The hours seemed to drag on forever as they rode on. Soon the mist grew, engulfing the dirt completely, then Rives legs, from hooves to thigh, caressing even their own with an existence so lacking of sensation Sethlzaar's mind conjured up a sensation for it, perhaps to keep the fear of the unknown at bay.
The horse slowed. It gave Sethlzaar 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 body of mist standing as far as his eyes could see. The peerless source from which all the forest's mist seeped out.
Rive let out a low snort, one of those it gave before doing something it was not comfortable with. Then it plunged into the fog.
Sethlzaar's eyes snapped shut. They took solace in the touch of rushing wind as the horse soared in its tracks only for it to be visibly tainted with fear when the animal slowed to a canter and, finally, came to a stop.
Sethlzaar had grown accustomed to the bounce that came with each gallop and had as well grown tired of it. But he'd never been more imploring of its return as he was in this moment. The mist was thick, so much so that even the black of the horse's mane was near impossible to discern.
After they'd come to a halt, the priest dismounted first, then helped Sethlzaar down. He dropped to a knee so he and Sethlzaar saw eye to eye, and drew back his hood slightly. It revealed more of his face, enough for Sethlzaar to see the deathly black of his eyes.
"Do you know where we are?" he asked.
Sethlzaar kept his gaze on the priest's eyes. "No."
"This..." The priest looked at the mist around them, like he could see beyond it. His next words bore a hint of nostalgia. "This forest once belonged to the Kooligas, but the church calls them, Mistborn." He studied Sethlzaar for a moment. "You know why you are here."
It wasn't a question, but Sethlzaar nodded.
"Do you remember your new name?"
"Yes."
He had seen it when Mistress Ereden wrote it. The priest had also called him by it. Once or twice.
"Sethlzaar Vi Sorlan," he added.
"Good."" The man nodded. "And do you know why you bear the title of Vi?"
Sethlzaar had often wondered about it but had never thought to ask. In the orphanage, he had seen a few children get adopted and had always borne something similar. So having a good guess why, he nodded.
"Don't just nod." The priest's voice was calm, but Sethlzaar knew when he was being scolded. "Say it."
"Because I'm adopted."
The priest nodded slowly, sagely. "Yes Normally, a child would lose the title after seven years. You, however, will carry it till the end, and only death will part you from it. Remember it. Some might mock you, but it must be your strength."
Sethlzaar nodded and the priest continued. "In the seminary they will teach you a great many things: how to fight, how to kill a man, 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."
He paused, then scratched his scar, frowning. "You are an adopted child," he went on. "Some will laugh at you, mock you. They will even scorn you. Wear your title with pride, that way it can never be used against you."
"Are you an orphan?" Sethlzaar blurted.
"No," the man answered, and Sethlzaar saw the whisper of a smile on his lips. "I was born here in Arslagh. My father lives in the city. I have an older brothers, and a younger sister, though I don't speak with any of them." The priest's eyes softened. "This 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, tell them you will speak only to Father Genebac shrowl. Give him this paper when you see him." He held up a folded piece of paper and placed it in Sethlzaar's shirt. "When they ask who your father is, tell them Valerik Sorlan."
"What if I don't see Father Shrowl?"
"You will. He will be the old man without hair on his head and a weariness in his step."
Sethlzaar frowned. How could the man be so sure?
The priest ignored his silent tantrum. "When they come to know who you are some will expect greatness of you. 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."
Sethlzaar's brows furrowed in puzzlement and the man offered another ghost of a smile.
"You will come to understand this as you grow." Valerik assured him, 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."
"When?" Sethlzaar didn't want to be left alone. Not in the mist.
"Soon," Valerik replied, then his gaze narrowed. "Are you ready?"
Sethlzaar impressed himself by not missing a beat when he answered. "Yes."
The priest smiled. This time it wasn't a whisper or a ghost. It was real. And it was solemn. "In the beginning, most of us think we are .... We are wrong."
Valerik rose without ceremony, mounted Rive and was gone. Swallowed in the mist.
Sethlzaar remained in it. Alone. Waiting.