The rain did not fall. It hung.

A grey curtain. Thick. Wet.

I stood at the gate. The iron was cold. It bit my fingers. I wore the uniform. The wool soaked through. It clung. Heavy. Like a shroud.

I was a soldier of the Order. Or so I was told. The Order of the Stone Gate. We guarded the threshold. Between the world of men and the world of the mist. We did not ask questions. We held the line.

My superior, Lord Blackwood, stood behind me. His face was a mask. Pale. Waxen. He watched me. He always watched.

"Stay," he said. His voice was dry leaves. "Do not enter."

I looked at the mist. It swirled. It breathed.

"I must," I said. My voice cracked. "The map."

Blackwood turned. His eyes were voids. "The map is a lie. The order is the truth. You will stay. You will watch."

I looked back at the gate. The iron bars were rusted. They looked like ribs. They looked like cages.

I thought of the village. I thought of the people. They were waiting. They were starving. Not for food. For sight. For the truth.

I stepped forward.

Blackwood moved. Fast. A blur of grey. He grabbed my arm. His grip was iron. Stronger than the gate.

"You cannot go," he hissed. "It will kill you. It will change you. You will not come back."

I twisted. I pulled free.

I kicked him. Hard. In the gut.

He staggered. He gasped. A wet sound. Like a dog.

I ran.

I threw myself at the bars. I pushed. I screamed. The iron held. The mist pressed against me. It was warm. It smelled of old flowers. Of rot. Of memory.

I remembered the instruction. The secret code. The one Blackwood never spoke. The one found in the cellar. Written in blood on the stone floor.

*The gate knows the knower.*

I closed my eyes.

I reached out. Not with my hands. With my mind. I pushed against the air. I pushed against the fear.

The bars shivered.

A crack.

A snap.

One bar broke.

I squeezed through.

The mist swallowed me.

I was gone.

I was nowhere.

I was everywhere.

The world spun. Colors bled. Red. Blue. Gold.

I saw the village.

It was not a village. It was a ruin.

The houses were made of bone. The streets were paved with teeth. The sky was a bruised eye.

I walked. My boots sank into the soft earth. The earth pulsed. It was alive.

I heard voices.

They sang. A low hum. A drone.

I followed the sound.

I found the square.

In the center stood a tower. It was tall. It was black. It had no doors. No windows. Only a single point of light at the top.

I climbed.

The steps were sharp. They cut my feet. I bled. The blood ran down. It hissed on the stone.

I reached the top.

The light was a mirror.

A large mirror. Hanging in the air.

I looked in.

I saw myself.

But not as I was.

I saw a monster.

My face was stretched. My eyes were too wide. My mouth was a hole. I wore the uniform. But it was made of skin. Human skin. I could see the hair. The scars. The wrinkles.

I looked closer.

I saw the faces in the skin.

They were the people.

The villagers.

My mother. My father. My friends.

They were trapped in the fabric. They moved. They screamed. They begged.

I looked at my hands.

They were covered in faces.

I was the uniform.

I was the gate.

I was the guard.

I had not been guarding the mist.

I had been guarding us.

The truth hit me. A physical blow. I fell to my knees.

The mist was not outside.

The mist was inside.

We were the mist.

The Order did not keep the monsters out.

The Order kept the monsters in.

And we were the monsters.

We were the hunger. We were the void. We were the thing that ate the light.

I looked at the mirror again.

The face in the glass was Blackwood.

He was not my superior.

He was my reflection.

He was the part of me that wanted to hide. The part that wanted to stay in the dark. The part that was safe.

He smiled.

A cruel smile.

"Welcome back," he said.

I stood up.

My body was shaking.

I understood.

Knowledge was the curse.

To know the truth was to become the truth.

I could not go back.

If I went back, I would be the gate. I would be the cage. I would feed on their fear. I would wear their skin.

I looked at the mirror.

I looked at the monster.

I looked at the faces in the skin.

I saw their pain.

I felt it.

It was a roar. A primal scream.

I could not save them.

I could only release them.

I raised my hand.

I struck the mirror.

The glass shattered.

The sound was a thunderclap.

The light exploded.

White. Blinding. Pure.

The mist screamed.

The tower crumbled.

The bone houses dissolved.

The sky cleared.

I fell.

I fell into the rain.

The real rain.

Cold. Clean.

I landed in the mud.

I lay there.

My body was broken. My ribs were cracked. My head bled.

But I was free.

The mist was gone.

The gate was gone.

The Order was gone.

I was alone.

I looked up.

The sky was blue.

It was a deep, honest blue.

No more grey curtain.

I tried to breathe.

The air tasted of iron and earth.

I was weak. I was dying.

But I was not the monster.

I was not the gate.

I was a man.

A broken man.

But a man.

I heard footsteps.

Crunching on the gravel.

I turned my head.

A group of people stood at the edge of the field.

They were the villagers.

They wore rags. They were dirty. They were afraid.

They looked at me.

They did not see a monster.

They did not see a soldier.

They saw a man.

A man who had broken the world to let the light in.

An old woman stepped forward.

Her face was lined with grief.

She walked toward me.

She knelt.

She took my hand.

Her grip was warm.

Human.

"Thank you," she whispered.

I could not speak.

I could only weep.

The tears mixed with the mud on my face.

The sun rose.

It touched my skin.

It burned.

It healed.

I closed my eyes.

The pain was still there.

The loss was still there.

The knowledge was still there.

I knew what I had been.

I knew what they had been.

I knew what the world was.

It was fragile.

It was broken.

It was beautiful.

I opened my eyes.

The woman was still holding my hand.

The others were watching.

Silence.

The rain stopped.

The sun shone.

I was alone with the truth.

And the truth was heavy.

But I held it.

I held it.

I held it.