Speaking in a language now commonly spoken throughout the lands, a merchant argued with an elderly man loudly.

His harsh words made the white-haired gentleman wince, his wrinkles deepening after each insult.

Quivering slightly, he stepped backwards, placing his hands in front of him to signal no disrespect to the yelling man.

“Adad! Enough!”

From behind the old man, a young, feminine voice rang out, causing the man's face to sink into a frown.

Turning his head slightly to get a glimpse at the person who had spoken out, the elder smiled gently, his snow-white beard glittering in the sunlight.

“He is of long life, brother! You must respect him!”

Storming ahead of the hunched-over old man, a young girl, perhaps between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, slapped the merchant's face hard.

Ignoring the fury that appeared on the man's face, she turned around, placing her hands around the elders.

“He is a fool. You must not take his insults to heart.”

Looking into the wrinkled man's eyes, the child witnessed a certain kindness bloom within them, a spark of joy appearing in the darkness.

Turning his lips into a smile, the elder spoke quietly.

“Thank you, child. I know no such way to repay you.”

Bowing his head towards the dark-brown haired girl, he watched as her face formed a concerned look.

“I-I could never accept repentance for such a deed as scolding my own brother!”

Her words were quick and mixed with worry at the old man spending his remaining time in this world helping a young child.

In the ancient world of Mesopotamia, she was just barely a part of the merchant class, her brother's silver providing for the family. 

To her, this old man shouldn’t waste his hard-earned coin on her, the pains of his long-lived labors a burden enough for him to bear.

Yet, as if reading her thoughts, the man simply smiled, patting her gently on the head as he spoke.

“No child. I shall treat you to a meal, and you will give me stories.”

Watching her face shift uncomfortably, he pointed towards a rugged mat hidden in the corner of an alley.

“That is my home. Do you wish to visit?”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, the child realized slowly that the elder before her wasn’t of a higher class, nor was he even retired from his services.

He had lived a life of slavery in the girl's mind, one of backbreaking work that shaped his wrinkled form into what it is now.

Empathy radiated from her heart so profusely that she had no choice but to accept the man's offer, following the man slowly into the market corner.

Beckoning the child to sit, the white-haired man placed his hand on an empty bottle forged from clay and blasted with heat to make a container.

Confused at what he was doing, the child squinted her eyes, watching the man fill the tube with sand.

A sad expression tugged at her face, the words she couldn’t speak coming through her mind quickly.

He has to eat sand to survive…

Wrapping his hands gently around the clay jar, a cool warmth was emitted that laced onto the girl's flesh like a breeze.

Looking into the opening, he smiled, handing it over to the child who could only take it with a look of pity.

I should pretend to drink from it. It would be rude to insult his wealth.

Without turning her gaze downward, she placed her light brown lips onto the surface, tilting the rear upward and preparing for the rocky taste of salt to enter her mouth.

Hmm?

Surprise wracked her body as a tasty fluid overcame her tongue, filling her mouth faster than she could react.

Its sweet, savory flavor dominated her taste buds, warming her heart to an extent previously unknown to her.

Gazing between the drink and the elder, she could only gawk at the oddity of what had just occurred.

Sand had vanished, leaving only the gentle smell of pumpkin soup to float through the air of the large city of Babylon.

While the crop wouldn’t be introduced to this region for over a thousand years, the first to try it beamed with joy at its taste.

“How did you…”

Her words were drowned out as she took another wonderful sip of the liquid, her mind blank as it roused new emotions in her chest.

Throughout her life, she had only eaten bread and fruit, objects that could not compare to the delicately crafted spices or cooking knowledge brought by the old man.

Gently placing his finger to his lips, the elder hushed the girl's questions, speaking quietly to deter onlookers from intruding on this moment in time.

“Tell me, child, what stories do you have for me?”

His eyes danced with a wondrous light, his loneliness saturated for even a moment as he engaged in conversation with the girl.

And as she opened her mouth to speak, time slowed to allow for this young storyteller who, unlike the man before her, wouldn’t live forever.

Each waking second of her lifespan spent talking to him was another story lost to the ebb and flow of the cosmos.

Then, speaking from the heart, she revealed her history to the elder who had filled her stomach with wonderful food.

“My father was a slave, working in the fields from dawn to dusk, dirt covering every inch of his face as he worked. My mother is an artisan, one who met him during a rare day in which he was in the central city.”

There was a quiet undertone in her voice, the old man's eyes widening in happiness as the story continued.

“Once my older brother was born, they started a new life, my father becoming a poor farmer, one whose wealth was limited, yet without the hard life of a slave.”

For a moment, a hopeful expression appeared across the dark-skinned girl's face; however, as she spoke again, it faded like the setting sun.

“When I was three, I was brought before the church to receive the blessings of god, our savior, who freed our ancestors in myth. That same day, I watched my own father slain by the city guards, his food stolen, and my brother brutally beaten.”

She paused, her gaze directed at the ground.

“The guards spoke of my father like he was a dangerous beast, one who contributed nothing to our home. They said he had no value, no reason to exist. To me, however, he was simply my daddy, the one whose sun-baked smile had looked down at me for years. The same man who planted barely in the fields with me on his back.”

There was a tear that ran down her face as she spoke again with her sad speech.

“Yet those men took him away. I was told god would protect me in my darkest times, yet he is nowhere in my life. He was not there when my daddy was impaled with a spear. He was not there when my mother threw herself into the Euphrates, drowning herself in her sorrows.”

Now with the droplets falling from her face in a steady stream, she continued onward, not ending the story even in her grief.

“Our god… My god, wasn’t here to save me. When my brother worked himself half to death until he could become a merchant, I thought of him like my savior, like what a true deity should be.”

Looking up at the silent spectator of an elder, the girl watched as his eyes dripped with long streaks of water.

His wrinkles as deep as ravines, hair as white as cloth, and emotions coursing through his veins without delay.

Taking a deep breath, the girl finished her story quietly.

“I will now live my life without a mother or a father, a brother who will work until he dies, and a fate as one of those inhuman wives, merely a living factory for their offspring. And if I so wish to pray to my lord, the one who freed my ancestors from the Walls of Eden, then I must follow my mother into the rushing tides of the great river.”

The child's dark eyes were red from tears, the man across from her the same as herself, his body shaking slightly.

In the mind of that elder, emotions new to him sprang to life, similar to how millennia ago he had saved humanity, he now felt a desperation to apologize, to repent, and to simply speak to them as equals.

But as the cosmic scale of the universe twisted and turned, he could only be an onlooker to their stories.

Wiping his eyes onto a cloth, he looked up at the young girl, speaking quietly, his voice shaky with exertion, rasping at his body.

“What is your name, child?”

Gazing into her eyes with sorrow and guilt, he heard a low sound come from her throat, one that would resound in his mind even eons into the future.

“Ishtar.”

Her gentle tone left its impact on the man as he looked up at the blazing sun that resided in the heavens above.

“Shammuramat is a wonderful name.”

He paused, the girl's expression contorting at his strange words.

“Do you have a wish, young dove?”

The girl's lip trembled as she listened to his words, an odd sense of tranquility and peace settling over her small figure.

Pulling at her hair gently, she wondered to herself what she would ask for if she could speak with her god.

Would she yell and scream, would she beg for her mother and father back, or would she simply sob to no end?

Breathing deeply, she replied to the man, a resolute finality in her words.

“I would wish to ask god, why have you forsaken us? Where have you been when I have called out your name?”

Her eyes stared blankly into the old man's, a frown forming across his lips as he spoke.

“The one you worship is simply a listener, one who cannot interfere in humanity's affairs, no matter how much he might wish to. He thinks about your people day and night, for centuries at a time. He will remember you and your life for as long as he lives and for as long as the universe draws breath.”

He swallowed deeply.

“Your god loves humanity to no end. There is not a day that goes by that he does not wish to grant you salvation; however, he lacks the means to do so. And so he travels the world in the body made of cosmic dust, watching and experiencing the lives of these people, the ones who he cares for more than his own wellbeing.”

Ending his slow response, he looked into the eyes of the girl, fresh tears falling from her eyes.

“God has always heard humanity’s pleas and sorrows, and he grieves far more than they do. However, in the end, he isn’t truly all-powerful, for humans weren’t even his own creation, simply the faucet of his imagination.”

Standing up slowly, he placed his hood above his head, shrouding his face from the girl as he walked away.

They did not speak again to each other, not in this lifetime, or the next; however, his words changed something within that young girl's heart that would set in motion a chain of events that would change Babylon forever.

The white-haired elder would watch from afar as she married the King of the nation, taking the spot as queen.

He would watch as she mourned the death of her brother, the merchant cut down in a risky deal with foreigners.

And on the day she gave birth, he bestowed the honor onto a stork to deliver a bundle of western flowers to the woman, bearing the smell of pumpkin.

She would rise to complete power when her husband died, the lonely watcher who observed from afar, gazing into her future.

The once dreary girl who saw nothing but death in her future now held the highest position in the nation.

Finally, as she lay dying at the end of her long life, she tasted the warm soup she drank that day, the warm embrace of her god comforting her in her final moments.

Legend says that after her death, the Tigris and Euphrates overflowed with water, flooding the kingdom with the tears of the heavens.

Nobody could confirm or deny the myth; however, the records were lost to time along with her meeting with the mysterious elder.

And as time ticked on, the old man grew more lonely, his human connections only temporary in the vast expanse of his lifetime.

However, he had grown to respect the human heart to an endless extent, their hopes, dreams, and ideals able to be accomplished with effort.

It was something he wished he could do, yet the pain in his chest would not vanish, no matter how hard he tried.