Dayat stood in the center of an absolute white void. There was no floor to stand on, no sky to shelter beneath. He couldn't even see his own hands, as if his entire existence had dissolved into particles of light. There was only a blinding whiteness and a silence so profound it threatened to shatter the eardrums of the soul.
Then, the voice came.
It didn't come from the front, nor from above. The voice filled every inch of space, seeping into his soul like air suddenly manifesting into a majestic vibration. It was a voice that could not be defined—neither masculine nor feminine, neither old nor young. A voice that had existed long before time was ever conceived.
"Hidayat Nur Mustafidl."
Dayat tried to answer. His lips parted, but there was only silence. Gulp. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt as parched as a desert.
