The mill wheel stops.

You feel the vibration cease in your teeth.

The river keeps flowing.

You are not supposed to be here.

The fog is thick. It tastes of rust and old paper.

Your boots are wet.

Your name is Elias Thorne.

You are a man who left.

You left the city of glass and steam.

You left the law.

You left her.

Her name is Sarah.

You do not look back.

Looking back is a sin of the body.

You walk toward the mountain.

The mountain is a tooth in the jaw of the sky.

It is white.

It is dead.

You carry a satchel.

Inside is a letter.

Inside is a key.

Inside is a lie.

The air is cold.

It bites your lungs.

You are an exile.

Exiles have no shadows.

You check your watch.

The hands are frozen.

Time is broken here.

You meet a man.

He is old.

His face is a map of scars.

He stands by a broken fence.

He does not speak.

He holds a lantern.

The light is yellow.

It is sickly.

"You walk the wrong way," he says.

His voice is gravel.

"You are going to the mine," you say.

"No."

"Then where?"

"To the fire."

"There is no fire."

"Look."

You look.

The sky is dark.

There is no fire.

There is only smoke.

"You see it," he says.

"I see nothing."

"You see the lie."

He smiles.

His teeth are black.

"Who are you?" you ask.

"I am the Keeper."

"Of what?"

"Of the debt."

You step closer.

The lantern flickers.

The smoke grows.

It forms a shape.

It forms a face.

It is your face.

You recoil.

The old man steps forward.

"Do not fear the mirror," he says.

"I am not a mirror."

"You are a reflection."

"Of what?"

"Of the judge."

You freeze.

You were a judge.

You were a good judge.

You were a just judge.

You sentenced a man to death.

His name was Arthur.

He was innocent.

You knew it.

You did not care.

The system required blood.

You gave it.

You left the next day.

You left Sarah.

She wept.

You did not stop.

"You were a coward," the old man says.

"I was a man," you say.

"Men do not run."

"I survived."

"Survival is not life."

The smoke thickens.

It swirls around you.

You feel a pull.

It is in your chest.

It is a hook.

It is Sarah’s voice.

*Come back to me.*

You want to run.

Your legs are lead.

The old man watches.

He does not move.

He is a statue.

He is a stone.

He is the mountain.

You must pass him.

You must enter the smoke.

You step forward.

The pain is sharp.

It is a knife in your gut.

It is the guilt.

It is the weight of the gavel.

You fall to your knees.

The ground is hard.

The stone is cold.

The old man speaks.

"Give it up."

"I cannot."

"You must."

"I will not."

He laughs.

It is a dry sound.

Like leaves in wind.

"Then you die."

The smoke rises.

It becomes a wall.

It becomes a face.

It is Arthur’s face.

He looks at you.

He does not speak.

He does not hate you.

He pities you.

That is worse.

You scream.

The sound is lost.

The fog swallows it.

You are alone.

You are small.

You are nothing.

The old man is gone.

The lantern is gone.

The mountain is silent.

You stand up.

Your legs shake.

You look at your hands.

They are trembling.

They are dirty.

They are the hands that signed the order.

You look at the satchel.

The letter is heavy.

You open it.

The paper is white.

The ink is black.

It is a confession.

It is your confession.

You wrote it in the train.

You wrote it in the cold.

You wrote it in fear.

You wrote it for Sarah.

You never sent it.

You keep it.

You keep the key.

The key to the cell.

The cell where Arthur died.

You hold the key.

It is warm.

It is alive.

You walk on.

The path is narrow.

The trees are dead.

They are skeletons.

They reach for you.

You do not stop.

You are a ghost.

You are a thing.

You are a memory.

The sun sets.

The sky is red.

It is blood.

The mist rises.

It is cold.

It is indifferent.

You reach a door.

It is stone.

It is ancient.

It is closed.

You hold the key.

Your hand is steady.

You are no longer afraid.

Fear is for the living.

You are already dead.

You insert the key.

It turns.

The door opens.

There is no room.

There is only air.

There is only light.

The light is white.

It is blinding.

You step in.

The door closes.

The world ends.

The fog remains.

The river flows.

The wheel is still.

You are gone.

The old man returns.

He stands by the fence.

He lights the lantern.

The smoke forms a new face.

It is young.

It is kind.

It is Sarah’s face.

The old man smiles.

He blows out the light.

The dark is total.

The dark is deep.

The dark is just.

The mountain sleeps.

The stone is cold.

The stone is silent.

The stone is free.

You were a burden.

You were a weight.

You were a stain.

The stain is washed.

The water is clear.

The water is cold.

The water is life.

You did not die.

You were born.

You were born into the truth.

The truth is empty.

The truth is quiet.

The truth is here.

The fog lifts.

The sun rises.

The light is soft.

The light is gentle.

The light is kind.

It touches the stone.

It warms the air.

It dries the mud.

It cleans the soul.

The soul is light.

The soul is free.

The soul is gone.

The soul is everywhere.

The soul is nothing.

The soul is everything.

The soul is you.

The soul is me.

The soul is us.

The soul is all.

The soul is one.

The soul is now.

The soul is here.

The soul is home.

The home is empty.

The home is full.

The home is light.

The home is dark.

The home is silence.

The home is sound.

The home is love.

The home is hate.

The home is life.

The home is death.

The home is end.

The home is start.

The home is you.

The home is gone.

The home is here.

The home is now.

The home is light.

The light is bright.

The light is white.

The light is pure.

The light is clean.

The light is new.

The light is old.

The light is true.

The light is real.

The light is you.

You are light.

You are free.

You are gone.

You are here.

You are now.

You are home.

The story ends.

The silence begins.

The silence is loud.

The silence is deep.

The silence is wide.

The silence is tall.

The silence is vast.

The silence is all.

The silence is you.

You are silent.

You are still.

You are peace.

You are rest.

You are done.

The wheel turns.

The river flows.

The fog lifts.

The sun shines.

The stone sleeps.

The man is gone.

The truth remains.

The truth is cold.

The truth is hard.

The truth is free.