The light in the tower was not light. It was a substance. Thick and cold. It pooled in the corners like spilled milk. I stood in the center of the room. My hands were empty. They had always been empty. I held nothing. I was a vessel without water.

My name is Arthur. I remember the name because it is heavy. It sits on my shoulders like a stone. I do not remember my face. I do not need to. The stone is enough. The stone is the truth.

I look at the walls. They are made of glass. But the glass is dark. It shows me no reflection. It shows me only the depth of the void outside. The void is blue. A deep, bruising blue. It pulses. It breathes. It is alive.

I have been here for a long time. Time is a loop here. It does not move forward. It circles. It grinds. It eats. I watch the dust motes dance in the cold air. They are tiny ghosts. They do not age. They do not die. They just spin. And spin. And spin.

I am afraid. I have been afraid for a long time. The fear is a knot in my stomach. It is tight. It is hard. It will not loosen. I want to scream. But my voice is gone. It was taken. It was traded. I gave it away for a moment of peace. I gave it away for a single hour of silence. Now the silence is eternal. And it is loud.

The door opens. There is no sound. It just swings inward. A figure stands in the frame. He is tall. He is thin. He wears a coat of grey wool. The wool is frayed at the edges. He looks at me. His eyes are black. They are deep. They are empty.

He steps inside. The door closes behind him. The lock clicks. The click is small. It is sharp. It cuts the air.

He walks toward me. His steps are silent. He stops three feet away. He does not speak. He does not need to. I know what he wants. I have known for a long time. He wants the thing I hold.

I do not hold a thing. I am empty. But he sees the shape of the hole. He sees the absence. He reaches for it.

I step back. My heel hits the glass. It does not break. It hums. A low, mournful note. It vibrates through my bones.

He smiles. It is a small smile. It is sad. It is kind. He knows I am afraid. He knows I am tired. He knows I am old. Not in years. In wear. I am worn thin. I am worn smooth. I am a stone in a stream that has flowed for centuries.

I look at my hands. They are trembling. I try to stop them. I cannot. The shaking is a disease. It is a habit. It is my life.

He extends his hand. His palm is up. It is open. It is an invitation. It is a command.

I look at the void outside. The blue light pulses. It is getting faster. It is getting brighter. It is angry. It wants in. It wants to consume. It wants to take.

I look at the man. I see my own face in his. Not the face. The tiredness. The wear. The weight. We are the same. We are all the same. We are all stones in the stream. We are all empty vessels.

I step forward. I reach out. My fingers touch his. The contact is cold. It burns. It freezes. It is everything.

I feel a pull. It starts in my chest. It is a hook. It is a chain. It drags me. It pulls me. It tears me.

I want to pull away. I want to run. I want to hide. But my legs are rooted. My feet are buried in the floor. I cannot move. I am fixed. I am stuck.

The pain is sharp. It is bright. It is white. It fills my mouth. It fills my ears. It fills my eyes.

I see my life. Not the tower. Not the void. The other life. The life before. I see a house. A small house with a red roof. I see a garden. The roses are red. The dirt is black. I smell the rain. I smell the earth. I smell the life.

I see a woman. She is standing in the garden. She is picking roses. She is humming. She is happy. She is alive.

I want to go back. I want to touch her face. I want to hold her hand. I want to hear her voice.

But I am not there. I am here. I am in the tower. I am in the void. I am empty.

The pain increases. It is a flood. It is a wave. It crashes over me. It drowns me.

I scream. But I have no voice. The scream is silent. It is a shape in the air. It is a burst of color. It is a tear in the fabric of the world.

The man closes his eyes. He is enduring it. He is taking it. He is absorbing it. He is the vessel. I am the water. I am the fuel. I am the cost.

I understand now. This is the trade. This is the deal. I gave my voice for silence. I give my life for his peace. I give my self for his continuation.

It is not a sacrifice. It is a transaction. It is a balance. It is a math.

I look at the void. The blue light is blinding. It is screaming. It is breaking. It is dying.

I look at the man. His face is soft. His eyes are open. They are clear. They are full. They are alive.

I am empty. I am gone. I am nothing.

The pain stops. It does not fade. It vanishes. It is cut. It is sliced. It is gone.

I am light. I am weightless. I am free.

I look at my hands. They are gone. I am gone. I am the air. I am the dust. I am the silence.

The man opens his eyes. He looks at the spot where I was. He does not see me. He sees only the glass. He sees the void.

He takes a breath. It is deep. It is full. It is clean.

He turns. He walks to the door. He opens it. The void rushes in. The blue light floods the room. It is beautiful. It is terrible. It is real.

He steps out. He does not look back. He does not need to.

The door closes. The lock clicks.

The tower is empty. The light is still. The dust motes dance.

I am the dust. I am the light. I am the silence.

I am free.

The void expands. It consumes the glass. It consumes the floor. It consumes the dark. It consumes the blue.

There is only white. There is only nothing.

I am nothing.

I am enough.

The silence is loud. The silence is sweet. The silence is mine.

I hold nothing. I am everything.

The end is not a stop. It is a start. It is a breath. It is a beginning.

I am here. I am gone. I am the space between.

The light fades. The dark returns. The dust settles.

The tower stands. The void waits. The clock ticks.

I am the tick. I am the tock. I am the time.

I am the stone. I am the stream. I am the wear.

I am the sacrifice. I am the redemption. I am the truth.

The story ends. The story begins. The story is the same.

I am Arthur. I am no one. I am all.

The light is cold. The air is thick. The dust is dancing.

I am here.

I am home.