Chapter Text
The Continuation of Civilization—
Long ago, humanity possessed a highly advanced civilization.
Yet upon realizing that even such brilliance could not avert its inevitable demise, they devised a plan.
No matter how desperately we struggled, we could not escape the approaching extinction.
Thus, through Originium, we attempted to reconstruct the world itself.
By absorbing all information and allowing Originium to proliferate, we would create a new world—
and nurture new forms of life, distinct from those we once were.
Thus, we sought the continuation of civilization.
The name given to this endeavor by a single researcher—
The Originium Project.
Years passed after the plan’s conception, and research continued without end.
As one of the researchers involved, I did not truly care whether the project would succeed or fail.
I was suffering from an incurable disease—one that could not be treated even by the pinnacle of our civilization.
Even so, as a scientist, I wished to remain with the project until the very end—
perhaps even to witness its conclusion.
Deceiving my steadily worsening body, I clung on in desperation.
In the end, I did not live to see anything.
I died halfway through my resolve.
And just like that, a researcher perished.
---
Or so I thought.
When I opened my eyes, I had been reborn as a living being upon a world that would one day be called Terra.
I was of the race known as the Teekaz—
a grotesque form bearing black horns, a figure akin to a demon.
Fortunately, I had not been raised in a monotheistic faith.
Though shocked at becoming inhuman, I did not lose myself.
I lived a relatively peaceful life as a soldier.
That peace ended with the collapse of my homeland, Kazdel.
I fled alongside the remaining soldiers.
Yet, while serving as a decoy to ensure their escape, I was killed.
---
Thereafter, I lived and died as Teekaz again and again.
In my next life, I was born into a wandering tribe—
one forced into nomadism after being driven from their lands by other races.
One day, while searching for a place where the Teekaz might live in peace,
my brothers claimed they had discovered paradise.
“Have you finally gone mad?” I laughed.
On a land that despises the Teekaz, such a place could not exist.
They led me to an underground passage—
a forgotten path where time itself seemed to have stopped.
And there, I saw it.
It was neither Teekaz, nor Ancients, nor Elders, nor Gods.
It simply existed.
It was something that waited for what was yet to come.
My brother said:
“It is beyond our understanding.
But it will surely grant us ◾︎◾︎.”
I realized I had been staring at it.
When I turned toward my brothers,
they had already passed through the door.
Halos and wings had grown upon their backs.
Radiant halos.
Wings of strange shape—unlike those of feathered beasts.
I understood at once.
This was the change brought by it.
They spoke to me:
“Pass through the door. Come with us.”
To do so meant accepting that change.
They were no longer Teekaz.
Yet perhaps, beyond that door, lay a land of peace.
They urged me again.
“Live with us.”
We had been born together.
We had wandered the land together.
To live alongside one’s blood—that must be the correct choice.
And yet—
“I’m sorry. I will not pass through.”
They rejected my decision.
They raised their blades against me,
seeking to force me into their kind.
Thus, before the corpse of one Teekaz,
Two progenitors of the Sankta were born.
---
After several more reincarnations,
I was born as a nomad—
a member of a people later known as the Nightzmora.
I lived, united my tribe, joined a great campaign that swallowed even nations—
and died on the battlefield.
In my final moments, I instinctively realized I possessed Arts.
Born a man.
Died a warrior.
It was a life I could accept.
---
I continued to reincarnate.
At times I killed.
At times I was killed.
At times I lived as an Infected, hunted like an animal.
At times I lived an ordinary life.
But upon a land where Originium exists everywhere,
no one can escape Oripathy.
I kept my memories.
If discovered as Infected, I could be beaten to death.
Fear of death never left me.
Eventually, I began to suspect—
Was this not the very land where I once participated in the Originium Project?
As I wandered ruins of prehistoric civilizations,
I became certain.
And at the same time, I began to hate the researchers who devised the plan.
My civilization is nothing but a corpse.
A new civilization has risen atop it.
And I have lived far too long as a single life within it.
Originium has become a curse binding all who live now.
I roll up my sleeve.
Glossy Originium protrudes through my skin.
“Tch…”
“Damn it…!”
I do not want to die.
I do not want to become Infected.
I hate discrimination.
I hate people—
I hate Terrans.
I hate this land.
I hate these nations.
And yet—
I still live upon Terra.
Then a memory surfaces.
The Sarcophagus Project.
I died shortly before its execution.
A plan to preserve humanity in cold sleep,
to resurrect them after calamity had passed.
If even one person from that old civilization still lives—
Then perhaps,
as one who once participated in those plans—
or as one who still lives now—
I have the right to curse them.
“If there’s some goddamn god on Terra…”
“Grant me this wish.”
“Yeah… I’ve got myself a goal now. A big one.”
“I’ll show you one hell of a reunion.”