Hey all!

Just like to inform you that some of Kaladin's chapters have bits ripped straight out of the Way of Kings. Kaladin is going through the same things but I will try and deviate soon. Amaram is already on the Shattered Plains...so already a big enough change to cause new conflict.

Hope you enjoy!

"Lift!" The bridgeleader bellowed, and Dabbid's body trembled as he pushed up on the bridge. He strained every muscle in his arms, feeling like they might give out at any moment.

"Hold!" the bridgeleader commanded, and Dabbid gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his face. His back ached from the strain, and his chest burned from the effort of holding up the bridge. He felt like he was about to collapse, but he knew that he couldn't stop.

"Drop!" the bridgeleader yelled, and Dabbid felt his body scream in agony as he bent to drop the bridge. His back felt like it was being torn apart. The boy stumbled, nearly falling to his knees but he didn't dare stop. The fear of the lighteyes and the glares of the other bridgemen kept him moving.

As the bridge seemed to gain weight with each passing second Dabbit thought about how unfair it all was. He was just cleaning the lighteyes' clothes until one day; a monster came and beat him. He said something about having a baby with his wife, but he didn't have a kid. He didn't know what he did wrong. Dabbid understood that he was stupid. His mother had said it wasn't his fault, that she was sorry. She was gone now, and he was all alone.

It's not fair.

As they marched forward, Dabbid struggled to keep up with the other bridgeman. His arms ached with each lift, hold, and drop. Sweat and grit stung his eyes, and he couldn't take it anymore, but he couldn't stop. He knew that if he did, the lighteyed men would beat him like they had before.

Then he saw them on the next plateau: the Parshendi. They were lined up in formation, their monstrous carapace armour gleaming in the sun. Bows were pointed towards them, the army was behind him—behind the row of bridgemen. He knew what the next order was going to be: March into the enemy.

Dabbid's heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach churned. He wanted to run away, but the army was behind him.

They would kill him if he ran away.

He might be killed if he ran into the enemy.

It's not fair.

Suddenly, their bridgeleader's voice rang out. "Men, I know you're scared," he said looking back form his position at the front. "You have to run hard. Run fast. Once we make it to the other side, the Parshendi won't view us as a threat. And remember, I promised Bridge Four won't lose another man."

The horn blared, and the bridge suddenly lurched forward. Dabbid struggled to keep his balance as the wind whipped at his hair and clothes. He felt like he was being pulled by the bridge, unable to control his own movements. Arrows rained down on them from above, thudding into the wood above them. Dabbid flinched with each impact, feeling the vibrations run through his body. One arrow whizzed past his ear so closely that he felt the rush of air against his skin.

A bridgeman in front of him stumbled and fell, his ankle twisted at an awkward angle. He looked back only briefly and found an arrow sticking out of his eye. Dabbid's heart dropped like a stone in his chest. Their bridgeleader had lied. They were all going to die, and there was nothing they could do about it. Dabbid felt like he was in a nightmare, unable to wake up from the horrors that surrounded him. Every step he took felt like a march towards his own demise.

Suddenly, a loud crash shattered the air, causing Dabbid to look to the side. A bridge had collapsed onto the ground, trapping the bridgeman beneath its weight. Arrows still flew towards them as they began scrambling to heave the bridge back up over their heads.

"Hold!"

Their bridge came to a sudden stop, Dabbid realized with a sickening jolt that they were standing over the chasm. On the other side, he could see the Parshendi. Figures with black and crimson skin—eagerly waiting for him—their eyes gleaming with a fierce, predatory hunger.

"Drop!"

He dropped the weight of the bridge, the monsters' chants and melodies of death ringing in his ears like a grim symphony.

"Push!"

The monsters released one final volley of arrows, each one a sharp, glinting needle of death. Dabbid could see them arcing through the air, he could hear the sickening thud as they hit their targets, each impact like a hammer blow to his soul. He heard their screams of pain and agony—the sound of death all around him. He didn't want to be here any longer. Closing his eyes, he pushed and pushed and pushed.

But then, something went wrong. Dabbid heard a sickening crack, and suddenly he was tumbling down as he was hit from behind. His body was wracked with a searing pain as he crashed to the rocks below, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Echoes of hooves ringed in his head as the cavalry continued its charge across the bridge.

Dabbid tried to push himself up, but one of his arms wouldn't obey him—he tried to scream, but no sound came out. He felt as though he were underwater, everything distant and muffled. The world swam around him, the chaos all blending together into a single, deafening roar.

In a desperate bid to escape, the Dabbid started crawling, dragging himself across the rough terrain. His good hand and knees scraped against the jagged rocks as the battle ensured. Managing to find a lip in the terrain he curled up into a ball, shutting himself off from the world.

As he sat there, waiting for death, a small voice whispered.

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair.

-x-

-x-

Behind cover, Kaladin held his side, feeling the blood there.

Straight laceration, only about an inch long, not wide enough to be of immediate danger. It was his father's voice. Kaladin panted. He needed to get to safety. Arrows zipped over his head, fired by the Alethi and Parshendi archers.

Some people take lives. Other people save lives.

He wasn't done yet. Kaladin forced himself back to his feet and staggered to where someone lay beside the bridge. It was a bridgeman named Hobber; he had an arrow through the leg. The man moaned, holding his thigh. Kaladin grabbed him under the arms and pulled him away from the bridge. The man cursed at the pain, dazed, as Kaladin towed him to a cleft behind a small bulge in the rock.

Other bridgeman were hiding behind the cover—Hobber would be safe here. Kaladin laid him down and turned, rushing back out onto the battlefield. He slipped, however, stumbling in his fatigue. He hit the ground hard, grunting.

Some take lives. Some save lives.

He pushed himself to his feet, sweat dripping from his brow, and scrambled back toward the bridge, his father's voice in his ears. The next bridgeman he found, a man named Koorm, was dead. Kaladin left the body.

Gadol had a deep wound in the side where an arrow had passed completely through him. His face was covered with blood from a gash on his temple, and he'd managed to crawl a short distance from the bridge. He looked up with frenzied black eyes, orange painspren waving around him. Kaladin grabbed him under the arms and towed him away just before a thundering charge of cavalry trampled the place where he'd been lying. Kaladin dragged Gadol over to the cleft, noting two more dead.

He did a quick count. That made twenty-nine bridgemen, including the dead he'd seen. Five were missing. Kaladin stumbled back out onto the battlefield. Soldiers had bunched up around the back of the bridge, archers forming at the sides and firing into the Parshendi lines as the heavy cavalry charge—led by Highprince Sadeas himself, virtually indestructible in his Shardplate.

Kaladin wavered, dizzy, dismayed at the sight of so many men running, shouting, firing arrows and throwing spears. Five bridgemen missing, probably dead, lost in all of that— He spotted a figure huddled just beside the chasm lip with arrows flying back and forth over his head. It was Dabbid, curled up, arm twisted at an awkward angle.

Kaladin charged in. He threw himself to the ground and crawled beneath the zipping arrows, hoping that the Parshendi would ignore a couple of unarmed bridgemen. Dabbid didn't even notice when Kaladin reached him. He was in shock, lips moving soundlessly, eyes dazed. Kaladin grabbed him awkwardly, afraid to stand up too high lest an arrow hit him. He dragged Dabbid away from the edge in a clumsy half crawl. He kept slipping on blood, falling, abrading his arms on the rock, hitting his face against the stone. He persisted, towing the younger man out from underneath the flying arrows.

Reaching the cleft with the other bridgeman, he dropped Dabbid and collapsed against the hollow, gasping, the pain of his side finally washing over him.

So tired….

The surviving bridgemen huddled around him, eyes haunted. "Four more," Kaladin said between gasps. "We have to—"

"Idiot," Rock cut in. "No more of this. You will die if you go out again."

Kaladin stood up shakily, clutching at the cut to his side. The others looked up at him as if he were mad. It made him finally take a second to think. Rock was right. The battle had already begun, the space between the chasm flooded with soldiers from both sides.

Save those you can.

He made his way over to the three wounded. Gadol was the worst off, with that hole in his side. Kaladin stared at the wound. He didn't have an operating table; he didn't even have antiseptic. How was he supposed to do anything? He shoved despair aside.

"One of you go fetch me a knife," he told the bridgemen. "Take it off the body of a soldier who has fallen. Someone else build a fire!" The bridgemen looked at each other.

"Dunny, you get the knife," Kaladin said as he held his hand to Gadol's wound, trying to stanch the blood. "Narm, can you make a fire?"

"With what?" the man asked.

Kaladin pulled off his vest and shirt, then handed the shirt to Narm. "Use this as tinder and gather some fallen arrows for wood. Does anyone have flint and steel?" Moash did, fortunately. You carried anything valuable you had with you on a bridge run; other bridgemen might steal it if you left it behind.

"Move quickly!" Kaladin said. "Someone else, go rip open a rockbud and get me the watergourd inside." They stood for a few moments. Then, blessedly, they did as he demanded. Perhaps they were too stunned to object.

Kaladin tore open Gadol's shirt, exposing the wound. It was bad, terribly bad. If it had cut the intestines or some of the other organs… He ordered one of the bridgemen to hold a bandage to Gadol's forehead to stanch the smaller blood flow there—anything would help—and inspected the wounded side with the speed his father had taught him.

Dunny returned quickly with a knife. Narm was having trouble with the fire. The man cursed, trying his flint and steel again. Gadol was spasming. Kaladin pressed bandages to the wound, feeling helpless.

There wasn't a place he could make a tourniquet for a wound like this. There wasn't anything he could do but— Gadol spit up blood, coughing. "They break the land itself!" he hissed; eyes wild. "They want it, but in their rage they will destroy it. Like the jealous man burns his rich things rather than let them be taken by his enemies! They come!" He gasped. And then he fell still, his dead eyes staring upward, bloody spittle running in a trail down his cheek. His final, haunting words hung over them.

Not far away, soldiers fought and screamed, but the bridgemen were silent. Kaladin sat back, stunned—as always—by the pain of losing someone. His father had always said that time would dull his sensitivity. In this, Lirin had been wrong. He felt so tired.

"Keep that fire going!" he managed to say, pointing at Narm. "Don't let it die! Someone heat the blade in it."

Narm jumped, noticing as if for the first time that he'd actually managed to get a small flame started. Kaladin turned away from the dead Gadol and saw a bridgeman, on the field, crawling towards them.

He was breathing shallowly, two arrows sticking from him, one from the shoulder, the other from the opposite arm. Another had grazed his stomach, and the cut there had been widened by movement. It looked like his left leg had been trampled by a horse; it was broken, and he had a large gash where the skin had split.

Kaladin was about to sprint towards him until a hand landed on his shoulder. "Stay, I will go get him." Rock said. The giant left, followed by Teft, an older bridgeman. They brought the bloody mess to him. He wasn't conscious anymore, but he was breathing.

"You will not die," Kaladin muttered. "You will not die!" His mind was numb, but his fingers knew the motions. For a moment, he was back in his father's surgery room, listening to careful instruction. He cut the arrow from Leyten's arm, but left the one in his shoulder, then sent the knife back to be reheated.

Peet finally returned with the watergourd. Kaladin snatched it, using it to clean the leg wound, which was the nastiest, as it had been caused by trampling. When the knife came back, Kaladin pulled the arrow free of the shoulder and cauterized the wound as best he could, then used another of his quickly disappearing bandages to tie the wound.

He splinted the leg with arrow shafts—the only thing they had. With a grimace, he cauterized the wound there too. He hated to cause so many scars, but he couldn't afford to let any more blood be lost. He was going to need antiseptic.

"Don't you dare die!" Kaladin said, barely conscious that he was speaking. He quickly tied off the leg wound, then used his needle and thread to sew the arm wound. He bandaged it, then untied the tourniquet most of the way.

Finally, he settled back, looking at the wounded man, completely drained. Leyten was still breathing. How long would that last? The odds were against him. The bridgemen stood or sat around Kaladin, looking strangely reverent. Kaladin tiredly moved over to Hobber and saw to the man's leg wound. It didn't need to be cauterized.

Kaladin washed it out, cut away some splinters, then sewed it. There were painspren all around the man, tiny orange hands stretching up from the ground. Kaladin sliced off the cleanest portion of bandage he'd used on Gadol and tied it around Hobber's wound. He hated the uncleanliness of it, but there was no other choice. Then he set Dabbid's arm with some arrows he had the other bridgemen fetch, using Dabbid's shirt to tie them in place.

Then, finally, Kaladin sat back against the lip of stone, letting out a long, fatigued breath. Bangs of metal on metal and shouts of soldiers rang from behind. He felt so tired. Too tired to even close his eyes. He just wanted to sit and stare at the ground forever. Teft settled down beside him.

The grizzled man had the watergourd, which still had some liquid in the bottom. "Drink, lad. You need it."

"We should clean the wounds of the other men," Kaladin said numbly. "They took scrapes—I saw some had cuts—and they should—"

"Drink," Teft said, his crackly voice insistent. Kaladin hesitated, then drank the water. It tasted strongly bitter, like the plant from which it had been taken.

"Where'd you learn to heal men like that?" Teft asked. Several of the nearby bridgemen turned toward him at the question. "I wasn't always a slave," Kaladin whispered.

"These things you did, they won't make a difference," Rock said, walking up. The massive Horneater squatted down. "Gaz makes us leave behind wounded who cannot walk. Is standing order from above."

"I'll deal with Gaz," Kaladin said, resting his head back against the stone. "Go return that knife to the body you took it off. I don't want to be accused of thievery. Then, when the time comes to leave, I want two men in charge of Leyten and two men in charge of Hobber. We'll tie them to the top of the bridge and carry them. At the chasms, you'll have to move quickly and untie them before the army crosses, then retie them at the end. We'll also need someone to lead Dabbid, if his shock hasn't passed."

"The lighteyes won't stand for this thing," Rock said, gazing out onto the battlefield.

The bridgeman would have to wait until the army pushes back. The Alethi rarely loss. Not with their shardbearers; practical demigods on the battlefield. Many of the bridgeman were transfixed by Sadeas in his plate, eyes full of lust.

His armour seemed to be alive. Composed of numerous interlocking pieces, it provided unparalleled protection and flexibility on the battlefield. Despite its incredible weight, Sadeas moved with incredible speed and grace impossible for someone not in shardplate. He was like a whirlwind on the battlefield, his war hammer flashing stained with blood as he crashed in the Parshendi line.

Kaladin didn't look at the massacre, until Moash, shot up from his position, almost walking out from the cover. "There's another Shardbearer!"

"What?" Kaladin peered his head to the battlefield. Sadeas was the only shardbearer in his army.

Then, his eyes landed on a figure in slate grey armour, marked by gilded adornment. In his hands…was a sword. It wasn't a simple, straight sword—it was curved, and the side that wasn't sharp was ridged, like flowing waves. The world around him faded away, leaving only that figure and the hauntingly familiar shardblade in his hands. Kaladin knew the power of that weapon all too well. It was a weapon capable of cutting through anything except plate. And once it found its mark, it would cause a man's eyes to be burnt out, like it was able to sever the very soul.

For a moment, Kaladin forgot about the battle; he forgot about the other bridgemen. He felt lightheaded, like he was about to pass out.

-x-

-x-

Kay sat in the center of the tent, cross-legged on the floor, carefully carving away at a piece of wood with his pocketknife. Artoria sat beside him, watching intently as he worked. They had not spent much time together since Kay had taken the position of a battalion lord, and she cherished this moment of closeness.

"What are you making?" Artoria asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Just an animal," Kay replied without looking up from his work. "It's nothing special."

Artoria examined the smooth lines that made up the snout of the wooden figure. "It's beautiful," she said quietly.

Kay's head shot up, surprise etched on his features. "You think so?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.

Artoria nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I do. You always had a way with your hands."

Kay chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "It's not hard to learn, if you're willing to put in the time," he said, gesturing to the knife in his hand. "Want to give it a try?"

Artoria hesitated for a moment before nodding, taking the offered knife with shaking hands. She tentatively began to carve at the wood, trying to imitate the fluid motions she had seen Kay use. The blade felt familiar in her grip.

"You've certainly taken to this new role of yours," he said, gesturing to the painting supplies scattered around them. "I never would have guessed you had an eye for landscapes."

Artoria smiled, grateful for the change in topic. "It's a nice change. I feel like I'm actually doing something instead of just existing."

She focused on the wood in her hands, carving away at the rough edges with growing confidence. It was a strange feeling, but one she found oddly satisfying.

Kay watched her work, a small smile on his lips. "You know, you remind me of someone."

Artoria tensed, keeping her gaze focused on the wood. "Who?" she asked innocently.

"Someone amazing," Kay said, closing his eyes. "Someone that could shape things, make them better than they were before."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Artoria said quietly. She felt a lump rise in her throat but kept her eyes focused on the wood, trying desperately to blink away tears.

Kay watched her carefully as she continued to carve. "A new Highmarshal has arrived in the war camps. He proclaims that an order called the Knight Radiants need to be refounded—"

Her hand went slack, the knife clattering onto the floor, "No. I won't" She threw the unfinished piece alongside the knife, the wood cracking along the stalk that made up its mane. "Whatever your thinking, I won't."

Kay's expression turned serious. "Artoria, you can't keep running from the past forever. You will have to face it eventually."

"I have faced it!" Artoria screamed, her voice raw with emotion. "And I am still facing it every waking moment here." She looked away, unable to stomach whatever expression her brother was making. "I can't, Kay. I just can't."

Kay started, "You are—"

"I was King Arthur," she said, her voice barely audible. Memories flooded Artoria's mind: the Round Table, the search for the Holy Grail, the battles fought, and the losses she caused. Artoria sank to her knees, her hands shaking as tears streamed down her face. "I can't do it again," she said, her voice barely audible. "I can't go through it all again."

Kay took a deep breath before speaking. "Artoria, I know this may not be easy to hear, but I have to say it. Alethkar is just as bad as Britain." he said firmly. "And I fear that Dalinar, as much as I respect him, may not be enough to fix everything on his own. He will fall into the same traps you did."

Artoria met Kay's eyes. For a long moment, they simply sat in silence.

"But you know what?" Kay finally said, "We can't just sit here and do nothing. We have to try."

Artoria nodded slowly, her mind whirling with conflicting emotions but she knew Kay was right, she had taken oaths after all. With a deep breath, she made her decision. "Okay," she said softly. "I'll try."

-x-

-x-

Mordred chased a little girl across the streets of Azimir. They weaved between the crowds of people, knocking over baskets of fruits and vegetables in their wake. "Get back here thief!" the knight yelled as she dashed through the market in her armour. The clanking of her armour alerted people to dive out of the way of her ferocious charge.

The girl looked over her shoulder, "Sorry, can't hear you! Too busy being awesome!" She mockingly stuffed a stolen piece of bread in her mouth looking Mordred straight in the eye.

Then, with each step, the girl seemed to gain speed. Her attire, a simple brown tunic and pants, flapped behind her in the wind, revealing a pair of boots that seemed to glow with a faint light.

Magic? You can play at that brat! Mordred channelled her mana into her legs and invoked her signature ability: Mana Burst. The knight's speed increased dramatically, and she quickly began gaining ground. The force of her acceleration kicking up a cloud of dust and debris behind her.

Mordred lunged forward, reaching out to grab Lift by the scruff of her shirt. But just as her hand met the fabric. Mordred's hand slipped off. She stumbled forward, her feet slipping out from under her on the slick pavement. She quickly regained her balance, her eyes narrowing in frustration as she watched Lift dart away again.

"Damn it!" Mordred growled under her breath; the words barely audible over the chaos of the market around them. She didn't like losing, especially not to a child. She gritted her teeth and focused her energy, feeling the power of her mana surge through her veins.

Mordred accelerated at blinding speed, turning the corner to see the little thief using an unused wooden wedge to slide off from. The girl soared through the air, her black hair streaming behind her. She landed gracefully on the rooftops to the awe of the onlookers on the street.

"Come on, big lady! You can do better than that!"

Mordred looked up at the building, her eyes narrowing as she studied the rooftops. She knew she couldn't catch the little thief with speed alone, so she had to get creative.

The knight slowly made her way towards the building, keeping her eyes fixed on the girl above her. "Come down here and fight!" Mordred shouted up at her, ever so slowly closing the distance to her.

"Nah, I'm good up here. But you can come up and try to catch me if you want!"

My thoughts exactly. The mana she focused on her legs suddenly exploded propelling several metres in the air. The thief looked up in shock as a women clad in metal came falling down right on top of her.

The girl let out a surprised yelp as Mordred crashed into her, the stolen pieces of bread she stuffed in her pockets scattering across the rooftop. Mordred's arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace, effectively pinning her down.

"Gotcha!" Mordred exclaimed triumphantly, a grin spreading across her face as she held the little thief tightly. "You're not getting away this time."

The thief struggled and squirmed, but Mordred's grip was too strong. She looked up at the knight, defiance in her eyes. "You can't keep me! I'm a free spirit, and I'll never be anyone's prisoner!"

Mordred chuckled, amused by the girl's bravery. "Don't worry, I'm not going to lock you up. Just want you to return what you stole and promise never to steal again. Can you do that?"

The girl glared at the knight for a moment before reluctantly nodding her head. "Fine. I promise. But can you get off me now?"

Mordred released her hold, allowing the thief to scramble to her feet. The girl brushed herself off, her eyes still fixed on the knight. "You're not like any soldier I've ever met," she said.

Mordred smiled at her, feeling a sense of pride welling up inside her. "No, I'm not. But I am a knight, and it's my duty to uphold the law."

The thief nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thanks for not being a jerk about it, my name is Lift by the way."

"Mordred, a Knight of the Roundtable."

As Mordred announced her title, a small vine-like creature slithered out from the folds of her armour. "Did you just say knight?" It asked.

"What the hell!" Mordred jumped, swatting at the vines coming out of her.

Lift giggled loudly to herself as the spren ignored Mordred's desperate attempt to remove the creature. It curled up closer to Mordred's face. "I sense no Nahel bond, but you're using Investiture. How is that possible?"

Mordred looked surprised by the question. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just using my mana to enhance my physical abilities."

The creature floated back, clearly frustrated by Mordred's ignorance. "Investiture is the term used to describe the magical energy that permeates the univers—.

"Shut up Voidbringer!" Lift said.

"Mistress." The creature turned a viny head towards Lift, "I am n—"

"A Voidbringer" Lift quickly finished.

"Lift, tell this Voidbringer to get off me!" Mordred shouted.

The creature sighed to itself before streaming out of her armour and onto the ground. "I'm sorry for Wyndle." Lift said. "He's always trying to educate people about the Knights Radiant."

Mordred raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Knights Radiant? What's that?"

Lift opened her mouth but Wyndle spoke over her. "They were people who bonded with SPREN in order to access the power of the surges!"

Mordred listened intently, "Is that how Lift is able to slip around?"

"It's not called slip, it's called AWESOMENESS." Lift said.

"It's called 'ABRAISION' mistress." Wyndle muttered.

Lift raised a dismissive hand. "Whatever. So my awesomeness allows me to skate around. But when I use it, I get, like, really hungry."

"I also get very hungry when I use my mana!" Mordred said. "I used a lot to catch you...Hey, do you want to come join me for lunch? My treat."

Lift grinned. "Sure, I could use a good meal. But no knighty food, okay? I want something good."

Mordred nodded and gestured for Lift to follow her. "Don't worry, I know just the place."

-x-

Shirou was cooking up a storm, his apron stained with a variety of sauces and spices. He moved around the makeshift kitchen with the precision of a master chef, his hands deftly chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and stoking the fires. The smells of roasting meat, simmering broth, and baking bread mingled together in the air, drawing in the soldiers gathering around the area.

The kitchen was an open-air space with a simple wooden roof supported by sturdy columns, providing shade from the blazing sun of the mid-day. The kitchen counters were made of rough-hewn stone with various cooking implements scattered about.

The people he worked with were a diverse lot. They all were apprentices of Old Jepson, a veteran with a missing hand. He complained often but found joy in serving meals to his fellow soldiers. Currently, they were assigned to make a special feast for the soldiers. Shirou didn't need to be told that they have just been through a battle.

The soldiers have discarded their armours and weapons, but he could see that they were battered and wounded. Some had stiches at their temples, others had a sling around the arm. Many seem fine but their eyes were glued to the dirt.

Shirou knew that the soldiers needed more than just sustenance. They needed comfort, and the food he cooked was a small way to provide. As he stirred a pot of bubbling stew, he heard a soft fluttering sound. He looked up to see a figure hovering above him. It was a small, blue-skinned creature that zipped about the kitchen with curious eyes.

"Hey there! What are you making?" she chirped, her voice light and musical.

Shirou blinked in surprise. He had seen many things during his time here, but never encountered anything quite like her. "Uh, just a stew," he said, gesturing to the pot.

The creature sniffed the air, her nose twitching. "Mmm, looks delicious! Can I have some?"

"Did you say something Shirou?" Jepson came around the corner with a tray of steaming buns.

"Uhh, there's this creature…asking for some stew"

"Creature, where?" Jepson looked around.

Shirou gestured to the faerie hovering over him. She wore a mischievous grin on her face.

Jepson scratched his beard. "I don't see anything there."

"She's right there!" Shirou stood up on his toes to touch the creature. Before he did, she zipped right in front of Jepson's face and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Are you ok lad?"

"I-I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes to find that she was still floating there.

"Shirou, you've been at it since dawn. Why don't you take a break and get some rest?" Jepson suggested.

Shirou hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. Am I so tired that I'm seeing things?

Jepson was right, he should take a break, but there was so much he needed to do still. "I can't rest yet," he said smiling. "The soldiers need this meal, and I need to make sure it's ready in time."

Jepson placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "They can wait a little longer, and you won't be any good to them if you exhaust yourself. Take a break, son."

Shirou reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I'll take a break. But just for a little while."

Jepson patting Shirou's shoulder. ". You've been doing great work here, son. I've never met anyone as determined as you."

He stepped away from the pot of stew and wandered over to a nearby bench, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settling into his bones. As he sat down, he felt a breeze above him. He looked up to see the faerie hovering nearby.

"So, what are you?"

"I'm Syl, an immortal sliver of God himself." She grinned again. "You may bow."

Shirou raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to take her seriously or not. But he decided to humour her and bowed slightly from his seated position. "Well, I'm Emiya Shirou…nice to meet you."

"Wait, I knew that already." Syl rubbed her chin, then gasped. "That's right, Kaladin needs help! You have to come quickly."

Shirou was taken aback. He didn't really want to deal with that cynical bridgeman again, but she sounded urgent.

"What's wrong? Is Kaladin hurt?" Shirou asked.

Syl nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, yes, he's hurt badly. He needs help."

Shirou took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. He stood up from the bench and followed the ribbon of light, making his way towards the bridgemen barracks.

-x-

-x-

Kaladin didn't want to open his eyes. If he did, he'd be awake, and that pain – the burning in his side, the aching in his legs, the dull throb in his arms and shoulders – would come flooding back with a vengeance. He stifled a groan, trying to hold onto the last wisps of sleep that remained. Every length of muscle, every inch of skin ached. His head pounded, and even his bones seemed to throb.

But despite his agony, the sound of footsteps outside triggered a reflex in him. He rolled onto his good side and made an arduous effort to get up on one knee, to face the potential threat approaching the barracks.

Kaladin squinted, as the shadow stepped forward. "It's you!"

"It's me. How are..." Shirou trailed off as he surveyed Kaladin's battered appearance from top to bottom. "How much of that blood is yours?"

Kaladin had managed to clean most of the congealed bits off his skin, but the cuts, scrapes, and most importantly, the incision on his side still bled. "Not much," Kaladin replied, his breath ragged. "The others are worse off."

Turning to check on the three wounded men he had left at the back of the barracks, Kaladin held his breath. Leyten was miraculously still alive, his breathing shallow, his pulse weak, and his wounds dire, but he was alive. The others had splints for their broken bones, but they weren't safe from rot spren yet.

Shirou followed his gaze to the men, still asleep after their long trek back from the battlefield. "We need to get all of you to the field hospitals," Shirou said firmly.

"No," Kaladin shook his head, the pain in his wounds paling in comparison to the news Gaz had given him. "The lighteyes heard what I did, bringing the wounded back. They... brought it up to Highprince Sadeas. He is making an example of us. We not only receive no treatment, but any bridgeman too injured to carry a bridge has been denied food and pay."

Shirou's eyes widened. "But we definitely have enough to go around. We have plenty of food and water—"

"They don't care about us. Even the other bridgemen," Kaladin said. "I tried to explain that we could pull in our resources...some laughed. Most just shook their heads and left after hearing the situation."

"What do you need now?" Shirou asked.

"Antiseptic and new bandages to replace the old," Kaladin replied.

Shirou reached for his belt and pulled out a small pouch of spheres, opening it and dumping the contents into the palm of his hand. "How much will this get?"

"Not enough," Kaladin said, looking at the handful of spheres. "It won't be enough for the three of them."

"What about for you?" Shirou questioned. Kaladin scoffed but Shirou's expression softened. "You can't help them if you can't help yourself."

"I know," Kaladin said, feeling a sense of defeat wash over him. "But what about tomorrow?"

"We'll figure it out," Shirou assured. "For now, let's focus on getting you taken care of."

With that, the boy walked out of the barracks and into the light. He was about to go follow him—he didn't even say what form of antiseptic to bring back, but his muscles refused to move.

As he laid back down on the ground, a ribbon of light landed on his nose. "I'm brilliant, aren't I?"

Kaladin couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm guessing you brought him."

"I did," Syl said placing a hand on her chest. "You should complement me."

"You were right my little translucent philosopher." Kaladin said. "At this rate, I'll have to send you off to a monastery, so you can spend your time solving all the world's issue."

"—You alright bridgeleader?"

Kaladin shot up as Syl giggled to herself. "Yep. I was just thinking."

Hobber was upright, giving him a gap tooth smile. "I never gotten the chance to thank you Kaladin." he said. "Thank you for saving me."

Kaladin grunted, inspecting the man's leg. "You'll be fine, but you won't be able to walk for a few weeks. I'll find a way to get you and the others food."

"Thank you," Hobber whispered, taking Kaladin's hand, clutching it. He actually seemed to be tearing up.

That smile forced back the gloom, made the aches and soreness fade. Kaladin's father had described that kind of smile. Those smiles weren't why Lirin had become a surgeon, but they were why he'd remained one.

"Rest," Kaladin said, "and keep that wound clean. We don't want to attract any rotspren. Let me know if you see any. They are small and red, like tiny insects."

Hobber nodded eagerly, his eyes brimming with hope. "Was that lad a friend of yours? The one that will help us."

Kaladin shook his head. "Nope. Just a good Samaritan. Or an idiot. Still haven't decided."

Hobber's expression grew more serious, "Do you have a plan?"

"I do," Kaladin said. "I'm going to lead us out of here."

Hobber frowned. "Out of the Shattered Plains? That's impossible. No bridgeman has ever escaped."

"I'll need your help, Hobber," Kaladin said, "and the help of everyone here. We'll need to work together if we're going to make it."

Hobber nodded. "Whatever you need, bridgeleader."