The chain hangs heavy in your hand.

It is iron. Cold. Old.

You are a knight.

You are tired.

The mud sucks at your boots. The rain falls thin and grey. You walk the road. You walk alone.

Your friend walks beside you. His name is Silas.

Silas is young.

Silas is bright.

He laughs at the rain. He kicks a stone. The stone flies into the ditch. He does not care.

You do not laugh.

You hold the chain.

It is a symbol. It is a burden.

The village is ahead. Smoke rises from the chimneys. It smells of wood and fear.

You know why you are here.

They call you a monster. They call you a witch. They call you a thief.

You are none of these things.

But the chain says otherwise.

The chain is the law.

The law is the King.

The King is dead.

The chain remains.

You see the first villager. He stands by the fence. He holds a pitchfork. His eyes are wide. They are wet. They are afraid.

You stop.

Silas stops.

"Who is that?" Silas asks. His voice is soft. It is curious.

"It is a man," you say.

"A man with a fork?"

"Yes."

Silas looks at you. He looks at the fork. He smiles. It is a small smile. It is sad.

"Shall we ask him for bread?" Silas asks.

You shake your head.

"He will not give it to us."

"Why?"

"Because he fears us."

Silas tilts his head. "Fear is a strange thing, Edward."

You do not answer.

You look at the chain.

The links are worn. The metal is smooth. It has been held by many hands. It has been dragged through many fields. It has bled.

You feel the weight of it.

It is not just iron.

It is memory.

It is time.

You walk on.

The village grows larger. The houses are wooden. They are dark. The windows are shut.

You see more people. They stand in groups. They whisper. They point.

A woman steps out. She holds a child. The child cries. The woman’s face is a mask. It is white. It is hard.

"Turn back," she says.

Her voice is sharp. It cuts the air.

You do not turn back.

You walk on.

Silas walks beside you.

He looks at the woman. He looks at the child.

"They are wrong," Silas says.

"Perhaps," you say.

"Or perhaps they are right."

You look at him.

He looks at you.

His eyes are clear. They are deep. They see you.

They see the chain.

They see the truth.

The truth is this:

You are not the first to hold this chain.

You will not be the last.

The wheel turns.

The wheel always turns.

You reach the square.

The square is empty.

The well is in the center.

The water is black.

You stand before the well.

The villagers gather.

They surround you.

They form a circle.

The circle is tight.

The circle is hard.

The circle is a wall.

You see the faces.

You see the anger.

You see the hatred.

You see the fear.

You see the self-righteousness.

You see the blindness.

They do not see you.

They see their sin.

They see their shame.

They see their need to cast out the other.

They need a scapegoat.

You are the scapegoat.

Silas stands by your side.

He does not flinch.

He does not look away.

He looks at them.

He looks at the chain in your hand.

"Give it to me," he says.

You look at him.

"What?"

"Give me the chain."

"Silas, no."

"Edward."

His voice is quiet.

It is firm.

It is primal.

It is the voice of instinct.

It is the voice of love.

You look at the chain.

You look at Silas.

You understand.

You do not want to understand.

But you do.

The chain is the curse.

The chain is the cycle.

To break the cycle, one must bear the weight.

One must sacrifice.

One must let go.

You open your hand.

The chain falls.

It falls into Silas’s hand.

The iron is cold.

It burns.

Silas does not drop it.

He holds it tight.

He holds it like a lifeline.

He holds it like a prayer.

The villagers gasp.

The woman with the child steps forward.

"Traitor," she screams.

"Heretic," another man yells.

"Death to the witch!"

The pitchforks rise.

The sticks rise.

The stones fly.

Silas steps forward.

He steps into the circle.

He steps into the hate.

He steps into the violence.

He holds the chain high.

The chain glints in the grey light.

It is beautiful.

It is terrible.

Silas looks at you.

He smiles.

It is a final smile.

It is a release.

He does not speak.

He does not need to speak.

The stones hit him.

The sticks break against his back.

The pitchforks pierce his side.

He does not fall.

He stands.

He stands tall.

He stands like a mountain.

He stands like a tree.

He stands like a witness.

The blood flows.

It is red.

It is warm.

It is life.

It runs down the chain.

It runs down his arm.

It runs into the earth.

The earth drinks it.

The earth remembers.

The villagers stop.

They look at him.

They look at the blood.

They look at the chain.

They are confused.

They are afraid.

They are broken.

The woman drops her pitchfork.

The child stops crying.

The man with the stick lowers his arm.

The anger fades.

The fear remains.

But the anger is gone.

The circle breaks.

The people step back.

They step away.

They run.

They run into the houses.

They shut the doors.

They lock the windows.

They hide.

The square is empty.

The rain falls.

The rain washes the blood.

The rain washes the chain.

Silas falls.

He falls to his knees.

He falls to the ground.

The chain lies beside him.

It is still.

It is quiet.

You kneel.

You take his hand.

His hand is cold.

His hand is still.

You look at his face.

His eyes are closed.

His face is peaceful.

He is gone.

You are alone.

The chain lies on the ground.

You look at it.

You reach for it.

Your hand trembles.

Your hand shakes.

You do not pick it up.

You do not hold it.

You leave it there.

You leave it in the mud.

You leave it in the rain.

You stand.

You turn.

You walk.

You walk away.

You walk into the wilderness.

You walk into the dark.

You walk into the night.

The chain remains.

The chain waits.

The wheel turns.

The wheel always turns.

But you are free.

You are free.

You are free.

The road is long.

The road is hard.

The road is endless.

You walk.

You walk.

You walk.

The stars come out.

The stars are cold.

The stars are bright.

They watch you.

They see you.

They do not judge.

They do not hate.

They do not fear.

They simply are.

You are simply you.

You are not the chain.

You are not the curse.

You are not the monster.

You are a man.

You are a friend.

You are a witness.

You witness the sacrifice.

You witness the truth.

You witness the end.

You witness the beginning.

The cycle is broken.

The chain is broken.

The weight is lifted.

The burden is gone.

You breathe.

The air is cold.

The air is clean.

The air is free.

You walk on.

You walk on.

You walk on.

The night is deep.

The night is dark.

The night is full.

You are full.

You are empty.

You are whole.

You are free.

The chain lies in the mud.

The rain washes it clean.

The rain washes it away.

The earth takes it.

The earth keeps it.

The earth remembers.

The wheel turns.

The wheel stops.

The wheel breaks.

The silence is loud.

The silence is sweet.

The silence is true.

You walk.

You walk.

You walk.

The morning comes.

The sun rises.

The sun is gold.

The sun is warm.

The sun is new.

You feel it on your face.

You feel it on your skin.

You feel it in your heart.

You are alive.

You are free.

You are free.

You are free.

The end.