"I don’t think it was him. I don’t think it was. I’m pretty sure he was dead. But... maybe... Augh! I don’t know! I’m doubting everything!"

I would like to issue a formal apology to my new son, Allik, whom I assume to be a Hemalurgic experiment in this chapter. Listen. We all make mistakes. Allik, I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me. Like also that mistake of me talking myself out of a theory I’ve held since the beginning. Oops.

Also, burning questions such as: was Preservation the ultimate prescriptivist? (Probably, that dirty language-keeping Shard.) Thankfully my rabid linguist senses get distracted by making some new Connections later on. Sign me up for duralumin ferring, guys.

I also talk about The 100 which... was a great show and then started making some stupid writing decisions in the time between when I recorded this and when it got released. Dangit, The 100. And get sad about Cullen. My Dragon Age husband. Listen. And rap a bit of Hamilton. It’s a multifandom mess up in here.

(Slight spoiler warning: I did end up asking Brandon if Iyatil was a Southern Scadrian, only to find out that the answer is “not really.”)