The settlement needed a name. The people gathered, but their voices were hushed, their eyes glancing at the sky as if expecting another wave.
"We should call it 'The Survivors'," one man muttered, his shoulders hunched. "So the gods know we remember our place."
"Or 'The Humble Reed'," offered another, "that bends but does not break."
Fear was a thick fog in the air, choking the will to aspire.
Gilgamesh stood, his young face fierce with defiance. "No! We will not name ourselves from our fear! We will build a city that stands for ages, a beacon! We will be called Uruk!"
A wave of panic went through the crowd. "Uruk? That is a name of the old city! It is too proud! The waters will come again!"
The people began to argue, fear fighting a desperate, nascent pride. They turned as one to the silent figure who had planted the first seed. "Enki! You are wise! You decide!"
Enki looked at their terrified faces. He did not speak of kings or legends. He spoke directly to their fear.
"You are afraid the gods will send another flood," he said, his voice calm and steady, like deep water. "You think a small name will make you invisible. That a humble name is a shield."
They nodded, their eyes wide with the need for reassurance.
He paused, letting his words settle. "The flood did not come because of a name. It came because the world was out of balance. It came from silence, not from sound."
He walked to the center of the crowd, his presence quieting them.
"A name is not a challenge to the sky," he said. "It is a promise you make to each other. It is the first story you will tell your children about who you are. Do you want your story to be about hiding? Or do you want it to be about what you can build together?"