Enkidu

On the edge of Saraab Island stood the sanctuary of the Zardashtians. It was a palace originally carved from pure white stone, now choked by a millennium of gray dust and shadows. The heavy doors had long been sealed against the outside world. Torches sat as burned-out husks in their sconces, and thick, suffocating curtains blocked whatever light dared to touch the clouded glass ceilings. In this absolute silence, every sound echoed like a drum.

And so did the heavy boots of the scouts as they marched into the giant meeting room.

“Your Highness,” a man murmured, approaching the weary elder. “They have returned. The scouts.” He kept his voice low, cautious not to startle him.

The elder dragged his heavy eyelids open. Resting his chin on his arm, he took a long look at the hardened, exhausted faces of the scouts. A faint, trembling smile touched his lips as he braced his hands against the table, preparing to stand.

“Speak,” he commanded softly.

“Your Highness, as you ordered, we have scoured the lands for any trace of his remains,” one of the young scouts breathed, his chest heaving with a desperate, fervent hope. “And once again, there is nothing. Not a single sign of him beneath any rock or ruin.”

The elder pushed his heavy body upward. His boots struck the floor with a hollow thud, lifting years of undisturbed dust into the stagnant air. He began to circle the scouts, his weathered fingers aggressively pinching his messy white beard.

“Your Highness,” his secretary stepped into his path, boldly blocking him. “You promised this would be the final expedition. There has never been anything to find. Every scout has returned safe and sound for millennia.”

The elder did not answer with words. Instead, he gripped the secretary’s shoulders and firmly moved him aside, marching toward the towering, covered windows.

“Those heinous creatures,” the elder rasped. “Who could have known they would breed a devil so foul that it would wipe them out? We believed his wrath would grant us peace.” He seized the edge of a massive, rotting curtain and ripped it downward with a violent tear. “But he came to hunt us down as well.” He grabbed another curtain, pulling it entirely from the wall. “He brought two centuries of hell to this island.”

He turned, walking slowly toward the sealed sanctuary doors. “Then those siblings arrived, bringing their followers with them.” He rested his calloused hands against the heavy wood of the doors. “Their only use was stopping that devil... only for them to steal the island from us the moment the dust settled.”

He pushed. The doors groaned, opening to the outside world for the first time in generations.

“We have sent out scouts ever since, terrified that the devil was not truly dead, or that those siblings had plotted with him in the dark. But now, four thousand years have passed.” The elder stepped out onto the balcony, immediately raising an arm to shield his sensitive eyes from the blinding sunlight. As his vision slowly adapted, he gazed out over the vast, vibrant horizon. “There is no trace of that devil. He is surely dead.”

His voice rose from a raspy whisper to a booming shout. “It is time for us to reclaim this island from those land-thief siblings!” He turned back to look at the crumbling state of his sanctuary, falling to his knees as tears finally spilled over his weathered cheeks. “Oh, my beautiful home. Look at the mess you are in. But worry not—we will restore you to your glory days.”

He pushed himself back to his feet, his eyes burning with sudden zeal. “Tear down the curtains! Wash the floors and wipe the dust from every stone in this castle!”

As the secretary began echoing the commands to the bewildered servants, the elder pointed a trembling finger at the scouts.

“You have done incredible work all these years, but there is no time to rest. Preach to the four kingdoms. Remind them of our birthright. Tell them of the long history they do not possess.”

“Let their people know who is truly worthy of these lands,” the secretary added firmly.

“And you,” the elder turned sharply to his secretary. “Find a way to connect to the outside world. Find out what remains beyond our shores, and what has turned to dust.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the secretary bowed.

The elder locked his gaze on the island’s beautiful horizon, wiping the tears from his face. “We will reclaim you. For we are your rightful masters.”