The feast was a mouthful of gold.

It sat on the table. Heavy. Bright. It hummed. I watched it. My hands shook. The hall was full. The Lord was there. He ate. He spoke. I listened. I am Thomas. I am his scribe. I am his shadow. I am nothing. But I am here.

The gold pulsed. It breathed. It was alive. I had seen it before. In dreams. In the dark. It called to me. It wanted me. I wanted it. This is the trap. This is the wheel. We turn. We turn. We never stop.

My father died for it. He reached for it. He was burned. His skin sloughed off. He screamed. I held him. I held him tight. He looked at me. His eyes were glass. He said, Thomas, do not touch. He said, it is not yours. I nodded. I promised. I forgot.

The gold sat there. It mocked me. It whispered. Come. Take. Rule. I am the Lord. I am the King. I am the end. I am the beginning. The cycle breaks. Or it tightens. I do not know. I am afraid.

I walked to the table. My steps were light. My heart was heavy. The air was thick. It tasted of iron. It tasted of blood. It tasted of old time. I looked at the Lord. He smiled. He knew. He always knows. He sees the shape of the soul. He sees the hunger. He feeds on it.

I stopped. I breathed in. I breathed out. The gold shimmered. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was my mother. It was my father. It was my grave. I remembered the smell of the fire. The smoke. The pain. I remembered the promise. Do not touch. I am weak. I am human. I am a mouse in the wheel.

I reached out. My hand trembled. My fingers extended. The air cracked. The light flared. I could feel the heat. It was a wall. It was a door. I pushed through.

The gold was warm. It was soft. It was like skin. It was like hair. It wrapped around my hand. It climbed my arm. It burned. But it did not hurt. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like home. I was one with it. I was the center. I was the source. I was the end.

The hall went silent. The Lord stopped eating. He watched. He did not smile. His face was stone. His eyes were cold. He saw me. He saw what I had done. He saw the end of me.

I tried to pull my hand back. I could not. The gold held me. It tightened. It squeezed. It was a noose. It was a chain. It was a bond. I screamed. But no sound came out. My mouth was full of light. My eyes were full of fire. I was blind. I was deaf. I was alone.

The gold moved. It traveled up my arm. It wrapped my chest. It squeezed my lungs. I gasped. I choked. I fell to my knees. The table shook. The plates rattled. The wine spilled. It ran like blood. It ran like tears.

I looked at my hands. They were gone. They were gold. They were bright. They were hard. They were cold. I was becoming it. I was becoming the object. I was becoming the thing. I was no longer Thomas. I was no longer the scribe. I was the prize. I was the curse.

I thought of my father. I thought of his face. I thought of his pain. I thought of his love. It was obsessive. It was fierce. It was a fire. It burned in me. I wanted to save him. I wanted to save myself. I wanted to break the wheel. I wanted to stop the turn.

But I could not.

The gold reached my neck. It wrapped my throat. It squeezed. I could not breathe. I could not think. I could not feel. I was fading. I was dissolving. I was becoming dust. I was becoming light. I was becoming nothing.

The Lord stood up. He walked to me. He looked down. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence was a weight. It crushed me. He reached out. He touched my head. His hand was cold. It was heavy. It was final.

I felt a release. I felt a pain. It was sharp. It was clean. It was an end.

The gold stopped. It stopped moving. It stopped burning. It stopped screaming. It sat in my hands. It sat on the floor. It was just gold. It was just metal. It was just a thing.

I lay on the floor. I was alive. I was broken. I was empty. My hands were human. My skin was pale. My eyes were dark. I was Thomas. I was the scribe. I was the shadow.

The Lord looked at me. He looked at the gold. He looked at the hall. He looked at the time. He turned away. He walked to the door. He opened it. The night was cold. The wind was sharp. The stars were distant.

He stepped out. The door closed. The lock clicked. The sound was final. The sound was absolute.

I lay there. The gold sat there. The hall was empty. The feast was over. The table was bare. The wine was dry. The air was still.

I picked up the gold. It was heavy. It was cold. It was dead. I held it. I felt its weight. I felt its emptiness. It was a stone. It was a brick. It was a burden.

I stood up. My legs were weak. My back was bent. I was old. I was tired. I was done.

I walked to the door. I opened it. The night was dark. The wind was cold. The stars were bright. I stepped out. I closed the door. I locked it.

I walked into the dark. I walked into the cold. I walked into the silence. I walked into the end.

I did not look back. I did not turn. I did not run. I walked. I walked. I walked.

The gold was in my hand. I could feel it. I could feel the weight. I could feel the cold. I could feel the truth.

The truth is this. The gold is not the prize. The gold is the price. The gold is the cost. The gold is the life. We pay it. We pay it all. We pay it in full.

My father paid. I paid. I will pay again. The wheel turns. The wheel spins. The wheel does not stop. It does not slow. It does not break. It is eternal. It is absolute. It is the law.

I am the scribe. I record the turn. I record the pain. I record the loss. I record the love. It is obsessive. It is fierce. It is a fire. It burns. It consumes. It leaves ash.

I am the ash. I am the smoke. I am the memory. I am the ghost. I am the echo.

I walked on. The night was long. The road was hard. The stars were cold. The wind was sharp. I walked. I walked. I walked.

I am Thomas. I am here. I am now. I am the end. I am the beginning. I am the middle. I am the all.

The gold is in my hand. It is heavy. It is cold. It is dead. I am alive. I am broken. I am empty. I am free.

I am not free.

The wheel turns.

The wheel turns.

The wheel turns.