Chapter Four – A Step into the Unknown
The road stretched long ahead of them, winding through the vast northern wilderness. Towering trees lined their path, their autumn leaves rustling with each whisper of wind. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and violet.
Gilgamesh walked with effortless grace, his presence imposing yet strangely subdued. He was in no rush, his steps unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world—because, in a way, he did.
Fern stole glances at him now and then. Even though she had traveled with Frieren for years, she had never encountered another elf quite like this. His golden eyes were ancient, even more so than Frieren's, and yet they held none of the playful aloofness or subtle melancholy she had come to expect from older elves.
Instead, they carried an unshakable certainty—the gaze of someone who had already seen everything, who had once held the world in his hands and found it lacking.
And yet, here he was. Walking with them.
"You're staring, apprentice."
Fern snapped her head forward at the sound of Frieren's voice.
"I-I wasn't staring!" she protested.
Frieren smirked slightly. "You were."
Stark let out a small chuckle but stopped when Fern shot him a glare.
Gilgamesh, for his part, barely reacted. If anything, he seemed amused.
"It is natural to be curious about the unknown," he said calmly. His voice carried an effortless authority, though it was not arrogant—merely factual. "And in this era, I am undoubtedly an enigma."
Fern hesitated. "You don't talk like the other elves I've met."
"Perhaps because I am not like the others."
That much was obvious.
Frieren finally turned her full attention to him, her gaze sharp. "You said you were a king. Of Uruk."
Gilgamesh nodded. "A kingdom long forgotten by time. It once stood at the pinnacle of civilization, an era where gods walked among mortals, and the strong ruled by their own merit."
Frieren studied him carefully. "Then why have I never heard of it?"
Gilgamesh let out a quiet chuckle, though it lacked any true mirth. "Because the world chose to forget."
Fern and Stark exchanged uncertain glances.
"You mean history forgot," Fern corrected.
Gilgamesh looked at her then, his golden gaze piercing. "No," he said. "The world itself forgot."
His words sent an uneasy chill through the group.
Frieren crossed her arms. "Explain."
Gilgamesh exhaled slowly, as if recalling something from a distant dream.
"The gods of my time were different from the divine beings you know today," he said. "They were fickle, powerful, and above all else… possessive. My existence, my reign, was something they could not control. And so, when I finally chose to step away from the throne, they ensured that I, along with everything I had built, faded from the world's memory."
Silence followed his words.
It wasn't impossible. The world was vast, ancient, and full of forgotten legacies buried beneath time itself. But the idea that the gods themselves had erased him from history was… unsettling.
"You must have been powerful to make them see you as a threat," Frieren mused.
Gilgamesh smiled faintly. "Powerful enough to bore me."
Stark blinked. "Bore you?"
Gilgamesh nodded. "Once you stand at the peak long enough, the world loses its luster. The same challenges, the same wars, the same cycle of mortals struggling for meaning." His gaze turned toward the horizon. "I chose sleep because I had already conquered everything. There was nothing left worth my attention."
His words were casual, but there was an undeniable weight behind them.
Fern hesitated. "Then why wake up now?"
Gilgamesh was silent for a long moment.
Then, he gave a quiet chuckle. "That," he said, "is a mystery even to me."
A silence settled over them.
The truth was, he didn't know why his slumber had ended. There was no grand prophecy, no voice whispering him awake. He had simply… stirred. And now, he walked among mortals once more.
For the first time in ages, something had called him back.
And he intended to find out what.