Enki did not flee with the others. He walked back into the heart of the drowning city, the water now waist-deep. He was not trying to save it. He was bearing witness.
He saw the great waterwheel, his masterpiece of applied physics, shudder and then splinter under the force of the current, its timbers spinning away like straws.
He saw the E-Abzu, the hall of records, its clay tablets dissolving into sludge, the written memory of Ur returning to the mud from which it came.
And then he saw a family, trapped on the roof of their collapsing home, the parents trying to form a raft from loose reeds. They were failing. The current was too strong.
A memory sparked in his hollow core. The reed will save the faithful.
He waded to them. Using his immortal strength and a knowledge of materials that spanned millennia, he showed them how to lash the reeds with vines, how to shape them for buoyancy. He did not build it for them. He showed them how to save themselves.
He helped them onto the fragile vessel and gave it a push into the current, towards the distant hills. They were the first of the "reed-savers," the ones who would live to tell the tale. He did not follow them. He turned and walked deeper into the ruins, a ghost ensuring the legend of his own people's survival.