Chapter Ten – The Price of Immortality
The wind howled across the valley, carrying the crisp scent of rain and earth. The group had taken shelter beneath the overhang of a large rock formation, watching as dark storm clouds rolled across the sky.
Fern huddled close to the fire, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Stark sat beside her, occasionally glancing at the sky, gauging how long the storm would last.
Frieren, as usual, remained unbothered, sipping tea from a small wooden cup.
Gilgamesh stood a little apart from them, gazing into the distance. The flickering light of the fire cast long shadows over his sharp features, his golden eyes unreadable.
Frieren studied him for a moment before finally speaking. "You're lost in thought again."
Gilgamesh exhaled slowly. "It is a rare thing to find one's mind occupied after so many millennia."
Fern looked up, curious. "What are you thinking about?"
Gilgamesh didn't answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his words.
"Immortality is often spoken of as a blessing," he said at last. "Yet, in reality, it is merely existence."
Frieren gave a knowing smile. "Sounds familiar."
Fern frowned. "You say that like you don't enjoy being alive."
Gilgamesh chuckled. "No, I do enjoy it. But I have long since stopped searching for meaning in it."
Fern hesitated before asking, "Then why did you wake up?"
Stark shifted uncomfortably. It was a question that had lingered since they met him—why now, after ten thousand years, had the great King of Uruk chosen to rise from his slumber?
Gilgamesh was silent for a long time before he spoke again.
"I do not know."
Fern blinked. "Wait, really? You don't have a reason?"
Gilgamesh shook his head. "It was not a decision, nor a choice. It simply… happened. My body awoke, and my consciousness returned. There was no great revelation. No divine calling."
Stark frowned. "That's kinda unsettling."
Frieren sipped her tea, eyes half-lidded. "Maybe your soul was simply tired of resting."
Gilgamesh smirked. "Perhaps."
The storm rumbled in the distance. Rain began to fall in soft sheets, pattering against the rocks.
Frieren watched as Gilgamesh turned his gaze to the horizon once more.
The past had long since faded.
And yet, something—something—had pulled him back to the world of the living.
Whether it was fate, chance, or something else entirely, only time would tell.