The sun barely peeked through the dense branches of the forest, its light filtering through the foliage and dyeing the atmosphere in golden hues. A gentle breeze caressed the leaves, and the murmur of nature was the only thing breaking the silence.
Alfia's eyes snapped open.
Her chest rose sharply, air rushing back into her lungs as if she'd been submerged underwater. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She blinked several times, trying to make sense of what she had just seen.
It wasn't the first time she had dreamed since that being—Enkidu—had saved her, but this dream was different. It hadn't been a vague vision, but something clear, vivid. Real.
Gilgamesh. The name still echoed in her mind like a reverberation of power. She had witnessed a titanic battle, a war between beings whose very existence defied everything she believed possible. Strength, speed, majesty.
She sat up slowly, adjusting the cloak Enkidu had placed over her during the night. She found him not far away, standing by a stream, silently watching the flow of water. His green hair danced with the wind, and his expression, as always, was serene. Detached from everything. Even from himself.
"You… are not a spirit of this world," Alfia said bluntly.
Enkidu didn't turn immediately. He closed his eyes for a moment and then, as if the question hadn't surprised him at all, replied:
"I am, in part. But not like those who dwell in this world."
Alfia stood, still slowly. She walked up to him with her arms crossed, her gaze both analytical and inquisitive.
"I dreamed of you. I saw… a battle against a king who called himself Gilgamesh. I saw destruction, power. Weapons rising to intercept weapons that fell from the sky. There's no way you're just a common spirit summoned by a contract. What are you, really?"
Enkidu lowered his gaze to the stream, as if searching for the words among the stones and the water.
"I was created to be a weapon," Enkidu said without looking at her. "My purpose? To be the chains that would bring the cornerstone, Gilgamesh, back under the gods' control."
He finally looked back at Alfia, who watched him silently.
"I was formed from divine clay. I wasn't born… I was shaped. My purpose was to restore balance to a humanity straying too far from the gods."
"The gods?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean the gods of this world?"
"No. The gods of my world. From another world. Another time." Enkidu's voice was soft, almost melancholic. "I don't belong here, and yet, your wish echoed in the Throne of Heroes—it reached me."
"Throne of Heroes…?" she muttered, eyes narrowing. "Are you a hero?"
Enkidu didn't answer immediately. He stared at her for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. It was beautiful, and Alfia felt her burdens lighten just hearing it. She couldn't help but smile with him.
"I'm no hero, master. I've told you already—I'm just a weapon at your disposal, nothing more," he finally said, standing and stepping closer to her.
Alfia frowned, digesting his words. Her nature pushed her to distrust, to seek logic even in the impossible. But the dream had been too real. Too vivid to be a mere illusion.
"If all that's true," she said after a long silence, "then you are far above anything that has ever set foot in this world. Why save me? Why be here, with no apparent purpose?"
Enkidu looked at her, his green eyes reflecting a deep calm.
"Because I no longer had an imposed purpose. No more orders to follow, no gods to obey. When your call reached the Throne of Heroes, I saw a life on the brink of fading… and I made a decision. I saved you because I wanted to. Nothing more."
His words, simple yet sincere, stirred something strange in Alfia. She looked down for a moment, uncomfortable—almost vulnerable. It wasn't like her to show weakness, but that answer had touched something deeper than logic.
"You have no idea who I am," she murmured. "You don't know what I've done. How many I've killed."
"I don't, and I don't care," Enkidu replied with a gentle smile. "I've already died, master. I'm just a spirit now, like many others in the Throne, summoned for a purpose."
He sighed and began walking toward the cave. Then he stopped and turned to face her.
"The moment I accepted to come, your sins became my sins. Your pain, my pain. Your solitude… my solitude. And so it will remain, until the day you no longer wish me here."
"That is my purpose."
Leaving those words to the wind, Enkidu entered the cave. Alfia watched his back, silent, her face unreadable. She simply… watched him.
There was a long silence. Alfia sat on a nearby rock, frowning at the trees—though her expression had softened.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," she confessed to herself in a whisper, lost in thought.
—
Days passed. Alfia's wounds healed completely. She learned to move through the forest, to coexist with the animals, to listen to the rhythms of the earth.
Enkidu taught her to read the signs of the wind, to find water in roots, to interpret the songs of birds.
They were not the same, and yet they complemented each other—like two strange pieces from the same puzzle. Enkidu listened without judgment, and she, little by little, stopped building walls. They didn't speak much, but every word mattered.
One night, years later, Alfia leaned against the trunk of a tree, gazing at the stars.
"You know this won't last forever, right?"
Enkidu, sitting beside her, nodded slowly.
"Everything has an end. But that doesn't diminish the value of the time we've shared."
She glanced sideways at him. She was no longer the same woman he had saved. Her body was stronger, her gaze more resolute. But deep down, she still carried the scars of a past she never spoke of.
"When the time comes," she said, "will you come with me?"
"Wherever you go," he replied without hesitation.
And so, under the starry sky, without loud promises or grand oaths, they sealed their resolve. The forest had been a refuge, but not a destination. The world awaited them. And though the future remained uncertain, one thing was clear:
They were no longer alone.