"You are done," the King said. His voice was not loud. It was soft, like the settling of dust on a shelf. He sat in the high chair of gold and iron. The room was vast. The air was thin. It smelled of oil and old stone. You stood at the foot of the dais. Your hands were empty. You held nothing. This was the problem.

The King looked at your hands. He looked at your face. He did not see a man. He saw a shadow. He saw a failure. He saw the waste of his gold.

"I gave you the light," he said. "I gave you the fire. And you gave me smoke."

You did not answer. You could not. The words were stuck in your throat. They were stones. You felt them grinding. You thought of your wife. You thought of her hands. You thought of the way she touched your cheek when you came home from the shop. She touched you like you were made of glass. She knew you were fragile. She knew you were broken.

The King leaned forward. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you stop?"

You looked at the floor. The tiles were black. They were polished. You saw your reflection. It was distorted. It was dark. It was not you. It was the thing the King feared.

"I forgot," you said.

The King laughed. It was a dry sound. Like twigs breaking. "Forgotten," he said. "There is no forgetting in the court. There is only failing."

He raised his hand. Two guards stepped forward. They wore steel. They held spears. The tips were sharp. They were wet. You could see the shine on them.

"Take him," the King said. "Take him to the dark room."

The guards moved. They were fast. They were silent. You did not run. You did not fight. You let them take your arm. The metal of the spear touched your shoulder. It was cold. It burned.

You were led through the hall. The hall was long. It was lined with mirrors. You looked at yourself in the glass. You saw a man in rags. You saw a man with dirt under his nails. You saw a man who had lost his way. You looked away. You could not bear to see it.

The guards pushed you through a door. The door was heavy. It was iron. It was cold. They locked it behind you. The sound of the lock was loud. It echoed. It rang in your ears.

You were alone.

The room was small. It was dark. There was no light. There was no sound. There was only the dark. You sat down on the floor. The floor was stone. It was cold. It seeped into your bones.

You thought of your work. You thought of the machine. It was a beautiful thing. It was made of brass and glass. It was made of light. It could turn lead into gold. It could turn night into day. It was perfect. It was pure. It was you.

But you had stopped. You had put the machine in a box. You had buried the box in the garden. You had told no one. You had said nothing. You had let the machine die.

Why?

You tried to remember. The memory was slippery. It was like water in your hands. You could not hold it.

You thought of the day you built it. It was a hot day. The sun was high. The air was still. You worked with your hands. You worked with your heart. You felt the light moving through the glass. You felt the power in the brass. You felt the life in the machine. It was alive. It was breathing.

Then you looked at it. You saw your face in the glass. You saw your own eyes. They were hungry. They were greedy. They were wrong.

You saw yourself in the machine. You saw what you were. You were not a creator. You were a consumer. You were a thief. You were stealing the light from the world. You were taking it for yourself. You were keeping it for yourself.

You felt sick. You felt dirty. You felt like a monster.

You stopped. You put the machine away. You told the King that you had failed. You told him that the light was gone. You lied. The light was not gone. The light was in the machine. The machine was in the ground. The light was waiting.

The King did not believe you. The King wanted the light. The King wanted the power. The King wanted to be a god.

You could not give it to him. You could not give it to anyone. You could not give it to yourself.

You sat in the dark. The hours passed. You did not know how many. Time was a stranger here. Time did not care.

You heard a sound. It was faint. It was a scratch. It was a whisper.

You stood up. You walked to the wall. You put your hand against the stone. It was cold. It was hard.

You listened.

The sound came again. It was louder. It was closer. It was coming from the floor.

You looked down. The stone was cracked. There was a line of light. It was thin. It was gold. It was bright.

The light was coming through the crack. It was coming from below. It was coming from the machine.

The machine was alive. It was growing. It was pushing up through the earth. It was pushing up through the stone.

You knelt down. You looked at the light. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was you.

You reached out your hand. You touched the light. It was warm. It was soft. It was like a breath.

The light pulsed. It beat. It was a heart.

You felt a surge of power. It went through your body. It went through your bones. It went through your blood.

You felt strong. You felt clear. You felt free.

You knew what you had to do.

You stood up. You walked to the door. You knocked.

The guards opened the door. They were surprised. They saw your face. They saw the light in your eyes. They saw the power in your hands.

They stepped back. They raised their spears. They were afraid.

You walked past them. You walked into the hall. The hall was dark. The mirrors were black. You saw your reflection. It was bright. It was gold. It was a king.

You walked to the throne. The King was there. He was alone. He was afraid. He saw you. He saw the light. He saw the truth.

"You," he said. "You have it."

"I do," you said.

"Give it to me," he said. "I will make you rich. I will make you powerful. I will make you a god."

You looked at him. You looked at his face. You saw his fear. You saw his greed. You saw his emptiness.

"No," you said.

The King stood up. He pointed at you. "Kill him," he said. "Kill him now."

The guards moved. They rushed you. They swung their spears.

You did not move. You did not dodge. You let them hit you.

The spears struck your chest. The spears struck your belly. The spears struck your legs.

You felt the pain. It was sharp. It was hot. It was real.

But you did not fall. You stood. You held the light. You held the power.

The guards fell back. They were terrified. They did not understand. They could not understand.

You looked at the King. You smiled. It was a sad smile. It was a gentle smile.

"I will not give it to you," you said. "I will not give it to anyone. I will keep it. I will hold it. I will let it go."

You closed your eyes. You felt the light inside you. You felt the machine below. You felt the earth. You felt the world.

You opened your hands.

The light came out. It was a beam. It was a river. It was a sun.

It went through the roof. It went into the sky. It went into the night.

It was gone.

You fell. You hit the floor. You lay still. You were quiet.

The King screamed. He ran to you. He grabbed your shoulders. He shook you.

"Where is it?" he shouted. "Where is the light?"

You did not answer. You could not. You were too tired. You were too full. You were too empty.

You looked at the King. You saw his face. You saw his fear. You saw his loss.

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to say that the light was not a thing. You wanted to say that the light was a choice. You wanted to say that he had lost it because he had not loved it. He had only wanted it.

But you could not speak. Your voice was gone. Your breath was gone.

The King fell to his knees. He held your hand. He wept. He was alone. He was in the dark.

You closed your eyes. You thought of your wife. You thought of her hands. You thought of her touch.

You felt a peace. It was deep. It was quiet. It was final.

You let go.

The room was silent. The light was gone. The King was alone.

You were gone.

The story ends here. The light is gone. The machine is gone. The man is gone.

There is only the dark.

There is only the silence.

There is only the memory.

You remember the light. You remember the gold. You remember the fire.

You remember the mistake.

You remember the choice.

You remember the end.

It was a good end.

It was a necessary end.

It was your end.

The King sits in his chair. He is alone. He is in the dark. He has nothing. He has no light. He has no power. He has no gold.

He has only his fear.

He has only his greed.

He has only his loss.

He will never have the light again.

He will never understand.

He will never forgive himself.

He will sit in the dark forever.

And you?

You are in the light.

You are in the sky.

You are in the stars.

You are free.

You are gone.

You are at peace.

The story is over.

The light is gone.

The dark remains.

You are free.

You are gone.

You are at peace.