The celestial phenomenon was undeniable; something, or someone, had indeed descended from the realm of the gods. Rowe's mind raced, analyzing the implications with the detached perspective of a transmigrator—a perspective that transcended the limited understanding of this era. He possessed knowledge of the epic poems and fragmented histories that would be passed down through millennia.
He knew the stories of Uruk on the Mesopotamian plain. He knew that Gilgamesh would be remembered by future generations as the oldest King of Heroes. And crucially, Rowe knew that Gilgamesh was not destined to walk his path forever alone. The legends spoke of a friend, 'Enkidu,' a being fashioned by the gods from clay—a divine weapon given human form.
Could it be him? Rowe wondered, gazing westward as if he could still see the fading trail of the falling star. Or perhaps it is the goddess Aruru herself, descending to personally oversee the incarnation of her creation?
Theoretically, the timeline did align; Enkidu's arrival should be imminent. However, this was not the time to dwell on divine schedules. For the moment, whether it was Enkidu or not was largely irrelevant to Rowe's personal, singular goal. He had a more immediate issue to confront.
"You said that after I left the temple earlier, the gods saw fit to bestow a treasure upon me?"
Before night could fully claim the sky, Rowe had returned to the Priest's Temple. His intention was simple: to gather his meager belongings and bid a final farewell to the elders who had shown him kindness. He had not expected the High Priest to greet him with such momentous, and unsettling, news as soon as he crossed the threshold.
"Yes, my child," the old man affirmed.
The flickering light of a central bonfire illuminated the room where Rowe had once spent hours carving cuneiform into clay tablets. The space between neatly stacked stone slabs was engraved with intricate, esoteric patterns dedicated to the divine. Standing amidst these symbols, the thin, aged High Priest looked upon the young man and nodded solemnly.
"Rowe, your unwavering sincerity has moved the heavens themselves," the High Priest intoned, his voice full of reverence. "The great and merciful gods have seen the trials you face and, in their pity, have bestowed upon you a sacred treasure—a sign of their favor."
Though his every instinct screamed to refuse any gift from the capricious and self-serving deities, Rowe hesitated. A pragmatic curiosity stayed his tongue. He needed to see what it was first.
"I do not know its nature," the old man continued, sensing Rowe's silent inquiry. "But the divine message was clear: if I presented it to you, you would understand its purpose."
With that, the High Priest carefully handed Rowe a small, cool object.
It was… a key?
Rowe held the translucent, crystalline object, no larger than his finger, and stared at it in bewilderment. There was no mistaking it; the divine 'treasure' was indeed a key. And the moment his skin made contact, a stream of information—not words, but pure conceptual understanding—flowed from the object directly into his consciousness. He instinctively knew its name and function.
The Key of the Heavens.
The realization was stark. Gilgamesh was the 'Wedge of Heaven,' the anchor maintaining the tenuous connection between the divine and human realms. Enkidu, who would soon arrive, was the 'Chains of Heaven,' created to bind and correct the King's wayward path. And now, the gods had given him, Rowe, a tool of similar nature: a key designed to bypass the boundary between heaven and earth.
There was no ambiguity in their intent. Just as they sought to use Enkidu, they now intended to use Rowe as a crucial instrument to guide Gilgamesh back onto the path of divine wisdom—to make him a compliant puppet king.
"Those scheming deities... they certainly have high expectations for me!" Rowe muttered to himself, a wry, cynical smile touching his lips. He pocketed the key, deciding not to refuse it.
Fortunately, the divine 'gift' was not some blatantly immortality-granting artifact that would directly thwart his ultimate goal. The primary function of the Key of the Heavens, as Rowe understood it, was to neutralize the innate, oppressive pressure that divine aura exerted upon mortals. It would allow him to act with autonomy in the presence of gods and their domains, a utility he had to admit was marginally useful in his current predicament.
Moreover, a cold, historical perspective offered a thread of solace. Throughout the annals of the Age of Gods, countless heroes upon whom the deities placed their "high hopes" had met distinctly tragic, yet memorable, ends. They were either sacrificed heroically in some grand, orchestrated event or vanished from the stage of history like a fleeting meteor, leaving behind only legends and endless regret. For a soul yearning for a legendary demise, being marked as a pawn of the gods was not the worst fate. Priest Rowe could scarcely ask for a more classic narrative arc.
And so, he accepted this flag of destiny without further protest.
"High Priest," Rowe said, turning to the old man, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "Thank you. Thank you for your care these past days."
The High Priest was momentarily taken aback by the sincerity, then a warm, paternal smile spread across his weathered face. "I had originally hoped you would remain to inherit my position, to become the High Priest who guides this nation's faith," he confessed. "But this path is good, too. The stage by the King's side is far grander than the confines of this temple. Go, and achieve the ideals burning in your heart, my child. Become a hero for Uruk."
Rowe responded with a quiet nod and a faint smile. No matter what convoluted schemes the future held, the kindness these people had shown him was genuine, and Rowe was not one to ignore such sincerity.
And so, with his preparations complete and his farewells made, the next step was clear.
It was time to set off.
...
"Ahhhh... Just what is 'inner beauty'?!"
Elsewhere in Uruk, within the opulent confines of a secluded temple dedicated to her worship, the air was thick with a goddess's frustration. Gems set into the dome overhead reflected brilliant, flowing light, illuminating the lavish hall. The Goddess Ishtar sat unceremoniously on the polished floor, her long, dark hair cascading around her. Her chest rose and fell with agitated breaths, her legs crossed, and her delicate, lotus-like hands gesticulated in the air as if trying to physically grasp the elusive concept. Her exquisitely beautiful face was a canvas of profound distress.
"My Lady Ishtar... what troubles you?" A timid Divine Attendant, stationed nearby, dared to speak, her voice laced with concern.
"Silence! Do not disturb my thoughts!" Ishtar snapped, her divine majesty flaring instantly.
No matter how personally troubled she was, the inherent authority of a god was not something a mortal could casually question. The attendant flinched, bowing her head deeply and kneeling, her whole body trembling with fear.
Seeing the mortal's abject terror, Ishtar pursed her ruby-red lips in thought. Ever since her confrontation at Gilgamesh's palace and the subsequent, humiliating mockery from that infuriating mortal, Rowe, her competitive spirit had been utterly ignited. As the Goddess who presided over Beauty and who naturally adored all things beautiful, she was consumed by a need to make Rowe recant his words, to force him to acknowledge her perfection and submit at her feet.
Thus, upon returning to her earthly temple, she had spent the hours pondering Rowe's cryptic accusation. But this notion of 'inner beauty'... it was an enigma to her divine mind.
"This goddess has a question for you," Ishtar declared after a long moment of silence, deciding to leverage the only resource currently available to her. If a mortal had raised the concept, then perhaps a mortal could explain it. Her voice echoed through the temple, cold and imperious. "Do you know what 'inner beauty' is?"
"Y-Yes, great Goddess," the attendant stammered, shivering anew. "What the gods decree as beautiful... is beautiful. Obeying the gods' commands, following the gods' divine will... that is the truest inner beauty..."
"Wrong!" Ishtar interrupted sharply. Though capricious, she was not foolish; she could easily discern the sycophantic flattery born of sheer terror. However, the interaction revealed a crucial insight. "You understand the concept," she mused aloud, "but you dare not speak the truth to me."
Ishtar clapped her hands together, a decision crystallizing in her mind. The 'inner beauty' Rowe spoke of—this mortal attendant undoubtedly held a genuine, human standard for it in her heart. Humans knew this concept intimately. Ishtar, as a god, did not. And aside from the impossibly brazen Rowe, no other human would dare speak of it candidly in her presence.
Of course, asking Rowe directly was out of the question; that would constitute a surrender. But if she could not seek the answer from another... perhaps she could seek it from within.
The body she currently inhabited, this 'pseudo-Servant' vessel, was originally human. The humanity within it had been suppressed by her overwhelming divinity, but it was still there, a silent passenger.
"Very well," Ishtar whispered to herself, a spark of determination igniting in her ruby-like eyes. "I shall temporarily release the humanity held within this vessel, the consciousness that has been subdued by my divine presence."
She would allow that mortal perspective to surge forth, to color her perceptions. With her goddess's wisdom to guide the process, she was certain she could rapidly comprehend this human notion of 'inner beauty.'
Just you wait, Rowe, she thought, a confident, almost predatory smile gracing her lips. Soon, this goddess will make you kneel at my feet and swallow every crude word you uttered!