The sound of horses echoed against the dusty road, blending with the distant murmur of Uruk rising and falling like a fading echo. From atop my horse, the city loomed, a symbol of greatness and power. But upon closer inspection, it was impossible to ignore the small signs of wear, as if its strength hid a latent fragility.
The drought had left its mark. I could see it in the faces of the farmers we passed, in their resentful gazes. Even now, as we crossed the market, I could feel the weight of their eyes stabbing into my back like invisible daggers.
"Look at the gods you sent us" a woman murmured as she passed by, her voice barely audible but clear enough for me to catch. My heart hardened, but I kept my gaze forward. It was just one whisper among many. On every corner, someone was ready to blame another for their hunger and thirst. And I, the heir of Uruk, the chosen of the gods, was the perfect target.
"Don't ignore it" my father said, breaking the silence that had lingered since we left the palace walls. His tone was firm but not accusatory. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His face was as unreadable as ever, but concern flickered in his eyes. "Pride leaves scars on those around you, Ereshgal. People fear what they don't understand. And they understand you less than you think."
I frowned, my father's words finding a crack in my patience. "Do you think they're right? That the drought is some divine punishment for my pride?" I couldn't hide the bitterness in my tone.
"It's not about what I believe" he replied calmly. "It's about what they believe. You're young, but your name carries the weight of a god among men. A burden like that can crush both the one who bears it and those around him."
I gripped the reins tightly, feeling anger boil beneath my skin. "Let them believe what they want" I said finally, letting my gaze drift toward the horizon. "Time will prove that my destiny isn't tied to their small concerns."
My father didn't respond. He always knew when to stay silent—a skill I had yet to master. We continued riding in silence, leaving behind the murmur of the city as the scenery shifted from bricks and stone to dry fields and an open sky that seemed to stretch endlessly.
It was there, by a barely living stream, that I saw him. The man stood with his hands raised toward the sky, leaning on a dark wooden staff as if waiting for something. His age was difficult to determine; his face was lined, but his eyes burned with an intensity I had never seen before. His long, wild hair fell over his shoulders like an unkempt mane. His bare feet sank into the cracked ground, and though his stance was relaxed, I couldn't ignore the sense of restrained power emanating from him.
"This is the man you needed me to meet?" I asked, making no effort to hide my disbelief. My father nodded, dismounting his horse with the fluidity that only years of experience could grant. I followed, my eyes locked on the stranger as I slid off my horse.
"Ereshgal" Lugalbanda began, gesturing toward the man, "this is Enkidu."
The man, Enkidu, tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a smile that wasn't entirely friendly nor hostile. "Ereshgal" he said, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. "An honor."
"Tell me" I said, crossing my arms as I stepped toward him, "who are you that my father thinks I need to meet you?"
"I'm just a man" Enkidu replied, his tone casual. "One who lives where others fear to tread. But I'm also someone who can teach you something—if you're willing to learn."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Learn? From you?" My eyes scanned him, noting his staff and simple clothing. "I doubt you have anything to offer me."
Lugalbanda, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. "Ereshgal" he said firmly, "Enkidu is a year older than you. And, whether you believe it or not, he could face you in combat—and win."
My eyes narrowed, disbelief quickly turning to irritation. "You're joking" I said, looking at my father as if he had lost his mind.
"No" Lugalbanda replied, his tone as unyielding as stone. "And I think you should find out for yourself."
He gestured toward Enkidu. "Would you be willing?" he asked. Enkidu simply nodded, spinning the staff in his hands as if it were a toy.
"And you, Ereshgal?" Lugalbanda looked me directly in the eye. "Are you willing to prove what you're made of?"
Pride burned in my chest like an uncontainable fire. "Of course" I replied coldly. I extended my hand, and Lugalbanda placed my sword in it. I turned to Enkidu.
"Do you have a weapon?" I asked, my tone laced with disdain. Enkidu lifted his staff, tilting it slightly toward me.
"This is enough" he said calmly.
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Don't underestimate me" I warned, my sword slicing through the air as I took my position.
"I'm not" Enkidu replied, his voice firm but devoid of arrogance.
There was something about him—something I couldn't define but that was beginning to irritate me.
I stood before him, my heart pounding as I assessed my opponent. The tension in the air was palpable. My father stepped aside, leaving the improvised battlefield between us.
The fight was about to begin.