The sky was a shattered pane of glass.

It hung low over the ridge. The light was hard. It cut the world in two.

Elias stood at the edge of the cliff. His boots were heavy. Mud caked the soles. He looked down. The valley was a throat. It swallowed the horizon.

He was a soldier. Or he had been. The uniform was gone. He wore a grey coat. It was too thin for the wind. The wind was a blade. It sliced through his ribs.

He had walked for three days. No water. No food. Only the weight of his legs. They were iron. They were stone.

He did not run. Running was for prey. He was not prey. He was the hunter. But the hunt was over. The beast was dead. The beast was him.

Behind him, the forest whispered. The trees were black teeth. They gnashed in the dark.

He thought of his mother. She was gone. She had died in the winter. The snow had taken her. It was a cold death. It was a quiet death.

He thought of the badge. It was in his pocket. It was heavy. It was a brick. It pinned him to the earth.

He had worn it for twenty years. Twenty years of duty. Twenty years of law. He had protected the town. He had kept the peace.

The peace was a lie.

The town was a beast. It ate the weak. It spit out the strong. It wanted blood. It wanted order. It wanted to see him break.

They had come for him. Not the law. The people. The mob. They held torches. They held stones. They held their hate.

He had run. He had jumped the fence. He had lost his horse. He had lost his name.

Now he was no one.

The sun began to sink. The sky turned to blood. The clouds were bruises. They spread across the dome.

Elias sat on a rock. The rock was cold. It seeped into his bones. He closed his eyes. He listened to the wind.

The wind spoke. It told him he was free.

Freedom was a cold thing. It bit. It burned. It left scars.

He had always believed in the chain. The chain held the world together. Without the chain, everything fell. The sky fell. The earth fell. He fell.

But the chain was broken.

He looked at his hands. They were rough. They were scarred. They had held a gun. They had held a woman. They had held the world.

Now they held nothing.

A bird cried out. It was a hawk. It circled high. It was alone. It was free.

Elias felt a pull in his chest. It was a hook. It dragged him down.

He remembered the day he joined the force. He was young. He was strong. He believed in justice. He believed in the badge.

Now he knew the truth. Justice was a mask. It hid the face of power. Power was a wolf. It wore the skin of a man.

The wolf was in the town. The wolf was in the church. The wolf was in the school.

He had tried to fight the wolf. He had failed.

The darkness came. It was thick. It was heavy. It pressed against his eyes.

He opened them. The stars were coming out. They were sharp. They were cold. They watched him.

They did not care. They did not judge. They simply were.

Elias stood up. His legs shook. He gripped the rock. The stone was rough. It bit into his palms.

He had a choice.

He could go back. He could surrender. He could let them take him. He could let them hang him.

Or he could stay.

He could stay on the edge. He could look down. He could let the world fall away.

He thought of the town. The lights were on. They were yellow. They were warm. They were a lie.

He thought of the people. They were afraid. They were angry. They were small.

He did not hate them. Hate was a fire. It burned. He was ash.

He felt a strange calm. It was like water. It was deep. It was still.

He looked at the sky again. The glass was still shattered. The pieces were everywhere. They were everywhere.

He realized something. The sky was not broken. The sky was whole. The pieces were just parts of a greater whole.

He was a piece. He was a fragment. He was a shard of the truth.

The truth was that he was free.

Freedom was not a gift. It was a wound. It bled. It ached. It never healed.

But it was his.

He took a step. Then another. He walked along the ridge. The path was narrow. The drop was steep.

He did not look down. He looked forward.

The stars were brighter now. They were a river. They flowed. They sang.

He felt the wind in his hair. It was cold. It was clean. It washed away the dust. It washed away the sweat. It washed away the blood.

He was clean.

He was light.

He was air.

He walked on. The night was deep. The silence was vast.

He did not know where he was going. He did not know if he would survive. He did not know if he would find water. He did not know if he would find rest.

He did not care.

He was alive.

That was enough.

The moon rose. It was a pale disc. It hung in the black. It was a coin. It was a promise.

Elias smiled. It was a small smile. It was a sad smile. It was a true smile.

He was no one. And that was everything.

The world was quiet. The world was vast. The world was his.

He walked into the dark.

The dark was not empty. The dark was full. It was full of possibility. It was full of life. It was full of death.

He walked.

His heart beat. Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was a drum. It was a clock. It was a life.

He did not stop.

The stars watched. The wind sang. The earth held him.

He was free.

The cost was high. The price was paid. The debt was cleared.

He was a man. He was a soldier. He was a ghost.

He was Elias.

He was gone.

The ridge stretched out before him. It was a line. It was a boundary. It was a bridge.

He crossed it.

The world fell away.

He fell.

He flew.

He was free.