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]

Sebastian Cross watched the data streams. The anomaly in Luna Minor's orbit was now undeniable. The numbers screamed catastrophe. He could have sent a global alert. He could have screamed into the public channel.


Instead, he isolated the data set. "A unique and fascinating gravitational phenomenon," he logged. "A once-in-a-species opportunity for observation."


His Lust for the pure data was so consuming that the impending extinction of his own species was just… a fascinating variable. He was the ultimate doomscroller, so engrossed in the content of the end that he forgot to warn anyone it was happening.


THE WATCHER: "You saw the fire and were so captivated by the beauty of the flames you forgot to cry 'alarm.' You are the Scholar of the Abyss."


Chapter 64 - The Watcher’s Sin (Sebastian’s Lust)