The coat is heavy. It is not wool. It is not silk. It is the skin of a dead god. I wear it. It fits. It has always fit.

I am Thomas. I am the Warden of the Grey Hall. The Hall is old. It is old in the way that bones are old. The stones weep. The light is thin. It is the color of old blood.

I am alone. I am always alone. But I am not empty. I am full. I am full of duty. I am full of the weight of the coat.

The system is here. It is not a person. It is a rule. It is a law. The law says I must keep the gate. The gate is black. The gate is iron. The gate is cold.

There is a knock.

It is not a hand. It is a fist. It is the fist of the world.

I do not move. I do not breathe. The coat breathes for me. It pulls at my shoulders. It tightens around my chest. It whispers. It does not speak in words. It speaks in pressure.

Open, it says.

I do not open.

The knock comes again. Harder. The stone floor shakes. Dust falls from the ceiling. The dust is white. It looks like ash. It looks like bone.

I am a soldier. I have been a soldier for a hundred years. I have been a soldier for a thousand. Time is a loop. Time is a circle. I am the point in the center. I am the nail in the wood.

I know who is there. I have known for a long time. It is the Judge. The Judge of the High Court. He does not have a face. He has a mask. The mask is smooth. The mask is white. The mask is blank.

He is not a man. He is an idea. He is the idea of order. He is the idea of control.

He wants the coat.

The coat is not mine. It is not his. It is the key. It is the lock. It is the door.

I look at my hands. They are my hands. They are Thomas’s hands. But they are also the hands of the coat. The fingers are long. The nails are black. They are made of iron.

I feel a pain. It is in my ribs. It is a sharp pain. It is a good pain. It is the pain of being real.

The knock stops.

Silence falls.

Silence is loud.

I wait.

The door opens.

There is no door. There is only space. There is only dark.

The Judge steps in.

He is tall. He is thin. He is like a shadow that has learned to walk. He wears a robe. The robe is grey. It is the color of the Hall. It is the color of my eyes.

He looks at me.

He does not see me. He sees the coat.

He smiles. It is a cold smile. It is a smile of victory. He has won. He has always won.

"Thomas," he says.

His voice is smooth. It is like water over stone. It is like wind over snow.

"You have done well," he says.

"I have done nothing," I say.

My voice is low. My voice is deep. My voice is the voice of the coat.

"You are tired," he says.

"Yes," I say.

"I am so tired."

He steps closer.

The air changes. It becomes thick. It becomes sweet. It smells of rot. It smells of flowers. It is the smell of the end.

"You must give it to me," he says.

"I cannot," I say.

"Why?"

"Because I am it."

He stops.

He looks at me.

For a moment, I see his face. It is not a mask. It is a mirror. It is my face. It is my face, but older. It is my face, but empty. It is my face, but dead.

He is me.

We are the same.

We are the same.

He raises his hand.

His hand is mine.

He reaches for the coat.

I do not move.

I let him take it.

He pulls.

The coat tears.

The sound is loud.

The sound is the sound of a scream.

The sound is the sound of a bone breaking.

The light changes.

The light is bright.

The light is white.

The light is everything.

I feel the coat leave my body.

I feel the weight go away.

I feel the cold go away.

I feel the pain go away.

I am light.

I am air.

I am dust.

I am nothing.

I am free.

The Judge holds the coat.

He is happy.

He is whole.

He is the system.

He is the law.

He is the order.

I am gone.

But I am here.

I am in the walls.

I am in the stones.

I am in the dust.

I am in the silence.

I am in the knock.

I am in the fist.

I am in the pain.

I am in the truth.

The truth is simple.

The truth is clear.

The truth is that I was wrong.

I was not the warden.

I was the prisoner.

I was the key.

I was the lock.

I was the door.

And I was the judge.

And I was the accused.

And I was the law.

And I was the crime.

It is all one thing.

It is all one thing.

The coat is heavy.

The coat is light.

The coat is me.

The coat is him.

The coat is us.

We are one.

We are two.

We are many.

We are the Hall.

We are the Grey.

We are the Dark.

We are the Light.

We are the Promise.

The promise is far.

The promise is near.

The promise is now.

The promise is done.

I close my eyes.

I open my eyes.

I am Thomas.

I am the Warden.

I am the Coat.

I am the Judge.

I am the Silence.

I am the Knock.

I am the Fist.

I am the Pain.

I am the Truth.

I am the End.

I am the Beginning.

I am the Whole.

I am the Nothing.

I am the All.

I am the Promise.

The Promise is distant.

The Promise is here.

The Promise is me.

The Promise is you.

The Promise is us.

The Promise is the coat.

The coat is the promise.

The promise is the coat.

We wear it.

We are it.

We are the same.

We are the same.

The light fades.

The dark returns.

The cold returns.

The pain returns.

But the pain is different.

The pain is mine.

The pain is real.

The pain is good.

I am alive.

I am awake.

I am here.

I am the Warden.

I am the Coat.

I am the Promise.

The Promise is distant.

The Promise is near.

The Promise is now.

The Promise is done.

I am Thomas.

I am the Warden of the Grey Hall.

The Hall is old.

The Hall is new.

The Hall is me.

I am the Hall.

I am the stone.

I am the dust.

I am the silence.

I am the knock.

I am the fist.

I am the pain.

I am the truth.

I am the promise.

The promise is distant.

The promise is near.

The promise is now.

The promise is done.