I was bleeding from the temple. The blood ran hot into my eye. I blinked. The world was red. Then it was black. Then it was red again.

I was on the floor of the keep. The stone was cold. My back was against the wall. My armor was heavy. It felt like iron. It was not iron. It was lead. It was the weight of the law.

I looked up. A figure stood over me. It was a mirror. No. It was a man. He wore my face. He wore my armor. He held my sword.

I tried to stand. My legs did not work. I gasped. The air tasted of dust and copper.

"Stay down," the man said. His voice was mine.

I looked at his hands. They were shaking. I knew that shake. I had seen it in my hands for years. It was the tremor of the penance. The tremor of the judge who knows the verdict is wrong but signs it anyway.

Who is this?

I knew who it was. I had been looking for him for ten years. I was the High Warden of the City of Glass. I was the law. I was the order. I was the thing that kept the dark at bay.

And I was the monster in the dark.

The city outside was silent. The spires of the Glass District caught the moonlight. They glittered like teeth. The citizens were asleep. They were safe. Because I was here. Because I was killing myself.

The man in my face stepped forward. He kicked my sword away. It clattered on the stone. The sound was sharp. It cut through the silence.

"You are not real," I said. My voice was a rasp.

"I am the truth," he said.

I tried to move. I pulled myself up by the wall. My muscles screamed. Pain is a good teacher. It reminds you of what you are. I am a soldier. I am a weapon. Weapons do not feel. Weapons do not doubt.

I stood. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the wall. I looked at him. He was tall. He was strong. He was everything I wanted to be. He was everything I had become.

"Who sent you?" I asked.

"Yourself."

I laughed. It was a dry sound. Like dead leaves.

"Why?"

"Because you are tired."

I was not tired. I was focused. I was precise. I had executed three men this week. They were thieves. They were corrupt. They were threats to the Order. I had signed their death warrants. I had watched them die. I did not feel anything. That was my duty.

"Go away," I said.

He smiled. It was a sad smile. It was the smile of a father watching a child play with fire.

"I cannot go," he said. "I am here. I am in your head. I am in your heart. I am in your soul."

I reached for my sword. It was on the floor. I lunged for it. My hand closed around the hilt. I pulled it up. The metal was cold. It was clean.

I swung at him.

He dodged. It was easy. He was faster than me. He was younger than me. He was better than me.

He hit me in the chest. The impact was heavy. I flew back. I hit the wall. My breath left me. I fell.

I lay there. I looked at the ceiling. The stars were painted on it. They were fake. They were just paint.

I waited for the pain. It did not come.

I waited for the fear. It did not come.

I waited for the rage. It did not come.

I felt nothing.

I was empty.

I was a vessel. I was a tool. I was the law.

The man in my face stood over me. He looked down. He did not look angry. He looked pitying.

"It is over," he said.

"No," I said. "It is just beginning."

I got up. I picked up the sword. I faced him.

This was the battle. This was the war. Not against the thieves. Not against the corrupt. But against myself.

I struck again.

He blocked it. The sparks flew. They danced in the air. They were beautiful.

We fought. We moved in circles. We were dancers. We were predators. We were one thing.

He was my shadow. He was my ghost. He was the part of me that I had cut away. The part that felt. The part that loved.

I remembered Margaret. She was my wife. She was dead. I had killed her. Not with my hands. But with my silence. I had let the court condemn her. She was a witch. They said she was a witch. I knew she was innocent. I knew she was good. I signed the order. I looked at her as she burned. I did not blink. I did not weep.

I was the law.

The man in my face struck me. He hit my face. My nose broke. Blood ran down my lip. I tasted it. It was sweet.

"Remember," he said.

I remembered.

I remembered the cold. I remembered the fire. I remembered her eyes. They were blue. They were bright. They were full of life. And I had taken it.

I was not the law. I was the executioner.

I swung my sword. I aimed for his throat.

He caught the blade. He held it there. He leaned in. His face was inches from mine. I could see the pores on his skin. I could see the sweat on his brow.

"Let go," he said.

"I cannot."

"You must."

I was strong. I was the best soldier in the city. I had trained my whole life. I had mastered my body. I had mastered my mind.

But I could not let go.

I pushed. He did not move. He was immovable. He was the mountain. He was the stone.

I pulled. He did not move.

I was losing. I was losing to myself.

I was the monster. I was the beast. I was the thing the city feared.

The sword slipped. It fell. It clattered on the stone.

I was defenseless. I was naked. I was human.

The man in my face stepped back. He looked at me. He shook his head.

"I am sorry," he said.

"No," I said. "I am sorry."

I fell to my knees. My legs gave out. I was weak. I was old. I was broken.

I looked at my hands. They were stained. They were red. They were covered in blood. It was not my blood. It was theirs. It was everyone's.

I was the source of the evil. I was the wellspring of the corruption.

The city relied on me. They loved me. They worshipped me. I was their savior. I was their shield.

And I was their poison.

The man in my face raised his hand. He pointed at the door.

"Go," he said.

"Where?"

"Outside."

I looked at the door. It was open. The moonlight streamed in. It was silver. It was cold.

I stood up. My legs were shaky. I walked toward the door. I passed him. He did not stop me. He did not attack me. He just watched.

I walked out of the keep. I walked down the stairs. The stone was cold under my feet.

I walked into the street. The city was sleeping. The spires of the Glass District glimmered in the dark. They were beautiful. They were sharp.

I walked to the edge of the city. The wall was high. It was thick. It was made of stone.

I climbed it. My fingers bled. I did not care. I climbed. I climbed until I was on top.

I looked out. The world was dark. The stars were real. They were not painted. They were far away. They were cold.

I looked down. The city was below me. It was small. It was fragile.

I was the High Warden. I was the law.

I was wrong.

I was not the law. I was the error.

I looked at my hands. They were clean. They were dry. The blood was gone. It had washed away. It had vanished.

I was empty.

I was free.

I closed my eyes. I opened them.

The man in my face was gone.

I was alone.

I looked at the city. I looked at the spires. I looked at the people.

I did not save them. I did not protect them.

I let them go.

I stepped back.

I fell.

The wind rushed past me. It was loud. It was wild. It was free.

I did not scream. I did not cry.

I smiled.

It was the first time in ten years.

I hit the ground.

The stone was cold.

I was dead.

I was alive.

I was the law.

I was the end.