Chapter 328. Ajak's Riddle
The air in the small hut was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the heady, floral sweetness of Asgardian mead. The joviality of the feast, however, was a thin veil over the mounting tension. Gilgamesh wiped his mouth with the back of a hand that could crush boulders, then leaned in, his eyes fixing on Ajak with a sudden, sharp clarity.
"Ajak, speak plainly," Gilgamesh rumbled, his voice dropping an octave as he sat beside Thena, his hand reflexively finding hers. "Why have you come to this corner of the world? You haven't sought us out in centuries. Something has shifted."
Now that the immediate shadow of Thena's madness had been chased away by Noah's intervention, the reality of their leader's presence began to weigh on him. Ajak didn't make social calls across continents for the sake of nostalgia.
Ajak set her cup down with a soft clink against the ceramic. Her face was a mask of ancient gravity. "The peace of our long separation is at an end, Gilgamesh. I have come because the threads of our purpose have tightened. I intend to bring the family back together. All of us."
Gilgamesh and Thena traded a look of sheer bewilderment. The Eternals had been a fractured diaspora for nearly two millennia, ever since the heart-wrenching split in Babylon. To suggest a reunion now... it felt like an omen of something cataclysmic.
"Reunite?" Gilgamesh repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. "What could possibly warrant that? Has our mission finally reached its zenith? Is Arishem calling us home to the stars?"
For seven thousand years, Gilgamesh had lived under a singular directive: eradicate the Deviants. When the last of those ravenous beasts had been put to the sword in the hanging gardens of Babylon, the Eternals believed their labor was finished. They had waited for the sky to open, for Arishem the Judge to descend and ferry them back to their celestial forge.
But the sky had remained silent. No orders came. Left without a war to fight or a home to return to, the team had crumbled under the weight of their own immortality. They had scattered to the winds, becoming ghosts in the machinery of human history.
But they had never known their true purpose. They were shepherds, yes—but they had never realized they were fattening the flock for a slaughter.
Thena's grip on Gilgamesh's hand tightened. Having just clawed her way back from the abyss of Mahd Wy'ry, the prospect of the "mission" resuming filled her with a cold dread. She had spent centuries in a cage of her own mind; she wasn't ready to be thrust back into a cosmic war. She feared that whatever news Ajak carried would shatter the fragile, quiet sanctuary they had built here in the dust.
Ajak looked at them, her gaze softening with a pity she couldn't quite hide. She hesitated, the weight of the truth—the Emergence, the birth of a new Celestial, and the impending destruction of Earth—pressing against her lips.
"Earth is facing a peril unlike anything we have witnessed in our long vigil," Ajak finally said, her voice steady but grim. "We must stand together once more, not just as soldiers, but as guardians. We have to protect this world and every soul breathing upon it."
Gilgamesh's brow furrowed into deep, weathered trenches. "Peril? What kind of peril? We've seen empires rise and fall, we've watched plagues scour the land and world wars tear the sky asunder. What is different now?"
"And what of our vow?" Thena added, her voice regaining its melodic, warrior's edge. "You were the one who reminded us, time and again—we do not interfere in the affairs of men. Not for their wars, not for their genocides. Why break the silence now?"
Ajak met their eyes with a piercing look. "Because this danger is not 'their' affair, Thena. It is ours. It is woven into the very fabric of our existence. We are the only ones who can act, because we are the ones responsible."
"Then tell us!" Gilgamesh burst out, his patience fraying. The air in the room seemed to hum with his agitation. "What is happening? If the world is ending, I'd rather know why before the roof falls in!"
Ajak offered a sad, cryptic smile and shook her head slowly. "I cannot lay the whole burden upon you yet. Some truths require the strength of the whole group to bear. When the others are gathered, I will explain everything. Every lie, every secret."
"What? Ajak, this is no time for riddles!" Gilgamesh slammed a fist onto the table, making the plates dance. "If the situation is as dire as you say, give it to us straight!"
"Patience, Gilgamesh," Ajak replied, her calm contrasting sharply with his fire. "There are revelations that concern each of you personally. It is only right that you hear them together."
Realizing that Ajak was as immovable as the mountains surrounding them, Gilgamesh slumped back, huffing a breath of sour mead and frustration. He turned his mind to logistics.
"Fine. Have it your way," he grumbled. "But if we're playing gather-the-banners, who is next on your list? If there's a fight coming, we need our heavy hitters. I'd say we find Ikaris first. The man's a bore, but he can fly circles around a hurricane and his eyes can melt steel. He's the strongest of us, after me and Thena."
Ajak went still. She lowered her fork, the clatter of metal against ceramic echoing in the sudden silence. She looked Gilgamesh square in the eye, her expression turning to stone.
"No, Gilgamesh. I will not be seeking Ikaris. He is... no longer part of this family."
The confusion in the room became a physical thing, thick and suffocating. Gilgamesh and Thena stared at her, their minds racing. Ikaris? The golden boy? The most loyal, dogmatic soldier in Arishem's service?
"Ajak... what are you saying?" Gilgamesh asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Did something happen to him? Is he dead?"
"This morning," Noah interrupted, his voice cool and casual as he continued to methodically slice through a piece of perfectly seared steak, "your dear friend Ikaris tried to put a permanent end to Ajak's leadership. He planned to murder her in cold blood and pin the blame on a stray Deviant."
The revelation hit like a physical blow.
"What?" Gilgamesh roared, half-rising from his seat.
"Impossible," Thena breathed, her face pale.
They sat in stunned horror, their minds reeling. They had fought side-by-side with Ikaris for seven thousand years. Through the fall of Troy, the burning of libraries, the rise of the industrial age—they were more than comrades; they were a singular unit. The idea of Ikaris raising a hand against Ajak, the mother-figure of their race, was a betrayal that defied logic. He was the one who always followed the rules. He was the one who stayed when the rest of them left.
They looked to Ajak, desperately hoping for a denial, for a sign that Noah was merely playing some cruel, human joke.
Instead, Ajak slowly, mournfully, bowed her head in a single, heavy nod.
"But... why?" Gilgamesh whispered, the fire in his eyes replaced by a hollow, aching hurt.
"It is tied to the truth I mean to tell you," Ajak explained. "This morning, I shared the reality of our mission with Ikaris. He could not accept the change in course. He chose his programming over his family. He tried to eliminate me to ensure the 'Great Plan' proceeded. Fortunately, Noah arrived before the killing blow could land. He subdued Ikaris with a strength I haven't seen in an age. As I told you before... Ikaris was simply no match for him."
A heavy, brooding silence descended upon the table. Thena and Gilgamesh sat like statues, trying to process the fact that their world had been fundamentally altered while they were eating breakfast. Ajak remained quiet, lost in her own grief.
Only Noah seemed unaffected. He continued to eat with practiced grace, his knife and fork moving with rhythmic precision. The food was genuinely excellent—a rustic, bold style of cooking he hadn't experienced before. Despite their isolation, the duo clearly wanted for nothing.
He glanced at Gilgamesh. The man was a physical marvel, and Noah suspected he didn't mind the trek to the nearest civilization for supplies. A twenty-thousand-mile jog was likely just a morning warm-up for someone who could punch through a mountain. It was a strange, beautiful life they had carved out here—and Noah knew that after today, it would never be the same again.
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