Gilbert Moreno

“I trust you. It’s a very strange sensation.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll try to hold myself back from going skipping across the plateau in joy.”
Adolin grinned. “I’d pay to see that.”
“Me skipping?”
“You happy,” Adolin said, laughing. “You’ve got a face like a storm! I half think you could frighten off a storm.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Words of Radiance

“The Words, Kaladin. That was Syl’s voice. You have to speak the Words!

I FORBID THIS.

YOUR WILL MATTERS NOT! Syl shouted. YOU CANNOT HOLD ME BACK IF HE SPEAKS THE WORDS! THE WORDS, KALADIN! SAY THEM!

“I will protect even those I hate,” Kaladin whispered through bloody lips. “So long as it is right.”

A Shardblade appeared in Moash’s hands.

A distant rumbling. Thunder.

THE WORDS ARE ACCEPTED, the Stormfather said reluctantly.

“Kaladin!” Syl’s voice. “Stretch forth thy hand!” She zipped around him, suddenly visible as a ribbon of light.

“I can’t…” Kaladin said, drained.

“Stretch forth thy hand!”

He reached out a trembling hand. Moash hesitated.

Wind blew in the opening in the wall, and Syl’s ribbon of light became mist, a form she often took. Silver mist, which grew larger, coalesced before Kaladin, extending into his hand.

Glowing, brilliant, a Shardblade emerged from the mist, vivid blue light shining from swirling patterns along its length.

Kaladin gasped a deep breath as if coming fully awake for the first time. The entire hallway went black as the Stormlight in every lamp down the length of the hall winked out.

For a moment, they stood in darkness.

Then Kaladin exploded with Light.

It erupted from his body, making him shine like a blazing white sun in the darkness. Moash backed away, face pale in the white brilliance, throwing up a hand to shade his eyes.

Pain evaporated like mist on a hot day. Kaladin’s grip firmed upon the glowing Shardblade, a weapon beside which those of Graves and Moash looked dull. One after another, shutters burst open up and down the hallway, wind screaming into the corridor. Behind Kaladin, frost crystalized on the ground, growing backward away from him. A glyph formed in the frost, almost in the shape of wings.

Graves screamed, falling in his haste to get away. Moash backed up, staring at Kaladin.

“The Knights Radiant,” Kaladin said softly, “have returned.”
― Brandon Sanderson, The Way of Kings: Book One of the Stormlight Archive

“How . . .” Dalinar said. “You fell into a chasm!”
“I fell face-first, sir,” Kaladin said, “and fortunately, I’m particularly hard-headed.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Words of Radiance

“The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on.”
― Ulysses S. Grant