LETHE
A figure stood in space; a space encapsulated within a cavernous expanse containing forms and shapes. The figure was at the threshold of an amalgamation that was steadfast amongst much of its ilk; hard and solid, unmoving and tall. The figure was in a state of oblivion, and existing outside of its field of view was absolute infinity.
Devoid of comprehension, it could not classify even the empty space that seemed to hang still along the ridges and troughs of everything—everywhere. It was forever all things, and forced beside it was sentience, existing by both cause and effect. The boundaries were of an essence ungrasped by the confines in which the figure remained.
It was in limbo, standing amidst the continuum of what is and what is not. The figure simply was. But it was an intruder, and its capacity for understanding was at war with what was around him.
Before the figure was a form of barrier, an obstruction like many others in the space he incomprehensibly occupied. Standing at a fixed height, a flat surface bore peculiar protrusions and indistinct patterns; a structure of planes and edges.
Standing behind it towered a being, far above the height of the figure. Colossal, it was, and it lingered at the cusp of abhorrence, beyond description or judgment.
The figure did not understand, but felt a presence from the giant’s cosmic orbs; unmoving as they fixated their direction on the figure. Like an instinct of birth, the figure moved forward; its first action. It felt a feeling, deep within, as it could balance and move atop two limbs, moving as if it were seasoned in doing so.
There was an object atop the flat plane and before the giant being. It had a texture that stood out from the rest of the world of darker hues, for it seemed to have none, but it glimmered and reflected.
Disguised, sound traveled, distinguishable from an ambient drone.
“Of all things, you will need this at another time.”
The figure could strangely understand what the sound meant, but only to the extent of what was heard.
And so, the creature’s cosmic orbs watched as the figure set off, leaving behind the object to wander aimlessly down aisles and layered formations of oblong shapes resting upon one another. They converged, rising to unreachable heights, and seemed solid yet elusive, existing without touch or grasp.
Row after row, column after column, they continued—each one the same, yet all the different—deliberately placed to form a pattern the figure could not understand.
The figure moved deftly once again, reaching an appendage outward and controlling the extensions among it. It pulled a rectangular square from the narrow edges, and the figure almost assumed the entire thing would collapse.
It opened, increasing in size, and was filled with incredibly thin sheets that numbered into the hundreds—marked piece by piece with cryptic ciphers and textures. The figure moved through them.
It went from place to place, area to area, repeating the same tasks hundreds—thousands of times.
And it was then it began to learn, for even the figure knew it knew nothing.
