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]

The air in the lecture hall was thick with the smell of damp wool and burning tallow. Enki, a silent, elderly copyist named Albinus, dipped his quill as the great scholar Peter Abelard debated with a rival.


"The Prime Mover," Abelard declared, his voice sharp as a scalpel, "is the necessary, uncaused cause. Pure Act. Unmoved. Unchanged. The source from which all contingent beings flow."


A student raised a hand. "But Master Abelard, does this Unmoved Mover… love us?"


Abelard paused, not with pastoral care, but with intellectual impatience. "Love is a passion, a change. To ascribe it to the Prime Mover is a category error. We can know that He is, and what He is not. We know He is not moved. Therefore, He does not 'love' as we understand it. It is illogical."


The student sank back, confused and diminished. Enki felt a chill that had nothing to do with the Parisian damp. They had defined God out of His own story. They had caged the Lover of Souls in a syllogism and called it theology. This was a god the Ikannuna would find perfectly logical.


Scrapbook Entry: "They have taken the name that is above all names and filed it under 'First Cause.' They have replaced 'Our Father' with 'The Unmoved Mover.' A God who does not move cannot walk with us in the garden. A God who does not love cannot die for us on a cross. They have built a cage of pure, sterile, and utterly desolate reason."


Chapter 95 - The Unmoved Argument