Just when he thought he could live, God would give him another reason not to.
He would get up and move forward to seek what he so blindly desired. His impatience multiplying with every step, his eager eyes running wild within those tiny sockets and with a heart filled with anticipation, he would move forward to embrace happiness. The dagger would come out of nowhere, and it would peirce through his very heart. Stroke after stroke, precisely where it pained the most. And it was not blood that would flow, but tears, not where another soul could see them, or even his own. But he knew somewhere inside he was bleeding tears, and it was not the pain that worried him, but the eternal stains that would now be left behind. Stains that tied him to the present, keeping him there, stagnant, when the present became the past.
And just as the dagger had once come, unforeseen, there would be light again, beckoning him, untying him from all that was old, making him move towards what was new. And then he would move forward to embrace what he so blindly desired.     
The master would play his game again, the inexorable cycle once set in motion. He would move forward with a new courage, a newer hope, but would still carry with him the old stains, everlasting and unforgotten.