The gate does not open. It is bolted. It is barred. It is a wall of iron and oak that smells of rust and old blood. You stand before it. The air is thin. It bites. You are in the keep. You are in the dark. The candle on the table is low. The wax pools like tears.

You remember the lily. It was white. It was pure. It grew in the crack of the courtyard stone. It did not ask for light. It did not ask for rain. It simply existed. You watched it for three days. It was the only thing that did not lie. Now it is gone. Crushed. Or perhaps it never was. Memory is a thief. It steals the shape and leaves the echo.

The door creaks. It is not a sound of welcome. It is a sound of warning.

Enter, Sir Thomas.

The voice is dry. It is the voice of the Captain. He sits in the shadows. His face is a mask. You cannot see his eyes. You cannot see the truth.

I am here.

Why?

To speak.

Speak of what?

Of the order. Of the command. Of the betrayal.

The word hangs in the air. It is heavy. It is a stone in your throat. You swallow. It hurts.

The Captain laughs. It is a short, sharp bark. Like a dog that has been kicked.

You think it is betrayal?

I think it is treason.

Treason? You are a man. You are a blade. You do not think. You cut.

I did cut. I cut as I was told. I cut the throat of the spy. I cut the hand of the thief. I cut the heart of the traitor.

And now?

Now the order was wrong.

The Captain stands. He is tall. He is broad. He is the law. He is the state. He is the wall you are facing.

Who gave the order?

I.

You? You are a soldier. You follow. You do not question. You do not doubt. You are the hand. I am the mind.

The hand has a conscience, Captain.

The hand has a duty.

Duty is a chain.

And a chain holds you to the earth. It keeps you from flying. It keeps you from falling.

I am falling.

No. You are rising. You are rising into the light.

The light is cold. The light is harsh. It strips the flesh from the bone. You feel it on your skin. It feels like fire. It feels like ice.

Show me.

Show you what?

The proof.

There is no proof. There is only the word.

Your word is not enough.

Then what is enough?

Blood.

Your blood.

The Captain smiles. It is a thin smile. It is a cruel smile.

You are a fool, Thomas. You are a good man. Good men are dangerous. They break. They bend. They lie.

I do not lie.

Everyone lies. The lie is the truth. The truth is the lie. You are caught in the middle. You are the knot.

Untie it.

I cannot.

Then die.

The word is soft. It is quiet. It is final.

You cannot kill me.

I can. I will.

Why?

Because you know. You know what I did. You know what I did to the prisoner. You know what I did to the child.

The air leaves your lungs. You gasp. You try to speak. You cannot.

The child?

She was a spy.

She was seven.

She was a vessel. She carried the poison. She carried the death.

You killed her.

I saved the city.

You killed a child.

I saved a thousand.

The math is simple. The math is cold. The math is wrong.

Is it?

It is monstrous.

It is necessary.

The Captain moves. He is fast. He is like smoke. He is like shadow. He is around you. He is behind you. He is in your mind.

You are the enemy.

No.

You are the lie.

No.

You are the rot.

I am the wound.

And wounds must be cut out.

The knife is cold. It is sharp. It is black. It is in your hand. You do not remember picking it up. It is there. It is part of you. It is your extension.

Do it.

No.

Do it, or I will.

The Captain raises his hand. He holds the hilt. He holds the power. He holds the truth.

You are not the truth.

I am the law.

The law is dead.

The law is eternal.

The law is a cage.

The cage is the home.

You are wrong.

I am right.

The right is heavy. The right is a burden. It crushes the spine. It breaks the neck.

Put it down.

I cannot.

Then let it go.

Let it go.

The words are a command. The words are a prayer. The words are a curse.

You look at the knife. You look at the Captain. You look at the door. The door is open. The night is outside. The night is vast. The night is dark.

The lily.

What?

The lily. It was not white. It was black. It was black at the center. It was black in the heart.

The Captain freezes. He blinks. He looks at you. He looks at the floor.

You lied.

I did not lie. I saw it. I saw the black.

You are mad.

I am awake.

The Captain’s face changes. The mask slips. The fear is there. The fear is deep. The fear is old.

You saw it?

Yes.

The black center.

The rot.

The Captain steps back. He hits the table. The candle falls. The flame dies. The room is dark. The room is silent.

If you speak of this, you die.

I am already dead.

No. You are alive. You are the witness. You are the record. You are the echo.

The echo is dangerous.

The echo is truth.

The truth is a weapon.

And I am the hand.

The Captain is gone. The air is empty. The door is open. The night waits.

You walk out. You walk into the cold. The cold is clean. The cold is sharp. The cold is honest.

You walk to the courtyard. You walk to the crack in the stone. You look for the lily. It is gone. There is only dirt. There is only stone. There is only silence.

But you hear it.

The echo.

It is a sound. It is a hum. It is a vibration. It is in the air. It is in the ground. It is in your blood.

It is the sound of the lily. It is the sound of the white. It is the sound of the pure. It is the sound of the life that was taken. It is the sound of the life that remains.

You close your eyes. You breathe. You feel the cold on your face. You feel the stone under your feet. You feel the weight of the years. You feel the weight of the blood.

You open your eyes. The moon is up. The moon is full. The moon is white.

The moon is a mirror. The moon is a judge. The moon is a ghost.

It sees you. It sees the black in your heart. It sees the white in your soul. It sees the lie. It sees the truth.

You are not the soldier. You are not the killer. You are not the fool.

You are the witness.

You are the echo.

The echo does not fade. The echo does not die. The echo grows. The echo spreads. The echo fills the world.

You stand in the courtyard. You stand in the dark. You stand in the light.

You are free.

You are bound.

You are the chain.

You are the link.

You are the gate.

The gate does not open. The gate is you.

You turn. You walk back inside. The door is open. The room is empty. The table is bare. The chair is cold.

You sit. You wait. You listen.

The echo is in the walls. The echo is in the floor. The echo is in the ceiling.

It is a song. It is a dirge. It is a hymn.

It is the song of the lily.

It is the song of the dead.

It is the song of the living.

You close your eyes. You let the sound in. You let the sound out. You let the sound through.

You are the vessel. You are the pipe. You are the voice.

The voice speaks. The voice does not stop. The voice does not lie. The voice does not kill. The voice does not save.

The voice is.

And in the being, there is peace. And in the peace, there is pain. And in the pain, there is love. And in the love, there is trust.

But the trust is broken. The trust is shattered. The trust is dust.

And the dust settles. And the dust remains.

You are the dust.

You are the echo.

The story ends. The story begins. The story is you. The story is me. The story is the lily. The story is the black. The story is the white. The story is the gate. The story is the key.

The key is in the lock. The lock is in the door. The door is in the wall. The wall is in the world.

The world is the cage.

And you are the bird.

And the bird has no wings.

And the bird has no voice.

And the bird has no life.

But the bird sings.

The bird sings in the dark. The bird sings in the cold. The bird sings in the pain.

The song is small. The song is quiet. The song is true.

And the truth is enough.

The truth is all.

The truth is the echo.

The echo is the golden.

The golden is the light.

The light is the end.

The end is the beginning.

The beginning is the silence.

The silence is the gate.

The gate is open.

You walk out.