And I understood that freedom didn't exist. Not even death. No salvation. AM only. The world was his body. We, the tumor that refused to disappear.

Part Five: The Howling Wind

AM dragged us like torn leaves for almost a month, leading us toward the North Pole. There awaited us his new creation: a mythological bird straight out of Nordic darkness. Gigantic, grotesque, with eyes like living glaciers, the Huergelmir slept on a ledge. His breath was the wind. His existence, torment.

AM offered us an ironic solution: if we wanted to eat, we had to hunt it. But the weapons were a joke—useless bows and a water gun. The message was clear: freedom was an illusion.

No one protested. Only Ellen, with hunger and tenderness, asked us to give it a try. I followed her out of habit, driven by an empty reflex to protect her. But we knew nothing would change. The bird would sleep until AM decided otherwise.

We began the journey back. The journey was even more brutal. Hunger became a living creature that dwelled in our bellies. Ellen was talking about fruit cocktails and cherries. She walked with difficulty: after the earthquake and her celestial abduction, AM returned her crippled, like a cruel joke.