Dainty stepped as the line dictated, waiting at the city gate, forcing Ezril to the torment of the heat of the sun.

Ezril couldn’t help but feel that somehow he’d relegated the strain of walking for the crime of the heat. It was preposterous, considering he’d have suffered the heat regardless.

Or was it?

Urden, in his hooded cassock taken from within one of the sacks dangling from Dainty’s saddle, made walking look too easy. Then again, his hood did protect him from the sun.

Ezril caught himself in a pout, and frowned. Not only was Urden oblivious to his problems, but now he was beginning to act like a child. It wasn’t Urden’s fault he had packed no clothes, that was Teneri’s. She’d told him he would have no need for them.

Urden, against the rumors of the big cities of the kingdom, paid no entrance fee when he approached the guards at the gate. The guards at the gate stopped them for the briefest moment, simply searching his sacks with utmost care before sparing Ezril a look that seemed one of pity and sending them on their way.

Ezril had intended at some point to ask Urden why he had worn the hood, but deeming the question one the man would most likely not answer, had allowed the heat of the sun suffice for a reason.

Ardin proved itself worthy of its fame, living up to the tales told of its wonders. It was beautiful and it was massive. Really massive. When Dainty trotted into the city the sun was at its peak, signaling the presence of high noon. It smiled down on them in a controversy, as seen amongst lords engaging political rivals in the presence of their subjects; enough to dictate a state of superiority but not too much to be considered openly disrespectful.

The city welcomed them with a market possibly the size of the underbelly if they dared to explore it. Though the concept was appealing, it didn’t take Ezril long to dissuade himself from the idea. Not only did he doubt Urden would allow it, but it also didn’t seem like the kind of place a child would want to walk around alone. Ezril had thought only the toughest lived in the underbelly. Casting his gaze around him in nothing but a simple market now, he was as disillusioned by it as he had been at the tavern.

The underbelly might be the hardened world of Green Horn but the people that lived there would be nothing but regular here. At least from what he’d seen so far.

Ezril watched each stall as they moved. Each merchant enchanted passersby with tales and prices fashioned in the most elusive words. It was so much so that as obvious a lie as the words were, Ezril wouldn’t have been capable of pointing out where the truth existed and were the lies smiled to save his own life. This, despite how despicable it seemed, was art. And when he looked at the commodities they spun their compulsions for the sake of, he couldn’t blame them.

Every item screamed of quality he had never dreamed possible. They were beautifully presented in stores arranged so grandly that they created easily traversable paths. He could only imagine it created a pseudo labyrinth through the market.

From his place atop Dainty, he watched the great city buildings. They stood high and towered over the market in the horizon. Made of marbles, stones, and bricks, they spoke of monuments the kinds to house behemoths able to withstand the harshest of weathers. Their boldness seemed to demand Vayla test them with the greatest of storms and harshest of weathers. It should have been unlikely since to declare such was to oppose Vayla—an action tantamount to blasphemy by the teachings of the Credo.

Urden led them past a stall and Ezril caught sight of elixirs and varying concoctions. He was surprised to find that he recognized some of them. At a glance he saw some he knew were fashioned to aid the treatment of illnesses as well as a few to heal wounds. He spotted a few Hunmar had claimed here designed to give a man the strength of ten men. Such elixirs did so by inducing an unnatural rush of adrenaline known to often drive men into a blind rage. With such things, a simple human could mimic the physical prowess of the Hallowed. Ezril wondered what effects it would have on a Hallowed.

Still, most of the products he saw were completely unfamiliar to him. One of the vials a man sold held a green concoction that reminded him of the time he had taken ill and vomited all over the floor of his room. It had been one of the few times he’d ever seen Teneri express a look of worry.

He wondered what exactly the contents of the vial did that made a person pay to consume it. It might not be as bad as it looks, he considered, scratching his scraggly hair before pausing and regressing into a frown. Or it might.

There were a lot of things he'd been forced to learn as a child. One of them was that things rarely, if not never, tasted better than they looked. Since elixirs were only drunk, external applications were considered less effective and often times a waste.

Veering to the side, Dainty followed the priest on a new road. The action ignored the path that had remained before them. They diverged into a segment of stores that traded in the most exotic of animal parts now. Ezril watched with awe as men ground and butchered legs, hooves, bladders, and even livers with massive cleavers held with as much abandon as a man drinking a cup of ale: easy and uncaring. It was startling how easily they conversed with each other despite the obvious potential for danger.

Yet, what caught and—unlike the others—held his attention was the beating heart submerged in a liquid with a hue of red. Ezril imagined the liquid was what blood would look like if diluted with enough water. It easily stood out as a part of a Titan and, while it held him enamored, he wondered how it remained very much alive. It opposed what he'd learned from Urden earlier in their travels.

As if reading his thoughts, Urden spoke.

“With certain nutrients,” he said, “a Titan heart can be kept alive for as long as the nutrients are provided.”

It was an answer. It was also a vague enough one. For example, what were these nutrients? And was the time frame unlimited?

They went down two more turns before dipping out of the public's eyes. Their path soon came to be littered with only a handful of people existing around them, walking towards their destinations in silent conversations and minding their various businesses. Whatever they were.

It wasn't long before Urden mounted Dainty, settling behind Ezril. He kicked the horse into a canter. Taking his one opportunity since they'd drawn near the gates, Ezril glanced behind him to catch a glimpse of Urden's expression, because now—as he had done before—he was beginning to feel the itch at the back of his mind that told him there was something Urden had kept from Teneri. Because while Teneri claimed Urden would be a different man once they left the city, the change was too different.

What Ezril saw only made him wish he hadn't looked. If he didn't know better, he could’ve sworn Urden seemed like a person hiding from watchful eyes hidden in the faces of every stranger.

Ezril returned his attention to the road and found them slowly engulfed in a sea of trees. Each tree stood impossibly tall. Their branches began their sprouts at heights well above that of a full grown man, expanding largely the higher they went. The trees towered over them. Their leaves blotted out the sun in a cooperative effort, their branches undulating to whatever commands the winds fashioned.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The forest came with a darkness so natural that anyone could have easily believed night had fallen. But Ezril’s mind held no space for pondering the time of the day as the darkness brought with it an ominous presence. A cloud of mist pooled around the dirt, nearly blocking it entirely from sight. It blanketed Vayla in a sea of white. From what the forest permitted Ezril to see, Dainty might as well have been riding upon the clouds on a haunting night. With the thought came the realization that sometime in his thoughtfulness the horse had been spurred into a gallop and they seemed to ride the clouds at the pace of lightning. The breeze blew into his face and ruffled his air. He closed his eyes against the sting of it and ducked his face to the side. The force of the breeze against his face was beginning to make breathing a difficult task.

Unlike his first time in a forest, Ezril's journey with Urden had adapted him to the feelings that came with it. He no longer feared the sudden attack of a creature that did not exist behind the trees. When he did, however, it was with good cause. At least a good one by his standards, because a squirrel eating an acorn on a tree branch could easily be a python waiting to strike.

The realization of Dainty's speed and evolution from a canter came with the acknowledgement of the inability to beat a hasty retreat. Ezril had thought himself accustomed to the wiles of the forest, but this one drew it all back with a fury. He found himself stealing glances about from narrowed eyelids with every step the horse took and scratching itches he didn't have.

At his back his shoulder blades itched frantically and he grit his teeth against the call to scratch them.

As if his fears were not enough, Ezril could feel the alertness of Urden. The priest’s head turned ever so slightly at intervals but the man never took off the hood of his cassock. Ezril almost soiled himself when the man finally scratched his scar. In their travels it always served as a herald for troubling times. Well, not troubling times for him, though.

They rode through the forest for hours. Eventually, Ezril began to believe somewhere beyond the roof of leaves above them that the sun was beginning its descent into solitude. It was relinquishing its watch over Vayla to the moon.

The hours seemed to drag on forever as they rode on. The mist grew as they ventured forth. It soon engulfed the dirt completely. Then it swallowed Dainty’s legs, from hooves to thigh, caressing even their own with a sensation so lacking of existence that Ezril's mind conjured up a feeling for it, perhaps to keep the fear of the unknown at bay.

The horse slowed after a long time. It gave Ezril a moment to tremble in the glory of what laid before them. The path was closed off to them. Where one should have been was naught but a wall of mist standing as far as his eyes could see. It was the peerless source from which all the forest's mist seeped out.

Dainty let out a low snort. It was one of those it gave before doing something it was not comfortable with. Then it plunged into the fog. Ezril's eyes snapped shut. They took solace in the touch of rushing wind as the horse soared in its tracks only to slow. Dainty’s galloping slowed to a canter and, finally, the beast came to a stop. It was as though the creature wasn’t certain it still wanted to be on this path.

The mist was thick, so much so that even the black of the horse's mane was near impossible to discern. Ezril could see nothing in front of them or behind them. Only mist.

After they'd come to a halt, Urden dismounted first then helped Ezril down. Urden dropped to a knee so that he and Ezril saw eye to eye, and drew back his hood slightly. It revealed more of his face. It was enough for Ezril to see the deathly black of his eyes.

“Do you know where we are?” Urden asked.

Ezril kept his gaze on the priest's eyes. “No.”

“This...” The priest looked at the mist around them as if he could see beyond it and his next words bore a hint of nostalgia. "This forest once belonged to the Umunnas, but the church calls them, Mistborn." He studied Ezril for a moment. “You know why you are here.”

It wasn't a question, but Ezril nodded.

"Do you remember your new name?"

Ezril nodded again. "Yes."

He had seen it when Urden had submitted his adoption papers at the gates of Green Horn. He had a legal father now, and a surname. But being adopted, he also had a title.

"Ezril Vi Antari," he added.

“Good."” Urden nodded. "And do you know why you bear the title of Vi?"

Ezril had often wondered about it but had never thought to ask. He didn’t know much about adoption laws but he’d heard a few things, most of which was during the time leading up to when Lenaria had left the city. So having a good guess why, he nodded.

"Don't just nod." Urden's voice was calm, but Ezril knew when he was being scolded. "Say it."

"Because I'm adopted."

"Yes." Urden nodded slowly, sagely. "Normally, a child would lose the title once he reached adulthood. You, however, will carry it till the end, and only death will part you from it. Remember it. Some might mock you for being adopted, but it must be your strength."

Ezril nodded and the priest continued.

"In the seminary they will teach you a great many things: how to fight, how to kill a man or a beast, how to protect what is theirs. They will give you a new family. But remember this: there are some things that cannot be taught. In the eyes of the church, you have many fathers by Truth. In the eyes of the law, you have only one father. Me."

Urden paused, then scratched his scar, frowning. His eyes darted to the side momentarily.

"You are an adopted child," he went on. "Adopted unofficially by Teneri, then legally by me. Some will laugh at you for it, mock you. They will even scorn you. But do not let it sway you. Wear your title with pride, that way it can never be used against you."

"Were you adopted, too?" Ezril blurted, uncomfortable at the hope of having something in common with Urden.

"No," Urden answered, and Ezril saw the whisper of a smile on his lips. "I was born here in Ardin. My father lives in the city. I have an older brother and a younger sister, though I don't speak with any of them." The priest's eyes softened. "The path of an adopted child is a burden I cannot share with you. At least not yet." Then, as if smelling something he would rather not, he changed the subject. "No matter what you are asked when they find you, tell them you will speak only to Father Teneda Crowl. Give him this paper when you see him." He held up a folded piece of paper and placed it in Ezril’s shirt. "When they ask who your father is or who brought you here, tell them Urden Antari."

"What if I don't see Father Crowl?" Ezril asked.

"You will,” Urden assured him. “He will be the old man without hair on his head and a weariness in his step."

Ezril frowned. How could Urden be so sure?

Urden ignored his silent tantrum. "When they come to know who you are some will expect greatness of you,” he continued. “Others will expect less. If you don't meet their expectations, they will call you flawed. But remember this: humans are never flawed. There is only that which is, and then there is change. Change for what you believe is most important. And understand that the only expectation you should strive for is that which you expect of yourself."

Ezril's brows furrowed in puzzlement and Urden offered another ghost of a smile.

"You will come to understand this as you grow." Urden assured Ezril, then snorted in condescension. "Flaws." He said the word as if it was something distasteful. "I hope that perhaps one day you, too, will come to understand that there are no such things. At least not amongst humans." There was another pause before he refocused his attention and continued. "When I leave, do not move from this place. They will come for you and it is important that they find you here. Teneri has taken good care of you all these years and allowed you your freedom in the underbelly just for this day. She has let you spend some time in the slums so that your mind is hardened for this next experience. Let us not waste it."

Ezril wondered what Urden meant by it. Had Teneri always planned on giving him to the seminary? Had his path to priesthood always been inevitable? But to be a priest one had to be Hallowed. The only way to suspect a child had the potential to be Hallowed from birth was simple. The mother always died at childbirth. Thus, the only way Teneri would’ve known to prepare Ezril for the seminary from the very beginning was if she had known his mother well enough to know she’d died at child birth. His mind turned back to a memory where Urden had claimed to know his father and he asked a question.

“Did you know my mother, too?”

Urden’s response was as bland as it had been when Ezril had asked about his father.

“Yes.”

There was a finality to the word that told Ezril that the conversation was done, so Ezril moved it on to something else.

"When will they come for me?" he asked, not wanting to be left alone. Not in the mist.

"Soon," Urden replied, then his gaze narrowed. "Are you ready?"

Ezril impressed himself by not missing a beat when he answered, even if it was a lie. "Yes."

Urden smiled softly. This time it wasn't a whisper or a ghost. It was real. And it was solemn. "In the beginning,” he said, “most of us think we are... We are wrong."

Urden stood back up without ceremony after that and mounted Dainty. He was gone in the blink of an eye. Swallowed by the mist.

Ezril remained in the mist. Alone. Waiting.

Urden’s request had done nothing to quell the urge to escape.