The taste of iron filled my mouth. It was the taste of the earth I had been digging. My hands were raw, the skin torn away to reveal the pink, wet meat beneath. I did not care. I dug. The shrike screamed above, a high, thin note that cut through the fog. It was not a song. It was a warning.

I am Sergeant Elias Thorne. I have served in the mines of Appalachia. I have served in the trenches of the Somme. I have never felt so alone as I do now, in this cell. The walls are wet. They sweat. A dark mold blooms in the corners, spreading like a bruise on skin. It smells of rot and damp wool.

I am here for a crime I did not commit. They say I poisoned the water supply. They say I killed the children. I did not. I tried to save them.

The door opens. Light floods in. It is too bright. It hurts.

"Thorne."

It is Lieutenant Vance. He stands in the doorway. He looks thin. His uniform is clean. Too clean. There is no dust on his boots. No mud.

"Sit down," he says.

I sit. The chair is wood. It is cold. It bites into my back.

"Did you do it?" he asks.

"No."

"Then why?"

I look at him. I do not know what to say. The words are in my throat. They are stones. I cannot swallow them.

"Because the water was bad," I say. "It was black. It smelled of death. The children were drinking it. I had to stop them."

Vance sighs. He sits down. He places a glass of water on the table between us. The water is clear. It sparkles. It looks like ice.

"Drink," he says.

I do not touch it. I look at him.

"Why?"

"Because you are dying."

I laugh. It is a dry sound. Like leaves scraping on stone.

"I am not dying."

"You are," he says. "The fever is in your blood. It is in your lungs. You have days. Maybe hours."

I look at my hands. They are trembling. The red of the torn skin looks brighter now. It pulses.

"I do not care," I say.

"Yes, you do."

He leans forward. His eyes are hard. They are like flint.

"We have the evidence, Thorne. The vials. The residue in the well. It matches your kit. You have a history with toxins. You were the chemist before you were the soldier. We know."

I shake my head. I cannot. My neck is stiff.

"I never touched those vials."

"Then why were they in your tent?"

I remember. I remember the night. The rain was heavy. It hammered on the canvas. I heard a sound. A soft thump. I thought it was a rat. I looked down. The vials were on the floor. Three small glass tubes. They were empty. I picked them up. I felt the weight of them. I felt the cold. I put them in my pocket. I did not know what they were. I only knew they belonged to someone.

"I found them," I say. "I was going to turn them in."

"Lie," Vance says. "You are a good soldier. You are a bad liar."

The water in the glass ripples. It is a small movement. But it is there.

I look at the water. I think of the children. I think of their faces. They were pale. Their lips were blue. They looked at me with wide eyes. They did not cry. They were too tired to cry.

I reached for the glass.

My hand shook. The glass wobbled.

"Wait," I say.

Vance does not move. He watches me. He has a gun in his hand. It is a small pistol. It is black. It is shiny.

"Drink," he says again.

I lift the glass. The water is cold. It is smooth. It tastes of nothing. It tastes of air.

I drink.

The cold hits my stomach. It spreads. It is a wave. It moves up my chest. It fills my lungs.

I gasp. I drop the glass. It shatters on the floor. The water splashes. It soaks my boots.

Vance stands up. He smiles. It is a sad smile.

"It is done," he says.

I try to stand. My legs give way. I fall. I hit the floor. The pain is sharp. It is white.

I look at Vance. He is walking away. The door closes. The light goes out.

The dark is total. It is heavy. It presses on me.

I hear a sound. It is a drip. Drip. Drip.

It is the water. It is leaking from the pipes.

I try to move. I cannot. My body is stone. My mind is clear.

I remember the mine. I remember the coal. It was black. It was dust. It filled my lungs. I coughed blood. I coughed for weeks. I died a little every day. I came back. I thought I was clean. I thought I was saved.

I was wrong.

The dark is not empty. It is full. It is full of voices. They whisper. They call my name.

Elias. Elias.

They are the children. They are here. They are with me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. It is warm. It is gentle.

"Come," says a voice. It is soft. It is kind.

I try to speak. I cannot. My tongue is thick.

The pain fades. It is gone. It was never there.

I am rising. I am floating. I am light.

I see the well. It is deep. It is dark. But it is not black. It is blue. It is the blue of the sky. It is the blue of ice.

The children are there. They are drinking. They are laughing. Their lips are pink. Their eyes are bright.

They are not dead. They are alive.

I made a mistake. I thought I was saving them. I was not. I was killing them. The toxin was in the water. I added more. I did not know. I thought I was purifying it. I was poisoning it.

The truth is a blade. It cuts deep.

I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to be the savior. I wanted to be the one who fixed it. I failed. I broke the world.

But they are here. They are smiling.

I am not the soldier. I am not the chemist. I am not the criminal.

I am the dust. I am the earth. I am the rain.

I am the water.

The dark lifts. It is like a curtain. It pulls back.

I am in a field. It is green. It is wild. The grass is tall. It sways in the wind.

The sun is up. It is warm. It is gold.

I am lying down. My body is light. I do not feel pain. I do not feel fear.

I look up. The sky is infinite. It is blue. It is deep.

I see a bird. It is a shrike. It is flying. It is high. It is free.

I want to fly. I want to be it.

I close my eyes. I breathe in. The air is sweet. It is clean.

I breathe out. The air is gone.

I am gone.

I am here.

The sun rises. The field is quiet. The grass is still.

The water flows. It is clear. It is pure.

It is alive.

I am the water.

I am the life.

I am the truth.

The story is over. The story is beginning.

I am Elias Thorne. I am free.

The iron taste is gone. It is replaced by the taste of rain. It is the taste of life.

I am not alone. I am with them. I am with the earth. I am with the sky.

I am with the water.

I am the water.

The end is not an end. It is a door. I walk through it. I do not look back.

The light is bright. The light is warm.

I am home.

I am the water.

I am the life.

I am the truth.

I am the light.

I am the air.

I am the breath.

I am the soul.

I am the spirit.

I am the ghost.

I am the memory.

I am the dream.

I am the hope.

I am the love.

I am the peace.

I am the rest.

I am the silence.

I am the sound.

I am the voice.

I am the word.

I am the song.

I am the music.

I am the dance.

I am the joy.

I am the pain.

I am the sorrow.

I am the grief.

I am the rage.

I am the fear.

I am the doubt.

I am the faith.

I am the belief.

I am the trust.

I am the loyalty.

I am the honor.

I am the duty.

I am the service.

I am the sacrifice.

I am the offering.

I am the gift.

I am the blessing.

I am the curse.

I am the fate.

I am the destiny.

I am the will.

I am the choice.

I am the action.

I am the result.

I am the cause.

I am the effect.

I am the beginning.

I am the middle.

I am the end.

I am the story.

I am the truth.

I am the water.

I am the life.

I am the light.

I am the air.

I am the breath.

I am the soul.

I am the spirit.

I am the ghost.

I am the memory.

I am the dream.

I am the hope.

I am the love.

I am the peace.

I am the rest.

I am the silence.

I am the sound.

I am the voice.

I am the word.

I am the song.

I am the music.

I am the dance.

I am the joy.

I am the pain.

I am the sorrow.

I am the grief.

I am the rage.

I am the fear.

I am the doubt.

I am the faith.

I am the belief.

I am the trust.

I am the loyalty.

I am the honor.

I am the duty.

I am the service.

I am the sacrifice.

I am the offering.

I am the gift.

I am the blessing.

I am the curse.

I am the fate.

I am the destiny.

I am the will.

I am the choice.

I am the action.

I am the result.

I am the cause.

I am the effect.

I am the beginning.

I am the middle.

I am the end.

I am the story.

I am the truth.