He woke in the mud. The cold bit his teeth. Rain hammered the stone walls. It was the Keep. It was always the Keep.

"Up," a voice said. Low. Rough. "You sleep like the dead, Thomas."

Thomas didn't open his eyes. He knew the voice. It was his own, from ten years ago. It was the voice of the Captain.

"Move it," the Captain said. "The gate is open."

Thomas sat. His joints cracked. They always cracked. He was old now. He was young then. Time was a flat circle here. He wiped the mud from his face. His hands shook. Not from cold. From fear.

"Ready?" the Captain asked.

"Always," Thomas said.

They walked out. The courtyard was gray. The sky was gray. The air smelled of iron and wet wool. There was no sun. There was never any sun.

"Who are you?" Thomas asked.

The Captain looked at him. His eyes were dark pits. "I am the one who keeps the door shut. And you are the one who opens it."

"That’s not right," Thomas said. "I’m a soldier. I defend the wall."

"You defend nothing," the Captain said. "You feed the wall."

They reached the gate. It was massive. Black iron. It groaned as it opened. Beyond it, there was no land. Only fog. Thick, white fog. It swallowed the world.

"Go," the Captain said.

Thomas stepped forward. His boots sank into the mist. It felt like water. Cold water.

"Wait," Thomas said. "My brother. Where is he?"

The Captain smiled. It was a cruel thing. "He is in the fog."

"Bring him back."

"I cannot."

"Then I will."

Thomas ran. He ran into the white. He ran until his lungs burned. He ran until he forgot his name. He ran until he found the shape of a man.

It was his brother. David.

David was sitting on a rock. He was small. He was wearing the same uniform. The same mud.

"David?" Thomas whispered.

David looked up. His face was pale. His eyes were wide.

"Thomas?" David said. "How long?"

"I don't know."

"It’s been so long."

"Come with me," Thomas said. "We have to go back."

"Back where?"

"To the Keep."

David stood. His legs were thin. "I don’t want to go back. It hurts there."

"It will be over," Thomas said. "I promise."

David shook his head. "It’s never over. That’s the trick."

Thomas grabbed his brother’s arm. "We fight. We fight the Captain. We break the gate."

David laughed. It was a dry, cracking sound. "You can’t break it. We are the gate."

"What?"

"We are the stone. We are the iron. Every time we die, we become part of the wall. Every time we run, we make the fog thicker."

Thomas pulled his brother closer. "No. I will fight. I will win."

David looked at him with pity. "You’ve said that before. In the last cycle. And the one before."

"I remember now," Thomas said. His head pounded. "I remember the blood. I remember the screaming."

"Good," David said. "Remembering is the first step to breaking."

They walked back to the gate. The fog parted for them. The Keep loomed above. The Captain was waiting. He leaned against the iron door. He looked tired.

"Did you find him?" the Captain asked.

Thomas drew his sword. It was heavy. It was dull. "Give him back."

"Who?" the Captain asked.

"David."

The Captain sighed. "He is here. He is in the wall. He is in the floor. He is in the sky."

Thomas swung. The sword hit the Captain’s chest. There was no blood. The Captain fell. He slid into the mud. He dissolved. He became part of the ground.

Thomas stood there. His sword was still raised. His hand trembled.

"Is it done?" Thomas asked.

A voice came from the wall. It was David’s voice.

"No. It’s just started."

Thomas looked at his hands. They were turning gray. Stone. He looked at the ground. He could feel it pulling at his feet.

"Stop," he said. "Stop it."

The wall groaned. The fog rushed in. It wrapped around his legs. It went up his chest.

"Thomas," David’s voice said. "Don't fight it."

"I will fight it," Thomas said. "I will burn it down."

He struck the wall with his sword. Sparks flew. The stone did not break. It absorbed the blow. It absorbed him.

He felt himself becoming hard. Cold. Silent.

*This is wrong,* he thought. *There must be another way.*

He closed his eyes. He remembered the smell of rain. Not the cold rain of the Keep. The warm rain on the farm. He remembered his mother’s hands. He remembered David laughing in the hay.

*Focus,* he told himself. *Not on the stone. On the love.*

The stone was pulling him down. It was crushing his lungs.

*Love is not a weapon,* David’s voice whispered. *It is a release.*

Thomas opened his eyes. He saw the Captain’s face in the mud. It was his own face.

*Oh,* he thought. *I am the Captain.*

The realization hit him like a hammer. He was not the prisoner. He was the jailer. He had been the jailer for a thousand years. He had trapped them. He had trapped himself.

The pressure in his chest eased. The stone stopped pulling.

He looked at the gate. It was closed.

He looked at his hands. They were human again.

"David," he said. "Come out."

The wall shuddered. A crack appeared. It was small. Thin as a hair.

"Is it enough?" Thomas asked.

"It’s a start," David said.

Thomas walked to the gate. He put his hands on the iron. It was warm.

"Open," he said.

The gate didn’t move.

"Open!" he screamed.

Nothing happened.

He was still the stone. He was still the wall.

He fell to his knees. The fog swallowed him.

He woke in the mud.

"Up," a voice said.

Thomas sat. His joints cracked.

"Ready?" the Captain asked.

"Always," Thomas said.

He stood. He looked at the fog. He looked at the gate.

This time, he didn’t run. He walked. Slowly. With purpose.

The Captain watched him.

"Where are you going?" the Captain asked.

"To the wall," Thomas said.

"To die?"

"No," Thomas said. "To remember."

He walked into the fog.

The Captain waited. He waited a long time.

Then, the fog cleared.

Thomas was gone.

The Captain looked at his hands. They were turning gray.

"Up," the Captain said to the empty air.

He sat. His joints cracked.

"Ready?" he asked himself.

"Always," he said.

He walked out. The gate was open. The fog was thick.

He ran.

He ran until he found the shape of a man.

It was his brother.

"Thomas?" the man said.

"David?" the Captain asked.

"How long?" David said.

"I don't know," the Captain said.

"It’s been so long."

"Come with me," the Captain said. "We have to go back."

"Back where?"

"To the Keep."

David stood. "I don’t want to go back. It hurts there."

"It will be over," the Captain said. "I promise."

David shook his head. "It’s never over. That’s the trick."

The Captain grabbed his brother’s arm. "We fight. We fight the Captain. We break the gate."

David laughed. "You can’t break it. We are the gate."

"What?"

"We are the stone. We are the iron. Every time we die, we become part of the wall. Every time we run, we make the fog thicker."

The Captain pulled his brother closer. "No. I will fight. I will win."

David looked at him with pity. "You’ve said that before. In the last cycle. And the one before."

"I remember now," the Captain said. His head pounded. "I remember the blood. I remember the screaming."

"Good," David said. "Remembering is the first step to breaking."

They walked back to the gate. The fog parted for them. The Keep loomed above. The new Captain was waiting. He leaned against the iron door. He looked tired.

"Did you find him?" the new Captain asked.

The old Captain drew his sword. It was heavy. It was dull. "Give him back."

"Who?" the new Captain asked.

"David."

The new Captain sighed. "He is here. He is in the wall. He is in the floor. He is in the sky."

The old Captain swung. The sword hit the new Captain’s chest. There was no blood. The new Captain fell. He slid into the mud. He dissolved. He became part of the ground.

The old Captain stood there. His sword was still raised. His hand trembled.

"Is it done?" the old Captain asked.

A voice came from the wall. It was David’s voice.

"No. It’s just started."

The old Captain looked at his hands. They were turning gray. Stone. He looked at the ground. He could feel it pulling at his feet.

"Stop," he said. "Stop it."

The wall groaned. The fog rushed in. It wrapped around his legs. It went up his chest.

"Thomas," David’s voice said. "Don't fight it."

"I will fight it," the old Captain said. "I will burn it down."

He struck the wall with his sword. Sparks flew. The stone did not break. It absorbed the blow. It absorbed him.

He felt himself becoming hard. Cold. Silent.

*This is wrong,* he thought. *There must be another way.*

He closed his eyes. He remembered the smell of rain. Not the cold rain of the Keep. The warm rain on the farm. He remembered his mother’s hands. He remembered David laughing in the hay.

*Focus,* he told himself. *Not on the stone. On the love.*

The stone was pulling him down. It was crushing his lungs.

*Love is not a weapon,* David’s voice whispered. *It is a release.*

The old Captain opened his eyes. He saw the new Captain’s face in the mud. It was his own face.

*Oh,* he thought. *I am the Captain.*

The realization hit him like a hammer. He was not the prisoner. He was the jailer. He had been the jailer for a thousand years. He had trapped them. He had trapped himself.

The pressure in his chest eased. The stone stopped pulling.

He looked at the gate. It was closed.

He looked at his hands. They were human again.

"David," he said. "Come out."

The wall shuddered. A crack appeared. It was small. Thin as a hair.

"Is it enough?" he asked.

"It’s a start," David said.

He walked to the gate. He put his hands on the iron. It was warm.

"Open," he said.

The gate didn’t move.

"Open!" he screamed.

Nothing happened.

He was still the stone. He was still the wall.

He fell to his knees. The fog swallowed him.

He woke in the mud.

"Up," a voice said.

The mud was cold. The rain was hard. The Keep was waiting.

He sat. He did not move. He did not speak.

The voice waited.

Finally, Thomas stood. He wiped the mud from his face.

"Ready?" he asked.

The Captain looked at him. The Captain’s eyes were dark.

"Go," the Captain said.

Thomas walked to the gate. He did not run. He did not fight. He just walked.

He placed his hand on the iron.

It was warm.

"Open," he whispered.

The gate groaned. It opened.

Beyond it, there was no fog.

There was only light.

Bright, blinding light.

Thomas stepped into it.

The Keep crumbled. The stone turned to dust. The iron rusted and fell.

The light swallowed him.

And then, there was nothing.

Just silence.

And rain.