The ink is wet. It dries before I can blot it. The parchment is old, yellowed at the edges like a dried leaf. I sit in my cell. The walls are stone. Cold. I am not a man. Or I am no longer a man. This is the first thing you must understand. I am a boundary. A line drawn in the dark.

My name is Elias. Or it was. Now I am only the Keeper. I hold the seal. The seal is a door. It is also a wall. It is the place where the world ends and the void begins. I hold it with my hands. My hands are not hands anymore. They are roots. They are stone. They are the silence between two heartbeats.

I remember my mother. I remember her hands. They were soft. They smelled of yeast and lavender. She used to braid my hair. I was seven. I was small. I was afraid of the dark. She told me there was nothing in the dark but sleep. She lied. There is something in the dark. It is hungry. It is cold. It is waiting.

I did not know then. I only knew I was loved. I was obsessed with her touch. I wanted it to last forever. I wanted to be the thing that could not be taken. I wanted to be the stone that could not be moved. I did not know that to be unmovable is to be dead.

The Abbot came to me yesterday. He wore black robes. They hung heavy. He looked at me with pity. He is a good man. He is kind. But he is blind. He sees a boy. He does not see the monster.

He told me I could leave. He said the seal was strong. He said I had served enough. He said I could go to the village. He said I could marry. He said I could die a normal death in a normal bed.

I said no.

He looked at me. He did not understand. He thought I was angry. He thought I was proud. I was not. I was tired. I was afraid. I was holding the door shut with my mind. If I let go, the dark would come in. If I let go, my mother would be gone. Not dead. Gone. Unmade.

I told him I was not ready. I lied. I was ready. I had been ready for a hundred years. I had been ready since the moment I first felt the cold touch the edge of my soul. I had been ready since I saw the shadow in the mirror and realized it did not move when I did.

The Abbot left. His footsteps echoed in the hall. *Tap. Tap. Tap.* Like a clock. Like a heartbeat slowing down. I watched him go. I watched the door close. I held the seal. The seal groaned. It wanted to open. It wanted to breathe.

I am a beast. I am a ghost. I am a boundary.

I remember the day I became this. I was young. I was strong. I had just taken my vows. I had just sworn to protect the monastery. I had just sworn to protect the people. I did not know what I was protecting them from. I did not know that the protection was a curse.

The Master showed me the seal. It was in the basement. The air was thick. It tasted of iron. It tasted of old blood. The Master stood before it. He was old. His face was a map of lines. His eyes were deep.

"This is the limit," he said. His voice was low. It was soft. "This is where we end."

I looked at the seal. It was a circle of stone. It was carved with runes. The runes glowed with a faint, pale light. The light was cold. It was blue. It was the color of ice.

"Will you hold it?" he asked.

I did not answer. I could not. My mouth was dry. My throat was tight. I looked at the runes. I felt a pull. It was like a hook in my chest. It was like a chain around my neck. I felt the darkness behind the stone. I felt its hunger. I felt its cold.

"I will," I whispered.

The Master nodded. He stepped back. He handed me a key. The key was cold. It was heavy. It was made of bone.

"Turn it," he said.

I turned the key. The stone moved. The circle opened. A crack appeared. A thin line of blackness seeped out. The air grew cold. The light in the room flickered.

I reached out. I placed my hand on the edge of the crack. I felt the pain. It was sharp. It was sudden. It was like being cut by a knife. But the pain did not stop. It grew. It spread. It went up my arm. It went into my chest. It went into my head.

I saw my mother. I saw her face. I saw her eyes. She was weeping. She was screaming. But there was no sound. There was only the cold. There was only the dark.

I pulled my hand back. I fell to my knees. I gasped for air. The air was thick. It was hard to breathe.

The Master looked at me. He did not say anything. He just watched. He watched me struggle. He watched me tremble. He watched me become something else.

I looked at my hand. It was changing. The skin was turning gray. The veins were turning black. The nails were turning into claws. I was becoming the stone. I was becoming the wall.

I was free. I was trapped. I was both.

I have been here for a hundred years. Time does not move here. Time does not matter. I only feel the weight. I only feel the cold. I only feel the hunger.

The dark presses against the seal. It pushes. It pulls. It whispers. It says my name. It says *Elias.* It says *Let go.* It says *You are tired.* It says *You are alone.*

I do not let go. I hold on. I hold on with everything I have. I hold on with my mind. I hold on with my soul. I hold on with my memory.

I remember my mother’s hands. I remember the lavender. I remember the yeast. I remember the warmth. I hold onto the warmth. I use it to fight the cold. I use it to keep the seal shut.

But the warmth is fading. The memory is fading. I am forgetting her face. I am forgetting her voice. I am forgetting her name.

If I forget her, I will break. If I break, the dark will come in. If the dark comes in, everything will end.

I am afraid. I am so afraid.

I am not a man. I am a boundary. I am the line between life and death. I am the wall between light and dark. I am the keeper of the seal.

I hold it. I hold it tight.

The Abbot is gone. The monastery is silent. The candles are burning. The smoke is rising. I am alone. I am always alone.

I look at my hands. They are stone. They are gray. They are cold. I cannot feel them. I cannot feel anything. Except the weight. Except the cold. Except the fear.

I am the boundary. I am the limit. I am the end.

And I am still holding on.

The ink is dry. The page is white. The words are black. I have written it all down. I have put it into words. I have made it real.

But it is not real. It is only a memory. It is only a ghost. It is only a shadow.

I am the shadow. I am the ghost. I am the memory.

I am the boundary.

I hold the seal.

The dark is waiting.

I am waiting.

I am holding on.

I am holding on.

I am holding on.