Eve watched Tamar for a long time, with such absolute stillness it seemed almost sacred. In that dense silence, none dared to breathe, some delicate balance woven through the air wavering, once, twice until finally Eve let out a cry and dashed towards the other woman. 

Tamar smiled, bittersweet, but remained still as Eve’s reaching hands passed through her body as they would through air. Struck off-balance, Eve stumbled, then fell, collapsing at the foot of the couch. There was so much pressure in her chest she worried it may burst, magic shimmering in a thin veil along every limb: joy, confusion, and terror that this might all be a dream. Tamar’s expression remained calm. Her ghostly limbs trailed along velvet fabric, pulling in until she could cross her legs in a more compact posture. One hand lifted, the pale woman looked for a moment as though she might stroke Eve’s hair. Instead, with some unidentified venom, she drew further away. 

Eve trembled, eyes stinging. “I don’t understand.” A blotchy red color spread across her cheeks and down her neck. “Why are you like this?” 

“I’m dead. Can’t you see?” 

“You can’t be,” Eve whispered. “You’re here.” 

“I am,” Tamar agreed, and this time, when she reached for Eve and cupped her cheek, her touch was firm. It lasted a handful of seconds. Then her body flickered, and one leg phased straight through the couch. “And I am not. It is hard to understand, even for myself. There is a disturbance, in the world, on both sides of the barrier. Someone has interfered with the flow of things. I am not supposed to be here. That much is clear.”

“Hedeon,” Eve whispered, and Tamar’s eyes hardened.  

“Do not say his name, not in this sacred place. It is only by virtue of being what we are - withered as we are - that we have been able to escape his notice for so long. If he were to discover us now, it would force us into a fight we could not possibly win.” 

“That’s not quite what Han told us earlier.” Samir had come close, a curious light in his eyes. “You look familiar.” 

Tamar startled at Samir’s approach. Then her lips split into a broad, genuine smile, her laughter shaking the room. “Do I now? And how do I look to you?” 

“Well,” Samir’s hand was resting on his holster. “You have too many eyes, for one thing. Four of them. And that’s just on your face.” Eve frowned. The appearance he was describing, was that of Mira’s true form - one the seer of prophecies only revealed when threatened. 

“You’re certainly an interesting one,” Tamar waved her hand, her image wavering slightly with the rush of magic that seeped out. “But you must learn to see beyond the veil consistently, if you’re hoping to be of any use.” Samir’s posture relaxed as the spell fell over him, the effects of Tamar’s presence fading. 

“What are you?” 

Tamar’s head tipped, as though deciding whether to indulge the man’s curiosity. “I am that which you are afraid of. I dare say, you must be the owner of an interesting prophecy, if you saw Mira’s form in mine. A word of advice - some questions are not meant to be answered.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Samir said dryly. “In the meantime, would you mind?” His eyes strayed meaningfully towards Arman, who had gone pale and begun to shake. Tamar smiled, and with another wave of her hand, released the man from his terror. 

“You’ll forgive a simple test. Not very hardy that one, is he?” 

“He is not for you to judge,” Samir replied. Arman snarled as he came to, posture prepared for a lunge. Only Samir’s raised arm stopped the man. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from any future tests. Next time, I will not allow them to slide.” 

“Allow them?” Tamar’s expression turned sickly sweet. “You must have the confidence to back those words up, then?” 

“Stop, Tamar.” Eve’s voice had gone flat, otherworldly. An untraceable danger laced her words, enough so that Tamar flinched backwards. Han, who had remained silent all this time, colored a dark and furious red. 

“You dare threaten-”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Tamar stood, long, golden hair swaying, and silenced him with the wave of a single finger. “Quiet, Han. She is only performing her role.” 

Eve blinked rapidly, the world swimming, a haze of calculated anger fading . “What did I just-” 

“Come, Eve,” Tamar said, and strode towards one side of the room, her footsteps so fluid it seemed she was floating. It was clear the rest were not meant to follow.  “There is something I must show you.” They passed through a small, nondescript door, and into a dimly lit hall that echoed with whispers. Each sound seemed to pull Eve forward, guiding her legs, her arms, even her fingertips with gentle, familiar prickles. It wasn’t long before the hall came to an abrupt end, and opened into another open room, not unlike the one they had just come from. On one side, a large sheet of glass revealed the city below. On the other, a podium, and a single, dark box.  

“I didn’t think you were a fan of clichés,” Eve said, eyeing the black fabric of the container apprehensively. “All you’re missing is a spotlight.” 

“I have always been a fan of efficiency. If they’re too scared to touch it, they’re not going to touch it,” Tamar grinned, and in the joy there, Eve saw a flicker of the woman she used to know. The woman who had held her hands when in terror of the blood she’d spilled, she had attempted to spill her own in repentance. Her dear friend, who bore an equally heavy burden, who’d sacrificed her own life for Eve’s sanity and freedom. 

That was in the past. 

“Don’t tell me you want me to touch it?” 

“Don’t you want to?” Tamar inclined her head. And in truth, Eve was beginning to shake with the effort it was taking her to stay still, to listen. Those whispers had intensified with every step they’d taken into the room, beckoning her forward. She was helpless before them, a moth to a flame. 

“What is it?” 

“You fear it,” Tamar realized. “Why do you fear it? It is your destiny.”  

Eve felt a flash of frustration. The expectation towards her had been building since they’d encountered Han - though, admittedly, perhaps she had begun expecting something of herself also. “Destiny? Look at me, Tamar. What can I possibly do in my current state?” 

“In that form? Not much. But there are steps you can take. Weapons you can wield.” 

“Weapons?” Eve faltered. 

“Yes. Did you think we sat here, twiddling our thumbs, while that man destroyed the balance of the world in your absence?” 

Her heart had leapt into her throat, making her words thick, uneven. In the excitement of reuniting with Tamar, Eve had almost forgotten. But now that word echoed in her head - she could hear it woven in with the whispers that had snared her heart. “Destroyer. Why did you call me that?” 

“Have you never wondered why Hedeon kept you sealed away? Why the gods allowed it?” Tamar asked quietly, and without a single trace of jest. “It is because they were afraid.” 

“Bullshit,” Eve hissed.

“They were afraid. You were not a god. You were there to keep the balance - a destroyer of the Elder Gods. You were a being above them all, and they could allow no such thing in the divine hierarchy.” Tamar was not gentle as her hands yanked Eve towards the pedestal. The voice from the box became overwhelming, controlling, and Eve found herself walking forward, powerless to resist. 

It was larger than she thought, up close. A long box, perhaps the width and length of her arm. Nestled within a violet silk, and glimmering softly, was a sword. Her fingers traced the blade. Eve shuddered, a flood of emotions - joy, a sense of rightness, clicking in her chest. Not her emotions, but the weapon’s. Something sparked, energy dancing between her fingers and the metal. 

“The Sword of Eon,” Tamar said, observing the interaction. “As I suspected, it was waiting for you. It is said to possess the power to pierce the very essence of a god - but no one before you had been able to touch it. Eve lifted the sword, feeling its weight and balance. It felt natural in her grasp,  an extension of her arm. 

But it was too heavy. 

A soft violet glow swallowed the blade. It began to shrink. Then, it began to churn. The hilt warped, becoming uneven, the blade folding in around itself, forming a barrel. 

Within seconds what Eve held was not a sword, but a silver handgun. 

Tamar looked baffled. “Your taste has changed.” 

Eve flicked the safety off, then back on, and shrugged. “Humans are efficient. You’d like them.” Tamar turned away, looking out the window, where despite the morning sun, the light of homes spilled down the mountain like a flow of magma. 

“I feel…a kinship with them recently. Perhaps it is out of desperation. But look at us. We all know we will not last through this conflict, and yet, we persist, as though we might. As though we are alive.” 

The pain in Tamar’s voice was real - as was the determination in the set of her jaw. Eve wondered if she meant to sacrifice herself, and realized, Samir must have felt much the same about her words. 

“Don’t say that,” Eve whispered. And suddenly she knew exactly how Samir had felt when she’d attempted to do the same thing. 

“There’s little I can do. But you may have a chance yet.” 

“Tamar,” Eve said with sudden urgency. “How did you learn of all this? What happened to you?” 

“Come,” Tamar said, pulling her away from the window, forcefully ignoring Eve’s question. “There is one more thing I must show you.”