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Szeth moves among the manifested whispers. As he kills his sister the accusations soften — *join us* — and the shades grow welcoming. The Truthwatcher Honorbearer howls and comes at him; he cuts her down with mercy. Then only he and his father remain. He presses Neturo back, Blade against Blade, until the older man strikes a stone formation. *How long? How long did you know?* *Sivi told me, when she wasn't supposed to, that they had a new God. Our first year at Pozen's monastery. I started training with the Blades then.* *Why didn't you tell me, Father? You had answers.* *Szeth — I was following you because I thought you had answers. The young man always so certain. When I found the Honorbearers believing something impossible, I thought you'd find the truth.* The corruption had taken him step by step until it had him. A circle closes in Szeth that had begun the day they first found that rock — parents were just people; his had loved him; he loved them in turn, enough to do what came next. He lets himself be shoved back, ducks the sweep, and runs Nightblood through his father's chest. *Thank you.* Neturo vanishes into dark mist.

Szeth falls to his knees, the sword exulting and still reaching for his soul. He has returned to Shinovar with truth, the land restored, the sky so blue. *Time to die,* he thinks. *It is what I decide. I can decide for myself.* And yet — that would betray everything Kaladin had taught him. *Yes, Szeth could choose. And he needed to choose better.* *Live, then,* the shadows whisper, *and do better.* Kaladin's Light is finally spent and the pain brings Szeth to his knees again. He pries his fingers from the hilt one at a time and, with a howl, casts the sword away. It spins point-down on the stones, screaming in a voice none of Nightblood's old friendliness can be heard in. *DESTROY. EVIL!* Szeth begins to disintegrate into dark smoke from the hand outward.

Kaladin watches where the pain has dropped him. Syl is screaming; Nale is shouting at Ishar to stop the sword. *I cannot,* Ishar calls back. *The sword will consume me if I touch it. There is no Stormlight. It has taken it all.* Then a small voice. *I … I am not a thing.* *Rule one,* Kaladin whispers, finding the voice on the spinning blade. *I … I can choose.* Evidently someone other than Szeth had been listening to the lessons. *You are not a thing, Nightblood.* *I AM NOT A THING.* The pain vanishes. The sword spins lazily to a stop, the smoke fades, the blade balances for a second on its point and clatters to the stones. *I … will not … kill my friends.* Kaladin sighs, lays his head against the stone, and closes his eyes. In that moment he feels the spren cry out, and the very soul of the world tear.

Shallan lies in Shadesmar on one of the platforms in front of Urithiru, worn out as paint after a vigorous mixing. Pattern sits up like a bent hinge and explains Mishram escaped back into the Cognitive Realm and carried them with her. Looking up, Shallan sees two violent storms clash overhead — iridescent mother-of-pearl against red-gold, two clouds of ink in water. With Pattern and Testament she carries the two wounded Ghostblood spren over to Sja-anat, a smaller Unmade of black smoke and white-pit eyes. *I will remember your care for my children.* Shallan tells her she will have to pick a side. *I did not create your disagreements. I only made certain that whichever of you freed my sister, I would have had a hand in it. There is no game. Only survival.* Then Sja-anat looks at the sky and orders them home. Shallan dashes for the platform — the Oathgate spren crouch low, one screams, and Renarin and Rlain vanish in light. She reaches the platform a second too late, and the sky goes insane.

*You what?* Taravangian demands. *I renounce my oaths,* Dalinar says. *I break our contract. I break the oaths and contracts that Honor has made with Odium — all of them. I release you. I break my oaths.* The power tears free. The Stormfather shrieks; the corona of Honor around Dalinar radiates betrayal and confusion. *You understood me!* *Better than you think. There are still lessons to learn — but you cannot learn them with me. For you are not Honor. Not yet. Honor is far more than an oath kept.* *Keeping an oath is not an ultimate good,* Dalinar tells Taravangian. *It is only as good as the ideals it is sworn to. I have been bested. Continuing in this contract merely because I agreed to it would be the ultimate act of foolishness. You have won because you are smarter than I am. But you have not proven anything other than that.* Taravangian roars in defiance — then in glory at his freedom — and vaporizes the Stormfather in a single stroke. Dalinar bellows in agony; the spren meets him with one last confident look, in which Tanavast's remnant feels redemption. Then he is gone.

Honor's power hovers as a third storm, craving a Vessel after millennia of waiting and a second betrayal. Taravangian reaches for it. *You always said you didn't care about power,* Dalinar thinks. *Now you reach your crossroads, old friend. If power is meaningless to you, then you will not need more of it.* The power pauses, looks toward Dalinar. *Go. Watch. Learn.* It accepts. A few small pieces split off and flee. Despite a lifetime of claiming otherwise, Taravangian thirsts for it and Ascends. Retribution laughs, and the laugh ripples through the cosmere. To Navani Dalinar sends love. To Adolin, apologies. To Renarin, pride. To the others, courage. *I could not defeat Odium. But I can buy you time. For Odium is about to have his attention entirely consumed by a greater problem.* Every Shard in the cosmere fixes its attention on Retribution — supremely strong, freed of his old constraints, the biggest threat to exist since the Shattering of Adonalsium. *It's called the Sunmaker's Gambit,* Dalinar whispers. *Good luck, Taravangian.* The winds rise. Inside the tempest Dalinar hears a man whimpering — and heaves himself up against the wind, body breaking and bleeding, to fight it one last time.