Ezril let himself go into a free fall. He dropped through the remaining distance. He hit the ground harder than he planned but did not let it hinder him. He rolled away from the voice on impact and came to his feet immediately. He steadied himself and leveled into one of the few variations of the knife stance Fravis had taught him and his brothers. He reached for his knife just as quickly and froze.

His hand met nothing. Where is it? he panicked.

The bear. The realization clawed at him. Panic grew to terror as he realized he’d left it in the creature’s neck. Truth damn it all.

He was left with only a few choices now: run or fight. Not finding himself with the strength to run nor the mood for it, he turned to the source of the voice.

An old man sat in the dirt. His back rested against a tree as he seemed to mull over his own question.

"Of course not," the old man concluded. "You don't look the kind. Well, that way," he pointed to his right, "will find you in a cloud of fog, annoying thing it is. But that way," he pointed in the opposite direction, his voice slow and shaky from age, "you'll find a market. I'm sure from there you can get back to your family."

Ezril kept his silence, not out of fear or a disinterest at a conversation, but from caution. The terror he’d felt because of the voice a moment ago was gone. It was as if it had never been there; as if he’d imagined it.

Is this part of the test? Ezril wondered. He gauged the man's visage. He was too old, too wrinkled, likely too slow. Was it a part of the test? Give the children a chance to escape—motivate it and see if they would flee. It seemed highly unlikely but Ezril wouldn't put such actions past the seminary.

"You have no reason to fear me, child," the old man said, rising to his feet with such sluggishness Ezril had to resist the urge to help him. "Or is your silence a thing of the family?"

This was the second time the man had spoken of family. Ezril understood it to be normal among people to ask a lost child of their family. Yet, the way the old man used it grated at his temper. It reminded him of aunt Teneri, of Lenaria and her blonde hair as white as snow and eyes as green as forest leaves. Ezril didn’t like it. He didn’t like remembering people he would never see again.

Worse, he could not miss them in public. He could not speak of them for the seminary taught that they had no family except it.

Regardless, Ezril was troubled by something else. It was the sense of recognition he felt towards the old man. He was certain he had never seen or met the man before. Again, he resisted the urge to speak.

"Come now,” the man beckoned with his hand, “we must not delay. The moon is out, and should not be wandered in for too long. Your family must be truly worried."

"I have no family!" Ezril snapped. The words poured out with such ease, reinforced by the priests of the seminary. You have no family save the seminary.

It pained Ezril to say it but it was necessary. If this was a test, he wouldn’t want to fail and be expelled for a single question after surviving a bear. But the words came with a touch of worry, too. There was a part of his mind it festered in. Ezril could feel that part easily. It was growing. The words had come to him too naturally.

I still have a family, he reminded himself, lest the constant words of the priests brainwash him into forgetting. I have aunt Teneri.

And when she dies?

Ezril grit his teeth against the thought. He shook it from his mind quickly, smothered it until it was gone. Some questions did not need answers. Even in death, aunt Teneri would remain his family.

A sadness crossed the old man's face. His weathered skin seemed to age all the more as he pointed to the mist. "It seems you are beginning to accept that,” he said. “The path you are about to choose is one I would wish on no boy." He sighed in resignation. "But be on your way, child. It would seem your time is not left with much."

The man’s face regained its blank expression as he turned and walked away. His pace would put the sluggishness of a snail and the stealth of a cat to shame.

"It should not prove too much of a task for the likes of you,” he added with his back turned. He seemed to glide along the ground as he moved. “And it would do us both good if you kept our meeting from your friends."

Ezril watched the man disappear into the confines of countless trees then made for the direction of the mist with a new found enthusiasm. He waded his way into it again. He was running out of time. He cursed himself and the bear for the time he’d wasted surviving it. Now, he didn’t even know how much time he still had left.

The mist covered his world as far as the eye could see. His ears were plagued by the sounds of birds ever chirping in the dark of the night, and the owls ever hooting. Shadows moved in the dark at the edge of his vision, disappearing each time he turned to look. The darkness of the mist proved unwelcoming, and Ezril wondered if he would ever make it back as he felt the dawn crawling to signal the new day.

He walked, stumbled, and got back to his feet until he feared he could walk no more. He had no idea how long he walked. He knew the mist was not supposed to be so deep. Just how long had he been walking? Answers hovered at the edge of his mind to the question. Sadly, his body was remembering it had gone a significant while without food.

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Hunger and fatigue became his enemies as strength continued to flee him as he hit the ground, tired. Even then he did not give up, dragging himself along the ground, moving ever forward.

After a while, he laid on the ground with his face to the sky in hopes of catching a hint of it. All around him was mist and it was all that was left to him. Feeling the sting behind his eyes, he closed them and let the tears fall.

He felt so close and yet so far away. He’d survived an entire year in the seminary just to fail here. There was still enough strength in him to move. He knew this. All he had to do was get up and walk. The problem, however, was in the motivation. There was none to will him forward. So what if he got up? What would he do then? Keep on moving forward? To where? He had no idea where he was going or how to get there.

In his failure he sought out alternatives. What would he do when he was shown the gate; if he survived long enough to be shown the gate?

He would become a bandit, he thought. He could join a mercenary group—the seminary had definitely taught him well enough to begin on that path. Perhaps he could work security for the Venin guild. He knew enough about them from his time in the seminary. They were an organization that called themselves a guild with their hands in every form of business. They even had their own private security of sorts. Certainly a year in the seminary would be motivation enough to hire him. who wouldn’t want someone who’d once been on the path to becoming a priest.

He could also become a sailor, sail the seas with one of the ships, offering his services to the captain in exchange for food. Returning home was another option. But what if Teneri had passed. She had been growing slower in her actions leading up to the day Urden had come for him. If that was the case, then he would never go home. The grace of Teneri’s presence that had kept the city’s mouth shut and amiable towards him would be gone. If that was the case, then many would remember the night everything had changed for him and someone would be sure to report him as Tainted. They already thought he was, after all.

Ezril wept silently as Teneri’s words came to him: family is not about blood. It is about trust and love.

It was something she had said to him once upon a time while he’d thrown a tantrum; while he’d said she was not his family because she was not his mother. He’d done it all simply because she had not believed his story of what had transpired—of not being a Tainted. She had never looked at him differently but she had never believed his story, either. That alone, all those years ago, had sufficed to anger him as a child. Thinking back on it now, he knew it had been stupid of him. What mattered if she believed the words of an eight-year-old boy? Had it not been enough that it had changed nothing?

Here in the seminary, he had no one he loved. Although, he did care for his brothers. But did he trust them? He knew he had neither trust nor love for the priests. But…

His thoughts made him wonder why he always protect Olufemi. Why he was glad to learn from Darvi. Why he harbored the desire to protect his new brothers in the seminary. If he didn’t consider them family, then why did he do all of it?

To survive? His mind offered, unsure.

Ezril forced himself to his feet as the thoughts came without answers. He willed his legs with all that he was to move. Whatever the answer was, the thought of his brothers was motivation enough. He needed to get back to them.

The mist remained a conquest proving too great. Ezril knew there was a trick to it. He had once heard some of the older boys talk of it, but his mind could not fathom what it could possibly be.

Then he saw it. A slight ripple in the mist. It reminded him of his time at the vaults when he’d stared in the darkness and had almost wandered into it. All his worries faded away, replaced with a sense of wanderlust. He forgot his fears and his tears, and dragged his legs along. He moved towards the ripple, drawn to it as a child is drawn to look at the dark despite the monsters they imagine lurk within it. The only difference was that he didn’t fight the urge, he surrendered himself to it. It wasn’t like he had much to lose. The ripple moved farther from him with each step he took. His feet racked up mud as he followed it as far as he could.

It led him for a good distance, an empty guide in a sea of mist. Then it was gone and he could see it no more.

What have I done? he feared as the sensation of wanderlust disappeared with the ripple, just as it had arrived with it. He looked up in his worry and was surprised at the sight he was met with. Before him was something he hadn't been able to fashion the first time he’d seen it. The black eyes of a metal bear head melded into a black gate, vivid even in the darkness. They seemed to watch him.

He wondered if it found him worthy.

I made it. He sighed in relief, standing motionless before the gate. He stared at the bear before him and almost laughed. He had passed the test and didn’t even know how. He’d been guided by the impossible. It was almost reminiscent of how he and Lenaria had survived the night when he’d met her. The realization wiped the smile from his face. There were rumors about the actions of the Tainted. Some rumors spoke of how they could find things that should not be found or even people that should not be found. Some rumors claimed they could weave Vayla’s nin and use it to guide themselves, amongst other things.

Was it what he had done? Ezril wondered. He couldn’t remember doing it intentionally, but it didn’t change the fact that it was something he could’ve done. He remembered the night he’d met Lenaria. He’d seen ripples and listened to their guidance. It had helped him and Lenaria survive the shadow fire when it came. He had seen it in the seminary vaults as well but had ignored it. Now he had seen it again, and it had helped him find the seminary. Three times was one too many to be called a coincidence.

Am I Tainted or Hallowed?

"You made it."

Ezril’s attention snapped to his side, shaken violently from his thoughts. He found Father Ulrich standing there. The priest’s face was illuminated by the yellow light from the torch he held. Ezril opened his mouth to speak but no words ventured out. His throat was dry, relief choked him.

"Father Talod will be very displeased," Ulrich added with a smile. For all his disgust when Ezril had come to the seminary a year ago, he seemed to have grown rather kindly towards him. Perhaps the man pitied him for the way he was looked at because of his association to Urden.

"Come now, boy,” Ulrich added. “Let's get you cleaned up. It would seem you are the last of your kind."

It should not prove too much of a task for the likes of you. The old man's words replayed in Ezril's mind as he followed Ulrich. He wondered if the man had meant anything by it. Had he said it because he knew Ezril was a seminarian or because he suspected Ezril might be tainted? The thoughts abounded in Ezril’s mind and he did not have an answer to it. It took him a moment to discard his worries. For now, he would take the good news he had. He had passed his first test in the seminary, after all.

Ezril smiled. It hadn’t proved too much.

He touched a gentle hand to his bandaged injury as he followed Ulrich. It was the first mystery of the test, second only to how he’d passed it.

Who had taken care of him while he’d been unconscious?