The bell rang.

It did not ring in the air. It rang in my teeth.

“Again,” said the Warden.

His voice was dry. Like leaves in a gutter.

I looked down.

My hands were red.

Not with blood.

With rust.

“Again,” he said.

He stood by the high window.

The glass was old.

It hummed.

A low, sick hum.

The room was small.

Stone walls.

Damp.

The smell of iron.

My father’s smell.

I picked up the file.

It was heavy.

It was always heavy.

“Do not stop,” the Warden said.

He was my ally.

He was also my jailer.

We did not speak of this.

We never spoke of it.

I filed.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

The sound was loud.

It filled the room.

It filled my head.

I thought of the castle.

The high towers.

The red banners.

They were gone now.

Only the stone remained.

Only the file remained.

“Is it done?” the Warden asked.

He leaned on the sill.

His face was pale.

He looked tired.

I shook my head.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it must be.”

He nodded.

He understood.

He always understood.

That was the trap.

He helped me.

He kept me here.

He kept me filing.

I looked at the object.

It was a mirror.

No.

It was a shield.

It was a piece of my father’s armor.

He had died for it.

I was dying for it.

“Look at me,” he said.

I looked up.

His eyes were dark.

Deep wells.

“You are wasting away,” he said.

“Am I?”

“Your hands.”

I looked at my hands.

The skin was peeling.

The nails were black.

“Let me go,” I said.

The words felt strange.

They felt like stones.

Heavy stones in my mouth.

“No,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because you are not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For the cycle.”

I laughed.

It was a dry sound.

A cracking sound.

“Cycle,” I said.

“The wheel turns,” he said.

“It never stops.”

“I want it to stop.”

“It cannot.”

He turned away.

He looked out the window.

The sky was gray.

The clouds were low.

They pressed against the glass.

Like ghosts.

“Eat,” he said.

He pointed to the tray.

Bread.

Cheese.

Water.

I did not eat.

I kept filing.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

The shield grew thin.

I could see the light through it.

Faint.

Golden.

Like honey.

Like blood.

It was beautiful.

It was terrible.

I loved it.

I hated it.

I was it.

The Warden came back.

He stood close.

I could smell his breath.

Stale.

Cold.

“Do you remember your father?” he asked.

I stopped.

The file hung in my hand.

“Who?” I asked.

I did not know.

I did not want to know.

“Your father,” he said.

“He was a knight.”

“He was a fool.”

The words came out sharp.

Quick.

Like a knife.

The Warden flinched.

He stepped back.

His face changed.

Fear.

Not of me.

Of the truth.

“He was brave,” the Warden said.

“Brave,” I said.

“Stupid is brave.”

I looked at the shield.

It was almost gone.

Just a sliver.

A line of metal.

I held it up.

The light went through.

It cut my hand.

A thin line of red.

It did not hurt.

It felt warm.

Like a kiss.

I looked at the Warden.

His face was open.

Soft.

He saw it.

He saw the blood.

He saw the light.

He knew.

“I am sorry,” he said.

His voice was low.

Broken.

“No,” I said.

I dropped the shield.

It clattered on the stone.

It was just a piece of junk now.

Broken.

Useless.

I looked at my hand.

The blood was spreading.

It painted my palm.

Red.

Bright.

I wiped it on my tunic.

The red stained the gray cloth.

I looked at the Warden.

He was crying.

Silent tears.

Rolling down his cheeks.

He looked old.

So old.

“Why did you keep me?” I asked.

He did not answer.

He could not.

I stood up.

My legs were weak.

They shook.

I leaned on the wall.

The stone was cold.

It burned me.

I walked to the door.

It was locked.

I knocked.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

No answer.

I knocked harder.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It came back to me.

Larger.

Louder.

I stopped.

I listened.

There was a sound.

Behind me.

A hum.

The window.

The glass was vibrating.

I turned.

The Warden was gone.

The sill was empty.

The window was open.

The wind blew in.

It was cold.

It smelled of rain.

It smelled of the field.

My father’s field.

I walked to the window.

I put my hand on the glass.

It was warm.

It was alive.

I saw the sky.

It was clear.

Blue.

Deep blue.

Like a vein.

I saw the clouds.

They were moving.

Fast.

Like birds.

Like horses.

Like men.

I saw my father.

He was on a horse.

He held a sword.

He looked at me.

He smiled.

It was a sad smile.

A tired smile.

He raised his hand.

He waved.

I waved back.

My hand was red.

The blood dripped.

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.

It fell through the window.

It fell into the air.

It became a bird.

A red bird.

It flew up.

Into the blue.

I watched it go.

I did not chase it.

I did not scream.

I stood there.

I was still.

The wind blew my hair.

It touched my face.

It felt like a hand.

A gentle hand.

My mother’s hand.

My father’s hand.

The Warden’s hand.

The hand of the stone.

The hand of the file.

I closed my eyes.

I felt the cold.

I felt the heat.

I felt the weight.

It was gone.

The weight was gone.

I opened my eyes.

The room was empty.

The tray was gone.

The file was gone.

The shield was gone.

Only the light remained.

It filled the room.

It filled my chest.

It filled my lungs.

I took a breath.

It was hard.

It was sweet.

I smiled.

It hurt.

But I smiled.

I looked at my hand.

It was clean.

The red was gone.

The skin was pale.

Smooth.

New.

I looked at the window.

The glass was gone.

Only the frame remained.

Open.

Wide.

The world was there.

Waiting.

I stepped forward.

My foot touched the air.

It did not fall.

I walked on the air.

It was solid.

It was light.

I walked out.

Into the sky.

I did not look down.

I did not look back.

I walked on.

The wind pushed me.

The wind pulled me.

I was the wind.

I was the cloud.

I was the rain.

I was the stone.

I was the file.

I was the shield.

I was the blood.

I was the light.

I was the cycle.

It turned.

It always turns.

But I was light.

And light does not turn.

It goes.

It goes straight.

It goes far.

I went.

I went.

I went.

The Warden was waiting.

He was on the ground.

He looked up.

His face was bright.

He did not look old.

He looked young.

He looked like a boy.

He held his hands out.

He did not speak.

I did not speak.

We did not need to.

We knew.

We had always known.

I reached down.

I took his hand.

His hand was warm.

His hand was soft.

He pulled me down.

I fell.

I did not crash.

I landed.

Softly.

Like a leaf.

Like a feather.

Like a whisper.

We stood up.

We looked at each other.

We smiled.

We walked away.

Into the field.

Into the green.

Into the life.

The castle was behind us.

It was small.

Gray.

Dead.

We did not look at it.

We looked at the horizon.

It was endless.

It was new.

It was ours.

We walked.

Step by step.

Breath by breath.

The sun was high.

It was warm.

It was kind.

It did not burn.

It healed.

We walked on.

The grass grew tall.

The flowers bloomed.

The birds sang.

The world was loud.

It was alive.

We were alive.

We were together.

We were free.

The cycle was broken.

The wheel had stopped.

The file was gone.

The shield was gone.

The blood was gone.

Only the love remained.

Primal.

Deep.

Unbreakable.

We walked.

We walked.

We walked.

Until we were gone.

Until we were the wind.

Until we were the rain.

Until we were the earth.

Until we were the stone.

Until we were the light.

It is done.

It is done.

It is done.