The stillness of the Villa of the Earth Tone’s entrance was shattered by the presence of a single footprint etched into the soft earth beside Lugal, whose wounds spoke of recent violence. Utu crouched beside it, the dim light catching the furrow of his brow as he traced the edges of the imprint with his fingers. His serpent-patterned skin gleamed faintly in the glow of the bioluminescent moss around them.

“These tracks,” Utu muttered, his voice like a low rumble of distant thunder, “belong to the Liluvar of the north.” He rose slowly, his gaze locking onto Elpenor, his words cutting through the air with a quiet certainty.

Elpenor’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. His voice, devoid of excess emotion, held an eerie calm that carried the weight of a storm gathering on the horizon. “What can we do to repay them for what they’ve done to Lugal?” he asked, his tone measured but laced with something far more dangerous. “And what of the child? How can we save them?”

Before the answer could come, the sharp cadence of hurried footsteps approached. Ziusudra appeared from the darkness, his face pale and drawn with a terror that seemed to radiate from his very soul. His voice broke as he cried out, “Nidaba is gone!”

The air grew impossibly heavy, as though the entire world had paused to bear witness to what would come next. Elpenor stood motionless, his expression a mask of utter stillness, but his eyes burned with something primal. Slowly, his features shifted, his gaze narrowing to slits thinner than the Gorgonkin around him that seemed to pierce through reality itself. His jaw tightened, and his hands closed into fists so tightly that they trembled.

A flicker of wrath passed over his face, gone as quickly as it came, leaving only a horrifying serenity in its place. When Elpenor spoke, his voice was calm, chillingly calm—a tone devoid of life, yet brimming with the certainty of death. “Gather the soldiers,” Elpenor said with a deliberate precision that made every syllable feel like a blade carving the air. “Prepare for war. We will likely need the Reheka’s aid.”

The words hung there like a solemn decree, but the silence that followed was quickly filled by Utu and Ziusudra’s hesitant question, their voices trembling. “What do you plan to do to the north?”

Elpenor turned his gaze upon them, his expression a terrifying mix of calculated resolve and simmering rage. “Destroy their military,” he said simply, as though it was an unassailable fact. “Find the child. Find Nidaba. And if they are as much as scratched…” He paused, his eyes glinting in the faint glow of the cavern’s light, his lips curling into a slight smile that was devoid of warmth or humanity. “I will make the north burn.”

The words left his mouth with a clarity that made them feel like an immutable truth of the universe. “After all,” Elpenor added, his voice dropping into something that was almost a whisper but carried the weight of a mountain, “ruthlessness is mercy to ourselves.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, as though the Villa itself was holding its breath. Then Elpenor turned away, his mind already piecing together the steps that would lead to their vengeance. The northern Utu Empire had made their move. Now, it was Elpenor’s turn to show them what true fury looked like.

Enkidu awoke to the faint hum of voices, his head heavy and spinning. The dim glow of the room did little to ease his confusion, and it took several moments before he could fully grasp his surroundings. His body ached with a dull, pervasive pain, as though he had been trampled by a herd of beasts. He blinked slowly, his vision clearing to reveal Ziusudra standing at his side, concern etched into his face.

“Can you remember anything?” Ziusudra asked, his tone gentle but urgent.

Enkidu furrowed his brow, fragments of memory flitting through his mind like shadows in mist. He reached for something solid, something clear, but all he found was the image of a Liluvar man standing before him, his expression unreadable, and then—a sharp, blinding impact. “The last thing I remember…” Enkidu began, his voice rough and unsteady, “is a Liluvar man asking something… and then… something hitting me.” He shook his head slightly, trying to piece together the broken shards of memory. “What happened to me?”

Ziusudra hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unspoken before he forced a smile. “I’ll explain later. For now, you’re safe.”

Enkidu’s gaze softened as another thought surfaced. “Your sister…” he said slowly, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “How is she?”

“She missing,” Ziusudra replied, his voice quieter now, tinged with an emotion that Enkidu couldn’t quite place.

The weight of the situation began to sink in, and Enkidu forced himself upright, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through his body. He glanced around the room, his healer’s instincts taking over. “Is everyone else injured?” Enkidu asked, his tone shifting, taking on a firmer edge. “I should start treating—” His words cut off as a sharp, searing pain shot through his side, stealing his breath and forcing him back onto the bed. His hand instinctively pressed against his ribs, and he groaned in frustration.

Ziusudra reached out, his expression clouded with worry. “Enkidu, you’re in no condition to move.”

Gritting his teeth, Enkidu looked up at him, determination glinting in his eyes even through the haze of pain. “I’m going to need your help treating the injured,” Enkidu said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Do you think you can do that?”

Ziusudra nodded without hesitation, his resolve matching Enkidu’s. “Yes. Just tell me what to do.”

With Ziusudra’s help, Enkidu began to sit up more carefully this time, leaning heavily on his companion. Each movement felt like an eternity, but his mind was already focused on the soldiers, on the wounded who needed him. He wasn’t one to let pain hold him back, though it gnawed at the edges of his thoughts like a persistent shadow.

As Ziusudra began to help him out of bed, Enkidu caught his breath, speaking again in a low but firm voice. “We start with the worst injuries first,” he said, his mind already mapping out triage. “If you see signs of fever or infection, tell me right away.”

“Understood,” Ziusudra replied, his voice steady, though his movements betrayed the weight he was carrying—both physical and emotional.

Together, they began the slow journey toward the soldiers, Ziusudra supporting most of Enkidu’s weight as they navigated the winding corridors. Each step was a battle for Enkidu, but he kept his focus sharp, his determination unwavering. There were lives to save, and no injury of his own would stop him.

There was no hesitation in his thoughts, no doubt. In his heart, the outcome was already determined. The north would bleed, and the echoes of their defeat would resound through the mountains.

The first light of the day filtered through the crystalline walls of the Villa of the Earth Tone, casting faint reflections over Nidaba’s room. Elpenor stood near the corner, his hands steady as he worked to mend the frayed edges of the plant near her bed. Its curling leaves had lost their vibrant sheen, a reflection of the chaotic energies that had torn through their sanctuary. Elpenor thought it fitting—life was fragile, always teetering between survival and ruin.

As he brushed away the dust that clung to the table, his eyes landed on an envelope nestled beneath the plant’s pot. The aged parchment bore an all-too-familiar insignia—the unmistakable crest of Hades. His pulse quickened as he reached for the letter, his fingers trembling just slightly. It had been months since Hades had last communicated with him, but the weight of the god’s intervention always lingered in the back of his mind.

Elpenor unfolded the letter carefully, his heart pounding as he read the words etched in jagged script:

*"Elpenor, I warned you of what would happen. You faced the beast’s and made it faltered; you struck at its flesh but failed to destroy its influence. Because of this, the followers of the beast have brought ruin to your home.

Nidaba is not dead, but her time grows short. If you do not act quickly, she will become nothing more than a plaything to the beast itself. When you meet with the Reheka, show them my symbol and tell them you are a friend of Ra—it will be the key to securing their aid. But beware, Elpenor, for hesitation will cost you everything.

The north burns, as it must, but the embers of hope still smolder. Find her, and make haste. Her fate, and yours, hangs by a thread."*

The letter fell from his hands, fluttering silently to the floor like a leaf drained of life. Elpenor stood still, rooted in place as the gravity of the words consumed him. Nidaba was alive—she was alive. Relief surged through his chest, overwhelming him as tears welled in his eyes. He sank to his knees, his breathing uneven as a rare, fleeting peace washed over him. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope—a certainty that everything had not yet slipped beyond his grasp.

But the moment passed quickly, replaced by the undeniable pull of purpose. As the peace faded, resolve took its place. Elpenor wiped his eyes, his features hardening into the stoic determination of a man who refused to succumb to despair. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his mind already weaving the threads of the plan ahead.

Elpenor reached for the letter once more, carefully folding it and tucking it into his satchel. The Reheka would listen—they had to. Hades’ suggestion to invoke Ra’s name was clever, if not necessary. Elpenor knew that trust with the Reheka would not come easily, but they would bend if he could make them believe in his purpose. And if they refused… he thought briefly, eyes narrowing. Then they’d become the next obstacle to be crushed underfoot.

With deliberate movements, Elpenor adjusted his cloak, preparing himself for the meeting ahead. He glanced around Nidaba’s room one last time, memorizing every detail—the plant, the soft glow of the bioluminescent moss on the walls, the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air. It was a fragile reminder of what had been lost, and what still needed to be saved.

As he stepped into the hallway, his thoughts turned to the north—to the Liluvar, and to the horrors that awaited. His enemies had proven themselves ruthless, but so had he. And though the path ahead was steeped in danger and uncertainty, Elpenor knew one thing with absolute clarity: he would make the beast pay. He would make the north burn.

His voice echoed silently within his mind, a mantra that steadied him with its merciless certainty. Ruthlessness is mercy to ourselves.

And with this, Elpenor strode forward, his plans sharpening into something fearsome and inevitable