Tel Aviv, Israel
7:45 A.M.
Nathaniel Asher was already awake when his phone buzzed.
Sleep didn't come easily these days—not since he traded war zones for conspiracy exposés. The sound of mortar fire had been replaced by late-night research and the eerie quiet that came with knowing too much.
He sat at his kitchen counter, scrolling through news alerts while sipping black coffee. Another protest in Gaza. A financial crisis brewing in Europe. The world was always on the brink of something.
Then his phone vibrated again. Unknown Number. One New Message.
Nathaniel Asher. You must listen carefully. The prophecy is a lie. They are trying to make it real. Find the scroll beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. You don't have much time.
Attached was a single image—a fragment of ancient parchment, the Aramaic script barely legible. But he recognized the last line immediately.
"The Lamb opened the first seal, and behold, a white horse…"
Revelation 6:1.
Nate frowned, rereading the message. Who the hell was this? A hoax? Another religious fanatic?
A second buzz. New message.
They killed him. I don't know who to trust. Please—before they erase everything.
The coffee in his stomach turned to stone. They killed him.
Nate exhaled sharply, standing from the counter. This wasn't the first time someone had come to him with a wild claim, but something about this one felt different. Urgent.
His fingers moved instinctively, searching. He pulled up a private intelligence chat—contacts from his years in war reporting—and typed.
"Anything on a suspicious death at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre last night?"
A response came within seconds.
"Priest found dead. Gunshot. Vatican denying involvement. Israeli police calling it a robbery."
Nate's grip tightened around his phone.
He didn't believe in coincidences.
He didn't believe in prophecy either.
But he did believe in cover-ups.
Jerusalem, Israel
12:15 P.M.
The sun bore down on the Old City as Nate weaved through the narrow stone alleys, the scent of spice and incense thick in the air. Tourists flooded the ancient streets, snapping selfies in front of sacred sites where, apparently, the world had almost ended before.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre loomed ahead, its weathered facade unchanged for centuries. Inside, marble floors were worn smooth by pilgrims' footsteps, and candlelight flickered against the ancient stone.
He spotted the police presence immediately—two officers near the entrance, another speaking in hushed tones with a priest. The crime scene was already being sanitized.
He needed a way in.
As he lingered near an alcove, someone spoke beside him.
"You don't look like a pilgrim."
Nate turned. A woman stood there, early thirties, olive skin, dark eyes sharp with curiosity. She wore a loose white blouse, cargo pants, and an ID badge clipped to her belt. He glanced at the name.
Dr. Leah Rahmani. Israeli Antiquities Authority.
Archaeologist.
"I'm not," Nate admitted. "But I get the feeling you aren't either."
Leah smirked. "I work here."
"Work, or investigate?"
Her expression didn't change. "Both."
Nate took a gamble. "The priest who died—Father Gabriel. Did you know him?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Not well. But I know what he was protecting."
Nate's pulse quickened. "And what was that?"
For the first time, her confident gaze faltered. She glanced toward the police, then lowered her voice.
"Something that was never meant to be found."
The First Seal Breaks
3:42 P.M.
By the time Nate and Leah reached the underground chamber, the city above them was already in chaos.
It started with a single rider.
A man dressed in white, on horseback, galloping through the streets of Jerusalem. It should've been nothing—a theatrical protest, a religious zealot. But he was not alone.
Moments later, emergency broadcasts lit up screens across Israel.
A cyberattack had crippled major financial institutions. Stock markets crashed. The Israeli government declared a state of emergency as panic spread.
And as Nate read the news on his phone, Leah stood beside the ancient glass case, her breath shallow.
She pointed to the scroll inside. The parchment Gabriel had died for.
Nate stepped closer, his eyes scanning the fragile script. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
The words stared back at him.
"The Lamb opened the first seal, and behold, a white horse… and he went out conquering and to conquer."
The First Seal of Revelation.
And someone had just made it real