Chapter Nineteen – The Awakening of Shadows
The wind picked up as they climbed higher, a subtle yet chilling breeze that carried with it a sense of foreboding. The mountain seemed to rise out of nowhere, a jagged mass of stone that stretched endlessly toward the sky. The world below had long since disappeared, swallowed by the mists and fog that obscured their view.
Gilgamesh led the way, his steps silent despite the rugged terrain. His senses were heightened, attuned to something that he could not explain. His gaze flickered over the surroundings, his golden eyes scanning the area for any sign of the force that had called him here.
They finally reached the peak. It was a vast plateau, surrounded by a ring of stones that seemed to form an ancient circle. In the center stood a massive stone pillar, weathered and worn by the passage of time. It was covered in runes, but they were faded, unreadable—though to Gilgamesh, they were still familiar.
"This place," Gilgamesh murmured, his voice low. "It is a memorial. A monument to what we were… and what we lost."
He stepped forward, his hand reaching for the pillar. The moment his fingers brushed against the stone, the air seemed to pulse with energy. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, the ground beneath them trembled.
A low rumble echoed through the mountain, and the skies above darkened.
"What's happening?" Stark shouted, drawing his weapon.
Gilgamesh stood perfectly still, his eyes closed as he focused. "I am awakening something… something that was meant to stay forgotten."
The air grew thick, and the sounds of the world began to fade. It was as if time itself had slowed. The wind stilled, and the very earth held its breath.
Then, the shadows began to shift.
From the darkness of the stone circle, figures began to emerge—shapeless, moving like smoke, yet with the distinct presence of something ancient.
Fern drew her sword, her muscles tense, but Gilgamesh's hand shot out to stop her.
"Do not," he warned softly. "These are not enemies. They are echoes… echoes of the past."
The figures shifted around them, their forms beginning to take shape. They were elves, but not the elves they knew. These were beings of a forgotten age, their bodies made of shadow and light, their faces both familiar and unfamiliar.
Gilgamesh stepped forward, his voice reverberating with an ancient power. "I return. I am Gilgamesh, king of the lost kingdoms, ruler of the eternal cycle. I have come to reclaim what was once mine."
The figures bowed before him, and for a moment, Gilgamesh felt something stir deep within him—a sense of belonging, of home. But it was fleeting. The figures began to dissolve, their forms dissipating into the ether, leaving nothing behind but the hum of ancient magic.
And then, all was still.