He dreamed of the wall.

It stood in the dark. Stone. Cold. Infinite.

He woke with the taste of iron on his tongue.

The room was small. Stone. Smelled of damp and old wax.

Sir Edward sat on the edge of the bed. His armor was off. He wore only a tunic. It was white. It was stained.

He looked at his hands.

They were still.

He had expected them to shake. He had expected the tremor.

But they were still.

The door opened.

A boy entered. Thomas. He carried a tray. Two cups. A loaf.

Edward did not look up.

"You are awake," Thomas said.

"I am always awake."

"The guard said you had a nightmare."

"Nightmares are common."

"Here? No. You are the only one."

Edward finally looked.

Thomas was young. Barely sixteen. His face was pale. His eyes were red.

He had not slept.

Edward knew this. They were all awake.

The castle was silent.

Too silent.

The wind howled outside. It hit the stones. It rattled the shutters.

But inside, there was only the sound of breathing.

Edward’s breathing.

Thomas’s breathing.

And the sound of the clock.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

"The King sends a letter," Thomas said.

"Read it."

"I cannot. I do not know how."

Edward laughed. It was a dry sound. Like leaves skittering on stone.

"You are the scribe’s son."

"My father is dead."

"Read it."

Thomas hesitated. He set the tray down.

He took the parchment from the table.

He unfolded it.

His hands trembled.

Edward watched him.

He saw the fear.

He saw the confusion.

He saw the doubt.

Edward knew this fear.

He had worn it for twenty years.

It was heavy.

It was cold.

It pressed on his chest.

It squeezed his heart.

"Read," Edward said again.

Thomas began.

"By order of the Crown..."

His voice was small.

It broke.

"…the garrison at Blackwood is to be dissolved."

Edward felt a jolt.

He sat up straight.

His back hit the wall.

Cold.

Hard.

"Dissolved?"

"Yes."

"By whose order?"

"The King."

Edward closed his eyes.

He thought of the wall.

In his dream, the wall was endless.

In reality, the wall was only twelve feet high.

It was low.

It was weak.

It was a lie.

He opened his eyes.

"Who wrote it?"

"I do not know."

"Who brought it?"

"A courier."

"From where?"

"From the capital."

Edward stood up.

His legs were stiff.

He moved to the window.

He looked out.

The courtyard was empty.

The guards were gone.

The horses were gone.

Only the dust remained.

It swirled in the wind.

It looked like ghosts.

"Thomas," Edward said.

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you see the courier?"

"No."

"Did you hear him?"

"No."

"Did you smell him?"

"No."

Edward turned around.

He looked at the boy.

He saw the truth.

Thomas was not afraid of the letter.

He was afraid of Edward.

He was afraid of what Edward would do.

He was afraid of what Edward was.

Edward knew this.

He had always known.

He was the monster.

He was the shadow.

He was the thing that kept the walls strong.

He was the thing that kept the peace.

And now, the peace was gone.

The peace had been a lie.

Edward walked to the table.

He picked up the parchment.

He read it.

His eyes moved.

Left to right.

Top to bottom.

The words were clear.

The ink was fresh.

It smelled of iron.

Just like his mouth.

Just like the blood.

Just like the fear.

He read the name.

The King’s name.

It was signed.

It was sealed.

It was real.

Edward put the parchment down.

He looked at Thomas.

"Leave," he said.

Thomas did not move.

"I said leave."

Thomas moved.

He walked to the door.

He stopped.

He turned.

"Sir."

"What?"

"Will you go?"

Edward did not answer.

Thomas left.

The door closed.

The lock clicked.

Edward was alone.

He looked at the wall.

He touched it.

The stone was cold.

It was smooth.

It was hard.

He remembered the day he built it.

He remembered the sweat.

He remembered the blood.

He remembered the screams.

He remembered the silence.

He had built the wall to keep them out.

He had built the wall to keep them in.

He had built the wall to keep himself safe.

But the wall had changed him.

It had hardened him.

It had darkened him.

It had made him a stranger.

To himself.

To others.

To God.

He looked at his hands.

They were still.

He flexed his fingers.

They moved.

He made a fist.

He opened it.

He did this again.

And again.

And again.

He was testing them.

He was checking them.

He was looking for the weakness.

But there was no weakness.

There was only strength.

There was only control.

There was only the wall.

He heard a noise.

It came from the door.

A knock.

Soft.

Faint.

Edward did not move.

He listened.

The knock came again.

Louder.

Insistent.

Edward walked to the door.

He did not open it.

"Who is it?"

"It is me," said a voice.

It was not Thomas.

It was a woman.

Her voice was old.

Her voice was tired.

"Open the door, Edward."

"I do not know you."

"You know me."

"I do not."

"You built the wall for me."

Edward froze.

He remembered.

He remembered her face.

He remembered her hands.

He remembered her eyes.

She was his mother.

She was dead.

She had been dead for ten years.

He opened the door.

There was no one there.

Only the hallway.

Only the dark.

Only the wind.

He closed the door.

He locked it.

He backed away.

His heart was beating.

Fast.

Hard.

He looked at the wall.

The wall was moving.

It was cracking.

Small lines.

Thin.

Dark.

They spread.

Like veins.

Like blood.

The wall was bleeding.

Edward touched the crack.

It was warm.

It was wet.

It was alive.

He realized then.

The wall was not stone.

The wall was him.

Every brick was a memory.

Every mortar was a lie.

Every crack was a sin.

He had built the wall to protect himself.

But the wall had become him.

And he was breaking.

He looked at his hands.

They were no longer still.

They were shaking.

They were bleeding.

The blood was red.

It was fresh.

It was real.

He looked at the door.

He knew what he had to do.

He had to break the wall.

He had to break himself.

He had to let go.

He walked to the center of the room.

He stood still.

He closed his eyes.

He thought of his mother.

He thought of his son.

He thought of the love.

Obsessive.

Blinding.

Destructive.

He had loved them.

So much.

So hard.

That he had crushed them.

With his love.

With his wall.

With his fear.

He opened his eyes.

He raised his hands.

He hit the wall.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The stone cracked.

The dust fell.

The blood flowed.

He hit it again.

And again.

And again.

He did not stop.

He could not stop.

He had to break it.

He had to free them.

He had to free himself.

The wall fell.

It crashed to the floor.

A pile of rubble.

A pile of lies.

A pile of bones.

Edward stood in the hole.

The hole was deep.

The hole was dark.

The hole was empty.

He looked at the rubble.

He looked at his hands.

They were broken.

His fingers were bent.

His palms were open.

They were empty.

He felt a pain.

Sharp.

Hot.

Real.

He felt a relief.

Cold.

Soft.

Real.

He sat down.

On the rubble.

On the lies.

On the bones.

He breathed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The wind blew through the hole.

It was cold.

It was clean.

It smelled of rain.

It smelled of earth.

It smelled of life.

Edward closed his eyes.

He did not dream.

He did not sleep.

He waited.

For the light.

For the end.

For the truth.

The light came.

It was soft.

It was gold.

It filled the room.

It filled the hole.

It filled him.

He saw the world.

It was broken.

It was beautiful.

It was free.

He opened his eyes.

He saw Thomas.

Thomas was there.

He was not alone.

He was not afraid.

He was watching.

He was waiting.

Edward looked at him.

He smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a weak smile.

But it was real.

Thomas smiled back.

It was a sad smile.

It was a proud smile.

It was a free smile.

They looked at each other.

They did not speak.

They did not need to.

They understood.

The wall was gone.

The fear was gone.

The lie was gone.

Only the truth remained.

It was painful.

It was heavy.

It was theirs.

Edward stood up.

His legs were weak.

But they held.

He walked to the door.

He opened it.

The courtyard was bright.

The sun was high.

The sky was blue.

The birds were singing.

The wind was blowing.

It was a new day.

It was a hard day.

It was a real day.

Edward stepped out.

He left the castle.

He left the past.

He left the self.

He walked into the light.

He walked into the world.

He walked into the truth.

He did not look back.

He did not need to.

The wall was behind him.

It was dust.

It was nothing.

He was free.

He was alone.

He was whole.

The sun warmed his face.

It burned his skin.

It healed his soul.

He breathed.

Deep.

Slow.

Peaceful.

He walked on.

Into the distance.

Into the unknown.

Into the life.

He was gone.

He was here.

He was free.