The chap­ter opens with an epi­graph from Navani Kholin, dis­cussing the mechan­ics of attract­ing spren by using gem­stones and famil­iar ele­ments. This sets a the­mat­ic tone for the chap­ter, which then shifts to focus on Lirin, a sur­geon calm­ly treat­ing a child for scurvy amidst a refugee cri­sis. Lirin’s train­ing helps him remain com­posed as he assists the child’s moth­er, offer­ing a token for juice and promis­ing to help locate her miss­ing chil­dren. The scene high­lights the dire con­di­tions in Hearth­stone, where refugees from Her­daz crowd the town, liv­ing under makeshift tarps and fac­ing scruti­ny from armed parsh­men, now called “singers.”

Lirin observes the over­whelmed town, not­ing the fog-shroud­ed streets and the influx of refugees, many flee­ing the destruc­tion of Her­daz after a year of con­flict. The town’s resources are stretched thin, with stormshel­ters inad­e­quate for long-term hous­ing. Lirin’s role as a medic forces him to triage the refugees, inspect­ing each for health issues while nav­i­gat­ing the polit­i­cal ten­sions under the new parsh­men-led regime. The chap­ter under­scores the cycli­cal nature of pow­er and vio­lence, as Lirin reflects on how lit­tle has changed despite the shift in leadership—ordinary peo­ple still suf­fer, and he remains tasked with heal­ing their wounds.

The nar­ra­tive fol­lows Lirin as he treats a one-armed Alethi man trau­ma­tized by brig­ands who killed his wife. Lirin’s clin­i­cal detach­ment is evi­dent as he directs the man to a tent for men­tal health sup­port, though he inter­nal­ly notes the man’s hol­low stare. His prag­mat­ic approach is chal­lenged when Abi­a­jan, the parsh­woman city­la­dy, ques­tions his seem­ing­ly emo­tion­less con­do­lences. Lirin defends his demeanor as a nec­es­sary pro­fes­sion­al bound­ary, reveal­ing the emo­tion­al toll of his work. The inter­ac­tion hints at their shared his­to­ry, as Abi­a­jan recalls Lirin set­ting her bro­ken arm in child­hood, though her cur­rent role and expe­ri­ences remain enig­mat­ic.

The chap­ter clos­es with a sense of unre­solved ten­sion, as Lirin con­tin­ues his work amid the chaos, antic­i­pat­ing the arrival of a fig­ure respon­si­ble for much of the suf­fer­ing. The jux­ta­po­si­tion of Lirin’s sto­icism and the refugees’ despair paints a grim pic­ture of a world in upheaval, where sur­vival hinges on resilience and detach­ment. The epigraph’s theme of attract­ing spren through famil­iar­i­ty mir­rors Lirin’s own reliance on rou­tine and train­ing to nav­i­gate the unfa­mil­iar and bru­tal real­i­ties of war and dis­place­ment.