The dream began with the taste of iron.

It was a sharp, metallic tang. It coated the tongue. It stuck to the teeth. It tasted old. It tasted of blood. It tasted of rust.

Elias woke in the cold. The air was thin. The sky was grey. It hung low over the valley. It pressed down on the hills. It pressed down on the stone. It pressed down on him.

He was in the Hall of Echoes.

The walls were white. The floor was black. The door was heavy. The door was iron. The door was locked.

He touched the metal. It was cold. It bit his skin. It bit his soul.

He was not alone.

A figure stood in the corner. It was tall. It was thin. It wore a cloak. The cloak was tattered. The cloak was grey.

The figure did not move.

It watched.

It waited.

Elias knew the face. He knew the eyes. He knew the mouth. It was his own face. It was his own shadow. It had come for him.

"Who are you?" Elias asked.

His voice was small. It died in the air. It vanished like smoke.

The figure smiled.

It was a cruel smile. It was a kind smile. It was both.

"I am the path," the figure said.

The voice was deep. The voice was soft. It vibrated in the chest. It vibrated in the bone.

"The path?" Elias asked.

"Yes," the figure said. "The boundary. The line. The edge."

Elias stepped back. His heels scraped the stone. The sound was loud. The sound was wrong.

"I am an exile," Elias said. "I have no path. I have no edge. I am lost."

The figure shook its head.

"You are found," the figure said. "You are trapped."

Elias looked at his hands. They were shaking. They were red. The iron taste was back. It was stronger now. It filled his mouth. It filled his throat.

"Why are you here?" Elias asked.

"To judge," the figure said.

The word hung in the air.

It was heavy. It was solid.

Elias felt a chill. It ran down his spine. It froze his blood.

"Judge what?" he asked.

"Your justice," the figure said.

Elias laughed.

It was a dry laugh. It was a broken laugh.

"Justice?" he said. "I have no justice. I have no cause. I have only pain."

The figure tilted its head.

"You have a cause," the figure said. "You have a root."

The word struck him.

Root.

The word was sharp. The word was deep.

Elias closed his eyes. He remembered the soil. He remembered the rain. He remembered the green. He remembered the life.

He had dug it up.

He had burned it.

He had left it behind.

"I betrayed it," Elias whispered.

"Yes," the figure said. "You betrayed the root."

Elias opened his eyes. The figure was closer now. It was inches away. It was face to face.

"Let me go," Elias said.

"No," the figure said. "You must stay. You must look. You must see."

Elias looked.

He saw the hall.

He saw the walls.

He saw the cracks.

The cracks were black. The cracks were deep. They ran up the white stone. They ran like veins. They ran like rivers.

They were spreading.

The hall was dying.

The white was fading. The black was growing. The echo was fading. The sound was dying.

"Is this me?" Elias asked.

"Yes," the figure said. "This is your world. This is your justice. This is your path."

Elias felt a pain. It was in his chest. It was in his heart. It was a sharp pain. It was a dull pain.

He fell to his knees.

The stone was cold. The stone was hard.

"I wanted to save them," Elias said. "I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it right."

"You wanted to control it," the figure said. "You wanted to own it."

Elias shook his head.

"No," he said. "I loved it. I loved the cause. I loved the truth."

The figure laughed.

It was a cold laugh. It was a sad laugh.

"Love is not control," the figure said. "Love is not possession. Love is letting go."

Elias looked at the cracks. They were everywhere. They were on the floor. They were on the ceiling. They were on the door.

The door was opening.

It opened slowly. It opened with a groan. The iron was rusting. The iron was crumbling.

Light came in.

It was white. It was bright. It was blinding.

Elias covered his eyes.

"Who is there?" he asked.

The figure did not answer.

The figure was gone.

Elias stood up.

He walked to the door.

He stepped into the light.

The world outside was vast.

The sky was blue. The grass was green. The air was sweet.

He was standing in a field.

It was a meadow.

It was beautiful.

It was silent.

He looked down.

His feet were bare.

The grass was tall.

The grass was soft.

He looked around.

There was no one.

There was no figure.

There was no hall.

There was only him.

And the wind.

The wind blew.

It was cold.

It was warm.

It was alive.

Elias walked.

He walked for hours.

He walked for days.

He did not know how long.

Time did not matter.

Space did not matter.

He only walked.

He walked toward the sun.

He walked toward the horizon.

He walked toward the end.

He found a tree.

It was an oak.

It was old.

It was big.

It was alone.

Elias stopped.

He looked at the tree.

He saw the roots.

They were thick.

They were strong.

They were buried.

He knelt down.

He touched the bark.

It was rough.

It was warm.

He closed his eyes.

He remembered the dream.

He remembered the hall.

He remembered the figure.

He remembered the word.

Root.

He had betrayed it.

He had burned it.

He had left it behind.

But it was here.

It was alive.

It was waiting.

Elias opened his eyes.

He looked at the sky.

It was clear.

It was blue.

It was endless.

He felt a peace.

It was strange.

It was deep.

It was quiet.

He understood.

He had not lost the path.

He had lost the way.

The path was not a line.

The path was a circle.

The path was a home.

He had to go back.

He had to face it.

He had to accept it.

He stood up.

He turned around.

He walked back.

He walked to the edge of the field.

He saw the door.

It was there.

It was iron.

It was locked.

It was broken.

Elias walked to it.

He touched the handle.

It was cold.

It was old.

He turned it.

It opened.

He stepped inside.

The hall was dark.

The walls were black.

The floor was white.

The cracks were gone.

The echo was gone.

The silence was gone.

He was alone.

He was free.

He was lost.

He was found.

He sat down.

He closed his eyes.

He breathed.

He lived.

He died.

He woke.

The taste of iron was gone.

The taste of air was there.

The taste of life was there.

He was in his room.

The sun was rising.

The light was gold.

The light was warm.

He looked at his hands.

They were clean.

They were dry.

They were his own.

He looked at the window.

The view was clear.

The view was open.

The view was wide.

He saw the world.

It was broken.

It was beautiful.

It was real.

He stood up.

He walked to the door.

He opened it.

He stepped out.

He walked into the world.

He did not look back.

He did not look up.

He looked forward.

He looked within.

He found the root.

It was deep.

It was strong.

It was true.

He held it.

He let it go.

He held it again.

He let it go again.

He was free.

He was bound.

He was free.

The sun rose higher.

The day began.

The life began.

The story ended.

The story began.

He was Elias.

He was everyone.

He was no one.

He was the path.

He was the edge.

He was the root.

He was the soil.

He was the rain.

He was the green.

He was the life.

He was the death.

He was the dream.

He was the wake.

He was the iron.

He was the air.

He was the silence.

He was the echo.

He was the crack.

He was the wall.

He was the door.

He was the key.

He was the lock.

He was the judge.

He was the judged.

He was the just.

He was the unjust.

He was the cause.

He was the effect.

He was the love.

He was the hate.

He was the truth.

He was the lie.

He was the light.

He was the dark.

He was the sun.

He was the moon.

He was the star.

He was the sky.

He was the earth.

He was the sea.

He was the wind.

He was the fire.

He was the water.

He was the stone.

He was the tree.

He was the flower.

He was the seed.

He was the fruit.

He was the leaf.

He was the branch.

He was the trunk.

He was the bark.

He was the wood.

He was the heart.

He was the soul.

He was the spirit.

He was the ghost.

He was the shadow.

He was the light.

He was the dark.

He was the white.

He was the black.

He was the grey.

He was the color.

He was the form.

He was the shape.

He was the line.

He was the point.

He was the circle.

He was the square.

He was the triangle.

He was the sphere.

He was the cube.

He was the cone.

He was the cylinder.

He was the prism.

He was the crystal.

He was the glass.

He was the mirror.

He was the eye.

He was the ear.

He was the nose.

He was the mouth.

He was the tongue.

He was the tooth.

He was the bone.

He was the blood.

He was the flesh.

He was the skin.

He was the hair.

He was the nail.

He was the hand.

He was the foot.

He was the leg.

He was the arm.

He was the shoulder.

He was the back.

He was the chest.

He was the belly.

He was the hip.

He was the knee.

He was the elbow.

He was the wrist.

He was the ankle.

He was the neck.

He was the head.

He was the face.

He was the forehead.

He was the brow.

He was the temple.

He was the cheek.

He was the chin.

He was the jaw.

He was the lip.

He was the tongue.

He was the throat.

He was the chest.

He was the heart.

He was the lung.

He was the liver.

He was the kidney.

He was the stomach.

He was the intestine.

He was the bladder.

He was the bone.

He was the muscle.

He was the tendon.

He was the ligament.

He was the nerve.

He was the vein.

He was the artery.

He was the capillary.

He was the cell.

He was the atom.

He was the molecule.

He was the electron.

He was the proton.

He was the neutron.

He was the quark.

He was the string.

He was the wave.

He was the particle.

He was the field.

He was the force.

He was the energy.

He was the mass.

He was the time.

He was the space.

He was the matter.

He was the void.

He was the nothing.

He was the something.

He was the all.

He was the none.

He was the one.

He was the many.

He was the self.

He was the other.

He was the here.

He was the there.

He was the now.

He was the then.

He was the before.

He was the after.

He was the beginning.

He was the end.

He was the middle.

He was the edge.

He was the center.

He was the path.

He was the root.