The fog rolled in from the moor. It tasted of iron and wet stone. Thomas stood at the gate. He held the lantern. The glass was cracked. The flame sputtered. It was a dying thing. He watched it shake. He knew it would go out soon.

The castle loomed above him. It was a beast of grey rock. It had no eyes. It had no mouth. It only watched. The wind hit his chest. It pushed him back. He did not move. He was the gatekeeper. He had been the gatekeeper for forty years. His hands were rough. They were like bark. They were like stone.

He thought of the old days. The days before the silence. The days when the king spoke. The king was a man. He had a voice. He had a laugh. He had a fear. Now the throne was empty. The court was a shadow. They moved in the halls. They whispered. They watched. They did not speak. They did not need to speak. The silence was their language. The silence was their law.

Thomas raised the lantern. He looked into the dark. Something moved. A shape. A form. It was tall. It was thin. It wore a cloak of black wool. It had no face. Or rather, its face was a blur. A smear of grey. It was like a memory that had faded.

Thomas tightened his grip. The glass was cold. The flame danced. It was a lie. The light was a lie. He knew this. He had always known this. Knowledge is a weight. It sits on the chest. It crushes the breath. It stops the heart. He had learned this early. He had learned it in the war. He had seen things that should not be seen. He had heard things that should not be heard. And now, here, in the shadow of the court, he saw it again. The truth. The terrible, quiet truth.

The figure stopped. It stood at the gate. It did not enter. It waited. Thomas waited. The wind died. The air went still. It was a held breath. It was a pause in a song.

Then, the figure spoke.

The voice was soft. It was like dry leaves. It was like sand.

"Let me in," it said.

Thomas did not answer. He looked at the lantern. The flame was low. It was a red eye. It blinked. He thought of the others. The guards. They were gone. They had run. They had fled into the fog. They had left him. They were cowards. Or perhaps they were wise. Perhaps they knew what he knew. Perhaps they saw what he saw.

He looked at the figure. The black wool was torn. It was wet. It dripped. The water fell to the ground. It made no sound.

"Who are you?" Thomas asked.

His voice was rough. It was gravel. It was rust.

The figure did not answer. It just stared. The lack of a face was worse than any mask. It was a void. It was a hole in the world. Thomas felt a pull. It was in his gut. It was in his bones. It was an old pain. It was a fresh wound.

He remembered his brother. Edward. Edward was a courtier. Edward was bright. Edward was loud. Edward spoke of honor. Edward spoke of duty. Edward spoke of the king. Then the silence came. The silence took Edward. It took his voice. It took his eyes. It took his mind. Edward became a shadow. Edward became a ghost. Edward became like this thing.

Thomas knew it. He knew it with a certainty that burned. It was not a ghost. It was not a demon. It was a man. It was a man who had been emptied. It was a man who had been filled with the silence.

The figure stepped forward. One step. The ground did not shake. The air did not move. But Thomas felt it. He felt the weight of it. It was a physical force. It was a gravity.

Thomas raised the lantern. He held it out. The light touched the figure. The black wool glowed. It was not black. It was grey. It was the color of ash. It was the color of old paper. The fade was complete. The image was gone. Only the outline remained.

"Go away," Thomas said.

The figure did not move. It was stuck. It was trapped. It was part of the stone. Part of the fog. Part of the castle.

Thomas felt a surge of anger. It was hot. It was bright. It was a fire. He wanted to strike it. He wanted to break it. He wanted to shatter the glass and let the darkness take it. But he could not. He was the gatekeeper. He had to hold the line. He had to keep the silence out. Or in? He did not know anymore. The lines were blurred. The borders were gone.

He looked at the lantern. The flame was a thread. It was a spider’s web. It was a web of light. It caught the dust. It caught the air. It caught the truth.

He realized then. The truth was not outside. The truth was inside. It was in the lantern. It was in his hand. It was in his mind. He was the one who held the light. He was the one who saw the fade. He was the one who knew. And knowing was the curse. To know is to be bound. To see is to be chained. He was chained to the gate. He was chained to the light. He was chained to the silence.

The figure stepped closer. It was at the gate now. It was right in front of him. He could smell it. It smelled of rain. It smelled of old books. It smelled of grief.

Thomas closed his eyes. He let the darkness come. He let the fog in. He let the silence in. He stopped fighting. He stopped holding. He let go.

The lantern fell.

It hit the stone. It shattered. The glass broke. The flame died. The light was gone.

Darkness.

Total darkness.

Thomas stood in the dark. He did not move. He did not breathe. He was still. He was one with the stone. He was one with the fog. He was one with the silence.

He felt the figure beside him. It was warm. It was solid. It was there. He did not look. He did not need to look. He knew it was there. He knew it was Edward. He knew it was everyone. He knew it was the court. He knew it was the kingdom.

They were all faded. They were all gone. They were all dust.

And he was with them.

He was not alone. He was never alone. He was part of the whole. He was a piece of the puzzle. He was a thread in the weave. He was a drop in the ocean.

The silence was not empty. It was full. It was heavy. It was real. It was the only thing that was real. The light was a lie. The words were a lie. The names were a lie. Only the silence was true. Only the fade was real.

Thomas smiled. It was a small smile. It was a sad smile. It was a quiet smile.

He picked up a piece of glass. It was sharp. It was cold. It cut his hand. A drop of blood fell. It hit the stone. It was red. It was bright. It was the only color left.

He held the glass. He held the pain. He held the truth.

The fog rolled in. It covered them. It covered the gate. It covered the castle. It covered the world.

And the light was gone.