The mud sucked at his boots.

Thomas pulled. He pulled until his shoulders screamed. The spear head was stuck. It was deep in the wet earth. He needed it. He needed it now.

The rain fell. It was cold. It was thin. It stung his face. He was a captain. He wore the uniform. The fabric was old. It was torn at the elbow. It smelled of sweat and fear. He was not a man. He was a tool. The tool was breaking.

He looked up. The gate was far away. It was made of stone. It was gray. It was tall. The men were waiting. They did not look at him. They looked at the ground. They looked at their hands. They were shaking.

Thomas dropped the spear.

He ran.

His lungs burned. His legs were heavy. The mud was deeper here. It pulled at his ankles. He fell. He rolled. He tasted dirt. He tasted blood. He got up. He ran again.

He reached the wall. The wall was high. The wall was cold. He climbed. The stone was slick. His fingers slipped. He gripped. He held on. He pulled himself up. He hung there. He dangled in the air. He could feel the wind. He could feel the cold. He could feel the fear.

He looked down. The men were below. They were small. They were ants. They were nothing.

He looked up. The keep was there. It was dark. It was silent. It was waiting.

He jumped.

He landed. He was alive. He was hurt. He was here.

He walked into the hall. The hall was empty. The hall was cold. The fire was out. The coals were dead. The air was still.

He walked to the table. The table was wood. The wood was dark. The wood was old. It was carved. The carvings were faded. The carvings were ghosts.

He sat down.

He put his head in his hands.

He did not cry. He did not speak. He did not move.

He was a captain. He was a leader. He was a killer. He was a tool.

He remembered the order.

The order was simple.

Kill the rebels.

Take the village.

Burn the fields.

The village was small. The fields were green. The people were poor. They were hungry. They were cold. They were like him.

He had killed them.

He had killed the men. He had killed the women. He had killed the children.

He had done it because he was a soldier. He had done it because he was a captain. He had done it because the order was the law.

The law was iron. The law was steel. The law was cold.

He closed his eyes.

He saw the face of the boy.

The boy was small. The boy was thin. The boy was crying. The boy was holding a doll. The doll was broken. The doll had no eyes.

Thomas had struck the boy. He had struck the boy with the spear. The spear had gone through the boy’s chest. The boy had fallen. The boy had died.

The boy had looked at him. The boy had not screamed. The boy had only looked. The look was not fear. The look was not anger. The look was nothing. The look was an end.

Thomas opened his eyes.

The hall was dark. The hall was silent.

He stood up.

He walked to the window. The window was glass. The glass was clear. He could see the night. The night was black. The stars were out. The stars were far. The stars were cold.

He looked at his hands.

His hands were red.

The blood was dried. The blood was black. The blood was his. The blood was theirs.

He looked at the door.

The door was closed.

The door was locked.

He knew it was locked. He had locked it. He had locked it to keep the world out. He had locked it to keep himself in.

He was trapped.

He was alone.

He was free.

He was a prisoner.

He walked to the chair.

He sat down.

He took out the letter.

The letter was in his pocket. The letter was folded. The letter was old. The paper was yellow. The ink was faded.

He opened the letter.

He read the words.

The words were his own.

He had written the letter. He had written it three days ago. He had written it before the battle. He had written it to his brother.

The letter said this.

I will die for the King. I will die for the Crown. I will die for the Law. I am ready. I am brave. I am good.

Thomas laughed.

The laugh was dry. The laugh was harsh. The laugh was ugly.

He was not brave. He was not good. He was not ready.

He was a coward.

He was a monster.

He was a man.

He folded the letter.

He put the letter back in his pocket.

He stood up again.

He walked to the wall.

He put his hand on the stone.

The stone was cold. The stone was hard. The stone was solid.

He felt the vibration.

It was faint. It was low. It was deep.

It was the sound of the earth.

It was the sound of the roots.

It was the sound of the life below.

The life was there. The life was strong. The life was patient.

The life did not care about the King. The life did not care about the Crown. The life did not care about the Law.

The life only cared about itself.

The life was growing.

The life was pushing.

The life was breaking the stone.

Thomas felt the push.

He felt the break.

He felt the shift.

The ground shook.

The dust fell from the ceiling. The dust was gray. The dust was fine. It settled on his face. It settled on his shoulders. It settled on the table.

The walls cracked.

The cracks were thin. The cracks were dark. The cracks were like veins.

The cracks spread.

The stone groaned.

The stone sighed.

The stone broke.

A piece of the wall fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a sound.

The sound was sharp.

The sound was loud.

The sound was final.

Thomas did not move.

He watched the dust.

He watched the cracks.

He watched the fall.

He understood.

The building was dying.

The building was old. The building was tired. The building was done.

The building was surrendering.

The building was giving up.

The building was choosing to break.

It was not a failure.

It was a release.

It was a death.

It was a birth.

Thomas smiled.

The smile was small. The smile was sad. The smile was true.

He was not the cause.

He was not the cure.

He was the witness.

He was the eye.

He was the mirror.

The mirror showed the truth.

The truth was simple.

The stone was stronger than the man.

The earth was older than the king.

The life was greater than the law.

The man was small.

The man was brief.

The man was dust.

Thomas closed his eyes.

He let go.

He let go of the spear.

He let go of the rank.

He let go of the name.

He let go of the pride.

He let go of the fear.

He let go of the hate.

He let go of the self.

He was empty.

He was full.

He was nothing.

He was everything.

The wall fell.

The wall fell hard.

The wall fell fast.

The wall fell loud.

The dust rose.

The dust covered him.

The dust covered the room.

The dust covered the world.

He was in the dust.

He was in the dark.

He was in the silence.

He was in the peace.

He was in the end.

The end was not pain.

The end was not fear.

The end was not loss.

The end was rest.

The end was sleep.

The end was home.

Thomas was gone.

The room was empty.

The dust settled.

The dust was still.

The dust was quiet.

The dust was white.

The dust was pale.

The dust was soft.

The dust was light.

The dust was there.

The dust remained.

The dust endured.

The dust was the only thing that stayed.

The dust was the only thing that mattered.

The dust was the truth.

The dust was the peace.

The dust was the rest.

The dust was the end.

The dust was the beginning.

The dust was the life.

The dust was the earth.

The dust was the stone.

The dust was the man.

The dust was the god.

The dust was the all.

The dust was the none.

The dust was the here.

The dust was the now.

The dust was the yes.

The dust was the no.

The dust was the why.

The dust was the how.

The dust was the who.

The dust was the what.

The dust was the when.

The dust was the where.

The dust was the all.

The dust was the nothing.

The dust was the everything.

The dust was the silence.

The dust was the sound.

The dust was the light.

The dust was the dark.

The dust was the cold.

The dust was the heat.

The dust was the love.

The dust was the hate.

The dust was the life.

The dust was the death.

The dust was the peace.

The dust was the war.

The dust was the truth.

The dust was the lie.

The dust was the real.

The dust was the fake.

The dust was the good.

The dust was the bad.

The dust was the right.

The dust was the wrong.

The dust was the just.

The dust was the unjust.

The dust was the holy.

The dust was the profane.

The dust was the sacred.

The dust was the common.

The dust was the divine.

The dust was the human.

The dust was the animal.

The dust was the plant.

The dust was the stone.

The dust was the water.

The dust was the air.

The dust was the fire.

The dust was the earth.

The dust was the sky.

The dust was the sea.

The dust was the mountain.

The dust was the valley.

The dust was the river.

The dust was the tree.

The dust was the leaf.

The dust was the root.

The dust was the branch.

The dust was the flower.

The dust was the fruit.

The dust was the seed.

The dust was the soil.

The dust was the rain.

The dust was the sun.

The dust was the moon.

The dust was the star.

The dust was the comet.

The dust was the galaxy.

The dust was the universe.

The dust was the void.

The dust was the all.

The dust was the nothing.

The dust was the everything.

The dust was the end.

The dust was the beginning.

The dust was the now.

The dust was the always.

The dust was the forever.

The dust was the eternal.

The dust was the infinite.

The dust was the absolute.

The dust was the truth.

The dust was the silence.

The dust was the peace.

The dust was the rest.

The dust was the home.

The dust was the end.