The King left on a Tuesday.

Or at least, he looked like a King.

He wore a coat of black wool.

It was thick.

Heavy with rain.

He stood at the gate.

I stood behind him.

My name is Elias.

I am the Auditor.

I check the ledgers.

I count the gold.

I verify the weight.

The gate was gold.

Not real gold.

Gilded brass.

But it caught the sun.

It burned the eyes.

The King turned.

He smiled.

It was a wide smile.

Too wide.

Too many teeth.

"Ready, Elias?" he asked.

His voice was smooth.

Like oil.

"Always, Your Majesty," I said.

I kept my hands in my pockets.

I do not like to touch things.

Touching makes things real.

Real things break.

We walked down the hill.

The castle was behind us.

The court was silent.

The lords watched from the windows.

They held their breath.

We were leaving.

Not to die.

Not to fight.

To cross.

There is a river.

The Acheron.

It runs through the city.

It is not water.

It is memory.

It is liquid time.

To cross it, you must pay.

The toll is high.

The King paid with a coin.

He threw it in.

The water swallowed it.

The water changed color.

It turned red.

Then blue.

Then clear.

We stepped into the boat.

The boat was wood.

Old wood.

It smelled of rot.

The boatman was there.

He was tall.

He wore a mask.

The mask was white.

No eyes.

No mouth.

Just a hole.

"Name," the boatman said.

The King did not answer.

He looked at me.

His eyes were dark.

Deep.

Like wells.

"Name," the boatman said again.

I stepped forward.

"Elias," I said.

"I am the Auditor."

The boatman tilted his head.

"The King," he said.

He pointed at him.

The King nodded.

"Arthur," he said.

"King Arthur."

The boatman laughed.

It was a dry sound.

Like leaves scraping stone.

"Lies," the boatman said.

"The water hears lies."

The water began to boil.

Bubbles rose.

Black bubbles.

The King’s face twisted.

He gripped the edge of the boat.

His knuckles were white.

"Tell the truth," the boatman said.

The King looked at me.

I saw fear in his eyes.

Real fear.

Not the fear of a King.

The fear of a man.

"I am no King," Arthur said.

His voice was small.

"I am a ghost."

The water stopped boiling.

It was calm.

Dead calm.

The boatman nodded.

"Good," he said.

"Let us go."

He pushed off the bank.

The boat moved.

Slowly.

The water was cold.

It touched our ankles.

It felt like ice.

It felt like fire.

It felt like nothing.

The King sat down.

He put his head in his hands.

I sat across from him.

I watched him.

I am good at watching.

I see details.

I see patterns.

I see the lies in the numbers.

I saw the lie in him.

He was not a ghost.

He was alive.

He was breathing.

His chest rose and fell.

But he was fading.

His edges were blurry.

Like a painting in water.

"Why did you leave?" I asked.

He did not look up.

"I was tired," he said.

"Tired of what?"

"Of being watched."

"I am a watcher," I said.

"I know how it feels."

He looked up.

His eyes were clear now.

Blue.

Like the sky.

Like the water.

"You are not a watcher," he said.

"You are a mirror."

I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

I saw him.

I saw myself.

My face.

My coat.

My hands.

I was him.

He was me.

The boat spun.

The world spun.

The water rose.

It touched our faces.

It was warm.

It smelled of salt.

It smelled of blood.

"Stop," I said.

But I could not move.

My legs were gone.

My arms were gone.

I was just a face.

Floating in the water.

The King reached out.

He grabbed my hand.

His grip was strong.

Real.

"I have to go back," he said.

"Go back?"

"To the gate."

"Why?"

"To save them."

"Save who?"

"The court."

"They are dead," I said.

"No," he said.

"They are waiting."

The boat hit something.

A rock.

The boat split.

Water poured in.

Cold water.

Freezing water.

The King pushed me.

He pushed me hard.

I fell into the water.

It was deep.

Darker than night.

I sank.

I breathed the water.

It tasted of iron.

It tasted of regret.

I saw the bottom.

It was gold.

Not brass.

Real gold.

Coins.

Jewels.

Crowns.

A kingdom of treasure.

And bodies.

Hundreds of bodies.

Lords.

Ladies.

Soldiers.

They were sleeping.

Or dying.

I saw the King’s face.

Above me.

In the boat.

He was waving.

He was smiling.

That wide smile.

Too many teeth.

"Goodbye, Elias," he said.

I wanted to shout.

But I had no mouth.

I was water.

I was memory.

I was the river.

I drifted.

Up.

Up.

Toward the light.

I surfaced.

Gasping.

Coughing.

Spitting water.

I was on the bank.

The grass was wet.

The air was cold.

The boat was gone.

The King was gone.

The gate was behind me.

I stood up.

My legs were shaky.

My coat was soaked.

I walked to the gate.

The gold glistened.

The sun was setting.

The sky was orange.

Red.

Like blood.

The court was there.

The lords.

The ladies.

They stood in a line.

Silent.

Still.

Like statues.

The High Priest stood at the front.

He held a staff.

The staff was black.

It was made of bone.

"Elias," he said.

His voice was loud.

It echoed.

"You are late."

"I was crossing," I said.

My voice was a whisper.

"Crossing is forbidden," the Priest said.

"The King is gone."

"Is he?" I asked.

The Priest smiled.

It was a cold smile.

Like the water.

"The King is here," he said.

He turned.

He pointed.

At the gate.

At the gold.

At the sun.

I looked.

I saw the King.

He stood on the other side.

On the far bank.

He waved.

He smiled.

That wide smile.

Too many teeth.

I understood.

He was not gone.

He was the gate.

He was the gold.

He was the power.

He was the system.

And I was the check.

The balance.

The ledger.

The Priest stepped forward.

"Sign," he said.

He held out a scroll.

The scroll was white.

Blank.

"Sign, and you are free," he said.

"Sign, and you are part of it."

I looked at the scroll.

I looked at the King.

The King nodded.

He wanted me to sign.

He wanted me to join.

He wanted me to become him.

To become the gate.

To become the gold.

I looked at my hands.

They were shaking.

I looked at the Priest.

His eyes were empty.

Black holes.

Like the boatman’s mask.

I picked up the quill.

It was heavy.

It felt like a sword.

I dipped it in the ink.

The ink was black.

Thick.

I wrote.

I did not sign my name.

I wrote a number.

One.

Just one.

I tore the scroll.

The pieces fell.

Like snow.

The Priest’s face changed.

His smile vanished.

His eyes widened.

"Impossible," he said.

"You cannot refuse."

"I can," I said.

My voice was strong.

It was not a whisper.

It was a shout.

It was a roar.

The ground shook.

The gold gate cracked.

A single crack.

Thin.

Like a hair.

The King screamed.

It was a long scream.

It went on and on.

The sound of tearing metal.

The sound of breaking bones.

The gate fell.

Crashed to the ground.

Gold dust flew.

It covered the court.

The lords fell.

The ladies fell.

The Priest fell.

The world went dark.

I stood alone.

The river was silent.

The water was still.

I walked to the bank.

I looked at the water.

I saw my reflection.

It was not a King.

It was not a ghost.

It was Elias.

The Auditor.

I was real.

I was solid.

I was here.

I took off my coat.

I dropped it.

It was heavy.

It was wet.

I stood in the rain.

The rain was warm.

It washed the gold dust from my skin.

It washed the blood from my hands.

I closed my eyes.

I breathed.

In.

Out.

The pain was gone.

The fear was gone.

The lie was gone.

I opened my eyes.

The sun was rising.

It was new.

Bright.

Clean.

I turned.

I walked away.

From the gate.

From the river.

From the court.

I walked into the city.

The streets were empty.

The people were awake.

They looked at me.

They did not see a King.

They did not see a ghost.

They saw a man.

A man in a shirt.

Wet from the rain.

Walking.

Just walking.

I did not look back.

I did not need to.

The gate was gone.

The gold was dust.

The King was silence.

And I was free.

Not free from the world.

Free from the weight.

Free from the mirror.

Free from the lie.

I walked.

My feet were bare.

The cobblestones were cold.

I did not care.

I felt the ground.

I felt the earth.

I felt the life.

It was simple.

It was hard.

It was real.

I walked on.

The city stretched out.

Endless.

Bright.

Alive.

I smiled.

It was a small smile.

Not too wide.

Not too many teeth.

Just a smile.

A human smile.

I was home.

Not in a castle.

Not in a throne room.

In the street.

In the rain.

In the light.

I was Elias.

The Auditor.

And the ledger was balanced.

The debt was paid.

The toll was met.

The crossing was done.

I walked.

And the day began.