Inserting Wit and Wayne into Onyx Storm to do a lil bit of shenanigans then peace out. Wit is from The Stormlight Archives and Wayne is from Mistborn Era 2, both by Brandon Sanderson. Pretty much everything in this is straight out of Onyx Storm except for the parts with Wit and Wayne. I didn't care to explain why Violet knew their names. I just wanted this to be for shits and giggles.

One Burp to Save Them All

"You dare—" Aura turns to fully face me, yanking off her other glove.

"I dare." I lift my open palms skyward, and heat streaks along my arms as I release a wave of power, forcing it upward and letting it go.

Lightning splits the sky, flashing bright above our heads and branching outward into the clouds. Thunder follows instantly, so loud it shakes the masonry.

The crowd quiets, and Aura's mouth hangs for a moment before she lowers her hands.

"You see, Dain's too honorable to wield in a challenge, but you'll find that my sense of morality has learned to…waver." I retrieve another dagger and shake it in her direction. "You lift your hand against him again, and the next one goes through it. He's the reason you're alive. The reason you're all alive!" Power thrums through me, buzzing with readiness, and I slip my left hand into the pocket of my flight jacket and remove the conduit.

"Violet," Rhiannon warns softly from my right.

"Shh, it's more fun when she blows shit up," Ridoc whispers.

I turn slightly and draw on lesser magic to allow my voice to carry to the Navarrian riders while keeping an eye on Aura. They've closed in, taking this situation from dangerous to lethal. "The only reason you survived the attack is because we gained access to the knowledge Navarre purposely hid from us. We stole it. We translated it. We saved your ass." Warmth streaks down my arm, the conduit beginning to hum. "And yes, we expect you to recognize that we need this alliance to survive what's coming for us!"

"You expect us to trust them?" Caroline calls out.

I turn my attention towards her, and that's when I catch a glimpse of something happening in the corner of the courtyard.

Wayne swaggers up to Wit, who stands in the corner, watching the violence unfold with a twinkle in his eye. I'd caught a glimpse of him earlier, lingering at the edge of my vision, but wrote him off as I was a bit distracted. Wayne's steps weave with the uneven gait of someone navigating alternate states of sobriety. "Just listen to 'em talk, mate. They're somethin' else, arguin' about who done what. I'd just start hittin'."

Wit looks Wayne up and down and decides to ignore his obvious entanglement with drink. "It's like they've all got cotton in their ears and swollen tongues." He tilts his head and an expression of annoyance crosses his face, "Can you do their accent? I must admit, I'm positively vexed to find I can't."

Wayne responds cheerfully, taking off his hat and sweeping into a bow. "'Course I can, your majester. All I need is the right hat." He glances around, eyes alighting on something in the crowd. Handing his hat to Wit, he adds, "Keep 'er safe. She's my best girl an' my luckiest. I ain't never died wearin' 'er."

Wayne marches up to one of the students standing around with their mouth open and swiftly swaps a pin off their shirt for his slightly dinghy hanky. The student blinks as he stuffs the hanky into their breast pocket, bewildered.

Wit raises an eyebrow when Wayne returns, dangling the pin. "Of course, the most hat-like object in the vicinity. Why aim for sense when absurdity will do?"

Wayne grins and winks at Wit, "See, a hat's just a thing you put on your head—or your chest. Location's negotiable. What matters is the feel." He puffs himself up, fixing the pin to his shirt like a badge of honor. Then, with exaggerated pomp, he bellows, "YOU DARE SUMMON THE MIGHT OF SOBRIETY?" His accent transforms into a caricature of upper-class dragon rider, dripping with disdain and so affected it seems he's physically lifting his nose higher with each word. Maybe because he is.

Wit winks back, saying, "Ah, the subtlety of a thunderstorm in a library. Well done."

Wayne leans in conspiratorially, still keeping his absurd posture. "Subtle's a word I keep hearin', but no one's ever shown me what it means."

Aura retreats a step, eyeing Wayne with visible uncertainty as he saunters forward through the crowd of confused dragon and griffon riders.

"I have an announcement!" Wayne declares, spinning dramatically in place. Every single person in the courtyard is so stunned that nobody even thinks to stop him. He continues, "I believe that violence is the answer to this issue! There is nothin' wrong with' and nothin' better than beatin' your problems senseless." His "high-class" accent slips back into his usual tones as he takes off the pin and puts his hat back on when Wit hands it to him. "I'll start." He whips out his dueling canes, spinning them in a dizzying display, before turning toward Wit and gesturing him forward.

Wit sighs heavily, shaking his head. "Very well. If we must." He comes alight with Stormlight, the gems in his pockets turning dun as he steps into the center with Wayne. "You've no idea the lengths I'll go to for a proper spectacle."

The sound of unsheathed swords fills the air as everyone watches, various degrees of confusion and alarm on their faces. I finally break through my own bewilderment and ask, "Who are you?" Even seeing them earlier lends me no clues as to who they are.

"Worldhoppers!" Wayne chirps, beaming with pride at the fresh wave of confusion he's caused.

Dain cocks his head, baffled. "World…hoppers?"

"Yup," says Wayne.

"You come from another world?"

"Yes," says Wit.

"What are you doing here?"

Wayne shrugs. "Stuff."

"Stuff?" I repeat, incredulous.

"Important stuff," Wit elaborates, his voice as smooth as polished steel. "Wouldn't want to bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, the fate of existence itself hangs in the balance. As it often does."

"Oh, for—" I start, but Wayne cuts me off.

"Right, then!" Wayne spins back toward Wit. "Time to make 'em feel truly perplexed, mate. Follow my lead!"

Before anyone can react, a loud, guttural belch shatters the tense silence. Wit breathes out all of his Stormlight, and the volume reverberates through the courtyard, amplified to ear-splitting levels. Everyone cringes, clapping hands to their ears. The sound echoes long after it should have stopped, an otherworldly cacophony.

Wayne, looking entirely unbothered, grins broadly. "That's what we call a 'strategic exit.'"

Wit smirks, his eyes glittering with mischief. "An unparalleled masterpiece, my dear sir."

The two of them turn and bolt straight through the cowering students and right into the hallways, leaving chaos in their wake and a lingering sense of absurdity behind. The faint sound of Wayne's laughter drifts back, followed by a triumphant, "Best one yet! Your Lightweavin' is great!"

I stare after them, speechless. The silence hangs heavy once more, but this time it's filled with the collective disbelief of everyone present.

Finally someone mutters, "The hell is Lightweaving?"

That breaks the spell, and everyone starts to chatter all at once

I force my focus back to the matter at hand as warmth streaks down my arm again. The conduit in my hand begins to hum, the power I'd let go building once more as I address the Navarrian riders.

"You have to trust them," I answered Caroline, talking over everyone to regain their attention. At the same time, I push against the heat flushing my skin as power gathers within me. Once the riders quiet down, I continue my speech, "But more importantly, you can. They've fought by our side for months, even after we've spent centuries condemning their people to death because we're unwilling to share the one resource that could have saved them."

The surreal interruption of Wit and Wayne lingers like a fever dream, but I try to get back on track. This is too important to let their antics derail me entirely. "We don't have to like each other, but we do have to trust each other, and we can't keep doing this, can't keep accepting needless casualties in the quadrant in the name of strengthening the wing, not when every single one of us is needed in this war."

"It's their war!" Aura challenges. "Do you really believe we should weaken our wards, endanger our own people just to arm theirs? You choose Poromiel over Navarre?"

"We can choose both." I slip my dagger back into place and free my hand to wield.

Aaric lifts his sword as Ewan Faber comes a little too close.

"The riders who came before us failed to protect the innocent just because they were on the other side of our border," I argue. "They lied and hid. They were the cowards! But we don't have to be. We can choose to stand together and fight. Leadership is locked behind doors right now trying to forge a treaty." My gaze skims over the riders who stayed when we fled for Aretia three months ago. "But they're failing, just like every generation before us has failed, and if we do the same…" I shake my head, fumbling for words. "You've seen what's out there. Either this alliance begins right here with us, with our generation, or we will be the last dragon riders and gryphon fliers on the Continent." Sweat beads along the back of my neck, my temperature rising with every second I keep my power ready. "Well?" I ask.

Silence falls, thick and heavy, but no one moves.

The lingering echo of the burp rings through the courtyard one final time in the silence, which has everyone ducking their heads and clapping their hands to their ears in anticipation, saving them from a gruesome death by massive scythe.

(It was a Lightweaving, Wit just wanted one final scare before leaving. They hear his laughter in the distance along with a hearty pat on the back from Wayne.)