Charon took the first few steps like a man wearing shackles. The satchel sagged from his waist, dragging him sideways. Every motion required a conscious decision thanks to the cubes.
'Heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe.'
His scythe rested in his palms like a snake, ready to bite the moment he let his guard down. It had never felt heavier.
Charon moved around the first corner of the mat. Wallflower watched in silence, her arms folded and her expression blank.
She dryly called out to him, her voice cutting through the stale air.
"You may breathe."
He grunted in response, sweat dripping from his brow. It blinded him, making every glance a struggle.
"I forgot how."
The turn was sharp, and with the weight pulling him, his foot nearly twisted. He jerked his knee to stabilize, overcorrecting, then swung the scythe backward to counterbalance. It worked, but barely, reminding him of how fragile everything was.
