The world beyond the village was a lesson in brutal subtraction. The theoretical knowledge of Kaelen Vance was a vast library with no index for the way hunger hollowed out his stomach. His first shelter, built on optimal thermal dynamics, collapsed in the first gust. He learned to pack snow into blocks, to create a den that trapped his body's meager heat. By the time green shoots pushed through the thawing earth, the boy from the village was gone, replaced by a harder, quieter creature.
Thirst replaced cold. The land flattened into a cracked plain of white salt and brown rock. His waterskin was empty within two days. Desperation became a tool. He dug a pit, stretched a hide over it—a pathetic solar still. It produced less than a mouthful of brackish water.
He was drinking it, hands shaking, when shadows fell over him. Three men, faces wrapped in cloth, stood looking down. They were lean as wolves. One pointed at the still, then at the metal clasp on his empty pack. Without a word, they offered him a waterskin and motioned for him to follow.
They brought him to a dusty pass where a caravan was forming. He bartered his labor for a place, lifting carts and gathering dung. It was mind-numbing work. His mind, which could calculate orbital trajectories, screamed at the inefficiency. He learned to keep his head down, save his energy, and listen.
At night, by the flickering dung-fires, he absorbed the gossip of the trade routes. And more and more, they spoke of Uruk.
"The walls are not piled stone. They are… grown," a spice merchant said, his voice hushed. "As if the earth itself obeyed a command."
"The king sees the shape of things before they are," a grizzled guardsman added. "They call him 'The Hand That Shapes the Mountain.' His word is the law of brick and mortar."
Enki's heart thudded. Load-bearing arches. Planned drainage. It was the work of a 30th-century mind. The Builder. He was real.
But then, another name was spoken. "Aye, but have you seen the apprentice? The young one, Lulal? The king's shadow. He has the eye. He sees the soul of a thing."
Enki stored the name. Lulal. A potential ally, or a formidable obstacle.
The caravan reached a bustling outpost on the banks of the great river. The journey was over. Before he could enter the lion's den, Enki needed better tools. He needed to be more than a dusty traveler; he needed a key.