The letter lay on the cold stone table. It was written in ink that had dried to the color of dried blood. The seal was broken. The paper was thin. It smelled of dust and old iron.

Elias read it once. He did not read it again. He folded it into a square. He put it in his tunic pocket. He looked out the window. Rain fell on the courtyard. The gray sky pressed down on the roof. He was a knight. He had sworn an oath. The oath was to the King. The King was dead. The new King was weak. The weak King needed a strong hand. Elias had the hand. He had the sword. He had the blood.

He packed his gear. He took the sword. He took the shield. He took the horse. The horse snorted in the stall. The horse was black. The horse was old. The horse had carried him through three wars. The horse knew what was coming. The horse lowered its head. Elias touched the horse’s neck. He felt the pulse. It was fast. It was afraid. He was not afraid. Fear was a luxury. He had no time for fear.

He rode out of the gate. The guards watched him. They did not speak. They knew his name. They knew his deeds. They knew his end. The road was muddy. The mud sucked at the hooves. The rain continued. It soaked his cloak. It chilled his bones. He did not care. He rode north. The north was the edge of the map. The north was where the old gods lived. The north was where the cycle began.

He rode for three days. The village passed by. The fields were brown. The trees were bare. The wind howled. It sounded like a woman weeping. He did not stop. He did not eat. He drank from the stream. The water was cold. It cleared his head. He thought of his father. His father had ridden this road. His father had died on this road. The letters said the same thing. The letters said the end was near. The letters said the duty was done. The letters said the peace was bought.

On the fourth day, he reached the forest. The trees were tall. They blocked the sky. The light was dim. The ground was soft. The horse slowed. The horse smelled the danger. Elias felt it too. The air was thick. It was heavy. It tasted of rot. He dismounted. He tied the horse to a branch. He walked deeper. The path was narrow. It wound through the roots. The roots looked like fingers. They reached for him. He pushed them aside. He walked on.

He found the cave. It was at the base of a cliff. The cliff was high. It was jagged. The cave mouth was dark. It breathed. A cold wind came out. It carried a scent. It was the scent of old iron. It was the scent of his father’s blood. Elias drew his sword. The steel sang. The sound echoed. It was sharp. It was clean. He stepped inside.

The darkness was total. He could not see. He could only feel. The ground was uneven. It was slick. He moved slowly. He moved carefully. He heard a sound. It was a drip. Water dripping on stone. He waited. The drip continued. Drip. Drip. Drip. It was a rhythm. It was a heartbeat. He walked forward. He walked until his foot touched something. It was a stone. It was round. It was smooth. He knelt. He touched it. It was cold. It was wet. He looked closer. His hand shook. He lit a torch. The flame flickered. The light was small. It pushed back the dark.

He saw the altar. The altar was made of bone. It was white. It was yellow. It was stained. On the altar, there was a bowl. The bowl was full. It was full of water. The water was black. It was still. In the water, he saw his face. He was old. He was tired. He was alone. He looked into the bowl. He looked for a reflection. He found his father. His father was there. His father was young. His father was smiling. The smile was cruel. The smile was kind. The father said nothing. The father just watched.

Elias raised his sword. He lowered it. He thought of the letter. He thought of the King. He thought of the peace. Peace was a lie. Peace was a trap. The cycle did not end. The cycle turned. The sword had to be broken. The blood had to be spilled. He had to spill his own. He had to break the chain. He had to stop the turning. He looked at the water. He looked at his father’s face. He understood. The father was not there. The father was in him. The father was the sword. The father was the duty. The father was the fear.

He dropped the sword. The sword hit the stone. It made a sharp noise. It rang out. It echoed. The sound faded. The silence returned. He knelt before the altar. He placed his hand on the bone. The bone was warm. It was alive. He felt a pulse. It was his pulse. It was his father’s pulse. It was the same. He closed his eyes. He breathed in. He breathed out. He let go. He let go of the sword. He let go of the oath. He let go of the King. He let go of the past. He let go of the future. He was here. He was now. He was still.

The water in the bowl rippled. The reflection changed. His father’s face faded. His own face returned. It was young. It was calm. It was free. He opened his eyes. He looked at the cave. The cave was no longer dark. The light from outside had entered. It was bright. It was white. It was pure. The shadows were gone. The roots were gone. The cold was gone. He stood up. His legs were stiff. He felt weak. He felt light. He walked out of the cave.

The sun was shining. The rain had stopped. The sky was blue. The air was fresh. The horse was waiting. The horse looked at him. The horse did not snort. The horse was still. Elias approached the horse. He touched the horse’s neck. The pulse was slow. The pulse was steady. He climbed on. He did not ride away. He rode in a circle. He rode in a circle. He felt the ground. He felt the wind. He felt the life.

He rode to the edge of the forest. He looked back. The forest was dark. The forest was deep. He did not look back again. He turned the horse. He rode south. The road was dry. The mud was gone. The dust was light. He rode past the village. The villagers were in the fields. They worked. They lived. They did not know. They did not care. He rode past the gate. The guards were gone. The gate was open. He rode into the city.

The city was loud. The city was busy. The people were many. They shouted. They laughed. They cried. He rode through the streets. He wore no armor. He wore a simple cloak. He wore no sword. His hands were empty. He walked. He left the horse at the stable. He walked to the square. The square was empty. A fountain was in the center. The water flowed. It was clear. It was cool. He stood by the fountain. He looked at the water. He saw his reflection. He was just a man. He was not a knight. He was not a hero. He was not a symbol. He was just a man.

A child ran past. The child laughed. The sound was bright. The sound was pure. Elias smiled. He did not know why. He felt a warmth. It was in his chest. It was in his heart. It was real. It was true. He looked at the sky. The sky was wide. The sky was free. He took a deep breath. The air filled his lungs. He felt alive. He felt present. He felt whole.

He walked to a bench. He sat down. The wood was warm. The sun was hot. He closed his eyes. He listened to the city. He listened to the life. He did not think. He did not plan. He did not worry. He just was. The minutes passed. The hours passed. The light changed. The shadows grew. The day ended. The night began. The stars came out. They were bright. They were cold. They were distant. They were eternal.

He stood up. He stretched. He felt stiff. He felt old. He walked to the inn. He checked in. He paid. He went to his room. The room was small. The bed was soft. The pillow was clean. He lay down. He did not sleep. He watched the ceiling. The ceiling was white. The ceiling was plain. He thought of the letter. He thought of the cave. He thought of the water. He thought of his father. He did not hate him. He did not fear him. He was sorry for him. He was sorry for himself. He was sorry for the cycle.

He got up. He went to the window. The city was quiet. The streetlights were on. They cast a yellow glow. The shadows were long. The night was deep. He looked at his hands. They were empty. They were clean. They were his. He flexed his fingers. He felt the strength. He felt the freedom. He opened the window. The night air came in. It was cool. It was fresh. He breathed it in. He breathed it out.

He went to the door. He opened it. He stepped into the hallway. The hallway was dark. The floor was creaky. He walked to the stairs. He went down. He went out. The street was empty. The moon was full. The moon was bright. He walked to the river. The river was wide. The river was fast. The water was dark. It moved. It flowed. It never stopped. It never turned back. He stood on the bank. He looked at the water. He did not see a reflection. He saw only the current. He saw only the flow. He saw only the end.

He took off his cloak. He folded it. He placed it on the bank. He took off his boots. He placed them next to the cloak. He took off his tunic. He placed it on the pile. He stood naked. The air was cold. The wind was strong. He felt the wind. He felt the cold. He felt the life. He stepped into the water. The water was cold. It bit his skin. It stung his eyes. He walked deeper. The water reached his waist. He walked deeper. The water reached his chest. He walked deeper. The water reached his mouth. He held his breath. He let go. He let go of the air. He let go of the light. He let go of the self.

The water took him. The current pulled him. It was gentle. It was strong. It was inevitable. He did not fight. He did not struggle. He floated. He drifted. He was one with the water. He was one with the river. He was one with the night. The stars shone above. The moon shone above. The world turned below. The cycle turned. The cycle ended. The cycle began.

In the morning, a fisherman found the cloak. He found the boots. He found the tunic. He did not find the man. He put the clothes in his boat. He rowed back to shore. He left the clothes on the bank. He walked away. The sun rose. The light was bright. The light was new. The day began. The world moved on. The water flowed on. The current did not stop. The current did not turn back. It just flowed. It just flowed. It just flowed.