There was no warmth in Marduk's easy tone, despite his unassuming demeanor. Only a subtle weight that seemed to linger in his words.

  "...yes." Gilgamesh replied. Answering such questions caused less hindrance to his day than not, in his experience.

  “And yesterday? Was it training or study?” Marduk followed up.

  “Study.”

  "And tomorrow?”

  “Training.” There was no emotion in Gilgamesh’s tone or expression. Nor surprise, for good reason. Marduk would ask this same line of questions often.

  "I see." Marduk's smile did not change, but something seemed to deepen. "No one has ever awakened past 14 years, and even then, it is rare to receive a Piece of Light that is not given at birth."

  A tense silence held for a moment.

  “Do you not think it at all futile?” Marduk asked, his tone more direct this time.

  Gilgamesh did not respond. Instead, he silently waited for his opportunity to leave with the least unnecessary trouble.

  Marduk’s expression lowered just slightly in turn, into one of disapproval. “Arrogance in the face of destiny… I suppose you get that from your mother.”

  Gilgamesh’s face did not move, not even so much as a twitch of his eyelids. But his eyes did deepen, unbeknownst to himself, ever so sharply.

  "Who do you think you're glaring at?!" One of the lackeys behind Marduk stormed forward and slapped the bowl out of his hands, sending his meager meal to the ground.

  “Urah.” Marduk spoke, his tone a bit graver, his charismatic expression a bit more disconcerting. “You are reflecting poorly upon me.”

  "...I apologize." The man quietly said as he stepped back into place.

  Amid the tension, Gilgamesh simply knelt down and scraped his food back into his bowl. This was the only meal he would get today, and hunger would make tomorrow more difficult.

  Marduk looked on, almost mortified, with a subtle air of profound lamentation. Gilgamesh rose to his feet under this scrutiny and calmly walked past. He sensed the state of the atmosphere would allow him to leave, so he did.

  “...your mockery of that name will not last forever.” Marduk spoke to him without a smile. A more direct hostility than normal, Gilgamesh noted. It had been a few years since that had happened. As such, he made a silent plan to put more effort into avoiding him for the time being.

  Gilgamesh exited the Mess Hall and turned down the opposite path from the one he had come from. This one took him into a small circular hall that served as the central waypoint for most paths.

  Made of marble finer than most and adorned with intricate carvings of the seven spiritual Virtues, the hall was of an almost ethereal grandiosity.

  Though, as always, Gilgamesh found his gaze gravitating towards the centerpiece. An ever-burning white flame within a giant brazier made of brass. As large as the fire was, it emitted no heat and produced only a soft light. Yet, it still felt more real than the stone that surrounded it.

  The Eternal Flame. The source of the Light. The object of the Zoraster clan's veneration. A symbol of infallible goodness and purity, though Gilgamesh found that a hypocrisy for a clan so lacking in such things.

  The Zoraster were one of seven magus clans who descended from the First Hero, 'Gilgamesh'. The greatest of them all, and the most important. After all, it has been foretold since the days of the Founder that the heart of the Prophecy lay with them.

  A Hero would one day emerge from the clan to inherit the legacy of the First and take up his journey once more. Through many trials and many perils, he would reach the Land of the Light, and there he would find the secret of eternal life, to share with all of his people. And the world would at last be free from Darkness.

  Any child of the clan could recite the Prophecy by heart. It was, after all, their sole ambition and purpose. And it was Gilgamesh's by right, no matter how many refused to acknowledge him.

  His was the chosen of their heralded fate, the greatest of Names, the one who would lead them to the Light. But he was not acknowledged. Not by the clan, nor the bloodline… nor by the Prophet himself. But it was still his name.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Gilgamesh returned to his personal room in the midst of those thoughts to find his belongings once again vandalized. His mattress, pillows, and sheets were shredded, the bedframe and chairs broken into pieces, and what few books he owned were torn up and scattered across the floor. Insults stained his walls. 'Fake'. 'Unworthy'. 'Thief'. The usual remarks.

  Gilgamesh walked over to take a seat on the floor against the wall without missing a stride, and scarfed down the food he had recovered with his hands. As he did, he retrieved a thin book hidden under the shelf and read as he ate.

  The migraines from the Mind Clash still raged fiercely, as they would for the rest of the day. More than strong enough to prevent him from any training of substance. But in his years, he had long since discovered that simple mundane memorization and focused meditation would have some small benefit in alleviating the symptoms.

  Gilgamesh had read all the books available to the Zoraster, thousands of them, several times over. In the past, he had sought a path to awakening through knowledge after years of conventional training had failed him.

  Books on mythology and ancient times long lost, writings on the occult, and memoirs of past heroes. He had scoured through them all to no avail.

  Still, the process had been of use to him in other ways. There was only so much training he could will his ailing body to perform, and with his best efforts, he could not match even the physicalities of his peers. So he turned to ways that could allow him to excel despite his limitations.

  He read manuals on combat, strategy, and warfare, even musings on the human mind. Minor as it might be, such things played an invaluable part in surviving this endless torment. Torment that would end as soon as he awakened.

  Gilgamesh set his bowl down and redoubled his efforts in memorization. He had more training tomorrow, and every bit of his ability mattered.

  ---

  Gilgamesh left his room at dawn with the intention to head straight for the training hall, but right from the start, it appeared his plans would change. Waiting for him right outside was an aged man in noble robes, an Elder of the clan. Accompanying him were two other senior members he did not recognize.

  The Elder hesitated for a moment at the sight of him, as though swallowing his words. “Follow.” He ordered as he started to turn away.

  “What is this about?” Gilgamesh asked.

  “Do as you are told.” The Elder curtly snapped.

  Gilgamesh was silent and still for a moment, then allowed himself to be escorted. The Elder led the way, and the two guards drifted naturally to walk close behind him.

  Gilgamesh's focus heightened. It was unusual enough to encounter an elder, let alone be spoken to by one. And these guards were escorting him as though they considered him a threat, but he knew all too painfully well that could not be the case. Not when all three of them possessed the holy bloodline, evident by the white robes they were allowed to wear.

  They walked in silence for some time, twisting and turning down corridors that Gilgamesh rarely travelled by himself. Soon, they brought him to a strangely barren path that led to a humble wooden door.

  "This path leads to a ritual." The Elder informed, as he handed him a silver dagger. "You must enter of your own volition."

  Devoid of the slightest bit of ceremony, the Elder and his guards took their leave, swallowing whatever words they still had left to say. Gilgamesh watched them until they disappeared around the turn. The Elder told him it was optional, but nothing in this clan ever was. The only thing he could do was move forward. Same as always.

  "Hey, fake. Still struggling?"

  A man who was not there before now stood in the path and greeted him. The top of his face was covered by a deep blue bandana, upon which was a strange occultistic pattern of an all-seeing eye that made his wide smile underneath even more pronounced.

  Lighter blue hair hung just out of the back of his head, and he wore strange black clothes, distinct from the traditional attire of the clan. He appeared to be around his own age, though Gilgamesh knew him to be a few years older.

  Gilgamesh looked right where his eyes would be. "Urshanabi."

  “Mephisto.” The man asserted profoundly.

  Gilgamesh’s eyes narrowed slightly more. A disdain simmered beneath the surface, born of vehement refusal to acknowledge the madness.

  Urshanabi was this madman's true name, the one bestowed upon him at birth.

  Despite his unorthodox existence, he held a far higher standing within the clan than even the Elders. He was one of the Named, a piece of the Prophecy. His role was to be the Ferryman who guides 'Gilgamesh' to Ziusudra, the sole survivor of the Great Flood, and the one who will give 'Gilgamesh' the answer.

  His mad state was the result of a Possession Ritual. A profane and insidious ceremony to bind a dead soul to the conduit. Most perish or lose their minds entirely. Urshanabi was one of the few still sane enough to function, and the only true success that he was aware of. Though success was not what Gilgamesh would call that wretched state.

  Mephisto laughed in the awkward silence. “I guess I can’t change your mind. I don’t remember you, after all.” He tapped the side of his head as he explained.

  “I don’t have time for your madness today.” Gilgamesh spoke as he took a step forward.

  "Turn back." Mephisto pointed towards the path Gilgamesh had come from with a welcoming smile. His sudden words oozed of fickle gravity. "Only madness lies ahead. It is futile to struggle."

  Disdain simmered further within Gilgamesh, his conviction and desire unwavering against the mad warning. His only path was forward. His only salvation was success.

  Mephisto watched as Gilgamesh walked past and joyfully called after him with a smile. “It’s never too late to turn back, until it is.”

  Gilgamesh paid no heed to the madness, and walked through the wooden door into the ritual.