Chapter 233: 233. Meaning of Life
I parted my lips to speak, but it raised its hand, gesturing me to stop.
"While I am humouring you," the voice resonated, deeper now, almost vibrating in the marrow of my bones, "I find myself losing interest. So... I would like some form of mutual benefit from this conversation."
I tilted my head, studying it. "So, you want me to entertain you?"
"Precisely," the speaker said, its tone calm and deliberate.
"Sure," I shrugged, feigning a casualness. "What do you desire to know? Because I’ve got a hunch you already know a lot more than you’re letting on."
The head tilted back slightly, then let out a soundless laugh. "Then I must suggest you strip such thoughts from your mind. I know of your language. Your sound. That is all. Nothing more. I am but a sound... an echo... a resonance that lingers where others cannot tread. I like to listen.
Different languages, different cadences, speech, songs, whispers, screams, even the way vibrations collide interests me. I have no desire to pry into your life. But, ignoring that triviality, the question remains..." Its voice sharpened, reverberating until my eardrums ached. "...why are you here?"
I didn’t really have an answer for it. A million-year-old hag had given me a choice to explore one among three trenches for the sake of my continued existence and I had done exactly that.
The result?
I ended up here.
"I’m not here because of some grand destiny or scheme," I said honestly. "I was exploring an underwater trench. And then, at the bottom of the ocean floor, I found a crack in space. Curiosity got the better of me... so I jumped in."
The speaker head leaned forward, humming low. "Interesting... so you stumbled upon a naturally occurring Astral Plane. And it spat you here."
"Astral Plane?" I repeated, frowning. "Never heard of such a thing. What even is that supposed to be?"
The speaker stroked its strange woven mesh, almost mimicking human thoughtfulness. "Hmmm. Even though I have no real desire to tell you anything, you did manage to amuse me... temporarily curing my boredom. A naturally occurring Astral Plane is a rarity beyond measure. Meeting someone who actually saw one? That might as well be a one-in-a-billion chance."
Curiosity gnawed at me. "So?" I pressed. "Will you tell me more about it?"
It shrugged with a strange rolling motion, as if its entire body was fluid bound in shape. "Why not? It isn’t like I have anything else to do. Life is... unbearably dull. Imagine being forced to sit as a guardian over this place for longer than your entire world’s history combined. It breeds monotony."
Its tone shifted, deeper now, laced with something I couldn’t identify. "The Astral Plane... is a dimension beyond the scaffolding of any universe. It exists above the mundane, where the laws of the cosmos do not bind or breathe. It has no true shape, no measurable size. Mortals cannot map it, not even heralds could give it boundary.
One could phrase it as a liquidity of space itself—endless, ever-changing, impossible to grasp. Auroran lights shimmer across its horizons from time to time."
As it spoke, I could almost see it—the undulating sea of colors, light without heat, waves without water, something both breathtaking and suffocating.
Its voice dropped lower, threading into a whisper. "It is the domain of Azaglal... the ruler of uncertainty, of defiance, of contempt. The Astral Plane is its creation—its act of rebellion against the structure of existence. And in time... it became infested with countless beings, drawn to the freedom, to the absence of chains."
Then it stopped.
"Wait," I leaned forward, hunger in my voice. "Don’t leave it hanging there. What next? Don’t just cut off like that—"
"Hush." Its voice cracked like thunder in my head, silencing me instantly. "Enough. I cannot speak more. Azaglal’s gaze... shifts. Its attention presses upon me. If I continue, it will notice. And it will not be amused."
I blinked. "So... you’re afraid of Azaglal."
It shook its head slowly, as if insulted. "No. Azaglal is weaker than me. Much weaker. But there are rules... laws even entities like myself are not permitted to break. To entertain a fleeting mortal, I would not risk invoking them."
I scoffed, letting my derision drip into every syllable. "Then what’s the point of strength if you can’t wield it freely? What’s the point of strength if all it does is build another cage?"
The speaker head tilted back, gazing up at the pale expanse of the sky. Its voice carried a strange calm.
"See, kid... rules aren’t just chains. They aren’t just shackles meant to bind and suffocate. Sometimes... they’re the medium of something greater. A necessary evil, if you must call it that. A kind of scaffolding that holds the weight of life together."
It lingered on that thought, letting the words breathe, then slowly lowered its head. The mesh-like face turned toward me, unreadable.
"Remember this, kid. Creation itself is nothing but a race... a frantic sprint against its own erasure. We only live a day longer because we didn’t die that day. That’s it. Strip away all the layers, the philosophy, the illusions—life exists because death didn’t claim it yet. There is no grand scheme. No fate etched in stone. No destined narrative waiting to unfold. An organism’s life has no higher meaning. It just continues because... it didn’t end."
The weight of that truth hung in the air like an anchor before it continued. "Life is nothing more than a string of events—ups and downs, joys and despairs. Some moments taste sweet, others rot in your mouth with regret and resentment. Yet, despite the weight, organisms keep living. Not because of a will of a higher being, or because destiny commands it, but because death hasn’t collected its due. That’s the only truth worth remembering."
It raised its hand with a strange gentleness and patted my shoulder. "In a sense, life is nothing more than walking through those events—giving them your own meaning, your own interpretation. Every organism is biased. They paint their purpose in colors they prefer, even if it’s nothing more than an illusion."
A sigh escaped from its form. The mesh shifted faintly as it looked me over. "And that’s where rules come in. They don’t just restrain—they safeguard these events. They preserve the flow, the pattern, the balance. Think for a moment... what would an event mean if it were perfect? If chaos was perfect, or stability was perfect, wouldn’t it all be bland? Boring? Predictable? These rules break that monotony. They tilt the balance, allow some to obey and others to rebel. And that friction... that difference... that’s what makes existence interesting."
It patted my shoulder again, firmer this time, as though urging me to understand. "Do you see it now? Do you get what I mean?"
I gave a slow nod, words clipped. "Yeah... somewhat."
It broke into laughter, jagged and wild. "Hahhahaha! Good enough. You don’t need to fully grasp it yet—half understanding is enough for now."
Then it leaned back slightly, as though brushing the conversation aside. "Alright, enough rambling. Let’s get to the real matter. Do you want to go back... or stay here? Because if you wish, I can send you back right now."
Did I want to go back? The thought curled in my mind. Back there... nothing of interest awaited me. Nothing but the dull rhythm of monotony. Compared to this strange place, the present felt hollow.
Yes, here there were monsters, abominations that defied logic and form. Yes, survival would be brutal. Perhaps I wouldn’t even find food. But food... food was something I’d already lost the appetite for long ago.
Taste didn’t matter anymore. Hunger didn’t matter. My body had already adapted to mana and had long replaced what nutrients once provided.
Wait! My eyes narrowed. "Is there mana here? Because if it exists in this place, then I could use it. I could feed on it, sustain myself with it. If not... then what do I survive on here? Is there another source?"
The speaker head tilted back and roared with laughter. "Ahahahahahahahha! That’s brilliant! I didn’t expect that kind of response from you. Truly interesting! But no... there is no mana here. It hasn’t yet been refined. Mana won’t exist until much later, millions of years later. Roughly five and a half million years, if you must count."
I clicked my tongue softly, then asked in a flat tone, "Then what sustains life here? If not mana, what keeps everything moving?"
Its head tilted slightly, as though amused I had to ask. "Ether. This entire plane revolves around ether. It is the pulse, the breath, the marrow of this world. Mana, as you know it, is nothing but the refined form of ether. But that refinement... that fragmentation of energy won’t come until the estimated years."
I hummed in thought. "Then ether is the cause behind those creatures’... deformities?"
The head jerked faintly, and though its mesh face betrayed no expression, I could sense a faint mockery in its tone. "Deformities? No. That’s just your perception speaking. You measure beauty and form by your own standard, and anything that falls outside it... you brand as deformed. But they are not broken. They are not mistakes. They are what they are, in their purest state. And yes—ether shapes them. Ether births mutation and writes their forms."