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Kaladin wakes hanging by his ankles from the ring on Bridge Four's eastern barrack wall, face stormward. Syl is on his chest whispering his name. He prods his own body the way Lirin trained him — ribs cracked, collarbone broken, jaw swollen, one eye crusted shut. Lamaril has already been executed by Sadeas himself within the hour the army got back from the disaster on the Tower — *ultimate responsibility falls on the lighteyes* — and Gaz keeps his sergeantry by the same precept. Sadeas has called Kaladin a selfish coward and consigned him to the Stormfather's judgement: the wall-roping, a highstorm in the face.

In the lull Rock, Teft, and Moash sneak up. The rest of Bridge Four is too frightened to come out, but the three of them have a promise to make. They will not go back to what they were. Fires at night. Laughter. Living. A tradition. For him. Teft presses a dun skymark into his hand — *Carry a sphere into the storm, the old saying said, and at least you'll have light by which to see.* Kaladin asks them to bring the men out after the storm to look up at him — and they will know he survived. Rock smiles his great smile. *By the uli'tekanaki, Kaladin, I almost believe you'll do it.*

Syl stays. She tells him she feels cold for the first time and she does not like it. Kaladin tells her sometimes lies are all right. He is putting it all on the long bet, he tells her — *in for all*, the soldiers' gambling phrase from his first night in Amaram's army. If he dies they will shrug and say they knew. If he lives, it will be a miracle, and they will remember. The eastern horizon darkens; the stormwall — a hundreds-of-feet wave of water, dirt, and rock fronted by thousands of windspren — rises like the end of the world. He takes one deep breath. It hits him.