As he packed the earth, Enki understood the true purpose of the Scrapbook of Grace. It wasn't a legal document for a cosmic court. It was a love letter.
Every entry was a reflection: This is what it looks like to choose life over consumption. To choose creation over commentary. To plant a seed instead of writing its eulogy.
The Ikannuna were right about the Seven. They were magnified failures. But they were wrong about humanity. Because humanity was not the Seven. Humanity was the farmer sharing grain, the mother singing a lullaby, the stranger showing kindness.
These were not minor events. They were the very fabric of creation being lovingly tended. Each small act was a stitch in the tapestry, a seed planted in the garden, a piece of wood sanded smooth and fitted into place. It was not dominion. It was stewardship. The humble, glorious work of a guest who loves the house they were invited into, and mends a broken fence not for payment, but for love.
The cosmic logic of the Ikannuna could process a grand system, but it was blind to the sacred economy of a shared meal.