The gate was not a door. It was a wound in the sky.

Elias stood before it. His hands shook. He was a man made of iron and regret. He had worn the crown for ten years. It was a heavy thing. It was a cold thing. It was his own head, fused with the metal. He could not take it off. He had tried. He had bled for it. The metal bit into his skin. It became part of his bone.

"You look thin, Elias," said the voice.

It was Julian. Julian stood in the mist. He was old. His hair was white as snow. His eyes were kind. They were too kind. They were the eyes of a father who knew you were going to die.

"I am hungry," Elias said.

"Good," Julian said. "Hunger is honest. Power is a lie. Power is a coat that fits no one. You have worn it too long. It has grown into you."

Elias looked at the gate. The mist swirled. It was not water. It was memory. It was the smell of rain on hot stone. It was the sound of a child crying in a dark room. He did not want to look. He looked.

"Where is the rest of us?" Elias asked.

"Inside," Julian said. "They are waiting. They have been waiting a long time."

Elias moved forward. The mist parted. It did not resist. It welcomed him. It knew him. It was his own breath, expelled and trapped.

He saw the throne.

It was made of glass. It was clear. It was sharp. It sat in the center of a room that had no walls. The floor was black water. It did not ripple. It was still. It was like a mirror. It reflected the sky above. The sky was empty. There were no stars. There was only the light.

Sitting on the throne was a figure. It was small. It was fragile. It wore a crown of thorns. The thorns were fresh. They were red.

Elias stopped. His heart hammered. It was a drum. It beat in his chest. It beat in his bones. It beat in the glass.

"Who is that?" he whispered.

"It is you," Julian said.

Elias laughed. It was a dry sound. It was the sound of leaves skittering on pavement. "No. I am here. I am Elias. I am the King."

"You are the King of Nothing," Julian said. "You have ruled for ten years. You have made no laws. You have given no orders. You have done nothing. You have only sat. You have only waited. You have only feared."

Elias looked at the figure on the throne. The figure looked back. The eyes were empty. They were full of pain. They were full of shame.

"I did not want this," Elias said.

"No one does," Julian said. "That is the trap. You think you are the prisoner. You think the throne is the cage. You are wrong. You are the cage. The throne is the key. The key is in your hand. You have held it for ten years. You have never turned it."

Elias looked at his hands. They were empty. He reached for the hilt of his sword. The sword was not there. He had never drawn it. He had never used it. He had only carried it. It was a burden. It was a promise. It was a lie.

"I am tired," Elias said.

"I know," Julian said. "I know you are tired. I know you are afraid. I know you are angry. I know you are guilty. You killed your brother. You did not mean to. But you did. You pushed him. You watched him fall. You watched him die. You have carried that stone in your belly for ten years. It has crushed your insides. It has hollowed you out."

Elias did not deny it. He did not argue. He was too tired to lie. The truth was a heavy blanket. It covered him. It suffocated him.

"What must I do?" Elias asked.

"You must break the glass," Julian said.

"The throne?"

"Yes. The throne is the illusion. The throne is the lie. You believe you are safe on the throne. You believe you are protected. You are not. You are exposed. You are naked. You are a man on a hill, with no shield, no sword, no army. You are only a man. And you are dying."

Elias looked at the glass. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It reflected his face. The face was twisted. The face was ugly. The face was his.

"If I break it, I am free," Elias said.

"If you break it, you are dead," Julian said.

The words hung in the air. They were heavy. They were solid. They were stones.

"I do not care," Elias said.

"You care," Julian said. "You care so much that it is eating you alive. You care because you are good. You are a good man, Elias. That is your curse. You feel everything. You feel the pain of the world. You feel the weight of the crown. You feel the love of your friends. You feel the loss of your brother. You feel it all. And it is too much. It is too heavy for one man to carry."

Elias looked at Julian. "Will you be there?"

"I will be there," Julian said. "I will always be there. I am your memory. I am your conscience. I am the part of you that refuses to sleep. I will be there when the glass breaks. I will be there when the light comes. I will be there when you fall."

Elias nodded. He stepped forward. The black water did not ripple. It accepted him. He walked to the throne. He stood before the figure. The figure was him. It was the best of him. It was the worst of him. It was the truth.

He raised his hand. He did not have a sword. He had his fist. He had his will. He had his rage. He had his love.

He punched the glass.

The sound was not a crash. It was a sigh. It was the sound of a long breath released. The glass did not shatter into a thousand pieces. It dissolved. It turned to mist. It turned to light. The light was blinding. It was warm. It was soft.

Elias fell. He fell onto the black water. The water was warm. It was like a bath. It was like a womb. It was like a grave.

He felt the crown come off. It slid from his head. It hit the water. It made a small sound. It sank. It disappeared.

He felt the weight lift. He felt the stone in his belly dissolve. He felt the pain leave his bones. He felt the cold leave his blood.

He was free.

He was dead.

He lay in the water. He looked up. The sky was no longer empty. There were stars. There were thousands of them. They were bright. They were close. They were within reach.

He saw his brother. He was standing on the edge of the water. He was young. He was smiling. He was holding a flower. It was a daisy. It was white. It was pure.

"Hello, brother," Elias said.

"Hello, Elias," his brother said. "You are late."

"I was busy," Elias said. "I was ruling."

"Ruling is a slow death," his brother said. "I chose a fast one. I chose the fall. I chose the pain. I chose the end. I am at peace."

"I am at peace," Elias said.

"Yes," his brother said. "You are at peace. You have given up the throne. You have given up the power. You have given up the self. You are nothing. You are everyone. You are the wind. You are the rain. You are the light."

Elias closed his eyes. He felt the mist wrap around him. It was gentle. It was kind. It was familiar. It was his own breath.

He thought of the gate. He thought of the journey. He thought of the years. He thought of the mistakes. He thought of the love. He thought of the loss.

He was not afraid.

He was not angry.

He was not guilty.

He was just Elias.

He was a man.

He was a friend.

He was a son.

He was a brother.

He was a king of nothing.

He was a man of everything.

The water rose. It covered his face. It covered his mouth. It covered his eyes. He did not struggle. He did not fight. He let it in. He let it fill him. He let it wash him clean.

The light grew brighter. The stars burned hotter. The mist thickened. He was disappearing. He was becoming the air. He was becoming the silence. He was becoming the story.

He was the story of a man who sat on a throne of glass. He was the story of a man who broke it. He was the story of a man who fell. He was the story of a man who rose.

He was the wistful throne.

He was the empty chair.

He was the light in the dark.

He was the end.

He was the beginning.

He was the truth.

He was the lie.

He was the silence between the words.

He was the pause between the beats.

He was the breath before the cry.

He was the memory after the loss.

He was the love that remains.

He was the pain that passes.

He was the peace that waits.

He was the light that breaks.

He was the glass that shatters.

He was the man who was free.

He was the man who was gone.

He was the story.

The mist cleared. The room was empty. The black water was gone. The glass was gone. The throne was gone. There was only the light. There was only the silence. There was only the truth.

It was enough.

It was all.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Elias was no more.

The light remained.