The bridge was made of bone.

It stretched across the black water. The water did not move. It was thick like oil. It smelled of rust. Elias held the lantern. The glass was cracked. A single flame burned inside. It was small. It was warm. It was the only thing that was real.

He walked. His boots were heavy. The soles were worn thin. He could feel the cold of the bone under his feet. It seeped into his shins. It seeped into his bones. He did not look down. He looked forward. He looked at the end of the bridge.

There was a door at the end.

The door was gold. It was heavy. It was closed.

Elias stopped. He breathed. The air was thin. It tasted of ash. He raised the lantern. The light hit the gold. The gold did not shine. It drank the light. It swallowed the flame.

He felt a pull.

It was a pull in his chest. It was a hollow ache. It was the shape of a woman. It was the shape of a name.

Elara.

He did not think the name. He did not need to. The name was in the blood. The name was in the bone. He carried it like a stone. He carried it across the water. He carried it for years. He carried it until the stone was smooth. He carried it until the stone was part of him.

The door opened.

It opened without a sound. It opened like a eye.

A figure stood on the other side.

The figure was tall. It was clad in armor. The armor was black. It was polished. It reflected nothing. It absorbed everything.

The figure held a sword.

The sword was long. The sword was sharp. The sword was still.

Elias raised his lantern.

The figure tilted its head.

The face was hidden. The face was a void. There were no eyes. There was only the dark.

Elias felt fear. The fear was cold. The fear was old. He knew this fear. He had felt it in the trenches. He had felt it in the dark rooms of the city. He had felt it in the silence after the shot.

He was a soldier. He had been a soldier for a long time. He had fought for the state. He had fought for the law. He had fought for the good. But the good was a lie. The good was a mask. The good was a cage.

He had left the army. He had left the law. He had left the city. He had walked into the wilderness. He had walked into the dream.

The figure spoke.

The voice was low. The voice was deep. The voice was like stone grinding on stone.

"You are late."

Elias did not answer. He could not speak. His throat was tight. His throat was dry. He swallowed. He tasted blood.

The figure raised the sword.

The sword glowed. It glowed with a light that was not light. It was a dark light. It was a hungry light.

Elias stepped forward.

He stepped onto the gold.

The gold was warm. The gold was soft. It felt like skin. It felt like flesh.

He felt the pull again.

The pull was stronger now. It was a hook in his gut. It was a chain around his neck. It was the hand of Elara.

He remembered her.

He remembered her face. He remembered her hair. It was black. It was long. It was like a river. It was like night.

He remembered her voice. It was soft. It was sweet. It was a song.

He remembered her hands. They were small. They were pale. They were cold.

He remembered the last time he held her. He held her in the house. The house was white. The house was clean. The house was empty.

She had said, "Go."

She had said, "You must go."

She had said, "You must save us."

He had not understood. He had not wanted to understand. He had wanted to stay. He had wanted to hold her. He had wanted to die with her.

But she had pushed him. She had pushed him out the door. She had pushed him into the night.

He had run.

He had run for miles. He had run until his legs gave out. He had run until the world changed. He had run until the world became this.

The figure swung the sword.

The sword cut the air. The air screamed.

Elias dodged.

He dodged to the left. The sword passed close. It passed close to his face. He felt the wind. He felt the cold.

He raised the lantern.

He threw it.

He threw it at the figure.

The lantern flew. The glass shattered. The flame flew. The flame hit the face of the figure.

The figure recoiled.

The flame burned. It burned the void. It burned the dark.

The figure roared.

The roar was loud. The roar was deep. The roar shook the bridge. The bridge cracked. The bone cracked.

Elias saw the face.

The face was not a void.

The face was Elara.

The face was old. The face was tired. The face was broken.

The face was him.

The figure was him.

The armor was his uniform. The sword was his rifle. The void was his soul.

He had been fighting himself. He had been fighting his own shadow. He had been fighting his own guilt.

He stopped.

He stood still. He held his hands out. He held his hands open.

The figure stopped.

The sword lowered.

The sword hung loose.

The figure looked at him. The eyes were open. The eyes were red. The eyes were full of tears.

The figure spoke.

The voice was soft. The voice was broken.

"I am tired."

Elias nodded.

He understood.

He understood the weight. He understood the pain. He understood the fear.

He stepped forward.

He stepped into the dark.

He touched the armor.

The armor was cold. The armor was hard.

He touched the face.

The face was warm. The face was soft.

He held the face.

He held it like a child. He held it like a lover. He held it like a ghost.

"I am here," he said.

The figure shuddered.

The figure trembled.

The sword fell.

The sword hit the gold. It made a sound. The sound was sharp. The sound was final.

The figure dissolved.

The armor dissolved. The face dissolved. The body dissolved.

The dark dissolved.

The light remained.

The light was small. The light was warm. The light was pure.

It was the light of the lantern. It was the light of the flame. It was the light of the soul.

Elias held the light.

He held it in his hands. He held it in his chest. He held it in his heart.

The bridge was gone.

The water was gone.

The dark was gone.

There was only the light.

There was only the silence.

There was only the peace.

He opened his eyes.

He was in a field.

The field was green. The grass was tall. The wind was soft. The sky was blue. The sun was warm.

He was on his knees.

His hands were in the dirt.

He looked at his hands.

They were clean.

They were young.

They were free.

He looked up.

He saw the sky.

He saw the clouds.

He saw the birds.

He saw the life.

He wept.

He wept for the lost. He wept for the dead. He wept for the years. He wept for the pain.

He wept for the love.

He rose.

He stood up.

He felt the ground under his feet. It was solid. It was real. It was earth.

He felt the air in his lungs. It was sweet. It was fresh. It was life.

He felt the sun on his face. It was warm. It was gentle. It was kind.

He walked.

He walked away from the place where he had knelt. He walked into the field. He walked into the light.

He did not look back.

He did not need to.

The past was gone.

The past was dead.

The present was here.

The present was now.

He walked on.

The grass rustled. The wind whispered. The sun shone.

He was alone.

He was free.

He was whole.

The story ends.

The light remains.

The silence remains.

The peace remains.

The golden crossing is complete.

The bone is dust.

The water is dry.

The dark is light.

The sword is gone.

The armor is gone.

The face is gone.

The name is gone.

The pain is gone.

The love remains.

The love is gone.

The love is here.

The love is everywhere.

The love is nothing.

The love is everything.

Elias walked.

He walked into the sun.

He walked into the day.

He walked into the life.

He walked into the end.

The end is a beginning.

The beginning is an end.

The circle is closed.

The circle is open.

The story is done.

The light is out.

The dark is in.

The dark is out.

The light is in.

The light is eternal.

The light is infinite.

The light is pure.

The light is gold.

The gold is light.

The light is gold.

The gold is gone.

The light remains.

The end.