Mother Night soaked in the pool like a blue iceberg, her glowing eyes watching Deathstroke with a measure of interest.
Though she was The Void and could be said to be the Mother of All, she could not understand what the human before her was thinking. That inevitably made her curious.
Not every human was worth being curious about. Most people's lives, if turned into stories, could be summed up in a single sentence.
That was the inscription on a tombstone: born in XX, died in XX. That counted as a story with a beginning and an end. As for what they had done in their lives, it meant nothing to anyone else.
Why? Because people became upset and sad when they lost something meaningful to them. Since, under normal circumstances, no one would climb onto a stranger's grave and burst into tears, that meant an ordinary person's life and death truly meant nothing to others.
Of course, some humans accomplished great things in their lives. Their deeds might fill an entire page in some book and be remembered by all humanity.
But viewed from farther away, those accomplishments only held meaning for humanity. And humanity was merely an inconspicuous member among billions of intelligent species in the universe.
God and most of the Endless favored humanity, but the reason for that was still meaningless to Mother Night.
Deathstroke, however, was different. He was the first human to reach Night Paradise since the universe's birth. That gave Mother Night a little more patience with him, and she wanted to hear whether he could say something that held meaning for her.
If he could, it would prove that he had been right about one thing: humans could also hold meaning for Mother Night. To protect her own interests, Mother Night would