Chapter 327. The Gratitude of Gilgamesh
When Noah finally withdrew from the depths of the subconscious and peeled his eyelids back, the first sight to greet him was one of quiet, desperate devotion. Gilgamesh sat on the edge of the cot, cradling Thena in his massive arms as if she were made of the finest, most brittle porcelain. His brow was furrowed, eyes tracing every line of her face with an aching anxiety. Ajak stood just a step behind them, her regal composure thinned by a layer of palpable tension as she watched for any sign of life.
Noah's mental voyage had been a success. He had scoured the turbulent, golden "sea of memory" within Thena's mind, purging the jagged shards of ancient trauma that the Celestials had carelessly left behind. From this moment forward, the shadow of Mahd Wy'ry—that cruel erosion of the eternal mind—would haunt her no more.
Of course, Noah mused as he shook off the psychic after-effects, the "sea" was likely just a construct. The Mind Stone had a way of translating the incomprehensible complexity of a soul into an abstract image his human brain could navigate. Had another wielder reached into her psyche, they might have found themselves wandering a boundless library of dust-choked scrolls or a fractured hall of mirrors. But the medium mattered little; the surgery was complete. Thena was whole.
In the waking world, Noah let his hand fall to his side. The shimmering, amber glow of the Mind Stone's aura dissipated into the dim light of the hut, and the gem itself, which had been hovering like a silent sentinel above his wrist, vanished with a sharp, crystalline spark. It had returned to the safety of his laboratory. It was a trick he had mastered recently: summoning the stones across the fold of space via the Space Stone when duty called, then banished them back to their containment fields the moment the work was done.
Ajak, noticing the sudden absence of the cosmic glow, stepped forward. Her voice was a hushed silver thread in the silence. "Noah... is it finished? How is she?"
Gilgamesh didn't speak, but his gaze snapped to Noah, burning with a silent plea for the one answer he had waited centuries to hear.
"Don't take my word for it," Noah replied, offering a weary but satisfied nod toward the woman in the big man's arms. "Ask her yourself. She's coming back."
As if on cue, Thena's golden lashes fluttered. A soft, shuddering breath escaped her lips—the first breath of a woman no longer drowning in the past. Slowly, agonizingly, her eyes opened, clearing like a morning mist to reveal the sharp, lucid intelligence beneath.
"Thena! Thena, talk to me," Gilgamesh urged, his voice cracking as he helped her into a sitting position. He searched her eyes, looking for the frantic, glazed stare of the madness, but found only peace. "How do you feel? Is the fog gone?"
Thena took a deep, shuddering lungful of air, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that felt new. An unusual brilliance sparkled in her pupils. When she spoke, her voice was low, carrying a weight of relief that seemed to echo through the small room.
"I... I feel so light," she whispered, her hand rising to touch her temple in wonder. "It's as if a mountain that had been crushing my soul for an eternity has simply... vanished." She turned her gaze toward Noah, her eyes brimming with a mixture of hope and terror. "Is it true? Will I... will I never fall into the Mahd Wy'ry again?"
"The corruption has been excised," Noah confirmed, his tone firm and anchoring. "The triggers, the overlapping cycles of memory—it's all gone. The sickness will not return."
A single tear escaped her eye, carving a path through the dust on her cheek as a radiant smile broke across her face. Overwhelmed, Gilgamesh pulled her into a crushing embrace, burying his face in her shoulder as he let out a choked sound of triumph.
"Thank you, Noah," Ajak said, turning to him with a depth of sincerity that bordered on reverence.
Noah waved it off with a casual flick of his wrist. "A trifle." To him, with the God-like power of the Mind Stone at his beck and call, it truly had been a simple matter of spiritual architecture. Besides, the trade-off was more than fair; he had gained invaluable insights into the physiology of the Eternals and secured the unwavering loyalty of two of the world's most powerful beings.
The gratitude in the room was stifling. Gilgamesh and Thena had lived as pariahs in this sun-scorched wasteland for longer than most empires lasted, terrified that her next lapse would result in a massacre. To have that shadow lifted was a miracle they hadn't dared to dream of.
"You must stay," Gilgamesh insisted, his booming voice returning to its jovial, thunderous bass. "You've saved her life—saved us both. Please, let me prepare a meal. It's the least I can do."
And so, the sorcerer and the leader of the Eternals found themselves seated in the humble, hand-built sanctuary of the world's forgotten guardians.
"I won't be back for lunch, then," Noah said into his phone, his voice softening as he spoke to Lissandra. He leaned back in a chair that felt surprisingly sturdy despite its rustic appearance.
"Your family?" Gilgamesh asked, emerging from the kitchen area with a massive, steaming platter of roasted meat that filled the room with an intoxicating, savory aroma.
Noah looked around, truly taking in the interior of the mud-brick house for the first time. From the outside, the place looked like a ruin, with a sagging roof and crumbling walls that seemed to invite the desert in. But inside, it was a testament to centuries of domestic refinement. It was cozy, clean, and surprisingly modern.
He spotted a hum of electronics in the corner—a refrigerator, a small oven, and high-efficiency lamps. The strange, skeletal tower he had seen outside wasn't just a ruin; it was a sophisticated wind turbine providing silent, clean power. Every plate on the table was a work of art, hand-thrown from local clay and glazed in deep, earthy tones by Gilgamesh himself. The furniture followed suit, carved from aged wood with a master's touch.
"Yes," Noah replied, tucking his phone away.
"Don't you worry about a thing," Gilgamesh grinned, setting the feast down. "I'm a better cook than most of the kings I've served."
The big man reached for a heavy ceramic jug, and Noah could hear the rhythmic slosh of liquid within—thick and inviting.
"You have to try this," Gilgamesh said, pouring a golden, viscous liquid into wide cups. "This is a mead brewed from a recipe taught to me by Odin himself. He shared it with me as a token of thanks after we helped his host repel Laufey's giants at Tønsberg. You know of the All-Father, don't you, Noah? I hear his boy, Thor, has been making quite a stir on Earth lately. Last I saw him, he was barely taller than my knee, swinging a practice hammer and tripping over his own cape."
As Gilgamesh rambled on, Noah breathed in the scent of the drink. It was heady, smelling of fermented corn and wild honey, nearly identical to the potent drafts he had sampled in the gilded halls of Asgard.
Tønsberg... Noah remembered the history. A coastal town in Norway, one of the oldest settlements of man. It made sense; the Eternals had been the silent shadows behind humanity's greatest struggles for seven millennia. They would have been there when the Frost Giants brought the Casket of Ancient Winters to Earth.
Noah discreetly ran a quick diagnostic spell over the cup. Once he was certain the liquid was chemically pure, he allowed himself to relax. He recalled a rumor Kingo once spread—that Gilgamesh's "secret ingredient" was his own fermented saliva. Seeing the man's genuine, earnest smile, Noah realized it was just the kind of crude joke the Eternal would use to annoy his more refined comrades.
"Hey! To health!" Gilgamesh toasted.
Usually, Thena was restricted to water or simple juices to keep her humors balanced and her mind clear. But today, as she reached for her cup with a steady hand and a bright, clear gaze, she drank deep of the honeyed wine, tasting a freedom she hadn't known in a thousand years.
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