The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in grey sheets against the glass of the tavern window. We sat in the corner. The table was scarred with knife marks and spilled ale. My hand rested on the hilt of my sword. It was a heavy thing. The leather grip was worn smooth. I had held it for ten years. My name was Kaelen. I was a knight. Or so they said.

Thomas sat across from me. He was older. His hair was white. His face was a map of old wounds. He did not drink. He stared at the wall.

"You look tired, boy," he said.

"I am always tired."

"You are afraid."

I did not answer. I picked up my cup. The ale was warm. It tasted of metal.

"Why did you leave the Order?" Thomas asked.

"I was cast out."

"For what crime?"

"I killed a man. A peasant. He attacked me. I killed him in self-defense."

"And the court?"

"The court said I had no right. A knight must not kill a commoner. Not even in defense. It is a stain. It is dishonor."

Thomas nodded. He poured water into my empty cup.

"You have been walking for a month. Where are you going?"

"I do not know. I am going north. To the old watchtower. It is on the cliff. It has been empty for a hundred years."

"A ruin."

"It is my goal. I must reach it. I must stand there. I must look out. That is what I promised myself."

Thomas looked at me. His eyes were dark.

"You are chasing a ghost," he said.

"Perhaps."

"I will go with you. The road is dangerous. Wolves. Bandits. The rain makes the paths slick."

"I do not need help."

"You need a guide. The mountain passes are hidden by the mist. You will get lost. You will die."

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I did not know why.

"Fine," I said. "Walk with me."

We left the tavern at dawn. The rain had turned to sleet. It stung our faces. The road was mud. It sucked at our boots.

We walked in silence. The forest was thick. The trees were black against the grey sky. The branches hung low. They dragged through the sleet.

Thomas walked ahead. He knew the way. He did not speak much. He pointed to a fork in the road. Left. Then right. Then up a steep hill.

At the top of the hill, we stopped. The mist was thick here. It was like a white wall. We could not see the valley below. We could not see the path down.

"Wait here," Thomas said.

He walked into the mist. I stayed on the hill. I watched the grey wall. It moved slowly. Like a living thing.

I felt a anger rise in my chest. It was a hot coal. I wanted to strike out. I wanted to cut something. I wanted to prove I was still a knight. I wanted to prove I was not a coward.

I drew my sword. The steel was dull. I swung it at the air. I cut the mist. It parted for a second. Then it closed again.

I sheathed the sword. My hands were steady now.

Thomas came back. He was shivering.

"The path is clear," he said. "But the ground is soft. Be careful."

We continued. The journey was long. It took us five days to reach the base of the cliff.

The cliff was sheer. It rose high into the clouds. The watchtower was at the very top. It was a small stone structure. It looked like a tooth sticking out of the rock.

It looked like a cage.

We climbed. The rocks were slippery. I held Thomas up. He held me up. We did not speak. We only breathed. The air was thin. It burned in my lungs.

We reached the base of the tower. The door was closed. It was locked with an iron bar.

I pulled on the bar. It did not move.

"Help me," Thomas said.

I put my shoulder against the bar. I pushed. The metal groaned. It bent. It snapped.

The door swung open.

The inside was dark. It smelled of dust and rot. We lit a lantern. The flame was small. It flickered in the draft.

We walked into the tower. The floor was cracked. Stones had fallen. The walls were damp.

There was a room at the top. A single window. It faced the sea.

I walked to the window. I looked out.

The mist was everywhere. It covered the sea. It covered the land. It covered the world.

I could not see anything.

I felt a despair settle in my bones. It was cold. It was heavy. I had climbed this mountain. I had broken the lock. I had reached the goal. And I saw nothing.

I turned to Thomas. He was sitting on a broken chair. He was watching me.

"What is there?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"I expected to see something. A sign. A vision. A proof that I am worthy."

"There is no proof, Kaelen. There is only the view. And today, the view is hidden."

I felt a rage build. I wanted to smash the window. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear the mist away with my bare hands.

"Is this a joke?" I asked.

"No," Thomas said. "It is the truth. You are looking for an answer outside yourself. You think the tower will give you peace. It will not. The tower is just stone. It is just a place. You are the one who is broken. Not the place."

I looked at my sword. It hung at my side. I had carried it for months. I had used it for nothing. I had not killed anyone. I had not defended anyone. I had only carried the weight.

I looked at Thomas. His face was calm. He was not afraid of me. He was not afraid of the tower.

"Why did you come with me?" I asked.

"Because you needed to be seen," he said. "By someone who knows the weight."

I felt a crack in my chest. It was small. It was quiet. But it was there.

I sat down on the floor. I leaned against the wall. The stone was cold. It seeped through my clothes.

Thomas sat beside me. He did not offer comfort. He did not speak. He just sat there.

We sat for a long time. The rain continued to fall. We could hear it on the roof of the tower. A steady drumming.

I thought about the peasant I had killed. I remembered his face. He was young. He had been afraid. I had been afraid. We were both trapped by our fear. I had let my fear become a weapon. I had let the Order’s rules become a chain. I had carried them for ten years. I had thought that if I could just reach this place, the chains would break.

They did not break. They were still there. They were around my neck. They were in my hands.

I looked at Thomas.

"I am a monster," I said.

"No," he said. "You are a man. You made a mistake. You have been punished for it. The punishment is the wandering. The punishment is the doubt."

"I don't want the punishment."

"Then accept it. Accept that you are not a knight. You are just a man who carries a sword. That is all. That is enough."

I looked at the sword. I unbuckled the belt. The sword fell to the floor. It landed with a dull thud.

I felt lighter. I felt heavier.

I looked at Thomas.

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded.

We stayed in the tower for a night. We slept on the floor. I did not dream.

In the morning, the mist had lifted.

The sun was shining. The sea was blue. It was a beautiful sight.

I looked out the window. I saw the water. I saw the sky. I saw the world.

It was beautiful. And it was indifferent.

I picked up the sword. I did not put it on my belt. I held it in my hands. I felt its weight. It was just metal. It was just a tool.

I walked to the door. Thomas was waiting.

"Are we going down?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Where to?"

"I don't know. Maybe home. Maybe nowhere. It does not matter."

We walked down the cliff. The path was easy now. The sun dried the mud. The trees were green.

We walked into the town. The people looked at me. They saw a knight. They saw a man with a sword.

I saw a man.

I walked past the tavern. I did not go in. I walked out of town. I walked into the fields.

Thomas walked beside me. We did not speak.

The sun was warm on my face. The air smelled of earth and rain.

I was not redeemed. I was not forgiven. I was not a hero.

I was just alive.

And that was enough.

The mist had gone. The world was clear. I could see my own feet. I could see the road ahead. It was long. It was unknown.

I took a step. Then another.

The sword was in my hand. It was light.

I walked on.