Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Guilty.

That was the verdict. His whole life, gone, in the length of a single word.

Adolin sat in a bare room awaiting to be called back for sentencing.
His heart pounded in the palms of his hands where he buried his face.

Guilty for breaking oaths, for betraying bonds and spren, for condemning an entire race of immortal beings to eternal torment.
Guilty, alongside all men who ever lived but he alone would have to pay the price.
It didn’t matter to the spren that those things were done by other people, millennia ago. By offering himself up for trial, Adolin had given them a chance for revenge and they didn’t hesitate.

A rushing sound past his ears muffled his thoughts along with the sharp clicking of his wife’s heels as she paced the short length of the small, bare room

He didn’t dare look up at her. They haven’t spoken a word since the verdict was announced. He had to find something to say, a way to apologize, to ease her pain; she didn’t deserve this, it was all his fault.

What could he say? Maybe he’d find something if only he could think. He gritted his teeth in frustration trying to focus his scattered mind. The constant clunking stopped sharply, demanding his attention.

“I’ve got a plan”

Adolin looked up slowly, the words not really registering.
She stood tall, hands on hips, lips pursed tight, looking down at him with unrelenting eyes, all her worry safely tucked away.

“A plan?” A plan for what?
“Yes. To get you out of here.”

“To escape?”
“Of course to escape. Did you really think I would leave this creepy place without you? I’ve thought it through, it’s not that hard. I don’t know why I was so worried”

No. Terror struck him like lightning. Did she really believe that? Had she not realized what their only option was? Beads of sweat formed on his forehead sending a cold shiver through him.
His mouth dry, he swallowed hard before he spoke.
“My love, come here.” he said, opening his arms for an embrace. She narrowed her eyes in question but relented sitting next to him.
“We are not going to do anything, love.”
She shook in his arm trying to get free but he held her tight in his arms, pressing her against himself.
“You can’t be serious. You’re not planning to serve this sentence.” she growled.
“I have to Shallan.”
“No you don’t. That’s chulldunk. You are innocent. You don’t owe these spren anything.” she said as she struggled to get free of his hold.
She pleaded through her glare and his heart sunk down to his stomach. He had to convince her everything would be alright, that he would be alright. How could he convince her of something he didn’t believe himself?
“No, but we are asking for everything. We are begging them to risk their lives to fight for us. We have to show them we mean it.”
“You’ve seen how stubborn they are. Do you really believe your sacrifice will mean anything to them? It won’t even placate them.”
She wasn’t wrong. During the trial the honourspren had proven to be, well, less than honourable.

“I gave my word Shallan.”
“So what? The whole thing was a ruse to get us in here anyway. It worked. We’ve made our case, we did what we came here to do. There are so many spren ready to follow us back.”
“Even if I go back on my word? The spren believe we are liars, untrustworthy, even those who agreed to follow us. If I proved them right, we would lose them forever, or worse…” He shuddered internally, trying not to grasp the full meaning of his words. “...lose them to our enemy. It would mean our doom.”
“They wouldn’t do that. The children of Honour would never turn to the literal God of hate just to spite us.”

“You’ve seen what they did at the trial. They would extort one of their own to lie under oath so they could have their revenge. Their hearts already know hatred. If we justify it, we’d be digging our own graves.”

“Adolin please, listen to me. You’ve said it yourself, they hate us. They won’t go easy on you, they intend to see you die here.” All her resolve and wrath forgotten, she hung on from his jacket, her eyes glistening with tears.
She was right, this would be a life sentence. Anything else would be a farce; the crime he was atoning for, though not his own, was still too great. The annihilation of a whole race. How far would his life even go as recompense? A coldness settled on him at the reminder but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry.

Adolin held her tight to him, feeling her warmth, trying his best to hide his shaking frame as everything in him trembled. He forced out the words and it took every last bit of strength to make them come out smooth.
“I know my love but I still have to do this. It’s what I've agreed to.”
“It’s not what I’ve agreed to. I didn’t agree to losing my husband; it wasn’t your decision to make.” She walked away from him, her back turned. He followed her, turning her back to him. He didn’t want to face the pain he caused her but still he wanted to ease it as best as he could before she left.
“I know, I’m so sorry. It’s not fair to you. ”

“How could you, Adolin? How could you do this to me? How could you leave me behind?” she managed, crying on his shoulder.

He knew this was coming, he’d invited it and still he found himself barely able to stand, his knees threatening to sink them to the floor. How could he have caused her so much pain and so callously? Why hadn’t he considered this outcome? Why hadn’t he planned, prepared? He let her get it all out. She pounded and she screamed until she was worn out then he held her tight in his arms as they both melted to the floor. He waited for her to speak but she was done, spent.

“Please love, I’m begging you. You have to let me do this.”

Wide eyes looked back at him.
“You mean you’d come back with me?”
“If you needed me. If I couldn’t convince you.”
“Would you really do that for me?”
“I made oaths to you Shallan, you are not just another person to me. You are a part of me, blood of my blood. I will not break them, not for the war, not for my father, not for anyone.”

“And all I have to do is let the world burn?” she said bitterly more angry than before. Adolin lowered his head in shame. He was trying to comfort her but ended up unloading his burden on her.
“I can’t go back alone. I’m not strong enough, not now, not yet. It’s only with your help I got this far. I fear all my work will be undone.” Her eyes danced, dazed and horrified, and her deep fear resonated within him, breaking his heart all over again. He felt bitterness on his tongue as he opened his mouth to say what he didn’t want to.

“You can do it. I know for sure you are strong enough. For this and worse.”
“I’m not”
“You are, I know you are”
“You are wrong. I was strong because you were there. The balance in my head is shifting again, everything is up in the air. I can't do it without you.” He grabbed her hands and held them tight.
“You know you are stronger than this, hell you're stronger than all of us. I would never ask such a thing of you if I didn’t know you could handle it.”
Her pleading eyes run free with tears, all her anger melting away into grief.
“I can’t go back alone. I can't face your father. I can’t tell him you are not coming back.”

The words echoed in his head like condemnation from above. His fingertips tingled and went numb as his heart pounded in his chest. He knew all too well what she was talking about. He too had trembled at the thought of facing his father having failed his mission.
He knew it was too much to ask from anybody and especially from her but despite his crushing guilt he still heard himself speak, the words flowinging off his tongue while his mind wandered.
“You will do it, my love. For me. You have to make him see there is no other way. This is a small sacrifice to win the war. I wouldn’t be a big help with the war anyway, this is the most I can do.”
“That’s not true.” She protested weakly but he went on anyway, afraid of losing his nerve.

“He won't take it well, he will want to do something. You have to stop him. You can’t let him come here, neither him nor anyone else, His physical presence alone is enough to intimidate the spren.”

“So I just have to stop Dalinar from doing what he wants. Are you listening to yourself?” Her voice cracked like a child’s along with his heart. He swallowed hard, looking down in shame.
“There’s more.”
“More?”
“Much more.” Mouth gaping, she looked at him in utter disbelief.
Adolin felt his blood turn to ice in his veins
“You have to fulfil my duties. I know it’s not fair but I’m begging you.” Shallan looked horrified. “I can’t be a princess, I can’t run a kingdom.”
“No not that…”. A puzzled look urged him on. “You have to be there; for Kaladin. I know you are vulnerable yourself right now and that you feel you are not the right person, but even a little helps a lot. I know you can reach him.”
“Perfect. So strong arm your father and make Kaladin feel better, what’s next? Stop the storm?”

He shrunk back into himself, turning from her, cradling his knees. He didn’t want to reach this part. Shame and guilt engulfed him. How did he screw things up so bad? The words he needed to say choked him. All his resolve gone, he surrendered to the tears bubbling up behind his eyes and he wept.

“Adolin please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, you can ask me for anything.” She held him in a comforting hug and let him catch his breath. Bless this woman. How could he have been so lucky as to have her and so stupid as to let her go?
He took her hand tightly, not daring to look at her. The words clung in his throat but he spit them out anyway.
“Please look after my brother... He will need you most of all.” Poor Renarin, this would cripple him. How could he have done this to him? Adolin had been the only person Renarin fully trusted, the only one who was always there. How could he betray him like that?

“I know he’s difficult to reach. I know I’m asking for a lot but you have to help me. He doesn’t have anyone else. My father, bridge 4… they all mean well but they don’t understand him, they won't be able to comfort him. But I think you could.” That’s all he managed before his chest collapsed again in agonizing sob.

Blinding pain tore up his thoughts like rock through paper. It bled inside him, seeping down to his bone, reaching every last bit of him. He couldn’t move a muscle, he couldn’t look away, he couldn’t draw his breath. It felt like he was dying. He wanted to run, he wanted to scream but he just sat there, paralysed by fear, his mind numb.
She held him tight for a long time in perfect silence, until her warmth enveloped him and his lungs filled up with air again.
“I’ll find a way, I promise. Please don’t cry.” There was such sadness in her voice.
He had failed. You are so weak. The only thing he needed to do was not break, there would be time enough afterwards he told himself but he broke down anyway.
Now it was too late. He couldn’t stop it. His mind raced far past him and his mouth moved without his consent.

“I can’t help but feel I’m sacrificing them as well.”
“You’re not sacrificing them, they are your sacrifice.”
“No, You are. To lose you just as I've found you, to know that I won't be there when you need me… it hurts me in ways I didn’t think possible.”

“You won't lose my love. I won’t be here but I’ll still be with you.”
“No Shallan. I don’t want you to wait for me. I’m not coming back.”
“ What do you mean?”
“I release you of your oaths to me.”
“No, you don’t mean that.”
“I can’t let you suffer any more because of me. I can’t do that to you.”
“Well, I’m not releasing you of your oaths.”
“I wasn’t planning on breaking them anyway.” She smiled at him even though her cheeks were stained with tears.

Time stood still as they sat in silence holding on to one another, taking in this simple pleasure for what might be the last time. He ran his fingers through the flaming red hair on his chest when a dark, disturbing thought crept into his mind. Before he knew it grew roots and covered everything. It sent tears rushing out his eyes in streams, perfectly silent and still. A few moments passed before Shallan noticed and she sprung up in alarm, desperate to make it stop.

“Adolin, what’s wrong?” Fear plain in her voice.
He took a big breath and steeled himself, preparing for the words he would utter.
“What is it? Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“You have to win the war. You have to...” he choked. Idiot, you were supposed to be strong.
“We’ll do our best, you know we will.”
“I don’t think I could bear it.”
“Of course you can. You are Adolin Kholin, storm it, you can handle prison.
“It’s not that.” he barely managed to say without drawing in breath.
“Then what?”
His chest still crushed, he leaned his head back and let the tears streaming from the sides of his face when he finally managed to draw in a sharp breath.
“I don’t think I could do it… if you lost the war.” He swallowed hard, he knew what he was sayin, what it meant for his wife, for his family. “To still be here, alone, knowing you are all gone, without hope… I don’t think i could bear it.”
“I’ll find a way, I swear it, I’ll come back for you.”
“No don't swear it, not in this day and age, just try your best, I know it’s more than enough, you just have to believe it too.”

The door of the room burst open as four guards walked in, with a mean look in their eyes, carrying chains, quickly surrounding Adolin and Shallan who we lying in each others arm, spread out on the floor.

Chapter Text

With Shallan with Pattern on their heels, Adolin made his way to the court, the heavy chains hanging from his wrists clunk making a sick sound that nodded his stomach. The steps seemed somehow bigger today and not nearly enough, with each one bringing him closer to his doom. He glanced around the crowd searching. Maya was nowhere to be found.

He collected himself again and somehow found the strength to hold his head high and face the crowd, despite the dread that surrounded him. 

The Herald was absent this time, like the last. It seems that spren’s reverence for heralds was just as limited as the human’s were. Of course they wouldn't let him interfere with their predetermined outcome. He was allowed to be there to give them an air of credibility but now that his will might waver the spren weren’t willing to risk it.

Sekeir was acting as the judge again, he stood on his elevated seat overseeing everything and hushed the whispers from the crowd.

"I know we are all just as eager to have an end to this trial, I know all of you yearn for justice, for those that came before us and had to pay the ultimate price, and for yourselves. To prove it is not weakness that holds you back but honour and fairness. So please my fellow spren, the worst is done, only a simple part remains."

He turned his attention from the crowd to Adolin. "Rise prisoner, Adolin Kholin and face your punishment."

Adolin made to move but before he could, gruff hands pulled on his chains and lifted him to his feet.

"It wasn’t an easy decision to make, prisoner, and we didn’t come to it lightly.”

The short two hours you took deliberating says otherwise, he thought.

“We appreciate your arguments. It’s true, it wasn’t you who perpetrated that horrific crime. On the one hand you are here voluntarily and that’s another thing we considered. On the other, you tried to intimidate the judge; that can't be overlooked.”

Adolin cringed inwardly. He couldn’t object to that, Shallan hadn’t tried to simply intimidate the judge, she meant to murder him and take his place.

“There were those among us who argued for leniency, others were not so kind, some even suggested a life sentence. But alas, we are not here for revenge, we are here for justice. Considering you are just a human, we can not impose on you a spren punishment. So...."

Adolin strained to hear what came next over the sound of his heartbeat in  his ears.

"Adolin Kholin, you have been found guilty by this court for the crimes of the recreance, and you are hereby sentenced to 35 years in prison."

Thirty five years? Somehow Adolin was expecting to hear a much bigger number but, thirty-five years? That’s more than he’d ever lived, that was the rest of his life, he would be an old man if he ever got out. 

Panic threatened to take over and so he closed his eyes for a moment and calmed the storm inside him as he raised his face to the judge.

"I humbly accept your judgement and I appreciate the leniency that you have shown me."

"Yes," the judge replied, a bit baffled. "It’s good you understand."

"If I may dare ask more of you, a last favour for a condemned man?" 

"Right. Now would be the time for any and all requests, prisoner. We will listen and deliberate, we are not unreasonable as you have already seen."

How quickly they assume magnanimity after such a sham of a trial, he thought. No matter, he would play along, he knew well how to navigate these pretend conversations and the spren weren't nearly as savvy as the Highprinces.

"I wouldn't ask for more than we offer our own prisoners, your honour. Normally they have the right to visitors, but since I doubt anyone would visit me here, I simply ask for the right to communicate with my wife, who is not to blame for my fate but will suffer for it all the same."

The whole court turned to Shallan who held her head up high and her lips tight waiting for an answer.

"Not an unreasonable request….We will consider it, " he scanned the people sitting beside him for confirmation.

Adolin watched Shallan, the anxiety on her face melting back to the permanent state of mild panic that he’d caused her ever since they stepped foot inside this oppressive fortress. His heart flattered at the sight, like a little bright blue joysrpen dancing in his chest, until her face became solemn again, resolute, jolting him back to the present.

"Anything else?"

Adolin straightened his stance, trying to keep his composure, he wasn’t done yet.
He drew in a breath ready to speak but another voice, sweet and pained, spoke first. The whole court turned to see a beautiful girl with the flaming red hair, his wife.

"I don’t know if this is allowed, but I would like to make a request." she stood straight and proud, the weakness in her voice nowhere to be found in her visage.

"This is highly unusual, but even if it wasn't, what makes you think that we would be willing to do you any favours after you tried to influence the herald?"

"Out of mercy, for a poor newlywed girl who had the misfortune of marrying an idiot?"

Adolin frowned at that but a smile still crept on his lips. She wasn’t wrong, he had been reliably informed by multiple trusted sources that he was indeed an idiot. He looked at the judge who had the most comically confused look on his face and Adolin struggled to hide his amusement.

"I… I can't disagree with your estimation but what is it to this court? You are the one who chose to marry him, aren’t you?"

"It was an arranged marriage you Honour, and he didn’t seem quite as stupid at first." The judge chuckled at her bluntness and in that moment, Adolin wanted more than ever to kiss her.

"Then I’m already doing you a favour by ridding you of him."

"Would that you were your honour, but you see, whether I like it or not I’m bound to him by oaths no matter where he is."

"Fair point. I can’t therefore, in good conscience, refuse you an audience. State your plea."

"Your honour, members of the court, I know 35 years don’t sound a lot to a spren, and are not nearly enough to pay for such a crime. I know it’s only because of your benevolence that you offered such leniency. But 35 years is far too long for a woman to live alone like a widow. So I request the right, after the war is over, to petition the court again on my husband’s behalf."

"And what do you hope will have changed by then? The outcome of the war will be as irrelevant then, as it is now. The future doesn’t negate the past."

"Indeed your honour, but perhaps you'll have changed."

"Spren, you'll find, don’t change so easily."

"Won’t you allow for even the possibility?"

"To be honest I don’t see why you’d ask for this. You’ll both be long dead if and when this war is over." There was a coldness on the judge’s face, not a cruel one but a perplexed one, and in that moment Adolin thought it was the first time he saw his real face. No mask, no pretense, just confusion.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The last war lasted eons, and this one was just getting started. He looked at Radiant, a scent of terror in her eyes and he could swear the same thought crossed her mind. She didn’t falter though, without missing a beat she returned to the judge.

"Then you have no reason to refuse."

"Very well, it will be taken under consideration with the rest. Is this everything?"

Adolin jumped. An overwhelming sense of urgency propelled every muscle in his body as he spoke up, barely letting the judge finish. "There's one more thing."

Sekeir’s ears pricked up. "Is that right?"

"I hate to abuse the kindness of the court, your honour but if I may, I need to ask for one last favour."

The judge screwed up his face and Adolin knew he wasn’t pleased to be cornered so thoroughly by good manners. "You can ask…" 

"I would like to ask for Maya, my spren, to be with me." The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs. 

"You dare ask for such a thing? To imprison your deadeye with you? Are you bold or daft?"

"She doesn’t need to be imprisoned, I just need her near me, she’s my spren."

"A spren you forcibly bonded against her will"

“I didn’t know that back then but we are bonded nonetheless. Please, she needs me."

"She doesn't need you or your kind, she has her own, who actually care about her. In fact it would make more sense to break this unholy bond, free her of you…".

Blood rushed to his head like a fountain and he felt his eyes burn as fiery rage built up inside him. The voice in his head screamed at him to lash out, to curse at them, to humiliate and expose them. It threatened to spill over and unleash cold, bitter vengeance upon them. 

It took all his might and more to restrain himself. All his muscles screamed and shook under the strain of staying in one place, like pushing against an invisible, immovable, wall.

A pressure was steadily building in his skull. 

"No…" he cried, unable to listen any longer, his voice pained, guttural. "No, you can't do that to her, you'd kill her again" 

Fear and panic settled in and he struggled to make out the words over the haze that had befallen his mind.

"She's dead already-"

"No she's not!"

The world quieted, everything stopped, he could feel her presence all around him, Maya's agony, her fear, her loneliness. She didn't want to die again and he wouldn't let her.

"Hush sweet Maya, I won't let them take you away." He thought to her.

The fuzzy, distant image of the court reappeared and he tried to focus on it. What was happening? 

"...her agony comes from the wrong that was done to her, the wrong you perpetuate by..." Shekeir was still rumbling. How long had it been? Adolin couldn't think, his thoughts all a tangled mess, interwoven around Maya's anguish. It rippled inside him like waves, crushing against his hollow frame. 

He raised his head and breathed slowly, fighting back the tears of so much raw and unprocessed emotions. The image of the judge swam in his vision and he tried to affix him with his stare. 

"Please…" he managed, his voice small and ragged. 

"What? speak up prisoner" 

The voices died down among shushing sounds. He drew in another breath and the word trembled on his lips.

"I give up my other two requests-" his voice boomed around the room. "I ask for only this, I beg for it. One final mercy."

Shallan cried out in protest and he couldn't face her. He hanged his head waiting for judgment 

Shuffling and scrambling could be heard from the judges pavilion, as the whispers from the crowd picked up again.

"Alas, we will concede, if only to have an end to this ordeal, on the one condition that she be willing..." 

"Done." Adolin hastened to say before victory was snatched from him. His fears sated, he was able to breathe again. 

"Finally. With this, the trial of Adolin Kholin for the crimes of his ancestors against the spren during the recreance mercifully concludes. It is the opinion of the whole court that justice was served here today, a long overdue justice, or a part of it."

"Adolin Kholin, are there any last words you want to share with this court before you are moved to your permanent quarters?" Ugh, the cell. Built specifically for him. A cage suspended over the main square, meant to humiliate and expose him every day of his life. The guards had made sure he saw it on their way to the court. 

There was a finality in the calmness of the crowd that ruled and oppressed him. Adolin laboured to strengthen his thoughts, this really was his last chance. He turned his back to the judge to face the crowd, and for the first time he felt like he had their undivided attention along with some good will.

"Honourable members of this court, esteemed guests. I stand before you for the first time, a prisoner. My life is in your hands. I didn’t come here seeking martyrdom; I honestly never thought it would come to this. Still here we are, and though my life is ending today in a sense, I don't consider it wasted; even if it only serves to extend a pleading hand. I complete my mission, the decision now lies with you; along with the fate of the whole world.” 

He turned to Shallan to steal a glance. Shallan's face was as solemn as his words but she still gave him a reassuring smile, a sign that he wasn’t messing everything up. With renewed strength he returned to his audience. 

“Inadvertently though, it will serve another purpose as well. As a small token of recompense, for a centuries-old debt. Don't let my life be meaningless. Accept my sacrifice and let it begin to heal the wound between us. I pray it will be enough. Enough to show that there is still honour among men. Enough to prompt you to go and find out for yourselves if there’s anyone who deserves your bonds.” 

Murmurs and gasps arose from the crowd. Feet shuffled behind him and all at once hands grabbed him, turning him to face the judge who was frothing at the mouth. 

Sekeir’s eyes drilled into him as he flashed his teeth, but Adolin stood tall and held his ground. He had nothing to apologize for. Everything he said was the truth. Was it really such an offence to point out that the debt he was paying was, well, being paid? It seemed absurd to hold that against him but then again it weren’t coming from a place of reason but of fear. 

"Silence. I will not accept such insolence in my court." the judge shrieked, the murmurs turning into hushed whispers. I guess he didn’t like that very much. Adolin smirked inwardly. Their outburst could only mean his words were effective. One spren turning was enough to make this worth it. 

" How dare you challenge the court's ruling, after the leniency we have shown you? Arrogant, greedy human. Is this you being honourable? Is this you being grateful? You deserve none of our charity and you shall receive none. There will be no goodbyes, no last embrace; take the rest of them and throw them out. Now.”

“Leave them out of this.” Adolin scorned but nobody listened. Hands drove him to the ground. From the corner of his eye he could see guards dragging Shallan and Pattern as she screamed and fought.

“I’m sorry Shallan. I'm sorry.” He screamed at her, his voice barely audible above the commotion. Someone pushed his head back down and he was faced with the ground once again. 

 "And you can forget about your spren too. We will break your bond." Sekeir said bitterly.

Adolin's head spun as the words dug inside him like knives. Something primal woke up inside him, naked, unabated fear. He's whole frame shook from the excess as he came alive with it

"No!" he screamed.

"No!" Maya screamed in his mind.

"No. You can not do this." He thrashed against the hands holding him before something heavy met with the back of his head and everything went black.

Chapter Text

Before the end of Adolin’s trial, the spren had intended to keep him in public view, to be jeered at and harassed, conclusively proving just how bitter and cruel even slivers of God could be. It all changed after his little speech during sentencing. He hadn't thought at the time he was doing anything particularly objectionable. The spren apparently did though, so the concept of his punishment was turned on its head, from complete exposure to complete isolation. According to the spren, Adolin wasn’t worthy of such attention. They had already wasted too much of their time with him. The position would only make "the human more prominent", as they put it, when it was the deadeyes that deserved that attention. So, Maya was to take his place, displayed like a trophy in the cell meant to torment him while he was to be thrown in a remote cell to be forgotten. Out of sight out of mind.

Though it lacked in originality, the new plan didn't lack in cruelty.

Adolin awoke after sentencing, in a bare and dark cell, with a blinding headache. Cold granite walls surrounded him on all sides, adorned only with a heavy metal door. A long, horizontal slit that went from side to side, allowed him to be watched at all times.

It'd only been 35 days (according to the rotation of his only 2 guards given they worked half day shifts) since he’d been locked up in here and he was already starting to feel the strain. He couldn’t sleep well, he couldn't exercise, he could barely stomach the poor excuse for food they served him on a daily basis. Already skirting the edges if his resolve, he was starting to regret the decisions that brought him here. He felt so ashamed (his father would be), to realise just how weak he was. He could see it, in time this cell would break him. 

He tried to turn his thoughts away from his father; Shallan should have already returned to Roshar, told everyone of his failure, his shame.

He couldn’t think about his father, just like he couldn't think about Shallan, or Kaladin or his brother… God Almighty! Poor Renarin. If he really thought about him, he would surely lose it. He had betrayed them all, hurt them. If (when) he gave into those thoughts they would break him.

For now though he could push them back a little longer, hide from them while he focused on the only thing that was left to him, Maya. He still had her, she was within arms reach, he just had to get her.
He tried everything he could think of to get her back, which mostly consisted of asking for her (not many options in this tiny cell).

In the beginning he had lots of visitors. Many “important” spren showed their faces; most to gloat but some to apologize as well (in secret of course, but still.)  
He asked everyone for her. He pleaded, he bargained, he threatened, he begged. It was no use; even the sympathetic ones gave him no hope. Sekeir’s mind was made up with strong support behind him, the propaganda campaign already under way. In other words it was a political decision with a lot of capital already invested behind it.

Any time he didn’t spend trying to assuage the spren, he spend looking for her in his mind. He knew she was out there, he had felt here before, he had spoken with her. She was within reach, he only had to find her. He cried out to her, into every crevice of his mind. He revisited all their moments together, the good and the bad, before and after he got to know her. He remembered how she made him feel, how he could read her emotions.

Nothing. She was nowhere. His heart squeezed painfully with every unanswered call. His hand itched to summon her like he had always done in times of distress, having to remind himself again and again that it would only hurt her. 

Despair started creeping at the edges of his consciousness, just outside of his vision, threatening to spill and marr everything.

Threatening to betray his faith. She wasn’t there, she couldn’t hear him. Maybe Maya was indeed better without him, maybe she didn't need him after all, not here. It frightened him, so he did the only thing he could do to defend himself; reach out for her more loudly, more desperately, more intently. 

He had been doing that more and more lately as his free time increased. True to their word, the spren were already forgetting about him. He was not deterred, he couldn't afford to. 

So he did the only thing in his power. He relentlessly pestered the only people he saw lately, his 2 single guards, asking for her over and over again. There was little any of them could do and maybe it wasn’t fair, but Adolin needed Maya, and if this is what they had to suffer to get her, then so be it.

***

"Please, just for a minute, just from afar, please ask...." Adolin tried to say.

Bang, bang ,bang.

Garrion, a stout man with broad shoulders, a moustache and a permanently pinched face, the meanest of his 2 guards, forcefully kicked the door. 

The metal shook, the noise reverberated, piercing Adolin’s ears as he tried to speak.

“Hey… stop that… what's the meaning—” he tried to say but the guard resumed his banging as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Payback. If I have to hear you beg one more time for that spren of yours I will lose it. It’s either you or me and I much rather it’d be you.”

Unreasonable anger bubbled in Adolin, he knew he would finally annoy the guards enough to get a reaction but still he was mad. “You can do that all you want, that’s still won't stop me. I have literally nothing else to do with my time. We will see who breaks first”

“Compelling reasoning, it would theoretically work, only there's one thing you don’t know about.” Adolin froze in place, the vindictiveness in the guards voice warned him this was important. The guard studied him with glistening eyes. “You can become as insufferable and annoying as you possibly could, but no matter how much I or anyone else minds, it still won't change the fact that you will never see your deadeye again.”

“Why not, why do you care so much? It’s not out of concern for her and please don’t try to pretend that it is, it’s only so that I will suffer. You already have me locked up, how much more do you need?.”

“While I care deeply to see you suffer as much as possible, unfortunately for you there is a more important reason for this whole exercise beyond your own discomfort.” The eyes narrowed on him waiting for his reaction and Adolin tried his best to hide his increasingly sweaty palms and not to swallow hard. He didn’t say anything, he knew he didn’t need to.

“You see…” the guard went on, his grin clear in his voice. “People around here don’t like your bond, it's unnatural, they wish to break it..” Adolin felt the pinpricks of cold sweat on his forehead as the guard continued.

“...they plan to keep you apart for for however long it takes for your bond to fade.” the voice sounded like it was coming out of grinning lips and Adolin felt his stomach twist. This couldn’t be true, this was not possible he tried to convince himself, yet he had to hug his knees to stop himself from throwing up.

“That’s a lie, it doesn't work that way.” he managed to force out.

“Sure it does. But even if it doesn’t, the spren are willing to try it, so for you the result would be the same.”

The guard’s belly laugh haunted Adolin. He wasn’t saying that just to get to him, it was true.

“You see what you’ve done? You made me tell you, I was planning to drag this out as long as possible. I guess you win this round little prince.” the guard moved from the little opening on the door and laughed again, seemingly content.

“Why do you care so much to torment me? I didn’t do anything to you” Adolin asked through clenched teeth. He felt like a petulant child but he couldn't stop himself.

The guard's laughter was cut short and he returned to the little slit with a bang, his eyes crazed. “You think you are innocent? You think you didn’t do anything to hurt anyone here? Are you really so arrogant, so oblivious, so storming self-righteous?” His voice came through gritted teeth, seething with contempt.

Adolin was caught off guard, what did he do to this man? He honestly couldn’t think of anything so he kept his mouth shut even though it felt like admitting defeat.
“Of course you have no clue. No matter, I will still enjoy watching you suffer.”

“It won't work, she wants to be bonded to me. It doesn't matter that you are keeping us apart, our bond is stronger than that ”

“She's doing just fine without you. If she could want anything it wouldn't be another bond with your lot. But that’s alright, it's nothing a little time apart can’t fix. Soon she will be free of you.”

“I think you’ll be surprised.”

“I think you’ll be disappointed. Proximity is essential to any bond, even with live spren, and yours if fraudulent, fickle, it won't last long. But, I’m sure you’ll forget about her before she forgets about you.”

“Then you don’t know anything.” The guard scoffed and Adolin hid from his view as tears flowed from his eyes and over his hands and in the crook of his neck.

***

His mind was stuck. 

It couldn't be true. His bond couldn't fade. He couldn't believe it but still it clawed at his mind.

Time passed, he didn’t know how long, days, weeks, he couldn't tell, he didn't ask. 

If Maya was gone from him, then he had nothing. Nothing. These walls, this measly bed, this is what he would have to content with. How could he possibly… how?

He held on hope that it was all an elaborate lie to torment him but even the more sympathetic guard, despite his own horror at the intention of his fellow spren, couldn’t deny that their method could actually be effective.

He sank further down his mind.

No, they couldn't take her too. He couldn't lose her too. He couldn’t just add her to all the rest he would never see again. He needed her.

Even before he had her he needed her, but it wasn’t until he bonded her that he’d realized just how much he did. At 14, the week he spent with her by his side was the first time he'd felt happy ever since his mother had died. She had given him strength and confidence, she made him feel safe. She was always there for him. Whenever he was anxious or scared or in danger, just ten heartbeats away.

He lost track and he lost hope. She wasn’t there, she couldn’t hear him; not over a fading bond. Doubt started to creep in. Maybe Maya was indeed better without him, maybe she didn't need him after all, not here.

And now? Just as he was getting to know her—it wasn’t fair, it couldn’t end like this, he couldn’t bear it.

He wouldn’t last.

His father would last, his mind cruelly supplied. Kaladin would last, Renarin, Shallan—but he broke, just like that, at the first sign of trouble. He was such an embarrassment. This was the one thing he could do in this war. Everyone else was out there doing all sorts of impossible things while all he had to do was just sit in prison and he couldn't even do that. 

His mind ached for relief. In the past, that meant the sword, his sword, Maya. For as long as he could remember that’s where he would always run to for shelter, for focus, for guidance. There was no dueling anymore, no sword. He stretched his hand reflexively, like he always used to do when nervous and had to stop himself yet again.

Her memory, now an open wound like all the rest. He had managed to betray her as well. He somehow managed to hurt everyone he cared about. They all should rightly hate him by now. He let them all down. He tried to hide from it but everywhere he turned there was pain.

There was no safe place in his mind away from his father, his brother, his wife, his best friend.

His stomach growled again, he tried not to think of food. That too was a sore subject for him. Ever since the revelation, and even before that if he was being honest, his appetite had plummeted and the little food he managed to eat usually came back up again. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn, he tried and failed to distract himself.

There was no escape, there was no place his mind could go to that didn't hurt worse. Everywhere he looked there was pain. All his happy memories now open wounds. A life that was dead to him, just like he was dead to the world.

His mind skidded from one to the next as if walking on coals, constantly jumping and burning the whole way.

Sleeping or awake, he was constantly plagued by cruel images. All the pain that his decision would cause, repeated behind his eyes like a sick, twisted stage play, performed over and over again only for his torment.

Kaladin, standing on the edge of the tower, looking down the great fall, needing only a single kind word, only a warm hand to wrap around his own to save him, but no one was there to give it to him. He himself, still as helpless and as trapped as he is now, receiving the news. (would the news even reach him?).

Shallan, breaking into a million pieces, surrounded by crowds of people, and no one ever notices as she disappears before their very eyes.

His father, looking at him with hatred from beyond the grave, around him the devastated landscape of war. “You see this? This is what you did to me, to us. This is what your weakness cost us. I always knew you were weak, a disappointment, but now it’s there for all the world to see.”

Renarin, an old man, sitting on his throne, surrounded by the love and happiness that he made for himself (just like he deserves), breaking down in ugly tears at the memory of his long lost brother.

There he breaks, there he always breaks. His sweet little brother deserved the world and he had lost the one person he could rely on. I'm so sorry, please don't hate me. Who would be there for them, to comfort and console them? He had abandoned them all, betrayed them in the worst way. All the pain he felt, all the despair, not even a fraction of what he deserved.

There, another voice voice tried to slither in, to gain purchase. It whispered that it's all a lie, that he was worthless and nobody needed him, nobody missed him, the fate of the world wouldn't change because he's no longer in it.

He rejected that voice. That voice didn't offer harsh truths, it offered complacency, surrender. It was a way out to believe that nobody cared, that his actions hurt none other than himself. He wouldn't take it, he wouldn't betray their love to comfort himself no matter how it wrecked him.

He had cried himself dry. His body laid motionless, wrung out, and out of tears. His mind was mercifully burned out, completely numb. He couldn't think of a coherent thought if he wanted to.

It was somehow relieving but also distressing at the same time. 

There, in the absolute stillness he felt… a tug.

It was something.

It was everything.

Chapter Text

A tug. It was something. It was everything.

As soon as he sensed it, it was gone and he strained tryin to find it again. He focused on his breathing, trying to temper his thumping heart and quiet up his mind.

There was nothing for a long time. Fear started to spring up inside him that it was all a dream, a delusion, but then—

His blood froze and his breath caught as he felt the tug again. An almost imperceptible pull coming from somewhere far. He followed it with the dedication of a hungry axe hound. It was so faint, so fragile, he had to hold on it as strong and as gently as he could. He followed down, through incomprehensible landscapes that bent his mind. The more he fell the more he felt, his mind a jumbled mess, struggling to hold on to confused thoughts that faded away. 

He held onto his bed for dear life, as his mind plunged into the waters of oblivion. 

There was no sense of direction, every which way he turned there was an open sea of beads. Huge waves rose before him, spurred on by a non-existent wind. The air was drowned in horrible screams that came ceaselessly from all around. Agony and rage and oh so much pain came through unfiltered and hit him like a stormwall. He felt his soul vibrate along, filling him with deep sorrow.  

He couldn't escape it. The only way out was back, and he wasn't going back, not until he found Maya. If this was the price for that he would pay it gladly.

He called out her name again and again but he could barely hear his own voice.

He drifted through the ocean, waves pushing him hither and thither, crashing into him with incredible force.

Time passed and it wasn't long before the agony and the grief sipped in, soaking him through and through till he couldn't tell his own feelings apart, the screams no longer registering.

Swimming in that bitter ocean, he forgot himself.

***

When he woke up again he was confused and sore all over. He couldn't tell where he was or even where he was supposed to be.

He tried to think but he couldn't focus his mind enough for conscious thought. The constant aches all over however was surprisingly helpful in keeping him connected with reality.

It must have been several minutes when Adolin was alert enough to understand that he had yet to try and open his eyes. He did so with caution, half convinced that the light would blind him. Instead the light barely trickled in to reveal his too familiar cell. He couldn't tell why but he was surprised to see it, as if he had forgotten all about it, as if expecting to wake up in his room in Kholinar or something.

Tears stung behind his eyes as his brain caught up again with the last (what was it, five, ten months?) since he left Roshar. He felt so childish at the outburst, yet the tears never stopped, the grief from his dream still clinging to him tight. His stomach churned but as he sat up his world spun and before he knew it his head was hitting the pillow.

***

When he awoke again someone was nudging him, slowly coaxing him awake, calling his name. That was strange, it had been so long the feeling surprised him.

"Mmmh" was all he managed to say before started making out words."…not moved since my last …?" 

Adolin blinked trying to understand who was speaking and what he was saying. He opened his mouth to speak but his throat was dry and he could only croak.

"Kholin, can you hear me?" Someone was talking. 

"Humm" was all the response Adolin could muster, not really sure of what was going on, his head pounding in his ear, his muscles still protesting his every move.

"Hey, are you still alive?" The guard, Rhollin, Adolin decided, who else could it be? 

"I'm up." he barely managed to say but made no move to do so.

"Hey, are you alright? Have you moved from that spot since my last shift?" He asked, worry evident in his voice. It caught him off guard,  Adolin didn't know he cared enough to worry. 

"Your last shift?" Adolin croaked, his throat scratchy and sore. Rhollyn moved and in the next moment there was a cup to his lips. The water was cool and soothing and it brought him back to himself a bit more. "Thank you" he whispered but the guard just went on.

"I came in and you were sleeping, mumbling, thrushing. I tried to wake you but couldn't. You were asleep when I left and when I returned today you were still asleep, it looks like you haven't moved. “Are you alright?"

The look on the spren's face was honest and for a moment Adolin considered answering honestly about where he'd been. He couldn't use it against him, could he? He would rather not find out. 

"What was I saying?" he asked instead. 

"Nothing I could make out, but you seemed pretty distressed." 

"Oh. I'm alright now. I think I might have a cold or something." he lied, hoping that the spren wouldn't know enough about humans to question him.

Rhollyn paused, staring back out at him, a helpless look on his face. "You need to eat." he said, pointing to the plate already set up. He felt his stomach clench at the mention of food, something bitter coating his tongue. He didn't say anything, but something must have shown on his face because Rhollyn looked regretful as he pressed on 

"From what I understand, the last time you ate anything was a couple days ago. Don't humans need to eat a lot more than that?"

He really didn't feel like it but he couldn't deny the guards logic and he quietly relented to the spren’s wishes. 

Despite his best efforts and the guard's disappointed face, he didn't manage to finish even a quarter of his food.

The haunting feeling of grief and pain from his dream still lingering, more real than he was willing to admit. His mind drifted to that place again and again, itching to get back. Maya was there and he would find her, no matter what.

***

It wasn't long till he was back, sailing the all encompassing ocean, even further steeped in the misery and pain that permeated that place.

It wasn't much longer still when, in the chorus of  screams, he found one more familiar, at long last. The agonized scream that used to tear through his soul whenever it escaped her lips was now music to his ears. He latched on to it and fought his way to her, to Maya, his spren. 

He woke up panting, and aching more than ever to have her by his side. Hope and relief washed over him in waves, almost masking his exhaustion. She was there, he was sure now. He was on the right path. 

It took an embarrassing amount of time for him to realize that Rhollyn was once again hovering over him like an overprotective nanny. His pride wouldn’t let him admit it but he was growing to like the care and the company.

“Kholin? Are you with me?”

He sat up, cross legged, in bed, rubbing at his eyes . 

“Adolin.” Adolin grumbled

“What?”

“We’ve talked about this, call me Adolin.”

“Right. Then, Adolin, you were mumbling again.” He said as he moved around the room.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t too loud, was I?” 

The guard gave him an incredulous look in response. 

“I don’t want to bother you..” Adolin said defensively. It was  a dumb thing to say and if the expression on Rhollyn’s face was anything to go by he agreed as well.

Rhollyn surprised him by changing the subject. 

“You should eat something, it’s been days since you’ve had a good meal” something akin to excitement at the edge of his voice.

He wasn't wrong, he could barely eat these days. The thought of food made him nauseous more often than not. He was beginning to lose weight and he was constantly tired.

He knew he should eat, but the knot in this stomach had other ideas. 

“I’m sorry Rhollyn. I don’t think I could eat, not right now.” 

Rhollyn turned around and headed out the cell, surprisingly not looking defeated in the slightest.

The door of the cell was already open, Rhollyn usually kept it that way, coming and going as he needed. The sight of the open door greatly affected him.

He didn’t dream of escape; he didn't dare; he was in an entirely different realm. But somehow with the door open, his cell didn’t feel so small, so oppressive, he could breathe freely again. 

“Come on.. It’s soup. You can eat some soup, right?” His barely suppressed excitement was now a glint in his eye and a hopeful wide grin across his face. 

How could he ever say no to that?

“Sure kid, I’ll have some soup. It might be nice.” He missed the old, comfy feeling of hot soup warming him from the inside out. 

The soup was all it was cracked up to  be,a smile finding its way to his lips easily as he finished the whole bowl. 

“‘So did you like it?” the spren asked, more nervous that he had a right to be.

“I think you can already tell that I really enjoyed it.” 

The smile beamed again on Rhollyn's face and his back straightened up in pride.
“You know, I think this is the first time I've had soup here…” Adolin said raising an eyebrow

“Yeah, it's sick food, isn't it? And you are sick”

“Right…” He’d told him that. “I’m better now.” He tried to reassure him.

“Well you don’t look better…so I asked around about humans, about what to do when they get sick…I read a couple of books—”

“You did?”

“Well, yeah…” Rhollyn would've flushed pink if he could.

Adolin paused, assuming a serious air. He placed his hand over Rholin’s and gazed at hiim somberly. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you, Rhollyn. Truly. You are a good man.”

He meant it with his whole heart and tried to show as much on his face yet Rhollyn stiffened, his eyes  falling to his shoes. Adolin watched curiously, waiting for the spren to find his words.

“Well, someone had to.” he managed to squeeze out yet it was like an accusation.

Adolin didn’t really understand but he was worried. “What’s wrong?” 

“I.. I was worried,” the guard stuttered, “it’d been days and you… I went to my superiors to ask for help—reported back to them… they didn’t… the other guard contradicted me… They didn’t care, or more they didn’t want to hear it.” 

Of course. Why was he surprised to hear that? He shouldn’t be, there seemed to be no low the spren wouldn’t stoop to. He should be boiling with anger, with righteous fury, and yet. 

Rhollyn sounded pained, ashamed. Adolin wanted to reach out and hold him, it wasn’t his fault, but the guard went on.

“So I went to the cooks myself, asked for their help. They wanted to know what happened and I told them. Let’s  just say they weren’t pleased to hear it. They promised to do whatever they can to help, which isn’t much considering they’d have to do it in secret.”

He looked back at the spren looking even more devastated than before. Adolin’s heart ached for him.

“Hey, it will be ok, I made it out of worse situations than this. we’ll find a way.” he heard himself saying. 

Where was this coming from? When did he find the courage to utter those words? 

Rhollyn Looked at him hopefully, worry bleeding out of his face just a little. 

Oh, that’s right. Now he had someone else to worry about, someone to put a front for; someone to project strength for and hope he started to believe it too. 

It was nice, comforting even. It was familiar. He breathed a deep long breath as if there was new found space in his lung, a weight lifted off.

He couldn’t deny that he was fond of the spren and not only because he was the only one he could talk to and/or actually gave a shit about him, but also because he was a pure soul. No mask, no hidden agenda, no pretense. It was easy and comforting. He hoped one day he’d be able to pay it back.

And then Adolin made a decision.

“I found Maya.” he said before he could regret it.

Rhollyn starred. “What?”

“You keep asking what’s happening, well, that’s what I've been doing when I ‘sleep’”

“ I don't understand what you are trying to say.”

“In my dreams, visions. I think she showed me the way to where she is. A strange place full of pain, more a feeling. I think she’s there. I heard her voice. It won't be long before I have her.”

The guard continued to stare, his expression filling with concern.

“And that’s why you mumble and flail in your bed?”

“I suppose.”

The guard didn't looked pleased 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that. It’s not possible.”

Adolin scrunched up his face. “Care to explain?”

The guard looked sheepish. “Well, you are both in Shadesmar, and…  it’s practically impossible with a normal bond and yours...”

Adolin swallowed the unintended jab. “I don’t know about that, I just know what I saw. I’m not lying to you”

“No, no, I’m not saying you are—.” Rhollyn hastened to reassure. “—I just think maybe you could have misinterpreted it.”

“Well I can’t tell you more than what I understand is happening. I thought she would be in there and now I know she is. It must mean something. 

‘We’ll see.”

“You'll see when I find her. Of course you'll have to take my word for it but I won't lie to you, I promise.”

“I trust you.” the spren hastened to reassure. 

The easy declaration caught Adolin by surprise. It'd been too long since anyone had any faith in him and a spren nonetheless. 

“Likewise.” Adolin managed to choke out.

Chapter Text

He had followed Maya's scream. He’d followed it ferociously against the punishing waves until, for the first time in this place, far in the distance, he’d seen land. 

It had taken several visits to reach it, losing some of his headway every time he’d returned, but nothing mattered when he was finally standing at the shore.

A steep incline rose before him, a mix of tangled roots made out of jagged rocks jutting from the sea. Maya's scream, a constant, heartbreaking thing, drowned the air and spurred him up the cliffside as it erased every other thought.

After what felt like hours, panting and completely exhausted, he finally reached the precipice.

He took in his surroundings as he caught his breath. In front of him stretched a ruined landscape. The remnants of a once great palace laid in the midst of a long-dead, walled off, overgrown garden, and... and in the middle of a clearing a hunching figure, the source of the scream.

Maya. 

She had her back turned to him, seemingly oblivious to his presence, as Adolin's own heart pumped so forcefully he thought it might just burst through his chest.

"Maya" he tried to say but the words choked in his throat, the lump in it too great to let any sound past. He took a deep breath and tried again as his feet slowly carried him towards her on their own accord. "Maya", his voice came out cracked, pained, small but it came out and no matter how soft it was she seemed to hear, even over her own screams. The reaction was immediate. At the sound of her own name the screaming stopped, the figure turned completely still for a split second before sharply snapping her head back to him. He caught a glimpse of the familiar, beloved face. A range of too many, too strong emotions bloomed inside his heart; he needed to hold Maya tight against his chest before they strangled him.

He didn’t have the chance though as Maya’s face twisted in a fearful expression. Her screams started again, more frantic than before, deafening and overwhelming, as she rushed to him, hands raised in front of her ready to attack. 

Adolin startled, caught off guard. He didn’t expect this. It didn't matter though. She was there, he had found her and he wasn’t about to cower now. He opened his arms in an embrace, more than willing to take her as she was, rage and anger and pain and all.

He let out a big breath and closed his eyes as a wall of force, as strong as her screams hit him hard. She attacked viciously and without remorse. Nails dug deep into his flesh, tearing it shreds, hot, molted pain overtaking his every nerve but nothing hurt more than Maya’s frantic, unseeing gaze, betraying fear more than anything else. 

"Maya. it's me, it's Adolin. I'm so sorry love, I'm so sorry. I'm here now, I have you and I'm never going anywhere ever again." He screamed at her again and again as he tried to hold her close but his voice didn't seem to reach her.

What could he do? He couldn't defend himself, he couldn't attack, he couldn't run away. None of those were options. He would never shy away from her, not in fear, not in pain. If that's what she needed, if this is how she felt, then Adolin would oblige. It was his own fault after all. All of this was his fault. He is the one who condemned Maya to a life apart from him. He's responsible for this pain and he'll gladly take it. 

Pain seared through him from ever-increasing gashes and all he could do was grit his teeth and close his eyes tight, trying not to flinch as the pain crescendoed.

And then it was over. Just as it was getting too much to bear it stopped, along with the noise, the darkness. He held his breath, trying to get his bearings, preparing himself for what he would face, when...

"Adolin?! Are you awake? Oh thank Honor." That was Rhollyn's voice, that meant he was back. That meant he hadn't finished the job. Storms.

"Hey, hey, are you alright? Are you alive?" Rhollyn's voice was frantic, Adolin noted, more than ever before. What was so wrong? He tried, but he couldn't really think straight so he gave up on the endeavor entirely, opting for opening his eyes and finding out first hand.

He made to move his hand to reassure him but even the effort was too much. It sent hot spikes of pain up his arm while a sickening numbness spread through him.

An involuntary groan escaped his lips and Rhollyn was on him trying to sit him up. Hot, pulsing, raging pain assaulted him every touch, every squeeze, like hot coals under his skin, till tears started to sting his eyes. He desperately tried to tell Rhollyn to stop but he couldn’t through his shallow breaths, cool air brushing against his damp forehead.

 "STOP" was all he managed to whiz out before laying completely motionless on the bed, taking shallow unsatisfying breaths through grilled teeth, his whole body clenching in pain.

When he tried to move, nausea came with full force. He barely managed to roll to the edge of the bed before his stomach violently spasm and its meager contents spilled onto the floor. 

He retched a few times, pain flaring in his chest with each one before he rolled on to the bed heaving for breath, sweat dampening his forehead. 

His eyes drooped as the pain simmered and he was quickly losing the fight with consciousness but not before he felt a cool, wet rug wiping his forehead. 

He came to consciousness again, feeling drops of cool water sliding down his throat. He tried to think back to what happened. He remembered finding Maya, but from there all he got were brief flashes of pain, maybe of Rhollyn carrying him?

He startled but the pain wasn't there anymore. Instead he was just met with a dull, tired ache all over his body. 

“Hey, Adolin, are you with me this time or are you going to pass out again?”

“Hey. I’m back.” He tried to push himself up but all his limbs protested. Rhollyn was on him the next moment, taking him by the shoulders and sitting him up, back against the wall. A wave of dizziness hit him at the sudden movement. He closed his eyes and tilted his head steady against the wall until it passed. He was momenterally puzzled before recalling he hadn’t eaten in 2 days. When he opened them again a cup of water was in front of him. 

“Drink.” Rhollyn ordered and watched him carefully as he did so. “Are you alright?” The worry was evident and Adolin felt guilty.

“Much better, mainly tired.”

“What happened?”

Adolin smiled at the memory of Maya. "I found her. I found Maya." 

The guard's eyes widened and mouth hanged for a second before his brow furrowed. “Not that I’m not excited about it, but how does this explain anything?”

Adolin took a steadying breath. "She attacked me " he said reluctantly

"She.. what? why would she do that?" 

"It's not her fault..” he hastened to defend her, ”... she was in pain, she didn't recognize me. We've been apart too long I think. Maybe our bond is indeed fading. But don’t worry, she will remember me soon enough." he blurted out as fast as he could trying to circumvent any of Rhollyn’s objections.

Rhollyn starred, confusion and frustration evident in his face. Adolin watched silently as Rhollyn tried to put his thoughts in order. He opened his mouth to speak several times before closing it again as if not sure what to say first before finally settling. 

“So let me get this straight. You found Maya, but she didn’t recognize you so she attacked you…” Rhollyn paused waiting for confirmation.

“Correct.” Adolin supplied.

“And because she attacked you, you woke up hurt instead of just tired like before.”

“Um, yeah, that makes sense.” he said less sure.

“But she will remember you soon enough? Meaning she will attack you next time you see her.” The spren tried to control himself and be collected but his simmering anger showed. 

Adolin wanted to refute him but he couldn’t so he just stared. 

“And you want to go back?” Rhollyn’s calm facade completely disappeared but anger stirred in Adolin as well at the implication that he shouldn’t.

“Sooner rather than later,” he replied coldly. 

“You can’t, not before you recover.”

“You don’t understand. She needs me Rhollyn. She is in pain and she needs me, I can't turn my back on her.”

"It's you who doesn't understand- You were asleep for almost three days. You couldn't get up, you couldn't eat. I had to drag you to the bathroom, I had to spoon- feed you water. You can barely sit up straight and you want to go back there already?

"It's you who doesn't understand- You didn’t have to drag anyone to the bathroom, or spoon feed them water, or sit here for days wondering if that you were ever going to wake up. “

Adolin bowed his head in shame. He had already considered the stress Rhollyn must have experienced but it was one thing to suspect it intellectually and another entirely to have it thrown in your face in such a pained voice. 

"I can't wait long. Every hour I waste here, the further gone she will be when I get back. I know that if I go now it will be bad. But if I wait much longer it will be worse. It's already been three days.

He meant for hir words to be soothing, well, not soothing, but at least calming, definite, final. that they would settle the argument and magically restore peace, but instead Rhollyn only got more agitated, pacing the cell Manically. Adolin Knew there were no calming words that would help him right now so he kept his mouth shut.

But alas, even his apparent resignation was enough of a spark for the guard to blow up. "And what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to help you?” Rhollyn was franting now, not even attempting to conceal the desperation in his voice.

He couldn't help feeling guilty at that but he pushed it down, he had to, for Maya. "Rhollyn...you know I have to..." he pleaded in a low voice, but the spren's eyes only went more wild.

“YOU CAN'T GO BACK — You can't. I won't let you.” the guards yelled, his voice hoarse reverberating on the bare walls of the small cell.

Adolin's heart cracked even further but before he could attempt to comfort Rhollyn he was interrupted by the creaking sound of the door opening. 

Time seemed to slow down as blood rushed in his ears, his face turned to stone as he watched three spren enter, swords drawn, pointing at them.

Adolin watched in horror as the spren surrounded Rhollyn pointing their swords at him, his heart pounding in his ears. No, it couldn’t be, they couldn’t be found out. What would he do without Rhollyn? 

He didn’t have time to think as he shot off the bed, grabbing the wooden ladle from the water barrel, and swiftly disarming the closest one. It was clear that the spren were inexperienced, maybe he could do this. He turned to the next spren not missing a beat but just as he did his vision darkened and his world spun.

He felt himself go down but as he did he thought he heard the sound of metal clanking against the stone floor.

Chapter Text

He woke up with a start, to find the three strange spren looking down upon him. His blood ran cold. They were caught and now he would be alone again. 

“He is up.” The spren who looked like a young woman declared to someone over Adolin’s shoulder. 

“Get back, you’ll scare him.” Rhollyn’s voice said from behind him before he materialized in front of him a second later, sitting on the bed next to him holding his shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry, it’s alright.” 

Rhollyn seemed calm enough to be convincing yet Adolin was still confused. How could it be alright?

His worry must’ve shown because the guard hastened to add, “I promise. They are here to help.” Rhollyn said.

Adolins’s confusion doubled. How could that be? Rhollyn didn’t tell anyone right? He wouldn’t do that without talking to him first. Except, here they stood, hovering over him as if studying him.

“Adolin, this is Ashera, Deckton and Lyreah, ” he pointed to the older woman, a young man and a young woman respectively who waved at him. “They all work together, taking care of the old spren. And this is Adolin Kholin, Highprince and bonded to Maya.” he said, turning to the intruders.

“It’s nice to meet you, your majesty.” the young ones murmured. 

“You look after Maya?” Adolin interrupted, eyes full of hope, all his previous objections and concerns extinguished like a candle in the highstorm.

The older woman, Ashera, looked uncomfortable, regretful “you know where Maya is right?”

The mental image of Maya huddled up in “his” cell, out in the open, to be observed like an exhibit, popped up in his mind, rekindling that old familiar bitterness towards the spren. He pushed it back, these people before him weren’t to blame.

“She is not in our purview but she is well taken care of. We keep an eye on her, she’s alright.”

Adolin felt his face drop and a sour taste in his mouth, as if personally offended. Maya was anything but alright. He swallowed the objection on the tip of his tongue not wanting to reveal anything.

Adolin stared at Rhollyn ignoring the others. “Why are they here?”

“They were about to explain themselves before you woke up.” meaning he hadn’t known, hadn’t talked to anyone, which made more sense. Why would they draw their swords if they were invited?

“So, then, why are you here?” Adolin snapped remembering their entrance..

“We wanted to meet you, to help you.” The girl, Lyreah chirped, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Is that why you came in threatening us?”

“In our defense we were just threatening your guard.”

Adolin eyed them waiting for an explanation.

“We heard yelling from the other side of the door, and we imagined the worst.”

“So you barged in and threatened the guard? What if he thought you were trying to free me?”

“To be fair…” the younger man spoke, a sheepish grin on his face, “...we didn’t really think things through. Honestly, we didn’t expect you to receive good treatment here and when we heard the shouts…”

“Why were you willing to risk coming here in the first place?” Adolin said thoroughly confused by the conversation”

“We wanted to meet you.”

“Why? Why now?”

“We have wanted to for a long time. It might surprise you, but not all of us agree with the outcome of the trial. We wanted to apologize, to help if we could.”

“But there is another reason for your visit, isn't there. There’s something you want, right?”

“How can you be so sure?” Deckton asked, a touch offended but mostly curious.

“I can see it in your eyes, in your tense posture, as if bursting at the seams to ask for it. Go ahead then, don’t be shy.”

“Well, as Rhollyn said we all work with the deadeyes, we have been doing that for a very long time, all our lives.”

“That is to say, we know them pretty well, probably more than anyone else.” the young man, Deckton, interjected, excitement barely concealed in his voice. What was there to be excited about?

“Yeah… so?” he asked warily.

“Well, we have observed… new, peculiar behaviors. Like, anything new from them is mind-blowing but this...”

Adolin stiffened, it sounded too much like a trap. “This?” He asked reluctantly.

“I mean, even if you only consider the way they all descended upon the tower, congregating here...”

“It’s been a long time since the trial, why are you concerned now.?”

“Because it never stopped. The deadeyes didn’t leave, instead more arrive everyday. If they were here for the trial, they should have gone by now.”

“Not only that.” The young woman, Lyreah, spoke freely for the first time. “Other things too, stranger still, things that perhaps only we could spot.”

She belatedly realized that everyone was watching her and she shrunk a little but still went on. “Like, they have collective moods."

"Moods?" Adolin and Rhollyn asked in unison. 

"Yeah, moods. Sometimes happy, sometimes nervous, sometimes sad, even contemplative at times. They all feel the same feeling, some more intensely than others”

“We've never seem anything like that. It shouldn't be possible. It started a while ago,” Ashera, the stoic older woman, took over again. ”It was barely noticeable at first, only a few spren here and there. We went to our superiors to report but they assured us we were wrong and that nothing is going on. They also gave us grave warnings about not going around spreading false rumors. And so we did. We stepped back and didn’t even talk about it amongst ourselves. Until...until it became too much and we couldn’t ignore it any more… and here we are.”

“Here? Doing what exactly?”

“Testing out a theory?”

“That states?” Adolin quickly prodded, losing his patience.

Ashera hesitated for the first time, taking her time to choose her words carefully. “Look, the only thing we can say with certainty is that something more is going on. something is changing with the old spren and to keep denying the plain truth isn’t going to help anyone.”

“So what? Are you here to ask for our opinion?” The guard's voice was rising steadily and Adolin knew he was deflecting, trying his best to not  hint at Adolin’s connection with Maya. 

“Aa, what? No, we… think—we don’t know. We…” Lyreah stumbled,

Ashera, the “no-nonsense spren” bit back. “We believe that you, Brightlord, are the catalyst for this change. You are the only variable, it has to be you.”

Adolin eyed Rhollyn who eyed him right back, both communicating their reluctance and suspicion as a tense silence fell over the room. Strangely the other three spren seemed to be doing the same.

“And what if you are wrong, what if I don't have anything more to tell you?”

“It would certainly be unfortunate but as we’ve said earlier–” She eyed both him and Rhollyn pointedly bringing them to attention. “We have wanted to meet you long before this. The offer of help is not contingent on this.” 

“We brought you a gift, as a token of our good will”

“A gift? What is it?”

The girl pulled a small wooden box from her jacket and offered it to Adolin, extending both arms.

“It’s called candy.” 

“Candy?”

“It’s suitable for humans, the merchant assured us.” she said earnestly, a grin splitting her face. 

Adolin opened the box and stared at red crystal spheres the size of grapes. 

“Pretty, aren’t they?” the girl asked with delight. 

Adolin popped one in his mouth after examining it. He was immediately assaulted by a sour taste that made his mouth water that then was flooded  with an intensely sweet one. The sensation overtook him. How long had it been since the last time he tasted something this good?

He closed his eyes and savored the rare treat. When he opened them again he could see the hopeful faces of four spren.

It would seem that the spren really didn’t mean him harm and really cared about the old spren. They also were desperate for answers and if Adolin could provide them, regardless if they were actually correct, it would win him multiple valuable allies that he was in desperate need of; Rhollyn was great but he was already doing too much. 

***

So he told them everything. He told them about feeling Maya at his trial, about all the times before that, about looking for her and finding her in that strange place.  The caretaker spren watched in awe and amazement, eyes widening at every new detail as Rhollyn interjected to add all the adverse effects of his exploits. 

By the time he was done every bit of him felt lighter, as if relieved of an invisible weight. Speaking the words made everything more real and the affirming looks dispelled his creeping doubts that maybe he was losing his mind, that maybe it was all for not, that maybe this was just a distraction.

Rhollyn's indignant tone brought  him out of his thoughts. “So wait, you believe everything he says, just like that?”

“We believe he is being truthful, yes—” Ashera responded confused and unsure. 

“Yeah, sure, but isn’t there anything you find just a bit too unbelievable, too out there?”

“Like what?”

“Like, how he is meeting his dead spren, who has long been separated from him, on what I could only assume to be the spiritual plane…?” 

“It does sound impossible, it should be impossible. We should be laughing at even the suggestion, but. Is it really any stranger than all the other things happening? You are the one who has been here all this time, do you have any doubts?” 

“I—I, not really. I just thought it would be harder to convince you of such an outlandish claim.”

“Worry not; this wasn’t the craziest possibility we’ve considered.” Ashera gave him a reassuring smile before turning back to Adolin. 

“So, Brightlord—”

“Call me Adolin.”

“Ok, Adolin— when are you going back there? How can we help?”

Adolin couldn’t suppress his grin. He turned to Rhollyn, looking to share his delight with his friend but he was met with a stormy expression, eyes  glaring daggers at the new spren. He didn’t have time to enquire what was wrong as Rhollyn was already speaking his mind.

“Are you serious? I just told you, it’s hurting him. Do you even care? Of course you don’t, the only thing you care about is your spren.” 

The young spren squirmed in the chairs, looking indignant, struggling for a response. Ashera retained her collected expression despite the attack. 

“We don’t deny we hold no familial feelings towards the human prince; we’ve never spoken to him before this day. It is also true that we care deeply about the deadeyes—"

"Could you not call them that?" Adolin interjected.

"What? Deadeyes?" Ashera asked genuinely. 

"Yeah, they don't like it very much, I think."

"Is it better if we call them old spren like you do?" She asked, no hint of scorn in her tone.

"Yes, much better. Thank you."

"Alright then. We do care about the old spren deeply. How could we not after all? We look after them all day. However, what you fail to see is that for us, now they are one and the same. To care for the old spren is to care for the prince and this is what we shall do, it’s our duty after all.”

The other two spren nodded their heads enthusiastically. 

“Besides, we are here to help no matter what the young prince decides to do.”

Rhollyn's anger dissipated after that, like ice in the sun, and just like that the tension was gone for the rest of the visit.

As the spren were about to leave, the young one, Lyreah turned to Adolin, face etched with confusion and worry.

“Where is your gift?” she asked cautiously.

“Here it is.” Adolin said, gesturing to the box on his lap.

“No, the one you put in your mouth?” 

“I ate it.” confusion masked his embarrassment but it did nothing to ease the girl when Ashera jumped to the rescue one more time. 

“Lyreah, that was the purpose of the gift, to be consumed.”

“But now he wont have a gift.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to bring him more the next time.”

“Oh yes, please do.” Adolin waved them off, feeling lighter than he did in months.

Chapter Text

Adolin went back. He would always go back. He tried not to think of what awaited him. He knew there would be pain but he would take it to help his spren. That didn’t mean he would go unprepared now that he knew what to expect.

The caretakers, true to their word, returned with more of that delicious red candy. They kept their word to Rhollyn as well, prioritizing Adolin’s health over Maya, insisting he be fully rested and well fed before visiting her. It was the fastest way to worm their way into Rhollyns good graces and he took a great amount of pleasure watching his prickly guard slowly warm up to the newcomers. 

More than that, they brought him food, good food, fresh water, medical drafts and salves. He ate to his heart's content despite throwing up most of it, then they brought him a draft for that as well .

He shattered to think of what all the provisions must have cost them. 

The ridiculously low demand for food, water and other necessities in Shadesmar, along with its need to be transported great distances, ensured that it was both inevitably not actually fresh and incredibly expensive, far too expensive for three lone spren.

As it turned out though, the spren were not alone. There were only the representatives of the caretakers that wanted to help. Maybe the only one’s willing to risk getting caught sneaking into his cell.

Sometimes the feeling of overwhelming guild threatened to crush him. 

The thought of how helpless he was, how much help he needed, how much trouble and risk his friend had to go through on his behalf, it was too much. 

And still the spren made it so easy. Even at his lowest he couldn’t deny how willing and free they were with their care, how unassuming and gracious. They seemed genuinely pleased to be there and it helped soothe his anxieties. 

With the spren's help soon he was feeling much better. Most of his aches were gone, he had energy and he was in good spirits and soon enough he was ready to return to Maya.  

This time he was prepared for her outburst,  the pain; nothing could temper his excitement at getting to see her again. He found her just as he'd left her, scared and feral and beautiful. He let her lash out, kick and scream, as he held her close for hours before the pain became unbearable and he had to return to his cell. 

- 

As he awoke, he was again greeted by the now all too familiar ache. 

Instead of opening his eyes, he squeezed them shut more tightly, even the light filtering through his eyelids exacerbating the pounding in his head. 

His joints protested even the slightest movement along with his muscles, burning hot where they touched the mattress.

Before he could contemplate how much he really hated this part, there was a flurry of movement and someone was at his side.

Warm soup was brought to his lips along with a bitter draft, hands carted through his hair as soothing words were whispered and soon his headache was manageable. 

Once he could move his head without throwing up, a strong smelling salve was applied all over his bruised body leaving him far more warm and relaxed.

Finally finding some relief, he melted into his mattress with Ashera's melodic voice lulling him into a peaceful sleep. 

It wasn’t till next afternoon that he awoke already feeling surprisingly better. Within a few days he was already feeling good enough to go back. 

From there, it only took a couple of more visits for Maya's rage to simmer down, clearly nearing the end of her rampage. 

— 

Adolin was almost giddy with excitement as he made his way to her. He knew that this would be the last time, he would finally break through to her. 

He couldn't wait to look into her eyes and see recognition.

She greeted him with her usual way, crystal fingers digging into his flesh, but there was no heat behind it. He almost found it funny. There was nothing that could ruin his good mood.

He held her tight to his chest, her movements becoming sluggish until she stopped struggling entirely. 

Adolin’s heart thumped in his chest in anticipation as he reached his arm to lift her face to him, too excited and scared of what he might find there. Before he could though, Maya’s arm snaked around him and squeezed him in a tight hug. His heart melted as he returned it, putting his head on hers and pulling her tight against his chest.

A warm feeling spread in his chest, something like laughter bubbling in it as everything that was wrong, was righted in an instance.

He finally had her. 

Chapter Text

Time stood still as Adolin held on to Maya just as fiercely as she held onto him. 

Rough, boney arms squeezed his middle even more and a sense of contentment washed over him as Maya buried her face deeper into his neck. Her prickly, spiky hair poked into him but he paid it no mind.

WIth great effort he managed to ease his progressively erratic breath so as not to alarm Maya but he could do nothing to stop the silent tears of joy that ran down his cheeks.

It was all too much, too overwhelming for him and he was sure that for his spren it was worse still.

He had prepared for this moment for so long but still his knees were weak and his heart beat so fast that he could hear it in his ears. 

Maybe that was why he didn't notice anything until Maya’s small body was shaking in his arms. 

Before he could ask what was wrong Maya’s sobs became audible, breaking his heart all over again and she was dragging him to the ground as her legs gave out. 

He fumbled around for a way to soothe her but in the end all he could do was hold her tight. 

Maybe it made sense; without the rage to shield her from her pain she was forced to face it but that didn’t make him feel any less useless. 

Distracted, he let her cry for a long time, not noticing the silent, slow malaise that crept in before it had swallowed the light. 

The air thickened all around them, dark and bitter; an overwhelming feeling of grief crashed into him like waves, pulling him under. He fought for the surface, for air, but no sooner had he drawn breath before the next wave pulled him to the depths again.

There were no words, no understanding, only senseless agony.

His chest heaved as his breath caught, gnashing his teeth to stem the pain. It was too much, too violent to consider. He let himself go, losing sense of time, of place, of self. 

He cried himself dry, all wrung out and dazed, and it was a long time before he could think straight again. 

Only then was he able to feel the complexities, to appreciate the depths of her pain. To see the layers of the anger, the fear, the despair of being locked away from your body, of your own existence. To be used, to be defiled over and over again, forced to go against your own foundation and not be able to even cry out. 

His mind spiraled with those thoughts until it went numb, gave up, checked out, and the burning pain was covered by cold distance that left him void and numb.

Someone was calling his name, but it wasn't Maya’s voice. He looked down at his hands looking for Maya, only to find them empty. He couldn’t understand; where was she? she was just there. 

The voices soon took shape in the form of Rhollyn and the other spren when Adolin absently noted that he was back in his cell. Maybe he should have felt more distressed but it all seemed so irrelevant now. 

The voices were still distant and he had to concentrate really hard to make out what they were saying. 

He couldn’t think, he just kept staring at his empty hands. They felt strange, not his own, even as teardrops splatter over them. Was he crying? His mind was still back there with Maya. He could feel every bit of her anguish like it was his own, he still could hear Maya’s whimpers as if he was still there with her. 

It was such a strange sensation for his body to be somewhere else, as if it wasn’t his own. Like a spectator he watched the world through foreign eyes, no longer in control. 

He heard the spren talking again, barely making out what they were saying. Something bitter covered his tongue. He didn’t resist, but as soon as the hands left him he curled into a ball and laid on his bed facing the wall, trying to shut out the world that felt so wrong as unprompted tears wetted his cheeks. He didn't want to face them, he didn't want to talk, to explain himself. Everything felt so meaningless now, the only thing he wanted was to sleep. 

...

Time stretched and shrunk till it lost meaning. He had no idea how long it had been since he returned from Maya. Centuries of isolation and grief crushed into him in constant, relentless waves, whether with Maya or in his cell. So much pain, so much loss, guild, despair, rage; he was drowning in it, he had already drowned so many times, yet the waves would not cease, would not ease, would not waiver. They stripped every restraint and hope he still held on to, they stripped him to the bone and yet they persisted.

The presence of people would sometimes register. A touch, a phrase would somehow catch his attention and for a brief moment there would be something else other than the never ending misery but then it would be gone as if it were never there

“I told you he’d —”

“— same with old spren.”

“How do we fix —?” 

“— needs to eat.”

“— to cheer him up.”

“What he really needs is — Maya.”

“We need to call for help —.”

“He has to go — finish it.”

It felt strange to hear people talk about him like he wasn’t there and maybe he wasn’t. He should have felt indignant to be treated like a child but all he felt was reassured. How could he not when despite being completely defenseless he still felt absolutely safe in the spren’s care. 

…

“I know it's a lot…” 

A voice startled him. Someone was talking to him. He could feel a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. 

“I know you don’t want to—”

It was Rhollyn’s voice, soft and close to his ear. How long has he been talking to him?

“— it’s been four days—”

And what was he talking about? 

Rhollyn whispered as he rubbed soothing circles on Adolin’s back. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to eat something.”

Adolin’s stomach clenched at the mention of food as if a huge rock had settled in it, but he didn’t protest. Rhollyn took it as the consent it was and lifted Adolin, holding him firm against himself and feeding him little pieces of bread dipped in broth.

The others eagerly watched as Adolin pushed tasteless morsels of food past the lump in his throat. He didn’t manage to eat much, the stone in his stomach growing larger and heavier. He ignored it hoping it would go away.

It was a good plan and it worked for all of five minutes before he felt beads of sweat cooling his face as his stomach roiled. 

He lunged over the side of the bed, barely making it before violently retching, bile burning his throat as it came up. His stomach twisted and convulsed painfully even after it was empty, causing him to dry heave over and over again.

Exhausted and panting he curled up on his bed, hands wrapped tightly around his aching middle, taking ragged breaths. A hand combed through his sweaty hair, surprisingly relaxing. Ashera’s even voice blanketed him, reading him a story 

Maybe the lingering pain should have been distressing but instead it was vindicating, an outward expression of the pain in his soul, as if it resolved a discordance within him, his body was finally catching up. 

His mind gravitated to Maya, someone who understood the pain, shared in it. He reached for her across plains and felt her reaching back just as desperately.

The steady rhythm of a voice droned in his ear but he paid it no mind, lost in the now familiar agony. 

That was until he felt Maya shift, her desperate cries waning, turning mournful. He scrambled to find what had caused it when he heard the thump of a book closing and Ashera’s voice proclaiming the end of her story. 

“What? You liked the story?” he inquired and he felt a soft brush on his mind as a response. He quickly turned to Ashera to find all the spren jumping at his sudden movement.

“ Could you please read that story again?” He asked without missing a beat, his voice hoarse and husky from disuse, only to be met by wide-eyed faces. “I think Maya liked the story…” he added after clearing his throat but it came just as gruff. He meant it as an explanation but that only caused their jaws to drop further. 

The stunned silence didn’t last very long and soon a chorus of questions attacked him from every direction. “Were you with her just now?” “Can you feel her?” “Can she hear us?” 

He wanted to answer them, he really did, they were all fair questions but as soon as he tried to reach for so many answers and explanations it was all too much, too complicated to puzzle out. He tried for a single answer but he couldn’t even do that. A pressure started pushing down on his chest and it kept building with every question, his breath coming short and stinging. He closed his eyes trying to push back the tears already forming there. He felt his control slipping and he knew he wouldn't last when a steady, soft voice made everything halt. 

“There once was a quiet little village on the foot of a great mountain, at the top of which lived a terrible beast….” Ashera’s voice boomed and everything else stilled, putting an end to the cacophony. 

“The villagers lived everyday in fear of the day that the beast would tire of the heights and come down to destroy their little corner of the world…” Ashera sing-songed as she went on. 

Time passed quickly as Adolin relaxed and lost himself in the story that Maya liked so much.

…

"So did you like it?" Lyreah asked impatiently as soon as Ashera finished. 

"Yeah, it was a really nice story,'' Adolin said honestly, The girl's face lit up like a sphere in the hightstorm.

 "Would you read me another one tomorrow?" he asked apprehensively even though he knew she wouldn’t decline. 

"It would be my pleasure.” Ashera said with a smile. 

“We’ll even leave some books for you to read to Maya when we are not here." Lyreah offered with a grin splitting her face. 

Adolin felt heat rise in his cheeks from embarrassment at their assumption.

“That won’t be necessary—” Adolin tried to argue to no avail.

“Nonsense, we have loads of books, it’s no issue.” Lyreah pressed on.

"There’s no need because I can't read." he mumbled quietly. 

"Oh, that's right, I forgot you are from Alethkar. That's alright, we can teach you. It's nothing too complicated."

His body tensed at the suggestion. It was not something he'd seriously considered before, not even after his father learned; reading wasn't for him. 

"It’s alright, you can read to me." Adolin said with a smile trying to end the conversation. 

"We are not always here."

“I can wait for you to return, or I can ask Rhollyn, I’m sure he’d be happy to read to me.” He looked up at Rhollyn flashing him a faint smile to see him trying to hide his own behind an unamused look.

“Nonsense, you are locked in a cell and the only thing available to you is only the best source of knowledge and leisure in the world. You can’t pass it up. Besides, Maya likes it”

And how could he say no to that? Yet, something he could not explain, something deep inside him tightened, his teeth gnashing, tasting bitter. He swallowed it down and put it away for later. 

He schooled his face before he spoke again, fainting a smile. "I can't use the books in front of the day guard anyway." he said, trying to put an end to the conversation. 

"Maybe we could have books sent to you officially." Lyreah chirped. 

"No, that's too risky. It would reveal our connection." Adolin said, now actually alarmed instead of just deflecting. 

"Don't worry, I’m sure we can find someone in the ranks to arrange it." Lyreah said almost absentmindedly.

Adolin’s brain froze for a second. "What do you mean “within the ranks”? Like, some spren other than a caretaker? Do others know? How?"

“Surely some do; the spren talk, nothing to be done about that.” Ashera said solemnly. 

Adolin’s alarm turned into the makings of a panic, feeling his face drain and his breathing constricting. If word got out… if word got out…Gods, it would be all over for him, he would have—

“Hey, hey, look at me, it’s alright, They would never risk harming you. ” Ashera hastened to reassure, no doubt seeing his distress. “They don’t talk about you. They only talk about what is happening with the old spren and only to a few people but this story is so important to us, it’s impossible to contain.” 

Ok, maybe that wasn't so bad, but then… “Why then would they want to help me ?” he asked, trepidation unconcealed in his voice.

“Because, they correctly assume that you are responsible.” Deckton interjected almost coldly.

“Look, the official story is that the reason the old spren are acting differently is because they got justice.

You and I both know that is not true and so do all the spren that are not overcome by fear and hate.” Deckton explained calmly and nonchalantly. “And if it’s not because of justice, it must be because of you.”

“Do some spren think like that?” Adolin asked, something akin to treacherous hope threatening to bloom in his chest. 

“I’m sure many do, but few are brave enough to come poking around, looking for answers, usually desperate for a way to help. And when they do we don't hide that we too believe that you are responsible, but we never reveal our connection.”

“No one would risk exposing you but at the same time the spren won’t stop caring about your story and if it's spreading around, I for one don’t think that is a bad thing.” Ashera added unapologetically.

With that his worry turned to shame. Once again he had suspected the spren even though they have proved their loyalty over and over again. 

"Thank you" he whispered. 

“Our pleasure. We have to go now but we will return tomorrow with more stories for you and Maya. Don’t forget to think about our offer.” she pointedly tapped on the book, before getting up and making their way out the door.

Adolin watched them leave, his mind swimming with the new revelations and question he didn't want to ask himself nor answer.

But of course, he would do it for Maya.  

Chapter Text

Adolin had every intention of accepting the spren’s kind and generous offer, out of good manners if nothing else. The thought stirred up something unpleasant in his stomach every time but he dutifully ignored it for Maya's sake. His logical mind didn't have an easy answer for his own guttural reaction and he promised himself he would get to the bottom of it, he just didn’t think he would be able to think about anything over the roaring silence of the darkness that was waiting for him out of the corner of his eyes. And yet as the next day rolled around he could think of little else, the idea of reading filling him with rage and apprehension.

Turning it over and over in his head he tried to explain his feelings. Maybe it was because he didn’t need to, he spent all his life not needing to, as countless others before him. then again it would be useful in this situation.

Maybe it was because it wasn’t manly, but then he never really understood why it was ok for men to learn to read glyphs which was essentially the same thing in his mind. Besides, his father had learned to and no one could ever accuse Dalinar of not being manly.

Dalinar. Adolin felt a ramble, like a growl, rise in his chest at the thought of the man. The man he tried so hard to please, the man that he was ready to die for. The man who had caused them so much pain after being offered only love. The man who had betrayed them.

An icy chill ran over Adolin’s body not liking the ugliness of his thoughts.

Did he really despise his father so much?

He might not have forgiven him but he’d like to think it wasn’t out of spite or pettiness. He thought it was only fair since Dalinar never even bothered to apologize for it, too scared to face their wrath and their hurt. He hid away like a coward hoping by the time he showed his face everything would go back to normal.

The worst part was that infuriatingly it had worked, with Renarin at least.

Ugh, why did his brother have to be so sweet and understanding? He loved that about him but despite that he hoped that he’d put himself first for once and not offer his forgiveness like a forgone conclusion, especially to a man who already took it as such. And to think that depriving them of their mother was not even the worst thing Dalinar did to his little brother.

Adolin was perhaps the only other person who knew how much the constant rejection and indifference cut deep into his brother’s soul and had shaped his whole life and identity. Unlike with his warmongering though, Dalinar didn’t have anyone else to blame for that.

Almighty, did that make Adolin’s inside burn with the fires of damnation. Why was it always his little brother’s job to comfort and coddle his own father? Why couldn’t that full grown man put the needs of his youngest before his own mission, just for once?

Why would he though, that bitter voice supplied, when he never had to face, not actual blame, but not even as much as a cold shoulder.

That is why he’d made it his goal for the past year not to hide his feelings from his father. He was so done treating him like something fragile when the man treated everyone else with the subtlety of a chasmfiend. It was a habit he had formed during Dalinar’s drunken years, back when Adolin thought of his father as the victim instead of the perpetrator. Back when Dalinar was this high, unreachable ideal that could do no wrong, or so everyone had said. And he believed it damn it, he believed every word of it even as he witnessed his mother’s and brother’s mistreatment, he questioned himself instead of his father.

Even after Dalinar proved that he could be wrong, so wrong, on so many levels, still everyone followed without question, some even going as far as to regard him as some kind of deity.

Adolin wouldn’t do that, he would never follow blindly ever again.

A roaring laughter echoed in his head as the nagging voice returned.

Isn't that exactly what you did though? Isn’t that why you ended up here?

No matter all the excuses he told himself, he had come on this mission with every intent of proving himself to Dalinar. A hidden belief that if he succeeded on this mission he would earn his father’s respect as a separate individual instead of an idealistic, misled youth..

He still danced at the rhythm his father was drumming like a helpless child despite all his posturing.

His father’s words rang into his head “Do not let my failings drive you to rebel against what you know is right.”

And he wouldn’t, he had swore he wouldn’t. Even back then he didn’t disagree and doubly so today. He wouldn’t let his father hold him back from something like this and especially since Maya wanted it. 

If anything his father’s failings freed him, shattering the perfect façade and allowing him to openly seek his own path.

He always had his own mind and he was desperate to follow it. Adolin had reasoned back then that if he was true to himself and just followed his own path there would still be a lot of overlap. It didn’t make sense to let his feelings about his father steer his path. He wasn’t so bitter or so stupid. Well he might be a little bit of both but he least he tried not to be.

What had pissed him off then, and now, was the insinuation, the arrogant assumption, that the only possible reason he could have to disagree with his father’s sage words was because he was rebelling. Like no rational being could ever disagree with Dalinar and the only logical reason one would have to object would only be to to contradict him. 

And there it was, the seething knot, The idea that everyone, Dalinar included, accepted his father's judgment as impeccable and his word as law when Adolin knew better than anyone that it wasn't so.

His chest tightened at the thought. He loved his father, and in recent years he could say with certainty that he was a good man, but no man was god, no matter how good, and still Dalinar had the potential to be very wrong, only this time he could lead the whole world astray.

Just as the world came to see the wisdom in Dalinar’s action, Adolin was starting to learn the inverse. 

But no matter what, one way or another, he was still letting Dalinar define him.

He took a deep breath trying to clear his cluttered mind. He had no control over what Dalinar did or said and he had no control over how everyone else viewed him. The only thing he could control were his own actions and it was past time he'd taken full responsibility for them. 

He would learn to read for Maya and he would be proud of himself, no matter what the world or his own father thought of it. 

Chapter Text

Reading wasn’t really that hard just like the spren had promised. Between the mental drain and his lack of appetite though, Adolin had little energy to spare. It felt like a monumental task to even focus his eyes on the page, let alone remember what some triangles meant, but he did it anyway. It made him want to pull his nails out but he held his breath, sad still and concentrated. This was the only thing that he could do for Maya and he would be damned if he faltered. 

In a few short days Adolin was finally able to read, no matter how badly, on his own; so naturally, the first time he found himself alone in his cell, he looked for a short story he could read to Maya.

Despite the short length, Adolin still tripped over almost every word, having to reread whole sentences over and over again to make sense of what he was reading, like a toddler tripping over his first words as he finally stumbled to the end.

Heat flushed his cheeks at his miserable attempt. 

All the embarrassment was gone in an instance as he felt Maya happily rumble in his chest, the first positive emotion he ever felt from her. A soothing warmth radiated from his chest, spreading to every inch of him as he still felt Maya swirl inside him excitedly. 

Unbearable happiness and relief overwhelmed him, hitting him like a stormwall, knocking the breath out of his lungs. All he could do was curl up and bury his face in his pillow and try to muffle the relieved sobs that escaped and shook him violently.

The darkness didn’t leave but it slowly subsided and finally he could breathe even if a little shallowly. 

Maya’s improving spirits were like a cool shower over a burning landscape. It washed over them all, bringing more life and cheer to the small cell that it ever had before. There was this undercurrent of hope and excitement that no one dared recognize in fear of breaking the spell. Adolin felt it deep in his bone and saw it reflected back at him in the sprens’ faces.

The spren eagerly pushed him to eat and he couldn’t blame them, he looked horrible. His skin was pale and yellow, his bones jutted out at the joints, his muscles cramped and weakened. He needed to eat, he knew that, he wasn’t an idiot. So he did it even when he didn't feel like it, eating bland food, slowly with small bites, eating as often as he could. It was a long, unpleasant process but little by little he started to feel his strength returning.

With renewed confidence he returned to Maya’s garden to show her his progress and ease her worried mind. 

He stepped onto her now growing garden where timid vines were starting to climb up the ruins, little signs of life sprouting from everywhere in the long dead garden. 

Gone was the gloom and darkness. He looked around for his beloved spren but couldn’t find her at her usual spot. 

All manner of scenarios run through his head, each more terrible than the last when he felt a weight crush into him, nearly pushing him off balance. 

His mind froze in terror as he slowly turned his head to face this new challenge, only to be met by Maya’s cheerful face crushing him in a hug as she squirmed.

Adolin startled for a bit, his mind working overtime trying to catch up. He was not used to excited, playful displays from Maya, always appearing so measured and composed, and he desperately prayed that this wasn't a dream or a trick of some kind. 

His surprise and suspicion of course, didn't stop him from returning the excited hug. Even if this was a very nice dream or a terrible nightmare he would be damned if he ever discouraged Maya from expressing herself or her displays of affection. 

Real or not, he let himself get lost into the warm hug, pride and happiness blooming in his chest. It all came to a screeching halt when he felt a soft breath brushing his ear, carrying a delicate sound. 

“Adolin!” the small, sweet voice said and his breath caught in his lungs.

WIth wide eyes brimming with tears, he turned to her cupping her face in his hands. He wanted to ask her so much but he could only utter a few, unsure words. 

“Maya? Is it really you?”

“My prince.” She said, dazzling him with a wide smile he never dreamed he would see on her lips.

Void of conscious thought, like an animal, spurred on by feeling alone he picked her up in a tight hug twirling around, cooing in her ear.  “My spren, my beautiful spren.” he chanted over and over again like a prayer.

He breathed deeply as if for the first time in a very long time, feeling like his insides fell back in place making him whole again. Every feeling of sadness, of anxiety and pain were gone in an instant and he couldn't recall his troubles getting there even if he tried. 

Chapter Text

To say that the other spren were elated would be a gross understatement. This was especially true considering that along with Maya, the old spren were also showing signs of improvement. The smile was permanently etched into their wide-eyed faces as if in a perpetual state of disbelief of their good fortune. 

They’d trip over themselves to update him on the old spren and of all the new spren that kept showing up to ask about him. 

And they couldn’t get enough of talking to Maya. 

They would sit around him in a circle, taking turns to speak to her and Adolin would always be happy to play interpreter, especially considering how happy it made Maya to talk to the other spren. 

Whenever the spren weren't there, he would spend all his time with Maya in her garden that had now turned from a battleground to a safe haven, his home outside his cell. 

Everyday the garden was becoming more and more alive. Beautiful flowers now dared to bloom in brilliant colors and a subtle sweet smell permeated the air. Life had returned once again to the old garden. 

There, out in the open, surrounded by beauty, they would often sit together for hours, with Adolin reading her stories and Maya laughing every time he’d trip over a word.

More often than not, they would train together once again just like they had often done in Shadesmar. Maya followed him through the katas they both knew so well, only this time, Maya’s body was relaxed, her movements fluid and smooth, an unbearably soft smile on her lips every time their eyes met. 

Never in his life had he ever known such contentment and such peace

Never before did he know that such feelings were even possible.

In the midst of his misfortune and misery he felt like the luckiest man alive, as if a piece he didn’t know he was missing had returned to him, correcting an unknown injustice and healing the whole world by a fraction. 

…

Life in the small cell had acquired a peaceful rhythm Adolin has seldom experienced in his life.

He would spend all night in the delightful company of Maya, Rhollyn and the other spren until the shift changed. Then he’d sleep most of Garron’s shift away, and the rest would be spent with Maya in her garden.   

Everytime Adolin visited the garden something would be different. There would be a new marble bench under a tree somewhere, another pillar standing proud, a patterned tiled floor would become more intricate. 

Everything was overgrown, brimming with life, swallowed up by nature’s serene beauty.

Surrounded by that peace, Adolin was sprawled over a gleaming white bench, the newest addition to the garden, with Maya laying against his chest, taking a break from their practice session.

A practice session that turned from practicing katas into dance practice after an offhand comment from Maya about how she thought she used to like dancing.

Adolin reveled in the domesticity and beauty of that quiet moment and the last thing he ever wanted to do was break it. That’s why he cursed his brain for informing him that was the opportunity he was looking for to ask Maya the spren’s uncomfortable questions.

For days the spren had politely nudged him over and over again to ask Maya what she remembered about her past. They wanted to know about the war and old knight-Radiants, about what happened to those spren before and after the Recreance.

They were all good questions that he would also like to know the answers to but didn’t want to ask in fear of upsetting Maya by asking her to talk about her past. The spren were insistent though, no doubt hoping the answers would help to free him, so Adolin had compromised to ask those questions in person and at a more opportune moment.

Despite himself, he admitted that this moment was as good as it gets, so it was with a very heavy heart he broke the blissful quiet that had settled around them. 

“Hey gemheart, I want to ask you something but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Maya, with her eyes full of trust, turned to fully face him and spoke without a hint of hesitation. “Of course my prince, you know you can ask me anything, tell me anything…”

“Even if it upsets you?”

“You won't upset me.” she said easily, “I know you won't.”

Regret poked him again harder but he went on anyway.  “The spren wanted me to ask you, if you remember anything from the old war, from your old life…”

To his relief, Maya didn’t seem upset but rather thoughtful. She pondered the question for a few moments before answering softly. “Mmm, I don’t remember much… The earlier thing I can make out is pain. For a long, long time, there was only pain and loss and grief… But you know what I’m talking about.”

She lifted her eyes and gave him a sympathetic look. And he did know, he had a taste at least. He could still feel the darkness lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness and something deep inside him told him that it would always be there.  “I’m sorry Maya, I’m sorry you only remember that—”

“That is not all I remember.” she interrupted him. “True, that pain was the only thing for a long long time… but then there was you— Things were never the same after you first bonded me.” 

“After I first bonded you? Back when I was a kid?”

“You might have been a kid, but unlike everyone else who held me before you, you truly tried to bond with me, not just possess me.”

Adolin listened, eyes wide, not able to make any kind of noise.

You really opened up to me, let me see every piece of you… 

“Everything was still really confusing back then, my mind was a scrambled mess, but even if I had lost all sense of self, I was still drawn to a genuine bond like a flamespren to fire.” she smiled warmly again and Adolin was confident that he could feel his heart melt in his chest.   “I didn’t understand much back then, but with your warmth everyday I got better. It took years probably before I would comprehend what was actually happening, but even then, you were just as open to me as you had always been. You let me in and in time I couldn’t refuse you.”

At the sound of that Adolin choked, overwhelmed by emotions. His eyes brimmed with tears that felt soundlessly as a lump formed in his throat, cutting air to his lungs. 

“Don't cry, please don't cry.” Maya pleaded as she turned and looked at him.

“I’m not sad sweetie—” Adolin’s choked, husky voice reassured her. “I’m just so happy to have offered you a reprieve from your pain… and to find out that you felt the same way I did.”

Maya’s smile grew and her face brightened at that. She hid her face in his chest and squirmed around making happy, chirpy noises.

“I love you…” came her muffled response and all Adolin could do was hold her closer to his chest.

“No more crying though.” she said as she wiped his cheeks and wiggled out of his embrace, standing up, “I know what you need.” She said as she extended her hand to him expectantly. Adolin took it without any hesitation and was pulled to his feet. “And what is that?” Adolin asked with a playful smile.

Maya looked at him with a playful grin and wrapped herself inside their linked arms, tightly winding herself in his embrace before she answered.   “Dancing of course. It’s the best medicine for a wary heart.”

A smile split Adolin’s face as he extended his arm again, sending Maya into a graceful twist. “And you know how to dance after just a few lessons? I must be a very good teacher” he tried to jest but Maya pulled their linked hands close to her bringing them face to face before answering him seriously. 

“You are a good teacher, the best, but I didn’t need to learn how to dance silly, I’ve always known.” She said lightly, and as if to prove her point she moved her body in a smooth fluid motion that he had never seen before.

Adolin watched mesmerized for only a second before following her.

They moved in tandem without words, and soon enough a slow hum coming from everywhere seemed το swell in the rhythm of their dance completing the surreal experience. Adolin was lost, moving in it, feeling the whole garden pulsate in sync.

“You are such a wonder.  I’m so lucky to have you.” he whispered into her ear without even realizing it.

“But I don’t do the things that a real spren ia supposed to do…” she said in an unsure, regretful small voice.

Adolin couldn’t have that. He couldn't accept that she thought of herself in those terms. “You may not give me cool powers or make me immortal or whatever, but you are my spren in every way that counts. I don’t need you to give me anything in exchange, that’s not why I love you. I wish I could swear the oaths to you just so you know for sure I mean it, even if no one accepts them .”

She looked him in the eyes then with nothing but softness and sincerity “Oh, my darling Prince, you don’t need to swear anything to me. I’m more certain of your intention than I’m of my own existence. Besides, those Oaths don’t really apply to me, to us, not anymore ....”

“How do you mean?” Adolin looked at her with a puzzled expression but she was too lost in dance to realize. 

“Life before death….?” was all she asked without looking at him clearly expecting him to understand. When Adolin didn’t agree with her after a while she went on. 

“It’s a little hard to embrace life before death, after you’ve died, don’t you think?” she said easily as she fell into Adolin’s arms again. The sentiment tore through his heart a little bit but he swallowed it down before Maya could notice. 

“Ha, you are right. I guess it’s more like, ‘Life after Death’ now.” he said jokingly, trying to keep his voice and the conversation light.

“Oh, I love it. Life after Death.” she said as she gracefully extended her arm and fingers.

“And after that?” Adolin encouraged her, “Strength before weakness?”

“Strength is nothing but a naive lie for those who’ve never known true desperation and pain.” she said nonchalantly, completely absorbed by the movements of her limbs, not noticing how her words had cut deep into Adolin. 

“Yet here you stand, strong and proud before me.” He hastened to add, not liking Maya’s mood one bit.

“I guess you are right.” Maya admitted easily, Adolin’s comment having the desired effect of lifting her spirits. ”Let's say ‘Strength after weakness’ then.”

“Life after Death”, “Strength after weakness”..so then “Journey after destination?” would naturally follow, right?” Adolin pondered for a moment, “ But how does that even make sense? How do you get to start your journey after you’ve reached your destination?”

Maya’s movements became more mechanical, her eyes  drifting to the corner of her eyes  taking her time to give him a thoughtful response as Adolin watched, heart full of adoration for his incredible spren. 

“Oh, it’s quite simple—” she exclaimed after a while, “It’s just like us, like our bond. We were bonded before we even knew each other, but ever since you and I both fight everyday to be worthy of our bond”

It was Adolin’s turn to slow down to ponder her answer.  He worked over in his head reveling at the width and depth of Maya’s mind.

“Aaah, I see…” he exclaimed after a few moments as he twirled Maya around once more, “It's like, even though I know how to duel, I still have to train everyday in order to still be good at it.”

Maya seemed beyond delighted at the thought which never failed to make Adolin feel like a little kid.

“Exactly like that, it’s the journey you have to go everyday to keep what you already have.” she said with a twirl, springing back into motion.

“That’s quite beautiful my spren, almost as beautiful as you.” With that, Maya ran to him, arms wide open and jumped.

Adolin caught her by the waist and lifted her up in the air before setting her in front of him, fixing her with his eyes.

“Life after Death. Strength after weakness. Journey after destination.” Maya singsonged as she giggled and Adolin laughed with his heart seeing her so happy and carefree.

“If those are the oaths you like, I will swear them to you everyday my love.” Adolin said in all seriousness as he repeated the oaths back to her, feeling all the weight of them as if they were the real words. 

His heart swelled with love for his spren and he knew that no one's approval or validation could ever make their bond more real than it already was. 

Chapter Text

With his heart full and light as it’d been most days now, Adolin returned to the garden to spend the lonely hours of the day in his favorite company.

The past few days they had picked the habit of going around the garden and taking care of it, clearing it from dead plants, pruning the overgrown ones, and cleaning granite floors and tabletops. The garden looked better than ever, improving everyone’s mood with it.

He reached the garden but Maya did not wait to welcome him at their usual spot. He looked around for her but didn’t see her. He called out for her and waited but no answer came. He tried to temper the anxiety building in him as he started calling out her name again and again, searching through the now plush garden but he got no response.

Panic rising, he ran searching as all manner of dangerous thoughts ran through his head. All the worst scenarios played on loop in his mind, his vision blurred with tears. Did their bond finally break, did she leave, was she mad at him, was she hurt, was she lost? Would he ever get to see her again?

The intrusive, loud thoughts clouded his mind and he almost didn’t hear the soft sounds coming behind a moss covered wall. But he did hear it and his feet didn’t need further instruction to run towards the sound. He rounded the wall only to find Maya curled up in a ball, softly weeping. He called out her name, falling to his knees in front of her but she didn’t look up at him.

“My gemheart, what’s wrong?” he questioned as he gently nudged her to look at him with a finger on her jaw.  There was regret in her eyes, guilt, as if betraying a secret but Adolin encouraged her by stroking her cheek.

“It hurts.” she barely whispered, eyes looking down and away from Adolin. The dam broke at the admission and she hid her face in his chest as she broke down and sobbed. 

He swallowed down the guilt, put it away for later to be there for Maya. “Where does it hurt my love?” he managed to croak out.

It took more coaxing and encouragement before she reluctantly untwined herself, stood up and took his hand without a word.

Adolin followed without question as she led him solemnly through the ruins of her garden to the edge. There he could see again the confusing landscape he had traversed to get there. The garden stood high, on top of a complex mesh of roots, so tightly bound they looked almost like solid stone that made up the mountain, the foundation upon which the garden stood. Far below was the sea of beads that surrounded it from all sides, and the wails of the old spren were again audible and horrifying. Huge waves of beads rose and fell with force, violently crushing  against it and on each other. 

Looking down in the distance, Adolin could see scores of creatures with dark, peculiar shapes, their forms not solid, everchanging, like shadows. Limbs jutting out, they moved erratically, almost manically, hacking away at the foundations and feasting on them. 

It made for a terrible, foreboding sight and he felt his fingers go numb with the feeling. He embraced her once again, comforting her and himself as well before gently asking. “What’s happening? What are those things, are they spren?”

“I don’t think so, I think they are manifestations of some force but I don’t know … It’s been so long … the rules have changed when we died— I don’t remember.” she managed before breaking down ashamed. 

He looked to the creatures then back at Maya  and felt her  flinch at every gash. He understood then that  she could feel every slash of the sword those creatures delivered. Everything around him was an expression of her, not just the spren standing before him, her garden was as much a part of her as her spren form was.

“Why are they attacking you?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t think it's just me they are attacking— “ Maya stopped herself abruptly, reluctant to finish her thought but Adolin patiently waited for her to gather her nerve. “I think it’s our bond. I think they want to destroy it, or make it their own. I don’t know how to stop them.” she managed to say before the tears came back full force and she hid her face in his chest again.

Adolin listened with dread, blood rushing through his ears. Things had been going so well for some time now, he hadn’t worried about their bond. It couldn’t be, he had tried so hard, suffered so much to get to this point, it couldn’t be that it was all for not, that their bond would break anyway on its own. So what if this was the natural order of things, what if their bond was unnatural, what if they were forcefully separated.

Gnashing his teeth, an obstinate determination settled in his chest. 

He wouldn’t let that happen, he couldn't. Maya was his only comfort. The spren were great, fantastic even, but they didn’t give him the will to continue like his spren did. If he lost her he didn’t think he could survive much longer in this cell but worse than that, much worse, was what would happen to Maya. More than likely she would die again, go back to being another mindless body, her mind locked away in pure agony.

His pulse rose at the thought, thumping in his neck, in his ears. His mussels electrified and went numb with cold intent. There was nothing he wasn’t willing to do, nothing he wasn’t willing to sacrifice  to stop that from happening.

“Don’t worry love, I will protect our bond, no matter what. I  will fight nature itself if I need to." He felt his frantic heart quiet, a stormy calm and determination taking over him as he turned from Maya back to the creatures and started making his way down the ledge.

He barely managed two steps before Maya grabbed him tightly by the arm. “My prince, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I told you, I will do what I have to in order to protect you and our bond.”

Maya came by his side as he talked and wrapped herself around his arm, her lips trembling.“No my prince, please don’t go. We don’t know what they are, what they can do to you. I don’t want you to get hurt. Not for me." she pleaded desperately.

“I don’t care about that. Those things are attacking you so I’m going to fight back. We make our own way in life and  I'll be damned if mine doesn't have you in it.”

Maya seemed animated at that, rushing to give her objection. “And what about what I want? what if I don’t want to see you hurt not for me or because of me? Doesn't my choice matter?”

Adolin turned to her to find her pleading face and cupped her face lovingly. “You can choose to tell me that, to try and convince me but you can not choose what is more important to me. 

“Please don’t go down there. I’d much rather  die again than hurt you.” Maya implored, practically crying out.

Before he could even think he was already burying the upset spren in his arms. “Oh my love, don't you worry about me, I’ll be careful, for you if nothing else. But havent you understood yet that you are my life here? My lifeline? Protecting you and our bond is the same as protecting myself.”

Maya lifted her face from his shirt, sniffling and whipping imaginary tears from her non-existent eyes , her lips pressed in a tight line full of resolve. 

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Adolin repeated unsurely. 

Maya nodded in agreement but didn’t stop there.

“If you are really going to fight, you will need a sword.” and with that she took a step back and looked at Adolin intentionally.

“What are you doing?” he didn’t even manage to say before he saw Maya’s image change and blur, a mist rising from all around her, enveloping her. 

Panic took over all of Adolin’s senses for a long second as Maya was swallowed into the mist. 

His panic was about to turn into a full on freak out before the mist started to clear and something glinted from behind it. 

He blinked his eyes  again and again to make sure he was seeing right. Pure relief and nostalgia overwhelmed him as he recognised the old familiar, beloved blade planted there. 

His breath hitched as he darted forward, clasping it in his hands and he squeezed the hilt tightly, falling into windstance on instinct.

The old familiar feeling of strength and security she always brought to him covered him like a blanket and the love he held for her swell in his chest. 

“Are you ready?” he whispered to her and felt her vibe back in affirmation.

He made his long way down the steep incline, taking a better look of what he was up against. 

The peculiar creatures, if he could call them that, were even more strange up close, their forms not uniform or even constant. They seemed ever changing, as if with the mood or on a whim, not adhering to any human, animal or even spren conventional appearance.

He had no idea what those things were or even what they represented, but from his short observation he got the impression that their forms were controlled by some kind of raw emotion that was subject to change from one moment to the next. 

Maybe he should have found that more disconcerting but is a weird way it eased his fears. 

The creatures seemed and felt as lost as he was, if not more. 

He let his heart pang for a short moment for them before raising his sword in  a flamestance. 

The creatures didn’t seem to take notice of him, all too fixated on their purpose, but as Adolin started cutting them down, their forms disappearing, more and more started taking notice and redirecting their anger and violent energy towards him. 

Despite their manic intensity and hyper-fixation on him, his opponents weren’t armed or skilled in any kind of combat and Adolin didn’t see them as real threat. 

He quickly fell back into a familiar rhythm, swinging his sword wide, his limbs twisting freely with the flow of the swing. 

A rush of nostalgia swell in him and for a moment he was back to his old life as if the past year hadn't happened. 

The only worrisome thing was their numbers, especially as more and more creatures took notice of him and started to swarm from everywhere below him, trampling each other, knocking each other down to the sea in an effort to get to him. 

He felt his forehead cool with worried sweat as he recognized the very real possibility that despite having the high ground he wasn't safe from being surrounded and overwhelmed or getting too exhausted to retreat all the way uphill. 

In that moment he desperately wished for a few more shardbearers to help him out and keep the line. No sooner did Adolin make this foolhardy wish than Maya buzzed in his hands and through his body reassuringly. He smiled back at his brave , thoughtful spren and thought nothing more of it when.... 

He noticed shard-bearers in a too familiar painted blue shardplate, holding a too familiar sword all along the twisted roots, holding back the line. His mind blanched at the baffling sight, but even more baffling was the fact that deep down he knew what was happening without ever being told. 

The ironclad knights were representations of himself, his spirit, expressions of himself across this plane of existence.  He suddenly got the impression, this feeling that he could just jump from one iteration to the next. Before he could think it or comprehend it, he was opening his eyes  in another body down the line, mechanically swinging Maya in all too familiar motions.

With that reassurance, he lost himself in battle, giving everything to protect his spren.

Chapter Text

Adolin's eyes fluttered open, the world around him blurry and unfamiliar. His head throbbed mercilessly, his throat dry as a desert. With a groan, he tried to remember what had happened. 

The memory of Maya crying and the relentless battle with the formless beings flooded his mind, but how he ended up here eluded him. The anxious spren hovering around him only added to his confusion, their concerned whispers grating on his nerves. 

Adolin tried not to show it, he didn't want to worry his friends again. With a great effort, he forced himself to sit up, ignoring the pounding in his head. He put on his most reassuring face, hoping to convince himself and his companions that everything was fine.

His muscles screamed in protest as he struggled to push himself upright, his face a mask of stoicism. He attempted to greet his companions with his silkiest voice, but his throat was too parched and his voice cracked. 

"Can I have some water?" he asked, feigning surprise at his own discomfort. He tried to show that he was in control, pushing past the glares and impatient questions. Ashera saw through his facade, however, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. 

"What is wrong?" she demanded. Adolin shook his head, insisting that he was fine but as he raised his voice, the pain in his head intensified. Ashera wouldn't let it go, her frustration boiling over. 

"You are not fine," she spat. "You've been sleeping for a day and a half." 

Oh, he didn't know that. It would be much harder to throw them off but he still tried. "I told you I'm fine, I was just tired.”

"Well, we didn't know that. We tried to wake you up but you wouldn't.”

"I'm sorry I worried you again but you can relax now, everything's alright.” Adolin tried once more to reassure, sneaking a glance around the room to see how convincing he was, not very convincing it seemed, when he noticed a curious absence. Desperate to steer the focus away from himself he asked."Where is Decton?”

It was an innocuous question and the last thing he expected to see was the spren shifting uncomfortably casting guilty glances on each other. He sat up straighter ready to ask more questions, a sense of dread slowly starting to build.

“We told you we were worried about you. We had to do something.” Lyreah said unsurely but with a hint of accusation in her voice.

“Something? Something like what?” Adolin dared to ask even though he could tell he wouldn’t like the answer.

“We’ve had a plan for a while now for such an occasion.” Rhollyn finally spoke up. 

"A plan, what plan? What occasion?” Adolin asked, voice kind of frantic, looking around at the three remaining spren.

"A plan for when things got worse, for when you needed help we couldn’t provide.” Ashera said coldly, not looking apologetic like the rest but that didn’t settle Adolin’s worries. 

"I told you l'm fine, it's not..... And what did this plan entail if I may ask, and what does it have to do with Decton?” he demanded.

Ashera’s stoney expression turned almost mournful as she sat down in front of him.

“The plan was to get a message to your family to ask for help. And the only way to do that was to send a messenger to Roshar.”

"And Decton is that messenger? No, that's too dangerous for any one spren to traverse Shadesmar on their own. Please tell me you haven't gone through with it yet, don't do it, it's not worth it.” he pleaded, although he knew deep down that it was too late for that. 

“First of all it is worth it, you and Maya are worth it. Second, we are all aware of the risks, we have taken it all into account. And lastly it is already done, Decton has already left.“ 

Adolin wanted so desperately to protest, to plead, to make them understand he didn’t want any harm to come to them but his spiraling thoughts were interrupted when Ashera continued.

“We know you are worried and feel responsible, but you have to understand that this was his decision to make. He understood the risks and he chose to go through with it anyway.“ she said in a calm, steady voice that left no room for argument. 

Adolin looked up defeated, pleading. It was his own fault for ending up in this situation so it was fine if he got hurt but he didn't want others to get hurt because of him. As he looked up in Ashera’s stern face though, he knew better than to argue more. 

Feeling deflated and maybe a little bit relieved it was out of his hands, he let out an exhale and leaned back against the cell’s wall, trying to calm down.

Ashera's face betrayed a hint of satisfaction as he resigned, yet her tone was softer, kinder than he expected. "So, how are you really feeling? Do you need anything?" she asked, her eyes scanning his face for any signs of discomfort. 

His first instinct was to brush her off, to deny her the satisfaction of knowing that he had lied in the first place, but he fought against the urge to be stubborn. He knew he needed to overcome these knee-jerk reactions. "I have a headache," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Ashera's voice was like a soothing balm. "I will prepare the draft," she said gently. "Anything else?"

He hesitated for a moment before finally admitting, "And my muscles are sore." As soon as the words left his mouth, a wave of familiar helplessness, shame, and guilt washed over him, but he pushed those feelings aside. He knew it was unfair to the spren that wanted to help him and who never complained about any of it.

Before he knew it, the draft was ready, and Ashera applied the salve all over his skin. He felt the tension in his muscles slowly begin to dissipate, and a sense of relief washed over him.

The spren pulled their chairs up to his bedside, their faces etched with concern. Adolin knew that this was far from over. "So..." they asked expectantly.

"So," he echoed.

"Are you going to tell us what happened and why you woke up like this?"

He hesitated, not wanting to worry the spren any more than they already were. But he knew he couldn't lie to them either. With a deep breath, he began to recount the events of the night before. "There were these things," he began, "strange looking creatures. They were trying to climb up to the garden and attacking its foundation. It was hurting Maya, so I had to fight them."

All three spren perked up, ready to voice their objections and concerns, but Adolin beat them to it. "It wasn't dangerous," he reassured them. "They couldn't really fight. They didn't hurt me, they couldn't. I'm just sore because there were just a lot of them."

"What things? What did they look like?" they asked, their curiosity piqued.

"They were strange, like shadows. Their forms black and solid but not stable. Sometimes they looked like humans, others like animals and others like nothing at all..." he trailed off, waiting for the spren to offer some insight.

"That is disconcerting but not surprising," they said. "Considering you and Maya meet somewhere between the Cognitive and the Spiritual Realm, those things could be representations of any number of things."

"Maya said that it wasn't her they were attacking but the bond between us. Is that possible?" Adolin asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"Well, we don’t know much about bonds as you know, but it makes sense that in the spiritual realm your bond would be a tangible thing much like everything else." Ashera sad, deep in thought, "but if, like we believed before, your bond is deteriorating, it would make sense that the process is represented in the Spiritual Realm in some way." 

"That would mean, that despite how close you two have gotten in the meantime, it wasn't enough to keep the both of you safe." Lyreah added, looking around for confirmation that she seemed to get from the other spren. 

Adolin wasn’t pleased by this explanation but at the same time he was not deterred either. 

“But if I can fight them, maybe it also means that I can slow down the process, maybe even halt it.” he interjected, voice full of determination. 

"Possibly, but continuing to fight there means that you will continue to get worse here. Your health will keep deteriorating." Rhollyn said what everyone didn’t want to hear, his words hanging heavy in the air.

The spren looked at each other, and Adolin felt the weight of their gazes. He knew something was amiss, but he didn't dare ask. Not until Rhollyn spoke up.

"We also had another plan… well more of an idea, but now it’s possible" Rhollyn said timidly, almost like a question.

"What is it?" Adolin asked, voice heavy with resignation.

Rhollyn exchanged a look with the others, and Adolin could tell they were hesitant to share. But then, with a heavy sigh, Rhollyn spoke.

"It involves letting some spren know about our connection, about you and Maya," he said, his expression pained.

Adolin's fear intensified. If word got out, he knew he and Maya would be in grave danger but more than that it would endanger his friends. Before he could voice his protests, Ashera stepped in.

"Before you object, these spren approached us on their own," she said, her tone urgent. "They want to help. And we can't afford to do nothing. Decton will need at least 30 days to get to Roshar, and who knows how much longer it will take for help to arrive."

Lyreah nodded solemnly. "There is really no other way. None that we know of, anyway."

Adolin took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. "So, what's the plan then?" he asked.

"The spren that approached us were those responsible for guarding Maya’s cell…”

Adolin’s eyes  widened in surprise but he dared not speak, or let hope flatter in his chest before Ashera had finished her thought.

“The idea is that with their help we can sneak her out of her cell and bring her here. We are hoping that an encounter, even a brief one, could ease the strain on your bond and maybe  hold  back on those beings you are fighting.” Ashera explained coolly.  

Adolin barely heard the end of the plan as his heart pounded in his ears at the prospect of seeing his spren again. Letting others know of his connection and the caretakers’ visits was very risky but the idea of seeing Maya again, even for a moment, was too much to resist.

"When do we do this?" he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Soon.." Rhollyn said, his voice steady. "We've already worked out most of the details of the plan, now all we need to do is get the other spren in on the plan as well."

Adolin nodded, feeling his body thrumming with excitement. He would see Maya once more.

Chapter Text

Each passing day made the truth harder to ignore. The spren had been right to worry.

His opponents weren’t skilled, not really. Their strikes were wild, uncoordinated, easy enough to deflect. But there were always more of them. One after another, they kept coming, and what they lacked in technique, they made up for in numbers and persistence.

Adolin held his ground. He always did. But the effort left him drained. Even when he walked away without a scratch, his hands would shake, and his breath would come short. The fights stretched longer than they should have, every bout leaving him with less in reserve than the one before.

He told himself it was manageable. That he could handle it. But part of him knew he was being whittled down, piece by piece.

And there was only so much left to give.

But deep down, he knew: he was running out of time.

His body had never fully recovered from his previous trials, having managed to gain back only a fraction of the weight he had lost. Now, once again, he found himself struggling to keep enough food down to even maintain his weight. Even on days he didn't fight he was exhausted, but he couldn’t give himself enough of a restbite, not when Maya was under attack and in pain.

The spren naturally protested every time he went back to fight despite knowing that they would not deter Adolin, and
so they doubled their efforts to prepare their plan.

* * *

The plan, as it turned out, was simple.
The spren had already found a cultivation spren—one close enough in form to pass as Maya, at least to anyone not paying close attention. With the caretakers’ help, they’d make the switch. Maya would take her place for a few precious hours, then slip back before dawn.

It wasn’t complicated. And in Adolin’s experience, that usually meant it had a fighting chance. No moving pieces, no clever distractions. Just time. A handful of hours to be near her again. To hold on a little tighter. Maybe that would be enough—to steady the bond, even a little. Or if not, then at least to buy them time. And right now, that was worth everything.

***

It hadn’t taken long—not really. Just over a fortnight for his friends to arrange everything, for the caretakers and the impostor spren to be prepped, for all the pieces to quietly fall into place.

But to Adolin, the days had dragged like years. Every hour was a weight. Every night without Maya pressed down on him like a hand to the chest. And in spite of all his own advice, in spite of every instinct trained to anticipate the worst, he couldn’t stop the hope from blooming.

He tried. Storms, he tried. But hope was persistent. Quietly ravenous. It made the ache of separation sharper, more personal—no longer a wound he could ignore but something deeper, almost physical. A wrong that begged to be made right.

By the time the night came, he was already raw.

Adolin paced the length of his cell, boots scuffing against the stone in a rhythm that didn’t settle his nerves. Rhollyn sat nearby, silent, watchful, refusing to interrupt. Hours passed like this. Ashera had stopped by well after midnight to confirm everything was in motion. The final piece was set. The exchange had begun.

And still he couldn’t stop moving.

The dream of seeing Maya again—of truly seeing her, in the flesh, not in memory or vision—had died in him long ago. He’d buried it. Grieved it. Let it go. That had been the only way forward.

He’d told himself that finding her in his mind was enough. That holding her there—fighting for her there—was a gift, a mercy he didn’t deserve. And maybe it was.

But here he was now, waiting for the impossible. Waiting for her.

His nerves were strung so tight they ached. Every second stretched thinner than the last. The closer the moment drew, the more certain he became that it wouldn’t happen. That something—anything—would go wrong. That this last sliver of hope would be snatched away like all the others.

So when the knock finally came, low and deliberate, the sound slammed into his chest like a hammer. He froze, breath caught in his throat, and for a terrifying instant he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

He didn’t know what would break him more—that she wasn’t behind the door… or that she was.

The door creaked open, painfully slow. Adolin stared, heart pounding, a breath locked between his ribs. And then—

Ashera stepped through first, smiling. Behind her stood a handful of unfamiliar spren, somber-faced and still. Maya’s guards, maybe. He wasn’t sure. His mind was slow to catch up, trying to piece together what wasn’t wrong.

No shouting. No alarms. No last-minute betrayal. The plan had gone through. The plan had actually worked.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Every muscle in his body had locked tight the moment the door creaked open. Hope and fear twisted together in his chest until he couldn’t tell one from the other. Ashera stepped aside. And there—half-hidden behind her, hunched, motionless—stood a figure. Small. Slumped. Familiar.

His breath caught. The world around him narrowed, went quiet, as if the cell had been drawn inward to a single point. Gray-brown skin. Thorny hair. Tattered robes, worn with time and weight. He raised a shaking hand, reached out. His fingers hovered in the air for a moment before brushing against her cheek. The skin felt cool, almost brittle. He gently tilted her face upward.

And she looked at him. But the eyes that met his were flat. Cautious. Empty. His stomach sank. His hand dropped away.

"...It’s not her,” he whispered.

The silence in the room cracked.

“What?” someone asked—Rhollyn, maybe, or Lyreah.

Adolin couldn’t tell. Couldn’t look away.

“It’s not her,” he said again, quieter this time, the words pulled from the hollow space in his chest. “It’s not Maya.”

The cell erupted—questions flying from every side, voices overlapping, footsteps shifting—but Adolin didn’t hear any of it.

He was staring at the stranger in Maya’s skin, and all he could feel was the aching space where Maya should have been.

He staggered back, his hand dropping from the imposter’s cheek. The weight of the moment crushed down on him, and for a breathless instant, everything tilted—like the world had slipped out from under him.

His thoughts reeled. Panic clawed up his throat. Maya? he called out in his mind, desperate, grasping. Where are you?

“I’m here, my prince,” came her voice, soft and unsure. “I’m waiting for your friends.”

Something in his chest pulled tight. Where is ‘here’?

“Where I always am.”

Tell me what you see.

A pause. Then: “Nothing, my prince. It’s all dark… like always.”

The last word hadn’t even finished echoing when the door slammed open.

Adolin spun toward the sound, dread already rushing in to fill the space hope had just abandoned. Three figures burst through the doorway, shrieking as they crossed the threshold. Behind them, a voice called out, smug and unmistakable.

“Here they are. All of them, just like I told you.”

Garron stood in the hall. His expression was unreadable—hard and distant. And beside him, dressed in his pristine robes, was Sekeir. The smile on his lips was thin, practiced, cruel.

Behind them stood soldiers. Dozens of them. Spears and blades at the ready, eyes alight with Stormlight.

“Just as I said. Traitors, all of them. Colluding with the enemy. Undermining justice,” Garron declared.

“Arrest them.” Sekeir commanded flick of his fingers.

The room erupted.

Shouts broke out from every side as weapons were drawn, voices raised. Adolin moved to reach for Rhollyn but didn’t get far—rough hands grabbed him from behind, sharp and practiced. He twisted, tried to fight back, but they held fast, dragging him to the floor like dead weight.

His friends had no chance. Lyreah stood frozen, disbelief carved into her face. Rhollyn was yelling something—rage or warning, Adolin couldn’t tell through the noise. And Ashera... Ashera didn’t move. She stood rooted where she was, fury and sorrow chasing each other across her features.

Adolin’s heart pounded as the weight of it all crashed down. They’d been betrayed. Caught. And Maya—Maya was still out there, alone in the dark. He was being torn away from her again.

He barely registered the chaos around him. Voices blurred. Shapes moved. His vision tunneled until all he could feel was the sickening pull of panic. It swelled in his chest, ready to break him—But fury got there first.

He wrenched himself upright in the guards’ grip, teeth clenched, eyes blazing. “Where is she?” he spat.

They turned to look at him—Sekeir, Garron, the guards, the soldiers—but he didn’t wait for a reply.

“You monster,” Adolin snarled. “What did you do to her? Where is Maya?” His voice cracked under the strain. “Where is my spren?”

"Is this your excuse, your subversion? Not bad, human, but you will not trick anyone with your treachery, your poison tongue, we have figured you out by now and no one will fall for it. You only succeed in proving how duplicitous humans are.”

“That’s not her and you know it, what did you do to her?” Adolin almost pleaded.

“So much for your deep devotion I see, human. You would go as far as to deny her when she is standing right in front of you? You deserve nothing from us, and shall receive nothing.” Sekeir said chin raised, speaking more to the soldiers than to Adolin

“You on the other hand…” Sekeir turned to Garron. “You deserve anything you want, your loyalty has served us greatly.” A slimy smile spread on his lips as he put his hand on the day guard's shoulder.
“You know what it is I want.” Garron said sternly.
“Of course, and you shall have it along with anything else you desire.”

Sekeir turned to the other guards
"Take these traitors and throw them in the deepest cells.”He ordered, contempt lacing his voice.

At that the faces of his friends turned ashen and panic overtook Adolin, his vision tunneling, Maya softly whimpering in his ear. This couldn't be, it couldn't be that this would be the way the spren's countless and generous efforts would be rewarded. He couldn't accept that this was all because of him.
In the breath of just a few seconds his blind panic turned to cold fury quieting everything inside him.

"You can't do that. You won't do that. You can't make them disappear. Others will notice, others will care. You won't get away with this. You can do whatever you want to me but leave them alone.” He spat with vitriol, trying to conceal his desperation and worry, trying to do anything that would help spare his friends. Sekeir turned back to him and his blank, unworried face drained away all of Adolin’s hopes.

“They are traitors to their kind and I’ll make sure every spren knows that. They deserve whatever comes to them. But if you feel it’s unfair maybe you can tell me what punishment you reserve for treason up in the material world and if it’s more mild I’ll consider lessening their sentence." His voice was calm and cold, a wicked grin splitting his face.

Adolin kept his mouth shut as a shiver ran down his spine, picturing Sekeir and his cronies digging daggers into his friends, trying to drain the life out of them.

At his silence Sekeir continued. “As for your punishment, you deserve the worst we have to offer and no one here will cry for you. Yet, since you are already locked in a cell, sadly there isn’t much worse I can do for you except make sure that this time you suffer all the extent of your sentence. That is why I will be transferring you to a cell in my own quarters where Garron will be keeping an eye on you the whole time.”

The hood came down before Sekeir even finished speaking. Rough hands grabbed him—too many to fight—dragging him out of the cell like a sack of grain. The world vanished. One blink and it was gone.

Stone underfoot. Shouts behind him. The press of bodies. Then silence, save for the steady slap of boots on stone.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All he could see was Maya—alone, still waiting in the dark, still trusting that help was coming. And now he was gone.

Gone, and so were the others.Rhollyn’s voice, shouting his name. Lyreah’s face, stricken. Ashera, frozen in place, too stunned to speak. They were being taken too. Because of him.

It hit him all at once—sharp and suffocating. They had trusted him. Followed him. And now they were paying for it.

And Maya…

Storms. What if this broke the bond? What if this was the moment she slipped away for good? The panic rose too fast to hold back. His breath stuttered, shame bleeding into terror. He had failed them all—his friends, his spren, himself.

And there was nothing he could do but stumble forward in the dark.

Chapter Text

Adolin was dragged through the corridors and thrown him into his new cell. It wasn’t much different from the old one—a mattress without a frame in the corner, a walled-off space for privacy, a barrel of water that looked barely clean. Smaller, maybe. Less kempt for sure. But what struck him most wasn’t what the cell had. It was what it didn’t.

No books. No razor. No cologne or soft sheet. No spicy sauce. Every small comfort his friends had brought him—gone. The reminder hit hard, sharp and unrelenting, tightening in his chest like a fist. Rhollyn, Lyreah, Ashera... their kindness had only brought them suffering.

His heart ached. Maya’s presence brushed against his mind, light and careful, like the touch of a hand reaching out in the dark. She was trying to soothe him, to remind him he wasn’t alone. And for a fleeting moment, a defiant thought bloomed—sharp, almost gleeful in its spite.

They could strip him of everything. But they couldn’t take her. No matter what cruelty the spren might conjure, he still had Maya. Still had something to fight for.

He closed his eyes in the cell. When he opened them again, he stood in her garden, Shardplate glinting across his shoulders. His hands curled into fists. He was ready.

Maya was there in an instant, rushing to him, arms wrapping tight around his chest. She clung to him, wordless, desperate to comfort. But he pulled back, jaw tight, eyes already turning toward the edge of the garden.

“I need to fight.”

She protested—softly at first, then more firmly. This wasn’t the time. He was weakened, still recovering. He needed to preserve his strength. But he wouldn’t listen. He stepped past her, toward the boundary, and looked down. The shapes were still there, writhing and faceless, clawing upward through the roots of their bond. Always there. Always waiting.

Maya called out one last time. Then she gave in—not in surrender, but in understanding. Her form shimmered. Crystallized. And a moment later, she was a sword in his hands.

***

After the last of the shadows dissolved into smoke, Adolin dropped to his knees, breath ragged, arms shaking from the strain. The garden around him was quiet again—bruised but holding. 

Adolin sat with his back against a tree, the weight of his armor gone but the heaviness in his chest lingering. Maya knelt beside him, fingers ghosting over the bruises on his hands. Neither spoke at first. The garden was quiet, unnaturally so, as if it too was catching its breath.
“That was too much,” she said at last, voice soft and uneven. He didn’t respond. Just stared down at the dirt smudged into his palms. 

“If I hadn’t—” he began, but the words crumbled. He didn’t know how to finish them. That he’d failed? That he’d been reckless? That he hadn’t cared what happened to him, only that they couldn’t take her? Maya leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. “You scare me when you fight like that,” she whispered. “You throw yourself away.”

He swallowed hard, eyes closing. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Her fingers tightened around his.

“Be here for me.” She pleaded. 

He nodded, but the ache didn’t ease. All he could feel was the echo of the cell door slamming shut, the betrayal in Garron’s eyes, the silence where his friends used to be. He was still here. But somehow, it felt like pieces of him were already gone.

Adolin woke up in his cell after his fight feeling battered and bruised all over. Every little move hurt and he couldn't find a comfortable enough position to rest. His mind was flashing inside his head, red with pain, but his burning in his heart had quieted down, the fight having squelched it for the time being. His eyes still closed, he reached for some water from the barrel to wash his face but all the muscles protested the move and he couldn’t hold back a tired groan.

His heart and everything else about him stopped as a hearty laugh from the door caught him off guard. 

“You know, when I asked for this post, I knew that watching you suffer would be rewarding, but I never imagined just how rewarding it would be.” Garron gloated through the bars of the door. 

“But Isn’t your job the same as before?” Adolin said in a mocking tone.

“In theory yes, but it wasn’t as satisfying before. Of course I didn’t know about your little helpers tripping over each other to make things easier for you. Your true sentence starts now and I’ll be here all the time to make damn sure that you pay it in full.”

“You know, I don’t get you. I can understand wanting me to suffer, but asking for this post, aren’t you making yourself as much of a prisoner as I am?”

“I might be tied up here, but you still fail to realize how enjoyable and rewarding this is for me. Besides, it’s not for long, it’s only until you die. A human’s lifespan is almost nothing to a spren.” Garron said dispassionately, sending shivers down Adolin’s spine.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?” Adolin asked in disbelief and exasperation.

“Maybe it’s worth it for me, have you thought about that? Maybe watching you pay for your sins is more important than anything else going on out there.” the guard said spitefully, any kind of joviality he had before completely gone. 

Adolin was taken aback by the sudden change in mood but was also overcome by a sense of injustice and hurt.

“Do you really hate me this much? What did I ever do to you?” he demanded like a petulant child. 

At that Garron growled through his clenched teeth. The animosity took Adolin by surprise and made unsure so he kept his mouth shut.

“Could it be that even after all this time, you have never once considered that you might have wronged me in some way. Has it never crossed your mind what the consequences of your actions might have been? Who could have gotten hurt because of you and the reason you are in this cell in the first place?”

“You ask if I don’t have anything better to do. I did. I had a family, I had two sons but they are now dead because of you.”

Adolin felt his insides freeze as if doused with ice water and his stomach dropped at the thought that he could be responsible for the death of two spren, for the death of the children of the man standing before him and staring him down spouting condemnations of the worst kind. What could he ever say to defend himself to a grieving father, should he even try? But first he had to understand what had happened and how he was to blame. 

“How… What happened to them?” he asked in a small voice, dreading to hear the answer …and how was it my fault? He didn’t dare say.

“Your obliviousness is almost insulting. You’ve been in this cell for months now and you still haven’t worked it out.” the guard's voice was dripping with bile, his face expression crazed. “What happened?! YOU happened. You showed up at our doorstep and we made the grave mistake of letting you in.”

The stone that was crushing Adolin’s heart eased up a little, whatever he supposedly did hadn’t actually killed any spren as far as he knew, but then again being locked up he couldn’t know everything so he kept his mouth shut lest he managed to add insult to injury. 

“They listened to your pretty words, they believed your lies and they left the only life and home they’ve ever known to fight in a war.” 

Was that it? It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel any guilt over dragging innocent spren into the misery of war, but his guilt was relieved by his deep belief that the humans wouldn't betray the spren again, not after last time. It was a burden he had long concluded he was willing to live with. 

“Look, you can hate me all you want for that but I didn’t lie. You have to understand that I’m fully convinced that your sons will come back safe and triumphant. I would never let anyone risk their lives for us without being fully aware of the risk they would be taking.”

Garron was unsurprisingly not comforted by this sentiment. 

“You have too much faith in the human scum. I don’t know if it’s out of naivete or willful ignorance but it doesn’t make you any less responsible for the outcome and I’m here to make sure you suffer sufficiently for it.”

“You know, in Roshar it’s considered bad luck to mourn for those who are not yet dead.”

“They are as good as dead, and I will honor them by making you repent and suffer.” 

Adolin knew a lost fight when he saw one and he recognized there would be no changing this man’s opinion. He tried not to let his thoughts linger on the fact that this hostile spren would be his sole company for the next many years of his life. 

He left behind his crummy cell and once again stepped into the beautiful garden to hug his sweet spren, the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity and giving him a reason to live. There he had a faithful companion, he had air to breathe and room to move but more importantly, there he had a purpose, a function. It was up to him to protect Maya and make her better and he would do anything in his power to fulfill his role.

Chapter Text

Once again, loud banging on the metal door ripped him from Maya’s garden, accompanied by the angry, baritone voice of Garron calling him to rise.

The instinctive annoyance at the mocking, confrontational tone rose in his chest, but he pushed it down, not wanting to give the guard the satisfaction.

“You’ve got a visitor. The first—and only—one you can expect to ever have, if I might add,” he said with a chuckle, and Adolin braced himself for yet another spren coming to gloat.

He sat up straighter on his bed, trying to prepare, but something felt off when he saw Garron leave.

Questions and worst-case scenarios flooded his mind, but he tried not to dwell on them.

When the outer door opened and Sekeir strode into the hall, Adolin felt like a fool. Of course it was him. Of course the man wouldn’t miss a chance to gloat. But beneath that, anger bubbled in his chest.

He forced it down, unwilling to show weakness to the one holding his fate.

“Our esteemed leader comes to visit. What have I done to deserve such honour? I’d offer you a chair and something to drink, but I seem to be running low on those at the moment,” Adolin said, his simmering anger masked in sarcasm.

“Insolent as ever, I see. Your kind never disappoints,” Sekeir replied, unfazed by the tone.

“Well, you know us lowly humans. We can’t all be as gracious and magnanimous as the divine spren,” he continued, enjoying the jab.

“You keep provoking me, as if you’re under the illusion I can’t make things worse for you.”

“Your presence is surely enough for that,” Adolin retorted, unable to stop himself.

“Shall I leave you to your misery, then?” the spren offered, though Adolin knew it was a bluff.

“You’d leave without gloating? That would indeed surprise me.”

“That’s not what I’m here for. Is it so unbelievable that I came to check on you?”

The false warmth in Sekeir’s voice grated on him.

“You’re worried about me? How touching.”

“How can I not be? I mean, look at you. You’re a mess. Pale skin, dark circles, sunken cheeks, frail body. You look about ready to keel over.”

Sekeir’s voice was full of mock concern, but his expression bordered on gleeful. He knew exactly what he was doing—throwing Adolin’s weakness in his face.

“Your worry is noted,” Adolin said coldly, but it did nothing to slow the spren down.

“I’m not the only one. Your spren friends are out of their minds with worry.”

At that, Adolin’s anger flared, and his mask slipped.

“What have you done to them? Where are they?” he snapped.

“They’re exactly where traitors belong—locked away in cells not too different from yours. But instead of worrying about themselves, they keep fussing about you. Telling me what you need, insisting you won’t survive without their help.”

His voice turned mocking, and a cold dread crept down Adolin’s spine. This was bad. Sekeir had learned too much.

“So you came here to make sure of that?” he said bitterly.

“Do you really think me so heartless? Your punishment may be harsh, but it’s not more than you deserve. I consider myself just, not cruel. That’s why I’m here. Seeing how dire your situation is, I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

The fake sympathy was back, and Adolin had to clench his fists to resist the urge to strike him.

“A deal. So you didn’t come to help—you came to bargain,” Adolin said, the condemnation plain. Sekeir wanted something, and Adolin already hated whatever it was.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m offering you a chance to serve your sentence with dignity. And comfort.”

The smugness in his voice made it clear—this offer came with strings.

“And what’s the price? Am I to stand at the top of the tower and proclaim you as the most noble and just leader in spren history? What could you possibly want?”

Sekeir smiled. “Nothing so crude. What I want is simple. And it won’t cost you anything.”

Adolin didn’t believe that for a second.

"What is it then?” he said flatly. “Spit it out.”

Sekeir adjusted his stand a bit as if he was nervous but went on coldly and calmly.

“The only thing you have to do is break your bond with your spren.” 

It felt like the cell that held him shrunk squeezing him and the ceiling came down to crush him. He really shouldn't have been surprised at the request but he was still caught off guard.

“What? You want me to break my bond?!?” Adolin shouted, losing all composure, righteous fury burning in his chest.

“On don’t act so indignant, human, I’m sure you’ll get over it.” Sekeir said dismissively. 

“And what do you care if I break my bond or not?” The only reason Sekeir would offer so much was if he knew—about the bond, about its effect on the old spren. Word was bound to reach him eventually, but the fact that he was here meant he saw it as a threat.
“Are you really that afraid that our bond made her more than a dead, mindless husk. That I succeeded where you failed for centuries. And now you’re willing to kill your own prisoner—under your protection—just to stop it."

“I only care that your spren gets some rest from being shuckled on to you, she is already dead, she suffered enough don’t you think?” he said defensively. 

“Oh don’t pretend to care about the old spren, not when it’s just the two of us. You don't want the truth to come out because the spren might start asking the wrong questions. About the trial. The war. About you. ”

“Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I really believe the best thing for her is to be free of you?” the spren went on with the charade and Adolin couldn't hold back any longer. 

“I don’t know, maybe because you would be willing to kill her again by breaking our bond, because you hid her somewhere dark and put a fake on display? Where is she Sekeir, what have you done to her?” he accused.

“This isn’t getting anywhere.” Sekeir backpedaled “I’ll make your options clear so even you can understand. There will be no more spren sneaking in here at the dead of night to bring you food and medicine. You can break your bond now and get a comfortable life for you and your friends; 

Or you let it eat at you a little while longer before you crawl back to me offering to break it for any kind of scrap that you will not get, all while your friends rot in their dark cells.“

How dare this crem threaten his friends like that? How dare he use his own people as leverage?

“Leave my friends out of this, they have nothing to do with this.”

“And why would I do that? It was their choice to defy me and get involved with this mess.”

“The rest of the spren will not stand for this. They will not stand for such treatment of their friends and neighbors and they won't accept your excuses.”

"You are not completely wrong, human. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t. But things are different now. You see, we have just received news from Roshar. News that when shared will convince even your most fierce defender.”

Adolin froze at that, his breath caught in his throat. News from Roshar, he hadn't heard anything since he left almost a year ago. 

“News? What news?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You seem nervous and you should be. Allow me to demonstrate the effect it will have on the spren.” He turned to the outer door of the hall where Garron stood guard and shouted. “Garron, get the other guards and everyone else you see and come in here.”

In just a few moments Garron returned with five more unfamiliar spren in toe and just like that Sekeir’s wolfish, smearing grin turned into a mournful expression. 

"My friends, I’m sorry to say I have received tragic news from the frontline in Roshar.” Sekeir paused for a second, looking around to see if he still had everyone's attention while ice dropped in Adolin's veins, confident he did not want to hear the next words that he would utter.

“Just when you think you’ve heard all the horror stories from humans, just when you think you're seen the worst of them, they go and surprise you in the worst way possible. It wasn't enough for them to rope us into their bloody wars. It wasn't enough to use us and betray us, to leave us empty husks with dead eyes condemned to roam the earth for eternity. It wasn't enough they had the nerve to come back and beg us to do it all over again. After all that what do they do? Are they grateful, are they cautious? Do they tread lightly? No, of course not. They do what they always do, what their base nature commands. They find a way to make things worse, to hurt us more.” 

Sekeir continued, the spren listening with rapt attention while Adolin stood frozen, rooted in place.

"As if their past sins were not enough they have gone and found a way to kill us permanently, to erase our existence completely. They have finally found a way to make us mortals like them. Friends, and even traitors, it is with the utmost regret that I inform you that our beloved Phendorana is dead, killed in action along with her knight.”

There were gasps Adolin thought but he couldn't be sure, his heart was beating too violently while his mind raced. A spren was dead, like actually, really dead. How could that be? Who would do that? Who would have looked for a way to kill them? That meant that every bonded spren was now in danger. How many spren had listened to him and traveled to Roshar because of his meaningless promises? How many spren will die because of him? How many had he condemned to death?

In just a moment his world was flipped upside down, his stomach dropped along and his heart sank as something worse than his worst fears came to pass. His nugging worry that people would still break their bond and hurt the spren that trusted in him was now laughable in the face of actual death and annihilation. Suddenly every insult, every accusation that was leveled against him was all true and insufficient. Suddenly his heavy sentence wasn’t nearly heavy enough for his crimes. 

In his despair and anguish he felt the soft touch of his beloved spren trying to soothe his anguish. Before he knew it he was recoiling from her touch, her comfort only brought him more shame now, it made him feel so unworthy of her pure love and devotion. He shouldn’t be comforted, he didn’t deserve to feel better, he only deserved more condemnation and scorn.

He sat motionless of the cold ground lost in time, oblivious to everything else around lost in a waking nightmare.

Chapter Text

Phendorana was dead. Poor Phendorana. He hadn’t known her too well but knowing of her fate, he couldn't separate it from the other spren he knew so well. The images of a dead Pattern or a dead Syl flashed before his eyes and he couldn’t help but mourn them. He knew it was bad luck to mourn someone who still lived but his mind couldn’t wrap around that, if there was a way for them to die it seemed like only a matter of time for what came for Phendorana to come for them too. Against his will his mind conjured images of battlefields littered with the corpses of innocent little spren against the backdrop of a red storm and a world ruled by Odium. 

He dropped his face into his palms and wept for the brave little spren he had condemned; for his family and friends; for all Radiant losing their beloved spren and their protection against Odium’s forces; for humanity as a whole enslaved to the God of Hate. 

He cried his heart out until he was too tired to move or think. He wanted to fall asleep on the cold hard ground where he lay but even that was too much comfort to ask for. He tried to shut out the memories, the voice of Sekeir shuttering his world, “Our beloved Phendorana is dead, killed in action...”. In his desperation he shut his eyes and covered his ears as if it would shut out the voices, but they kept ringing in his mind over and over again. “Our beloved Phendorana is dead, killed in action along with her knight.” 

‘Along with her knight’? But Teft was her knight…. He opened his tired eyes seeing nothing but this new hell. Oh no,no, no, no, no no no.... That can't be… it can’t mean that Teft is dead, Kaladin won’t be able to handle it, he loves Teft so much, he leans on him, he’s like a father to him. He won’t be able to handle his death well, not even a little. He needs to be there for him, Kaladin needs him. The Almighty knows that he won't let anyone else near enough to help him. He needs to be there now or yesterday or a month ago, Lord knows how long ago it happened. 

A violent shiver ran through him at the realization. 

This happened God knows how long ago and he wasn’t there, if Kaladin was to do something… he was already too late to help him. Lord only Knows if Kaladin is still.... He couldn’t even think it. He knows it's possible, he knows that Kaladin was teetering on the edge long before this. He knew he could have helped if he hadn't left, yet while knowing all these he left him alone to travel to the further reaches of the planet. 

God, it was all his fault, how could he keep screwing things up when he was in another plane of existence?

He had asked Shallan to keep an eye on Kaladin, the only comfort he could offer from afar, but had she even made it back to him yet? Was there anyone who could reach him? There was Bridge four made up from all his friends who adored him but Adolin knew too well how Kaladin kept them all at hand’s reach, never accepting their help, never showing off his vulnerability. Teft was the only one who was allowed close and that was the whole problem. 

There was Renarin. His brother was kind soul and resilient, he would never let anyone near him drown without trying to help but he didn’t have a close relationship with the captain despite being a member of Bridge four for a long time, neither one of them would be able to navigate those interactions well enough to be of use. 

Then there was his father. Dalinar could be trusted with a lot of things, he could be trusted to lead a whole war, to rule a whole kingdom, to stand like an immovable stone against the forces of Odium and protect them all. Adolin wouldn’t normally say he trusted him with the intricacies of human interaction and emotion, but with Kaladin it was different. Thinking about it sometimes made his lungs constrict uncomfortably, but still he could admit that with Kaladin, Dalinar showed more patience and understanding than Adolin had ever seen from him. He took him under his wing from the start and showed him love and care, almost like a third son and sometimes even more so. 

But Dalinar, despite all the good intentions he was sure to have, was not a man of half measures, his gentle hand was more like a boulder, swiping everything in its path and though he was usually effective, his all or nothing way wouldn't work on a matter so delicate. 

In the whole time he’d known him, Adolin was the only one who could get past the solid, high walls that Kaladin put up around him whenever he felt vulnerable and raw. He was the only one who could get close enough to help and he was now locked in a cell in another plane of existence.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he have been so stupid and so callous with his responsibilities? How could he have accepted to journey so far from the people who depended on him, how could he have allowed himself to be forever parted from them?

Whatever happened was his fault. Whatever Kaladin did… Adolin didn’t even dare to finish the thought. Gruesome, unwanted images kept flashing in his mind, all his fears coming to life in the worst ways and try as he might he couldn't make them stop. 

Endless hours, maybe days, were spent in his bed tossing from one side to the other, haunted by gruesome scenes that his myriad of his mistakes caused. His brain couldn’t help producing them and despite their horribleness Adolin didn’t try to stop them, knowing full well all the torment he was experiencing was well deserved. Had he tried to push all that aside, had he tried to hide away from the grim reality he created he would be the biggest coward to ever walk Roshar, so there he stayed, in his bed consumed by guilt and grief wondering how he managed to fail everyone so utterly, how he managed to cause so much damage without ever intending.

His rundown mattress became his new prison inside his cell. There was nothing that could compel him to get up, to move, to eat or wash. 

He was pulling on his hair hard trying to rip them out when a gentle hand took hold of his own. Adolin looked up to see his beloved Maya with a stricken expression on her face. His hand still in hers, she sat down next to him in the thorny grass and only then did he register he was in her garden. 

She had him close and her scarred eyes showed all the grief and agony she felt. 

A part of him wanted to reject the comfort, the solidarity, to punish himself in the worst way by depriving himself of her, but another part, the bigger one, had long surrendered and accepted that the two of them were now one and he wouldn’t shut her out for anything, not even to spare her his pain. 

There they sat for hours as she held him close and they grieved together until there was nothing left inside him but emptiness.

His sleep was uneasy, filled with his worst fears, but it was also almost resigned, more ready to grieve the loss rather than trying to unmake it. 

Still, it was pain and guilt that first greeted him when he woke up again even before the light did, even before he felt the cold hard ground beneath him, and he knew he would never escape it.

Chapter Text

His meals came and went and Adolin couldn’t even bear to look at them without being overtaken by nausea and disgust. The thought of taking care of himself, of doing anything that brought him comfort or pleasure sent his heart racing and his breathing hiking. The guard kept giving him curious glances but Adolin couldn’t care enough to interpret them.

Fortunately, Maya’s sweet voice was always in his ear, whispering words of comfort, trying to distract and console him.

At times she managed to get him distracted, to forget about his crimes if only for a little while. Those times got him a little rest bite but afterwards he would be furious, hate her and himself. He knew full well that all her words and consolations were empty, simply an attempt to soothe him when he didn’t deserve any comfort, or love or sympathy. He only deserved scorn for his thoughtless actions and crimes, for the immeasurable grief and loss he had caused and was yet to cause.

After his anger would die down, he would be overwhelmed by guilt and shame for taking out his frustrations on his loving, pure, innocent spren.

And yet, beneath it all—beneath the guilt, the shame, the self-loathing—lay a darker truth. A truth he couldn’t voice without choking on it. If not for all this pain, all this death... would he have ever come so close to Maya? Would she have ever awakened? Thought? Spoken? Would she have ever held his hand and looked at him the way she did now?

And if given the chance—would he undo it? Would he give her up, just to fix everything else?

The question sank its claws into him and dragged him under. Round and round it went, a spiral with no bottom. His thoughts gnawed at themselves, cycling through blame and doubt, never letting him breathe.

The days went by in a haze, meals came and went untouched leaving him weaker and more miserable each time. There was some sick satisfaction on the morning when he got up and the world spun around him and his muscles trembled from weakness. It was some sense of accomplishment, of justice served, of balance returned, now that his body felt as bad as his mind did.

It didn’t go unnoticed.
Maya had stayed quiet through it all, gentle in her persistence, but apparently, she had reached her limit.

Without warning, she yanked him from the cell into her garden, her presence burning with fury. He collapsed on the stone floor, too weak to stand—and she stood above him, blazing. Her usually soft features were twisted with indignation. Her entire form trembled, not with pain, but righteous anger.

Maya’s straight talk

“Maya?” he rasped, dazed. “What—what’s happening?”

She stood above him, radiant and trembling, her form lit with fury. No longer soft-spoken. No longer gentle.

“That’s enough,” she snapped. “That is more than enough. I understand you’re devastated by the news we received. I understand that you feel responsible for most of it—but I will not let you destroy yourself because of it.”

Adolin pushed himself upright, breath short. “Maya—”

“You are going to listen to me, Adolin Kholin.” Her voice was sharp, commanding, every word cutting. “You did your best. You tried so hard. You acted carefully and thoughtfully. There was nothing else you could have done. Try to understand—you are not, and you will never be, responsible for other grown people’s choices and actions. Just like no one is responsible for yours.”

She stepped closer. “You can grieve the unfortunate results of those actions and you can lament the choices you made to contribute to them, but I will not stand idly by watching you tear yourself down in a misguided attempt to pay for other people’s sins.”

“But when I left, I knew the risks…”

“Yes you did, you knew the risks. You knew that you were leaving all your loved ones, you knew you wouldn’t be there when they needed you, yet you did it anyway. Because back then you calculated and you concluded that giving humanity a fighting chance against the forces of hate was more important. You knew your presence and your support wouldn’t be enough to your loved ones if Odium were to kill or enslave them. You did what your conscience commanded you to do with the facts you had at the time.

Adolin bowed his head, her words cutting deep.

“And let me tell you something else,” she continued. “You punish yourself because you think you should have been there to save your friend. And maybe, if you had been, you could’ve helped. But again, you can’t be responsible for other people’s inner peace. You cannot will people to be alright and you can’t love them just enough to make them alright, that they have to do for themselves.”

She sighed, quieter now. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear. But you need to hear it. I don’t expect you to believe me yet. But one day, I think you will.”

Adolin wasn’t sure he believed any of it. Some part of him still wanted to argue, to defend his guilt. To hold onto it because it felt like the only thing keeping him upright. But he looked at Maya—glowing with conviction, her form rigid with emotion—and stopped himself. If he had driven her to such anger, maybe… maybe he was wrong. At least in part.

So he silenced the objections clawing at his mind, buried the shame still clinging to his ribs, and surrendered to her will, something he would never hesitate or regret doing.

“So, what do I do now?” He whispered to her like a scolded child.

“Now we take care of you, and that starts by eating. You see that plate by the door?”
“You mean that grayish slob?”
“The very same, I want you to eat as much as you can off that plate. I want you to eat more and more with each meal and I want you to be able to clean your plate by two days time. Am I making myself clear?”

“Sir, yes sir.” Adolin saluted his fierce spren, a small genuine smile breaking off on his face, the first one in a long while.

The guard had a puzzled look on his face and watched him suspiciously as he got up and grabbed the usually untouched plate and sat down on his mattress to eat it.
Adolin eyed the questionable mash in front of him and willed himself to eat. The pangs of hunger had already left him days before and his stomach grumbled as he arduously took his first bite. The taste that hid his tongue could not be described as unpleasant really since it was barely there. It was a bland, starchy taste, enough only to inform him that indeed there was some nourishing quality to it.

The smell on the other hand, despite being faint, was at least unappetizing and it made the second bite much more difficult than the first.

Maya, noticing his hesitation urged him on. “Come on, a little bit more, only a few mouthfuls.”

“Just so you know, you are the only reason I’m doing this.”
“And I'm perfectly fine with that.” she answered happily.

“Did you say something, convict?” The low, rumbling voice of the guard interrupted their nice moment, but also gave a chance to Adolin to fortify himself against the next bite.

“Not to you, guard.” Adolin responded and went back to his monumental task.

“You can do it.” Maya cheered him on and holding his breath he swallowed down the second bite.

By the third he was done and Maya was perfectly satisfied, but that didn’t last for long before Adolin was puking his guts out in the wash basin.

“Ok, maybe I pushed too much for a first meal. Take a moment to let your stomach calm down and then you can try again with a single bite.” Maya said innocently and lovingly.

Adolin shot her the equivalent of an incredulous look in their mind but they both knew full well he would do whatever Maya wanted him to do.

Chapter Text

Adolin woke alone.

No soft brush of thought against his mind. No warmth. No whisper of greeting. The space where Maya should have been was empty—too empty.

He sat up abruptly, his pulse already quickening. He reached for her again, more deliberately this time, trying to sense any flicker of presence. Nothing, something was wrong.

He didn’t waste time questioning it. He closed his eyes and reached for the garden, for her.

The moment his eyes opened into that other realm, the sound hit him—faint at first, like distant thunder. Then sharper: a clash of metal, the high-pitched screech of unnatural voices, the dull thud of heavy impacts. Battle. It was coming from deeper within the garden.

No.

He sprinted forward, heart hammering against his ribs as he entered the garden—and stopped short.

Chaos clawed at every inch of it. Creatures swarmed like cremlings, dragging twisted limbs across flowerbeds, tearing vines from trellises, smashing delicate tile mosaics under foot. The glowing foliage sparked and dimmed with each blow, as if the very soul of the place was flickering out.

It was brutal and methodical, as if the garden’s very existence offended them. 

But this wasn’t just violence—it was hunger. They were trying to devour it. Tearing into roots and vines like starving beasts, like something wild and wounded. Every movement was vicious, mindless—driven not by malice, but by need. Need to destroy, need to possess. They tore at the garden like jealous lovers, desperate to consume what they could never truly hold. As if by unmaking it, they might become part of it.

And Maya had tried to stop them.

He pushed forward, weaving past the hunched shapes and flailing limbs. The creatures barely noticed him. They were too focused on their task, too frenzied in their destruction.

He didn’t slow. Every step deeper twisted the knot in his gut tighter.

Then—he skidded to a halt.

A thick wall of creatures surged ahead, clustered so tightly they blocked the path entirely. Twisted limbs lashed out at the garden around them, shredding moss-covered stones and trampling glowing roots underfoot. The noise was deafening—screeches and snarls rising like a tide.

And behind them, just barely visible through the gaps in the chaos, he saw her.

She lay crumpled near the shattered edge of the reflecting pool, half-buried beneath torn vines and scattered tiles. Her robes were ripped, her body slumped against the stone like a broken statue. One arm was outstretched, fingers still wrapped around the hilt of a sword.

Maya.

The world narrowed. Adolin stopped breathing.

The sounds of battle dulled beneath a rising rush in his ears. A flash of red rage flooded his chest, so blinding he staggered from its weight. He didn’t call out. He didn’t scream. He raised his hand, and a killing blade, thin and sharp, materialized in it. 

And he charged.

He plunged into them, blade swinging wide, reckless, unstoppable. Shadows shrieked as they burst apart beneath his strikes, their twisted forms scattering like ash in the wind. They clawed at his arms, tore at his side, but he didn’t slow. Pain was distant. Irrelevant. Every step carried him forward, every motion driven by the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat and the burning need to reach her.

They swarmed to close the gap, moving as one tangled mass of limbs and teeth and smoke. Adolin didn’t falter. He lowered his shoulder and drove into them, his blade slicing through flesh and shadow alike, carving space where none existed a moment before. The garden trembled underfoot, its glowing tiles cracked and overgrown, but he hardly registered it. He was past seeing, past thinking—only the movement mattered now.

His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but he kept pushing, kept cutting. His body moved with ruthless precision, powered by rage and fear and desperation wound too tightly to unravel. The world had narrowed to a single point of focus, and that point was her.

And then he was there.

He dropped to his knees beside her, the fight still roaring behind him, his breath ragged and torn from his throat. Gently—so gently—he reached out and turned her toward him.

Her eyes were closed. Her face dimmed and pale, every line drawn with pain. The vines on her arms were cracked, their crystal tips dulled, and long slashes crossed her robes where blades had struck. Fissures traced the surface of her skin, broken in places by gashes and splintered edges. Her breathing was shallow—but there.

Alive. She was alive.

He bowed his head, one hand cradling her cheek. “Maya…” The word broke in his throat. He pressed his forehead to hers, letting the contact steady him. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

There was no answer. No flicker of her thoughts brushing against his.

His chest ached. But he wouldn’t let her stay here. Not in this battlefield.

He slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her carefully into his arms. She was light—but limp. Fragile in a way that made his stomach clench. He backed away slowly, using his body to shield her from the chaos, retreating to a quiet alcove where the flowers still glowed faintly and the stone walls still stood.

He laid her down gently, brushing a tangle of hair from her face. 

She didn’t stir. Her face, usually so expressive, gave nothing back—only stillness, quiet, and the faint rise and fall of her breath.

Adolin stayed there, leaning in, letting his forehead rest against hers. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, memorizing the warmth of her skin, the shape of her presence, anchoring himself to the one thing he still had.

“I’m sorry, Maya,” he murmured, voice low and cracking. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry you thought you had to face them alone.”

His thumb grazed her cheek, and for a moment he just breathed—trying to hold himself steady in the quiet of her stillness.

“I’ll make it right,” he whispered. “I swear it. I’ll protect our garden, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Adolin rose slowly from the ground, every muscle burning, every joint stiff with pain, but the cold fire in his chest drove him upward, steady and unrelenting. His breath dragged in through clenched teeth, and he didn’t try to calm it. The fury had settled into something deeper now—quieter, colder, more precise. It no longer screamed. It didn’t need to.

His eyes stayed fixed on the distance, on the twisting mass of creatures still ripping into the garden, desecrating every inch of it with their clawed hunger. They had hurt her. They had dared to lay their hands on the one thing he could not lose. There was no room for fear, or grief, or even thought—only purpose.

As he straightened fully, the familiar weight of Shardplate began to take shape around him, summoned not with intent but instinct, each glowing segment wrapping around his limbs with the solemnity of armor forged for judgment.

A sword appeared in his hand—not the same as before but something heavier, brutal in its simplicity. For a split second, it reminded him of his father’s weapon—the blunt, unrelenting edge of the Blackthorn’s will, a blade made for breaking. This one felt the same. Born not of honor, but fury. Shaped by the single, unshakable truth burning in his blood: they would not touch her again.

Around him, more figures emerged—flickering into being at the edges of his awareness, dozens at first, then hundreds, the largest surge he had ever felt. Each one bore his form, his armor, his rage. They stood silent and ready, manifestations of the storm inside him, born not of command but of conviction. He barely noticed them.

His world had narrowed to one path—straight through the creatures that threatened her, and he would walk it until nothing was left standing.

Chapter Text

Adolin stood at the edge of the ruined path, Shardplate humming faintly around his frame. Smoke hung low over the garden, thick and bitter, wrapping around broken vines and shattered stones. Crushed flowers leaked dim light into the air. The glowweeds along the edges had gone out entirely, their stalks flattened under foot. The creatures clawed at everything—walls, benches, trees—as if Maya’s sanctuary itself had insulted them. They moved in a fevered swarm, all jagged joints and spindly motion. Their surfaces shimmered with ridged glass and hard slates that scraped together with every twitch.

Adolin’s fists clenched. His pulse roared. This was Maya’s garden—every tile, every petal, every glowing vine a piece of her. They weren’t just destroying something she loved, they were hurting her.

His rage didn’t bloom, it raptured.

He launched forward without a conscious thought, without noticing or caring what his other selfs did. He swang his massive sword guided only by instinct, by his insatiable need to stop them. The first impact split the head of a creature mid-lunge, sending shards scattering like broken shell. He didn’t stop. Steel met bone, or something like it. Limbs snapped. Bodies folded. Motion blurred.

One swung at his helm, shrieking. He ducked under, slammed the pommel of the sword into its chest, and heard something rupture inside it before it dropped. Another scrambled to his left, slicing at a patch of moss still glowing faintly. He cut it down so fast the blade didn’t feel the resistance.

He pressed forward. Every shape ahead became a target. Everything behind was forgotten.

They were tearing the garden apart. He didn’t need a strategy for that.

Adolin pressed deeper, dragging his blade through another twisted shape that had wrapped itself around a crushed vine pillar. He had been at if for a while and he could feel his body straining, each motion drawing more from a well that was already nearly dry. His sword arm ached. His breath rasped loud inside his helm.

The rage hadn’t left him—not fully—but it had burned into something colder, more focused. He stopped just long enough to draw a trembling breath and glance back. The other parts of the frontline lay far behind him, beyond the trail of corpses and shattered bodies he’d carved in his wake.

With reason coming back to him he could see that he was exposed. He needed to keep an even formation and it was clear that he needed to help push the other sections forward as well.

He retreated with his men a little and reached  selves and let his focus slip sideways. A flicker caught—another version of him several strides down the broken front. With a breath, he stepped into it.

The change was instant. Noise, heat, motion. He staggered mid-step as the world twisted sideways and something massive slammed into his ribs. The blow shoved him against a stone wall covered in reeds, the texture scraping along his shoulder plate. He shoved back, disoriented. His ears rang.

This section of the garden was thick with smoke. The air tasted metallic, acrid, thick like storm-fog after lightning. He coughed, ducked another blow, then cut down a writhing silhouette that darted in low and fast. The creature hissed as it died, but it didn’t scream. None of them did.

He shifted to another body down the line. The fighting here was heavier, denser. He saw his own armor—his other selves—locked in motion, silhouettes blinking in and out through haze. The creatures here moved in coordinated pulses, more solid than smoke, but still inconstant. One charged at him, long legs stabbing into the moss like spears. He ducked under its reach and drove his sword up into its core. It collapsed in a spasm of twitching limbs.

Adolin moved with the others, falling into a rhythm—step, strike, pivot, breathe. Together, they forced the creatures back a few paces at a time, retaking ground little by little. It wasn’t elegant, but it worked. The line held.

He shifted again, the pain from the earlier blows fading with the new body. The world snapped into place around him mid-motion, and he nearly stumbled as his feet hit uneven ground. This section was quieter—but it was the wrong kind of quiet, the kind that makes your hair stand on end. 

Something moved at the edge of his vision—slow, massive, deliberate.

These were a different kind of beasts.

The shape lumbered through the mist, taller than the others, limbs like stone columns fused with sinew, each footstep sinking into the tile as if it carried its own gravity. It didn’t rush. It didn’t lash. It simply advanced, absorbing strikes from the soldiers around it, its rocky hide cracking but not falling.

Adolin braced as it turned toward him.

He stepped forward to meet it, planting his feet on cracked tile slick with sap and ash. The creature turned toward him—no eyes, just a face like fused granit. Its limbs were jagged and uneven, shaped like broken rock like a thunderclast, grinding as it moved.

He struck first, blade crashing down into its shoulder. The impact rang through his arms like a hammer on rock. The creature reeled but didn’t fall. Its arm swept sideways and slammed into him, knocking him hard into a mat of broken vines. His shoulder flared with pain. He rolled and came up in a crouch, parrying the next blow with a burst of sparks.

To his left, one of his men flanked the beast and drove a blade into its rear joint. It barely reacted. Another soldier dropped from above, slicing at its crown. Adolin pushed forward, sword low, aiming for its spine. The blade bit deep.

Before it fell, the creature turned and crashed its forearm into another soldier. Armor and man slowly crushed beneath it massive weight like they were nothing. The sight punched the air from his lungs. That was his own face, that was his armor. Crushed to a pulp before him. The horror almost made his knees buckle.

The pain hit a moment later. Not sharp—deep. A wave of pressure against his spine and ribs, knocking the breath from him. He stumbled, gasped, found his balance only by locking his knees and bracing with his blade.

He stood over the crumbling hulk, chest heaving, the echo of the impact still ringing in his bones. It had taken three of him to bring it down. And the line was still far from safe.

He didn’t stop. Blade rising and falling, he pressed deeper into the fray, carving a path through stone limbs and skittering shapes. For a time, it worked—enemy lines thinned, their momentum faltered. His efforts were driving them back. But every step forward took something from him. His swings grew heavier, slower. The cracks in his armor spread wider. Each blow he failed to block cost him more than the last.

There was no reprieve from the pain. Every soldier now carried wounds of their own, and slipping into another body for relief was no longer an option. Exhaustion bred mistakes—avoidable ones that stacked and compounded, each lapse costing him more blood, more strength, until the pain drained him faster than the enemy ever could.

He dove into another body mid-sprint and landed hard, stumbling on uneven stone, the jolt snapping through his knees. All around him, the battlefield had collapsed into madness. Shapes flickered and crashed in the smoke—some human, some not. They moved too fast, too close, too many to track. He lashed out on instinct, blade connecting with something soft and wet. Another shape crashed into his helmet from the side, the impact ringing through the metal and jerking his head around so hard he nearly fell. The world reeled, light and motion spinning together in a rush of confusion.

Somewhere to his right, a voice cried out—his voice—but distant, wrong, a fractured echo through the chaos. His gaze snapped to movement: something long and glossy coiled in the smoke. He stepped forward, sword raised, just as it unspooled and struck. Segmented and smooth as resin, the thing lashed through the air—and struck him full in the chest. The pain was instant, absolute, like his ribs had been crushed inward, his lungs wrung empty. He folded around the blow, vision flaring white, and for a heartbeat, he felt everything—his body breaking, breath torn away, the world tilting and rushing in to swallow him. A terrifying, numbing cold  spread all over him and then nothing.

A moment later, he gasped awake in another body, knees buckling mid-step, his mind still catching up to the fact that he was alive before another shape barrelled into his side. This one was blunt and solid, a mass of raw force. Pain cracked through his arm as his blade was knocked wide. He staggered back, trying to plant his feet, but the ground shifted under him—too many broken tiles, too much debris. He caught only glimpses of the others—his other selves—locked in fights of their own, flickering between moments. He couldn’t find the line. Couldn’t find the rhythm.

Everything around him blurred—noise, color, movement collapsing in a rush of heat and blood. He blinked hard, forcing his jaw shut to stop the raggedness in his breath. He could still move. Still fight.

His body was coming apart. Not in pieces—no one wound was fatal—but in layers, thin and fraying. Like fabric worn too thin to hold weight. His lungs fought for air that wouldn’t come. His limbs felt foreign, his mind cloudy and fragile, like a pane of glass flexing with every heartbeat.

He gripped the sword tighter, though his fingers trembled around the hilt. Stepped forward again, though his legs no longer obeyed without cost. He could feel the pain stacking inside him, layered from every soldier, every hit, every moment he refused to fall. This wasn’t something he would walk away from. He could feel the truth in his ribs, in the way his vision lagged with each blink. In the cold gathering in his arms.

This was the end for him, there was no coming back.

He pushed the thought from his mind and risked a glance up.

The creatures were thinning. Their screeches were fewer now, scattered rather than swarming. Here and there, his projections still fought—glimpses of blue and silver, flickering through the haze—but there weren’t many left. The same was true for the enemy. Black forms slithered at the garden’s edge, clawing toward broken walls that were no longer theirs. The fight had moved out past the threshold.

They were no longer in the garden.

The realization hit like a wave—sharp, dizzying. They had done it. They had pushed them out.

But there were still some standing.

Adolin scanned the battered remains of his line. The ground was strewn with the bodies of soldiers that wore his face but there was still movement. Still strength. Just enough. Maybe.

He turned his gaze to the slope where the creatures lingered—clinging, snarling, retreating by inches.

He would finish this if it was the last thing he did. For Maya.

He set his jaw, straightened his spine, and lifted his sword. The motion made something in his side spasm, and his arm shook from the effort. But he didn’t stop.

“I’m not done,” he whispered. His voice was raw, almost lost in the wind, but it was real.

He stepped forward, then broke into a limp that passed for a charge. The remnants of his army—his fractured, battered selves—moved with him. They answered not with sound, but with motion. Blades raised. Feet pounding broken stone.

They descended on the remaining enemy like a tide, not clean or orderly but with the weight of something that refused to die quiet. Adolin struck first, his sword tearing through a thin-limbed creature as it turned. His muscles screamed. Blood soaked through a crack in his thigh plate. A blow glanced off his shoulder, sending hot knives down his arm, but he powered forward anyway. They would  kill them all, and make sure Maya would be safe.  

He drove his sword through another, then another, until the line at the cliff began to break.

And then—

A whisper. So soft it might have been memory.

“Adolin…”

His hand faltered.

“Come back to me.”

His sword dipped. The next blow struck his armor, but not deep. He stumbled, blinking. The world swam.

Maya.

Her voice wasn’t just in his head—it cut through him like light through fog.

He looked back toward the garden. Past the smoke. Past the broken walls and scorched tiles. He could feel her now. Awake. Waiting.

Alive.

He staggered back. Her voice still echoed in his mind—soft, pleading, achingly real. “Come back to me.”

He froze, blade still raised, breath caught in his throat. That voice—her voice—cut through everything. Not pain. Not exhaustion. Not even death could make him turn away from it. He couldn’t refuse her. He never could.

He turned from the front, taking a step back toward the garden.

That was when the first projection crumbled beside him.

It vanished like smoke—and with it, pain slammed into his chest, sudden and sharp, a blade twisting between his ribs. He gasped, stumbled. Another projection flickered out. Then another. And with each one gone, more pain returned. Bone-deep, shattering. His knees buckled, and he barely managed to catch himself before collapsing entirely.

The sword slipped from his grasp, ringing dully against the broken stone. He dropped to one knee, then the other, arms wrapped tight around his middle as the agony compounded.

Each projection gone meant a weight he could no longer hold at bay. A wound he had to feel. A cost finally paid.

He sagged forward, shaking.

But he was still breathing.

Still there.

And Maya was waiting.

Calling him home.

Chapter Text

Light came and went—sometimes harsh, sometimes soft, always too much.
Shapes moved at the edge of vision. Voices murmured. Nothing stayed long enough to grasp.

He surfaced briefly to the rustle of fabric, to pressure against his ribs, to warmth resting against his arm. Then darkness pulled him back under.

A voice called his name—Maya’s, maybe—but he couldn’t hold onto the sound. It unraveled into silence.

There was pain, always pain, flaring sharp at times, then dull, then absent altogether—though he could never be sure if the absence was real or just a kindness of sleep.

Scents drifted in and out. Herbs. Stone. Something familiar he couldn’t name.

He dreamed, maybe. Or remembered. Or neither. Time refused to hold its shape.

Warmth returned. A hand in his. A whisper. A sob. A stillness.

He floated. Sank. Rose again.

And still, the world refused to stay.

Pain was the first thing Adolin noticed—a dull, all-encompassing ache that tethered him to consciousness like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His mind felt sharper, more focused—but his body betrayed him. Pain radiated from everywhere, dull in some places, sharp and searing in others. His limbs felt like dead weight, and his breathing was shallow, each inhale dragging against a heavy ache in his chest.

What happened?

Fragments of memory surfaced. The screech of the creatures. Their claws tearing through the garden. His own voice, hoarse from shouting. Maya—her silhouette crumpled on the ground, unmoving . His pulse quickened.

Maya! Was she alright?

His eyes flew open in a panic, and light stabbed into them, blinding and disorienting him. He groaned, trying to lift himself, but his strength failed. A familiar voice, soft and soothing, anchored him.

“Adolin, stop. Don’t move,” Maya whispered, her voice trembling yet gentle. “You’re safe now.”

His vision adjusted, and Maya’s face came into focus above him. The soft glow of the room outlined her crystalline features, but her hollow eyes shimmered with worry. Her hands hovered over him, trembling as though she wanted to touch him but was afraid to hurt him further.

“Maya… what happened?” His voice cracked, hoarse and weak. “Are you alright? Did they…?”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted, though her voice wavered. She swallowed hard, forcing a pained smile. “You did it. You stopped them. You pushed them back, and the pain is gone.”

Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. He tried to shift, to sit up, but the effort sent pain rippling through his battered body. He gritted his teeth, glancing down to take stock of the damage. His clothes was gone, replaced by layers of leaves pressed over his wounds, smeared with a faintly glowing green paste. Beneath them, his skin was bruised and torn, evidence of the battle etched across every inch of him.

“You did this?” he asked, marveling at the care she’d taken.

Maya nodded but looked away quickly, her expression crumbling. A soft sniffle escaped her, and her voice broke as she spoke. “I tried to help you, but I’m so sorry, Adolin. I couldn’t do more. If I could protect you… if I could fight for myself, you wouldn’t have to do this for me.”

Her words hit him harder than any blade. Seeing her cry, hearing the helplessness in her voice, stirred something raw and primal inside him. He reached out, his arm shaking from the effort, and pulled her close. “Don’t,” he rasped, his voice firm despite the weakness in his body. “Don’t blame yourself, Maya. This isn’t your fault.”

“But it is!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I’m the reason you’re like this. You almost died for me.”

“For us,” Adolin murmured. “And I’d do it again.”

Maya’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“You are the only thing keeping me alive. This, this is nothing." He winced as he shifted. “Just… next time, tell me when it hurts.”

She looked away, fingers brushing his arm. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

“You won’t.” He caught her hand, weakly but deliberately. “Just promise.”

A beat passed.

“I promise.”

Adolin let his head fall back against the surface beneath him, exhaustion pulling at his every limb. For the first time, he noticed the soft woven mattress and the warm light filtering through an arched window above.

He studied the room—the carved mahogany chair by the hearth, the tapestry of the Iriali plains. This was his mother's sunroom. Or a perfect copy of it. The same vaulted ceiling, the same rose-quartz window frame he'd traced with childish fingers while she read to him. Even the scent—lavender and parchment—was hers.


His throat tightened. "Maya... where are we?"

She blinked, glancing around as if seeing it for the first time. "I don't know. When you fell, I needed somewhere safe. This... appeared." Her fingers brushed the wall. The stone rippled faintly under her touch. "Isn’t it beautiful."

Adolin's chest ached worse than his wounds. She'd pulled this from his memories without realizing. The last place he'd felt completely safe before his mother died. Before everything.

Maya hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I can’t believe what I’m capable of now. But it’s hard, Adolin. It’s hard to accept the things I can’t do anymore.”

Her voice broke again, and she looked away. “When you were lying here, hurt, and I couldn’t heal you… I’ve never hated my death more. I used to bring people back from the brink. But with you, I could only… watch.”

Adolin reached for her hand, his grip weak but steady. “You’ve done more for me than you know, little spren.”

Maya smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened with tears. “You’ve been here for a long while. You need to wake up, Adolin. You need to eat, drink, and take care of your body. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.”

He hesitated, the thought of returning to his cell a heavy weight in his chest. He didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want to face the agony waiting for him. But Maya was safe, at least for now. That was what mattered.

“I’ll wake up,” he murmured, his voice raw and weak. “Only so I come back to you.”

Her presence flickered in his mind, steady and warm. “I’ll be here when you return,” she whispered.

Adolin closed his eyes, allowing the pull of the waking world to take him, though his heart remained tethered to Maya.

Chapter Text

Adolin's eyes blinked open, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was. The dim light of his cell assaulted his senses, stabbing into his skull like iron spikes. His head throbbed in time with his heart, the rhythm quick and erratic, drowning out all thought. He couldn’t tell up from down.

His lips and throat were parched, each breath scraping like hot, coarse sand against raw flesh. He tried to swallow, but his tongue felt swollen and foreign in his mouth, sticking painfully to the roof. Worst of all was the searing pain in his side—pulsing, relentless, and hot enough to blot out everything else.

He tried to shift, his head spinning as his vision blurred. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and dampness, tinged with the sharp metallic tang of blood.

As fragments of memory began to return, so did the agony that accompanied them. He remembered the fight: the unending tide of creatures, their claws rending flesh and armor alike, and the crushing weight of exhaustion that had finally brought him down.

Adolin reached up to touch his aching jaw, wincing as his fingers brushed over tender, swollen flesh. Blood coated the inside of his mouth, leaving a bitter, metallic tang.

The worst pain came from his side and he gingerly pulled up his shirt to inspect it. His breath hitched, the sight that greeted him sent a shiver of unease down his spine. A massive bruise, deep purple bleeding into black, stretched across his torso, wrapping around to his back like an ominous storm cloud. It was unlike anything he’d seen before. It looked angry, alive almost, as if it carried the memory of every blow he had endured. He dropped the shirt back into place, his hand trembling. He didn’t know what was wrong but he could tell it was really bad.

Maya’s voice broke through the haze, soft but choked with emotion, like she was holding back tears. “I’m sorry, my prince. This is all my fault.”

Adolin opened his mouth to protest, but she didn’t give him the chance. “You need to rest,” she urged, her tone firm despite her anguish. “But first, you have to drink something. Please.”

Her plea cut through the pain and exhaustion. His thirst gnawed at him like a ravenous beast, his mouth as dry as weathered bone. How could he refuse her?

He tried to push himself up, but his legs refused to obey, his body trembling with the effort. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself toward the water barrel, inch by agonizing inch. His arms quaked as he reached for the ladle, fingertips grazing its edge. Pain shot through his side like a branding iron, and his muscles gave out.

With a thud, he crumpled to the cold, unyielding stone floor, the impact rattling through his already broken body. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, each breath a struggle, his vision swimming with black spots.

For a fleeting moment, he considered calling for help, but the thought scattered like ash in the wind as the darkness rushed in to claim him.

***

Adolin’s eyes remained closed as he lay still, silently taking stock of his condition. The dull, relentless ache in his left side was unbearable, radiating outward with every shallow breath. He shifted slightly, biting back a groan as sharp pain flared through his ribs. His body felt heavy, sluggish, every muscle reminding him of the brutal fight he had barely survived.

At least his mouth wasn’t as dry anymore. That small comfort felt out of place, and he wondered why through the haze of pain.

When he finally opened his eyes, the sight that greeted him left him blinking in confusion. He wasn’t on the cold stone floor anymore—he was on his mattress. Before he could process the change, something even stranger caught his attention: a bowl of water and a tray of food sat neatly beside him.

Adolin frowned, glancing around the cell until his gaze landed on the guard standing silently by the open door. Garron’s back was turned, his posture rigid as ever. Adolin stared at him for a long moment, expecting some kind of explanation, but Garron didn’t so much as glance his way.

“Did the guard do that?” Maya’s soft voice brushed against his mind, tinged with curiosity.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Adolin murmured inwardly, “but who else could it have been?”

He opened his mouth to ask Garron outright but hesitated, the words catching in his throat. Something stopped him—an unspoken fear that breaking the moment would shatter whatever strange spell had brought this unexpected kindness. He let the question die on his lips.

Maya’s presence flattered like cool air.

“It would make you happy, wouldn’t it? If it was him.” Adolin asked.

Maya’s voice grew quieter, almost hesitant. “I want to hate them—for what they’re doing to you—but I can’t. They’re spren like me, and I want to believe they can be better.”

Adolin exhaled softly, her words echoing in his heart. “Me too, my sweet,” he said, wistful but sincere.

He reached for the bowl, his fingers trembling as he lifted it to his lips. The water was cool, soothing his parched throat as he drank deeply. Setting it aside, he forced himself to take a few bites of the bland gruel, his body protesting even that small effort. But as he ate, a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort washed over him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ease some of the weight pressing down on him.

The pressing need to relieve himself clawed at Adolin’s awareness, pulling him out of his restless haze. For a moment, he lay still, hoping the discomfort would fade, but it only grew worse, forcing him to act.

Gritting his teeth, he braced himself and pushed off the bed, the effort sending a searing bolt of pain through his ribs. It radiated outwards, sharp and unyielding, stealing his breath as he clutched his side. Each movement felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of agony, but he had no choice. With one hand pressed against the wall for support, he dragged himself toward the chamber pot, his steps slow and unsteady.

Reaching the restroom felt like a victory in itself, though it offered no real relief. Leaning heavily against the wall, he struggled to catch his breath as the ache in his side flared brighter, an unrelenting fire spreading through his torso. When he finally managed to relieve himself, a sharp, stinging pain made his knees tremble. His blurry gaze caught the unsettling red tint of blood in the liquid pooling beneath him. The sight was like a rock that settled in his stomach. Adolin tried to push the feeling away but it lingered, heavy and unwelcome, as he fought to gather the strength to return to his bed.

Turning back, he shuffled forward, his breaths shallow and labored. Each step sent a new wave of fire through his side, the ache tightening like a vice around his chest. The distance to the bed felt endless. Halfway there, a sudden, sharp spike of pain tore through him, forcing a strangled gasp from his throat. His knees buckled under him, and he collapsed to the ground, barely catching himself on his hands.
He froze, his body trembling as the pain overtook him, leaving him gasping for air.

“Adolin!” Maya’s voice rang out in his mind, frantic and alarmed.
The sound of hurried footsteps broke through the haze, and then Garron was there. The guard dropped to one knee beside him, his usual stoicism replaced with a flicker of genuine concern. “Hold on, stay still,” Garron muttered, his strong hands gripping Adolin’s arm to help steady him.

Adolin let out a shuddering breath, too consumed by the pain to argue. “I… I just need to get back to the bed,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“You’re not going anywhere like this,” Garron said gruffly. With surprising gentleness, he slipped an arm under Adolin’s shoulders and eased him into a sitting position.

Adolin grimaced but complied, leaning heavily against Garron as the guard carefully lifted him to his feet. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through him, but with Garron’s support, he managed to take a few unsteady steps.

Maya’s voice was a constant presence in his mind, soothing and worried. “My prince please, let him help.”

Adolin clenched his jaw unable to respond, each breath a struggle.

By the time they reached the bed, his body was trembling from exertion, his side a relentless blaze of agony. Garron helped him lower himself carefully onto the mattress, and Adolin exhaled shakily, his head falling back against the pillow with a groan.

The guard straightened, his sharp gaze lingering on Adolin for a moment. “Next time if you need anything just ask me.” Garron said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Chapter Text

Adolin lay back on the mattress, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. Each shallow breath sent sharp, searing pain through his ribs, and he pressed his hand lightly to his side, trying to will it away. The effort to move had left him trembling and drenched in sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the faint comfort of Maya’s presence in the back of his mind.

The sound of footsteps brought him back to the present. Garron returned, a wooden cup of water in his hand. He knelt beside Adolin without a word, offering it to him. Adolin’s hand shook as he reached for the cup, and Garron, noticing the struggle, steadied it for him. The water was cool, soothing his parched throat, and Adolin drank deeply, letting out a shaky sigh as he finished.

“Thanks,” Adolin murmured, his voice hoarse. Garron nodded and stood, leaving the room briefly before returning with a tray of food. He set it down beside Adolin, who eyed the unappetizing gruel with a mixture of gratitude and revulsion. The thought of eating made his stomach churn, a wave of nausea rising just from the smell of it. His muscles clenched, sending a fresh wave of pain.

“I can’t eat that,” Adolin admitted quietly, his voice laced with pain.
“Humans need to eat.” Garron said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You’re right,” Adolin admitted, his voice strained. “But my stomach can’t handle that right now. Just… not yet."

Garron frowned but didn’t argue, instead settling onto a stool nearby. The room fell into an awkward silence, broken only by Adolin’s uneven breaths. Finally, Garron glanced at Adolin, his brow furrowing.

"And what could you eat right now?" Garron asked with what seemed genuine interest, something that annoyed both Adolin and Maya.
“Why are you asking” he asked, his voice low. “What do you care?”

Garron shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the floor, his voice apologetic. “You were asleep for three days,” he said finally. “I didn’t think you’d wake up.”

The words startled Adolin, though he kept his expression neutral. Three days? The implications churned in his mind, but he pushed the thought aside, focusing on Garron.

“That doesn’t explain much,” Adolin replied, his tone skeptical. “Three days ago, you wouldn’t have cared enough to notice, let alone help.”

Garron’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his discomfort evident. “I heard you,” he said after a pause. “In your sleep. You were… talking to her. ”

Adolin’s heart skipped a beat, his expression hardening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maya. You were talking to her.” Garron said quietly. He hesitated, running a hand over the back of his neck. “At first, I thought it was just… nonsense, dreams, but you kept calling her name."

Garron shifted his gaze away as if embarrassed before he continued. "After that I paid close attention. You were comforting her, helping her, defending her. I heard you giving orders like you were in the middle of a battle” He paused then, his look pained. "and then you went quite. only some groans of pain here and there and you wouldn't wake up. It was unsettling but I still didn't know what to think until you woke up like this. Whatever happened there was as real as anything happening in here."

Adolin narrowed his eyes, his guard up. “And what do you think is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Garron admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “I don't know how Maya is able to talk, I don't know how you can reach her when you are so far apart. I don't know why you need to fight,"
He hesitated, meeting Adolin’s gaze. “I just know that it’s happening, that your bond is as real as can be.”

Maya chirped happily in his mind as she always did when someone acknowledged their bond, but Adolin kept his face neutral. He didn’t trust Garron, not yet. “That’s a pretty bold claim but let’s assume you are right. What would that mean for you?” he asked, deflecting.

“It means…” Garron paused, his expression tightening. “It means you weren’t lying. About her. About the bond. I thought it was a ruse, some way to manipulate the court or the spren. But if this is real… It means that you have managed to do what all of my kind has failed to do for 2000 years. It means that the deadeyes are not doomed, that there is still hope.” He looked down, his voice softening. “It means I was wrong. It means you care about her. Truly.”

Adolin studied him, searching for any hint of deception. “Am I supposed to believe you care so much about the dead spren all of a sudden?”

“It's not—” Garron tried to argue but paused, instead exhaling, his shoulders slumping. “My children… they left for the war to bond Radiants . I thought they were doomed, that sooner or later would get betrayed, end up deadeyes or even killed. I know the fate of the deadeyes is almost worse than death.” His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. “But if there are people like you, if their bonded human care for them half as much as you care for your spren, then maybe my children have a chance. Maybe they’ll be alright.”

Adolin’s heart ached at the raw emotion in Garron’s voice. He looked away, the weight of the conversation settling over him.
"I think he's being truthful." Maya said in his mind and Adolin agreed with her. "That means he could help." she replied in a hopeful voice.
Adolin studied his face for a moment longer and he felt like he was seeing him for the first time. The rough, mean gaze and screwed up lip was gone, replaced by a soft almost pleading expression.
"You really believe it dont' you, no matter if I protest..." Adolin guessed.
"Maybe I'm not fully correct, maybe I'm missing some parts, but for the most part, yes. Actually, looking back, it should have been obvious a long time ago." Garron said with conviction.

Adolin felt relief wash over him. “That means a lot,” he said, his voice trembling with sincerity. “For both me and Maya.”

Garron’s eyes widened, a flicker of wonder lighting his face. “Maya can hear me? Maya, you have to know how sorry I am. I didn’t know. I didn’t understand.” He swallowed hard, guilt washing over him. “It’s my fault you’re in this situation. I’ll do anything to fix it. I’ll tell Sekeir what I learned—he’ll listen to me—”

“No,” Adolin interrupted, his voice urgent despite the strain. He winced, clutching his side as the movement sent pain shooting through him. “Sekeir already knows, Garron. He doesn’t care. He can’t be trusted.”

Garron froze, the glow of hope in his eyes flickering. “Sekeir knows?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t understand. Sekeir has always been a good leader, maybe not flawless but fair, why would he do this to you?”

Adolin winced, shifting to ease the pain in his side. “He does care, Garron. About you, about all spren—living and dead. But he’s afraid. Afraid of war. Afraid of stepping into a new world where nothing is certain. Here, he knows how to keep you safe. Out there, everything’s falling apart.”

Garron frowned, his gaze dropping as he considered Adolin’s words. “I can see that,” he said slowly. “But fear doesn’t make this right. What he’s doing to you, to Maya, to the deadeyes—it’s still wrong.”

Adolin nodded faintly, his expression weary. “I know. But you won’t be able to change his mind.”

“Even so,” Garron said, his voice firm as he straightened. “I want to do what’s right, I just don’t know where to turn for help.”

Adolin shook his head slightly, regret etched in his features. “The caretaker spren used to help with medicine, and the old cooks helped with food. But Garron…” His voice faltered, his breath uneven. “I don’t think anything could help me now. Not spren. Not even human healers.”

Maya shifted beside him, a faint, pained sound escaping her, as if echoing Adolin’s despair.

Garron’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “It matters not,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “If there’s something I can do, I’ll find it. Just… get some rest.” He stood abruptly, his movements determined as he strode to the door, his back straight and his steps purposeful.

Adolin watched him go, his vision swimming with exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Adolin spent most of the next day in a restless haze, his body trapped in uneasy sleep. Fever dreams twisted through his mind—fractured images of battles fought, loved ones lost, and the cold, confining walls of his cell. A familiar warmth brushed against his thoughts. Rest, Adolin. Please. Maya’s voice was soft, a gentle thread that kept him tethered amidst the chaos.

When he finally opened his eyes, the dim light of the cell stabbed at his throbbing head. Shivers coursed through his body, setting his injuries alight with fresh aches. The bruise on his torso had spread further, dark hues creeping like ink beneath his skin. Each breath tugged painfully at his ribs, but he pushed the discomfort aside as the sound of footsteps broke the silence.

Garron entered, his posture firm, a small bowl of soup in his hands. Steam wafted upward, carrying the faint scent of herbs. He placed it on the table beside Adolin with deliberate care. “Here,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. “Eat this. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

Adolin shifted gingerly, biting back a groan as he forced himself upright. The effort made his vision blur for a moment, but he managed to lift the bowl with trembling hands. The first sip sent warmth spreading through his chest, soothing the chill that had settled in his bones.

Garron took a seat across from him, his eyes steady. “I’ve spoken with the old cooks and the caretakers,” he began, his tone carrying a conviction that left no room for doubt. “They’re ready to help. We’re gathering supplies and making arrangements to get you back to Roshar. It won’t be easy, but we’ll make it happen. You’ll have the care you need.”
Adolin stilled. Roshar. The name landed like a stone in his chest, heavy and cold. Once, it would have lit him up inside. Once, it had meant skies and winds, family and purpose. But that life had burned away years ago. This cell, the gray halls, the fractured quiet of Maya’s garden—this was his world now. He’d buried the dream of going back because holding on had hurt too much.

He lowered his gaze, hiding the tightness in his throat. He couldn’t let Garron see the truth: that he didn’t believe his body could carry him that far, that even if he reached the other side, he would not be the man they hoped to bring home. To hope for more now would only sharpen the disappointment when it failed.
Still, warmth stirred faintly in his chest. Not for the dream itself, but for the spren who hadn’t forgotten him, who would risk themselves on his behalf. That kind of loyalty, that willingness to fight for him when he had nothing left to give in return, humbled him more than he could voice.

He met Garron’s gaze. “I’m grateful, truly,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “That you—and the others—would go so far for me… it means more than I can say.”
Garron nodded firmly, his expression resolute. “It’s what needs to be done. You’ve carried the weight for all of us. Now it’s time we carry it for you.”
Adolin inclined his head in thanks, though inside, the words scraped raw. He didn’t argue. He wouldn’t take Garron’s hope from him. But when the man’s footsteps faded, Adolin leaned back against the cold stone and let his eyes close.

Roshar had become a place of ghosts, and he had no strength left to chase them.
Maya lingered with him, a quiet warmth in the dark, the only home he would allow himself to believe in.

***

The scrape of footsteps echoed in the hallway before the cell door creaked open. Garron stepped in first, his usual composed expression carefully neutral as he motioned for the two spren behind him to enter. They carried satchels slung over their shoulders, their movements deliberate as they stepped into the small space.

Garron cleared his throat. “Brightlord Adolin,” he said, his tone formal but softer than usual. “These are Kaelyr and Serelien. I asked them to bring supplies.”

Kaelyr, tall and slender, nodded respectfully, his translucent form catching the dim light. “Brightlord,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m Kaelyr.” He gestured toward his companion. “And this is Serelien.”

Adolin’s gaze shifted briefly to Garron, his expression unreadable, before turning to the spren. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

“It’s overdue,” Serelien said, her tone practical but carrying a faint edge. 

“We should have been here sooner.” Kaelyr added, glancing pointedly at Garron. His voice wasn’t accusatory, but the undertone was clear.

Garron didn’t flinch but lowered his eyes without a word. 

Adolin’s jaw tightened slightly, but tried to break the  tension. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now.”

Kaelyr set his satchel down and began unpacking jars and vials with care. “We brought what we could,” he said. “Salves, drafts. It’s not much, but it should help ease the pain.”

Serelien uncorked a small bottle and held it out. “This one’s for the fever,” she said simply.

Adolin took it, hesitating briefly before drinking. The bitter taste hit his tongue, sharp and acrid, but he forced it down. Meanwhile, Kaelyr opened a jar of salve and held it up. “May I?” he asked.

Adolin nodded, leaning back slightly. Kaelyr knelt beside him and began applying the salve to the dark bruise spreading across his ribs. The first touch sent a sharp, stabbing pain radiating through Adolin’s side, like fire lancing beneath his skin. He clenched his jaw, a low hiss escaping despite his efforts to suppress it.

Kaelyr paused, apologizing, his brows drawing together slightly. “Does it hurt that much?” he asked, his tone cautious.
“It’s not great,” Adolin muttered through gritted teeth.
Garron stepped closer, his arms still folded. “It’s bad,” he said firmly, his eyes on the bruise. “And it’s getting worse”
Kaelyr glanced up, his expression unreadable. “That’s concerning. We’ll do everything we can,” he said, resuming his careful work.

Serelien crouched nearby, her gaze on Adolin’s side. “How long have you been in pain like this?” she asked.

Adolin nodded faintly, his voice low. “For a few days now.”

Serelien hesitated, her tone softening. “This is because you fought for Maya?”

Adolin let out a slow breath, leaning his head back against the wall. “Yes, but it’s not always like this, this time… it was much worse.”

Her frown deepened, “You shouldn’t have to go through this.”

Serelien’s expression shifted, conflicted. “But at the same time I’m glad someone is willing to do it,” she murmured, “I’m glad you are willing to fight for Maya..”

Adolin gave a faint smile, his voice quiet but firm. “She’s worth it.”

“They all are.” She said, holding his gaze for a moment before returning to her vials. 

A heavy silence followed before Adolin broke it. “So, you’re Kaelyr, and you’re Serelien. I thought I recognized your names,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Lyreah and Ashera mentioned you. Thank you for everything you’ve done—for all your help.”

“It’s the least we could do.” Kaelyr replied, his voice firm but earnest. A faint smile touched his lips. “We’ve followed your story through Lyreah and Ashera for a long time.”
Adolin exhaled slowly, shaking his head slightly. “What about them?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter. “Do you have any news?”

Kaelyr paused briefly, exchanging a glance with Serelien before responding. “They’re well,” he said carefully. “As well as can be expected.”

“They’re allowed visits from family, but only under strict supervision,” Serelien added. “No one else is permitted to see them.”

Adolin frowned, his fingers curling slightly against his lap. “That makes sense,” he muttered, his tone bitter.

Serelien tilted her head. “Why is that?”

Adolin’s voice dropped, his gaze turning distant. “Sekeir doesn’t want it known that the deadeye he’s displaying in the square isn’t Maya. It’s a fake.”

Kaelyr and Serelien exchanged a quick, knowing glance. Kaelyr was the first to respond. “That… would explain a lot,” he said hesitantly. “It’s been puzzling why the other spren seem more awake than Maya.”

Adolin let out a slow breath, fatigue pulling heavily at him. “I hate the thought that they’re locked up because of me.”

“They’re strong, Brightlord,” Serelien said quietly, her voice steady. “They knew the risks when they helped you. And they don’t regret it.”

Adolin’s shoulders eased slightly, though his expression remained troubled. “I hope they know how much I appreciate everything they’ve done,” he said softly.

“They do,” Kaelyr said with quiet certainty. “They always have.”

Kaelyr smoothed another layer of salve across Adolin’s ribs, eliciting a faint wince from him as the sharp sting of the salve cut through his skin like needles before dulling into a deep, aching throb. Serelien handed him another draft, her tone practical. “This one’s for the aches,” she said.

Adolin drank it, grimacing at the taste. As the warmth spread through him, the tension in his muscles began to ease.  

Adolin set the empty cup aside, the bitterness still lingering on his tongue. He shifted slightly, the salve cooling on his ribs, though the ache remained a constant companion. He glanced at Kaelyr and Serelien, their satchels now nearly empty, and asked, “How are the deadeyes doing?”

Kaelyr and Serelien exchanged a brief look, and Kaelyr was the first to speak. “There have been changes,” he said carefully. “Some of them, anyway.”

Adolin straightened a little, despite the stiffness in his side. “What kind of changes?”

Kaelyr hesitated, glancing at Serelien, who took over. “A few of them—only two or three—seem more awake than the others. They move with purpose, like they’re being driven by something. The rest less so but still so much better than they were”

Adolin leaned back slightly with a small smile on his face, the ache in his ribs momentarily forgotten. Garron, who had been standing quietly, stepped forward, his expression a mix of fascination and disbelief. “Wait,” he said. “Are you saying Maya isn’t the only one? That there're changes to others as well?”

Kaelyr glanced at him, his tone measured. “Yes, but this is old news really. If you hadn’t aligned so closely with Sekeir, you might have heard whispers of it earlier.”

Garron exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looked as though he didn’t know what to do with this new information. Then, finally, a small smile broke through his guarded expression. “That’s… good,” he said, his voice warming. “It’s more than good—it’s incredible.”

Adolin leaned his head back against the wall, his breaths shallow but steady. After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes, glancing at Kaelyr and Serelien. “Would you like to talk to Maya?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

The caretakers exchanged a look, surprise flickering across their features. “We… we’d be honored,” Serelien said, her tone hesitant yet sincere. “If she’s willing, of course.”

“She’s beyond willing, she’s been dying to talk to you” he said. “But you’ll have to go through me. I’ll translate for her.”

For the next hour, the cell was filled with quiet, deliberate conversation. The caretakers asked their questions, their words thoughtful and respectful, while Adolin translated Maya’s responses aloud. Maya’s voice in his mind was firm, tinged with gratitude for their efforts and her unwavering commitment to Adolin. Kaelyr’s expression softened as he listened, and Serelien’s crystalline edges seemed to shimmer faintly with each answer. They spoke of their admiration for her resilience, their hopes for the deadeyes, and their shared determination to see change.

But as time passed, Adolin’s voice grew weaker, each word taking more effort. His breathing became shallow, and a flush of fever crept back into his face. The caretakers noticed immediately. Kaelyr paused mid-question, his brow furrowing with concern. “Brightlord, are you all right?”

Adolin leaned back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I’m just… tired,” he murmured, his voice rasping and strained. Sweat clung to his brow, and his chest rose and fell unevenly.

The salve’s cooling relief had long faded, replaced by a sharp, relentless ache in his ribs with every shallow breath. His fever was back, more intense than before, and even the effort of keeping himself upright left him trembling, his body visibly weakening with each passing moment.

Serelien moved closer, her expression tightening with concern. “The fever’s worse,” she said, pulling out another vial from her satchel. “Here. This should help ease it again.”

Kaelyr reached for the salve, his movements steady but slow. He hesitated for a moment, then began applying it to Adolin’s ribs. Garron, standing nearby, watched closely, his face tight with worry. “This isn’t enough,” Garron said suddenly, his tone sharp. “These drugs—they’re easing his pain, but they are not making him any better.”

Adolin took the offered vial with trembling hands, drinking it slowly despite the bitterness. “It’s helping,” he murmured, his voice strained and weak. “Even if it’s just the pain.”

Serelien glanced at Garron, her lips pressed thin.

“We’re out of time,” Garron pressed, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “We need to get him back to the physical realm. We need to leave tonight.”

Kaelyr stiffened, then shook his head. “We’re not ready, we have plans in motion but they all need more time. We still need supplies, maps, safe passage. I don’t know if you understand the danger of what you are asking.”

“I do,” Garron said, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “But staying here isn’t an option anymore. This is the only chance we have and I’m going to take it.”

Serelien looked down at Adolin, her hand brushing against his clammy skin as his breaths rattled shallow and uneven. She exhaled quietly, her voice soft but resolute. “He’s right. If we don’t act soon, it will be too late.”

Garron set his jaw tight. “Tell everyone of the change of plans.  Tell them to do whatever is possible today. I will understand if anyone backs out, including you, but as for the rest, we are leaving tonight.”

Adolin tried to listen, but his strength failed him. His body slumped against the wall, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The conversation blurred Garron’s steady voice fading to a distant hum.

Chapter Text

Adolin woke to pain sharper and deeper than before. His ribs throbbed relentlessly, the bruising now spreading across his side like a dark tide. His belly felt wrong—swollen, tight, and pressing painfully against his breath. He tried to shift, but his limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive. All he could manage was a shallow gasp, his strength drained entirely.

Garron was by his side, seated on a low stool that had been brought into the cell. His arms were crossed, his face stern but focused. Every so often, he glanced toward the door as messengers slipped in and out, murmuring updates and passing papers back and forth. Garron would nod, give quick instructions, and return his attention to Adolin.

As the hours dragged on, Adolin’s condition worsened. The coldness in his body spread, creeping from his wound and seeping into his bones. His vision blurred, and the steady pounding of his heart had turned irregular—too fast, too uneven. Garron’s voice drifted in and out, and the messengers’ hurried murmurs blended into a distant, meaningless hum. Adolin tried to focus, to stay present, but his body felt too heavy, his mind too fogged.

It wasn’t just the pain, or the fever, or the weakness dragging him down. He knew what it was. He had seen it too many times before—the edge drawing near, the quiet certainty that his strength was slipping for good. Not today, maybe, not this hour, but soon.

“Garron,” he rasped, forcing his voice out. It was barely audible, but Garron leaned in immediately, his face tightening.

“What is it?” Garron asked, his tone low but urgent.

Adolin swallowed, his throat dry and raw. “I don’t have a lot of time,” he said, his voice cracking.

Garron’s eyes hardened. “Don’t say that. We’re getting you out of here. Back to Roshar. Back to your family.”

Garron’s words barely penetrated the haze of pain and exhaustion. He wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the fragile hope Garron carried, but deep down, he knew his body was failing. The fever burned hotter with each hour, his chest felt heavy, and the ache in his ribs spread like a rot. Every breath felt like dragging a stone uphill.

He let out a shallow sigh, his voice quiet but steady. “I want to thank you, Garron,” he rasped. “For everything you’ve done, for staying with me.”

Garron’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze, shame etched across his face. “Thank me!?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “This is all my fault, I did this to you.”

Adolin blinked, his expression softening despite the pain wracking his body. He shook his head weakly. “You made a mistake and you’re trying to fix it.” Adolin replied softly. “And for that I thank you,”
He paused, his mind drifting to Maya, the faint warmth of her presence grounding him. “but… I’m going to spend whatever time I have left with Maya. In her garden.”

Garron’s brows knit tightly, his frustration cutting through his concern. “Adolin, the plan will work. We’ll get you out of this tower. You just need to stay with me a little longer.”

Adolin studied Garron for a moment, gratitude mingling with the weight of inevitability.

A faint, weary smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall. “I trust you will do whatever is best for me,” he said softly, his tone calm, almost detached. “But if it doesn’t work… I need you to promise me something.”

Garron leaned closer, his expression guarded but attentive. “Anything.”

Adolin’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice soft but resolute. “I want you to return my body to my father, and tell them all that I love them and that I’m sorry. Whatever happens, promise me he’ll have that much.”

Garron flinched as though struck, his breath catching in his throat. Adolin saw the grief flash in his eyes before it hardened into anger.
“Don’t talk like that,” Garron said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’re not going to die.”

Adolin felt a pang of guilt for placing this burden on him but pressed on. “Promise me,” he said again, his voice firmer now. “Please.”

Garron’s fists clenched. He stared at Adolin for a long moment before nodding sharply, his voice rough with emotion.
“I promise,” he said. “Your father will have you. No matter what.”

Adolin’s lips twitched in something like a smile. “Thank you—for everything,” he whispered. His voice was barely a breath. “Farewell, my friend.”

Garron swallowed hard. “See you soon.”

Adolin closed his eyes. In the quiet that followed, his mind reached instinctively for Maya—her garden flickering faintly in the distance of his thoughts, fragile and waiting.

***

Adolin opened his eyes to a haze of soft light and color. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was — only that the air smelled of wet petals and living earth, that somewhere nearby, a stream whispered against smooth stones. Then the ache in his ribs reminded him. The pain was constant now, a dull weight pressing through every breath — yet here, in Maya’s garden, it felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else.
The sunroom awaited him. Maya had transformed it — crystal panels glowed with diffused sunlight, scattering rainbows across the walls. Petals drifted across the floor, pale blue and gold, and a soft mattress lay in the center, layered with silken sheets and woven sprenlight. It looked impossibly inviting, touched with the kind of care that only love could create.
Maya stood by it, waiting for him, a soft, melancholic smile on her face. When Adolin stepped through the archway, her head lifted sharply, and warmth bloomed in her hollow eyes.
“My prince, you are here” she whispered, voice trembling.
“Of course my sweet spren.” he murmured, his lips curving faintly.
She met him halfway, taking his hands, guiding him to the soft mattress she had prepared. The motion cost him more than he’d admit — each step heavy, each breath shallow — but her presence made it bearable.
“Look what I made for you,” Maya said, as he lowered himself onto the bedding. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Adolin smiled faintly, his head sinking into the softness. “Just like you, gemheart.”
They sat together, fingers entwined, silence thick and full between them. The glow of the sun filtered through the glass, painting them in warm light.
After a long pause, he turned his head toward her, voice low and rasping. “Maya,” he said, and she looked up immediately, eyes wide with quiet devotion.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything,” she whispered.
“Promise me you’ll live.” he said. “Promise me you’ll fight with everything you have to hold on, not just for me but for the others as well. They’ll need you, Maya. They’ll need you, your light, to guide them.”
Her breath caught — a sound between a sob and a vow — and she leaned forward until their foreheads almost touched, their light and shadow mingling on the sunlit floor.
“I promise,” she said.

He smiled faintly — not with joy, but with quiet relief. “That’s all I needed.”
For a while they said nothing. The garden was still, save for the distant scrape of claws against stone, faint and far off but growing bolder again. The sound made Adolin stir, his gaze turning toward the horizon. “The creatures,” he murmured. “How many are left?”
“Not many,” she said softly. “They linger, just beyond the edge. But they’re weak. The worst of it has passed.”
He pushed himself up on one arm, breath catching. “Then let me finish it. I can still—”
But Maya shook her head before he could rise further. “No.” Her voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that stopped him cold. “You’ve fought enough for me. Now let me fight for both of us.”
He stared at her — at the resolve that had replaced her trembling, at the faint shimmer of light along her skin where cracks had once been. There was no fear in her now, only the steady fire of steadfast resolve.
“Maya…” His throat tightened. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” she said. “You taught me to live, Adolin. To reach for something beyond what we were.” She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his cheek. “But if I’m to keep living, it has to be my fight now. My choice.”
Her gaze held his, clear and unyielding. “Life after death,” she whispered. “That’s what you gave me.”
Adolin swallowed hard. His hand covered hers, trembling. “And strength after weakness,” he said softly. “That’s what you found for yourself.”
For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to hum — a shared breath, a single rhythm.
Maya’s voice was low but certain. “Then let our journey continue after it’s destination. You’ve brought me this far, my prince. Let me walk the rest.”
He closed his eyes, the words sinking deep — not just vows, but truths they had both lived. When he looked at her again, it was with quiet pride and aching acceptance.
“All right,” he whispered. “Then go. I’ll guide you, as long as you’ll let me.”

Chapter Text

The cell was dim, the fading light from the high, narrow window doing little to push back the encroaching shadows. Garron paced just outside the bars, his footsteps quiet but restless against the stone floor. Every shallow breath from Adolin’s sleeping form reminded him how fragile their charge had become.
Garron could see it. He needed a healer—real care that no one here could provide. Still, there was hope. If they left tonight, if they moved quickly and brought him back to Roshar, there was a chance.

The message Garron had sent out earlier had worked. Spren arrived, in pairs or alone, bearing sacks of food, jugs of water, scraps of cloth, and vials of medicine. A roughly hewn wooden cart had been dragged in, its wheels echoing in the confined space. Hushed murmurs and the faint rustle of preparations filled the room, a quiet energy of urgency and resolve.
Kaelyr was the last to arrive, his sharp features catching what little light remained. He moved quickly to Adolin’s side, taking in the frail figure without comment, jaw tightening at the sight.

After the last of the spren arrived, Garron turned to face them, his gaze sweeping over each one. His voice was steady, but every word carried the weight of urgency and resolve. “Thank you all for coming. This task was never going to be easy, and now it has grown even more dangerous. Yet here you stand, choosing to risk everything to do what is right. That is true courage. That is the honor we were made for.

Adolin needs our help. He cannot last here much longer. Tonight is our chance—our only chance—to bring him back to Roshar. This is not a simple trial, it is the fulfillment of our purpose as honor spren. The path ahead will be perilous, yes, but I have faith in you all. We will succeed—not because it is easy, but because it is right. And because we must.”
The spren nodded, courage steadying in their posture, hearts buoyed by Garron’s words.

Kaelyr pressed his lips into a thin line. “We must move fast. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Obstacles will be met and overcome. Understood?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.
Two spren carefully lifted Adolin and placed him onto the cart. He looked impossibly small now, stripped of the strength and presence that had carried them this far. Layers of rugs were wrapped around him, hiding his face but leaving space to breathe. Garron adjusted the coverings, tucking them in tightly to keep him warm, and let his hand linger on Adolin’s shoulder for a moment.
“You’ve done enough, my friend,” he whispered, low and soft. “Now let us carry you.”

Supplies gathered and positions taken, the group moved as one. Garron gripped the cart’s handle, knuckles pale from the effort, his gaze sweeping over the others. There was no hesitation, no doubt. They were ready.

“Stay close,” he instructed quietly. “No matter what happens, keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”
Kaelyr fell into the rear guard, angular and watchful. “If anything comes for us, I’ll hold them off,” he said.

Garron gave a brief nod. “Thank you.”

The heavy door groaned as they pushed it open. Cool night air rushed in, sharp and bracing. The shadows embraced them as they slipped into the darkened paths.
The cart’s wheels creaked softly beneath the weight of hope and desperation. Adolin lay still, his breathing shallow but steady. Garron glanced back once, a flicker of worry crossing his face, then pushed it aside. There was no room for doubt. Adolin had done so much, now it was their turn.

***

The corridors of the tower stretched like a labyrinth, dim and silent save for the faint echo of their own footsteps. Lanterns flickered along the walls, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with each movement. The air smelled of stone and cold drafts, carrying with it the faint tang of mildew.
Garron gripped the cart’s handle, knuckles white, his every step deliberate. Beside him, Kaelyr’s angular form moved with a measured grace, eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. Behind them, the spren followed in loose formation, translucent shapes shifting silently, their attention taut, ready to intercept any threat.
Adolin lay bundled beneath blankets, his chest rising and falling in a threadbare rhythm. Each shallow breath reminded them of the stakes—one misstep, one stumble, and the fragile life they carried could be lost.

A distant footstep echoed down a side passage. All three caretakers froze, hearts hammering in rhythm with the cart’s gentle creak. Garron pressed a finger to his lips, signaling the others to halt. The sound drew closer, then receded, and they let out held breaths, eyes flicking to one another in silent relief.

They moved again, each wheel’s groan amplified in the quiet. Every door, every metal grate seemed poised to betray them. A breeze rustled some papers along the floor, and Kaelyr’s hand shot out, catching them before they skittered too far.

A sharp creak rang from a corner ahead, and they flattened against the wall. Garron’s heart leapt—another patrol, maybe too close this time. A guard turned the corner, steps slow and deliberate. The caretakers pressed themselves further into shadow, the cart’s low wheels barely squeaking as it rolled forward on instinct. The guard passed, oblivious, and a collective exhale rippled through the group.

Sweat traced lines down Garron’s temple. Kaelyr’s hand hovered near his sword, tension coiled in every muscle. Even the spren seemed to quiver slightly, their normally serene forms tinged with urgency. Every one of them knew that one wrong turn, one stray sound, could undo everything.

The dark corridors finally opened onto the eastern gate, and relief washed over them at the sight of a familiar figure. Dynasin, the guard that supported them, stood waiting, his form glimmering faintly in the lantern light just like they had planed.

“You’re late,” Dynasin said, his tone half chiding, half anxious. “But you made it so let's make haste.” With a smooth motion, he began lifting the gate.

Garron relaxed and Kaelyr’s shoulders slackened just a fraction. Even the spren behind them seemed to shimmer more gently. But the tension didn’t vanish—it merely shifted, ready to snap if anything went wrong.

The momentary relief turned to dread when from the side, a footstep echoed along the stone. A young guard, early to his shift, emerged, whistle at his lips. He didn’t look suspicious, but his presence sent their pulse spiking.

“Evening,” he said casually, stopping beside the gate. “Odd hour for work, isn't it?” His gaze swept over the cart, lingering briefly, friendly curiosity in his expression.

Garron’s hand tightened on the cart handle. Every second stretched like a taut wire, the anxiety coiling tighter in their chests. Kaelyr forced himself to relax his jaw, giving a smooth nod. The cart hadn’t made a sound. If the guard looked too closely, they might all be done for.

“We are carrying some form of payment and merchandise,” Kaelyr said evenly, voice low but firm. “Sekeir's orders.”

Dynasin’s translucent form shimmered slightly as he leaned casually against the gate frame. “Sekeir must have some strange dealings to need transport at this hour,” he added, a teasing note in his voice.
The guard chuckled, tension easing fractionally. “Ah, Sekeir,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, don’t want to hold you up then.” He waved a hand and stepped aside, nodding at the gate. Garron’s chest eased slightly, and even Kaelyr allowed himself a small exhale.

The cart rolled forward, wheels creaking softly against the stone. Relief began to bloom, brief and fragile.

Until —

A sharp horn split the night and then alarms started blaring one by one from every corner of the tower. Garron’s stomach dropped. No… no, not now. He clenched his teeth, forcing his pulse to slow, but the panic burned in his chest anyway. Kaelyr’s jaw tightened beside him, dark eyes flicking between the cart and the gate. What in the winds…

The new shift guard appeared as if from nowhere, steps brisk, voice cutting through the chaos. “Stop! Hold where you are!” His gaze swept over the gate, over the cart, over the faint shapes of the spren. “Dynasin! What’s going on? Why is the alarm—”
Dynasin didn’t answer. Not a word. Not even a glance. The guard’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening like a blade. Something wasn’t right.

Garron’s chest tightened, panic clawed at his mind, threatening to paralyze him. Think, think, think. But he forced calm across his face, voice steady as he spoke, even though every nerve screamed danger.

“What… what’s happening?” Garron asked aloud, tilting his head as if puzzled. Kaelyr mirrored him, brows drawn as if confused, their calm, deliberate, fragile masks. “What could possibly be wrong?” Kaelyr added, soft, casual, rehearsed.

The guard’s frown tightened. “I don’t know, but we better hold on until we find out. Dynasin—stop lowering the gate.”

Dynasin still didn’t respond. The guard’s gaze flicked between the inaction of the contact and the silent cart. He knew. Something was wrong.

Garron’s heart hammered. Kaelyr’s fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword. The facade could only hold so long.

A glance. A nod. They moved together in near-perfect synchronicity, hands finding hilts, eyes hardening. The calm masks dropped. They went for the guard, to quiet him until the gate was down and they could escape but instead of going for his sword the guard went for his horn. The caretakers were on him in moments but not before the booming sound tore through the air.

The scattered spren who had accompanied Adolin emerged from the shadows, moving as one at the first sign of trouble. Swords were drawn, glinting faintly in the moonlight, and their forms spread to shield the cart. The soldiers charged, disciplined and relentless, but the spren were faster, sharper, their movements precise and coordinated.

They fought fiercely, a wall of blades around the cart. Each swing, each parry, was deliberate, protecting the fragile form beneath the blankets. Soldiers fell back, some retreating, others incapacitated, but more kept coming. The clang of steel rang through the air, echoing off stone walls, yet still the cart remained safe.

At last, the eastern gate gave way, swinging open under the strain of Dynasin’s efforts. A rush of hope surged as the spren and caretakers surged forward, eager to escape into the relative freedom beyond. But that hope crashed against the harsh reality waiting on the other side.

A mass of soldiers were already there, growing by the minute. They surged through the open gate, spears and swords flashing, shouting orders that cut through the night. The spren met them without hesitation, clashing steel against steel, but the sheer number of soldiers pressed in, driving them back step by step.

Garron and Kaelyr fought with grim determination, blocking blows aimed at the cart, swinging with precise, controlled strikes, but every second the pressure grew. Soldiers kept coming, reinforcements streaming from side streets, from watchtowers, their presence a tightening noose.

A glance exchanged between Garron and Kaelyr said it all: if they didn’t retreat, they would be surrounded and overrun. The decision was made without words. Slowly, deliberately, they pulled back, keeping the cart at the center of their formation. Every strike now was both defensive and delaying, buying distance while holding their cargo safe.
They reached the large square at the bottom of the tower, open enough to maneuver, but it was only a temporary reprieve. Soldiers poured in from every side, cutting off escape routes.

Kaelyr cursed under his breath, his dark eyes scanning the growing crowd of guards. “We’re surrounded,” he said grimly.
The spren formed a tight circle around Adolin’s cart, their blades raised, their faces set with grim determination. Garron could feel the fear pressing against them, threatening to swallow them whole, but none of them faltered.

“We can’t give up now,” Garron said, his voice low but fierce. “We hold the line. Protect Adolin at all costs.”

Kaelyr nodded sharply, stepping into place beside him. “No hesitation,” he said. “No second-guessing.”

The guards closed in slowly, their formation tightening as they surrounded the group. Some shouted orders, others held their spears at the ready, but none of them advanced yet. They didn’t need to—their numbers alone were enough to force the spren into a desperate, defensive stance.
Above them, the alarm continued to wail, its piercing cry echoing through the open space. The commotion had drawn attention, and now more figures appeared in the upper levels of the tower, peering down into the square below. Civilians, guards, even other spren—all of them drawn by the sound, their faces alight with curiosity and confusion.

Chapter Text

The tension thickened as the minutes ticked by, the two sides standing at an impasse.  The air was heavy with anticipation but no one was making any move.

“They’re stalling,” Kaelyr muttered, his blade at the ready. “What are they waiting for? Reinforcements?”

Garron shook his head “They already greatly outnumber us. No, they are waiting for something else.”

The mounting tension broke when the captain of the guard stepped forward, his armor catching the faint glow of the tower’s lanterns. His face was hard, his expression unreadable as he raised his hand to signal his men to halt.

“Drop your swords,” the captain commanded, his voice cutting through the noise of the gathered crowd. The alarm blared overhead for the last time leaving the captain’s voice the only sound. “Surrender the prisoner, and no one else has to get hurt.”

Garron didn’t move, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade. His voice, when he spoke, was steady but filled with steel. “We can’t do that.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “You’re defying the will of the honorspren,” he said coldly. “This man is guilty. He has already been judged.”

Kaelyr stepped forward, his blade shifting slightly in his hand. “Adolin Kholin is an innocent man,” he said, his voice sharp and clear. “You know as well as I do that he didn’t break any laws. He agreed to stand trial for humanity’s past sins, and you condemned him for crimes he didn’t commit.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” the captain replied, his voice rising. “Hand him over, or we will take him by force.”

Garron raised his blade slightly, his stance unwavering. “If we give him over, he will die,” he said. “He’s barely holding on to life. He needs medical attention—now. If you stand in our way, you’re sentencing him to death.”

The captain’s gaze hardened. “That’s not for us to decide, his fate has already been decided.”

One of the younger spren in the circle, her leaf-like markings trembling with fear, stepped forward. Her voice was quiet but clear. “You will not condemn an innocent man to death, not in our name.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd. More spren had come to see what the commotion was about, their forms pressing against the edges of the circle of guards. The alarm still blared above, but now it was joined by the low hum of voices, whispers spreading as the onlookers tried to piece together what was happening.

“This is not up for debate” one of the guards snapped, his grip tightening on his spear. “Step aside.”

“No,” Garron said firmly. "Adolin's bond with Maya is real!" Garron’s voice rang out, hoarse but steady. "It’s real enough to bring a deadeye back!"

The words stunned the crowd into momentary silence before a murmur rippled through the gathered spren. Some gasping audibly, others stiffening where they stood. The guards froze, their spears wavering for the first time. Garron could see their eyes darting toward one another, confusion etched on their faces.

“So it is true?” someone in the crowd whispered.

“The deadeyes are awake?”

“That’s not possible…” another voice muttered.

A figure broke from the crowd, stepping past the line of guards. He was lean and sharp-featured and Garron recognised him as another caretaker. He joined the protective circle around Adolin, his blade in hand. He turned to address the crowd, his voice ringing with conviction.

“He’s right. I’ve seen it myself.” the spren continued, his voice rising. “And it’s all because of the human. He’s an honorable man.”

The murmur swiping through the crowd, growing louder but he went on.

“You’ve heard the stories,” another spren joined in, turning to address the crowd now. “You’ve heard the rumors. It’s all true. He has done a mercy for the deadeyes and for us. Are we going to kill him as thanks. There is no honor in that.”

“Enough!” the captain snapped, his voice cutting through the growing noise. “This is nonsense. Stand down and let us do our duty!”

But the spren in the crowd weren’t listening. Another figure stepped forward, then another. Five, six, the seven and eight, pushing past the line of guards and into the protective circle around the cart. They stood shoulder to shoulder with Garron and the others, their blades raised, their eyes burning with determination.

“We won’t let you take him,” one of them said, his voice steady. “Not until we sort this out.”

The guards hesitated, their formation faltering as the crowd pressed closer. More voices joined the chorus, calling out questions, demanding answers. The balance was shifting, the tension mounting.

The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, a cacophony of voices that wavered between agreement and uncertainty. Some spren leaned forward, hope flickering in their eyes, while others glanced nervously at the guards, unsure which side to believe. The tension crackled in the air like an impending storm.

“You’ve been deceived!” a voice rang out—cold, commanding, and razor-sharp, cutting through the noise like a shardblade through stone.

The crowd froze, their murmurs dying instantly as they turned toward the source of the voice. The air seemed to grow heavier as Sekeir stepped out from the shadows, his expression grim, his eyes sharp and cold, piercing through the gathered spren like a predator surveying prey.

He strode forward with slow, deliberate steps, the clamor of the crowd silenced by the sheer weight of his presence. When he spoke again, his voice was louder, more pointed, and filled with scorn.

“The stories you’ve heard about Adolin Kholin and his supposed bond with Maya are nothing but lies,” Sekeir said, his tone biting and accusatory. “Lies spun by him in order to manipulate you.” “The deadeyes haven’t changed! They are as broken as they have always been!”

Sekeir continued, his stance confident and commanding. "You know this to be true—Maya is in the square for everyone to see. She remains unawakened. This is all a malicious lie!"

He strode forth, his eyes locking onto the faces of the gathered spren. “This is what humans do, they lie, they manipulate, they deceive. They say and do anything to get their way and Adolin is no different.”
Sekeir's voice grew louder, filled with indignation and passion that would convince Garron himself if he didn’t know better.

 “They have no honor, no loyalty.  Do not allow your compassion to blind you to the truth! You know the history of your kind. You know how they used us for their own ends and turned their backs when it mattered most. Stand strong against this manipulation! We will not allow ourselves to be pawns in their game!”

With each word, Sekeir worked to reinforce the divide, rallying those who still clung to doubt. “Trust your instincts! Remember the pain they’ve caused us. Remember how easily they’ve cast aside those who once stood by them. Stand with the Honor spren, not for the human and his false promises!”

Garron felt his stomach twist as he saw the crowd waver, uncertainty rippling through them like a passing storm. Sekeir’s words sank into their minds, planting seeds of doubt that began to take root. Faces once filled with hope now wore expressions of confusion and hesitation. “Could it have all been a lie?” whispered one spren to another, glancing nervously at the gathering of defenders. 

The tales of Adolin’s bond with Maya, once celebrated, felt fragile in the wake of Sekeir’s accusations. Some murmured about the past and a few nodded slowly, swayed by Sekeir’s fervor. The energy in the square shifted, and as Sekeir’s assertions gained traction, the air thickened with a growing distrust that threatened to overshadow the flickering light of hope.

As Sekeir spoke of betrayal Garron’s heart sank further. Memories of his own past mistakes flashed through his mind, the shame of exposing the guard who had tried to help Adolin. He felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him as he felt Adolin fading beside him like a phantom limb.

The square buzzed with tension as Sekeir’s words rang out, stirring the crowd further. Garron’s hands tightened around the hilt of his blade, his jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

“That deadeye isn’t Maya!” Garron shouted, his voice echoing across the square. The crowd turned to him, startled.   “That spren isn’t Maya—it’s an imposter! Placed there by Sekeir to hide the truth of what Adolin has done. He doesn’t want you to see how she’s awakened!”

Gasps rippled through the gathered spren, their forms shifting uneasily, their eyes narrowing with doubt. A murmur started to rise, whispers of confusion and disbelief.

Sekeir didn’t hesitate. He turned to Garron with a look of mock pity, his voice dripping with condescension as he addressed the crowd.

“And who told you that?” Sekeir said, gesturing toward Garron. “I almost feel sorry for him. See how deeply he’s fallen for his lies? This is what humans do. This is their nature.” His tone sharpened, his eyes sweeping over the crowd with intensity that cut through the growing murmur.

“LOOK AT WHAT HE IS DOING TO US!!” Sekeir’s voice trembled as his impassioned plea commanded everyone’s utmost attention. He held everyone squarely in his grasp as he went on.

“There is no depth they won’t sink to, no lie too big for them to tell. They are cunning, conniving. They twist the truth until even the most honorable among us believe their deceptions. Look at him!” He pointed sharply at Garron. “He’s proof of how far gone they’ll take you, how far they’ll manipulate you to serve their ends.”

Sekeir’s voice rose as he pressed the point home, his words slicing through the crowd’s hesitation. “Don’t let yourselves fall prey to their tricks. Don’t let them drag you into their schemes. Stand with me! Stand for the truth!”

The crowd wavered, uncertainty spreading like wildfire. Garron’s stomach sank as he saw heads nodding slowly, the flickering light of hope dimming in the faces around him. Sekeir had turned their fear and doubt into a weapon, and Garron could feel the battle slipping further from their grasp.

The pit in Garron’s chest grew heavier, like a stone sinking deeper with every nod he saw in the crowd. The flickering light of hope in their faces dimmed, snuffed out by Sekeir’s poisonous words. Fear and doubt had become weapons in the honorspren’s hands, and Garron could feel the battle slipping further from their grasp.

His grip tightened on the blade, the leather hilt biting into his palm. The crowd was wavering. The honorspren—the last barrier between Sekeir and his goal—were faltering.

There was no more room for speeches, no more ground left for reasoning. The time for words had passed. All that remained was the fight—against the guards, against the crowd, against the tower itself if he had to.

His gaze flicked to Kaelyr and the other caretakers. They stood poised, blades drawn, their forms tense and still as drawn bows. The sight steadied him. Whatever happened next, he would not face it alone.

The square had gone utterly still, thick with a strange, charged silence. The honorspren hesitated, their eyes flicking between Garron and Sekeir. One by one, some began to lower their blades and step aside.

The gap widened—a narrow path forming toward the cart and the few who still held their ground.

Sekeir’s soldiers seized the moment.

The line of guards surged forward—shields raised, blades catching the light. Garron shifted his stance, sword rising to meet the charge, motion fluid and certain.

And in that silent heartbeat before steel met stone, he knew the fight had begun.

Something shifted. The air changed. Strange movements at the edge of his vision threatened to distract him from the fight. 

A ripple moved through the crowd, faint at first, like light shivering across the surface of glass. A murmur, low and dissonant, spread outward. Faces turned, confusion flaring where there had been fury. Someone shouted—he couldn’t make out the words—but it carried a note of shock, not anger.

The front line of soldiers hesitated. Their blades wavered, no longer so sure of their mark. Garron’s focus fractured; his eyes darted toward the disturbance as the sound swelled—whispers, sharp intakes of breath, the scrape of shifting feet on smooth stone.

.

What now, Garron thought, his grip tightening on his blade.

The crowd began to part, almost instinctively, as if some unseen force compelled them.Spren stepped back, their ethereal forms shifting to make way for something moving through their midst.

And then they emerged.

Deadeyes.

Garron’s breath hitched as he watched the group step forward. Dozens of them, moving as one, their scarred forms catching faint light as they emerged from the shadows. They weren’t shuffling or stumbling like broken, mindless figures. They weren’t lost. They were moving with purpose. Their steps were sure and steady, their hollow eyes no longer entirely empty.

He knew, he’d heard the stories—but seeing them… Garron’s chest tightened with awe. His grip on his sword eased slightly, his gaze flicking across the group. He could feel it in his gut—they were here for Adolin.

Murmurs swelled around him as the crowd shifted uneasily.

“What’s happening?” someone whispered.

“They’re deadeyes,” another voice said, trembling. “But… they’re awake.”

At the front of the group, three deadeyes stood out—taller, more deliberate in their movements. One of them, a tall figure with faintly swirling cracks across her shattered skin, seemed to lead the others. Her steps were precise, her gaze forward, unbroken. Garron’s chest tightened as she moved closer.

The deadeyes came forward, and then, as if in sync, the group splintered.

Half of them broke off, cutting directly through the crowd. Garron’s gaze tracked them as they moved, their purposeful strides leaving stunned spren in their wake. Some of the crowd peeled away to follow, unable to stop themselves from trailing after the silent procession, their faces etched with shock and wonder.

The rest of the deadeyes—led by the three at the front—turned toward Garron, Kaelyr, and the caretakers. Garron straightened, his jaw tight, his focus narrowing on the tall deadeye at the front. He didn’t feel fear—only awe, mixed with the faint hope that had been simmering quietly in his chest.

As the deadeyes approached, the spren surrounding the cart instinctively parted, stepping back to let them through. Garron’s heart pounded as the tall deadeye came closer. She stopped at the cart, her shattered face tilting slightly toward it. Then, with deliberate care, she reached down and pulled back the blanket that covered Adolin.

Garron’s breath caught as he glanced at Adolin—pale, fragile, barely clinging to life—and then back at the deadeye who stood over him. She didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond uncovering him. But her presence was clear, radiating a quiet, unshakable purpose.

The other deadeyes moved into position, forming a protective circle around the cart and the caretakers. Garron’s hand tightened on his sword again, not out of fear, but out of readiness. He could feel it now—they’re here for him, he thought. They’re here to protect him.

“They’re alive,” someone in the crowd whispered, their voice trembling with disbelief.

“It’s true,” another said. “They’re not like before. They’re… aware.”

Garron’s eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the wide-eyed expressions, the gasps, the growing realization dawning on the faces of the gathered spren. Hope flickered among them now, fragile but undeniable.

And then Garron saw Sekeir.

The honorspren stood stiff and unmoving, his face a mask of tension. His jaw was tight, his narrowed eyes fixed intently on the deadeyes. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. And for the first time, Garron saw it—Sekeir was losing control.

“You lied to us!” a voice rang out, sharp and angry, cutting through the murmurs.

Garron’s gaze snapped back to the crowd as a spren stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at Sekeir.

“You said this wasn’t possible!”

“You told us nothing had changed!” another voice called out, trembling with fury.

Sekeir’s silence only stoked the fire. The murmurs of awe turned into a roar of anger as more spren stepped forward, their forms flickering faintly with heightened emotion.

Even the guards began to falter. Garron’s eyes flicked toward them, and he saw the hesitation in their stances, the way their spears dipped lower. One guard, a tall figure with vine-like luminous markings, took a step back, his face twisting with uncertainty.

“What else have you lied about?” the guard demanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Another guard shifted uncomfortably, his grip on his weapon loosening. “You used us,” he muttered, bitterness lacing his words.

Garron watched as the tide turned. The spears that had once been aimed at him and the caretakers began to shift, their sharp tips now pointed at Sekeir.

The anger spread quickly, like sparks catching fire. The guards who had been poised to strike moments ago were now stepping away from Sekeir, their expressions hardening.

The deadeyes stood firm, silent and unyielding, their circle around Adolin unbroken. Garron’s chest swelled with an unfamiliar, burning hope. He glanced at Kaelyr, whose stance was still rigid but whose sharp eyes carried the faintest flicker of satisfaction.

They’re with us, Garron thought, his grip loosening slightly on his blade. They’re really with us.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Garron allowed himself to believe.

“What else have you been hiding?” a spren from the crowd demanded, stepping forward with fists clenched.

Another spren stepped closer to Sekeir. Her voice rang out, sharp and direct. “Is the deadeye in the cage really Maya?”

The question cut through the growing noise of the crowd like a blade. All eyes turned to Sekeir, the weight of the accusation hanging heavy in the air.

Sekeir’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hard as stone as he stood silent, unmoving.

The crowd waited, the pause stretching unbearably long. Garron watched the honorspren closely, his stomach tightening with anticipation. The silence spoke louder than any denial could have.

“What have you done with her?” another voice demanded, angrier this time.

Before Sekeir could respond, another spren called out, her voice sharp and trembling. “If that deadeye isn’t Maya, then where is she?”

All eyes turned to Sekeir. Garron said nothing, his jaw tightening, and Sekeir stood frozen, his face a mask of tension.

“Did you send her away?” someone shouted. “Did you hurt her?”

“Why isn’t she here?”

The questions came faster now, overlapping, pressing against Sekeir’s silence. Garron felt the weight of their anger shift fully onto the honorspren.

“He lied,” someone whispered.

“He’s been lying this whole time!” another shouted.

The crowd surged closer, their fury mounting with every unanswered question. The guards began to shift uneasily, their spears lowering as doubt spread among them.

“What did you do to her, Sekeir?” a spren near the front demanded, her voice sharp and accusing.

Sekeir’s jaw tightened, his silence hanging in the air like a stone. It was the only answer they needed.

Chapter Text

The air was cracking apart.
Voices rose around Garron—shouts, accusations, disbelief tumbling over one another until words became noise. The crowd pressed in from every side, glowing forms crowding close, their light harsh and unsteady. He could feel the heat of their emotion, like static clinging to his skin.

A shove from somewhere. A voice—sharp, furious—“You lied to us!”
Another answered, closer this time. “You’ve deceived us all!”
The noise folded in on itself, thick and pulsing.

Garron’s knuckles whitened around his sword. He could barely hear Kaelyr calling something over the roar. The guards were faltering, their line bending in on itself. One lowered his spear, eyes darting toward Sekeir. Another took a step back, uncertain.

The whole square felt like it was tipping while Garron was considering if he should step in and protect Sekeir from being torn to shreds.

From the far side of the square, a low murmur began to rise, but Garron forced himself to ignore it—his focus locked on the danger before him. Still, the tension shifted. Heads turned. The shouting thinned, faltering as a ripple passed through the crowd, marked by the scrape of feet and the sudden hush of startled gasps.

Garron turned with them.

Through the haze of flickering light, movement. The deadeyes—the ones who’d split away—were coming back. Dozens of them, gliding through the parting crowd. They didn’t push or shout; they simply walked, and the spren moved aside. The noise drained away, leaving a heavy, suspended silence.

Garron’s heart pounded, his breath came quickly. Even the guards, moments ago ready to strike, stood frozen, spears lowering by instinct.

The deadeyes came to a halt before the caretakers’ circle.

And from their midst, a figure emerged.

Maya.

Her form was cracked and scarred, her light fractured, but there was no mistaking her. She moved with intent, her steps quick, unerring. The crowd parted again without a word.

Garron couldn’t move. The world seemed to narrow to her alone—her broken silhouette, her steady gait, the silent gravity that followed her.

Then she saw the cart.

Her steps slowed. Stopped. Her head tilted, eyes fixing on the frail, still figure beneath the blanket.

For one heartbeat, nothing moved.

Then—

“ADOLIN!”

The name tore out of her like a storm breaking open the sky. The sound was raw and alive, echoing off the walls, carrying through every corner of the square.

The crowd flinched. The guards froze. Garron felt the hair on his arms rise.

The deadeyes—all of them—lifted their heads at once.

The sound cut through the square like thunder. Every spren, every guard, every being in the square went still.

No one in the crowd had ever heard a Deadeyes speak. 

But Maya’s voice rang out, raw and desperate, her cry carrying every ounce of the bond that tied her to Adolin. She surged forward, running past the stunned honorspren, her broken form moving with purpose, not pain.

She fell to her knees beside the cart, her trembling hands finding his face. Tears streaked her cracked cheeks as she bent close, her voice breaking. “Adolin, my prince,” she whispered, her words laced with love and grief in equal measure. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

Garron froze, the breath catching in his throat. Around him, the square went utterly still. Spren who moments ago had shouted and argued now stood transfixed, their faint light flickering like candle flames in wind. 

Maya sobbed as she leaned over him, her shattered hands tracing the lines of his face as though relearning him by touch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling with centuries of sorrow. “I’m so sorry I took so long. I won’t leave you again.”

Adolin stirred beneath her hands. Not weakly this time, but with a flicker of will—his shoulders shifting, his breath catching on a quiet gasp. His eyes fluttered open, the faintest spark of color returning to his face as his gaze sought the source of that voice. When he found her, something within him steadied.

“Maya…” His voice was still rough, but stronger than Garron expected—soft, reverent. Tears welled in his eyes as his lips trembled into a fragile smile. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” she whispered, her hands cradling his face as if he were something sacred. Her cracked features softened, a light blooming faintly along the fractures that traced her skin. “I’m here, my prince. Forever.”

Adolin’s chest rose a little deeper now, his breath no longer the fragile thread it had been moments ago. His hand lifted, trembling but certain, and found hers. “I can’t believe I get to look at you again, to touch you.” he murmured, his voice breaking with quiet wonder. “My beautiful spren.”

The words hung in the air like light breaking through stormclouds. The silence that followed wasn’t emptiness—it was reverence. All around them, the spren watched in awe, their forms shimmering faintly, as if responding to something ancient and holy rekindling before their eyes.

And the deadeyes—those silent witnesses to centuries of loss—stood taller, their cracked forms aglow in faint light, as though Maya’s cry had stirred something deep within them all.

No one spoke. No one dared to move. Garron could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the realization spreading through the square like wildfire.

Maya wasn’t just awake, she wasn’t just aware, she could speak, she was alive.

And so was the bond between them.

Garron’s grip on his blade loosened, his hand falling to his side. Whatever doubt had lingered in the square was gone now, washed away by the undeniable truth before them.  

Maya knelt there, her form bathed in the soft light of the tower as she cradled Adolin in her arms, whispering soft, soothing words he could barely hear. Adolin’s tears continued to fall, his free hand clutching at her as though she might disappear if he let go.

Around them, the square remained still, every spren mesmerized by the sight, none more than Sekeir. 

The square remained utterly still as Maya cradled Adolin, her scarred hands carefully brushing tears from his pale cheeks. Garron stood frozen, his chest heavy with the weight of what he’d just witnessed. Around him, every spren stared in rapt silence, their eyes wide and filled with muted light.

But then, as the reality of Sekeir’s lies settled over the square like a suffocating fog, the silence broke.

One of the guards stepped forward, his jaw tight, his features set with grim resolve. Without waiting for an order, he reached for the shackles at his belt, his spear clinking softly as he moved.

Others followed his lead, their expressions dark, their weapons no longer aimed at Garron and the caretakers, but at Sekeir.

Sekeir turned sharply, his gaze snapping to the advancing guards. For a moment, his eyes flared with anger, burning bright against his rigid features, but then they dimmed. His posture faltered, his shoulders stiff yet heavy with tension. His face twisted, confusion blooming across his features as his gaze shifted to Maya.

“But why?” Sekeir asked, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. The guards froze mid-step, their hesitation reflected in the crowd’s collective intake of breath. Sekeir’s hands trembled at his sides, his voice growing louder, tinged with desperation.

“Why do you care so much for him?” he demanded, his voice raw and trembling as he locked his gaze on Maya. “The humans betrayed their oaths! They abandoned you! They condemned all of you to this—” He gestured wildly toward her, his tone rising. “To this existence! Pain. Suffering. They left you as living dead. Why, Maya? Why was he enough?”

The crowd rippled with unease. Whispers spread again, some spren nodding faintly at Sekeir’s words, others glancing at Maya with confusion. 

But Maya didn’t waver.

Slowly, she stood, her movements deliberate, careful. Her hollow gaze lingered on Adolin for a moment, a silent reassurance passing between them as she placed a hand gently on his chest. Then, she turned to face Sekeir.

Her form straightened and when she spoke, her voice was clear, steady, and filled with determination.

“The humans never betrayed us.”

The crowd froze, stunned into silence once more. Garron’s eyes widened, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of her words. Around him, spren exchanged uncertain glances, their features flickering faintly with confusion.

Maya stepped forward, her steps sure but free of anger. Her voice carried over the square, calm yet undeniable. “We chose, together, to break our bonds.”

Sekeir’s mouth fell open, his eyes narrowing with disbelief. “What?” he breathed, his voice barely audible.

Garron blinked, his heart pounding as her words settled over him. “You… you chose together?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. His grip on his blade faltered, the strength in his arms fading under the weight of the revelation. “Why? Why would you do that?”

Maya turned toward Garron, her gaze softening as she looked at him, though her resolve didn’t waver. She tilted her head,. “Because we thought we were saving Roshar,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost mournful.

A stunned murmur rippled through the crowd, every spren leaning in as if afraid they might miss a single word.

Maya continued, her tone steady but filled with a deep, ancient sorrow. “Neither the humans nor the spren wanted to be separated. We didn’t want to lose each other, but we thought it was the only way. To stop the destruction.”

Garron stared at her, his chest tightening as the truth began to take shape in his mind. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. All he could do was watch as Maya’s words shattered everything he’d believed about the Recreance.

The crowd began to murmur again, but it was different this time. The anger was gone, replaced by confusion, awe, and a quiet, growing sorrow.

Sekeir’s shoulders sagged, his face crumpling into something Garron couldn’t quite name. Shame, maybe. Fear. Despair.

The guards stepped forward again, their hesitation gone, and placed their hands firmly on Sekeir’s shoulders. This time, he didn’t resist.

Maya turned back to Adolin, her expression softening once more as she knelt beside him. The crowd didn’t move, their faces fixed on her, their awe unshaken. Garron let out a slow breath, lowering his sword slightly as he tried to process what he’d just heard.

He looked at Kaelyr, who stood beside him, his face unreadable but his hands trembling faintly at his sides. For once, Garron had no words. All he could do was hold onto the faint hope that, somehow, the truth might be enough.

Garron turned to one of the spren from the group that had returned with Maya. 

“Where was she?” Garron asked, his voice low but urgent. 

The spren hesitated for a moment, as if the words were difficult to form. Finally, he spoke. “The deadeyes… they led us. Straight to Sekeir’s quarters.”

“Sekeir’s quarters?” Garron repeated, his jaw tightening.

The spren nodded. “They stopped in front of a wall. At first, we didn’t understand, but then…” He shook his head, still bewildered. “One of them punched through the panel—just smashed it. Behind it, there was a small, dark space. A closet. And inside… was her.”

Garron’s chest tightened, his fingers curling into fists. The anger he’d been holding back surged again, sharper than before. Sekeir hadn’t just twisted the truth—he’d hidden Maya, locked her away like a secret shame to be forgotten. The betrayal burned through Garron’s mind, hot and bitter, rising with every breath he took.

But before the fury could consume him, movement caught his eye. The rest of the deadeyes were approaching Adolin, their steps slow but purposeful. Their scratched eyes seemed almost aware now, drawn toward the sight of Maya and the man she’d fought to protect.

Maya didn’t leave his side. Not for a moment. She stayed close, her cracked hand brushing his arm as if to reassure herself he was still real. Her silent resolve steadied the chaos around them—the crowd’s anger dimming, awe rippling through the gathered spren.

Garron’s gaze dropped to Adolin. Pale. Still. His breaths shallow as whispers. Garron’s heart clenched tight. There was no time left for anger or Sekeir’s lies.

He turned to the crowd, his voice ringing through the square. “Adolin needs help—now!”

The spren stirred, shaken from their daze. Some nodded, others exchanged uncertain glances, but soon movement rippled outward—purpose spreading where confusion had been.

“Bring him inside!” Garron ordered, gesturing to the cart. “Somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. And someone—get every human in this tower here!”

“All of them?” one spren echoed, uncertain.

“Yes, each and everyone!” Garron barked. “If anyone can help him, it’s them. The rest of you—find a ship, or the fastest way to an oathgate. We’re getting him home." He turned back to Maya as everyone around him scrambled to obey his commands before remembering something and turning back to shout at the spren. "And someone please go and free Rhollyn and the others. If anyone deserves to be here, it's them.”

He glanced once more at Adolin, then at Maya, her cracked face lifted toward him in silent resolve. Around them, the square buzzed with movement—spren darting, orders shouted, the hum of purpose awakening the tower as if for the first time.

Garron exhaled, grounding himself. The fight wasn’t over. But for the first time, they weren’t fighting alone.

Chapter Text

Renarin hurried through the strange, alien expanse of Shadesmar, Lopen walking beside him. They had flown for as long as they could, burning Stormlight to carry them most of the way to the honorspren stronghold. But their reserves had run out hours ago, forcing them to make the last leg of the journey on foot.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the message that had reached Urithiru two days ago—a frantic spren had appeared, babbling about how he was late and insisting that Adolin needed a healer. The moment Renarin heard, he’d begun gathering supplies, ready to depart immediately. His father had tried to stop him, insisting on sending a different Radiant instead. Dalinar had argued that Renarin was too important to the fight, too valuable to risk losing. But Renarin wouldn’t hear of it. His brother needed him. He was going.

And if Renarin were honest with himself, part of him had wanted to go for a long time. From the moment he had heard the news that Adolin had been imprisoned by the spren he had wanted to intervene. He’d argued with his father more than once, trying to convince him that they should pull Adolin out—that they shouldn’t leave him to face this alone. But Dalinar had refused. And Adolin… Adolin had made it clear he didn’t want interference and Renarin trusted him.

The ground  beneath his feet was steady but close by an ocean of beads swaying, rolling and rattling menacingly. A faint shiver ran through him as he took in the strange landscape, so different from anything in the Physical Realm. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, Glys’s misty form always by his side.

“Strange place, eh, gancho?” Lopen said, breaking the silence, his voice light as always but quieter than usual. Even Lopen, for all his jokes, couldn’t shake the unease of Shadesmar.

Renarin gave a small nod but didn’t respond. His focus was on the horizon.

The first sign of the honorspren stronghold was the tower itself, its sharp top becoming visible as they drew closer. Renarin’s steps quickened, urgency driving him forward. But then, as the landscape ahead came into view, he slowed, his breath catching in his throat.

A sea of figures surrounded the tower—hundreds, maybe thousands of them. Silent, unmoving. Renarin squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but it was Gliss who spoke, his voice a soft whisper

“They are deadeyes,” Gliss said, a note of confusion in his tone. “This is… unusual. They don’t gather like this. Most roam aimlessly, and many remain beneath the Sea of Beads.”

Renarin frowned, his unease deepening. The deadeyes stood there, clustered around the tower like a quiet army. Their scratched-out eyes and still forms gave the scene a haunting weight. He didn’t speak, didn’t even breathe for a moment, as his gaze swept over them. Something about the way they were gathered felt… wrong.

“Creepy lot,” Lopen muttered, his usual levity barely masking his discomfort. “Are they waiting for something? Or someone? Not us, right?”

Renarin didn’t answer. He was focused on the mood that hung in the air—a strange, charged tension. The deadeyes weren’t moving, but their stillness didn’t feel passive.

Renarin reached the gate and stepped forward, his voice steady but strained. “Please, let me pass,” he said to the honorspren guard stationed there.

The guard’s sharp eyes swept over him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Renarin Kholin,” he replied. “I’m a Radiant healer… and Adolin Kholin’s brother.”

The guard froze, his stern expression melting into wide-eyed disbelief. His glowing face lit up with something close to awe. “A healer, Adolin’s brother?” he breathed, his voice almost reverent. “Thank the Stormfather.”

Before Renarin could respond, the guard threw open the gates with a hurried motion, then turned and began shouting to the other spren. “A Radiant healer is here. Adolin’s brother! Tell the rest. Make way”

The effect was instant and overwhelming. Spren everywhere stopped what they were doing, their glowing forms darting closer. Some gasped audibly, their hands pressed to their mouths. Others clapped, cheering as though they had just seen a hero step out of legend.

“A Radiant healer!” a voice called from somewhere in the crowd. “Adolin’s brother!”

“He’s here to save him!” another exclaimed, pointing in Renarin’s direction.

The spren closest to him surged forward, their glowing eyes wide, hands reaching out to touch him like he was some kind of Herald. 

Renarin instinctively took a step back, glancing at Lopen for reassurance. Lopen looked equally baffled, though his eyebrows were raised in amusement.

“Didn’t realize you were so popular, gancho,” Lopen said, though his tone carried a trace of unease beneath the joke.

Renarin didn’t answer. He was too focused on the wave of attention crashing over him. The crowd parted for him as spren worked to clear a path, but it wasn’t an orderly retreat—it was frantic, chaotic. Spren ran in every direction, shouting his name, spreading the news to those farther away. Others pressed closer to gawk at him. He couldn’t remember ever being the center of attention like this, and it made his skin crawl.

The pit in his stomach deepened with every step. The sheer desperation in their reactions told him something was wrong—terribly wrong. He had imagined Adolin’s condition would be bad, but this… this was worse than he could have prepared for.

They ushered him quickly through the halls, the crowd still murmuring and cheering behind them. When they reached an open square, a group of spren stood waiting. At their head was a young-looking spren with sharp features and a crisp bearing. He stepped forward as Renarin approached, bowing slightly.

“Renarin Kholin,” the spren said, his voice warm but charged with urgency. “Thank you for coming. It is an honor to meet Adolin’s brother.”

Renarin gave a small nod, still unsettled by the excessive reverence in the spren’s tone. “I came as quickly as I could,” he said quietly.

The young spren straightened and gestured for him to follow. “Come. There is no time to waste.”

As they moved through the tower’s strange halls, the spren began to speak quickly, words tumbling out as though he’d been holding them in for far too long. “The Highprince is in dire need of medical attention,” he said, his tone tight with anger and shame. “You’ve arrived just in time. A ship is being prepared—we were ready to depart for Roshar to find a healer. Human and spren alike are doing everything they can for him, but he’s very weak.”

He hesitated, his light dimming for a heartbeat, eyes flickering with guilt. “We have failed in our duty,” he said softly. “He was treated unfairly—cruelly. I can never apologize enough for what was done.”

Renarin clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, but he kept his face calm.

“The one responsible,” the spren continued, his tone hardening, “has been imprisoned. But we were all responsible in part.”

They climbed a final set of stairs, the air heavy with an almost palpable tension. When they reached the door to Adolin’s room, Renarin stopped, startled.

The door was guarded, but not just by honorspren. A line of deadeyes stood alongside the guards, their scratched-out eyes staring blankly ahead. The honorspren glanced at him as he approached, their expressions filled with awe and quiet reverence, but the deadeyes didn’t move.

The spren standing beside the door turned and nodded deeply. “It’s truly an honor,” one murmured.

Renarin shifted uncomfortably under their gazes, but he didn’t speak. He glanced at Lopen, who gave him a half-shrug.

Renarin swallowed hard, steeling himself as Rhollyn stepped aside. He hesitated for just a moment, then reached for the door and stepped inside.

The door creaked open, and Renarin stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, with more spren and deadeyes standing silently along the walls. Their presence filled the space with a strange, oppressive stillness. At the center of the room was a bed, and beside it stood a deadeye, her scratched-out eyes fixed on the figure lying beneath the blankets.

A gaunt, sickly-looking man  with pale, sunken cheeks, the sallow, almost yellow skin, and the dull, feverish blue eyes. And then it hit him like a stormwall, it was Adolin. He barely looked like his brother but it was him.

“Adolin!” Renarin called, rushing to the bedside.

The deadeye beside the bed hissed sharply, a low, almost animalistic sound, her posture tense as she moved to block him. Renarin froze, his heart pounding. "I'm here to help him, he's my brother."

At the sound of that her demeanor changed instantly, her face softened, almost pleading as she moved out of his way. 

Renarin dropped to his knees beside the bed, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Brother,” he said again, his voice trembling.

Slowly, Adolin’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Renarin could see the moment it clicked—the moment Adolin realized what was happening, that this wasn’t some fevered dream. A smile spread across his cracked lips, faint and strained but unmistakably joyful. His eyes watered, and he croaked out, “Renarin.”

Renarin’s heart clenched. Adolin tried to reach for him, to pull him into a hug, but his arms barely twitched, too weak to lift. Instead, Renarin reached for his hand, taking it gently in his own.

“I’m here, I'm here, I will fix this” Renarin said softly.

Adolin blinked slowly, his lips moving as though to say something more, but his voice failed him. Renarin’s gaze flicked over him, taking in every detail—the shallow rise and fall of his chest, his sweat-dampened hair, his fragile, fevered frame. He turned sharply to the spren gathered near the door.

“I need Stormlight. Now,” Renarin said, his voice urgent, edged with panic.

“It’s on its way,” one of the honorspren replied, stepping forward.  

Renarin nodded tightly, turning his attention back to Adolin. He held his brother’s hand, his grip firm but careful, and pressed it to his lips. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over as he leaned closer.

“What happened to you?” Renarin whispered, his voice breaking. “What did they do to you?” His words trembled with anger, his chest tightening with guilt and helplessness. “How could they let this happen?”

Adolin’s lips moved again, but no sound came. His feverish eyes stayed on Renarin, his faint smile still lingering, even as his tears welled and slipped down his cheeks.

Renarin stayed by his side, mind racing, heart breaking. He’d come to bring Adolin home. He had known, logically, that his brother needed help. But nothing could have prepared him for seeing him like this.

More spren filtered into the room, their glowing forms casting long, ethereal shadows along the walls. In their hands, they carried huge gemstones, each one glowing with Stormlight so vibrant it was almost blinding. Renarin blinked against the light as they placed the gems carefully on a low table beside him.

He reached for the first gemstone, his hands trembling slightly. It was the largest he had ever seen, its light pulsing faintly as if it held a heartbeat of its own. Without hesitation, he drew the Stormlight into himself. The rush of energy filled him instantly, sharp and overwhelming, but he didn’t waste a second.

Renarin placed a hand gently on Adolin’s chest, closing his eyes and willing the Stormlight into his brother. A faint glow surrounded Adolin’s frail form as the power worked its way through him.

Adolin’s expression changed almost immediately. His features, twisted with pain, softened into one of pure bliss and relief. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his body sinking deeper into the bed as if the burden of his suffering was finally lifting.

Renarin kept going, focusing on the broken parts of his brother’s body. But as he worked, horror twisted in his chest. The extent of the damage was far worse than he’d feared—internal injuries, damage to his muscles, his organs, his very bones. Adolin’s body had been pushed to its absolute limits, and for a moment, Renarin felt panic flare.

The Stormlight ran out before he was finished. He grabbed the second gemstone, drained it in an instant, and continued.

Adolin’s color began to return. His cheeks, though still hollow, no longer looked deathly pale. The glow in his feverish eyes dimmed as the heat of the fever broke, replaced by a faint but steady lucidity.  He took deep satisfying breaths as if he had been underwater for a long time. Renarin worked with quiet desperation, pouring every ounce of Stormlight into his brother, healing every wound, every fracture, every hidden pain he could find.

When the last traces of Stormlight faded from his hands, Renarin slumped back, his breathing ragged. He gripped the now-dull gemstone, his hands trembling as the adrenaline drained from him. Adolin’s body was whole—his injuries were gone—but his cheeks remained sunken, his form frail, his strength stripped away.

Renarin stared at his brother’s gaunt face, and a knot of frustration and guilt tightened in his chest. His had healed all of his wounds and maladies but he could not restore him back to the strong, fierce warrior he had always known him as. At that moment, Renarin felt utterly powerless.

A soft stir broke through his spiraling thoughts. Renarin’s breath hitched as Adolin’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. The pale blue of his gaze flickered faintly in the dim light, like a flame struggling to catch.

Then Adolin blinked, and his gaze locked onto Renarin’s face.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Tears welled in Adolin’s fever-bright eyes, spilling freely down his hollow cheeks. His lips trembled, and then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, he said, “Brother.”

The sound shattered something in Renarin’s chest. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.

Adolin’s arm hand lifted to reach for him. Renarin surged forward, wrapping his arms around his brother and holding him tightly. The moment they embraced, Renarin felt the full weight of his brother’s frailty. Adolin’s body was frighteningly thin, as if he could crumble under the slightest pressure. Adolin had always been strong and energetic, he was a warrior and Renarin couldn’t believe that this person could be his brother. 

What have they done to you? Renarin thought, the question burning in his chest.

Adolin clung to him with what little strength he had, burying his face in Renarin’s shoulder. His body shook with quiet sobs, tears soaking into Renarin’s coat.

“I thought…” Adolin’s voice cracked, muffled against Renarin’s coat. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

Renarin’s throat tightened, his grip on Adolin firming. “I’m here,” he said softly. “I’m here, Adolin. I’ll always be here.”

When Renarin finally drew back, Adolin sank into the mattress as if every muscle had given out at once. His hands came up to cover his face, fingers trembling, breath catching unevenly against his palms. The sobs were quiet but relentless, spilling out in small, shaking bursts he tried and failed to stifle.

Renarin froze at the bedside, the sight hitting him harder than anything he’d prepared himself for. Adolin had always met the world head-on, steady even in chaos, but the man lying before him looked hollowed-out, worn thin in ways Renarin had never seen.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, hands clenched into angry fists on his lap. His mind scrambled to piece together what could have broken his brother down so far—the sharp angles of his face, the frailty in his movements, the desperate way he had held on only moments earlier.

For the first time in their lives, Renarin realized the balance between them had shifted. Adolin had spent years protecting him, protecting others, lifting up everyone around him. And now, for the first time in his life he needed some of that grace returned. Renarin kept his hand steady, willing his presence to be enough while his brother shook beside him.

A quiet resolve settled over Renarin. He would be there for Adolin, just as Adolin had always been there for him. No matter how long it took, no matter what it took, he wouldn’t let his brother carry this alone.

Adolin drew in a shaky breath and pushed himself upright, wiping his damp cheeks with the back of his hand. His chest still hitched now and then, but he didn’t try to hide it. When he finally looked at Renarin, his expression was raw but steady.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—Storms, I’m so happy to see you. I missed you so much.”

Renarin’s eyes softened, his posture easing as though something inside him finally unclenched.

“I missed you too, brother,” he said quietly. “What happened here?”

Adolin’s gaze drifted for a moment, as if the answer sat somewhere far behind him. “A lot of bad things,” he said, voice low but even. “But now it’s not the time, there’ll be plenty of time later.”

He drew a steadier breath, then managed a faint, earnest smile. “For now, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he said as he turned to the figure standing silently by the bed. His expression softened, and he gestured weakly toward her.

“Renarin, this is Maya, my spren.”

The deadeye stepped forward, her scratched-out eyes fixed on Renarin. Her movements were deliberate, almost graceful, and she knelt beside the bed in a smooth motion.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Renarin Kholin,” Maya said, her voice soft but clear.

Renarin blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. He turned his head slightly as if to confirm with Glys that he wasn’t imagining what he’d just heard only to find him equally shocked.

“You can speak,” Glys said, awestruck. ”How is this possible?”

Maya’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “It’s all because of Adolin,” she said simply, glancing at him. “Because of how much he loved and cared for me.”

Adolin smiled faintly, his expression weary but proud. Renarin looked between them, his chest tightening as the weight of her words settled over him. Whatever had happened here, whatever Adolin had endured, it hadn’t been for nothing. He had done something extraordinary.

Renarin nodded slowly, the emotion of the moment catching in his throat. “The honor is all mine, Maya.”

For the first time since entering the room, he felt a flicker of hope, fragile but real.

Chapter Text

Renarin walked through the quiet halls of Lasting Integrity, a tray of carefully chosen food balanced in his hands. The warm smell of broth and fresh bread wafted up, but it did little to calm the storm in his mind.

He’d insisted on bringing the food himself. Maybe it was because he needed to make sure Adolin was actually eating, Maybe it was simply because he couldn’t sit still after hearing what Garron and Rhollyn had told him.

Renarin couldn’t stop picturing Adolin in that small, cold cell. Alone. Surrounded by darkness and silence. The spren had been too afraid to join the fight, so they locked him away, left him there to rot—out of sight, out of mind, disguising their cowardice as justice.

Renarin could understand fear, but he could not forgive that kind of callous cruelty. Locking his beautiful brother alone in a cell with no sunlight, no space to move, no hope. No one there to offer comfort or courage. They let him starve. Let him ache. Let him suffer unseen. So much cruelty intended to break something as precious and extraordinary as his bond with Maya. And despite all of it, that tender, fragile bond only deepened and bloomed. It was as if Adolin had used his whole self as a shield to protect that delicate, priceless thing. 

Adolin’s face appeared in his mind unbidden. The sunken cheeks, the frailty, the exhaustion that pulled at him even as he smiled. His fingers bit into the tray until the metal creaked. The image had seared itself into his memory, and he knew there would never be a time when it didn’t fill him with rage.

And yet, the magnitude of what Adolin had suffered only made his accomplishments shine brighter. The distance between the torment he endured and the good he wrought was staggering. Somehow, impossibly, he had reached beyond his own suffering to lift up others who had been broken longer, deeper. He had struggled, fought, and achieved what was thought impossible—raising the dead even while he was drowning.

In the face of pain and injustice, in the absence of hope and mercy, his brother had not yielded. He had not hardened his heart. He had not surrendered. He had fought—not for himself alone, but for Maya, for the deadeyes, for every tortured soul. He had taken the torment meant to break him and turned it into something greater—softer, stronger, unshakable.

Renarin’s chest ached under the weight of it. Rage and pride, grief and awe, tangled until he could scarcely tell one from the other. Adolin’s frailty only exaggerated his strength—the contrast so stark it was almost unfathomable.

He steadied the tray in his trembling hands. His brother had faced darkness and answered it with mercy. Renarin would do no less.

Renarin paused at Adolin’s door, steadying the tray in his hands before nudging it open with his elbow. Maya’s soft humming met him first—an unsteady little tune, as if she were reminding herself how sound worked. Blankets rustled, and Adolin shifted.

He looked so small propped against the mound of pillows, dwarfed by the bed and the dim lamplight. But when he saw Renarin, his face lit up.

“Hey,” Adolin said, smiling wide enough that his eyes almost shimmered.

Renarin smiled back and carried the tray in. “I brought you something warm.”
But the moment the smell of broth filled the room, Adolin’s smile faltered. He murmured his thanks, though his hands stayed tucked in the blankets.

“You need to eat,” Renarin said gently, sitting at the edge of the bed.

Adolin’s gaze dropped, the apology already in his voice. “I’m… not really hungry.”

“You have to try,” Renarin insisted softly. “Just a little. Please.”

Maya nodded, posture straight and intent. “As much as you can,” she echoed, her tone calm but firm.

Outnumbered, Adolin let out a long sigh. He reached for the bowl, fingers trembling, and Renarin steadied it for him. The first sip seemed to help—some tension eased around his eyes—but each movement was slow, deliberate, as if he had to think through every small step.

Renarin watched him carefully. “Any better?”

“A bit,” Adolin said. The smile he offered was thin, wavering at the edges.

And now that he wasn’t focused on the bowl, Renarin saw it—the restless bounce of Adolin’s foot beneath the blankets, the way his shoulders kept tightening, then releasing, then tightening again. Little tells he’d known all his life.

“You’re fidgeting,” Renarin said quietly.

Adolin blinked, then huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Am I?” His fingers tightened around the bowl. “Storms. I didn’t even notice.”

“What’s wrong?” Renarin asked. “You can tell me.”

Adolin swallowed, throat working, eyes fixed on the broth as though it were suddenly miles deep.
When he finally looked up, the honesty in his expression was almost painfully bare.

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. “About… asking. About finding out what I missed. I know Teft is gone, and I’m… I’m afraid to find out who else isn’t there anymore.” His voice thinned, fragile but steady. “I’m terrified to know how things really are on Roshar.”

“Hey, hey—breathe,” Renarin said quickly, intercepting the worry sharpening Adolin’s expression. “Everyone is safe. Father, Shallan, Kaladin—no one’s gone. I’m sorry I didn’t lead with that.” He offered a faint, apologetic smile. “They’re holding the lines together, doing everything they can.”

Adolin let out a shaky breath, nodding, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. His gaze drifted somewhere far away—Roshar, Renarin realized. Home.

“And the war?” Adolin asked quietly. “How’s that going?”

Renarin hesitated. He didn’t want to do this yet—not while Adolin was still pale and trembling and barely keeping the spoon steady. But there was no real way around it.

“A lot changed after you left,” he said softly. “Father made a deal with Odium. To end the war.”

Adolin’s eyes snapped up, sharp despite the exhaustion dragging at him. “What kind of deal?”

“Instead of armies,” Renarin said, “there would be a single contest. Each side choosing a champion to fight to the death.”

Adolin blinked, stunned. He took another spoonful almost absently, swallowing without tasting it. “So who fought? Who won? Why is there still a war? Storms—who did Father choose?”

“Adolin,” Renarin said gently, “Kaladin’s fine. The contest never happened.”

Adolin froze. “What?”

“Odium found a loophole,” Renarin explained. “The agreement didn’t specify a year. So he postponed it.”

Adolin let out a slow, pained breath. “So… we’re right back where we started?”

“Not exactly.” Renarin rubbed a hand along his jaw. “A new deal was struck. The contest is back on, but this time it’s locked. No loopholes. And it happens in a year. Until then… we fight for every inch of land he tries to take.”

Adolin’s brows drew together. “Why break the agreement just to make another one? What is he playing at?”

“According to Wit,” Renarin exhaled. “The person holding Odium’s power changed. After the deal was made.”

Adolin’s spoon clattered softly against the bowl as he stared. “That… that can happen? Who is it now?”

Renarin looked him in the eyes. “He thinks it’s Taravangian.”

For a heartbeat, the room went still. Even Maya’s low humming faltered.

Adolin leaned back slowly, pressing a hand to his stomach as if bracing against the weight of the words. “Stormfather… Taravangian. As Odium.” His voice cracked, the enormity settling over him. “One year. The war ends in one year.”

“Well,” Renarin murmured gently, “that was a month ago. So… nine months.”

Adolin closed his eyes for a moment, breathing carefully, a tremor running through him. When he opened them again, they were glassy but clear—fear and determination mixing in equal measure.

Adolin’s face twisted into a sour expression, and he set the spoon down. Renarin tilted his head. “What is it?”

Adolin hesitated, then sighed. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I get it. Father wanted to end the war as soon as possible. I know it's selfish, it's just... He sent me here, I agreed to throw my whole life away so we could fight this war.”

Renarin’s expression softened. “It's not selfish,” he said quietly. “But… It wasn't for nothing either. The spren who came to Roshar because of you is the only reason we have a fighting chance. Kaladin’s already training new Windrunners because of you.”

Adolin opened his mouth to reply but winced instead, his hand pressing against his stomach.

“Adolin?” Renarin leaned forward, his voice rising in alarm.

Adolin’s throat worked, a hard swallow, sweat breaking along his brow. Renarin’s pulse spiked. He leaned forward, already breathing in Stormlight, already reaching—fingers searching desperately for something to mend.

Nothing.

No wound, no break, no tear to knit. Just pain. Raw and stubborn and inside in ways he couldn’t reach.

Adolin’s breath hitched. Then he doubled over, retching into the basin Maya held ready, as if she’d known this was coming.

“Adolin,” Renarin rasped. Storms, his voice shook.

“It’s all right,” Maya murmured, but there was strain in it. “His body needs time. It’s been… too long since he could eat properly.”

Too long. The words sat like stones in Renarin’s chest.

Adolin slumped back, trembling, face pale and drawn. He managed a thin, apologetic smile. “Not your fault,” he murmured. “First days are worse. I’ll… be alright.”

He said it with weary familiarity. As if this was just another routine.

Renarin pressed a damp cloth gently to his brother’s forehead, swallowing past the tightness in his throat.
He felt a tight, gnawing panic coil in his chest as he watched his brother’s body shake with pain. Every instinct in him screamed to fix it, to make it stop, but there was nothing he could do. Helplessness pressed down like a weight he couldn’t lift.

Renarin’s chest tightened further as the thought struck him. If this—this helplessness—was unbearable for him, how much more had Adolin felt it all those years ago, watching him suffer and knowing he could do nothing? Too young to carry such a burden, and yet he had. He had been there anyway, steady and unflinching, absorbing the worry, shielding him, even when it must have been more than anyone should bear.

Now the roles were reversed, and Renarin felt the weight of it in every fiber of his being. He would not flinch. He would be steady, unshakable, a shield for his brother just as Adolin had been for him all those years. He would carry this burden willingly, repay the quiet strength Adolin had shown and would make his brother proud of him.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, steadying the cloth when his hand wanted to tremble. “No matter how long it takes. I’m here.”

Adolin’s eyes softened, then drifted closed, breathe evening out as exhaustion pulled him under.

Renarin stayed still, watching him, a dull ache behind his ribs. Stormlight pooled useless in his lungs.

He would sit. He would stay. He would do what his brother once did for him.

He didn’t look away.

The world was soft when Adolin woke — not gentle, exactly, but quiet, as though someone had turned the volume down on everything that hurt.

Light pooled on the ceiling, warm and diffused. For a long moment, he lay still, realizing with slow disbelief that his body didn’t hurt. No sharp ache in his ribs, no tightness in his chest — just air, steady and full.

Storms. He’d forgotten what it felt like to truly rest how it felt to breathe in freely and deeply.
He drew another breath, slower this time, letting the rise and fall of his chest steady him. The bed was soft, the air faintly sweet with oil and reed. For the first time in what felt like ages, his body wasn’t a battlefield.

A quiet rustle drew his attention. Renarin sat slumped in a chair beside the bed, his glasses tilted crookedly, hair falling over his face. He’d fallen asleep like that — probably mid-watch, refusing to leave. A half-empty sphere glowed dimly in his palm, the faint light painting his features in soft blue.

Adolin smiled, a little wryly. Storms, his brother looked younger when he slept. Renarin hadn’t left his side since they had found each other again. A faint ache settling in his chest at the thought of the worry he caused him.

And yet, that presence—so steady, so certain—filled the spaces he hadn’t realized had grown so empty. After all this time, after thinking he might never see him again, Renarin was here.

The steady rise and fall of Renarin’s chest, the soft weight of him at his side—watching that, feeling it, his heart found its rhythm again. He let himself sink into it, letting the calm settle around them like a familiar, long-lost warmth.

His fingers brushed the edge of the blanket — real, solid — and a flicker of warmth passed through him.

He was alive.
Somehow, after everything, he was still here.

The gray pressed in again, heavy and cold, wrapping around his chest and stomach—just like the day he’d thought would be his last.  He could feel the emptiness of that moment again, the hollow pull in his chest when he thought it was over. Then Maya’s voice cut through it, a tether in the darkness, her hand finding his. The instant the silence cracked, something ancient stirred, answering them both.

Now, she sat by the window, the faint light tracing her edges in silver. Her eyes met his — still hollow but somehow bright, alive in ways they hadn’t been before. That same faint hum pulsed between them, steady and sure, a rhythm that was theirs alone.

Adolin exhaled, the breath trembling on its way out. “We made it,” he murmured, more to her than to himself. “Storms, Maya… we actually made it.”

She came to his side, settling onto the edge of the bed with practiced ease, her presence brushing against him in a way that made the world feel smaller, safer. The bond pulsed faintly at the edge of his awareness, steady and warm.

“And we are not the only ones.” she said, voice low, careful.

Adolin frowned, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

She held up a hand, as if to hush him. “I’ll show you. Come with me to the garden.”

Adolin hesitated, then grinned. The idea of being back in her garden—their garden—sent a quiet warmth through him. With Maya constantly by his side  the garden wasn’t the refuge it used to be but he would always love the peace of that place.

He closed his eyes.

And when he opened them, he was there.  The first thing he noticed was the light—brighter than before, filtering through the canopy in rich, golden streaks. The air smelled fresh, alive, like blooming flowers after a storm. He turned in place, taking it all in.

The difference was immediate. Everything looked fuller, richer. The flowers, once faded and hesitant, were bursting with color. Deep purples, fiery reds, golden yellows—like the garden had finally taken a deep breath and come into itself. The buildings no longer looked ancient and worn but glistened happily in the warm light. Pillars stretched toward the sky, archways framed pathways leading deeper into the garden. It felt… real.

“Maya,” he breathed, turning back to her. “This is—Storms, this is incredible.”

Maya stood beside him, practically buzzing with excitement. “It is, isn’t it. But this is nothing,” she said.

Adolin raised an eyebrow.

Maya shook her head and reached for his hand. “Come.”

She tugged him forward, walking quickly across the soft grass. Adolin followed, still glancing around, trying to take in all the changes. She led him toward the far edge of the garden, where he slowed, frowning.

There, right at where the boundary used to be there was something new, something more. A collection of jagged rocks rose before them, stacked high like a small mountain.

Adolin’s steps faltered. He turned to Maya. “This wasn’t here before.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept pulling him forward. As they approached the jagged formation, dark hollows appeared among the rocks; cavernous openings carved deep into the stone, smooth and deliberate, as if shaped by careful hands rather than the whims of nature.

Adolin’s curiosity flared. “What is this?”

Maya didn’t stop until they reached the largest cave. Inside, the walls were covered in carvings—intricate patterns winding along the stone, delicate columns rising from the floor to the ceiling. Light filtered in from somewhere unseen, casting shadows that danced along the designs.

Adolin ran his fingers over one of the carvings, tracing the grooves. It was smooth under his touch. Intentional. He glanced at Maya. She watched him, expectant. Adolin turned back to the carvings, awe settling over him.

“This isn’t just a cave,” he murmured.

Something had built this. Something had changed.

Maya led him deeper into the caves. The light filtering in from unseen sources cast long, soft shadows against the carved stone. The air was cool, carrying a faint, earthy scent.

Adolin followed her through the winding passages, his fingers grazing the smooth walls, tracing the patterns without thinking. Then, ahead of them, something shifted in the dim light.

A hunched figure sat near the far wall, barely moving.

Adolin froze, his steps faltering. His eyes locked on the hunched figure, unsure what he was seeing. “Who… who is that?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, trembling with the rapid thrum of his heart in his ears. A faint, fragile hope fluttered somewhere deep inside him, too small and uncertain to take shape.

Maya didn’t answer, she just smiled. She walked ahead, closing the distance, then knelt beside the figure, her movements gentle and deliberate.

“This is U’norak,” she said softly. “A peakspren.”

The name meant nothing to Adolin, but the way Maya spoke it, careful, almost reverent, made him pause. He stepped closer.

Maya reached out, resting a hand lightly on the figure’s arm. “Adolin is here,” she said, her voice quiet.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the spren uncurled.

His body was hunched, almost folded in on itself, and when he moved, it was slow, uncertain. He looked up, his scratched eyes locking onto Adolin’s. His expression was unreadable—too worn, too tired to show anything clearly. But then, without a word, U’norak stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Adolin, clutching him tightly.  A quiet, shaking sob escaped him.

Adolin froze for only a second before he held U’norak back, steadying him, grounding him. He could feel the way the spren trembled, the way his grip tightened like he was afraid to let go.

Maya moved to U’norak’s other side, resting a hand on his back. There were no words, no explanations, just the sound of U’norak’s whimpering and the warmth of their quiet presence.

After a while, Adolin eased them both onto a stone bench carved into the wall. U’norak stayed close, his posture still small, still hunched down, but he didn’t pull away. Maya sat beside them, her hand still lightly resting on U’norak’s arm.

Adolin shifted slightly, steadying U’norak with one hand. “I’m Adolin,” he said, his voice gentle. “It’s good to meet you.”

The spren didn’t respond, just stayed close, his breathing uneven.

Adolin studied him, something about his form tugging at his memory. The shape of his hunched shoulders, the way he carried himself—it was familiar. And then it clicked.

His eyes flickered with recognition. I know him.

He was one of them. One of the three leaders of the deadeyes who had fought to free him. Adolin’s brow furrowed. How did he get here? The last time he had seen this spren, he had been in the tower, standing guard outside his door. And yet, somehow, now he was here, curled in on himself, clinging to Adolin like a drowning man to driftwood.

Adolin opened his mouth to ask—but then, something else slid into place. His breath caught as the memory surfaced, sharp and undeniable. The way U’norak moved. The shape of his limbs. Adolin’s heart pounded. 

No.

His gaze locked onto Maya’s, searching for confirmation, and when she nodded, his stomach twisted. This wasn’t just one of the deadeyes from the tower. He was one of the creatures. One of the things Adolin had fought at the edge of the garden. The thing he had killed.

Realization hit him like a sudden breath of cold air. He looked at Maya. “He was—”

Maya nodded. “Yes. He was angry then, his mind lost to centuries of pain and confusion. Our bond was the only solid thing in a sea of torment and he lashed out. He fought against us until all his rage had drained.”

Adolin swallowed, glancing back at U’norak. The last time he had seen this spren, it had been towering, monstrous, lashing out with rage and confusion.

Maya’s voice was soft. “He’s awake now, but it will take time. He needs to be here, to have companionship. To remember what it means to be himself again.”

Adolin nodded, gripping U’norak’s shoulder lightly. He didn’t say anything, just let the moment settle, let U’norak take what comfort he could.

Then, after a pause, he looked back at Maya, his lips “quirking up at the corners. “Does this mean there are more?”

Maya smiled.

Maya gave him a moment to process before touching his arm lightly. “Come,” she said.

Adolin hesitated, glancing back at U’norak. The spren still clung to the bench, fragile and trembling, as if it would dissolve if he let go. “He… he needs me,” Adolin said, his voice tight.

Maya shook her head gently. “He does. He needs a lot of care and compassion, far more than what you can give right now. But he is not the only one that needs you.”

Adolin swallowed, the weight in his chest pressing down. He leaned closer, resting a hand lightly on U’norak’s shoulder. “I’ll come back,” he whispered. “I promise.”

U’norak gave a small, trembling shiver, but didn’t move. It was enough. With a final glance, Adolin let himself be guided out of the caves. The garden opened before him, unfamiliar yet alive. The air felt charged, damp and heavy, a faint mist curling around his feet. Every step carried the pull of something extraordinary waiting just ahead.

Maya led him out of the caves and across the garden, toward an area he hadn’t seen before. The air changed as they walked. It grew heavier, damp with something almost electric, and a faint mist curled around his feet.

Then the crystals appeared.

Jagged formations of every size jutted from the ground, some as small as his hand, others towering above them like frozen lightning. Their surfaces glowed faintly, catching the hazy light that filtered through the thick fog. The space felt enclosed, like the crystals had grown into a natural barrier, sealing off whatever lay inside.

Adolin followed Maya through the winding path, stepping carefully over smaller formations. The fog thickened, swirling around his boots, clinging to the air like it had weight. Then, up ahead, he saw a break in the crystals—a narrow opening, like a doorway carved by nature itself.

Maya stepped through first. Adolin hesitated only a moment before following.

Inside, the fog was thicker, pressing in from all sides. Crystals enclosed the space like jagged walls, their sharp edges refracting what little light there was, filling the chamber with shifting, ghostly colors. In the center, curled in on herself, was another deadeye.

She was slight, her form wispy even in stillness, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs as if trying to make herself smaller. Mist drifted from her skin, as though she was dissolving into the very air around her.

Maya stepped forward. “Sana.”

The deadeye twitched slightly at the name but didn’t look up.

Adolin’s chest ached at the sight. “Is she… awake?”

Maya glanced at him. “Barely,” she said. “But she’s trying.”

That was enough for now.

They left Sana behind the same way they came, Maya leading him deeper into the transformed garden.

The next space was unlike anything Adolin had seen before.

It was made of stone, but not like the caves. Here, the ground, the walls—everything—was smooth black rock, polished to an unnatural sheen. The formations weren’t jagged or random like the crystals had been. Instead, they followed a pattern, intricate and perfect, like someone had carved them with absolute precision.

Adolin frowned as they walked, something in his mind struggling to grasp the complexity of it. The symmetry was… wrong. Or maybe it was too right. The angles, the way the black stone looped and mirrored itself—it almost hurt to look at for too long.

Then, at the very center of the space, he saw the last deadeye.

A Cryptic.

Adolin wasn’t sure what he had expected, but even still, the sight unsettled him. The spren was folded into itself, its shape shifting, lines twisting and reforming in slow, methodical movements. Unlike the other two, there was no hesitation, no trembling. Just cold, deliberate motion.

Maya stopped a few steps away and gestured slightly. “Cipher.”

The Cryptic didn’t respond.

Adolin exhaled slowly. He had seen spren like this before—ones bonded to Lightweavers, sharp and strange—but this was different. This one wasn’t moving like it should.

Or maybe… it was moving too much.

Maya stepped closer. “He is… sorting,” she said after a pause, as if choosing the word carefully.

Adolin glanced at her. “Sorting what?”

Maya’s expression was unreadable. “Himself.”

Adolin swallowed, looking back at the shifting figure before him.

Three spren. All of them once monsters. Now, all of them this.


They left the caves, stepping carefully onto the soft grass of the garden. The air smelled damp and alive, carrying hints of earth and flowering plants, and a faint mist curled around their feet. Light filtered through the canopy of leaves above, painting the path in pale gold.

Adolin glanced back over his shoulder at the dark openings of the caves. “Maya… why are they like this? In the tower, they’re standing guard, silent, but they seem… fine. Better than this.”

Maya glanced at him, her expression calm but not untouched by the truth. “Hmm, yes. Their minds are steadier now. They’re no longer severed from the other plains like they used to be. In the tower they can think, they can act, they can choose again instead of wandering like ghosts.”

He frowned, looking back toward the caves, toward the shifting spren. “But here…”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Here, you see their naked souls. You can see what was left after millennia of fear and torment. Their shattered, wounded , tattered selves. The parts no one else ever saw, the fragments that survived.”

Adolin hesitated, his mind drifting back to the distant shapes—those twisting, snarling remnants that still roamed the caverns like wounded animals. “Maya… were you ever like them? The ones that attacked the garden?”

Maya did not look away. Her scratched eyes stayed fixed ahead, steady and unflinching. “Yes,” she said. “Once, I was no different. Angry. Lost. Fractured in ways I could not name. I was… pieces. Nothing more.”

Adolin swallowed, it upset him to think of Maya in such pain.

Maya went on, a steady, soothing quality to her voice. “But then, a long time ago, a young boy came into my life. He was there every day. He loved me. He cared for me. He talked to me even though he didn’t know I could hear him.” Her posture softened, a faint warmth threading into her tone. “Over the years, that love pulled the pieces of me back together. Slowly. Patiently. A shard at a time.”

She glanced at him with a fragile smile before she turned to the horizon again. “Later, when the anger was gone, I was still broken. Still hollow. Like them. But that same boy had grown, and so had his heart. His care did not fade. It only deepened.” She touched her chest lightly. “His light was so strong that it reached the depths and guide my way back to the surface.”

Adolin’s chest tightened, a strange, overwhelming heat rising in his throat. He blinked, and a lump caught there, heavy and stubborn. His voice came out as a rasp, barely audible. “Maya… I… I might have not known you were… there, But somehow I think I still knew.”

He stepped closer, his hands hovering for a heartbeat before resting lightly on her shoulders. “I could feel you, you were always there,” he whispered, voice thick. “Always connected to my heart, always ten heartbeats away. You were a constant, you were my solace and… and you held me together just as much as I tried to hold you.”

Her eyes glistened, and she tilted her head slightly, allowing him the subtle closeness. Adolin bent just enough to brush his forehead against hers, a soft, careful hug that spoke of gratitude, relief, and a quiet, unshakable bond. He could feel her vibrate under his palm, steady and real, and for a moment the past and the pain of those years melted into something small and bright between them.

Adolin drew back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. “I’m glad I could… be that for you,” he said softly, a warmth threading through his voice. “But now… I wish I could do the same for the others. For U’norak, Sona, Cipher… I think I can feel it; new bonds forming with them.”

Maya nodded, her expression calm but firm. “Yes,” she said. “They used to be tied to me in the tangled bond that all the old spren shared. But now… they are just as connected to you. You can reach them.”

Adolin swallowed, a frown tugging at his brow. “But… with you, it took years. Holding you, guiding you, being there every day. I… I can’t do that for all of them,  there aren’t enough days in a lifetime.”

Maya’s gaze softened. “It will be different this time.” She motioned toward the still shapes in the garden. “Here, they can feel you. You can touch them, speak to them… be there for them in ways you couldn’t with me.”

She hesitated, stepping closer, her voice dipping. “And now you know what you’re reaching for. You won’t be stumbling in the dark. That alone makes the path shorter.”

Her expression dimmed, a shadow passing over her features. “The deeper you reach—the more you offer of yourself—the faster they’ll return. Intent matters here. Connection matters.”

Adolin’s jaw set, determination threading through the weight pressing on his chest. “How do I do this?”

Maya let a small, approving nod pass, her eyes tracing the horizon before returning to him. “Open yourself to them. But understand what that truly means.”

She stepped closer, voice low but steady. “The nearer they draw, the more you’ll feel their storm. Their fear, their confusion, their old pain—it won’t stay separate from you. To reach them, you’ll have to meet them where they are, sink down to their level, and let their torment inside. It will pull at you, hard and unrelenting.”

A breath, heavy with warning. “It will be brutal. It will be raw. And it will cost you. You can’t walk away unchanged.”

Adolin’s throat tightened. He looked out toward the horizon. “I want to help them,” he said quietly. “If there’s anything I can do—anything at all—I want to try.”

Maya turned fully toward him then, studying him as though committing his resolve to memory. “And I will be there with you every step of the way, my prince.”

Maya guided him through the garden while Adolin was lost in thought. His mind was stuck on the three hunched figures. How their pain was so great it almost emanated from them. He could admit to himself that he was afraid to sink into it, to really know it and he wondered if that made him a coward. 

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost bumped into Maya when she stopped and he looked up to see that they were at the edge of the garden. He was about to ask why they were there when he noticed far down below, past the drop into nothingness, faint silhouettes moving in the mist.

His blood froze, mind instantly transported to the brutal, bloody fights he had fought to get rid of them. 

“Maya…” he said, turning to her. “I thought—we fought them off. I thought that was all of them.”

He squinted toward the shapes, leaning in as if distance might make them make sense. “What are…? They’re not—.”

Maya met his gaze, and the look in her eyes made his chest tighten. Mournful. Knowing.

His breath hitched, the realization rising despite every instinct to push it away. He turned toward Maya, voice tight with reluctant understanding.

“Maya… are these other deadeyes? Like Sana and the others?”

A soft sad smile graced her lips.

His voice thinned further. “But… how? How is this possible?”

Maya stood beside him, staring down at them. “I think I understand now,” she said.

Adolin tore his gaze from the abyss, looking at her instead.

She exhaled slowly. “When we were dead, we were alone,” she murmured. “For so long. Cut off from our minds, from everything, from any reality. There was nothing there but the others. And in that time… we found each other. We held on to what we could.” She hesitated, then added, “We made a bond. Not the kind we had with Radiants, but something else. Something different, held together by pain, fear and anger. We were all tied together in a tangled mess floating in a sea of nothingness. Our garden, our bond, is the only solid thing here and  they can’t help but reach for it.”

Adolin straightened, hope sparking despite the dread curling in his gut. “Does this mean we can help them too?”

Maya’s expression dimmed. “It means they’re just as ferocious and lost as the others were.” Her hand closed around his arm, steady but unyielding. “And they will attack when they get close enough.”

A chill rippled through him. The memory of the pain rose, looming over him like an unwelcome shadow but he pushed it away.

“Maya,” he breathed, “we can’t abandon them. There has to be another way.”

“Adolin, listen to me.” Her tone sharpened, not unkind but immovable. “Their minds are shattered. You can’t reach them with kindness or patience. All they know is rage—raw, reflexive, endless pain. You cannot speak to a storm that only knows how to break.” She stepped closer. “And we can’t leave them alone, either. Our bond will draw them in, and when it does, they’ll strike. It’s only a matter of time.”

His throat tightened. “So what—you’re saying there’s nothing left but to prepare for war?”

Maya hesitated, then her voice dropped. “There is… one other option.”

He stilled. “What is it?”

“The only way to stop them without a fight,” she whispered, “is for me to break my bond with them.”

Adolin froze. “…What?”

“I can do it now, before they come too close, before the connection deepens even more. But if we wait much longer…” She trailed off, sorrow pooling in her voice. “I don't think I will be able to.”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He stared at her, then at the shapes shifting below in the mist. “If you break it,” he said slowly, “would they… would they go back? To how they were?” His voice cracked. “Would it destroy what’s left of them?”

Maya looked down, her expression knotting with grief. She didn’t answer.

“Maya, we can’t do that,” Adolin said, the words torn from him.

Maya’s face twisted, the lines of grief and fury carved deep. Her voice cracked, sharp and ragged as it cut through the air. “Last time there were only three!” she shouted, her hands trembling at her sides. “And it nearly killed you, Adolin! I cannot let that happen again!”

She clenched her fists but the tremor in her tone betrayed the sheer weight of fear and love driving her outburst.

The unwelcome memories hit him like a physical blow—the bone-deep ache, the sting of torn skin, the way his breath had caught with every strike. His chest tightened, pulse quickened, panic brushing at the edges of his mind threatening to overwhelm him.

His breath hitched but before he was consumed by it, he stepped forward and pulled Maya into a tight embrace. Her initial tension melted against the force of his determination, and he held her tight, letting the contact ground and calm them both. 

“I promise,” he murmured, voice thick but steady, “We’ll figure this out—together. Whatever it takes, we will find a way.”

Maya’s body relaxed slowly, the tremor in her shoulders softening as she leaned into him. In that moment, amidst the shadows and the distant, shifting shapes, they stood united—an unspoken vow threading between them.

Adolin woke slowly. The transition from the garden to waking life was always strange, like he’d been pulled from a deep current. For a moment, the garden still lingered behind his eyes—the mist, the broken spren, the terrible choice Maya had placed before him. The ache of it pressed against his ribs, refusing to fade.

He blinked, the familiar shapes of his room sharpening into focus. Renarin sat beside the bed, watching him with that quiet, steady patience that was all his own. His hands were clasped too tightly in his lap, his posture a little too rigid.

Adolin swallowed, trying to ease the tension in his chest. The question was there in Renarin’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” his brother asked softly.

The truth hovered on his tongue for only a second before the face of his sweet brother, worried as it was, pushed past the weight in his chest, replacing it with warmth.

He managed a faint smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, voice gentler than he meant it to be. “Actually… there’s something I want to show you.”

Renarin frowned slightly, uncertain but curious. “What is it?”

Adolin sat up slowly, the grim thoughts receding, tucked safely out of reach. “You’ll see,” he said, his tone lighter now, the corners of his mouth lifting. “It’s worth it, I promise.”

Adolin swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam immediately, dizziness pulling at him like a tide. He clenched his jaw, determined to push through it, but before he could even try to stand, Renarin was there, steadying him.

“Nope.” Renarin firmly guided him back down.

Adolin huffed in frustration, but he didn’t fight it. He leaned back against the pillows, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. “Fine,” he muttered. “Then open the door.”

Renarin gave him a wary look but did as he asked.

The door creaked slightly as it swung open. Standing just beyond the threshold, guarding the door in absolute stillness, were three deadeyes.

Their forms were rigid but alert, their scratched-out eyes fixed on Adolin the moment they saw him. They understood.

Adolin swallowed, then gestured for them to enter.

One by one, they stepped inside, moving with careful, deliberate motions.
“I want you to meet U’norak, Sana, and this is Cipher.” he said to Renarin, smiling as each one bowed their head when hearing their name.

Renarin sucked in a breath. He stared at the deadeyes, his eyes wide, something like awe flickering across his face.

“You know their names?" Gliss asked with amazement, breaking his usual silence. 

Adolin nodded. “Yeah.”

“How? How is that possible?” Gliss asked awestruck as Renarin glanced between them. 

Adolin exhaled, rubbing at his eyes. He thought of how he could explain it.

“I met them,” he said quietly. “In the garden.” His voice wavered, just slightly. “They attacked the garden and I had to fight them off. I didn't know what they were back then but after I defeated them, Maya says their blind rage drained and they were able to think again.”

Renarin was still watching him, still taking it all in.

Adolin clenched his fists. “I think I can do that for more of them.” His throat tightened.

Gliss let out a sharp inhale, his form brightening in a quick, trembling flare. “Truly?” He drifted closer, edges flickering with something that looked almost like tears forming along the facets of his shape. “You can help more of them?”

Renarin looked at him with gleaming eyes, "that's wonderful, brother."

“It’s not that simple unfortunately.  Last time…it almost cost me everything.” He swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden sting behind his eyes. “I don’t know how I can do it again.”

Renarin didn’t speak right away. He just sat there, watching his brother, seeing the weight behind his words. Then, slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on Adolin’s shoulder, grounding him.

“It’s alright, brother. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way.” He offered, watching Adolin closely.

Adolin let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. “You don’t understand how bad it was.” he said. “I had to fight armies of them. Every hit I took in those fights was real, I could only heal it in my waking life.”

Renarin frowned. “I can just heal you, can’t I?”

Adolin paused as if considering this for the first time. It was true, now he would not only have food and medicine but radiant powers could bring him back instantly. He would still have to suffer the pain of the blows both in the garden and in the physical world but the damage wouldn’t last.

Adolin frowned in thought. “There are so many of them, it’s going to take a long time, you can’t always be there.”

Renarin didn’t hesitate. “I can be. I will be.”

Adolin looked up at him, studying his face. He wanted to believe that, but storms, it wasn’t that simple.

Adolin hesitated, worry scratching at his voice. “Renarin… if I do this—if I start down this path—I won’t be able to stop later. I can’t postpone it when things get busy or dangerous. They’ll come when they come. And each one will hit like a stormwall.”

Renarin’s expression didn’t waver. “Adolin, what you’re doing here, what you can do—it’s too important. I want to be there for you. To help you through it.”

Adolin rubbed a hand over his jaw, gaze drifting toward the garden’s edge. “It could take years. Every time one of them reaches for me, I’ll need you there to hold me together. There won’t be any turning away. It’s a huge commitment. Even if I dedicated my whole life to this… I can’t ask you to put yours on hold for me.”

Renarin’s voice rose, fierce with determination. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll be there. Always. Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”

Adolin swallowed, the weight pressing in. “The whole world is fighting a war—the final war that will decide our fates. There should be nothing more important. I’ll need to fight.”

Renarin stepped closer, voice low but fierce. “There are plenty of people who can fight the war. Only you can do this.”

Adolin shook his head slightly. “But you’re so important to the war, I can’t take you away.”

Renarin’s expression didn’t waver. “You are more important, I want to be there for you,” he said simply. “Any insights I get  about the war—I can tell father. I don’t have to be by his side to do that.”

Adolin let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “He’s not going to like that.”

Renarin shrugged. “No he won't, but I can make my own decisions. Father will just have to deal with it.”

Adolin studied him for a long moment, noting the quiet strength, the confidence he carried despite everything. His chest tightened with something he couldn’t quite name. “My little brother, all grown up.” he said softly, almost to himself. “I’m so proud of you, Renarin.”

Renarin’s eyes flicked away for a heartbeat, his fingers tapping against his leg in a small, rhythmic pattern—a tell Adolin knew meant he was pleased, even if he couldn’t meet the sentiment head-on. He nodded once, slow and certain.

A faint smile tugged at Adolin’s lips. Whatever storms were coming, whatever battles waited beyond the horizon, they would meet them  together as they always had.

The quiet settled around them, steady and sure, like the pulse of a bond that had survived everything. And for the first time in a long while, Adolin let himself believe he could endure whatever came next.

The plan was set.

Lopen would fly him, Renarin, and their spren straight to the Urithiru oathgate. It was their best option by far—fast, efficient, and uncomplicated. With breaks, they would reach the tower in only a few days. The journey required almost no preparation, no caravans or heavy supplies. All they needed was Stormlight, and the spren had gathered more than enough for them. Perfect spheres, polished bright, were stacked neatly inside small pouches: a gift for the war effort, they had said, a contribution only they could provide.

Adolin knew the plan made sense. Every hour saved mattered. The frontlines were shifting, the coalition strained, and their presence would help. It was logical. Practical. Necessary.

Adolin knew he should be relieved. Instead, a knot of dread twisted in his stomach.

He didn't want Dalinar to see him like this, a frail ghost of the soldier he used to be. Old instincts screamed to hide any weakness, that vulnerability invited judgment or worse, disappointment. 

But this was more than unease. It was the gut-deep fear that his father would see this as a personal betrayal. He was the strong son, the dependable one, the pride of the Kholin name. Now, he would be a shameful secret. He knew his worth to his father, and he was returning as a liability, ruined when Dalinar needed him most.

 He had told himself, over and over, that he was free of it. That he no longer craved his father's approval, that he was his own man now. But here, at the precipice, the truth again revealed. The old need was a hook in his soul, buried so deep he could never tear it out. This past few months revealed the lie he told himself. He still cared. Storms, he cared so much it was a physical ache. He could bear the pain of his body, but not look of disgust in his father’s eyes.          

Still the plan moved forward and he pushed that worry aside. Delay wouldn’t make things easier, and he knew it. Better to move forward, to take what strength he had and use it, than to linger in hesitation. 

The honorspren had been busy preparing for their departure. When the day finally came, they gathered at the gates with supplies for the journey. They brought food and water, and someone shyly pressed a pouch of his favorite red sour candies into his hands. Lasting Integrity’s stormlight reserves were nearly emptied for them, each sphere polished and glowing, offered without hesitation.

Many of the spren arrived with their own small gifts, thoughtful things for him and for Maya. Each one landed softly in his chest, warming him in a way that made leaving harder than he expected.

Adolin gave his goodbyes slowly, lingering with each familiar face. It left him full, equal parts affection and quiet ache, already missing them even as he stepped away.

He joined Renarin, Lopen, and their spren in a line along ready for flight.  Stormlight spheres glinted in the pale light, food and water packed, gifts carefully stowed. Everything was ready. The oathgate awaited, and with it, the promise of seeing Roshar again.

Lopen lashed them all into the air. The surge lifted them almost instantly. Adolin braced himself, trying to steady his racing heartbeat, trying to swallow down the sudden tightness curling in his stomach. The ground fell away beneath him, the horizon tipping sideways, and a shiver of vertigo raced up his spine. He clenched his hands, gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure, telling himself he could handle it, that it would pass soon. 

The world tilted and twisted around him, the horizon bending like water in a storm. His stomach knotted and coiled, each heartbeat jolting through him like an electric shock. Cold sweat slicked his skin as the sky reeled, colors smearing, edges blurring, the world spinning faster and faster. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists against his thighs, trying to anchor himself to something—anything—but it only made the motion worse.

A sharp lurch clawed up from his stomach, faster than he could stop it. His breath caught, ragged and shallow, and then it was too much. A strangled sound tore from him as knotted stomach pulsed painfully, the nausea broke free, scorching his throat while tears stung at the corners of his eyes. His body trembled, suspended in air and panic, utterly unmoored.

He heard Renarin’s voice, taut with worry, and felt the surge of air shift beneath him before the ground came up to meet him. He melted onto it, and warm hands closed around him from all sides, soft voices murmuring in his ears, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of panic.

Renarin’s healing light warmed his back, yet the world continued to spin and he felt himself falling over and over. His stomach twisted and clenched, his lungs burning as he struggled for air. Each breath was ragged, each heartbeat thundering painfully in his chest.

His hands shook, slick with sweat, and his hair clung to his forehead. His muscles refused to settle, and every instinct screamed that the air was still moving beneath him. Gradually, the spin slowed, the nausea eased, his breathing found a rhythm, and the edges of the world became firm once more.

When he lifted his head, the ground felt solid beneath him, stable and unyielding. His chest heaved with each inhale, raw and hot. Renarin stayed close, hand warm on his shoulder, steadying him. Tremors still ran through his limbs, but he let himself lean on that certainty, letting the earth anchor the pieces of himself that had been unmoored in the air.

It became clear to him, and to everyone around, that flying was no longer an option. As he fully came back to himself, a flush of embarrassment and guilt burned through him. He had spoiled the plans once again, requiring special attention and care, and the thought weighed heavily on his chest.

Before he could apologize, the spren gathered around him. They tripped over themselves  to reassure him that a ship was already being arranged to take them to an Oathgate and that they’d be ready to depart shortly. The thought eased some of the tension in his chest, allowing him to draw a slow, steadying breath.

True to their word, by the next day the spren informed them that everything was ready. Their ship was waiting at the dock.

As they made their way to the pier, the streets were alive with celebration. Spren flowed through the walkways, spinning, leaping, and twisting with the rhythm of the music. They clapped and tapped, their glowing forms pulsing in rhythm, some tracing arcs of light in the air as they twirled around one another. The spren shifted around Adolin and the others with smooth, deliberate gestures, bowing or curving their forms as if acknowledging their passage. 

Adolin smiled, everything twisting tight in his chest. He hadn’t expected this.

Maya walked at his side, silent and certain as ever—his shadow in every step. Renarin on his other side, just as steady, never leaving him since the moment they’d been reunited. Between the two of them, Adolin felt a kind of quiet support he’d never thought to rely on, something new and unexpectedly comforting.

Behind them, Lopen strode with exaggerated swagger, already waving at passing spren as if he were the center of an adoring crowd. Sona, Cipher, and Unarak followed close behind, moving with a quiet cohesion that spoke of their newly forged bond. 

Lastly came a stream of deadeyes, stiff and deliberate, faces slack, yet drawn forward by an invisible thread. They followed Maya like cremlings chasing heat, instincts carrying them without full awareness. Sparks of recognition flickered briefly in their eyes, fragile hints of return, their presence alive yet haunted by months of emptiness.

It felt less like an escort and more like a procession.

When they neared the pier, Adolin spotted Rholyn, Ashera, and Lyreah waiting for him. Relief washed over him, sharp and sudden, and beneath it stirred a faint ache. Seeing them here, at the edge of this moment, reminded him of everything he would miss—and yet, somehow, they were here, still with him.

“It is a fine day for sailing,” Rholyn said, his grin easy and unshakable.

Adolin nodded, but his smile faltered. Excitement did not reach him.

Rholyn’s brow lifted. “Why so glum? You are finally returning home,” he asked, his tone teasing but curious.

Maya’s voice rose quietly beside him, calm and deliberate, carrying a weight that made Adolin glance at her. “I think it’s just that Adolin is going to miss you. As will I,” she said.

Lyreah’s eyes sparkled, catching the light, mischievous as always. “Maybe you don’t have to miss us that much,” she added, teasingly.

Adolin opened his mouth to protest, to insist that of course he would, that despite the bad memories this place created it also created true friends and leaving them behind was not easy. But his gaze drifted past them.
Six ships we docked at the pier, their hulls gleaming with a subtle, otherworldly glow. Copper lines arched along each vessel, taut and humming with energy, while mandras glided beneath the decks, their sinewy forms pulsing beneath the beads that shimmered like liquid starlight, moving in hypnotic, deliberate ripples.

He froze, his voice cracking as it escaped. “Surely one ship is enough?”

Rholyn laughed softly, clapping a hand on Adolin’s shoulder. “Enough for you,” he said. “Not enough for all of us.”

Adolin blinked, still trying to process it. “For you?”

Rholyn clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady. “We are coming with you to Roshar,” he said simply. “We are going to fight by your side.”

Lopen, never one to remain quiet, broke the silence. “Wow, really?” His voice was half disbelief, half exhilaration. “This is… this is insane! You don’t know how much we need more Radiants. With all of you we might actually stand a chance!”


Adolin’s eyes widened, his voice cracking with disbelief and excitement. “What do you mean, who’s coming?”

Ashera stepped forward, posture straight and precise, her gaze level and unwavering. “All of us,” she said. “Except the few needed to hold the tower. The rest have chosen to follow.”

Lyreah, standing slightly to the side, gave a small, fierce nod and a sly smile. “Surely you didn’t think that after everything you went through because of us, after all we learned about the humans, about the Recreance, that we would simply stay behind, did you?”

Renarin nodded, eyes wide, a rare spark of excitement breaking through his usual restraint. “This… this changes everything. Truly. I cannot express to you how grateful we are.”

Rholyn’s expression grew serious. “You do not need to thank the spren,” he said softly. “Fighting beside your brother is the honor of our lives. This is but a fraction of the debt we owe him.”

Adolin’s chest tightened at the words. He glanced at Renarin, who simply gave a small, humble nod, the weight of their shared struggles settling between them. Around them, the spren shimmered faintly, as if echoing the sentiment, a silent chorus of acknowledgment that even they could not fully voice.

Ahead, he spotted Garron standing slightly apart, his expression steady but unreadable. Adolin quickened his pace. “Garron—are you coming with us?” he asked.

Garron shook his head, his gaze firm. “Not yet,” he said. “I’ll join you soon, but first there’s something I need to do.”

Adolin frowned. “What is it?”

Before Garron answered, Keyler stepped up beside him, along with several other spren—faces Adolin recognized from the palace corridors and the moments leading up to their escape. They stood like a small, quiet cohort behind Garron, united in purpose.

“We have our own mission,” Garron said, his voice calm but threaded with urgency. “Keyler and the others will spread through Shadesmar.” He paused, letting the weight of that settle. “We need to tell the other spren what really happened here. About the deadeyes waking. About Maya. About you. The other spren need to know the truth.”

Adolin drew in a breath, the reality settling around him like mist. “So… does that mean this is goodbye?”

Garron’s expression softened. “Only for now.”

Before Adolin could answer, Garron stepped in and pulled both him and Maya into a firm embrace—brief, grounding, sincere.

“I see you soon,” Garron murmured as he stepped back, “on Roshar this time. Both of you.”

Then he and his small group peeled away from the crowd, heading toward the shimmering path into Shadesmar, leaving Adolin watching after them with a mix of pride, worry, and something like hope.

He turned toward the ships again—their decks packed with spren waiting, ready. Not a few. Not dozens.

Hundreds.

And for a heartbeat, he was back to the day he first arrived in Lasting Integrity. Unwelcome. Begging a people who despised him to help a war they wanted no part of.

If someone had told that version of him this would be the outcome… he wouldn’t have believed it. He wouldn’t have dared to.

Maya brushed her fingers lightly against his wrist. “You did this,” she murmured. Her voice was warm and full of pride “You hoped… even when they said no. That mattered.”

He swallowed hard, blinking past the sudden pressure in his eyes.

They weren’t just letting go of their isolation.

They were choosing him. Choosing this.

Choosing to stand with humanity when it mattered most.

A lump formed in his throat. “I… don’t know what to say.”

Rholyn shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything anymore. Let’s go.”

Adolin let out a shaky breath.

Renarin stepped close, hand on his shoulder. Lopen gave him a thumbs-up that was somehow supportive and ridiculous at the same time. Sona, Cipher  and Unarak bowed their heads. Maya’s presence brushed against his mind—soft, unwavering, certain.

Adolin turned toward the ships—the spren, the sea, the impossible choice they had made.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was walking toward an ending.

He felt like he was walking toward a beginning.

He stepped forward.

And together—human and spren, once enemies now friends—they departed.