Elias sat. The mud was cold. It seeped through his trousers. He did not feel it. He felt the tin cup. It was heavy. It was full of porridge. He stirred it. The spoon scraped the bottom. The sound was sharp. It cut the silence. The forest was silent. The trees stood like sentinels. They were bare. They were black. The sky was grey. It was low. It pressed down. Elias was a scholar. He knew Latin. He knew Greek. He knew the history of empires. He did not know why he was here. He was not a soldier. He was a clerk. He had a pen. He had a ledger. He had a brother. The brother was gone. The brother was buried. The brother was under the hill. The hill was high. The hill was wet.

He ate. The porridge was thick. It was gray. It tasted of ash. It tasted of iron. He swallowed. His throat was dry. He drank water. The water was cold. It shocked his body. He shivered. He pulled his coat tighter. The coat was torn. The buttons were missing. He was alone. He was not alone. The air was thick. It was heavy. It watched him. The trees leaned in. They whispered. They did not speak words. They spoke fear. They spoke loss. They spoke the end. Elias looked up. He saw a bird. It was white. It was small. It perched on a branch. It did not fly. It looked at him. Its eye was black. It was a bead. It was a mirror. Elias looked at the bird. The bird looked at him. There was no fear in the eye. There was only judgment. Elias looked away. He looked at the cup. The cup was empty. The porridge was gone. The ash remained.

He stood up. His legs were stiff. He walked. He did not know where. He walked forward. The path was narrow. It was pale. The moss was white. The stones were white. The path was a ribbon. It wound through the dark. He followed it. His boots were wet. The mud sucked at them. He pulled them free. He kept walking. The forest closed in. The light was failing. The shadows were long. The shadows were deep. They touched his ankles. They climbed his legs. He shivered again. He was cold. He was tired. He was hungry. He was afraid. He stopped. He listened. The wind blew. The wind sighed. It sounded like a voice. It sounded like a name. He did not hear it. He heard his own breath. It was ragged. It was wet. He coughed. The cough hurt. His chest ached. He touched his side. The pain was sharp. He had a wound. He did not know when it happened. The blood was dry. It was black. It stained his shirt. He looked at the stain. He touched it. It was stiff. He was dying. He knew it. He did not care. He kept walking. The path led down. The slope was steep. The trees were thicker here. The light was gone. It was night. It was total. He could not see. He felt the ground. He felt the roots. He stumbled. He fell. He hit a rock. The impact was dull. He lay there. He did not move. The darkness was absolute. It was a blanket. It was a shroud. He waited. He did not pray. He did not beg. He remembered his brother. He remembered the kitchen. He remembered the smell of bread. He remembered the warmth. The warmth was gone. The cold was here. The cold was inside. It ate him. It ate his hope. It ate his will. He let it eat. He surrendered. The darkness took him.

Then there was light.

It was not the sun. It was not a fire. It was a glow. It came from the path. The moss was glowing. It was blue. It was soft. It pulsed. It beat. It was alive. Elias sat up. He looked at the ground. The path was bright. It was a river of light. It flowed through the dark. It was beautiful. It was terrible. He looked at his hand. His hand was glowing. The blood was glowing. The wound was glowing. The pain was gone. The cold was gone. He felt warm. He felt light. He felt clean. The ash in his mouth was gone. His tongue was sweet. He tasted honey. He tasted rain. He looked at the trees. The trees were glowing. The leaves were glowing. The air was glowing. Everything was light. Everything was pure. He stood up. He did not stumble. He did not shiver. He walked. The light followed him. It wrapped him. It held him. He was not Elias. He was the light. He was the path. He was the truth. He walked on. The forest opened. The trees parted. The sky was clear. The stars were out. The stars were bright. The stars were close. He could reach them. He could touch them. He did not reach. He stopped. He looked at the sky. The sky was a void. The void was full. The void was empty. He was in the middle. He was nothing. He was everything. He laughed. The laugh was soft. The laugh was sad. He laughed at the light. He laughed at the dark. He laughed at himself. He was a fool. He was a scholar. He was a man. He was dead. He was alive. He did not know which. He did not care. He walked on. The path led out. The forest ended. The grass began. The grass was green. The grass was real. The light faded. The glow died. The moss was moss. The trees were trees. The sky was sky. The stars were stars. He was cold. He was wet. He was alive. He was Elias.

He walked out of the forest. The sun was rising. The light was yellow. The light was harsh. It hurt his eyes. He squinted. He saw a road. The road was wide. The road was paved. He saw a man. The man was on the road. The man was walking. He was walking toward Elias. Elias stopped. He looked at the man. The man looked at him. The man was young. The man was clean. He wore a coat. He wore a hat. He held a cane. He was not a soldier. He was not a clerk. He was a traveler. He walked past Elias. He did not look at him. He did not see him. Elias watched him go. The man’s back was straight. The man’s steps were steady. The man was alive. The man was whole. Elias looked at his own hands. His hands were shaking. His hands were dirty. His hands were human. He looked at the road. The road stretched out. It was long. It was empty. He walked onto the road. He walked slowly. The sun warmed his face. The warmth was real. The pain was real. The hunger was real. He was here. He was now. He was alone. He was not alone. The air was thick. It was heavy. It watched him. The trees were behind him. The forest was behind him. The light was gone. The dark was gone. The path was gone. He was on the road. The road was the world. The world was vast. The world was cruel. The world was beautiful. He walked. He did not stop. He did not look back. He did not think. He walked. The sun was high. The shadows were short. The dust was thick. It rose around him. It clouded the air. He coughed. The cough was dry. The pain was sharp. He touched his side. The blood was fresh. The wound was open. He was bleeding. He did not stop. He kept walking. The road was long. The road was endless. He walked. He walked. He walked.

He reached a town. The town was small. The houses were stone. The chimneys were black. Smoke rose from them. The smoke was white. It curled up. It disappeared. He saw people. They were in the street. They were working. They were talking. They were living. He walked through them. They did not look at him. They did not see him. He was a ghost. He was a shadow. He was a stranger. He walked to the center of the town. There was a square. There was a fountain. The water was clear. The water was cold. He knelt by the fountain. He drank. The water filled his mouth. It filled his throat. It filled his stomach. He drank until he could not breathe. He coughed. He gasped. He looked at the water. The water was clear. It reflected his face. He looked at his face. His face was pale. His face was thin. His eyes were dark. His eyes were deep. He did not know who he was. He did not know where he had been. He did not know why he was here. He knew nothing. He was empty. He was full. He stood up. He looked at the town. The town was alive. The town was safe. The town was real. He looked at the sky. The sky was blue. The sky was open. The sky was free. He breathed. The air was sweet. The air was clean. He was alive. He was here. He was now. He walked out of the square. He walked out of the town. He walked into the fields. The fields were green. The fields were wide. The fields were endless. He walked. He walked. He walked. The sun was setting. The light was red. The light was gold. The light was fading. The darkness was coming. The darkness was waiting. He did not fear it. He did not welcome it. He accepted it. He was tired. He was hungry. He was alone. He sat down. He sat on the grass. The grass was soft. The grass was cool. He looked at the sky. The stars were appearing. The stars were bright. The stars were far. The stars were close. He closed his eyes. He opened them. The stars were the same. The sky was the same. The world was the same. He was the same. He was different. He was here. He was alive. He was Elias. He was the scholar. He was the brother. He was the man. He was the light. He was the dark. He was the path. He was the end. He was the beginning. He was nothing. He was everything. He was here.

The wind blew. The wind sighed. It sounded like a name. He did not hear it. He heard his own breath. It was ragged. It was wet. He coughed. The cough hurt. His chest ached. He touched his side. The pain was sharp. He had a wound. He did not know when it happened. The blood was dry. It was black. It stained his shirt. He looked at the stain. He touched it. It was stiff. He was dying. He knew it. He did not care. He kept walking. The path led down. The slope was steep. The trees were thicker here. The light was gone. It was night. It was total. He could not see. He felt the ground. He felt the roots. He stumbled. He fell. He hit a rock. The impact was dull. He lay there. He did not move. The darkness was absolute. It was a blanket. It was a shroud. He waited. He did not pray. He did not beg. He remembered his brother. He remembered the kitchen. He remembered the smell of bread. He remembered the warmth. The warmth was gone. The cold was here. The cold was inside. It ate him. It ate his hope. It ate his will. He let it eat. He surrendered. The darkness took him.

Then there was light.