The vault hummed.

It was a low sound. A drone.

Miles heard it in his teeth.

He stood in the center.

The air was stale. Cold.

It tasted of iron.

And old stone.

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then they died.

Darkness swallowed him.

Total.

Absolute.

He did not move.

He breathed.

In.

Out.

Slowly.

His heart beat.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

A war drum.

In the dark, voices rose.

They were not human.

Or perhaps they were.

But wrong.

Distorted.

They whispered.

They hissed.

They laughed.

Miles closed his eyes.

He saw the vault.

The golden walls.

The endless shelves.

The books.

Not books.

Things.

Sealed in glass.

Sealed in lead.

Sealed in light.

He had been the keeper.

For ten years.

Ten years.

He had not slept.

He had not eaten.

He had only watched.

And waited.

And fought.

The voices grew louder.

They were angry.

They were hungry.

They wanted out.

Miles opened his eyes.

The light returned.

Faint.

Yellow.

Sick.

He saw them.

The things.

They pressed against the glass.

Their faces were blurred.

Smooth.

Featureless.

But their intent was sharp.

Piercing.

One of them pointed.

At him.

It spoke.

Not with a mouth.

With a thought.

*Let us in.*

Miles shook his head.

No.

*Let us in.*

No.

*Let us in.*

He felt the pressure.

It was heavy.

It was cold.

It was the weight of the world.

He pushed back.

With his mind.

With his will.

With his blood.

The glass cracked.

A hairline fracture.

It spread.

Fast.

The thing behind it smiled.

It had no mouth.

But he felt the smile.

It was warm.

It was sweet.

It was wrong.

Miles stepped back.

His heel hit the floor.

The floor was stone.

It was cold.

It was hard.

He fell.

His knees struck the ground.

Pain shot up his legs.

He stayed down.

He did not stand.

He could not stand.

The thing pushed.

The glass shattered.

The shards flew.

Like stars.

Like ice.

The thing stepped out.

It was tall.

It was thin.

It was white.

It wore no clothes.

It had no skin.

It was pure light.

Pure void.

It looked at him.

It did not kill him.

It did not hurt him.

It just looked.

And waited.

Miles looked up.

He saw his own face.

In the thing’s face.

It was his face.

But older.

Tired.

Broken.

It was him.

The him that had given up.

The him that had let go.

The him that had chosen peace.

Over war.

Over duty.

Over pain.

He remembered.

He remembered the door.

He remembered the key.

He remembered the choice.

He had been young.

Strong.

Proud.

He had taken the job.

To protect.

To guard.

To keep the dark away.

He had believed.

In the cause.

In the duty.

In the self.

But the self.

It was small.

It was fragile.

It was a lie.

The self.

Was a prison.

Like the vault.

Like the glass.

Like the walls.

He had built his identity on the fight.

On the resistance.

On the refusal.

*Let us in.*

*No.*

*Let us in.*

*No.*

He had defined himself by the barrier.

By the line.

By the "us" and the "them."

But there was no them.

There was no us.

There was only the light.

And the dark.

And the space between.

And he was the space.

He was the barrier.

And the barrier.

Was the cage.

The thing raised a hand.

It was long.

It was pale.

It reached for him.

Not to strike.

To touch.

To free.

To break.

Miles did not move.

He did not fight.

He did not push back.

He let it happen.

He let go.

He let the wall fall.

He let the glass shatter.

He let the light in.

The thing touched his forehead.

It was warm.

It was soft.

It was gentle.

He felt a crack.

In his mind.

In his soul.

In his self.

The crack spread.

Wide.

Deep.

It tore him open.

He screamed.

Not with his mouth.

With his spirit.

The sound was silent.

But it shook the vault.

The shelves rattled.

The lights flashed.

The other things broke free.

They stepped out.

They were many.

They were one.

They surrounded him.

They did not attack.

They did not hurt.

They just stood.

They just watched.

They just waited.

Miles lay on the floor.

He was empty.

He was hollow.

He was nothing.

He was free.

The thing in front of him knelt.

It looked at him.

With pity.

With love.

With sorrow.

It spoke.

*It is done.*

Miles nodded.

He could not speak.

He could not move.

He could only feel.

The feeling.

It was heavy.

It was bright.

It was endless.

It was the end.

And the beginning.

He closed his eyes.

He saw the vault.

It was empty.

The shelves were bare.

The glass was gone.

The light was out.

It was dark.

But it was quiet.

It was still.

It was peace.

He thought of Arthur.

His friend.

His brother.

His other half.

Arthur had died.

Years ago.

In the vault.

He had tried to save Miles.

He had failed.

He had been taken.

Miles had blamed himself.

For years.

He had fought.

To keep Arthur’s memory safe.

To keep the door shut.

To keep the things out.

To keep himself alive.

For Arthur.

But Arthur was gone.

And Miles was gone.

And the vault.

Was empty.

The thing stood up.

It walked away.

Into the dark.

The others followed.

One by one.

They vanished.

The vault was empty.

Miles was alone.

He lay on the floor.

His breath was shallow.

His heart was slow.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

It was fading.

He did not care.

He was tired.

So tired.

He had fought for so long.

He had held the line.

He had been the wall.

But the wall.

Was not him.

The wall.

Was the fear.

The wall.

Was the hate.

The wall.

Was the self.

And the self.

Was a lie.

He let it go.

He let it die.

He let it fade.

The darkness came.

It was soft.

It was warm.

It was like sleep.

He was falling.

Into the void.

Into the light.

Into the nothing.

And the something.

And the all.

He was free.

He was gone.

He was everywhere.

He was nowhere.

He was the vault.

He was the keeper.

He was the thing.

He was the glass.

He was the crack.

He was the light.

He was the dark.

He was the space.

He was the silence.

He was the end.

He was the beginning.

He was the truth.

He was the lie.

He was the choice.

He was the self.

He was the no-self.

He was the golden cellar.

And the cellar.

Was empty.

And the dark.

Was full.

And the light.

Was gone.

And the silence.

Was loud.

And the pain.

Was gone.

And the fear.

Was gone.

And the hate.

Was gone.

And the love.

Was gone.

And the self.

Was gone.

And the world.

Was gone.

And the nothing.

Was here.

And the here.

Was gone.

And the gone.

Was here.

And the here.

Was nothing.

And the nothing.

Was all.

And the all.

Was nothing.

And the nothing.

Was peace.

And the peace.

Was death.

And the death.

Was life.

And the life.

Was death.

And the death.

Was life.

And the life.

Was nothing.

And the nothing.

Was everything.

And the everything.

Was nothing.

And the nothing.

Was him.

And him.

Was nothing.

And nothing.

Was him.

And he.

Was gone.

And gone.

Was him.

And him.

Was gone.

And gone.

Was peace.

And peace.

Was gone.

And gone.

Was light.

And light.

Was gone.

And gone.

Was dark.

And dark.

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