The axe bit deep into the oak.

Edric’s arms burned. The muscle in his shoulder screamed, a jagged line of pain that traveled up his neck and into his teeth. He did not stop. He could not stop. The wood split with a wet crack, echoing across the silent square.

The crowd watched from the shadows of the market stalls. They stood still. No one moved. No one breathed.

“Again,” said the magistrate. His voice was thin, dry as old parchment.

Edric lifted the axe. The head was heavy, black with the sap of the tree. He swung.

The strike was perfect. Clean.

“Why do you fight it?” asked the magistrate. He stepped closer. The smell of his perfume, rose and rot, hit Edric’s face.

Edric did not answer. He wiped his brow. The sweat stung his eyes.

“I am not fighting,” Edric said. His voice was low. Rough. “I am working.”

The magistrate smiled. It was a cold smile. It did not reach his eyes. “You are a prisoner, Edric. You are a sinner. The village has judged you. The gods have judged you. There is no work here. Only judgment.”

Edric looked at the pile of wood. It was growing. It was a mountain now. A dark, jagged mountain of oak.

“My brother is in the wood,” Edric said.

The magistrate laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. “Your brother is in hell. That is where the wicked go. That is where the debt is paid.”

Edric swung the axe again.

The sound was sharp. A crack. A snap.

The wood flew apart.

“Look at him,” whispered a woman in the crowd. It was Elara. Edric’s sister. She stood at the edge of the square, her face pale. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She was shaking.

Edric heard her. He felt her. He could feel her fear like a hook in his stomach. He looked at her. She looked away.

“Do not look at me,” she said. Her voice was a thread. “If you look at me, I will break.”

Edric looked at the magistrate. “She is not the wicked one. I am. I took the land. I burned the field. I did it. She did nothing.”

The magistrate’s face hardened. “The law does not care for family. The law cares for order. You broke the order. You must pay the price.”

“What is the price?” Edric asked.

“You know the price,” the magistrate said. “You know the hunger.”

Edric stopped swinging. The axe hung in the air. The wood chip fell from the blade. It landed on the cobblestones. It was small. Brown. Dead.

“The hunger is not a punishment,” Edric said. “It is a gift. It is the only thing that is real. When the hunger comes, I am not Edric. I am not the sinner. I am nothing. And in that nothing, I am free.”

The magistrate stepped back. His hand went to his side. He drew a short sword. It was bright. It caught the light of the morning sun.

“Nonsense,” the magistrate said. “You are mad. The village sees your madness. The gods see your madness. We will cut out the madness. We will cut you down.”

Edric raised the axe.

The crowd gasped. It was a small sound. A collective intake of breath.

Elara moved. She stepped into the light. She walked toward the square. The cobblestones were cold under her feet. She did not look at the magistrate. She looked at Edric.

“Edric,” she said.

He looked at her.

“Stop,” she said.

He did not stop.

“Edric, please.”

He looked at the wood. The mountain of wood. He looked at the axe. The axe was a part of him now. It was his hand. It was his arm. It was his bone.

“I cannot stop,” he said.

“Then I will stop you.”

She walked to the pile of wood. She placed her hands on a log. It was rough. It was hard. It was warm from the friction of the axe.

“If you hit the wood, you hit me,” she said.

The magistrate raised his sword. “Stand back, child. This is a matter of state.”

Edric raised the axe high. The muscle in his shoulder bunched. The pain was a white star in his head. He could feel the blood in his ears. He could hear the wind in the trees. He could smell the sap.

He swung.

The axe did not hit the wood.

It hit the ground.

It buried itself in the cobblestones.

Edric stared at it. His arms were still raised. His body was locked in the swing. He was a statue. A figure of rage and wood.

The magistrate lowered his sword. He looked confused. He looked at Edric. He looked at Elara.

“What is this?” he asked.

Edric lowered his arms. They were trembling. He could not feel his hands. He could not feel his feet. He could only feel the heat in his chest. It was a fire. A slow, cold fire.

“I am done,” Edric said.

The magistrate stepped forward. He drew his sword again. He pointed it at Edric’s throat. “You are done? No. You are not done. You will be done when we are ready. You will kneel. You will beg. You will pay.”

Edric looked at his sister. She was still holding the log. Her face was calm. Her eyes were dry. She was not afraid.

“Take me,” Edric said. “Take me to the gate. Let the hunger in.”

The magistrate frowned. “The hunger is not in the gate. The hunger is in you. It is in your blood. It is in your bones. You cannot escape it. You cannot run from it. You must face it.”

Edric looked at the wood. The mountain of wood. It was tall. It was dark. It was a wall. It was a prison.

“I have faced it,” Edric said. “For ten years. I have faced it every day. I have faced it in my sleep. I have faced it in my waking. I have faced it in the silence. I have faced it in the noise. I have faced it in the food. I have faced it in the drug. I have faced it in the pain. I have faced it in the joy. I have faced it in the love. I have faced it in the hate. I have faced it in the life. I have faced it in the death.”

He looked at the magistrate.

“It is not a punishment,” Edric said. “It is a truth. And I am tired of lying.”

The magistrate stared at him. The sword trembled in his hand. He was not used to stillness. He was not used to truth. He was used to fear. He was used to anger. He was used to the sound of the axe.

“Kneel,” the magistrate said. His voice was shaking.

Edric did not kneel.

He looked at Elara.

She let go of the log. She walked to him. She took his hand. Her hand was small. It was cold. It was soft.

“Let us go,” she said.

“Go where?” Edric asked.

“Home,” she said.

“Home is here,” the magistrate said. “Home is the square. Home is the law.”

“No,” Edric said. “Home is the silence. Home is the wood. Home is the hunger.”

He pulled his hand from hers. He turned to the magistrate.

“You cannot keep me,” Edric said. “You cannot keep the hunger. You cannot keep the truth. You can only watch it pass. You can only watch it go. You can only watch it die.”

The magistrate lowered his sword. He looked at the crowd. The crowd was silent. They were watching. They were waiting.

“Take him away,” the magistrate said. His voice was quiet.

Two guards stepped forward. They grabbed Edric’s arms. They pulled him to his knees.

Edric did not resist. He let them pull him. He let them drag him. He let them lead him to the gate.

The gate was high. It was black. It was iron.

Edric looked at the gate. He looked at the darkness beyond it. He looked at the hunger.

It was waiting.

It was patient.

It was kind.

Elara followed. She walked beside him. She did not speak. She did not cry. She walked with him.

The magistrate watched them go. He stood in the square. The wood pile was still there. It was tall. It was dark. It was a wall.

He looked at the wood. He looked at the axe in the ground.

He picked up the axe.

It was heavy.

He swung it.

The wood split.

The sound was sharp.

The sound was clean.

The sound was real.

He swung again.

And again.

And again.

The crowd watched.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

The wood flew apart.

The mountain grew.

The sun rose.

The light hit the wood.

The light hit the sweat.

The light hit the blood.

The light hit the hunger.

The light hit the truth.

The light hit the silence.

The light hit the end.

Edric walked into the dark.

He did not look back.

He did not look at the wood.

He did not look at the square.

He looked only at the gate.

He looked only at the hunger.

He looked only at the end.

And he was free.

The magistrate kept swinging.

The wood kept splitting.

The sound kept ringing.

The crowd kept watching.

The silence kept growing.

The hunger kept waiting.

The truth kept passing.

The light kept rising.

The end kept coming.

And nothing changed.

And everything changed.

And the wood remained.

And the hunger remained.

And the silence remained.

And the truth remained.

And the light remained.

And the end remained.

And the wood was still there.

And the hunger was still there.

And the silence was still there.

And the truth was still there.

And the light was still there.

And the end was still there.

And Edric was gone.

And Elara was gone.

And the magistrate was alone.

And the wood was alone.

And the hunger was alone.

And the silence was alone.

And the truth was alone.

And the light was alone.

And the end was alone.

And the world turned.

And the day passed.

And the night came.

And the wood remained.

And the hunger remained.

And the silence remained.

And the truth remained.

And the light remained.

And the end remained.