The iron gate was locked. It was always locked.

Elias stood before it. His boots were caked in mud. The mud was red. It was dry. It was ancient.

He was the Warden. He wore the gray uniform. The wool itched. It scratched at his neck. He pulled at the collar. The fabric tore. A small sound. A rip.

He did not look back.

The town of Oakhaven slept. The houses were stone. The stone was cold. The windows were dark. No light. No sound. Only the wind. The wind hissed. It sounded like teeth.

Elias held the key. It was heavy. It was cold. It burned his palm. The metal bit into his skin.

He inserted the key. It turned. Click.

The gate opened. It swung wide. It made a groan. A long, low moan. The hinges screamed.

He stepped through.

The courtyard was empty. The grass was gray. It was dead. There was a well in the center. The stone rim was cracked.

Elias walked to the well. His steps were heavy. Thud. Thud. Thud.

He stopped. He looked down.

The water was black. It was still. It reflected the sky. The sky was gray. The sky was empty.

He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a vial. It was glass. It was thin. It was clear.

Inside the vial was a drop of blood. It was bright. It was red. It pulsed.

Elias’s hand shook. He dropped the vial. It shattered. The blood spilled. It hit the stone. It ran into the cracks.

He gasped. He bent over. He retched. Nothing came up.

He stood up. He wiped his mouth. His hand was wet.

He looked at the well again.

The water moved. It rippled. There was no wind.

A hand emerged. It was pale. It was long. The fingers were thin. They gripped the rim.

Elias stepped back. His heel caught a stone. He fell. He hit the ground. Hard.

He scrambled away. He crawled. The gravel cut his hands. He did not care.

The hand pulled. The body followed. It rose from the water. It was wet. It dripped.

It was a man. He wore rags. He had no face. Where the face should be, there was only smooth skin. No eyes. No mouth. No nose.

Elias screamed. The sound tore from his throat. It was raw. It was ugly.

The faceless man stood. It turned. It looked at Elias. It did not blink. It did not breathe.

Elias grabbed his sword. The steel was cold. It was dull. He had not sharpened it in years.

He swung. The blade hit the air. It missed. The man was gone.

The courtyard was empty. The well was dry. The stone was dry.

Elias stood alone.

He breathed. In. Out. In. Out.

He went to the house. The door was open. The wood was warped.

He entered. The room was dark. The air was stale. It smelled of dust. It smelled of rot.

He walked to the desk. The desk was oak. It was solid.

On the desk was a book. It was leather-bound. The cover was black. The title was gold.

Elias opened the book. The pages were thin. They were yellow.

He read. The words were old. The language was strange. But he understood.

It was a log. It was a record.

He turned the page.

There was a name. It was his name. Elias Thorne.

Below the name was a date. It was today.

He turned the page.

There was a drawing. It was a sketch. It showed a man. The man was standing by a well. The man had a sword.

Elias looked at the drawing. He looked at his hands. His hands were bloody.

He turned the page.

There was a list. It was a list of names. Dozens of names. Hundreds of names.

He scanned the list. He looked for his brother.

There it was. Thomas. Thomas Thorne.

Thomas was at the bottom of the list.

Elias closed the book. He slammed it shut.

He walked to the window. He looked out.

The town was waking up. Smoke rose from the chimneys. The bells rang. The sound was dull. It was muffled.

He saw a figure. It was walking in the street. It was small. It was gray.

It was the faceless man.

Elias grabbed his sword. He ran. He burst out of the house. He ran down the steps. He ran through the gate.

The man was walking. He walked slowly. He walked with purpose.

Elias raised his sword. He swung.

The man turned. It stopped. It looked at Elias.

Elias froze.

The man was not faceless.

It had a face.

It was Thomas.

Thomas smiled. It was a sad smile. It was a tired smile.

Thomas spoke. His voice was soft. It was like wind.

"Brother."

Elias dropped the sword. It clanged on the stone.

"Thomas?" Elias whispered. "You are dead. You have been dead for ten years."

Thomas nodded. He tilted his head.

"I am not dead," Thomas said. "I am here. I am always here."

Elias stepped forward. His legs shook.

"How?" Elias asked. "Why?"

Thomas pointed to the well.

"The well takes," Thomas said. "The well gives. It is a cycle. It is a wheel. It never stops."

Elias looked at the well. The water was clear. It was blue.

"I did not kill you," Elias said. "I tried to save you. I pulled you out of the river. I held your hands. I prayed."

Thomas shook his head.

"You saved me," Thomas said. "That is why I am here. That is why I am bound. You gave me life. You took my death. Now I must give it back."

Elias felt a coldness in his chest. It spread. It spread to his arms. It spread to his legs.

"I did not want this," Elias said. "I never wanted this."

"I know," Thomas said. "But the cycle is strong. The cycle is hungry. It needs a Warden. It needs a keeper. It needs a sacrifice."

Elias looked at his hands. They were trembling.

"Who is the sacrifice?" Elias asked.

Thomas looked at Elias. His eyes were dark. His eyes were deep.

"You are," Thomas said.

Elias laughed. It was a short laugh. It was a dry laugh.

"No," Elias said. "No. I will not. I will not do it. I will break it. I will break the wheel."

He reached for the sword. He picked it up. He held it tight.

He swung at Thomas.

The blade passed through Thomas. It hit the air. It made no sound.

Thomas was there. And Thomas was not there.

Elias swung again. And again. And again.

The sword was heavy. His arms burned. His muscles screamed.

Thomas stood still. He watched. He did not move. He did not defend himself.

Elias stopped. He was breathing hard. He was gasping.

Thomas stepped forward. He placed a hand on Elias’s chest. The hand was cold. It was like ice.

"It is not a fight," Thomas said. "It is a choice. You can stay. You can be the Warden. You can keep the peace. Or you can go. You can leave. But if you leave, the cycle breaks. And if the cycle breaks, everyone dies. The town dies. The people die. The children die."

Elias looked at the town. The houses were bright. The sun was out. The birds were singing.

He thought of his wife. She was in the next house. She was sleeping. She was warm.

He thought of the children. They were playing in the square. They were laughing.

He thought of himself. He was tired. He was old. His bones ached.

He looked at Thomas. Thomas was fading. He was becoming translucent. He was becoming light.

"Go," Thomas said. "I will stay. I will keep the watch. I will hold the line."

"No," Elias said. "No. It was my mistake. It was my error. I must pay."

"Pay?" Thomas asked. "What is payment? What is debt? We are brothers. We are bound. The debt is shared. The debt is infinite."

Elias lowered the sword. The metal clattered on the ground.

He looked at the sky. The sky was blue. The clouds were white. They were slow.

He thought of the well. The well was empty. The well was full. The well was both.

He thought of the key. The key was in his pocket. He felt it. It was warm.

He pulled it out. He looked at it. It was iron. It was rusted.

He held it. He felt the weight. He felt the cold.

He looked at Thomas. Thomas was almost gone. He was a ghost. He was a memory.

"Goodbye, brother," Thomas said.

Elias did not speak. He could not speak.

He turned. He walked away. He walked down the street. He walked past the houses. He walked past the shops.

He walked to the edge of the town.

The road ended. It went into the woods. The trees were dark. The trees were tall.

He stopped. He looked back.

The town was silent. The sun was setting. The sky was orange. The sky was red.

He saw a figure. It was standing on the hill. It was small. It was gray.

It was Thomas.

Thomas raised a hand. He waved.

Elias raised a hand. He waved.

Then Elias turned. He walked into the woods.

He walked fast. He ran.

He did not stop. He did not look back.

He ran until his lungs burned. He ran until his legs gave out.

He fell. He hit the ground. He lay there.

The leaves were dry. They were crisp. They were brown.

He closed his eyes.

He dreamed.

He dreamed of water. He dreamed of a well. He dreamed of a key.

He dreamed of his brother.

He woke up.

He was in the woods. The sun was up. The birds were singing.

He was alive.

He stood up. He brushed off his clothes.

He looked at his hand. He held the key.

He looked at the key. He looked at the woods.

He smiled.

It was a sad smile. It was a tired smile.

He walked on.

He walked back to the town.

The gate was open.

The well was dry.

The book was on the desk.

The page was blank.

There was no name. There was no date. There was no list.

Elias closed the book. He put it in the drawer.

He went to the window. He looked out.

The town was waking up. The smoke rose. The bells rang.

He saw a figure. It was walking in the street. It was small. It was gray.

It was not Thomas.

It was a child. It was a boy. He was young. He was thin. He was pale.

The boy walked to the well. He stopped. He looked up.

He looked at Elias.

Elias felt a chill. It ran down his spine.

The boy smiled.

It was Elias’s smile.

The boy walked into the house. The door closed.

Elias stood by the window. He watched.

He knew. He knew the truth.

The cycle did not end. The cycle did not break.

It changed. It shifted. It moved.

The Warden was not a person. The Warden was a role. The Warden was a burden.

And the burden was passed.

Elias sat down. He put his head in his hands.

He wept. The tears were hot. The tears were bitter.

He cried for Thomas. He cried for himself. He cried for the boy.

He cried for the town.

He cried for the wheel.

The wheel turned.

The wheel never stops.

The wheel is eternal.

Elias stood up. He walked to the door. He opened it.

He stepped out.

The air was cold. The air was sharp.

He walked to the well.

The well was there.

He looked down.

The water was black.

He reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the vial.

It was empty.

He dropped it.

It shattered.

He stepped back.

The water moved.

A hand emerged.

It was pale.

It was his hand.

Elias screamed.

He fell.

He hit the ground.

He crawled.

The hand pulled.

The body followed.

It rose from the water.

It was him.

It was not him.

It was the Warden.

The Warden was eternal.

The Warden was bound.

The Warden was alone.

The wheel turned.

The wheel never stops.

The wheel is eternal.

The story ends.

The wheel turns.

The wheel never stops.

The wheel is eternal.

The end.