"Annanu, I'm taking you to the underworld."
Gilgamesh hoisted the nearly strengthless Annanu onto his back and spoke with firm resolve.
At that moment, he was not the king of Uruk, nor was he the Wedge of Heaven.
He was merely someone who wanted to save his friend's life.
Annanu had yet to regain consciousness and lay draped across Gilgamesh's back.
But his hand was clenched tightly.
He held a handful of earth in it.
It was the last thing Enkidu had left in his hand.
Gilgamesh adjusted Annanu higher on his back, then turned to look at Siduri and Shamhat.
Rain streamed down his cheeks, and neither Siduri nor Shamhat could see any trace of Gilgamesh's tears.
But Gilgamesh's eyes were red.
"Take care of Uruk. Wait for my return." His voice still trembled.
Shamhat no longer had the strength to stand. Only Siduri clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and nodded forcefully.
This was Enkidu's entrustment.
She had to—she had to do it.
For this city, for King Gilgamesh!
Gilgamesh looked at Siduri and gave a slight nod before turning away.
The rain soaked his hair and Annanu's as well.
Annanu's chin rested on Gilgamesh's shoulder. Though their hair colors were similar, when placed together, the difference was still striking.
Gil's hair was so full of life, like gold. Even drenched by the rain, it reflected the light, looking forever noble, forever handsome.
Annanu's hair, meanwhile, was like fallen autumn leaves. Though it was yellow as well, it was an aged, withered yellow.
Like leaves tumbling in the wind, drifting beneath the waves, blown away, swallowed up—it spoke of something about to pass away.
Annanu corresponded to Enkidu, just as both of them were incarnations of nature.
Enkidu was the tender green of new growth, while Annanu was