The sky cracks first.

Not with thunder. With silence.

A white fracture splits the firmament above the moor. You stand in the heather. The wind is cold. It cuts through your coat. Your name is Elias. You are a scholar of old things. Dead languages. Forgotten rites.

You are wrong.

The crack widens. It bleeds light. Not sunlight. Something older. Something raw.

The heather burns. Not with fire. With memory.

You see it.

The bird.

It is not there. It is everywhere. A sparrow? No. Something larger. A crow? No. It is the shape of a thought you had when you were seven. The bird is made of glass. It is made of ice. It is made of your own blood.

It sings.

The sound breaks your ribs.

You run.

You do not know where to go. There is no path. The moor is a sea of white. The sky is a wound.

You see others.

They are running too.

Thomas. The farmer’s son. His face is pale. His eyes are wide.

Sarah. The nurse. Her hands are shaking.

Old Man Halloway. The keeper of the gates. He stands still. He does not run.

"Stop," Halloway says.

His voice is gravel. It is stone.

"Stop, boy," he says to you. "It is not for you."

You do not stop.

The bird is screaming. The scream is a language. You understand it.

*Freedom.*

The word tastes like ash.

The sky falls.

It does not fall. It unfolds.

The world is gone.

You are in a room.

The walls are made of cloud. The floor is made of mist. The air is thick. It is sweet. It smells of rain and rot.

There are others here.

Thomas is there. He is crying. He is hitting the wall.

"Let me out," he screams. "Let me out."

Sarah is there. She is praying. Her lips move. No sound comes out.

Halloway is there. He is sitting. He is calm.

You sit.

The glass bird is there.

It is broken.

Shards of light float in the air. They drift like snow. They do not melt. They do not fall. They just are.

You reach for one.

It cuts your hand.

The pain is real.

The pain is yours.

"What is this?" you ask.

Halloway looks at you.

"Your mistake," he says.

"I did not make a mistake," you say. "I am a scholar. I study. I do not break things."

"You studied too deeply," Halloway says. "You looked too hard. You saw the seam."

The bird was the seam.

You remember.

You were in the library. The book was old. The pages were thin. The text was in a dead tongue. You translated it. You understood it.

You were arrogant.

You were wrong.

The bird is not a creature. It is a boundary. It is the wall between the world that is and the world that wants to be.

You broke it.

The shards are the freedom.

The freedom is a wound.

Thomas hits the wall again.

"I want to go home," he says. "I want my dog. I want my wife. I want the rain on the roof."

Sarah stops praying.

"I want to breathe," she says. "The air here is too clean. It has no dirt. It has no life."

You look at the shards.

They are beautiful.

They are terrible.

You think of your study. The dust. The smell of ink. The silence.

You wanted to know.

You wanted to see the truth.

Now you are here.

In the truth.

Halloway stands up.

He walks to the shards.

He picks one up.

It does not cut him.

He holds it.

He looks at you.

"Take it," he says.

"I don't want it," you say.

"Take it."

You reach out.

Your hand trembles.

You take the shard.

It is cold.

It is heavy.

It is light.

It burns.

The room shakes.

The clouds part.

You see the moor.

You see the sky.

The sky is whole.

The crack is gone.

But you are still here.

Thomas is gone.

Sarah is gone.

Halloway is gone.

Only you.

And the shard.

And the silence.

The moor is quiet.

The wind is still.

The heather is green.

You are standing in the heather.

You are alone.

You look at your hand.

The shard is gone.

Your hand is whole.

Your hand is empty.

You feel nothing.

You feel everything.

You are free.

The freedom is empty.

The freedom is a hole.

You walk.

You do not know where to go.

The path is gone.

The sky is blue.

The sun is warm.

You are warm.

You are cold.

You are nothing.

You are something.

You think of the bird.

It is not broken.

It is whole.

It is flying.

It is far away.

You cannot see it.

You can hear it.

The song is faint.

The song is a question.

*What did you lose?*

You do not answer.

You walk.

The heather brushes your legs.

The dust rises.

The sun sets.

The stars come out.

The stars are sharp.

The stars are cold.

You are a scholar.

You are a fool.

You are free.

The freedom is a cage.

The cage is open.

You walk into the night.

The night is deep.

The night is dark.

You are not afraid.

You are not brave.

You are just walking.

You are just being.

The bird sings.

The song is your name.

The song is your end.

You stop.

You listen.

You understand.

You are not the hero.

You are the victim.

You are the mistake.

You are the shard.

You are the crack.

You are the silence.

You are the space.

You are the void.

You are the crown.

The crown is empty.

The crown is yours.

You wear it.

It weighs nothing.

It weighs the world.

You walk on.

The heather is gone.

The sky is gone.

The earth is gone.

You are gone.

You are here.

You are free.

The freedom is a wound.

The wound is a song.

The song is a life.

The life is a death.

The death is a birth.

The birth is a silence.

The silence is a scream.

The scream is a whisper.

The whisper is a truth.

The truth is a lie.

The lie is a truth.

You are the truth.

You are the lie.

You are the bird.

You are the glass.

You are the break.

You are the whole.

You are the nothing.

You are the something.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the middle.

You are the space between.

You are the gap.

You are the seam.

You are the tear.

You are the stitch.

You are the cloth.

You are the thread.

You are the needle.

You are the hand.

You are the eye.

You are the light.

You are the dark.

You are the shadow.

You are the form.

You are the void.

You are the full.

You are the empty.

You are the full.

You are the free.

The freedom is the cost.

The cost is the soul.

The soul is the bird.

The bird is the glass.

The glass is the heart.

The heart is the stone.

The stone is the dust.

The dust is the wind.

The wind is the sky.

The sky is the sea.

The sea is the earth.

The earth is the body.

The body is the mind.

The mind is the word.

The word is the song.

The song is the silence.

The silence is the end.

The end is the start.

The start is the end.

You are the end.

You are the start.

You are the crown.

The crown is distant.

The crown is near.

The crown is you.

You are the crown.

The crown is empty.

The crown is full.

The crown is free.

You are free.

The freedom is the pain.

The pain is the life.

The life is the death.

The death is the freedom.

You are free.

You are free.

You are free.

The sky is clear.

The wind is still.

The heather is green.

You are standing.

You are breathing.

You are alive.

You are dead.

You are free.

The bird is gone.

The song is gone.

The silence is here.

The silence is loud.

The silence is soft.

The silence is you.

You are the silence.

You are the free.

You are the end.

You are the start.

You are the crown.

The crown is distant.

The crown is near.

The crown is you.

You are the crown.

The crown is empty.

The crown is full.

The crown is free.

You are free.

The freedom is the cost.

The cost is the soul.

The soul is the bird.

The bird is the glass.

The glass is the heart.

The heart is the stone.

The stone is the dust.

The dust is the wind.

The wind is the sky.

The sky is the sea.

The sea is the earth.

The earth is the body.

The body is the mind.

The mind is the word.

The word is the song.

The song is the silence.

The silence is the end.

The end is the start.

The start is the end.

You are the end.

You are the start.

You are the crown.

The crown is distant.

The crown is near.

The crown is you.

You are the crown.

The crown is empty.

The crown is full.

The crown is free.

You are free.

The freedom is the pain.

The pain is the life.

The life is the death.

The death is the freedom.

You are free.

You are free.

You are free.