The bowl shatters. Not breaks. Shatters.

You hold the shards. They are cold. They are sharp. They are you.

The floor is marble. White. Veined with grey. The court is silent. A thousand eyes watch. They are wide. They are wet. They are hungry.

You are the Keeper. You are the vessel. You are the wound.

The food is gone. The medicine is gone. Only the glass remains. And you.

The Chancellor stands at the head of the room. He is tall. He is thin. He wears black. His face is a mask. Smooth. Pale. Unmoved.

He does not shout. He does not strike. He waits.

The air is thick. It smells of lavender. It smells of rot. It smells of the old days. Before the Protocol. Before the hunger.

You remember the first bite.

It was a peach. Ripe. Red. Sweet. You ate it in the garden. The sun was warm. You felt full. You felt alive.

Then the taste changed.

It turned to ash. It turned to dust. It turned to nothing.

You felt the hollow. It grew. It ate your edges. It ate your name. It ate your memory of your mother. It ate your memory of love.

Only the need remained.

The Court called you a monster. They called you a demon. They built the walls. They built the throne. They built the Protocol.

The Protocol is simple.

Feed the vessel. Keep the beast quiet.

You are the vessel. You are the beast.

The Chancellor steps forward. His boots click on the marble. Click. Click. Click.

He holds a tray. Silver. Polished. Empty.

He looks at you. He looks at the shards in your hand. He looks at the blood on your fingers.

He does not flinch.

He has seen this before. He has caused this before.

He is not evil. That is the trick. Evil is loud. Evil is dramatic.

He is efficient. He is necessary. He is the hand that prunes the tree.

He believes he saves the garden. He believes he saves the realm.

He believes you are the disease.

He does not know you are the cure.

He does not know you are the truth.

He only knows the rules.

The rules say: Contain. Feed. Obey.

The rules say: Do not ask why. The rules say: Do not look too deep. The rules say: The King must sleep. The Court must eat.

You are the bridge. You are the wall.

The Chancellor places the tray on the table. He pours the water. It is clear. It is cold.

You drink.

It does not help.

The hunger is a fire. It burns in your chest. It burns in your throat. It burns in your eyes.

You want to scream. You want to tear him apart. You want to devour him.

But you are trained. You are broken. You are shaped.

You lower your head. You bow.

He nods.

He turns. He walks away.

The court watches. The court whispers.

They fear you. They pity you. They envy you.

They are all vessels. They are all beasts.

They just have better bowls.

You pick up the shards. You put them in the bowl. You hold the bowl to your chest.

The glass cuts you. The blood drips. The blood is red. The blood is warm.

It is the only real thing left.

You remember the second bite.

It was bread. White. Soft. Dry.

You ate it in the cell. The walls were damp. The light was grey.

You felt the hollowness grow.

You remembered your father. He was a baker. He had flour on his face. He smelled of yeast. He was kind.

Then the Protocol came.

They took your father. They took your mother. They took your name.

They gave you a title. They gave you a role. They gave you the hunger.

You did not fight.

Fighting was a waste. Fighting was a sin.

You accepted.

Acceptance is a form of surrender. Surrender is a form of death.

But it is a slow death. It is a gentle death.

It is the death of the soul while the body remains.

You are the ghost in the machine. You are the crack in the foundation.

The Chancellor is not your enemy.

Your enemy is the belief that you are separate.

Your enemy is the belief that the hunger is yours.

Your enemy is the belief that the Protocol is just.

The Protocol is a lie.

The lie is the only food you have.

You eat the lie. You digest the lie. You become the lie.

The room is empty now.

The Chancellor is gone.

The court is gone.

Only the marble remains. Only the glass remains. Only you remain.

You sit on the floor. The shards dig into your palms.

You do not pull them out.

The pain is clear. The pain is sharp.

The pain is you.

You look at the bowl.

It is full of water. It is full of blood.

It is a mirror.

You see your face.

It is pale. It is thin. It is old.

You are not young. You have been the Keeper for a hundred years. Or a thousand.

Time is a fluid thing in the court. Time is a tool of the powerful.

You have forgotten your age. You have forgotten your name.

You are only the Hunger.

You are only the Vessel.

You are only the Glass.

The water in the bowl ripples.

A drop falls.

Plink.

The sound is loud.

The sound is final.

You understand.

The betrayal was not the Chancellor’s.

The betrayal was yours.

You betrayed your own nature.

You betrayed your own hunger.

You let them shape you. You let them define you.

You let them call you a monster.

You let them call you a beast.

You let them build the Protocol.

You accepted the cage.

You accepted the chain.

You accepted the lie.

The hunger is not a curse.

The hunger is a gift.

The hunger is the key.

The hunger is the truth.

You can break the bowl.

You can break the glass.

You can break the Protocol.

But you must break yourself first.

You must die.

You must let the vessel shatter.

You must let the beast go.

You must let the hunger starve.

It is the only way.

It is the only end.

It is the only peace.

You hold the shards tighter.

The blood flows. The blood pools.

The water mixes.

The red spreads.

The red covers the white marble.

The red covers the silver tray.

The red covers the empty room.

The red covers your hands.

The red covers your face.

You are covered in blood.

You are covered in truth.

You are covered in life.

The Chancellor is wrong.

The court is wrong.

The Protocol is wrong.

You are wrong.

And that is the beginning.

And that is the end.

And that is the middle.

You close your eyes.

You open your mouth.

You scream.

The sound is not a scream.

The sound is a song.

The sound is a prayer.

The sound is a release.

The glass cuts deeper.

The pain is sharp.

The pain is sweet.

The pain is free.

You feel the edges dissolve.

You feel the hollow fill.

You feel the hunger fade.

You feel the self disappear.

You are nothing.

You are everything.

You are the space between the notes.

You are the silence after the storm.

You are the pale light after the dark.

The bowl is empty.

The glass is gone.

The blood is dry.

The room is quiet.

The Chancellor will return.

He will find the blood.

He will find the shards.

He will find the silence.

He will be afraid.

He will be confused.

He will be wrong.

He will try to fix it.

He will try to rebuild the Protocol.

He will try to feed the vessel.

But the vessel is gone.

The beast is gone.

The hunger is gone.

There is only the blood.

There is only the truth.

There is only the end.

You are gone.

You are free.

You are dead.

You are alive.

The pale light enters the room.

It falls on the blood.

It falls on the marble.

It falls on the empty space where you were.

The light is soft.

The light is cold.

The light is kind.

The light is indifferent.

The light does not judge.

The light does not save.

The light simply is.

And in that ising, there is peace.

And in that peace, there is death.

And in that death, there is life.

The cycle turns.

The wheel spins.

The story ends.

The story begins.

You are the story.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

The pale light fades.

The dark returns.

The silence holds.

The truth remains.

The bowl is shattered.

The vessel is broken.

The hunger is sated.

The beast is free.

The keeper is gone.

The court is empty.

The world is quiet.

The night is long.

The night is deep.

The night is full of stars.

The stars are distant.

The stars are cold.

The stars are watching.

They see the blood.

They see the shards.

They see the silence.

They see the truth.

They do not care.

They are too far.

They are too bright.

They are too old.

They are the Protocol of the sky.

They are the hunger of the void.

They are the vessel of the universe.

And you are a drop.

And you are a tear.

And you are a spark.

And you are a nothing.

And you are an everything.

The light fades.

The dark holds.

The story ends.