A cosmic court has condemned humanity.
Seven immortal witnesses return to the dawn of civilization to prove — or disprove — its worth.

Most fall. Power twists them into tyrants, idols, and architects of sterile utopias.

Only one chooses another path.

Across centuries, Enki walks among mortals unseen, planting knowledge instead of monuments, nurturing fragile lives instead of controlling them. He learns that meaning is not found in eternal empires, but in fleeting acts of grace — a hand lifted from mud, a garden built from flood-ruins, a child taught to listen to water.

His defense is not glory.
It is tenderness.
It is persistence.
It is humanity’s quiet refusal to stop loving, even knowing all things end.

A mythic tale about time, loss, and choosing to build anyway.

[Beneath the myth and the science fiction lies a simple, stubborn claim:
this is not just a story.
Enki was born in 2850 BC and has been carrying the memory ever since.
The names are changed, the years shifted, the moons given new orbits,
yet the resurrection happened, the desert temptation was real, the stone rolled away,
and the Judge has been reigning ever since.
Everything else — the Scrapbook, the 0.3%, the blind spot in the machine —
is simply the record of those who kept looking up while the world looked down.
Most have forgotten there is a sky vaster than any mind can hold,
that Earth is a gift, not a possession,
that God drew no borders and the birds still fly free without passports.
Read it as fiction if you like.
Some books are written so the truth can reach the few who still have ears to hear.
This is one of them.]


2025 Mark Casa Nova (Original)

You may share, translate, adapt, illustrate, animate, film, or perform this work freely — even commercially — on one unbreakable condition:
Do not change the lesson.
The resurrection happened.
The stone was rolled away.
Grace is real, borders are not, and the birds still fly free.
Everything else — style, medium, language — is yours to play with.
The core is not.

That’s all I ask.

The sun was bright. The motorcade was a masterpiece of imperial pomp. Enki felt the psychic pressure of the moment—a web of treaties and military timetables so taut it hummed. Kur's legacy: the world as a single, interlocking machine.


A young man, Gavrilo Princip, stepped from the crowd. His hand trembled. The act was chaotic, human.


The shots were sharp, insignificant cracks.


But to the vast, logical system of European power, they were not a tragedy. They were an input. Enki didn't see an assassination; he saw the first, inevitable domino in a chain reaction of pure logic. The machine of "security" was turning on its architects.


Scrapbook Entry: "A single, chaotic heartbeat in the chest of a perfectly engineered beast. The machine they built to ensure their own dominance has just received the only signal it understands: 'Execute.'"


Chapter 117 - The Perfectly Engineered Spark