"The artifabrian community is doing some amazing things," Navani said as Adolin proffered his hand. "I'm particularly proud of this little device, as I had a hand in its construction." She clipped it onto Adolin's hand, wrapping the clawlike legs around the palm and locking them into place.

Adolin raised his hand, turning it around. "The pain is gone."

"But you can still feel, correct?" Navani said in a self-satisfied way.

Adolin prodded his palm with the fingers of his other hand. "The hand isn't numb at all."

Renarin watched with keen interest, bespectacled eyes curious, intense. If only the lad could be persuaded to become an ardent. He could be an engineer then, if he wanted. And yet he refused. His reasons always seemed like poor excuses to Dalinar.

"It's kind of bulky," Dalinar noted.

"Well, it's just an early model," Navani said defensively. "I was working backward from one of those dreadful creations of Longshadow's, and I didn't have the luxury of refining the shape. I think it has a lot of potential. Imagine a few of these on a battlefield to dull the pain of wounded soldiers. Imagine it in the hands of a surgeon, who wouldn't have to worry about his patients' pain while working on them."

Adolin nodded. Dalinar had to admit, it did sound like a useful device.

Navani smiled. "This is a special time to be alive; we're learning all kinds of things about fabrials. This, for instance, is a diminishing fabrial- it decreases something, in this case pain. It doesn't actually make the wound any better, but it might be a step in that direction. Either way, it's a completely different type from paired fabrials like the spanreeds. If you could see the plans we have for the future…"

"Like what?" Adolin asked.

"You'll find out eventually," Navani said, smiling mysteriously. She removed the fabrial from Adolin's hand.

"Shardblades?" Adolin sounded excited.

"Well, no," Navani said. "The design and workings of Shardblades and Plate are completely different from everything we've discovered. The closest anyone has are those shields in Jah Keved. But as far as I can tell, they use a completely different design principle from regular Shardplate. The ancients must have had a wondrous grasp of engineering."

"No," Dalinar said. "I've seen them, Navani. They're… well, they're ancient. Their technology is primitive."

"And the Dawncities?" Navani asked skeptically. "The fabrials?"

Dalinar shook his head. "I've seen neither. There are Shardblades in the visions, but they seem so out of place. Perhaps they were given directly by the Heralds, as the legends say."

"Perhaps," Navani said. "Why don't-"

She vanished.

Dalinar blinked. He hadn't heard the highstorm approaching.

He was now in a large, open room with pillars running along the sides. The enormous pillars looked sculpted of soft sandstone, with unornamented, granular sides. The ceiling was far above, carved from the rock in geometric patterns that looked faintly familiar. Circles connected by lines, spreading outward from one another…

"I don't know what to do, old friend," a voice said from the side. Dalinar turned to see a youthful man in regal white and gold robes, walking with his hands clasped before him, hidden by voluminous sleeves. He had dark hair pulled back in a braid and a short beard that came to a point. Gold threads were woven into his hair and came together on his forehead to form a golden symbol. The symbol of the Knights Radiant.

"They say that each time it is the same," the man said. "We are never ready for the Desolations. We should be getting better at resisting, but each time we step closer to destruction instead." He turned to Dalinar, as if expecting a response.

Dalinar glanced down. He too wore ornamental robes, though not as lavish. Where was he? What time? He needed to find clues for Navani to record and for Jasnah to use in proving-or disproving-these dreams.

"I don't know what to say either," Dalinar responded. If he wanted information, he needed to act more natural than he had in previous visions.

The regal man sighed. "I had hoped you would have wisdom to share with me, Karm." They continued walking toward the side of the room, approaching a place where the wall split into a massive balcony with a stone railing. It looked out upon an evening sky; the setting sun stained the air a dirty, sultry red.

"Our own natures destroy us," the regal man said, voice soft, though his face was angry. "Alakavish was a Surgebinder. He should have known better. And yet, the Nahel bond gave him no more wisdom than a regular man. Alas, not all spren are as discerning as honorspren."

"I agree," Dalinar said.

The other man looked relieved. "I worried that you would find my claims too forward. Your own Surgebinders were… But, no, we should not look backward."

What's a Surgebinder? Dalinar wanted to scream the question out, but there was no way. Not without sounding completely out of place.

Perhaps…

"What do you think should be done with these Surgebinders?" Dalinar asked carefully.

"I don't know if we can force them to do anything." Their footsteps echoed in the empty room. Were there no guards, no attendants? "Their power… well, Alakavish proves the allure that Surgebinders have for the common people. If only there were a way to encourage them…" The man stopped, turning to Dalinar. "They need to be better, old friend. We all do. The responsibility of what we've been given-whether it be the crown or the Nahel bond-needs to make us better."

He seemed to expect something from Dalinar. But what?

"I can read your disagreement in your face," the regal man said. "It's all right, Karm. I realize that my thoughts on this subject are unconventional. Perhaps the rest of you are right, perhaps our abilities are proof of a divine election. But if this is true, should we not be more wary of how we act?"

Dalinar frowned. That sounded familiar to him. The regal man sighed, walking to the balcony lip. Dalinar joined him, stepping outside. The perspective finally allowed him to look down on the landscape below.

Thousands of corpses confronted him.

Dalinar gasped. Dead filled the streets of the city outside, a city that Dalinar vaguely recognized. Kholinar, he thought. My homeland. He stood with the regal man at the top of a low tower, three stories high-a keep of some sort, constructed of stone. It seemed to sit where the palace would someday be.

The city was unmistakable, with its peaked stone formations rising like enormous fins into the air. The windblades, they were called. But they were less weathered than he was accustomed to, and the city around them was very different. Built of blocky stone structures, many of which had been knocked down. The destruction spread far, lining the sides of primitive streets. Had the city been hit by an earthquake?

No, those corpses had fallen in battle. Dalinar could smell the stench of blood, viscera, smoke. The bodies lay strewn about, many near the low wall that surrounded the keep. The wall was broken in places, smashed. And there were rocks of strange shape mixed about the corpses. Stones cut like…

Blood of my fathers, Dalinar thought, gripping the stone railing, leading forward. Those aren't stones. They're creatures. Massive creatures, easily five or six times the size of a person, their skin dull and grey like granite. They had long limbs and skeletal bodies, the forelegs-or were they arms?-set into wide shoulders. The faces were lean, narrow. Arrowlike.

"What happened here?" Dalinar asked despite himself. "It's terrible!"

"I ask myself this same thing. How could we let this occur? The Desolations are well named. I've heard initial counts. Eleven years of war, and nine out of ten people I once ruled are dead. Do we even have kingdoms to lead any longer? Sur is gone, I'm sure of it. Tarma, Eiliz, they won't likely survive. Too many of their people have fallen."