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George Lucas Open on Kaladin, staring out at the battlefield. It is littered with both soldiers and Parshendi corpses. He stands alone in his vest and trousers, an unreadable expression on his face. KALADIN: Dead. All of them….dead. Half of Bridge Four is gone, because of me. Sylphrena floats up to him, a ribbon of light, before assuming the form of a young girl. SYL: Not-so, Mistah Kaladeen, sah! You-sa still have meesa! KALADIN: Uh, Syl? Why are you talking like that? You didn't talk like that in the last book. SYL: Mistah Lucas thought it'd be better for the KIDS! You-sa knows he loves dee children! KALADIN: Excuse me, Syl. SYL: Where-sa you-sa going, Kaladeen? KALADIN: To find the nearest chasm. J.K. Rowling Dalinarbledore gripped Kaladin's shoulders, meeting his eyes. "Don't you see, Kaladin? You are the Chosen One. Of all the Radiants at this school, you alone can unite the Sprenly Hallows and defeat Voidemort!" Kaladin looked away from Dalinarbledore's eyes, which always made him feel as though he were being X-rayed. "But….this doesn't make sense." "Of course it does. Voidemort chose you as his equal, which is why you can fly and do all of those amazing things." "But wouldn't I have been able to do that anyway, being a Windrunner and all? And while we're at it, why did I get Windrunning while Shalmione got Lightweaving? I mean, seriously, why are there differences in our magic, anyway?" "Because it's magic. Duh." Just then, Professor Sadeas walked by, scowling at Dalinarbledore. "You're smiling, Professor. Ten points from Gryffindor." "I outrank you, Sadeas." "Fine. Ten points to Slytherin, because I have better fashion sense." George R. R. Martin Sigzil stood alone on the battlefield. Around him lay the broken bodies of Bridge Four, Dalinar's warcamp, Sebarial's warcamp, and the entire customer base of a random tavern. "Looks like it falls upon me, then," he sighed. "I alone must carry this narrative to the end. And I shall. I shall." The arrow struck his heart from an unknown source, and there he died. Stephanie Meyer Pattern buzzed in deep chagrin. "Shallan?" "What?" "I know that your sketches are important….but shouldn't you be working on keeping the parshmen from destroying the world?" "In a minute," she said, chagrined. "Shallan, you have already made 499 sketches of Adolin Kholin's abdominal muscles." "And this will be an even 500." Just as she finished the sketch and held it to the light for a moment's admiration, the door swung open. Her chagrin was quickly replaced by delight. "Shallan," Kaladin breathed. "I'm sorry for intruding on you like this, but I had to see you. I didn't have time to put on a shirt. I hope you don't mind." Pattern's chagrined buzzing began anew, but Shallan ignored it. When the Almighty sent you a shirtless Captain, you didn't ask for details.