The sky was still dark, a deep blue curtain stretched over the world, untouched by dawn. The streets of Uruk were silent. No footsteps. No market calls. No temple chants. Only the soft sound of guards' boots in the distance, steady and slow, as the city slept.
Somewhere inside the palace, far from the main halls, a small group was preparing to leave. Torchlight flickered against crates and canvas. They moved quietly—servants, a scribe, two guards—loading a single cart in silence. Their voices were low, barely above a whisper, as if the walls themselves could hear.
The cart stood ready, old and worn, its wheels already coated in dust. Heavy barrels were tied down with care, and a bundle of wrapped scrolls was tucked beneath the seat. Nothing marked it as royal. Nothing stood out. Every movement was careful. Meant to go unnoticed.
Two oxen were already yoked, calm and still. Their breath curled in the cold air. One pawed the ground, slow and steady. The only sound besides the torches crackling and the soft clink of rope and metal.
The wind passed through the corridor, dry and restless, carrying the smell of dust and old cloth. A guard checked his blade. Another tightened a strap. Above them, the windows remained dark.
No banners. No trumpets. No words.
Just silence.
Ninsun stood next to Lugalbanda, both watching the preparations unfold from a quiet spot where no one had noticed them.
Her arms were crossed tight against her chest. She tried to hide the tension in her shoulders, but her voice gave her away.
"Can't we send more chosen with him?" she asked quietly. "Three isn't enough."
Lugalbanda didn't answer right away. He kept his eyes on the oxen as they were checked again, lips pressed in a hard line.
"If too many leave with him, someone might notice" he said finally.
"And if word gets out that too many chosen are gone from the city... it could be dangerous. You know how quickly someone might take advantage of that."
Ninsun frowned. "You mean Kudur?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I mean anyone" he said. "Kudur, yes—but not just him. There are others who've been waiting for the smallest excuse to move."
She stepped closer. Her voice dropped, sharper now.
"So that's it? We let him ride out half-protected because we're afraid of looking weak?"
"No" he said, turning to face her fully now. "We do it because this has to stay quiet. No banners. No signals. If we make noise, he won't even make it past the first checkpoint."
She stared at him, and her voice came out low and bitter.
"Is that you talking... or the Edict?"
Lugalbanda held her gaze. His voice didn't rise. It never did.
"It's me" he said. "And besides... don't forget the prophecy. He'll come back. Alive."
She looked away, toward the cart, the shadows moving around it like restless thoughts. Her arms tightened around her body.
"Too many things have gone wrong lately" she murmured.
"I'm not sure I believe it'll be that simple anymore."
...
Someone touched my arm.
"My lord, it's time."
I opened my eyes slowly. The ceiling shifted above me, unfocused. I hadn't slept much—the pain kept dragging me back awake. Every time I moved, it flared. Sharp. Relentless.
My skin was damp with sweat. I pushed myself up with one arm. The other hung useless at my side, wrapped in fresh bandages.
A jolt of pain tore through my chest as I sat up. It pulsed behind my ribs—slow, deep, rhythmic. I didn't speak. Just focused on breathing until it dulled.
Two servants entered quietly and helped me dress.
I hated it.
But there was no other choice.
They slipped a light tunic over my head, then wrapped a dark cloak across my shoulders. Everything else was bandages and a simple linen belt to hold it all in place.
The walk through the palace halls was slow.
Thankfully, I could still walk.
My steps echoed off cold stone. Every shift in weight sent another jolt through my side, but I kept my back straight. No limping. No groaning.
I would not give them that.
The exit was just ahead. Morning hadn't come yet. The loading yard was quiet.
The cart had a wide wooden frame, reinforced at the joints. Thick, dark cloth hung from the sides to block the view from outside. Symbols were etched into the axle—markings of divine protection.
Two compartments—one for supplies, the other for passengers.
No royal sigils.
Nothing to say I was inside.
A man waited near the front, beside the oxen.
"Climb in when you're ready" he said.
He looked older. Weathered skin, dark beard streaked with gray. A red scarf hung around his neck, faded with age. His voice was calm, respectful.
I nodded. "Thank you."
I climbed into the passenger section. Two figures sat to the right.
One of them looked up and smiled.
"You must be the prince" he said. His voice was light, easy.
"I'm Namur. That's Gamir up front. And the quiet one over there pretending not to hear us is Azel."
I nodded slightly and stepped in farther. There was a cot set up to one side. It looked simple, worn, but clean. I eased myself onto it, careful not to show the strain it took to lower myself down.
Namur didn't stop smiling. His eyes were clear blue, sharp but not cold. He wore light armor, trimmed in red and copper. Practical, but not plain. He gave off the kind of energy that made people want to listen.
He leaned forward slightly. "We've all been briefed. Our job is to get you there and back, no matter what. We've got supplies, a route, and time. Let's not waste any of it."
The other one—Azel—barely moved. Tall, white hair, pale skin. His eyes were a dull gray, unreadable. He didn't nod or blink. Just kept his back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees, like he was waiting for something to start.
Eventually, he gave the smallest nod.
I returned it.
"Prince"
Namur tilted his head, assessing me, then relaxed.
"Good. Try to rest if you can. The road out of the city is smooth, but it won't stay that way."
I didn't answer. Just leaned back and let the cot take my weight.
"Gamir" Namur called. "We're ready."
The cart groaned as it began to move.
I lifted the edge of the cloth and peeked outside.
Uruk slept. The streets were still. No voices. No footsteps. The banners hung frozen. And far behind us, the faint rhythm of armor echoed like a breath the city didn't notice.
The moon sat low and wide on the horizon, casting a pale light over rooftops and quiet temples. Their doors were shut. Their spires cut into the star-filled sky like dark fingers. The market had gone silent hours ago. Tents were tied down, stalls empty, baskets stacked in corners.
We passed the statue of Enlil. At its base, a lone priestess swept away a ring of dry leaves. Her broom moved in slow, steady strokes.
She didn't glance up.
We passed beyond the outer gates.
The city walls rose behind us like a final verdict—massive, cold, unmoved by anything human. Their shadows stretched long across the road, cut sharp against the moonlight. No one stood at the gates to watch us go.
No priests. No nobles. No farewell from the guards.
Only the sound of hooves on stone, and the slow, steady crunch of wheels rolling through dust.
We were already gone.
No one saw me go.
I let the curtain fall.
This isn't goodbye. Just a pause.
I'll return.
And not crawling.
I'll walk back into this city.
Upright.
Even if it's with only one arm.