The tunnel was narrow and the air stiffy.Every single step let his feet sink deeper into the sludge, but he did not see where he was going. It was pure darkness, with no trace of light. How long was he already walking and crawling through this hell? Hours? Days? Years? Suddenly something cracked below his naked feet. It cut through the skin on his sole, but Gilgamesh felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all. He felt no motivation, no desire. Why do I need to continue - he asked himself. How would that help him? Sure, he might finally find an exit from this place, but he had nothing to live for. All his friends were dead, all people that mattered. And the worst thing was that he wasn't even able to remember their names, their faces. All he knew was that they existed, and that they were now dead.
He broke down crying. Finally. He felt something. But he felt more miserable than ever.
After hours of trying to remember their faces, names, just something he fell asleep. He wasn't able to remember what he dreamed, but he still remembered the voices of the small men.
“Master?” said one of the voices cautiously,”he is getting weaker and weaker.” “What do you mean?” “I don't know, he is just getting weaker. He has trouble breathing, and his heartbeat is slowing down at an alarming rate.” “What? Then do something! I swear if he is going to die you will follow him in his grave.”
“I understood, Master.”
Upon waking up Gilgamesh instantly felt the pain in his breast. He felt miserable, but his mood skyrocketed as he noticed something. He could see! There was light! As dim as it was, it was enough for him to recognize the walls of the tunnel complex.
This was enough for Gilgamesh to continue his journey. He needed to find out where the light came from.
The longer he walked through the tunnel, the harder it got. The walls came closer and closer, until he wasn’t able to stand and needed to crawl, and he continued to find debris on the ground. He decided to follow the rocks, and indeed, the light became brighter the longer he walked. And then he found it - a bright stream of light came through a hole in the wall. But there was one problem - the hole was tiny and Gilgamesh's broad shoulders would never fit through it. He looked for another entrance, but there was none. But he wouldn't give up. He grabbed a rock and punched it against the wall, again, again and again. Every time he did this, a little bit of the wall broke down - until his own rock was nothing more than gravel. And then he took the next stone which he also bashed into the wall. And he did it again. And again. And again, and again and again. Until there was no rock left, so that he needed to use his sore hands. But it didn't matter, and he did it. He crawled through the hole in the wall, now far bigger than it was at the beginning, and on the other side he found a ladder. His hands hurt as he grabbed the rungs, but he ignored the pain. As he reached the top of the ladder he saw where the light came from. From a candle. A single, small candle that sat in the middle of a table, which itself was placed on the wall of the small wall. There were two chair placed alongside the table. One of the chairs was empty. On the other sat a man with a well-known face. “Welcome, Gilgamesh.”
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