Overlord Jebus

Lunamor guided a pair of Thaylens through the garden. 

Shallan and Bridge Four had been sending people his way and it was up to him and Huio to make sure they had a place to go. There was plenty of room in the statue garden that sat upon the Thaylen Oathgate platform, lots of seating for the evacuees. 

Most sat where he placed them, some just wanted to stand about.

These people were broken. Something had infested their minds and caused them to act in ways no civilised person would. Lunamor could help them up here, on the platform. He couldn’t face the carpet of corpses that lay at the front of the Oathgate.

At least the Fused were leaving them alone for now. They’d chased off the group that were holding guard over the Oathgate and so far they’d not returned. Though smoke blocked them from seeing too far into the city, they could still make out the dark shapes moving through the air. There was no doubt they’d be regrouping.

“Here you go,” Lunamor said to the man and woman as he set them down on a bench. The man simply stared at the ground, clothes torn and bloody. The woman simply held her hands over her face. She had been that way since she’d entered the garden.

So much death, he thought, So much pain. He wished he could stay. Comfort these people more. But he didn’t know what he would say, even if he had the time.

Standing, Lunamor moved to make his way back to the entrance to help the next group of people.

He stopped before leaving this section of garden. Nearby, he noticed a faint glow from behind a nearby statue, like someone had left a diamond chip behind it. The statue itself depicted a soldier, a spearman, thrusting his weapon high, a rippling stone cloth wrapped around the spearhead, frozen in the wind.

Making his way over to the statue, Lunamor peaked around the stone base.

The source of the light lay curled in a tiny ball on the ground. 

Oh no, he thought. A heavy weight sank to the bottom of his gut.

Lunamor squatted and scooped the tiny person up into his hands. They didn’t weigh a thing. It felt like he was holding a leaf, ready at any moment to be swept away in a gust of wind.

“Hello, little god,” He said.

Syl stirred, her head was buried in her knees, her arms pulling them close. She didn’t reply.

Lunamor felt a swelling in his chest. There’d only be one reason for her to be here alone. 

He made a one handed gesture of grief and respect. “Oh, mafah’liki...” he said.

“So much is wrong,” Syl said, barely a whisper, “so much is out of place,” 

Her dim light faded further, pulling herself closer. “I don’t know what to do, where to go, who I am...” She trailed off.

“It is okay, mafah'liki, you are here now. You are exactly where you need to be,” he said, looking down at her. Tears fell around her onto his massive palms.

Syl looked up at him, at the smile across his face. Her form seemed to solidify a little.

“Rock, it’s too late, I couldn’t help when... when he needed me most.” Syl said.

Lunamor shook his head. “No,” he said, wiping his eyes “We can carry on. You are here, little one. Your journey continues. Kaladin taught us...”

Lunamor swallowed.

“He taught us that we can carry on, even when we think we cannot. What matters is not where or when our journey ends. What matters is what we do on our way there.”

Syl smiled, understanding. “Journey before destination.” She said.

“Journey before destination, little god.” Lunamor replied.

He felt something stir within him. He knew exactly what to say next.

The words flowed out of him in the Unkalaki tongue, as if they had always been there and he was finally setting them free.

“Come now little god, we must go protect those that cannot protect themselves.”

A burst of light exploded around them.

-----------

Jasnah ran through the swirling red and black smoke that filled the city. Embers fell lazily around her. Stormlight thrummed within her, keeping her legs moving, her heart pumping. It was a heady feel, Jasnah wasn’t one to partake in the vices of life but she imagined Stormlight was as close as she was going to get.

Jasnah, to the left, Ivory said as they approached a junction.

Jasnah turned to see soldiers in the colors of Thaylen City in the throes of madness. This wasn’t the first group she’d come across. The streets had opened up again as she left the Royal Ward, becoming more vacant. Bodies still littered the streets, though there seemed to be less active fighting down here. At least, from the civilians.

There were half a dozen of the soldiers. Two of them stalked down the road, watching for people whilst another pair kicked in doors and pulled storm shutters from their housings. The final two were laying into a corpse with their swords. There wasn’t much left of the body but that didn’t seem to matter.

The two watching the street noticed Jasnah with shouts. All six ran at her. 

She was surprised the first time a handful of soldiers had charged her. She’d heard stories of battles with full Shardbearers involved. The civilians seemed to realise they shouldn’t attack but the soldiers, they seemed to truly hate seeing her.

By now, she’d learned how to deal with them.

Walking down the street, Jasnah waited until the soldiers were upon her. The first two had spears lowered. Filled with Stormlight, strengthened by her Plate, Jasnah simply grabbed the two spears and yanked them hard. As she did, she imbued the spear with a small amount of Stormlight. She Soulcast the whole entity into wood. Not just the spear, but the whole soldier. The idea of a spearman. The hafts already being wood made it easy for the rest to turn with it. A moment later, two wooden spearman clattered to the ground behind her. 

The two looting soldiers reached her next. One had drawn a knife, the other simple ran at her. She wasn’t sure what his plan was, so she span around the knife wielder and grabbed the unarmed Thaylen by his cuirass. He grasped at her, trying to find purchase on her Shardplate. Jasnah willed his soul to smoke and he vanished into the air, his essence joining that of the dying city.

The man with the knife came at Jasnah again from behind. Her Stormlight and Shardplate granted her speed and reactions beyond that of normal men. As he came at her, she spun on him and struck him around the face. With an awful crack, the man fell to the ground, his head twisted too far around.

Turning to face the final two soldier, she saw their bloody and broken swords raised in preparation to strike. They didn’t even get close.

Jasnah began to run down the street, waving her hand at the two soldiers and turning them both into smoke. As she continued down the street, she ran through the expanding cloud.

The enemy is too strong here, Ivory said. We must leave, we cannot fight him alone

Jasnah took another turn, she was trying to find the way out of the Loft Ward and into the Ancient Ward. She had tried to travel by rooftop as she had last time but fires and collapsing buildings had prevented her from making much progress. 

“We aren’t going yet,” Jasnah replied “not until I’ve found out more. We can always activate the Oathgate ourselves.”

Dead radiants cannot activate Oathgates, Ivory said, in a tone as close to concern as she’d ever heard from him.

Another turn and Jasnah found it. Before her stretched a large open courtyard. A huge archway representing the divide between the wealthy Loft Ward and the middling Ancient Ward. Through the archway, the black of the smoke and the red mist of the Unmade swirled and mixed. It obscured what lay on the other side of the stone portal.

She heard them first. The shouts and screams of men, lost to bloodlust. They came out of the archway in a disorganised mess. Soldiers. But not Thaylen soldiers. Alethi troops, dressed in the livery of House Sadeas.

Behind them emerged a figure in Shardplate.The Plate looked familiar to Jasnah, though it had changed to almost unrecognizability. It seemed warped and broken, strange crystal protrusions broke through the surface of the Plate and seemed to fuse with it. The figure was shrouded in Voidlight, like the Fused. It floated a few inches above the floor, the darkness falling from it and spilling across the ground.

The faceplate of the helm was up. It seemed the wearer couldn’t close it anymore due to crystal growths that stuck out of their cheek and jaw.

Even through the disfigurements, Jasnah recognised the man.

Meridas Amaram grinned through a broken mouth at Jasnah and launched in her direction.

----------

Shallan stood before the Oathgate platform, atop the steps that led down to the street, and wove Stormlight around the survivors.

Once Bridge Four awakened the people in the streets from their violent rages, she would escort them up the steps on the platform. She’d throw Stormlight to them, pools of light that would rise up into one version of herself or another. The many faces of Shallan then walked in front or to the side of the various individuals and small groups. Pattern hummed to himself from somewhere nearby. Above, a dozen Windrunner squires hung, keeping watch for the Fused.

They weren’t much, the copies. They were simply drawings of herself she’d made in the past. She saw herself in havahs of various cuts and colours, her hair free in some and tied back in others. There were dozens now, shepherding the lost and broken towards the Oathgate. 

Concentrating on individual illusions, she was able to talk through them, giving words of encouragement. She even found she could place a comforting hand on a shoulder, actually touch them with the illusion if she gave it enough Stormlight. One illusion, a younger Shallan from her childhood, pulled on the hem of a Thaylen woman’s dress.

The broken people didn’t react much. They seemed dazed. Shallan couldn’t work out if it was a side effect of snapping out of the Unmade’s control or shock over what it had made them do. Either way, it seemed just the presence of the Radiants helped keep them sane. She’d noticed that the areas cleared by the bridgeman were free of the red mist, like the very presence of the glowing Radiant and his squires warded it away.

Shallan found maintaining this many illusions exhausting. Rock was doing what he could, grabbing people as soon as he was able from the care of the various Shallans but she felt herself straining as her Stormlight drained. She felt both Veil and Radiant pushing into her mind. She didn’t know which could help, she didn’t even know if either of them could help. Stress made them blur together. 

She had to be Shallan for now, she was the Lightweaver. The artist, the illusionist, the kind one. She didn’t need a thief or a liar or a warrior right now, she just needed to be her. She just needed to be all of her. Just for a bit.

Squeezing her hands tight, Shallan took a deep breath in. Opening her palms, arms outstretched before her, Shallan breathed out and helped people.

---------

Jasnah summoned Ivory in an instant and swung upwards as Amaram fell towards her. He crossed the square that made up the entrance to the Loft Ward in a few seconds. His eyes were ablaze and his mouth open with a rictus grin. She hit the man in the breastplate and sent him flying upwards. It sounded like the man actually cheered as he flew in a loop away from her, coming to a slow stop a few feet before Jasnah.

Jasnah looked at Amaram’s disfigured face in disgust.

“I didn’t think you could get much uglier, Meridas,” she said to the floating man. Jasnah  brought Ivory up in one of the base stances she knew. 

The ten Blade stances as taught by the Ardents generally had roots in a few base stances. They were taught in the katas, the sequence of movements and stretches for getting your body ready for battle. Jasnah hadn’t gotten much further than learning the katas. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had for now.

Behind Amaram, his troops were spilling out into the courtyard. They didn’t seem to pay any notice to Jasnah, groups split off into side streets from the square they were in. A moment of concern for the people at the Oathgate had Jasnah throw some Stormlight down behind her. The stone floor turned slick with oil, several inches thick. Jasnah snapped her fingers, igniting the oil with a spark. The street behind her was covered with a thick wall of flame. No soldiers would be taking the direct route towards the Oathgate. Jasnah wasn’t worried about the fire. The city was already ablaze.

Amaram began slowly floating towards Jasnah. A small trail of fire followed his gently swaying path. 

Amaram placed a hand on his chest. “Is that Jasnah Kholin in that pretty Shardplate?” Amaram said, voice dripping with smugness. “Wherever did you get that?”

“I didn’t have to murder any innocent men to get it, if that’s what you’re wondering, traitor,” Jasnah retorted.

Amaram threw his head back in laughter. “The heretic names me traitor! You stand here, fighting an Alethi highprince and name me traitor? The exiled daughter of the king, whose uncle names himself king of us all, who calls herself Radiant,” Amaram spat to the side, the liquid sizzled the stone where it landed. “Don’t talk to me about betrayal.”

Amaram was getting close now. Jasnah relaxed her arms, calming her breathing. Amaram always had a way of putting her on edge. Ever since they were young, he’d always fouled her mood. 

“You turn on our allies, Amaram. You’ve gone too far. The world is on the brink of ending and you do... This to yourself. For what? Personal glory? Pathetic.”

Amaram barked out a short laugh. “What I’ve done is gained the power to finally take my rightful place in Alethkar,” he said. His lifted his arms up, palms facing upwards. To Jasnah’s surprise, two Shardblades materialised above him and fell into each hand. One was Amaram's stolen Shardblade, the other Oathbringer. He looked down at Jasnah, his disjointed grin widening even more, his eyes widening. Then he was on her.

He came with a flurry of Blade strikes. Jasnah flung out Ivory in defense, but she was fighting a swordsman of much greater skill than herself with not just one Blade, but two.

She managed to defend against a few attacks, but for every one she blocked, another hit her Plate with enough force that, even with Plate and Stormlight enhancing her physical abilities, she was unable to mount any sort of defense.

After only a few seconds, Jasnah decided to put some distance between her and Amaram. Her Plate was barely holding together. She Soulcast the ground beneath them into pitch black smoke. It bloomed upwards, immediately obscuring their vision.

Jasnah leapt backwards. 

She convinced a pocket of smoke before her to change to a diffuse cloud of charcoal. This was a trick she’d learnt many years ago but had rarely to found a reason to use it. Luckily, it was exactly what she needed.

With a thought, she created a spark within the cloud of charcoal. The combustible material ignited with ferocity, The dust explosion swept over her, bathing her in heat. The pressure wave wasn’t too strong but enough to boost her leap several meters backwards. She sailed through the air, assaulted by heat from her Soulcasting, then by the heat of the burning street she’d closed off. She landed on the other side of the Soulcast flame. The skin around her eyes burned with intense pain. Jasnah assumed it must have burned in the heat but the Stormlight seemed to be healing it quickly.

Getting to her feet, she took a few steps back, trying to see Amaram through smoke and flame. She dismissed Ivory, raising her hands before her. Her Plate felt sluggish, both her arms and legs getting heavier.

“Ivory, thoughts?” Jasnah said.

He seems to be using a form of Gravitation and Division but they are unstable, Ivory said straight into her mind. I would suspect a Skybreaker but he does not seem to exhibit their values. However, I am not the best judge of character.

“Unfortunately, neither am I. Could one of the Blades be an Honorblade? I recognised one as my Uncle’s.”

That is a possibility. However, that doesn’t explain the gems in his flesh, nor how he is using surges within Plate.

“That makes sense.” Jasnah said. 

The smoke beyond the flames had dispersed now, the pressure from being transformed from a solid to a gas causing rapid dissipation.

Before her, she saw Amaram float towards the flames. He was laughing.

With a wave of his arms, both Blades swinging wide arcs, Amaram seemed to split the flame in two. It parted down the middle, like a Blade slicing through stone. The burning oil on the ground moved, gathering at the sides of the street. Once it had pooled against the walls, the fire sharply intensified, then exploded upwards. Firespren danced in the air, swept away in the torrent of flame.

The stone walls of the buildings around them glowed with heat. Nothing stood between Amaram and Jasnah now. His laughter carried down the street.

“Ivory, did he just Soulcast?”

That is three surges by my count.

Amaram floated casually towards Jasnah. Before him, the ground began to draw in light around it, taking on the hue of Voidlight. Slowly, like droplets of liquid falling from a ceiling, blobs of liquid rock fell upwards from the ground. They rose to about chest height with the cackling Shardbearer. In all, about a dozen chunks of liquid rock floated before Amaram.

With a movement of his arm, the liquid balls shifted quickly. They changed from amorphous shapes to sharp spines of stone. Their sharp points aimed directly at Jasnah.

Jasnah, this man is not a Radiant, Ivory said, urgent in her mind.

“No,” she whispered back. The ability Amaram had just displayed seemed something more in line as the powers held by the Stonewards. Shaping stone itself into whatever they needed.

The spines of stone flew towards Jasnah. Reaching out with Stormlight, Jasnah attempted to cast them to air. There was some resistance, more than Jasnah had expected. The Voidlight fought the influence of her Stormlight and several of the spines refused to change. Lifting Ivory, she managed to block a couple of spines with the flat of the Blade. The stones hit with tremendous force. One managed to get through and struck her left arm hard.

Jasnah reeled back, the force of the blow knocking her off balance. Her left arm felt heavy, the spren weak from the encounter with the thunderclast. She dared not dismiss it though. Not when facing an expert swordsman with two Blades.

“Ivory, Yelig-Nar was said to grant the powers of all surges, correct?” Jasnah said, recovering her balance.

Yes, at the expense of the soul of the one they possessed, Ivory replied.

Jasnah looked at Amaram again, he’d stopped laughing but the terrible broken grin had returned. Had the crystals in his face grown?

Jasnah looked into his eyes and saw through them. They seemed aflame, as if a fire burned within Amarams skull. She noticed the skin around his eyes seemed to be turning black, like the eyes of someone killed by a Shardblade, only much slower.

“I don’t think we’re fighting Amaram anymore.”

With that, she reached into Shadesmar. 

The spren of a human was surprisingly pliable. It had wants and needs, conscious and unconscious. People were in constant motion, constant change. To overcome the spren of a human being, you simply needed to tip the balance of desire one way or another. Once you got over the inherent interference within the soul, it was shockingly easy to cast a living human.

Jasnah reached out to touch Amarams spren, a simple light touch that would give her access to everything that made him who he was.

With delicate care, she made contact.

And was overwhelmed in darkness.

--------

Shallan helped people.

She sat atop the Oathgate steps, cross legged with eyes closed. She listened and felt and weaved her light around the people near her.

She’d had lost count of the amount of Shallans that she’d created. So many walked among the dazed Thaylens now, playing out pre-scripted roles, repeating phrases of encouragement when needed. So many complex illusions of light and sound required constant attention. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, Shallan could feel them. She knew when to smooth out a dress that had started to fuzz, when to tidy hair that fell through shoulders instead of onto them. She felt Pattern moving among them.

They’d gathered hundreds now. It was still slow work but they were almost ready to send the first lot of Thaylens to Urithiru.

A shout sounded from above.

The sound broke Shallan’s trance. Her eyes snapped open.

Looking up towards the sounds above, she saw the dozen Bridge Four members that were keeping guard scattering, all seemingly trying to get away from an expanding cloud of pitch black smoke. It stood out against the red hue in the air, billowing out as if something had just been Soulcast.

Confused, Shallan looked from bridgeman to bridgeman. They were shouting to each other, some pointing off to one side. Shallan followed their gaze.

Initially she couldn’t see anything. The sky was a swirling mass of smoke and the red haze of the Unmade. 

Then she saw it.

A streak of black and white flashed through the air. It passed by one of the bridgeman, one who seemed to be lost in the confusion. A moment later, the bridgeman exploded into a black smoke.

Shallan gasped.

The other Windrunner squires in the air reacted quickly, most forming into a wedge shape and chasing after the assailant. One dashed into the cloud of smoke, searching frantically for their comrade.

Shallan felt her link to her illusions falter. She looked down at the street, her illusions were starting to fuzz and fade. Her job seemed to have finished though, the people seemed aware to head to the Oathgate now.

“Mmm Shallan, I do not like this,” Pattern said, sliding up across the fabric of her dress.

“I don’t either, Pattern, but I think the bridgeman can handle it,” Shallan said, looking down.

“Yes, but... mmm, there is something wrong here.”

Shallan watched as half the bridgemen on the ground took to the air, nearly another dozen in a organised V shape. “You can say that again,” Shallan replied.

She watched as the second wedge took off after the first formation. Shallan couldn’t see their target anymore, the first formation had risen to quite some height in their pursuit. Shallan squinted, she noticed the white dot in the sky just as it hit the windrunner formation head on.

In the centre of the V, the lead two squires disappeared into smoke, their forms swirling in with the rest of the smoke laden air.

Shallan watched, eyes wide, as the white shape curved its trajectory and headed towards the second formation. Leading their group was Teft, his huge Shardblade distinct from the spears held by the squires.

As it approached, the white shape resolved as a man in white robes. He held a pitch black Shardblade in his hand that trailed the same black smoke that it turned its victims into. The man was ablaze with Stormlight.

“Pattern, is that...” Shallan said, fearspren boiling around her feet.

Instead of cutting through the middle of the second formation, the man shifted at the last moment. He diverted, following the line of the formation and swiping at the man at the end of the line. Shallan could see as the spears of the bridgeman lashed out. Some hit home, cutting red streaks across the white robes of the man.

“Mmm, yes Shallan, I think that is the Assassin in White!” Pattern said, the vibrations in his voice conveying his panic.

The man at the end of the second formation burst into black smoke.

“Storms! We have to help them!” Shallan said, pacing across garden entryway to keep the Assassin in White in view.

The few stragglers still hovering above her took off after the Assassin in a disorganised clump. 

“Mmm, this seems like a job better suited to the flying Radiants,” Pattern replied.

Shallan paused for a moment. “There is something else we can do,” she said.

With that, Shallan threw Stormlight up at the bridgemen trailing the Assassin. Drawing on the memory of sketching the Windrunners training, the light coalesced into the forms of bridgemen, flying side by side with their living comrades. The illusions flew alongside them, presenting the Assassin with many more targets than he was actually facing.

The memory stung Shallan inside. Kaladin had trained these men, they were his. She hadn’t been able to save him, but she could save his men.

The Assassin abruptly changed direction, moving directly toward the ragged group of men and illusions. As he met them, Shallan directed the illusions to head straight for their target, spears held before them.

They passed in a moment. 

The bridgemen survived the encounter but several illusions had vanished. It seemed illusions didn’t billow into clouds of black smoke like the squires had, they simply dissipated into a dark haze.

The Assassin was heading towards the ground now, streaks of red peppered his robes. With how much he was glowing, Shallan knew he would be healing quickly, but every strike took a little more out of him. 

As he spun in the air to gain height, Teft’s group caught up to him. The bridgemen surrounded him, keeping the Assassin at a distance so not to be caught in the swings of his Blade. As they climbed, the Assassin’s movements became erratic, weaving and dodging away and towards various bridgemen. He would feint towards one bridgeman then dodge away just as he got in striking range. He spun and flipped around the group, obviously far more skilled with the Lashings than any Bridge Four member.

Without warning, another bridgeman vanished into a cloud of black smoke. The Assassin had followed through with one of his feints.

“Storms!” Shallan cursed to herself. 

The fighting group was far above now, a white streak in the air surrounded by trail of blue. It was hard to judge distances but she did her best. Resummoning her illusions, Shallan tried again.

-------

Jasnah was consumed in darkness. 

Amaram’s spren was something massive. Something ancient. Something hungry.

There was no will to this spren, any sense of Amaram’s being was lost in an all-consuming hunger. It was ravenous. A being of pure intent.

Even the briefest moment of contact threatened to consume Jasnah.

She broke off immediately. The snap back of her awareness to the physical realm hit her hard, the smells of the burning city, the heat of the air, the screams and shouts that hung like a chorus in the air.

Jasnah stumbled, placing a hand to her chest in an attempt to compose herself.

“That,” Jasnah breathed, “Was not Amaram.”

Ivory groaned in assent. It seemed the encounter had exhausted him too.

Jasnah looked up in time to see Amaram come at her again, both Shardblades swinging. Jasnah Soulcast the ground beneath her, turning a thin layer to smoke to obscure them. Jumping backwards out of the way of the path of Amaram’s Blades, Jasnah swept out with Ivory in desperation.

Her Blade struck something hard and bounced off with a jarring hit that reverberated up her arm.

Jasnah landed a few steps back from where Amaram was. She was exhausted. Her Plate felt heavy on her shoulders. She still had plenty of Stormlight left so she let that guide her.

Amaram came at her from the smoke swinging. His first hit knocked her Blade aside, the strength behind the blow easily overpowering her beleaguered Plate. The second Blade followed quickly, striking hard against Jasnah’s left vambrace.

The force shook her arm. Jasnah moved downwards with the blow, dismissing Ivory and diving into a roll to the side. She turned, summoning Ivory again who reformed just in time to block another strike from Amaram. He brought both of his Blades down from above. Jasnah, holding the hilt in her safehand, grabbed the blade of Ivory and blocked both strikes.

Storms! Jasnah thought, his strength was immense. She was down on one knee, her Plate cracking the ground beneath her. 

Jasnah strained against Amaram. Her Plate was granting her strength and fortitude but it was nowhere near prime condition. The fight with the thunderclast had left the spren weary.

Amaram laughed.

He lifted his right hand, the one holding his own Shardblade. Oathbringer still pressed down heavily against Ivory. With a whipping crack, he struck Jasnah’s left vambrace again. 

She was launched into the air with a deep booming sound. The sudden rush of sensation against her left arm told her it was now open to the air. Amaram had broken her Plate.

She fell through the air for what felt like way too long. 

Jasnah landed hard. She rolled awkwardly. She felt her weight press her now exposed arm against the ground and felt the sharp pain of her bones snapping.

Once she’d come to a stop, she lay still for a moment. The Stormlight thrumming though her veins seemed to surge down her arm. The immediate pain faded but nothing could dull the uncomfortable feeling of her bones resetting and reknitting.

What options did she have left? She had no chance of beating him with the Blade. She couldn’t Soulcast him. If she tried encasing him in stone or metal, he’d just Soulcast it away himself...

Taking a deep breath in, Jasnah decided to try one last option. She had one more trick in her safepouch, one more secret she believed that Amaram, or whatever it was that was wearing his skin, wouldn’t know.

She stood, initially wary to place weight against her newly healed arm. Amaram floated a few meters before her, Shardblades held low by his sides. His face was nearly unrecognisable with crystalline growths. They seemed to ripple under his skin, alive.

Even then, he continued to laugh.

 

------

The Assassin quickly worked out what was happening.

He weaved around the real members of Bridge Four, deftly hitting illusion after illusion. Shallan tried to keep up but they were so high now, she had never tried to make illusions at this distance before.

Once again, the Assassin quickly changed direction, heading straight down. He fell through the trailing Windrunners. Some didn’t react quickly enough to the Assassin’s change in direction and with a pain through her chest, Shallan noticed another puff of black smoke.

Shallan reached for more Stormlight, ready to produce more illusions once the Assassin came back in range, when she felt a chill run down her. Her attention was drawn to that instinct that prey feel when they sense a predator about to attack. That tingle in your spine when you feel you are being watched. 

Shallan looked up at the Assassin, who was currently speeding headfirst towards the ground through a group of Windrunners, and met his eyes.

The Assassin in White was looking straight at Shallan.

Swinging the smoking black sword around him to ward off his pursuers, the Assassin came in low to the ground, almost hitting it, and changed direction to head directly for where Shallan stood. He fell towards her, over the street before the Oathgate, over the corpses of the people whose lives had been lost senselessly, his eyes never leaving Shallan’s.

-----

Jasnah felt the Stormlight flowing through her. She still held plenty within her, she just hoped it would be enough. She was going to need a lot.

Amaram continued his laughter. He wasn’t even trying anymore. He was clearly enjoying himself. His two Blades hung low, cutting into the ground as he floated towards her.

A secret had been shared with her by someone who had raised far more questions than he’d answered. But he had given her answers. And wisdom.

Jasnah threw her arms before her, the warm air of the burning city swirling around her exposed arm.

The ground beneath Amaram exploded in a billow of smoke. It expanded quickly upwards, the large amount of solid mass turning into a high pressure plume of gas. 

The black cloud quickly enveloped Amaram. The man was completely unaffected. He knew she couldn’t do anything to stop him. At least, he thought so.

Remember, the memory of Wit said in her mind Once something is cast into this, it can never be changed back.

Before the smoke cloud had time to spread too far, Jasnah offered up a huge amount of Stormlight and commanded the smoke into the immutable metal.

The smoke snapped back towards Amaram. It gripped him, clung to his skin, a black film that hung to every jagged piece of his body. The gas then shifted, almost instantaneously turning into a dull silver metal.

Amaram’s laugh was cut off by the seal of metal over his mouth. He immediately fell from the air, his Lashings now blocked.

As he hit the bottom of the hole created by Jasnah’s initial Soulcast, Jasnah noticed his limbs shift as he hit the ground. Wit had warned her about this. The metal blocked Stormlight usage, as well as Voidlight as she had hoped, but was physically not very strong.

She saw Amaram slowly start to move under his metal coat. A normal human wouldn’t have been able to survive this but, with the power of the Shardplate and whatever Damnation-born abilities the Unmade was granting him, this wasn’t enough.

Jasnah stood at the lip of the crater of her own making and threw yet more Stormlight down at Amaram. It swirled around him, the silver coating grew thicker as the air around Jasnah was pulled in towards him. 

What started as a breeze grew in intensity quickly. The air rushed in from around them. A burning building nearby found itself starved as its air and smoke were pulled in. Smoke and dust and Stormlight swirled around Amaram in a hurricane of light. Jasnah poured more Stormlight into it.

Jasnah! Ivory snapped at her, admonishingly.

Air hated to be trapped like this. She felt a pang of regret for the spren. They’d never know freedom again. To a spren, you simply were what you were. Soulcasting asked them to be something else and no spren liked to change, that’s what the Stormlight was for. But Soulcasting came with a implied promise that the spren might one day become what it wanted to be again. Nothing lasted forever — wood burnt, rock eroded, air was breathed, water drunk or frozen or boiled. The world was a constant cycle of change where spren hopped from one existence to the next.

But now, they’d never be free again. The metal wasn’t natural to Roshar, it was an ancient, alien thing. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if it had a spren. 

Jasnah didn’t let her concentration waiver. More and more Stormlight was offered up. She was done with Amaram. She’d hated that her father had tried to set them up. She’d done her research, she knew that the face Amaram showed to the world was a lie. He was a snake in a man’s body and not dealing with him earlier would always be a regret of hers.

How much of this was because of him? She’d seen his troops, they were attacking the city voraciously. Amaram had been left to help rebuild this city and instead he turned to the enemy and burned it to the ground.

Would Renarin still be about if she had dealt with him sooner?

Would Adolin?

Would her father?

Jasnah Kholin was done.

Her Stormlight ran out.

The wind stopped abruptly. Fires crackled nearby. No soldiers were present in the street. Jasnah didn’t know if they had decided to just stay away or if they’d gotten caught in the maelstrom. Jasnah cursed herself for not keeping some emergency Stormlight back but found she didn’t really care.

Jasnah breathed a sigh of relief, the Stormlight drag hitting her with a wave of exhaustion. Ivory manifested on her shoulder, his ink-like figure stood, hands behind his back.

“Whilst I do not agree with this method, I do believe that should be enough,” he said.

“I hope so,” Jasnah replied.

Nestled in the bottom of the crater was a sphere, about two metres in diameter, of aluminium.

----

“Shallan! Mmmm, I do not like this!” Pattern buzzed urgently from nearby.

The Assassin had nearly reached her. It had happened so quickly, she barely had time to react.

No, Shallan thought, now is not the time to panic.

Now was the time to be a warrior.

Shallan brought her Stormlight to bear and became Radiant. Her image and mindset changed. She stood straighter than Shallan. Taller.

Instinctively, Radiant fell into the sword stance that she had been taught. Shallan would have struggled to do so without thinking about the one who had taught her these stances, but Radiant was stronger than that. Pushing memories of the past away, Radiant raised Pattern.

Shallan! I do not like this at all! Pattern hummed into her mind.

“Don’t worry Pattern, it’s going to be okay,” Radiant replied.

The Assassin came in low, black sword trailing smoke. Shallan had just watched him murder several members of Bridge Four. Radiant had no doubt he would dispatch her with just as much ease. She had to be quick, she would only get one chance.

The Assassin drew closer.

She took a deep breath.

Radiant followed the path of his terrible black Shardblade. At the last moment, she leapt to the side, raising Pattern in an arc to parry the Assassin’s blow.

She fell to the side, Pattern rising.

The Blades clashed.

Radiant felt the force of the blow through her arms.

In a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, she watched as the black Blade bit into her own.

Shallan watched as the Assassin’s Blade passed through Pattern, slicing through the metal with ease.

The Assassin passed. As she fell to the ground, Shallan was met with the horrifying sight of her Blade cut in two.

A heart-wrenching, blistering pain screamed through her as Pattern’s presence in her vanished. In that moment, her Blade, her spren, her friend, exploded into black smoke. Inside, something at the core of her being shattered like glass. Pain bloomed inside of her as the shards trying to rip themselves free.

A moment later, the Stormlight she was holding exploded outwards, forced away from her as if in revulsion. It mixed with the rapidly dissipating cloud before her.

Shallan fell to the ground, mouth stretched open, a scream climbing out of her throat. Her mind, her soul, her very being spasmed as they were ripped and torn asunder.

She grasped at her head. Clawed at it. Her back arched and legs kicked as she tried to reach into herself for something that just no longer there. The muscles in her jaw strained against her.

Shallan’s mind reeled. She tried to reach inside for help but there was nothing. There was no Radiant. There was no Veil. No Pattern. Just Shallan. Shallan, the murderer. Shallan, the orphan. Shallan, the quiet and the meek and the prim and proper. Shallan, the nobody.

She begged for the void to stop, to leave. She wanted so desperately for what was no longer there to be there again. It was like trying to see through eyes after they had been gouged out, move a limb that had been severed. Every impulse she had used to talk to her spren, to create illusions or summon her Shardblade was met with nothing. Nothing.  

All she could feel was an impenetrable absence.

Shallan rolled onto her front, retching. She scraped her nails against the cold stone beneath her. Her mind rebelled against her. She threw her head against the ground, slamming it down hard. The pain that flashed through her almost felt real. It cut through the crowd of thoughts that clouded her mind. But not enough. Not enough.

This must be a horrible dream, this couldn’t be happening, she wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop.

Shallan ground her forehead against the stone, desperate to feel something, anything, in response to her pleas. Her screams had turned to sobs. She retched again. 

Greyness clouded her vision, like a cloud. 

Shallan fell to the floor limp, her consciousness fading.

---

Jasnah stood, breathing heavily, looking at the tomb she’d creating for Amaram.

“Jasnah!” Ivory suddenly shouted.

--

Dalinar had raged across the city.

After letting the second Herald’s corpse drop to the ground, he’d descended upon the city like an avatar of damnation itself.

He’d wiped out pockets of soldiers keeping the Sadeas troops at bay. No Thaylen stood a chance. He’d hunted down each of the Thaylen Shardbearers. The fools kept their Plates and Blades separate and each had been wiped out with ease.

Dalinar had lost himself in the slaughter. People hid in buildings that offered no defense against him. Walls crumbled before him. Restraints vanished to smoke at a thought.

Some he killed with Blade. Some with fist. Others he simply burnt.

Dalinar had stood surrounded by a city which he had killed as surely as he had killed any enemy he’d faced in his life.

A single thought passed through his mind, like a whisper on the wind. Not a word, more of a concept. It dripped with hatred, of millenia of frustration. Its touch was soft. It wasn’t enough to cut through the miasma of emotions that overwhelmed Dalinar’s mind. Instead, it redirected his rage. 

No, it wasn’t just a word.

It was a target.

Radiant.

Dalinar Lashed himself upwards.

Through smoke and flame, he rose above the burning city, leaving the heat of the streets behind. The Ancient Ward lay before him, barely a building stood that wasn’t at least touched by flames. Soldiers stalked through the streets, killing any who tried to flee the firestorm. There had been the corpses too. Burning, beaten, broken, the city was dying. Dalinar had felt elation rise up inside of him at the sight of such beautiful and absolute destruction.

Then Dalinar looked to the east, towards the Loft Ward and the hill that held the Oathgate platform.

There, he saw it through the chaos.

Just on the precipice between the two Wards of the city, the red haze thinned. Within the swirling chaos of red and black, a beacon shone brightly.

Dalinar started falling towards it.

It was small, a diamond chip in a stormwall. A bright light that pulled the darkness in from around it and left nothing but the hope of a new dawn.

As he got closer, he could make out the shapes.

The light itself was a sphere of swirling Stormlight. It drew in the very air around it, the smoke from nearby buildings, the dust and debris from the ground. 

Before the glowing sphere, arms outstretched, was a figure in stunning Shardplate.

Dalinar couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions that came next. His mind thrummed with an appreciation for the beauty, for joy that such a thing could exist in the word. His heart elated. Within that, hatred, jealousy and envy bloomed. The Shardplate was like none he had ever seen before. It was angular, its shape made up of many flat shapes that were filigreed with a mesmerizing pattern of bright white lines. The Plate represented the hope of humanity against the oncoming storm, defending against the terrors that asail them. Even with one arm bare, the Plate was still a sight to behold.

A Knight Radiant.

The glow before the figure faded. They lowered their arms, sagging their shoulders in exhaustion.

Dalinar struck the figure like a highstorm.

Any normal human would have been completely pulverised by the force of the blow.

Instead, the two armored figures collided and continued onwards. Dalinar drove the figure into the ground, eventually coming to a stop at the end of a twenty foot trench left by their passing.

Dalinar sat astride the figure in deep violet Shardplate and rage carried his fists. He struck the helm of the warrior. The figures armored arm came up to defend them but Dalinar slapped it away. A Shardblade appeared in the unarmored hand and the Knight tried to swipe it up at Dalinar. 

Before they got the chance, Dalinar’s arm shot forward and grabbed the forearm of the Knight and he squeezed.

Under the immense strength of his gauntleted hand, the arm broke with ease. Bones shattered and splintered and the warrior screamed. Dalinar barely even registered that the voice was female.

Dropping the ruined arm, Dalinar continued his assault. Another fist driven into the helm. The metal started to crack. A two handed blow caused it to split.

Dalinar leant forward, placing a hand on the ground just above the Knight’s shoulder. He smashed his fist against the helm and this time it exploded in a shower of molten metal.

A mane of jet black hair fell out.

Dalinar saw the face of his victim.

His mind quieted briefly as he gazed upon the face of his niece, twisted in horror. A woman who he’d seen grow through many trials in her life. Someone he’d come to trust and rely on, who always seemed so strong. A Radiant that, at one point, Dalinar had utterly respected as an individual that could survive anything.

His body relaxed for a moment. His body ached to move. He looked down at his niece.

Shamespren fell around him, a soft fall of white petals. 

He gritted his teeth. He breathed in quick, short breaths.

I’m sorry, Jasnah, he wanted to say, his fist rising.

It’s not my fault, looking down at the fearspren pooling around his brother’s daughter.

I don’t have a choice.

Dalinar brought his fist down again and smashed Jasnah’s skull against the stone.

-

Lunamor rushed out of the garden.

“Rock, there!” Syl yelled, her small blue form flying over to where Shallan lay.

He ran over to the crumpled form on the stone. Lunamor rolled her over onto her front. Her face was a mess, a bloody wound covered her forehead and it looked like something had clawed flesh from scalp.

“She still breathes, I do not know what happened to her,” Lunamor said, picking up the girl. She was so light in his arms.

“It’s okay Rock, we’ll get her back, get her some Stormlight,” Syl said, looking around intently. “I don’t see Pattern.”

“I am sure he is around somewhere. Tell Teft to activate the gate. There’s nothing more we can do here,” Lunamor said, looking over the city. Syl nodded and disappeared back into the gardens.

From atop the Royal Ward, Lunamor took one last look at the dying city. The battle was lost. They’d lost almost a third of Bridge Four before Teft had called the retreat. The red mist seemed to be fading, the damage it had wrought was done. 

Wary of the Assassin who still patrolled above, Lunamor turned and carried Shallan back onto the Oathgate platform, just as the swirling light of transition enveloped it.

The Battle for Thaylen City had been lost.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, admired the mosaics in the Oathgate control room and listened to the screams.

They’d been gone for so long, he found he’d missed them. Running a hand along a grand depiction of Urithiru, Szeth took comfort that those he’d killed were still with him.

After so long of them being his only companion as he’d slaughtered his way across Roshar, they’d returned.

New voices joined the old, the people he’d killed in the city. His new master had set him upon the Radiants of the city and whilst some still lived, he’d taken a good number.

Sword-nimi sat on his hip in its scabbard. It had gone quiet after the Windrunners had left, occasionally sighing contentedly to itself or humming gently. 

Szeth smiled up at the mosaic. His world was finally making sense. He’d sworn himself to Dalinar Kholin who had given him purpose. The voices in his head that had tortured him whilst he was sworn to the Oathstone felt different now. He knew they weren’t screaming at him, they were screaming with him. They didn’t hate him, how could they? It wasn’t his fault. His new Shardblade was unlike anyone he had met before. He was excited to show it the greatest city on Roshar.

He even enjoyed the presence of the silent spren that followed him around. The Highspren shimmered in the air behind him. Together, they’d cleanse Shinovar.

He knew now. He wasn’t Truthless. The Voidbringers had returned. He had never been wrong. Those that had died had died because the Shamanate had lied. They were guilty of the atrocities Szeth had committed. Whatever Szeth did now, he was justified in bringing justice to them.

Szeth reached the smooth stone of the activation slot. His smile became a grin. Tears filled his eyes. For the first time in too long, Szeth felt happy.

Throwing his head back, he screamed along with the dead.

It was liberating.

The scream became a laugh. A joyous laugh, how wonderful his life had become.

The room darkened as a massive figure entered the doorway.

Leaning down to fit through the doorway, Dalinar Kholin entered the control chamber. He was still wrapped in his pitch black Shardplate, drawing in the light around him. His presence dominated the round chamber. Szeth knelt before the man he had sworn his life to.

Behind Dalinar, Alethi troops gathered and organised onto the outer platform. The thousands of Parshendi that had arrived via boat had started moving into the city after the troops had cleared the city. They’d begun the process of putting out fires and rebuilding whilst the soldiers had prepared for immediate departure. It seemed they were to assault Urithiru immediately.

Several Fused followed Dalinar into the chamber. Mostly the flying forms that, even in this confined space, still floated a few inches from the ground. Their long robes dragged along the ground. They were followed by a tall, slender Parshendi who didn’t seem to have the dark glow of Voidlight around it. Finally, one of the hulking, heavily armored Fused entered too. Its huge arms were on the shoulders of a young teenage girl. 

Szeth’s eyes widened. He recognised the girl, she’d saved his life from the Fused before Dalinar had joined and ordered Szeth to join them. He looked from the girl to Dalinar then back again, looking for answers.

The girl’s eyes were downcast, her long hair dirty and matted.

Dalinar moved in front of Szeth.

“Stand.” he growled through gritted teeth.

Szeth stood.

“Move.”

Szeth moved to the side, giving Dalinar access to the activation slot.

Dalinar stood before it, then turned to the centre of the room. Szeth had noticed the Fused had mostly moved to the edges of the room too, waiting for something.

A man stepped into the centre of the room. A moment before, there had been nothing. Now, as if from an unseen doorway, a man simply stood. The tall Parshendi seemed to balk at his presence.

Szeth didn’t recognise him. He stood supported by a golden sceptre. He was dressed in the white and gold robes, his kindly old face framed by a neatly cut beard. 

He looked Shin, to Szeth’s surprise. He looked at the others, noting that no one else seemed to be too shocked the man had appeared from nowhere. 

It seemed whomever they had been waiting for had arrived.

--

Venli’s eyes recovered slowly from the blinding light of Odium’s appearance. Her skin prickled with pain from the heat that had washed over her. 

As her eyes adjusted, she looked at the ancient being. His face was marbled with white and gold, framed with smooth carapace. He tucked his scepter under his arm and began clapping his hands.

“Well done everyone, the city is ours.”

The words sounded odd to Venli initially. It took her a moment to realise he’d said them in both the ancient singer tongue and Alethi simultaneously. She wondered if the others had heard it.

Odium turned in place looking at each person in the room in turn, eventually turning on Turash.

“Turash, how are the troops?” he said.

The Fused bowed his head. “They are well, master, eager for their next conquest. I do worry about their loyalty though. Even with the voidspren, they grow suspicious of us,” he said.

“Yes, the loss of their leader was unfortunate. How long will it take to release Yelig-nar?”

“Several hours master. The metal is thick.”

Odium waved a hand. “Unfortunate. The troops here will do their jobs, do not worry. Nergaoul is already on his way to Urithiru, all they need to do is keep the fight going until his arrival.”

Turash nodded.

“And what of Yushah, master?”

Venli had been so focused Odium that she hadn’t noticed the Fused around her were staring at the man in bloody robes. Dalinar still stood unmoving, his helm looking straight forward. Odium turned to face the robed man.

“Ah yes, our newest Skybreaker. Yes, Yushah is gone.”

There was murmuring among the Fused as Odium walked over to the man.

“I would very much like to find out how you were able to do that, Szeth-son-son-Vallano,” Odium said in Shin.

Szeth looked at Odium, confusion on his face. 

“Do what?” he said.

Odium placed a hand on Szeth’s shoulder and the man cried out in pain. Falling to one knee, Szeth strained as Odium held him in place.

Venli knew that pain. The cold fire that burnt through you, laid you bare. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to focus on the man’s cries. She found herself gently humming to Anxiety.

After a few moments, Odium released the man. Venli opened her eyes to see Odium looking at the sheathed Shardblade the man had been using. Odium contemplated it for a moment before turning back to face the Fused.

“It’s the blade. Ralesh, watch that human. If he falls in battle, do not let that blade fall into enemy hands. I will need it once the battle is done,” He said, switching back to the ancient singer tongue. Venli looked to Szeth. He still crouched on one knee, breathing heavily. Stormlight coiled gently off his skin.

“Yes, master,” said Ralesh, one of the floating Fused.

Odium then addressed the rest of the Fused. “Do not try to exact vengeance against him. He is our ally now. I’m sure the prospect of facing someone who is able to send you Beyond before our work here is done doesn’t appeal to many of you anyway.”

Odium turned to face Dalinar.

“Now, time for a little treat!” Odium said, throwing the arm not holding the scepter wide and indicating towards the little Reshi girl.

Dalinar stood unmoving. The bulky Fused holding the girl marched her forward.

“Dalinar, you recognise Lift, right?”

With the mention of Dalinar’s name, Lift looked up.

“What? Dalinar?” She said, her voice weak.

“Dalinar, my champion. It seems the lovely lady of this world has been grooming her own little backup plan. You were her and Tanavast’s plan A, ” Odium said, sweeping a hand between Dalinar and Lift. “Plan A, meet plan B.”

There was a moment of silence.

Dalinar walked forward towards the girl.

Placing one hand on her shoulder and the other atop her head, Dalinar twisted sharply.

A snap broke through the air.

Lift’s body fell to the ground.

“Thank you kindly, Dalinar. You’ve been a huge help,” said Odium, a warm smile on his face.

Dalinar walked back to his position before the activation slot. The large Fused moved back to edge of the room. Odium turned back to the Fused.

“Now, Urithiru lies ahead. The battle will be hard. Reinforcements should come from Kholinar but you will be the first to attack. Most of their troops stand ready so let my champion take the lead and follow behind. Nergaoul will join eventually. No other Unmade are positioned to assist but you shouldn’t need them. Once Urithiru has fallen, we may not even need to free Ba-Ado-Mishram,” Odium said, turning to Szeth. “You will find and kill the rest of the Radiants. I will come find you when you are done.”

“Excuse me, uhm...” Szeth said, rising.

“You may simply call me Odium,” Odium said.

“I am sorry, Odium, but I do not follow you. I am sworn to Dalinar,” he said, gesturing to huge figure next to him.

Odium did not reply. There was a pause before Dalinar turned to Szeth.

“Kill Radiants. Don’t die,” Dalinar said. His tone was strained, as if he were under great stress. Dalinar returned to looking straight forward.

Odium cleared his throat.

“Right, now, Dalinar. If you would be so kind...” He said, gesturing towards his champion.

Dalinar summoned Oathbreaker, turned, and slammed the Blade into the activation slot.

-

“There once was a terrible king who loved art,” Wit said.

He shuffled in line — along with a couple hundred other people — one dreary step.

“His love for art was matched only by his hatred of disappointment. His beautiful castle, made by the kingdoms greatest architect, stood on a hill. Before it was the most perfect garden you can imagine, curated by the kingdoms greatest gardeners.”

Weeks after the fall of Kholinar, the place still smelled like smoke. Though the city’s new masters had moved tens of thousands of humans out to work farms, complete resettlement would take months, if not years.

Wit turned to the man behind him. “His castle was filled with glorious tapestries and paintings. His meals, cooked by chefs who were all masters in their arts, were eaten to the backdrop of full orchestras playing masterpieces. His nights with his beautiful wife were spent looking out through a grand window of gold and jewels, looking over the ocean that stood behind his castle.”

Wit turned back to face the front.

“He only asked for perfection. His coffers were always full, his kingdom always drawing in gold selling the best products the world had ever seen. He paid his artists well. He knew they were the best, he’d killed everyone else.”

They shuffled forward another step.

“The king was always looking for a new project. One night, he stood in his bed chambers and looked at the ocean. At the beautiful natural beach that covered the shore.”

Wit paused a moment, tapping the man in front of him.

“Do you have beaches here? I never thought to check.”

Without waiting for a reply, Wit continued.

“The king turned to the queen and told her, ‘I shall have the most beautiful ocean in all the world!’” Wit proclaimed, throwing his arms wide. The man in front of him took another step forward. Wit stepped forward again. The people around continued to expertly ignore him.

“So he called his architect and told him ‘Build me an ocean that the whole world will want to come and see!’

The architect, not wanting to disappoint his master, ran off and spent many month putting together a plan that would turn the coast into a marvel. Great blocks of stone were carved, great mechanisms constructed. A year after the request, the new ocean was ready. The kings window had been covered with a great tarp to stop him seeing the imperfect construction process.

Unfortunately, that night a great storm struck the kingdom. It was the strongest storm anyone had ever seen!”

Wit leaned over to the man in the queue next to him. Nudging him with an elbow and giving the man a wink, he said, “you guys know a bit about storms, right?” 

The man looked at him, his face bright with apathy. Wit returned to his place in his own queue.

“So, the architect couldn’t sleep at all, he hadn’t planned for such a strong weather, would his creation survive?”

Another step forward.

“In the morning, the king immediately summoned the architect to his bedchamber, eagerly awaiting his new ocean. With nervous hands, the architect pulled back the curtain. The king gasped!”

Wit paused dramatically. No one cared.

“The new ocean was gone, washed away. Do you know what the king did after that?” Wit said, looking at his audience who were intently focused on not looking at him.

“He had the architect killed, obviously.

So he tried again. With his gardener. Once again, a storm came along and wrecked the beautiful undersea garden that had been built. So he had his florists, his chefs, his painters, his musicians, all were told to make the ocean perfect!

They all failed, and so, they were all killed.”

They were nearing the front of the queue now. 

“The kingdom fell to ruin. There was no one left to create art. No one left to cook splendid meals. No one to compose perfect music for perfect musicians to play on perfectly constructed instruments.”

The man in front of Wit reached the front of the queue and was handed a cup of water and a bread roll.

As the man left, Wit stepped up to the front of the queue.

“Do you know why the king failed?”

The man giving out the rations looked up at Wit. “What?” he said, his eyes hard.

“He didn’t realise that even with the best people at your disposal, sometimes things out of your control will ruin everything.”

The man, a cup of water in one hand and a bread roll in the other, looked at Wit quizzically. Wit took the water and bread, bowing his head in thanks and turned to the man behind him. He handed him the rations.

“Which is why I must take my leave. I’m sorry,” he said.

And with that, Wit left.