The seal broke at dawn.

I held it in my palm. It was cold. It was gold. It was dead.

The room shook. Dust fell from the beams. The chandelier swung. A crack ran down the white plaster. I did not move. I was a soldier. I stood still.

The seal was a small disc. It bore the face of the King. But the eyes were empty. The mouth was a slit. It had been given to me by the High Chancellor. He had pressed it into my hand. His fingers were wet.

"Keep it safe," he said.

I had kept it. For ten years. I had worn it against my skin. I had slept with it under my pillow. I had prayed to it. I had bled for it.

Now it was broken.

The floor was covered in shards. Golden teeth. Golden eyes. Golden ears. They glittered in the pale light. I looked at my hands. They were clean.

I walked to the door. I opened it. The hall was empty. The guards were gone. The banners had fallen. The air smelled of wet stone and fear.

I found the Chancellor’s office. The door was ajar. I pushed it open. The desk was overturned. The chair was broken. There was a stain on the carpet. It was dark. It was old.

I sat on the floor. I picked up a shard. It cut my thumb. The blood was red. The gold was bright. I held them together. They did not mix.

I remembered the oath. I remembered the weight. I remembered the trust. They had trusted me. They believed I was the vessel. I was the lock. I was the key. I was the silence.

I was wrong.

I stood up. My legs were stiff. My back was sore. I walked to the window. The city lay below. The smoke rose. The bells rang. A funeral. A mourning. For whom? For the King? For the seal? For me?

I did not know.

I went to the armory. The doors were locked. I broke them. The iron bent. The wood splintered. I took a sword. It was heavy. It was dull. It was mine.

I walked through the corridors. The shadows moved. The whispers followed. I heard my name. I heard the word traitor. I heard the word coward. I heard the word fool.

I reached the throne room. The great doors were open. The throne was empty. The steps were slick with rain. The light came through the high windows. It was gray. It was cold.

I climbed the steps. I stood before the empty seat. I raised the sword. I did not strike. I could not.

I lowered the sword. I dropped it. It rang on the stone.

I took the shards from my pocket. I had kept them. I held them up. They caught the light. They blazed.

I looked around. No one was there. No one was watching. No one was judging.

I sat on the throne.

I placed the shards on my lap. I held them tight. They cut my skin. I did not care.

I waited.

The hours passed. The light changed. The shadows lengthened. The silence grew.

I thought of the Chancellor. I thought of his wet fingers. I thought of his fear. He had not trusted me. He had used me. He had made me a container for his guilt. He had made me a shield for his fear.

I had been the fool. I had been the mirror. I had reflected his doubt back at him. I had absorbed his terror. I had carried his weight.

I had been defeated.

I did not hate him. I pitied him. I pitied myself. We were all vessels. We were all broken.

The door opened.

A figure entered. It was the High Priest. He was old. His robes were tattered. His eyes were blind.

He stopped. He looked at me. He could not see me. But he felt me.

"Is it done?" he asked.

His voice was dry. Like leaves.

I did not answer.

He walked forward. He reached out. He felt the shards. He flinched.

"Blood," he whispered.

"Yes," I said.

"Is it the King’s blood?"

"No."

"Is it yours?"

"Yes."

He sat on the floor. He leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes.

"You are the seal," he said.

"I was the seal," I said.

"No. You are the break."

I looked at the shards. They were dull now. The light was fading.

"I am the break," I said.

He nodded. He smiled. It was a sad smile.

"Then it is over," he said.

"The ritual is complete," I said.

He stood up. He walked to the door. He paused.

"Keep the shards," he said.

"They are useless."

"They are the truth."

He left. The door closed. The silence returned.

I looked at the shards. They were cold. They were dead. They were mine.

I stood up. My legs were weak. My body was tired. I felt light. I felt empty.

I walked to the window. I opened it. The wind blew in. It was cold. It was clean.

I held the shards out. I let the wind take them.

One by one. They fell. They flew. They scattered. They disappeared into the gray sky.

I watched them go. I felt no regret. I felt no loss. I felt only the air.

The room was empty. The throne was empty. The sword was on the floor.

I walked out. I walked down the steps. I walked through the hall. I walked to the exit.

The city was quiet. The smoke had cleared. The sun was rising. It was pale. It was weak.

I walked into the street. The cobblestones were wet. The air smelled of rain.

I walked on. I did not know where I was going. I did not know who I was.

I was just a man. I was just a body. I was just a breath.

I held my hands out. They were empty. They were free.

The world turned. The light grew. The day began.

I walked.