The foam of a billion seas crashes ashore—bubbles frothing at the boundary between sinking ground and unholy horrors—each pocket of air whispering promises of endless avarice and gluttony from those who dwell beneath. Few souls would brave this darkening night on the Banks of Uncertainty. But Eve isn't just anyone. Or rather, she no longer needs courage to face life.
"Hilarious, don't you think?"
"What is?" Eve tilted her head, her impassive eyes daring a reply.
"Oh, nothing much," a grating litany echoed—voiceless, yet resonant, as if spoken through stone.
"Ten nights ago, you were curled in your sheets—rotting on what you called your bed. Shivering—not from the encroaching cold or frost, but from the sheer incapacity to face fears that ordinary people confront every day: life, living, the mundane."
The clouds parted, shattering the illusion of an ocean above—an otherwise grand reflection of the fizzling depths before Eve's bare feet. A radiant silver beam pierced the veiled firmament, illuminating her inscrutable face with a soft embrace.
"To wake up and brush your teeth was a monumental task, the stuff of myth! To shovel dirt, dig ditches, uphold your city? A nightmare beyond imagining. You feared being a burden—while being the very burden you despised."
The echoes coalesced into a crescendo, staving off the whistling winds with a force unknown—silencing the breath of nature itself. In its place came a quiet murmur, whispering directly into Eve's ears.
"But now? Now you're out here. Sitting on the precipice of Uncertainty and Taint. Now, you'll help Me. You will face true Rot and tame true Fear. In other words, you will do My bidding. Your waking hours are Mine to command. You won't rest when you're tired—only when I say so. If I say so. And in doing so, you will help Me help yourself."
A silent laugh curled from Eve's pursed lips. "What a ridiculous notion. Is that what you want? To help me?"
The entity smiled. Her lips cracked wide—wide enough to bridge shores separated by oceans.
"Help you? No, not quite. You will help everyone—from those who came before you to those who will follow after."
The voice coiled tighter. Tremors floated down it's spine, fraying into sharp edges.
"Those who once shared cups with your distant ancestors have already drunk and cheered—in your name. There will be those who do the same with your descendants."
The stench of its whispers wailed louder with fanatic, undulating excitement.
"Yes, long after you've passed, your body might fade to ash, but you… you will not."
"They will drink, too. They will drink longer, cheer louder. Their taverns will be adorned with unfading reverence to your name. You, who are blessed with My curse… you will help Me save the world."
The enormity of the concept could evoke only frivolity. Eve laughed—bitter, hollow.
"Save the world? Me?", she hissed.
"I can't even save myself, foul creature. I've toiled decades slinging earth below harrowing trenches—in company of beasts dressed in the shape of men. Ten years—no, the ten best years of my life—I've wasted. And all for what? For a silly ambition to enact revenge?"
The winds bellowed, singing salt on to her cracked lips. Still, her throat surged with fervour, chewing out words unimpeded.
"I've dreamed of a righteous war—a just war—against the forces that robbed me of my dignity. They killed my kin—friends and family alike—naked corpses strewn like common litter in the mud. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing. Less than nothing."
Eve choked on mixed feelings of indignation with frustration—the cocktail of gushing emotions painting her face with blush.
"I started my journey with loss, and in my search for justice, I've lost myself. There is no flame, no kindling of desire for you to weaponise. Yet you ask this of me, of all people? Me—a hollow shell possessed by a sincere monster; the me who would fit better in a cemetery than a home made of warmth. And one… who is condemned to it regardless."
As she squeezed those words from her wringing heart, Eve's irises bloomed with an inkling of understanding.
"You...you are aware, aren't you? That I'm not long for the grave?"
The entity looked on—Her unflinching gaze peering through layers unseen—Her smile widening further.
The feverish rant stirred a hint of resistance in Eve's defeated soul. "You know," she said, her eyes reflecting a dangerous glint, "you are exactly the kind of person I hate most."
The discordant voice suddenly broke into melodious laughter.
"I do. I know well, child. I know better than anyone."
Yes… Eve wasn't just anyone. At least, she wasn't any one.
"The thing you detest most," the entity whispered, "has always been yourself."