Ezril stood in the mist. In time his feet shuffled along the ground, picking up dirt and staining an already dirty footwear. He could only assume it was already unpleasing to the eyes. Ezril had never prided himself in his patience and here in the mist it continued to elude him.

He stood for what seemed hours. Eventually, his legs shook from fatigue. Urden had asked him not to leave where he stood but the man never demanded he remain standing. So, shuffling his feet and clearing the floor beneath him, he sat.

The mist continued to swirl around Ezril. He soon began finding a companionship with it. It cascaded over him, leaving no sign of its existence on his skin. But he felt it like a motherly touch even if it was one he'd conjured up for the sake of his sanity—that he may not lose it to his solitude. Though he may not have had a mother, he had had Teneri. And while she had not been motherly with the physical contact and the overbearing love, she had been kind. Kind had been good.

Ezril sighed.

There was no pleasure to be had in his wait as he found himself accepting the mist. How, he did not understand. He let its existence overshadow his, even in his mind. He stopped trying to see past it.

A disturbance ahead rattled him from his submission, or perhaps it had been a symbiosis. He couldn't say. Something had moved in the mist, disrupting its flow. Cautiously, Ezril rose to his feet. If an animal had found prey and come to claim him, he would not die without a fight. However, he would be sure to curse Urden in death.

There was another movement. Ezril made out a shape. It was human, as tall as Urden. It ceased its approach and stood in the mist, a black silhouette of uncertainty. Ezril spread readied himself. He set his feet astride and firmly beneath him. An animal, he didn't believe he could outrun. A human? There was always a probability. A priest… well, he tried not to think too much of it.

"Who are you?"

The words were barely a whisper, yet Ezril heard them like the mouth that spoke them leaned against his ears.

He opened his mouth in response and clamped it shut, Urden's words piercing his memory. "I will speak only to Father Crowl," he announced. "Father Teneda Crowl."

The mist swirled as his words travelled the distance, seeming to warp at the disturbance, slowly swallowing itself and banishing the space it created. After a moment, the man stepped forward. The silhouette faded, giving him visage.

"And who are you to demand of a priest of Truth?" the man scowled. He had taken Ezril's demand as an insult and did nothing to hide the fact.

Ezril squirmed visibly.

The wrath of a priest, he thought, knees beginning to tremble. Everyone said nothing good came of it and he was more than inclined to believe them.

Ezril remembered the stories as he warred with his fear and stood his ground. Urden had commanded, and by virtue of Teneri’s trust, Ezril was inclined to obey.

"I will answer only to Father Teneda Crowl," he repeated, proud that his voice didn't mirror his fear.

The man before him was as tall as Urden but smaller in build. The hilts of his weapons poked from their scabbards on both sides of his cassock where they hung from the belt wrapped around his waist. The cassock, white as the mist, marked him as a priest.

The man said nothing. Ezril understood with ease that the man before him wanted his fear and, for that reason alone, he was determined that he not have it.

Now that he had a better look at the priest, Ezril noted the man had a few scars decorating his face. They were enough to fit a child's nightmare. The wrinkles around his eyes put him to be at least ten years older than Urden. His black hair, clearly moistened by the mist, was riddled with grey, and the lobe of his left ear had healed terribly from a tear, perhaps the work of a wild animal Ezril would've believed was a Titan.

One hand stood passively to the priest's side and the other rested on the hilt of one of the swords. Only now did Ezril realize the man stood still as a statue, his only sign of life, the constant twitch of his lips still set in a frown.

The man studied Ezril. His eyes scanned him from crown to heel, calculating, assessing, forcing Ezril to squirm under its scrutiny.

It didn't take much to know he was being measured, and not just physically. The priest was taking count of things Ezril could not understand, like adults who took pleasure in the sour taste of beer. Ezril hated it but knew he would have to get accustomed to it.

What drew his discomfort, however, was the priest's eye. Of all the man's endearing features it was the most demanding of them all. His right eye stared at Ezril, its gaze demanding it not be ignored. It was glossed over, opaque, like the glass cups aunt Teneri always kept in the top cupboard along with the ceramics and other fanciful utensils. The priest’s eye, slowly moving in different directions, watched with the unflinching intensity of the dead. It seemed to look past Ezril's body and into his soul.

This, Ezril knew with a child's certainty.

Perhaps having found what he was looking for, the priest turned. "You have been standing here for far too long," he said. When he spoke again, there was a reluctance in his voice. "Follow me, I will take you to the Monsignor."

Ezril followed the man, hoping to not be lost in the mist as his feet found purchase in the dirt. The distance travelled wasn't taxing or worthy of being referred to as an ordeal. The man led and he followed. It was that simple. He was a child without agency, the little freedom allowed him in Green Horn clearly taken away.

It wasn't a while before they came upon a gate. As tall as a man if placed twice upon himself and wide enough to part the way for an army, it was the blackest of the color Ezril had ever seen. Even in the mist there was no mistaking what he saw. Still, it was stationed unlike the gates he'd come across, unfenced on both sides. Which in Ezril's limited knowledge stood contrary to its purpose of existence.

He stood a while, transfixed by the sight. The priest was lost to him as he peered at the startling black. Something was carved into it; something undeniably significant. But while this was obvious enough, his eyes could make nothing of the carving. Despite the thinning mist, whatever remained was enough to obscure the piece, leaving nothing but a massive circle to be discerned.

A groan split the air like rusted hinges and Ezril turned to find the priest holding an open door built into the side of the gate, watching him with impatience. Certain of his attention, the man gestured inside. "Enter."

The metal hinges holding the door in place groaned with a terror as the priest closed it behind them.

The priest led Ezril on a path forward on a floor of sand flanked on both sides by fields of grass as far as the eyes could see. They were plants the likes of which Ezril had never seen, not that there was much he could see in the current darkness. The realization of the absence of even a sliver of mist took him as they walked. Ezril realized that he'd been standing for the longest time, and into the night in the depths of the mist barely ten minutes from the gate.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The path led them to another entrance. This one held walls standing taller than the gate now lost behind them. Ezril made out a few bodies at its top, watching. Most likely protecting the archway they walked through, a raised portcullis permitting their entrance.

Inside, the buildings stood tall, bearing down on them from different angles. Those in the city stood taller but these had a presence to them. Strong and bold, firm and old. A place not to be stormed.

As Ezril and the priest walked, they passed smaller fields than the ones outside the walls, following the path until the sound of singing slowly caressed their ears.

A church? Ezril stopped to wonder, staring at the building a few paces from them.

It was a chapel, and was much unlike the buildings around them. It stood at the height of any normal building with a roof, curved like a dome, designed to expel whatever rainfall was experienced. However, while it had played a part in stopping him, it wasn't what held him.

A man supported by a cane stood in front of it, watching their arrival. Urden had been right. The hunch in his stance. The cane aiding it. The shaved head made visible by the golden light cast from the chapel windows. The laziness with which the man scratched his head. There was no doubt concerning who awaited them.

"Do not dally, boy."

The priest's words interrupted his thought and Ezril hurried to catch up.

A moment later they stood before the old man. The priest shuffled in impatience. Ezril seeing no signs of weapons on the older man concealed his surprise at the sight of an unarmed priest. Such a thing was rare. Still, it did nothing to make the man any less deadly than the one beside him.

The man was without doubt Father Teneda Crowl.

"Let us take a walk," the aged priest instructed without preamble. He ushered them away from the chapel. The singing masked most of the sound but, as had been the case within the mist, Ezril heard him clearly.

The priest who brought him led, leaving him behind to walk with the older priest. The man's cane clacked away at the stone floor.

Ezril’s new companion looked at him.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked in an old man’s voice.

Ezril had an answer. But feeling the priest required something more specific than the one he had, said, "No, Father."

"This," the man told him, "is the Holy Martyrs of Truth Seminary. You do know of the seminary, correct?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good, good." The priest nodded, a humor in his aging voice. "And how did you come to stand in the mist? Are you mistborn?"

Ezril shook his head quickly, refuting the possibility. "No. My father asked me to wait there."

The statement tickled him wrong and he fought against his repulsion at the lie. It was all he could do to keep a straight face.

"In the mist?" The man frowned. It was as if all his actions strained him. "And what is your father's name, child?"

Ezril hesitated. "Urden Antari."

The priest from the gate turned abruptly and the old man’s frown deepened.

"Urden Antari?" Malice crawled all over the younger priest's words.

"He instructed I only answer to Father Teneda Crowl," Ezril continued, ignoring the younger priest since he had the attention of a superior. He fished Urden’s piece of paper from within his shirt. "He instructed that I give you this, Father."

Bringing them to a stop, the aged priest took the paper from him and unfolded it.

"Ezril Vi Antari," the man read the name slowly. "I see." He studied the contents for a while longer then refolded the paper and placed it in his cassock. "I will be keeping this. Now, tell me, how did you know I was the one you sought?"

Ezril frowned. He disliked stupid questions, especially when they existed only to test him. "He described you, Father."

"Ah." The priest smiled, his joviality returning. "Yes, I guess that would suffice. But as much as you are a child, there are some mistakes you should not make." He pointed at the younger priest. "Father Ulrich and the other priest you will meet you will call Father. I, however, am Monsignor Teneda Crowl, and you will address me as Monsignor."

Ezril nodded softly. "Yes, Monsignor."

Father Ulrich turned in alarm. "You will allow him admission?!"

The monsignor smiled. Apparently, he found the younger priest's objection amusing. "I see no reason not to."

"He is the son of Urden Antari!" Ulrich hissed. "Should that not be enough?"

"Adopted son," The monsignor corrected. "And he has the potential to be Hallowed."

The idea of a second person saying it gave Ezril hope. Hallowed was always a better alternative to Tainted.

“And how do we know?” Ulrich asked. “For all we know, he could be a fail.”

“Then he will fail when the time comes,” the Monsignor conceded simply. “Until then, we will watch him and we will raise him. If we are lucky, he will be an addition to the gift of Truth’s aegis to Vayla and her children. Or would you still have me turn away a child blessed by Truth simply because most of you do not like his father?"

"That's not—"

"I will hear no more of this." The Monsignor sighed. He spared the chapel a look before turning back to Ezril. "Since it would seem there is no need for you to join the others for morning mass seeing that you are already too late for it, I would ad—"

"Morning?" Ezril interrupted, shocked.

"Yes, child. Morning mass." The monsignor studied his shock. "How long where you standing in the mist?"

"I do not know, Monsignor," Ezril replied, more than curious to have the answer to the question.

“Ok." The Monsignor's brows furrowed in thought. "Then let me ask another question. When did you enter the city?"

Ezril's mind flashed back to the heat of the sun. "High noon, Monsignor."

"And how long did it take you and your father to get here?"

"Two months, Monsignor."

Crowl nodded, as if his calculations were correct. "And how is your father?"

"He is fine, Monsignor," Ezril replied, growing tired of repeating the man's title and waiting for whatever answer the man had deduced from his thinking.

"And do you know where he will be going next?"

Ezril shook his head and Father Ulrich frowned. The reaction helped Ezril decide he would have to keep his responses in the form of words.

"Then tell me, child," the monsignor continued, seemingly unbothered by his lack of words. "Do you know why you are here?"

Ezril nodded. "To become a priest of Truth."

"Yes." The Monsignor nodded, stroking the skin of his head. Ezril took it for a thoughtful action even though the man's beard was long enough to accomplish the task as was most commonly the object of stroking with most men. "And do you know who Truth is?"

Ezril sought through his mind, recalling whatever he could of what little he'd learned of the Credo the few times aunt Teneri had taken him to church. "Truth is the father and creator of us all.”

"Good," Crowl commended. "And do you know who his priests are?"

Why am I being questioned? Ezril frowned. "Children of Truth who bear the gift of his blessing," he said, disliking how the words sounded in his mouth.

"Wrong."

"But—" Ezril began to protest, but the monsignor cut him off with a raised hand.

"You are yet to complete the catechism of the Credo, child. Thus, we will teach you during your stay here." Disappointment tinged the Monsignor's words. "So pay attention to the priests and do not disobey them, because they can be very terrifying." Now he smiled. "Even for me."

Somehow, Ezril doubted that.

The man took a step forward and their procession resumed. "You are aware of what we do here."

There wasn’t anyone alive in the kingdom that wasn’t aware.

Not sure if it was a question asked or an observation made, Ezril kept his head forward and walked along. He made sure to keep his head up as aunt Teneri had always told him when he was littler. A sign of confidence.

Garnering no answer, Crowl spoke again. "Do you know why your father brought you to us?"

"To learn to protect and fight for what is mine," Ezril answered, easily, Urden's words coming like a mantra.

The answer drew a brief glance from the Monsignor. "And what is yours?" he asked, brows raised in curiosity.

Ezril sought through his head for an acceptable answer. When that failed to yield fruit, he sought for any answer at all. Emptiness answered him and the Monsignor let out a tired sigh he interpreted as disappointment.

The man turned and faced the direction they had come from. "Much is expected of the students of this seminary," he said. His voice was so soft that Ezril wouldn’t have heard it in the presence of others.

But despite his choice of words, Ezril understood the words unsaid: And much more is to be expected of the son of Urden Antari.

Ezril could already feel a migraine coming along. To him, Teneri was his only family, however, he was going to be judged by the standards of a man he’d spent two months traveling with yet knew almost nothing about.

Crowl turned to Ulrich. "Get him ready, Father Ulrich. Preferably, before the mass is ended."

Then he walked back to the chapel. His cane clacked against the ground, preceding his exit.

"One walks through the mist and another stands in it," he chuckled to himself. "Children can be quite fascinating."