Mistborn: Secret History
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Mistborn: Secret History is a companion story to the original Mistborn trilogy.
As such, it contains HUGE SPOILERS for the books Mistborn (the Final Empire), The Well of Ascension, and The Hero of Ages. It also contains very minor spoilers for the book The Bands of Mourning.
Mistborn: Secret History builds upon the characterization, events, and worldbuilding of the original trilogy. Reading it without that background will be a confusing process at best.
In short, this isn’t the place to start your journey into Mistborn. (Though if you have read the trilogy—but it has been a while—you should be just fine, so long as you remember the characters and the general plot of the books.)
Saying anything more here risks revealing too much. Even knowledge of this story’s existence is, in a way, a spoiler.
There’s always another secret.
it changed—for Ruin seemed to be doing what Kelsier himself had done: coopting a religion. Ruin was manipulating the hearts of the people by changing their lore and books. That terrified Kelsier. His purpose expanded, as he watched the world through these pulses. He didn’t just need to understand, he needed to fight this thing. This horrible force that would end all things, if it could. He struggled, therefore, with a desperation to understand what he saw. Why did Ruin transform the old Terris
an idea clicking in his mind. Ruin had tried to stab Elend, to frighten her. It was the right idea. He just hadn’t gone far enough. “Stab him,” Kelsier said. “What?” Preservation said, aghast. Kelsier pushed out of his prison bonds a few steps, approaching Fuzz, who stood just outside. He strained to the absolute limits of his fetters. “Stab him,” Kelsier said. “Use that knife at your belt, Fuzz. They can see you, and you can affect their world. Stab Elend Venture. Give her a reason to use
control him—but he couldn’t deny that he thirsted for something to drink, to numb the experience he’d just been through. That seemed terribly unfair. No body, but he could still be thirsty? He climbed from the caverns surrounding the Well of Ascension, passing through misty chambers and tunnels. As before, when he touched something he was able to see what it looked like in the real world. His footing was firm on the inconstant ground; though it was somewhat springy, like cloth, it held his
from the lake that bore its name, though most of the city’s populace determinedly ignored that fact. Lake Luthadel wasn’t the swimming or sport kind of lake, unless you fancied bathing in a soupy sludge that was more ash than it was water—and good luck catching what few fish remained after centuries of residing next to a city full of half-starved skaa. This close to the ashmounts, keeping the river and lake navigable had demanded the full-time attention of an entire class of people, the canal
better off there than it would have been here. Was he too late? Was Preservation already dead? He ran himself hard, the heft of the glass orb weighing down his pack. Perhaps it was the urgency, but his course became even more single-minded than it had been during his trip out. He didn’t want to see the failing world, the death all around him. Compared to that the exhaustion of the run was preferable, and so he sought it, running himself ragged. He traveled for days upon days. Weeks upon weeks.