On a rainy night, in the abandoned watchtower atop the northern highlands...
Kingu sat slumped against the wall, pale and trembling. Though his chest wound had closed, the repeated strain of high-intensity battles had left a lingering ache deep within.
"Here."
From the shadows, a golden cup was extended toward him. The amber liquid within, along with the faint glow from gilded armor, lit up the darkness.
Kingu frowned slightly. But when his eyes caught the still-bleeding wound in the other's abdomen, his expression softened. He accepted the cup without a word and downed it in one go.
"Ha! That's the stuff."
Gilgamesh laughed heartily, raising his own cup for a drink. It had been far too long since he last felt such satisfaction.
As the wine flowed into him, warmth spread through Kingu's limbs. His body, though still weakened, slowly began to regain some vitality. He glanced down at the cup with a complex expression.
Mixed into the wine were healing herbs—and powdered Magic Crystals.
The green-haired androgynous beauty slowly stepped forward and stood by the window, staring out into the rain-drenched world.
The wastelands ravaged by the Black Tide were desolate and scarred—mud and stagnant water stretching endlessly. The sky above raged with thunder and storm clouds, not a single star or ray of light in sight. It looked like the end of days.
"You've got about six days left..."
"So, since the world's ending, live how you want."
Gilgamesh summoned his throne, leaned back into it, swirling the wine in his cup as he spoke in a soft, almost wistful tone.
"Forget missions. Forget your origins. Just like I once did—with him. Do what you truly want to do. Find your own meaning."
He finished the cup in one motion. The golden goblet slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. That momentary vulnerability vanished, hardened again beneath his mask. Then his figure turned into a streak of light, disappearing into the stormy night.
Kingu instinctively tried to follow, but weakness overwhelmed him. He collapsed back against the corner, curling up as his pale fingers thudded helplessly against the stone floor.
The [Food of Life] embedded in his body—rare and valuable—was only enough to keep him alive through low-intensity combat. Unlike the Holy Grail, it couldn't form a true magical core.
The battle ahead... was no longer one he could join.
And so, this northern highland had become his resting place—Gilgamesh's final gift.
Neither the human side nor Apsu's forces had a place for him anymore.
Only by staying here, isolated from the warring factions, might he have a chance to live a little longer.
Perhaps... that was the King of Heroes' private wish.
In the silence and darkness, the green-haired androgynous beauty finally broke. His long-restrained anger, confusion, and sorrow spilled out in a trembling murmur.
"I'm your enemy! I'm not Enkidu! I'm useless to you now—why do you still go so far to protect me...?"
"Because... you're the one and only Chains of Heaven in this world."
"Even if you simply go on living—for that guy, that alone is enough."
The soft voice drifted from the corridor.
Startled, Kingu looked up, surprise and embarrassment flashing across his face—mixed, unexpectedly, with a glimmer of joy.
But the moment he saw that face, his expression froze.
It turned cold—mocking—and he stubbornly pushed himself to his feet.
"Ishtar? No, I should really call you Ereshkigal..."
"Whatever—sisters, same difference!"
"If you think you can take advantage of me in my weakened state, be my guest."
The goddess of the underworld, Soul Cage in hand, advanced slowly. With one glance she exposed the reality Kingu faced.
"I know what Gilgamesh is thinking, but honestly—you don't deserve the title 'Chains of Heaven.'"
"You depend entirely on the Holy Grail as your power source. Lose it, and you can't absorb ether from heaven and earth—you won't function, let alone assert the true power of the Chains of Heaven."
"Even if you're a weapon, you fall far short of the true Enkidu."
Kingu was utterly silenced, his face draining of blood, humiliation simmering within.
"Shut up! Are you just here to insult me?"
Ereshkigal shook her head, placing a small clay vial in front of him. She removed the stopper, revealing a dense, vital elixir inside.
"To fully restore your body, Food of Life and Water of Life must be used together. That's how Ishtar once revived."
Before Kingu could speak, the goddess opened the Soul Cage. A wavering blue orb drifted out, glowing softly.
As it approached Kingu, it pulsed with energy—and in his mind, fragmented but familiar images flickered.
"But to become the true Chains of Heaven and perfectly merge with this shell—your remnant soul alone won't do."
Ereshkigal regarded the floating orb with a tinge of mockery.
"Absorb these memories of Enkidu. You may dispel those hidden flaws, and even without the Holy Grail, roam freely across Mesopotamia."
"If Uruk's disaster is unavoidable, perhaps you'll become the sole new human reborn from its flood-washed lands."
Kingu felt the chaotic memories surge, a warm tingle spreading through him. He pressed his lips together, bowing his head.
He sensed that Shamhat, Siduri, and many aged Uruk survivors had suffered soul-shredding agony for the sake of those memories.
"Why...?"
Ereshkigal crossed her arms, exhaling sharply.
"Someone simply wants you to live. That's it."
"As for me—consider it repaying a debt."
A debt? Owed to Ishtar?
Once, Ishtar indirectly caused the death of this body's previous owner—but now Ereshkigal provided the means for the second generation of Chains of Heaven to fully restore physical function.
Inadvertently, the twin goddesses—one birthing life, the other reaping it—spun a bittersweet loop of fate.
Emotion churned within Kingu.
Not wanting to linger further with the green-haired beauty, the underworld goddess began to step into the rainy night.
But at the threshold, Ereshkigal paused. She returned with a glance at the memory orb and couldn't help but speak again, her tone lingering.
"They can forgive you without complaint, but there are things I have to say."
"When I said you weren't worthy of the title—It wasn't your ability—it was your actions."
"You've never been abandoned by this world. You've always been the one most cherished."
"Gilgamesh, Shamhat, Siduri, even the formerly victimized citizens of Uruk—they showed relentless kindness, protected you, believed in you."
"And what did you do?"
"How much are you now willing to change for them? How much will you sacrifice?"
The usually gentle-hearted Ereshkigal delivered her questions, then added one final admonition before disappearing into the storm.
"In two hours, the memory fragments will dissipate. Think carefully before then."
Outside, wind and rain clashed. Inside, dimly lit, Kingu stared at the two objects before him—lifeless, like clay effigies—speechless as the rain drummed on.