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.
[Mark K. Carlos]

Isabelle stared at the complex bio-schematic of a proposed "Wilding Zone"—a last, desperate attempt to reintroduce controlled wilderness. Her colleague was passionate, pleading.


"Isabelle, we need your signature. This is the last chance for real, untamed life!"


Isabelle's gaze was cold. "Untamed is synonymous with unsafe. Unpredictable. My closed-loop ecosystems provide all the biological diversity we need, without the risk. Why would we choose the messy, dangerous forest when we can have the perfect, safe bouquet?"


Her Gluttony was for life—but only life she could control, quantify, and put in a vase. She would rather possess a perfect, sterile simulation than risk the glorious, chaotic reality.


THE MOTHER: "Your love for life was so vast it became a prison. You would rather suffocate a child than see it scrape its knee. You are the Gardener of the Sterile Bloom."


Chapter 62 - The Mother’s Sin (Isabelle’s Gluttony)