A sign he had seen before while leafing through the pages of ancient manuscripts, but had not paid attention to, considering it a random mark or decorative element. Two crossed crescents, their sharp horns seemingly embracing each other, within which is a stylized image of a cross, refined and elegant.
This symbol seemed to pulsate in the dimness of the library, attracting his gaze and igniting his curiosity. He felt a chill run down his spine, as a premonition of something important and extraordinary filled his mind.
This sign, like a key to solving a puzzle, could become the starting point for completely new research, for understanding how the two greatest religions in the world could have common roots that history had kept silent about.
Alexandre froze, as if struck by an electric shock. Time seemed to stand still, frozen in anticipation of discovery. His heart beat wildly, drumming an anxious rhythm in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.
He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, his hands trembling with excitement. He took out a magnifying glass, carefully, as if touching a fragile butterfly, and carefully studied the sign, trying to discern every tiny detail, every line, every curve. There was no doubt.
After examining it from all sides, he realized that it was not a random stroke of a pen, not a figment of the ancient cartographer’s imagination. It was a symbol. A symbol full of hidden meaning and forgotten meanings, a key to understanding that once, in the distant past, there was a faith that united elements of Islam and Christianity.
A faith erased from the memory of mankind, consigned to oblivion, but leaving its mark in this small sign. Alexandre felt a sense of awe overwhelm him.
He stood on the threshold of a discovery capable of changing the world, capable of building a bridge between two great religions, but he also realized the danger that this knowledge carried. After all, the world is not always ready for the truth, especially if it destroys established ideas and age-old traditions.
He stood up abruptly, as if obeying an invisible order, and went to the window, as if seeking an answer in the endless sky. Twilight was falling on Paris, enveloping the city in a soft, mysterious haze. The first lights were lit, turning the streets into sparkling rivers.
But Alexandre did not see the beauty of evening Paris. His thoughts were far away, in ancient Jerusalem, the city of three religions, a city that holds the secrets of centuries. An idea was taking root in his head. Crazy, daring, dangerous.
An idea that could turn his life upside down, jeopardize his career, perhaps even his freedom. But he could not abandon it. It had firmly lodged in his mind, demanding immediate action. He must go to Jerusalem.
He must find evidence of his hypothesis. He must prove that there was once a faith uniting Islam and Christianity. He must uncover this secret, even if it costs him everything. A sense of duty, a thirst for knowledge, and a belief that he was doing the right thing drove him forward, through fear and doubt. He knew that a difficult path awaited him, full of dangers and surprises. But he was ready for it. He was ready to risk everything for the sake of truth.
He knew what awaited him. Not only the skeptical glances of colleagues, scientific disputes and nitpicking criticism, scathing reviews and accusations of heresy. He understood that his research would affect someone’s interests, that his discovery could destroy carefully constructed ideological structures. But also opposition from those who do not want the truth to come out, those who prefer to live in a world of illusions and deception. Those who use religion not as a source of spiritual strength, but as a tool to achieve their selfish goals.
Those who are ready for anything to maintain power, influence and wealth, stopping at nothing, neither lies nor violence.
But he wasn’t afraid. There was fear, of course, but it was overcome by his thirst for knowledge and his pursuit of justice. He was ready for the struggle, for the difficulties, for the danger. Because he knew that more than just his scientific reputation, more than just his personal well-being, was at stake. Something more was at stake. Peace was at stake. Fragile, unstable, but still, peace. Peace between the minaret and the cross. Peace between people of different faiths, cultures, and beliefs. Peace based on mutual understanding, respect, and love. And for the sake of this peace, he was ready to give everything, even his life.
Chapter 1
The City of Three Religions
Jerusalem greeted him with stifling heat, enveloping him like a dense shroud, and deafening bustle, bursting into his consciousness in a colorful cacophony of sounds.
The narrow, winding streets of the Old City, like arteries of an ancient organism, teemed with tourists who had come from all corners of the world, pilgrims seeking spiritual enlightenment, and merchants beckoning customers in all sorts of languages.
The city lived its life, vibrant, rich, multifaceted, a life in which history and modernity, faith and disbelief, hope and despair harmoniously and simultaneously conflicted. Here, in Jerusalem, every stone breathed history, every alley held the secrets of centuries, every corner told its own unique story.
It was a city where the destinies of three great religions were intertwined, a city that had become a symbol of faith and hope for millions of people, a city that simultaneously unites and divides the world. And Alexandre was to find answers to his questions here, to uncover a secret that could change the course of history.
Alexandre rented a small, modest apartment in the Arab Quarter, deliberately choosing a location far from the tourist bustle, from intrusive gazes and idle curiosity. He needed a place where he could concentrate on his research, where he could immerse himself in the atmosphere of the city and feel its pulse.
From the window, there was a breathtaking view of the Al-Aqsa Mosque, majestic and at the same time calming, and the Dome of the Rock, glittering with gold in the rays of the scorching sun, like a symbol of hope and spirituality.
Every morning he woke up to the sounds of the muezzin calling to prayer, and these melodic, drawn-out sounds, spreading over the city, reminded him that he was in a sacred place, where every day is filled with faith and traditions.
This view, this sound, this atmosphere – all this helped him to tune in to work, to feel connected to the past and to get closer to understanding the mystery that he had come to solve.
Without wasting a moment, he immediately began his work. Discarding the fatigue after the flight and settling in, he plunged into the study of the city and its archives.
He visited the library of the National Museum of Israel, where he spent hours studying ancient texts and maps, trying to find at least some clue confirming his hypothesis.
He met with several well-known archaeologists and historians, hoping to get advice or a hint from them, shared his thoughts and listened to their opinions. With great difficulty, using all his connections and authority, he gained access to ancient manuscripts kept in secret archives, where access to outsiders was strictly prohibited. He understood that time was against him, that he had to act quickly and efficiently in order not to miss his chance. He was determined to find evidence of his hypothesis, even if he had to turn all of Jerusalem upside down.
He was looking for any clues, any evidence that could shed light on his theory, any mentions of a forgotten faith uniting Islam and Christianity. He carefully studied ancient texts, maps, archaeological finds, trying to find at least some confirmation of his hypothesis.
But so far unsuccessfully. Despite all his efforts, he could not find anything that could convince the skeptics.
Most of the scholars he spoke with treated his idea with great skepticism. They considered it naive and unrealistic, a product of his vivid imagination based on an insufficient number of facts. They argued that there were too