Chapter One: The Threads of Fate
The moon hung low and red over the temple of Ekur, its light spilling like blood across the sacred stones. The air was thick with incense, the scent of myrrh and burning cedar weaving through the columns. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as Innana, radiant and terrible, ascended the steps alone.
Her hair shimmered like midnight silk, a cascade of obsidian waves crowned with a circlet of starlight. Jewels the color of dawn and deep sea clung to her slender frame, and with each step, the earth seemed to tremble, acknowledging the dominion she had been granted.
Innana had conquered many lands in the name of the Annunaki. From the golden plains of the Indus to the sacred rivers of Asia, her temples rose like beacons, her name whispered on the lips of kings and beggars alike. In India, they called her Krishna, the beloved goddess of fortune and war. In Akkad and Sumer, she was Ishtar, goddess of love and wrath. Now, she sought the last word of her destiny.
Beyond the threshold of the sacred chamber, where mortals feared to tread, dwelt the ancient Fates — three ageless weavers whose hands spun the threads of gods and men alike.
The chamber was cloaked in shadow, the only light a single flame in a basin of black stone. Threads of silver and crimson hung from a loom older than the heavens themselves, threads that shimmered and danced as if alive.
The Fates awaited.
Ninsutu, the youngest, with hair the color of bone and eyes like storm clouds, spoke first.
"You come seeking what you already know, Daughter of An."
Innana's voice was a melody of stars and storm winds. "I come for certainty."
The second Fate, Ishara, fingers gnarled with eternity, plucked a golden thread from the loom. It glowed brighter than the flame.
"This is your thread, Innana. It gleams brighter than any who have come before you. You shall rule the Four Corners of the Earth. You shall be unstoppable, worshiped in every land and spoken of long after the mountains have turned to dust."
Innana's lips curved into a knowing smile. She had felt the power surge within her veins. No god, no mortal, no demon could stand against her. Or so she believed.
But the third Fate, Gula, blind yet seeing, reached out and took hold of a thread woven with both light and shadow.
"Yet beware, Goddess. Every sun casts a shadow. Your greatest adversary shall be born of the seed you cherish most — the blood of Lugalbanda, King of Ur. From his line shall come the one who may shatter your dominion."
Innana's smile faltered. The words struck her heart like a blade of ice.
"Who dares challenge me?" she demanded.
The threads twisted in the Fates' hands, forming the shape of a warrior cloaked in darkness and fire.
"You shall know him when the heavens tremble," whispered Gula. "For the earth will quake and the stars shall weep. Only if you defeat this one shall you rise as goddess of the Four Corners of the World, eternal and unchallenged."
Innana turned from the loom, her thoughts heavy with a mix of wrath and dread. She would find this child. She would not wait for fate's cruel hand.
As she left the chamber, the threads quivered, and in the distance, a storm began to form over Ur.
In the sacred city of Ur, the air was thick with music and the scent of roasted lamb. The people danced in the streets, bronze goblets raised in celebration. King Lugalbanda, favored of the gods, had sired a son. The child was born of Ninsun, the gentle goddess of wisdom and prophecy — Innana's own sister. It was a union whispered of in temples, a joining of mortal and divine blood that would one day alter the fate of the world.
They named the child Gilga, in honor of Gibil, the flame-bringer and patron of kings. The boy's arrival was a blessing, and for a moment, peace hung over Uruk like a silken veil.
But peace is a fragile thing in the realms of gods. As the evening torches were lit and offerings burned at every street corner, a lone messenger in crimson robes arrived at the palace gates, his face pale with dread.
Within the royal palace, King Lugalbanda raised his cup high. His face, weathered by war and rule, softened with pride as he looked upon the cradle where the infant lay. The boy's eyes, dark as obsidian, blinked up at the world with the quiet curiosity of one who already belonged to both gods and men.
"Gilga, son of Lugalbanda," the heralds proclaimed, "named for Gibil, the bringer of flame!"
Ninsun, goddess of wisdom and mother to the child, sat at Lugalbanda's side. Her beauty was unearthly — hair like rivers of midnight, eyes reflecting ancient stars. She touched her son's cheek, her heart heavy with both joy and an unnamed dread.
The sound of revelry was broken when a messenger cloaked in crimson entered, bowing low before the king.
"My lord," he said, voice tight with fear, "the goddess Innana commands your presence. She awaits you at her temple… in her private chambers."
The color drained from Lugalbanda's face. For five long years, he had not seen Innana. Not since the day he chose Ninsun as his wife, severing the illicit bond he once shared with the goddess of war and desire. That betrayal had not gone unanswered. Temples fell silent, omens turned grim, and for five years he had ruled beneath the weight of her scorn.
But no king refused a summons from Innana in her own city.
"To refuse her," Ninsun said softly, sensing his turmoil, "is death in itself."
Lugalbanda's gaze met hers, the pain of old betrayals and lingering desire flickering between them. He leaned down, pressing a final kiss to his son's brow.
Without a word, he mounted the king's chariot, its wheels gilded with gold and drawn by white mares swift as desert winds. The streets of Uruk grew hushed as he passed, for every soul knew where he was bound.
At the temple of Innana, the torches burned a pale blue, and the air hummed with unseen power. The priestesses parted, allowing him to enter the sacred inner sanctum alone.
She was waiting.
Princess Innana, seated upon a throne of lapis lazuli, her skin gleaming like dawn against her silken robes. Jewels hung from her neck like drops of blood. Her gaze was fire and hunger, and the air between them thickened with unspoken desire as their eyes met.
"So," she whispered, rising from her seat, each step a promise, "Ur's lion returns to his goddess."
Lugalbanda bowed low, though his heart thundered. "I come as you command, Lady of the Heavens."
She circled him like a predator, her fingers trailing across his shoulders, the scent of myrrh and rose clinging to his senses.
"Do you remember," the goddess Innana murmured, her voice a soft blade, "the nights we spent beneath the stars? When you were mine — body, soul, and crown?"
"Surely you remember," she purred, fingers tracing his arm, "the nights we stole from the heavens? When your lips tasted like wine and your promises meant something?"
He tensed. "That was long ago, goddess. I belong to another now."
Lugalbanda's jaw clenched. "I was a fool."
Her laughter was soft and dangerous. "And yet, a fool I favored."
He turned to face her. "Why summon me now?"
Her gaze narrowed. "To tell you a story, but first, tell me, Lugalbanda — have you sired a son?"
His breath caught, but he held her gaze. "Only a daughter, Enmebaragesi."
Innana searched his face for any flicker of deceit. Finding none, she smiled — a serpent's smile.
"Then I shall tell you a story. The three who decree the fates I have met. They tell of a goddess who will be greater than all the gods there is. A goddess, that shall rule the four corners of the earth. Do you know who that is?"
"I always knew you were ambitious," said Lugalbanda, "you already reign over the Indus valley from the west to the east, but facing the other gods is-"
"The other gods are the least of my worries, my King," Princess Innana interrupted. "My true rival shall rise within thy loins."
Glaring at her eyes that pierced between his legs, Lugalbanda was dumbstruck.
Before he could speak, her hand shot forth, a blade of divine light piercing his chest. Lugalbanda gasped, his blood staining the sacred floor, eyes wide with shock and sorrow. Just like that, a hero of Ur, a King among Kings, had succumbed to the blade of a goddess.
"For what could you birth, but weakness," Innana hissed, watching the light fade from his gaze. Whether he told the truth or not, whether he fathered a son or not, Princess Innana knew that Lugalbanda had to die, including all of his bloodline.
In the royal chambers, Ninsun sat in restless silence, the celebration having long since withered into unease. She cradled Gilga, her heart racing with dread.
A sudden figure appeared in the doorway — a man clothed in travel-worn robes, his face half-hidden in shadow. Yet his presence radiated divine power.
"Ninsun," the figure spoke.
She rose, alarmed. "Who speaks?"
The figure stepped into the light, and she gasped.
"Nabir, the god of scribes and secrets."
His expression was grave. "I come with dire tidings. Lugalbanda is dead. Struck down by Innana's hand in her chambers."
Ninsun's breath hitched, her knees nearly giving way.
"By the heavens… She feared the prophecy?"
"She suspects. She demanded of him his heirs. He claimed only Enmebaragesi — but the risk is too great. She will come for the boy."
Tears welled in Ninsun's eyes as she clutched her son. "I cannot fight her. Not here."
"You must flee. I have sent word to Shamash. He will cloak you from her sight. But you must go now."
Ninsun turned to the maid who stood by, a loyal woman named Azi.
"Azi, you must take the boy. Disguise him. Take him beyond the city gates."
Azi's eyes brimmed with fear, but she nodded. "My lady, I will guard him with my life."
Ninsun knelt, pressing a kiss to Gilga's forehead.
"My son… the world will seek your blood, but the gods shall shelter you. Live. One day, rise."
She gathered what little she could and vanished into the night, guided by Nabir's blessing.
As dawn broke over Ur, word of the king's death spread like wildfire. The Royal house was burned to the ground, all of the King's wives and concubines had fallen to the sword. Official tales spoke of divine judgment — but whispers told of the goddess Innana's wrath.
Shamash met Ninsun in the wilderness beyond the river, taking her into his protection. He wore the guise of a wandering priest, his light hidden from mortal sight. Although the goddess Ninsun held the lowest status amongst his long list of sisters in the royal family, Shamash had always held a soft spot for her. Even when she fell in love with a human, he was the first to give her his blessings.
Back in those days, gods had begun to marry humans, with the god Marduk being the first to take that bold step. Although Enlil shun upon this behavior, he had reluctantly allowed the unions that were once an abomination. Even so, gods and goddesses who married humans were frowned upon and their status diminished amongst gods. But the union of the goddess Ninsun and the mortal Lugalbanda would become the greatest union even amongst the gods. For upon this union, a hero amongst gods and men would rise.
"The child is the world's only hope now sister. He must grow in obscurity." Shamash spoke, comforting Ninsun.
And so Gilgamesh was raised as a commoner's son, lost to the world of kings and gods. Yet his blood sang with the power of both.
Innana scoured the cities, temples, and plains, her rage unquenched. But the child remained unseen — for the gods weave their own fates.