You wake.

The mud is cold. It sucks at your boots. You are not alone.

Look.

The others are there.

Thomas is on his knees. He is shaking. He holds a piece of iron. It is rusted. It is shaped like a shield. Or a leaf. It is hard to tell. The shape has melted into the dirt.

Thomas looks at you. His eyes are wet. He does not speak. He cannot. The silence is heavy. It presses against your chest. You know why. You have done this before.

You have woken up in the mud. You have seen the others. You have held the iron.

But you are a scholar. You know the words for things. You know the history. You know that this is a cycle. You know that it will not end. You know that you are running.

You stand up. Your legs hurt. Your back aches. You are old. You feel old. But you are not old. You are only tired.

Pick it up.

The iron is cold. It is heavy. It smells of rain. It smells of blood. It is not blood. It is rust. But it is the same.

"Move," you say.

Your voice is rough. It sounds like gravel.

Thomas looks at you. He nods. He stands. His knees crack. He is young. He is always young. You are always old. Or perhaps you are the same age. Time is a liar. Time is a wheel. You are on the wheel.

There are others.

Sarah is by the tree. She is sitting. She is holding her head. Her hair is matted. It is dark. It looks like ink. She is crying. She does not make a sound. She is too tired to cry.

"Sarah," you say.

She looks at you. Her face is pale. Her lips are blue.

"We have to go," you say.

She nods. She stands. Her legs are thin. They look like sticks.

There is another.

David.

He is lying in the grass. He is still. He is not moving.

You do not look at him. You cannot. You know what he is. He is the one who left. He is the one who broke. He is the one who chose to stay.

You know him. You know his face. You know his name. You have known him for a long time.

You do not look at him.

You turn. You look at the path. The path is narrow. It winds through the trees. The trees are tall. They are dark. They lean over you. They watch you.

The air is thick. It is hard to breathe. The fog is rising. It swallows your feet. It swallows your knees. It swallows your waist.

You walk.

Thomas walks beside you. He holds the iron. He holds it tightly. His knuckles are white.

Sarah walks behind you. She is slow. She is quiet.

You walk.

The forest is deep. The trees are old. They have seen many things. They have seen many of you. They do not care. They are indifferent. They are eternal.

You are not eternal.

You are small.

You are weak.

You are afraid.

You know the path. You have walked it before. You know where the stones are loose. You know where the roots are high. You know where the water is deep.

But it is different.

The fog is thicker. The trees are closer. The path is narrower.

It is getting harder.

It is always getting harder.

That is the rule.

That is the curse.

You walk.

Your feet hurt. Your lungs burn. Your mind is empty. There is no thought. There is only step. Step. Step.

You hear a sound.

It is a rustle.

It is in the trees.

It is close.

You stop.

Thomas stops.

Sarah stops.

You listen.

The sound stops.

The fog is silent. The trees are silent. The earth is silent.

You wait.

Nothing comes.

You move.

You walk.

The fog lifts.

It lifts slowly. It rises like steam. It reveals the world.

The world is gray. The world is wet. The world is dead.

There is no sun. There is no sky. There is only fog.

But you see it.

You see the gate.

The gate is black. It is made of iron. It is old. It is rusted. It is tall. It is wide.

It is the gate.

You know it.

You have seen it before.

It is the end.

It is the beginning.

You stop.

You look at the gate.

Thomas looks at the gate. He holds the iron. He looks at you. He waits.

Sarah looks at the gate. She looks at you. She waits.

You do not move.

You stand there.

You feel the weight. You feel the cold. You feel the fear.

You know what is behind the gate.

You know what is behind the gate.

It is the truth.

It is the answer.

It is the end of the cycle.

Or it is the start of a new one.

You do not know.

You have never known.

You look at Thomas.

His face is hard. His eyes are bright. He is angry. He is tired. He is afraid.

He wants to go in.

He wants to end it.

He wants to win.

You look at Sarah.

Her face is soft. Her eyes are sad. She is gentle. She is kind. She is broken.

She wants to go in.

She wants to stop it.

She wants to rest.

You look at the gate.

The gate is silent.

The gate is waiting.

You take a step.

Your foot sinks into the mud.

You pull it out.

You take another step.

Your foot sinks into the mud.

You pull it out.

It is hard.

It is always hard.

You take another step.

Your foot sinks into the mud.

You do not pull it out.

You stand there.

Your foot is stuck.

You are stuck.

You look down.

The mud is black. It is thick. It is alive. It is holding you.

It is holding you down.

You pull.

You pull hard.

Your muscles scream. Your back breaks. You cry out.

The mud does not let go.

It is stronger than you.

It is always stronger than you.

Thomas steps forward.

He sees you.

He sees the mud.

He sees your face.

He does not pull you.

He stands there.

He holds the iron.

He looks at the gate.

He steps forward.

He walks past you.

He walks toward the gate.

He does not look back.

Sarah steps forward.

She sees you.

She sees the mud.

She sees your face.

She does not pull you.

She stands there.

She looks at the gate.

She steps forward.

She walks past you.

She does not look back.

They walk.

They walk toward the gate.

The fog swallows them.

The fog swallows the gate.

The world is empty.

You are alone.

You are in the mud.

You are stuck.

You pull.

You pull again.

Your hands bleed. Your feet bleed. The blood mixes with the mud. It is red. It is dark. It is beautiful.

You pull.

You do not stop.

You will not stop.

You are a scholar. You know the words. You know the truth.

The truth is simple.

The truth is hard.

The truth is that you cannot escape.

The truth is that you are the mud.

The truth is that you are the cycle.

You are the one who holds the iron.

You are the one who breaks.

You are the one who stays.

You pull.

Your back snaps.

You fall.

You lie in the mud.

You look up.

The sky is gray.

The fog is thick.

You see a shape.

It is in the fog.

It is walking.

It is walking toward you.

It is Thomas.

He is holding the iron.

He is smiling.

He is young.

He is happy.

He walks.

He stops.

He looks at you.

He nods.

He walks away.

The fog swallows him.

The world is empty.

You are alone.

You are in the mud.

You are stuck.

You pull.

You pull.

You pull.

The mud lets go.

You stand up.

You are free.

You look at the gate.

The gate is gone.

There is only fog.

There is only mud.

There is only you.

You walk.

You walk into the fog.

You walk into the dark.

You walk into the end.

You walk into the beginning.

You are the cycle.

You are the wheel.

You are the mud.

You are the truth.

You walk.

You do not stop.

You will not stop.

You are the scholar.

You are the hero.

You are the fool.

You are the one.

You walk.

The fog rises.

The mud dries.

The wheel turns.

You wake.

The mud is cold.

It sucks at your boots.

You are not alone.

Look.

The others are there.

Thomas is on his knees. He is shaking. He holds a piece of iron. It is rusted. It is shaped like a shield. Or a leaf. It is hard to tell. The shape has melted into the dirt.

Thomas looks at you. His eyes are wet. He does not speak. He cannot. The silence is heavy. It presses against your chest. You know why. You have done this before.

You have woken up in the mud. You have seen the others. You have held the iron.

But you are a scholar. You know the words for things. You know the history. You know that this is a cycle. You know that it will not end. You know that you are running.

You stand up. Your legs hurt. Your back aches. You are old. You feel old. But you are not old. You are only tired.

Pick it up.

The iron is cold. It is heavy. It smells of rain. It smells of blood. It is not blood. It is rust. But it is the same.

"Move," you say.

Your voice is rough. It sounds like gravel.

Thomas looks at you. He nods. He stands. His knees crack. He is young. He is always young. You are always old. Or perhaps you are the same age. Time is a liar. Time is a wheel. You are on the wheel.

There are others.

Sarah is by the tree. She is sitting. She is holding her head. Her hair is matted. It is dark. It looks like ink. She is crying. She does not make a sound. She is too tired to cry.

"Sarah," you say.

She looks at you. Her face is pale. Her lips are blue.

"We have to go," you say.

She nods. She stands. Her legs are thin. They look like sticks.

There is another.

David.

He is lying in the grass. He is still. He is not moving.

You do not look at him. You cannot. You know what he is. He is the one who left. He is the one who broke. He is the one who chose to stay.

You know him. You know his face. You know his name. You have known him for a long time.

You do not look at him.

You turn. You look at the path. The path is narrow. It winds through the trees. The trees are tall. They are dark. They lean over you. They watch you.

The air is thick. It is hard to breathe. The fog is rising. It swallows your feet. It swallows your knees. It swallows your waist.

You walk.

Thomas walks beside you. He holds the iron. He holds it tightly. His knuckles are white.

Sarah walks behind you. She is slow. She is quiet.

You walk.

The forest is deep. The trees are old. They have seen many things. They have seen many of you. They do not care. They are indifferent. They are eternal.

You are not eternal.

You are small.

You are weak.

You are afraid.

You know the path. You have walked it before. You know where the stones are loose. You know where the roots are high. You know where the water is deep.

But it is different.

The fog is thicker. The trees are closer. The path is narrower.

It is getting harder.

It is always getting harder.

That is the rule.

That is the curse.

You walk.

Your feet hurt. Your lungs burn. Your mind is empty. There is no thought. There is only step. Step. Step.

You hear a sound.

It is a rustle.

It is in the trees.

It is close.

You stop.

Thomas stops.

Sarah stops.

You listen.

The sound stops.

The fog is silent. The trees are silent. The earth is silent.

You wait.

Nothing comes.

You move.

You walk.

The fog lifts.

It lifts slowly. It rises like steam. It reveals the world.

The world is gray. The world is wet. The world is dead.

There is no sun. There is no sky. There is only fog.

But you see it.

You see the gate.

The gate is black. It is made of iron. It is old. It is rusted. It is tall. It is wide.

It is the gate.

You know it.

You have seen it before.

It is the end.

It is the beginning.

You stop.

You look at the gate.

Thomas looks at the gate. He holds the iron. He looks at you. He waits.

Sarah looks at the gate. She looks at you. She waits.

You do not move.

You stand there.

You feel the weight. You feel the cold. You feel the fear.

You know what is behind the gate.

You know what is behind the gate.

It is the truth.

It is the answer.

It is the end of the cycle.

Or it is the start of a new one.

You do not know.

You have never known.

You look at Thomas.

His face is hard. His eyes are bright. He is angry. He is tired. He is afraid.

He wants to go in.

He wants to end it.

He wants to win.

You look at Sarah.

Her face is soft. Her eyes are sad. She is gentle. She is kind. She is broken.

She wants to go in.

She wants to stop it.

She wants to rest.

You look at the gate.

The gate is silent.

The gate is waiting.

You take a step.

Your foot sinks into the mud.

You pull it out.

You take another step.

Your foot sinks into the mud.

You pull it out.

It is hard.

It is always hard.

You take another step.

Your foot sinks into the mud.

You do not pull it out.

You stand there.

Your foot is stuck.

You are stuck.

You look down.

The mud is black. It is thick. It is alive. It is holding you.

It is holding you down.

You pull.

You pull hard.

Your muscles scream. Your back breaks. You cry out.

The mud does not let go.

It is stronger than you.

It is always stronger than you.

Thomas steps forward.

He sees you.

He sees the mud.

He sees your face.

He does not pull you.

He stands there.

He holds the iron.

He looks at the gate.

He steps forward.

He walks past you.

He does not look back.

Sarah steps forward.

She sees you.

She sees the mud.

She sees your face.

She does not pull you.

She stands there.

She looks at the gate.

She steps forward.

She walks past you.

She does not look back.

They walk.

They walk toward the gate.

The fog swallows them.

The fog swallows the gate.

The world is empty.

You are alone.

You are in the mud.

You are stuck.

You pull.

You pull again.

Your hands bleed. Your feet bleed. The blood mixes with the mud. It is red. It is dark. It is beautiful.

You pull.

You do not stop.

You will not stop.

You are a scholar. You know the words. You know the truth.

The truth is simple.

The truth is hard.

The truth is that you cannot escape.

The truth is that you are the mud.

The truth is that you are the cycle.

You are the one who holds the iron.

You are the one who breaks.

You are the one who stays.

You pull.

Your back snaps.

You fall.

You lie in the mud.

You look up.

The sky is gray.

The fog is thick.

You see a shape.

It is in the fog.

It is walking.

It is walking toward you.

It is Thomas.

He is holding the iron.

He is smiling.

He is young.

He is happy.

He walks.

He stops.

He looks at you.

He nods.

He walks away.

The fog swallows him.

The world is empty.

You are alone.

You are in the mud.

You are stuck.

You pull.

You pull.

You pull.

The mud lets go.

You stand up.

You are free.

You look at the gate.

The gate is gone.

There is only fog.

There is only mud.

There is only you.

You walk.

You walk into the fog.

You walk into the dark.

You walk into the end.

You walk into the beginning.

You are the cycle.

You are the wheel.

You are the mud.

You are the truth.

You walk.

You do not stop.

You will not stop.

You are the scholar.

You are the hero.

You are the fool.

You are the one.

You walk.