The bell rang.

It was a low sound. A hum in the chest. Elias woke. He was in the shop. The air smelled of brass and old wax.

He looked at his hands. They were red.

He looked at the shelf. The locket was there.

Gold.

It did not move. It did not shine. It just sat.

Elias reached for it.

His fingers brushed the metal. Cold.

He remembered the dream.

In the dream, he was a king. He wore a crown of fire. He sat on a throne of ice. He was alone.

He woke again.

The clock on the wall ticked.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

He stood up. His knees cracked.

He was old.

He was the master of the house.

He was the master of nothing.

The door opened.

Light flooded in.

It was Thomas.

Thomas was young. His face was smooth. His eyes were bright with hunger.

"Master," Thomas said.

Elias did not speak.

Thomas walked to the counter. He placed a bag on the wood.

"Here," Thomas said. "What you asked for."

Elias looked at the bag.

It was black leather.

He opened it.

Inside was a key.

A silver key.

It was small.

It was heavy.

"Who sent you?" Elias asked.

His voice was rough. Like sand on stone.

Thomas smiled. It was a thin smile.

"Everyone sent me," Thomas said.

Elias picked up the key.

He held it to the light.

It was cold.

"It fits," Thomas said.

"Where?" Elias asked.

Thomas pointed to the wall.

Behind the mirror.

Elias turned.

He pulled the mirror down.

There was a small hole in the plaster.

He inserted the key.

It turned.

Click.

A sound from deep within the wall.

A drawer opened.

Elias reached in.

He pulled out a box.

Wooden. Dark.

He set it on the counter.

Thomas watched.

His eyes did not blink.

"Open it," Thomas said.

Elias touched the lid.

He hesitated.

He remembered the dream.

The king. The fire. The ice.

He lifted the lid.

Inside was a letter.

The paper was yellow.

The ink was brown.

He unfolded it.

He read.

He read the first line.

He stopped.

He read it again.

His hand shook.

"Is it true?" Elias asked.

Thomas leaned forward.

"Truth is a matter of perspective," Thomas said.

Elias looked at the letter.

He looked at Thomas.

"You knew," Elias said.

"I always knew," Thomas said.

Elias felt a coldness in his stomach.

He looked at the locket on the shelf.

He looked at the letter.

He looked at his wife.

She was not there.

She had been dead for ten years.

Or was she?

The letter said she was alive.

The letter said she was in London.

The letter said she had never loved him.

The letter said she had married another man.

Elias laughed.

It was a dry sound. Like leaves breaking.

"You lie," Elias said.

Thomas did not flinch.

"Check the date," Thomas said.

Elias looked at the paper.

The date was last week.

He looked at Thomas.

Thomas was smiling.

It was not a kind smile.

It was a hungry smile.

Elias grabbed the letter.

He tore it.

Piece by piece.

He threw the pieces on the floor.

"Get out," Elias said.

Thomas did not move.

"Master," Thomas said. "You are a fool."

Elias felt a rage rise in his chest.

It was hot.

It was bright.

He picked up the hammer.

The goldsmith’s hammer.

It was heavy.

He swung it.

Thomas moved.

It was fast.

Too fast.

The hammer hit the wall.

Dust fell.

Thomas stood in the corner.

He was bleeding from the lip.

He wiped it with his thumb.

He looked at the blood.

He laughed.

"You cannot kill me," Thomas said.

Elias swung again.

The hammer struck Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas fell.

He hit the floor.

He did not get up.

He lay there.

His eyes were open.

He looked at Elias.

"I won," Elias said.

He stood over Thomas.

His breath came in short gasps.

He looked at the door.

He looked at the hammer.

He looked at the locket.

The locket was still there.

It did not move.

He walked to the shelf.

He took the locket.

It was cold.

He put it in his pocket.

He walked to the door.

He opened it.

The sun was bright.

It was too bright.

It hurt his eyes.

He stepped out.

The street was empty.

There were no people.

There were no carts.

There was no sound.

Only the wind.

It blew through the buildings.

It made a low moaning sound.

Elias walked.

He walked down the street.

He walked past the bakery.

The door was locked.

He walked past the church.

The door was locked.

He walked past the school.

The door was locked.

He walked to the river.

The water was black.

It did not flow.

It was still.

He stood on the bank.

He looked at the water.

He saw a face.

It was his own face.

But it was old.

Much older.

The face smiled.

It was a cruel smile.

Elias looked down.

He saw the locket in his hand.

He opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

It was faded.

It was a woman.

She was beautiful.

She was smiling.

She was not his wife.

She was Thomas’s mother.

Elias felt the ground shake.

He dropped the locket.

It fell into the water.

It made no splash.

It sank.

It disappeared.

Elias looked at the water.

The face was gone.

The water was just water.

He turned around.

Thomas was standing behind him.

He was not bleeding.

He was not hurt.

He was smiling.

"You missed," Thomas said.

Elias looked at him.

His legs gave way.

He sat on the grass.

The grass was dry.

It crunched under his weight.

"Who are you?" Elias asked.

His voice was small.

Thomas stepped closer.

He was tall.

He was shadowed.

"I am the one you made," Thomas said.

Elias shook his head.

"No," Elias said. "You are my apprentice."

Thomas laughed.

It was a deep sound.

"You are the apprentice," Thomas said.

Elias looked at his hands.

They were young.

They were strong.

He looked at his face.

He was young.

He was not old.

He was not the master.

He was the boy.

He was the one who had served.

He had served the master.

The master had been cruel.

The master had taken everything.

The master had taken the woman.

The master had taken the gold.

The master had taken the life.

Elias remembered.

He remembered the fire.

He remembered the ice.

He was the king in the dream.

He was the prisoner in the reality.

Thomas looked down at him.

"It is done," Thomas said.

Elias closed his eyes.

He felt a peace.

It was a cold peace.

It was a heavy peace.

It was the peace of the dead.

He opened his eyes.

Thomas was gone.

The street was empty.

The sun was setting.

The sky was purple.

The air was cold.

Elias stood up.

He walked back to the shop.

The door was open.

The light was on.

He walked in.

The shop was empty.

The tools were on the bench.

The hammer was on the floor.

The locket was gone.

The box was gone.

The letter was gone.

Only the dust remained.

Elias sat at the bench.

He picked up the hammer.

It was light.

He set it down.

He looked at the wall.

The hole was there.

The mirror was gone.

The key was gone.

He reached into his pocket.

He found the key.

It was silver.

It was cold.

He looked at the hole.

He inserted the key.

It did not turn.

He tried again.

It did not turn.

He pulled it out.

He looked at the key.

It was bent.

It was broken.

He dropped it.

It clinked on the floor.

He sat in the silence.

The clock ticked.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The light dimmed.

The shadows grew.

Elias looked at the door.

He did not move.

He did not speak.

He waited.

The door opened.

A light came in.

It was a small light.

It was a warm light.

A woman walked in.

She was old.

She was thin.

She wore a black dress.

She carried a basket.

She looked at Elias.

She smiled.

It was a sad smile.

"It is you," she said.

Elias looked at her.

He did not know her name.

He did not know her face.

But he knew her.

He knew her soul.

"Yes," Elias said.

His voice was soft.

She walked to the counter.

She set the basket down.

She opened it.

Inside was a loaf of bread.

It was fresh.

It smelled of yeast and heat.

She broke the bread.

She offered a piece to Elias.

He took it.

It was warm.

It was soft.

He ate it.

It tasted of nothing.

It tasted of everything.

He looked at the woman.

She was crying.

Tears ran down her face.

She did not wipe them.

She just looked at him.

"I am sorry," she said.

Elias shook his head.

"Leave," Elias said.

The woman stood up.

She picked up the basket.

She walked to the door.

She paused.

She looked back.

"Remember," she said.

Elias did not answer.

She walked out.

The door closed.

The light was gone.

The shop was dark.

Elias sat in the dark.

He held the piece of bread.

He chewed.

He swallowed.

He felt full.

He felt empty.

He looked at the wall.

The hole was still there.

He reached out.

He touched the plaster.

It was rough.

It was cold.

He pulled his hand back.

He looked at his hand.

It was trembling.

He closed his eyes.

He remembered the dream.

The king.

The fire.

The ice.

He was the king.

He was the ice.

He was the fire.

He was the gold.

He was the dust.

He opened his eyes.

The shop was gone.

He was in the field.

The grass was tall.

The sky was vast.

The wind was strong.

He stood in the wind.

He felt the cold.

He felt the heat.

He felt the life.

He felt the death.

He was alone.

He was free.

He was lost.

He was found.

He was the master.

He was the slave.

He was the gold.

He was the stone.

He closed his eyes.

He let the wind take him.

He let the wind carry him.

He let the wind hold him.

He was gone.

The field was empty.

The wind blew on.

The wind blew on.

The wind blew on.