Jerusalem — 10:41 A.M.
Nathaniel Asher walked through the outer courts of the temple grounds with the book pressed tightly beneath his robe, its worn spine flush against his chest like armor. The city had awakened, humming with the daily rhythm of prayers, trade, and gossip — but none of it reached him. His thoughts were elsewhere.
The phrase haunted him:
"Seven Thunders. Seven Seals. Seven Voices."
It echoed behind his eyes, threading itself into his steps, the cadence of his breath, the beat of his heart.
He needed answers.
Brother Elias had vanished before the morning meal, and none of the other priests seemed to know where he'd gone. When Nate asked, they gave vague nods or shrugged. One even looked startled at the mention of the old man.
"He hasn't spoken much in months," said Brother Yohan, glancing over his shoulder as though nervous. "Spends most of his time in the crypts beneath the sanctuary."
The crypts.
Nathaniel had never gone below. Few initiates did, especially alone. But now…
Now the mystery burned.
He found the entrance tucked behind the altar hall — a small, worn staircase descending into silence. The air was cool, almost damp. Dust choked the passage, and his sandals stirred the fine silt like whispers in the gloom.
Each step downward felt heavier than the last.
At the base of the stairs, a corridor stretched out into shadow, lit faintly by wall-mounted oil lamps whose flames flickered against damp stone. Scripture carved into the walls stared back at him — solemn, ancient.
"He shall break the seals, and none shall stand."
"And a voice from Heaven cried, 'Write not what the Seven Thunders uttered.'"
The words sent a chill through him.
He moved carefully down the corridor, hand trailing along the stone wall. The silence here was absolute — like the world had forgotten this place.
Then, a sound.
Faint. Rhythmic.
He froze, heart hammering.
A chisel. Steel against stone.
He followed it.
The sound led him to a small chamber at the corridor's end. A single lantern burned low beside a crumbling column. And there, hunched in the corner, was Elias.
He was scraping at the stone with deliberate care, his old hands steady despite their tremble.
"Brother Elias?" Nate asked softly.
The old man didn't turn. "You followed the voice," he murmured. "Good."
"I followed the book."
"No," Elias said, finally glancing over his shoulder, "you followed the pull. The book merely reminded you where to look."
Nathaniel stepped closer, then froze as he saw what Elias was carving.
Not words. Not letters. Symbols.
Circles intersecting lines. A serpent swallowing its tail. A star within a wheel. He didn't recognize the meaning, but somehow… they stirred a familiarity in him, something older than memory.
"What are these?" he asked.
"Echoes," Elias said. "Fragments of what once was spoken — before the world was rewritten."
Nate's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, rewritten?"
Elias sat back, his breath ragged. He looked up at Nate with eyes full of unspoken things.
"You were not always here," the old priest said quietly. "You were… displaced. Not by force, but by fire. A voice cried out, and you obeyed."
"I don't understand."
"You will. In time. But for now, listen…"
Elias reached into his robes and pulled out a slip of parchment — not ancient like the one Nate had found in the chapel, but newer, hastily scrawled.
On it was a map. A section of the city. Near the ruins outside the western wall.
"There's a place beneath the earth," Elias said. "A vault. Older than the temple. Older than Solomon himself."
Nathaniel took the map, eyes tracing its curves.
"What will I find there?"
The old man smiled faintly. "You'll find a name. One of the Seven. Spoken not in word, but in thunder."
Silence fell.
Then Elias's expression darkened. "But beware, Nathaniel. You're not the only one who listens for the thunders. Others have awoken too. And not all remember the light."
Nathaniel opened his mouth to ask more — but a sudden tremor shook the floor beneath them.
A deep, low rumble like distant thunder.
The lantern flickered violently.
Elias's eyes widened. "Go," he whispered. "Before it comes again."
Nathaniel bolted from the chamber, clutching the map, the weight of fate crashing down around him like the echo of a memory not yet lived.
As he climbed back into the daylight, the wind howled through the streets, carrying dust and something colder.
A warning.
The first thunder was stirring.