#kalarin

Kaladin tilted his head to the side, and they moved away from the group, well out of earshot, but Renarin still glanced at the other men in fear.

Talat's sword, the kid was tense as a bowstring again, hands shaking even as they clenched his sides, though they still didn't go for that box of his. A few twisting black spren trailed him. If Kaladin had thought he had been anxious before, then this was a whole other level.

"What do you think it is?" Syl asked, passing overhead, ruffling black and yellow hair. Renarin twitched at the breeze.

"I know some of the other bridgemen were whispering mean stuff about him," she said, examining the prince, "But I don't think he heard, and you said soldiers don't come to their commanding officers about that sort of thing, right? And he looks too scared for that, anyway. Unless they were really being cruel."

With another narrowly repressed sigh, Kaladin led them further away, to an alley between a storage building and an unused barrack, out of both sight and sound.

Something more about his Epilepsy, maybe?

Renarin pulled a sapphire mark out as they left the glow of firelight behind, blue light making the visible tremble of his fingers more obvious. The prince went even further, to the dead center of the alleyway. Even if someone skulking around the corner abandoned all pretenses and pressed an ear to the wall, they would be hard pressed to hear a quiet conversation.

And still, Renarin looked nervously to both of the alley's exits.

Kaladin's heart started to pick up in sympathetic dread. "Soldier?" he finally asked. "You wanted to speak with me?"

The youth flinched, before bowing his head and leaning forward.

"I need your help," he said, staring at the ground.

Kaladin furrowed his brow. "With...?"

"I need your help with—" he cut himself off, seeming to choke on the words. He let out a frustrated sounding grunt.

"We..." The prince opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands also opened and closed at his sides. "You..."

"How— his jaw snapped shut again and even in the low light, Kaladin could see him swallowing several times, before taking a deep breath and setting his jaw.

"You... survived a highstorm. You... healed from that."

Kaladin started at the unexpected line of conversation. Syl crossed her arms in the air, staring Renarin down.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "Not a pleasant experience."

"And you fought off the Parshendi army. When you charged the tower. By yourself."

"My whole bridge fought," Kaladin retorted, slightly offended on their behalf.

Renarin shook his head. "Yes, but you cleared the landing for them. You went ahead. And you won."

Kaladin's heart picked up a bit more.

"Briefly," he said with forced calm. "My men—"

"And you saved my father. From the Parshendi Shardbarer. By yourself... Adolin is still resentful of that, I think."

This time Kaladin said nothing. He hadn't done anything wrong, he reminded himself. Nothing to give away his advantages. His achievements had been unusual, yes. But that was common knowledge. Nothing to panic about when confronted, even by a prince with an unnerving tendency to watch people.

"I wondered... I suspected. But then I saw..."

Renarin looked up, but not at Kaladin. He stared into space, eyes unfocused, then shook his head.

"I saw you breathing in Stormlight," he whispered.

"Oh!" Syl said. "Oh!" She looked at Kaladin, but he wasn't listening to her right now.

A chill ran down Kaladin's spine, and it took everything he had not to move back in the narrow space.

"Breathing in stormlight?" he repeated after a moment, trying to sound confused. Trying, at least, not to sound afraid.

Brightlord Renarin's eyes snapped to his and now he found it very easy to hold himself in place. He didn't think he could move, chill down his back having hardened to ice.

"I saw you. And then I saw it — and I saw it again. A faint glow...you're a surgebinder. I know it. I saw it." The Brightlord's stare, somehow, grew even more intense.

Oh. It's over. It's all over.

"Kaladin! Kaladin!" Syl floated before his face, between Renarin and himself. "It's going to be okay! We like Renarin, remember? Try and calm down — just, just listen to him, alright? I have a good feeling about this."

"I..." Kaladin cleared the sudden dryness from his throat, clenching his hands into fists to try and control his abrupt, almost painful shivers. When had the night grown so storming cold? Why was the cold making it hard to breathe? "Who else knows?"

"No one!" the prince assured him quickly. "I wouldn't — I know it's a secret."

That softened a fraction of the crushing tightness in his chest. But only a small amount.

"What do you want?" Kaladin managed to get out. "What do you want from me?"

"I need help," Brightlord Renarin said, hands coming together in front of him, thumbs shifting end over end. "Please... I. Please. You have a spren. The assassin didn't, but you do. She looks like a windspren, but she's something else, right? Something more."

The weight, impossibly, redoubled on his chest. He sucked down a breath, then struggled to take in another.

I knew it. I knew it.

"Kaladin! Kaladin can you hear me?" Syl said, from very far away.

I knew they'd try and take her from me.

He saw the Brightlord 's terrible blue eyes as if from the end of a tunnel, looming above him. At some point he had stumbled back, the soulcast stone wall frigid behind him.

He couldn't fight. If he killed a third dahn, even if he could bring himself to kill Dalinar's son, he'd never know peace again. Bridge four would never know peace. He couldn't attack the prince, who was under Kaladin's protection, possibly twice.

He couldn't run. His men were here. He wouldn't be able to get to them all, not before they came after him.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't run.

He couldn't — he couldn't — he looked desperately for Syl.

She hovered over him, tears in her eyes, mouth moving silently.

He couldn't protect her.

The tunnel closed in around him.

...

"...says this weird shade of orange is the next big color—"

Kaladin blinked in bewilderment. He turned to see Prince Renarin next to him, talking nonsense.

"—but honestly the fabric swatches give me a headache..."

He glanced towards Syl, searching for an explanation, but she seemed enthralled, laying on her front in the air, heels kicked up behind her.

"I hope he moves on as fast from this as he did yellow. He still can't make up his mind about Takamas, though he pretends that..."

There was about two week's worth of pay between them. Two weeks worth of pay for him now, as head of the cobalt guard. A small fortune. Pocket change to a prince.

"Why," Kaladin said, too confused to be anything but blunt, "are you sitting on the ground next to me, talking about fashion?"

The prince startled, scrambling halfway up before kneeling back down, level with Kaladin.

They were on the ground. Why were they on the ground...in an alley?

"I'm sorry!" the youth said. "It's what Adolin does when I... when the world is too much and I leave my head. I wasn't sure what else to do."

Kaladin felt slightly dizzy. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself involuntarily. Hazy dread started creeping back towards him, like fronds after a storm.

"I'm sorry," Renarin whispered again. "I've done this all wrong. I should have started by showing you, but I was too scared. I'll show you now."

He fumbled with the sphere, in his hand, bringing it close to his face. Then he took a deep breath.

And the light from the sphere went alongside.

Kaladin gaped as the prince glowed in the dark alley.

"I'm a surgebinder too," he said, light escaping quickly as he spoke. "I'm not trying to take your spren, I swear. I'm came to ask your help with mine, and for your help controlling my abilities." He glanced down, and it occurred to Kaladin he might be looking at something, someone, Kaladin couldn't see.

"Glys says that he thinks there's something wrong with him, that my powers are manifesting differently then he thinks he was expecting. I've told him that it's probably me, that I tend to mess things up, but he seemed sure that something happened to him, even if he can't quite remember...and I realized that you..."

He turned watery blue eyes towards Kaladin. "I'm sorry to bother you. There's not a lot of people I can ask for help with this. Please...if you can help him. Help us."

"Oh," Kaladin said, feeling strange. "You're like me."

Renarin blushed, staring at his lap, face illuminated by the last wisps of light escaping his skin. "I'm really not. I'm not a warrior, I can't even wield a Shardblade without..."

Syl hissed beside him.

"I don't like Shardblades," Kaladin said innanely. "I mean, I thought it was because of the death I had seen them deal, but Syl hates them worse than anything."

"I... hear something when I hold mine. Screaming. It hurts. It hurts Glys too, I'm pretty sure, though he won't admit it. I thought it was hallucinations at first, but..."

"I don't — Hm. Actually, I couldn't actually bring myself to touch one, when I had a chance," Kaladin said quietly. "If you want, I suppose, you could summon yours, and I could try to touch it, and if I hear something too, then..."

He regretted the offer almost as soon as he made it but...there was someone like him. A lighteyes, but still.

Renarin sat back, closing his eyes. He reached his hand out to the side, turning away as if braced for blow. He winced when the blade finally dropped into his hands, gritting his teeth.

"It's terrible," Syl whispered. "It's...it makes me angry, so angry, but also...sad?"

Kaladin forced himself to reach forward, not wanting to prolong Renarin's obvious pain. He felt the same as he did every time he saw one of the things, no matter from how far away — that same sense of wrongness, of concentrated injustice. He carefully touched the flat of the blade, and...

Screaming.

He could hear screaming. Inside his head. Syl! She was dying!

It reverberated through Kaladin. His muscles spasmed as that horrible, awful screech shook through him. He pulled back, gasping, looking frantically for Syl. She was crying, and he reached for her with trembling hands, even though he knew they wouldn't be able to touch. She stumbled towards him.

Renarin dismissed the blade, slumping in relief. "So you hear it too."

"Storms! What was that? How did you stand bonding with it?" He cradled Syl in both hands, almost able to feel her, soft as a breeze on his palms.

"It...was a really bad week."

Kaladin barked out a laugh, then pulled himself together.

"Well, either we're both crazy, or...it's a Radiant thing. Something to do with the Recreance, I'd guess."

The corners of Renarin's lips twitched up slightly as he nodded. "That's...I'm truly sorry, I know that was terrible, but it's such a relief —"

"No, I get it —" The cold, the earlier misplaced terror was ebbing in away. Even that horrible scream. In its place, was a feeling that he could best describe as relief. "It's — it feels good to not be alone."

Renarin hummed softly, nodding vigorously in agreement, then tucked his chin to his chest.

If he had to pick a lighteyes to become a surgebinder... well, Renarin was probably the best choice, the least likely to misuse his power of anyone of his class that Kaladin had met. Bizarrely humble, despite his proximity to the throne. It could be a lie of, course, but he didn't seem to have the...entitlement that led other lighteyes into casually committing horrors.

Kaladin studied the prince. At some point he had pulled out that box of his, and was turning it end over end in shifting patterns. Renarin looked up, met Kaladin's eyes, then quickly looked back down, blushing.

Storms, had he really been scared off this man?

Dalinar, an honorable lighteyes if one existed, could be frightening, exuding the sense that he expected the world to move to suit his needs. Zahel may have had a point about Renarin's character, not to mention his willingness to come here the way he did, rather than demand answers on his own turf...

And a radiant Spren chose him, too. Surely, that had to be a good sign, if nothing else? Then again, Syl chose me, so who knows.

"I also forgot a lot," Syl said, and Renarin turned to look at her, eyes wide.

"Oh! You're —"

"Slyphrena," she said, smiling, standing proud on Kaladin's hand. "Honorspren, though I didn't remember that part until kind of recently. I just thought I was a weird windspren, that is when I could string two thoughts together!"

She turned into mist, sneaking up Renarin's arm like clouds over a mountain range.

"Where's your spren? What type are they anyway? They're not a cryptic, are they? Come on, it's been ages since I had someone intelligent to talk to who wasn't a windspren."

Kaladin rolled his eyes.

"Glys?" Renarin asked softly. There was a long pause. "He — uh. He's too nervous to come out right now."

The syl cloud paused at Renarin's shoulder, then shifted back into her female form.

"Huh!" she said. "So he's like you!"

Renarin let out a bemused huff of air. "Yes, yes he is. I thought that might also be a radiant thing, since we're bonded, but..." He looked out of the side of his eyes at Syl who was sitting on nothing, swinging her legs, then back at Kaladin, who quickly tried to school his resting features into something not a scowl.

"This... this is exactly the type of thing I wanted to talk to you about," Renarin said. "There's books on Radiants, but I don't think I could have them all read to me without word spreading. I've been mixing them in with other random subjects, but I don't know what would happen if this got out. The ardents already mutter about my cousin and my father committing heresy, and I'm not nearly as, uh, established as them."

Kaladin nodded, eagerness surprising himself. But damn it, Renarin had asked for his help, and it would be good to talk with someone who knew how Stormlight felt in their veins, maybe spar, if he could get Renarin a different weapon.

Renarin might not be as stocky as his brother and father, but he must exercise, as he clearly had some amount of lithe muscle, now that Kaladin looked closer. He wasn't as young as Kaladin had first thought, and his height would give him reach. How much of his perceived frailness was just because of his family's shadow? How much of his martial ability had been held back by his Epilepsy, now no longer a problem? How much had that sword held him back, once he had the chance to actually fight?

"I train with stormlight sometimes, in the chasms," Kaladin said. "When I can get away. Sigzil, Rock, and Lopen help. If you can convince your father to actually serve on a spear crew, then next time I'll have you join us — the other men might mutter about you getting special training, but well..."

"I'll live. Though I was being honest when I said I wanted to be a soldier, or something close to one."

"I believe you. We'll figure something out — it's not as though my duties allow me to get away often. Most of the time you'll be cleaning boots and drilling spear forms, don't worry."

Renarin nodded, hands turning the box over. "So... those three, they know about you? Who else?"

"All of bridge four," Kaladin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or the ones who were there when I charged the tower, anyway...there wasn't really away to keep it secret after that. I was terrified that someone in your army would see. Plus Shen, he was there when I talked more about more powers around the first stew in this camp. Not any of Lopen's cousin's, I don't think. Or the injured recruits. Just the original bridge four, and... now you."

"Oh..."

They sat in silence, Renarin twisting his box around. Kaladin grew briefly distracted following the lines.

"I'm sorry," the prince finally said. "I know you wouldn't have wanted any lighteyes to know. It's one of the reasons I didn't say anything to you when I just had suspicions. I'm truly sorry to have alarmed you like that, I wasn't expecting..." Renarin continued twisting pieces about in an oddly soothing way. "But if I thought someone was coming after Glys... Brightlords have taken a lot from you, haven't they?"

Kaladin grimaced but didn't say anything. He forced himself to look away from the box, he didn't want Renarin to think he was staring. The prince was very perceptive, sometimes.

They sat in silence for a longer time.

"Should I tell bridge four about me?" Renerin asked eventually.

"It's up to you. They're good men, but I understand if its a bit soon for you."

Another long silence. The men were probably wondering what had happened to them, the ones who hadn't gone out for drinks, anyway.

"I don't think I want to, not yet. My abilities... they frighten me." The prince's fingers tightened around the metal cube, knuckles growing white.

"What... what are your abilities? I know there were different orders, which could do different things..."

"Truthwatcher," Renarin whispered. "Or so Glys tells me."

"Windrunner."

A small red light pulsed beneath Renarin's shirt, quickly winking out, and the prince wrinkled his brow. "Huh. Glys is surprised by that for some reason."

"I'm the only Honorspren," Syl said quietly. "The only one who would come. The rest — I can't remember, but they're not here. There were...others. Other types of spren who came through, but not ones like me." She ran her fingers through her hair in an oddly human gesture of frustration.

Renarin forced his shoulders back, tension returning. Kaladin waited while he arranged his thoughts, in the mean time letting himself enjoy watching the shapes that Renarin unconsciously formed and dissolved out of the box's rows.

"I'm not completely sure what I can do. I can grow things. There were some seeds in one of my meals and — they grew, as if a weeping passed in a minute. Some rockbuds outside my window did too. Glys thinks I might be able to do that for people, but I haven't really had the chance to try."

Kaladin's jaw dropped and he couldn't help but reach for the prince, stopping himself just before he grabbed the man's shoulder's. "That's incredible! With stormlight — you could prevent famines with that! And people — you mean you think you could heal?"

Renarin nodded, a few shockspren breaking around him.

"That's incredible," he said, giving into the urge to shake the man's shoulders. "Renarin, that's amazing!"

The prince blinked rapidly, cheeks and ears darkening. "Really? I mean can't Windrunners — you can fly can't you?"

"I haven't... figured out flying. I assumed it was impossible, before I saw the Assassin. But I did figure out wall walking, just earlier today, and I think I can see how that would turn into — it wouldn't really be flying, just sort of...falling sideways. I think I could do it, with practice."

"Wow."

Kaladin shook his head. "People don't appreciate healing as much as they should. My father trained me as a surgeon —"

A wave of melancholy hit him, as it often did when he thought of home.

"That makes a lot more sense then field medicine training that would cover epilepsy."

Kaladin smiled. "Anyway. If you could heal like the Radiants from myths could...I can't express how incredible that would be. The growing crops by itself is..."

Renarin smiled shyly, looking pleased, and Kaladin pressed one last time on both shoulders before drawing back.

"That's not... the only thing I do." The prince looked down. "The other thing I do — well. It feels more like it happens to me, actually. I've been pretending it's my epileptic fits but those actually stopped around when I bonded with Glys."

"I stick rocks together," Kaladin offered. Renarin cocked his head, peeking up through his lashes, and Kaladin sighed. He breathed in a small amount of light, picking up a pebble, then pressed it to the wall.

"Oh!" Renarin said, scrambling to look. "Wow!" He reached for it, but the pebble fell almost immediately.

"Eh. I've tried using it sparring, and honestly its easier just to fight normally."

"But maybe with practice..."

"Maybe. I've gotten some use out of it, but it's not quite as exciting as walking on walls, or as useful as growing crops."

Renarin scrubbed a hand across his face. "My other thing. It's not boring... it's bad. It's. Pretty bad." He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes, and drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Do you ever... get highstorm visions? Like my father?" the prince asked, not opening his eyes.

"A few times," Kaladin said, just as quietly. "You?"

Renarin nodded, than shook his head. "Mine are...different," he said grimly. "And they don't always happen during storms." His hands picked at the cuffs of his pants, then worked to follow the seams of his shining leather boots.

Kaladin waited, but it didn't seem like the prince was going to keep going without Kaladin giving something.

"Mine aren't like your father's either. I understand those are of the past, mine...it's like I was the high storm, I could see the continent moving beneath me. The last was when the assassin came. I...the Stormfather, I think it was him, said 'he was coming.'

Renarin jerked to face him, his eyes opening wide, alight with...hope? "You mean you saw the future?"

Kaladin recoiled on instinct, and he could see the spark die in Renarin's eyes.

Oh. Oh.

"You could call it that," Kaladin said carefully. "Though I feel the Assassin was already, uh, fairly present. More like a warning from an ally, although I don't think the stormfather actually likes me."

He didn't want to talk about the Stormfather's accusations about killing Syl. He hadn't even talked to Syl about that.

"He said he was sorry about 'him' coming," Kaladin explained. "And I didn't see the assassin but – Um. Do you..."

Renarin nodded, shoulders slumping and head curling down. It was hard to see, shadowed as he was, but his eyes looked open now, watery and looking into nothingness.

"The images don't always make sense in the moment. At first I thought it was just...madness. The things I see...it would be better if it was just madness. But they always come true. Always."

An agony spren appeared from the ground, reaching for the hem of the prince's pants. Another followed close behind.

Kaladin sat thinking, not wanting to reply hastily and make things worse again.

"Can you guess what my men said, after they found out what I could do?" Kaladin asked slowly.

Renerin shook his head, but the agonyspren at least faded.

"I was terrified that they would think it was alarming. Unnatural. I thought I was cursed for a while...and Skar said, "If it helps you survive, it’s good. That’s all that needs to be said about it." And...that was that."

Renarin clutched his knees closer, starting to rock slightly. "I don't know if my powers can do that," he whispered. "It feels like the visions can't be changed. I don't know how to change them, I barely understand what half of them mean, not until it's too late."

"Maybe...that's part of why there are so many warnings about being wary of telling the future?" Kaladin said. "It would be easy to think they're guarantees, and set yourself up for failure, but if they're more like highstorm predictions..."

"You think?"

Kaladin shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know. But I realized that this — what I can do, what we can do — it's not evil, and its not a curse. So... maybe the legends of telling the future are like the stories of the radiants turning against mankind. Too much time has passed, and everything we know now is confused."

"Hm. I don't know," Syl said doubtfully. "I still feel like predicting the future is weird and dangerous."

"Syl!" Kaladin hissed, while Renarin curled in tighter, rocking staying the same speed.

"But," she said, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes, "I like you Renarin, and I'm a tiny piece of God with impeccable taste, so you can't be evil."

Kaladin slapped a hand to his face, but Renarin seemed to unfold at that, blinking rapidly.

"Really? Glys says as far a spren go, you're the ones that are pure Honor."

"Obviously," she said, sounding for all the world like a stuck up lighteyes.

"And you — you like me? You... think I have honor?"

She squinted at him, and he straightened like a soldier awaiting inspection.

"Yep!" She said finally. "You're not as good as my human obviously —"

"Syl," Kaladin hissed again, flushing, but Renarin just nodded.

"—But I like you, so you must be honorable. And my Kaladin can be weird and dangerous, too, so it's probably fine."

"That's—" Kaladin started to protest, but saw how inexplicably cheered Renarin looked and decided to let it go.

"We should probably get back to the others," Kaladin said finally. A wave of exhaustion hit him, and he stumbled to his feet. Storms, he felt like he had just run a marathon. He brushed off flakes of dried crem from the back of his uniform.

Renarin clambered up after him, and he looked...lighter. His hands twisted over the box, but they weren't shaking. He smiled widely at Kaladin, teeth showing, genuine relief and joy and hope crinkling the corners of his eyes. Kaladin couldn't help but pause and smile back.

"You — you won't tell anyone? About me?" Kaladin blurted out, before they fully left the alley. He just — he had to be sure.

Renarin nodded furiously.

"And I won't tell bridge four about you," Kaladin promised in return. "Not until you ready, but... they might guess, if we keep meeting."

"I understand," Renarin said, expression earnest. "And...I really want to talk more. This...just this meant a lot."

"And maybe..." Renarin looked at Syl, then his voice dropped to a hopeful whisper. "If Glys is willing to talk to Syl, they could try and work on the gaps in their memory together, about where they came from."

Kaladin nodded slowly. Storms, I didn't even think... if it could help Syl... maybe I can move the schedule around so I guard Renarin in the evenings, so we can have more time for them to figure it out.

"Thank you," Kaladin said, reaching out a hand and grasping Renarin's shoulder. "I know it wasn't easy coming to me like this."

Renarin ducked his head, tips of his ears red. "Thank you for hearing me out. Sorry I... startled you."

Kaladin rubbed the bridge of his nose. Startled. That was one word for it. A few shamespren fell. Almighty, what would have happened if he had frozen up like that in a fight? He shook away the thought, he couldn't remember ever losing himself like that, it was likely a bizarre and unpleasant fluke.

Though some of his memories of being the wretch were a haze... Regardless, it was probably why he felt so tired now. That and perhaps the lack of sleep.

They left the alley to find Torfin waiting around the corner; Renarin and Kaladin both froze on seeing him.

He saluted, looking guilty. "Sir! Apologies for eavesdropping, Drehy and I were assigned to guard Prince Renarin tonight, and when you and he didn't return, we grew concerned. I moved away as soon as I could tell that...uh. A guard was not needed."

Kaladin crossed his arms, scowling, and Torfin fidgeted, not meeting his eyes.

"...What did you hear?"

"Very little Captain, I swear! The prince wanted to talk more, then mumbles, then you thanked him, then I left, I promise!"

Kaladin relaxed. "I believe you Torfin, and I'm not upset, you were doing your job."

"Of course, sir!"

"I can—" a wave of exhaustionspren fluttered up around him and he staggered; Renarin reached out to steady him.

"You've been working two, possibly three shifts in a row?" Renarin murmured. "Torfin and Drehy can escort me back. We can, uh —" He glanced nervously at Torfin, still standing at attention. "We can talk more another time."

Kaladin nodded, and Renarin let him go.

Getting to his bed was a blur; he was fairly sure he at least mumbled goodnight to the men still by the fire, but couldn't be certain.

"There's someone like me," he whispered to Syl, pulling his boots (not as nice as his old ones) off, barely mustering up the energy to trade his uniform for more comfortable sleep trousers. Storms, it felt good to change clothes at the end of the day. The little things bridgecrew makes you appreciate.

"And there's someone like me!" Syl said, twirling happily. He smiled at her, then was out before his head hit the pillow.