The iron in the blood tastes of rust.

I am old.

The joints scream.

The armor is heavy.

It is not steel.

It is skin.

My skin.

The castle breathes.

Stone lungs.

Dark halls.

I walk alone.

The torch flickers.

Shadow dances.

I am the Warden.

I am the Cage.

My son is here.

He is young.

He is strong.

He is the Key.

He does not know.

I do not tell.

Silence is law.

We meet in the Hall.

The floor is cold.

He stands tall.

I stand broken.

"Father."

His voice is sharp.

A blade.

"I have come for the Seal."

I nod.

The pain in my knee is a spike.

I hide it.

"Take it," I say.

My voice is gravel.

Crushed stone.

He smiles.

It is a bright thing.

Cold.

"Is it so easy?"

"Yes."

"Why did you keep it?"

"Because I could not let go."

The truth is a lie.

The lie is the truth.

I am the system.

The system is me.

He steps closer.

The air is thick.

It presses on my chest.

I feel the weight.

Not of armor.

Of years.

"Show me," he says.

"I am ready."

I look at him.

I see my father.

I see myself.

I see the end.

"Follow me."

We move.

The stairs are steep.

My legs burn.

He waits.

He does not rush.

He is patient.

He is cruel.

We reach the Vault.

The door is black.

It is sealed.

With blood.

My blood.

I press my hand to it.

The metal is cold.

It burns.

"Open it," he says.

I do not move.

"Father."

He sounds angry.

I turn.

His eyes are wide.

Full of light.

Full of hate.

"I will do it myself."

He pushes me.

Hard.

I stumble.

I fall.

The floor is hard.

My hip cracks.

A sound like a branch breaking.

I do not cry out.

I look up.

He stands over me.

His hand is on the lock.

The mechanism is ancient.

It requires two hands.

One to turn.

One to hold.

He has both.

He is strong.

He is free.

I am the obstacle.

I am the past.

I must be removed.

He turns the key.

The wheel grinds.

The lock clicks.

The door swings open.

Darkness pours out.

It is thick.

It is wet.

It smells of earth.

Of decay.

Of me.

He steps back.

"Where is it?"

"Inside."

He enters.

I stay.

I cannot move.

The pain is a flood.

It drowns me.

I watch his back.

He walks into the dark.

He is small.

He is far.

The light from the torch fades.

He is gone.

I am alone.

The door is open.

The darkness waits.

I understand now.

The Seal is not a thing.

It is a burden.

It is the promise.

To keep the dark in.

To keep the peace.

The price is the self.

The price is the body.

I am the body.

I am worn out.

My hands are trembling.

I reach for the wall.

The stone is rough.

It cuts me.

I do not care.

I need to stand.

I need to close the door.

I must go in.

He is there.

He will come out.

He will be the Warden.

He will be the Cage.

I will be the Key.

I will be free.

I will be dust.

I stand.

The floor shakes.

My legs give way.

I fall again.

This time, I stay down.

The dark is closer.

It touches my face.

It is cold.

It is kind.

I close my eyes.

I see the sky.

Blue.

Open.

Empty.

No walls.

No stone.

No weight.

I am light.

I am air.

I am gone.

The door creaks.

Footsteps.

He is back.

He is shouting.

"Father!"

His voice is high.

It is broken.

I hear him.

I do not move.

I am still.

He is here.

He touches my arm.

His hand is shaking.

"Get up!"

He is pulling me.

The pain is a roar.

I cannot speak.

My mouth is full of blood.

He is crying.

I see it.

The tears on his face.

They are hot.

They are salt.

They are life.

I have given it to him.

I have taken my share.

The burden is his now.

He looks at me.

His eyes are red.

He understands.

The look is clear.

No words.

No need.

He knows the cost.

He knows the duty.

He knows the trap.

He is the Warden.

I am the ghost.

He stands.

He looks at the door.

Then at me.

He kneels.

He lifts me.

My body is heavy.

Dead weight.

He carries me.

Out of the hall.

Into the light.

The torch is out.

It is dark.

But I can see.

The stars.

They are bright.

They are cold.

They are far.

I am going to them.

He walks fast.

His steps are quick.

He is afraid.

He is strong.

He is alone.

I am with him.

I am in him.

I am the memory.

I am the warning.

I am the pain.

He will feel it.

Every day.

Every night.

He will never forget.

He will never be free.

And that is good.

Freedom is a lie.

Freedom is a wound.

Duty is a bandage.

It holds the skin together.

It keeps the blood in.

It keeps the soul from spilling out.

He reaches the gate.

The iron bars.

The lock.

He stops.

He looks down at me.

I am limp.

My eyes are closed.

I am smiling.

He sees it.

He nods.

He opens the gate.

The wind blows in.

It is cold.

It is clean.

He steps out.

I do not follow.

I stay.

I am the stone.

I am the wall.

I am the keep.

He is the storm.

He is the rain.

He is the change.

He walks into the night.

He does not look back.

He cannot.

If he looks back, he breaks.

I watch him go.

My vision blurs.

The world softens.

The edges fade.

The pain fades.

The weight lifts.

I am light.

I am air.

I am gone.

The darkness returns.

It is not empty.

It is full.

It is full of promises.

Broken promises.

Kept promises.

The price of freedom.

Paid in blood.

Paid in bone.

Paid in time.

I am paid.

I am done.

The stone is silent.

The wind is still.

The night is deep.

I am part of it.

I am the ground.

I am the root.

I am the shadow.

I am the promise.

The distant promise.

It is here.

It is now.

It is me.