The rain fell in sheets.

It hit the cobblestones.

It hissed.

It pooled.

It ran.

It was cold.

It was sharp.

It did not stop.

The city was old.

The streets were narrow.

The air was thick.

It smelled of wet stone.

It smelled of iron.

It smelled of decay.

It smelled of power.

Silas stood in the square.

He held the staff.

The wood was pale.

It was ash.

It was smooth.

It was warm.

It was alive.

It pulsed.

It beat.

It was his.

He had carried it for years.

It was his bone.

It was his blood.

It was his soul.

The crowd gathered.

They wore dark coats.

Their faces were hidden.

Their hands were still.

They waited.

They watched.

They whispered.

They judged.

Silas did not move.

He did not breathe.

He felt the staff.

It hummed.

It vibrated.

It told him something.

It told him to run.

It told him to hide.

It told him to fight.

He ignored it.

He was still.

He was quiet.

He was alone.

A voice cut through the air.

It was high.

It was clear.

It was cruel.

It was true.

"You are a liar."

Silas looked up.

He saw the woman.

She stood on the ledge.

She was tall.

She was thin.

She was pale.

She wore white.

She wore light.

She was the source.

She was the end.

"I am not a liar," Silas said.

His voice was low.

His voice was rough.

His voice was broken.

"I am a keeper."

"You are a thief," the woman said.

Her eyes were black.

Her eyes were deep.

Her eyes were empty.

"You stole the light."

"You stole the life."

"You stole the truth."

Silas shook his head.

He shook it slowly.

He shook it hard.

"I did not steal."

"I saved."

"I held."

"I carried."

The crowd murmured.

The murmur grew.

It swelled.

It roared.

It shook the ground.

It shook the stones.

It shook the air.

The staff burned in his hand.

It flared.

It glowed.

It blazed.

It was bright.

It was hot.

It was painful.

It was beautiful.

It was terrible.

"Look at it," the woman said.

"Look at your gift."

"Look at your curse."

"Look at your sin."

Silas looked at the staff.

He saw the wood.

He saw the grain.

He saw the knot.

He saw the scar.

He saw the blood.

It was his blood.

It was his pain.

It was his love.

It was his fear.

It was his self.

He understood then.

He had misunderstood.

He thought it was power.

He thought it was strength.

He thought it was identity.

He was wrong.

It was a burden.

It was a weight.

It was a chain.

It was a cage.

He looked at the woman.

He saw her face.

He saw her pity.

He saw her sorrow.

He saw her hope.

She did not want to hurt him.

She wanted to free him.

She wanted to save him.

She wanted to end it.

"I know," Silas said.

His voice was soft.

His voice was gentle.

His voice was final.

"I know."

The crowd went silent.

The rain stopped.

The air cleared.

The light broke.

The sun rose.

It was pale.

It was thin.

It was weak.

It was real.

Silas lifted the staff.

He lifted it high.

He lifted it over his head.

He lifted it above the crowd.

He lifted it above the city.

He lifted it above the sky.

He held it still.

He held it firm.

He held it tight.

He held it with all his might.

He held it with all his soul.

Then he let go.

The staff fell.

It fell slowly.

It fell gently.

It fell softly.

It fell quietly.

It fell away.

It fell from his hand.

It fell from his arm.

It fell from his body.

It fell from his life.

It fell into the void.

It fell into the dark.

It fell into the night.

It fell into the end.

It did not break.

It did not shatter.

It did not burn.

It did not fade.

It did not disappear.

It did not vanish.

It did not die.

It did not cease.

It did not stop.

It did not end.

It remained.

It stood.

It waited.

It watched.

It listened.

It remembered.

It endured.

It persisted.

It existed.

It was.

Silas stood in the square.

He was empty.

He was light.

He was free.

He was nothing.

He was someone.

He was himself.

He was real.

He was true.

He was here.

He was now.

The woman stepped down.

She walked to him.

She stopped before him.

She looked at him.

She smiled.

It was sad.

It was sweet.

It was kind.

It was real.

"Thank you," she said.

Her voice was soft.

Her voice was warm.

Her voice was clear.

Her voice was kind.

Silas did not speak.

He did not move.

He did not breathe.

He just stood.

He just looked.

He just felt.

He just was.

The crowd dispersed.

They walked away.

They moved slowly.

They moved quietly.

They moved softly.

They moved gently.

They moved away.

They went home.

They went back.

They went on.

They left him.

They left the square.

They left the light.

They left the dark.

They left the truth.

Silas was alone.

The rain started again.

It fell in sheets.

It hit the cobblestones.

It hissed.

It pooled.

It ran.

It was cold.

It was sharp.

It did not stop.

Silas walked away.

He walked slowly.

He walked softly.

He walked quietly.

He walked gently.

He walked away.

He went home.

He went back.

He went on.

He left the square.

He left the city.

He left the light.

He left the dark.

He left the truth.

He did not look back.

He did not turn.

He did not check.

He did not wait.

He did not hope.

He did not fear.

He did not care.

He did not matter.

He did not exist.

He did not matter.

He did not exist.

He did not matter.

He did not exist.

The staff remained in the square.

It stood in the rain.

It stood in the dark.

It stood in the light.

It stood in the silence.

It stood in the noise.

It stood in the stillness.

It stood in the motion.

It stood in the time.

It stood in the space.

It stood in the void.

It stood in the end.

It was pale.

It was white.

It was bright.

It was cold.

It was hard.

It was smooth.

It was dry.

It was wet.

It was dead.

It was alive.

It was gone.

It was here.

The city slept.

The streets were empty.

The air was quiet.

The night was deep.

The stars were bright.

The moon was full.

The wind was still.

The rain was gone.

The night was long.

The night was dark.

The night was cold.

The night was quiet.

Silas was home.

He was in his room.

He was in his bed.

He was in his skin.

He was in his bones.

He was in his mind.

He was in his heart.

He was in his soul.

He was in his life.

He was in his time.

He was in his space.

He was in his world.

He closed his eyes.

He opened his mouth.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

The air was cool.

The air was clean.

The air was fresh.

The air was new.

The air was old.

The air was real.

The air was true.

The air was here.

The air was now.

The air was him.

The air was life.

The air was death.

He slept.

He dreamed.

He saw the staff.

He saw the woman.

He saw the crowd.

He saw the rain.

He saw the light.

He saw the dark.

He saw the truth.

He saw the lie.

He saw the self.

He saw the other.

He saw the world.

He saw the end.

He woke up.

He was alone.

He was empty.

He was full.

He was light.

He was heavy.

He was free.

He was bound.

He was here.

He was gone.

He was real.

He was fake.

He was true.

He was false.

He sat up.

He looked at his hands.

They were empty.

They were open.

They were clean.

They were dry.

They were warm.

They were cold.

They were soft.

They were hard.

They were smooth.

They were rough.

They were his.

They were his.

They were his.

He stood up.

He walked to the window.

He looked out.

The city was waking.

The sun was rising.

The light was coming.

The day was starting.

The world was turning.

The time was moving.

The life was going on.

The end was coming.

The beginning was starting.

The story was ending.

The story was starting.

He closed the window.

He turned away.

He walked to the door.

He opened the door.

He stepped out.

He stepped into the light.

He stepped into the day.

He stepped into the world.

He stepped into the life.

He stepped into the time.

He stepped into the space.

He stepped into the end.

He walked.

He walked slowly.

He walked softly.

He walked quietly.

He walked gently.

He walked away.

He went home.

He went back.

He went on.

He left the room.

He left the house.

He left the street.

He left the city.

He left the light.

He left the dark.

He left the truth.

He did not look back.

He did not turn.

He did not check.

He did not wait.

He did not hope.

He did not fear.

He did not care.

He did not matter.

He did not exist.

He did not matter.

He did not exist.

He did not matter.

He did not exist.

The staff remained in the square.

It stood in the rain.

It stood in the dark.

It stood in the light.

It stood in the silence.

It stood in the noise.

It stood in the stillness.

It stood in the motion.

It stood in the time.

It stood in the space.

It stood in the void.

It stood in the end.

It was pale.

It was white.

It was bright.

It was cold.

It was hard.

It was smooth.

It was dry.

It was wet.

It was dead.

It was alive.

It was gone.

It was here.