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 blade fell with a sound like a butcher's cleaver. Thwack. A head tumbled into the basket. The crowd, which had once screamed for liberty, now roared its approval for this new, efficient god: the Guillotine.


Robespierre stood, not as a king, but as a high priest of an idea. His "Republic of Virtue" was Julian's dream realized. Deviation was a capital crime. The enemy was no longer a monarch, but a wrong thought. The guillotine was not an instrument of chaos, but of perfect, mechanical justice. It reduced a human life to a binary variable: virtuous or corrupt. Alive or deleted.


Enki watched, sickened, as the revolution began to eat its own children. They had torn down the cross and erected the blade in its place.


Scrapbook Entry: "They sought to build a heaven and built a slaughterhouse instead. The cage of divine right has been replaced by the cage of ideological purity. The tyrant is no longer a man, but an idea, and it is the hungriest tyrant of all."


Chapter 108 - The Altar of Reason