Chapter 18: The Meeting of Gilgamesh and Enkidu
Gilgamesh's anger was real.
He had activated Clairvoyance, the sight that could peer into the future, and through it he had found Enkidu at this very moment.
That was not what he wanted.
He had used Clairvoyance to search the future for traces of Rowe.
Rowe had been missing for seven days.
Seven days ago, he entered the Demonic Beast Forest to suppress the uprising in the west. Since then, even after repeated searches, no one had found so much as a footprint. No news. No body. Not even a rumor that held together.
Rowe had openly defied him, yes. But he was still Gilgamesh's subordinate. In the King's eyes, no one except the King himself had the right to decide Rowe's fate.
So Gilgamesh came personally.
If Rowe was alive, he would drag him back to Uruk.
If Rowe was dead, the King would pass judgment on whatever mongrel had dared lay hands on a vassal of the throne.
Yet in the place where Rowe had vanished, Gilgamesh did not find Rowe.
He found a messenger of the gods.
Gilgamesh did not know that this messenger had been under Rowe's teaching for seven straight days. He did not know that Rowe had become the Key of Heaven, a third crucial piece alongside the Heavenly Wedge and the Chains of Heaven. He did not know that Rowe was far enough away, and hidden enough, that not even Clairvoyance could catch his trail.
Clairvoyance was not omniscience. It was normal for it to fail against existences of equal caliber. Rowe had kept using the Gate of Babylon during these seven days, but only for travel. He had not truly drawn on the weapons inside. Gilgamesh sensed nothing from his treasury. Nothing that could point to Rowe.
But Gilgamesh did not think that far.
His instinctive disgust toward the gods snapped the puzzle into the wrong shape.
The first thing he concluded was simple.
The gods had acted.
They had murdered Rowe, the blasphemer who interrupted the Festival in the Pantheon. They had erased him so thoroughly that neither the present nor the future could reveal his trace.
If that was true, then the King's wrath would not be contained.
West of Uruk.
Beyond the walls of the Demonic Beast Forest, the sky hung like a blue curtain over the wilderness. The forest edge was thick and alive, the border walls tall, and the watchtowers still crowded with guards.
After Rowe disappeared into the trees, the demonic beasts had gone quiet. No more riots. No more tide of claws and fangs.
But the duty of the border guards was to prevent chaos before it could start again. For seven days, they had kept the defenses tighter than ever while sending search parties deeper into the forest.
It was during one of those watches that a soldier on the wall suddenly stiffened and looked up.
A flying craft cut across the heavens.
It had green wings and a golden seat, powered by a star core from the Age of Gods, overflowing with magical energy. There was no mistaking it.
In Uruk, there was only one person who rode that vessel.
Only one person who would descend on it like a judgment.
"The King?" the guard gasped.
Before anyone could react, the craft became a streak of burning light and plunged into the Demonic Beast Forest, vanishing beyond the canopy.
Inside that blaze, Gilgamesh sat upon a golden throne like a war god.
Both his appearance and his aura were different from his usual lazy arrogance.
His golden hair was swept back, exposing his forehead and sharpening the edge of his presence. He wore battle armor that gleamed like a second sun, heavy and radiant, bright enough to hurt the eyes.
This was the armor he wore when he judged those who dared offend the King.
His fingers tapped the armrest once.
The craft surged deeper into the forest, then finally slowed and hovered in the air.
He had arrived.
The place his Clairvoyance had shown him was right here.
Then Gilgamesh spoke, voice cold enough to freeze fire.
"Having seen this King, glorious and great, do you still think you can hide like a bug in shadows and filth? Come out, mongrel sent by those corrupt and useless wretches."
Below, among the roots and leaves, someone heard him.
Emerald green eyes lifted to the sky, filled with quiet confusion.
Rowe said he was going to fetch water. He said he was thirsty. Why had he not returned yet?
What was that thing in the air?
Enkidu stared up at the golden green vessel, never having seen anything like it. The newborn weapon was stunned for a heartbeat.
Gilgamesh saw the figure below.
A young girl stood in the forest wearing a loose white priest's robe. Green hair flowed down her back. Her build was slender, her face delicate. The robe she wore had once belonged to Rowe.
She also carried the unmistakable scent of divinity.
In that instant, Gilgamesh's killing intent flared hotter.
His crimson pupils narrowed to slits, cold as unmelting bedrock in the deepest underworld.
"Mongrel crawling in the mud," he growled.
Enkidu's brows creased.
Seven days ago, Enkidu would have been blank and innocent. Now, it already had self awareness no worse than any human. It did not know who this golden man was, or why he stank of hostility.
But Enkidu understood one thing clearly.
Rowe had taught it.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
If someone attacked, it would strike back harder.
The aura coming from this King was not the same as Rowe's. It did not feel intimate. It felt sharp, oppressive, and hostile.
So Enkidu did not hesitate.
Gilgamesh rose slowly from his throne.
"Not only do you refuse to surrender, you intend to resist this King's judgment. Then are you prepared to bear the sin of angering me."
Golden light shimmered around him.
Ripples spread in the air.
The Gate of Babylon opened, and a sharp divine sword dropped into his hand, shining like a star fallen from heaven. It was a treasure even among his vast collection.
Gilgamesh gripped it tightly.
Below, Enkidu stood silent beneath drifting shade. The plain white robe fluttered around its body. Dust and pressure rose between them like the sea before a storm.
Neither had moved yet.
But the magical energy surging from both sides collided instantly, becoming a terrifying torrent that shook the forest floor. The ground trembled. A nearby stream rippled in widening circles.
Rowe, kneeling by that stream with a clay bowl in hand, froze at the sight.
He looked at the water, then slowly stood and turned his head.
Far away, he could already see the presence at the center of the forest.
"Gilgamesh is here?"
His senses sharpened.
Gilgamesh had arrived.
And he had met Enkidu.
They were about to fight.
Rowe dropped the bowl. It shattered on the stones with a dull clang.
Then he sprinted toward the clearing, as if this moment had been waiting for him from the start.
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