The lazy yet noble voice had barely risen when a terrible force detonated in the pavilion, like thunder trapped under a roof. A gale surged out and flipped the flowerbeds like waves overturning boats. Petals shot skyward like a flock of startled birds, then tore apart midair like snow caught in a grinder.
The woman in regal dress, standing among the black-robed entourage, let out a sharp cry like steel drawn in winter air. Brilliant Aether condensed in the wind like frost, shaping into a storm of blades that swept with her toward the pavilion’s heart.
Her fury had a single source, bright as a wound under noon sun: the green-haired woman skewered through the heart upon the floor, and the crimson silhouette beside her like a wolf born of flame.
She lunged, but Crimson Flame burst like a volcano, hot and sudden. Even the woman wielding golden Aether staggered back, boots scraping stone like anchors in surf, propping herself on her own blades to hold steady.
“You petty wretch over there, I’m giving you one chance to kneel and beg!” Her voice cracked like ice on a river, cold and high.
She did not yield an inch, and all languor fell away like dusk before storm. Her eyes brimmed with killing frost, and golden Aether poured from her blade like thick mist, so dense it veiled sight. Around her, a barrier spread like a dawning domain, blossoming with gold as if a sun were unfurling.
The crimson silhouette only spared her a glance, quick as a knife across silk. Crimson Flame roared again, and the lovely beds of flowers became a hellsea, a scarlet purgatory. The fire burned without pity, like a drought consuming plains; if not for the golden Aether damming that wave, the black-robed women would have been left as withered husks.
“Insolent cur, you’ve succeeded in angering me!” Her shout rang like a bell of war, and golden Aether exploded like a rising sun. Pillars of light fell like meteors, hammering down toward the crimson silhouette.
Vast golden radiance surged, like the blazing awe of heaven’s will.
But before that might could fall, she felt her body catch, as if time snagged like cloth on a thorn. When her senses snapped back like a bowstring, only the green-haired woman lay on the pavilion floor. The crimson silhouette had vanished like mist in morning sun, leaving not even a scorch to remember it by.
“Enkidu!” The golden-haired woman rushed forward, her power fading like thunder rolling into distance, as if she feared her edge would cut the one she meant to save.
“Cough… cough…” The sound was light as rain but heavy as nightfall.
She lifted Enkidu with a gentle care, like cradling a wounded bird. The ghastly wound at that chest wept blood like a dark spring, staining the golden-haired woman’s finery as if dusk bled into dawn. Enkidu tried to rise, to shape words like lanterns in fog, but those slender arms could not hold the weight of a body or a soul.
“Don’t speak. I’ll heal you. You’re a god; you won’t die.” Her voice shook like a reed in wind, fierce and pleading.
Aether poured into Enkidu’s chest like liquid light, filling the wound like gold poured into a cracked statue. Under that iron control, the weave neared perfect, like a seam drawn by a master tailor. Yet at the brink of success, the calm Aether bucked as if snagged by an unseen hook, turned wild as a riptide, and detonated inside her chest like a trapped storm.
“Kh—ah!” The cry split the air like a snapped string. The turmoil widened the wound like ice splitting rock, and the inner shape of her body showed red and raw, a secret forced into daylight.
The golden-haired woman hadn’t guessed her own strength would misfire like lightning hitting dry tinder. She flinched back from that clash, fingers loosening in panic like rain slipping from leaves. Enkidu fell hard to the stone, and blood flowed from that terrible hole like a river in flood. Her face paled like paper under moonlight, and her breath thinned like frost.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Enkidu. Hold on. I’ll save you, I swear I will!” Her voice broke like surf on rock, and she tore through her space for elixirs like a storm rifling a forest.
“Cough… stop, my friend…” Enkidu’s hand, slender as a willow twig, closed with iron strength, like roots gripping soil, and halted the unraveling queen.
Feeling that grip, the golden-haired woman stilled, then wrapped Enkidu’s hand in both of hers, as if holding a flame cupped against the wind. A chill omen moved in her chest like winter drifting in.
“So unlike you, my friend. You’re a king of a realm, heaven-ordained child of gods, a hero of legend; let me be the only one to see you this soft.” Her smile was a thin crescent, and pain shook it like ripples on a lake.
Another fit of coughs took her like a storm passing through reeds. The golden-haired woman reached to help, but Enkidu stopped her again, palm firm as stone. When breath returned, her face was colorless as ash.
She opened her right hand from her mouth. The pale palm was stained red, like a plum blossom in snow. She gave a small laugh and laid her head in the golden-haired woman’s arms, seeking a resting place like a bird finding a quiet branch.
“Ugly, isn’t it? The gods’ own mouthpiece, this weak. I’ve probably made the heavens lose face.” Her tone was light, like sunlight through leaves.
“Then accept treatment, properly!” The roar came raw and hot, like a bonfire in wind.
Seeing that fierce care, Enkidu couldn’t help but laugh, bright as spring water over stone.
“My friend… I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kindness. I hope that when I’m gone, you’ll give that kindness to your people. They deserve it more than a dying woman like me.”
“Nonsense!” Tears welled like a tide, and the queen found she could not even string a full sentence, as if grief had stolen her voice like a thief in fog.
“I’m serious, my friend.” Enkidu drew the queen’s hands and set them beneath her chest, letting her feel the faint beat like a sparrow’s wings.
“You’re a Demigod. Half your blood is a god’s mountain, and half is a human’s river. Isn’t that beautiful? Humans bow before gods like grass before wind, yet in you, they make miracles. They contend with gods, even press the sky down.”
She took a long breath, like a swimmer breaking the surface, and the words came with coughs like storms between calm.
“At a time like this, stop with ‘beauty’ and such foolishness. Humans are too weak. Call me a god rather than a Demigod…” The queen’s voice sharpened, like steel against steel.
“Look… at the richness of human feeling. You’re full of that brilliant thread, like sunlight woven into cloth. For that alone, I’ll say humans far surpass gods. No arguing. I’m almost gone—let me win a second time, just this once.” She caught the queen’s soft spot like a playful wind, and her smile bloomed, unbothered by the blood at her lips. Tears blurred the queen’s eyes like rain on glass.
“I want to say more, but this body is nearly finished. No elixir under the sky can pull me back. Wounds from the gods aren’t something humans today can heal.” Her words fell like autumn leaves, steady and final.
“A wound from a god… could it be—” The queen leaned in, emotion spiking like lightning, but Enkidu’s glance cut her short like a blade.
“Remember it in your heart, and leave it there. It’s not a field you can step into. Even with divine authority, some things you can only sense, never speak.” Her tone was soft and immovable, like snow settling.
“But I’m a Demigod—” The protest rose like steam, and Enkidu cut it off like a hand snuffing a candle.
“A Demigod all the same. In this age, humans aren’t yet the equal of gods.” Her breath grew heavy, like bellows pumping a forge, and her fingers locked around the queen’s wrist until they bit like thorns. She drank the air as if it were water, stretching these last moments like gold beaten thin, and poured her heart into the queen’s hands.
“But please, believe in humanity. Believe in the human part within you, bright as dawn. That is the only way to step out from the gods’ shadow, and the only road that leads forward.” Her voice lifted, small and fierce as a candle in wind.
“You are the king of humans, not the king of gods.” Each word landed like a stone in a river, steady and true.
“I am a creation of the gods; when my life reaches its shore, my measure is only this. But you are different. Your blood carries the human thread. You’ve made enough miracles to shame legends. You hold a god’s strength, and a human future full of roads.” Her tone swelled like a rising tide, and conviction lit her face like firelight.
From the ragged wound at her chest, hairline cracks began to creep, spiderwebbing across her body like frost racing over glass. Noticing the strange change, she gave a bitter smile to the golden-haired woman, sorrow and peace mingling like twilight.
She drew in a deep breath, as if savoring the proof she still existed in this world, like smelling spring before it arrives.
“Please, my friend. Even if it’s for me, keep loving humanity.” The plea hung like a bell note over water.
“Enkidu!” The queen’s cry tore the sky like a rift.
As the last words settled into her heart like seeds, Enkidu closed her eyes. The cracks climbed like ivy, and she accepted the “death” that waited like winter.
The golden-haired woman broke into sobs, tears falling like a sudden rain. Golden Aether leapt skyward like a sun pillar and blanketed the entire courtyard, heaven’s might rolling across earth like a storm front. Not just the garden—a roar like a lion shook the city, and then the nation, as her scream spread her power like a sunrise.
“Enkidu… I’ll remember your last wish. I’ll keep loving humanity.” Her voice trembled like a lute string, wet with tears.
“This is the vow of the first human king, and it’s our vow as well.” The words rang like bronze, solemn and bright.
Under a brushing breeze, the cracked body loosened into countless green motes, like willow fluff in spring. They drifted away under the golden radiance, sailing toward distance like a quiet procession.
In the heart of the first human king, a bond set like iron, bright and unshaking. Humanity’s future would flourish in her hands like a forest under rain.
But now, let us rewind the river before it split on rock. Return to the pavilion, before the strike, when the green-haired woman still lived and the crimson silhouette had yet to move.
“Huh? Miss Enkidu, you want me to play the murderer who kills you? And act a little more like a god while I do it?” Aphelia blinked as the request landed, stunned like a deer on a winter road.
“Yes, Miss Aphelia. In return, I’ll give you this body forged by divine authority.” Her tone was calm as still water. “Don’t worry—it’s a god in the truest sense, that pure-white, immaculate god.”
