As you consider eternity, the darkness fades away and you find yourself in a world of blurs and smudges.

The twin ghosts are no longer separate. Only one figure, black and stoic, stands and watches over you. Its face is a distorted beak, its hands clawed talons. It lacks stability in its form.

“This is everything,” it says. “This is the The Screaming Zahir without time to contain it. This is The Screaming Zahir without solidity of form that temporal limitations create. This may be the closest you ever come to your goal. All of everything is here. Everything that is not what you want and everything that is what you want.”

The blur of the universe, this universe, before you is disorientating. Everything moves like oil undulating in water.

Is this your destiny?