Kaladin creeps through the Weeping’s rain to reconnoiter a parshmen encampment he expects to be guarded by deadly Voidbringers. He slips past a token sentry and nestles into bushes at the edge of the camp, noting leaking tarps, a single enclosed tent, and sodden figures huddled in the wet.

Instead of soldiers, Kaladin finds parshmen playing cards on a flat rock. A bearded male debates rules with Khen, a female. They wear slave smocks, have limited carapace, and no red eyes. Their Alethi speech and casual behavior unsettle Kaladin, who had anticipated monsters, not villagers at leisure.

Across the camp, others fail to coax fire under a tarp. Stolen grain sacks have split in the rain; some eat mush by the handful. The bearded parshman slumps, forlorn over the game, and Kaladin’s certainty erodes as he watches people who look hungry, tired, and untrained rather than murderous.

A sudden alarm cuts through the rain as a glowing yellow ribbon of spren cries out, pointing to Kaladin’s hiding place. He surges upright, ready to draw limited Stormlight and flee. The parshmen seize broom handles and branches, clustering like frightened villagers with no stances or discipline.

Syl flits to Kaladin, prepared to become a Blade, but Kaladin halts her. Confronted with their obvious lack of martial skill and his own changing understanding, he raises his hands and announces, “I surrender,” choosing restraint over violence.