"How many times has this world been destroyed already? Ah, yes… the 112th time—if I haven't lost count."
He—Babel.
Sits alone at the edge of a stone window, staring at the sky that has never once changed throughout the passing of time. In his hand, he grips a book that holds the past—the future—and the present of a world far below, now consumed by deep crimson fire and ash.
Babel sits in silence, still gazing at the same sky. He exhales slowly, then lowers his eyes toward the world beneath his feet—stretching as far as the eye can see. He witnesses how that world, so far from his own reach, crumbles into nothingness—erased from civilization.
From atop a tower so high it pierces the first layer of the heavens itself, Babel sees fragments of humanity who somehow survived the calamity. They crawl out from the ruins of their fallen civilization.
"Huh… It's still not over, is it?" Within his question, Babel raises the hand clutching the book, resting his chin upon it as he watches the scene unfold below.
His eyes show no light, no interest, no pity. The events below—he has witnessed them hundreds of times since the very first day he gazed out from the tower.
Babel lives alone, at the peak of an endless tower known as—Babylonia. A grand tower standing in the heart of the hottest desert, surrounded by human civilizations. He has dwelled inside that tower for more than a hundred and twelve thousand years, witnessing over 112 destructions of the lower world, and memorizing more than four hundred fifty-two billion books that lie within the tower—including the book of fate of the world beneath his feet, the very one he now holds.
"It's done, then. Now once again, I must wait a thousand years to see humanity fall, and another thousand to watch them rise again… But who knows when I'll see them finally learn from their own mistakes," he mutters in a faint voice.
Babel turns his gaze away from the world below. Shifting his body, he lifts his head from his palm and stands, clutching the same book. "Alright… Which book should I read next? The next thousand years will surely be boring." He walks forward, toward a floating bookshelf above him, places the book upon it, then raises one hand to push the shelf higher into the air above his head.
"Everything is neatly arranged—only a few things still out of place."
"I've lived for thousands upon thousands of years, yet nothing has ever felt special."
"Even the humans down there—not a single one truly matters."
"Do they not realize that every thousand years the same calamity comes for them? And after that, they're forced to start everything again from nothing. If only they were sharper, they would recognize the cycle… and the source of it all."
"Hah… Why should I even bother with such thoughts? There are more important things to do than dwell on a fate already sealed." So Babel thought.
He placed no hope in humankind or their civilizations. To one who lived atop the Tower of Babylonia, the lives of men were nothing more than lines in a book to be read.
For over twenty thousand years since that day, Babel had watched twenty falls of human civilization, twenty risings of it, and twenty times they failed to learn from their mistakes.
"What is the point of living—if you cannot even realize that the knowledge you cling to is the very source of your destruction?" he murmured. Babel laid the book of human fate upon a wooden table and walked away, unaware that new pages were being written inside the book he had left open.
From that day onward, Babel no longer knew how the fate of mankind would unfold for the next thousand years, nor how they would face the calamity that awaited them.
And when the day came—when Babel had predicted the extinction of human civilization once again—he instead witnessed something never seen before. For the very first time, humanity fought back. They resisted the disaster that was meant to erase them.
The sight shook Babel to his core. "What—what happened during these last thousand years!?" For the first time in countless ages, his mind swarmed with questions about mankind.
His hand clenched so hard against the stone window that it shattered. He turned sharply, striding toward the book of human fate—and found countless new pages already written within it.
Pages that told of humanity's triumph against the calamity, and of the moment when twelve chosen humans discovered the Tower of Babylonia itself, entering its halls to steal a single book of knowledge—knowledge that, to Babel, was utterly forbidden to humankind.
"What have you done, humans!? Instead of facing your mistakes, you sought only to fight their consequences. Your hunger for knowledge is the very root of this destruction… Wake up!"
For the first time, unknowingly, Babel began to hope. Hope that humanity would turn away from their pursuit of knowledge—the very pursuit he believed would doom them.
But for mankind, the knowledge within Babylonia was salvation. Thus, every thousand years for the next twelve thousand, twelve chosen ones would be sent into the tower. Ten would perish within, and only two would return—bearing new knowledge powerful enough to save their civilization.
Those twelve came to be known among men as the Pathfinders—the seekers of the road to freedom.
"You've gone too far … humans!"