It was not a war of swords, but of ideals. Lulal did not attack Ur. He built his own camp beside it, a mirror city of raw, desperate survival. He used every lesson Enki had ever taught him—logistics, engineering, persuasion—but he twisted them.
Where Enki built for harmony, Lulal built for defiance.
Where Enki's laws were for justice, Lulal's were for survival at any cost.
He became a dark reflection of his master, a charismatic, broken prophet leading his people not towards grace, but away from what he saw as a gilded cage.
Gilgamesh was his enforcer, his demigod general. The boy who had found laughter in the oasis was gone, replaced by a ruthless commander who saw Lulal's crusade as the only war worth fighting.
Enki was trapped. To confront Lulal directly would be to crush the human spirit, the very thing he was meant to protect. To do nothing was to let a cancer of nihilism grow at his gates. The Ikannuna had forced the Witness into a corner: prove humanity's grace by allowing your own to be corrupted by the truth you cannot speak.