, could understand what was going on around me. I had to - I was a spy; I wouldn’t be very useful if I couldn’t use my mind. But I had to pretend otherwise, which meant not asking questions. So when I arrived to the bridge crews, I truly had no idea what was going on.”

Rlain paused for a moment, his eyes turning inward as he sought the memory. 

“I arrived with a group of human slaves. When I first reached the bridge crews, I saw three men talking about me. The first, the shortest, wore an eyepatch and was clearly arguing with the other two.”

“Gaz,” Renarin murmured.

Rlain nodded and continued. “The other two wore matching outfits of sandals, cut off pants, open leather vests, and scowls. One was short, though still taller than the man with the eyepatch, and looked to be old for a human soldier, with graying hair and a beard. He had no slave brand, unlike the man next to him.

"Of the three, it was the final man that made the most immediate impression on me. A tall Alethi man, close to my height, with wavy dark shoulder length hair and slave glyphs on his forehead. I didn’t know much Alethi, but I knew the shash brand from my time as a parshman. Dangerous. I swear, Renarin, even from that first day, there was something about Kaladin.”

“You have an excellent memory,” Renarin observed, enjoying the way Rlain told the tale from the perspective of that time and place. 

“I was a spy,” Rlain shrugged. “It was my job to catalog everything I saw.”

He continued on with the story.

“The man - Kaladin, though I didn’t know that yet - was arguing with Gaz, saying he didn’t want me on his crew. He finally told me to follow him, then kept talking with the other man - Teft, of course - about how much trouble I’d be, as if I wasn’t there. It wasn’t anything worse than how I’d been treated elsewhere in the warcamps, of course. But it sure didn’t make me like the man.”

“Yeah, Kaladin was never the best at first impressions.” Renarin chuckled, briefly attuning the Rhythm of Amusement. “Have a chat with Adolin and Shallan about that sometime.”

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Rlain said to the same Rhythm, before continuing with his reminiscing. 

“So I followed Kaladin, playing the role of the docile parshman. We arrived to a group of men dressed the same as the two I was following, of all different races, many with the glyphs of slavery. They seemed hostile, Renarin. I wasn’t sure what I would do if they attacked. I had a moment where I wondered if this was why I was sent there; if these men were assigned to kill me.”

Renarin said nothing, imagining how scared Rlain must have been.

“Then the man with the glyphs warning of danger, with dark hair and a darker expression, turned to me and said something no one had said to me since I arrived in the war camps.

“He asked my name.” Rlain smiled, the first time he had done so since describing the day. 

“I didn’t answer, of course, and they gave me the most ridiculous name. But the stupid name didn’t matter. What mattered was what he said next. ‘He’s one of us now.’

“He said I was Bridge Four. I didn’t know what that meant, yet. I heard one of the other men talk about putting me in the front. I didn’t know what that meant, either, but Kaladin refused. 

“I found out a few days later, on my first bridge run. I still didn’t know what to expect. Kaladin had explained the basics to me by then, but there really isn’t a way to prepare for the horror that was the bridge runs. I saw Kaladin take a place at the front, where the other men had wanted to put me. Then I saw him run straight at the arrows of my people, and as bodies fell around him, I felt sure he had to be dead.”

“Ah,” Renarin muttered, finally seeing where this was going. 

“He wasn’t dead, of course. He ran at the front center every single bridge run, Renarin, and he was never hit. I had never seen anything like it. I still haven’t.”

“Yes, he had Stormlight. What’s your point Rlain?”

“No! Not just Stormlight. It was something different. It was…Renarin have you ever seen Kaladin fight? Really fight, I mean?”

Renarin hadn’t, really. For most of the first year Kaladin had acted as bodyguard to his family, Renarin had still been considered an invalid, restricted from the battlefield and sent away when the Assassin had arrived. Later, they had fought in the same battles, such as at Thaylen City, but he had never actually been close enough to see the man fight. Except…

“Once,” Renarin whispered. “It was a long time ago, now. That day in the arena, when he saved my brother.”

Rlain nodded. He hadn’t actually been there, but almost everyone knew the story of the infamous duel, and the bridgeman who had prevented it from being a slaughter. 

“Then tell me, Renarin.” Rlain glanced down slightly, as if to look him in the eyes to make a serious point, before catching himself and looking away. “You’ve seen Radiants fight for years now, right? Radiants of the third and fourth ideal, with living Shardblades and Shardplate. You saw Kaladin, barely of the second ideal and armed with a spear, fight four Shardbearers. How do they compare?”

Renarin thought back to that awful, awful day. He hadn’t seen much, to be honest. He had summoned his Shardblade to try to help his brother, and had been near incapacitated by the screams of the dead spren. But what he had seen…a man who fought like the win…a man who should have died amidst the flurry of supernatural weapons around him. 

“They don’t,” he admitted. “Jasnah, maybe.”

“Jasnah, who was presumed dead, but who is very much alive?” Rlain asked, to what Renarin thought was the Rhythm of Satisfaction. 

“Jasnah, whose corpse was supposedly lost at sea, not buried in the ground.” Renarin countered, trying to match his words to the Rhythm of Disappointment.

Rlain didn’t say anything. 

“So you do think he’s alive,” Renarin said, finding himself growing irritated. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I thought by telling you about those days, I could help you to feel what I felt. From the day I met him, Kaladin has been different. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Renarin, because I know that you do.” Renarin wasn’t sure what that Rhythm was. Resolve, maybe?

“I do,” Renarin conceded. ‘But being special doesn’t mean being immortal. How do you explain the corpse, then? Unfounded hope will just lead to more pain in the future. Even Kaladin can die.”

“I have a theory, actually. Do you remember that day at Urithiru, before the contest of champions, before the Spiritual Realm?”

“Yes, that was the first day we looked into a vision together.” Not alone, he thought.

“Right. You said Glys could record those, correct? How long can he keep those memories? Can he show the ones from that day?”

I can, Glys thought to him. I can show you both. As our bond has grown stronger, Renarin, so does my ability to remember. 

“Glys said he can.”

“Then can he show us the one of the circle of twelve people in the field? The one with a feeling of peace?”

Glys obliged, and though they still sat in their bed in Urithiru, they now saw an image in front of them. A bright green field, with twelve distant figures standing in a circle on grass as still as stone.

“I didn’t recognize it before, but after hearing accounts from Szeth, I think that’s Shinover,” Renarin said, pointing. 

Rlain hummed briefly to the Rhythm of Confidence. “Yes. And you see that woman there, with blue skin? We thought she might be Natan, or Aimian, but neither are quite that blue. I’ve been thinking, ever since Adolin told us about the corpse…with that white hair and blue skirt, she looks kind of like -”

“- an honorspren,” Renarin finished, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn’t thought of it back then, but more and more Honorspren had come to the Physical Realm following Notum, and he could now see the resemblance.

“A female honorspren, with a bright blue skirt, just like Syl was wearing when they left Urithiru.”

“Glys, can you get us closer?” Renarin asked eagerly, the Rhythm of Hope slipping into his voice almost against his will. “I need to see their faces. Please.”

I cannot, Renarin. I am sorry. This distant view is the vision. There is nothing more to see.

“Glys can’t get us any closer. But do you think…is the person next to her…”

“A tall Alethi man with wavy dark shoulder length hair,” Rlain whispered, clearly thinking of that day so many years ago. “With, I suspect, bridge four glyphs on his forehead.” 

Renarin gasped, the pieces slotting into place in his mind like a puzzle. Everything came together in a moment of clarity as he saw what Rlain meant. At this distance he couldn’t see much, but three looked Makabaki…the one he had thought could be a Horneater with the bright red hair…”But there are twelve.”

Luckily, Rlain understood what he meant, as he did not think he could have articulated all of his thoughts at that moment. His mind was speeding ahead of conscious thought, pulling together the aspects of the vision. 

“Nale has a spren,” Rlain said softly to the Rhythm of Hope.

Renarin looked at Rlain sharply, who shrugged and briefly hummed the Rhythm of Abashment. “I asked Jasnah about it months ago. I didn’t tell her why I was asking, I wouldn’t without talking to you first. But I wanted to have all of the information, when you were ready to talk.”

“Jezrien..Kaladin…two spren…peace…a corpse…”

Rlain was used to this type of disjointed talk from Renarin, and merely nodded.

Glys , he thought. You can take it down. We’ve seen what we needed to.

Glys obliged, and the vision disappeared, leaving them alone in the dim room.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Renarin said. “Not yet, at least. I want time to consider before we get others’ hopes up.”

“Of course,” Rlain agreed easily. “Although I should mention that most of them already have their hopes up, even without a good reason.”

“Yeah,” Renarin said to the Rhythm of Consideration. “They do. So did you. Why? Was it really because of the vision.”

“Nah,” Rlain said. “Honestly I didn’t even think of that until a few weeks after Adolin told us. But I didn’t think he was dead.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason Skar and Drehy and Lopen knew. And why you knew, even if you weren’t ready to admit it - otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me.”

“What’s that?”

“We know better,” Rlain said, smiling and attuning the Rhythm of Love, “because we’re Bridge Four.”

Bridge Four knew that Kaladin Stormblessed always came back. And like Rlain and Skar and Drehy and Lopen and Kaladin , Renarin Kholin was Bridge Four. 

Chapter Text

3 years, 2 months, and 11 days after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin knew that Kaladin Stormblessed was alive. 

He had known in his heart, but now he knew in his mind, which was even better. Renarin had been able to show him the vision of the twelve people in the field, and had explained his and Rlain’s theory. It made sense, as far as Adolin was concerned. Mysteriously disappearing then dramatically returning as a Herald was exactly the kind of thing that Highmarshal Stormface wouldn't be able to resist. It really did explain everything, down to the body in the ground. Now that he had an explanation to go with his feeling, he felt vindicated. He couldn’t want to meet Kaladin, Herald of Bridgeboys. 

Chapter Text

4.5 years after the creation of Retribution

Jasnah Kholin pulled open her desk drawer and removed a single yellowed sheet of parchment. The paper was covered in her uncle’s blocky handwriting, and despite its age it showed little wear, as Jasnah very rarely had reason to remove it from its drawer. Storms. Why didn’t I throw this out ages ago?

“Jasnah,” Ivory said. “This is .”

“I know,” she whispered. “It will hurt them though.” She drifted into silence and contemplation, until a knock at the door brought her back to alertness.

Sighing, she left the parchment on the desk as she walked to the door and let in the three guests she had been expecting. A man now approaching his 30th year, with blonde hair speckled black and blue Shardplate where his right leg should be. He held hands with a young woman with bright red hair, matured from the child she was when Jasnah first met her in Kharbranth. And a second man, the inverse of the first, black hair speckled with blonde and a narrow frame that no longer seemed frail. 

“Adolin, Shallan, Renarin” she greeted each of them in turn. “Would you care for some tea?”

“No cousin, thank you though,” Adolin said, and Renarin shook his head. 

“Well I want some, and would be glad for someone else to make it,” Shallan remarked, with a bit of a smile. Sometimes she still reminded Jasnah of the cheeky girl she had been so many years ago. 

“Oh storm off,” Adolin replied easily, settling into a plush chair. “You know I make the tea just as often as you do. And I make it better. You just can’t tell because you put so much sugar in yours.”

Shallan opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as Jasnah handed her a cup of tea - prepared in advance and at the perfect temperature to drink, of course. “If I may interrupt?” she said dryly. “Before you really get going, Shallan.”

Shallan blushed and nodded, taking a sip.

“Why did you want to see us all, Jasnah?” Renarin asked quietly. 

Right. To the point. Thank you, Renarin. 

“As you may be aware, my squire Masha-daughter-Shaliv is writing an account of the final ten days before the content of champions, focusing on Kaladin and Szeth’s trip across Shinover. She will discuss the events starting from when they entered Shinover, and ending with Kaladin’s death.”

“He’s not dead,” the three said immediately, practically in unison.

“He is,” she said. “Demonstrably.”

She held up a hand to stall the arguments she saw forming on their lips. “Please. Not today.”

“Well he’s not,” Shallan muttered, but said nothing else. 

“She wishes,” Jasnah continued, ignoring the interruption, “to include some background on Szeth and Stormblessed, to provide context as to who they are to readers who may not be familiar with them.”

Adolin snorted at that. “Seriously, Jasnah? Who doesn’t know the Assassin in White and Kaladin Stormblessed?”

“Many, outside the Vorin kingdoms,” Jasnah replied. “But that’s besides the point. She wants her readers to understand what they may have been thinking in those days leading up to the contest, what was important in their lives, what they may have been sacrificing by going on this mission.

“In Szeth’s case, of course, she has no trouble getting the first hand account. Kaladin was proving to be more of a challenge. As I’ve been mentoring her through writing the volume, she brought a suggestion to me. Something she had discovered years ago, but had never had reason to investigate or verify. I was able to validate her findings, but hesitate if I should allow her to publish it.”

“Jasnah,” Renarin said tiredly, “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. Can you speak plainly, please?.”

She smiled at her cousin, then took the parchment from where she had laid it on her desk and handed it to him. She had a moment of pride when she realized she could have given it to any of the three, and all would have been able to read the words written there. But Renarin had always appreciated the opportunity to read and process new information, so she and the others waited while he scanned the document.

It had been given to her by her Uncle over four years ago for safe keeping, after he had asked for and received her approval of its contents. She fondly remembered how he tried to hide his surprise that she hadn’t had any arguments with his decision. But I thought you couldn’t stand him, she remembered him saying. I can’t , she had replied seriously, but that doesn’t make him any less the right choice . She hadn’t realized until earlier this year that he had given a copy of the decree to Kaladin, which he had carried with him to Shinover, where Masha had eventually found it buried in the bottom of his pack. 

Renarin didn’t take long to review the document. It really only said one thing. 

“This is real?” he asked softly, appearing to be fighting tears.

“It is,” Jasnah whispered. “Your father penned it with his own hand.”

“What? What is it?” Adolin looked between Jasnah and Renarin, confused.

“It’s about Kaladin,” Renarin said to his brother.

“Of course it is,” muttered Adolin, smiling. “Even now, storming bridgeboy is somehow the center of attention.”

Shallan took the parchment from Renarin and gasped sharply as she quickly read it, even as Renarin spoke to Adolin. “Before he…before the contest of champions, Father wanted to ensure he had an heir to Urithiru. He wouldn’t consider an elected position of course, and we had both refused the throne.”

“And this has to do with the bridgeboy…how?”

“You’re the one who always used to joke that Kaladin was Father’s favorite son.” Renarin said. 

“Oh. Oh!” Adolin laughed. “Seriously?”

Shallan looked up at Renarin. “He’s going to be pissed when he comes back and finds out you gave away his rightful position.” She turned back to Adolin. “And you took it.”

Jasnah refrained from correcting Shallan that Stormblessed wasn’t coming back, but her face must have given her away because Shallan scowled in response.

“You know,” Renarin said, looking at Jasnah, “this actually gives even more weight to my and Rlain’s theory….”

“Oh yeah!” Adolin perked up. “Jezrian was the Herald of Kings. Good point, Renarin!”

Jasnah sighed. She had been the one who said that she wasn’t arguing this today. 

“So can she include it in the book?” she asked.

“What, that Father put Kal in the line of succession?” Adolin asked. “Sure, why not. Makes us look bad a bit, I think, but everyone already knew that. Renarin?”

“Fine by me,” Renarin said, and Shallan nodded. 

“Thank you.” Jasnah dismissed them. “That’s all.” 

The trio stood up, still chattering animatedly about their dead friend. “You know,” Jasnah heard Shallan saying to the other two as they left, “this technically makes you brothers now.”

“If we’re brothers,” Adolin replied, “you’re his sister in law.”

“Oh! Oh no, that’s weird. I don’t like that. Veil really doesn’t like that.”

“Now that he's officially family,” Adolin said, "we have about thirty years of brotherly teasing to catch up on when he gets back.”

“He was already family,” Renarin murmured, the last thing she heard before the door closed behind them. 

Jasnah signed, sitting down at her desk once again. “Storming fools,” she muttered to herself. “Eventually they’ll have to realize that the man’s dead. His body’s in the ground.”

“It is, Jasnah. Masha confirmed it.” Ivory said from her earring. 

“Thank you, Ivory. It seems like everyone else has gone mad.”

“Although…perhaps it is not. You once came back from the dead. It is a possibility.”

“You know very well that’s different, Ivory. And I wasn't actually dead.”

“Perhaps.”

“Honor and Stormblessed, like my uncle, are both dead.That’s the end of it.”

Ivory said nothing, but she heard a different voice in her mind. One that always had an edge of humor even when it was serious, and that she hadn’t heard for a very long time. One that had been echoed in subsequent years by her cousin and the honorspren captain that was often at his side.

Yes, Stormblessed’s body was buried and the man was gone from this world. No amount of corrupted visions or blind faith would change that. 

But..honor is not dead, so long as he lives in the hearts of men, the memory of Wit’s voice whispered.

By that measure , Jasnah thought, thinking of the smiles and laughter that had followed her cousins out of the room, I suppose Kaladin isn’t dead either. 

Chapter Text

4 years, 8 months, and 2 days after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin thought that Kaladin Stormblessed, his brother, was alive. 

When Renarin had explained the theory that Kaladin had become a Herald, Adolin had been ecstatic. But when he had gone to Jasnah to ask her why she wasn’t convinced, she had explained. In great and convincing detail. Adolin thought Kaladin was alive, he really did. But as Jasnah had pointed out, he also desperately wanted Kaladin to be alive. It meant that he was willing to grasp at whatever straws were handed to him. Bridge Four remained unwavering, and Adolin wanted to as well. But then, Adolin had never been Bridge Four, had he?

Chapter Text

5 years after the creation of Retribution

Lirin Stormblessed knew that his son was dead. 

Fortunately for him, this was not the first time that he had dealt with that particular loss. Eleven years ago, he had been notified via letter that Tien was killed in Amaram’s army. Eight years ago he was informed that Kaladin had died as well. But he hadn’t . Five years ago, Lirin himself proclaimed that his son had been killed. But he had been wrong . And four years ago, Highprince Adolin Kholin himself had told him that his eldest son was finally buried in the ground. And Lirin would have been able to deal with it, truly. He would have mourned his son, of course, but then he would have moved on and accepted that he was dead.

If it wasn’t for the fact that apparently nobody else could . 

It didn’t come up very often, anymore. But every once in a while he’d hear it. Some of the former bridgemen making bets on how long it would take until Kal came back. The Kholin Highprince - not a Highprince - and his wife assuring their son that he would one day be able to meet his namesake. He had even once caught Hesina whispering conspiratorially with Renarin Kholin and his singer about a vision the boy had had before that calamitous day five years ago, and how he thought it meant Kaladin was alive.

To Hesina, the hope was a lifeline. She too had suffered the death of two sons, and after one came back from the dead the first time, she was clearly unwilling to accept he was truly gone. She held on tight to the faint possibility, as if by admitting the truth she would be dealing the death blow herself.

But for Lirin…for Lirin the hope hurt . He couldn’t move on when he was surrounded by so many people adamantly insisting his son was coming back. He couldn’t give up on Kal, not if there was a chance in damnation he could return. He had already given up on him so many times. But he knew, he knew , that he wasn’t coming back. Lirin was being torn between the desperation to believe his son was alive and the certainty of knowing he wasn’t, and after five years it was tearing him apart. 

He couldn’t keep going like this. So summoning his strength, he sought out Kholin to inquire where he could find a few of the men who likely knew the man Kaladin had become better than Lirin himself did.

~

Skar and Drehy, formerly of Bridge Four, stood up as they saw Lirin approaching across the sparring grounds of Urithiru. “Lirin,” Skar greeted, tapping his wrists together in the Bridge Four salute all of the original Bridge Four members - however few there were left - used when they saw him.

“Adolin told me you men would be sparring down here. Every day, I understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Skar said.

Lirin paused, then continued without additional preamble or transition. “You really think he’s alive out there, Skar?”

There was no need to clarify who “he” was.

“He is, Lirin,” Skar said. “It’s not about what I or anyone thinks.”

“His body was buried,” Lirin said. 

Skar didn’t say anything, as Lirin hadn’t actually asked a question, but Drehy cut in after an awkward moment of silence. “He is going to come back, Lirin. He’s going to fall right down out of the sky right here at Urithiru. It will be well if we’re prepared to fight alongside him.”

“What makes you men - all of you - so sure he’s coming back?” Lirin asked.

The two men exchanged glances, before Skar shrugged and said “Because he always has before.”

Lirin opened his mouth to continue the conversation, then sighed and shook his head. Why had he come down here? He already knew this, he already knew where the men got their faith in his son, he already knew it wouldn't be enough to convince him. There was nothing new these men could tell him. 

“Thank you for speaking with me, men,” he said as he stood up. “I appreciate your perspective.”

As he turned away to leave, Skar called after him. “Lirin?”

Lirin paused and turned around. “You don’t believe us.” Skar said. “That he’ll come back, I mean.”

Lirin took a deep breath and steeled himself. “He’s dead, Skar. But I understand that you need to be here anyway.” Lirin gave them the Bridge Four salute, something he knew they appreciated, and began to walk back to the Tower. 

As he did, he just barely heard Skar whisper to Drehy, “That’s all right, that he doesn’t believe. He’ll just be that much more surprised when Kaladin does return.”

Chapter Text

5 years, 2 months, and 23 days after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin hoped that Kaladin, his brother, was alive.

But that look in Kaladin’s father’s eyes had haunted him for the last two months. He had come to Adolin to ask him for his help, and Adolin had sent him on to Skar and Drehy, not trusting himself to not give the man more doubt. When Adolin had run into Lirin later, he had jovially asked how the conversation had gone. Lirin had looked at him and said nothing. But his eyes . He looked like a man who knew beyond doubt that his son was gone.

He had gotten the full story later from Drehy and Skar, of course, at their usual booth in Jez’s Duty. The pair had laughed and poked good-natured fun at Lirin, smirking at how they would get to say I told you so when Kaladin returned. Adolin had obligingly laughed along, but he couldn’t quite commit himself. He had seen Kaladin survive many, many things - I’m pretty sure you could survive anything. Storms, bridgeboy, the Almighty used some of the same stuff he put into Shardblades when he made you. But Adolin had been wrong, hadn’t he? Kaladin, for all his powers and skill and sheer stubbornness, was not made of the same stuff as Shardblades. He was made of flesh and blood. Flesh and blood that was currently rotting in the ground in Shinover. 

Adolin sipped his wine, and hoped that Kaladin was alive. 

Chapter Text

The Lopen knew that Kaladin Stormblessed was not dead. 

“What did the one-legged Alethi do when someone insulted him?”

“Lopen….”

“He declared war, he’s still Alethi!”

“You know I’m Alethi, right?”

“You’re Bridge Four, it doesn’t count.”

He knew it as well as he knew the names of every single one of his cousins.

“Hey Gancho, what did the one-armed Herdazian say to the one-legged Alethi?”

“Lopen, you have two arms now.”

“Hi Adolin!”

“I will pay for drinks for a week if you say that to my brother’s face.”

Rlain and Renarin had that Herald theory, sure, but he didn’t much care about that. 

“Hey Lirin, what did the surgeon say to the one-legged Alethi?”

“Get out, Lopen.”

“No, no, that’s what he said to the one-armed Herdazian.”

“I am begging you.”

“To the one-legged Alethi, he said ‘sorry son, you’ve already got one foot in the grave.’”

“I’m getting Hesina.”

They made it too storming complicated. 

“You know, I think I would have gotten along with your husband quite well, but ever since he returned from Azir, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Oooh nice one, let me write that down.”

It was much more straightforward than that. 

“Why couldn’t the one-legged Alethi man ride a horse? He was a foot too short!”

“If you say that within earshot of Gallant, he will trample you.”

Why couldn’t anybody else understand?

“What do you call a one-legged Alethi? 

“Lopen, I am warning you.”

“Anything you want, he can’t catch  - sorry, sorry, put me down gancho!”

Only Skar and Drehy seemed to get it. 

“ Ok, how about this one: what do you call an Alethi who got smashed by a Thunderclast and lost his leg? Storming lucky!”

“That depends, do you like having both arms?”

There wasn’t discussion to be had, or theories to be pondered. 

“Hey gancho!”

“Not now.”

“How did the one-legged Alethi - “

“Lopen, please.”

“ - lose his leg?”

“He used it to beat his favorite one-armed Herdazian to death because he wouldn’t stop making stupid jokes.”

“I’m your favorite?”

Kaladin would come back, simple as that. 

“Ah, Lopen, I hear you have been looking for one-legged Alethi jokes. Would you be interested in a trade? I have some delightful ones.”

“Sure thing, gancho. You first.”

“Go up to Adolin and say: ‘I was an adventurer like you till I took a thunderclast to the knee.’”

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s from a video game.”

“What on Roshar is a video game?”

“It’s not.”

“....what?”

“I hate this planet. Why did I ever come back?”

He always did.

Chapter Text

6 years, 7 months, and 9 days after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin was beginning to doubt that Kaladin Stormblessed was alive.

He honestly didn’t know what set him off that night. It wasn’t different than any other evening, out at Jez’s Duty with Bridge Four - what was left of it. Skar and Drehy were there almost every single day, to the point it had become nearly a ritual. Lopen was there nearly as often. Adolin tried to go, he really did, but as he had gained more responsibilities as Ministerial Exemplar he found he had less and less time. And he was so tired; he often just wanted to stay at home. He made it out maybe once or twice a week these days. Rlain rarely came without Renarin, although Renarin had started coming by himself occasionally. He doubted any but the people at that table could have understood how significant it was that Renarin would come out to a winehouse of his own accord. But then, those were also the only people he would want to do it for. Even so, the two ambassadors remained comfortably introverted, and only joined the group one or two times each month. Shallan was the most sporadic of the bunch, often coming every day for two weeks before disappearing for a month.

But that night, they were all there. And maybe that was what made him finally crack. It was so comfortable at that table, at least on the surface. The warmth, the laughter. It should have been a perfect evening. They were all his family, even if Renarin was the only one related by blood, and after an awful six and a half years, things were finally starting to settle into a semblance of normal. Adolin should have felt joy in that moment. 

But he couldn’t. Because even though everyone at that table was his family, his whole family was not at that table. He felt like his mind was betraying him, because when he looked around him all he could seem to see was the empty bridgeboy-shaped space. All he could think about were those nights seven years ago when he, Shallan, and Kal had laughed away the evenings - okay only he and Shallan really laughed but Kaladin was there.

He had noticed himself becoming irritable more easily the last few months, even snapping at little Kal over small things, but tonight felt different. There was a feeling under his skin that he couldn’t name, like a cremling had climbed inside his body and was now trying to get out. He heard warm, familiar laughter as Shallan laughed at something Drehy said, and Adolin snapped . 

He stood up abruptly and made to leave without saying anything. He didn’t know what was going on with him, but he didn’t trust himself to talk to his friends right now. But Drehy spoke before he could get away.

“Where are you going, Adolin? The night’s still young, and we haven’t seen you all week!”

“Yeah,” Lopen chimed in. “We want to hear all the gossip from the council.”

“I’m tired.” Adolin grated out, looking firmly at the wall just above Lopen’s head. “I just need some time alone.”

He had just turned to leave again when Skar spoke, humor in his voice. “You know Drehy, this is going to be hilarious when Kal gets back. All those times Adolin had to drag Kal out of his room, and he’s going to get back to find that the hypocrite started ditching us just as often.”

Suddenly, that insistent cremling burst out from Adolin, and in a moment of clarity he realized what the feeling was.

Adolin Kholin was angry . 

“When he comes back, Skar?” Adolin seethed, near shouting. Patrons at nearby tables turned to look, and Adolin very deliberately lowered his voice. He leaned in close the table, trying to breathe but finding the task oddly difficult. 

“You really think he’s out there? Alive? It’s been almost seven years,” he hissed.

Skar opened his mouth to respond, but Adolin cut him off. Now that he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop. 

“If he was going to come back, he should have by now. The tower barrier is down. Shallan was able to get back from Shadesmar. Jasnah says even if your ridiculous Herald theory was true there would be nothing preventing him from returning. There is no reason for him to still be gone. If he’s alive, then where the fuck is he? ”

He stormed out without waiting for a response, not willing to see their expressions. 

–

It wasn’t until later that night, having had a few more cups of violet wine and finally beginning to doze off, that he was able to admit to himself that he wasn’t angry at Skar or Drehy or Lopen or Renarin or Rlain or Shallan. He was angry at Kaladin .

“If you’re alive out there bridgeboy,” he whispered to the empty room, “you’re going to have an awful lot of explaining to do when you get back.”

Chapter Text

7 years after the creation of Retribution

“Hey Adolin, you wanna spar?” Lift asked, catching sight of the former Highprince moving across the sparring grounds in his signature blue armor.

Adolin made a vague grunting sound as he passed her, but otherwise didn't acknowledge that she had asked him anything. 

“I'll take that as a no,” Lift muttered. Then louder, as she felt someone walk up behind her, “What's his problem?”

“Someone doesn't have to have a problem in order to ignore you, girl,” Zahel responded, stopping beside her and glancing at her before looking where Adolin had stomped off. “They just have to have common sense.”

Lift snorted. “Yeah, but it's Adolin. He always wants to talk, even when I'm saying something really stupid. These last couple months he's been an ass every time I've tried to talk to him. And it's not just me.” She turned to face Zahel. “So I ask again, what's his problem?”

“What makes you think I know?” Zahel grumbled.

Lift just raised an eyebrow. 

Zahel scowled but conceded the point. “His problem is Stormblessed, Lift.”

Ah. Right. Kaladin. Lift knew the story, everyone did. She tried not to think about the whole thing too much. What was the point? 

“Did something change?” she asked carefully.

“No.” Zahel sounded like he would rather be talking about anything else. “Nothing changed.” 

“So…his problem is…?

“ Nothing has changed, girl. And he's starting to realize that if Stormblessed was coming back, something would have, by now.”

“Oh.”

“Adolin will be fine, he just needs some time to work through it. That boy's been through a lot the last few years”

There was a silence for a moment, but Lift couldn't let it linger.

“Isn't it possible he is fine?” she asked. “Kaladin I mean. The only reason people even think he's dead is cuz the assassin said so. I only really talked to the guy once, but he didn't exactly seem like a reliable source of information, if you know what I mean. He might not even be lying! Just…wrong? How do we know he's buried if the only one who's seen the body is Szeth?”

“You knew him, girl. Do you really think anything besides death would keep Stormblessed away this long?”

“So you do think he's dead?” Lift asked quietly. She didn't look at him. There was a reason she had never brought this up in the last seven years. 

Zahel eyed her. “Come on,” he said, abruptly walking away from the sparring grounds. 

“What? Aren't you gonna answer me?” she called.

He didn't answer, just kept walking towards the edge of the mountain. She hadn't really expected him too. Storming man. Groaning, she stomped after him. 

He didn't stop until he reached the cliff’s edge, sitting down and letting his legs dangle into the open air. Lift sat down next to him and said nothing. She waited. And waited. She really tried. But Zahel wasn't saying anything and she couldn't take it.

“So do you think Kaladin’s dead or not?” She finally blurted.

“Why are you asking me this now, girl? You've had years of seeing me more than anyone else in this godsforsaken tower, and you've never once brought up Stormblessed. You really value my opinion so little?”

“No,” Lift said quietly.

Zahel waited. Unlike Lift, he was very good at waiting out a silence. 

“I value your opinion that much , Zahel. Everyone else can say what they want, but they're mostly making things up. You…you know things. I know you do. If you had said he's not coming back, I'd have to believe you. So I didn't ask.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am.”

Zahel sighed. “Like I said before Lift. I don't know of anything besides death that would keep that stubborn boy away for this long.”

“So you do think he's dead,” Lift pressed, feeling frustrated that he wouldn't just say it.

“Now,” Zahel said, “I didn't say that.” 

“You think he's alive?”

“I didn't say that either.”

“What the hell, Zahel?” Lift glanced at Wyndle, who appeared as vines beside her on the rocky ground. He appeared as confused as Lift felt. She took a deep breath. “What are you saying then?”

“I'm saying that a lot of things are possible, and I don't know nearly all of them. I just know enough to know that things aren't nearly so cut and dry.” 

“What things?”

“Life and death, girl.”

“Life and death aren't cut and dry now, old man?” Lift said, a knowing smile tugging on her lips. She knew they weren't, of course, but over the years she'd learned that there was one sure way to get Zahel talking.

“Of course not,” he snapped, sitting up a little straighter.

Say something wrong about something he knew a lot about, and then sit back and let him teach . 

“First of all,” he began, and Lift settled back on her elbows to get comfortable. “You should know better than that just from your experience growing up on this planet. You have the Fused and the Heralds, both of which are Type 2 Invested Entities - don't give me that look, I explained this last year - not to mention how the Assassin got his soul back after completely dying, although I'll grant that's less relevant here given the amount of time that has passed.”

Lift said nothing, absentmindedly playing with the stone shell Zahel had given her years earlier when he had explained all of this the first time. This was the….fourth time? Fifth time? That he’d talked about his type whatever invested whatevers, and she felt like she was finally starting to get a grasp on all of it.

“But second of all,” Zahel continued, “there are so many other ways that people in this cosmere don’t stay storming dead, or don’t die properly in the first place. The people like me, of course, from my home planet - dead man walking, remember? There are the Shades on Threnody - I must have told you about Threnody by now. No? Doesn’t matter, the point is that planet is absolutely crawling with ghosts. 

“Then there are the one-offs. Those individuals that are just too damn chull-headed for even death to keep them away. Dust - your Wit - for one. I don’t care what anyone says; he’s been around for ten thousand years, a little vaporization by a god isn’t keeping him away. Then there’s that absolutely insufferable idiot from Scadrial. He left a body in a street, but that hasn’t stopped him from causing hell all over the cosmere for the last three centuries. One of the only people I’ve heard of who could rival our Stormblessed in terms of sheer stubbornness. 

“So yes, Stormblessed died, that seems a certainty. But is he gone forever? Bah. I have no idea. I’ve heard Renarin’s theory, about him becoming a Herald and that does seem possible - yes, I know Jasnah says it wouldn’t work but believe me I know more than her on this topic - but it’s not provable. But more importantly, there are dozens of other ways he could theoretically come back, and I’m not ready to rule them out. Don’t give me that smile girl, I’m not saying he is coming back. But if anyone from this planet was going to beat death, it’d be that boy, if only for the damn drama of it all.”

After it was clear that he was done talking, Lift knocked her shoulder into Zahel and gave him a tiny smile. “Thanks, old man.”

“Why do you even care so much? You didn't even know him that well, did you? It’s not like you were friends.”

Lift shrugged. “It's Kaladin,” she said, which as far as she was concerned was a complete explanation.

She caught a hint of a smile before he covered it with a scowl. “You know girl, you remind me of him.”

“Me? Really?”

“You both ask too many damn questions, and neither of you think anything through.” Zahel grumbled. “A pain in my ass, the both of you.”

“If he’s such a bother, why do you care so much?” She shot at him.

“I don't,” Zahel muttered. “He's a grumpy, anti-social asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” Lift said, grinning broadly as she looked out over the mountains. “So are you.” 

Chapter Text

7 years, 3 months, and 36 days? 37? 35? after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin needed Kaladin to be alive. 

—

Adolin stood at the top of The Tower on the Shattered Plains, watching Sadaes’s bridges retreat. “I warned you not to trust him!” Adolin yelled at his father, cutting down a pair of Parshendi. “I told you! I said he was an eel!”

“I know!” Dalinar replied as he fought with Adolin against the advancing Parshendi army. 

They continued to fight, but it was futile. Dalinar eventually called for them to retreat and regroup; Adolin cursed but obeyed. 

After a brief respite, Dalinar turned to the remaining Kholin soldiers and gave one of the most inspiring speeches that Adolin had ever heard from his father. Brief and to the point, but it made a storming world of difference. He could see it in the eyes of the reserve soldiers and the Cobalt Guard; could feel it in himself. They would die today, yes, there was no getting around that, but they would die with pride and honor.

“Other men may debase themselves to destroy me,” his father finished. “Let them have their glory. For I will retain mine!” 

Adolin nodded, shoved his helm on, and summoned his Blade.

They re-entered the fight, Adolin fighting side by side with Dalinar at the front of the Kholin army. He fought hard, but with every passing minute he felt more and more exhausted. The Parshendi focused on the two Shardbearers, knowing as Adolin and Dalinar did that they would have to bring them down first in order to end this battle. 

Adolin’s armor was leaking Stormlight dangerously quickly, accumulating cracks as he extended himself more and more to protect his father. He kept fighting, but questioned the purpose even as he slew Parshendi. He knew in his heart that it was a doomed effort. Even if they made it to the base of the Tower, they couldn’t cross the chasms. It was unlikely they’d make it even in their Plate, and more importantly, they would not abandon their men.

“It can’t be,” Adolin suddenly heard his father say. He stepped behind the Cobalt Guard for a moment to look where his father was pointing with his Shardblade. 

“What?” Adolin asked. He didn’t see anything. 

“Nothing,” Dalinar sighed. “I thought I saw…but it must have been a trick of the light. There’s nothing there.”

“A last minute rescue?” Adolin asked, snorting. “Your idealism is what got us into this mess, Father. But I don’t think it will get us out. Nobody is coming to help us.” Adolin threw himself back into the fighting. He wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later when he was finally overrun by Parshendi. Even a Shardbearer can be outnumbered, he thought to himself grimly, as the swarm of red and black wrenched off his helm. One of them took an arrow and stabbed it straight through his eye. 

—

He had been having nightmares. 

—

Adolin was stuck to the ceiling of a hallway in the Pinnacle. He screamed and thrashed but couldn’t move as the Assassin in White murdered his father in front of him. The man began to walk away, but Adolin couldn’t stand that. “Come back and fight me you coward! ” he shouted. Adolin saw the Assassin stiffen and hesitate before turning around and slowly approaching his position on the ceiling. 

“I am Truthless,” the man hissed. “The Knights Radiant have not returned. If they had, I would surely have encountered one tonight.” The assassin picked up one of the fallen spears and placed it on the ground pointed straight up, where it remarkably stayed completely still. Adolin was still trying to puzzle out what any of that meant when he felt gravity reassert itself, and he fell straight down onto the razor sharp point of the spear. 

—

It had started about six months ago, that night he had yelled at Skar in Jez’s Duty. 

—

Adolin was alone in the arena with four Shardbearers coming at him. He’d almost done it! Four at once, and he’d almost done it. He tried to yield, but then Abrobadar broke off to threaten Renarin. No, there would be no forfeiting. He would leave this duel dead or as a cripple. He steeled himself and kept fighting, but his Plate was gushing Stormlight and he was tiring. He wouldn’t last much longer alone.

He heard his father’s distant voice bellowing from the stands. “My sons fight alone! There are Shardbearers among you. Is there not one of you who will fight with them?” 

Silence.

“What has happened to us?” he heard Dalinar shout. “Where is our honor?”

No one responded. Adolin turned, trying to catch the eyes of any of the Shardbearers in the stands, trying to get someone to help him. Amaram. What of Amaram? The new leader of the Knights Radiant stared stoically straight ahead, refusing to look at Dalinar or Adolin. There had to be someone, anyone , who would do the right thing, who would help him. But there was no one. Not that I can blame them, Adolin thought bitterly. No one really wore their Shardplate to watch a dueling match, and nobody in their right mind would jump unarmoured into a fight among six Shardbearers.

The last thing Adolin saw was Sadaes’ bulbous face twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. Honor is dead, he thought, right before Relis approached his unprotected back and swung his Shardblade through Adolin’s spine. 

—

When he first started to admit to himself that Kaladin wasn’t coming back. 

—

Adolin watched his father disappear into the dark sky. 

“Bastard,” he shouted, running towards the assassin before he had a chance to think through the action. “Bastard!”

The assassin ignored him and continued walking away. Adolin raised his Shardblade to strike, but before he could the assassin spun and disarmed him with such force that Adolin heard his wrist snap. The assassin followed with a painful blow to his chest, sending him to his knees.

“I suppose,” the assassin said, “I can kill one more, on my own time.”

Adolin looked up to the sky. Father, he thought , I’m sorry. I…

What was that? Through his blurred version he thought he could make out the shape of something glowing in the air. Could it be…? Adolin blinked, clearing the tears from his vision. No, it must have been a trick of the light and rain. There was nothing there. 

He blinked again, and then the assassin’s hand was pressed into his chest, and he was falling, falling, falling, into the churning sky. 

—

He hadn’t realized the pattern, at first. 

—

Adolin strode towards the Kholinar palace, a grim determination settling in his gut. He knew that they were outmatched. Elhokar was proud of the highlords he and Adolin had recruited the night before, as well he should be. But Adolin was more experienced in his battle than his cousin, and knew that the some hundred men-at-arms wouldn’t be nearly enough.

If he had his way, they wouldn’t be attacking with their meager force at all. But they were out of time. They had considered other avenues; Adolin had tried to approach the wall guard and their mysterious leader. The attempt had been unsuccessful though - they weren’t interested in a high-ranking lighteyes. With no other options, they had agreed there was no point in waiting any longer.

And so he found himself walking through the streets of his home city, preparing to assault his home. As he neared the palace, several Fused flew down to attack him. As one of the only two Shardbearers in the assault force, he was an obvious target. We’re entering an era of gods, Adolin thought. And I am badly outclassed.

As the Fused attacked Adolin, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. This isn’t right, he thought . He couldn’t remember how he had gotten to the city from the Shattered Plains. He fought off one Fused, swinging his Blade through its sword arm. He defended against another that came at him with a spear, but felt a lance pierce his shoulder from above. He cursed, reminding himself that he couldn’t rely on familiar fighting strategies, which didn’t account for attacks from the storming sky. 

He stumbled, and a part of his brain felt surprised when no one caught him. But why should he be? He was functionally on his own; the only other Shardbearer was Elhokar, and Adolin could see him struggling to hold off his own Fused attackers. 

Someone else should be here , his mind insisted. He felt like there should be someone supporting in the sky, like there should be more people on the ground to defend against the regular parshmen that were beginning to pour out of the palace. 

Wishful thinking , he told himself bitterly. He cried out as he felt a spear enter his leg; saw a Fused hit Elhokar in the side. 

This was a mistake, he thought. They couldn’t do any good here. They had no chance of rescuing Aesudon or Gavinor; no chance of getting to the Oathgate. He fought his way over to Elhokar, clearing a path through singer ground troops with his Blade. As he neared, Elhokar took a lance to the back of the knee and fell to the ground.

“We need to leave, Elhokar!” Adolin shouted to his cousin. 

Elhokar shook his head and tried to stand. “Aesudon…” he said, sounding pained. 

“We can’t get to them,” Adolin said, as Elhokar collapsed again, cursing as his wounded knee refused to take his weight. “Time to go,” he said grimly, grabbing Elhokar under the arms and heaving him backwards away from the Fused. 

As he attempted his retreat, though, a tall, lean man stepped out of one of Kholinar’s alleyways. He was human, but wore a brown uniform like the singers. Holding most of Elhokar’s weight, Adolin couldn’t get his sword up in time to defend before the man rammed his spear into Elhokar’s chest. 

“No!” Adolin screamed as Elhokar fell to the ground. The man pulled his spear out and stabbed Elhokar again, brutally spearing him through the eye. 

Someone else should be here , he thought again. It was his last thought before the man struck again, this time ramming his spear through Adolin’s throat. 

—

Once he did, it didn’t really help.

—

Adolin was exhausted. He stood in a lake of blood and gore as men and women died around him. He knew he could only have been fighting for a few hours, but it felt like a lifetime. Shield. Pike. Water. Shield. Pike. Water. 

The call came for him to rotate back to the front line, but Adolin yearned to lie there, and simply never get up again. Thinking of his failure at Kholinar, he forced himself to his feet and took his place in the shield wall. He searched desperately for any source of motivation or inspiration to get him through the night, but found none. No one could survive something like this, he thought. He felt drained, defeated, hopeless. He could barely find it in himself to care when an enemy singer swept his peg leg out from under him. He collapsed and another singer swung an axe into his side. Another one, this time a spear to his good leg. A sword in his stomach. He thought about calling for Maya, but what was the point? Adolin closed his eyes.

—

“You’re my only Bridgeboy,” Adolin said, taking a sip of his violet wine. He set the mug down, grinning as he turned to face Kaladin again. “Where would I get….” He trailed off. There was no one in the booth next to him. Kaladin was gone. 

Chapter Text

7.5 years after the creation of Retribution

“I could really use a drink,” Skar said as he slid into the booth across from Drehy. Drehy nodded; he was already flagging down one of Jez’s Duty barmaids. 

“That bad, huh?” Drehy asked, smiling as Mel approached their table. She placed two mugs of wine on the table; a mug of violet in front of Skar and an orange for Drehy. 

“You ordered already?” Skar asked.

Mel gave him a flat look. “You two have been in here nearly every single night for the better part of the last eight years. You think I don’t know your drink order?”

“I don’t always get a violet,” Skar protested.

“The new recruits got here about a half hour before you, and they’re loud. After hearing about their day, I figured you could use it. To answer your question,” she said, turning to Drehy, “yes, it was that bad. Skar, not a single group noticed you throwing their spears out the window? Honestly! I know they’re new, but it’s common sense.”

“Maybe you should join up, Mel,” Skar chuckled. “You fancy being a Windrunner?”

“Ha!” Mel snorted and walked away, shaking her head.

“I think that’s a no,” Drehy said in a false whisper.

“Oh, hush.”

Drehy picked up his cup and raised it towards Skar. “To Kal,” he said.

“To Kal,” Skar agreed, knocking his mug against Drehy’s and drinking deeply. 

It was quiet for a moment, and Skar’s mind began to wander. He traced one of the carvings Shallan had left in their table - was this their third one? Fourth? Luckily the owner didn’t seem to mind Shallan steadily making her way through the winehouse’s furniture, and in fact took it as a point of pride that his establishment was decorated art from the Shallan Kholin - and for free. 

The one he was looking at now was a little older, but one of Skar’s favorites. It featured two men, both of whom had frequent appearances across the wooden mural. The men, the only detailed part of the carving, stood back to back, surrounded by four human-like shapes in the foreground and vague blotches in the background that gave an appearance of a crowd. One of the men wore a suit of Shardplate, the pauldron missing from the left shoulder, and held a massive Shardblade with crystal-like formations on one edge. The other man wore a Bridge Four uniform - complete with a clearly carved Bridge Four patch, which impressed Skar - and carried nothing but a spear. 

There was a line of women’s script painstakingly carved below the image. When Shallan had first carved it, Skar had asked what it said, thinking he already knew the answer. Bridge Four had heard the tale of that duel recounted many times, and used to tease Kaladin about how he couldn't properly fight without a dramatic entrance line.

But Shallan’s answer had taken him by surprise. “It says ‘Welcome to the Party,’” she had said with a smirk. Skar had exchanged a confused glance with Drehy, but Adolin had chuckled. It hadn’t been the man’s typical big laugh, the one that would light up any room and infect those around him. Just a small chuckle. But even that was notable, these days. 

Adolin was…not doing well.

Skar let his gaze drift past the image he had been looking at, across many more images of Kaladin, Adolin, and their other friends - Skar himself even made an appearance once or twice. He ended with his eyes focused on the empty space next to Drehy. A few years ago, Adolin would have been occupying that spot, as he had almost every evening. But these last few months….when was the last time he had come out drinking with Skar and Drehy? Skar had to think hard, eventually remembering when they had dragged Adolin out with them after a council meeting - storms! Had that really been over a month ago?

“I’m worried about him,” Skar said quietly.

“About Kal?” Drehy asked, sounding confused. “Why?”

Skar thought back a moment and realized that the last thing he had said aloud before getting lost in his own thoughts was their usual nightly toast to Kaladin. 

“Nah,” Skar said with a chuckle and a wave of his hand. “Of course I’m not worried about Kal. He’ll be back when he’s good and ready.”

And he really wasn’t worried. He and Drehy and Lopen - they knew. He wasn’t sure about the Herald thing, but that didn’t matter. Bridge Four knew Kaladin, and even over seven years after his disappearance, they weren’t particularly worried. Irritated, a bit. Confused, definitely. But it had honestly never occurred to Skar that Kaladin might truly be gone forever. That was a thought that was more and more exclusive to Bridge Four these days, unfortunately. Most of those that had believed he was alive in the beginning had started to lose faith, which brought him back to…

“Adolin,” Skar said, growing serious again. “I’m worried about Adolin.”

“Oh.” Drehy was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I am too.”

Skar was hoping Drehy would say something else, but he didn’t. Skar took another sip of his wine and let the silence linger. Kaladin really needed to get back here, soon. Skar was confident that Kaladin was fine, sure, but he was beginning to worry that his friends and family wouldn’t be by the time he got back.

We have to find a way to help.

Chapter Text

About 8 years (?) after the creation of Retribution

Adolin Kholin tried not to think about Kaladin Stormblessed. 

Thinking about Kaladin hurt . A lot. Adolin had been through a lot of pain in his life, physical and otherwise. There was that time he was crushed by a thunderclast, for one, and that was only the edge of the chasm. His mother killed when he was a child, the revelation his father was responsible, injuries caused by the Assassin in White - twice, his father’s death, bleeding out in Shadesmar - twice, his wife and child lost in Shadesmar, losing Sureblood…no, Adolin Kholin was no stranger to pain. 

But this was something altogether new, because unlike everything else Adolin had been through, this didn’t end . Losing his parents had been hard, and indeed there were days when the grief overwhelmed him even still. But he knew they were dead; understood what had happened. Shallan and little Kal had returned. His physical injuries had healed. Or in the case of his leg they hadn’t, but he also knew that it never would heal, so he had made his peace. 

But Kaladin, as usual, was different. Storming bridgeboy . 

Without any closure, this wound just would not heal. Any time the painful gash started to close, any time he felt himself accepting that his friend was dead, a sliver of doubt would worm its way in and tear the scab away before it fully had a chance to form. No amount of Towerlight could heal this. 

And so, Adolin simply tried not to think about Kaladin at all. 

Unfortunately, this turned out to be a much more difficult task than he had expected. Setting aside that Adolin’s own treacherous mind - conscious or otherwise - constantly conjured up memories of the bridgeman, Kaladin’s influence was everywhere in the Tower; in everyone. In the few short years Adolin had known him, Kaladin had touched so many lives; had saved so many lives.

He saw him in the remaining members of Bridge Four, men who likely would have died years ago in Sadaes’s bridge crews if not for Kaladin. He saw him in his wife, who might never have made it out of the chasms without Kaladin, and in his son who bore his fallen friend’s name. He saw him in his brother, who had finally found a home in Bridge Four. He saw him in the people of the Tower, who remembered the occupation of nearly a decade ago and the single Radiant who had stood up and fought for them. 

So Adolin avoided Skar.

He avoided Drehy.

He avoided Lopen. 

He avoided Shallan.

He avoided Kal. 

He avoided Renarin. 

He avoided everyone. 

—

Is this how Kaladin felt ? Adolin found himself wondering one evening. In those months before the occupation at Urithiru? 

“Adolin,” a voice called, interrupting his train of thought. Adolin paused, allowing Renarin to catch up with him as they both exited the council meeting. “Do you want to come over and have dinner with me and Rlain?”

“No, Renarin, but thank you for the invitation,” Adolin replied stiffly. “I have a lot of work to catch up on and I want to go over my notes while they’re fresh.”

Renarin gave him a dubious look, and for a moment Adolin thought that he was going to argue, that he was going to insist he come over. For a moment, Adolin hoped that he would. But after a brief pause, Renarin nodded. “Of course, Adolin. Maybe next week?”

“Maybe next week,” Adolin echoed automatically, as his brother walked away. 

He continued walking back towards his room, but was accosted by Lopen after just a few minutes. How had the man even known where to find him?

“Hey gancho,” Lopen said, smiling casually. “You want to go down and spar for a bit?” 

Adolin restrained himself from raising an eyebrow. Usually Skar or Drehy approached him for a sparring session. Had they sent Lopen, thinking he would be less likely to turn him down? Or did Lopen just feel bad for him and was trying to do something he thought Adolin would like? It didn’t matter. Adolin wasn’t much interested in sparring these days. It reminded him too much of when he used to spar with Kaladin, teaching him how to use a sword.

“No thanks, Lopen,” Adolin said, pasting a smile on his face. “I’m too tired. Some other time.”

Lopen looked like he would push Adolin on his refusal, but Adolin no longer cared to be pushed. He walked past Lopen before he could get another word out. He just wanted to get to his room, and be alone. Hopefully Shallan wouldn’t be there.

He made it all the way back to his rooms without running into anyone else. Or rather, he ran into a lot of people, all of which knew him. He was Adolin Kholin, son of Dalinar Kholin, former highprince of Kholinar, head of the Unoathed, leader of the council. Best friend of the fallen Kaladin Stormblesssed. Yes, everyone knew who Adolin was. 

Tonight he couldn’t stand it. 

It took all of his effort to smile and wave at everyone who greeted him, to put on the carefully cultivated persona that had once been as natural to him as breathing. He didn’t pass anyone else who would dare to stop him, though. Just admirers who waved and saluted and moved out of his way, and for that he was thankful. He kept on the proper face all the way to his rooms, and was proud of himself for it. 

Then he stepped inside and found an empty nothingness.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Adolin felt the last dregs of energy that had been sustaining him drain out of his body. He did a quick scan of his rooms to confirm that neither Shallan nor little Kal were present. That done, he began walking to his couch, but felt his legs wobble beneath him and simply sank down to the floor instead.

He buried his head in his hands, feeling his heart rate pick up as he desperately tried to take in enough air to fill his lungs. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. What was wrong with him? This was…this was new. Exhaustionspren like little jets of dust and agonyspren like upside down faces carved from stone begin to pop into existence around him. He wanted to cry. He thought he should be crying? But he couldn’t bring the tears forward. Instead the pressure just built inside him, causing him to shake and tremble violently. 

In that moment, alone and huddled on the floor of a dark room, tormented by agonyspren, Adolin’s thoughts turned again - of course - to Kaladin. 

Is this how Kaladin felt?

Adolin remembered all those times he had tried to get Kaladin to come out drinking with him, only to be rebuffed time and time again. 

When he talked about his dark mind, is this what he meant?

Adolin had cared for his friend, but had not truly ever understood his mind. He joked with Kaladin about dragging him out of his room, and he even understood the battle shock, to an extent. Most soldiers did. But Kaladin didn’t just have battle shock. There was something else haunting the man that Adolin had never understood. Kaladin had tried to explain it to him, on a few occassions. 

It continues until numbness seems preferable. Then that numbness claims me and makes it hard to do anything at all. It becomes a sinking, inescapable void from within which everything looks washed out. Dead. 

Adolin had sympathized. It sounded awful. But he had never truly understood. 

My mind, though. My mind betrays me and whispers things that are not true.

He couldn’t quite grasp that his own mind could work against him. 

I feel good lots of days. Trouble is, on the bad days, that’s hard to remember. At those times, for some reason, I feel like I have always been in darkness, and always will be. 

He thought maybe now he did. 

Was this how he felt, that day he jumped off the top of the tower?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. He looked up sharply, horrified at the idea that anyone would find him like this. The knock came again.

“Adolin? It’s us.”

Skar’s voice. Damnation. Almost anyone else he could convince to leave, but he knew Skar - and most likely Drehy - wouldn’t listen.

Adolin tried to take in a deep breath, feeling a moment of relief when the agonyspren faded. He tried to stand up to open the door but his legs failed him. He started to panic again, knowing what the two men would think if they found him huddled on the ground. But all that did was cause anxietyspren to burst into existence to replace the agonyspren. He didn’t have enough practice dealing with…whatever this was. 

“Adolin? We’re coming in now.” Drehy this time.

“No, wait -” Adolin started, but Drehy was already shouldering open the door. The two men stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. Adolin knew what they saw. The dark room - Adolin hadn’t bothered to get out any spheres or use a fabrial, Adolin sitting hunched on the floor, the variety of spren that had collected around him. 

They exchanged a look, something silent passing between them. Adolin hated it. Did they think he wouldn’t notice them judging him?

Skar stayed by the door, but Drehy started walking towards Adolin. Slowly, like Adolin was some sort of wounded animal that would bolt with any sudden movement or noise. 

“We were looking for you,” Drehy said. “Thought you might come down to Jez’s after the council meeting. Haven’t seen you there for a few weeks.”

“I’ve been busy,” Adolin muttered.

“Right,” Drehy said. “Of course. Doesn’t look like you’re busy now though.”

Adolin glared at him. The look would have sent most people running away. Adolin had inherited the Blackthorn’s glare, after all. Drehy, familiar with ignoring Kaladin’s stormcloud of a face, disregarded it entirely.

“Come on, Adolin. You’re coming out with us tonight. No excuses. We’ve let you blow us away for the last few weeks, but not today.”

“No.” Adolin replied shortly.

When he didn’t bother offering up any other excuses, Drehy once again exchanged looks with Skar, who still stood at the doorway. Giving him space? Or making sure he didn’t bolt? They seemed to come to a conclusion, and Drehy appeared to steel himself before turning back to Adolin and speaking again.

You know he wouldn’t want you to be miserable like this.”

Adolin felt himself tense up immediately, and agonyspren obligingly appeared again. There was no need to explain who “he” was. Adolin snapped. 

“And you know he would have understood that what he wants - or even what I want -  has little to do with what I feel. You think he wanted to be how he was, living in that darkness?”

“And you always dragged him out of it!”

“Well maybe I shouldn’t have!”

There was silence in the room.

“Maybe,” Adolin said more quietly, “I should have just left him alone.”

He died alone, he left me alone, we’re all alone, just leave me -  

Skar snorted. “Like we should leave you alone, right?”

“Yes.”

“Adolin, I may not be a surgeon, but we are absolutely not leaving you in here alone. We shouldn't have let you the last few times.”

“Have you considered,” Adolin grated out, hating himself even as the words left his lips, “that I just don’t want to be around you?”

He heard it, of course. Adolin Kholin was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. A detached part of him recognized that this wasn’t right, that he wasn’t acting rationally. He could see that he was acting as Kaladin had, pushing away his friends at the very time when he needed them most. He could see the twisted sense of irony, as Skar and Drehy took on the role that he once had. He remembered being on the other side of this conversation, of knowing beyond doubt that he couldn’t leave Kaladin on his own, and that the other man was simply too lost in his own mind to see it himself. 

Knowing that, remembering that, it should have been easy to make the simple connection that if Adolin was right that Kaladin shouldn’t be alone, then Drehy and Skar were right that Adolin shouldn’t be alone. It should have been easy to recognize that his mind was playing tricks on him and that if he felt himself feeling like he wanted to avoid people, that was when he had to make himself spend time with them. It should have been easy. 

It wasn’t. 

The part of himself that could see all of that was much, much smaller than the part that knew beyond doubt that he needed to be alone. That this was best for everyone. Adolin wouldn’t have to see the ghost of his should-have-been brother, and his old friends wouldn’t have to see him fade away into this person-shaped shell that used to be a Highprince. 

Skar and Drehy were both looking at him oddly. It belatedly occurred to Adolin that Kaladin had likely also used that line on them at some point, and the two former bridgemen were filtering through similar memories. 

Drehy stepped closer to Adolin, dropping to a knee to be on his level. He tried to catch Adolin’s eye, but he looked down at his knees in stubborn avoidance.

“You don’t have to smile,” Drehy said quietly. “You don’t have to talk.” Adolin looked up sharply. “But if you’re going to be miserable…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. Adolin knew how that sentence ended.

You might as well do it with friends. 

“Where did you hear that?” he whispered.

“You know where,” Drehy said. “That day meant a lot to him, not that he would ever actually tell you that.” He rolled his eyes before becoming serious again. “You meant a lot to him, Adolin. When he comes back -”

Adolin flinched.

“ When he comes back, he better find you in one piece, princeling. Or it’ll be all of our heads. And frankly, I do not want to deal with angry returned-from-the-dead Kaladin. So do us a solid, and come get a storming drink.”

You might as well do it with friends .

“Fine,” Adolin grumbled after a pause. He heaved himself to his feet, glaring at both men. “I’m coming, okay? You win. Just give me a few minutes to change.”

“Sure,” Drehy said. “But if it’s more than a few, we’re going down to the library and getting your wife. And we both know she doesn’t have our patience.”

Adolin snorted. “Sure. As if she didn’t send you to check on me in the first place.”

Drehy chuckled at that. “We didn’t need Shallan to send us, Adolin.”

“Then what are you doing here?” 

You might as well do it with friends.

“The same thing as always, princeling,” Skar said from where he was leaning against the doorway. He stretched and turned to head into the hallway. “Catching you when you fall…”

“...and helping you get back up,” Drehy finished, following Skar out and closing the door behind him.

Adolin smiled as he whispered to the empty room. "Thank you."