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"A promise is something deeper than an oath."
– Adolin Kholin
Shallan Davar lay in Shadesmar on one of the Oathgate platforms in front of Urithiru, feeling worn out. With Pattern and Testament at her side, she spotted Renarin and Rlain nearby on the same platform, helping each other up.
The sky crackled and swirled with a mix of red, gold and pearl as Dalinar and Odium’s contest raged above them. The two enormous spren of the Oathgate had crouched down, a posture she’d never seen from them before. Something was very wrong.
Shallan dashed toward them, calling out as she ran to where Rlain and Renarin waited. “Transfer us now!” she cried to the spren. “Please!”
The gateway spren shuddered, flickering and continuing to shrink. Renarin held out his hand toward Shallan and she threw herself forward. Light surrounded them as their palms touched.
Kaladin Stormblessed awoke in a land covered by darkness. Spears of red lightning splintered sporadically across the dark expanse of sky. The ground was trembling. His whole being ached, down to his very soul. His arm twitched, and he looked down to see black smoke where some of his fingers should be. Not a single breath of Stormlight was left – Nightblood had burned it all away, and then some.
The corpse of Szeth-son-Neturo lay on the ground nearby. No breath, no pulse, his eyes pits of blackness. The Honorblades and Heralds were gone. The Oathpact had been reformed – with Seth taking Jezrien’s place, leaving his mortal body behind.
Syl was curled up next to him, still trembling from the aftershocks of Ishar’s pain and Honor’s death. Staggering to his feet, Kaladin picked up his pack and Nightblood from where it lay on the ground in its sheath.
Kaladin… I killed him, didn’t I? I killed Szeth…
“No, Nightblood,” Kaladin replied. “You chose. You chose to stop. And Szeth… he chose as well. To join the Heralds. Honor is dead, but Szeth has saved the spren. The Oathpact is renewed.”
I… did not kill my friend? The voice was subdued, pained. But he is dead.
“Yes,” Kaladin whispered. “The Knight of Truth is no more.” He would need to find help to bury Szeth.
He crossed over to Syl, and shook her gently. “Kaladin…” she whispered.
“It’s over,” he said. “Syl… we can go home now.”
“Home… but my father… Honor is gone. There is only Retribution now.”
“Splinters still live. I can feel it. The Wind told me so.”
He reached out his non-injured hand and pulled Syl to her feet. She was both more and less corporeal than she usually was.
“We have to go back,” Kaladin said, more to himself than to Syl. “I have a promise to keep.”
Shallan stood on the Cloudwalk at Urithiru, the Wind playing across her face as she waited. It had been days since Mayalaran, Adolin’s deadeye spren, had left. Shallan could still feel the stabbing echoes of relief that had shot through her when Maya had appeared, bringing news that Azir still stood – and that her husband was alive.
With the Oathgates no longer functional, Adolin and his remaining forces had to make the journey back to Urithiru on foot. The journey was made even more difficult by the fact that Emul, bordering Azimir and Urithiru, had betrayed the coalition and sided with Odium. Progress was slow, but all Shallan could do was wait, and hope.
The days of waiting following Shallan’s arrival back to the tower from the Spiritual Realm had been agony. With Stormlight non-existent, spanreeds were not a viable form of communication. It wasn’t until Maya arrived that anyone in the tower even knew the outcome of the battle in Azimir. What Shallan didn’t want to think about was the deafening silence from the land beyond Azir - Shinovar. Maya had told her that darkness had fallen across everywhere except Azir, Urithiru, and the Shattered Plains. Which meant Kaladin, who had been in Shinovar- Storms. She didn’t let herself finish that thought. Kaladin is alive. He has to be.
Adolin Kholin stepped out of the lift and into the sun of Urithiru. There Shallan stood, her red hair blowing in the breeze, kissed copper by the light.
She saw him before he could call to her. She ran, crashing into his arms, and he pulled her tight.
“Is this real?” Shallan murmured. “You’re really here, you’re okay?”
Adolin stumbled slightly, and Shallan pulled back, holding him at arm’s length.
“Sorry, gemheart,” he winced. “I–“
She looked down, and held in a gasp. One of Adolin’s legs ended at the knee. A glittering limb of Shardplate, with three large toe-like portions supporting his weight where a foot should be.
“Oh, love,” she breathed, one hand coming up to cup his jaw. Adolin leaned into her, one of his hands moving to cover hers. And that was all she needed to say. He bent his head to kiss her, pouring every ounce of desperation and fear he had felt over the last few weeks into it. Shallan responded with fervour, arms twining around his neck. When they broke apart, she crushed her face into his chest again.
“Adolin, your father…” He held her tighter, anguishspren coalescing around him.
“He did what he had do,” Adolin replied, “What he could. He bought us time.”
Shallan nodded into his chest. “I… killed Mraize,” she said, voice slightly muffled. “And in the Spiritual Realm, I saw– my mother–“ she stumbled on her words, and a tremor ran through her.
Adolin could only imagine what she had gone through since they had been separated. What they had both gone through.
“There will be time, love. Tell me all about it.”
Then Shallan asked the dreaded question, one he had been forcing himself not to consider. “Have you heard from Kaladin?” He shook his head, and anxietyspren twisted up around them both.
“Shinovar is covered in darkness. Maya told me. Adolin, what if he’s– what if he never–”
“He promised us,” Adolin whispered fiercely. “Remember? Drinks. Jokes. Laughter. At the end. He made a promise. He’s going to keep it. He has to.”
It was the end of another day, as normal as they could get with the threat of Retribution still hanging over all their heads. Shallan returned from a meeting with the Unseen Court to find Adolin already in their chambers, rooting around in their wardrobe. His blonde-black hair was still damp; he had just come from the shower.
She snuck up behind him and poked his sides. He gave a yelp unseemly of a highprince, the shirt in his hands falling to the floor.
“Good evening to you too,” he laughed, turning to greet her.
“Good evening,” she said primly, mock curtseying as she set her satchel off to the side. “How goes my fine husband?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that shower. I can’t believe we get to have one in our rooms.” He was balancing well on one foot, having dismissed his Plate to bathe.
“Well, they couldn’t well take it away from you, defender of Azimir,” Shallan smiled, bending to pick up the shirt. “You dropped something. Not that I’m complaining.”
Adolin’s Plate clinked into place as he took the shirt from her, and he moved to sit in an armchair as he threw the loose garment over his head. Shallan pouted, but slid over to nestle into his side, soaking in the warmth of their small heating fabrial. It wasn’t entirely necessary, but Shallan had learned not to begrudge herself the small comforts in life.
Though she was tucked under his chin, Shallan could feel the daggers Adolin was glaring at their shared desk across the room.
“I have so much paperwork to look through,” he grumbled. “Azir is a mess trying to rebuild after the battle. They’re low on Soulcast resources everywhere, and we can’t use any Oathgates. I haven’t trained my Unoathed in days. And I’m still so behind on my Azish lessons, it’s embarrassing.”
“If there’s anyone that can make it work, it’s you,” Shallan said. “Your father sent you to Azir for a reason. You, Adolin Kholin.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Thank you, love. I know I’ve done so much… storms, it’s hard to acknowledge that sometimes. But I still forget how far I’ve come. How far we’ve both come.”
She nodded. “There is still light on Roshar. We just need to keep reminding each other.”
In the silence, there was a quiet knock at the door, and Shallan froze. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? Her mind started racing, tracking the fastest path to the swords and daggers they kept hidden in myriad spots in their quarters. She wondered if she would be able to summon Pattern.
Then, the sound of the door opening. Adolin whipped around so fast he dislodged Shallan from his lap, his feet shifting unconsciously into Smokestance.
A few tense, breathless seconds passed, before-
“Kal?”
“Kaladin,” Shallan breathed as she stood, her eyes meeting his. Kaladin stood frozen in the doorway, disbelief washing over his face, his eyes flickering between Shallan and Adolin. He was still wearing his pack, his clothes travel-worn and dusty. He had very clearly just arrived.
“Looks like we’re going to need to get you a new pair of boots,” Shallan blurted out, an awespren bursting above her.
Something in Kaladin broke, then. With a clatter, his pack was on the ground, and Shallan and Adolin both found themselves with armfuls of Kaladin. Shallan let herself revel in the knowledge that, for the first time since knowing him, Kaladin had come to them first.
They stood there like that - in the middle of their quarters, front door still ajar - for heartbeats, for lifetimes. Shallan was sandwiched between the two taller men, storm them, but she wasn’t complaining one bit. She held them both tightly, as though if she held tight enough, she could melt into them; climb inside their ribcages forever.
“I didn’t know if you made it out,” came Kaladin’s voice, and it was wet with tears. “I knew Dalinar was lost, and that Honor was dead… Syl and I walked for so long. In the darkness.”
“You’re here now. We’re here, Kal,” Adolin affirmed.
Shallan nodded, pressing her hand into the small of Kaladin’s back, grounding him. She felt his answering grip on her waist, and knew he would be okay.
“Let’s get you clean, and some fresh clothes,” Adolin said, ever practical. For once, Kaladin didn’t protest. “Then we can talk. We have this amazing thing called a shower…”
The sun painted Urithiru a brilliant gold. The three of them sat on the balcony connected to Shallan and Adolin’s quarters, the doors thrown wide open. Though Stormlight was no more, the Sibling’s latent powers of climate regulation still kept Urithiru functioning enough to keep the air around the tower temperate.
There was a bottle of auburn wine and a few mugs of ale, at Kaladin’s request. Storms, did it feel good to just talk. After weeks of travelling in darkness across Shinovar, and sneaking through the betrayed remnants of the Azish empire, the memories of what he had seen were still seared into his mind. He still saw Szeth’s burnt out eyes every time he tried to sleep. He could still feel the weight of Ishar’s pain, pressing on his chest, and the soul of the world tearing as Honor died. If anyone could even begin to understand… it would be Adolin and Shallan.
They talked about everything and nothing at all.
“You just had to go and swear the Fifth Ideal while we weren’t there,” Shallan quipped. Then she sobered slightly. “I’d give anything to see a bit of Stormlight in action again. I hadn’t even realised how used to it I am, until it vanished.”
Adolin stayed silent, knowing the loss of Stormlight was far greater for his Radiant friends than he could ever fathom. He was just grateful that with the release of Ba-Ado-Mishram, Maya and the other deadeyes were slowly beginning to heal.
Kaladin reached over and squeezed her arm. His eyes were back to his usual dark brown, and they had been for some time. “Tell me about the Heralds you met,” he said instead to Adolin. “I can’t believe I got stuck with Nale and Ishar.”
Some things were left unsaid, like the swelling grief over Dalinar’s death that still blanketed the tower. The implications of Retribution’s creation and what it would mean for the remaining Radiants and the rest of Roshar, that they also ignored. Instead, Adolin and Kaladin traded jokes about missing digits while Shallan captured their laughter in her sketchbook. Shallan spoke of the visions she had seen in the Spiritual Realm, and both Kaladin and Adolin gaped in awe at the revelation of Shallan’s mother’s true identity. Kaladin briefly summoned Syl, who had left him alone for the evening, as a flute, and his song drew fluttering musicspren and windspren, as well as tears to the eyes of the other two.
When Nomon’s pale, blue light was high in the sky, Shallan yawned and stretched.
“Ready for bed so soon?” Adolin teased.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m just looking for a change of scenery. And it’s time for lying down, not sitting.”
Kaladin stood rather stiffly, hands awkwardly fisted in his loose pants. He knew them both well enough to read the room and understand when it was time for him to bow out.
“Goodnight, then,” he said quietly. “I… I needed this. You both. And storms, I’m just happy you’re safe, after all of this.”
Kaladin crossed the balcony before either of the others could speak, and was halfway to the door before Adolin caught his hand, the one missing fingers.
“Stay here. With us.” His touch burned Kaladin in a way not even Nightblood could. When was the last time he had been touched without pain? When he had danced with Syl to the music of the Wind… and before that… the day they had all said goodbye.
Kaladin’s breath lodged in his throat. It was a mark of how far he had come, how much he had grown and changed in Shinovar, that he nodded after a few seconds, and let himself be pulled to the bed.
He settled back on the numerous pillows with a huff, and Adolin was there instantly, curling into his side. Kaladin closed his eyes and let himself bask in the other man’s warmth, the feeling of him so solid and soft, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Before long, he felt the mattress dip again as Shallan joined them. Kaladin held out his arm and she gleefully snuggled into his shoulder, hooking one leg over his. He felt her reach across his abdomen to clasp Adolin’s hand, firm and warm.
Someone, Adolin probably, was running their fingers through his hair. Kaladin’s world slowed to a standstill, time turning to molasses, the world softening around the edges as they melded into each other. Shallan’s breathing slowed, brushing softly across his collarbone as her fingers grew slack on his stomach.
There, surrounded by his two favourite people in the world, Kaladin let himself rest.
They could contend with the world tomorrow. Tomorrow, there would be time. Time for decisions, for more plans; time to pick up the pieces. Time to grapple with Ghostbloods, with a world with no Stormlight, with missing limbs. Time to grieve.
For today, they were not Windrunner, Lightweaver, highprince.
For today, they could just be.
Kaladin, Shallan, and Adolin, together, at the end of all things.
isolt_sayre Sat 26 Apr 2025 07:07AM UTC
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