Despite this impressive naming, Gilgamesh was still just a boy—albeit a talented one, but a boy nonetheless—with nothing to his name. His entire livelihood had been destroyed by whoever had passed through, and when he searched among the wreckage outside the town for water, he found the wells soured by desecrated bodies. Someone had been planning to raze this town in a way that ensured none could live there again.

He pondered at the fate of his mother, but ultimately decided that she had either been in one of the heaps, or in one of the wells. He shoved the thought away as he moved into the wasteland.

The dunes were always shifting and sliding, so many people became lost and died of thirst among them. Townspeople said that if you walked a day in any direction, you would find bones bleached white from sun and picked clean by scavenging birds, and if you continued walking you would number among them.

Gilgamesh had gone far into the changing landscape many a time before, his sense of direction never failing to lead him home, but he hadn't the slightest idea of how to get elsewhere. The nearest village was a two day walk in some direction, but no one was ever too sure which direction because no one ever left the town.

He still maintained his stance of not looking back, but his heart sank and he felt fingers of uncertainty curl around his heart as the hot, dry wind picked up. He couldn't bear it if he went so far as to kill his father and choose his own path only to die of thirst merely days later. But there was nothing else to do but walk on.

He squinted at the setting sun for a second before giving a terse nod and moving further into what would become another hell for him in the days to come.

The sun had warmed the sand underfoot throughout the day, but his soles were tough from years of walking on sand hot as coals so it bothered him none. His feet sank in the shifting ground, slipping among the grains in a way that was reassuring and comforting, familiar. He shot another glance at the sun and picked up his pace to a comfortable trot that allowed him to move quickly but not expend any of his water through sweat.

He moved over dunes as he continued on, the sun sinking rapidly and the coolness of night beginning to cover the land like a cloak. The wind stirred again and this time it carried something with it that he caught out of the corner of his eye. He turned and his hand instinctively snaked out to grab the thing rippling and swirling through the air.

His eyes widened slightly as he stared down at what he held in his bloodstained hand. A veil the colour of his eyes, matching the stains that were scattered across his hands and face. Adorned with small shards of glittering rubies, it sparkled prettily when he turned it and the faint light of the rising moon caught it.

He brought it slowly to his face, closing his eyes and inhaling. The scent of perfume, lily and woman tickled his senses, and it for a second it smelled so achingly familiar that he almost lost himself in memories. Memories of a boy in his sixth red moon tide tugging a young raven-haired girl behind him, laughing. Memories of laying in the sand and pointing out clouds that resembled animals with the girl. Memories of the girl comparing cloth to his eyes and begging her father to buy her some so she could make clothes that complemented him. Memories of a time when his parents simply beat him, before he lost his youthful look and became something that inspired a disgusting lust within them. Innocence.

He cut his thoughts sharply there, forcing them away from times that, though harsh, resembled a warm blanket of comfort. He had loved people back then, because he had believed that he'd deserved to be beaten for some reason so it wasn't too bad. But when his parents moved on to things worse than a beating, he realized just how wrong he had been. And then he had walked by doors with new ears, and when he heard the yelling that he imagined would turn into worse later, he had realized that all people were evil. Behind closed doors, every person did horrible things. After that, he emotionally distanced himself from all, including the girl.

However... the girl had indirectly saved his life. When Azra had told him to pick flowers that didn't exist, she'd ensured his survival. So he wrapped the veil around his head, weaving it deftly until only his eyes showed. His eyes and some stray locks of gold. Then he continued his trek, the rich silk brushing across his lips the whole time.

The sun began to rise to mark the start of an early day when Gilgamesh had to stop from fatigue. He had previously forgotten his tiredness with shock, but now he realized that he had more or less been moving quickly for a day and night. His toned legs felt as if they were made of pudding, and his eyelids drooped. When he tried to force himself to keep going, he stumbled and almost fell in exhaustion.

He looked around tiredly for somewhere to sleep. On all sides the sun began to light the dunes orange, making it seem as if he were in the middle of a sea of fire. He squinted, immediately regretting the fact that he hadn't brought some form of eye protection. The sun reflecting from the sand could blind someone if they weren't accustomed to it, and injure their eyes if they were. Soon the air would grow hazy with heat and he'd also forgotten clothes to cover himself with to avoid sunburn. Even locals became sunburned if they stayed in the middle of the desert for too long a time.

His eyes roamed over all of this and these thoughts flashed through his head in seconds. Then he realized the most immediate problem, save his thirst; sleeping in the middle of the sandy wasteland with no cover would kill him. The sun would burn him until he could move no longer, or the small creatures that lived just beneath the sand would awaken from the smell of his flesh and consume him.

He cursed his stupidity, forcing his feet to move, though he could only manage a slow shuffle. He heard the cries of birds and looked overhead to see great vultures circling him, wheeling lower than he'd ever seen them wheel when he had ran healthily to and from his village.

He paused to narrow his eyes in a glare.

"Leave."

The word cracked through the air like a whip, the voice an absolute command expecting total submission. Though the vultures were simple animals, they could hear the warning and authority, and they let out angry screeches before wheeling away.

Gilgamesh let out a slight sigh, slumping and continuing his shuffle. At least the scavengers obeyed him; he doubted he'd get the chance to make anyone else do the same.

The swollen sun rose higher and the low whine of insects began as heat made the air just meters in front of him shimmer. He had gone without water for two and a half days once, but he also hadn't been traveling through the thick of the desert heat. When he had begun, the night had been cooling things but now things would only get hotter and sweat was already beginning to trickle down his forehead. The flecks of blood from his father's death were now dark on his body and they slowly flaked off as he walked.

He pulled the veil tighter around his face, but it was so light that he could feel the sun reaching his skin through it. The sun touched every single part of the wasteland, leaving not one part shaded in which he could rest. He uttered a low curse under his breath, already feeling the heat sink into his skin. Being light-skinned, he had always been more prone to burning than others.

His eyes roamed desperately over the scenery, wondering if turning back and combing the burned houses for some sort of salvaged drink would be a viable option. But he had been walking for too long; now all scenery had been shifted and all dunes looked the same. A cold wave of panic made his spine tingle as he realized that the desert had him, that he had no way of knowing whether or not he was walking in circles.

His shuffling increased despite his exhaustion, and he felt his chest constrict. No matter how fast he breathed or how much dry air he drew into his lungs, it felt like it wasn't enough. He stumbled forward, his feet slipping, and let out a gasp as something sharp sliced along his foot. He fell to the ground with a hiss of pain and turned around.

He had never imagined that the stories of deceased travelers were true, but with definitive proof before him it was a truth he could no longer deny. The sharpness that had pierced his foot was a broken bone, probably a forearm, he noted, of a human. He blinked slowly then let out a hoarse scream and scrambled back, his blood soaking into the sand from his foot.

His breathing sped up until he was hyperventilating, and the world began to spin before his eyes. No matter how many gulps of oxygen he drew in, it wasn't enough, until he was gasping and feeling as if no air had filled his lungs at all. He clawed at his throat, his eyes wide and stricken on the bleached white shard sticking up from the sand.

He probably would've continued hyperventilating until he passed out, but when he tried to scramble back again his hand touched something that wasn't sand. His shock was so great it shook him out of his panic and he glanced behind him at what he'd touched.

A boy who looked to be about his age lay on the ground, head half buried in sand. His skin was much darker than Gilgamesh's, but still lighter than many other locals surrounding the desert. Coffee coloured hair covered the half of his face that wasn't covered in sand, long enough to brush the very top of his collarbone, which stuck out rather piteously from his scrawny body.

Gilgamesh turned his entire body, forgetting the bone and his wound, and peered closer at the boy. His hand had brushed the boy's arm, which had felt dry and warm. He'd heard corpses were cold, though the burned victims of his village obviously weren't. He reached out and brushed the hair from the boy's face, frowning as eyelashes thicker and longer than any man's should be were exposed.

"I could sell you for a nice price."

He didn't really mean it; he had no idea how people came about selling boys, but he wanted to say something to see if it would rouse the lump in front of him. The boy didn't move.

Gilgamesh let out an annoyed breath and grasped the sides of the boy's face roughly, turning his head so it was out of the sand. Grains of the wasteland's soil still stuck to his face like day old stubble and Gilgamesh made a face as if angered that the sand would dare do something he didn't wish it to do.

"Wake up."

He slapped the sides of the boy's cheeks lightly, making grains fall from his face, but the boy never stirred. His cracked lips remained open and his body remained limp. Gilgamesh brought his ear down to the boy's mouth to hear if any breath was escaping his lips. It didn't seem as if there was.

He was about to lean back when a lock of hair escaped the veil and fell onto the boy's upper lip. It should've been of little consequence but all of a sudden the boy's head twisted up. Gilgamesh jerked back just in time, hearing the audible snap of teeth millimeters from where his ear had just been. He stared at the boy in shock, covering his ear with one hand as if taken back.

"I was trying to assist you, fool!"

But he quickly discerned from the way the boy slumped back to the ground that it had simply been a reflex. Well, at least he was certain the boy's life was still intact.

"How dare you fall back into oblivion after almost taking my ear."

He knew his voice would go unheard, but in this barren place where his only company was nature that worked towards his demise, it pleased him slightly to be able to speak to someone. Even if that someone was unconscious.

He cursed his own foolishness as he moved from a crouch onto his knees, then reached down and to grab a tanned arm and slip it over his shoulder. It was probably a death wish to bring a half-wild boy who looked to have never seen water in his life along, but there was something about him Gilgamesh couldn't ignore.

Lying out in the open sun in a desert with no doors to hide anything, there was something honest about the boy that Gilgamesh couldn't let be. It seemed like he could never trust anything in his life, but a helpless boy who had no connection with anyone appeared a good way to start.

"If I die because of you, you will know my fury in the underworld."

A derisive chuckle at himself stole its way from his lips as he hefted the boy higher onto his shoulder and stood. The lack of weight was surprising, but not too much so; there was really not much to him save skin and bones.

With a renewed purpose, Gilgamesh walked forward, forgetting the pain of his sliced foot for the moment; he had endured much worse. The sun had now risen high in the sky and beat down with a ferocity that made Gilgamesh's lips dry almost to the degree of the half-dead waif's. He ran his tongue across them in an attempt to dry them, his feet sliding forward more than being placed one in front of the other now.

The wind picked up as his fatigue did yet again, blowing grit into his eyes. He squinted as tears streamed from them, barely able to see in front of him. It didn't matter though; what was there to see but more sand?

With his head satisfactorily cleared from panic, he could now think straight and kept the sun in his view, allowing it to guide him in a straight line. Walking in a straight line was the best he could do to try and find the edge of this never-ending lifeless wild. The question wasn't whether or not the sand would ever end or at least give way to habitation, but rather when it would end. From the state of him and his companion, Gilgamesh guessed one more day would be the latest they could hope to reach habitation alive.

"You'd better not die before me, fool. I won't have my sweat wasted on a corpse."

Talking kept him from panicking the way he had before, though it couldn't keep him from feeling death closing in from every side. A shadow passed over his face and he knew without looking up that the vultures had returned, interested not only in him but in the carrion he carried.

"I won't be feasted on by the likes of you."

His statement was not nearly as sharp as it had been.

He continued his exhausted trek until he heard a sound, a huge sound like the roaring of a lion. The wind picked up suddenly so much that he had to stop and cover his eyes with his free arm to stop sand from filling them. He waited for a while for the wind to die down but it didn't. Not only did the air continue tugging at his veil and clothes, but the roaring sound grew louder. His mind, which had faded to a numbness, suddenly perked up slightly with the memory of a tale a traveling merchant had told.

"They say that when the gods truly want to destroy someone, they will conjure up a beast fashioned from the same air we breathe. However, this beast will bring air in greater quantities than we could ever imagine. It will make the wind dance like wildfire, and anything not tethered will be blown away in a village such as this one. If the one they want to bring death upon is in the wasteland outside of this village, though, that person will suffer a death even worse than being torn apart by this creature."

Gilgamesh slowly lowered his arm and turned his head to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened a fraction, and his mouth grew so dry that licking his hot, cracked lips moisturized his tongue rather than lips.

"When the beast travels across sand, the sand obeys it like water obeys a sea-nymph. Like a tsunami, a great wave that wipes cities off the map with the destructive force of a thousand armed men, the sand will raise about the beast in a wave taller than five houses on top of one another. Any man caught in that wave will drown in sand the way he'd drown in water, though the pain of grittiness in the lungs will be greater than any smooth water ever could be."

He had never really believed the part about the beast, but as he watched the sand surge forward as a terrible, unstoppable force, he was half tempted to. It swirled higher than anything he'd ever seen, as thick as the walls from his house, thicker. The sound it made, a roaring, rasping sound like a great giant snake, struck a deep fear he'd never known into his heart. It wasn't like the fear of being beaten or the fear of pain. No, it was a much deeper, primordial fear; the same fear a mouse feels when it hears the cry of a hawk overhead.

The more he watched, the deeper that fear grew as he knew with great certainty that this was something he couldn't run from, nor hide from. It stretched so far in either direction that he felt it stretched an eternity across the entire world.

He closed his eyes, half tempted to utter a prayer. That was, in hindsight, what ultimately saved his life. Not the prayer itself, no, it was his hatred of the gods who had allowed him to be in such a situation. He realized what he'd been about to do and his eyes opened with a calmness that no mortal should be able to muster in the face of such a force of nature.

"Wind."

His voice was raspy from lack of water, raspy and low, drowned out by the roar of the sand, but he spoke nonetheless. A quiet confidence radiated from him as he turned his full body—still holding tightly to the boy who was slumped as if dead—and spoke directly to the roaring wall in front of him.

"You will hear my voice."

There was a dark intensity in his voice that would send shivers down the spines of most.

"You, who the people of this land claim has the most freedom. You, who they say none can control. You, who can create such forces as this which they say can destroy cities and move mountains."

He paused, watching the wall advance on him like a great predator advances on prey. The wind was so great at this point that it threatened to tear his veil from his face. He closed his eyes on it all, reaching up with his free hand to cover the eyes of the boy he was carrying so sand wouldn't get into them if he opened them for some reason, and resumed his speaking.

"You have all of these claims to your name but none of them are true!"

His voice danced not over the wind but in time with it. It swirled where the wind swirled and it rose where the wind rose. As if to deny his claim, the wind blew harder so that grains of sand struck him so hard they stung his skin.

"I've heard of the mages to the west! I know they hold power over you that you can't fight!"

The wind howled its fury, and the roaring of the approaching wall grew to an almost unbearable amount.

"That's why I say to you, not as your master or servant, but as an equal who was once caged and is now free, do not take my life!"

Though his voice had not yet deepened to one of a man, it held a weight that most men could only dream of. Truth was almost so tangible in his voice that it could be heard—he honestly thought in the depths of his soul that he was equal to the wind.

"For with your aid, if I live, I'll do everything in my power to bring down the hierarchy of mages who practice control over the elements! I swear on my life, the thing most important to me in this world, that I will free you!"

It was a dangerous gamble. Half of the stories said the wind had a will and spirit of its own, and half said it didn't. Gilgamesh, though skeptical about most things, secretly believed that it was true. There was something... alive... about the wind. It was a feeling, impossible to explain, but he felt as if the wind had some sort of reason to it. The way it moved across the wasteland felt purposeful, as if it were going somewhere.

However, that was only the first half of the gamble. No one had ever told him directly that the mages to the west controlled the wind—he had made an assumption. They said that the mages in the Association could make things float with a wave of their hand, knock a person over with a look, blast things twenty feet back with a gesture. In his mind, a mind that only knew things of small towns, he had simply figured they were controlling the wind. What other force could do those things? And the town leader had always said something couldn't be created from nothing, so whatever force allowed the mages to do such things must already exist. A large leap, but not impossible.

"I do this if for no other reason than that I hate those who choose to cage things."

He hadn't meant for the thought to escape his mind, but it was past his lips before he knew it. He furrowed his brow in annoyance of his mouth speaking before he had time to filter it. And that was when he realized why his whisper had been so loud—the whole world seemed to have gone silent.

He slowly lowered his hand from the boy's eyes as his own widened in shock. The vast wall of stand stood before him. Or, more accurately, around him. All around him and the boy swirled more sand than he'd thought was possible to exist, even after living in a sandy wasteland. And it was incredibly beautiful.

Ripples of colours fought for dominance throughout the wall—browns, bays, oranges, golds, each one flashing for a moment and then disappearing back into the wall to scatter throughout the wave. The sun overhead lit up certain parts that were thinner than others, lending it a certain depth that made it seem like a wave flowing smoothly, and the way the movement flowed yet clashed with the other movements throughout made the wall alive, a living creature larger than the entirety of the desert writhing over the sand.

Gilgamesh turned slowly to take it in, forgetting himself and showing for the first time some form of boyish wonderment common at his age.

"Amazing..."

A delighted smile blossomed on his face that transformed him from deeply beautiful to innocently lovely. In that moment, an understanding formed between him and the wind, and they loved each other. He had never loved anyone or anything before, and it made his smile glow all the brighter. From that moment on, Gilgamesh and the wind became companions, and the bond that formed between them could be broken by none on that earth.