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Hardcover
First published October 1, 2023
鈥淚deals are like statues in the wind. They seem so permanent, but truth is, erosion happens subtly, constantly.鈥�
鈥淣omad and the sky weren鈥檛 currently on speaking terms. But they鈥檇 been intimate for some time in the past, and he still knew his way around her place.鈥�
鈥淏ut he could still hear. And somehow, in shutting out the light鈥� there within the blackness of his own design鈥� he felt something. Something of the person he鈥檇 once been. Words once spoken. In a moment of glorious radiance.鈥�
鈥淭he winds made him remember who he had been: a man who would have died before treating people as he鈥檇 done today. No, the storm did not offer him refuge. As much as he liked the rain鈥� as much as it felt right to him鈥� the memories were too painful.鈥�
鈥淗e put his hands to his skull, digging his fingers into the skin. How could he run so hard and never get anywhere? The journey was supposed to be the important part, wasn鈥檛 it? Why, then, was he so miserable?鈥�
鈥淐onquest doesn鈥檛 remove countries鈥� It removes lines on a map. Unity requires something else.鈥�
鈥淭hat depended. In Nomad鈥檚 experience, it wasn鈥檛 when life was utterly terrible that people rebelled. It instead happened when life improved to the point that people had time to think, time to wonder. The capacity to imagine.鈥�
鈥淏ecause鈥� sometimes it鈥檚 not about you individually. Sometimes it鈥檚 about being a symbol. Sometimes you just adopt the name you鈥檙e given because it inspires people. I鈥檝e seen it happen. Didn鈥檛 think it would happen to me.鈥�
鈥淭his is one of my last chances to talk to many of you about the wonderful event that was the Kickstarter, so let me take an extra moment to tell you why I dedicated this book to you, the fans. I sincerely believe that books don鈥檛 live until they鈥檙e read. While I think I鈥檇 write even if nobody was reading鈥� it鈥檚 who I am鈥� I thrive because I know the stories are being brought to life by all of you. In this, stories are a special kind of art, particularly ones written down. Each of you imagines this book, and its characters, a little differently鈥� each of you puts your own stamp on it, making it yours. I don鈥檛 think a story is quite finished until that has happened to it鈥� until the dream in my head has become a reality (even if briefly) in yours. And so this book is yours, as are all of them once you read them. Thank you so much for bringing life to my work, and to the Cosmere.鈥�
鈥淵ou never get to be ready. You just have to move forward anyway.鈥�
鈥淗e put his hands to his skull, digging his fingers into the skin. How could he run so hard and never get anywhere? The journey was supposed to be the important part, wasn鈥檛 it? Why, then, was he so miserable?鈥�
鈥淏ut he could still hear. And somehow, in shutting out the light鈥� there within the blackness of his own design鈥� he felt something. Something of the person he鈥檇 once been. Words once spoken. In a moment of glorious radiance.鈥�