Mistborn: secret history

1

Kelsier ran. He needed the urgency, the strength, of being in motion. A man running somewhere had a

purpose.

He left the region around Luthadel, jogging alongside a canal for direction. Like the lake, the canal was

reversed here – a long, narrow mound rather than a trough.

As he moved, Kelsier tried yet again to sort through the conflicting set of images, impressions, and ideas

he’d experienced in that place where he could perceive everything. Vin could beat this thing. Of that

Kelsier was certain, as certain as he was that he couldn’t defeat Ruin himself.

From there however, his thoughts grew more vague. These people, the Ire, were working on something

dangerous. Something he could use against Ruin… maybe.

That was all he had. Preservation was right; the threads in that place between moments were too knotted,

too ephemeral, to give him much beyond a vague impression. But at least it was something he could do.

So he ran. He didn’t have time to walk. He wished again for Allomancy, pewter to lend him strength and

endurance. He’d had that power for such a short time, compared to the rest of his life, but it had become

second nature to him very quickly.

He no longer had those abilities to lean on. Fortunately, without a body he did not seem to tire unless he

stopped to think about the fact that he should be tiring. That was no problem. If there was one thing

Kelsier was good at, it was lying to himself.

Hopefully Vin would be able to hold out long enough to save them all. It was a terrible weight to put on

the shoulders of one person. He would lift what portion he could.

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