The sword breaks. It snaps at the hilt. You hold the handle in your left hand, the blade in your right. The steel is cold. The steel is dead. It has no song. It has no teeth. You are standing in the hall. The hall is dark. The air is thick. It smells of iron. It smells of old blood. It smells of fear.

Sir Thomas stands before you. He is tall. He is grey. His eyes are like flint. He looks at your hands. He looks at the broken sword. He does not speak. The silence is a wall. It presses against your chest. It presses against your throat. You feel the weight of it. You feel the weight of the room. The chandelier hangs above. It is made of bone. It is made of glass. It glows with a sickly light. The light is yellow. The light is old. It has seen too much.

You are the Knight. You are the shield. You are the wall. You have kept the gate. You have kept the peace. You have kept the King. But the gate is broken. The peace is gone. The King is a ghost. The King is a shadow. The King is nothing. You are left with the silence. You are left with the ash. You are left with the pain in your arm. Your arm is aching. Your arm is burning. The bone is singing. The bone is screaming.

"Did you see it?" Sir Thomas asks. His voice is low. His voice is soft. It is like sand. It is like dust. It erases things. It erases the past. It erases the truth.

"I saw everything," you say. Your voice is rough. Your voice is dry. It scratches the air. It scratches the dark. You do not know what to say. You do not know what to do. You stand still. You are a statue. You are a stone. You are a thing of no worth.

The fire in the hearth is dying. The coals are red. The coals are black. They spit. They crack. They whisper. They tell lies. They tell truths. They tell nothing. You look at your hands. They are red. The blood is yours. The blood is the enemy’s. It does not matter. It is the same. It is the same red. It is the same cold. It is the same end.

You think of the morning. You think of the gate. The gate was open. The gate was wide. The sky was blue. The sky was clear. There were no clouds. There were no storms. There was only light. There was only air. You walked out. You walked to the field. The field was green. The grass was high. The grass was wet. The dew was cold. The dew was sharp. It cut your face. It cut your soul.

You remember the horse. The horse was brown. The horse was strong. The horse breathed on your hand. The horse smelled of hay. The horse smelled of earth. You touched its nose. You felt its pulse. You felt its life. It was a living thing. It was a friend. It was a brother. You will never see it again. It is gone. It is dust. It is memory.

You remember the enemy. The enemy was small. The enemy was weak. The enemy was afraid. The enemy ran. The enemy fell. The enemy died. It was so easy. It was so simple. It was so wrong. You did not want to kill. You did not want to hurt. You did not want to bleed. But the duty was there. The duty was heavy. The duty was a chain. The duty was a noose. You had to follow. You had to obey. You had to be the weapon. You had to be the stone.

Sir Thomas steps closer. He is close. He is too close. You can smell his breath. You can smell his wine. You can smell his rot. He is old. He is sick. He is tired. He has fought too many wars. He has lost too many friends. He has lost too much hope. He is a ruin. He is a wreck. He is a ghost.

"You held the line," he says. His eyes are wet. His eyes are bright. They shine in the dark. They shine in the soul. "You held the line, Edward."

He knows your name. He has always known your name. You are Edward. You are the Knight. You are the servant. You are the tool. You are the hand. You are the eye. You are the ear. You are the voice. You are the will. You are the nothing.

"I held the line," you repeat. The words taste like metal. The words taste like ash. They stick in your throat. They stick in your mind. They will not leave. They will not go. They are a curse. They are a brand. They are a mark.

"The King is dead," Sir Thomas says. The words fall. They fall like stones. They fall like rain. They fall like snow. They cover the ground. They cover the sky. They cover the heart. "The King is dead, Edward. And we are alone."

The hall is quiet. The hall is still. The air is heavy. The air is thick. It is hard to breathe. It is hard to think. It is hard to feel. You feel the pain in your arm. You feel the pain in your chest. You feel the pain in your soul. It is a sharp pain. It is a deep pain. It is a true pain. It is the pain of truth.

You look at the broken sword. You look at the steel. The steel is dull. The steel is dark. It reflects nothing. It reflects only you. It reflects your face. It reflects your eyes. It reflects your shame. It reflects your guilt. It reflects your fear. It reflects your death.

You are dying. You are dying inside. You are dying outside. You are dying everywhere. You are dying in the dark. You are dying in the light. You are dying in the silence. You are dying in the noise. You are dying in the past. You are dying in the present. You are dying in the future. You are dying now. You are dying always. You are dying forever.

Sir Thomas reaches out. He reaches for your hand. His hand is cold. His hand is dry. His hand is empty. He takes your hand. He holds your hand. He squeezes your hand. He holds on tight. He does not let go. He will not let go. He is holding on to you. He is holding on to the past. He is holding on to the hope. He is holding on to the life.

"We must go," he says. His voice is weak. His voice is thin. It is like a thread. It is like a wire. It is like a hair. It can break. It can snap. It can vanish. "We must go, Edward. We must leave the hall. We must leave the dark. We must leave the dead."

You stand up. Your legs are weak. Your legs are shaky. They tremble. They shake. They shake like leaves. They shake like rain. They shake like wind. You are falling. You are falling down. You are falling away. You are falling into the void. You are falling into the night. You are falling into the end.

Sir Thomas holds you up. He holds you steady. He holds you strong. He is the pillar. He is the stone. He is the wall. He is the shield. He is the knight. He is the servant. He is the tool. He is the hand. He is the eye. He is the ear. He is the voice. He is the will. He is the nothing.

You walk together. You walk slowly. You walk carefully. You walk softly. Your feet make no sound. Your steps are light. Your steps are ghostly. Your steps are silent. You are ghosts. You are shadows. You are memories. You are dreams. You are nothing.

You walk through the hall. You walk past the throne. The throne is empty. The throne is cold. The throne is dark. It is a tomb. It is a grave. It is a hole. It is a void. It is an absence. It is a lack. It is a silence. It is a death.

You walk to the door. The door is heavy. The door is old. The door is iron. The door is steel. The door is stone. The door is wood. The door is everything. The door is nothing. You push the door. You push it hard. You push it with all your might. You push it with all your strength. You push it with all your soul.

The door opens. The door swings wide. The light comes in. The light is bright. The light is white. The light is pure. The light is clean. The light is new. The light is life. The light is hope. The light is love. The light is truth. The light is everything.

You step out. You step into the light. You step into the day. You step into the world. The world is wide. The world is open. The world is free. The world is yours. The world is ours. The world is theirs. The world is everyone’s. The world is no one’s.

You look at the sky. The sky is blue. The sky is clear. The sky is empty. The sky is infinite. The sky is endless. The sky is eternal. The sky is forever. The sky is now. The sky is here. The sky is you.

You feel the sun. The sun is warm. The sun is hot. The sun is bright. The sun is strong. The sun is life. The sun is love. The sun is hope. The sun is truth. The sun is everything.

You feel the wind. The wind is cool. The wind is fresh. The wind is clean. The wind is new. The wind is life. The wind is love. The wind is hope. The wind is truth. The wind is everything.

You feel the earth. The earth is solid. The earth is real. The earth is true. The earth is here. The earth is now. The earth is you. The earth is us. The earth is them. The earth is everything.

You are alive. You are here. You are now. You are real. You are true. You are free. You are whole. You are complete. You are finished. You are done. You are ended. You are begun.

Sir Thomas stands beside you. He looks at the sky. He looks at the sun. He looks at the wind. He looks at the earth. He looks at you. He smiles. He smiles softly. He smiles gently. He smiles sadly. He smiles truly. He smiles deeply. He smiles forever.

"You are free," he says. His voice is gone. His voice is dust. His voice is wind. His voice is air. His voice is light. His voice is love. His voice is truth. His voice is everything.

You nod. You nod slowly. You nod carefully. You nod softly. You nod silently. You nod deeply. You nod truly. You nod forever.

You are free. You are free. You are free.

The pain is gone. The pain is dust. The pain is wind. The pain is air. The pain is light. The pain is love. The pain is truth. The pain is everything.

You are free.