The Fortress and the Flame

The Tower of David stood like a sentinel over centuries, its silhouette cutting into the bright Jerusalem sky. From a distance, it looked like a castle from a forgotten myth, too solid to be legend, too ancient to be entirely real.

Jessica, Leanna, and Olivia approached the entrance through the Jaffa Gate under the early light, accompanied once again by Rabbi Shamir. The morning bustle of tourists, merchants, and pilgrims swirled around them, oblivious to the quiet war beneath their footsteps.

Inside, the stone corridors swallowed sound. Shamir led them through the museum, bypassing exhibits with a nod to the staff. Eventually, he stopped at a gated passage marked staff only and produced a weathered key.

“This wing is under restoration,” he said. “It won’t be for another month before anyone else walks here.”

Jessica stepped through into the dim corridor beyond, her boots echoing against stone laid down by Crusader hands. At the heart of the tower, a narrow chamber waited, its ceiling low and arched, lined with faded murals. A single pedestal rose from the floor, and on it, a shallow, perfectly circular depression.

Jessica pulled the disk from her coat and set it into place.

The walls responded. Lines flared faintly revealing symbols hidden in the murals that glowed beneath layers of dust. Olivia took a step back, eyes wide.

“They used phosphorescent minerals,” she said. “The patterns only show when activated by pressure or heat.”

Shamir approached with reverence. “They believed knowledge should be buried, not in earth, but in time.”

Leanna brushed her fingers across a lit symbol. “This one… it’s Hebrew. But it’s paired with Latin. Almost like a Rosetta.”

Jessica read aloud from the wall:

“The memory must not wake before the fire is quenched. One vessel breaks, another must be prepared.”

She looked at Shamir. “They were experimenting with this centuries ago. This isn’t new.”

Shamir nodded grimly. “The Templars were not merely warriors, they were archivists, alchemists, preservers of forbidden knowledge. What Vanguard and Dominion are doing now… they are merely building on what was started long ago.”

Jessica felt the tremor rising before she could stop it.

Images flickered across her vision: a man strapped to a chair. A child in a glass cradle. Voices speaking Latin, Hebrew, Greek, all layered, incomprehensible.

Mr. Black whispering, “You are the clean slate. He was corrupted. We cannot afford weakness.”

She stumbled. Leanna caught her.

“Jess—”

“I’m fine.” But her voice cracked.

Olivia’s voice broke through. “There’s another coordinate. A name. Muristan.”

Shamir turned toward her, startled. “That’s the district beside the Holy Sepulchre. It housed the Hospitallers. Before that… it was a Roman healing site.”

Jessica steadied herself. “Then that’s where we go next.”

The disk clicked softly in its cradle. Behind them, the mural faded. And the past retreated once more into shadow. But not for long.