The bell tower collapses.

You hear it before you see it. A crack like a gunshot. Then the roar. Dust fills the air. You cough. Your eyes sting. The city is gray. The sky is gray. Everything is dust. You are alive. That is the first thing. You are still breathing. Your armor is dented. Your sword is broken. You drop it. It clangs against the stone. You look up. The tower is gone. Only rubble remains.

This is the capital. The seat of the Order. You are the Captain. You stand in the square. People run. Screams rise. You do not run. You stand still. You are made of stone. No, you are made of duty. You check your gear. Your gauntlets are intact. Your breastplate is cracked but holding. You need a weapon. You pick up a shard of wood. It is jagged. It is enough. You look for your lieutenant.

Thomas is there. He is bleeding from the head. He leans against a wall. He looks at you. His eyes are wide. He is afraid. You do not feel fear. Fear is a luxury. You have left it behind. You walk to him. You do not speak. You put your hand on his shoulder. He nods. You look at the crowd. They are confused. They look to you. You are the leader. They expect orders. You have none. The enemy is not here. The enemy is the building. The building is the law. The law has fallen.

You lead them to the gates. The city is quiet now. The dust settles. The sun comes out. It is bright. It is too bright. You walk down the main street. The shops are open. People stare. You do not look at them. You look straight ahead. You are a ghost in armor. You are the end of something.

You reach the keep. The door is open. It was never locked. You enter. The halls are empty. Your men are in the courtyard. They are cleaning their swords. They look at you. They wait. You go to the great hall. The throne is there. It is made of oak. It is old. You sit on it. It creaks. You feel the wood. It is cold. You look around. The walls are bare. There are no paintings. There are no banners. There is only the chair.

You are the captain. You are the voice. You must speak. You stand up. The wood scratches your knees. You look at the doors. No one is there. You are alone. You wait. The silence is loud. It presses against your ears. You think of the tower. The sound of it falling. It is still in your head. It rings. It does not stop.

A knock at the door.

You do not move.

Another knock.

You walk to the door. You open it. It is a scribe. A young man. His name is Peter. He holds a quill. He holds a book. He looks at you. He is shaking.

"Captain," he says.

"Yes."

"The Order... the Order has a new decree."

You look at him. You do not smile. You do not frown. You wait.

"Read it," you say.

He reads. His voice is thin. "The structure is compromised. The foundation is weak. The Order must move. The capital is abandoned. You are to disband. You are to return to your homes. The war is over."

You close your eyes. You feel the weight of your armor. It is heavy. It is always heavy. You open your eyes.

"Who signed it?"

"Lord Ashworth."

You know the name. You know the face. He is the High Lord. He is the man who built the tower. He is the man who ordered the collapse. You remember. You were not there. You were in the field. You were fighting. You were winning. And then the tower fell. You did not ask why. You assumed it was an accident. You assumed it was the enemy. But it was not the enemy. It was Ashworth.

"Why?" you ask.

Peter looks down. He fiddles with his quill.

"The Order is corrupt," he says. "It must be purified. The city is the sin. The people are the sin. We must start again. In the north. In the mountains. A new place. A clean place."

You look at the book. You look at the signature. It is neat. It is elegant. It is beautiful. It is a lie. You know it is a lie. You have always known. You just did not want to see it. You wanted to believe in the stone. You wanted to believe in the wall. But the wall is just dirt. The wall is just men.

"You are lying," you say.

Peter flinches.

"I am not lying, Captain. I am reporting the truth."

"The truth is that you are running away."

"We are preserving the Order."

"The Order is dead. The tower is dead. You are dead. Only the idea remains. And the idea is a rot."

Peter puts the book under his arm. He steps back.

"You are dismissed, Captain. Go home. Take your sword. Leave the armor. It is a symbol of the old time. The old time is over."

You look at him. You see the fear in his eyes. You see the hope. He wants to believe you are wrong. He wants to believe there is a future. There is no future. There is only the past. There is only the dust.

"I will not go," you say.

"Then you will be arrested."

"Arrested by whom?"

"By the new Guard. They are at the gate."

You look at the door. You hear boots. They are many. They are close. You look at your hands. They are steady. You look at the throne. You sit down again. You wait.

The door opens.

Men enter. They are young. They wear fresh armor. It shines. It is new. They carry spears. They carry shields. They do not look at you. They look past you. They look at the walls. They look at the floor. They are looking for a place to stand.

The leader steps forward. He is tall. He is strong. He is not Ashworth. He is a new man. He has no name. You do not need to know his name. He is the mirror. He is the reflection of what you could have been. If you had been younger. If you had been crueler. If you had been willing to break the world to save it.

"Captain," he says.

"Yes."

"Put down your weapon."

You have no weapon. You dropped it in the square. You are unarmed. You are naked. You are just a man in a broken suit.

"I have no weapon," you say.

"Then put down your pride."

You laugh. It is a dry sound. It is like leaves on stone.

"I have no pride," you say. "I have only duty. And the duty is done. The tower is gone. The law is gone. You are the law now. But you are not the tower. You are the dust. And dust does not last."

The young man steps closer. He holds a spear. The tip is near your face. You do not blink. You look into his eyes. They are clear. They are empty. They are the eyes of a child. He does not know what he is doing. He is just following. He is just a tool. You are the tool. You were the tool. You have always been the tool.

"Take me away," you say.

The men move. They grab your arms. They pull you up. The wood scratches your skin. You bleed. The blood is red. It is bright. It is the only color in the room. They drag you out. You do not resist. You let them pull you. You let them break you.

They bring you to the square. The dust is still there. It is thick. It is gray. The people are gone. The streets are empty. The city is a ghost. You stand in the middle of the square. The sun is setting. The sky is orange. It is beautiful. It is terrible.

The young man stands before you. He holds the spear. He waits for your word.

"Kill me," you say.

He hesitates. His hand shakes. The spear trembles. He looks at you. He sees himself. He sees the fear. He sees the doubt. He sees the end.

"I cannot," he says.

"Why?"

"Because you are right. The Order is dead. And if I kill you, I am just a murderer. I am not a soldier. I am just a man. And I am tired."

He lowers the spear. He steps back. He looks at the sky. He looks at the ruins. He looks at you. He turns and walks away. He does not look back. He disappears into the dust.

You are alone.

You stand in the square. The wind blows. It carries the scent of ash. It carries the scent of blood. It carries the scent of old stone. You feel the wind on your face. It is cold. It is clean. It is new.

You look at your hands. They are dirty. They are bloody. They are yours. You look at the ruins. The tower is a heap. The city is a shadow. The world is broken. But you are here. You are alive. You are free.

You take a step. Then another. You walk out of the square. You walk out of the city. You walk into the dark. You do not know where you are going. You do not know who you are. You are just a man. You are just a shadow. And the shadow is long. And the night is deep. And you walk. And you walk. And you do not stop.

The fate is clear. You cannot change it. You cannot fight it. You can only accept it. You can only let it go. You let it go. You let the armor fall. You let the pride fall. You let the self fall. You are nothing. You are everything. You are the dust. And the dust rises. And the dust settles. And the dust remains.

You stop. You look up. The stars are out. They are bright. They are cold. They are indifferent. They do not care. They do not judge. They just are. You look at them. You see your reflection in their light. It is faint. It is gone. It is free.

You close your eyes. You breathe in. You breathe out. You are empty. You are full. You are the end. You are the beginning. You are the silence. And the silence is loud. And the silence is beautiful. And the silence is true.

You open your eyes. You walk on. The path is dark. The path is long. The path is yours. You walk. You walk. You walk.