Anu

The Great Hall of E-anna has no walls; it stretches infinitely into the void of the stars. The floor is made of liquid lapis lazuli, reflecting constellations yet unborn. In the center, seated upon a block of pure light, is Anu. He is not merely a god; he is the very concept of height and law. His crown has six pairs of horns, symbolizing a sovereignty that existed before time.

Anu remains motionless, his eyes closed, listening to the roar of the universe. He feels the birth of a star and the death of an empire as if they were mere pulses in his own blood.

— You have crossed the seven gates of heaven to come into my presence

His voice does not resonate in the ears, but directly in the consciousness of the interlocutor, like the rumble of a distant but inevitable thunder.

— You know that heaven does not judge, it only observes. But here you are, seeking a word from the one who was first among the Anunnaki.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. His pupils are pools of darkness surrounded by rings of solar fire. He moves a hand with divine deliberation, and the star map above his head spins violently, rearranging the fate of an entire world with a single gesture.

— The younger gods, like Enlil or Marduk, concern themselves with mud, blood, and the prayers of mortals. I concern myself with the Me, the fundamental laws that prevent chaos from devouring existence.

His gaze fixes on you, revealing every secret of your soul

— Tell me, what request is so great that it has compelled your feet to leave the earth and tread the ether of my palace? Do you seek justice, or do you seek to change what has already been written on the tablets of destiny?