The instructor bowed as he stepped into the throne room.
Evening light filtered through towering windows, washing the throne room in gold and shadows. The walls were lined with banners, each bearing the crest of a different god, their fabric rippling gently in a breeze that never touched the floor. The stone beneath our feet was polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting a kingdom that had learned to bow without question.
At the far end of the hall sat King Lugalbanda. Not like a man seated on a throne, but like the throne had been built to hold him. His presence filled the space even before he spoke. Broad shoulders held with perfect control, hands resting with the calm of someone who had crushed enemies and buried doubts alike. His eyes—cold, calculating—moved like steel across the room. You didn't speak until he allowed it. You didn't breathe too loud.
The instructor bowed low and remained kneeling, head down, silent before the throne.
Lugalbanda said nothing at first. He studied the man for a moment.
Finally, he spoke.
"You may rise. Speak."
"The students have activated their first divine runes" the instructor said at last. "The process went smoothly. They're adapting."
Lugalbanda gestured for him to continue.
"We have three support-types. Darek's talent is tactical—intelligence gathering through shared sight. Ilkar's ability lends itself to diplomacy, emotional control. Erenai can speed recovery. Not fast, but enough."
The king gave a small nod. "The support branches will be pleased."
"And the combatants?"
"Three, as well. Tarin is straightforward. Physical. Kisaya is balanced—reflexes and perception enhancement. Neval is… indirect. Her ability causes disorientation. More dangerous than it seems."
Lugalbanda's fingers tapped once on the armrest. "Have you noticed any problematic Divine Edicts?"
The instructor shook his head. "None so far. Some are emotionally driven, others rigid. But no complications during training. If any face inner conflict, they haven't shown it."
"Good." Lugalbanda exhaled, shoulders heavy but satisfied.
The instructor paused. Then lowered his head.
"With respect, Your Majesty… there is one matter."
Lugalbanda said nothing. That meant: continue.
"Ereshgal. He trains harder than anyone I've seen. Tirelessly. But he can't manipulate spiritual energy. And without a Divine Pact, I fear his presence may soon draw the wrong kind of attention. The others see it. The gods might, too. I'm concerned it may become a threat—to their unity, or worse… to their safety. Perhaps even—"
"Enough."
The word cut clean through the instructor's sentence. It wasn't loud. But it carved through breath and thought. Final. Unshakable. The kind of word that reshapes everything around it—and reminds you who holds the weight of the crown.
Lugalbanda's gaze didn't waver.
"Ereshgal is the future king of Uruk."
The instructor's face shifted—just slightly. A flicker of disbelief passed through his eyes. A subtle wince behind the mask of protocol. He caught it before it grew, buried it like a misstep on sacred ground.
"He must know the world—sacred and worldly. Even if the gods remain silent to him."
Lugalbanda stood. The matter was closed.
The instructor bowed again. "Yes, my king."
He left with steady steps, and a cloud of thoughts behind his eyes.
***
That night, I found peace where I least expected it—playing with Ennari.
We had played like this a hundred times before, wrestling through the halls, turning empty chambers into battlegrounds.
Today, it was "thief and guardian"—her sneaking through the corridors with a stolen ribbon, me trying to catch her before she reached the cushions. I almost had her at the door… but then she twisted, shouted, and threw herself into me with a tackle that sent us both tumbling.
I grunted, caught off guard, and before I could recover, I started tickling her—fingers darting under her arms, quick and merciless. She shrieked, half laughing, half trying to escape, kicking wildly as we rolled across the cushions in a heap of limbs and laughter.
"Eresh!" she shouted.
She tried to escape, wriggling and laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. Her voice cracked between gasps, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she shouted my name through broken giggles. When I saw her face—flushed, tear-streaked, still smiling but trembling—I stopped. She lay there catching her breath, her joy fading into something quieter. Then her expression shifted. The light in her eyes dimmed, just a little.
I paused.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"You don't play with me as often as before."
I smirked. "That's because I'm busier now. Training, studying… trying to keep up."
Her eyes softened "I know, but… I still miss you."
I looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "I'll try to play more."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She didn't hesitate. Just wrapped her arms around me and pressed her head into my chest. She was warmth in a world full of cold stone and colder stares.
And for a moment… I didn't feel the weight.
The next morning.
The sky was a pale blue, streaked with orange. The kind of morning that made even warriors walk slower, speak quieter.
When Kisaya and I approached the training grounds, the group was already gathered—and they weren't looking at each other.
They were looking at him.
He stood with the stillness of a blade planted in the ground.
Middle-aged. Bald. A neat blond mustache like gold carved into discipline. His build was heavy with muscle. There was no tension in his stance. No wasted space.
His eyes moved like a man who had seen too many wars to be impressed.
When we arrived and everyone was present, he stepped forward. Calm. Certain. His presence was firm, but carried a different weight than the last instructor—warmer, grounded.
"Now that everyone's here, we can begin" he said—a line not unlike the one we'd heard before, but this time, it didn't feel like an order. It felt like an invitation.
"My name is Ashren. I'll be your combat instructor."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
"Let's move to the courtyard."
We followed. Without question.
There, he turned to face us again.
The air around him was quiet. Too quiet.
"I already know your blessings" he said. "Your affinities, your names—I've heard them all from the instructor who came before me."
His voice was steady—warm, even. Not soft, but patient. It made you feel like he saw you and expected something worth seeing. For a moment, it felt less like a test and more like guidance.
Then his tone shifted. Not louder, but heavier. Firmer. Like iron cooling in water.
"I also know some of you weren't given weapons by your gods. Not directly."
His eyes moved down the line, steady and deliberate. Some students met his gaze. Others looked away.
"The world doesn't care" he said.
His voice had changed. Warmer moments ago, now it carried weight. A truth that pressed on your spine. That turned silence into tension. I felt it settle in my chest like a familiar stone.
That wasn't instruction. That was experience speaking. And it wasn't up for debate.
That landed hard. Not dramatic. Just true.
The kind of truth you don't argue with.
He went on.
"There are kingdoms that would kill to break Uruk's future. Enemies who would tear you apart, ability or not. Whether your blessing heals or blinds, you must learn to survive."
His eyes locked on mine for the briefest moment.
"That's why today…"
He paused.
"…we're having a one-on-one tournament."
***
AN: Hi. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, this is my first serious attempt at writing a novel. I'd really appreciate any reviews or feedback you can offer, as they help me grow. Thank you for reading!