Eighty-Five: Gilgamesh

Aurora forest

Astralis City, Auroria Kingdom

Sol continent, Terra

Gaea solar system. Milky Way galaxy

Luminary star system

25th Astralis cycle,

Solaris Prime, 572,413

Thousands of towering pillars of light filled the field. Each one radiated a brilliant golden glow, their intensity so great they seemed to warp the very fabric of space around them. The air shimmered and rippled as if the boundaries of reality had been folded and sealed, cutting off all outside interference.

Running through the field, a woman with emerald-green hair moved swiftly, her polished armor engraved with intricate, glowing runes. Sleek, functional, yet elegant, the armor carried an otherworldly aura, a testament to its mystical craftsmanship. She pulled off her helmet as she came to a halt, her hair spilling out in gentle waves, catching the faint light from the pillars. Her green eyes—sharp, vivid, alive—studied the faces of the people trapped within the golden columns.

She saw them all. The fear. The anxiety. The sorrow that was etched into their features. The pain that resonated through the still, suffocating silence. Her heart tightened as she stared at them, feeling the weight of their suffering. She had tried everything to break the pillar's hold. She had struck it with all her strength, summoning her most powerful techniques. But no matter what she did, it wouldn't shatter. It wouldn't even crack. This was a power that went beyond even her own. A power she couldn't understand. As she reached her destination at the center of the field, she stopped. Waiting there was the one person she held dearest.

He stood before her, his golden armor gleaming faintly in the golden haze. His long, golden hair was tied into a neat ponytail, swaying slightly in the faint ethereal currents that swept through the sealed space. In his hand, he held a crystal sword, its edges glowing faintly as though it contained the essence of the stars. His face, though familiar, was haunted—somber and heavy. The usual warmth in his eyes had been replaced with a quiet pain. When he looked at her, his voice trembled with regret.

"It's too late," he said softly, stepping closer. He reached for her, his hands gentle, trying to offer comfort, trying to hold her together as the truth shattered around them.

"There's nothing we can do."

Her breath caught, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She dropped to her knees, her armor clinking faintly against the hardened ground beneath her.

"No… No… Regulus…" her voice broke.

Her gaze lifted, trembling as it locked onto the largest pillar at the center of the field.

There she was.

Inside that pillar, a woman with raven-black hair, no longer clad in the armor she had forged for her. Her wounds were visible—bruises, gashes, scars—but they were healing, slowly.

And not just her. The entire village. All of her people were trapped. Sealed away within these golden towers, their fates stolen. She crawled forward, her gloved hands brushing against the ground, her movements shaky. Finally, she reached the golden column and placed her hands against it, the faint heat from the barrier stinging her palms.

The woman inside, her once-strong figure now slumped slightly, turned her gaze toward her. Her crimson eyes softened, filled with quiet resolve.

"It's okay," she said gently, her voice muffled yet unmistakable. Despite the gravity of their circumstances, there was no anger in her tone. Only a fragile, weary comfort.

"I'll find a way," the green-haired woman whispered fiercely, tears streaming down her face. "I swear to the Ancients, I'll find a way—"

Suddenly, the air around her began to ripple violently. Space itself distorted, the golden light intensifying as the final phase of the sealing began. The field began to shift, the pillars flickering as if phasing into another dimension.

"I swear to the Odyllic, I'll find a—"

The scene shattered. Darkness rushed in, abrupt and suffocating. A hollow emptiness filled the space, silencing all sound, extinguishing all light.

Sam's eyes flew open. Her breath came hard and fast, her chest rising and falling as she pushed herself up. The room spun for a moment, her surroundings blurred, the lingering weight of the vision clinging to her. Her hands moved instinctively to her cheeks, her fingers brushing against warm, wet streaks.

Tears.

She stared at her trembling hands, her heart pounding.

"What was that dream?" she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible.

When no response came, Sam slowly turned her head, taking in her surroundings. She was in a luminous chamber, its walls made of glowing crystal panels that seemed to breathe with faint, rhythmic light. They shimmered faintly, reflecting the same aurora-like radiance she had seen in the forest's trees.

She lay on a glass-like bed, its surface smooth and cool beneath her. Surrounding her were crystals of various colors, each pulsating softly, emitting a gentle hum that resonated throughout the room. These crystals weren't just decorative; they felt purposeful, like they were scanning and monitoring her body, their subtle vibrations leaving a faint tingling sensation on her skin.

Suddenly, a section of the crystalline wall shifted, splitting open without a sound. From the opening stepped a tall, white-furred monkey standing upright on its two legs. It no longer wore its battle armor. Instead, it was draped in a robe made of shimmering crystal threads, its iridescent sheen catching the light with every movement.

"You're awake, Asha'Yee," the Mystic Beast said, its voice steady and composed.

Sam's breath hitched. The memories of what had happened flooded back. She recalled unleashing her new Unique technique, a desperate attempt that had spiraled out of control. Her gaze instinctively moved to her right arm. The band Ginny had given her was gone, likely obliterated during the attack's release. She flexed her fingers briefly, relieved to find her arm intact.

Her confusion only deepened as she looked back at the Mystic Beast.

"You… you saved me," Sam said, her voice hoarse. "Why? I thought you wanted to kill me."

The Beast tilted its head slightly, the gesture almost human.

"I did, at first," it confessed. "It is against my tribe's law to allow outsiders to touch the Gibboram fruit."

"Gibboram," Sam echoed, the word unfamiliar yet striking. She remembered the crystal-like fruits she had tried to pick for herself and Henry. Their radiance had been so inviting, a palpable swirl of mana rolling off them, enticing her despite the danger.

The Beast's voice softened.

"But I did not know that the Asha'Yee had entered the Aurora Forest."

To her shock, the Mystic Beast then bowed low, its posture humble and reverent.

"Forgive me, O holy one."

Sam stared at it, stunned. She felt her heart race as she tried to process what was happening. What was she supposed to say to that? Why was she suddenly being treated like…like some sort of deity?

She licked her lips and managed to whisper, "It's… it's okay."

Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she rose cautiously. Her body felt impossibly light, her strength restored. There wasn't a single ache, not even a bruise. She placed a hand on her chest, marveling at the vibrant energy coursing through her.

"What's your name?" she asked, her voice steadier now.

"My name is Laurel, O holy one," the Beast replied as it straightened.

Her mind shifted to more immediate concerns. "I had a partner with me. Henry. Is he alright?"

"Yes, Henry Goldsman is alive," Laurel said without hesitation. "Do not worry. We have provided him with the best treatment possible. A comrade of the Asha'Yee is sacred to us."

Sam's brow furrowed. She didn't understand the change in demeanor. How had this Beast gone from trying to kill her to worshiping her as an "Asha'Yee"?

What even was an Asha'Yee?

The term wasn't new to her. Sophia had mentioned it once, but her explanation had been cryptic at best, some vague, mystical nonsense that Sam hadn't cared enough to dig into at the time. But now?

Now, in this strange ancient era, in a place that seemed to exist outside the bounds of the normal timeline, the title had returned.

And this time, she couldn't just dismiss it.

"Why do you call me Asha'Yee?" Sam asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her thoughts. "I know it has something to do with being a vessel…"

But before she could finish, she was interrupted by a sudden presence in her mind. A voice—clear, resonant, ancient—echoed in her consciousness.

["Asha"—Divine Light, Eternal Flame, or Sacred Illumination. "Yee"—Vessel, Keeper, or Guardian. Together, Asha'Yee refers to one who is the "Keeper of the Sacred Flame" or "Guardian of the Divine Light."]

The words weren't just spoken; they carried weight, meaning, and clarity, unfolding within her as if they had always been there, waiting to be understood. Laurel tilted his head slightly, observing her reaction.

"You are the Asha'Yee, aren't you?" he asked.

Sam opened her mouth, ready to deny it, ready to push back against the title that made her uneasy. But she didn't. The words didn't come. Instead, she found herself nodding, her movements slow and deliberate. It felt like the right response, though she didn't fully understand why. There was a quiet sense of acceptance, of ownership, that settled over her.

Laurel's expression softened, a smile curving his lips as he saw her silent acknowledgment.

"My people, the Gibboram tribes, have worshipped the goddess Asha since before the empire's formation," Laurel said, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. The weight of generations of belief and devotion resonated in his tone, and for a moment, Sam felt the title "Asha'Yee" carry an almost palpable significance.

"Come, Keeper," Laurel said. "Let me show you to your comrade."

With that, he turned and led the way out of the chamber.

The corridor they entered was unlike anything Sam had ever seen—a crystalline tunnel, its walls shimmering with soft, shifting hues. Each step they took set off faint ripples of light that danced along the surfaces, illuminating intricate carvings that told stories she couldn't yet decipher.

"This is the Aurora Forest Sanctuary," Laurel said as they walked. "The heart of our home."

He began to explain the origins of his people. The Gibboram tribe was a community of Mystic Beasts known as Hanuman. They were tall, agile beings, resembling upright monkeys with fur that ranged from snowy white to shimmering gold. Unlike many other Mystic Beasts, the Hanuman possessed a natural inclination toward spiritual awakening—many of them achieving higher states of consciousness and developing abilities far beyond the average.

"Long ago," Laurel continued, "most of my kin left Terra, journeying into realms unknown." He said this without sorrow, as if it were a simple truth, a matter of history rather than grief. "We, the Gibborams who remain, chose to stay. The first Emperors of the AurenIdril Empire granted us this forest, and we have cared for it ever since."

Aurora Forest was more than just a home—it was their sanctuary, a place deeply intertwined with their spiritual practices. They regarded the forest's luminous trees, its mana-infused fruits, and its thriving ecosystem as sacred gifts, and they saw themselves as the forest's guardians and stewards.

As they continued, Sam's gaze was drawn to a gathering of Gibborams. These were taller than Laurel, their fur shimmering in the soft light, and they were dressed in robes that glowed faintly, as if woven from threads of living crystal. Their movements were fluid, almost ceremonial. Some were tending to small altars carved into the crystalline walls, while others were arranging offerings of radiant fruits and flowering vines.

"For us," Laurel said, gesturing toward the group, "worship is not confined to prayer alone. It is in the care we give to this forest, the balance we maintain, and the respect we show to Asha's gifts."

The Gibborams didn't gather in vast temples or recite long chants. Instead, their faith was woven into every aspect of their lives. From planting new trees in the forest to ensuring that the mana pools remained undisturbed, every action was a form of devotion.

"Asha is the eternal flame, the divine light that guides us," Laurel explained. "We do not simply worship her—we serve her through our stewardship of this sacred place. The Aurora Forest is her gift, and we honor her by protecting it."

Sam found herself listening closely, absorbing the reverence in his voice and the serene dedication of the Gibborams around her. The tribe's connection to the goddess Asha wasn't just faith—it was a living, breathing relationship, reflected in their every movement and decision.

Laurel's explanation and the glimpses of the community made it clear to Sam: the Gibborams were more than caretakers. They were a people who had built their lives on trust in Asha's light, finding purpose not in power or conquest but in service and preservation.

Laurel led Sam into a modest yet striking hut, its exterior made entirely of the same crystalline material that seemed to permeate the Aurora Forest. The smooth, semi-translucent walls shimmered faintly, catching the soft light from the surrounding trees. It was no ordinary structure; the entire building appeared alive, its surface faintly pulsing as if it breathed in harmony with the forest's energy.

As they stepped inside, Sam was immediately aware of the subtle resonance that filled the air. A faint vibration coursed through the room—not loud or unpleasant, but gently persistent, like a soothing hum of an ancient melody played just at the edge of hearing. It felt as though the very walls sang with an unseen power, creating an atmosphere of deep calm and quiet strength.

The interior was serene and orderly.

Crystalline shelves lined the walls, holding an array of gleaming vials and carefully arranged stones. The floor was smooth and warm to the touch, its surface laced with subtle runic patterns that glowed faintly, emitting a steady light that filled the room without a single shadow.

In the center of the hut, surrounded by a circle of softly glowing orbs, lay Henry.

He rested on a crystal platform that floated just above the ground, its surface shifting slightly under him like a pool of liquid light. A gentle mist swirled around the platform, glimmering faintly as it seeped into his skin, infusing him with a faint, warm glow. His face was calm, his breathing steady, though he remained unconscious.

Three Gibborams stood near him.

One was tall and regal, its fur shimmering like spun silver, wearing a long, intricately embroidered robe that glowed faintly with golden threads. Another, shorter and stockier, held a carved staff of crystal, using it to trace careful, deliberate patterns in the air above Henry. As they worked, faint lines of light followed the staff's movement, creating intricate glyphs that hovered momentarily before sinking into Henry's chest. The third Gibboram, smaller and younger, gently placed smooth, mana-rich stones around his body, their hands moving quickly but precisely, their expression calm and focused.

Laurel stepped back and gestured toward the scene.

"They're helping him speed up his soul core awakening," he said quietly.

The Gibborams moved with an unspoken unity, their actions smooth and synchronized. Each motion seemed to flow into the next, as if they were performing a sacred dance. The tall one placed their hands over Henry's heart, sending a soft ripple of light through his chest. The smaller one adjusted the positioning of the stones, and the stocky one murmured an incantation, their voice low and resonant, adding to the vibrating harmony in the room.

Sam could feel the shift.

The air around Henry seemed denser, yet lighter at the same time. The glow surrounding his body deepened, taking on a gentle emerald hue, and the hum in the room grew subtly richer, the notes blending into a soft crescendo before settling again.

She watched as a faint flicker of light pulsed from within Henry's chest—his soul core, she realized. Though still dormant, it now shimmered faintly, like a candle just beginning to spark to life.

Sam couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of awe and serenity as she continued to watch the Gibborams tend to Henry. Their movements were measured, their gestures flowing together in a kind of unspoken harmony. These weren't just practical methods—they were rituals, deliberate and filled with reverence. It was as though they were reaching into Henry's very essence, coaxing his soul core to respond and awaken.

As the Gibborams finished, they turned as one to face Sam. Without hesitation, they bowed deeply, their posture reflecting the same profound respect and humility that Laurel had shown her earlier.

"You three should get going," Laurel said gently. "There are more patients to attend to."

They nodded silently, moving toward a nearby door that opened onto a set of adjoining rooms. Their steps were graceful, purposeful. Sam caught a glimpse of additional chambers beyond, each softly illuminated by the same crystal glow. She couldn't help but marvel at how this seemingly modest hut, from the outside, housed such a spacious and well-structured interior.

She turned her attention back to Laurel, her thoughts still on Henry. Her Internal Sight lingered briefly over him, noting the subtle but promising changes in his soul core's energy. Then, she glanced up at Laurel and voiced the question that had been nagging at her.

"Is there some kind of sickness going around?"

Laurel's expression softened. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. Some of our warriors came back from patrol a little roughed up."

Sam's brow furrowed slightly. "Was that because of me? Did anyone… die?"

"No, my lady," Laurel said with calm reassurance. "This has nothing to do with you. Ascendants from the city often come to our forest for training. They seek out our fruits to strengthen themselves. It's part of their culture. Our warriors, in turn, are charged with protecting the forest and maintaining balance. When the Ascendants arrive, we must test their worthiness before they can take from our sacred land."**

"Oh. Good." Sam's shoulders relaxed a little. "I don't think I could forgive myself if I had harmed any of your people."

Her gaze moved to the door through which the other Gibborams had gone. Now that she had seen them up close, tending to Henry with such care and grace, they felt undeniably real, alive—more than just another encounter in a strange new world. The idea of taking their lives, as she might have with Dormant Mystic Beasts, felt utterly wrong.

"Luckily for me, the attack you unleashed bore no killing intent," Laurel said, his tone calm but reflective. "If it had… well, its intensity would have been too much for me to handle. I take it you haven't taken a life—outside of Dormant Beasts, of course."

Sam hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. The thought of killing someone—anyone—felt deeply unsettling. It wasn't just a line she hadn't crossed; it was a boundary she couldn't imagine herself crossing.

"No," she whispered. "I'm not a killer. I don't want to be."

Laurel's gaze softened as he studied her. "Have you?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Yes," he said simply, though the word carried the weight of countless years. "I remember the first life I ever took. It was in my youth, when I was still… reckless. An Ascendant had taken the life of someone dear to me—my beloved. I couldn't let it stand. So, I killed him."

Sam felt the air grow heavier with his confession, but he didn't seem ashamed, only… resigned.

"Do you have a problem with killing?" he asked, his tone curious rather than judgmental.

"I do," she said firmly.

Laurel nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Hmm, you're young. I suppose that makes sense." He folded his arms, tilting his head slightly. "But as the Asha'Yee, the Keeper of the Sacred Flame, your role is to maintain balance. Sometimes, that means making difficult choices. Taking lives can be part of that job. But…" He spread his hands, his claws catching the faint light. "Who am I to tell you how to do your job?" Before Sam could reply, he straightened.

"Come with me," he said. "I want to show you something."

Laurel led her out of the crystalline hut, through the quiet, shimmering pathways of the Aurora Forest. The air grew heavier, yet fresher, as though the very essence of the world thickened around them. The forest's radiance seemed to intensify with every step, and soon Sam realized they were heading toward the heart of something vast and ancient. They reached a clearing where a single, colossal crystal tree stood.

Its size defied comprehension, towering far above the canopy of the forest, its massive trunk radiating with a pulsing, otherworldly light. The tree's crystalline bark refracted a spectrum of colors, and its sprawling branches stretched outward, each branch adorned with luminous fruit that glowed like small stars. At its base, the roots spread out in intricate patterns, humming softly with raw, primal energy. Sam felt a deep, instinctive pull. The air was thick with something she could only describe as life itself. This tree wasn't just alive—it was alive in a way that transcended normal understanding.

"This is one of the sacred Aurora Trees," Laurel explained. "A source of immense World Energy."

Sam approached cautiously, the soft hum growing louder in her ears. Laurel reached up, his movements deliberate, and plucked one of the glowing fruits from a lower branch. He turned to her, holding it in his outstretched hand.

"Here," he said. "Try this."

The fruit seemed to pulse faintly in his palm, its translucent surface shifting with colors that reminded Sam of the northern lights. She hesitated, then slowly reached out to take it. As soon as her fingers closed around the smooth surface, she felt a surge of warmth travel through her hand, up her arm, and into her chest. She looked at Laurel, who nodded encouragingly. With a steady breath, Sam lifted the fruit to her lips and took a bite. The moment she did, her mind filled with light.

It wasn't just a flash of brightness—it was vision, sound, and understanding all at once. She felt herself swept away, surrounded by an infinite dance of colors and patterns that moved in harmony, each strand weaving together into a grand, unified tapestry.

She saw the birth of stars and the formation of worlds. She witnessed the first seeds taking root in barren soil, growing into lush forests that thrummed with vitality. She felt the gentle push and pull of creation's laws, the forces of life and death, growth and decay, working together to sustain the balance of existence.

Time seemed to stretch and collapse around her. She couldn't tell if minutes or hours passed as she floated in that luminous, endless expanse. And then, suddenly, it was gone.

Sam opened her eyes, the clearing coming back into focus. She was still standing beneath the giant crystal tree, the half-eaten fruit in her hand. Her breathing was steady, her mind racing to process what she had just experienced. Laurel stood nearby, watching her carefully.

"What… was that?" she asked softly.

"A glimpse of the natural law of creation and life," he said. "A gift from the Aurora Tree. Something only an Asha'Yee can truly understand."

****

The crystalline chamber was still, bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the Aurora Forest. Sam sat cross-legged on the floor, her breathing steady as she let the energy from the Aurora Tree's fruit settle within her. The vivid visions from the previous day still lingered at the edge of her thoughts, a kaleidoscope of cosmic creation that left her both awed and unsettled.

As she exhaled, a low hum resonated in her ears, growing louder with each passing moment. It wasn't coming from the room around her—it was something deeper, something internal.

A faint, shimmering interface appeared in her mind's eye, overlaid with runes and shifting lines of light. The Gaea spell system's voice—calm, clear, and precise—spoke directly into her consciousness.

[A new Ability Factor has awakened.]

Sam's breath caught, her eyes snapping open. She didn't move, letting the words flow through her.

[Ability Factor: Eyes of Mathias.]

[Description: A mystic ocular technique granting the bearer an intuitive understanding of reality's structure, perceiving its foundation as cymatic sound waves.]

[Origin: This gift originates from Vulon Mathias, forefather of the AurenIdril empire and awakener of the first divine Omininarch bloodline.]

A sudden warmth flooded her vision. The world before her eyes seemed to ripple and shift. The walls of the crystal hut became more than solid surfaces—they vibrated, resonated, as though they were threads of sound woven into shape. She blinked rapidly, the sensation overwhelming, yet deeply familiar, as if she had always had this ability but had never thought to look at it directly.

[The Eyes of Mathias have fully awakened. You may now perceive the cymantic underpinnings of reality.]

Sam rubbed her temples, trying to process what this meant. She had been given something ancient, something tied directly to the mysterious history of the AurenIdril empire. The forefather of the empire, Vulon Mathias, had once seen the world this way, and now that same gift had been awakened in her.

The next day, Sam, Henry, and Laurel walked down a narrow, glimmering trail winding through the heart of the Aurora Forest. The sunlight filtered through the crystalline canopy, casting shifting prisms of color onto the forest floor. Henry, still recovering, moved more cautiously, but the vitality of the Gibboram's healing techniques was evident.

Laurel walked ahead, his white fur catching the light, his crystalline robe flowing lightly behind him. He carried a staff of shimmering quartz, tapping it softly against the ground with each step. "We're nearing the edge of the forest now," he said. "Beyond lies the path to Astralis."

Sam kept glancing at her surroundings, her new ability subtly altering how she saw the world. Every tree, every stone seemed alive with resonance, a constant symphony of vibrations. The air itself carried faint waves, as though a soft melody played just below hearing. She saw patterns in the ground, the trees, the distant hills—intricate and fluid, shifting like music given form.

Henry noticed her distracted gaze. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just… seeing things differently now," she replied, her voice trailing off as her eyes followed an invisible ripple of sound that traveled along the trees.

The forest began to thin, revealing a sprawling vista. In the distance, Astralis gleamed like a jewel, its towering spires of crystalline architecture catching the morning light. Bridges of shimmering crystal arched between the buildings, and faint pulses of mana flowed through the city's heart, creating a faint aurora above it.

"Behold Astralis," Laurel said, his voice tinged with quiet pride. "The city of stars and the Celestial throne. Once the capital of the former Luminary empire, now a place for for Scholars, warriors, and visionaries. It is said that the city belongs to the Crown Prince."

Henry let out a low whistle. "That's… not what I expected."

"No one's first impression ever is," Laurel said with a slight smile. "But remember, this is more than a city. It is a place of power, history, and, for you, Keeper, a place of answers."

As Sam stared at the city's glittering skyline, she felt a quiet hum resonate deep within her, an echo of the cymatic waves she now understood. The path ahead wasn't just leading her to Astralis; it was leading her to the heart of her destiny.

Sam and Henry paused at the edge of the Aurora Forest, turning to face Laurel one last time. The tall Gibboram bowed low, his white fur catching the glimmer of sunlight that filtered through the crystalline canopy.

"This is where I leave you," Laurel said. "The road ahead is yours to walk. May the light of Asha guide your steps, Keeper."

Sam nodded, feeling a pang of gratitude for the strange yet kind creature. "Thank you, Laurel. For everything."

Henry offered a brief wave, his movements still slightly stiff from his recent recovery. "You're a good one, Laurel. Take care of yourself."

Laurel smiled, a hint of pride in his expression. "I will. Safe travels." With that, he turned and disappeared into the trees, his crystal staff clicking softly against the ground as the forest embraced him once more.

Sam and Henry set out along the clear path to Astralis, the city's crystalline towers gleaming on the horizon. The journey was quiet at first, the sound of their steps lost in the soft hum of the surrounding energy.

But as they drew closer to the gates, a deep, resonant roar shattered the calm.

"What was that?" Henry asked, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his weapon.

Sam narrowed her eyes, extending her Internal Sight toward the disturbance. A wave of energy, thick and malevolent, rippled through the air, carrying with it a sense of corruption that made her stomach churn. "It's not good. Something's attacking the gates."

They quickened their pace. The shimmering towers of Astralis loomed larger with each step, and soon the grand gates came into view—massive, crystalline structures that glowed faintly with embedded runes. Guards stood atop the battlements, shouting orders, their weapons gleaming as they prepared to defend the city.

In front of the gates stood the source of the commotion: an Abomination.

It was a hideous, twisted creature—once a proud Mystic Beast, now a monstrosity that exuded raw malice. Its grotesque form was a patchwork of jagged scales and warped flesh, glowing fissures running along its body, leaking dark energy. Its massive claws gouged deep into the ground as it lunged at the gates, its roar reverberating like a thunderclap.

Standing against the creature was a lone figure in golden armor.

"Is that…?" Sam began, but her voice trailed off as she took in the sight.

The warrior was tall, towering at least six feet and five inches, his bronze sun-tanned skin gleaming under the bright light of the gates. His long golden hair, tied back, shifted as he moved with precision and grace. A crystal sword flashed in his hand, cutting arcs of light through the air as he held the Abomination at bay.

But it wasn't just his appearance that struck Sam. It was the way he carried himself—the sharp, confident movements, the aura of unshakable determination. And then, there were his eyes—piercing blue, bright and steady, filled with a depth she had only seen once before.

"Leon…" Sam whispered, the name escaping her lips before she could think.

"That can't be," Henry said, though his voice lacked conviction.

And yet, as they stood there watching, Sam felt the faint hum of his presence, the same resonance she had known since the beginning. It was more than a coincidence. The man before her—his soul felt exactly the same as Leon's.

As the Leon look-alike stepped forward, the air around him grew heavy, charged with an almost tangible pressure. His very presence seemed to anchor the rampaging Abomination in place. The grotesque creature snarled and thrashed, but its movements slowed as if caught in an invisible current.

With deliberate calm, the golden warrior gripped his sword's hilt. The blade hummed faintly, responding to his touch. Odic energy—raw, luminous power—began to gather in waves, flowing from the very fabric of the surroundings. The concentration grew, forming a dense aura of light and sound that converged upon the weapon.

The crystal blade was no ordinary sword. Its surface shimmered, catching the light and refracting it in layers of pale gold and radiant white. The runes etched along the length of the blade glowed brighter as more energy poured in, a subtle harmonic hum building in intensity.

When the warrior moved, it was with a practiced elegance, each motion fluid and purposeful. He raised the blade high, and the gathered energy flared. For a single breath, it seemed as though the world itself hesitated, the Abomination locked in place, trembling against the overwhelming force pressing down upon it.

[Divine Sword—Heavenly Severing Slash]

The invocation was silent yet deafening in its resonance, reverberating through the air without a single sound escaping his lips.

A moment later, a veil of silence descended. The chaotic noises of battle, the growls of the Abomination, the distant shouts of the guards—all of it was swept away. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

The blade moved in a deliberate arc. It didn't just cut through air; it sliced through reality itself. A faint, darkish-yellow line formed in its wake, shimmering with immense power. The slash traveled forward, an ethereal ripple passing through space. As it reached the Abomination, the line expanded, wrapping around the beast like a binding coil before cleaving through its monstrous form.

The creature's roar turned to a low, distorted hum as its body splintered. But instead of falling apart, the space around it began to twist.

The dark yellow line pulsed once, and then—a rift opened.

It was a void, a tear in the very fabric of existence. The edges of the rift glimmered faintly before turning utterly black, its surface swallowing all light. Without resistance, the Abomination was pulled inward, its massive form collapsing into the rift as if it had never been there.

And just as quickly as it appeared, the void rift sealed itself, leaving only stillness in its wake.

The golden warrior lowered his blade, its radiant energy fading until it was a simple crystal sword once more. He stood tall, his gaze fixed on the spot where the creature had vanished, his presence still heavy, still commanding. But the threat was gone.

Gilgamesh Noavellion, the golden warrior, turned his gaze toward them as he sheathed his radiant sword. His piercing blue eyes widened slightly in surprise, the stern lines of his face softening into something more familiar. He stepped closer, his movements steady, his armor catching the sunlight.

"Ina?" he said, his deep voice tinged with disbelief. "What are you doing outside the city?"

Sam felt a jolt at the name. Ina? Her mind raced, her lips parting as if to respond, but nothing came. She was too stunned by how similar he looked—his face, his presence, even his voice—to someone she knew. To Leon.

Gil's gaze shifted briefly to Henry, his expression wary. "And who's this?"

Henry, standing stiffly, glanced at Sam, waiting for her to answer. But Sam said nothing, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. The resemblance was uncanny. It wasn't just how he looked; it was the way he carried himself, the air of authority and strength that felt so familiar, yet completely out of place.

"Ina?" Gil repeated, his brows furrowing. "What's going on?"

Sam managed a slow shake of her head, the words still stuck in her throat. She couldn't begin to explain who she was or why she was there—because she wasn't even sure herself.

-

Inside the vehicle, the quiet hum of its gliding motion was accompanied by a faint, melodic resonance that seemed to come from the crystal-like surfaces of the walls. Smooth and seamless, the cabin was a harmonious blend of light and structure. Subtle runes glowed softly along the console, their gentle pulsing in time with the vehicle's rhythm.

Across from Gilgamesh, Sam sat upright, her gaze fixed on the cityscape passing by. The view was nothing short of breathtaking. Astralis seemed almost too beautiful to be real. Towering spires of translucent stone shimmered in the sunlight, their surfaces refracting subtle hues that changed with the angle of the light. Bridges of glowing crystal arched gracefully over canals filled with flowing liquid light, their soft glow mirrored in the smooth streets below. The faint hum of mana conduits was a steady undercurrent, barely audible, but deeply soothing.

Gil, his golden armor catching the ambient glow, leaned back in his seat with practiced ease. His arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed stance, he gave Sam a crooked grin. "You haven't changed, Ina. Always wandering off, making me come find you. But at least you're still in one piece."

Sam's eyes darted from the windows to his face, her thoughts racing. She didn't know what to say, how to explain herself. This wasn't her name. This wasn't her place. And yet, Gil spoke to her as though they shared a long, personal history.

"I…" she began, her voice hesitant. The words slipped away as quickly as they came.

Gil laughed lightly, the sound warm but tinged with mischief. "Ah, relax," he said, his grin broadening. "You don't have to explain yourself. I'm just glad you're not causing too much trouble out here."

The playful lilt in his voice gave way to something quieter, more introspective. He glanced out the window briefly before continuing. "You know, I used to spend so much time trying to track down Enkidu. Searching the city, checking all the places he might have holed up. He's a real piece of work, that one—always vanishing, then popping back up when you least expect it. It was enough to give me a headache back in the day."

Sam blinked. The name Enkidu resonated faintly, stirring something she couldn't place. The echo of it filled her mind, making her feel like she should remember, even though it sat just out of reach.

"Enkidu," she murmured.

Gil caught her expression and chuckled softly, a hint of amusement flickering in his vivid blue eyes. "Yeah, Enkidu," he repeated, the grin returning to his face. "Don't worry. I know where he is." There was no urgency or concern in Gil's voice—just a quiet, steady confidence that seemed unshakable. But then his expression shifted. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as his gaze turned to Henry.

Henry felt a prickling at the back of his neck, a wave of goosebumps rising as Gil regarded him. It wasn't just a glance—it was an intent, weighty look. The same look Leon used to give him.

"You still haven't explained who he is," Gil said, his voice calm yet edged with curiosity.

His eyes began to glow faintly. The vibrant blue drained away, replaced by a radiant golden hue. Within his pupils, a faint, intricate sun wheel formed, spinning ever so slowly. As he focused on Henry, it was as if that gaze unraveled every layer of him. Henry stiffened under the scrutiny, the unsettling sensation of being laid bare making his skin crawl.

"Hmm," Gil murmured, his voice thoughtful. "One of your sleepers."

The words carried an undertone of authority, as though he was identifying something rare yet familiar. Henry's grip on his sword tightened. He didn't like the way that mystical gaze had cut through him, exposing everything about his core, his potential, and perhaps even his secrets.

"Though," Gil added with a smirk, "that's an impressive weapon for a sleeper. Mythical grade."

With that, his golden eyes dimmed, returning to their normal hue. The sun wheel faded. Gil turned back to Sam, his expression hardening slightly.

"Taking a sleeper out to the forest to help with Awakening is quite dangerous," he said, the weight of disapproval in his voice. "I don't think Illy will appreciate your actions."

Sam opened her mouth, but no words came. What could she say? She wasn't from this time, this world, or this history. She wasn't even sure how to explain Henry's presence here. And this—this was an Echo Field.

A fragment of a lost era, a reverberation of something long gone. Everyone here—their words, their actions, even their identities—was simply an echo of the past. And yet, Gil stood before her, as real and solid as the ground beneath her feet, as if he wasn't just part of the field's imprint.

Whoever this man was, he wasn't just any warrior. Perhaps he was some ancient reflection of Leon, an ancestor or a precursor. Whatever the truth, Sam found herself once again without answers, standing silent before someone who should only exist in history.