The first woman created

Enki's revelation of the true nature of the alliance between Amitiel and Cthulhu, and their ancient pact forged in the Lyran Wars, had left the group in Cancún in icy silence. The scale of the deception was cosmic, the depth of the evil unfathomable. Aria struggled to reconcile the image of the Netlin commander who had demanded her submission with this new vision of an architect of galactic genocide.

"Anunnaki," Merlin finally said, his voice barely a whisper, heavy with the weight of ages, "was this being, Amitiel, always like this? Was he born of pure cold logic and the ambition of a tyrannical order, or was there... something more... before he became the Herald of the Void?"

Enki looked away from the haunting holograms of star battles, and a strange, almost vulnerable expression crossed his golden face for a fleeting moment. "To understand the storm that is Amitiel," he began, his tone now more intimate, tinged with an ancient melancholy, "sometimes you have to understand the first drop of rain that fueled it, the first breeze that became a hurricane."

He paused, as if mustering the courage to unearth a deeply guarded secret, perhaps even forbidden among the Anunnaki.

"Long before my race 'improved' your ancestors for service on Terra," Enki continued, "when this planet was a young and wild garden, teeming with chaotic and beautiful life energy, other 'creator gods'—entities of whom even the most ancient annals of Nibiru speak with awe and scant understanding—left here a seed of primordial consciousness. It was not a race, not a people. It was... a woman. The first, according to her inscrutable designs. You, in your darkest and most fragmented legends, in the forbidden whispers of your religions, know her as Lilith."

The name echoed in the room, heavy with echoes of rebellion, untamed feminine power, and primal mystery.

"Amitiel," Enki continued, "in those almost forgotten eons, was different from the entity he is now. Younger in his cosmic perspective, though already immensely ancient by your standards. He was a Watcher of Worlds, a student of the emerging consciousness in the universe, fascinated by the infinite variety of creation, before his quest for perfect Order turned into the cold and absolute tyranny it embodies today. And he was, according to our most secret records, the first being from 'other regions,' from the vast expanses of the starry clouds, to cast his gaze upon Terra, and specifically upon her, upon Lilith."

Enki then painted an image that contrasted violently with the Amitiel they now knew. "Imagine Amitiel not as the commander of legions of dark light, but as a being of pure, geometric beauty, his wings still intact, perhaps incandescent white or the deep blue of primordial space. His eyes, now like cold quasars, perhaps then reflected the curiosity of nascent stars. He landed on a virgin Terra, a garden of limitless potential."

"And there he met Lilith. She was no submissive creation. She was the personification of the Earth itself: untamed, passionate, possessed of instinctive wisdom and a deep connection to the life energies and primordial spirits of the planet. Her beauty was not the cold perfection of the Netlin, but the wild beauty of a storm, a virgin forest, an erupting volcano."

"And Amitiel," Enki's voice broke almost imperceptibly, "fell in love. Or what a Netlin in his least... 'fallen' state, least consumed by his own inflexible logic, might experience as such. He saw in Lilith everything his race had repressed or lost in their quest for absolute Order: spontaneity, unbridled passion, the chaotic beauty of unfettered life, primordial freedom. She was fire to his ice, wild song to his mathematical harmony."

The group listened, fascinated and horrified in equal measure.

"But the love of a being like Amitiel," Enki continued, the sadness in his voice now undeniable, "is intrinsically bound up with his nature. He wished to 'understand' her through his own lens of Order. He wished to 'elevate' her, to 'perfect' her according to his own ideals, to incorporate her into his vision of a cosmos harmonized under a single Law. And Lilith, being the daughter of the Savage Land, the first breath of freedom in this world, resisted. She did not wish to be 'ordered' or 'perfected.' She was perfect in her imperfection, complete in her vital chaos."

"Her love, or her fascination, became an obsession for Amitiel. The inability to control her, to define her, to fit her into his cosmic equations, began to crack his own rigid conception of the universe. Some of the forbidden annals of Nibiru, the ones my father Anu tried to purge, suggest that it was this primordial failure,

This confrontation with a freedom he could neither subdue nor fully understand, which sowed the first seed of his bitterness, of his contempt for the 'chaos' inherent in uncontrolled life.

"What... what happened to Lilith?" Aria asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Enki lowered his gaze. "The details are lost in the smoke of eons and censored chronicles. Some say she simply abandoned him, returning to the essence of Gaia, rejecting his possessive love. Others whisper that Amitiel, in a fit of rage and despair at seeing his 'perfect creation' (Terra) and his 'perfect love' (Lilith) resist his Order, attempted to 'correct' her, and in the process... destroyed her, or exiled her to a plane from which she could not return. Or perhaps," Enki added with a chilling new inflection, "she became something he could not foresee, something that escaped even his control, an echo of freedom that still resonates and haunts him."

"From then on," Enki concluded, "Amitiel's search for Absolute Order became a relentless crusade, a way to erase the 'stain' of that failure, of that impossible love. Her current alliance with Cthulhu, her desire for a silent, predictable, and perfectly ordered universe under his yoke, could be, at its deepest and most twisted root, a reaction to that lost love, to that freedom she could not possess. A monumental and monstrous attempt to create a cosmos where a Lilith, with her indomitable spirit and savage beauty, could never again exist to challenge him or remind him of the only time his cold star heart had ever known anything like fire.

The revelation left the group in stunned silence. Amitiel, the Netlin Supreme Commander, the Herald of the Void, brother of Cthulhu... was not just a monster of cold logic. He was a being with a broken heart, a cosmic entity whose tyranny might be fueled by the most ancient and tragic of wounds. This made him no less dangerous, but perhaps, in a terrifying way, more understandable in his monstrosity—and potentially, even more unpredictable.