A man's search for meaning
In the realm of profound philosophical inquiry, there exists a certain book that beckons one to contemplate. Within its pages lies an intriguing notion, one that suggests even amid the throes of adversity, a peculiar form of meaning may emerge...
Could it be that the relentless pursuit of significance is, in itself, the source of madness?
At its core, the book insists that suffering, rather than a mere affliction, might serve as a crucible wherein the raw material of our life's purpose is transmuted. This premise leads one to ponder whether the tribulations endured throughout our existence serve as the furnace in which the metal of meaning is forged, hammering out the shape of our lives.
But Is the relentless pursuit of meaning the hallmark of humanity's indomitable spirit, or is it a manifestation of collective delusion within an insentient cosmos?
The mysteries endure, as does the enigmatic madness that accompanies their pursuit...
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??????/ ???? ?????? Pov :
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What is the purpose of one's life?
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From a purely biological standpoint, the answer is reproduction. Making sure one's genetic makeup gets passed on to the next generation...
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...But why should I care about that at all? I am not my genes, after all?
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From a religious perspective , our existence might be a way to repent for the sins of our ancestors, to cleanse our souls in preparation for entering the promised land...
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...But why does this seem so hollow....
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Looking at hedonism, the purpose of life is to enjoy it to the fullest, indulging in everything that makes one feel good.
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...But why does this sound so disgusting...
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Quoting nihilism, everything is meaningless so why should one care about religious or moral principles? Nothing really matters...
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...And why does this sound so sad...
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"The purpose of life is happiness, which is achieved by virtue, living according to the dictates of reason, ethical and philosophical training, self-reflection, careful and inner calm." The founder of stoicism once said...
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...and this feels...incomplete...
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What do I want?
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Love? Many say that it's the meaning of life..finding one's other half...
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Maybe I want to win? To stand atop all others , to stand undefeated above all the rest?
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Do I want recognition and praise , to hear the cheering crowd shouting my name?
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Do I want riches above measure , so much wealth that I could swim in it?
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Do I want to help my kin? To dedicate myself to helping those around me and making the world a better place?
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"What...what do I want?
Who am I?
What is my reason to keep on living?
Why am I alive in the first place?
Is there any reason...to keep on going...
It's all so....meaningless...
Nothing makes sense...
I don't know...
𝗜 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁...𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱..."
A child , stranded in the middle of an endless dessert kept repeating the same words , as if stuck in an endless loop.
He remained motionless, staring at nothing in particular.
And the time passed uncaring.
The youth started draining from the child's features.
As the years unfolded, a pervasive darkness seemed to settle upon the child.
The once-plump cheeks lost their youthful fullness, sinking into a hollowed, gaunt appearance. The smooth skin that had once exuded an aura of innocence was now marred by deep, sorrowful lines that etched a painful story of hardships endured.
Their eyes, once bright and brimming with optimism, now glistened with unshed tears, surrounded by heavy, dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and inner turmoil. The softness of childhood had given way to a harsher, more weathered countenance, as if the weight of the world had been placed upon their shoulders.
Even their posture had changed, with the once-upright stance now slouched under the weight of despair. The vibrancy of youth had been drained from their features, leaving behind a visage marked by the relentless march of time and the harshness of life's trials. It was a transformation that spoke of loss, a slow and painful erosion of the child's soul.
But just as he was about to surrender, his will to keep on living finally exhausted...he saw another man's figure in the distance.
With nothing left to lose, he approached the man and saw...a puzzling view.
The sun bore down relentlessly, casting an unforgiving glare upon the endless desert. Each step felt like an eternity as he trudged through the shifting sands, his thoughts weighed down by the heavy burden of his own despair. This vast wasteland seemed like a fitting reflection of his own life—a desolation with no end in sight.
As he stumbled forward, his eyes saw the figure better.
A mirage, perhaps?
The closer he got, the clearer the silhouette became.
It was a man, an old man...digging a hole in the sand with his bare hands.
The man's skin was leathered by years of relentless sun and sand. His hair, what little remained, was as white as the salt flats that stretched beyond the horizon. He wore tattered clothing that had long lost its original color, now a dusty, faded shade of beige. Despite his frailty, there was a stoic determination in the way he moved, the way his fingers clawed at the earth.
The depressed man couldn't fathom why this ancient soul was digging in the heart of the desert, a place devoid of life and purpose. He drew nearer, each step filled with uncertainty, until he stood only a few feet away from the relentless digger.
Their eyes met, and the old man's gaze held a depth that seemed to stretch beyond the ages. It was as if he had carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and yet, his spirit refused to break.
"Why?" the depressed man asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The old man paused his digging, wiping beads of sweat from his wrinkled brow. His lips, cracked and weathered, curved into a feeble smile. "For treasure," he replied, his voice raspy, carrying the wisdom of countless years.
Treasure? In this barren wasteland? The depressed man couldn't comprehend it. He looked down into the hole the old man had been excavating. There was nothing but more sand and emptiness.
"But there's nothing here," the depressed man protested.
The old man's smile widened, revealing a set of teeth that had endured a lifetime of chewing through life's challenges. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he said. "The treasure I seek is not of gold or jewels. It's the treasure of purpose, of hope, of refusing to surrender to the relentless sands of time."
With each word, the old man's eyes sparkled with an inner fire that seemed to transcend the harsh reality of the desert. He turned back to his futile task, his frail hands once again resuming their ceaseless digging.
The depressed man watched in awe, a newfound spark of curiosity igniting within him. Perhaps, in this desolate place, he too could unearth something more profound than the despair that had brought him here.
The depressed man couldn't resist his curiosity any longer. He needed to know more about this enigmatic old man. He approached the ancient figure and, breaking the silence that stretched between them, asked, "Who are you?"
The old man, still fervently digging, paused for a moment, as if pondering the weight of that question. Finally, he replied, "I am Negary."
The depressed man had expected an ordinary name, but this one carried an air of mystery. Negary—what kind of name was that? Silence fell once again between them as the old man resumed his relentless task, the rhythm of his digging becoming almost hypnotic.
The depressed man watched in amazement as Negary continued to struggle against the unyielding desert. His hands, gnarled and blistered, dug deep into the hot sand. Each scoop brought forth a cascade of grains, only to be replaced by more. It was a futile effort, a Sisyphean task, and yet, Negary persisted.
"Why?" the depressed man finally mustered the courage to ask. "Why do you struggle so much for seemingly no reason?"
Negary chuckled, the sound dry and raspy. "Ah, young one, you ask the questions that have haunted the ages." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "But before I answer, tell me, what is your name?"
The depressed man hesitated, struggling to remember a simple detail about himself. His name was buried beneath layers of despair, a distant memory he could barely grasp. "I...I don't remember," he admitted with a heavy heart.
Negary's eyes twinkled with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. "A name is just a label, a way for others to identify us," he said. "But it's not who we truly are. You have lost your name, but you are not lost. You are here, in this moment, searching for something, just like me."
The depressed man felt a glimmer of hope as Negary's words resonated within him. It was as if this old man, with his ceaseless digging and cryptic wisdom, held a key to a deeper understanding of life's purpose.
Negary turned back to his excavation, his ancient hands resuming their tireless work. The depressed man watched in silence, realizing that perhaps the answer to his own struggles lay not in the past or the future but in the present moment, in the act of searching and striving against the odds.
As such , the depressed man got on his knees, and slowly, carefully...started digging alongside the old man.
Unknowingly, a small spark had appeared in his otherwise empty eyes...
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Together, they continued to dig, two lost souls in the heart of the endless desert, bound by a shared quest for meaning and purpose.
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They continued digging, side by side, as the relentless sun bore down on them, making the already harsh conditions nearly unbearable. The air was scorching, the wind carried stinging grains of sand, and every muscle ached with the effort of their ceaseless labor. But something extraordinary was happening.
Slowly but surely, light began to bloom in the eyes of the once depressed man. It was as if the act of digging, of persevering against the odds, was breathing life back into him. The heaviness that had burdened his spirit for so long began to lift, and he started to resemble a human being once more, filled with purpose and determination.
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Years passed in that unforgiving desert, and the hole they dug remained the same size. It was an absurd endeavor, a monument to futility, and yet, the old man and the once depressed man continued to dig. They dug as if their lives depended on it, as if the act of digging itself was the treasure they sought.
Then, one day, as the old man's frail fingers clawed at the unyielding sand, he spoke softly but clearly, "Let me tell you something... Negary is not only a name... but a mindset. The mindset of growth... of evolution... of never giving up until you die... of climbing the mountain that is life... of digging in an endless desert, even though it may not matter... because this is who you are..."
The words hung in the hot desert air, carrying a profound truth that resonated deep within the once depressed man's soul.
As the old man continued to dig, his body seemed to wither and crumble before the once depressed man's eyes. He turned into dust, particles of sand and wind, under the serene gaze of his companion. It was a transformation unlike anything the man had ever witnessed, a merging of the old man with the very desert they had toiled in.
"I already know," the once man declared, his voice filled with a newfound fire that had ignited within him. As the old man merged with the desert, turning into sand, he kept on digging , and he would continue to dig, not because it necessarily mattered, but because it defined who he had become—a fighter in the face of the endless desert of life.
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The man, no longer defined by his depression, became a symbol of unwavering determination. He dug by himself, in the relentless desert, day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, decade by decade. His relentless toil against the unyielding sands was nothing short of...mad
His once-youthful face became etched with the passage of time, lines etched by the scorching sun and the weight of his endless task. His hair turned silver, and his once-strong frame grew frail. The tattered remnants of his clothing bore witness to years of grueling labor.
Through it all, he kept on digging.
There were countless times when he collapsed, overcome by exhaustion and despair. The desert winds howled in indifference, as if mocking his futile efforts. The sands of time seemed to conspire against him, burying his existence in the annals of forgotten history.
But each time he fell, he summoned an inner strength that defied reason. He clawed his way back to his feet, his hands bloodied and blistered, his body trembling with exhaustion. With every faltering step, he trudged back to the hole he had been excavating.
He kept on digging, not because he believed he would find treasure, not because he sought recognition, but because he had embraced the purpose he chose for himself—the unwavering resolve to persevere, no matter the odds.
The desert watched as the man aged progressively, his determination growing more profound with each passing year.
He dug through sun-scorched days and bone-chilling nights. He dug through sandstorms that blinded him and through the deafening silence that surrounded him. He dug through loneliness, through doubt, through moments when he questioned the purpose of his relentless endeavor.
But still, he kept on digging.
Decades turned into centuries, and yet the hole remained the same, an unyielding testament to the futility of his task. And though he had aged beyond recognition, his eyes still burned with the fire of his unending quest.
The man kept on digging relentlessly until, one fateful day, as he dug with his weathered hands, his fingers began to splinter and break apart, transforming into grains of sand before his very eyes.
𝗨𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴, he continued to dig, now using his stumps, determination etched in the lines of his face.
Time was cruel, and the desert was merciless. After a while, his arms, worn by years of ceaseless labor, also turned into sand and fell away.
𝗨𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗱, he used his legs, the last semblance of his humanity, to continue digging. Each shovelful of sand brought him closer to what he seeked.
Years passed, and the man's legs, too, succumbed to the relentless transformation. They crumbled into sand, leaving him with only his torso and head, suspended in the unyielding desert.
Still, he did not relent...
He began grabbing the sand with his mouth, digging with his teeth, driven by an unexplainable force that had taken root in his soul.
And as his torso began to disintegrate, the man who now had only his head left heard a familiar voice talking to him, a voice that seemed to emerge from the depths of the desert itself.
"Was it worth it? All this struggle?" The voice asked, its tone echoing with a haunting resonance.
Slowly, the man, with his head supported only by the sands of time, shifted his eyes to look at the source of the voice. There, before him, stood a child with empty eyes, gazing at what remained of him.
The man's head, his only remaining part, looked at the child with empty eyes and began to smile. A strange, almost manic glee overtook him. Slowly, his smile turned into chuckles, and then the chuckles escalated into a soft, barely audible laughter that echoed in the desolate expanse.
The child, with a frown upon their face, watched in bewilderment as the head continued to laugh. The transformation of the man's body into sand didn't deter his laughter. It was as if he had discovered a profound truth hidden within the relentless cycle of his existence.
"You are mad," the child declared, his voice cold and emotionless, "you are the very definition of insanity... doing the same thing over and over and over again... and look... all that hardship and struggle, for what?" He pointed at the small hole in the sand, which looked exactly as it did all those centuries ago. "You achieved nothing... you will be forgotten by the world the second you die... your whole existence is meaningless."
But the head of the man continued to laugh, harder and harder, uncaring for the child's words. His laughter filled the air, a testament to the defiance of his spirit.
"It's all a matter of perspective..." the man managed to say in-between his laughter. As his eyes slowly turned into sand, the child asked one final question.
"What is your name?" The child inquired.
At that, the head laughed even harder, a wild mirth that seemed to defy the very laws of existence.
"I am the one who should be asking you that question," the head wheezed, its voice now barely above a whisper. The sands of time finally consumed the man's head, merging him with the desert, but his laughter lingered in the air.
And so, the man who had once been lost in the depths of depression, who had become Negary, embraced the final transformation, finding peace in the knowledge that the struggle had been its own reward...
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The child with empty eyes, now left alone in the endless desert, kept staring at the place where the man had turned into sand, their expression unreadable. The vast emptiness stretched out before them, as far as the eye could see.
Slowly, the child turned their head and looked around the small hole the man had diligently dug over the centuries. What he saw left him in awe—it was a sight beyond imagination.
Mountains upon mountains of sand, towering towards the heavens, stretched into the sky, dwarfing the desert they belonged to. These colossal dunes were the result of the man's tireless struggle, his relentless pursuit, and his unwavering spirit.
The mountains of sand rose like monuments, each one a tribute to the man's resilience, a testament to the idea that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds , in a broken world...one could persevere
"A wise man once said that madness and greatness are neighbors... and they borrow each other sugar," the child muttered, a smile now adorning their otherwise expressionless face. It was a smile that acknowledged the extraordinary in the man's relentless quest.
Then, the child's gaze shifted back towards the small hole in the sand, and as he continued to ponder...a small, flickering flame...lit up their empty eyes.
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Negary pov :
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I slowly opened my eyes , feeling extremely refreshed.
'This was a good nap...' I thought as I bounced down from my mattress , my flesh suit on.
Now that I thought about it, this was the first time I've slept ever since I woke up in hell all those years ago. I even had a dream about something I didn't remember, but I think it was a nice dream...
"Leaf , how long did I sleep?" I asked seemingly at random ,but my wooden subordinate floated through the wall closest to me as soon as I finished speaking. It was honestly quite scary how well she could mask her presence now that she had mana to spare...
"You've slept for 2371 seconds" she replied quickly, and then floated away just as suddenly as she came. She was currently training her branch(heh) of Take-over magic (nature manipulation) since she claimed she felt close to a breakthrough, (whatever that meant).
I also had a small project that was close to completion , so I understood her desire to not allow any distractions to derail her train of thought.
'Almost 40 minutes of sleep...this would have been soo useful back when I was in medschool...' I thought amusedly as I pondered on the next step of my plan.
Taking a nap wasn't something I did because I liked to sleep (even though I did) , but because I had a feeling that what I was about to do would drain me so much that I might just fucking die if my mental state wasn't the literal.
My next move would probably be called reckless and insane by most, but I saw it as an inevitability it I wanted to win the game I was playing...
A game where I didn't know the rules...
Or who the players were...
And I could barely even see the board...
How does one win such a game, you might wonder.
'Well...by cheating of course.' I thought as I exited my flesh golem , letting it flop on the bed once more. It has been a week ever since I became King , and I dropped all my work on Tyrion. The only thing I did by myself was talk to Ned about breaking my engagement to his daughter...but this was so utterly unimportant right now that it wasn't even funny.
No no no...everything else besides what I was about to do was completely irelevant.
And as I slowly floated my soul form in the air , in the middle of my royal chamber, there was only one thought that was still allowed to exist inside my mind.
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'It's horcrux time...'
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Stat changes :
Soul camouflage - novice(+)