Amidst the chaos, Ninsun's hut remained an island of peace. The air within still smelled of drying herbs and the slow, calm rhythm of a life devoted to healing. It was the one place the war had not touched, the one place Enki could still be just a son.
He found her grinding a poultice, her hands, though aged, still steady.
"The air tastes of fear," she said, not looking up. "And your footsteps are heavy with it."
He sank onto a stool, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. "He is using everything I taught him against me. He is turning their hearts with a truth I cannot speak."
Ninsun stopped her work and looked at him, her eyes, old and deep as a well, seeing through to his soul. "A heart broken by truth cannot be mended with a lie, my son. Not even a loving one." She reached out, her hand cool on his fevered brow. "But a heart can be broken many ways. By a sword, or by carrying too great a weight. You are trying to carry the weight of every heart in this valley. It will break you."
In that quiet hut, with his mother's hand on his head, Enki, the immortal from the future, felt like a small boy again, and for a moment, the weight felt bearable.