The feast was loud. It was a wall of sound. Clinking silver. Roaring voices. The smell of roasted goose hung in the air, thick and greasy. Elias sat in the corner. He wore a coat too large for him. The fabric smelled of damp wool and old smoke. His hands trembled on the table. He held a cup of wine. The wine was red. It looked like blood.

Elias was not a man of high birth. He was a servant. He had come from the East. He had crossed the sea on a ship that shook like a leaf in a storm. He sought a place where the air was clean. He sought a place where his name meant something. Here, his name was nothing. He was a shadow. He was a ghost in a gilded cage.

Lord Arthur stood at the head of the table. He was tall. He was pale. He smiled with thin lips. His eyes were cold. They did not blink. They did not change. They watched Elias. They saw through the wool coat. They saw the bones beneath. They saw the hunger.

“Drink, Elias,” Lord Arthur said. His voice was soft. It was like silk sliding over stone. “You look tired. The journey must have been hard.”

Elias nodded. He drank. The wine burned his throat. It warmed his chest. For a second, he felt alive. For a second, he felt he belonged.

Then the lights changed.

The candles in the chandeliers flared. The flames turned blue. The blue light spread across the room. It touched the faces of the guests. It touched the walls. The walls began to breathe. The stone turned to mist. The table turned to water.

Elias did not scream. He had seen this before. In dreams. In the fever of his exile. He knew this place. It was the Hall of Echoes. It was the place where the dead waited to be born again. It was the place where the wheel turned.

The guests vanished. They dissolved into the blue mist. Only Lord Arthur remained. He sat at the head of the table. He did not vanish. He was the anchor. He was the stone in the river.

“Why are you here?” Lord Arthur asked. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. The question hung in the air like a blade.

Elias looked at his hands. They were still trembling. He looked at the wine in his cup. The wine had turned black. It was ink. It was night.

“I seek peace,” Elias said. His voice was thin. It was a thread of smoke. “I seek an end to the running. I am tired of the roads. I am tired of the strangers. I want to stop.”

Lord Arthur leaned forward. His face was close. His eyes were deep pits. “Peace is a lie,” he said. “There is only the wheel. There is only the turn. You run from one life to the next. You think you can escape. You think you can rest.”

“I do not want to run anymore,” Elias said. “I want to lay down my burden. I want to forget my name. I want to become nothing.”

“Nothing is not an option,” Lord Arthur said. “You are bound. You are tied by your love. You are tied by your memory. You cannot cut the cord. You cannot burn the bridge. You are here because you are unfinished. You are here because you are hungry.”

Elias felt a pain in his chest. It was a sharp pain. It was the pain of a broken bone. It was the pain of a heart that beat too fast. He thought of Sarah. He thought of her face. He thought of her hands in his. He thought of the night they parted. He had not said goodbye. He had not had the courage. He had run. He had run because he was afraid. He was afraid of her eyes. He was afraid of the truth in them. He was afraid that she would see the monster in him. The monster that wanted to leave. The monster that wanted to be free.

He had run for ten years. He had crossed oceans. He had crossed borders. He had changed his name. He had changed his face. He had tried to become a new man. But the old man was still there. The old man was still hungry. The old man was still looking for Sarah.

“I remember her,” Elias whispered. “I remember her face. I cannot forget. It is a curse. It is a weight. I carry it everywhere. I carry it in my bones.”

Lord Arthur smiled. It was a sad smile. It was the smile of a man who has seen too much. “The curse is the gift,” he said. “The love is the chain. You do not want to break the chain. You want to hold it. You want to feel the weight. You want to know that you are real. Without the weight, you are nothing. Without the pain, you are empty.”

Elias looked at the black wine. He looked at the blue mist. He looked at Lord Arthur. He understood then. He had been running from the only thing that made him whole. He had been running from the pain that proved he had lived. He had been running from the love that bound him to the world.

He wanted to stop. He wanted to lay down the weight. He wanted to let go. He wanted to die. But he could not die. He could not escape. The wheel would turn. He would be born again. He would run again. He would love again. He would suffer again. It was his fate. It was his eternal loop.

Elias stood up. His legs shook. He walked to Lord Arthur. He stopped before him. He looked into the cold eyes. He saw his own reflection in them. He saw the exhaustion. He saw the fear. He saw the hope.

“I am tired,” Elias said. “I am so tired.”

“I know,” Lord Arthur said. “Sit down.”

Elias sat. He put his hands on the table. The table was solid. The wood was warm. He closed his eyes. He waited. The blue mist swirled around him. It touched his face. It felt cold. It felt like rain. It felt like tears.

The feast continued. The noise returned. The clinking silver. The roaring voices. The smell of roasted goose. The lights returned to their normal flame. The candles were yellow. The walls were stone. The table was wood.

Elias opened his eyes. He was at the feast. The guests were eating. They were laughing. They did not know. They did not see. They were blind. They were happy. They did not know they were trapped in the wheel.

Lord Arthur was gone. The seat at the head of the table was empty. There was only a stain on the wood. A dark stain. Like blood. Like ink.

Elias looked at his hands. They were still. They did not tremble. He looked at the cup. The wine was red. It was clean. It was fresh.

He drank. He drank deeply. He drank until his throat was sore. He drank until his head was dizzy. He drank until the pain in his chest faded. He drank until the memory of Sarah was sharp. He drank until the name of Sarah was clear.

He would not stop. He would not lay down the weight. He would carry it. He would carry it to the end. He would carry it into the next life. He would carry it into the next death. He would carry it forever.

He stood up. He walked to the door. He pushed it open. The night air hit his face. It was cold. It was sharp. It smelled of pine and snow.

He stepped out. He walked into the dark. He walked into the forest. He walked until the house was gone. He walked until the road was gone. He walked until the world was gone.

He walked until he was nothing. He walked until he was everything. He walked until the wheel stopped. Or perhaps it never stopped. Perhaps it only seemed to stop. Perhaps the stopping was the turning.

He walked on. He walked on. He walked on.

The snow began to fall. It fell softly. It covered his feet. It covered his coat. It covered his face. He did not brush it away. He let it fall. He let it cover him. He let it hide him.

He was warm. He was safe. He was lost.

He found her.

She was sitting by a tree. She was old. Her hair was white. Her face was wrinkled. But her eyes were young. Her eyes were bright. She looked up as he approached. She did not smile. She did not speak. She just looked.

Elias stopped. He stood before her. The snow fell on his shoulders. The snow fell on his head.

“Elias,” she said. Her voice was soft. It was like the wind in the trees.

“Sarah,” he said. His voice was broken. It was like a cracked stone.

She stood up. She was tall. She was thin. She walked toward him. She moved slowly. She moved with grace.

She stopped before him. She reached out. She touched his face. Her hand was cold. It was like ice. It was like fire.

“I am here,” she said.

“I am here,” he said.

They stood in the snow. They stood in the dark. They stood in the silence. They did not move. They did not speak. They just stood. They held each other. They held the weight. They held the love. They held the pain.

The wheel turned. The wheel always turns. But for this moment, the moment was still. For this moment, the pain was enough. For this moment, the love was real.

Elias closed his eyes. He felt her breath on his face. He felt her heart beating. He felt his own heart beating. They beat together. They beat as one.

He knew he would wake up. He knew he would return to the feast. He knew he would drink the wine. He knew he would run again. He knew he would seek again. He knew he would fail again.

But for now, he was home. For now, he was whole. For now, he was free.

The snow fell. The snow covered them. The snow covered the world. The snow covered the past. The snow covered the future. The snow covered the wheel.

Elias opened his eyes.

The feast was loud. The candles were yellow. The wine was red. Lord Arthur was at the head of the table. He was smiling.

“Drink, Elias,” Lord Arthur said.

Elias picked up the cup. He looked at the wine. He saw Sarah in the wine. He saw the snow in the wine. He saw the wheel in the wine.

He drank.

He drank deeply.

He drank until he was nothing.

He drank until he was everything.