The echo of shackles in motion filled the room with a searing tension. “Kneel,” a guard commanded as he forced it down. The king’s eyes widened in a mix of wonder and terror as he gazed upon what knelt before him. Or, as it felt, what didn’t. It was emptiness in the form of a human body. What knelt before him felt not like a creature, but the lack of one—an inky void from head to toe with the exception of its eyes, like an inferno condensed and solidified into the form of eyeballs.

“What is this?” the king questioned.

“It was found in the walls, no explanation as to how it got in.”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” the king asked the creature with a tone that held an initial strength, but weakened with every proceeding second of silence.

“It hasn’t spoken a single word since we’ve captured it, my lord.”

“Have you encouraged it?”

“I- no, we haven’t.”

“Well, go on, then.”

The guard hesitantly aimed his spear at the silhouette and poked its side, yielding no results. The king gave him a displeased look, and the guard repeated the motion with increased force. The creature displayed no reaction, and in place of a wound, the spear left a mark on its body with the same fiery color of its eyes.

“Speak!” the king shouted without response. As his voice echoed through the room, he sat and studied the creature, entranced by its desolation. He wondered what it was thinking; if it even thought at all; if its mind was just as empty as its body. He took a breath, rose from his throne, and slowly approached it.

“What are you?” he whispered to himself. As he drew closer, he felt a chill emanating from the creature. A cold loneliness. He realized that, at this distance, its blazing eyes weren’t as hostile as they looked. They had a glorious beauty in their severity. He thought of it no longer as a threat, but a discovery.

“Where are you from?” he muttered almost affectionately, raising his hand to its blank face. As soon as the tip of his finger graced its cheek, he felt an intense and isolated burn, harsher than any affliction of battle or disease. Immediately, he fell back, screeching, clutching his hand. He looked back at it and saw the spot on its face he had touched was rippling, forming an inadvertent grin; one the king perceived as a sign of malice.

“Take it away!” he howled. “Take it to the dungeons! We will understand this beast under any means necessary!” The guards forced the creature up and walked it out without resistance. The king forced his gaze down to his hand and was met with no physical indication of the agony he felt.

—

Orange heat illuminated the room, streaming through the lips of the fire breather like liquid. The king marveled at the thought, watching the show from his cushioned seat in an attempt to distract his mind from his hand’s tortuous pain. Even hours after its origin, it had hardly relented in its intensity; still being enough to provoke the tears of a lesser man. Seeing such an intimate engagement with the flame induced in the king a different, fiercer feeling of the burning in his hand. He recognized fire’s absurdity; it is a form of entertainment, yet a form of torture. It is to be cherished, yet feared. And, as he watched the man work the flame with such proficiency, he felt that fear. Not a fear for the man, but a holy fear of the flame itself. One that, through the seething torment in his finger, transformed into a burning hatred greater than the fire’s own intensity—a defiant hatred, born of understanding.

As the fire handler spewed forth a near-pillar of fire, the king found himself lost inside of it, entranced. He felt the fire was looking back into his soul, studying him with infernal pupils. It planted itself in his heart like a melody to the ear. A figure seemed to emerge, reaching to him through the flames. But, right as it would’ve clearly revealed itself to him, the fire handler shut his lips, extinguishing the room’s light as well as the hatred that had consumed the king’s mind, replacing it with a tranquil reflection. The room’s darkness reminded the king of the creature that had previously knelt at his feet, of the way it felt not like a presence, but an absence. He thought of its emptiness—an emptiness so deep, he feared he could get sucked into it and be lost forever. Like the fire, he held a deep understanding of that emptiness. And, like the fire, he hated it.

—

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, my lord. It’s displayed no signs of hostility, regardless of any pain we’ve inflicted.”

“Open the door. I must see for myself.”

The iron door groaned open, revealing the creature, standing motionless in the corner of the dungeon. Everything that the king’s men had talked of was true; the countless wounds taking the same flaming hue as its eyes, the pure black blemishes it left on the concrete floor and walls, the manner in which it stays completely still unless prompted—but there was one thing that stood out to the king, something he had not been told. Its eyes and wounds no longer held the scorching severity they once had; they now contained a far softer fire, like the flicker of candlelight.

The pain in the king’s hand increased with every approaching step, but so did his far stronger curiosity. He wished that the creature would look him in the eyes so he could truly understand it. Yet, even as he crouched, aligning the level of its gaze with his own, he didn’t feel it was truly looking at him. One could mistake it for a mannequin, he thought, due to its lifeless stature. Still, he could tell it was alive. He could tell, because he was the same.

“Who are you? Do you understand me?” he whispered, wondering if it knew him as well as he thought he knew it. He felt that he understood everything it was feeling, everything it had ever experienced. That fate had brought them together,that they were meant to meet. That everything that had ever happened, everything he had ever done, was done so that he could speak to this creature, so it could speak to him. With tears dripping down his face, he repeated: “Do you understand me?”

The figure remained motionless.

“Why are you here? Are you here for me?” the king asked holding his breath, fearing that breathing too heavily would scare it from responding.

The figure showed no sign of motion or response. Even the air remained stagnant. It felt as though the entire world held its breath in anticipation.

“Please!” the king rasped, “What do you want from me? Why would you come to me and not tell me why?”

As the king begged, the blistering pain in his hand surged with a force stronger than ever. He shrieked and curled backwards, trying to escape from the creature as he fell.

“What’s happening? Shall I open the door, my lord?” the guard asked.

“No!” the king sneered. “You will do nothing!” The king crawled to the wall, grabbed a mace from a rack of torture weapons, stood up, and asked again. “Why are you here?!”

No response.

The king threw the mace, striking the creature’s shoulder, throwing it to the ground like a doll.

The king fell back down, gasping for breath. He attempted to calm himself, to understand why it wouldn’t speak. We clearly have a connection, he thought. It must be here for a reason. Does it not wish to reveal its motives, yet? Does it not know how to speak? Maybe it doesn’t know why it’s here either, and it’s waiting for me to reveal my motives to it. Whatever the case, there is a reason it’s here, and it’s vital to understand why.

The king stumbled back up and stared at the creature that had done the same, moving itself back into its original position. Wearily, he questioned it one final time. “Who are you?”

No answer was given.

The king stared and sighed. “Open the door.”

The king turned back and walked towards the door. As he stepped, the burning intensified to a level he didn’t know possible. It spread through his entire body. His mind developed a fatigue, his eyes grew heavy, his limbs went numb. He tried to look behind him, but before he could, everything went dark.

—

He woke, finding himself suspended in a state of nothing. He could see nothing, feel nothing. He wasn’t even sure he had a physical body. All he could do was helplessly exist. For what felt like eons, he simply thought. Thought about everything he had ever done; every word he ever said, every order he ever gave, every battle he ever won. Every regret and every loss. He thought about how he would be remembered, about what his life had become, about if everything was worth it.

Finally, he saw a sliver of light. So faint, it would’ve been impossible to find if it weren’t for the utter nothing in which he dwelt. He watched the sliver grow at a pace so slow, he couldn’t even recognize its growth. After an incalculable amount of time, it had finally gotten big enough to define what it was; a beam of fire. His focus never deviated for a second. It was his entire world, the only thing he could clearly define as real.

It grew into a pillar of fire. A whirling inferno so deep, the world itself would be incapable of containing its ferocity. The flames split, forming a hole from which the creature emerged. The king realized in that moment that this place held the same emptiness that it did. The creature’s eyes burned with an unmatched heat; no bonfire or explosion could compare to the glorious blaze they held. It was adorned with a radiant crown and sweeping cape, both with the same scorching color of its eyes.

It tilted its head and reached out its hand. The king fell into a state of euphoria, an intense relief that it had finally acknowledged him, and a hope that it would finally reveal who it was and why it had come. He extended an arm he wasn’t aware existed and reached as far as he could. He didn’t even think he could make it, but his arm never stopped extending. As he stretched, thousands of tiny cracks materialized on his arm, the same fiery radiance shining through each one. It burned, but it didn’t hurt. It burned in a way he’d always known.

At last, with every ounce of strength he could muster, he latched onto its hand. His mind rushed with a relieving coolness. Finally, he thought. Finally, it will reveal itself. The creature pulled him close, kissing his forehead with empty lips, draining him of all of his fire. The once crispy cool turned to a biting, icy cold. It ran through his entire body, injecting itself into his soul. It was a disabling cold; he could say nothing, think nothing, feel nothing, yet he was absolutely alive. It lifted the king’s head to meet its gaze, one filled with regret. It pushed, and the king fell from nothing, and into nothing.

– Kenny Black