We have always underestimated human power.

Evening fell over Cancún, dyeing the sky apocalyptic hues that reflected the state of the world. In the command center, tension was at a fever pitch. The news of Cthulhu's imminent direct attack, the revelation of the Cthulhu-Netlin Luciferian alliance, Amitiel's ultimatum, the battle of the Aluxes in the Hollow Earth, and the awakening of the traumatized moon elves swirled in a maelstrom of overlapping crises.

Merlin, his face furrowed by the fatigue of centuries, once again reviewed the diagrams of the Keys of Solomon, searching for some countermeasure, some banishing ritual or protection that might stand a chance against the oncoming forces.

"Solomon," the old wizard murmured, more to himself than to the others. "He faced legions, bound princes of hell, commanded spirits with wisdom and a seal of power. We need that kind of... boldness and knowledge now."

At the mention of the name "Solomon," something stirred in Enki's ancient memory. The Anunnaki, who had been silently observing the human frenzy, froze, his golden eyes lost in a distance that spanned millennia.

Solomon...

Memories returned to him, not as sharp images, but as sensory echoes, like the resonance of a forgotten age. He saw himself, much younger by Anunnaki standards, though already ancient by humans, in the dusty lands of Canaan. He was there not as a god, but as an observer, a scientist of the divine and the mortal, as he had always preferred.

But his brother, Enlil, did not share his subtlety.

Enki remembered Enlil at the height of his self-imposed earthly power, wrapped in a manifestation of fire and storm, his voice an artificial thunderclap that shook the Sinai Mountains. He called himself "Jehovah," the One and Jealous God, demanding blood tributes and absolute obedience from the wandering desert tribes. He used Anunnaki technology to simulate divine miracles and punishments, consolidating a cult that served as a source of power and manpower for his vast resource extraction projects on Earth.

And he remembered Solomon. A mortal king, yes, but with an unusual spark. A wisdom that came not only from human experience, but from a deeper connection, perhaps with Gaia herself, or with forgotten fragments of knowledge, or even, ironically, with the essence of the Emerald Tablet that Hermes Trismegistus, another divinely touched being, had bequeathed.

Solomon had challenged Enlil. Not with armies, but with words, with logic, with an understanding of cosmic laws and the true nature of power that perplexed Enlil in his disguise as "Jehovah." He remembered Solomon questioning cruel edicts, negotiating tributes, demanding wisdom in exchange for loyalty. It was not open rebellion, but a cunning resistance, that of a mortal mind refusing to be completely subjugated, seeing through the veil of self-proclaimed divinity.

Enki had watched from a distance, fascinated and secretly alarmed by the human king's audacity, and perhaps with a spark of admiration for his intellect. Enlil, in his fury, had wanted to crush Solomon, but something—perhaps Enki's own caution, or the complexity of the web of alliances and influences Solomon had woven, or simply the fear of exposing too much of the Anunnaki's true nature—had held him back.

Now... now it all made sense, Enki thought, his gaze returning to the present, to the chaotic laboratory in Cancún. He looked at Aria, whose new magic shone with a purity and truth that defied the darkness. He saw Merlin, a mortal who had accumulated wisdom that rivaled that of many lesser Anunnaki. He saw Quetzal, a son of Terra connected to her spirit in a way the Anunnaki, with all their technology, had never achieved. He saw Elena Rossi and her team, fighting with science and logic against horrors that defied both.

Human power, Enki realized with a clarity that struck him deeply. We have always underestimated it.

We, the Anunnaki, with our vast longevity and world-shaping technology, saw them as enhanced livestock, as efficient servants. The Netlin, in their fallen pride, see them as motes of dust, irrelevant or corrupted. Even Old Ones like Cthulhu see them as mere sources of psychic energy, fuel for their madness.

But Solomon had defied him, in his own way. And these humans, now, faced threats that would shake the stars, and they would not break. They found new ways to fight, to resist, to understand. Their connection to this planet, their capacity for faith, for sacrifice, for desperate adaptation—their spark of consciousness, though altered by us, possessed a resilience, an indomitable quality that the great cosmic races, in their arrogance, had consistently overlooked.

Human power did not reside on the cosmic scale of the Netlin or the monstrous antiquity of Cthulhu. It resided in their spirit, in their ability to find light in the deepest darkness, to weave hope out of despair.

Enki looked at Aria again, and for the first time, he saw not just a mortal mage with an unusual gift. He saw an echo of Solomon, an echo of Alula, a testament to the indomitable power of consciousness that refused to be extinguished.

This realization did not make him sentimental, nor did it erase his own complex history of manipulation. But it planted in him a new perspective. Perhaps Terra's survival depended not only on the great cosmic powers, but on the underappreciated spirit of its own children. And maybe, just maybe, helping that spirit flourish, rather than trying to control it, was the only path to a future where not everyone was devoured by the Void.