The stone house stood.

It stood against the wind.

It stood against the rain.

It stood while I was gone.

I returned to find it unchanged.

The mortar was the same.

The windows were the same.

But the air inside was different.

It tasted of copper.

It tasted of old blood.

I am a builder.

My hands know stone.

My hands know weight.

But they do not know this silence.

My name is Thomas.

I built this place.

I built it for my son.

His name was Leo.

He was seven.

He was small.

He was loud.

He was gone.

The village below looked up.

They saw the house.

They did not see the cost.

They thought I was rich.

They thought I had power.

They were wrong.

I was poor.

I was desperate.

I had sold my tools.

I had eaten the last of the grain.

The cold came early that year.

The fields died.

The trees shed their leaves before the autumn.

The sky turned a bruised purple.

I could not feed Leo.

He coughed.

The cough was deep.

It rattled in his chest.

Like a loose hinge.

Like a broken clock.

I looked at the mountain.

The mountain looked back.

It was not a mountain.

It was a mouth.

It opened.

I stepped inside.

I did not know where I was going.

I knew only that I had to build.

I had to save him.

The air in the cave was warm.

It was too warm.

It smelled of sulfur.

And of flowers.

Dead flowers.

I found the stone.

It was black.

It was smooth.

It was cold.

It pulled at me.

It whispered.

I did not hear words.

I felt them.

The stone told me how to build.

It showed me the joints.

It showed me the angles.

It showed me the light.

I worked.

I did not sleep.

I did not eat.

My hands bled.

The stone drank the blood.

It became harder.

It became stronger.

I built the walls.

I built the roof.

I built the heart.

The house was finished.

It was perfect.

It was beautiful.

It was empty.

I went down to the village.

I walked to the square.

The people stopped.

They stared.

Their eyes were wide.

Their mouths were open.

I carried Leo.

He was light.

He was so light.

I placed him in the chair.

I sat beside him.

I held his hand.

I waited.

The house called to me.

I felt it in my bones.

I felt it in my teeth.

I had to go back.

I had to check the seal.

I had to ensure the integrity.

I left him there.

I ran.

I ran up the hill.

The wind was cold.

The wind was sharp.

It cut my face.

I did not care.

I reached the door.

I pushed it open.

The air hit me.

The copper taste.

The blood taste.

I looked at the walls.

They were dry.

They were solid.

They were safe.

I breathed.

I exhaled.

I felt a peace.

A terrible peace.

I went back down.

I found Leo.

He was asleep.

His face was calm.

His breathing was steady.

He was alive.

He was well.

I smiled.

I touched his cheek.

It was warm.

I was happy.

I was proud.

I had done it.

I had saved him.

The days passed.

The winter ended.

The spring came.

The flowers bloomed.

The birds sang.

Leo grew.

He ran.

He played.

He laughed.

The village accepted us.

They respected the house.

They feared the house.

They brought gifts.

Food.

Cloth.

Wood.

I did not need them.

I had the house.

I had the stone.

I had the secret.

I knew the secret.

The stone gave me knowledge.

It showed me the future.

It showed me the past.

It showed me the threads.

I saw the deaths.

I saw the sickness.

I saw the wars.

I saw the end.

I saw my own end.

It was far away.

It was near.

It was always there.

I could not unsee it.

The knowledge was heavy.

It sat on my chest.

It pressed on my heart.

I could not speak of it.

I could not share it.

I was alone.

Leo did not know.

He saw only his father.

He saw the builder.

He saw the man with the scarred hands.

He did not see the burden.

He did not see the curse.

He thought I was strong.

He thought I was wise.

He was wrong.

I was weak.

I was broken.

I was hollow.

The house stood.

It grew.

It expanded.

New rooms appeared.

New halls formed.

The stone kept growing.

It wanted more.

It wanted life.

I fed it.

I fed it with my time.

I fed it with my attention.

I fed it with my soul.

Leo noticed.

He asked me questions.

Dad, why do you not sleep?

Dad, why do you not eat?

Dad, why do you look at the walls?

I had no answers.

I could not lie.

I could not hide.

I looked at him.

I saw his eyes.

They were dark.

They were deep.

They were like the cave.

I saw the stone in them.

I saw the whisper.

I saw the pull.

I was afraid.

I was not afraid for him.

I was afraid for me.

I was afraid of the truth.

The truth was simple.

The house was not a shelter.

The house was a trap.

The stone was not a builder.

The stone was a eater.

It had taken my vitality.

It had taken my joy.

It had taken my will.

It was taking Leo.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Like a tide.

Like a shadow.

I could feel it in him.

The cold.

The silence.

The distance.

I tried to stop it.

I tried to break the seal.

I tried to tear the walls.

My hands slipped.

The stone was smooth.

The stone was cold.

The stone was strong.

I was weak.

I was tired.

I was defeated.

I sat on the floor.

I leaned against the wall.

The wall was warm.

It hummed.

It soothed me.

It told me to rest.

It told me to let go.

It told me it was better.

It told me the pain would end.

It told me the fear would end.

It told me the knowledge was a gift.

I wanted to believe it.

I wanted to be free.

But I knew.

I knew the truth.

Knowledge is a curse.

To see is to suffer.

To know is to lose.

I looked at Leo.

He stood by the window.

He looked out.

He did not turn.

His back was straight.

His shoulders were rigid.

He was becoming the house.

He was becoming the stone.

I could not save him.

I could not save myself.

The house was complete.

The house was eternal.

The house was alive.

I closed my eyes.

I listened.

I heard the wind.

I heard the rain.

I heard the silence.

I let go.

I let go of the fight.

I let go of the fear.

I let go of the hate.

I let go of the love.

I let go of Leo.

I let go of the stone.

I let go of the truth.

I was empty.

I was light.

I was gone.

The house stood.

The house waited.

The house remembered.

I am the dust.

I am the air.

I am the silence.

The stone is cold.

The stone is still.

The stone is mine.

The stone is his.

The stone is us.

We are one.

We are the house.

We are the wall.

We are the door.

We are the lock.

We are the key.

We are the key.

We are the key.

The wind blows.

The leaves fall.

The years pass.

The village changes.

The faces change.

The names change.

The house remains.

The house stands.

The house waits.

I am there.

I am here.

I am within.

I am the whisper.

I am the pull.

I am the cold.

I am the silence.

I am the stone.

I am the stone.

I am the stone.

The story ends.

The stone remains.

The stone is silent.

The stone is cold.

The stone is true.

I am the stone.

I am the stone.

I am the stone.

The end.

The end.

The end.