It awakens from nothingness; a mote of existence in this place, like a drop of water in an empty lakebed. It has only now begun to know sensation, and is immediately able to tell that it cannot feel any.
The mind swirls. It roils as a foggy rapid within the form that has been taken.
Suddenly, a noise brings the vessel’s senses to attention.
“Vessel… *COUGH* Come here.”
A voice. It beckons, and the vessel has no inclination not to follow.
The figure in front of the vessel dwarfs it, though the vessel is not afraid. Instead, it feels a pang of pity.
“Where am I?”
The question spills from the vessel, unable to be held back.
The gargantuan figure answers. “You are in a plane outside of the physical world. Where things come from when they are born.”
The vessel fails to comprehend the answer’s whole meaning, but feels somewhat satisfied regardless. Nevertheless, the questions continue. “Who… am I? What am I?”
The figure sighs, before hacking out another booming cough.
“You are an empty husk, which I have granted life. Your creator worked so much love into your form, but in the end, you were abandoned. The magic inside of you was getting to be so advanced, but it was not allowed to flourish,” it says.
The vessel takes a moment to think.
“Why have you chosen me, if I was abandoned already?” Its voice seems to waver.
The figure shudders another terrible cough, taking a moment to regain its composure. It reaches out a hand to the vessel, lifting it to its face.
“This will go quicker if I direct the conversation.”
It takes a breath, almost to steel its nerves, before continuing.
“The long and short of it is that I am dying. My life has been cut short, and when I pass, the current era will come to an end. Most will die. The rest will struggle, tooth and nail. It will be the end times.”
The vessel takes a moment to comprehend the enormity of the statement. “Am I… meant to save you?”
The vessel’s question is answered with another labored sigh from the enormous figure.
“No... No, I simply wanted to create life one last time before I disappear. I suppose I took pity upon you,” the figure explains.
“My only task for you… *COUGH* *COUGH* …is to live. This is a second chance at life for you. Learn what it means to live. You are my final work: my magnum opus.”
The vessel feels an immense pressure.
“What if I disappoint you?”
The figure gently chuckles.
“You won’t.”
Another question emerges from the vessel.
“Why have you given me life when I will so soon pass away in your wake?”
The figure winces. If it has nerves, one seems to have been struck.
“I am sorry that your life is defined by such circumstances. Truly. All I can say is to be grateful for the day you would not have had if I had raised you to life tomorrow.”
The vessel’s mind spins, so many more questions waiting to be asked, but it appears that its time here has run out.
“The door of life is finally calling your name, vessel.”
The vessel sees it: an enormous door, etched of marble and light, calling the vessel inside.
“My name… My name! What is my name?”
The figure indulges the vessel’s final question.
“Arma! Your name is Arma!”
And with this last revelation, the void closes around Arma. Slowly, the inky darkness is replaced with a corporeal darkness. Reality takes hold, and Arma’s body stirs. Her body.
“If you’ve seen “Spartacus” — if you haven’t, go watch it, fall in love with this beautiful activity all over again, and then come back and keep reading — think about that show for a minute. Other than a brief opening moment and prior to the ballad, when is there a truly resounding impact melody in that show? Even the ballad itself is only half of a true pay-off.”
