You are old.

Your hands shake.

Not from cold.

From time.

The candle gutters.

The wax pools.

Hot.

Sticky.

You stare at it.

Your brother is dead.

He has been dead for years.

Or perhaps days.

Time bends here.

It stretches.

It snaps.

You are in the Tower.

The stone is cold.

The air smells of wet wool and rust.

You are the Keeper.

You are the Merchant of Hours.

This is a strange trade.

You do not sell coins.

You sell moments.

Captured.

Bottled.

Waiting.

The Council comes.

They always come.

They wear grey.

Grey robes.

Grey faces.

They look like ash.

They look like dust.

You hate them.

You love them.

You fear them.

You are alone.

But they are here.

Now.

The door creaks.

It groans.

A low sound.

Like a dying beast.

Three figures enter.

Tall.

Thin.

Silent.

The lead one steps forward.

He is old.

Older than you.

His eyes are milky.

Clouded.

He does not blink.

He looks at you.

He looks through you.

"Merchant," he says.

His voice is dry.

Like leaves on stone.

"I am here," he says.

"I know," you say.

Your voice is rough.

You clear your throat.

"Take a seat," you say.

They do not sit.

They stand.

They watch.

The silence grows.

It thickens.

It presses against your ears.

You feel it in your teeth.

You feel it in your bones.

You reach for the bottle.

It is on the table.

Glass.

Clear.

Inside, a swirl of light.

Gold.

Warm.

It is the last one.

It is the hour of the sunset.

The one your brother loved.

The one he watched from the balcony.

The one before the fall.

You hold it.

Your fingers tremble.

The glass is cold.

The light is warm.

It fights your grip.

It wants to escape.

It wants to be free.

The Council speaks.

The second figure steps out.

She is young.

Too young.

Her face is smooth.

Unlined.

Her eyes are sharp.

Blue.

Cold.

"We need the Hour," she says.

"Who needs it?" you ask.

"The State," she says.

"The Kingdom," he says.

The first man.

The old one.

He steps closer.

He smells of rot.

Sweet.

Faint.

"Give it," he says.

"I cannot," you say.

"Why?" she asks.

"It is mine," you say.

"It belongs to the past," you say.

"It belongs to the dead," you say.

They laugh.

A dry laugh.

Like cracking wood.

"It is a resource," she says.

"It is power," he says.

"It is fuel," she says.

You look at them.

You look at the bottle.

The light swirls.

It pulses.

Like a heart.

You think of your brother.

Thomas.

He used to dance.

In the garden.

In the rain.

He was alive.

He was bright.

He is gone.

Only this is left.

Only this hour.

Only this sunset.

"Take it," you say.

Your voice is low.

A whisper.

A threat.

They stop.

The air freezes.

The candle flame stands still.

The second woman tilts her head.

Confused.

Angry.

"You dare refuse?" she says.

"I dare," you say.

You raise the bottle.

You tighten your grip.

The glass creaks.

It cracks.

A hairline fracture.

You see it.

They see it.

The old man smiles.

It is a cruel smile.

"Break it," he says.

"Keep it," he says.

"We will take the rest," he says.

"Take us," you say.

They step forward.

The stone floor shakes.

The shadows lengthen.

They reach for you.

Their hands are grey.

They are cold.

They touch your shoulder.

You feel the chill.

It bites.

It burns.

You fight.

You push.

Your muscles ache.

Your bones groan.

You are strong.

You are old.

You are tired.

You are angry.

You throw the bottle.

It flies.

It arcs.

It spins.

Time slows.

You watch it.

The light inside blazes.

Gold.

Bright.

Blinding.

It hits the wall.

It does not break.

It shatters.

But not the glass.

The air.

The space.

A crack appears.

In the world.

In the stone.

In the dark.

Light pours out.

Golden light.

Warm light.

It fills the room.

It fills the tower.

It fills you.

You feel it.

It is love.

It is memory.

It is life.

The Council screams.

They cover their eyes.

They fall back.

The light is too much.

It is truth.

It is real.

They are shadows.

They are lies.

They are the void.

You are the keeper.

You are the gate.

You are the man.

The light fades.

The crack closes.

The room is dark again.

The candle is out.

Only the embers glow.

Red.

Fading.

The Council is gone.

They vanished.

Like smoke.

Like mist.

You are alone.

You look at your hands.

They are still shaking.

You look at the floor.

There is a hole.

In the stone.

A small hole.

Dark.

Deep.

You walk to it.

You kneel.

You look down.

You see nothing.

You see everything.

You see Thomas.

He is there.

In the dark.

In the light.

He is smiling.

He is waiting.

You touch the edge.

The stone is warm.

You close your eyes.

You feel the weight.

The years.

The loss.

The love.

It is heavy.

It is sweet.

You are tired.

You are free.

You are done.

The tower groans.

It settles.

It sighs.

You are the last.

You are the first.

You are the Merchant.

You are the Ghost.

You are the Man.

You open your eyes.

The room is empty.

The candle is dead.

The air is still.

You stand up.

Your knees pop.

Your back hurts.

You walk to the door.

It is locked.

It was always locked.

You push.

It opens.

The night air hits you.

Cold.

Clean.

Fresh.

You step out.

The balcony is wide.

The city is below.

It is dark.

It is silent.

You look up.

The sky is clear.

The stars are out.

They are bright.

They are close.

You look for one.

The sunset star.

The golden one.

It is not there.

It is gone.

It is everywhere.

You breathe.

You inhale.

You exhale.

You are old.

You are young.

You are free.

You are dead.

You are alive.

The wind blows.

It tugs at your robe.

You let it.

You let go.

You let time take you.

You let the years.

You let the pain.

You let the love.

You stand still.

You look down.

The city sleeps.

The people dream.

They do not know.

They do not care.

They live.

You watch.

You wait.

The darkness comes.

It is gentle.

It is kind.

It is final.

You smile.

You close your eyes.

You fall.

Not down.

Up.

Into the light.

Into the dark.

Into the rest.

The tower stands.

The stone waits.

The night holds.

The story ends.

The silence stays.

You are gone.

You are here.

Always.