Once upon a time, was a Fool who thought he'd find purpose in his life along the way.

He wandered through the unknown road, certain that it would give answers the world had hidden. The sky was pale. The kind of grey that promised neither rain nor mercy.

The Fool filled the silence with meaning, convinced each step mattered. But the deeper he went, the heavier it grew — as if the air itself was watching.

Then came the hum beneath the earth. Low. Ancient. Patient. Not a chase, but a waiting. The sound of Oblivion. The hunger that came not to chase, but to wait.

"Don’t you run and hide from the truth, you decide. Everything that lives is gone to waste."

It whispered from the soil, from the hollow behind his ribs. He knew then it would unmake him slowly — heartbeat by heartbeat — until only silence wore his name.

And so he prayed, not for light, but for mercy. To fade before the hum remembered him.

That night, beneath a dying tree, The Fool watched the stars go out one by one, and wished not for meaning — only for rest.