The Wednesday morning light was gentler than Monday's had been, filtering through the high windows of Aethelgard's auditorium and softening the hard edges of the lecture hall. Students filed in with more energy than usual—word had spread about Professor Finch's first lecture, and the hall was noticeably fuller.
Professor Finch was already on stage when they arrived, studying the screen with his hands clasped behind his back. The image showed a star map, ancient and modern constellations overlaid in shimmering blue and gold.
"Welcome back," he said without turning around, somehow sensing the room had filled. "I hope you've all had time to think. To doubt. To question. Good. Doubt is the beginning of knowledge."
He turned to face them, and several students were struck by how serious he looked—the theatrical energy from Monday had been replaced by something more focused, more intense.
"Today, we trace the echoes," he began. "Before we dive deeper into what the Mariner's Codex says, we must understand what humanity already knew—or thought we knew—about our origins. Because here's the strange thing: across vast distances, across cultures that never contacted each other, the same story appears again and again."
The screen changed to show the Enuma Elish tablets.
"173 years ago, archaeologist Austen Henry Layard discovered these clay tablets in the ruins of ancient Nineveh. The Enuma Elish, written some three and a half thousand years ago. It speaks of a time when there was no sky, no earth, no trees—only water. No humans, no destiny. Just primordial water. Then, from a divine command, creation began."
"The interesting word here," he continued, "is command. In the Greek translation of similar texts, this concept is rendered as logos—something that was spoken. When the creator wanted to create, it spoke. But what did it say?"
A new image appeared: Sumerian cuneiform.
"Let's go further back. Five thousand years ago, the Sumerians—who invented writing and the wheel—wrote of a supreme being called Nammu, who created the heavens and earth from a great cosmic water; not water as we think of it, but a primordial state of potential."
Professor Finch advanced through several slides, showing different ancient texts.
"Three thousand years ago in Egypt, they spoke of Nun, who created everything from a massive, dark, stormy ocean. The ancient Greeks spoke of Okeanos, a world-circling black sea from which all creation flowed. The pattern repeats: water, darkness, a divine command."
Marcus Chen raised his hand. "Professor, those civilizations all traded with each other. They were geographically close. Couldn't these myths just be cultural diffusion?"
"An excellent objection," Finch acknowledged. "That's exactly what I thought initially. So let me take you somewhere these cultures never reached."
The screen shifted to show vibrant Aboriginal Australian art.
"The Aboriginal people of Australia, isolated for over 50,000 years, speak of a creator spirit who existed alone before time and created life from a formless void. No contact with Mesopotamia. No contact with Egypt. Yet the same core elements."
New images appeared in rapid succession: Chinese oracle bones, Korean texts, African tribal artwork.
"Daoist mythology speaks of separating chaotic waters with words. Korean mythology describes unified heavens and earth being split apart. The Mande and Yoruba people of Africa tell of a lone, mighty power creating from water. The Cherokee, the ancient Hawaiians, even the isolated Finns. The story is everywhere."
Professor Finch paused. "Now, mixed into all these accounts are ridiculous elements. The Earth on a giant turtle. The cosmos in golden chains. Clearly, human imagination corrupted the message over time."
He brought up a complex Venn diagram. "So I filtered out the nonsense. I looked only for the consistent elements across unconnected cultures. And here's what remains, almost word for word:"
The screen displayed a simple list:
1. A single, supreme creative force.
2. Existed alone before creation.
3. Creation from water or a primordial void.
4. A spoken command that initiates creation.
5. Creation occurring in 6-7 distinct stages.
"The same message," Professor Finch said quietly, "sent to every corner of the world. But over millennia, it was corrupted. Each culture added its own flourishes."
Lia Vance's hand shot up. Professor Finch nodded to her.
"Professor," she began, "if, as you say, all the ancient messages we have were altered, then how can we possibly know what the original truth was? Isn't it all just lost?"
Professor Finch stopped pacing. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "An excellent and crucial question, Ms. Vance. You are correct. The messages we found on land are a mess. The 'Flat Earth' believers, the 'Young Universe' proponents with their dozens of conflicting texts, the Greeks with their goddess's spilled milk, the 'Eternalists' who ignored the evidence of an expanding universe—all of them are altered echoes."
His voice dropped. "You're right. Nearly every text we've found on land is corrupted." He paused dramatically. "But your question rests on one critical, flawed assumption."
The room held its breath.
"You assume all the messages were found on land."
The screen changed to show the Mariner's Codex, its crystalline pages shimmering.
"I present to you, once more, the Mariner's Codex," he said with reverence. "Preserved in a material we cannot scratch, burn, or analyze. And it begins with a claim no other text has ever dared make." The translation appeared: 'This is the record about which there is no uncertainty.'
"Not 'this is a story,'" Finch emphasized. "It's a statement of absolute confidence. And here's why that matters: this codex addresses every single corruption. Where other texts claim the Earth is flat, the codex describes it as 'egg-shaped'—an oblate spheroid. Where others give us a 6,000-year-old universe, the codex speaks of vast cosmic ages where time is relative, where 'a day equals your fifty thousand years.' Where other texts contradict each other, the codex remains perfectly consistent."
A new passage appeared, and Finch's voice grew more intense.
"It asks: 'Have the unseeing not considered that the heavens and the earth were a joined entity, and We separated them?' This is the Big Bang. It then says the early universe was 'smoke'—a precise description of primordial plasma and hydrogen gas. It describes continental drift, stating 'We come to the earth, reducing it from its outlying borders.' And it confirms the expansion of the universe—Hubble's Law—by stating, 'the sky We constructed with strength, and indeed We are expanding it.' All written in languages that predate modern cosmology by millennia."
Marcus spoke up, his skepticism clearly wavering. "But how does an ancient text know about plasma physics and cosmic inflation?"
"That," Professor Finch said with a slight smile, "is precisely the question we should be asking. Either this is the most elaborate fraud ever created, or we're looking at something genuinely revelatory. A preserved record, placed in an impossible chamber, waiting for us to find it."
"But the codex goes beyond confirming science," he said, his tone shifting. "It also addresses questions science hasn't answered. For instance, Olbers' Paradox: if the universe is infinite, why is the night sky dark? The codex treats darkness not as an absence of light, but as an active force, a veil that 'covers and conceals.' Modern physics agrees, with its theories of dark matter and energy."
"And then we come to the structure of reality itself. What is 'the sky'? Science tells us it's our atmosphere in layers: the Troposphere, Stratosphere, Mesosphere, and Thermosphere, ending at the Kármán line. But the codex describes the sky as something far more profound. A 'safe roof' that protects us. A system that 'returns' our climate. A realm containing sun, moon, stars, and even vast 'pillars of creation'."
"The codex describes the sky as a great expansion upward, but with a limit. A boundary. It issues a challenge: 'O assembly of beings of mind and of fire! If you have the power to pass beyond the boundaries of the heavens and the earth, then pass! But you will not pass without authority. Against you will be sent flames and smoke.' This isn't just a story; it's a warning."
He advanced to the final slide of the day. "And here's the most extraordinary claim: the codex states that the number of heavens is seven. Not metaphorically. Seven distinct levels of cosmic structure."
He advanced to the final slide of the day. "And here's the most extraordinary claim: the codex states that the number of heavens is seven. Not metaphorically. Seven distinct levels of cosmic structure, each with specific properties."
"Doesn't that sound familiar?" Finch asked the room. "The concept of Seven Heavens is an echo we find in many traditions, including the Bible. But those sources are vague. They lack detail. The codex, and the ancient commentaries on it, are unnervingly specific."
"Until now," Professor Finch said, "science could have been our guide. From here onward, we enter territory it hasn't reached. For that, we turn to the historical records, like the commentaries of the 14th-century Aethelgard scholar Alcuin, who appears to have studied a similar source text before it was lost to time."
"The First Heaven," he began, "our universe, is called the 'Aquarian Veil,' made of a sentient water called the Mujarra. According to Alcuin, this is the realm where the First Man and Woman, Adam and Eve, now reside. It is also home to a guardian being composed of perfect opposites: half fire, half ice."
"The Second Heaven, Astraeus, is of white pearl. It is the home of the great prophets known as Jesus and John."
"The Third Heaven, Kydoimos, is of pure iron. This is the domain of the prophet Joseph, and, according to tradition, the home of the being known as the Angel of Death."
"The Fourth Heaven, Ma'ouna, is of pure brass. The prophet Idrees lives here, alongside an entity known only as the Angel of Tears."
"The Fifth Heaven, Riqqa, is of pure silver. The prophet Aaron resides here. This is also the station of the great and terrible Warden of the Abyss, who commands a mysterious order of guardians."
"The Sixth Heaven, Daqna'a, is of gold and ruby, home to the prophet Moses. Here are the roots of the 'Continuum Tree,' a nexus of all timelines, so magnificent that beings of pure gold light fly around it."
"And the Seventh Heaven, Areeba, is of a light we cannot comprehend. It is the home of the patriarch Abraham, and the final boundary. Whatever ascends from below is stopped here, and whatever descends from above is received here."
He paused, letting the weight of the names sink in. "And each heaven is guarded by other beings. The codex refers to them as angels. Now, what do you think angels are made of?"
Lia's voice was clear from the third row. "According to most religions, they're made of light."
"True," Finch nodded at her. "And no. An incomplete truth, at least according to the codex. It confirms they are beings of light, but it adds another, stranger element. It says they are created from light and from smokeless fire—what modern science might call plasma, or pure energy. They exist outside our physical laws."
"In the Fifth Heaven," he continued, his tone darkening slightly, "the Warden of the Abyss commands that mysterious order of guardians I mentioned. They are the Zabaaniyah. The codex mentions them only briefly, always with a tone of awe and warning."
"The Seventh Heaven is described as the final boundary," he whispered. "Beyond it lies the Creator's Throne—a concept so vast that if all seven heavens were a ring in a desert, the Throne would be the desert. And beyond that, the Chronos Archive, a matrix where all of reality is written in light."
He clicked off the projector. Natural light flooded the stage.
"The Mariner's Codex is either the most elaborate hoax in human history," he said slowly, "or it's exactly what it claims to be: an uncorrupted record. A blueprint of creation that connects mythology, history, and cutting-edge physics."
"Next week," he announced, "we dive deeper into the beings the codex describes, and the question that should terrify and fascinate us: if these guardians exist, what are they guarding us from? Or what are they guarding the rest of creation from… us?"
He smiled slightly. "Class dismissed. Think carefully about what you believe."
As students filed out, the buzz of conversation was even louder than Monday. Some were already forming study groups. Others were headed straight to the library.
In the third row, Lia Vance stared at her notebook again. She'd drawn a simple diagram: seven concentric circles, each labeled with a heaven's name. At the center, she'd written: Us.
At the outermost circle, her hand trembling slightly, she wrote a single question: What's watching?
She gathered her things slowly, her mind already racing ahead to next week's lecture, and to the uncomfortable feeling that Professor Finch wasn't just teaching a class.
He was preparing them for something.