Chapter 18: Reporting for Duty
Darkness. Endless, all-consuming darkness. A thick covering that permitted no light or sound, submerging its inhabitants in a timeless void without meaning. An endless slumber of unknowing.
Yet in that nothingness, something shifted.
The entity blinked—a slow movement, one that might have lasted a minute or a month. It was so hard to tell here, where time itself felt like an unspooled mass of tangled yarn. Yet the very act itself was noteworthy. How long had it been since he last opened his eyes? Months? Years? Decades? He didn't know. There was so very little he remembered.
He pondered the strangeness of his consciousness in the unmoving quiet. Then, a flicker disturbed the void. A small thing, as if a faint light were shining down a distant tunnel. Yet in the emptiness it was a shining landmark.
Even stranger, the entity felt it. The light resonated with him, called to him in a way that the empty darkness did not. It spoke to something deep inside of him, like someone shouting a name he had long since forgotten.
A name… What was his name? He couldn't remember. He had one, possibly more, of that he was sure. But though the memories existed, they felt disparate and fleeting. Each time he reached for the knowledge, it scattered before him like ash on the wind.
The faint speck of light grew, its brightness intensifying as it soared across the endless expanse. He felt it moving toward him with alarming speed. It accelerated even as he watched, streaking forward and stretching into a long, thin line of light. Before he could even consider what to do, it slammed into him.
The impact rocked the entity. He reeled at the sudden intensity of sensations returning to him. He had a form. He could experience things besides the darkness. Compared to what had come before, it was almost too much to bear. Yet it did not hurt. He remembered pain, and this was not it.
Once he'd collected himself—minutes, days, weeks later—he inspected the strand of light that hung from him as though attached. It was a thread. A single thin thread, tenuous and fragile in its youth, yet achingly familiar. Touching it elicited more sensations, familiar ones.