“Where am I?” a voice questions. There exists only blank space all around, no shadows nor light, just emptiness. An infinite amount of emptiness. The voice stretches itself around the space, feeling nothing. There was no sense of weightlessness, nor the feeling of being grounded. There was no hot nor cold. There was nothing. Almost as if the voice was suspended in water.

“You are where the universe ends.”

Startled, the voice turns, finding a figure standing in the emptiness. The figure has a thousand eyes and mouths, but never more than a human would have at any one time. “What is a universe?”

“It is the home to all things.” The figure’s voice changes as its mouths do, each voice fitting the lips it talks through.

“What is a home?”

“Oh dear.” The figure frowns, tilting its head to appraise the voice. “It seems a number has been done on you.” The figure walks in a circle, a circle that the voice can only assume is around it.

“What is a done?”

A sigh escapes ever changing lips. “There is much you do not know, I understand, but I don’t have the will nor the want to teach you myself.”

Silence stretches between the two.

“Looks like it would be quicker to bring you peace.”

The voice feels something hot welling up, there is nothing to prove the feeling though. “Will you bring me to an end as well? Just like the universe?”

The figure opens a mouth to speak, but closes it by the time the lips change. It tries again. “You’re a fast learner. Perhaps there is some worth in you.”

“What is a worth?”

“It is the value someone places in something else.”

The voice ponders, with what, it does not know. “You place value in me?”

“Yes.”

The voice stretches itself again, feeling the limits of itself tingle. It cannot place the feeling, if it even exists. “What is a value?”

“On second thought, never mind.” The figure shakes its head, lips curling into a frown. It throws its shoulders up into a shrug.

There’s a chill now, traveling up all the voice can understand. “Learn. I want to learn.”

“So you understand what it means to want?” The figure doesn’t look shocked. “I suppose that can’t be helped, everything does. It’s the only concept imbued into all things. The moment they are alive, they want.”

“What is alive?”

“It means to be living, to have the spark of life.”

“Am I alive?”

The figure purses its lips, eyes avoiding the voice. “A better question would be if you’re dead.”

“What is a dead?”

“Right. Well, moving on. You could serve as a companion for only a couple more minutes before I’d want to kill you, but that would be a shame. It’s not often I find a child like you all the way out here.”

“At the end?”

“Yes, the end.”

“How did I get here?”

“I don’t know, there’s lots of ways I suppose. I don’t know particulars, never concerned myself with them. I just send those that get here, well, back I assume.” The figure looks out into the emptiness, “I don’t really concern myself with the particulars of that either.”

“What is blatant disregard?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

The figure is still for a moment, then bursts into laughter. It’s a odd sound that quickly transforms from firm and powerful, to nasally and gasping, to cute and concise. “I see, not everything is lost, but the things you’ve retained seem rather arbitrary, random at best.”

“What is a random?”

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“Means no meaning or order.”

“What is a order?”

“Means, in this case, the arrangement of something.”

“What is-”

“Right, that’s enough, I’m not doing this anymore.” The figure looks back into the emptiness then back at the voice. “Would you like to end?”

“Is there nothing else but the end?”

“There are other options, but they will all result in the end.” The voice clasps its hands, a thousand shades whirling past. “But the choice is whether you would like to experience it now or later.” There’s something sorrowful in the myriad of eyes the figure wears.

“What is the end?”

“It is death.”

“What is death?”

“It is the opposite of life, the finale of all living things.”

“I do not want to end.” The voice wants to leave, like something in it wants to deal with the possibility of ending later. But that is silly, as the voice is only a voice. “I do not want to end,” it repeats.

“I know.”

“Then, to not end, I should just live forever?”

“There’s no forever for anything. Not life, not death, not me.” The figure looks at the voice, “There is no forever, my child.”

“Then what is there?”

“There is only moments, a collection of them. There are seconds and minutes and hours, days and weeks and months, but there is no forever.” The figure walks away from the voice, something in its throat surely, as it coughs as if to clear it. “I can only give time to those that know it will not last,” it says, turning back to the voice.

“If it does not last, what is to be done with it?”

“It is to be treasured and used to the utmost. It is to be despised and wasted. It is whatever you want it to be, as long as you understand it is not infinite.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” The figure’s voices are bitter.

“I think so.”

“But you know almost nothing.”

“Maybe that’s why I understand.” The voice stretches itself again, feeling the sensation of warmth. “I want to try that life thing.”

The figure nods, “I will send you on your way then, but not without some more wisdom, otherwise conversation will be impossible.”

A million scenes pass the voice’s vision, a million memories they cannot connect. It seems as if they belong to every living thing. The voices and faces change just as often as the mood of the memories. Knowledge flowed through the memories, words now defined through experience, ideas and concepts brought to light by the very makers of them. This was what the figure spoke about, the so much the voice did not know.

Then, as quickly as the images appeared, they disappeared, leaving only the emptiness behind. “I understand how much I did not know now.”

“Isn’t that the brilliance of knowledge? When you have none, you do not realize how much you lack, when you have plenty, you realize how much you’re still missing.” The figure looks at the voice. “I suppose I should tell you now, I won’t mediate on your behalf in any situation. You will have no help from me. Your accomplishments will be your own, just as your failures will be as well.”

“Hands off parenting.”

The figure pauses, lips pursed, “I suppose you could put it like that.”

“Is there a better word?”

“I’m sure there is. Anyway, I’ve imparted on you knowledge, the concepts that you’ve forgotten. Or perhaps never knew.”

The voice stretches itself, “Will you send me away now? Where will I go?”

“I don’t know, I don’t, for all my power, have pinpoint accuracy. You’ll go where you’re pulled to, I’m sure.”

“Will I be needed there?”

“I do not know.”

“What do you know?”

The figure turns, walking around for a while, fingers on its chin, thinking. “That’s a good question actually. Everything I know is avaliable for all living things to find, it’s just out of reach for most. But the knowledge and information is there, plain to see to those that seek it.”

The voice thinks for a moment as well, “What about fate? Destiny?”

“I have no hand in that. I just watch over everything, send those that reach here away, and make sure the balance is kept. That is all.”

“Perhaps-”

The figure interrupts, “I suppose you could say I do know the name of every living thing, I know their thoughts and their feelings. But even that isn’t that odd, any person could do the same given enough time.”

“You know my name?”

A silence stretches between the two, then the figure finally clears it with a whisper. “I do not know.”

“Why?”

“I assume it’s because, how to put this nicely? You’re not alive?”

“But-”

“I know, don’t ask, I don’t know the answer to that either. I do not know your name, your thoughts, nor your feelings. That’s why I didn’t notice you for a while when you first got here, not until you spoke.”

“But I have thoughts, I feel things.”

The figure shrugs, “Like I’ve said, I do not know.”

The voice realizes the words are not an excuse not to tell nor a lie. The edges of the voice feels hot, like needles are pricking into it. It does not know how it feels, but surely this was emotion. What a terrible thing it was.  

“I apologize.”

“Rather than an apology, I want a name.”

“Excuse me?”

The voice hardens something it sure was resolve, “I want a name. If every living thing has one, I want one too.”

The figure stares for a moment, perhaps seeing the voice in a new light. It chuckles, nodding, “With that attitude, it’s hard to suspect you aren’t alive in the first place. I will grant you a name.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you Setia, and good luck.”

Eyes open, finding everything. There is no emptiness here. Tiny hands stretch forward, ready to touch and grab anything they came across. The voice understood then, this was having a body. This was the ability to live. A smile cracked the stone face.

The voice stood, two wobbling legs cementing themselves in confidence as minutes passed without a fall. An unsteady step made the voice realize that they were no longer a voice, no longer just a voice. “I am Setia.”