Chapter Sixteen – The Weight of Time
The journey through the ruins had taken far longer than they had anticipated. After the brief encounter with the figure, the group was left to process the strange occurrence, but there was little time to dwell on it. They had a path to follow, and it was one they could not afford to stray from.
Gilgamesh led the way, his long strides silent on the stone floor. His mind was elsewhere, reflecting on the figure that had appeared and the cryptic words it had left behind. Time. That single word echoed in his thoughts. The force of time, he had said. Gilgamesh had seen the world change across centuries, yet he couldn't help but feel like there was something different about this particular moment.
Fern walked alongside him, occasionally glancing at the elf king. There was a weight to his presence, something she hadn't noticed before. He was more than just a powerful being from the past—there was a gravitas to him that was difficult to describe.
"I wonder what that being was," Fern said, breaking the silence.
Gilgamesh didn't look at her but continued walking. "A remnant of an age long gone. Perhaps something that was never meant to exist in this time."
She nodded, though she still didn't fully understand. "But what do you think it meant when it said you had forgotten?"
Gilgamesh paused for a moment, his gaze now fixed ahead. "Not all memories are worth keeping. Some are best left buried, as the world moves on."
Fern could sense the sorrow in his words but didn't know how to address it. She didn't want to pry, especially not with someone so ancient. Instead, she fell quiet, choosing to focus on the road ahead.
Stark, who had been walking slightly ahead, turned and looked at Gilgamesh, his brow furrowed. "So, you've got a lot of stuff buried in there, huh?"
Gilgamesh gave a noncommittal grunt, but it was enough to confirm Stark's suspicion.
"Well, if you ever feel like talking about it, we're here," Stark added, more casually than he probably realized.
Gilgamesh didn't respond, his face remaining stoic. But inside, his mind was a tumult of thoughts. The return of the figure had brought back fragments of memories he had long since suppressed. Faces. Places. Names. All of them faded, as though they were too distant to touch.
And yet, one thing remained clear: the figure's words about time and the future. The future.
For the first time in centuries, Gilgamesh found himself uncertain.
As they reached the end of the passage, the ruins began to thin, revealing a clearing bathed in soft sunlight. The world outside had changed since Gilgamesh last walked its surface—he could feel it in the air, in the way the trees seemed to bend with the weight of the passing seasons.
"Let's take a break," Fern suggested, sensing the fatigue in Gilgamesh's posture.
Gilgamesh nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. He took a seat under the shade of a large tree, its branches twisting in ways he remembered from ages past. His fingers brushed against the bark, and a strange warmth filled him, as though the tree itself recognized him.
He closed his eyes, allowing the familiar sensations to wash over him, yet it was not peace he found, but quiet resolve.
"Gilgamesh," Fern's voice cut through his thoughts. "Do you think you'll find what you're looking for?"
Gilgamesh opened his eyes and met her gaze. There was no arrogance in his expression, only the calm of a man who had seen the beginning and the end of countless lives.
"I do not know what I seek," he said softly. "But I feel that this path will lead somewhere. Perhaps not where I thought… but somewhere important."