The bell tolls. It is a low, heavy sound. It shakes the dust from the rafters. You feel it in your teeth. You are still. You are old. Your knees ache. The pain is a sharp, white line. It runs from hip to shin. You do not flinch. You have learned to ignore the body. The body is a burden. The body is a cage. The stone floor is cold. It bites through your boots. You do not shift your weight. You stand like a statue. You stand like a dead man.

"Is it done?" The voice is soft. It is gentle. It is a trap.

You do not turn. You face the wall. The wall is thick. The wall is dark. There is no window. There is no light. There is only the smell of damp earth. There is the smell of iron. There is the smell of fear. You know the face behind the voice. You know the hands that hold the knife. You know the heart that beats fast.

"Yes," you say. Your voice is rough. It is like gravel. It is like rust. "It is done."

"Show me."

"No."

"Show me, Thomas."

The name hangs in the air. It is a hook. It pulls at your chest. You swallow. The sound is loud. It is a dry, cracking sound. You close your eyes. You see the fire. You see the smoke. You see the blood. You see the face of the woman. You see the eyes. The eyes are wide. The eyes are full of sorrow. The eyes are full of love. The love is heavy. The love is a stone. It sinks in your stomach. It crushes your lungs.

"Thomas," the voice says again. "Why did you wait so long?"

You open your eyes. You turn your head. You look at the man. He is young. He is clean. He is bright. He is the future. You are the past. You are the dust. You are the rot.

"Because I was afraid," you say.

"Of what?"

"Of the price."

The man steps forward. His boots are soft. They make no sound. He is close now. You can smell him. He smells of soap. He smells of life. He smells of the world outside. The world you have lost. The world you have burned.

"You are a fool," he says.

You nod. You agree. You are a fool. You are a coward. You are a killer. You are a hero. The words are mixed. They are tangled. They are a knot. You cannot untie them. You cannot untie yourself.

"The King is dead," you say.

"Yes."

"The Queen is dead."

"Yes."

"The line is broken."

"Yes."

The man smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a kind smile. He understands. He sees you. He sees the weight you carry. He sees the chains. He sees the blood. He sees the truth. The truth is simple. The truth is cruel. The truth is that you are alone.

"I will show you," you say.

You reach into your coat. Your hand trembles. Your fingers are stiff. Your fingers are cold. You pull out the object. It is small. It is dark. It is heavy. It is a ring. It is a sign. It is a seal. It is a word made of metal. It is a mark on the soul.

You hold it up. The light from the single candle catches it. It glows. It is not gold. It is not silver. It is iron. It is black. It is dull. It is dead.

The man’s face changes. His eyes widen. His mouth opens. He does not speak. He does not breathe. He stares. He stares at the ring. He stares at you. He sees the mark. He sees the history. He sees the crime.

"This is it?" he asks.

"Yes."

"It is nothing," he says.

"It is everything," you say.

The man steps back. He looks at his hands. He looks at the ring. He looks at you. He is confused. He is hurt. He is angry. He wanted a treasure. He wanted a power. He wanted a symbol. He wanted to be the king. He wanted to be the savior. He wanted to be the hero. He wanted to save the world. He wanted to save you.

"You have failed," he says.

"No," you say. "I have succeeded."

"Failed."

"Succeeded."

The word is a stone. It hits the floor. It cracks. It breaks. It shatters. The silence returns. The silence is thick. The silence is heavy. The silence is a wall.

"Why?" he asks.

"Because," you say. "Because it was never about the ring."

He does not understand. He frowns. He tilts his head. He is a child. He is a boy. He is a fool. He wants a story. He wants a legend. He wants a myth. He wants a magic. He wants a miracle. He wants a god.

"It is a ritual," you say.

"A ritual?"

"Yes."

"To kill the King?"

"To kill the self."

The man laughs. It is a short, sharp laugh. It is a bitter laugh. It is a mocking laugh.

"You are mad," he says.

"Perhaps," you say.

"You are dead."

"Perhaps."

The man reaches for the ring. He moves fast. He moves strong. He is young. He is fast. He is strong. You do not move. You do not dodge. You do not block. You let him take it. You let him take it. You let him take your last breath. You let him take your last hope. You let him take your last lie.

He grabs the ring. He pulls. He yanks. It is stuck. It is fused. It is bonded. It is part of you. It is part of your skin. It is part of your bone. It is part of your blood. It is part of your soul.

He pulls harder. He strains. He gasps. He sweats. He pulls. He pulls. He pulls.

The ring does not move.

He looks at you. His face is twisted. His face is red. His face is ugly. He is in pain. He is in rage. He is in despair.

"Let go!" he shouts.

"I cannot," you say.

"Cut it!"

"You cannot."

He drops the ring. It falls to the floor. It makes a small sound. It is a click. It is a sigh. It is a death.

He is out of breath. He is shaking. He is crying. He is broken.

"I cannot take it," he says.

"No," you say. "You cannot."

He looks at you. He sees you. He really sees you. He sees the old man. He sees the killer. He sees the victim. He sees the ghost. He sees the mirror.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I am the price," you say.

The man steps back. He backs into the wall. He slides down. He sits on the floor. He hugs his knees. He puts his head in his hands. He is small. He is weak. He is alone.

You stand. You are still. You are calm. You are empty. The pain in your knees is gone. The ache in your chest is gone. The fear in your heart is gone. The love in your soul is gone. The ring is gone. The mark is gone. The word is gone.

The bell tolls again. It is louder now. It is closer now. It is inside now. It is in your head. It is in your bones. It is in your blood. It is in your breath.

You close your eyes. You breathe in. You breathe out. You breathe in. You breathe out.

The man is sobbing. He is wailing. He is screaming. He is begging. He is pleading. He is crying.

You do not hear him. You do not see him. You do not feel him. You are gone. You are free. You are lost. You are found. You are dead. You are alive.

The door opens. Light floods in. It is bright. It is white. It is cold. It is clean. It is new.

The man looks up. He sees the light. He sees the door. He sees the world.

You stand in the shadow. You stand in the dark. You stand in the past. You stand in the grave.

The light touches the man. It warms him. It saves him. It lifts him. It raises him. It makes him strong. It makes him king. It makes him hero. It makes him savior.

You are left in the dark. You are left in the cold. You are left in the silence. You are left in the void.

You smile. It is a small smile. It is a sad smile. It is a true smile.

You are the price. You are the ritual. You are the mark. You are the word. You are the silence.

The bell tolls.

It is done.