In the destroyed Kingdom of Uruk, the dilapidated buildings and the ruined palace burned together, smoke billowing into the air. After extracting those trapped under the rubble, the survivors headed outside the kingdom. They gathered together: those who found a family member alive, and those who found no one but loneliness to tend to them. The inhabitants of the kingdom were in a state of panic.
Standing on Argus's shoulders, Jasmin's voice rose, addressing the people: "O people of the kingdom, your battle is not over yet! Your true battle begins now, in rebuilding your kingdom. Do not worry; your revered Prince Gilgamesh is still alive. You may have lost the King and the kingdom, but you haven't lost everything! You must rebuild the kingdom so it returns better... so that Uruk returns to greatness!"
One resident shouted angrily in opposition: "And who said we need that drunkard?! He has ignored us and the kingdom for years. We don't need someone like him! If we are to fix the kingdom, we must fix it from within first. Therefore, after the King's death, we don't need him!"
The cries of the surviving residents rose in agreement: "We don't need you! Get out of here!"
Another person added, shouting: "And how do we know that thing wasn't here because of you? You have caused so much trouble for this kingdom and your father! All of this is because of...!"
Gilgamesh raised his burning eyes and looked at him; the man fell silent out of fear. Then one of the commoners shouted a warning: "Stop! Do you want him to destroy the kingdom even more than it is already destroyed?!"
Another man from the commoners stepped forward and said: "Your Highness, you never cared about the kingdom, so we don't need you either! Please understand this."
Gilgamesh turned to Erold and Luce and said in a majestic voice: "I will be at the beach; we will talk there." Erold nodded in agreement.
Gilgamesh bypassed them, his shoulder bumping into Argus's shoulder. Argus wondered in surprise: "What's wrong with him?"
Erold answered calmly: "Other than what you just saw, I don't know, but leave him. If there is something, he will tell us.."
Gilgamesh moved away, trying to calm himself. He remembered whispers echoing in his ears: "This is a contract; sign it and you will get what you want." He returned to reality and continued walking toward the beach.
In the heart of the shattered kingdom, the warriors turned into rescue workers. Erold, Luce, and Argus wrestled with the debris, lifting massive rocks with battered hands to pull out what remained of the souls trapped under the ruins of the houses. An atmosphere of despair mingled with faint hope prevailed, until Luce approached Erold and whispered in his ear with an anxious tone: "We must leave now so we don't miss the Full Moon, so we can enter the Jinn world."
Erold stopped and looked at his hands, stained with dust and blood, then answered bitterly: "You're right, Luce."
Amidst the chaos of the ruins, Erold turned to Argus and Jasmin and said in a low, decisive voice: "We must move. Let's go."
Jasmin immediately objected, leaning on Argus's shoulder: "Do you want to leave them alone?"
Argus turned toward Erold, hesitation clear in his eyes as well, and supported Jasmin's words sharply: "She's right, Erold... Do you want to leave helpless people alone here?"
Erold extended his index finger toward the horizon, where a majestic shadow stood atop the highest standing balcony in the shattered kingdom's walls. The man stood there like a steadfast mountain amidst the storms, his torn cloak fluttering with the ash-laden winds. Erold said with a tone of some relief: "That is the one who will protect them. I asked about him; he is a general named Mandul, and it is clear he is strong. We need to move so we don't miss the full moon before entering the Jinn world."
At that moment, Argus did not see the walls or Mandul; rather, he saw before his eyes flashes of destruction... he heard the echo of Ashura's mad laughter splitting reality, and felt the coldness of death that had nearly swallowed their souls. His hand trembled for a fleeting second—a tremble not of fear, but of a shock his body had not yet recovered from.
That small movement did not escape Jasmin's sensitive eyes; she felt the bitterness of what Argus was going through. But before she could utter a word to comfort him, Argus had regained his solid mask. He swallowed his grief and looked at her with eyes trying to reassure her despite the brokenness within, and said in a calm tone he tried to keep steady: "Erold is right... Come on, little one, we must leave."
While silence enveloped the ruins, Luce stood behind General Mandul, who was standing tall atop the wall. The General did not turn, but Luce's words pierced the stillness of the place as he whispered in a quiet voice:
"General, look at the scene. The King is dead, and the heir is now turning his back on the kingdom. Will you allow your soul—and this power you forged with your own hand, and your passion for order that lives within your depths—to become just a faint shadow of a memory of a King who passed and a Prince who abandoned?..."
Luce was silent for a moment, letting the wind carry his words to Mandul's heart, then continued in a tone mixing logic with temptation: "The throne behind you is not just empty; it is screaming for someone to fill its tragedy. The laws have been shattered under the feet of chaos, and Uruk is now like dough waiting for a strong hand to draw its features anew. No one is claiming this crown, and no one has the right or the ability to stop you. Think of the consequences, Mandul... Who will rule this land if you refuse? Who will lead the hungry and the orphans? Do what is higher for this kingdom... be the destiny."
Luce did not wait for an answer; he threw the spark and left, leaving General Mandul drowned in heavy silence. The General's eyes were fixed on the destruction of the plaza, but his vision began to form around that abandoned golden chair, and for the first time, he felt the weight of "Power" tempting him with its cloak studded with responsibility and glory.
Luce reached where the companions gathered at the edge of the beach, where Utma stood proudly, shaking the dust off his saddle and letting out a faint neigh as if welcoming their return. Luce approached him, patting his strong neck with affection and appreciation, and said while looking into the horse's intelligent eyes: "Well done for escaping with Jasmin, boy."
Erold turned toward Luce, a silent question in his eyes about Gilgamesh's whereabouts. Luce didn't say a word but tilted his head toward the stretch of the quiet beach. There, amidst the darkness of the night and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, they found Gilgamesh sitting alone on the cold sand, staring quietly at the sea.
Argus broke the silence, whispering as he watched the broken form of the young King: "Why does he look so sad?"
Jasmin exploded at him with anger mixed with oppression, shouting: "You stupid idiot! He lost his father and his kingdom, and even the residents hate him! And you don't want him to be sad?"
Argus took a step back, trying to calm her outburst: "Whoa... whoa... easy there, little one! I was only... wondering out of curiosity.... Erold, what are we going to do about him? Time is pressing us, and we can't leave him like this."
A silence prevailed, broken only by the sound of the clashing waves and Utma's quiet breath. Erold looked at Gilgamesh sitting in the isolation of the sand, then answered Argus in a low, slow tone: "I don't know, Argus.... Leave him for a while."
At that moment, Gilgamesh surrendered to the weight of existence. He lay his exhausted body on the cold sand, as if casting off all burdens. He took a deep breath, a long sigh carrying with it the remnants of the smoke of burning Uruk, then closed his eyes tightly, drowning in a darkness he chose for himself to escape from reality.
Gilgamesh's soul dove into the depths of the past, away from the cold sand and the roar of the sea, back years in time. There, in the corridors of the Royal Palace where the sun used to tease the golden marble, stood the boy Gilgamesh at thirteen years old, his head bowed before the stern gaze of his teacher.
Rylos stood like a pillar of seriousness, his eyes shining with the flame of discipline, shouting in an angry voice: "How many times have I told you, Your Highness?! Time in the lives of kings is not their own; you must not miss a single second of your lessons. For the second you waste in play is a gap in the kingdom's wall."
Rylos approached him and placed his heavy hand on the young boy's shoulder, his tone shifting from anger to the weight of responsibility: "You are not just a boy; you are the role model that will shine upon this land. You are the hope. Therefore, it is not enough to be the first... you must be the best in everything, the invincible version of perfection, otherwise... these walls will collapse over everyone's heads."
The scene in his memory overflowed with misery; the image of a thirteen-year-old boy wearing the finest silk the kingdom wove, royal garments studded with gold and rubies, yet they looked like a "shroud" for a living soul. His small face did not reflect the pride of kings, but was filled with premature fatigue and despair; his eyes were sunken, surrounded by dark circles like the shadows of graves, as if sleep and rest were forbidden to him by royal decree. Unlike the children of his generation who ran after butterflies, Gilgamesh was treated like a predatory beast from his earliest years.
Every morning, with the rising of the first thread of the sun, the silence was slaughtered in the training ground. There, he faced General Mandul, the living legend who knew no mercy. Training was not lessons in the sword; it was a daily battle that placed him face to face with his demise. Gilgamesh fell repeatedly on his face, hitting the dirt wet with his blood, while the General cackled with a rough laugh that shook the palace walls: "Come on, Gilgamesh! Do not look at the ground, for the earth only embraces the weak! The closer you get to the edge of death, the more you feel the taste of true strength. Death brings you closer to bliss... and I deprive you of it!"
And on one of those days that never left his imagination, Gilgamesh was lying on the ground like a lifeless, featureless corpse, his small body a map of wounds and bruises that found no time to heal. Mandul left the arena with heavy steps, and without looking back, threw a cold sentence that froze what remained of the boy's will: "Do not be late for your lessons, boy."
With great difficulty, the boy tried to rise from his stumble. He buried his trembling fingers in the dirt of the arena, but his exhausted body did not obey him; strength failed his joints and he fell a second time on his chest. He crawled through his memory staggering toward the palace corridors, and the tears he did not dare to shed burned his throat as he whispered to himself bitterly: "Why, Father, do you force me into all of this?"
Amidst the haze of fatigue, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. One of the guards ran toward him, shouting in a tone overwhelmed by shock: "Prince! Are you alright?"
Gilgamesh raised his withered eyes to see a young guard extending his hand toward him with a spontaneity he had never known before, saying sincerely: "Let me help you, Your Highness... you look exhausted."
For the first time, Gilgamesh let himself collapse, falling into the arms of the soldier who carried him to his room. When he woke up, he found himself on a marble bed with yellow curtains surrounding him. He rose in panic, looking for his weapon, but was surprised by the guard standing before him smiling: "You fell, Prince, so I brought you here. My name is Lorn. If you need anything, you can count on me."
A small smile formed on Gilgamesh's lips, faint as a winter dawn, and he replied in a low voice: "Thank you, Lorn. I will call for you if I need something… you can go now."
Lorn exited after performing a disciplined salute, leaving behind a quietness the young Prince was not accustomed to. Gilgamesh stood before his large mirror to begin changing his bloodied clothes; his small body was a terrifying map of blue bruises and open wounds, marks drawn by Mandul to be a covenant between him and power, but those scars screamed silently about what was lost of his childhood.
With the setting of the sun, Gilgamesh moved from Mandul's physical hell to the mental arena of "Politics." In the great meeting hall, the small boy sat amidst the ministers and the King, his tiny body nearly disappearing behind the massive marble table, but his presence dominated everyone. He sat beside Minister Selizar, who took him as a bright pupil to teach him the secrets of strategy and the arts of governance.
There, Gilgamesh stunned the audience with a burning intelligence that preceded his age by aeons; he analyzed crises and drew war plans with a brilliance that made him rival the senior ministers in cunning. Selizar eyed him with a look of undisguised pride, as if he saw a miracle in him.
As for King Lugal, he remained in his majestic silence, his eyes reflecting no spark of satisfaction, as if everything his son achieved was nothing but the bare minimum of duty that deserved no praise.
But the day did not end here; in the dead of night, under the light of fading candles, the sage Herald waited for him to dive into the depths of history and the riddles of arithmetic. The sage could not hide his amazement at the Prince's quick wit, muttering with admiration tinged with caution: "The kingdom has been blessed with a genius, Gilgamesh... your mind is a flame that might light the world. But, beware my son... beware of arrogance; for arrogance is the small hole that sinks great ships, and it is the key of death that opens the doors of annihilation."
Gilgamesh lowered his head, heavy with information, and answered in a quiet, hoarse voice carrying indescribable sadness: "No need to worry, teacher. I have become used to seeing death until I no longer fear it. In fact, I have come to see it as a companion."
He raised his tired eyes toward Herald and continued bitterly: "I do not understand my purpose in this existence. I was born surrounded by strict schedules, endless lessons, and body-tearing training. I move according to paths drawn for me by others, and I do not have the right to deviate from them even for a single minute... Am I truly a prince, or a slave?"
Herald was still for a moment, bowing his head as if the boy's words had awakened an old helplessness in him. He found no wisdom in his sleeve to comfort a soul being slaughtered in the name of the throne, so he muttered in a tone overwhelmed by pity: "There is nothing I can do to change this reality, boy... But, by virtue of my deep knowledge of your father since we were two boys running in these hallways, I know for certain that he loves you. King Lugal is not a coarse-hearted man by nature, but he is a man who never learned the language of hugging or expressing feelings; he was forged in wars until silence became his cloak and severity his only means of preparing you for a merciless world."
The sage left the room, leaving behind a recommendation for sleep that seemed to Gilgamesh like an impossible wish. The little Prince placed his head, heavy with dates, arithmetic, and martial arts, on his pillow, trying to steal moments from nothingness. He only slept for two fleeting hours, in which he dreamed of horizons not guarded by swords, before the noise attacked him to wake him again. This organized hell was his daily life routine since he was eight years old.
On a sunny morning, its brilliance contrasting with the darkness lurking in the Prince's depths, Gilgamesh finished a harsh training session with Mandul that left his body groaning with pain. The guard Lorn approached him with quick steps—he was the only face that didn't remind him of pain—and said in a tone carrying some anxiety: "Your Highness... the ministers request you in the meeting hall."
In the middle of the cold marble hall, the sage Herald was waiting for him, a smile filling his wrinkled face with an unusual light. He approached the small Prince and muttered in a tone carrying a great victory: "Good news, boy. I spoke with the King, and after a great effort, I convinced him to grant you one hour of rest daily."
Gilgamesh froze in his place, his eyes widening in staggering shock, as if Herald had granted him a deed to own the world: "A whole hour?! That is a lot... what will I do with all this time?"
Herald burst into laughter, a warm laugh embracing the boy's confusion, and said: "You are still a boy. Go out, play, explore the kingdom. This is your chance. One hour before the daily meeting... so do not be late!"
With a tender parental move, Herald pushed him toward the giant doors while shouting to the guards in a booming voice: "Open the doors for the Prince!"
Gilgamesh took off.. he ran with all the strength his legs possessed, and with all the suppression his soul had stored. His steps accelerated over the palace tiles as if he were a bird that had forgotten how to fly and suddenly found the cage open. The sage's voice echoed behind him like a distant song: "This is your chance, boy.. go!"
The boy stopped at the outer edge of the palace and raised his head toward the clear sky. At that moment, his eyes were filled with a strange light, a light that books did not glimpse and did not describe—it was the light of raw freedom. Under the light of that sun, Gilgamesh felt for the first time that the world was not just a "war map," but a vast space to which he belonged.