Present, Future, Past
by
Andrew J Douglas
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One: The Crater at Babylon
Chapter Two: The Temple
Chapter Three: The Temple Beyond Time
Chapter Four: The Garden Beyond Time
Chapter Five: The Messenger in the Night
Chapter Six: The Red Planet
Chapter Seven: Secrets in the Temple
Chapter Eight: The Angel
Chapter Nine: The Red Thread of Time
Chapter Ten: The Quarry
Chapter Eleven: Blood in Paradise
Chapter Twelve: The Travel Chamber
Chapter Thirteen: The Forest
Chapter Fourteen: Inside the Ancient Room
Chapter Fifteen: The City Becomes a Maze of Blood and Smoke
Chapter Sixteen: The Sky That Never Changed
Chapter Seventeen: The World Before the Flood
Chapter Eighteen: Noah’s House
Chapter Nineteen: Outside the Temple — A Different Waiting
Chapter Twenty: The Palace — A Different Kind of Storm
Chapter Twenty-One: The Palace of Dumu-zi
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Future Temple Travel Chamber
Chapter Twenty-Three: New Jerusalem
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Original Temple — Present Day
Chapter One: The Crater at Babylon
The heat came early that morning.
By eight o’clock the desert south of Babylon already shimmered beneath a white Iraqi sun, the air vibrating above the broken highway like invisible fire. Dust rolled across the flatlands in slow spirals, drifting through abandoned checkpoints and over the cracked stones of forgotten empires.
Major Karim Hafez sat rigid in the front passenger seat of the lead Iraqi Army truck, sweat darkening the collar of his uniform. Ahead, the convoy crawled along the old river road outside Hillah, parallel to the Euphrates. Behind them, two troop carriers bounced through potholes filled with powdered sand.
The war had made every road feel alive.
Every mound of dirt.
Every dead dog.
Every rusted oil drum.
Possible death.
Lieutenant Hussein Fasil rode in the second truck with three soldiers and a British radio operator attached to the patrol. The mission was simple: rendezvous with a British unit near the ruins of Babylon, then escort archaeologists to a recently uncovered trench near the ancient site.
Simple missions were usually the dangerous ones.
The explosion came without warning.
A blinding flash erupted beneath the second vehicle.
The world split apart.
The truck lifted sideways into the air as if struck by the fist of God, metal shrieking, tires spinning free before the vehicle crashed back onto the road in a blossom of smoke and flame.
The shockwave slammed into Hafez’s chest.
His ears rang instantly.
Soldiers screamed.
The convoy halted.
Dust swallowed everything.
“IED!” someone shouted.
Hafez stumbled from the truck, pistol already drawn though there was nothing to shoot. Smoke rolled from the destroyed vehicle. One soldier crawled from the wreckage with blood pouring down his face. Another lay motionless beside the crater, one arm bent backward unnaturally.
The smell hit next.
Burned rubber.
Diesel fuel.
Cooked flesh.
Hafez forced himself forward while medics rushed to the wounded. His surviving soldiers spread into defensive positions beside the road, rifles aimed toward empty fields and shattered date palms.
But no second explosion came.
No ambush.
Only silence.
A strange silence.
Hafez reached the crater.
The blast had ripped a hole nearly ten feet wide into the old roadbed. Broken asphalt and dirt were scattered everywhere. But something below caught his attention immediately.
Another opening.
Perfectly circular.
Too smooth to be natural.
Half buried beneath the rubble.
Hafez crouched near the edge, wiping sweat from his face. Cool air drifted upward from the darkness below.
Ancient air.
“Flashlight!” he barked.
A nervous private handed him one.
Hafez switched it on and leaned over the opening.
The beam vanished into blackness.
Then it struck something reflective.
Gold.
Not scattered pieces.
Walls of it.
Statues.
Jewels.
Metal gleaming deep underground.
For several seconds Hafez could not breathe.
The light trembled in his hand.
Then he shouted so loudly the soldiers around him froze.
“Gold!” he screamed. “Gold everywhere!”
Less than an hour later, the archaeologists arrived.
Shelton Johns stepped from the SUV first, already sweating through his khaki shirt. Tall, lean, and perpetually unshaven, Shelton carried the exhausted look of a man who had spent too many years digging through deserts searching for dead civilizations.
Rebecca White climbed out beside him, shielding her eyes from the glare. Unlike Shelton, she still carried enthusiasm in her expression — sharp-eyed and alert despite the heat.
Professor John Brandon emerged more slowly, adjusting his glasses while studying the soldiers surrounding the road.
Lieutenant Fasil approached from the military vehicles just as his cell phone rang.
He listened for only a few seconds before turning pale.
“Major Hafez says you need to see this immediately.”
Shelton exchanged a glance with Rebecca.
“What did they find?”
Fasil looked toward the crater.
“I don’t think he fully understands what he found.”
The site looked like a battlefield.
Smoke still drifted from the destroyed truck. Iraqi soldiers guarded both ends of the road while engineers searched for secondary explosives. Above them, the ruins of Babylon shimmered beneath the heat haze less than half a kilometer away.
Major Hafez stood beside the crater waiting for them.
His expression had changed.
Not fear.
Something stranger.
Obsession.
“We were traveling to meet British patrols,” he explained quickly. “Then the bomb exploded.” He pointed downward. “The blast opened something ancient beneath the road.”
Shelton approached carefully.
The opening was narrow but deep, cut into stone far below modern pavement.
“My men are getting ropes,” Hafez continued. “Others have gone to the Babylon museum for ladders.”
Rebecca crouched beside the crater.
Cold air rose steadily from the darkness below.
“That shouldn’t be possible,” she whispered.
Shelton looked at her.
“The temperature?”
She nodded.
“It’s at least twenty degrees cooler down there.”
Professor Brandon adjusted his glasses.
“Sealed chambers,” he murmured. “If this structure remained untouched for centuries…”
Hafez interrupted sharply.
“There is gold below.”
The soldiers returned carrying harnesses and climbing ropes.
“I’m going first,” the Major declared.
Nobody argued.
The harness creaked as soldiers lowered him slowly into the darkness. Dust drifted upward around the rope while the flashlight beam danced against unseen walls below.
Then came Hafez’s voice echoing upward from beneath the earth.
“Praise be Allah”
Silence.
Then shouting.
“Gold! Statues! Jewels!”
His laughter echoed unnaturally through the hole.
Shelton grabbed the rope next.
“Lower me.”
Minutes later his boots touched stone.
The beam swept across shelves carved into walls.
Thousands of clay tablets.
Ancient symbols.
Cuneiform.
And beyond them…
Idols of gold staring from the darkness with gemstone eyes.
Shelton looked upward toward the tiny circle of daylight.
“You have no idea what this is!” he shouted. “There are thousands of tablets down here!”
Rebecca covered her mouth.
Professor Brandon whispered, almost to himself, “Impossible…”
Shelton climbed back up moments later, face pale beneath the dust.
“We need equipment,” he said immediately. “Lights. Cameras. Cataloging gear. Everything.”
He pointed toward the SUV.
“John — with me.”
They drove back to camp in stunned silence.
The SUV bounced along the desert road while Shelton gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“You realize what this could be?” John Brandon finally asked.
Shelton nodded without looking at him.
“If the tablets are intact…” He swallowed hard. “This could rewrite Mesopotamian history.”
“And the gold?”
Shelton glanced at him grimly.
“The gold is the least important thing down there.”
Back at camp they worked feverishly, throwing supplies into the SUV: notebooks, GPS units, ropes, flashlights, sample bags, digging tools, cameras, batteries.
Shelton paused only once.
He looked toward Babylon in the distance.
Something about the place unsettled him now.
As if the earth itself had opened for a reason.
By the time they returned, the site had transformed into a military perimeter.
Sandbag checkpoints blocked the road. Soldiers waved traffic away while armed patrols watched nearby fields. An Iraqi helicopter thundered overhead, circling low enough to kick dust into spirals across the highway.
Inside the helicopter, an Iraqi Air Force general spoke urgently by satellite phone to Major Hafez below.
The entire government already knew.
Shelton and John passed through the checkpoint.
Nearby, an Iraqi television crew argued angrily with soldiers who refused to let them approach. Cameras pointed toward the crater while reporters shouted protests in Arabic.
Nobody was getting near the hole.
Not anymore.
Additional soldiers arrived hauling a massive ladder and a portable generator. Others unloaded shovels and picks before being ordered back to reinforce the perimeter.
The ladder disappeared slowly into the darkness below.
It barely reached bottom.
Major Hafez descended first.
Then Shelton.
Rebecca followed next, gripping the ladder tightly.
John Brandon came after her.
Lieutenant Fasil descended last.
Above them, soldiers aimed rifles outward toward the desert.
And beneath the road near Babylon, five people entered the darkness of a forgotten world.
Chapter Two: The Temple
The underground chamber smelled of dust, stone, and sealed centuries.
Major Hafez swept the flashlight across the room while boots scraped against ancient flooring below. The chamber walls were built from massive square-cut stones blackened with age, fitted together so perfectly that not even a knife blade could have slipped between them.
The floor sat four feet below the breach opened by the explosion.
Lieutenant Fasil jumped down first.
Shelton followed immediately.
“There are shelves over there,” Shelton said, pointing into the darkness. “Clay tablets.”
Dust exploded into the air as Fasil removed one carefully from the shelf.
The symbols covering its surface looked sharp and untouched.
Cuneiform.
Rebecca jumped down next, while Professor Brandon steadied her by the arm. The stale air hung thick around them, disturbed only by drifting particles illuminated in the flashlight beam.
At the rear of the chamber, a narrow hallway vanished into darkness.
Shelton examined one of the tablets closely.
“It’s definitely cuneiform,” he whispered. “But look at the preservation.”
Professor Brandon took the heavy tablet carefully.
“It’s older than anything I’ve ever handled,” he murmured. “Possibly pre-Babylonian.”
Major Hafez gently reclaimed the artifact.
“All discoveries here belong to the Iraqi government.”
His voice had changed again.
Harder now.
Possessive.
“Of course,” Brandon replied diplomatically. “But these must be preserved properly. If damaged during transport—”
“They will be protected.”
Shelton was already moving toward the hallway.
“Major,” he said, “shine the light down there.”
The flashlight beam stretched along a narrow stone corridor disappearing deep beneath the earth.
The walls glistened strangely.
Not moisture.
Something crystalline embedded in the stone itself.
Behind them, helicopters rumbled faintly overhead.
Hafez climbed briefly back toward the breach to radio his men, then returned moments later.
“Army trucks are coming,” he announced. “We wait here until they arrive. The area is secure.”
Nobody answered.
Because all of them had begun to feel it now.
Something wrong beneath the temple.
Not danger exactly.
Awareness.
As if the darkness itself were listening.
They followed Shelton deeper underground.
The corridor opened suddenly into a massive ceremonial chamber.
Everyone stopped.
At the center stood an enormous stone altar.
Dark stains covered its surface.
Drainage grooves carved around the slab funneled downward into narrow trenches cut into the floor. At the altar’s base rested a deep circular basin blackened with residue older than memory.
Rebecca stared at it silently.
“Human sacrifice,” Brandon whispered.
The flashlight swept across the room.
Three separate corridors branched outward into darkness.
Shelton forced a nervous grin.
“Well,” he said softly, “which tunnel?”
Rebecca folded her arms.
“You’re holding the flashlight. You decide.”
Shelton pointed left.
“Then we start there.”
The corridor narrowed sharply before opening into another chamber.
The moment the flashlight beam entered, brilliant reflections exploded across the walls.
Gold.
The room was overflowing with treasure.
Goblets.
Crowns.
Ceremonial swords.
Silver shields.
Jeweled masks.
Ancient wealth lay stacked in chaotic heaps untouched for thousands of years.
Shelton lifted a golden cup with trembling hands.
Then a sword.
The blade gleamed like fire beneath the flashlight.
“This craftsmanship…” he whispered. “This is impossible.”
Rebecca stared speechless at a crown encrusted with emeralds the size of walnuts.
Even Major Hafez could barely look away.
His eyes moved constantly now.
Counting.
Measuring.
Claiming.
“All of this belongs to the government,” he warned suddenly. “No one touches anything without permission.”
Nobody answered immediately.
The sheer scale of the treasure had swallowed language itself.
Then Shelton slowly lowered the sword.
“There’s more ahead.”
They continued deeper.
Another doorway appeared along the corridor.
Shelton raised the flashlight.
And froze.
A man stood inside the chamber.
Alive.
He wore flowing white robes bound by a golden sash. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, and his skin looked strangely pale beneath the light.
For several seconds nobody moved.
The man stared back at them in equal terror.
Then he bolted.
Straight through the rear wall.
Not around it.
Through it.
Shelton shouted instinctively and charged after him.
Lieutenant Fasil followed.
“Wait!” Rebecca cried.
But Shelton vanished directly into solid stone.
Gone.
Fasil disappeared after him.
The flashlight vanished too.
Darkness swallowed the chamber instantly.
Rebecca grabbed Brandon’s arm.
“Oh my God…”
Ahead of them, faint light pulsed through the wall itself like sunlight beneath water.
Major Hafez cursed behind them.
Then Rebecca pulled Brandon forward.
The stone felt cold as ice against his hands.
Then suddenly—
It gave way.
The world inverted.
A violent pressure surged through Brandon’s body as if every atom had been torn apart and reassembled.
Then sunlight exploded around them.
Brandon staggered forward onto polished stone.
Birds screamed overhead.
Warm wind swept across his face.
Shelton stood nearby frozen in disbelief.
Lieutenant Fasil stared upward open-mouthed.
Rebecca emerged beside them moments later.
Then Major Hafez stumbled through the glowing wall behind them.
They were no longer underground.
A colossal temple rose around them beneath open sky.
Massive pillars towered overhead carved with symbols no one recognized. Fires burned in bronze braziers along distant walls. Far above, banners snapped violently in the wind.
And everywhere—
People.
Dozens of them.
Men and women dressed in ancient robes moving through courtyards and stairways beneath the blazing sun.
None of them appeared surprised.
As though the strangers had been expected.
A low horn sounded somewhere in the distance.
Then every person in the temple slowly turned toward the newcomers.
Watching.
Waiting.
Chapter Three: The Temple Beyond Time
The light hurt their eyes.
After the suffocating darkness of the buried chamber, the sudden brilliance pouring through towering open windows felt unreal—too pure, too warm, too alive.
Rebecca lifted a trembling hand to shield her face.
They stood inside a vast marble temple unlike anything any of them had ever seen. Pillars the width of ancient redwoods rose toward a vaulted ceiling lost in shimmering white light. The air carried the scent of rain, flowers, and something stranger—cleaner than air had any right to smell.
No dust.
No decay.
No death.
Figures in flowing white robes moved silently between enormous stone shelves lined with scrolls, books, and clay tablets. Some paused to glance curiously at the newcomers before continuing on in serene silence.
At the center of the chamber stood an altar nearly identical to the one hidden beneath the Iraqi desert.
Professor Brailin stared upward, his face pale.
“Have we all died?”
His voice echoed through the temple.
Rebecca suddenly pointed across the hall.
“Look! There’s Shelton!”
Shelton stood beside a tall, robed man near the altar. The man’s dark hair flowed over his shoulders, threaded faintly with silver despite a face that seemed strangely ageless. His eyes were calm—too calm—and impossibly clear.
Shelton turned as the others approached, relief flashing across his face.
“Well hello,” he said breathlessly. “I see you followed me.”
He gestured toward the robed man.
“Shamir, these are my friends. Dr. Rebecca White, Professor David Brailin, Major Hafez, and Lieutenant Fasil.”
The robed man smiled warmly.
“I am honored to meet you.”
His English carried traces of countless accents blended together into something impossible to place.
“How are you feeling?”
Major Hafez stepped forward immediately, fury replacing fear.
“Not very well,” he snapped. “I demand to know where we are. What kind of trick is this?”
Then his eyes narrowed.
“You…” He pointed accusingly. “You’re a Jew?”
Shamir only smiled faintly.
“This, my friends, this is the Babylonian Temple of the Most High.”
He folded his hands calmly.
“Somehow, you have followed me into this time.”
The phrase struck them like a physical blow.
This time.
Rebecca slowly turned in place, staring at the temple walls.
The marble blocks were gigantic—far beyond modern engineering capabilities. Each slab looked carved rather than assembled, fitted together so perfectly no seams were visible.
No electric lights illuminated the chamber.
Yet it glowed softly from everywhere.
Shelton’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“We’d like to hear everything.”
Shamir laughed gently.
“Oh, I do not think there is enough time to tell you everything.”
There was something unsettling about the way he said time.
“Unless,” he continued softly, “our great King grants you infinity.”
Professor Brailin blinked.
“Great King?”
“I shall explain,” Shamir replied. “Please. Follow me.”
They moved through the temple corridors in stunned silence.
Shelves stretched endlessly into adjoining chambers, holding tablets, books, parchments, crystalline cylinders Rebecca couldn’t identify, and objects that looked centuries beyond modern technology while somehow appearing ancient at the same time.
“This is our library,” Shamir explained. “We preserve knowledge from every age of mankind.”
“Every age?” Shelton asked.
Shamir smiled but did not answer.
They stepped outside.
And the world stole the breath from their lungs.
The temple sat in the center of an enormous green valley beneath a flawless blue sky. Wind rolled softly through fields of flowers. Crystal streams wound between white stone walkways.
People dressed in white robes sat peacefully in the grass reading books or gazing toward the heavens.
Some appeared young.
Others ancient.
Yet none seemed weak.
None seemed afraid.
Beyond the temple grounds stretched forests so lush and vibrant they looked untouched by civilization.
Or perhaps perfected by it.
Professor Brailin whispered, “Good God…”
Near the edge of the field, a massive lion emerged from the tall grass.
Major Hafez instinctively reached for his pistol.
But the lion merely padded toward a seated woman reading beneath a tree. It lowered its head into her lap like a house cat while she stroked its mane.
Rebecca stared in wonder.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” Shamir said quietly. “Even the animals live in peace here.”
The lion looked toward them.
Its golden eyes held no aggression whatsoever.
And somehow that frightened Major Hafez more than if it had roared.
Shamir turned toward him politely.
“Major, I would ask that you surrender your weapon for safekeeping.”
Fasil immediately removed his pistol belt.
“Here.”
But Hafez stepped backward.
“No.”
Shamir studied him for a long moment.
“Very well,” he said calmly. “But you must never use it here.”
The major’s hand remained fixed on the weapon.
Something about this place disturbed him deeply.
Not because it looked dangerous.
Because it didn’t.
As they crossed the gardens toward Shamir’s home, robed figures greeted him in a strange melodic language.
Some smiled warmly.
Others stared at the newcomers with unsettling fascination.
Like scientists observing animals that had escaped a cage.
Shelton glanced sideways at Shamir.
“How do you speak English? Arabic? All our languages?”
Shamir chuckled.
“From the books.”
“The library?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca frowned. “You learned every language from books?”
“I have had much time.”
There was no arrogance in his voice.
Only fact.
Professor Brailin slowed his pace.
“You keep speaking as though…”
He hesitated.
“As though you’ve lived a very long time.”
Shamir looked at him with amused eyes.
“I have.”
They stopped outside a smaller marble house near the forest edge.
“Please,” Shamir said. “Come inside.”
The interior looked both primitive and impossibly advanced. Marble furniture softened with woven fabrics. Bowls overflowing with fresh fruit. Crystal containers glowing faintly with pale blue light.
No machinery.
No electronics.
Yet everything functioned with silent perfection.
Rebecca ran her fingers across the polished stone table.
No seams.
No tool marks.
Nothing imperfect anywhere.
Shamir poured water into carved crystal cups.
“Welcome,” he said, raising his own glass, “to the New Earth.”
Rebecca blinked.
“The… what?”
Shamir smiled.
“Praise be to the Almighty. And to His Son who rules as King.”
Rebecca’s breath caught.
“You mean Jesus?”
“Yeshua,” Shamir corrected gently. “Yes.”
Tears instantly filled Rebecca’s eyes.
She covered her mouth, overwhelmed.
Professor Brailin leaned forward urgently.
“Are you saying… the prophets are alive here?”
“Yes.”
“Moses?”
“Yes.”
“Abraham?”
Shamir nodded.
“They are all here.”
Silence consumed the room.
Shelton finally spoke.
“Then we really did die.”
“Oh no,” said Shamir softly. “Not at all.”
He looked around the room almost fondly.
“This is Earth.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“Then where are we?”
Shamir’s answer came quietly.
“You are approximately forty-five thousand years in your future.”
The room went still.
Even the wind outside seemed to stop.
Professor Brailin laughed once in disbelief.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
Shamir stepped toward the open doorway.
Outside, the lion lay peacefully beside a lamb beneath the trees.
No fear.
No violence.
No death.
“We are living,” Shamir said, “in the age your scriptures only hinted at.”
Major Hafez rose abruptly.
“No.”
His voice shook now.
“No, this is some kind of deception.”
He drew his pistol halfway from its holster.
Rebecca flinched.
Shamir did not move.
“Major,” he said softly, “fear is natural. But fear is not necessary here.”
The major’s breathing quickened.
“You expect me to believe humanity became this?” He gestured wildly toward the paradise outside. “After war? After hatred? After all we’ve done?”
“Yes,” Shamir answered.
“That is exactly what I expect you to believe.”
Hours later, twilight painted the valley silver and gold.
Rebecca and Shelton wandered together through the gardens while distant voices sang somewhere near the temple.
No insects buzzed.
No machines hummed.
The silence itself felt alive.
A raccoon darted through the grass nearby, pausing to inspect them curiously before wandering away.
Shelton smiled faintly.
“My grandfather used to say raccoons were just cats with hands.”
Rebecca laughed softly.
Then her expression turned serious.
“Do you think this place is real?”
Shelton looked toward the temple glowing beneath the stars.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that if it isn’t real… then we’ve lost our minds together.”
Rebecca folded her arms against the cool breeze.
“My mother died three years ago.”
Shelton looked at her gently.
“I’m sorry.”
“She believed in heaven. Paradise. All of this.”
Shelton hesitated.
“If Shamir’s telling the truth…”
Rebecca looked at him hopefully.
“You think she might be here?”
“It’s possible.”
For a long moment neither spoke.
Then Shelton reached for her hand.
“Rebecca…”
She looked up at him.
“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend eternity with.”
The words hung between them.
Then he kissed her beneath the impossible stars of the future Earth.
And far away, somewhere deep inside the great temple, a bell began to toll.
Slow.
Ancient.
Warning. Top of Form
Bottom of Form
Chapter Four: The Garden Beyond Time
The stone corridor breathed cold air as Shamir led the Professor, Lt. Fasil and Major Hafez towards the garden.
Professor lingered beneath the archway, his fingers brushing the polished black stone. Strange veins of silver pulsed beneath the surface like trapped lightning.
“I think I shall go for a walk,” the Professor said quietly, though his eyes never left the walls. “I’d like to see more of your library collection.”
Major Hafez glanced toward the distant courtyard where the circular travel chamber waited beneath the stars. His jaw tightened.
“Lieutenant,” he muttered to Fasil, “I think we need to go out and get some fresh air too.”
Shamir heard him anyway.
“Yes,” the priest replied calmly. “I think I’ll show you gentlemen the library first.”
He began walking along the stone path toward the temple. The others followed reluctantly.
Shamir walked with his hands folded inside his white robes.
“Major,” he said without looking back, “if you are thinking about returning to the travel room and escaping back to Iraq… please forget it for now.”
The Major stiffened.
“If you attempt to return through the gate without permission, I cannot guarantee where—or when—you will arrive.” Shamir’s voice remained unnervingly gentle. “You might return thousands of years earlier. Or later. Perhaps to a world that no longer exists.”
Hafez gave a humorless laugh.
“Or maybe I return to my own time and escape this place.”
Shamir stopped walking.
The moonlight caught his pale eyes.
“Well,” he said softly, “you might. And then again… you might not. Inshallah, as you say. What happens is the will of God.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
The wind moved through the trees with a dry whispering sound.
“I have no control over it,” Shamir continued. “I am only one High Priest among many who travel between worlds. But unlike the others, I may also move through time.”
Professor Brailin blinked.
“You mean literally through history?”
“Yes.”
Shamir resumed walking.
“I have traveled backward approximately three hundred times. Not every year, of course. Sometimes several journeys in one century. Sometimes none for many generations.” He looked up toward the towering temple ahead. “For the past three thousand years, I have collected books, scrolls, tablets, records… fragments of mankind’s memory.”
The Professor stared at him in disbelief.
“Three thousand years…”
“It became my project,” Shamir said. “Perhaps my punishment. Perhaps my joy.”
The temple rose before them like a mountain carved from pearl and obsidian. Pillars taller than redwoods framed a bronze doorway etched with symbols none of them recognized. Light flowed across the surface of the structure as though the stone itself were alive.
“Shamir,” the Professor whispered, “the engineering involved in building this place is extraordinary.”
The priest smiled faintly.
“Praise be to God and His Holy Son. Yeshua taught us how to build these temples. Angels and men built them together… across Earth and throughout the universe.”
The doors opened soundlessly.
Cold air rolled out from within.
The library stretched farther than sight.
Shelves spiraled upward into darkness. Floating lamps drifted silently overhead like captive stars. Stone tablets rested beside glowing crystal cylinders. Ancient scrolls lay preserved inside transparent chambers humming with blue light.
The Professor stopped breathing.
“My God…”
“As you can see,” Shamir said, “this is the library.”
Brailin wandered forward in a trance.
“In here are records from all of human history.”
His hand trembled as he lifted a clay tablet from a display pedestal.
“What is this?”
Shamir’s expression changed subtly.
“Ah,” he murmured. “That is a copy of the first account of Creation. Written by Adam himself.”
Silence fell over the room.
Even Major Hafez looked shaken.
“The original,” Shamir continued, “rests in the Great Library of New Jerusalem.”
Professor Brailin stared at the wedge-shaped markings pressed into the clay.
“What does it say?”
Shamir smiled.
“I could translate it for you. The antediluvian language is still spoken here.” He tilted his head. “But I suspect you already know the text.”
The Professor looked up slowly.
“Genesis…”
“The first chapter,” Shamir confirmed.
Nearby, Major Hafez had frozen before a long scroll encased in glass.
His face drained of color.
“That writing…” he whispered in Arabic. “Fasil…”
The lieutenant moved beside him.
Shamir approached them quietly.
“That may interest you both,” he said. “It is a copy of the first revelation given by the angel Gabriel to Mohammed.”
The Major’s head snapped upward.
“You’re lying.”
“The original is in New Jerusalem,” Shamir replied. “Perhaps you may ask Mohammed himself when we arrive.”
The Major ripped the scroll from its stand before anyone could stop him.
Fasil leaned over his shoulder as they both read silently in Arabic.
Neither man spoke afterward.
Across the chamber, Shamir guided the Professor toward another section of shelves lined with books bound in dark metal.
“Your century,” the priest said quietly, “was particularly wicked.”
He selected one volume and handed it over.
The title was written in English.
NUCLEAR EXCHANGE CASUALTY REPORTS — FINAL GLOBAL CONFLICT
Professor Brailin stared at it.
“You mean… we finally did it?”
Shamir nodded once.
“It was inevitable.”
His voice echoed softly through the vast chamber.
“Before the Flood, mankind used superior minds and unnatural strength to wage war. In your age, humanity created machines to accomplish the same evil.” He looked directly into the Professor’s eyes. “In Noah’s day, the world died by water. In yours… by fire.”
The Professor slowly lowered the book.
“When?”
Shamir did not answer immediately.
“At the end.”
A cold sensation crawled through Brailin’s chest.
“And after the war?”
“I was resurrected.”
The Professor frowned.
“What do you mean resurrected?”
“The First Resurrection,” Shamir answered simply. “You have read of it in Revelation.”
The old historian stared at him.
“You actually lived in the ancient world?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I died in 1104 B.C., according to your calendar.”
Professor Brailin nearly dropped the book.
“That was before David.”
“During the Judges,” Shamir said. “Before Saul became king.”
The Professor’s face lit with awe.
“You saw the Ark of the Covenant?”
“Oh yes.”
Shamir smiled faintly.
“I still see it now.”
The Professor laughed nervously.
“This New Jerusalem must be extraordinary.”
“It is the only city left in the universe.”
That sentence struck the room like a physical blow.
“The only city?” Fasil asked.
Shamir nodded.
“There are no nations anymore. No governments. No poverty. No commerce. Cities were never part of God’s original design.”
He gestured toward the endless shelves.
“Every person receives forty shakis of land. No more. No less.”
“You can’t buy property?” the Professor asked.
“No.”
“Sell it?”
“No.”
“Then there’s no money?”
Shamir looked almost amused.
“Money created greed. Greed created suffering. Why would we preserve such things?”
Major Hafez suddenly stepped forward.
His pistol appeared in his hand so fast that even Fasil recoiled.
“That’s enough.”
The sound of the weapon clicking echoed through the library.
Professor Brailin turned pale.
“Major—”
“I said enough!” Hafez shouted. “You expect us to believe this insanity? Ancient priests? Resurrection? Gabriel?” He pointed the gun directly at Shamir. “Take us back now.”
The library fell silent.
Even the floating lamps seemed motionless.
Shamir looked at the gun with mild disappointment.
“You still do not trust me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because,” Shamir said quietly, “I can prove what I say.”
Professor Brailin raised his hands cautiously.
“That’s alright, Shamir. We believe you.”
The priest smiled faintly.
“Some men,” he said, never taking his eyes off the Major, “require more convincing than others.”
He turned and walked toward the exit.
“Come,” he said. “I will take you wherever you wish to go.”
“How about home?” the Major snapped.
Professor Brailin answered before Shamir could.
“How about New York?”
Shamir paused at the doorway.
“I can take you to where New York once existed.”
A strange sadness crossed his face.
“But New York itself is gone.”
The Professor swallowed.
“Gone?”
“So is London. Baghdad. Moscow. Beijing.” His eyes darkened. “The Old World no longer exists.”
The words settled like ash.
“You see,” Shamir continued, “travel through space is simple. Those places still exist. But time…” He looked upward toward the vaulted ceiling. “Time belongs to God alone.”
Fasil frowned.
“Then we cannot go back?”
“No,” Shamir replied. “In truth… you probably cannot remain here either. But permission must first be granted.”
“By who?”
“By the Lord Himself.”
The Professor’s breathing quickened.
“You mean we’ll actually meet Him?”
“In three days,” Shamir said. “In New Jerusalem.”
The old historian looked ready to collapse from shock.
Major Hafez tightened his grip on the pistol.
“Proof,” he demanded. “I want proof now.”
Shamir studied him for several long seconds.
Then he nodded.
“Very well.”
He led them from the library into the circular travel chamber.
The room was empty.
Smooth black walls curved around a silver altar inscribed with symbols that shifted when viewed directly.
Then—
Two figures appeared in the center of the room.
Not gradually.
Not in light.
One instant the chamber was empty.
The next, a man and young woman stood there as though reality had simply remembered them.
Major Hafez stumbled backward.
The newcomers wore pale robes dusted with snow.
The man bowed slightly to Shamir.
“So, ta, me theth Shamir.”
Shamir answered in the same strange language.
“Teth, so ta Thoss et Sheen.”
The exchange flowed like music and mathematics intertwined.
Fasil whispered, “What language is that?”
“The First Tongue,” Shamir replied.
The travelers walked past them toward the altar and knelt in prayer.
“They have returned from the South,” Shamir explained. “From Antarctica.”
Fasil stared at him.
“Antarctica?”
“It is beautiful now.”
Major Hafez looked physically ill.
Nothing made sense anymore.
The laws of history had shattered.
The laws of physics had shattered.
And worst of all—
Part of him was beginning to believe.
Shamir lifted his eyes toward the unseen heavens and closed them in silent prayer.
The air inside the chamber thickened.
The symbols on the walls began to glow.
Then Shamir stepped forward—
and vanished.
Professor Brailin inhaled shakily.
“Well,” he whispered, “we might as well follow him.”
He walked into empty air and disappeared instantly.
Fasil hesitated only a moment before following.
Now only Major Hafez remained.
Behind him, the praying couple remained motionless beside the altar.
The room hummed softly.
The Major stared at the place where the others had vanished.
His finger trembled on the trigger.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward—
The chamber swallowed them whole.
For one impossible instant, Professor David Brailin felt neither gravity nor breath—only a rushing silence that pressed against his skull like deep ocean water. The marble floor vanished beneath his feet. Light folded inward. Somewhere far away, Major Hafez cursed.
Then reality snapped back into place.
The four men stood once again inside the travel room.
Professor Brailin blinked hard.
It was identical to the chamber they had just left.
The same colossal marble walls.
The same altar of polished stone standing at the center beneath a shaft of pale sunlight.
The same scent of incense and cold mineral air.
Even the silence felt familiar.
Major Hafez immediately spun around, fury burning in his eyes.
“What kind of trick is this?” he barked. His hand dropped instinctively toward the pistol holstered at his hip. “It looks identical to the room we were in. We haven’t traveled anywhere. I told you it was a trick.”
Shamir remained calm, almost amused. The folds of his white robes drifted gently as if stirred by an invisible breeze.
“This is no trick, Major,” he said softly. “I promise you. Walk with me, and I’ll show you.”
Without another word, Shamir stepped past the altar and moved toward the great opening leading outside.
The others followed cautiously.
As soon as Professor Brailin crossed the threshold, he stopped dead.
The world beyond the temple was not the same.
Gone were the dry grassy plains of the Arabian landscape. Gone were the olive trees and distant forests surrounding Shamir’s home.
Here, towering silver-barked trees stretched toward a turquoise sky. Their leaves shimmered with hints of blue and gold beneath the sunlight. Strange flowering vines curled around polished stone pillars, blooming with crimson blossoms the size of dinner plates.
And cutting through the garden itself was a stream.
Crystal-clear water flowed over smooth white stones, glowing faintly beneath the afternoon light.
The air smelled sweeter here—cooler, richer somehow.
Professor Brailin removed his glasses and wiped them slowly.
“Amazing,” he whispered. “This is a different place.”
Shamir smiled.
“Yes. This is the Antarctic continent. Of course, we no longer call it that.” He gestured toward the distant forests. “We call it Borea Mu.”
Major Hafez frowned suspiciously.
Before he could respond, footsteps approached from behind.
A tall man dressed in robes similar to Shamir’s emerged from between the temple columns. His garments were embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like liquid mercury. His face was youthful, though his eyes carried the strange calm of great age.
“So ta, me theth Shamir,” the man greeted warmly.
Shamir bowed his head slightly.
“Teth, so ta Lamish. He Zayin heth English.”
The priest’s expression brightened.
“English? Okay.” He turned toward the newcomers with a smile. “Hello. I am Lamish.”
Professor Brailin stepped forward automatically and shook his hand.
“Professor Brailin,” he said. “This is Major Hafez and Lieutenant Hussein.”
“Glad to meet you.”
Lamish turned back to Shamir, speaking rapidly in the strange language again. Though the words were incomprehensible, the rhythm sounded ancient—older than Arabic, older than Hebrew.
Shamir answered quietly.
Then Lamish looked back toward the visitors with obvious fascination.
“I have never heard of such a thing happening before,” he admitted. “Travelers from the past arriving accidentally…”
“Neither have I,” Shamir replied. “They are to go before Yeshua in three days. He will know what must be done.”
At the mention of the name, the atmosphere subtly shifted.
Even the breeze seemed to pause.
Lamish nodded solemnly.
“I would imagine they must return eventually. The real question is whether they will remember any of this afterward… or whether the memories will be removed entirely.” He looked thoughtfully at each of them. “Whatever God wills.”
“Whatever God wills,” Shamir echoed.
The phrase unsettled Major Hafez.
The constant certainty in these people disturbed him more than threats ever could.
Lamish suddenly smiled again.
“But enough heavy matters. Gentlemen, would you like a tour? We have apples freshly harvested this morning.”
Professor Brailin laughed softly in disbelief.
“Yes… yes, that sounds wonderful.”
Lieutenant Fasil nodded eagerly.
“Very good to me also.”
Lamish called out toward the far side of the temple in the strange language. Moments later, a young man appeared carrying a large wooden basket overflowing with apples.
Fasil accepted it carefully.
The fruit looked almost unreal—deep crimson with tiny streaks of gold running beneath the skin.
He bit into one.
Juice exploded across his tongue, sweet beyond anything he had ever tasted.
“They’re incredible,” he muttered.
Lamish chuckled.
“I’m glad you enjoy them.”
Shamir grinned.
“In two weeks our pecans will be ready in Sumeria. You must visit us so I may repay your generosity.”
Lamish laughed.
“The last time I visited, we spoke Japanese, remember?”
Shamir pointed playfully.
“You still remember it.”
“Ah, so'o desu ka,” Lamish replied with exaggerated pride.
Even Professor Brailin found himself laughing.
Only Major Hafez remained rigid.
His eyes scanned the gardens constantly.
Watching.
Calculating.
Searching for hidden wires. Cameras. Soldiers.
Anything that made sense.
Shamir finally turned toward him.
“Well, Major? What do you think now?”
The Major’s jaw tightened.
“What is there to think?” he snapped. “This is some kind of trick. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but we haven’t gone anywhere.”
Professor Brailin stared at him in disbelief.
“Major, it is obvious we are somewhere else.”
“No,” Hafez insisted. “We could still be at the excavation site in Iraq. Drugged. Hallucinating. Maybe I’m unconscious in the ruins right now.”
Fasil gestured toward the stream.
“But look around you.”
“I am looking around!”
The Major pointed violently toward the trees.
“These could be planted. Artificial. This whole thing could be underground for all we know.”
Lamish exchanged a glance with Shamir.
“A true unbeliever,” he murmured.
“I’m afraid so,” Shamir replied sadly.
Then Lamish’s expression shifted.
“You know…” he said slowly. “There is one place that would convince him.”
Shamir’s eyes lit up.
“Mooma.”
Professor Brailin frowned.
“Mooma?”
Lamish nodded.
“The planet.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
Even Fasil froze.
Major Hafez let out a harsh laugh.
“Oh, now we’re visiting planets?”
“Yes,” Shamir answered calmly.
The Major shook his head violently.
“Take me back to Iraq. Or wake me up. That’s all I ask.”
Shamir stepped closer.
For the first time, there was real gravity in his expression.
“I will return you to your own time when permission is given. But first… you must understand where you are.”
The wind stirred around the temple.
Far overhead, clouds drifted slowly across the turquoise sky.
And suddenly the world no longer felt peaceful to Professor Brailin.
It felt enormous.
Terrifyingly enormous.
As if humanity had stumbled into a reality far beyond its comprehension.
Shamir turned toward the temple entrance.
“Come,” he said quietly. “We must leave now.”
The travelers followed him back into the travel room.
Inside, the air felt colder than before.
The altar stood silent beneath the shaft of light.
Shamir walked to the center of the chamber and stopped.
For a brief moment he lifted his eyes upward in silent prayer.
The room vibrated.
A low hum emerged from somewhere deep inside the marble walls.
The light above the altar intensified, becoming almost painfully white.
Professor Brailin felt the hairs on his arms rise.
Fasil stepped backward nervously.
Major Hafez reached again for his gun.
And then Shamir vanished.
Not faded.
Not dissolved.
Gone.
As if reality itself had simply erased him.
Professor Brailin swallowed hard.
“Well,” he whispered shakily, “I suppose there’s no turning back now.”
One by one, they stepped forward into the impossible light
Chapter Five: The Messenger in the Night
The temple had grown quieter.
Rebecca White stood near one of the towering marble columns, listening to the echo of distant footsteps fading through the vast halls. The golden light of late afternoon slanted through the open windows, casting long bars of illumination across the stone floor.
But there was still no sign of the others.
She turned anxiously toward Shelton.
“Where could they be?”
Shelton ran a hand through his hair and glanced again toward the travel chamber.
“I don’t know. I’ve looked everywhere for them.” His voice lowered uneasily. “I wish I could ask one of these people.”
A pair of robed figures passed nearby, speaking softly in the strange ancient tongue. One of them smiled kindly at Rebecca before continuing on.
Rebecca folded her arms.
“That’s odd, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Shelton admitted. Then his expression darkened. “You don’t think something bad might’ve happened to them, do you?”
Rebecca sighed.
“You’re starting to sound like the Major now.”
Shelton didn’t smile.
The silence of the temple was beginning to bother him.
Every hallway seemed too large.
Too empty.
As if the building itself were listening.
Rebecca tried to sound confident.
“Look, wherever they are, I think it’s best we stay here until they return. Maybe they all went for a walk or something.”
“Yeah,” Shelton muttered. “Or maybe they’re in serious trouble.”
“I just can’t believe that.” She forced herself to smile. “They’ll be back soon. Until then, let’s look at Shamir’s books and scrolls.”
Shelton hesitated.
Then he shook his head.
“You go ahead. I’m going outside to look again.”
“Well don’t go too far,” Rebecca said quickly. “I don’t want to be alone here too long.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He disappeared through the massive doorway.
Several robed strangers watched him leave with quiet curiosity.
Rebecca suddenly felt very small inside the enormous temple.
She wandered toward one of the stone shelves lining the walls and carefully picked up an ancient scroll.
The parchment crackled softly beneath her fingers.
Symbols covered the faded surface—dense columns of wedge-shaped markings pressed into clay-colored fibers.
Ancient.
Older than history itself.
A chill crept across her skin.
Then—
A pulse of light erupted somewhere deep inside the temple.
Rebecca looked up sharply toward the corridor leading to the travel chamber.
But the glow vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
The temple fell silent again.
Too silent.
Chapter Six: The Red Planet
Professor Brailin staggered slightly as his feet touched solid ground again.
The travel room had returned around them.
Marble walls.
Stone altar.
Pale shafts of light.
But something was different.
Very different.
The library beyond the chamber no longer contained shelves of books and papyrus scrolls.
Instead, massive red stones lined the walls.
Some were carved with glowing symbols resembling cuneiform writing. Others appeared polished smooth by unimaginable age.
At the center of the room rested a gigantic black-red monolith covered in symbols that shimmered faintly beneath the chamber lights.
A man in pale robes hurried past them, waved casually at Shamir—
—and vanished into the travel room behind them.
Professor Brailin nearly lost his balance.
Not from shock this time.
From gravity.
Every step felt strange.
Light.
Springy.
As though the floor pushed upward beneath his feet.
Shamir smiled knowingly.
“Ah. This is Mooma. The Red Planet.”
Fasil stared around in amazement.
“Why do they call it that?”
Shamir gestured toward the exit.
“Step outside.”
They passed the altar and emerged into alien sunlight.
Major Hafez stopped breathing.
The grass was red.
Not brown. Not dying.
Red.
Deep crimson blades stretched across rolling hills beneath a copper-colored sky. Strange trees twisted upward like coral formations, their leaves shimmering black and scarlet.
In the distance, jagged mountains glowed blood-red beneath the sunlight.
Three suns hung overhead.
Three.
One massive golden sphere dominated the heavens while two smaller stars burned beside it like watchful eyes.
Fasil whispered in awe.
“Allah…”
Professor Brailin removed his glasses again, trembling.
“Look up there, Major. Now do you believe we’re still on Earth?”
The Major stared upward helplessly.
His face had gone pale.
“I…” He shook his head slowly. “I just don’t know anymore.”
The red grass swayed around them beneath a warm alien wind.
Somewhere in the distance, an animal cried out.
The sound echoed across the hills like metallic singing.
Shamir looked pleased.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Professor Brailin nodded weakly.
“I may have doubted before,” he admitted, “but not now.” He lowered his head reverently. “Praise be to the one true God.”
“Yes,” Fasil breathed. “Praise be to Allah.”
Shamir smiled gently.
Then his expression became thoughtful.
“But we should return before Rebecca and Shelton begin to worry.”
The mention of their names seemed strangely distant now.
As though Earth itself belonged to another lifetime.
Without another word, they returned to the travel chamber.
And vanished.
Chapter Seven: Secrets in the Temple
Dusk settled over the temple like blue smoke.
Rebecca and Shelton moved through the empty halls searching room after room.
Most of the inhabitants had already gone home.
Only a handful remained.
Shelton approached a young man standing near a staircase.
“Hi,” Shelton said carefully. “Can you help me?”
The man smiled politely but clearly understood nothing.
“So ta, me theth, noshma.”
Shelton sighed.
“Obviously I’m not getting through to this guy. You try.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Shamir,” she said slowly. “Where’s Shamir?”
The man brightened immediately.
“Shamir? Ah no bath na theth na.”
He pointed toward the travel chamber.
Shelton’s expression tightened.
“That way? You don’t think they went back without us?”
“No,” Rebecca said quickly. “They wouldn’t do that.”
But uncertainty crept into her voice.
Shelton folded his arms.
“I bet the Major had something to do with this. He probably threatened Shamir with that gun.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Shamir didn’t seem afraid of him.”
She bent and picked up another scroll lying nearby.
“I don’t think the Major could hurt him.”
Shelton frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Rebecca looked around the silent temple.
“If this really is paradise… then maybe there isn’t any death anymore.”
Shelton stared thoughtfully toward the altar.
“That’s from Revelation.”
“My parents used to read it to me too.”
She carefully unrolled the scroll.
The symbols were ancient Sumerian.
Her eyes widened as she translated slowly.
“This is interesting…”
Shelton leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
Rebecca swallowed.
“It’s talking about the world before the Flood.”
The air around them seemed colder suddenly.
“It says angels came down to Earth and declared themselves gods. They ruled mankind… took human wives…”
Shelton’s smile faded.
Rebecca continued reading quietly.
“Their children were giants.”
A strange unease crept over Shelton.
“The Nephilim…”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
“It says some of the fallen angels bred with animals.” Her voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Creating creatures that were half-man and half-beast.”
Shelton laughed nervously.
“That sounds like Greek mythology.”
“Maybe mythology came from this.”
A distant hum suddenly vibrated through the temple.
Rebecca looked up sharply.
Light exploded inside the travel chamber.
And Shamir stepped out.
Professor Brailin followed.
Then Fasil.
Then finally Major Hafez.
Rebecca hurried toward them.
“Where have you been?”
Professor Brailin looked almost delirious with excitement.
“You wouldn’t believe it.”
Shelton crossed his arms.
“Try us.”
“We traveled to another planet.”
Rebecca blinked.
“What?”
“Mooma,” Fasil said breathlessly. “It had red grass and three suns.”
Shelton stared at him.
“Three suns?”
Shamir smiled calmly.
“Why don’t we return to my home? You may discuss everything there.”
The group gathered beside the altar.
Shamir spoke a quiet prayer in the ancient tongue.
Then together they departed the temple beneath the fading light of dusk.
Chapter Eight: The Angel
Night settled gently over paradise.
Moonlight shimmered across the gardens outside Shamir’s house. Crickets chirped softly in the fields while silver wind moved through the grass.
Inside, glowing stone candles illuminated the marble rooms with pale amber light.
After introductions to Yassic and Miriam, Rebecca and Shelton departed with them toward a neighboring home.
The others remained behind.
Shamir disappeared briefly into another room to fetch water.
As soon as he was gone, Major Hafez leaned forward.
“We must leave tomorrow.”
Professor Brailin sighed heavily.
“Major—”
“No.” The Major’s voice hardened. “I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
Fasil looked uncertain.
“Are you ordering me to go with you?”
“No. But I’m going back to the temple tomorrow. Alone if necessary.”
Professor Brailin rubbed his temples.
“You are making a terrible mistake.”
“How can you believe any of this?” the Major snapped. “Direct contact with God? Angels? Paradise?”
Before anyone could answer—
The room exploded with white light.
All three men recoiled.
A figure stood in the center of the chamber.
Tall.
Radiant.
Humanoid but impossibly perfect.
Its robes shimmered like liquid silver. Light flowed through translucent skin like fire trapped beneath crystal.
Its eyes burned blue-white.
The air vibrated around it.
The angel spoke.
Its voice was neither loud nor soft.
It simply filled the room.
“God has heard your folly, men of the past.”
Major Hafez froze in terror.
The angel turned toward him.
“You are to do nothing on your own. Follow his faithful servant Shamir.”
Professor Brailin trembled openly.
The angel continued.
“In three days you shall meet the King. Then your path will be decided.”
At that moment Shamir reentered carrying two glasses of water.
He smiled casually.
“Hello, Barille.”
The angel answered in the strange tongue.
Then it pointed one glowing hand toward the men.
Darkness slammed into them instantly.
Professor Brailin collapsed first.
Then Fasil.
Then Major Hafez.
All asleep within seconds.
Shamir stared down at them helplessly.
Still holding the water glasses.
He shrugged mildly.
Then took a sip from one.
The angel vanished.
And silence returned to the house once more.
Chapter Nine: The Red Thread of Time
Morning light spilled through the wide crystal windows of Yassic’s house, turning the marble walls gold. The air smelled of woodsmoke and sweet grain. Rebecca sat beside Miriam at the polished stone table while Shelton leaned back in his chair, studying the strange blue fire dancing inside the fireplace. It gave off warmth without smoke, its flames flickering from a bed of glowing black stones.
Outside, the wind whispered through towering trees.
A sudden knock echoed through the house.
Yassic stood immediately. Miriam smiled softly and brushed flour from her hands as the door swung inward.
A tall blond man stepped inside.
He was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, dressed in white robes trimmed with dark blue stitching. His pale hair hung to his shoulders, and his gray eyes seemed ancient despite the youthful strength in his face.
He clasped Yassic’s forearm warmly.
“Sha ta ven nor Yassic.”
Yassic replied rapidly in the strange language. The two men exchanged several phrases before the newcomer turned toward Shelton and Rebecca with an easy smile.
“Hi,” he said in flawless English. “My name is Thyrs.”
Shelton blinked in surprise.
“You speak English?”
“Yes I do. Also Norwegian, Swedish, and a little German.”
Rebecca smiled politely. “We’re very glad to meet you, Thyrs. I’m Rebecca White, and this is Shelton Johns.”
“Glad to meet you,” Shelton added.
Yassic spoke again while gesturing toward the table.
Thyrs laughed softly.
“Yassic wants to know if you want more pancakes.”
Rebecca glanced at the stack of steaming cakes covered in crushed berries and amber syrup.
“Tell him no thanks. I’m fine. Miriam makes very delicious pancakes. Tell her they were very good.”
Thyrs translated. Yassic and Miriam both smiled proudly.
For a moment the strange little home felt almost normal.
Almost.
Then Thyrs leaned forward slightly.
“Rebecca, maybe you’d like to stay here and help Miriam while we go out to the rock quarry. I know you can’t understand each other, but I think you’ll manage. We’ll be back in a little while.”
Shelton immediately perked up.
“A quarry?”
Thyrs grinned.
“You’ll want to see this.”
Chapter Ten: The Quarry
The morning sun was warm as the men walked beyond the rear of Yassic’s home. A broad clearing stretched behind the house before giving way to dense crimson-green forest.
Shelton still could not get over how alive this world felt.
No engines.
No distant traffic.
No electrical hum.
Only birdsong and flowing water.
To the south, a stream cut through rolling hills before vanishing into a series of pale stone cliffs. Yassic carried a wool knapsack over one shoulder and moved with quiet confidence.
They reached the quarry beside the stream.
Large blocks of limestone lay scattered near the cliffs as though giants had abandoned them there centuries earlier.
Without speaking, Yassic climbed a grassy embankment and began gathering strange plants—long fibrous stems, silver grass, dark ivy. Each went carefully into the sack.
Shelton exchanged a glance with Thyrs.
“What exactly is he doing?”
“You’ll see.”
Near the stream sat a massive black metal pot hanging over the remains of an old fire pit. Yassic knelt, arranged dry twigs beneath it, then produced a crystal lens from his robe. Sunlight focused through it instantly.
Flame erupted.
Shelton stared.
“No matches?”
Thyrs chuckled. “We don’t really need them.”
Yassic filled the pot with water from the stream and began boiling the strange plants.
While he worked, Shelton wandered to the riverbank and stared out over the landscape.
It looked untouched.
Perfect.
And yet beneath that beauty lingered something unsettling.
Everything here felt…too ordered.
As though every stone had been placed by design.
Thyrs approached quietly.
“It’s beautiful around here.”
Shelton nodded. “Yeah.”
“God has certainly blessed us with His creation.”
Shelton hesitated.
“You know,” he said carefully, “it’s still hard to believe any of this is real.”
Thyrs smiled faintly.
“My dear friend, the whole world knows you are here. Because God knows it.”
A chill crept down Shelton’s spine.
“The whole world?”
“Yes.”
Shelton stared at him. “So people really can travel instantly through those temples?”
“Of course.”
“And the angels?”
Thyrs looked toward the bright sky.
“They are very real.”
There was no hesitation in his voice.
No uncertainty.
Only absolute conviction.
Shelton swallowed.
“You all really believe this is paradise.”
Thyrs laughed softly.
“We don’t believe it. We live in it.”
The water began to boil violently.
Yassic added the stems first, stirring them slowly with a wooden rod. After several minutes he pulled out a tangled mass of string-like fibers and hung them from tree branches to dry.
Then he added the ivy and grass.
A sharp chemical smell spread through the clearing.
Thyrs gestured toward the pot.
“Now he’s forming the acid solution.”
Shelton frowned. “Acid?”
“Yes. Strong enough to cut limestone like butter.”
Shelton stared at the boiling black liquid.
“That’s impossible.”
“So were temples that bend time.”
Yassic lifted part of the fibrous mass with a stick and beat it against a tree trunk. Water sprayed everywhere.
Then he carefully separated the fibers into long strands.
Shelton watched every movement intently.
“If that’s acid,” he said, “why doesn’t it destroy the strings too?”
Thyrs shrugged. “The stems become resistant after boiling. I never cared much about the chemistry. I simply use what God provided.”
Shelton looked toward the quarry walls.
“So this is how the pyramids were built?”
“Yes.”
Shelton turned sharply.
“What?”
“The Egyptians. The Incas. Many ancient builders used this process.”
“You’re serious.”
“Very.”
A strange sensation crawled through Shelton’s chest.
History itself suddenly felt unstable.
As if every certainty he’d ever known had cracked open.
Yassic motioned them over excitedly.
The solution was ready.
He filled a smaller black pot with the liquid and carried it toward a towering limestone slab near the cliffside.
Then he poured a thin line across the stone.
Steam hissed instantly.
Next he pressed one of the fibrous cords into the groove and pulled it back and forth.
Shelton’s jaw dropped.
The stone parted silently.
Like soft clay.
A massive five-hundred-pound section broke free and rolled into the stream with a thunderous splash.
“Dear God…” Shelton whispered.
Yassic smiled proudly.
Then, blowing into a device that looked like a ram’s horn, the blocks started to levitate around one foot off the ground. He shifted the enormous block with shocking ease.
He cut it again.
And again.
Each slice perfectly straight.
Each edge smooth as polished marble.
Shelton felt suddenly dizzy.
Civilizations could have built anything with this.
Anything.
Thyrs approached him.
“Abou na thyd migh windjej see soting se adjhedin.”
Then he translated.
“I told Yassic we should head back now.”
Shelton tore his eyes from the stone blocks.
“That truly is fantastic,” he muttered. “It cut through rock like it wasn’t even there.”
As they walked back toward the house, Rebecca emerged from the garden beside Miriam, brushing dirt from her hands.
“Well?” she asked eagerly. “Was it as fantastic as they said?”
Shelton laughed nervously.
“Yes. Honestly…more.”
Chapter Eleven: Blood in Paradise
Far away, near Shamir’s temple, Major Hafez finished his prayers alone beneath the trees.
Sweat rolled down his face.
His nerves were fraying.
Nothing here made sense.
Nothing.
The temples.
The angels.
The endless peace.
It felt wrong.
Like a deception wrapped in beauty.
Then the air behind him shimmered.
A figure appeared in brilliant white light.
The Major spun around violently.
An angel stood before him.
Its face radiated impossible calm.
“You must not do what you are thinking,” the being said. “It is wrong.”
The Major staggered backward.
“What kind of black magic is this?”
The angel did not move.
Fear exploded into rage.
The Major ripped his pistol free and fired.
The gunshot shattered the stillness of paradise.
But the angel vanished before the bullet struck.
Voices rose nearby.
Several robed people came running toward him.
The Major’s breathing became frantic.
“They’re not real,” he muttered. “None of this is real…”
One of the men approached carefully, hands raised peacefully.
The Major fired again.
The bullet struck the man in the forehead.
Blood sprayed across the white robe.
The body collapsed.
For one horrible second, silence covered the garden.
Then screams erupted.
The Major stared at the corpse in horror.
Then panic consumed him.
He turned and ran.
Straight toward the temple.
Inside, worshippers scattered as the Major stormed through the halls with the pistol clenched in his trembling hands.
He reached the travel chamber.
The glowing altar pulsed softly in the center.
Clay tablets lined the walls.
The Major laughed bitterly.
“Good-bye, Professor,” he snarled. “I hope your Sumerian tablets keep you company.”
Then he stepped into the light.
And vanished.
Moments later Shamir, Professor Brailin, and Fasil burst into the chamber as terrified citizens carried in the dead man.
Professor Brailin froze at the sight of the blood.
“Oh my God…”
Shamir’s expression remained solemn but calm.
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “God already knows.”
They carried the body into an adjoining room.
Shamir knelt beside the corpse and began to pray in the ancient language.
The temple lights dimmed.
Then brightened.
The very air trembled.
Others joined the prayer.
A brilliant radiance flooded the room.
And suddenly—
The dead man gasped.
His eyes snapped open.
Professor Brailin stumbled backward in terror.
The man sat up slowly.
Alive.
Perfectly healed.
His wife burst into tears and embraced him.
Professor Brailin could barely speak.
“I… I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself…”
Fasil whispered shakily, “Praise be to God Almighty.”
“Yes,” Shamir said softly. “Praise be to the Most High.”
Then his face darkened.
“The Major has used the travel room.”
Fasil swallowed. “Where did he go?”
Shamir lowered his head.
For several long seconds he stood perfectly still.
Then his eyes opened.
“He has gone back,” Shamir said grimly, “to the year 2520 B.C.”
Professor Brailin felt cold all over.
“Sumer,” Shamir finished.
The room fell silent.
And somewhere beyond time itself…
the past had already begun to change.
Chapter Twelve: The Travel Chamber
Torchlight trembled against the stone walls as the three travelers materialized inside the ancient temple chamber.
The air smelled of smoke, oil, and damp clay.
For a heartbeat no one moved.
Then distant shouting echoed through the corridors beyond the doorway.
Lieutenant Fasil swallowed hard and turned in a slow circle. “Are we already there?”
Shamir nodded once, calm as ever. “Yes. We are.”
Professor Brailin stared at the heavy stone pillars surrounding them. Strange symbols had been carved into every surface, some painted in gold, others darkened with age. “Where are we? It looks like another temple.”
“It is,” Shamir replied quietly. “The temple at Eilud. The same temple where I first met all of you.”
Outside the chamber, sandaled feet slapped rapidly across stone. Several robed figures rushed past the doorway. One man glanced inside, his eyes widening in alarm before hurrying away.
“Come on,” Shamir whispered.
They moved into the corridor.
The farther they walked, the louder the city became. Bells rang outside. Voices shouted in panic. Somewhere nearby, women were crying.
Two men and a woman in dark robes sprinted past them carrying bronze spears. The woman glanced fearfully over her shoulder as if expecting something monstrous to follow.
At the end of the hallway, they entered a vast ceremonial chamber.
Fasil froze.
“It’s the idol.”
The towering golden figure of Dumu-zi loomed over the room exactly as it had in the ruined temple thousands of years later. Torches flickered across its polished face, making the false god appear alive.
Professor Brailin stared upward. “Shamir… is that truly Dumu-zi?”
“Yes.”
Most of the priests and servants in the chamber had crowded near the open entrance facing the city courtyard. Fear rippled through them like a living thing.
“I wonder what they’re looking at,” the Professor whispered.
Shamir’s expression darkened.
“They’re saying they’ve seen a strange man who speaks an unknown language.” He looked toward the doorway. “The Major.”
Fasil stepped forward immediately. “Then we’d better go after him.”
“This way.”
They pushed carefully through the gathering crowd until they could finally see outside.
And then all three men stopped cold.
In the center of the courtyard stood Major Hafez.
Facing him was a giant.
The creature towered more than twenty feet high, its massive body wrapped in bronze armor and animal skins. Its skin was pale gray beneath the sunlight, its black hair hanging in tangled ropes over broad shoulders. In one enormous hand it held a curved sword nearly the size of a man.
The giant roared.
The sound shook the courtyard.
People screamed and scattered.
Major Hafez stumbled backward, raised his pistol with both hands, and fired.
The crack of gunfire exploded across the ancient city.
The giant jerked sideways as the first bullet tore through its cheek.
Another shot.
Then another.
Blood sprayed through the air.
The giant staggered, dropped its sword, and crashed to the ground with such force that dust burst upward from the stone courtyard.
Silence followed.
Utter silence.
Hundreds of ancient eyes stared at the Major in horror.
Fasil whispered shakily, “My God…”
Then chaos erupted.
Soldiers rushed forward shouting in their native tongue. Bronze spears lowered cautiously as they approached the fallen giant and the armed stranger beside it.
Major Hafez swung the pistol toward them wildly.
The soldiers halted.
An officer dressed in red-and-black robes stepped slowly from the ranks. He carried no weapon in his hands, only a black cloth that fluttered gently in the hot wind.
“So ta, basinia volta na beongo,” the officer called carefully.
“Don’t come any closer!” the Major shouted.
The officer continued forward anyway.
Gunfire cracked again.
The officer screamed as the bullet tore into his leg.
The watching crowd erupted in terror.
An archer on the temple wall fired.
The arrow struck the Major in the shoulder.
Hafez cried out and spun, firing instantly. The archer toppled from the wall dead before he hit the ground.
The Major fired again.
And again.
And again.
Until the terrible clicking sound finally came.
Empty.
The wounded officer shouted an order.
Soldiers surged forward all at once.
They tackled the Major to the ground beneath a storm of bronze shields and spears. His pistol skidded across the courtyard stones.
Within seconds they had bound his arms.
The crowd began to gather around the dead giant, touching its massive body in disbelief.
Others followed the soldiers dragging the struggling Major through the streets.
“They’ve captured him,” Fasil breathed.
“Hush,” Shamir warned sharply. “You must not talk.”
A nearby man turned suspiciously toward them.
Shamir immediately bowed his head and spoke in the ancient language.
“Shara nenish na tooka, ni ho natchona.”
The man studied them carefully for several tense seconds before turning away again.
“Come,” Shamir whispered. “Follow me. Quietly.”
They moved through the packed streets behind the procession.
Eilud was alive with panic.
Massive clay-brick buildings towered over narrow roads paved in sunbaked stone. Merchants abandoned market stalls. Slaves knelt beside walls in fear. Soldiers on horseback galloped past carrying curved swords.
Then Professor Brailin felt someone seize his arm.
A bearded man stared directly into his eyes.
“Lo was ni niche oh natohola nibo, tanighja bonna.”
The Professor tried to pull free, but the man repeated the question more urgently.
Shamir stepped between them instantly.
“Sahana nehish na tooka ni ho natchonon.”
The stranger frowned.
“Me hanna moto aeshba hyee kharita.”
Then, strangely, he smiled and disappeared back into the crowd.
Professor Brailin exhaled nervously. “What did he want?”
“Not now,” Shamir muttered.
They continued following the soldiers until the procession disappeared into a towering fortress of black stone guarded by bronze gates.
High above the walls, banners snapped violently in the desert wind.
Shamir finally led them into a narrow side alley.
“They’ve taken him to King Lamench.”
Professor Brailin leaned against the wall. “Now tell me—what did that man want?”
“He wanted to know whether you knew the name of the giant slayer.”
The Professor blinked. “If only he knew…”
“What did you tell him?” Fasil asked.
“I told him neither of you could speak.”
Shamir looked directly at them both now, his voice deadly serious.
“And from this moment forward, that is exactly what you must do.”
Fasil nodded immediately.
But the Professor hesitated. “You mean pretend to be mute?”
“Yes.” Shamir glanced toward the fortress. “If these people discover you are foreigners from another age, you may be worshiped… or killed. Possibly both.”
The Professor swallowed.
“Understood.”
“Good. Now remember it. One wrong word could change history itself.”
They continued deeper into the city.
The streets became narrower and darker. Strange smells drifted from cooking fires. Somewhere nearby a woman sang mournfully while children ran barefoot through muddy alleys.
Then Fasil suddenly stopped.
Across the street, chained beside several human slaves, stood a centaur.
Its muscular horse-body trembled beneath fresh whip marks. Its human face twisted in pain as a massive overseer lashed it again with a leather whip.
The creature cried out—a horrifying mixture of man and animal.
Fasil accidentally whispered aloud, “It’s real…”
Shamir spun toward him instantly.
“Quiet.”
The overseer glanced briefly in their direction.
The three men kept walking.
Only when they turned another corner did Shamir finally relax slightly.
“Let’s go.”
At last, they reached a large inn built from dark clay brick and cedar beams.
Inside, the air was cooler.
An innkeeper sat behind a low wooden counter counting gold rings.
Shamir bowed politely and spoke fluently in the ancient language.
“So ta afina. Lo wa thory so…”
The innkeeper nodded and grabbed a clay oil lamp.
“Teth anoth me tonarie ha.”
He motioned for them to follow.
The hallway beyond was narrow and dimly lit, lined with six wooden doors. At the far end stood a final larger chamber guarded by two silent servants.
The innkeeper stopped at the third room and opened it.
Inside were three straw beds, woven tapestries, and a small clay table holding cups and a water pitcher.
Shamir paid the man several flat gold coins.
The innkeeper bowed gratefully and departed.
The door closed behind them.
For the first time since arriving in ancient Sumer, silence settled over the room.
“I brought gold coins in case we needed them.” Shamir said.
Fasil sat heavily onto one of the beds. “That was a centaur, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Shamir answered quietly.
Professor Brailin stared at him in disbelief. “But centaurs are myths.”
Shamir looked at him carefully. “As you once believed giants were myths.”
The Professor said nothing.
“Well,” Shamir continued softly, “they are not myths. You saw them yourself.”
Fasil leaned forward. “But how?”
Shamir moved toward the small window overlooking the alley below.
“This is a very ancient world,” he said. “And a very wicked one.”
Torchlight flickered across his face.
“The fallen angels came down from heaven long ago. They declared themselves gods. They took human women as wives and produced the giants.”
He paused.
“And in their corruption, some mated with animals.”
Fasil stared at him in horror.
“The centaurs…”
“Yes.”
“The minotaurs too?”
“Yes.”
Professor Brailin slowly lowered himself onto a bed. “Then Greek mythology…”
“Was born from truth,” Shamir finished. “Distorted truth. By the time your historians recorded these stories, much had been exaggerated or forgotten.”
The room fell silent.
Outside, somewhere in the city, drums began to beat.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Ominous.
Professor Brailin finally spoke again.
“So Zeus… Apollo… all of them…”
“Fallen angels,” Shamir said grimly. “Powerful. Deceptive. Worshiped as gods by mankind.”
Fasil rubbed his face nervously. “And what happens if we meet one?”
Shamir was silent for a long moment.
Finally he answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
That answer chilled them more than anything else he had said all day.
The Professor looked toward the fortress beyond the city rooftops.
“What do we do now?”
Shamir knelt in the corner of the room.
“We pray,” he said softly. “God will show us how to reach the Major.”
He bowed his head.
The Professor and Fasil exchanged uneasy glances before quietly drinking from the clay cups.
Outside the window, life in ancient Sumer continued beneath the gathering dusk.
Children ran laughing through the alley.
Merchants shouted.
Mules carrying fruit passed slowly below.
And somewhere beyond the city walls, thunder rolled across the darkening horizon.
Chapter Thirteen: The Forest
The forest path climbed in slow, winding steps, roots breaking through packed earth like frozen veins. Morning light filtered through the canopy in fractured gold, and the air carried the damp sweetness of flowers blooming along the trail.
Shelton and Rebecca moved carefully upward, flanked by occasional travelers who offered brief, knowing nods—people who seemed unsurprised to see strangers walking this road as if time itself had no claim here.
By the time they reached the temple stairs, the place already felt wrong in a way neither of them could explain.
Thyrs was waiting.
He stood near the flower garden, still as a statue except for the faint movement of his cloak in the wind. When he saw them, his expression tightened—not with fear, but with the restrained weight of information that could not be softened.
Shelton broke first. “I’m glad you’re here, Thyrs. What has happened?”
Thyrs exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid your Major shot Shadar in the head and disappeared into the travel chamber.”
Rebecca’s face went pale. “Is the man dead?”
“No,” Thyrs said. “He’s fine. God healed him almost immediately.”
Shelton’s jaw tightened. “And the Major?”
Thyrs looked past them, toward the forest as if the trees might answer instead. “It looks like he didn’t return to your time. He went back to 2520 B.C.”
Silence hit like a physical pressure.
“Why would he go there?” Shelton asked.
“Only God knows why,” Thyrs replied. Then, with unsettling calm, he gestured toward the garden. “Come. We can only wait. I’ll show you the roses while we wait.”
But the invitation felt less like comfort and more like delay.
Chapter Fourteen: Inside the Ancient Room
Midafternoon pressed against stone walls as Fasil paced the small chamber, restless energy trapped in a body that could not act fast enough.
“Shamir,” he said, “why can’t we just go to the palace and speak to the King? They can only say no.”
Shamir didn’t look up immediately. When he did, his eyes carried the exhaustion of certainty. “They won’t let us in. Peasants don’t speak to kings except through priests. And if we force it… we die. Or worse, we end up in the same dungeon as the Major.”
Fasil clenched his fists. “But he’s right there.”
“It’s not the way,” Shamir said quietly. “God has shown me another path. We will leave the city. We go to Ergul. There we will find Noah.”
“The prophet Noah?” the Professor asked, leaning forward.
“Yes.”
Fasil laughed bitterly. “We’re leaving the Major to go find another man to help us find the Major?”
Shamir finally met his gaze. “Trust the path.”
The room went still.
Then the Professor spoke softly, as if afraid to break something invisible. “We’re going to meet Noah, Fasil. Think about that.”
Something in Fasil’s resistance broke. Not fully—just enough.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll follow.”
Chapter Fifteen: The City Becomes a Maze of Blood and Smoke
The market swallowed them as soon as they stepped outside.
The city was alive in a way that felt diseased—crowded, loud, and watching. Shamir moved first, buying supplies with practiced efficiency: a water bladder, a wool pouch, bread, figs, dates. Every object felt heavier than it should, as if it already knew it was going to be used in survival.
They moved through the streets in silence.
Then the giants appeared.
Not in full, but partially—towering shapes beyond the clay rooftops, their heads and shoulders moving like distant gods or errors in reality itself. No one screamed. No one stopped them.
That was the worst part.
They passed temples where priests slaughtered sheep in practiced rhythm. Another temple burned with offerings no one tried to question. At one point, a child was thrown into a fire before a towering idol, and the group kept walking only because stopping felt like agreeing with it.
Fasil couldn’t look away fast enough.
At the gate, a guard stopped them. Words were exchanged in a language that sounded like sand grinding against stone. Shamir answered without hesitation. After a tense pause, the guard stepped aside.
Outside the city, the air changed.
The silence was worse.
Chapter Sixteen: The Sky That Never Changed
Fasil finally asked what had been pressing against his thoughts for days.
“Why does the sky look like that?”
Shamir glanced upward. “The vapor layer. There are no clouds here. Not like you know them.”
“No rain either,” the Professor added.
“That’s right,” Shamir said.
Fasil frowned. “Then how does anything survive?”
“Dew,” Shamir said simply. “Every morning.”
The Professor shook his head slowly. “A vapor canopy… I’ve seen references to theories like this in ancient texts, but never—”
“You can believe it now,” Shamir interrupted. “You will. Because it will change.”
Fasil looked ahead at the road. “The flood of Noah.”
“Yes,” Shamir said. “In about one hundred and fifty years.”
The words settled like a countdown no one could stop.
Chapter Seventeen: The World Before the Flood
Days stretched as they traveled.
Flat irrigated land gave way to rolling wheat hills, then vineyards, then barren mountain paths where only wind seemed permanent.
At dusk on the high desert plateau, exhaustion finally slowed them.
Fasil squinted toward the horizon. “Are we close?”
Shamir nodded. “Over the next ridge. About two hours.”
The Professor frowned. “You keep measuring time strangely.”
Shamir almost smiled. “Because it is strange to you. Here, we call them kilons.”
Fasil exhaled. “Everything here is strange.”
Shamir’s voice lowered. “This Earth is young. Different. One landmass. Different orbit. Shorter days. The world you know will come later… and end in fire.”
No one responded to that immediately.
Because there was nothing useful to say.
Then Shamir stopped.
“There.”
Chapter Eighteen: Noah’s House
Carved into the mountainside like it had grown there instead of being built, Noah’s home looked more like part of the rock than shelter. Vineyards spread below it like ordered memory.
A man stood among the vines.
Shamir raised his hand. “So ta.”
The man returned the greeting.
Noah.
When introductions were made, language bent around them. Words shifted between tongues like unstable bridges, but meaning held.
Inside, warmth replaced the desert chill. A fire burned. Noah’s wife prepared food. The cave-like home opened into a view of mountains and fields that seemed impossibly calm for the world they had passed through to get here.
But calm was deceptive.
Because even here, everything felt like it was waiting.
Chapter Nineteen: Outside the Temple — A Different Waiting
Back at the temple, Shelton stared toward the fading sun.
“He should’ve been back by now,” he said.
Rebecca hugged her arms tighter. “Something’s wrong.”
Thyrs stood beside them, unshaken. “They are not lost.”
Shelton turned sharply. “How do you know?”
Thyrs didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he said, “Because nothing here is random. Not even fear.”
Rebecca’s voice broke slightly. “Are we going to stay here forever?”
“I don’t know,” Thyrs admitted. “Only God knows that.”
Shelton stared at the horizon again. “How did the world end, Thyrs?”
And Thyrs told them.
World War III. Fire across continents. Nations collapsing into nuclear silence until something—something beyond human control—ended it all. Armageddon.
Rebecca whispered, “So we’re after the end of everything.”
Thyrs nodded once. “No. You’re after what comes after judgment.”
The words hung in the air like a door that had already been opened.
Shelton looked at Rebecca. “Are we dead?”
Thyrs almost smiled. “You feel alive, don’t you?”
Rebecca didn’t answer.
Because she did.
And that was the problem.
Chapter Twenty: The Palace — A Different Kind of Storm
The King arrives on horseback with a handful of soldiers and personal guards. The gate opens and the King rides in. An officer rushes up to the King and tells him about the Major. The King waves his hand and the officer leaves. The King and his guards go into the palace.
The King sits down at the table to eat. There are others dressed in royal robes near him as well as priest and advisors. Soldiers bring the Major up to the room. The arrow wound was just a flesh wound. A piece of cloth was tied around his shoulder. An officer bows down to the King and gives him the gun and knife and tells the King about the incident in the city. The King orders the Major released. The Major talks in Arabic and in English but no one understands him. The priest talk to one another and the King hears them. The King decides to have a contest between the Major and the priest. The King hands the Major his gun. The Major removes a spare clip from his belt and reloads the gun. A priest comes forth and throws a staff down and it turns into a snake. The Major fires the gun into the snake cutting him in half. Immediately, the snake turns back into a broken staff. The King laughs and holds a golden goblet up to salute him. The Major shots the goblet out of the Kings hand. Soldiers reach for their weapons but the King calms everyone down. He waves the Major over to sit next to him. The Major accepts.
At the palace gates, the King returned without ceremony.
Inside, the Major stood surrounded by priests, soldiers, and silence that didn’t know what to do with him.
And for the first time, the King did something unexpected.
He laughed.
Then he invited the Major to sit beside him
Chapter Twenty-One: Journey To The King’s City
The candle died with a hiss.
Darkness swallowed the small clay room, leaving only the sound of breathing and the distant groan of desert wind against the walls of Noah’s house. Four men lay shoulder to shoulder on woven mats spread across the floor.
For a while no one spoke.
Then Fasil’s voice emerged from the dark.
“Are we returning to the city tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Shamir answered quietly. “And Noah will come with us. Tomorrow, God delivers His message.”
Silence followed.
The Professor shifted against the floor. “Then we should sleep while we can.”
“Good night,” he muttered.
“Abba shetar,” Shamir replied softly.
Noah echoed the strange phrase from across the room.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the mountains.
Fasil stared into the darkness long after the others slept.
Something was coming.
He could feel it.
Morning arrived in smoke and firelight.
Noah’s wife knelt beside the hearth, stirring porridge in a blackened clay pot while sparks climbed upward into the dim rafters. The smell of grain and woodsmoke filled the cramped house.
The travelers rose slowly, exhausted from another night haunted by impossible truths.
Noah carried two clay jars outside toward the stream beyond the trees.
Fasil and the Professor followed at a distance.
The old man moved with surprising strength. Barefoot against the cold earth, robe brushing the reeds, he knelt beside the water and filled the jars as dawn burned gold across the horizon.
The Professor watched him carefully.
“You realize,” he whispered, “that man may become the father of everyone who survives the flood.”
Fasil said nothing.
“And another thing,” the Professor continued. “He’s likely over four hundred years old.”
Fasil exhaled slowly. “The legends of Nuh…”
“Yes,” the Professor murmured. “Not legends after all.”
The stream rippled quietly.
“I think God knows exactly why we’re here,” the Professor said. “Why all of this is happening.”
Fasil looked toward Noah.
“Then why won’t He tell us?”
The Professor gave a tired smile.
“Maybe because we wouldn’t survive the answer.”
Noah rose and returned toward the house.
Neither man spoke again.
By noon, the four travelers stood before the city.
Massive walls of sunbaked stone rose from the desert like the remains of a forgotten civilization. Towering ziggurats pierced the sky beyond them, their black shadows stretching across the valley below.
Fasil stopped walking.
Even knowing this world would one day vanish beneath flood waters and sand, the sight still overwhelmed him.
Thousands lived here.
Thousands who had no idea their time was ending.
The city gates groaned open.
Armed guards stopped them immediately.
The language came sharp and rapid between Shamir and the guards — ancient syllables striking together like metal.
The guards studied Noah carefully.
Then, without another word, they allowed them inside.
The city exploded around them.
Merchants shouted over one another beneath hanging banners. Bronze bells rang from distant towers. Soldiers marched in formation through crowded streets while chained slaves carried baskets of enormous crimson fruit through clouds of dust.
Fasil noticed something else.
Fear.
Everywhere.
People bowed their heads when soldiers passed. Conversations stopped when temple bells echoed from above. Mothers pulled children indoors.
The entire city felt like it was waiting for something terrible to happen.
An officer intercepted them near the market square.
After speaking briefly with Shamir, he ordered two soldiers to escort the travelers toward the palace.
The higher they climbed, the quieter the city became.
Soon they entered the palace grounds themselves.
Fasil slowed in disbelief.
Palm gardens stretched around reflecting pools of crystal water. Stone bridges crossed narrow canals fed by hidden irrigation systems. Exotic flowers bloomed beneath polished archways.
“It’s beautiful,” Fasil whispered.
The Professor nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
But his expression darkened.
“It still isn’t paradise.”
Fasil glanced at him.
“There’s too much evil here,” the Professor said quietly. “And in a few years… all of this disappears.”
Fasil looked toward the distant towers rising over the gardens.
“It’s strange,” he said. “Back in our world, this place would already be buried beneath miles of desert. We would’ve excavated it eventually…”
He stopped himself.
“No,” he corrected quietly. “We were too busy killing each other.”
Before either man could continue, the palace doors opened.
The throne chamber was immense.
Sunlight streamed through high lattice windows, illuminating columns covered in gold symbols that seemed to shift whenever Fasil looked directly at them.
At the far end of the chamber sat the King beside Major Hafez.
Fasil froze.
The Major looked thinner. Exhausted. But alive.
The conversation began in the ancient language again. Noah introduced them while the King studied the strangers with growing suspicion.
Then Hafez noticed Fasil.
At first there was no recognition.
Then Fasil lowered his hood.
The Major’s eyes widened.
“Lieutenant Hussein?”
Fasil stepped forward instinctively. “Major—”
The King slammed his hand against the table.
Instant silence.
Shamir leaned close. “Do not speak before the King unless permitted.”
Fasil clenched his jaw and nodded.
The King barked another question at Shamir.
Shamir translated quietly.
“He wants to know who we really are.”
The Professor frowned. “And?”
“He’s terrified.”
Before anyone could respond—
The air changed.
Every torch in the chamber extinguished at once.
Darkness swallowed the palace.
Then came the sound.
A low vibration.
Like machinery awakening beneath the earth.
The floor trembled.
A sphere of white light formed in the center of the room.
People screamed.
The King collapsed face-first against the floor. Soldiers threw themselves down in terror.
Only the strangers remained standing.
The sphere unfolded.
Something stepped out of it.
Humanoid.
Radiant.
Its body seemed woven from liquid fire and shifting geometry, too bright for the human eye to process completely. Symbols rotated through the air around it like living code.
Fasil felt pressure inside his skull.
The being spoke.
Its voice echoed in multiple tones simultaneously.
“I am Dumu-zi.”
The chamber shook.
“All lands beneath the heavens belong to me.”
The light intensified.
“You stand upon my world. You will bow.”
Fasil’s heart pounded violently.
But he did not kneel.
“I worship only the true God.”
The entity’s glowing eyes narrowed.
“I am God.”
“No,” Shamir said calmly. “Only a lesser one pretending to be greater.”
The temperature in the chamber dropped instantly.
Dumu-zi turned toward him.
“You carry the scent of the Father,” it hissed. “Yet you defy me.”
Energy crackled across its body.
“I came for the murderer of my son Araxis. But all of you share the guilt. Therefore all of you will die.”
The King screamed something in panic and pointed toward Major Hafez.
A beam of blinding white energy erupted from Dumu-zi’s hand.
The Major fell down dead instantly.
“MAJOR!” Fasil shouted.
Dumu-zi turned toward him.
“And now you.”
The Professor lifted his trembling eyes upward.
“God in heaven,” he whispered, “protect us.”
Dumu-zi raised its hand.
Then the palace exploded with light.
Two more beings appeared behind it.
Unlike Dumu-zi, their presence felt impossibly vast — ancient beyond comprehension.
The air screamed around them.
The sound of their language was unbearable, metallic and thunderous like galaxies colliding.
Dumu-zi recoiled.
For the first time—
He was afraid.
The palace walls cracked. Columns split apart. Servants cried out as the chamber trembled violently beneath the pressure of powers beyond human understanding.
One of the new beings turned toward Noah.
Its voice entered the mind more than the ear.
The old man listened carefully.
Then nodded.
Moments later—
all three entities vanished.
Silence crashed over the chamber.
Fasil stared Major Hafez body.
“What… did they say?”
Shamir’s face had gone pale.
“The messenger said we may return home.”
The Professor blinked. “That’s all?”
“No.”
Shamir looked toward Noah.
“He commanded Noah to begin building the Ark.”
A cold wave passed through Fasil.
“It begins now,” Shamir said.
Outside, thunder rolled again.
“He also warned Dumu-zi never to interfere with Noah or us again. Judgment has already been declared against him.”
Fasil swallowed hard.
“I’m guessing he didn’t take that well.”
Shamir’s eyes remained fixed on the empty chamber.
“Dumu-zi knows his time is ending. God has forbidden his destruction… but not his imprisonment.”
He gestured toward the city beyond the palace windows.
“This kingdom will drown beneath the flood. Sand will bury it for thousands of years until no one remembers it ever existed.”
Fasil looked once more at the Major’s body on the floor.
“Then why did the Major have to die?”
Shamir answered without emotion.
“A life for a life.”
No one spoke after that.
As they departed the palace, citizens stared at them in open fear.
Some whispered prayers.
Others fled.
Far above the city, dark clouds gathered over the desert horizon.
Noah stopped beside the temple steps and embraced Shamir briefly before turning away.
The old man disappeared into the crowded streets without looking back.
Fasil watched him go.
The future of humanity now rested on the shoulders of one ancient man carrying the weight of a command no one else on Earth could possibly understand.
Inside the temple, worshipers knelt before a towering idol of Dumu-zi.
Its gemstone eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
Shamir stepped forward.
In the ancient tongue, he addressed the crowd.
The worshipers stared at him uneasily.
“What did you tell them?” Fasil asked.
Shamir looked up at the idol.
“I told them to keep praying to their false god.”
His expression hardened.
“Because he knows his time is short.”
The temple floor began to vibrate softly beneath their feet.
Far away, thunder shook the heavens.
Then Shamir knelt and began to pray.
The world dissolved around them.
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Future Temple Travel Chamber
The chamber doors groaned open with a metallic shriek.
Blue-white light spilled across the ancient stone floor as four figures stumbled out of the swirling energy vortex at the center of the room. The air crackled with static. Strange symbols carved into the walls pulsed faintly, as if the temple itself were alive and breathing.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then voices erupted.
“They’re back!”
People rushed toward them from every corridor of the vast temple complex. Some shouted prayers. Others simply stared in disbelief. The smell of ozone still clung to the travelers’ clothes.
Shamir stepped forward calmly, raising one hand to quiet the growing crowd while Professor David Brailin leaned heavily against the wall, exhausted. Beside him, Lieutenant Fasil Hussein wiped blood and dust from his face.
Footsteps echoed through the chamber.
Rebecca White burst through the crowd first.
“Professor!”
She threw her arms around Brailin before he could speak. Shelton Johns followed close behind, relief flooding his face.
“I’m so glad you came back,” Rebecca whispered shakily.
Professor Brailin managed a tired smile.
“So am I.”
Shelton looked around the chamber uneasily.
“Where’s the Major?”
Silence fell.
Fasil lowered his eyes.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said quietly. “But I know he’s dead. When the angels disappeared… his body vanished with them.”
A ripple of unease spread through the room.
“Vanished?” Shelton repeated.
Shamir’s expression remained unreadable beneath the silver glow of the chamber lights.
“His body returned to your time,” he said. “It was God’s will.”
Nobody answered.
The humming energy at the center of the room deepened into a low mechanical throb.
Professor Brailin exhaled slowly.
“Why don’t we sit down somewhere,” he said. “You deserve to hear everything.”
Fasil nodded weakly.
“Yeah. First we met Noah… then the angels…”
His voice faded as the chamber lights dimmed.
The world dissolved into white.
Chapter Twenty-Three: New Jerusalem
The city shimmered like a living star suspended in eternity.
Towering crystalline structures stretched into skies of gold and sapphire. Rivers of light flowed between streets lined with trees that glowed from within. Music echoed everywhere—thousands upon thousands of voices joined in perfect harmony.
Professor Brailin, Fasil, Rebecca, Shelton, and Shamir stood frozen in awe at the entrance to an immense throne chamber.
The floor beneath them appeared transparent, revealing galaxies slowly turning beneath their feet.
At the far end of the chamber stood a throne radiating unbearable brilliance.
Angels stood around it in silent ranks, their armor gleaming like liquid fire. Their eyes watched everything.
And upon the throne sat Yeshua.
The light around Him seemed alive, pulsing with impossible power. Yet when He spoke, His voice was calm and clear—spoken in perfect English.
“Faithful servants,” He said, “God has blessed you.”
The sound of His words vibrated through the chamber itself.
“You will return to your own time and tell the world what you have witnessed.”
Rebecca trembled beside Shelton as Yeshua looked toward them.
“Shelton Johns. Rebecca White. Here and now, before Heaven itself, I join you together. You will return to your world and carry the good news to many nations.”
Shelton swallowed hard.
“I do.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.
“I do.”
The light surrounding the throne intensified.
Then Yeshua turned toward Professor Brailin and Fasil.
“And David Brailin… and Hussein Fasil .”
Both men instinctively lowered their heads.
“You have shown faith in the face of fear. You will return to Jerusalem in your own time and speak the truth for one thousand two hundred and sixty days.”
The chamber darkened slightly.
“You will suffer greatly.”
Visions flashed suddenly around them.
Burning cities.
War.
Crowds screaming.
Dark figures moving through smoke.
Professor Brailin staggered backward as the images vanished.
“But through suffering,” Yeshua continued, “prophecy will be fulfilled.”
Professor Brailin forced himself to speak.
“It is an honor to serve You, my Lord.”
Fasil nodded firmly.
“We will do as You ask.”
“Then it is done.”
The throne room trembled softly.
“Truly I tell you… I will see you again.”
Yeshua raised one hand.
“Because even now… you are already here.”
Confused, the group turned.
Far back within the endless crowd of worshippers, they saw themselves.
Older.
Dressed in white robes.
Watching.
Their doubles smiled silently at them from across eternity.
Rebecca gasped.
Shelton took a frightened step backward.
Professor Brailin felt his knees weaken.
Shamir alone seemed unsurprised.
Then Yeshua looked toward him.
“And you, Shamir. Faithful servant. Your reward shall be great, for you have helped fulfill the final ancient prophecies.”
Shamir bowed deeply.
The throne room grew quiet.
“You will all endure hardship in the world to come,” Yeshua said. “But your reward shall be everlasting peace.”
The light around the throne expanded until it consumed the chamber.
“Goodbye.”
The transfer room stood silent except for the hum of machinery older than civilization itself.
Massive rings of black metal rotated slowly around a sphere of compressed light at the chamber’s center.
Shamir stood before the group one final time.
“Goodbye, Professor Brailin. Lieutenant Fasil. Rebecca White. Shelton Johns.”
The glow reflected in his eyes.
“You return now for your final adventure.”
Professor Brailin looked around uneasily.
“I suppose this entire journey was some kind of test.”
Shamir smiled faintly.
“Yes. And you passed.”
The Professor extended his hand.
“I’ll never forget you.”
Shamir ignored the hand and embraced him instead.
“Do not say goodbye,” he whispered. “We will meet again sooner than you think.”
Fasil stepped forward next.
“I’ll miss you, brother.”
Shamir grinned.
“I’ll be closer than you realize.”
His expression darkened slightly.
“Someone has to keep protecting you when trouble finds you.”
Shelton laughed nervously.
“Goodbye, Shamir.”
Rebecca smiled through tears.
“See you soon.”
“Yes,” Shelton echoed quietly. “Right here.”
The energy sphere began to roar.
White lightning exploded across the chamber walls.
“Go,” Shamir said.
The travelers stepped into the center of the machine.
The light swallowed them instantly.
And they vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Original Temple — Present Day
Darkness.
Cold air.
Dust.
The four travelers crashed onto cracked stone flooring inside the ruined temple.
The ancient chamber was silent except for distant dripping water.
Then—
Voices.
Flashlights burst through the darkness.
“هناك! هناك!”
Iraqi soldiers stormed into the ruins, rifles raised.
Rebecca shielded her eyes from the beams.
One soldier suddenly froze.
The Major’s body lay half-buried beneath enormous boulders near the collapsed wall.
Everyone stared.
The soldiers exchanged nervous glances.
One slowly lifted a futuristic laser rifle.
A piercing beam of red light fired into the rubble.
The boulders disintegrated instantly into clouds of glowing ash.
Silence.
The soldiers looked at the travelers.
The travelers looked at each other.
Nobody spoke.
Then Shelton began laughing.
Fasil joined him.
Rebecca collapsed into hysterics.
Even Professor Brailin laughed until tears streamed down his face.
After everything they had witnessed—
Angels.
Prophecy.
Time itself folding in circles—
A laser rifle vaporizing rocks somehow felt completely normal.
The laughter echoed through the ruined temple as darkness slowly consumed the chamber once more.
THE END
Edited by Chat GPT