The silence hadn't left.
It followed me into the next morning—resting in the corners of the room, stretching beneath the bed, clinging to my spine like a cold hand. There was no light when I woke. Only the heavy breath of a city that hadn't slept, and the distant sound of guards changing posts.
I didn't move.
Not when the sun rose. Not when the chamber doors opened.
Only when I heard her footsteps did I speak.
"Mother."
"Ereshgal" she said, soft as a shadow.
Ninsun stood in the doorway, pale blue robes trailing behind her like mist. Her face, calm and unreadable, carried that strange stillness only priests and statues ever truly mastered. Eyes pale like moonlight—not dull, not distant, but focused somewhere beyond this world. As if she always saw two realities and chose not to tell you which one she was answering from.
She stepped inside without asking.
"How are you?" she asked.
"Still here" I said.
She studied me for a long moment. Not with pity. Not even concern. Just quiet measurement. The way a seer might study the first tremor of a vision.
"And what does that mean?" she asked.
I looked away. "That I haven't broken yet."
Ninsun sat across from me, hands folded in her lap. "You are not the first who has waited for a sign and received silence."
"Not in this family" I said sharply. "You were chosen. Father was chosen. My brother was chosen. Even my uncle—despite everything—was chosen. All of you carry the marks."
"And still" she said, "none of us were promised anything."
I met her eyes. "Then why do the people kneel? Why do they believe? Because we were marked. The gods chose us, and that made us more than blood and name."
"And what does it make you now?" she asked. Not cruel. Just curious.
I didn't answer.
"You are not weak, Ereshgal" she said. "Not without power. The strength to lead isn't always given. Sometimes it's taken. Earned. Held in the teeth until it scars you."
"You know it's not about strength" I said. "Without divine favor, I am nothing to the council. To the priests. To the other heirs. I am the flaw in a perfect bloodline. A weapon with no edge."
She didn't argue.
"Ennari is three years from her ceremony" I said. "She'll be chosen. I can feel it. What then?"
"I will ask you" she said calmly, "to become someone she can look up to, no matter what the gods decide."
I almost laughed. But it would've come out wrong.
We sat in silence for a time.
"Divine blessing protects this city" I said. "From things we barely understand. From spirits. Demons. Monsters. What king defends Uruk with empty hands?"
She touched my arm, brief and warm. "Then grow sharper. Grow faster. Find the strength no god could gift you. Make them regret not choosing you."
I looked down at her hand. The skin was warm. The fingers steady. A priestess, a queen, a woman who had once made her own pact.
"You should speak to Kisaya" she added, standing. "She didn't deserve your anger."
I let the words hang a beat too long. Then smirked.
"Of course" I said. "I'll do it properly."
Ninsun nodded once.
"Your father is waiting for you in the throne room."
"Is he." I didn't hide the bitterness.
She only looked at me. "He asked you by name."
The walk through the palace was longer than I remembered. Or maybe I just didn't want to reach the end.
I passed soldiers I'd trained with, servants who used to bow with pride. Now their eyes avoided mine. Not out of disrespect.
Out of discomfort.
I wasn't who they thought I would become.
The throne room doors loomed. I paused before them. Thought of the possibilities. A lecture. Disappointment. Or worse—dismissal. Reassignment. Something quiet. Out of sight.
I stepped in.
The room was dim, gold-tinted light filtering through high windows. Banners lined the stone walls, each bearing a different symbol of the gods. I ignored them.
At the far end stood Lugalbanda.
My father.
He stood like a statue carved from command—broad shoulders, rigid posture, the kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to be heard. His eyes were ice and calculation. His face was the face of responsibility, not warmth.
"Ereshgal" he said.
I bowed.
"You will join the training of the chosen" he said.
The words hit harder than I expected.
"I thought... I thought I was disqualified" I said.
He shook his head once. "Power is not what makes a king. Not alone. Understanding does. Discipline. Insight. Survival."
"But—"
He raised a hand. Not to silence. Just to end.
"You are not dismissed. You are not less. You are simply not yet."
The words hit deeper than I expected.
I opened my mouth to ask what he meant—what he saw in me—but he was already walking away.
No answer. No pause.
Just the sound of his steps fading across the stone floor.
And somehow, that hurt more than the silence of the gods.
***
AN: Hi. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, this is my first serious attempt at writing a novel. I'd really appreciate any reviews or feedback you can offer, as they help me grow. And if you enjoy the book, please consider adding it to your library. Thank you for reading!