The bell tolled. It was the third strike. My hand trembled. The leather glove gripped the hilt. The leather was wet. It was my own sweat. Or perhaps rain. It was always raining here. The tower stood against the sky. The sky was the color of a bruise. Purple. Swollen. We waited.

The Order of the Iron Veil did not sleep. We did not dream. We only watched. The watchtower was cold. Stone bit into my back. My armor was heavy. It was always heavy. The breastplate chafed. The metal groaned with every breath. I was a soldier. I was a tool. I was a shadow in the light of the great hearth below.

Below, the village slept. They did not know. They never knew. They walked their muddy paths. They tended their crops. They loved their children. They did not see the eyes in the window. They did not hear the clank of steel on stone. To them, we were invisible. We were the air. We were the silence between heartbeats.

I looked at my hand. The glove was torn. A tear near the thumb. The leather was frayed. It was old. It had seen too much. It had gripped too many hilt. It had wiped too much blood. I thought of the day I received it. It was bright then. The sun was warm. I was young. My father was alive. He was a knight. He wore this very glove. He gave it to me. He said nothing. He just placed it in my palm. His eyes were wet. He knew. We all knew. The leather was a mirror. It reflected the face of the one who wore it. My father’s face was in the leather. My face was in the leather. We were one.

Then he died. The fever took him. Or perhaps the curse. The stories said a curse. The stories said the Order was cursed. I did not believe in curses. I believed in steel. I believed in duty. I believed in the glove.

The bell tolled again. The fourth strike. A figure moved below. It was small. It was dark. It moved too fast. I raised my crossbow. The bolt was nocked. My finger was on the trigger. The air was still. The rain stopped. The world held its breath. I did not fire. I watched. The figure did not run. It walked. It walked toward the tower. It looked up. It looked directly at me. It smiled. It was a child. It was a boy. He wore a red coat. The red was bright. It was the only bright thing in the world.

He climbed the stairs. I heard his feet. They were small. They were light. He came to the door. He did not knock. He pushed. The door opened. He entered. He stood before me. He was tall. He was not a child. He was a man. He wore the red coat. It was soaked. It dripped water onto the stone floor. The water formed a pool. The pool was red.

I did not speak. I could not. My voice was gone. My throat was dry. My hand shook. I tried to grip the hilt. The leather did not hold. It slipped. It fell. It hit the floor. It lay there. It was empty. It was just skin. It was just leather. It was dead.

The man in the red coat did not move. He stood still. He looked at the glove. He looked at me. He did not raise a weapon. He did not draw a sword. He just looked. His eyes were deep. They were black. They were holes in the world. I looked into them. I saw myself. I saw my father. I saw the village. I saw the tower. I saw the rain. It was all there. It was all in his eyes.

He reached out. He picked up the glove. He held it in his hand. He turned it over. He looked at the tear. He looked at the frayed edge. He put it on. He put it on his left hand. It fit. It fit perfectly. It was his size. It had always been his size.

I felt a pain. It was in my chest. It was a sharp pain. It was a cold pain. It was the pain of separation. I was empty. I was hollow. I was nothing. I was the tower. I was the stone. I was the rain.

The man in the red coat looked at me. He spoke. He did not use words. He used sound. The sound was like wind. The sound was like ice. It cut through me. It cut through the stone. It cut through the rain. I understood. I always understood. The Order was not a guard. The Order was a trap. We were the bait. We were the lock. The glove was the key. My father was the key. I was the key.

The man in the red coat was the Lord. He was the one we served. He was the one we protected. He was the one who fed us. He was the one who clothed us. He was the one who gave us meaning. And now he had taken the key. He had taken the glove. He had taken my father. He had taken me.

I tried to move. I could not. My legs were weak. My arms were heavy. The armor was a cage. I was trapped. I was locked. The lock was the glove. The key was in his hand.

He walked away. He walked down the stairs. I heard his feet. They were heavy. They were loud. They shook the tower. He did not look back. He did not look at me. He did not care. I was nothing. I was a shadow. I was a tool. I was a memory.

The bell tolled. The fifth strike. The sixth. The seventh. It did not stop. The sound was loud. The sound was violent. It battered the stone. It battered the air. It battered my mind. I was losing it. I was fading. I was becoming the rain. I was becoming the stone. I was becoming the silence.

The door opened again. It was the morning. The sun was rising. The sun was pale. The sun was cold. The man in the red coat was gone. The glove was gone. The tear was gone. The leather was gone.

I was alone. I was still in the tower. I was still in the armor. I was still holding the hilt. The hilt was empty. The sword was gone. The sword was in his hand. I could not see it. I could not touch it. I could not feel it.

I looked at my hand. It was bare. It was raw. It was bleeding. The skin was red. The blood was red. It was the same red as the coat. It was the same red as the pool. It was the same red as the sky.

I waited. I waited for the pain. I waited for the end. I waited for the death. But there was no pain. There was no end. There was no death. There was only the rain. There was only the stone. There was only the silence.

The village woke. I heard the roosters. I heard the dogs. I heard the people. They were alive. They were happy. They did not know. They did not see. They did not care. They loved their children. They tended their crops. They walked their muddy paths. They were free. They were safe. They were protected. By me. By the tower. By the glove. By the sacrifice.

I was the sacrifice. I was the lock. I was the key. I was the price. I was the cost. I was the sin. I was the debt. I was the truth.

The bell tolled. It was the last strike. It was the first strike. It was the only strike. The sound faded. The sound died. The silence came. The silence was deep. The silence was wide. The silence was eternal.

I closed my eyes. I saw the glove. I saw my father. I saw the man in the red coat. I saw the tear. I saw the frayed edge. I saw the leather. It was beautiful. It was broken. It was worn. It was loved. It was mine. It was not mine. It was everyone’s. It was no one’s.

I opened my eyes. The tower was dark. The tower was light. The tower was me. The tower was us. The tower was the world.

The rain began again. It was soft. It was gentle. It was a whisper. It was a song. It was a prayer. It was a goodbye.

I did not move. I did not speak. I did not breathe. I was still. I was quiet. I was gone.

The glove was gone. The father was gone. The man was gone. The village was gone. The tower was gone.

Only the rain remained. Only the stone remained. Only the silence remained.

And in the silence, I found peace. I found rest. I found home.

The leather was warm. The leather was soft. The leather was mine.

I was the glove. I was the tear. I was the fray. I was the grip. I was the blood. I was the sweat. I was the rain.

I was the Golden Harbor. I was the safe place. I was the end.

The bell tolled. It was the last time. The sound was sweet. The sound was pure. The sound was love.

I closed my eyes. I smiled. I let go.

The rain stopped. The sun rose. The world turned. The story ended.

The leather was gone. The tower was gone. The man was gone.

I was gone.