His people had always assumed the humans were deaf to the rhythms, but he wasn’t convinced. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed that sometimes they responded to certain rhythms. They’d look up at a moment of frenzied beats, eyes getting a far-off look. They’d grow agitated and shout in time, for a moment, to the Rhythm of Irritation, or whoop right on beat with the Rhythm of Joy.

It comforted him to think that they might someday learn to hear the rhythms. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so alone.

He currently attuned the Rhythm of the Lost, a quiet yet violent beat with sharp, separated notes. You attuned it to remember the fallen, and that felt the correct emotion as he sat here outside Narak, watching humans build a fortress from what used to be his home. They set a watchpost atop the central spire, where the Five had once met to discuss the future of his people. They turned homes into barracks.

He was not offended—his own people had repurposed the ruins of Stormseat into Narak. No doubt these stately ruins would outlast the Alethi occupation, as they had the listeners. That knowledge did not prevent him from mourning. His people were gone, now. Yes, parshmen had awakened, but they were not listeners. No more than Alethi and Vedens were the same nationality, simply because most had similar skin tones.

Rlain’s people were gone. They had fallen to Alethi swords or had been consumed by the Everstorm, transformed into incarnations of the old listener gods. He was, as far as he knew, the last.

He sighed, pulling himself to his feet. He swung a spear to his shoulder, the spear they let him carry. He loved the men of Bridge Four, but he was an oddity, even to them: the parshman they allowed to be armed. The potential Voidbringer they had decided to trust, and wasn’t he just so lucky.

He crossed the plateau to where a group of them trained under Teft’s watchful eye. They didn’t wave to him. They often seemed surprised to find him there, as if they’d forgotten he was around. But when Teft did notice him, the man’s smile was genuine. They were his friends. It was merely …

How could Rlain be so fond of these men, yet at the same time want to slap them?

When he and Skar had been the only two who couldn’t draw Stormlight, they’d encouraged Skar. They’d given him pep talks, told him to keep trying. They had believed in him. Rlain, though … well, who knew what would happen if he could use Stormlight? Might it be the first step in turning him into a monster?

Never mind that he’d told them you had to open yourself to a form to adopt it. Never mind that he had the power to choose for himself. Though they never spoke it, he saw the truth in their reactions. As with Dabbid, they thought it best that Rlain remain without Stormlight.

The parshman and the insane man. People you couldn’t trust as Windrunners.

Five bridgemen launched into the air, Radiant and steaming with Light. Some of the crew trained while another group patrolled with Kaladin, checking on caravans. A third group—the ten other newcomers that had learned to draw in Stormlight—trained with Peet a few plateaus over. That group included Lyn and all four of the other scouts, along with four men from other bridge crews, and a single lighteyed officer. Colot, the archer captain.

Lyn had slid into Bridge Four’s comradery easily, as had a couple of the bridgemen. Rlain tried not to feel jealous that they almost seemed more a part of the team than he did.

Teft led the five in the air through a formation while the four others strolled toward Rock’s drink station. Rlain joined them, and Yake slapped him on the back, pointing toward the next plateau over, where the bulk of the hopefuls continued to train.

“That group can barely hold a spear properly,” Yake said. “You ought to go show them how a real bridgeman does a kata, eh, Rlain?”

“Kalak help them if they have to fight those shellheads,” Eth added, taking a drink from Rock. “Um, no offense, Rlain.”

Rlain touched his head, where he had carapace armor—distinctively thick and strong, as he held warform—covering his skull. It had stretched out his Bridge Four tattoo, which had transferred to the carapace. He had protrusions on his arms and legs too, and people always wanted to feel those. They couldn’t believe they actually grew from his skin, and somehow thought it was appropriate to try to peek underneath.

“Rlain,” Rock said. “Is okay to throw things at Eth. He has hard head too, almost like he has shell.”

“It’s all right,” Rlain said, because that was what they expected him to say. He accidentally attuned Irritation, though, and the rhythm laced his words.

To cover his embarrassment, he attuned Curiosity and tried Rock’s drink of the day. “This is good! What is in it?”

“Ha! Is water I boiled cremlings in, before serving them last night.”

Eth spurted out his mouthful of drink, then looked at the cup, aghast.

“What?” Rock said. “You ate the cremlings easily!”

“But this is … like their bathwater,” Eth complained.

“Chilled,” Rock said, “with spices. Is good taste.”

“Is bathwater,” Eth said, imitating Rock’s accent.

Teft led the other four in a streaking wave of light overhead. Rlain looked up, and found himself attuning Longing before he stomped it out. He attuned Peace instead. Peace, yes. He could be peaceful.

“This isn’t working,” Drehy said. “We can’t storming patrol the entirety of the Shattered Plains. More caravans are going to get hit, like that one last night.”

“The captain says it’s strange for those Voidbringers to keep raiding like this,” Eth said.

“Tell that to the caravaneers from yesterday.”

Yake shrugged. “They didn’t even burn much; we got there before the Voidbringers had time to do much more than frighten everyone. I’m with the captain. It’s strange.”

“Maybe they’re testing our abilities,” Eth said. “Seeing what Bridge Four can really do.”

They glanced at Rlain for confirmation.

“Am … am I supposed to be able to answer?” he asked.

“Well,” Eth said. “I mean … storms, Rlain. They’re your kinsmen. Surely you know something about them.”

“You can guess, right?” Yake said.

Rock’s daughter refilled his cup for him, and Rlain looked down at the clear liquid. Don’t blame them, he thought. They don’t know. They don’t understand.

“Eth, Yake,” Rlain said carefully, “my people did everything we could to separate ourselves from those creatures. We went into hiding long ago, and swore we would never accept forms of power again.

“I don’t know what changed. My people must have been tricked somehow. In any case, these Fused are as much my enemies as they are yours—more, even. And no, I can’t say what they will do. I spent my entire life trying to avoid thinking of them.”

Teft’s group came crashing down to the plateau. For all his earlier difficulty, Skar had quickly taken to flight. His landing was the most graceful of the bunch. Hobber hit so hard he yelped.

They jogged over to the watering station, where Rock’s eldest daughter and son began giving them drinks. Rlain felt sorry for the two; they barely spoke Alethi, though the son—oddly—was Vorin. Apparently, monks came from Jah Keved to preach the Almighty to the Horneaters, and Rock let his children follow any god they wanted. So it was that the pale-skinned young Horneater wore a glyphward tied to his arm and burned prayers to the Vorin Almighty instead of making offerings to the Horneater spren.