Without a doubt, Enkidu loved humanity.
Perhaps she loved the myriad creatures of nature even more—but that didn't change the truth of her affection for humans.
Under her influence, Ophis, too, began observing this "interesting" species—so Enkidu called them—with greater attention.
From Ophis's perspective, humans were far too fickle. What they affirmed one day, they denied the next. Compared to dragons or gods, their minds were astonishingly inconsistent.
Maybe that came from their short lives. For those who lived endlessly, changing one's beliefs so often might drive them mad.
And yet… humanity seemed to contain fragments of every other race.
Some were more lustful than succubi, others purer than angels.
Some greedier than dragons, while others regarded gold as dust.
Some possessed wills stronger than gods, while others broke at the lightest touch.
Some were blessed with talents that even higher beings envied; others remained ordinary no matter how hard they struggled.
Some embodied kindness beyond saints.
And some, cruelty fouler than devils.
Ophis remembered her own world.
From what she recalled of that distant realm, after countless ages, both angels and devils had begun choosing their successors from among humans. Even the "Sacred Gears" forged by God—including the Longinus capable of slaying deities—could only be wielded by mortals.
She recalled Cao Cao—the human who dared to challenge gods and devils alike with nothing but human strength.
In one possible future, he had even defeated the Governor-General of the Fallen Angels by exploiting a flaw. He had once stolen her power, severing the "infinite" through sheer cunning—though she could have crushed him at any time.
Arrogant, foolish, perhaps even ridiculous—but his resolve had been genuine.
What he sought to prove was humanity itself.
Humans…
In the end, Ophis concluded: they were beings of limitless potential—and of equally boundless self-destruction.
"And that is precisely why guiding them, awakening their potential, and preventing their ruin—that is the duty of a king."
Enkidu's response was light, touched with quiet laughter.
Humans were, indeed, fascinating. On that point, Ophis agreed.
Watching the countless shades of human nature—their brilliance and their flaws alike—had become, unexpectedly, an engaging pastime.
But… a king's duty?
Ophis's gaze turned toward the throne at the far end of the great hall.
A throne she had never once occupied.
She walked toward it slowly, fingertips brushing its surface—crafted from the finest materials, reserved for kings alone.
Most of the time, unless a matter demanded her direct attention, Ophis only kept a sliver of her consciousness on the outer world. The rest was turned inward, always focused on refining her control over energy.
That was why her eyes so often appeared empty—distant, detached—reflecting her indifference toward all things.
And yet, even in this shallow awareness…
Looking at Enkidu's gentle smile, Ophis's eyes flickered faintly.
Perhaps she could spare a little more attention—be just a little more present.
If only for the sake of that comforting smile that felt like peace itself—like the quiet she loved so deeply.
With that thought, Ophis sat upon the throne for the very first time.
Enkidu's smile grew even brighter.
...
From the day she made that decision, Ophis began seriously studying the knowledge stored within herself, replying to Enkidu more often—and even being dragged into physical fights on a regular basis.
Very proper physical fights, mind you.
Before long, she discovered that using precise bursts of energy in close combat not only sharpened her fighting ability but also greatly improved her weakest skill: control.
And so the balance between them shifted. What had once been Enkidu's occasional attempt to vent her own wild instincts turned into something else entirely. Now, from time to time, she would feel a small tug on her robe. Looking down, she'd find a pair of silver-gray eyes gazing up at her from a perfect forty-five-degree angle—adorable no matter how often she saw it.
Of course, hearing the word "fight" spoken from such a blank, expressionless face was anything but cute.
Still, it gave Enkidu an opportunity.
Like a patient teacher, she began making their "battles" conditional on Ophis first completing her duties as ruler.
Secretly, she hoped that one day, Ophis might call these sessions playing.
Well, even if it was just a little "play between girls," that would be fine too…
Meanwhile, the city-state of Uruk flourished alongside the deepening bond between Ophis and Enkidu.
Enkidu herself had little talent for administration—but fortunately, Ophis had inherited a vast amount of relevant knowledge from "it."
She couldn't create a completely new governing system suited perfectly to this era, yet she could easily refine and optimize what already existed.
At the same time, Ophis immersed herself in studying the magecraft of the Age of Gods. Though she had already mastered nearly all human-accessible spells, few were of real use to a being who carried the memories of a dragon.
Thankfully, Enkidu possessed an extensive knowledge of divine magecraft—techniques handed down directly from the gods themselves.
They were spells on par with the True Magic of later ages—arts belonging to a time when gods still walked the earth.
By dragon standards, Ophis wasn't particularly gifted at complex magecraft beyond her trademark energy cannons, but she knew that deepening her understanding would be vital for her future.
Her energy was unlike ordinary mana. It was pure, formless—capable of transforming into any type she had ever witnessed. That, after all, was the essence of her trait: Infinity.
From her inherited memories, Ophis recalled that her ability to grant power to others stemmed from this very adaptability. Without it, any recipient would have been destroyed instantly.
Even so, highly specialized energies—like Baal's magic embodying the concept of "destruction"—required thorough analysis before replication was possible.
Converting her own energy into magical power always introduced a slight delay. That much was unavoidable, since magecraft inherently relied on mana.
Unless she could advance her understanding enough to rewrite spells so they used her pure energy directly, that delay would remain.
Naturally, Ophis hadn't ignored another favorite pursuit: collecting treasures. By now, she had gathered nearly every significant artifact humanity had to offer in this era.
Seriously, how can a civilization advanced enough to build flying ships not have paper?
She eyed the stacks of stone tablets and magical texts piled into a small mountain and sighed inwardly.
She knew how to make paper herself, of course—but without confirming the materials and techniques of this age, she refrained from introducing it.
And so the days passed.
Ophis's consciousness cycled steadily between governing with Enkidu, studying magecraft with Enkidu, sparring with Enkidu, collecting treasures with Enkidu—and simply being with Enkidu.
Under their guidance, Uruk prospered. Smiles grew more frequent, and even the shadows Ophis once noticed faded bit by bit.
But unnoticed by all, another shadow—far greater and far darker—was already drawing near, silently yet inexorably, from beyond the horizon.