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Kaladin hovers high above Urithiru with Syl, pack on, his armor spren landing on his shoulders and head like pinpricks of light. The highstorm is rumbling beneath the tower; he needs to make Azimir ahead of its arrival there to ride it west to Shinovar. He hovers and delays. He has already said goodbye to Teft and Rock, and Dunny who died years ago believed in him; he is not sure he has it in him to say goodbye to the rest. He thinks again of Wit, of what the Wind keeps asking of him. He nods to Syl, and they make one quick stop to arrange something, then visit Teft's statue, then continue to the tavern.

Most of Bridge Four is inside; only Drehy is missing, gone to fetch Adolin and Shallan. A framed sketch of Teft sits by the wall with a mug of sow's milk in front of it. They are cheering Rlain — flatbread in hand, smiling stiffly — for finally bonding a spren: not the expected honorspren, a Truthwatcher spren, but Bridge Four celebrates anyway. Kaladin watches from the doorway, lets himself feel the distance they have come, then steps in to a round of hugs and arm-slaps. He pulls Rlain aside, salutes him, and thanks him — sincerely — for staying with them when finding more listeners would have made it easy to leave.

The room turns toward Kaladin with drinks in hand; Syl has been flitting around hinting that he wants to speak. He does. He searches the gathered faces, feels the absences as sharply as the presences — Teft, Maps, Dunny, Rock — and notes that Moash he no longer misses, though he reserves the right to take him to task on Teft's behalf. Then he tells Bridge Four that he is proud of them — of who they are, of what they have become — drawing gloryspren as he says it. He gives them their charge: protect those who cannot protect themselves; keep their ranks open to anyone who shares that ideal; remember that the enemy can now kill spren and he will not have any more of their bonded friends fall. Lyn and Laran catch the shape of it — *Like a long goodbye* — and Kaladin admits, in fewer than nine days they none of them know what comes. Bridge Four arms go up in the wrist-tap salute, silent, no cheer. Kaladin returns it, tears finally past holding.

The person waiting at the door is the tattoo artist Kaladin arranged with Syl earlier. Long ago Bridge Four all received the forehead Bridge Four glyph over their slave brands in solidarity; Kaladin's skin had refused the ink then. His brands are healed now. He sits, the others gather around and cheer as the artist works, and this time the tattoo takes. Standing, Kaladin acknowledges the joy of it without fear of jinxing it. He had turned back from the Honor Chasm determined to save them. He has done it. He loves them for being willing to let him.

He sends the room back to Rlain's party and keeps only Sigzil, Skar, and Lopen — the last of his original command structure. He thanks each: Lopen for enthusiasm, Skar for support, Sigzil for concern. Sigzil breaks. He had assumed all the way up to this moment that Kaladin was coming back. He does not think he can lead them. Not just the position — he is not sure he belongs as a Radiant. Kaladin reminds him of the answer he himself gave years ago, when Kaladin had asked if he would not be better off as a scribe: I want to fly. He names Sigzil's qualifications back to him — the meetings with queens and emperors where he stood up for what was right, the immaculate battle plans, the daily concern for each soldier, the reports even Ka cannot keep pace with — and tells him plainly he is the right one. Sigzil, Commander of the Windrunners. Skar reminds him he has to be with the new recruits as instructor and cannot take it; Lopen offers himself as a multipurpose resource at length, with restraint of which he is proud. Sigzil accepts. The separation Kaladin feels in saying it out loud — *they are yours now, Sig; lead them well* — is the final one. He will always be Bridge Four. He is not their leader.

Lopen floats up a little before he leaves, salutes one-armed, and tells Kaladin he has never had a *gancho* like him — one inspiring enough to make him a *gancho* in turn. Then it is done. Kaladin and Syl fly out to the Oathgate plateau, where Szeth waits in the pavilion at the Azimir gate. *It is time?* asks Szeth in the doorway. No more errands; Shallan, Adolin, and Drehy will be coming back through Azimir and he can see them before they catch the storm. *Finally*, Szeth whispers — he returns to his homeland, once told he lacked Truth, returning now sure he was right all along, hungry for something he cannot name: justice or reconciliation, condemnation or salvation, he does not yet know which. The black sword on his back inquires solemnly into their minds whether he is talking about pancakes, then settles for metaphorical hunger and asks if he can have Szeth's. Kaladin smiles, uses his Blade in the keyhole, and triggers the transfer. They leave Urithiru behind.