The one once known as Ti'Zok awoke as the first note of the Zoo'Oub resonated across the compound, heralding the start of another day. The predawn light left him as a formless shadow in his robe as he left his small room and joined the procession of disciples streaming into the courtyard for morning practice.

The lines of disciples stretched across the courtyard practicing in silence. The only noise was the snapping of robes whipping about with the movements of their practice. Seniors paced the lines of practicing disciples ready to correct or discipline those who failed or faltered, carrying switches made from a local tree that would leave blistering, itching welts wherever they struck. He had personally experienced their efficacy on more than one occasion and still felt some of their sting even now, days after.

He was an exception to the almost exclusively Varnavan population of the monastery compound. They followed not The Way Of Universalism, but what they called The Path Of The Formless Void. Where The Way was the search for The Creator through the works he left filtered through the self in the cosmos, The Path in contrast sought meaning and enlightenment through the destruction of the self attempting to return to the natural state of all things, The Void.

He who was once known as Ti'Zok was not a true member of their order. He had been told after his arrival, that the order was tasked with trying to 'rehabilitate' those that were sent to them. Typically only those of importance or high standing were given this second chance. Most who failed their house were simply disposed of in some form or another. Slavery, disownment, and sometimes even execution if the failure was egregious enough. He had burned at the thought that he was a failure. His indignation and fury had pushed him through the first few days of harsh physical labor. That he was now beholden to this lesser species had been unacceptable. He was an Itzli, far above these insects.

Another deep resounding note of the Zoo'Oub, an instrument made from a local tree hollowed into a large tube, called to the end of practice just as the sun started peeking over the horizon. The courtyard became as still as a tomb. They stood silently as the distant, hazy star rose into the sky. Finally, after nearly an hour of silent standing meditation as the sun finished its ascent, the doors to the great hall of The Monastery opened, and each row of disciples silently filed inside one after the other.

Inside the hall sat rows of simple wooden tables. Before each seat awaited a bowl of steaming porridge. It was a simple, but filling, fare of cooked grains, generous chunks of meat, and vegetables from The Monastery's garden. The meal did not start until everyone had been seated, and it was conducted in complete silence. It was the antithesis of the many feasts he had attended. There was no conversation, no loud calls for more food or drink, no music. You were served only one bowl of food, and then you sat and waited in silence until everyone was finished.

A senior sat at every table to maintain discipline and punish those who broke it. Some unseen communication passed between the seniors and they all stood signaling their disciples to follow. Then each senior placed a colored block of wood at the end of their table. This was the tables' assignment for the morning. Yellow for working in the fields, green for tending the garden, red for hunting game, and gray for cleaning the compound.

Today his table had a yellow block, he would be in the fields. That suited him just fine, he preferred to stay as far away from the rest of the residents as possible. Losing himself in the golden ocean of grain or preparing a new field at the edge of the monastery grounds was preferable to being stuck inside cleaning, and hunters always had to work in pairs.

Filing back out of the great hall he collected his tools for the day along with the other disciples and headed for the fields. Doing nothing but manual labor left his mind free to wander, however. More often than not he found himself wondering why. Why him? Why was his way of life wrong? Why did the Itzli believe greed was the purpose of life? Why was greed good? He tried to distract himself, inflame his anger with thoughts of Rama. The one who was, in his mind, responsible for his circumstances. The one who had destroyed his way of life.

That only led to his own mind betraying him with 'what ifs' by pointing out he could have stopped his pursuit of Rama at any time. He could have bought out the contract while he was out mining and simply waited for him in the hangar bay for his return. He could have done a hundred different things to end things differently, but he didn't. He had been too absorbed in the chase, in toying with his prey, to consider that they might get away from him.

Here, with only his own thoughts for company, he could no longer lie to himself. No one was responsible for his situation but himself.

As the sun moved across the sky, the one formerly known as Ti'Zok found it harder and harder to muster up the anger and indignation that had driven him. The Zoo-Oub sounded again, signaling the midday meal. He turned to follow the others back to the great hall, but his mind was elsewhere.

Without his emotions driving him, it was hard for him to find the motivation to continue. If he succeeded here and passed whatever tests they put before him, what then? Return to his old life as just another Guild House scion accumulating wealth for its own sake? What was the point? So that he could grow old and fat off his work with a horde of his descendants surrounding him on his deathbed waiting greedily to claim their inheritance?

Like most living beings, he felt the urge to procreate and have his own children, but it felt lacking. Was this really all there was to his life? Creating wealth and the next generation of his race? Certainly, there had to be more. Even the prospect of more enjoyable pursuits appealed little now. What was the point of wasting his time in petty games and feasts?

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Filing into The Great Hall, he took his seat. The midday meal of meat and fresh fruit passed through his lips, but he could not recall what it tasted like. His body moved automatically until, with a start, he realized he had already finished his meal. He was in a daze, mind preoccupied with matters other than the operation of his body. His table had been given the gray block for the afternoon chores, and he headed for the stream with a pair of large empty buckets in his hands for wash water.

His arms burned with exertion, and the palms of his claws were rubbed raw from gripping the roughly carved wooden handles. Still, his mind was elsewhere, pondering his purpose in life. The entire Itzli way of life was built around greed. From the lowliest merchant to the greatest Guild House, all pursued wealth above all other things. Everything was a tool to acquire more. Relationships, people themselves, and no aid was ever given without the expectation of recompense. Every Itzli understood that every other being were merely a tool to increase their own wealth. Greed for an Itzli transcended being a way of life, it was their very nature and purpose. An Itzli's only sense of fulfilment came from indulging in their greed. More possessions, more money, more everything.

His thoughts went in circles, and the sun rapidly sank low in the sky without his notice. He was finally interrupted by the call for the evening meal, jarring him from his fugue. He looked at his stinging palms as if seeing them for the first time, rubbed raw on the bucket handles, and then scoured by soap as he washed the laundry. Mechanically he stored his tools and disposed of the dirty water.

He turned and headed again for The Great Hall, mind and body tired from a long day of labor for both. A steaming bowl of cooked grains with fruit, milk, and honey gathered from the hive of a local insect awaited him. The reward for a long day's work, but to him, it was again tasteless, his mind lost in a maze of confusion. His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl and came to his lips empty several times before he realized he had eaten it all.

Standing, he mindlessly went through the evening bath routine. Cold water, crude soap, and then a clean robe. Laying on his bed in his small room, sleep eluded him despite his exhaustion. His mind felt as if it was on fire and would not let him rest until he had answered the question. What was his purpose? He tossed and turned, his mind weary, but refusing to sleep as he fought with his thoughts.

The first sliver of light peaking over the horizon told him he had spent the entire night wrestling with the question. In a short while the morning horn would sound, and another day of mindless labor would begin. It was all the same to him, mindless work in a monastery or the equally mindless blind pursuit of wealth.

He turned over at the soft sound of the door to his cubicle opening. The Elder stood there, his dark insectoid eyes studying him. Holding a candle in one grasper, The Elder turned and left without a sound. Wordlessly, the one once known as Ti'Zok followed him.

The Elder led him through halls of The Monastery that he had never seen before, the musty passages illuminated only by The Elder's candle. They descended down into the ground, and he was soon hopelessly lost after the myriad of turns they had taken. Down a long hall of doors they walked, before The Elder stopped at one, the door standing open. It yawned open like a dark maw, the elder's candle casting it in writhing shadows.

It was a room much like the one above ground that he had inhabited. Small, with a single bare shelf as a bed, and barely wide enough to sleep on. Entering the room, the door shut behind him, leaving him in total darkness without the candle of The Elder. No, not just total darkness, but a complete void. Sight, sound, scent, and even his sense of touch had left him.

He was no longer an Itzli here, or anything else but another part of the void. He was alone, the only reason he knew he still existed was his thoughts. Left in a void bereft of all senses and form, the one once known as Ti'Zok was left to think.

***

The Elder entered the office of the Master of The Monastery He-Who-Walks-With-The-Void, where he sat at a large desk writing with quill and ink. He was old for a Varnava, having been an elder since the first days of contact with the Itzli Empire, before their assimilation. His carapace had been cracked and mended with a glittering gold metal that stood out against his green chitin, and both his blade arms ended in metal-capped stumps.

"The Nameless one has been given to the void, Master." The Master continued to write, dipping his quill in the ink well on his desk, writing in swift confident strokes that spoke of a lifetime of experience.

"You think it is too soon." He spoke after a pause, the only other sound the scratching of the quill.

"I will not argue against your wisdom, Master, but no other has ever been gifted so quickly." The Master set his quill back in the pot and leaned back, finished with his work for the moment.

"What you say is true, and had I not seen his behavior for myself, I would have questioned any who would have done as I did. He was ready, and delaying out of caution would perhaps have caused more harm than good."

"It is still dangerous."

"The Void is always dangerous child, you know this as we all do. Those given to the void do not always return, and sometimes what does return is a monster in the skin of another, it has always been this way. No, something else bothers you, speak."

"This one is different. I feel uneasy, as if whatever returns from that chamber will change everything, one way or another." The Elder admitted.

"Yes, you were always one of the most perceptive of my students, Percieves-The-Truth-Of-All-Things. You are right, there is something different about this one. I believe he may be the first to actually pass the test other than a Varnava."

"Pass, Master? But many who are not us have entered those chambers and returned."

"Yes, they returned to their old lives, terrified of what they experienced in those rooms. They try to bury it as deep as they can, so that they never think about it again. It is merely considered a tool by the Itzli to scare misbehaving scions into doing as is expected of them. We are merely a facet of the gem of greed in their eyes. The Way and Path are mere superstitions to them."

"Then, what I'm feeling is..."

"Yes, either One-Who-Is-Named will exit that chamber or nothing at all will."