Do not mourn for what has happened. This notebook was a dream we shared, which is itself a beautiful thing. Proof of the truth of my intent, even if the project was ultimately doomed.

—From Rhythm of War, page 27

Venli scrambled through the hallways of Urithiru. She shoved past a group of humans who were too slow to get out of the way, then pulled to a halt, breathing heavily as she looked out onto the balcony.

That song … That song reminded her of her mother’s voice.

But it wasn’t her, of course. The femalen who sat by the balcony—weaving a mat and singing to Peace—was not Jaxlim. Her red skin pattern was wrong, her hairstrands too short. Venli leaned against the stone doorway as others on the balcony noticed her, and the femalen’s voice cut off. She glanced toward Venli and began to hum to Anxiety.

Venli turned and walked away, attuning Disappointment. Hopefully she hadn’t frightened the people. A Regal looking so wild must have given them a scare.

Timbre pulsed inside her.

“I keep hearing her songs,” Venli said. “In the voices of people I pass. I keep remembering those days when I sang with her. I miss those days, Timbre. Life was so simple then.”

Timbre pulsed to the Lost.

“She didn’t have much sense left when my betrayal came,” Venli explained to the spren’s question. “Part of me thinks that a mercy, as she never knew. About me … Anyway it was the storms that eventually killed her. She was with the group that escaped, but they fled into the chasms. And then … we did what we did. The flood that came upon the Plains that day … Timbre, she drowned down there. Dead by my hand as surely as if I’d stabbed her.”

The little spren pulsed again, consoling. She felt Venli couldn’t completely be blamed for what she’d done, as the forms had influenced her mind. But Venli had chosen those forms.

She often thought back to those early days, after releasing Ulim. Yes, her emotions had changed. She’d pursued her ambition more and more. But at the same time, she hadn’t responded like Eshonai, who had seemed to become a different person entirely when adopting a form of power. Venli seemed more resistant somehow. More herself, regardless of form.

That should have made her attune Joy, for she could only guess this had helped her escape Odium’s grip. But it also made her responsible for what she’d done. She couldn’t blame it on spren or forms. She’d been there, giving those orders.

Timbre pulsed. I helped. And … yes, she had. When she’d first appeared, Venli had grown stronger, more able to resist.

“Thank you,” Venli said. “For that, and for what you continue to do. I’m not worthy of your faith. But thank you.”

Timbre pulsed. Today was the day. Raboniel was spending all her time with Navani, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the difficulty of manipulating the former queen. That left Venli free. She’d secured a small sack of gemstones, some with Voidlight, some with Stormlight.

Today she was going to see what it really meant to be on this path of Radiance.

She’d already selected an area in which to practice. During morning reports, Venli had learned the Pursuer’s scouts were carefully combing the fifteenth floor. The majority of Raboniel’s soldiers were busy watching the humans, and didn’t often venture to the higher floors. So Venli had chosen a place on the eighth floor—a place that the Pursuer had already searched, but that was far from population centers.

The tower up here was silent, and oddly reminded her of the chasms in the Shattered Plains. Those stone pits had also been a place where the sun was difficult to remember—and also a place resplendent with beautiful stone.

She ran her fingers across a wall, expecting to feel bumps from the vibrant strata lines, but it was smooth. Like the walls of the chasms, actually. Her mother had died in those pits. Likely terrified, unable to understand what was happening as the water rushed in and …

Venli attuned the Lost and put down her small sack of spheres. She took out a Stormlight one first, then glimpsed into Shadesmar. She hadn’t again seen the Voidspren she’d spotted near Rlain’s cell, though she’d watched carefully these last few days. She’d eventually put Rlain together with the surgeon and his wife, and delivered all three of them to help care for the fallen Radiants.

Shadesmar revealed no Voidspren hiding in cremlings, so she hesitantly returned her vision to the Physical Realm and drew in a breath of Stormlight. That she could do, as she’d practiced it together with Timbre over the months.

Stormlight didn’t work like Voidlight did. Rather than going into her gemheart, it infused her entire body. She could feel it raging—an odd feeling more than an unpleasant one.

She pressed her hand to the stone wall. “Do you remember how we did this last time?” she asked Timbre.

The little spren pulsed uncertainly. That had been many months ago, and had drawn the attention of secretspren, so they had stopped quickly. It seemed, though, that all Venli had needed to do was press her hand against the wall, and her powers had started activating.

Timbre pulsed. She wasn’t convinced it would work with Stormlight, not with the tower’s defenses in place. Indeed, as Venli tried to do … well, anything with the Stormlight, she felt as if there were some invisible wall blocking her.

She couldn’t push the Stormlight into her gemheart to store it there—not with the Voidspren trapped inside. So Venli let the Light burn off on its own, breathing out to hasten the process. Then she took out a Voidlight sphere. She could get these without too much trouble—but she didn’t dare sing the Song of Prayer to create them herself. She worried about drawing Odium’s attention; he seemed to be ignoring her these days, and she’d rather it remain that way.

Timbre pulsed encouragingly.

“You sure?” Venli said. “It doesn’t seem right, for some reason, to use his power to fuel our abilities.”

Timbre’s pulsed reply was pragmatic. Indeed, they used Voidlight every day—a little of it, stored in their gemheart—to power Venli’s translation abilities. She wasn’t certain if her ability to use Voidlight for Radiant powers came from the fact that she was Regal, or if any singer who managed a bond would be able to do the same.

Today, she drew the Voidlight in like Stormlight, and it infused her gemheart fully. The Voidlight didn’t push her to move or act, like the Stormlight had. Instead it enflamed her emotions, in this case making her more paranoid, so she checked Shadesmar again. Still nothing there to be alarmed about.

She pressed her hand to the wall again, and tried to feel the stone. Not with her fingers. With her soul.

The stone responded. It seemed to stir like a person awaking from a deep slumber. Hello, it said, though the sounds were drawn out. She didn’t hear the word so much as feel it. You are … familiar.

“I am Venli,” she said. “Of the listeners.”

The stones trembled. They spoke with one voice, but she felt as if it was also many voices overlapping. Not the voice of the tower, but the voices of the many different sections of stones around her. The walls, the ceiling, the floor.

Radiant, the stones said. We have … missed your touch, Radiant. But what is this? What is that sound, that tone?

“Voidlight,” Venli admitted.

That sound is familiar, the stones said. A child of the ancient ones. Our friend, you have returned to sing our song again?

“What song?” Venli asked.

The stone near her hand began to undulate, like ripples on the surface of a pond. A tone surged through her, then it began to pulse with the song of a rhythm she’d never heard, but somehow always known. A profound, sonorous rhythm, ancient as the core of Roshar.

The entire wall followed suit, then the ceiling and the floor, surrounding her with a beautiful rhythm set to a pure tone. Timbre, with glee, joined in—and so Venli’s body aligned with the rhythm, and she felt it humming through her, vibrating her from carapace to bones.

She gasped, then pressed her other hand to the rock, aching to feel the song against her skin. There was a rightness about this, a perfection.

Oh, storms, she thought. Oh, rhythms ancient and new. I belong here.

She belonged here.

So far, everything she’d done with Timbre had been accidental. There had been a momentum to it. She’d made choices along the way, but it had never felt like something she deserved. Rather, it was a path she had fallen into, and then taken because it was better than her other options.

But here … she belonged here.

Remember, the stones said. The ground in front of her stopped rippling and formed shapes. Little homes made of stone, with figures standing beside them. Shaping them. She heard them humming.

She saw them. Ancient people, the Dawnsingers, working the stone. Creating cities, tools. They didn’t need Soulcasting or forges. They’d dip lengths of wood into the stone, and come out with axes. They’d shape bowls with their fingers. All the while, the stone would sing to them.

Feel me, shaper. Create from me. We are one. The stone shapes your life as you shape the stone.

Welcome home, child of the ancients.

“How?” Venli asked. “Radiants didn’t exist then. Spren didn’t bond us … did they?”

Things are new, the stones hummed, but new things are made from old things, and old peoples give birth to new ones. Old stones remember.

The vibrations quieted, falling from powerful thrummings, to tiny ripples, to stillness. The homes and the people melted back to ordinary stone floor, though the strata of this place had changed. As if to echo the former vibrations.

Venli knelt. After several minutes, breathing in gasps, she realized she was completely out of Voidlight. She searched her sack, and found all of her spheres drained save for a single mark. She’d gone through those spheres with frightening speed. But that moment of song, that moment of connection, had certainly been worth the cost.

She drew in this mark, then hesitantly placed her hand to the wall again. She felt the stone, willing and pliable, encouraging her and calling her “shaper.” She drew out the Voidlight and it infused her hand, making it glow violet-on-black. When she pressed her thumb into the stone, the rock molded beneath her touch, as if it had become crem clay.

Venli pressed her entire hand into the stone, making a print there and feeling the soft—but still present—rhythm. Then she pulled off a piece of the rock and molded it in her fingers. She rolled it into a ball, and the viscosity seemed to match what she needed—for when she held her hand forward and imagined it doing so, the stone ball melted into a puddle. She dropped it then, and it clicked when it hit the ground—hard, but imprinted by her fingers.

She picked it up and pressed it back into the wall, where it melded with the stone there as if it had never been removed.

Once she was done, she considered. “I want this, Timbre,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “I need this.”

Timbre thrummed excitedly.

“What do you mean, ‘them’?” Venli asked. She looked up, noticing lights in the hallway. She attuned Anxiety, but then the lights drew closer. The three little spren were like Timbre: in the shape of comets with rings of light pulsing around them.

“This is dangerous,” Venli hissed to Reprimand. “They shouldn’t be here. If they’re seen, the Voidspren will destroy them.”

Timbre pulsed that spren couldn’t be destroyed. Cut them with a Shardblade, and they’d re-form. Venli, however, wasn’t so confident. Surely the Fused could do something. Trap them in a jar? Lock them away?

Timbre insisted they’d simply fade into Shadesmar in that case, and be free. Well, it was risky, no matter what she said. These spren seemed more … awake than she’d expected though. They hovered around her, curious.

“Didn’t you say spren like you need a bond to be aware in the Physical Realm? An anchor?”

Timbre’s explanation was slightly ashamed. These were eager to bond Venli’s friends, her squires. That had given these spren access to thoughts and stability in the Physical Realm. Venli was the anchor.

She nodded. “Tell them to get out of the tower for now. If my friends start suddenly manifesting Radiant powers—and the stone starts singing in a place others could see—we could find ourselves in serious trouble.”

Timbre pulsed, defiant. How long?

“Until I find a way out of this mess,” Venli said. She pressed her hand to the wall, listening to the soft, contented hum of the stones. “I’m like a baby taking her first steps. But this might be the answer we need. If I can sculpt us an exit through the collapsed tunnels below, I should be able to sneak us out. Maybe we can even make it seem like we died in a further cave-in, covering our escape.”

Timbre pulsed encouragingly.

“You’re correct,” Venli said. “We can do this. But we need to take it slowly, carefully. I rushed to find new forms, and that proved a disaster. This time we’ll do things the right way.”