What is the meaning of life? A question almost everyone has wrestled with—one that philosophers debated endlessly, that stained the halls of great nations, and plagued the thoughts of mortal beings. Perhaps the truer question is: what is the meaning of living? For then, the answer varies from person to person. There are those who find meaning in religion, serving a higher power. Others lose themselves in work or the pursuit of love. A few devote their lives to helping those around them, while some take comfort only in the suffering of others.
Yet no matter the path, in the end, people are all the same—sheep, cogs in a machine that turns endlessly, inexorably, until they break, with only their chosen purpose setting them apart. But the cogs do not build the machine; they do not dictate what it does—they only fit where there is space.
So what, then, was Urigi Pentox's purpose? As a child, he believed himself unique, purposeless, special in his emptiness. Who hadn't once imagined themselves the protagonist of their own story—dreaming of fighting dragons, saving princesses, exploring the stars, or embarking on any number of action-packed adventures? Yet, in the year 2447, Urigi's life held none of these things. Instead, he was a child abandoned on the doorstep of the Pentox Orphanage with only a name: Urigi. Like many orphans before him, he was adorned with the last name Pentox. However, that was the only merit he received from the orphanage. He grew up without the familial love many children took for granted, yet his life was neither cruel nor kind. It simply was, and he merely existed. The orphanage was poor, but he was fed, even if the meals were scraps, and the caretakers did not beat him as they did some others. Still, everyone avoided him. He had no friends, no parental figures, no one to speak to. It was as if the world knew he lived without a purpose.
Years passed in monotonous solitude, and Urigi realized a painful truth: without purpose, life held no reason. With no reason, why continue at all? With the rationality of an inexperienced youth, his thoughts turned to the extreme—ending it all. The impulse grew persistent, like the itch of a scab that could not be satiated, until finally his will collapsed. Yet, standing atop the orphanage, looking at the grass below, Urigi saw himself as a coward. With that realization, Urigi found his purpose: to endure torture. Not necessarily inflicted by others, but the slow, inevitable suffering of existence itself. Others lived harder lives than his, yet clung to hope. Urigi did not fool himself into thinking he had the worst fate; it was neither unique nor enviable. Perhaps it was his upbringing. Maybe it was his environment. Yet one thing remained: suicidal thoughts were a shadow he could never escape, one that would plague his existence.