Nun, angry over the latest revelations, summons the Eye of Oblivion to observe just what the sons of Nibiru have been up to these last one-thousand plus years.

In his resulting vision, he sees a grand complex built in the dry lands of the north, generating immense power. The Anunnaki have enslaved the locals and use them to mine the surrounding areas for resources to construct their massive energy facilities.

Nun cannot discern the actual reason for the construction, though he has seen things like this on his home world—structures that were created by fringe sects disloyal to the existential cause of the three races for a purpose that was never revealed in his time.

Could it be that the Anunnaki are direct descendants of these fringe groups from our home world? Could they somehow have corrupted my waters before I was awoken?

Unable to settle on an agreeable conclusion, he changes his focus to the Deva. To his surprise, the Deva are untraceable, though he does find the ruins of their original settlement.

He gasps at the sickeningly sobering sight. The land appears scorched, with structures toppled by generations of war. The sparse number of humans left behind appear malnourished and diseased.

Nun closes the Eye of Oblivion, unable to stomach more disappointment. His eyes return to the spot where Gaia’s body disintegrated. He considers her words.

I am a fool. I should have used the Eye during the time of the Ancients, providing oversight. Then I might have seen their treachery before they ever departed. The Eye is but one of three great immortal souls of Nibiru. The other two are still missing, and if the Devas were to find them…

Nun quells his thoughts of a worst-case scenario. A moment of silence follows. Then he turns and heads back toward the massive lake in the middle of the Rift.

He reaches its shores, still mulling over Gaia’s philosophy. He studies the churning liquid, dipping his hands into its dense flow. As Nun focuses his thoughts, he causes the water to flash in spurts of red. It crackles, electrified. Then, once imbued with specific instructions, the water returns to its translucent azure state.

Nun raises a hand skyward and calls forth the waters. “Waters of life, grant me a human child. Give it the powers of an Ancient, the mortal lifespan of a man. Bestow it with both weaknesses and strengths. May it need before it ever wants. It must be that of this world. I command you now. Bring it unto me!”

The water’s many elements coalesce, forming a vortex around Nun’s submerged hand. In the whirlpool beneath his fingers, a figure appears in the shape of an infant child. It takes the form of water, then metal, then—finally—flesh.

Nun curiously observes the child before him. He’s never viewed one this close, having crafted his prior creations in their full form.

With tremendous care, he scoops the child from the waters—humanity in the palm of his hand. The child takes its first breath of life but remains asleep.

Nun uses the garbs from his cloak to keep the child warm and swaddles it, contemplating the future.

The Eye of Oblivion senses his wandering thoughts and opens on its own. Nun attempts to stop it, but to no avail. He is aware of its goal, one that could prove very dangerous. The Eye, given its own sentience, refuses to be stopped. It projects to Nun a vision of the future.

An Empire…Three Kings…Megalithic architecture…Massive armies of men…Major world-shaping disasters…Millions dead…

Nun responds in terror. “What is this?”

The Eye closes, leaving the vision to exist only within his mind. He looks down at the child.

Could it be he who will change the fate of the world? Surely he could not lead the world to such ruin.

Nun immediately forces himself to block all knowledge of this vision from his psyche.

Visions of the future are fraught with danger. They haunt the deeper recesses of the subconscious, shaping everyday decisions in failed attempts to avoid that which one only draws closer. No. This boy’s destiny is his and his alone. So shall it be.

Nun speaks softly to the boy, “You shall be raised as a human.” He pulls the child closer to his face. “You will not be the only child I raise, but you shall be the first. I shall call you Rah, son of Nun—the first of the God Killers.”