The fog rolled off the river like a shroud. It swallowed the spires. It swallowed the banners. It swallowed the men.

Elias stood on the wet stone. His boots slipped. He held his ground. The mist was thick and cold. It bit his skin. It choked his breath. He looked at the tower. It loomed above him. A black tooth in a white mouth.

He was a prisoner. Not of chains. Of silence. The court had judged him. They said he stole. They said he lied. They said he was a spy. They had no proof. They had only fear. Fear is a heavy stone. It sits in the chest. It makes the lungs small.

Elias did not argue. Argument is for the free. He was bound by duty. Duty is a leash. It is tight. It does not stretch.

He walked up the steps. The stone was slick. His heart beat loud. Thump. Thump. Thump. It echoed in his skull. He could hear the rain hitting the leaves. He could hear the wind in the eaves. He could hear the distant bells. They rang for the hour. They rang for the dead.

The door opened. A guard stepped aside. The guard had a scar. The scar ran from ear to chin. The guard looked at Elias. The guard looked away. There was no hate in his eyes. Only boredom. Boredom is a dangerous thing. It dulls the mind. It sharpens the blade.

Elias entered the hall. The hall was vast. The ceiling was painted with stars. The stars were gold. The stars were fading. The paint was peeling. The floor was marble. The marble was cold. It seeped into his bones.

He walked past the pillars. He walked past the statues. The statues were marble. They were white. They were blind. They saw nothing. They heard nothing. They judged nothing.

He reached the throne. The throne was high. It was made of oak. It was dark. It was empty.

A figure sat there. A small figure. A frail figure.

It was his mother.

She was old. Her hair was white. Her face was a map of wrinkles. Her hands were thin. They rested on her knees. They did not move.

She looked at him. Her eyes were clear. They were blue. They were deep. Like a well.

"You are here," she said.

Her voice was soft. It was thin. It was like dry leaves.

"I am here," Elias said.

He did not bow. He did not kneel. He stood. He stood straight. His back was stiff. His shoulders were square.

"Sit," she said.

He sat. The chair was hard. It was cold. It bit into him.

They looked at each other. The silence stretched. It pulled. It hurt.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I was summoned," he said.

"By whom?"

"By the court."

"The court?"

"Yes."

"They have accused you."

"I know."

"Of what?"

"Of treason."

She closed her eyes. She opened them. She looked at him. Her face did not change. It was stone.

"You did not betray us," she said.

"No."

"Then why?"

"I do not know."

"You must know."

"I do not know."

She leaned forward. Her breath was shallow. She coughed. It was a wet sound. It was a dark sound.

"You are a fool," she said.

He flinched. He did not show it. He kept his face still. He kept his hands still.

"I am not a fool," he said.

"You are a stone," she said. "Stones do not speak. Stones do not move. Stones do not feel."

"I feel," he said.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then show me."

He looked at her. He looked at her hands. They were trembling. They were shaking.

"I cannot," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because it is not mine to give."

She laughed. It was a dry sound. It was a brittle sound.

"Not yours to give," she repeated. "You think you own your heart? You think you own your soul? You are a piece of the machine. The machine runs. The machine grinds. The machine eats."

"The machine is wrong," Elias said.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then why do you stand by it?"

"Because I must."

"Must?"

"Duty."

"Duty," she spat. "Duty is a lie. Duty is a chain. It binds the neck. It chokes the throat."

She reached out. Her hand was cold. She touched his cheek. Her fingers were rough. They were hard.

"You are cold," she said.

"I am warm," he said.

"You are ice," she said. "You are winter. You have forgotten the sun. You have forgotten the rain. You have forgotten the wind."

"I have not forgotten," he said.

"Then why do you not feel?"

"I do feel."

"Show me."

He looked at her. He looked at the stars on the ceiling. The stars were dim. They were fading.

"I am here," he said. "That is all I can do."

She pulled her hand back. She withdrew it. She sat back. She looked at him. Her eyes were wet. They were shining.

"You are dead," she said.

"I am alive," he said.

"You are a ghost," she said. "You walk among the living. But you are not here. You are in the past. You are in the grave."

"I am here," he said.

"No," she said. "You are in the fog. You are in the mist. You are lost."

He looked at the door. The door was closed. The guard was there. The guard watched. The guard waited.

"Let me go," Elias said.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here."

"Where?"

"I do not know."

"You do not know," she said. "You have lost your way. You have lost your name. You have lost your face."

"I have my face," he said.

"You have a mask," she said. "You wear it well. It fits. It hides. It protects."

"It does not protect," he said.

"It protects from pain," she said. "Pain is a fire. It burns. It consumes. It leaves ash."

"I do not fear pain," he said.

"You fear death," she said. "You fear the dark. You fear the silence. You fear the end."

He said nothing.

She looked at him. She looked at him for a long time. The room was still. The air was still. The dust motes danced. They floated. They spun.

"Come," she said.

He stood up. He walked with her. He followed her. She walked slowly. She leaned on a cane. The cane tapped the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap.

They walked to the window. The window was high. The window was narrow. The glass was thick.

She pushed it open. The wind rushed in. It was cold. It was sharp. It cut the air.

The fog was thick. It was white. It was empty.

"Look," she said.

He looked. He looked at the fog. He looked at the river. He looked at the trees. The trees were black. They were bare. They were dead.

"See?" she said.

He saw nothing. He saw only white. He saw only empty.

"There is nothing there," he said.

"There is everything," she said. "There is the truth. There is the lie. There is the light. There is the dark."

"I see only fog," he said.

"Then you are blind," she said.

He looked at her. He looked at her face. Her face was pale. Her lips were blue.

"I am not blind," he said.

"You are," she said. "You are blind to your own heart. You are blind to your own soul. You are blind to your own blood."

He felt a pain. It was sharp. It was deep. It was in his chest.

"I am not blind," he said.

"Then look," she said.

He looked at her. He looked into her eyes. He saw himself. He saw his face. He saw his hair. He saw his eyes.

He saw the fog. He saw the mist. He saw the white.

He saw the lie.

He saw the truth.

He saw the blood.

He saw the bond.

He saw the chain.

He saw the break.

He saw the fall.

He saw the rise.

He saw the end.

He saw the beginning.

He saw the now.

He closed his eyes. He opened them.

The fog was gone.

The sun was out.

The light was bright.

The light was warm.

The light was gold.

He looked at his mother. She was smiling. It was a small smile. It was a faint smile. It was a sad smile.

"Go," she said.

"I cannot," he said.

"You must," she said.

"Why?"

"Because you are free."

"I am not free."

"You are," she said. "You were never bound. You bound yourself. You chose the cage. You chose the stone. You chose the silence."

"I chose duty," he said.

"Duty is a word," she said. "Words are wind. They blow. They fade. They vanish."

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Live," she said.

"How?"

"Feel," she said. "Love. Hate. Cry. Laugh. Burn. Fade. Live."

He looked at the door. The door was open. The guard was gone. The hall was empty.

He walked to the door. He stepped out.

The air was cool. The air was fresh. The air was clean.

He walked down the steps. He walked past the statues. He walked past the pillars. He walked into the street.

The street was quiet. The street was empty. The street was wet.

He walked. He walked fast. He ran.

He ran to the river. He ran to the bridge. He ran to the bank.

He looked at the water. The water was black. The water was still.

He jumped in.

The water was cold. The water was sharp. The water was alive.

He swam. He swam hard. He swam fast.

He swam to the center. He swam to the middle. He swam to the heart.

He stopped. He floated. He floated on his back.

He looked up. The sky was blue. The sky was clear. The sky was vast.

He looked at the stars. The stars were gone. The sun was there. The sun was bright. The sun was warm.

He felt the warmth. He felt the light. He felt the life.

He felt the pain. He felt the love. He felt the fear.

He felt the freedom.

He closed his eyes. He opened them.

He was alone. He was free. He was alive.

The fog was gone. The truth was here. The truth was clear. The truth was bright.

He was the map. He was the territory. He was the journey. He was the end. He was the beginning.

He was the man. He was the son. He was the son of the earth. He was the son of the sun.

He was free.

He was free.

He was free.