The rain fell in thin, silver needles. It pricked the cobblestones. It pricked my boots. I stood in the courtyard. The stones were wet. They were cold. I held the key. It was brass. It was heavy. It burned my palm.

I am Sir Julian Thorne. I am the King’s Hand. I am a servant of the crown. I am a man who has forgotten how to sleep.

I walked toward the door. The door was oak. It was old. It groaned. I pushed it. It opened. The scent of dust hit me. The scent of decay. The scent of time.

I entered the chamber. It was dark. The windows were small. They looked out on nothing. I lit the candle. The flame wavered. It danced. It lied.

The mirror stood there.

It was large. It was tall. It was framed in gold. The gold was tarnished. It was dull. It wept with age. I looked at it. I looked at myself. My face was pale. My eyes were dark. My hair was gray. I was old. I was tired.

I reached for the glass. My hand shook. I touched it. It was cold. It was hard. It was alive.

I have guarded this mirror for ten years. I was the first. I was the only one. The King gave it to me. He said, Keep it safe. He said, It is a burden. He said, You will understand.

I did not understand. I did not want to understand. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my wife.

Her name is Eleanor. She waits for me. She waits in the small house. She waits by the fire. She waits with a cup of tea. She waits with a book. She waits for a man who is not there.

I am not there. I am here. I am trapped.

The mirror shows me what I am. It shows me what I have become. It shows me the rot. It shows me the fear. It shows me the lie.

I stepped back. My heart pounded. It beat in my throat. It beat in my chest. It beat in my bones.

Who is it? I asked the glass.

The glass did not answer. The glass did not move. The glass only reflected. It reflected the room. It reflected the candle. It reflected my shadow.

I sat down. I sat on the floor. The stone was cold. The stone was damp. I put my head in my hands. I wept. I did not know why. I wept because I was afraid. I wept because I was alone.

The door opened.

I looked up. A figure stood there. It was tall. It was thin. It wore a cloak. The cloak was black. The cloak was wet.

It was the King.

He stepped in. He closed the door. The latch clicked. It was a sound of finality. It was a sound of death.

"You are here," he said. His voice was soft. His voice was dry. It sounded like leaves.

"I am," I said. My voice was a whisper. My voice was broken.

"Good." He walked toward me. He walked slowly. He walked with purpose. "We must speak. We must settle the matter."

I stood up. My legs were stiff. My legs were weak. I straightened my spine. I bowed my head. I am a servant. I am a soldier. I am a fool.

"Your Majesty," I said. "I have guarded the mirror. I have kept the secret. I have done my duty."

"Duty," he repeated. He smiled. It was a cold smile. It was a sharp smile. It cut the air. "Duty is a poor word. Duty is a chain. Duty is a prison."

"I do not understand," I said. I looked at him. I looked into his eyes. They were blue. They were empty. They were deep.

"You will," he said. "Soon. You will understand everything."

He reached into his cloak. He pulled out a handkerchief. It was white. It was stained. He wiped his mouth. He wiped his lips. He watched me.

"Why did you choose me?" I asked. "Why me?"

He paused. He looked at the mirror. He looked at me. He looked at the space between.

"Because you are strong," he said. "Because you are loyal. Because you are weak."

I laughed. It was a dry sound. It was a bitter sound. "I am not weak. I am a soldier. I have killed men. I have bled for you. I have died for you."

"Yes," he said. "You have. But that is not enough. Not for this. This requires something else. This requires sacrifice. This requires truth."

"The truth?" I asked. "What truth?"

He stepped closer. He was near now. I could smell him. He smelled of rain. He smelled of iron. He smelled of death.

"The truth is this," he said. "The mirror does not show the past. The mirror does not show the present. The mirror shows the end. The mirror shows the death."

I froze. The air left my lungs. The air left my body. I felt nothing. I felt cold.

"No," I said. "No. That is a lie. That is a curse."

"It is not a curse," he said. "It is a gift. It is a warning. It allows us to prepare. It allows us to accept. It allows us to let go."

"Let go of what?" I asked. My voice shook. My voice trembled.

"Let go of hope," he said. "Let go of life. Let go of the illusion that we can change. That we can save. That we can stay."

I looked at the mirror. I looked at my reflection. I saw it. I saw it clearly. I saw the blood. I saw the knife. I saw the fall. I saw the end.

I saw myself dead.

I turned to the King. My face was a mask. My face was stone. "You have lied to me," I said. "For ten years. You have lied to me."

"I have guided you," he said. "I have protected you. I have kept you safe. From yourself."

"From myself?" I asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means you are not ready," he said. "You are not ready to see. You are not ready to know. You are a child. You are a fool. You think you can fight fate. You think you can conquer death. You think you can save your wife."

My wife. Eleanor.

The thought hit me. It hit me like a hammer. It hit me in the chest. It broke my ribs.

"She is safe," I said. "She is in the house. She is alive. She is waiting."

"Is she?" he asked. He tilted his head. He tilted it to the side. Like a bird. Like a vulture. "Go and see. Go and check. Go and verify."

I shook my head. I shook it hard. "No. No. I will not go. I will not look. I will not know."

"You must," he said. "You must know. That is the rule. That is the price. You hold the key. You hold the truth. You must look."

I looked at the door. I looked at the key in my hand. I looked at the King.

"If I look," I said. "If I see. What then?"

"Then you will understand," he said. "Then you will be free."

"Free?" I asked. "Free from what?"

"Free from the waiting. Free from the wondering. Free from the pain."

I gripped the key. I gripped it tight. The metal bit into my skin. The metal bled.

"I will not go," I said. "I will stay. I will guard the mirror. I will keep the secret. I will live in the dark. I will live in the not knowing. I will keep her alive in my mind. I will keep her safe in my heart."

The King looked at me. He looked at me for a long time. The candle flickered. The flame danced. The shadow grew.

"Stubborn," he said. "Very stubborn. Like your father. Like your mother. Like all the men who come to this room. You think ignorance is bliss. You think blindness is strength. You are wrong."

"I am right," I said. "I am alive. That is all that matters."

"Are you?" he asked. "Are you alive? Or are you just waiting to die?"

I did not answer. I could not answer. I stood there. I stood in the silence. I stood in the dark.

He walked to the door. He opened it. The rain poured in. The rain soaked the floor. The rain soaked my boots.

"Come," he said. "It is time."

"I will not come," I said. "I will not go. I will stay here. I will guard the mirror. I will be the ghost. I will be the shadow. I will be the silence."

He stopped. He turned. He looked at me. His eyes were hard. His eyes were cruel.

"You are a fool, Julian," he said. "You are a very, very fool. You think you are protecting her. You think you are saving her. You are only delaying the end. You are only making the pain longer. You are only making the death worse."

"Let me go," I said. "Let me be a fool. Let me be wrong. Let me be alive."

He shook his head. He shook it slowly. He shook it sadly.

"I cannot let you," he said. "I must. I have to. The mirror is waking. The mirror is hungry. It needs a witness. It needs a voice. It needs you."

He raised his hand. He raised it high. The air changed. The air grew heavy. The air grew thick.

I felt it. I felt the pull. I felt the drag. I felt the weight.

I tried to move. I could not. My legs would not move. My arms would not move. My body was stone. My body was lead. My body was dead.

"Look," he said. "Look at the mirror."

I tried to look away. I tried to close my eyes. I could not. I was forced. I was compelled. I was trapped.

I looked.

The mirror changed. The glass rippled. The glass swirled. The glass became water. The water became smoke. The smoke became light.

I saw it.

I saw the house. I saw the small house. I saw the fire. I saw the tea. I saw Eleanor.

She was there. She was sitting. She was reading. She was smiling. She was happy.

And then I saw the man.

He stood in the doorway. He held a knife. He held a gun. He held a shadow.

He stepped in. He moved to her. He raised the weapon. He struck.

I screamed. I screamed inside. I screamed outside. The sound tore my throat. The sound broke the air.

But she did not fall. She did not bleed. She did not die.

She looked up. She looked at the mirror. She looked at me.

She smiled.

She reached out. She touched the glass. She touched my hand.

She whispered. I could not hear her. I could not hear the words. But I felt them. I felt the love. I felt the pain. I felt the end.

The mirror cracked.

It started at the center. It started with a thin line. The line spread. The line grew. The line became a web. The web became a storm.

The King laughed. He laughed softly. He laughed sadly.

"See?" he said. "See? It is done. It is over. You know now. You are free."

The mirror shattered.

It exploded. It burst. It flew. Shards of glass rained down. They cut the air. They cut the light. They cut the truth.

I fell. I fell to the floor. The glass cut my hands. The glass cut my face. The glass cut my soul.

I bled. I bled red. I bled bright. I bled warm.

The King stood over me. He watched. He watched with pity. He watched with pride.

"You were right to be afraid," he said. "But you were wrong to be afraid. The truth is not a curse. The truth is a release. You are free now, Julian. You are free from the weight. You are free from the lie."

I looked at the shards. I looked at the empty frame. I looked at the wall.

I looked at my hands. I looked at the blood. I looked at the pain.

I was not free.

I was not alive.

I was only left.

I was only what remained.

The rain stopped. The rain was gone. The sky was clear. The sky was gray. The sky was empty.

I closed my eyes. I closed them tight. I closed them forever.

I am Julian Thorne. I am the King’s Hand. I am a servant of the crown. I am a man who has forgotten how to sleep.

I am awake.

I am alone.

I am free.