Christopher's journal shifts tonight. Andrea's dreams are no longer fragments of silence or fleeting whispers, and she speaks of what lies beyond. The Sepulcher reveals itself in her words, a place both holy and terrifying. He records, half in awe and half in envy, knowing that some visions are not his to carry.
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The fire burned low, its glow settling into a steady pulse. Andrea and I had not spoken since the leaves turned gold and fell into ash. James muttered to himself while the guide laid out tomorrow's path, neither of them noticing what had passed between us.
When the camp had grown quiet, Andrea leaned nearer. Her voice was hushed, as though the flames themselves might overhear. "It isn't only the desert," she said. "The dreams changed. At first, I walked in the white silence. But then I saw them, the Angels. Frozen as statues, wings spread wide, their hollow eyes fixed on me. They lined a path as though guarding something."
Her gaze drifted past the fire, distant. "And beyond them... the chamber. Vast, golden, and endless. Yet it curved around me like a womb, enclosing and sheltering. The walls weren't solid. They breathed. Words peeled out of the air, glowing symbols that sank into the gold as if the chamber itself was a living scripture, rewriting itself without end."
Her fingers tightened over her belly as her voice dropped lower. "At the center stood a woman of bronze, colossal, eternal. She was frozen in descent, one hand outstretched toward the ground. Along her forearm, steps were carved, rising to her body like a stairway into mystery. In her other hand, she cradled the sun. Above her head, the moon hovered, its silver strands drifting within its glow. The light from both struck me at once, burning and soothing, terrifying and holy. The whole place breathed. Not alive as we are, but alive as if it remembered every prayer ever spoken."
I could scarcely breathe as I wrote. "Andrea... what you saw..."
"It was pure," she whispered, her eyes glinting with the reflection of the fire. "Terrible, but pure. And I believe it was real."
I forced my voice steady. "Then more must be done. Maps, records, research. I will find where it lies. And when I do..."
She met my gaze, unflinching. "When you go, I will join you."
"Leave where now?"
James's voice cut through the silence. He had stopped rummaging with his pack, his eyes fixed on her. Andrea's lips curved into a quick, practiced smile, her secret shuttered again. She said nothing more.
Later, in my tent, I lay staring at the canvas above, her words repeating in my mind. Golden walls that breathe, a statue holding sun and moon, and Angels with hollow eyes. She had seen the Sepulcher in its fullness, a glimpse of Heaven's purity wrapped in terror and awe.
And I? I am left with deserts and silence. I envy her vision, though I should not. If Heaven chooses her, why should I question it? Yet I ache. I ache to see it too, to know it for myself.
But the Sepulcher denies me. At least... for now.
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Andrea's confession leaves Christopher shaken, not only by what she saw, but by what he did not. Her vision of the Sepulcher is vivid, alive with gold and scripture, while he is left with empty deserts. He clings to his journal, uncertain whether envy or gratitude fills his heart. Perhaps Heaven chooses its witnesses carefully. Perhaps silence is his burden for now.