I pull my hoodie up, trying to make myself smaller as I move through the warped streets. The air feels thick, pressing down on me, like it's trying to smother me. "Alright, I'm walking. Now can you start making some damn sense?"
[Took you long enough. Listen well, Inheritor. You picked up my Artifact—that ring binds you to me. That's how this works.]
I glance down at the ruby glinting on my finger. "Right. And what exactly does that mean? 'Inheritor?' 'Artifact?' You keep throwing words at me like I'm supposed to just get it."
[Hah! You have a lot to learn.] His voice hums in the back of my skull like a lecture I didn't ask for. [An Inheritor is someone who forms a contract with a Myth—like me. The Artifact is the object that ties us together, allowing my power to flow through you.]
"Contract?" I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to clear my head. "So, what? You some kind of genie?"
[Genie?] His voice flares with offense, and for a second, the smooth, regal tone cracks. [Genies grant wishes. I don't give handouts, boy.]
I can practically hear him scoff before he pulls himself back together. [I am Gilgamesh! The great King of Uruk! A legend whose name has echoed through time itself! The—]
"Alright, 'Goldie,' chill." I cut him off. "I get it. You've got a big ego."
[You dare—?] He mutters something ancient-sounding before exhaling sharply. [Tch. Fine. Call me whatever you want, boy. Just remember who holds the power here.]
"Right, right. So, I'm an Inheritor, this ring is an Artifact, and you're a Myth. What exactly is a Myth, anyway?"
[Don't you know the stories? The one who dared challenge the gods themselves? My journeys across worlds? When I slew Humbaba? We exist beyond time, bound to these Artifacts to prevent our fading into nothingness. Immortal in name, if nothing else. Don't you know your own people's history?]
I frown. "So if I have your ring, that means you're stuck with me?"
[More or less. You summoned me, you wield my Artifact, and that makes you my Inheritor. Our fates are tied now, whether either of us likes it or not.]
I let that sink in. Myth. Artifact. Inheritor. It sounds like some storybook nonsense, but I can't deny what's happening around me. I glance at the distorted streets, the flickering lights, the wrongness pressing at the edges of my vision.
"Alright, fine," I mutter. "Then what's the catch? There's always a catch."
[Smart boy.] his tone sounds more guarded. [The catch is that power never comes without risk. And you, Inheritor, have taken on something far greater than you understand.]
I stop walking. "Meaning what, exactly?"
[Meaning the power you're wielding—someone wants it. And now, you're caught between realms.] His voice hardens. [This place is an echo—unstable, temporary. Linger too long, and it will become your grave.]
His words cut deep in my mind, sharp and serious.
[It's already stripped away pieces of your memory and disrupted your synchronization. Someone is interfering, trying to keep me trapped. I will deal with them, but you must find a way out. Now.]
I let out a sharp breath. "Right. Sounds easy enough."
Then—nothing.
The voice vanishes.
Gilgamesh is right—I need to keep moving. Standing around isn't going to get me anywhere, but the real question is… where the hell am I supposed to go?
Everything here feels wrong. The buildings stretch endlessly, no doors, no windows—just blank, seamless walls. The people are just as unsettling, their faces blurred at the edges and movement too rehearsed. I step toward one, trying to make eye contact, but they just brush past me without a glance, like I don't exist.
No way in. No way to talk to anyone. This whole place is a set piece, a cheap imitation of a real city.
If I keep wandering aimlessly, I'll get nowhere fast. I need to see more—to get a vantage point. If I can just find some high ground, I might be able to spot an exit… or at least something that makes sense.
I scan my surroundings, looking for anything climbable. Then, I see it—a construction site up ahead. It looks just as lifeless as everything else, the skeletal frame of a half-built tower standing frozen in time, cranes and scaffolding that's hanging over. It doesn't feel real. The metal beams are too smooth, untouched by rust or wear. The scaffolding looks sturdy, but something about it feels… artificial. But real or not, it's the best shot I've got.
The crane—towering over everything—catches my eye. That's my way up.
The site isn't blocked off. No fences, no warning signs. Just another sign that this place isn't real. The crane looms ahead, its metal frame slick not an ounce of dirt. A ladder runs up its side, disappearing into the sky.
I grab onto the first rung, testing my grip. Feels sturdy enough. Taking a deep breath, I start climbing
Wind whips against my hoodie, turning my gaze outward. I finally got a view of the city and it's more unsettling than I expected.
The streets stretch endlessly in every direction, identical patterns repeating over and over like a broken simulation.
Damn it.
I scan desperately for anything—something different, something real—but nothing stands out. My fingers tighten around the railing. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Then—
"Hey, watch it!"
The voice snaps through the eerie silence, sharp and frustrated.
I jerk my head toward the sound. Down below, a blonde kid stands in the middle of the street, a sword in hand. He's yelling, failing the sword around trying to get a reaction from them.
Who the hell is that?