Three sharp knocks—loud, deliberate—rattled the wooden door and sent dust drifting from the stone frame.
"Ereshgal! We're going to be late!"
Only one person in Uruk would speak to me like that.
Kisaya.
She was my cousin. We'd grown up together in the palace—training, arguing, and learning side by side. She was always more direct than me, always better with a blade than a scroll. While I studied with priests and advisors, she was out with the guard, earning her place.
Her voice was steady and loud, cutting through the stillness of the morning. I was standing by the window, watching the first light stretch across the rooftops of Uruk. The city looked quiet from up here—clean, golden, almost peaceful.
The knock came again. I opened the door just as her fist rose for another strike.
She jolted back with a smirk. "Took you long enough."
Her hair was pulled into a tight braid. Her jaw was set. Her stance held weight—muscle, discipline, and certainty. At sixteen, she already moved like someone who expected to be tested.
"You look like you're heading into a war, not a temple" I said.
She shrugged. "Not much of a difference, really."
I stepped out, robes brushing the ground. Black and gold, cut to perfection, stitched by hands that trembled with reverence—colors that matched my dark hair and golden eyes.
"You don't look nervous" she said as we walked.
"I'm not." I kept my voice steady. "I still don't know which god will answer. But it'll be one that matters."
She laughed. "Of course. You wouldn't settle for anything less than a cosmic throne."
We exchanged a glance—half sarcasm, half truth—and kept moving.
The guards joined us, bronze armor shining in the early light, spears upright and silent. Their silence was not loyalty. It was obligation. That suited me.
Outside, Uruk awakened.
The city bloomed beneath the morning sun—golden sandstone glowing warm, banners rising with the breeze. Merchants shouted their wares: spices, fabric, charms touched by prayer. The air smelled of incense and fresh bread. Temple chants drifted through the streets like echoes from another age.
Uruk did not whisper. It roared.
Its walls stood high and impenetrable, its towers crowned by stone symbols of gods who never bled. This was not just a city—it was a kingdom carved from myth, waiting to be inherited.
I stopped.
Kisaya slowed beside me. "You always do this. You stare at it like you think it might vanish."
"As the future king" I said, "I need to know what I'm meant to rule."
She rolled her eyes. "You sound like your father."
"I try not to."
We walked on.
A woman bowed. "Blessings, Prince Ereshgal. May the gods see your worth."
A man followed. "Lady Kisaya"
Their words clung to me longer than they should have.
The Temple of Anu towered above the city like a mountain of carved judgment. Spiraling ziggurats stretched toward the sky. Every stone held meaning—stars, wings, lions, and the central eye of Anu: Sky-Father, ruler of all breath and law.
At the top of the stairs, a priest waited. His robes were white stitched with blue, his beard long and well-kept.
"Prince Ereshgal" he said with a practiced voice. "Lady Kisaya. This morning is heavy with eyes."
"Let's hope they like what they see" I replied.
"They rarely look with kindness" he said. "But they always look with purpose."
We passed into the temple. The air changed.
The marble floor vibrated faintly beneath our steps. Bowls of floating candles lined the path, their flames steady despite the draftless space. I smelled wax, stone, and something deeper. Something ancient.
This wasn't just ceremony.
This was judgment.
The chamber was filled with other sixteen-year-old heirs, dressed in silks and fear. Their eyes flickered between hope and terror. They had studied names, prayers, bloodlines. I had studied myself.
Kisaya stood strong beside me. I kept still.
I had dreamed of this moment in every way—rituals, power, glory—but never like this. Never with so many eyes. Never with silence waiting like a blade.
Of course one would come.
How could they not?.
A low horn echoed through the chamber.
The high priest lifted his arms. "Let the gods look. Let them choose. Let the threads be tied in heaven's loom."
Light poured from the archway above, illuminating the center of the hall.
"Kisaya, daughter of Dagan" the priest called.
She moved forward without hesitation, her feet silent on the stone.
The air grew dense. Candle flames flickered violently. A gust swept the room, sending ripples through robes and nerves.
Violet fire sparked at her feet, rising in swift arcs. It danced upward, never touching her, but lighting her in shifting shadow.
Above her, the fire twisted itself into a sigil—a blooming lotus entwined with thorns, petals flickering between rose and gold. It floated down, marking her palm with a radiant glow. No pain. Just truth.
Inanna had claimed her.
A gasp swept the chamber. Several priests dropped to their knees. The high priest bowed.
"She has been chosen" he said, voice thick with awe.
***
AN: Hi. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, this is my first serious attempt at writing a novel. My native language is Spanish, and although I do speak English, I'm not fully comfortable writing an entire novel in it. That's why I'm using AI to help with translations, which I then review and edit. I hope you don't mind. I'd really appreciate any reviews or feedback you can offer, as they help me grow. And if you enjoy the book, please consider adding it to your library. Thank you for reading!