The rain hit the stone. It did not fall. It struck. I stood in the archway. The wet plaster was cold. My hands shook. They were raw. Blood seeped into the wool of my gloves. I could not feel the cold anymore. Only the heat. The heat in my chest. It burned.

My name is Elias. I was a man of wood. I cut it. I shaped it. I sold it. I did not fight. I paid the tithe. I kept my head down. I had a sister. Her name was Mara. She was small. She was quiet. She watched the door. She waited for me to come home. She brought me tea. It was bitter. I drank it. I loved her. It was not a choice. It was the air I breathed. It was the blood in my veins.

The King’s men came. They wore black. Their faces were hidden. They did not speak. They took the timber. They took the tools. They took the land. They said it was for the Crown. They said it was for the law. They were polite. That was the worst part. They were very polite.

I went to the palace. I had no choice. The debt was heavy. The winter was long. My hands were useless without the wood. I walked into the court. The floor was marble. It was white. It was clean. It was dead.

The King sat on the throne. He was old. His eyes were bright. He looked at me. He did not blink.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Elias," I said. "I am a carpenter."

"You are a thief," he said.

My head dropped. The shame was heavy. It pressed on my skull.

"I have no tools," I whispered. "I have no wood. I have no home."

The King smiled. It was a thin smile. It did not reach his eyes.

"Then you are free," he said. "You may work for me. You may build. You may live. But you must build the tower."

The tower. It rose from the center of the courtyard. It was unfinished. It was jagged. It looked like a broken tooth. It bled rain.

I went to the site. I found a man there. He was old. His hair was white. His eyes were blind. He held a chisel. He did not strike it. He just held it.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I am the last," he said. "I built the base. I built the walls. I built the door."

"What is it for?" I asked.

"It is for silence," he said. "The King wants to hear the wind. He wants to trap the wind. He thinks if he can trap the wind, he can trap the truth."

I looked at the tower. I saw the gaps. I saw the cracks. It was a cage. It was a mouth. It was waiting to swallow.

"Why are you blind?" I asked.

"I saw too much," he said. "I saw the King’s face. I saw the fear in his eyes. I could not look away. So I closed my eyes. And they never opened."

I turned away. I picked up a hammer. I struck the wood. The sound was sharp. It echoed. It rang in my ears.

I worked. Day after day. I built the beams. I nailed the planks. I raised the walls. The wood was strong. It was oak. It was dark. It smelled of earth and rot. I loved the wood. It was honest. It did not lie. It broke under pressure. It bent under weight. It was real.

The King came to watch. He stood in the shadow. He did not speak. He watched my hands. He watched my sweat. He watched the blood.

"Is it finished?" he asked.

"Almost," I said.

"Good. It must be finished before the solstice."

I looked at the sky. It was grey. It was heavy. The clouds were low. They touched the spire. The tower groaned. The wind howled.

I worked faster. My hands bled. I did not care. I thought of Mara. She was in the village. She was safe. I was far away. I was safe. Or so I thought.

The blind man came to me. He was leaning on a staff. He was trembling.

"Stop," he said.

"I cannot stop," I said. "The King will kill me."

"The King is already dead," the man said.

I laughed. It was a dry sound. It was like dry leaves.

"No," I said. "He is here. He is watching."

"He is a ghost," the man said. "He has been dead for ten years. The throne is empty. The court is a lie. The tower is a lie. We are building a monument to nothing."

I stopped. The hammer hung in my hand. My heart pounded. It was loud. It was fast.

"What?" I asked.

"Look at the guards," the man said. "Look at their eyes."

I looked. The guards stood in the shadows. Their eyes were empty. They were hollow. They were dead.

I looked at the King. He stood in the dark. He was still smiling. But his face was pale. It was wax. It was not flesh.

I looked at the tower. I looked at the wood. I looked at my hands.

I dropped the hammer. It hit the stone. It made a dull sound. It was final.

I walked to the edge of the tower. I looked down. The city was far below. It was small. It was grey. It was silent.

I looked at the blind man. He was smiling. It was a sad smile. It was a kind smile.

"Go," he said. "Go to your sister. Go home. Leave the tower. Leave the wood. Leave the lie."

I looked at the King. The King was watching me. His eyes were bright. They were hungry.

I turned away. I walked down the stairs. My legs shook. My knees buckled. I caught the railing. It was cold. It was wet.

I reached the gate. The guards did not stop me. They did not look at me. They were statues. They were stones.

I ran. I ran through the streets. The rain was hard. It stung my face. It soaked my clothes. I did not care. I ran to the village. I ran to the house.

The door was open. The light was dim. The fire was low.

I walked in. The air was warm. It smelled of bread. It smelled of wool.

Mara was there. She sat by the fire. She held a bowl. She looked at me. Her eyes were wide. Her face was pale.

"Elias," she said. "You are bleeding."

I looked at my hands. They were red. The blood was drying. It was black.

"I am tired," I said. "I am so tired."

She stood up. She walked to me. She took my hands. She held them. She did not ask what happened. She did not ask where I had been. She just held them.

I leaned against the wall. I slid down. I sat on the floor. The wood was hard. It was cold.

"I built a tower," I said. "It was for the King."

Mara sat down. She put her head on my shoulder. Her hair was soft. It smelled of soap.

"Did you finish it?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I left it."

She was silent. She was still. I could hear her breathing. It was slow. It was deep.

I looked at the door. The rain hit the wood. It drummed. It knocked. It was a rhythm. It was a warning.

I closed my eyes. I saw the tower. It was finished in my mind. It was perfect. It was complete. It stood in the sky. It touched the clouds. It swallowed the wind.

I opened my eyes. I looked at Mara. She was asleep. Her face was peaceful. Her mouth was slightly open.

I felt a fear. It was cold. It was sharp. It cut through me.

The King was not dead. The guards were not dead. The tower was not finished.

I had left it unfinished. I had broken the spell. I had broken the promise.

The door creaked. It opened. The wind blew in. The fire died. The light went out.

I stood up. My legs were stiff. My muscles ached.

I looked at the door. There was no one there. Only the rain. Only the dark.

I walked to the window. I looked out. The tower was visible. It was a black spike. It cut the sky.

It was not finished. It was waiting.

I looked at my hands. They were clean now. The blood was gone. But the stain remained. It was under the nails. It was in the skin. It was in the bone.

I picked up the chisel. It was on the table. I had brought it with me. I had forgotten it.

I held it. It was heavy. It was sharp.

I looked at Mara. She was still sleeping.

I could not leave. I could not run. The tower needed a heart. I was the heart.

I walked to the door. I opened it. The rain hit my face. It was cold. It was alive.

I stepped out. The night swallowed me.

I walked back. I walked to the palace. I walked to the tower.

The blind man was there. He stood in the rain. He was holding a lantern. The light was small. It was yellow. It was warm.

"You came back," he said.

"I could not leave," I said.

"The tower is not finished," he said. "It will never be finished. It is a wound. It is a scream. It needs a voice."

I looked at the tower. I looked at the wood. I looked at my hands.

I raised the chisel. I struck the wood.

The sound was loud. It was clear. It rang out. It cut the rain. It cut the dark.

The King was watching. He was smiling.

I struck again. And again. And again.

I did not stop. I could not stop. The wood flew off. The splinters cut my face. The blood mixed with the rain.

I was building. I was destroying. I was becoming.

The tower groaned. It shuddered. It began to fall.

The King screamed. It was a high sound. It was a bird’s cry.

The stone fell. The wood fell. The rain fell.

I fell.

I hit the ground. I was in the dark. I was in the cold.

I heard the sound. It was a roar. It was a sigh. It was a release.

The tower was gone.

I lay in the mud. I looked up. The sky was clear. The stars were out. They were bright. They were cold.

I felt a pain. It was in my chest. It was in my head. It was in my hands.

I heard a sound. It was small. It was soft.

It was Mara.

She was running. She was calling my name.

I tried to move. I could not. I tried to speak. I could not.

I looked at the sky. The stars were still. They were indifferent. They were beautiful.

I closed my eyes. The dark came. It was soft. It was warm.

I was home.