The fragile flicker of hope that had just ignited within Ishtar was instantly and brutally extinguished. Her beautiful features, which had been a canvas of anticipation, twisted once more into a mask of pure, unadulterated frustration. A volatile cocktail of anger, annoyance, and the unfamiliar, burning heat of shame churned within her divine core. It had to be said, this entire spectrum of emotional turmoil was an unprecedented experience for the being known as 'Ishtar.'
The Gods of Mesopotamia were, at their essence, natural phenomena given form. They were planetary forces—concepts like love, war, and the planet Venus itself—granted a superficial intellect and personality through the collective faith of mortal beings. But this personality was a facade, a mask worn by a fundamentally dispassionate force. The core of a god's being invariably carried an undercurrent of cold, impersonal detachment. This was the very nature of 'divinity.'
But now, Ishtar was experiencing a genuine, turbulent disturbance of her spirit. This feeling… it was utterly mortifying!
Ah ah ah—! This is too shameful!
Watching the goddess before him contort as if morphing into the subject of the famous later-era painting The Scream, Rowe could only massage his temples in a mixture of pity and exhaustion.
Then, he saw her suddenly still. A strange calm descended over her.
"No!" she exclaimed, as if struck by a divine revelation. The newly humanized goddess clenched her right fist and smacked it decisively into her open left palm, her expression one of sudden, triumphant understanding. "You're saying the opposite of what you mean, aren't you? I've heard that many humans do this—the more they care about something, the more they outwardly display a psychological aversion to it! It's a defense mechanism!"
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face. "Oh ho? I didn't expect you… to be such a difficult one, huh?" Ishtar covered her mouth with one hand, letting out a series of low, unnerving 'ho ho ho' laughs that made her sound less like a goddess of beauty and more like a scheming, cackling witch from a children's fable.
Rowe: "…"
He had long suspected that an Ishtar who believed she had mastered 'humanity' would never be able to simply admit defeat. While he had to concede that this kind of elaborate, self-serving excuse-making was, in its own way, a profoundly human trait, it didn't make it any less tiresome. This process was, admittedly, lending the goddess a certain chaotic, unpredictable liveliness that was almost… endearing. But since she showed no intention of delivering the fatal blow he craved, Rowe saw no reason to indulge her delusions any further. It was time to cut his losses and return home in disappointment…
"Hmph hmph hmph, struck silent? That means I guessed correctly, didn't I?" On the other side, Ishtar grew even more animated, preening as if she had already secured total victory. "I knew it! After all, I am the Venus Goddess! And I even have a sister who rules the underworld and commands the dead! What mere 'inner beauty' could possibly compare to such divine pedigree?!"
She proudly enumerated her 'glories,' puffing out her chest with divine pride.
It was at this moment that Rowe, who had just begun to turn away, froze mid-step. His head snapped back towards her, his gaze sharpening into a focused, intense stare.
Ishtar was still smirking victoriously. But under the weight of his sudden, piercing attention, her confidence began to waver. Her expression stiffened, and the raised corners of her lips transitioned from a smug smile to an uncertain, silent twitch.
"You… what are you staring at, you rude mortal?!" she demanded, a fresh blush creeping up her neck.
"You just said… 'Goddess of the Underworld,' right?" Rowe's voice was low, each word measured and deliberate.
"Y-Yes… so what?" Ishtar stammered, trying to mask her fluster with volume. "You were a priest of the gods! Don't tell me you're ignorant of even this?"
Rowe was, of course, well aware. Ishtar was the celebrated daughter of the Sky God, Anu, the youngest and most doted-upon deity in the heavenly court. But she did, in fact, have a sister—a twin sister, in a sense—named Ereshkigal.
Though called sisters, Ereshkigal and the capricious Ishtar, who freely roamed between heaven and earth, were polar opposites. Ereshkigal was the sovereign of the Kur, the Mesopotamian underworld. She was the ruler of the realm where the souls of the deceased found their final rest, bound to her throne in the eternally cold, silent depths. She was often depicted as a lonely figure, gazing upward at the faint light from the world of the living, yearning for its warmth but forever chained to her solemn duty, unable to leave.
Yes, under normal circumstances, Ereshkigal could not ascend to the human world. This had been the immutable law for eons. According to both later mythological records and the divine knowledge Rowe had accessed as a priest, the Goddess of the Underworld was a largely forgotten 'main deity,' a ruler of a realm no living soul wished to visit. Even Ishtar, her closest kin, rarely spoke of her in daily conversation.
But now, perhaps loosened by the influence of her host's integrated humanity, the Venus Goddess had let the name slip. And in doing so, she had inadvertently handed Rowe a new, brilliant spark of hope.
This reminded him—he still had a chance.
Ishtar's habitual silence regarding Ereshkigal was not born of indifference, and certainly not of aversion. On the contrary, she cared for her sister deeply. It was precisely because of their shared origin as twin deities of heaven and earth, yet their vastly different destinies—one reigning in the vibrant heavens, the other bound to the silent underworld—that the Venus Goddess harbored such complex, unspoken emotions.
This profound, tangled care was the very reason she always avoided the subject. They were sisters, goddesses who originated from the same primordial source, two halves of a single divine whole. Their connection was intrinsic. Therefore, she never spoke of Ereshkigal, never allowed outsiders to speak of her lightly, and would absolutely not tolerate… anyone else laying claim to her sister's attention.
A slow, deliberate smile spread across Rowe's face.
"What? What's with that smile? It's a bit… disgusting…" Ishtar said, her expression twisting into one of distaste, yet the blush on her cheeks deepened paradoxically. Her mind raced, a torrent of new, human-like anxieties flooding in. This guy… could it be that he's actually fallen for me? The thought made her feel both flustered and strangely eager. The more she thought about it, the more anxious she became. The more she anticipated, the more she also… feared.
"I just finally understood," Rowe began, weaving his lie with a perfectly straight face, "why I cared so much about you from the very beginning."
Cared? You insulted me the moment we met! Is that your idea of caring? Ishtar's crimson eyes widened in disbelief.
Then, she heard Rowe let out a low, deliberate laugh. "Hmph hahaha…"
Hey, hey, hey! Isn't that a blatant imitation of that golden fool, Gilgamesh?!
Ignoring Ishtar's wildly fluctuating emotional state, Rowe's actions were, in fact, perfectly logical from his perspective. He wanted to express his 'true feelings' to the goddess before him. He wanted to make it clear that he…
"I have a profound sense of longing for your sister, Ereshkigal!"
Crack—
A sound, sharp and clear, like fine porcelain shattering, echoed in the quiet alley. Ishtar had subconsciously clenched her jaw so hard it was a wonder her divine teeth didn't crack. Her beautiful crimson eyes widened to an almost impossible degree, all traces of her earlier blush vanishing, replaced by a pallor of sheer, unadulterated shock.
While this was far from a confession of love for her, it was undeniably a 'confession' of intense interest… directed at her sister. The one topic that was utterly forbidden.
Would Ishtar be angry? The question was moot. Her rage was a foregone conclusion. But even if she weren't, it didn't matter to Rowe's plan. As goddesses born of the same origin, Ishtar and Ereshkigal shared an inexplicable, intrinsic connection. This bond might have faded with the gradual decline of the Age of Gods, but if Rowe's memory served—and it did—their recent unification of the three great powers, the Wedge, the Key, and the Chains, had violently shaken the boundaries of the Three Realms: Heaven, Earth, and the Netherworld. That seismic event had likely reignited that dormant celestial link.
If he declared his 'longing' to Ishtar now… Ereshkigal, the Goddess of the Underworld, might very well hear it. And such a unique proclamation would almost certainly pique her curiosity. For countless eons, the Goddess of the Underworld had only ever been mentioned with fear and revulsion, never with praise, and certainly never with longing.
But Ereshkigal, bound by her divine decree, could not normally leave the Underworld. So, the most likely outcome was… she would summon him. She would allow him, even compel him, to enter the Underworld. And entering the realm of the dead while still alive was synonymous with death. It would be trivial for the Goddess of the Underworld to sever the thread of a mortal's life, even one who was the 'Key of Heaven.' Once there, if he simply remained, his legend would be cemented, and he would naturally ascend to the Throne of Heroes in time.
And if Ereshkigal didn't take the bait? It didn't matter. This was merely an attempt, a calculated gamble. Rowe hadn't expected any single plan to necessarily succeed. But if it did… to die while 'confessing' his devotion to a goddess? That was a narrative of unparalleled tragic romance! Furthermore, it would give him a perfect, pre-established reason to seek out the Underworld in the future. It was a plan that killed two birds with one stone!
Rowe's smile grew even brighter, a beacon of triumphant calculation.
He delivered the final, decisive blow.
"The one I truly long for… is your sister, Ereshkigal."
His voice, clear and resonant, echoed in the deep alley where the setting sun cast long shadows and red leaves littered the ground. The sound waves crashed against Ishtar's ears, stunning the Venus Goddess into a state of catatonic shock.
And far away, in the deepest, coldest throne of the Netherworld, the words carried an even greater impact.
"What… was that sound?" Ereshkigal, the Goddess of the Underworld, whispered, her head tilting. Her ruby-like eyes, which had been fixed on the faint, newly formed crack in her domain's ceiling—the one that let in a sliver of light from the human world—now widened. From that fragile connection, a sound had emanated. It was subtle, yet impossibly clear.
A voice, speaking her name not with fear, but with… longing.
It was a sound that profoundly disturbed the heart of the lonely underworld queen.