The feast was loud. It was a wall of noise and smoke. We ate until our bellies hurt. The ale was thick. It tasted of iron and yeast. I sat in the corner. I watched the candles burn down. They melted fast. The wax pooled on the table. It looked like tears. But it was just wax.

I am Thomas. I was a guard. I held the gate. I held the line. I did not hold the city. I held a stone. A single, grey stone. It was cold in my pocket. It sat against my thigh. It was the only thing that felt real.

The Lord of the Hill, old Master Halloway, stood to speak. His voice was thin. It cut through the roar. He spoke of duty. He spoke of the wall. He spoke of the thing that comes in the dark. The thing with too many eyes. We nodded. We drank. We pretended it was a story. A tale for children.

But I knew. I had seen the eyes. They were in the fog. They were in the rain. They were in the silence between the heartbeats.

I looked at my hands. They were rough. They were stained with dirt. They were the hands of a man who digs. I had dug a hole. I had buried a secret. I had buried the stone. But the stone was back. It was in my pocket. It was heavy. It was a mirror. It showed me who I was. Not a hero. Not a saint. A thief.

I had taken the stone from the temple. The old temple. The one on the hill. The one that was empty. I told myself it was for the cause. I told myself it would stop the plague. I told myself it would keep the cold away. I was a fool. The stone did not stop the plague. It stopped my breath.

The feast ended. The fire died down. The shadows grew long. I walked out into the yard. The air was sharp. It bit my lungs. The moon was full. It hung in the sky like a pale eye.

I went to my quarters. The door was loose. It creaked. I sat on the bed. I took the stone out. It was smooth. It was warm now. It had taken the heat from my body. I held it up. It was black. It was deep. It was a hole in the world.

A knock came at the door. It was soft. It was polite.

"Come in," I said. My voice was strange. It was flat.

The door opened. It was Silas. He was my friend. He was my brother in arms. He was the one I trusted. He was the one who betrayed me.

He held a cup. It was full of wine. The wine was red. It looked like blood.

"Drink," he said. His face was calm. His eyes were kind. But they were empty.

"I do not want wine," I said.

"Drink," he said again. He stepped closer. He smelled of lavender. He always smelled of lavender. It was a lie. It was a mask.

I looked at the stone. I looked at Silas. I understood.

"You knew," I said.

"I knew," he said.

"Who gave you the order?"

"The Lord," Silas said. "He knows the weight of the stone. He knows it must be returned."

"Returned where?"

"Back to the dark," Silas said. "Back to the source."

I laughed. It was a dry sound. It was a crack in the stone.

"You mean you will kill me," I said.

"I mean you will give up," Silas said. "It is easier. It is cleaner. You are tired, Thomas. You have carried this for too long."

He was right. I was tired. My bones ached. My mind was a blur. The stone pulled at me. It wanted to be put down. It wanted to rest.

I looked at the cup. I looked at the stone. I saw my face in the black surface. It was old. It was tired. It was afraid.

I did not take the cup. I did not fight. I stood up. I put the stone on the table. It made a small sound. A thud. A finality.

Silas looked at the stone. He did not look at me.

"Good," he said. He poured the wine into the basin. It sloshed over the edge. It ran onto the floor. It soaked into the wood.

He left. The door closed. The latch clicked.

I sat on the bed. I waited. I did not cry. I did not scream. I just waited. The stone sat on the table. It was still. It was waiting for me.

I stood up. I walked to the window. The yard was empty. The moon was still there. It was watching. I opened the window. The air rushed in. It was cold. It was clean.

I picked up the stone. It was light now. It had no weight. It had no power. It was just a rock.

I held it over the sill. I let it go.

It fell. I did not watch it hit the ground. I heard the sound. It was small. It was distant. It was like a whisper.

I closed the window. I lay down on the bed. The sheets were cold. I pulled them up to my chin.

I closed my eyes. I felt the absence of the stone. It was a hole in my side. It was a void. But it was empty. And emptiness is quiet.

I thought about the feast. I thought about the laughter. I thought about the ale. I thought about the lie. I had believed I was saving the town. I had believed I was saving myself. I was wrong. I was just a vessel. A hollow thing.

The door opened again. It was not Silas. It was the wind. It blew the curtains back. The moonlight fell on the bed. It was bright. It was cold.

I did not move. I let the light touch me. It felt like a hand. A gentle hand. It was not kind. It was just there.

I knew what would happen next. I knew the men would come. They would find the stone gone. They would find me here. They would ask questions. I would not answer. I would just look at them. I would show them the empty hand.

The fate was clear. I had tried to hold the sky. I had tried to keep the dark away. I had failed. But in failing, I had let go. I had dropped the burden.

The stone was gone. The secret was gone. I was just Thomas. A man. A tired man.

I slept. I did not dream. There was nothing to dream of. There was only the dark. And the dark was peaceful.

In the morning, the sun rose. It was a pale thing. It did not burn. It just shone. The town woke up. The bells rang. The people went to work. They did not know about the stone. They did not know about the betrayal. They did not know about the feast.

They went on. They lived. They died. They forgot.

I sat on the bed. I watched the dust motes dance in the light. They were small. They were insignificant. They were free.

I was free.

I stood up. I opened the door. I walked out. The air was crisp. It filled my lungs. It tasted of earth. It tasted of life.

I walked to the gate. I did not look back. I did not look for the stone. I did not look for Silas.

I walked into the town. I walked into the crowd. I was no one. I was everyone. I was the stone. I was the wind. I was the light.

I accepted the end. I accepted the loss. I accepted the truth.

The stone was in the dark. The dark was deep. The dark was eternal.

And I was here.

I was here.