A New World

Gadriel awoke in a strange new world, his mind clouded with the remnants of forgotten dreams and half-remembered truths. The past was a fragmented puzzle, pieces scattered across time and space, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not fit them all together. He knew he was searching for something—his people, his lost love, a kingdom that had once spanned the stars—but the details were hazy, shrouded in a fog that refused to lift.

Days passed as he wandered through this unfamiliar land, driven by an instinct he did not fully understand. The landscape was alien to him, yet there were moments when it felt almost familiar, as if echoes of his past whispered through the trees and across the open plains. It was during one such moment that he found himself standing at the gates of a city unlike any he had seen before.

The city loomed before him, its walls high and imposing, with spires that reached into the sky as if to touch the heavens. At the entrance stood a large stele, carved with symbols that Gadriel recognized immediately—ancient glyphs, believed by the inhabitants to be the divine language of King Sargon, the "true king." These symbols stirred something deep within him, a flicker of memory that brought with it both hope and dread.

The streets of the city were bustling with life. Merchants hawked their wares from colorful stalls, their voices raised in a language Gadriel could understand, though it had been centuries since he last heard it spoken. The people were clothed in garments of vibrant colors, woven with intricate patterns that spoke of a rich cultural heritage. Some wore robes of fine linen, their hems embroidered with gold and silver thread, while others donned simple tunics, their faces marked with the wear of hard labor.

But it was not the people or their clothing that captured Gadriel's attention. As he wandered through the streets, his eyes were drawn to a massive statue that stood at the center of a grand square. The statue depicted a Bull-Man, its muscular form carved from stone, its eyes cold and lifeless. The sight of it sent a shiver down Gadriel's spine, stirring memories that had long been buried.

He remembered the Bull-Men of Kayron, mighty warriors who had fought alongside him in battles that spanned the galaxy. They were creatures of immense strength, their bodies a fusion of man and beast, with the intelligence of the former and the ferocity of the latter. But this statue—this lifeless effigy—felt wrong, twisted, as if it were a mockery of what the Bull-Men had once been.

Gadriel's heart pounded in his chest as the memories began to surface, fragmented and disjointed. He had known these creatures, fought beside them, perhaps even commanded them. But where were they now? And what had become of the proud civilization they had once defended?

Lost in thought, Gadriel approached a nearby stall and addressed the merchant. "Where can I find King Sargon?"

At the sound of his voice, the merchants around him froze, their faces pale with fear. They fell to their knees, begging for mercy, though Gadriel had done nothing to warrant such terror. Confusion washed over him—why did they fear him so?

One merchant, trembling, finally spoke. "My lord, we are here to fulfill your needs. Shall we take you to Akkad, the capital?"

Gadriel hesitated. The name "Akkad" resonated within him, echoing through the corridors of his fragmented memories. It was a city he knew, a place of power and knowledge. He nodded in agreement, and the merchant led him to a small caravan that would take him there.

The journey to Akkad was long and arduous, the landscape shifting from rolling hills to barren deserts. Along the way, Gadriel's thoughts returned to the statue of the Bull-Man, to the memories it had awakened. He could feel the past clawing its way to the surface, but the harder he tried to grasp it, the more it slipped away, like sand through his fingers.

When they finally arrived in Akkad, Gadriel was struck by the city's grandeur. It was a place of immense beauty, with towering palaces and magnificent monuments, all built upon the ruins of older cities. The streets were lined with marble statues, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and the sound of chanted prayers.

But as he approached the palace gates, something felt off. Guards were posted at every corner, their spears crossed as if warning against unwelcome intruders. Their eyes followed him as he walked, suspicion etched on their faces.

Gadriel approached one of the guards and requested an audience with King Sargon. The guard refused him, his expression cold and unyielding. "The King is on campaign," the guard said, "but you may speak with Prince Rimush, who rules in his stead."

The mention of the prince sent a chill down Gadriel's spine. The name was unfamiliar, yet it stirred something deep within him, a memory just out of reach. Determined to learn more, he presented the golden ring with the emblem of the royal seal of Kayron to the guard. The guard's eyes widened in recognition, and after a tense moment, he relented.

Gadriel was led into the palace, a grand structure adorned with intricate carvings and frescoes that depicted scenes of conquest and glory. As he passed through the halls, he could feel the eyes of courtiers and servants upon him, their whispers growing louder with each step.

Finally, he was ushered into the throne room, where Prince Rimush sat upon a gilded throne. The prince was a young man, his features sharp and his eyes calculating. He studied Gadriel for a long moment before speaking.

"Welcome, traveler," Prince Rimush said, his voice smooth and measured. "You carry the seal of Kayron, a relic from bygone tales, yet I do not recognize your face. Tell me, who are you, and where did you learn to speak our language?" Gadriel hesitated, the answer eluding him for a moment as the fog in his mind thickened. "My name is Gilgamesh," he finally replied, using the name he had adopted. "I am a traveler seeking my family."

The prince's gaze hardened. "Gilgamesh," he repeated, tasting the name as if it were foreign on his tongue. "And this family you seek—where are they? Where do you come from?"

Gadriel felt the weight of the questions pressing down on him, the answers just out of reach. "I come from a place far from here, a place long forgotten," he said slowly. "My memories are... incomplete. But I know I must find my people, those who crossed into this world before me."

The prince leaned back in his throne, considering Gadriel's words. "You speak as one touched by the gods," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps there is truth in your words, or perhaps you are a madman. But I am curious, Gilgamesh. Tell me more of this place you come from."

Gadriel's mind raced, searching for the fragments of his past that had not yet faded. "It was a place of knowledge, of power," he said, his voice steadying as he spoke. "A kingdom that spanned the stars, ruled by a people of great wisdom. But we were betrayed, and our world was lost. I awoke in this world, alone, with no memory of how I came to be here."

The prince's eyes narrowed. "A kingdom that spanned the stars? You speak of things that are beyond our understanding. But I see the seal you carry, and I believe you. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye."

He stood, gesturing for Gadriel to follow him. "Come, let us speak in private."

Gadriel followed the prince into a private chamber, where the walls were lined with tapestries depicting scenes of battle and conquest. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. The prince poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Gadriel.

"To our meeting," Prince Rimush said, raising his glass. Gadriel hesitated, sensing something amiss, but the prince's hospitality was genuine, and he took a sip.

The wine was sweet, but as Gadriel drank, a strange sensation overcame him. His vision blurred, and the room began to spin. He realized too late that he had been poisoned. The glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor as darkness closed in around him.

Gadriel awoke in a cold, dark cell, the sound of distant voices echoing through the stone walls. Chains rattled as he shifted, and he realized he was not alone. Other prisoners were shackled nearby, their eyes hollow with despair.

One of them, a man with a weathered face and a strong build, noticed Gadriel stirring. "You're awake," the man said, his voice low and rough. "You must be strong to survive the prince's poison."

Gadriel's mind was still foggy, but he forced himself to focus. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"The dungeons beneath the arena," the man replied. "They bring us here to fight for their amusement. Those who survive long enough might earn a day's reprieve, but most are sent to the mines or killed in the arena."

Gadriel's heart sank. He had fallen into a trap, and now he was a prisoner, forced to fight for his life. But he was not without hope. His memories were still fragmented, but he knew he had once been a warrior, a leader of men. He would find a way out of this, one way or another.

The man leaned closer. "My name is Gad, and I've been here longer than most. The only reason I'm still alive is because I know how to fight. I was a soldier, once, before I was captured and brought here. I've seen many die in the arena, but I've also seen some survive—those who are strong and cunning."

Gadriel nodded, taking in the man's words. "I need to get out of here," he said. "If you help me, I'll see to it that you're freed as well."

Gad regarded him for a long moment before nodding. "We might have a chance," he said. "But first, we need to survive the arena. And that means we need to fight—and win."

The door to the cell creaked open, and a guard entered, his face twisted into a cruel grin. "Time to fight, scum," he sneered, unlocking the chains that bound Gadriel and Gad. "The crowd is hungry for blood."

They were led through a narrow passageway that opened into a massive arena, its stands filled with spectators eager for violence. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a cacophony of voices that echoed through the stone walls.

In the center of the arena stood a massive Bull-Man, its body rippling with muscle, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. It was a creature of immense power, a fusion of man and beast, with horns that curled menacingly from its head and hooves that struck the ground with a thunderous force.

Gadriel's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the creature. It was an Arjus, a warrior from Kayron, one of the elite soldiers who had fought in the great wars of his people. But this Arjus was different—twisted, corrupted, its mind lost to the madness of battle.

The arena master's voice boomed across the sands, announcing the fight. "Behold, the mighty Arjus! The last of his kind, a warrior who has slain many in this very arena. But today, he faces a new challenger—one who claims to be a god!"

Gadriel's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped forward, his eyes locked on the Bull-Man. The memories of Kayron flooded back, the battles he had fought, the comrades he had lost. But this was not just any battle—this was a fight for survival, for freedom.

The Arjus charged, its hooves thundering against the ground as it closed the distance between them. Gadriel braced himself, drawing upon the instincts that had been honed over centuries of warfare. He sidestepped the charge, narrowly avoiding the Arjus's horns, and struck back with a swift kick to its side.

The Bull-Man bellowed in rage, turning to face Gadriel with a snarl. Its eyes blazed with fury, and it charged again, its horns lowered to gore. Gadriel leaped out of the way, his movements quick and precise, but the Arjus was relentless, its attacks growing more frenzied with each passing moment.

The fight continued, a brutal dance of strength and skill. Gadriel could feel the Arjus's power with every blow, the sheer force behind its attacks. But he also saw the creature's desperation, the madness in its eyes. This was not just a battle—it was a test of wills, a struggle between two warriors who had lost everything.

And then, in a moment of clarity, Gadriel saw an opening. The Arjus had overextended itself in its rage, leaving its side vulnerable. Gadriel seized the opportunity, driving his fist into the creature's ribs with all the strength he could muster.

The Arjus staggered, its breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, it seemed as though the fight was over, that Gadriel had won. But then, something unexpected happened.

The Bull-Man looked at Gadriel, and in its eyes, Gadriel saw a flicker of recognition, a spark of the warrior it had once been. The madness faded, if only for an instant, and the creature spoke.

"Gadriel..." the Arjus rasped, its voice thick with pain. "It is... you."

Gadriel froze, the words cutting through the haze of battle. The Arjus knew him—knew his true name, the name he had long since forgotten. "Arjus," Gadriel whispered, the memories crashing over him in a wave.

But there was no time to process what had happened. The Bull-Man, now fully aware, turned its gaze to the arena master, who was watching from above. With a roar, it lunged at the master's platform, its massive form crashing through the wooden supports.

The platform collapsed, sending the arena master and his guards tumbling to the ground. The crowd erupted into chaos, some fleeing in terror, others cheering for the spectacle.

Gadriel, seizing the moment, grabbed Gad by the arm. "We need to get out of here, now!"

They ran toward the exit, weaving through the panicked crowd. The Arjus, now free from its chains, turned to follow, its eyes fixed on Gadriel.

"Arjus!" Gadriel called out as they reached the gates. "Come with us! We can escape together!"

The Bull-Man hesitated, its massive frame silhouetted against the flames that now licked the edges of the arena. But then it nodded, and together, they fled the city, leaving the chaos behind.

As they ran through the night, Gadriel's mind whirled with questions. How had Arjus survived? What had been done to him? And most importantly, what had happened to the rest of his people?

But those answers would have to wait. For now, they had to stay alive.