I pushed deeper into the reeds.
The heat pressed down like a leaden hand. Each breath scraped through a throat gone dry, raw. I leaned forward, not by choice—balance slipping, legs faltering. Every step felt like a gamble. Like my body was seconds from collapse.
Blood trickled steadily from my shoulder. I couldn't tell how bad it was anymore—only that it hadn't stopped. The bandages were already soaked, stained deep red and darker still. My clothes clung to the wound, fabric blackened and heavy, bleeding into the earth. My arm just hung there—numb, useless, forgotten.
My vision blurred, then returned in short, broken flickers. Everything around me wavered. The reeds swayed too fast—or maybe I was just too slow.
Still, I kept going.
I moved forward. One step. Then another.
No plan. No destination.
Just forward.
Until I stumbled—caught on something I never saw. My foot twisted beneath me, and something cracked deep in the ankle.
Bone and sinew. A single, sharp snap.
I dropped to my knees, the pain blooming instantly, a silent scream stuck in my throat. My body just stayed there, like it had finally decided that was far enough.
Tried to breathe deeper. I couldn't.
I bit down so hard I tasted blood.
Then dragged myself forward a few more feet, using the sword like a crutch.
It no longer felt like a weapon. Just weight in my hand.
A glorified cane. A prop. Nothing more.
I kept going, leaning on it as pain stacked over pain, until I couldn't remember what part of me had started hurting first.
Deep down, I knew it wouldn't hold.
Something had to give.
Yet even the sword began to defy me. With each step, it grew heavier—more resistant. What once moved with me now dragged behind, as if the weight of the world had sunk into its hilt. Every motion felt slower, harder. My grip weakened. My arm trembled.
Then, it stopped.
It stuck—sudden, fierce—anchored by some unseen force, as if the earth itself had turned against me. I pulled, desperate, furious, but the blade held fast—stubborn, like the gods who once turned their backs.
And so gravity claimed me again. I fell, and the ground didn't catch me. It struck back—hard, final, unforgiving.
Dirt filled my lungs. Blood seeped freely, pooling beneath me. I felt it all vividly—every torn muscle, every ruptured vein. Consciousness teetered on the edge, threatening to abandon me.
"Is this how I die?" The thought broke free from my lips—cold, pragmatic.
My laughter escaped next, raw and cruel, mocking my futile struggle. Memories came then—unbidden, unwelcome. My father's voice echoed in my skull—relentless, like the pain in my shoulder.
"You were wounded by your own weakness."
A king's voice.
Not a father's.
"There's no place for weakness in a king. A sovereign must endure. You have one chance. Reach the herb. Return on your feet. That's the proof Uruk needs."
I lay there in the silence afterward, breathing through the pain, my father's words lingering like venom. Only when the ache subsided just enough did I hear another voice, softer, quieter—yet strong enough to pull me back from the brink. My mother's voice emerged from the recesses of memory, her warmth gently countering his severity.
"Divine blessing protects this city" I'd said to her, frustration seeping through.
"What king defends Uruk with empty hands?"
Her touch, brief but steady, lingered on my arm.
"Then grow sharper. Grow faster. Find the strength no god could ever give you. Make them regret not choosing you."
Regret.
Regret tasted like blood. It tasted like this very moment.
I let my eyelids drift closed, the weight of defeat pressing mercilessly. I felt my consciousness unraveling, my resolve thinning into nothing.
"Forgive me" I whispered silently to my mother, the admission bitter and heavy. My breaths slowed, edged toward stillness.
Darkness took me. I welcomed it, ready to let go. The pain faded, my breathing slowed, my thoughts dissolved into silence. I wanted rest, nothing more. Until—
"Will you really come back?"
Ennari. Her voice trembled, innocence braided with dread, piercing through my resignation.
"I promise. We'll play again, just like before."
My promise—spoken in ignorance, rooted in a smile crafted from lies.
"If you lie, I'll be mad forever."
I laughed softly, a weary, broken sound. Even in my darkest hour, Ennari's innocent threat held more weight than any of my father's cold judgments. The absurdity and simplicity of her warning stirred something buried deep within—resolve mingled with regret.
Slowly, reality crept back around me, the darkness receding just enough to let my senses sharpen. The pain flared anew, grounding me cruelly in the present, reminding me that surrender was a luxury I couldn't afford. And in that brutal moment, another memory surfaced, fierce and vivid: Kisaya. Her embrace, too tight, too desperate.
"Eresh… are you okay?"
"I couldn't just stay away."
How could I give up now, when their voices still lived inside me? When every word, every memory, pushed me forward—even here, even now, in the dark?
"I'll fight" I whispered, a declaration to no one but myself.
"Until the end."
And so I stood—not with glory, not with triumph, but with pure, gritty defiance. I rose, abandoning my sword, leaving behind the semblance of protection, dragging myself forward.
Every muscle rebelled. Every tendon frayed. My body, battered and betrayed, begged for surrender.
But fear—raw and primal—drove me forward.
Namur would follow. His blade would find my heart.
I had no choice but to escape.
To hide.
Then I saw it—behind thick brush, almost hidden. A slope led down, steep and rocky. Moss everywhere. Didn't care. Just kept going.
A tunnel.
No footprints. No wind. Too quiet.
I couldn't see anything inside. But it was cover. That was enough.
No time to think.
The cold met me as I stepped inside—damp air clinging to my skin. I dragged my weight forward, half-hunched, hand on the wall to keep from falling.
I couldn't see anything, but I kept going. My breathing echoed in my ears. Every movement hurt. I couldn't tell if I was descending or just staggering in circles. Time lost meaning. Distance ceased to exist.
Fueled by nothing but stubborn will, I moved.
Ahead, the corridor glowed—dim and red. Faint at first, just a haze leaking through the dark. But it grew stronger with every dragging step, until the walls themselves seemed to bleed with it.
I didn't understand. I thought maybe it was in my eyes—blood loss, madness, something breaking in my head.
But it didn't stop.
The passage opened into a chamber. Wide. Hollow. The ceiling lost in shadow. Stone walls bathed in dark crimson light.
And in the center of the chamber, floating in mid-air, was a single drop.
Deep red. Still. Suspended mid-air, untouched by gravity.
Blood?
No… it couldn't be.
I blinked. Hard. My vision blurred, cleared, blurred again.
But it was still there.
Unreal. Perfect.
A divine artifact, maybe.
Or maybe I was already dead.
I couldn't tell.
I just stared, as the red swallowed the walls, the floor, the silence—
—and me.