Mistborn #03 The Hero of Ages

only a Misting—he can't burn duralumin.
    "Drinking on the job, Breeze?" TenSoon asked, raising a canine eyebrow.
    "Of course," Breeze said, raising the cup. "What good is being in charge if you can't set your own working conditions?"
    TenSoon snorted. He hadn't ever really liked Breeze—though perhaps that came from his bias against Soothers. Or, perhaps, his bias against all humans. Regardless, he wasn't inclined toward small talk. "Where is Vin?" he asked.
    Breeze frowned. "I thought you brought a message from her?"
    "I lied to the guards," TenSoon said. "I've actually come searching for her. I bring news she needs to hear—news regarding the mists and ash."
    "Well, then, my dear man . . . um . . . I suppose I mean my dear doggie. Anyway, let us retire; you can talk to Sazed. He's far more useful than I am regarding these sorts of things."
    ". . . and, with Spook barely having survived the ordeal," said the Terrisman, "I thought it best to let Lord Breeze take command. We set up shop in a different Ministry building—it seemed equipped to be a bureaucratic center—and had Breeze start listening to petitions. He is better at dealing with people than I am, I think, and seems to enjoy taking care of the day-to-day concerns of the citizenry."
    The Terrisman sat in his chair, a portfolio open on the desk before him, a pile of notes beside it. Sazed looked different to TenSoon for some reason that he couldn't pin down. The Keeper wore the same robes, and had the same Feruchemical bracers on his arms. There was something missing, however.
    That, however, was the least of TenSoon's problems.
    " Fadrex City? " TenSoon asked, sitting on his own chair. They were in one of the smaller rooms at the Ministry building—one that had once been an obligator's sleeping quarters. Now, it simply held a desk and chairs, the walls and floor as austere as one might expect for Ministry furnishings.
    Sazed nodded. "She and the emperor hoped to find another of these storage caverns there."
    TenSoon slumped. Fadrex was halfway across the empire. Even with the Blessing of Potency, it would take weeks for him to get there. He had a very, very long run ahead of him.
    "Might I ask what business you have with Lady Vin, kandra?" Sazed asked.
    TenSoon paused. It felt very odd, in a way, to speak so openly with Breeze, and now Sazed. These were men that TenSoon had watched for months while he acted like a dog. They'd never known him, yet he felt as if he knew them.
    He knew, for instance, that Sazed was dangerous. The Terrisman was a Keeper—a group that TenSoon and his brethren had been trained to avoid. Keepers were always prying for rumors, legends, and tales. The kandra had many secrets; if the Keepers were ever to discover the riches of kandra culture, it could be disastrous. They'd want to study, ask questions, and record what they found.
    TenSoon opened his mouth to say "Nothing." However, he stopped. Didn't he want someone to help with kandra culture? Someone who focused on religions, and who—perhaps—knew much of theology? Someone who knew about the legends of the Hero of Ages? Of all the members of the crew other than Vin, TenSoon had held Sazed in the highest regard.
    "It has to do with the Hero of Ages," TenSoon said carefully. "And the advent of the world's end."
    "Ah," Sazed said, rising. "Very well then. I shall give you whatever provisions you need. Will you be starting out immediately? Or, will you be staying here to rest for a time?"
    What? TenSoon thought. Sazed hadn't even twitched at the mention of religious matters. It didn't seem like him at all.
    Yet, Sazed continued speaking, as if TenSoon hadn't just hinted at one of the greatest religious secrets of their age.
    I'll never understand humans, he thought, shaking his head.

The prison Preservation created for Ruin was not created out of Preservation's power, though it was of Preservation. Rather, Preservation sacrificed his consciousness—one could say his mind—to fabricate that prison. He left a shadow of himself, but Ruin, once escaped, began to suffocate and isolate this small remnant vestige of his rival. I wonder if Ruin ever thought it strange that Preservation had cut himself off from his own power, relinquishing it and leaving it in the world, to be gathered and used by men.
    In Preservation's gambit, I see nobility, cleverness, and desperation. He knew that he could not defeat Ruin. He had given too much of himself and, beyond that, he was the embodiment