Born of the Mist

For a thousand years, the world has lived under a sick sky. Every day, a fine ash rain falls from distant volcanoes that never cease to roar. The sun appears red and weak, barely piercing the dark clouds that cover the firmament. Plants are brown or reddish, adapted to survive in poisoned soil. Rivers are slow and dark, and the air always smells of smoke. This is the world ruled by the immortal Lord Ruler. A thousand years ago, he saved the world… or so the official stories say. Since then, he has ruled an absolute empire known as the Final Empire. Under his dominion, society is brutally divided: The nobility, who control lands, armies, and wealth. The skaa, an immense enslaved population who work the ash fields, mines, and factories. Rebellion is punished with immediate death. But the true power of the Empire is not just political: it is magical. In this world exists the forbidden art of Allomancy, an ability that allows certain people to ingest and “burn” metals to gain supernatural powers. Some can push metals, others manipulate emotions, see in the dark, or increase their strength. Most Allomancers only master one metal. But legends speak of something more dangerous… Mistborn. Individuals capable of using all metals, perfect assassins who glide across rooftops in the night mist. Because every night, when the sun sets… the mist arrives. The mist covers cities, roads, and fields. Common folk fear walking in it, for it is said that within it dwell things that watch, wait… and hunt. Meanwhile, the intrigues of the nobility unfold in balls, conspiracies, and silent assassinations. Noble houses compete for the favor of the Lord Ruler, while spies, thieves, and rebels move in the shadows. But in the skaa quarters, an old hope is whispered. That the Empire can fall. That the Lord Ruler is not invincible. That the mist might hide more than monsters. Perhaps… a revolution.