You are kneeling.

The stone is cold.

It bites into your knees.

You are in the cellar.

It smells of wet rot.

Of old blood.

Of fear.

Above you, the floorboards creak.

Boots.

Heavy boots.

They stop.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then silence.

You hold the chain.

It is heavy.

Iron.

Rusted.

It hangs from your neck.

It is the only thing you have.

The only thing that matters.

It was your mother’s.

She wore it every day.

She wore it when she washed the dishes.

She wore it when she prayed.

She wore it when she looked at you.

Her eyes were gray.

Like the sky before a storm.

She is dead now.

The fever took her.

The fever took everyone.

But the chain remains.

It is warm.

It is her warmth.

You clench your fist.

The metal bites into your palm.

You do not feel pain.

You feel only purpose.

The door opens.

Light floods in.

Blinding.

White.

A figure steps down.

Tall.

Broad.

He wears armor.

Steel.

Shining.

It is polished.

It is perfect.

It is the King’s color.

Black.

He looks at you.

His eyes are empty.

He does not blink.

"You are still here," he says.

His voice is low.

Smooth.

Like oil.

"I am," you say.

Your voice is rough.

Scratched.

"You should be gone."

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"Because."

He smiles.

It is not a smile.

It is a crack in a mask.

"Come up," he says.

He extends a hand.

Gloved.

Leather.

You do not move.

He sighs.

He walks away.

The door slams.

The dark returns.

You wait.

You wait.

You wait.

Hours pass.

Or days.

Time is a lie.

Time is a circle.

You listen.

You hear the city above.

The bells.

The crowds.

The laughter.

They do not know.

They do not see.

They live in the light.

You live in the dark.

You are the shadow.

You are the stain.

You are the truth they want to wash away.

The door opens again.

More light.

More boots.

This time, there are three.

The man from before.

And two others.

They are smaller.

They are nervous.

They look at you.

They look at the chain.

They look away.

"Take him," the man says.

He points at you.

"Take him to the square."

The two men move.

They grab you.

Their hands are soft.

They are not used to violence.

They are not used to weight.

You do not resist.

You let them pull.

You let them drag.

You climb the stairs.

One by one.

Your legs burn.

Your back aches.

The chain pulls at your neck.

It is heavy.

It is always heavy.

You reach the top.

The door opens.

The city is there.

It is vast.

It is gray.

The buildings are tall.

They touch the sky.

The streets are narrow.

They are crowded.

People everywhere.

They wear fine clothes.

Silk.

Velvet.

Gold.

They smell of perfume.

Of wine.

Of life.

They walk past you.

They do not see you.

They look through you.

You are invisible.

You are nothing.

You are the air.

You are the dust.

The man from the cellar walks beside you.

He is calm.

He is in control.

He is the storm.

You are the rain.

He speaks to the crowd.

His voice carries.

It is strong.

It is clear.

"Look at him," he says.

"Look at this traitor."

The crowd stops.

They turn.

They look.

Their eyes are wide.

Their mouths are open.

They whisper.

They point.

They scream.

"He stole from the King!"

"He is a beast!"

"He deserves death!"

You do not speak.

You do not defend yourself.

You do not lie.

You do not beg.

You hold the chain.

You hold your mother’s chain.

You hold the truth.

The truth is simple.

The King is a thief.

The King is a murderer.

The King is a monster.

But you cannot say it.

They will not listen.

They want a monster.

They want a scapegoat.

They want a show.

You give them the show.

They throw stones.

Small ones.

Pebbles.

They hit your face.

They hit your arms.

They hit your chest.

You do not flinch.

You do not bleed.

You are stone.

You are iron.

You are the mountain.

The man from the cellar watches.

He is pleased.

He is satisfied.

He is the judge.

He is the god.

He raises his hand.

The crowd goes silent.

He looks at you.

His eyes are cold.

"Kneel," he says.

You kneel.

Your knees hit the cobblestones.

They are rough.

They are hard.

They are unforgiving.

He walks to you.

He stops.

He looks down.

He sees the chain.

His eyes narrow.

"What is that?" he asks.

You do not answer.

He leans down.

He touches the chain.

He pulls.

You do not move.

He pulls harder.

The metal groans.

It does not break.

It never breaks.

He looks at you.

His face is pale.

His hand is shaking.

He knows.

He knows what it is.

He knows who you are.

He knows the truth.

The truth is a weapon.

The truth is a fire.

It burns.

It consumes.

It destroys.

He steps back.

His face is gray.

His voice is small.

"What have you done?" he whispers.

You look at him.

You look into his eyes.

You see the fear.

You see the doubt.

You see the crack.

You speak.

"I did nothing," you say.

"I am only here."

"To save you."

"To save us."

He looks at the crowd.

The crowd looks at him.

They are angry.

They are confused.

They are waiting.

Waiting for blood.

Waiting for death.

Waiting for the end.

He turns to you.

He looks at the chain.

He looks at your face.

He sees your mother.

He sees the dead.

He sees the grave.

He raises his hand.

He drops it.

He lowers his sword.

The crowd gasps.

They are shocked.

They are angry.

They are afraid.

"You let him go?" a woman screams.

"He is a traitor!" a man shouts.

"Kill him!" they cry.

They lunge forward.

They grab you.

They pull.

They push.

They hit.

You do not fight.

You do not run.

You stand.

You stand still.

You hold the chain.

The chain is warm.

The chain is her warmth.

The man from the cellar steps between them.

He raises his sword.

He does not strike.

He blocks.

He pushes.

He is strong.

He is fast.

He is the wall.

The crowd backs away.

They are afraid.

They are not afraid of you.

They are afraid of him.

They are afraid of the King’s wrath.

They are afraid of the law.

The law is a shield.

The law is a lie.

The law is a cage.

The man from the cellar looks at you.

His face is stern.

His eyes are hard.

He speaks.

"Come with me," he says.

You do not move.

He sighs.

He walks away.

You follow.

You walk behind him.

You are silent.

You are empty.

You are full.

The chain hangs heavy.

It is the weight of the world.

It is the weight of love.

It is the weight of loss.

You walk through the city.

The streets are empty.

The people are gone.

The buildings are gray.

The sky is gray.

The world is gray.

You walk.

You walk.

You walk.

Until you stop.

You are at the edge.

The river is there.

It is wide.

It is dark.

It is fast.

It is life.

It is death.

It is the end.

The man from the cellar stops.

He turns.

He looks at you.

He looks at the river.

He looks at the chain.

He speaks.

"You are free," he says.

You do not understand.

He nods.

He turns.

He walks away.

He is gone.

You are alone.

You are alone.

You are alone.

You look at the chain.

It is in your hand.

It is in your heart.

It is in your blood.

You close your fist.

You open it.

You close it.

You open it.

The chain is gone.

It is not in your hand.

It is not in your heart.

It is not in your blood.

It is in the river.

It is in the water.

It is in the flow.

You look at your hands.

They are empty.

They are clean.

They are free.

You look at the river.

The water is black.

The water is deep.

The water is endless.

You step forward.

Your foot hits the stone.

It is cold.

It is hard.

It is real.

You step down.

The water hits your feet.

It is cold.

It is shocking.

It is waking.

You step in.

The water hits your legs.

It is rising.

It is rising.

It is rising.

It hits your waist.

It hits your chest.

It hits your neck.

It hits your face.

The water is loud.

The water is loud.

The water is loud.

You close your eyes.

You see her.

Your mother.

She is standing there.

She is smiling.

She is holding the chain.

She is holding your hand.

She is warm.

She is light.

She is gone.

You open your eyes.

The water is above you.

The sky is above you.

The world is above you.

You are below.

You are in the deep.

You are in the dark.

You are in the silence.

You are in the peace.

You are in the end.

You are in the beginning.

You are free.