The Sunlit Man

by Brandon Sanderson

What about when we’d fly together in the past? Nomad froze. That had been different. He’d misspoken, of course. Not all motion was due to the factors he’d indicated. There were other kinds, like fundamental laws of attraction. One body to another. Forces that held all matter together, at the level of the axon. “That was different,” he admitted. I used to love that, Aux said. Before… Nomad breathed out heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. It wasn’t your fault. “I said yes to Hoid. And I bonded you.” You didn’t know what either would do. “I let the Dawnshard consume us, Auxiliary. I let it feed on you.” I salvaged a little. This bit of my mind. The last fragment of my soul. Wit’s fault as much as it was Nomad’s. Done ostensibly to protect the cosmere. Wit had asked him to carry something known as a Dawnshard, a well of unimaginable Investiture designed as a weapon. Nomad didn’t know the specifics. Only that the result of trying to help was a dead friend—reduced to a voice in his head—and entire armies trying to hunt him. He’d accepted that terrible weapon to hide it, and that power had warped his soul. Worse, he hadn’t known, hadn’t realized, that bonding Auxiliary would lead to such a tragedy.