I don’t think you can ever fully prepare yourself for the weight of truth, especially the kind of truth that sinks deep into you like a stone falling into a bottomless pit. It presses on you, making it feel like there’s no escaping it, no way to outrun it, no way to fight it. That’s exactly how I felt standing there, looking at the lifeless form in the coffin. I could feel it all around me, the weight of everything I had come to understand. The forest was waiting. I could feel it in the air, the pulse of the trees, the very ground beneath my feet. It was like the forest had been waiting for this moment—this moment when I would finally understand—long before I was ever born.


    And, damn, did I feel it. My body, it started to change. It was subtle at first, something I thought I might’ve imagined, but then it became undeniable. My limbs felt stiff, like the muscles in my arms and legs were slowly freezing up. I could feel the tension building in my joints, like every step I took was becoming harder and harder to make. My breath was shallow, my chest tight. It wasn’t just my body slowing down—it felt like the very act of being alive was slipping away from me, like I was fading into something else. Something worse.


    I don’t know how to explain it. You know that feeling you get when you''re on the edge of falling asleep, but you''re not quite there yet? That weird half-conscious state? That''s what it felt like. Except instead of slipping into sleep, I was slipping into something much worse. I was becoming the stranger. The man I had always feared, the one who had walked into this forest all those times before, the one who had been the invitation itself. The figure who had unknowingly started this loop, this never-ending spiral.


    My face felt older, like my skin was wearing out before my eyes. I touched it, and the smoothness that had once been there was gone. Now there were wrinkles, lines of worry and sorrow I didn’t know I’d had. It wasn’t just my face that had aged. I could feel it in my eyes, too. Those eyes that once had some kind of spark in them? Now they just felt distant, far away, almost like I was looking at myself from the outside.


    The air around me felt thicker, like the forest itself was squeezing in, pressing on my chest with a force I couldn’t escape. I could feel the curse wrapping around me, tightening its grip. It wasn’t just happening to my body—it was happening to my mind, too. The clarity I once had was fading. The pattern, the endless cycle of death and rebirth, it was taking hold of me. I could feel the past, present, and future collapsing into one. There was no beginning. There was no end. It was just… everything all at once. A never-ending repetition.


    And in that moment, for a brief second, I almost wished I could resist. I wanted to break free, to tear myself away from this, to escape the forest, to escape the curse. But deep down, I knew it was pointless. My body was already betraying me, my limbs no longer obeying me as they once had. I could feel myself becoming the stranger—the one who would open the coffin again, again and again, forever. I would be the one to pass on the invitation to the next Adam. Just like it had always been. The story was already written. And I was just following the script.Stolen novel; please report.


    I don’t even know how I managed to do it, but my hand moved on its own, reaching for my pocket. It felt like my body was no longer my own. The motion was slow, almost deliberate, as if it knew what I had to do before I even did. The rustling of the paper echoed in my ears as my fingers found the crumpled letter—the invitation. It was old, the edges worn down from being folded and refolded over and over again, the wax seal cracked and dull. The red once vibrant, now faded to a sickly brown. But it didn’t matter. The message inside, even though the ink had long since begun to fade, still carried the same weight.


    I felt the weight of the letter in my hands as I pulled it free. It felt heavier than it should. Heavier because I knew what it meant. I knew what I had to do. I had to write it. Write the invitation. Not for anyone else. No, this was a message for myself. For the next Adam. The one who would come after me. The one who would take my place in this cycle.


    My fingers, stiff and unsteady, grasped the pen. It felt wrong, doing this, but I had no choice. I had to. The words had to be precise, had to be careful. There was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt or hope. I wrote about the forest. About the cycle. About the curse. I wrote the truth, the one truth that could only be understood by those who had lived it, those who had been trapped by it. The letter was simple, but it held the key—the key to the endless loop.


    Once I finished, I sealed the letter with the wax stamp. The wax was warm, and as I pressed it into the paper, I knew that this was it. This was my role. The invitation would be passed on. The cycle would continue. The forest would get its next traveler. The next Adam. The next loop.


    My breath was coming in shallow gasps now. It was getting harder and harder to move, but I managed to step forward, one foot in front of the other. The forest parted before me, just like it always did. The path was there, waiting for me to walk it. And in the distance, I saw him—the younger version of myself. Full of life. Unaware of what was coming.


    It hurt. God, it hurt to see him, so carefree, so innocent. He didn’t know what awaited him. But I did. I knew exactly what would happen next.


    I walked toward him. My hand, shaking, extended the invitation. He took it without question, without hesitation, just like I had. And in that moment, I knew. The cycle was complete. It had always been this way. It would always be this way.


    “Dead men tell the best tales,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. I don’t even know why I said it. Maybe because I had heard it said so many times before, from every version of myself who had come before me.


    The younger Adam took the letter, still oblivious. He would step forward toward the coffin. He would open it. He would die, just like I had. Just like I would again.


    The forest watched. And I could feel it. It was waiting. For the next Adam. For the next cycle to begin.


    I took my final breath.


    The invitation had been passed.


    The loop continued.