Revelations from the one Cursed with Immortality 2

Part 2

My feet have been treading this earth for an eternity.
My destiny was written alongside the time of the Worldl. For years, living in different countries, I had to traverse this mortal world on foot. I have witnessed a twilight of great empires, the fall of many nations, and the rise of new ones.
Over my endless life, I have learned many languages of the world. I have lived all my lives. I have been a witness to many events that have become history. I’ve seen so much, being a direct observer. Through the messengers of the Lord, atoning for a heavy sin, I fulfilled the will of providence, becoming an instrument and executor of His will.

I am not a traveler, not a wanderer. I am a Gravedigger…
For everyone, the earth is the cradle of Life, a place of Life. But for me, it is a giant Cemetery. I have put to rest to this earth all those I loved.

I was never given the chance to bid farewell to loved ones gradually, as most people do. I lost them by families, by genus, by generations
They died of terrible diseases, tragic accidents, and old age. LORD! If only You would forgive me…

Throughout my endless life, I have loved many times… oh, how deeply I have loved… My wives and beloveds, my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
My sudden and uncontrollable transformation forced me to disappear from the lives of those I could have still been with. Time and again, against my will, I betrayed those who were dearer to me than my worthless existence on this earth. I had only two choices: either consign them to the earth or betray them. In truth, it all boils down to one word— BETRAY. This was all my fault…that path I chose myself.

Forgive me, Lord! Lift from me the Curse of the Eternal Gravedigger… Only You know how many times I have pleaded with You for death, how many times I have begged for Your forgiveness…If one looks at the sky on a hot summer night,  there are not as many stars as there are of my prayers… my pleas outnumber them…

I was young and foolish, self-satisfied and arrogant, greedy, ready to do anything for wealth. I believed in nothing. Love, family, loved ones, home —all these seemed to me to be something ordinary and mundane, something given to everyone. But wealth and prosperity ..!
And if it were not for who I was, there would be no covenant, this eternal curse with no end.
In this world, they call me part of a legend, a symbol of medieval Christianity.
I’m not a legend, not a symbol …I am alive, and I am nearly Two Thousand years old.

I am AGASFER
I am the Wandering Jew.
I am Espera-Dios(“hope in God”).
I am Butadeus (the one who struck God”).
I am Cartaphilus.
I am the Enemy of Christ, yet at the same time, a Witness of Christ.
I am a sinner, struck by a mysterious curse.
I am a ghost in flesh, terrifying with my mere presence , a bad omens.

I was a shoemaker in Jerusalem. I was about 30 years old. I  worked day and night, dreaming of getting rich. The city was bustling, lively trade was underway as always on the eve of Passover. People were talking about someone who had been condemned, apparently unjustly sentenced. I didn’t care, as long as the execution ended early enough for people to pay for their shoes before Passover.
A noisy crowd was pushing and throwing stones at a man in bloody rags. He was carrying his instrument of execution— a Cross. As he passed by my shop, he collapsed— his legs gave out beneath him. I had no idea that before me stood HIM—THE MESSIAH…

Walking his sorrowful path to Golgotha, exhausted, he fell at my feet and quietly asked for a brief moment of rest:” Allow me to lean against the wall of your house for just a moment…” This is all the Lord asked of me. And I, unworthy of even a single glance from Him, a wretched creature, denied Him this moment of peace. I mercilessly pushed Him away and told Him to keep going. He spoke words to me that at the time bypassed not only my ears but also my heart and conscience.
Only a short time later, when misfortune overtook me, awakening the meaning and depth of the doom looming over me. My memory revived every word He had spoken, and His gentle voice echoed in my mind:” Mocking the agony of death, you mock Eternity…I bless you with it… If you desire death,  see me…” and those eyes…a gaze full of sorrow and compassion for me.

Whether the promised eternity was true or not, I didn’t know. But then, the ecstasy of the thought of a possible eternal life completely consumed my being. Even when rumors spread about the resurrection of the young Rabbi, I was too afraid to leave my house, lest I might, God forbid , accidentally meet Him. For just one single meeting…and I am mortal. FOOL! And yet, the Lord sent others to offer me deliverance. But no! I thought,  if I do not die, I will become the richest man in the world! A prideful and an arrogant fool!
Thus began the endless wandering of the Eternal Jew.

There are countless testimonies of encounters with me. Some remembered me from those times when I , naked and overgrown, lived for years in the underground, spending my days circling around the pillar. But no one suspected what had driven me to solitude in that underground,  what grief had been so overwhelming that it clouded my mind. Back then, I had lost my only daughter, the last member of my family. Leprosy had taken them all, one by one, within ten days, sparing me and leaving my alone to face the entire world.

With her death came the downing realization of the curse hanging over me. At that time, my neighbor spoke words that pierced my soul : “ If only you could find that young Rabbi. He brought the neighbor’s baby back to life— I saw it with my own eyes. And now, they say, He has ascended to  Heaven. “
I sold everything and set off to find the one who could answer my most pressing question:” How should I live on? How can I find the Man on the Cross?”

Fate and providence were kind, guiding me along a difficult path, bringing me into contact with many witnesses of Christ, gradually lifting the veil of predestination and the purpose of my existence. I had taken on the burden of immortality myself, and the price had to be commensurate. I am not permitted to share all the knowledge and revelations granted to me. But some testimonies, given from above and permitted for the fulfillment of the predestination of future events, I am obliged to disclose.

I met one of the shepherds who had seen with his own eyes the guiding star shining with the brightest light, illuminating the way for the Wise Men to the Savior’s feet. A golden beam of immense power, emanating from a large opening in a limestone cave—where the Divine Infant was born in a cattle stable, burst forth a blinding fire and merged with the guiding star, called the Star of Bethlehem. This strengthened its radiance, providing sufficient light to illuminate the path of the Wise Men’s caravan. The shepherd recounted that the intense brightness could have blinded the caravan’s camels if not for the black leather shields placed over their eyes.

Later, in the early 7th century in Venice, I met the renowned Armenian astronomer, mathematician, alchemist, and philosopher Anania Shirakatsi. Believing that I was Agasfer and an eyewitness of Christ, he shared his research and calculations from his work “Cosmography” and “On the Rotation of the Heavens.” At the end of our conversation, he said:
“Believe me, it was easier to me to teach the local ruler of Venice to extract gold from water than to fully comprehend the strength and power of the fusion of two incredibly powerful beams of light that appeared out of nowhere— I can only hypothesize. Astronomical observations and mathematical calculations defy imagination. At present, I cannot speak openly about this. I hope, that in the future, someone, studying “Cosmography”, will find my secret writing there. “
The conversation with the shepherd came to an end. In despair, I gazed at the endless starry sky, trying to hold back tears stinging my eyes.
“Perhaps you can find the Wise Men, and they will help you in your grief?  Perhaps they know when the Man with the Cross will come?”
“How can I find them? There were only three…”
The shepherd shook his head:
“There were twelve of them. But only three entered to see the Divine Infant: Gaspar, a young king from Kilikian Tarsus from the lands of Armenia; Melchior, an elderly king of Arabia; and Balthazar, a middle-aged king of Ethiopia. These three brought gifts: gold, as to the King of all worlds; frankincense, as to the High Priest; and myrrh, for the burial and embalming of the Savior’s Body. A long, richly adorned caravan with the other nine Wise Men and their retinue waited at the entrance to the cave, where they had traveled for over a year from Babylon. I am an uneducated shepherd, but I wonder: how did they know of the Anointed One’s coming and the place of the Son of God’s birth even before His mother did?”
After these words, another question arose in my mind:
“Gold and frankincense— that’s understandable. But myrrh for the King of the Worlds? For burial? Does that mean they all already knew the path of the Divine Infant..?

For long months, my blooded, festering feet treaded the earth until providence led me to Damascus. Yes, the shepherd was right— there were twelve of them. They sat in a tent adorned with brocade, forming a circle around the hearth, when I, exhausted, filthy, and overgrown, collapsed unconscious at the edge of the tent.
The conversation with the sages of the Universe revealed my debt to Christ. My intolerable arrogance towards the Savior was to be atoned for with infinite humility: prostrating before eternity, readiness to serve the initiated, and boundless devotion to the Lord in pursuit of forgiveness.
The dialogue with the sages concluded at down. One of them said to me as we parted:“Through the curse tied to Christ, whom you must meet again in this world, in repentance and transformation, you, Agasfer, may become a good sign for all mankind. “

It was then that I received my first mission from the initiated. Later, in 560 AD, in one of the churches in Italy, the names of the three Wise Men who honored the Birth of Christ would be discovered. I was the one who had left those names. However, Armenians and Syrians would always claim that there were twelve Wise Men.

After the meeting with Wise Men, I returned and settled underground, awaiting the coming of Christ. The very thought of endless waiting drove me mad. This was not the immortality I had dreamed of, but Eternal Solitude. There was no limit to my awareness of my own sorrow. I longed for death. When a man craves death, he seeks solitude.
One cannot live forever among people…
One can live ETERNALLY only with God.

For years I walked around the pillar, treading the same circles, my feet churning the dirt. In a state of semi-madness and semi-delirium, thoughts visited me,  questions to which I have found no answer in two thousand years. One thought persisted: how was the Son of God born?

Joseph and Mary were of the lineage of King David and, according to the laws of the census, had to arrive in the city of David, Bethlehem. How could it be that there was no room in all of Bethlehem for a pregnant woman? Not just any pregnant woman, but one carrying the Infant Christ in her womb! It is not accidental that Mary was chosen to be the mother of the Savior. The sages said that Heaven prepared the birth of the Mother of God for 24 generations. Both Mary and Joseph were descendants of King David, meaning they were of royal blood. Could it really have been beyond the Creator of the Universe to arrange the simplest conditions for the childbirth of a royal woman destined for Divine Birth?

If, from all corners of the earth, the twelve wisest of the wise, bearing gifts fit for kings, had traveled for months to kneel before Jesus, why were the witnesses to the mystery of His birth the inhabitants of a stable? Perhaps the light emanating from the cave that lit up the star was the moment of His birth? And perhaps the witnesses of the Universal Miracle, the appearance of the Infant God, were cows and sheep, because they were mute? Witnesses who would keep the Secret of Secrets..?

Thus I existed in the underground, far from people, far from life.
Out of compassion, people brought me bread and water, attributing my voluntary imprisonment and presumed insanity to the grief of losing my family. At every knock, I would run out, exclaiming: “Has the Man with the Cross come yet ?”

I don’t know how many years I spent in that underground. Many considered me an ancient elder and openly wondered how I was still alive.

One day, upon waking, I felt unprecedented lightness in my body. To understand what had happened to me, I emerged from the dungeon and heard the voice of the neighbor’s son: “Where is the decrepit Agasfer? Are you his grandson? Just as filthy and stinking!”

In the rainwater of the street puddle, I saw my own reflection as a young man , only disheveled, with dirty hair and a wild gaze. At that moment, I had no doubt left: the immortality granted to me was no myth, and my life would be like walking in the circles around the pillar in the dungeon. Having mercilessly pushed Christ away and denied Him brief rest, I was refused the peace of the grave. I am doomed endlessly wander through the ages, awaiting Christ’s second coming— the only one capable of lifting the curse from me.

Since then, against my will, whenever I reached the old age, fate would instantly return me to the age l was on the day of my singular encounter with Him.
Time and again, I was brought back to youth. Time and again, I started a family and had children. Time and again, I bid them farewell forever. These were not lives but torment: the life of a hermit alternated with a family I could never fully enjoy. I had no tears left—I had cried them all.

The worst part was leaving them behind: a child cannot outlive their father. In my heart, I harbored only one cause for envy— I envied fathers who were granted the honor of being laid to rest by the hands of their children.
The most desirable thing for me was sleep— a semblance of the peace of death that rarely visited me. But awakening… awakening was yet another regret in the long list of my “regrets.”
To love Life, a man must be mortal. He cherish every moment of it, even when gravely ill…
I grew to hate Life, having indulged in it to the point where I desire nothing but Death.

There is no Eternity on Earth. Eternity lies beyond death!

Many will write about me…
In the mid-13 century, an English monk, Roger of Wendover, will meet Archbishop Matthew of Paris, who arrived in England from Grater Armenia the Archbishop will insist to the Englishman that he is personally acquainted with a living contemporary and offender of Christ named Cartaphil, a praetorian guard  who repented, was baptized, took the name Joseph, and now lives as an ascetic and silent hermit, answering only devout questions from pilgrims.
In 1602, a popular book will be published titled—“A Brief Description and Story of a Certain Jew Named Agasfer.”

The townspeople of Lubek in 1603 will testify to my appearance in their city.
In 1642, I will be seen in Leipzig, Champagne, and Beauvais.
An 1868 Mormon newspaper in America will print a report of an encounter with me.
In Russia, Vasily Zhukovsky, in his unfinished poem —“ Agaspher, the Wandering Jew,” will turn me into a symbol of all humanity, one that has outlived its hopes yet miraculously begins its journey anew.
The image of a former Jerusalem shoemaker, a tall man with long hair and tattered clothing, will weigh upon the imagination of an entire era, little resemblance to the reality I must endure to this day.

True testimonies of my existence remain, scattered across monasteries, churches, mosques, and synagogues in Europe, the Near East, Arabia, and the Middle East.
It is not pride or a desire for fame that causes generations to recount my seemingly boastful tale. Its  meaning will become clear later. For now, I hope that whoever reads these lines will believe me— the most unworthy of sinners, and fulfill humanity’s destiny, one of profound significance.

Now, let me tell you about the mystical place where you, the reader of these lines, find yourself—Armenia.
Each of the 11 Apostles, having drawn lots, was assigned a region for preaching. After a Holy Spirit descended upon them, they were granted a knowledge of the languages of their assigned regions, enabling them to share the message of the Savior. Two of them, Thaddeus and Bartholomew, along with other languages, the Armenian language was given. The descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles, according to witnesses, was an unprecedented event. Today, I would dream of witnessing this phenomenon in person. But back then, deeply hoping for immortality, I avoided encountering Christ.
For the first time, I visited Armenia with the Apostle Thaddeus. Hearing about the Lord and believing in Christ, King Abgar sent his emissaries, inviting Him to Armenia to escape persecution by Jews. The Lord declined the Armenian king’s invitation, promising instead to send one of His disciples. Among the emissaries of King Abgar was a court artist, Hovhaness, who spent the entire time near the Lord painting His likeness. ( The only lifetime image of Jesus Christ is located in Geneva, in the Armenian Church of St.Bartholomew. author’s note)
Soon, King Abgar received a gift from the Savior— a cloth. The Lord merely pressed the fabric to His face, and His image was miraculously imprinted on it. This cloth later healed the King of a severe ailment. The Lord not only cured the king of an incurable disease but also fulfilled His promise by sending the Apostle Thaddeus. The cloth with the miraculous image of the Savior became a cherished relic of the Armenian people. (presumably, the cloth is bricked up in the wall of one of the Armenian church. author’s note)

Another king, Sanatruk, who had previously met Thaddeus, faced strong resistance from the princes of his court. Fearing their opposition, he hesitated to profess his faith openly and even demanded that his daughter Sandukht renounce her faith.
I was a witness…Both of them were martyred— Apostle Thaddeus and the maiden Sandukht. On the site of their martyrdom, the Armenians built the Monastery of St. Thaddeus.

Apostle Bartholomew, preaching in Phrygia, Mesopotamia, India, and Parthia, arrived in Greater Armenia. On the hill of Artashat, he met Apostle Thaddeus, and together they preached the faith. Later, Bartholomew converted the sister of the Armenian King Voguhy and many nobles to Christianity. King Sanatruk, unwilling to embrace the Truth, ordered Bartholomew to be crucified upside down, flayed alive, and beheaded.
In the 13th century, Armenians built the Monastery of St. Bartholomew on the site of his martyrdom in the city of Van. Centuries later, six centuries to be precise, along with other Armenian Churches, monasteries, and churches that once adorned every corner of Armenian land, these centuries-old stone witnesses of the birth of Christianity would fall into the hands of a neighboring enemy. This enemy, with refined cruelty, would plunder and destroy everything in its path, anything that reminding them of the Armenian’s faith, language, and name. What they could not destroy, they would claim and transform for their own use, as all barbarians do.

Thus, even before Gregory the Illuminator, the Armenian Church was established in Armenia through the efforts of the apostles— a church created by Christ and instituted by the apostles. From these tragic events, the death of two great apostles, the Armenian people’s path to the Truth will begin. Every apostle had to walk their personal journey to Golgotha. However, the Armenians, the first to accept Christ, alongside their faith, unwillingly embraced not only the Path of Christ Himself, but also His Predestination.
I have witnessed many bitter pages in the history of this people. Their land is soaked with the blood of saints and martyrs. Their grief and suffering could have ended in an instant if they had adopted the faith of their bloodthirsty neighbors. But no! The first thing they took with them in yet another exodus from their boundless lands was the Bible.

However, there is something else that has caused the bitter history of the Armenians: this land has always given birth, and will continue to give birth, to a great number of saintly children in proportion to its population. Universal Evil will not forgive them for this. The devil will oppress them, manifesting his obsession with hatred for this people through the hands of various rulers, warlords, and adherents of other religions, showing the many faces of his insatiable thirst for Armenian blood. All past and future events in Armenian’s history will demand yet another sacrifice from this nation— the youngest generation, their children— sacrificial lambs.

In the future, 273 years from the conclusion of my confession, they will face Universal Sorrow. Like The Lord, they will be betrayed at the most fateful moment. Just as the Lord was denied, so too they will be denied: some out of indifference, others out of cowardice, and still others— under the guise of the cross, acting as the devil’s accomplices— out of hatred. The Christian denominations of Europe— Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, France, and Italy, whom they reached with the Word of God long before many others, will abandon them. They will not come to their aid, despite the fact that the names of Armenian saints, missionaries, theologians, and scholars are forever etched into the history of European Christianity. ( see video “From Ararat to Europe “ author’s note)

They will not save them but will betray the Armenians precisely when each Armenian is condemned. History will draw parallels with the Betrayal for thirty pieces of silver, but now on the scale of an entire people.
A country with a coat of arms depicting three leopards with torquoise claws and tongues on a crimson field will personally appoint the executioner of this nation and place a curved yataghan in his hands.
And, as the devil always does, with another hand, allied with his counterparts: he will opened shelters for little Armenian orphans who have miraculously escaped the hands of torturers, intending to take a significant number of them away. Ask yourself—WHY?

They will all be forsaken, as Christ was forsaken!
But the Lord will not permit excessive sacrifice: they will be scattered across the world until the time comes to gather the stones.
However, know this: just as the Lord, having endured all suffering, rose again and ascended in His Glory, so too will this people, if they preserve their faith, reach their Glory at the End of Times.
And time will come when the safest place will turn out to be the most vulnerable, and the most vulnerable— the safest.
Now, after reading my confession, I present the first of three trials, three conditions of the nearest of His Coming.
Two thousand years ago, the Lord was the executor of the Father’s Will. The second time He comes, it will be as the King of the World. Thus, Man will be the one who must become the executor of the Lord’s Will in the final battle.

By the covenant of the initiated, I have been preparing this cave for 22 years, completing it in 1642. The location, dimensions, and properties of the cave are not accidental— this is a place of power. Everything present here has been prepared according to the covenants and designs of the enlightened.
Every letter of the wall, I engraved myself. Within them lies a cryptic script, a secret word. Finding it will leave you no way back— the burden of divine selection will rest upon your shoulders. This is the Last Cross Procession, where along the road, guides and mentors will be given to you, as well as successors who will take on the subsequent segments of the thorny path.
A relic, whose power comes from an object that once, in the distant past, belonged to Christ Himself, will become your shield of divine protection. You will be the first link in a chain of subsequent events.
To endure the path, you remember one thing— your Body, Spirit, and Soul must be in absolute balance and peace according to the law of the Universe.

There are signs by which the true performer of the first stage can be recognized: the one who finds this cave, discovers the underground space by intuition, and is able to read these lines must be the same person. The initiated see in the performer a person unburdened by vices and crimes. During his life, his own thoughts and motivations will be revealed to him— the heaviest trial for a person after death.
The truth about oneself after life plunges everyone into horror because it is revealed all at once. This is the first step for the performer in a series of other obligatory steps.

Every person must remember: no matter how high you rise, God will always be above you.

Reader of these lines! If you are convinced that you are the first link in the chain of events, I must warn you! Either you close my revelations, return everything to its place, and leave the cave, forgetting everything, or…by reading the final manuscript, you will inevitably take upon yourself the fulfillment of providence, from which you will no longer be able to turn away. Whether you will be able to cope with the predestination of Heaven, is unknown. You must comprehend the responsibility with your whole being, and courage alone will not be enough. You will face severe trials, bearable only to the chosen.

Here, stop and think…”

1642, Armenia


The boy froze on the last word, as if rooted to the spot: he was breathing unevenly, and a slight tremor ran through him. The other witnesses were recovering from what they had just heard. “Narek, my boy! Could it really be that these revelations are meant for you?” the Commander whispered. “ You found the cave, you found the key to the underground, you managed to read… I won’t let you go anywhere, don’t even think about it! Who knows what’s written here,” the Commander declared loudly.
“It’s easy to say:’ If you don’t want to, forget it and leave!’ But how? Fly out through the hole… like a fly?” the young wounded fighter expressed his turmoil, waving his hand.
“And what if we can’t find the cryptic writing? Then we’ll be stuck ourselves until the Second Coming…”
“There’ll be no mention of us among the wounded or the dead… they’ll write—‘missing in action’.”
“No one will even think to look for us in this cursed cave…”
The young fighters voiced their despair and confusion aloud. But the boy, crossing his arms over his chest, was staring intently at the wall with the letters.
Suddenly, he perked up; his gaze changed, and he took a deep breath before turning to the Commander.

“My father! But 1642 plus 273 equals 1915, Genocide! He knew about it almost 300 years before it happened. The coat of arms with three leopards with turquoise claws and tongues on a red background— that’s England! And it’s true, the first shelters for Armenian orphans were established by the English and Americans, as he writes— ‘their counterparts’. And Europeans took many Armenian children with them! And England, almost the only country in Europe, has never recognized the Armenian Genocide!”
“And also the most faithful ally of Turkey for centuries, even to this days,” the Commander said thoughtfully.
“That’s it! It’s decided! If it really is me, my father, then no one will talk me out of this!” the boy declared with adolescent determination.

Seeing the unconcealed worry in the eyes of his surrogate father, his tone changed. He approached and quietly whispered, almost pleadingly: “May be I was born for this? Please, stay alone with me, my father…I need to talk to you…”
The Commander nodded to the fighters, and they all silently left the underground chamber as one.
“Let’s think, my father. After all, everything we’ve seen and heard cannot be someone’s joke, can it? How much more important information will we learn? Look, here’s the last stack of manuscripts,” the boy seemed to be talking to himself. “Believe me, I’m not afraid to die. The only thing I fear is failing. Please, stay with me while I finish reading the manuscript. I can entrust you with everything we learn… And also, Deddo must know. No one else! Even my mother won’t learn about my decision… You two, both of you, will be the only ones entrusted with this knowledge. I don’t want to put the boys at any risk— who knows, they might accidentally reveal something. But you— never, I know!”

The Commander, with his head lowered, listened to the boy’s soft, almost whispered words. The brave soldier’s eyes filled with silent tears— the kind shed by a father sending his son into a bloody battle.
“My father! We’ll finish reading together. Then you can all go rest. I won’t sleep—I need to think… think a lot. “
“I don’t know where such immense strength comes from in someone so young,” the Commander said. “You can bend me to your will however you want,” he added, wrapping his arms tightly around the boy’s thin frame and quietly weeping.
“Look, my father!” the boy exclaimed. “The last manuscripts seem to be written on old paper… it’s yellowed and thicker. “
“And the language seems modern, not ancient Armenian,” the Commander said, bringing the manuscripts closer to the burning torch.


“The Triumph of Justice is always preceded by inevitable events, without which the triumph of inevitable cannot occur. God created a generous Universe for all living beings— it always provides warnings in advance.
The Aya Sofya in Constantinople was the largest cathedral in the Christian world for 1,000 years, up until the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.
Throughout its existence, this structure has endured much. However, three events will signify a warning of what is to come: the “Spring of Inevitability” will break , and the Inevitable will begin to act. Here they are:

989 AD
A destructive earthquake, not a coincidence, will cause the cathedral’s dome to collapse, and only the renowned Armenian architect Trdat will be able to restore the dome in 994 AD.

1204 AD
During the Fourth Crusade, Constantinople will suffer a devastating attack by the crusaders. The Aya Sofya will be looted and desecrated. Almost all of its treasures will be taken to the West, including the Shroud of Christ, which the Vatican will later call the Shroud of Turin.
The Aya Sofya will be converted into a Catholic cathedral.
In 1261, the Latin Empire will fall, and the cathedral will once again become Orthodox.

1453 AD
On the night of May 28-29, the last Christian service in the history of Aya Sofya will take place. The temple will be seized by the Turks. Breaking down the doors,  armed with swords, they will slash icons, steal their adornments, and kill all the worshippers in an instant. The blood of the slain will reach a level marked even now on one of the columns with red paint. The horse on which Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror will ride into the cathedral will slip on the heap of corpses.
They will storm in during the Divine Liturgy, as the priest, holding the Holy Gifts,  enters the Ambon. Part of the altar wall will open up, burying the priest with the Holy Gifts beneath it. He will remain there until the temple returns to the Orthodox, at which point the priest will complete the interrupted service.

On May 30, 1453, Sultan Mehmed II will recite the 48th Victory Surah of the Koran in the temple and convert it into mosque. From this day, desecration of the Aya Sofya  will begin.
With the shamelessness and cunning typical of the Turks, they will treat the holy place like a trophy, fueling the pride of vandals for centuries. No minarets added, no priceless frescoes destroyed, no tombs of sultan’s family members,  nor the temple’s reclassification as  a museum will bring satisfaction for what has been done.

In the early decades of the third millennium, by the sole decision a future ruler of Turkey, the Aya Sofya could finally be turned into a mosque again, with Friday prayers taking place there for the first time in nearly 90 years.

If the ruler of Turkey disregards appeals and does not reverse the decision, if he rejects the pleas of the world’s churches and requests from many Christian nations, then…

The ‘Spring of Inevitability’ will brake loose, and the Inevitable will immediately begin to act…

A war will begin on Armenian soil, waged by the forces of three…”

1934, Istanbul


“My father” Narek exclaimed, clutching his head. “ On July 18, 2000, Erdogan turned the cathedral back into a mosque…and indeed, for the first time in 86 years, a Friday prayers were  held in the cathedral…”

“He really brazenly rejected the pleas of many countries, organizations, and Christian denominations not to convert the cathedral into mosque.” the Commander’s glazed eyes betrayed the horror of what he had just heard.

“Agasfer wrote these lines in 1934 in Istanbul! Look at the date…they attacked us at the end of September, two months after the desecration of the cathedral…”

“Read it again, son. How was it written..?

“The Spring of Inevitability will break loose, and the Inevitable will immediately begin to act…” the young man whispered. “The power of three…Azerbaijan, Turkey, and 2000 hired ISIS cutthroats from the Middle East”, the boy’s hands trembled; he couldn’t stop shaking, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“What will become of us when we learn the rest? Why are our sons dying? Narek! Where’s your God?” the Commander pleaded.

“There are three places in this world that I have visited more often and where I have stayed longer than anywhere else— Arabia, Jerusalem, and Armenia. These three places on Earth are a special sigh—the Pointing Fingers of God— the Trinity, the Trinitarian Gesture, where God’s
index finger points to Armenia. In these three places lies the self-reproducing power of the energy of the LOGOS.

The Gospel of John (1:1-14): ‘The Logos becomes incarnate in the God-Man Jesus Christ.’

The Trinity: the Logos is the Son of God, the second hypostasis, second person, the face of the one God of the Trinity, who created the visible and invisible world together with God the Father and God the Holy Spirit, while simultaneously being the provider and sustainer of the whole world. The Logos is eternally, timelessly, and continuously begotten of God the Father— this is HiS first birth, first begetting. The second begetting of the Logos is His birth in time from the Virgin Mary. The Logos is the image of God, the mediator between the transcendent and the immanent worlds, between the beyond and the here-and-now.

The mystery of God’s personhood is inaccessible to the human mind. God is one not only because His nature is singular and unified. The customary earthly dimensions and the order of numbers do not apply to God. These are applicable to the prince of darkness. Only objects separated by space, time, and forces can be counted or calculated.
God is beyond everything and in everything. God is beyond all and in all. “

The first Temple was built in ancient times. It was destroyed long ago. The Second Temple was erected on the ruins of the First but was destroyed by the Romans.

The Apocalypse is the Destruction of the World. The world will be destroyed seven years after the completion of the Third Temple. The construction of the Third Temple will be completed in 6 months, 6 weeks, and 6 days from the start. The Antichrist will enter it and rule over the entire world.

Before the construction of the Temple begins, human time will accelerate. The non-connectable  will unite — Time and Timelessness. These two extremes will overlap to bring the Prophesy closer. The Past, Present, and Future will converge into One, in a single moment, completely depriving people of even the slightest opportunity to change anything. Humanity will lose its right to choice and freedom of will. Not even a moment for regret will remain.

The construction of the Temple will be preceded by a plaque — half the face will disappear, leaving only the eyes and ears. To finally See and Hear, the Lord will not only close Man’s mouth, thus curbing empty speech, but also place a Mirror of Essence before each individual. The Devil will harden the hearts of the world’s rulers, enlisting human Greed and Power to his service. The powerful of the world will unite in absolute impunity, and, reaching the height of immorality, will not even bother to conceal their true intentions. And the Lord will allow retribution for the indifference and indirect participation of the majority in the Trampling of Truth and the Legalization of Lawlessness.

This plague will turn into infirmity, setting in the minds of all people, falling like dust from the Heavens onto their heads. The disease will spread across the entire World, and the Devil will
reap a generous harvest of death. Universal fear will cloud reason, while under the guise of the plague, preparations for the construction of the Third Temple will begin. The Antichrist, upon entering the Third Temple, will declare himself the Messiah, the Mashiach.

The Son of God will descend to earth, and a universal battle of Light against Darkness, Good against Evil, will begin. It will affect everyone. The new center of the world of Evil will become Jerusalem, to which many countries will relocate their embassies one after another.

After devastating earthquakes and disasters, the Third Temple will be destroyed. On its site, the Forth Temple will be erected, and it is there that Jesus Christ will reign and rule the World.

1994, Jerusalem

“ I can’t believe it! Here, he seems to be referring to the coronavirus here…Could it really be that back in 1994, he foresaw the future pandemic?” The Commander’s wide-open eyes carried the question.
“So it seems, my father. ‘Half the face will disappear…only the eyes and ears will remain’…that’s mask!  And here it says:” it will fall from the Heavens onto the heads of the entire world,’ “” the boy froze, holding the manuscripts in his hands. “On the internet, there were speeches by  some scientists claiming that infecting the entire planet at such speed could only happen from space…Could it be that we are destined to experience everything he writes about?”


“Delve into every word to understand the reason for the diabolical and frenzy in pursuing the insane goal.
In each of the Threefold Sanctuaries of God, in Armenia, Arabia, and Jerusalem, there is a Shroud made of pure gold in the shape of the Earth, engraved with numerous inscriptions in Aramaic language. Inside it resides Light,  a constantly emanating Glow. In Armenia, the Shroud is located in a hidden pyramid beneath the city of Shushi, near Stepanakert, in Artsakh- Karabakh, where sooner or later, fierce battles of the Second Karabakh War will take place. The true cause of this war, as well as the previous one, will be concealed from the people. The war will appear as an ongoing, long-standing dispute between Armenians and Azeris. The theft of the Shroud — that is the real aim, with which the forces of the King of the Darkness will bring another calamity upon this long-suffering people.
Many years before the Karabakh conflict, in 1985, after Mikhail Gorbachev came to power, a Moscow newspaper published an interview with Menachem Begin — the most ruthless, ultra-radical Zionist and  Prime Minister of Israel. In it, he categorically declared that Artsakh, i.e.,  Nagorno-Karabakh, is their land—the Jewish Eden.
Seven years later, during the height of the First Karabakh War, I managed to publish this interview in one of the Armenian Republican newspaper. Unfortunately, no one took those words seriously.

Beneath the Dome of the Rock, also known as Al-Aqsa Mosque, situated on the Temple Mount directly in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, lies a hidden synagogue where the second Shroud is said to be concealed.
Muslims are unaware of what lies beneath their feet. Since its construction in 705 AD, the mosque has endured significant trials — ranging from the Crusaders’ raid and capture in 1099, during which it was converted into a palace for Jerusalem’s kings, to its restoration as a mosque following Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem in 1187. The fervent dream of the advocates and followers of darkness to gain complete control over the mosque and ultimate destroy it has grown into obsession with each passing century.

On August 21,1969 an Australian named Denis Michael Rohan, a member of the Protestant sect “The Church of God,” broke into Al-Aqsa Mosque with a large amount of flammable material and set it on fire, causing extensive damage. This act of vandalism became a trigger for the longstanding ambition: the destruction of the mosque and the complete acquisition of the Shroud by the forces of darkness. Since then, they have stopped at nothing, employing all means possible: conducting planned excavations, constructing the bridge to the “Moroccan Gate” leading to the Temple Mount from the Western Wall, accusing Muslims of extremism, imposing restrictions on worshipers visiting the mosque, which sparked protests and clashes with Israel police, and even Jewish incursions into mosque, culminating in the occasional closure of the Temple Mount.
On July 18, 2021, exactly one year to the day after the Aya Sofya was converted into a mosque, 1,500 Jewish extremists, accompanied by police, will storm the Al-Aqsa Mosque complex, the third holiest site in Islam, entering through the Moroccan Gate.

In 2001, construction began in Switzerland on the Large Hadron Collider, stretching 26,659 meters, with a budget exceeding 6 billion euros invested in its creation. The grand opening took place on November 19,2006. The Organization for Nuclear Research announced the possibility of a new era in exploring the Universe. Thousands of the world’s top scientists enthusiastically worked for the sake of science, unaware of the true purpose behind the use of their talents and abilities.
In reality, under the guise of numerous scientific studies, the primary goal was being pursued: the “capture “ of the Spark, the God Particle, the Higgs Boson — the only element capable of activating the Shroud.
The Shroud is a Hyper-Intellect, Omega Ingenium, a microstructure of the Universe. Within it resides a carbon-based  quantum computer, which was successfully activated after the Spark,  the God Particle — the Higgs Boson — was loaded into it in 2012.
The goal was achieved. Gaining absolute control over the Shroud became the sole obsession of the Antichrist. Satanists worldwide worked fanatically toward this goal over the centuries, committing all manner of crimes: wars, genocides, coups, and the destruction of entire states.

The devil is powerless as long as the heart of Man remains closed to evil.

A satanic ritual costing 8 million euros, involving world leaders, and celebrating the opening of the Gottard Tunnel ( see video “ Gottard Tunnel and the Devil’s Ritual”—author’s note) crowned their success on June ,6, 2016 — a date intentionally chosen for its triple sixes. During this orgy, the main figure was Satan, Baphomet, appearing in the form of goat. The opening of the world’s longest tunnel, shortening the route between Italy and Switzerland, cost 11 billion euros and involved 3,500 people working seven days a week deep underground.
Yet , the expenses and goals of the project seemed disproportionate: a railway connection reducing travel time from Zurich to Milan  from 3 hours 40 minutes to 2 hours 50 minutes. Calculating the time saved versus the cost, one would question the project’s rationale.

In truth, Hell itself was constructed on Earth — a prototype of the Inferno. It is there, hidden and away from the eyes of humanity, in complete secrecy, the Satanic rituals of the world’s powerful will be conducted. It would be the site for making decisions of global significance, paving the way for humanity’s ultimate demise. Those with unlimited power over humanity— occult Satanists, enemies of God and Man, without religion or nationality, ready to sell their children’s souls to the Devil, will decide the fate of nations.

The Shroud has already been launched in Arabia and Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, on the grounds of the Al-Aqsa Mosque, provocations, slander, and confrontations between authorities and Muslims believers persist, with the sole intent of  achieving complete control and absolute ownership of the land under the mosque. More importantly, unrestricted access to the  Shroud.  (See Clashes at Al-Aqsa Mosque— author’s note).
Elder Paisios of Mount Athos wrote in 2003:” They will invade periodically, aiming to destroy
 Al-Aqsa.”

The ultimate, Last Shroud is located in the city of Shushi, in Armenia, within the territory of Artsakh, i.e., Nagorno Karabakh.
Pope John Paul II, who visited Armenia in 2001 to celebrate 1,700 years since the adoption of Christianity, was not coincidental when he remarked, “ You Armenians do not realize the land you live on…”
If the Armenians loose this war, the Shroud will be stolen. Unrestricted access to the three Shrouds, i.e., absolute control over the Three Hypo-Intellects, Omega Ingenium, would grant the Devil unprecedented power.
You have read the final lines; you are now initiated. Now you know the reasons behind these events. All that remains is to find the key—the Cipherwriting.
When you receive the sign, come to the wall of Gandzasar Monastery, beneath the image of the Melik from the Syunik dynasty.

June 6, 2016
Switzerland

“Yes, my boy, it’s frightening …intriguing, but frightening ,” the old priest sighed softly, sifting through the manuscripts. He gently patted Narek’s head. “You’ve all been through so much.”
The detailed, hours -long story from the young man and the Commander, told within the walls of the Gandzasar Monastery, had come to an end.
“What do you think, Father?” the Commander asked.
The priest noticed the Commander’s gaze fixed on the large birthmark, resembling a terrible burn, on the old man’s right palm.
“Are you asking about my hand or your adventures?” the priest smiled gently.
The Commander looked away, embarrassed.
“I can only say that everything that happened to you was no coincidence, guided by providence…Thank God you managed to get out of there.” He smiled, ruffing the boy’s hear. “Well done for managing to deliver all the manuscripts safe and sound. Traversing those winding mountain paths with such a load is no easy task. I hope you understand that what you’ve found is a priceless treasure. And it belongs to us, the Armenians!”
“Deddo! Where can we hide the manuscripts? They might accidentally fall into the wrong hands. Only the three of us know their essence.”
“My boy! Even if your soldiers talk about the cave or the confessions of some from an eternal wanderer, people won’t believe their wards.  Passed from mouth to mouth, the story will turn into a myth. I will hide the manuscripts in the monastery’s secret places, don’t worry. The conditions there are ideal, and the spot is concealed, known only to me. Besides, I need to read through all the material several times myself.”
“Father! But what if…”
“I know what you’re trying to ask, Commander.” The soldier hesitated and smiled sheepishly. “You’re right to worry about manuscripts in case of my death. I’ve thought about that too,” the priest placed his wrinkled hand on the soldier’s shoulder.
“Deddo! The Commander is worried and keeps trying to dissuade me. I have this one giant question in my head: what should I do? Steal the Shroud..? Return it or destroy it..? Agasfer didn’t say a word. What do you think?”
“Don’t rush, my boy. Don’t run ahead of God, or you’ll end up under His feet. Don’t try to speculate or anticipate events. Nothing is known yet. When you receive the sign, you’ll know. Perhaps it’s not even up to you … Let’s go have some tea. Oh, and tell me, how did you decipher the cryptograph?”
“Deddo, you won’t believe it. For four whole days, sitting in the cave, we all racked our brain over the code… trying everything imaginable. We looked for Christian terms and definitions. I realized I needed to press the bricks with the letters.” Narek laughed loudly. “One of the guys said, “We’ll figure out this word right before we starve to death. Where could it be hidden?”
The boy stopped and took the old man by the hand.
“Deddo! You won’t believe it! When he said “hidden”, I remember your riddle. Remember? “Where’s the best place to hide a leaf? Among the leaves. Where’s the best place to hide a stone? Among the stones. Where’s the best place to hide a diamond? Among fake diamonds.”
“And..?
“I realized that the word “exit” was the cipher!”
“Are you serious, my boy? So simple?”
“You won’t believe it; those three letters were almost on top of each other!(the Armenian word for “exit” is “elk”).
“Well done, my boy! And then?”
“Then the floor slowly started to lower, and there was a tunnel,” the Commander interrupted the story. “We wondered for an entire week, traveling at night by the stars, through dense forest and thickets. “
“Oh!” the old man exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “If only I were young…to see that mysterious cave with my own eyes before I die. Then I could say I lived a life worth living.”
“It wouldn’t have been so easy, Father, even if you could endure the arduous journey. Overjoyed at finally escaping, we didn’t think to leave markers. And the wounded soldier we carried on a stretcher made of spruce branches…”
“You should have made notches on the trees. “
“You’re right, Deddo,” Narek nodded dejectedly. “I remember the entrance to the cave, but a boulder the size of a truck fell near the entrance, almost on our heads. The entrance is blocked.”
“What about your phones? You could’ve at least take some pictures…”
“There was no signal, Father — neither radio nor phones. I was the only one with a fully charged phone…strange, but the battery drained in half an hour. Even the compass went crazy , as if the needle got demagnetized.”
“A pity…such a pity. I wish I could’ve seen a picture. Well, let’s go, I ll show you the meeting place— the image of Melik from the Syunik dynasty.”

 They obediently followed the old priest along the monastery wall. The old man pointed to a niche in the wall. Inside was a stone sculpture of a man holding something resembling a tray above his head, upon which a temple stood.

“Hassan-Jalalyan Dola!” the old man exclaimed, raising his head. “The origins of his dynasty can be traced back to the 4th century. He is the founder of the princely family of the Jalalyans, a side branch of the Syunik dynasty. One of the leading experts on the history of this region, Robert Hewsens, writes about the hierarchy of Hassan-Jalalyan’s ancestors: princes, later kings of Syunik; kings of Armenia from the Bagratuni dynasty centered in Ani; Armenian kings of Vaspurakan from the Artsruni dynasty based in Van; princes of Gardman; the Persian dynasties of the Sassanian and Arshakids; and the kings of ancient Parthia.”
“What a lineage!” Narek exclaimed.
“And now, look. I have a photo of an original document from the time of Jalalyan, written by the great historian Gandzaketsi.” The priest pulled a phone out of his cassock pocket. “My boy, you’re fluent in Grabar, translate for our friend here.”
The Great Ishkhan of Khachen and the regions of Artsakh, Hasan, affectionately called Jalal, a pious, God-fearing, and modest man of Armenian origin.”
“The document dates to 1222. Well, notice anything?” the old man asked, raising an eyebrow playfully as he looked at his companions. “Not a single word about Nagorno-Karabakh! It’s-Artsakh!”

Narek and the Commander exchanged glances. Sitting on a large stone, they listened with interest as the old man walked in circles, his hands clasped behind his back, narrating the story.

“The first mention of the ancient church dates back to the 10th century. Hasan-Jalalyan Dola founded the Gandzasar Monastic Complex, which was solemnly consecrated on July 22, 1240. The name Gandzasar (Mount of treasure) was given to the monastery because of the rich silver mines in the area. However, the real treasure lines in the monastery’s crypt, where the severed head of John the Baptist, cut off by Herod, is buried.”
“I had no idea!” The Commander exclaimed. “Is it really true!”
“Yes! Let me finish the history of the monastery, and I’ll show you the inscription, the ancient evidence. After the execution, the head of the Baptist was secretly stolen by Christians for a hefty bribe. They placed the head in a barrel of honey for eternal preservation. Since then, the sacred vessel containing the Baptist’s relics began its long journey. It passed from Catholic to Greeks, from Persians to Armenians. The vessel survived theft, ransom, murder, and raids. Eventually, by providence, John the Baptist’s head ended up in Kilikian Armenia during one of the Crusades. Hasan-Jalalyan ransomed the relics and hid them in a secret place within the monastery. That’s why the church is named Surb Hovhaness Mkrtich( St. John the Baptist).”

The young man and the Commander listened to the old man with fascination, exchanging glances now and then in astonishment.

“The Vatican Library holds all the evidence proving this is not a legend. When the relics found their resting place in Armenia, the Vatican attempted multiple times to fabricate alternate burial claims for the Baptist’s head, often with Orthodox nations, such as Ossetians.”
“ But why, Deddo?””
“I had a private conversation with a Vatican Cardinal, head of the Armenian division. I met him during Pop John Paul II’s visit to Armenia. He briefly explained, ‘ Neither we nor anyone else needs a second Vatican. Do you understand the magnitude of such a relic? Such a treasure of the Christian world is bound to gather myths.’  Perhaps  that’s why, during the First Karabakh War, the Azeris relentlessly bombed the entire monastic complex, hoping to erase it from the face of the earth.”
The old man sat down on a rock, clasping his hands, took a deep breath, and continued.
“Historical evidence and documents about Artsakh, its history, and its people are scattered worldwide— from Europe to the Near East. However, the most reliable and eternal documents are our churches, monasteries, chapels, and khachkars! That’s why they’ve always been the first and main targets for invaders. As I said, during the First Karabakh War, Azerbaijan bombed the monastery in an attempt to leave no stone unturned. But the Lord preserved and protected it! His presence and protection were so evident that it was as if the Virgin Mary and Jesus stood back to back, diverting the destructive fire. Only a few bullets remained lodged in the monastery’s walls, which is nothing short of a miracle!”
“It’s already evening, my dear ones. And it’s getting chilly. Time to part ways,” the priest concluded.

Narek and the Commander sat pensively, leaning against the warm monastery walls.

“Narek , my boy! Go home and think of nothing else. Don’t spend day and night lingering by the monastery walls. You need to help and support your family… especially your mother.”


“My father! You’ve come!” Narek ran towards to Commander and threw himself into his arms. “I left the base as soon as I got your call. What’s the news?”
“I’ve been waiting for almost seven months, you know. The school year is over, and there is been no word. I even lost hope…Sometimes it felt like someone had played a foolish joke on us.”
“I agree, it all felt staged- the cave, the underground passage, the manuscripts. What do you call modern games— an escape room? But it was all real.”
“Deddo took a couple of pages to Yerevan, to the Matenadaran( the Institute of Ancient Manuscripts, one of the largest repositories in the world). Naturally, not the entire material.”
“I know! The priest called me from Yerevan and shared the news. Initially, the experts confirmed the manuscripts’ origins as ancient; they’re not a forgery. However, to determine their age, they need to be left at the institute for carbon dating. And that’s not possible for now.”
“I know about that. Deddo told me too.”
“My son! Better tell me why you called, what’s the urgency?”
“My father! I went to Yerevan for Vardavar(the Feast of the Transfiguration of Jesus Christ, celebrated on the 98th day after Easter and known for the ancient tradition of mutual water splashing). This year, it was celebrated on July 11th. The festival was amazing— so many people, such immense joy. I returned home to my aunt, soaked to the bone. I went to shower, and she decided to wash my clothes. When I came out, my aunt handed me a plastic bag that had been in the pocket of my shorts. Inside was this…”Narek handed over a note:
“At noon on July 22, under the statue of the Melik of the Syunik dynasty.”
“How did it end up there?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t take off my shorts or change clothes.”
“It’s a festival of embraces and brotherhood on every corner, a sea of people.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think so. After the ‘water procedures,’ I decided to catch my breath in the park. I sat down on the bench next to a young man, and he told me about the history of Vardavar. I didn’t speak to anyone else.”
“Could it have been him?”
“How, my father? How could he have slipped that bag into the pocket of my wet shorts?”
“And now what?”
“I spoke to Deddo. He’ll be with me on the 22nd; he won’t leave me alone.”
“And I… I won’t leave you alone either. I’ll come…just in case.”
“By the way, Deddo was surprised that the meeting date is July 22. After all, July 22,1240, is the day the Gandzasar Monastic Complex was consecrated, built by Melik Jalalyan, a prince of Syunik dynasty! Remember?”
“Now I remember…so, in four days…beneath the monastery walls. I’ll be there!”

The day was nearing its end, and the mountain chill was setting in. The Commander sat embracing his adopted son, who was unable to stop talking. The excitement of the boy’s upcoming journey mixed with the justified fear for the young man’s life. Over and over, he kept emphasizing the importance of his final instructions and barely restrained himself from kidnapping the boy to hide him away— from fate, from providence, from Agasfer himself.

A young monk brought them three thick felt cloaks— essential travel gear in the Caucasus.
“The holy father asked me to give you these cloaks. You must wrap yourselves well. Nights in the mountains are always chilly.”
“Where’s Deddo? It’s already evening”, Narek asked.
“He’ll be delayed, just a bit. He’s conducting a Funeral service in a neighboring village.”

They lay beneath the monastery walls, wrapped in warm, cozy cloaks that covered them from head to toe. It was no wander they began to drift off to sleep. Fireflies lit their lanterns, cicadas chirped loudly, the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, and the silver glow of the full moon lulled them into tranquility.
“I don’t want to let you go, son,” the Commander whispered through half-closed eyes. “Who will protect you..?”
“ Christ’s amulet will protect me.  Agasfer wrote that, remember..?” the boy muttered drowsily,  yawned, and  drifted into sleep.

The Commander was awakened by the loud chirping of birds at dawn. He stretched lazily, opened his eyes slowly, glances around, and only then remembered where he was. Narek was sleeping soundly, and the monk who had brought the cloaks knelt a short distance away, deep in prayer.
“Thank God, it seems no one has come for Narek,” was the first thought that crossed his mind, filling his soul with relief and hope. Careful not to make a sound, he quietly approached the monk. The monk crossed himself, rose slowly to his feet, turned to face the Commander, and smiled.
“What a magnificent morning the Lord has blessed us with, don’t you think?” the monk said humbly, pressing his palms to the cross that hung from his neck.
“Good morning. I hope I didn’t disturb your prayer. So, the holy father hasn’t come?”
“Don’t worry. He never brakes his word. Come with me.” The monk gently took the Commander by the arm and led him a little way off. “Narek will wake up soon… you need to leave… hurry,” he added, the final word spoken with deliberate emphasis. “Don’t worry about Narek. No harm will come to him…”
“I’m not going anywhere until I speak to the holy father “, the Commander hissed through gritted teeth, enunciated each word like a soldier.
The monk pressed a finger to his lips, glanced over the Commander’s shoulder at the sleeping boy to ensure he was still fast asleep, and…showed the palm of his right hand.
The Commander recoiled in shock.
“You…holy father? That birthmark…you are… Agasfer?” the Commander grabbed his head. “Of course! Agasfer…Agassi”, he stammered, his voice trembling. “I would never have guessed it if  not for your birthmark…”
“Yes, my dear friend. It’s not a birthmark…it’s a universal stigma, badge of shame.. with this unworthy hand, I dared to push away the Worthiest of All!” Agasfer—the monk— spoke with quiet intensity. “You must leave before the boy wakes…”
“But what about the amulet? You promised to give him an amulet…”

“The amulet has always been with him. The cross around our boy’s neck is made from splinters of the Savior’s Cross…”




                January, 06, 2022