There is a famous motto: “The only constant is change.” Because it is impossible to stand against change, those who wish to preserve their own power—whether under the banner of ideology or faith—try to steer the storm of change according to their own desires. By looking at who initiates the wind of change, or rather who seeks to move the stones, we can predict whether change will turn the world toward greater good or toward greater evil.

The world stood on the brink of a vast transformation rooted in Northern Europe and Cyprus. Darkness itself—and those who willingly served as its contractors—had patiently sown seeds of malice into the soil for years. To conceal the corruption in their hearts, they had, whenever necessary, disguised themselves as scientists, then as men of faith, and at times as victims. How could a naïve humanity recognize the deceiver clad in white garments before it?

Instead of uniting in noble virtues, humankind had chosen division, artificial tension, and injustice—and would inevitably meet the cost of those choices in the long run, as surely as the existence of gravity. But humanity ignored this, dismissing the warnings of the righteous. Now, the long term had expired. Now, humanity was about to pay the price—through a tsunami of wickedness surging from Northern Europe and Cyprus.

There are laws established by the Will that governs and sustains the universe. Whoever strives—whether good or evil, selfless or selfish, believer or unbeliever—and dedicates themselves with great zeal to impose their values upon the earth, will be granted what they seek. Even if what they seek displeases God. Are not the holy books of different faiths unified in proclaiming this truth? Does the narrative, in which the Creator granted Satan a fixed term despite his envy and hatred toward humanity, not point to the same divine principle—that “whoever strives, prevails”?

And according to another divine law, even if the righteous do not labor as vigorously as the darkened hearts shaped by vice, if they make their supplications both in word and deed, and truly take the Creator as their guardian, then a tyrant is never permitted to establish a permanent dominion over the oppressed. We cannot know the duration of temporary suffering beneath war or occupation. Nor can we foresee whether the price of violating human nature will come in the form of conflict, injustice, plague, or the spread of every kind of violence—only the Creator knows.

In these days, people were about to endure the direct consequences of their choices in northeastern Europe, and their indirect consequences in Cyprus. Those who remained silent in the face of injustice because it targeted another race or faith—those who tolerated movements hostile to human nature under the banner of freedom, who allowed sacred values to be desecrated—were unaware that they were on the verge of losing the hard-earned achievements of humanism, compassion, respect, and social peace.

Unless, perhaps, the Creator—out of mercy for the innocent who suffer—chose to scatter the gathering storm clouds.

Cyprus, however, was now facing the indirect consequences of its choices.
Adultery and gambling have clear, direct harms. Those who fall into these acts, and their families, eventually drown in a pit of unrest, whether in the short term or after years of erosion. Some pay the price with broken bodies, others with a lonely, forgotten old age.

The danger Cyprus now faced, however, was not the direct result of adultery and gambling, but their indirect outcome. In short, society had chosen silence: money flowed into casinos, people found jobs, the state coffers filled with legal and illegal taxes, and this supposedly meant better public services for all. If both buyer and seller were satisfied, why would the state interfere? Those who dared object to this moral decay were quickly labeled bigots and backwards, publicly ridiculed, and forced into silence and isolation.

Unbeknownst to the materialistic society, this collective attitude had driven angels away from the island, leaving demons and malignant spirits to settle in their place. If we were to explain it in a language understandable to modern minds: the electromagnetic waves that push people toward evil had become dominant over those that encourage goodness.

People speak of certain places as suffocating or uplifting.
Whether we call it demonic presence or simply destructive energy, the result was the same:
the brains and neurons of Cyprus’ inhabitants were being negatively affected.

As a result of this toxic atmosphere, people committed acts with no reasonable motive:
they beat the spouse they once called "my love,"
they bullied and brutalized peers,
they hacked strangers with machetes for a passing glance,
they ignored a hungry neighbor,
they became monsters over a trivial traffic dispute,
they abused their own children in unspeakable ways,
they cheated or enabled cheating;
and after the damage was done, almost every offender uttered the same sentence:

"I don’t know what happened. I lost control. I’m so sorry."

Most victims were practically innocent. Even when the victims had faults, the violence inflicted was wildly disproportionate, a fact acknowledged even by the perpetrators themselves.

In places soaked with negative energy, those who live by justice, compassion, charity, and humility are affected as well. They feel the same suffocating tension, though it never evolves into harm.

One could compare this to the pandemic: while some died from the virus, the healthy passed through it with nothing more than mild flu-like symptoms.

Cyprus had tuned its collective frequency in such a way that it seemed to draw evil like a torrential downpour. And according to what Teresa read in Sara’s notebook, the place they were in was not ordinary at all. It was the earthly projection of a cluster of grey stars—an astral region said to be inhabited by demonic beings.

Worse still, this star cluster had come dangerously close to Earth. After thousands of years, the grey star cluster had approached the world once again. Teresa did not believe Sara’s notes were mere superstition. The surge in violence these past months had already been alarmingly high, but now incidents of domestic abuse, suicide, deadly fights, theft, rape, aggression and brutality had reached their peak. Prisons were so overcrowded that not even the floor space was empty. People had gone mad.

In traffic, drivers refused to yield; pedestrians were disregarded; family members hurled insults at one another. Across a wide spectrum, social order had begun to collapse.
Teresa, now a fugitive hiding from the police, peered outside through the small basement window and did not see humans anymore, but zombies. Even with painkillers in her system, her splitting headache pushed her to wonder whether it was pain distorting her perception.

The newspaper she had read convinced her that Sara was not speaking of myths.
She had written of real and impending events. With no rational reason, the island—divided into North and South—was once again exchanging threats. But this time, it felt different.
Not merely posturing, but the brink of war. The rapid construction of bunkers revealed the gravity of the moment.

“What is happening to these people? Why are they treating violence and war as if they were trivial?”
Teresa muttered as she began examining her friend’s notebook.

She believed that God sometimes sent signs through events, nudging humans toward truth.
But even so, she could not base her decisions on these signs alone.
How could she be certain that what she saw or felt was truly a message from Him?

She recalled how Muslims, when uncertain about whether something would bring good or harm, performed a prayer called istikhara and then slept. They believed their dreams offered hints—green suggesting goodness, red suggesting danger, and that the matter should be abandoned. If nothing was seen in a dream, one was advised to follow the inclination of the heart.

To her, this practice was not superstition. But the person doing it, even if not sinless, had to be someone whose life and intentions were aligned with what is right.

A person labeling themselves as pure-hearted would already be mistaken. In an age where, even if only momentarily, the heart is polluted by images and sounds of immorality from television, newspapers, and social media; where people partake in injustice,
where they chase interest—“let others work, let me eat”— and where the subconscious is clogged with debris, who remained untouched?

This inner pollution, inevitably, prevented one from aligning with the correct frequency.
And that too was a law set by God.
Yet Teresa believed that practices such as istikhara could still offer valuable insight,
so long as they did not directly replace rational decision-making. Perhaps under the influence of such thoughts, she opened the notebook at random and began to read.

“The Earth's magnetic field is rapidly decreasing. In the last 1,000 years in particular, this decline has reached a striking level. According to some scientists, our Earth, estimated to be over 4 billion years old, has experienced more than ten magnetic pole reversals. We cannot know when the next one will occur, but we can say this: the event will happen suddenly.
A polarity shift will disrupt numerous physical balances— changes in global and regional temperatures, deviations in wind directions, melting of glaciers— and until a new balance is established, the planet will endure catastrophic disasters.”

No matter which page she turned, another disaster awaited her.
After reading about the grey star cluster inhabited by demonic beings drawing near Earth,
now a second apocalyptic scenario confronted her—this time rooted in magnetic collapse.

On one page she found an illustration resembling a “tree of life”,
a genealogical map of sorts. Tracing its roots revealed a lineage stretching back roughly 2,000 years—to the era of Jesus. From the texts she had read, Teresa understood that Sara’s great ancestor had been close to one of the disciples in Christ’s time. And that Cyprus’ early encounter with monotheism had come through this ancestor’s efforts.

She could not identify who he was, but what followed in the notebook was even more striking. Sara cited several Hebrew sources before writing:

“These sources confirm that what my father told me about our ancestry is not myth but truth.
Thousands of years ago, a man named Poseidon lived in Cyprus. We do not know whether he was a prophet, but considering that he called people to values such as love, justice, humility, honesty, and belief in God, we may see him as one who devoted himself to the Divine. I do not believe he claimed divinity, as some allege. Those seeking justification for their unlawful desires twisted the phrase ‘Son of God’— spoken in reverence— into a claim that he was God Himself.”

Teresa realized, once again, that regardless of how centuries change, human beings never cease altering truth to suit their needs. She whispered to herself:

“In our time, regardless of identity, those who openly claim—or strongly imply—that without them humanity would be condemned to misery, civilization would collapse, and faith would perish… How are such clerics or leaders, who elevate themselves to divine necessity, any different from those who deified Poseidon for the sake of their own power structures?
Only the vocabulary has changed. The first figures that come to mind are the necktie-wearing tyrants and kings who rain bombs upon the innocent.”

Teresa muttered, “Wow… so Sara is descended from Poseidon,”
and suddenly understood more clearly why she felt such consuming anger toward the impostor who posed as Poseidon.

Perhaps the false Poseidon knew of Sara’s lineage and, believing that her family could undermine his authority over the island, tried to eliminate them. Perhaps that was why Sara’s family had vanished from public life—because they had been targeted for extermination.

For days, newspapers had speculated on why Sara’s wealthy husband and their children abruptly left the country and did not attend the funeral.

Teresa read the final line again and again, pacing the small room like someone losing her mind. She had not misread it; it was not hyperbole.
She needed to reach Mark and Süleyman—immediately.

The final statement was:

“I heard it personally from a learned religious scholar: the one who claims to be Poseidon is the devil himself. I saw the redness behind his eyes.”

While Teresa, somewhere in the middle of the world—Cyprus— raced like a madwoman through a cellar for the sake of the island’s and humanity’s peace, in Stuttgart, a man enslaved by demonic thought stood before the statue of the crucified Jesus on the mountain peak.

“I finally understand,” he whispered,
“why they told me for years to stay silent and wait for their sign.”

Reşat had recognized the message instantly.
When he heard the slogan shouted by the priest while being arrested,
he understood exactly what kind of act would be carried out.

Years before arriving in Berlin as a refugee, on a ship in the middle of the sea,
he had met with the leaders of the organization. They had told him:

“The only task you have is to watch the priest whose name we will give you.
We don’t know when it will happen, but he will tell you what you must do.
Just know this: the action will not be carried out through ordinary means.”

Reşat had already chosen the perfect partner to make the operation sensational.
Yasmin was exactly the man he needed.

His criticism of the Church—accusing its administration of collecting money unjustly under the promise of Paradise, of embracing only certain nations and ideologies rather than all humanity—might have been seen as a reasonable objection.

But his fringe rhetoric, which insulted Christianity, mocked its sacred values, and openly despised its adherents, had caused an enormous stir.

And when Yasmin was shot outside a mosque, in full view of the congregation, by someone affiliated with the Church, the incident ignited public opinion—not just among Muslims, but among many others as well.

Whatever Yasmin would do next would be framed as “retribution,” and many Muslims would support him.

Then, with a counter-attack—a church arson, or an assassination of a Muslim—the situation would evolve into a blood feud.

And if his plan worked as intended, if his action drove Christians into a frenzy,
the organization would finally find what it had desperately lacked: volunteers for suicide operations.

If Reşat could see the ones commanding the organization from the ship, he would have said:

“I congratulate you. This provocative act—one that even the devil wouldn’t conceive—may create more global outrage than the September 11 terrorist attacks.”