Farewell, listeners of ENKI: Tales from the Past.

I was Nabu, son of the great Marduk and King of Babylon, addressing you from my throne room one final time. I was the first human king of the Babylonians, a bridge between Anunnaki wisdom and human resilience. Raised among gods and warriors, I bore witness to their triumphs and tragedies, their justice and their folly.

My father, King Marduk, and my aunt, the indomitable Inanna… they abandoned us to the winds of chaos. My grandfather Enki’s vision—a future free of tyranny—is now in ruins.

My journey with you, dear listeners, must end here. This is the final chapter of my story. The threads of history will continue to weave themselves into new patterns, but I will no longer be there to tell them. You have walked beside me, learned with me, and fought alongside me. For that, I am eternally grateful.

As I bid you farewell, I urge you to support the creator of the audiodrama: Mario Portela. For creating such an epic tale really deserves credit and support

May the wisdom of the old gods live within you.

Goodbye, listeners. May your futures be brighter than our pasts.

My breath came shallow, each inhale a labor. I knew that my time was nigh, age takes everyone… The chambers of my royal quarters felt smaller with each passing moment, the golden walls seeming to close in like a tomb. Nanaya sat beside me, her hand gentle on my weathered fingers.

“The cities burn,” I whispered, my voice cracked and dry. “Ur fights Eridu. Babylon fights itself… The Elamites fight the Assyrians… The Egyptians destroy the invaders… We’ve become what the Anunnaki feared.”

Nanaya’s eyes glistened. Not with tears, but with a fierce understanding that had sustained me through decades of leadership. “Humans are like their creators, my love. Look at the Anunnaki – did they not war? Did they not scheme?”

I turned my head, pain shooting through my aged bones. “But we were supposed to be better. We were their hope.”

She leaned closer, her breath warm against my cheek. “Hope is not a destination. Hope is a journey. And humans… they journey with fire and sword.”

My laugh was more a rasping cough. “Fire and sword. Yes. Exactly like Enlil. Exactly like Enki. We learned from gods who were more human than we ever were.”

My wife’s touch drew sacred runes across my palm, offering solace in the old ways of our ancestors. All our burdens settled heavily upon us – the Anunnaki’s grand pledge, Babylon’s soaring aspirations, humanity’s true essence… everything had crumbled in the brief span of three decades… since our divine makers vanished!

“We tried,” I said softly. The words hung between us, equal parts confession and eulogy. “We failed!”

“The statues…” I coughed, my chest heaving with the effort. “I still see them, Nanaya. Broken. Desecrated. Beautiful Babylon torn apart by those savages.”

Nanaya’s fingers traced the battle scars on my arm. “You brought our gods home.”

“Gods who abandoned us… family that ignored our cries…” Blood tinged my words bitter. “Where was my father Marduk when the Elamites stormed our gates? Where was Inanna when they smashed her statue’s face into the dust?”

“You were there,” Nanaya whispered, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. “The songs still echo in our streets – ‘Nabu, sword of justice, champion of the divine.'”

I turned away, the silken pillows scratching my papery skin. “Empty words. Empty temples. Empty praises of people that fall into beliefs and causes that are mere illusions. Humanity was a mistake, my love!”

“Calm down, my dear Nabu… Not empty.” Her voice carried the strength I once had. “You filled them with hope. Remember how the people cheered when you brought Marduk’s statue home? How they wept when you restored Inanna’s shrine?”

“Beautiful Babylon…” The words caught in my throat. “It passes through my heart like a blade, Nanaya. All these years later, I still hear their hammers breaking our gods.”

“And I still hear your war cry splitting the dawn.” She gripped my hand tighter. “I still see you leading the charge, your armor gleaming like the sun itself. I still see you as the protector of what once was our golden age!”

“We were so sure then.” My voice cracked. “So certain they watched over us. That they cared.”

Nanaya’s lips brushed my temple. “They gave us the strength to stand alone. Perhaps that was their greatest gift.”

“Their greatest betrayal,” I wheezed. “Leaving us to fumble in their shadow.”

I clutched Nanaya’s hand, my grip weak but desperate. “Over forty years,” I rasped. “Forty years since the Anunnaki left, and look what we’ve become.”

She smoothed my hair, her touch gentle. “Nabu, my love.”

“Locusts,” I spat, my voice cracking. “We’re worse than locusts. At least locusts follow a pattern. We… we destroy everything we touch.”

The window overlooked Babylon’s broken skyline. Where golden spires once reached toward the heavens, now only jagged stones remained. Smoke curled from distant fires – another city burning, another civilization consuming itself.

“The tribes fight,” I continued, bitter tears forming. “Brothers against brothers. New gods against their own creators… We’ve learned nothing.”

Nanaya’s eyes held infinite patience. “We’ve learned survival.”

“Survival?” I laughed, a harsh sound that dissolved into coughing. “This isn’t survival. This is madness. The Anunnaki gave us knowledge, civilization, hope – and we’ve reduced ourselves to the animals Enlil wanted us to be.”

“Not animals,” she whispered. “Humans.”

“Humans,” I repeated, the word dripping with contempt. “We were supposed to be their greatest creation. Instead, we’re their most spectacular failure.”

Outside, dead silence announced my own destiny. The wake of another senseless conflict… who would be usurping my kingship.

“And Enlil,” I muttered. “That serpent still pulls strings. We know he’s behind this chaos, yet we can’t find him. Can’t stop him.”

Nanaya’s hand tightened on mine. Her silence was more powerful than any words.

My chest heaved with another violent cough. “Abram’s followers multiply like desert sand. Each day, more of our people abandon the old ways.”

“They seek comfort,” Nanaya stroked my arm. “As we all do.”

“Comfort?” Blood tinged my lips. “His ‘one true god’ sounds suspiciously like Enlil. The same demands for absolute devotion, the same threats of divine punishment.”

“Perhaps that’s what they need now-“

“No!” I tried to sit up, but my strength failed me. “Religion should never be an excuse for bloodshed. Yet look what’s happening – brother turns against brother, city against city, all in the name of faith.”

Nanaya dabbed the blood from my mouth. “Remember when you first took the throne? How lost our people felt after the Anunnaki left?”

“At least we knew our gods were real.” My voice cracked. “We saw their ships pierce the heavens. We felt their presence. This… this invisible deity Abram preaches about…”

“Speaks through him, as he claims.”

I gripped her hand weakly. “Enlil speaks through him. I’ve seen this pattern before – the promises of greatness, the tests of loyalty, the demands for sacrifice. Isaac bound on that altar…” A shudder wracked my frame. “What kind of god demands a father kill his son?”

“The same kind that abandoned their children,” Nanaya whispered, her eyes distant.

“Exactly.” Another cough tore through me. “And now Abram’s followers wage war in their god’s name, just as Enlil always wanted. Humanity turning against itself, tearing down everything we built.”

“You built something beautiful, my love.”

“I built on foundations of sand.” Bitterness coated my words. “Everything we achieved, everything we dreamed – it’s crumbling. And Abram’s prophecies only hasten the collapse.”

My breath rattled in my chest, a sound of finality. I knew death approached, not with the grace of our Anunnaki ancestors, but with the harsh inevitability of human mortality.

“I fear for humanity,” I whispered to Nanaya. “We are like children left without guidance, destroying everything our creators built.”

Nanaya’s hand remained steady on mine. Her eyes, deep as the rivers of Babylon, held a wisdom that transcended my despair.

“Humans will be humans,” she said softly. “We are like spoiled children, left without our fathers and teachers. We will fight, we will break things, we will rebuild – and then break again. This is our nature.”

I felt the cold creeping through my limbs. Death was not a distant concept anymore, but a present companion. My life’s work – the dreams of Babylon, the hope of unity, the legacy of the Anunnaki – all seemed to dissolve like morning mist. In a handful of years, the Anunnaki would be nearly forgotten in the annals of history.

“We are lost,” I murmured. “Completely and utterly lost.”

Nanaya leaned close, her breath warm against my ear. “And yet, we will survive. We always do.”

My eyes drifted to the window, where Babylon’s broken skyline told a story of perpetual destruction and renewal. Somewhere in that chaos, humanity’s spirit continued – chaotic, unpredictable, but unbroken.

I felt death’s approach. And I was afraid.