The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the flickering torchlight as I made my way through the corridors.
The stone walls seemed colder tonight, and the familiar scent of incense hung heavy in the air.
After talking to Neval and spending time with Ennari... there was still one more person I needed to see.
I couldn't avoid it—if I was going to do something dangerous, I had to tell her.
My feet led me to the small private temple dedicated to Enki, where I knew I'd find her. As I approached, the soft hum of distant chanting and the gentle sound of water greeted me. This place always had a sense of serenity—something rare within the palace walls. My mother often stayed here, meditating.
When I entered, the light from the oil lamps danced across the stone floor, casting long, wavering shadows. She knelt before a small altar, where a clear vessel of water sat at the center. She didn't turn to look at me, but I knew she sensed my presence. In this place, words were rarely needed.
"Lost in your thoughts again, my dear?" her voice was soft, like a whisper wrapped in warmth.
I tried to keep my posture relaxed, but the tension in my shoulders betrayed me. She rose slowly, turning to face me. Her eyes were calm but piercing, as if they could see right through me.
"Your eyes show more than just the exhaustion from training" she said. "What's on your mind?"
I swallowed, trying to find the right words.
"I'm going to face the Wendigo."
Her calm expression didn't change, but her gaze deepened, searching my face for something. A hint of sadness crept into her eyes.
"I knew you'd come to this decision. But when I told you to make the gods regret not choosing you, I didn't mean just through battle. There are many gods, and they choose for many reasons—not just strength. Sometimes, what they seek is wisdom, kindness, or resilience."
She guided me to sit on a stone bench beside the altar, the cool surface grounding me.
"I understand what you're saying, but..." I hesitated.
She gave me a gentle smile.
"You know I'm one of the most important priestesses in Uruk, right?"
I nodded.
"It's mostly because of my power—and my edict. I don't think I've ever told you, have I?"
I shook my head. She sighed softly, almost as if gathering her thoughts.
"I didn't tell you before for two reasons. First, you were so young back then—and with how restless you were, I didn't want it slipping out. Some things are better kept quiet."
She gave me a small, almost apologetic smile.
"And the other reason... it's because mine isn't as restricting as your father's."
"My blessing allows me to see the future through visions, but they must be interpreted. That's why I'm crucial for the kingdom. But my edict, on the other hand, doesn't allow me to see the fate of those I love."
I blinked, trying to process her words.
The ability to see the future sounded incredible, almost unimaginable. But not being able to know what would happen to the people you care about... that felt unfair.
She smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"And that fills me with fear. I can foresee catastrophes, but not whether you will be there to face them. It scares me, but I can't change it. I don't know if you'll survive the Wendigo or not. Honestly... I'd rather you didn't fight it. Sometimes, knowing when to step back is also a form of strength."
I clenched my hands, the weight of her words pressing down on me.
"But if I can't face a single creature... how can I protect the kingdom?"
Her hand gently cupped my cheek. "What I fear most is not the Wendigo... but that you might think winning is everything. A king's strength isn't just in his victories. It's in his decisions. Don't lose yourself to pride. Promise me you'll think carefully before you act."
I nodded slowly, but the conflict still burned inside me.
As I left the temple, the cold air of the courtyard hit me like a reminder of the weight I still carried.
(Ilkar POV)
I sat under the dry, twisted branches of the old tree, my back against the rough bark. The ground was cold, and the small stones I picked up from the path were rough against my fingertips. One by one, I tossed them into the air, watching them arc and fall back into my palm. I didn't even know how long I'd been sitting there, but I'd been there since before Ereshgal showed up, and he hadn't noticed me.
When I finally looked up, I saw him leaving the temple, walking toward the courtyard. His face was somber, his movements heavy. Even he... seems to doubt.
My chest tightened. I remembered how it felt when he beat me — the helplessness of not being able to use my ability in time. I had trained so hard, convinced I was stronger than I used to be, but it didn't matter. In the end, he had overpowered me, just like everyone else.
Everyone in training is obsessed with becoming stronger. They think it's the only way to be respected, to be seen as worthy. But no one really stops to think about what it means to be strong. It's all about looking strong, about making others think you're invincible.
I glanced back at Ereshgal as he returned to the training yard, his fists striking the wooden dummy with renewed force. The hits echoed in the quiet courtyard. I could feel the frustration in each blow, like he was trying to pound the doubt out of himself.
He made it look so natural, even when he was struggling. I remembered watching him train before, when he didn't know I was there. There was something mesmerizing about the way he fought — the way he put his entire being into it, like he needed to prove something to himself as much as to anyone else.
I kept throwing stones, trying not to think about it. Part of me wanted to tell him not to rush in, to not make the same mistake I did — thinking I was ready when I wasn't. But I couldn't move. What if he just looked at me like I was wasting his time? Or worse, what if he ignored me altogether?
I wasn't brave enough to say anything.
Maybe... if he falls completely, I'll know I'm not the only weak one.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, guilt twisted in my gut. I didn't really want him to fail. Not like that. I didn't want him to end up like me — filled with regret and doubt.
I stood up slowly, dusting the dirt from my hands. I didn't want to go home, but staying here felt even more suffocating. I took one last look at Ereshgal, now sitting on the ground, breathing heavily after his relentless training. There was something almost fragile about the way he sat there, despite his strength.
I didn't want him to fall... not the same way I did.
Maybe he'd find the strength I couldn't.
I turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadowy corridor.
And as I left, a quiet hope lingered—that his path wouldn't follow mine.