You walk. The mud sucks at your boots. It is a thick, black paste. It smells of rot. It smells of old blood. You do not stop. You cannot stop. Your legs are wood now. They are stiff and dry. You are a carpenter. You know wood. You know how it cracks. You know how it splits under pressure. Your legs are splitting. You ignore the pain. Pain is a signal. Signals are lies. You trust the path. The path is a line. The line is true.

The forest closes in. The trees are old oaks. They are twisted. They reach for the sky like grasping hands. The light is thin. It is grey. It falls in slivers. You see your hands. They are rough. They are stained with sawdust and sap. You look at the mark on your forearm. It is a brand. A circle. Inside the circle is a letter. E. It is the mark of the Guild. It is the mark of your father. It is the mark of your oath. You carry it. You have always carried it. It is heavy. It is warm. It is the only thing that is real.

You are walking to the city. The city is a rumor. It is a sound in the wind. It is a promise of gold. Gold is shiny. Gold is clean. Gold does not rot. You want gold. You need gold. Your hands ache. Your back aches. You are tired. But you do not stop.

You hear a voice. It comes from the trees. It is soft. It is low. It sounds like water over stone.

"Rest," the voice says.

You freeze. Your heart hammers. It is a bird. No. It is not a bird. Birds do not speak. You turn. A figure stands there. It is a man. He is old. His face is like bark. His eyes are dark. He holds a staff. The staff is made of iron. It is cold. It is sharp.

"Who are you?" you ask.

"I am the road," he says.

The road does not speak. The road is dirt. The road is stone. You know this. You are a carpenter. You know what is real. Dirt is dirt. Stone is stone. This man is a trick. It is a ghost. Ghosts are stories. Stories are for children. You are not a child. You are a man. You are a craftsman. You build things. You make order out of chaos. You do not believe in ghosts.

"I do not stop," you say.

"You will stop," he says. "The mud is deep. The night is long. You are tired. Your body is wood. Wood breaks."

You look at your boots. The mud is indeed deep. It is rising. It is filling the toes. It is cold. You feel the cold seep into your skin. It is a bite. It is a needle. You pull your leg up. You step forward. The mud grips. It pulls. It fights. You fight back. You push. You push with your will. You push with your anger. You push with the memory of your father’s hands. You push with the promise of gold.

You break free. You take a step. Then another. The man does not move. He watches. His eyes are hard. They are flint.

"Trust," he says.

You do not trust. Trust is a weakness. Trust is a gap in the wall. Walls keep the cold out. Walls keep the thieves out. You have walls. You have your craft. You have your mark. You do not need trust. You need strength.

You walk on. The forest gets darker. The trees get closer. The air gets thicker. It is hard to breathe. The air is heavy. It presses on your chest. It is a weight. It is a stone. You cough. The cough is dry. It hurts. You spit. The spit is black.

You stop. You must stop. Your legs are gone. They are gone. You are on your knees. The mud is at your chin. You are sinking. You are sinking. You are drowning in the earth. You reach for the ground. You grab a root. The root is slick. It slips. You grab again. You hold on. You hold on with all your might. You do not let go. You will not let go.

The man is there. He is close. He is right in front of you. He smells of rain. He smells of iron.

"Let go," he says.

"No," you say.

"Let go. It is done. You have failed. The mark is a lie. The gold is a lie. You are alone."

You look at your arm. The mark is fading. The circle is blurring. The letter E is disappearing. It is vanishing. It is gone. It is nothing. You are nothing. You are just a man in the mud. You are just a body. You are just meat.

You want to let go. It is so heavy. Holding on is so hard. Letting go would be easy. Letting go would be rest. Letting go would be peace.

But you remember the smell of sawdust. You remember the feel of the plane. You remember the sound of the hammer. You remember the pride. You remember the truth. The mark is not a lie. The mark is a bond. The bond is strong. The bond is iron. You are iron. You are the hammer. You are the nail. You do not break.

You pull. You pull with your arms. You pull with your soul. You pull against the earth. You pull against the dark. You pull against the lie.

You stand. You stand up. The mud peels away. It falls from you. It hits the ground with a wet slap. You are standing. You are breathing. You are alive.

The man smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a smile of pity.

"You are strong," he says.

"I am true," you say.

You turn your back on him. You walk away. You do not look back. You do not care. He is a shadow. Shadows are nothing. You are real. You are the one who stands.

You walk. The forest opens. You see the sky. The sky is clear. The stars are out. They are bright. They are cold. They are far. You walk toward the light. You walk toward the city. You walk toward the gold.

You are not afraid. You are not tired. You are full. You are full of purpose. You are full of fire. You are the fire. You are the forge. You are the hammer.

You reach the edge of the forest. The trees stop. The grass begins. The grass is dry. It is yellow. It crunches under your feet. You hear the city. It is a hum. It is a buzz. It is a song. You smile. You smile with your teeth. You smile with your eyes. You are happy. You are free.

You walk into the city. The streets are wet. The lanterns are lit. The people are moving. They are fast. They are loud. They are alive. You join them. You are one of them. You are part of the flow. You are part of the life.

You go to the inn. You go to the bar. You sit. You order ale. The ale is dark. It is bitter. It is good. You drink. You drink deep. You drink the warmth. You drink the strength.

You look at your arm. The mark is there. It is clear. It is bright. It is real. You touch it. It is warm. It is yours. You are the master of the mark. You are the master of your fate.

You laugh. You laugh loud. You laugh with your whole chest. You laugh at the mud. You laugh at the dark. You laugh at the man in the forest. You laugh at the lie.

You are the winner. You are the king. You are the god.

You pay for the ale. You leave the coin. The coin is gold. It is shiny. It is clean. You take it. You put it in your pocket. You keep it. You keep the proof. You keep the victory.

You leave the inn. You walk the streets. You walk the night. You walk the city. You are the city. The city is you.

You see a bridge. The bridge is old. The bridge is stone. The bridge crosses the river. The river is black. The river is fast. The river is hungry.

You walk to the bridge. You stand on the edge. You look down. The water swirls. It is deep. It is cold. It is endless.

You feel a pull. It is strong. It is gentle. It is inviting. It is the mud. It is the dark. It is the man. It is the lie.

You look at the water. You look at the mark. The mark is fading. It is blurring. It is disappearing.

You feel the weight. The weight is heavy. The weight is cold. The weight is real.

You step forward.

You step off the bridge.

You fall.

You fall into the water.

The water is cold. The water is black. The water is dark.

You sink.

You sink.

You sink.

You are alone.

You are alone.

You are alone.

The mark is gone.

The gold is gone.

The city is gone.

You are just a man.

You are just a body.

You are just meat.

You are just mud.