The Sunlit Man

by Brandon Sanderson

“Even in science,” Contemplation said, “faith plays a role. Each experiment done, each step on the path of knowledge, is achieved by striking out into the darkness. You can’t know what you will find, or that you will find anything at all. It is faith that drives us—faith in answers that must exist.”

sometimes, asking the questions is enough. Because it has to be enough. Because sometimes, that’s all there is.”

“Most change doesn’t happen with a revelation in light, Aux. Most change happens as a slow, steady slide toward the pit. Like how we age, step by shuffling step toward the grave.”

I’m no god. I work for a living.

“I’m just…so tired of running.” “Lady,” he replied, “you have no idea how well I understand that.”

like to earn my titles, and I don’t feel I did anything particularly interesting in this case.” She nodded slowly at that. “But earlier you told Contemplation you didn’t mind if she called you that. Why say such a thing if it bothers you?” “Because,” he said, “sometimes it’s not about you individually. Sometimes it’s about being a symbol. Sometimes you just adopt the name you’re given because it inspires people. I’ve seen it happen. Didn’t think it would happen to me.”

Why is it we hate traveling these worlds again? “Because we’re being hunted?” Right, of course, yes. But…I do wish we could pause a little more often and just enjoy the view.

The proud giants, the terrible warriors, were forced to flee—beaten not by spears or shields, but by the very treasure they sought to claim. “From that day it was said that their eyes had been bleached by the intense light, like clay cooked too long. Instead of normal dark browns, many Alethi have watery blue or other light eyes. The brilliance of the heavens—where Yaezir himself sits upon his throne—had destroyed their ability to see as common people do. Though they now saw the world washed-out, the gleam of treasure also faded because of this. “After their loss, the Tagarut began to act like people. No longer lusting only for treasure, they learned to speak. Never to write, but still, a measure of civilization came to them. And that is why, to this day, the eyes of their leaders are light-colored. And why you can finally have a conversation with one—instead of only running for your life.”

“My master likes those kinds of stories,” Nomad said. “The kinds with points. It’s gotten so he lies and tells people there isn’t a point to anything he says, all to keep them from drifting off and ignoring him for preaching to them. But I’ve found I prefer the ones that are just…stories. No point other than to be interesting.”

you always complain about the legends you start. Then you say things like this…

Give me a few weeks and maybe I could train you in some combat skills. But that’s merely learning to fight. Learning to kill…it’s something else.” “They’re different?” “One requires skill. The other…” “No conscience?” she asked softly. “It’s the existence of a conscience that makes it difficult. Combat training is about preparing you to act regardless of conscience—usually via repetition. We make it so that your body knows what to do before you actively consider what it will mean. Or what it will cost you.”

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered. Now, now, the knight says. You’re not an idiot, Nomad. An idiot is someone without knowledge or ability. You’re something else: a person with knowledge or ability who misuses it. That makes you a fool instead.

“I don’t remember them, yet they all remember me,” she said. “Yes…they remember me, but they don’t know me. Not anymore.” “There are some,” he said, “who would find that liberating. You’re completely free from who you used to be, Elegy. You can make of yourself whatever you want. There are many who would like to abandon the burdens of their pasts.”

That had been his problem for a while. He was the man who ran. Now entombed in rock, with no way to run from himself, he confronted it. He had failed. Experience, in this case, had served him poorly. He’d learned from wise battle commanders that in times of tension, someone making any decision was often better than standing around. But there was a caveat to that lesson. Pithy though it sounded, the leaders who said it were the ones who had lived long enough to pass it on. They were the ones, in the heated moments, who didn’t just make decisions. They made the right decisions.

His shoes—not proper boots, as he liked, but they were all the Beaconites had been able to provide—were too new, unbroken. They hadn’t seen horrors yet, and so they were inflexible. But once they got worn in, they also would start to wear out. Could a soul wear out, likewise?