In the lonely peaks below the departing clouds, there once was a man who was born from the wilds. He gave himself no name, and left behind no remnants to reveal his life. But as other men began to develop strange machines for purposes unknown to the whole, the image of this one man became clear.
With the invention of the Turn-Around, man could witness what came before, even if that instance had never been recorded by a Keep-State. Man could rewind the clock to ages long forgotten. As the Archivists dove into the previously unknown annals of history, they stumbled upon this unusual man.
Alone in the mountains, he dwelt. From birth 'til death, he saw no other human. To him, he was the most mysterious creature of all. He could see that certain birds resembled each other, and the same went for all the rest. Yet, not he.
Perplexed by this curiosity, he molded mud and clay into images of himself. However, seemingly unsatisfied, he always destroyed them, leaving behind nothing. Each attempt to assemble a visage reminiscent of himself was met with failure and disappointment.
He lived until the age of seventy-four, living his life to the fullest. He ate simple meals, lived in fear for around fourteen years from his conception until he built a small shelter for himself, and generally existed without much ado.
Such was the life of the Mountain Man.
But that left the question. How did this man come to be? This was the great mystery none of the Archivists could solve. It all seemed like a tale from an old fable. But he was real. And they had witnessed it. But none of it made any sense.