KALADIN

Walking into the mansion, Kaladin could see that it was still in a state of disrepair; fallen wooden planks lay in corners and the deep oak floors were damp. Snapping himself out of his evaluation, he looked up and saw the guard was already a few metres ahead of him, not noticing that Kaladin has stopped.

Hurrying to catch up, Kaladin glanced into a room and what was in there made his heart stop. Children played with parents, parents chatted with other parents, and food was being passed around on trays.

Others had survived

Mentally kicking himself for falling into another daydream, he caught up to the guard again and this time focused only on the task at hand. The room he was brought to was the exact one which his father and he had dined with Roshone in years before. Motioning for him to wait outside, the guard opened the door and stepped into the room, closing it behind him - but not before Kaladin had the chance to hear that the person waiting inside was, indeed, their lord. How strange, Kaladin thought, he doesn't even know who I am, but he's taking me to his ruler. If I were an assassin, this would be the perfect time for a killing.

Kaladin waited patiently, taking in the room around him, until the guard came back out and motioned for him to go in. Strolling through the doors, Kaladin surveyed the room - it was exactly as it had been all those years prior, he thought. Seeing some broken planks in the corner, he mentally corrected that statement to add with a few differences.

Looking up, he studied the man sitting in the chair at the head of the room. Long, scraggly beard and sinewy outline, this person had obviously been taking care of one side of him well, but not the other. Who am I to judge? Kaladin thought. I had a beard nearly that long for months in Bridge Four. "Who are you?" The man spoke, his voice low and gravely.

"Kaladin Stormblessed," I replied with a salute, right hand raising to the chest slowly, "Captain of the King's Guard."

"Ah.." The man seemed pleased, though as he got off his chair and started for a platter of food all hope of the same emotion for Kaladin was lost. The man had a limp in his right leg. Memories came flooding back to Kaladin all at once: a bloody surgery room, a dead Rillar, a whitespine tusk stuck through the very same leg.

"Roshone." Kaladin said, feeling a surge of triumph at the flash of shock on Roshone's face.

"How did you.. Oh, never mind. Come h-" Roshone was interrupted by a soft patter of feet on the ground as a woman, about Kaladin's age, strode into the room. Upon seeing the hair - black with streaks of gold - Kaladin felt his heart stop.

Laral stood there in all her magnificence. Brown skin shining as the light from the spheres bounced off it, hair straight down her back, eyes alight. "Who's this?" She snapped, looking from Roshone to Kaladin.

"Kaladin Stormblessed." Kaladin said, seeing if the name sparked any recognition in her eyes - it did, and he saw the moment her eyes opened wide, followed by her face paling visibly. "All right? Look like you've seen a ghost."

"How.. you.. you're supposed to be dead." She stuttered - obviously, most of her brainpower was spent trying to process the man in front of her.

"Didn't take." Kaladin said smugly. As a passing thought crossed his mind, all sense of levity vanished in an instant, "My parents.. did they survive?"

"Kaladin.. your parents.. the storm." Laral paused. "They were never found. We've been looking for them ever since as we no longer have a surgeon bu-" At that moment, Roshone decided to join them again from where he'd gone to get some wine.

"His parents.. Laral, dear, are you telling me that he is that one's son?" Kaladin's mind went numb. Laral, dear, he had said. Dear.

Forcing himself out of his shock, Kaladin made to ask how many had survived, but was interrupted by the soldier who had led him here, who he would later learn was his childhood rival Jost, pushing open the door and stumbling in, panting. "My lord, lady, the resistance group is striking back again. There must be hundreds of them."

"Resistance group? What's he talking about?" Kaladin asked, dumbfounded.

"There are some people who think we caused the Highstorm-"

"Everstorm," Kaladin corrected.

"Just so we could have more control over them - they're fighting us." Laral explained. Blast, Kaladin thought, a few hundred?

"Where are they?" Kaladin turned to the soldier.

"Follow me." Kaladin did so, but only after he ran around the room and - to the protesting cries of the inhabitants - grabbed a few handfuls of spheres.

What greeted him outside was a carnage. At least 20 of the guards had already fallen, but more than double that number of Resistors had been killed. These people just don't know how to solve a problem, Kaladin thought. Walking up to the front line of the Resistors, hands raised, Kaladin reflected that he really had no idea what he was doing. Almighty preserve me, he thought, this is stupid. Two men came forward with cuffs and lashed his hands behind his back before dragging him forward. "Who are you?" One of them asked.

"Just a dark-eyed soldier." Kaladin replied, "Albeit one that's willing to give you a lot of information."

"Lord - want - of this." The other muttered to his companion, so quietly Kaladin could only hear a few snippets. They began dragging him towards what looked like a command outpost. They paused just outside and one of the door guards walked inside the tent, pace nearly a run. I doubt they'll be that excited when I tell them what information I have, Kaladin thought grimly as the guard returned and he was ushered inside. Before him sat the person who was obviously there commander, although he didn't look to be in much better condition than the soldier outside.

"My lord, this soldier offered us information." The first guard said, standing nervously.

"I see." The lord said, and Kaladin's head snapped up instantly, though after the guards gave him strange looks he made it seem like he was just stretching. "What is his name?" The man added.

"Hasn't told us sir, though we haven't yet asked."

"Well, boy, what is it you're called?"

Kaladin thought quickly. He couldn't give them his real name, in case they'd heard who he was - but he couldn't give them a completely fake one either. At that moment he remembers one of the names of one of the slaves he'd tried to help escape all that time ago. "Kelaban Lushtworth."

"Well, Kelaban, what is it you've come to tell me? Army tactics? Weakpoints?"

"Nope. I want to join you."

"And just why do you think I'd let you?" The man cocked his head.

"Because then you have a weapon they don't.

...

Once again, Kaladin found himself imprisoned. This is getting old, he thought, jumping up from the cold stone bench as he heard movement outside the room. The door opened and one of his guards walked in, motioning for Kaladin to follow. Kaladin had to shield his face against the light as he exited the tent flap, squinting slightly and right arm raised above his head to block the sun. "Where are we going now?" He asked wearily, glancing around.

"The lord was requested your presence." The guard answered sternly.

"This lord," Kaladin began slowly, carefully pronounciating every syllable, "What's his name?"

"The honourable Lord Li-," The guard looked away, ashamed at how he was played into giving information so easily. Kaladin simply smirked.

Upon entering the main tent, considerably larger than the rest, Kaladin had the first in what would be many more shocks to come of the evening; sitting upon a box, was the horse his late brother, Tien, had made for him before being recruited off to war. Kaladin walked over, mesmerised - and completely missing the shocked looks of the others in the room. "Ah, Kelaban." Their leader began, "I see you've taken an interest to that specific piece of artwork. It was made for my eldest, Kaladin, by his brother before he went to war. I'm planning to sell it to the lighteyes who run this dump for supplies." Kaladin whirled around, mouth open with shock - with horror.

Trying, and failing, to keep his expression neutral, Kaladin said, "No! I mean, uh, I'll buy it off you. Don't sell it to them." Kaladin looked back from the piece of woodwork in his hand and up to the man who stood before him, surprised to see the other man's eyes misty. What surprised him, and everyone else in the room, even more, however, was when that man grabbed Kaladin and crushed him in a bear hug, squeezing the air out of Kaladin.

"My boy," Lirin choked a bit on the o, but quickly recovered.

"Father," Kaladin said, squeezing him tight. "I'm sorry. I tried to save him, but I couldn't. It's all my fault, father. I should have protected him. It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault."

"It is not." Lirin answered with sudden intensity, staring at Kaladin with a barely-holding-it-together expression. "It is that storming Roshone's fault, Amaram's fault. But it is not your fault." Kaladin looked down - it was easier to continue to hate himself than to forgive himself. At least then he had something powering him, pushing him forward toward that final end goal; Amaram and Roshone lying in pools of their own blood.

"I've missed you so much. You and mother."

Lirin looked away, rage consuming his face. "Kaladin.. she didn't survive. Your mother was killed by the storm."

...