Chapter One: A One-Way Path
On a scorching afternoon at the edge of Babylon's ruins…
The sun lashed the earth mercilessly, until even the air itself seemed to shimmer and tremble under the heat.
The place was deserted—no crowds, no tourists like those at famous landmarks.
Only a heavy silence… broken now and then by the wind slipping through the eroded remains of ancient mud-brick walls.
There, in the heart of what was once one of history's greatest cities, stood a young man.
Unlike others, he wasn't gazing at the sky.
He was looking down.
His eyes traced details so small no one else would notice.
His name was Salim.
He wasn't one of those who came to take a quick photo and leave.
He was the kind who stared… as if trying to extract hidden truths from silent things.
He bent slightly, running his fingers along a low wall, then murmured:
"The angles are irregular… but not random."
He didn't see ruins.
He saw design.
A system that had lost its purpose over time, yet still carried the imprint of its creator.
He pulled out a small notebook and began sketching quickly—paths, angles, branching routes.
Then suddenly, he froze.
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked ahead.
There, between the broken walls, was a narrow passage—so subtle it would go unnoticed unless you were searching for it.
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"So… it wasn't just ruins."
He had read about structures like this before.
Defensive corridors designed to confuse intruders, forcing them into endless loops until exhaustion defeated them before they ever reached the city's core.
But reading about something… and standing inside it… were entirely different.
He hesitated—not out of fear, but calculation.
Closing his notebook, he took a deep breath and stepped into the passage.
At first, it seemed simple.
A narrow earthen corridor, sunlight filtering from above, a clear path forward.
Until he reached the first split.
He paused. Looked right, then left. No clear difference.
He knelt, marked the ground, then chose a direction.
He continued, repeating the process at every fork: mark, then choose.
But after a few minutes, something felt off.
The marks he made… were gone.
Or perhaps he couldn't tell anymore. Everything looked the same—disturbingly so.
He stopped completely.
Turning back, he couldn't tell where he had come from.
Walls, angles, silence… everything repeated itself until direction lost meaning.
He sat down for a moment and muttered:
"Don't move randomly… every system has logic."
He closed his eyes.
He focused—not on what he saw, but on what he felt.
The air… the moisture… the echoes…
Then he sensed it.
A faint but steady current of air.
He opened his eyes and followed it slowly, as if tracing an invisible thread.
The corridors narrowed.
The walls pressed closer.
The light dimmed gradually.
Still, he didn't stop. The current guided him with quiet certainty.
Minutes passed—longer than they should have felt—
Until a straight passage appeared ahead, ending in clear light.
His pace quickened without realizing it, until he reached the end and stepped out.
And in that instant… everything changed.
There was no longer the silence of ruins.
There was the sound of flowing water.
Voices. Movement. Life.
He lowered his gaze slowly—wet ground, a canal running beside him.
He looked up…
Fields stretched into the distance. Men worked the land. Mud-brick houses stood intact, as if they had never known ruin.
He turned sharply.
The passage he came through was no longer crumbling… but a solid wall, newly built.
He stepped back, eyes wide.
"This… isn't possible."
He raised his hand. The same hand. The same small scratches.
But the world around him… was no longer the same.
He sat down slowly, trying to process it.
Thoughts clashed in his mind, searching for a single logical explanation—but none came.
Finally, he looked toward the horizon.
There, towering above the city…
The ziggurat rose.
Etemenanki.
But it wasn't a relic—it was alive. Vast. Dominant. Imposing itself upon the sky.
Something cracked inside him. Not fear—resistance. A refusal to accept what he wasn't ready to believe.
"?!"
A voice behind him.
He turned to see a man standing at a distance, staring at him in confusion.
The man spoke—but Salim didn't understand.
They exchanged looks for a few seconds—long enough for Salim to face the truth he had been avoiding:
This was not his world.
He stood up slowly but didn't approach.
Instead, he observed—their clothes, their movements, the way they interacted.
He needed to understand before acting.
He had no language. No knowledge of customs. Nothing to rely on.
But when he looked at the canal… the simple tools… their hands…
He realized one thing:
The laws of engineering… hadn't changed.
At that moment, a faint warmth flickered within him.
It appeared briefly—then vanished.
He frowned slightly, unable to explain it, but stored it away as a strange observation.
The silence didn't last.
"Aaaaah!"
A scream echoed from the fields—sharp, laced with fear and anger.
The men panicked, all turning toward the source.
A group of men rushed toward them, carrying sticks and farming tools.
Behind them… three others.
Different clothes. Harder. Their expressions held no hesitation.
One of the farmers ran toward Salim, shouting incomprehensible words.
But the meaning was clear:
Danger.
Salim stepped back, heart pounding.
A simple truth hit him:
He didn't know this world… its rules… or its limits.
The approaching group stopped.
A large man stepped forward, holding a short sword, speaking in a rough voice.
One of the villagers responded, trembling.
They exchanged quick words—but the tone said everything:
This wouldn't end peacefully.
And in a single moment… everything erupted.
The large man lunged forward—
But—
That wasn't a normal human movement.
He was fast… faster than nature should allow.
He closed the distance in an instant, slamming into a farmer and knocking him down with unnatural force.
Then Salim saw it—
A faint glow wrapping around the man's arm.
As if the air itself was condensing around him.
Salim stepped back instinctively, eyes locked on the scene.
The fight spread. The villagers resisted—but the gap was terrifying.
Every strike from the attackers was heavier, faster, more decisive.
"This… can't be real…"
A farmer swung his stick.
The attacker raised his hand—
An unseen force deflected the blow effortlessly—then countered, dropping the man instantly.
The warmth inside Salim surged again.
Stronger this time… as if responding to what he was witnessing.
He placed a hand on his chest, eyes fixed on the battlefield.
"Is… this what they're using?"
In that moment, Salim realized something even stranger than time travel itself:
This world…
Did not operate solely on the laws he knew as an engineer.
It was a world…
Where logic coexisted with something beyond it.