The hall is warm. The air smells of roasted goose and old stone. You sit at the high table. You are not a man. You are a shadow that learned to wear skin. Your skin is pale. It is thin. It fits poorly over your bones. You look like a drowned rat. The other lords laugh. They do not see you. They see their own hunger. They see their own power.

The feast is loud. Gold plates clash. Wine spills on the tablecloth. You eat. You must eat. The hunger is a beast in your chest. It bites. It tears. You chew the meat. It tastes like ash. It tastes like dirt. You swallow. The throat is dry.

King Edward sits at the head. He is a large man. His face is red. His eyes are wet. He holds a goblet. He looks at you. He smiles. The smile is wrong. It does not reach his eyes.

"You are strange, Thomas," he says. His voice is thick. "They say you are a spirit."

"I am a servant," you say. Your voice is low. It is soft.

"Serve," he says. He pours wine. The wine is dark. It runs like blood. "Serve us well."

You nod. You bow. Your neck cracks. It is a small sound. Only you hear it. The room is full of noise. The noise drowns you.

A man stands near the door. His name is Julian. He is tall. He is quiet. He wears a black coat. He does not eat. He does not drink. He watches. His eyes are cold. They are like ice. He looks at you. He looks at the King. He looks at the walls.

You know him. He was your friend. Or so you thought. He is a traitor. You know it now. You knew it before. You just could not say it. The truth is a stone. It sits in your stomach. It is heavy. It does not move.

The feast continues. The music starts. Fiddles and drums. The dancers move. They spin. Their skirts fly. They look like birds. You watch them. You feel nothing. Your heart is a stone. Your blood is cold.

The King stands. He raises his goblet. He speaks. His words are loud. He talks about war. He talks about glory. He talks about the South. He wants the land. He wants the gold. He wants the souls.

"We will take it," he says. "We will break them. We will rule."

The lords cheer. They raise their cups. The sound is like thunder. You raise your cup. You do not drink. You hold the wine. It is cold. It is bitter.

Julian walks to you. He stops. He leans in. His breath is cold. It smells of mint.

"He will kill you," Julian whispers. "After the war. He always does. He uses the shadows. Then he burns them."

You look at him. Your face is still. Your eyes are blank.

"Why tell me?" you ask.

"Because you are not one of us," he says. "You are a monster. And monsters do not belong here."

He straightens. He walks away. He goes back to the shadows. He is gone.

You look at the King. He is laughing. He is eating. He is alive. You are alive. Or so you think.

The night grows long. The candles burn low. The shadows grow long. They stretch across the floor. They touch your feet. They climb your legs. They wrap around you.

The music stops. The laughter dies. The hall is quiet. The King yawns. He wipes his mouth. He looks at you.

"Thomas," he says. "Come here."

You stand. Your legs are stiff. You walk to him. Your steps are slow. You feel heavy. You feel old.

"Kneel," he says.

You kneel. The stone is cold. It burns your knees. You look up. The King is tall. He is huge. He blocks the light. He is a wall.

"Your hand," he says. "Give it to me."

You extend your hand. It is small. It is pale. Your fingers are long. They are thin.

The King takes it. His grip is strong. It hurts. He twists. You gasp. You do not cry. You do not move. You hold still. You are a statue.

"Look in the mirror," he says.

He points to the wall. There is a mirror. It is old. It is cracked. The glass is dark.

You look. You see your face. It is not your face. It is a skull. It is a ruin. The skin is gone. The eyes are empty. The mouth is open. It is a scream that never ends.

You look at your hand. It is not a hand. It is a claw. It is black. It is broken. The bones stick out. The flesh is torn.

You look at the King. He is smiling. He is happy. He is clean.

"This is what you are," he says. "This is what you will be. When the war is over. When the gold is ours. We will need a sacrifice. A monster. To seal the pact. To keep the peace."

He lets go of your hand. You pull it back. You look at it. The skin is tearing. The blood is black. It drips on the stone.

"The justice of the court," the King says. "It is blind. It is fair. It takes what it needs. And it does not care. You are part of it. You are the tool. You are the blade."

You stand. Your legs shake. You feel light. You feel empty.

"Yes," you say. "Yes."

The word is small. It is quiet. It is true.

The King nods. He sits down. He eats again. The other lords return to their food. The noise returns. The laughter returns. No one sees you. No one sees the blood on your hand. No one sees the horror in your eyes.

You walk to the door. Your steps are steady. You do not look back. You do not look at Julian. Julian is watching. He nods. He is pleased. He has won. He has made you a monster. He has made you a weapon.

You step out into the night. The air is cold. It bites your skin. It hurts. You welcome the pain. It is real. It is yours.

The castle stands behind you. It is tall. It is dark. It is a beast. It eats the light. It eats the sound. It eats the soul.

You walk down the hill. The path is steep. The stones are slick. You do not slip. Your feet are sure. You have been sure for a long time.

The forest is dark. The trees are tall. They block the moon. They block the stars. They are walls. They are cages.

You walk. You walk. You walk.

The hunger is gone. The beast in your chest is quiet. It sleeps. It dreams of blood. You let it dream. You let it feed.

You think of the people. The farmers. The wives. The children. They live in the fields. They live in the mud. They live in fear. They live in hope.

You think of them. You feel a pull. It is strong. It is primal. It is not love. It is instinct. It is the need to protect. The need to belong. The need to be part of the whole.

You are not a man. You are not a shadow. You are a thing. A thing that can kill. A thing that can save.

You stop. You look at the sky. The clouds are moving. They are fast. They are gray. They are heavy.

Rain comes. It is cold. It is hard. It hits your face. It runs down your neck. It soaks your clothes.

You do not move. You stand in the rain. You let it wash you. You let it clean you.

The castle is far away. It is a speck. It is a dot. It is nothing.

The people are near. They are warm. They are alive. They are real.

You close your eyes. You feel the rain. You feel the wind. You feel the earth.

You are not a monster. You are a mirror. You reflect the darkness. You reflect the light.

The King will send men. They will come for you. They will bring fire. They will bring steel. They will bring death.

You will not run. You will not fight. You will wait.

You will wait for them. You will wait for the end.

But you will not beg. You will not plead. You will not ask for mercy.

Mercy is for men. You are not a man.

You are a thing. And you are free.

The rain falls. The night is deep. The world is quiet.

You breathe in. The air is sharp. It is sweet.

You breathe out. The mist is thin. It is gone.

You are here. You are now.

The shadow holds. The shadow breaks.

You let it go.

You let it go.

You let it go.

The darkness takes you. The darkness feeds you. The darkness makes you whole.

You are the blade. You are the shield. You are the end.

The story is over. The story is just beginning.

The rain stops. The sky is clear. The stars are out. They are bright. They are cold.

You walk on. The path is long. The road is hard.

You walk.

You walk.

You walk.