For Lulal, the world had shrunk to two realities: the fire in his knee, and the solid, dependable presence of Gilgamesh beside him.
After a desperate, brutal negotiation involving Gilgamesh single-handedly subduing (but not killing) the chieftain's most rebellious son, the Sand-Walkers had released them with a grudging respect and a waterskin. They had stumbled south for days, Lulal's leg a throbbing mass of agony, their thirst a raging beast in their throats.
When they saw the date palms, they thought it a final, cruel mirage. But the shade was real. The water, when they collapsed beside it, was sweet and cold.
The oasis was a tiny paradise, a secret pocket of life hidden by the harsh hills. For three days, they did nothing but exist. Gilgamesh hunted hares with a newfound, efficient calm. He helped Lulal wash and re-bind his leg, his powerful hands surprisingly gentle. The fever broke. The pain receded to a dull ache.
One afternoon, Gilgamesh emerged from the spring, shaking his dark hair like a dog, a genuine, unburdened laugh escaping his lips. The sound was so foreign, so purely joyful, that Lulal could only stare.
"What?" Gilgamesh asked, catching his look.
"I've never heard you laugh," Lulal said.
Gilgamesh's smile faded slightly. "There was nothing to laugh about in my father's house. Everything had its place, its purpose. Even me." He sat beside Lulal, his gaze distant. "He had my life charted before I could walk. Scholar, soldier, king—a perfect component for his perfect machine. This…" he gestured around them, "…this has no purpose. It just is. It's better."
Lulal leaned back against a palm tree, the weight of his quest feeling distant, almost foolish. Here there was water, food, and a strange, powerful boy who was becoming a friend. The memory of the plague, of Enki's betrayal, of his family's fate… it all seemed to belong to another, more complicated world. This was simple. This was enough.
He watched Gilgamesh, no longer a demigod or a prince, but just a boy, trying to skip a flat stone across the water. The sight filled Lulal with a profound and piercing peace. It was the most dangerous feeling he'd had since leaving Ur.
This peace was the true trial. The oasis wasn't a sanctuary; it was a siren's call, weaving a lie of contentment, urging them to abandon their war before it had even truly begun. In the quiet rustle of the palms, he could almost forget the sound of a dying city, and the question he had crossed a desert to ask.