You should read Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson, someone tells you. You pick up the first book. You quite like Kelsier.
Although Vin is badass, you wish there were more female characters. Just wait until Wax and Wayne, your friend tells you. You do not know what that means.
Your friend tells you to keep an eye out for a guy named Hoid. You do. You do not see what’s so notable about him, but you remember the name.
You progress to the second book. You miss Kelsier. Why is Elend so naive? You rant.
You are worried about Marsh.
You start the third book. You do not understand anything. Your friend keeps talking about shards. Shards of what, you ask? They do not answer. No one answers you. You are alone, with far too many questions and no answers, just like Marsh.
You root for Spook.
You are concerned about Spook.
“When I said I missed Kelsier, this isn’t what I wanted!” you cry out to the void.
Your friend tells you to pay attention to Demoux’s physical description. You do, and then you promptly forget it.
You are bothered when Vin flees Fadrex on a recon mission. You do not understand. You find no answers the further you read.
Just thirty more pages, you tell yourself. Your favorite characters can make it thirty more pages.
“What’s wrong?” your friend asks when you call them sobbing. “I finished Mistborn,” you say. “Oh,” they say, “I’m so sorry.”
Your friend tells you to read Warbreaker. You like the world of Mistborn. You don’t want to read a completely different series. You want more Mistborn.
Your friend smiles. You read Warbreaker.
You do not understand. Why is Hoid here?
It is time, your friend says ominously, for you to read Stormlight Archive.
You have many questions. Some of these are answered. Many are not, and you gain new questions. You fall in love with Jasnah Kholin.
You find the Coppermind. This does not clarify anything. The more answers you find the more questions you have.
Your friend laughs at your plight. You have no true friends anymore. Only an endless supply of questions.
You read Mistborn Era 2. You have very strong opinions about Wayne. You worship MeLaan as a true goddess in her own right. You are concerned about Sazed.
You finish Bands of Mourning. You scream into the void. I fell for it once already, you tell yourself, I will not fall for it again. Kelsier isn’t really back. Right?
Cackling, eyes brimming with the fires of inner madness, your friend hands you a duct-taped tome. On the cover, etched in faded silver ink that has seen the rise and fall of empires, you can just make out the words “Arcanum Unbounded.”
There are mysterious stains on many pages indicating that your friend either performed satanic blood rituals over the book or stayed up late reading it while eating spaghetti with red sauce. Either is likely, and you do not know which scares you more.
You stare numbly at the wall. School does not move you and neither does work.
You are scared. You are scared of what you do not understand, which is more than ever. You are scared of Kelsier. You are scared of the mysterious gray people (don’t bother with Elantris, your friend told you once). And most importantly you are scared of Hoid.
Waxillium “I Get All My Nutrients From the Law” Ladrian
Wayne “I Don’t Got a Last Name But I Can Borrow Yours”
Marasi “I’m the Youngest One Why Am I the Babysitter” Colms
Steris “There is No Logic in This Place” Harms
Warnings: LONG, Swearing, Mentions of drinking, A little bit of fighting
Key: As always, (Y/N) is your name.
Author’s note: Soooo… Yeah, it’s long. Like really long, but I think it turned out for the better. If you came to the join.me last night, you’ll know I cut out the last part so there was a bit more of a cliffhanger just to help me lead into the next part. Hope you enjoy! P.S. You’re welcome for that last gif ;)
You shifted again, rolling onto your other side in the small
bed, glancing at the clock. 5:30 pm.
It’s been almost a month now, staying at your parents’ place. When you came to their house at an ungodly
hour with tears streaming down your face, they quickly welcomed you with open
arms. They let you explain yourself in
your own time and quickly accommodated for you.
It was all perfect, and you felt loved, but for some reason you just
couldn’t quite live normally. You had been in bed almost every day after the
first week of being gone. You tried
going out, watching movies, reading books, but after a couple days you went for
a nosedive. You didn’t want to get out
of bed, you didn’t want to talk, and you hardly ate. Your parents saw your harsh deterioration,
and continuously expressed their concern.
You knew they were right, but you couldn’t go back to the Bruce’s
place. Not after disappearing without a
word. Bruce would get mad at you for
having surprise meetings. If you were
gone for an hour without any warning, you could trust there would be some
glares and harsh lectures. Leaving in
the middle of the night for weeks would be a much larger scale of Bruce’s wrath,
one you were sure you couldn’t handle.
You rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling of
the small, blue guest room. Flowers
hand-painted by your father traced the top of the wall, bleeding onto the ceiling. The scarlet colors of the setting sun had
accented the white roses and daisies that riddled the trim of the room, while
adding a soft glow to the polished birch wood dresser and nightstand. You let your eyes travel along the tangle
stems of the flowers, wandering through your thoughts as you had been for the
past two weeks. It wasn’t like you were
unfamiliar with them, it’s just every time you delved back into them, you would
find something new, like revisiting a favorite movie or rereading a book. It was interesting enough to help you
maintain your sanity whilst away from work.
The unfamiliar buzz of your phone beside your nightstand
sent a jolt through both your mind and your body. You rolled back onto your side to pick up
your phone, blowing off a little bit of the dust it had collected. You turned it on and winced at first from the
bright light, but when you finally focused on the notification, you saw a left
text message from none other than Alfred.
‘We need you back
here, (Y/N). Soon.’
You furrowed your brows for a moment, considering the
possible motivations behind the urgent text message. Maybe he just missed you, after all, you were
basically a small family, over at the manor. Maybe something happened to Bruce. You didn’t even want to get into the possibilities scattered about that one
thought, and sent back a short reply.
You stared at the screen for a few moments, and as you were
about to set it down, the three flashing dots appeared. You waited for a reply for a few minutes,
until it had disappeared without a message to follow.