The Time Traveler insisted they leave Corinth before dawn. The widow’s neighbors had begun whispering, and one of the potters had followed the Time Team halfway down the street the previous night, muttering about “foreign sorcerers” and “men who watch too closely.” In a city where Roman suspicion ran high and religious fervor ran higher, the Time Traveler knew the danger signs.
By mid‑morning the machine was humming again—its great brass ribs glowing as the Time Traveler set the date and coordinates for Asia Minor. The scholars strapped themselves in; Filby clutched his satchel of notes as though they were talismans. The Psychologist muttered that they were “about to leap from one theological fire into another.”
The machine shuddered, blurred, and then settled.
🌒 Arrival in Asia Minor
They emerged into a bustling market square—sun‑bleached stone, awnings of faded red cloth, vendors shouting in Greek and Anatolian dialects. The smell of cumin, fish, and dust hung thick in the air. And above it all, rising like a storm cloud, was a voice.
A man stood on a broken column, wild‑eyed, hair unkempt, his cloak whipping around him as he gestured toward the sky.
“Behold!” he cried. “The heavens are opening! The throne descends! The beasts rise from the sea! The angels measure the Earth!”
The crowd was divided—half enthralled, half irritated. A few Roman guards watched with growing annoyance.
Filby whispered, “John. It must be John.”
The Psychologist nodded. “Fits the profile. Visionary. Apocalyptic. And clearly on the verge of being arrested.”
Indeed, two guards began pushing through the crowd.
The Time Traveler hissed, “We must move. Now.”
The team dispersed, creating a subtle barrier between John and the approaching soldiers. The Babylonian expert “accidentally” dropped a crate of pottery, shattering it across the path. The Egyptian scholar began loudly arguing prices with a spice merchant. The Athenian classicist feigned a fainting spell.
The guards cursed, shoved, and finally turned away, deciding the prophet was not worth the trouble.
John leapt down from the column, panting, his eyes still blazing with the remnants of his vision. Filby approached him carefully.
✦ Filby Speaks with John
John stared at Filby as though seeing through him.
“You,” he said. “You walk with shadows clinging to your sandals. You have crossed a boundary.”
Filby swallowed. “I am a seeker. I wish to understand your visions.”
John’s expression softened—just slightly. “The visions are not mine. They are given. The heavens tear open. The angels speak. The beasts rise. The cities fall. Babylon burns. Rome trembles.”
Filby steadied himself. “Do you speak of a teacher from Nazareth? A healer? A man who walked among the people?”
John blinked. “A man? No. The Lamb is not a man. He is the light that pierces the void. He is the one who opens the seals. He is the rider on the white horse.”
Filby’s voice trembled. “You never saw Him on Earth?”
John laughed—a sharp, unsettling sound. “On Earth? The Earth is dust. The true battle is above. The Lord does not walk among clay. He speaks in thunder. He reveals Himself in visions. He shows the end of days.”
Filby felt the same vertigo he had felt with Paul—only stronger.
“You never heard of Him teaching in Galilee?” Filby pressed. “Or arguing with the Temple priests?”
John shook his head. “The Temple is a shadow. The priests are blind. The Lamb is not of flesh. He is the Alpha and the Omega.”
The Psychologist whispered behind Filby, “Another celestial Christ. No earthly Jesus. No historical teacher.”
John leaned closer, his eyes burning. “You seek answers. But you carry danger. Leave this place. The authorities watch me. They watch all who speak of the heavens.”
As if on cue, a Roman horn sounded from the far end of the market.
The Time Traveler stepped forward. “We must go. Now.”
John grabbed Filby’s wrist. “Tell the world,” he said. “The visions are true. The end is written. The Lamb comes from the sky.”
Filby’s voice cracked. “Thank you.”
John released him and vanished into the crowd with surprising speed, slipping between vendors and alleys like a man accustomed to fleeing.
🌘 The Team Withdraws
The Time Traveler herded the team toward a quiet side street.
Filby was pale, shaken. “He didn’t know,” he whispered. “Just like Paul. He didn’t know Jesus lived. He only knows a heavenly Christ.”
The Psychologist nodded grimly. “Two independent sources. Two celestial messiahs. No earthly biography.”
The Time Traveler looked toward the horizon, where the Roman guards were beginning to question merchants.
“We have learned something extraordinary,” he said. “And now we must decide what to do with it.”
Filby clutched his satchel, his faith and scholarship trembling together.
“Where next?” he asked.
The Time Traveler answered softly, “Jerusalem.”
And the machine hummed again.
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