Ethan – New York City
The whispers followed him home.
They weren’t just in the streets now; they were in his walls, in the hum of the refrigerator, in the vibration of his phone on the nightstand. Ethan pressed his palms over his ears until his skull ached, but it only made the words clearer.
The crown is given. The rider goes forth to conquer.
He stumbled to the sink, splashed water on his face, and stared at his reflection. For an instant—only an instant—his eyes weren’t his own. They were black, bottomless, like the news anchor’s had been. He tore his gaze away, heart hammering.
That was when the power died.
New York’s skyline blinked out like a field of candles snuffed in unison. The city roared with confusion, horns, and distant shouts. From his window, Ethan saw a pale streak rip through the sky, like a comet, burning white. It wasn’t a star. It was a horse.
And the rider was smiling at him.
---
Mara – Los Angeles
Sirens howled across Los Angeles as smoke rose from the south. Mara leaned against the ER doors, chest heaving. Half her patients were dead. The other half screamed prayers or curses.
She pulled off her gloves. Her hands shook.
Then came the news alert—every screen in the hospital lobby blaring the same broadcast. An emergency summit in Geneva. A man named Adrian Veyra had proposed a global health accord, pledging billions for medical relief and vaccine distribution.
The doctors around her applauded. Some wept in relief.
Mara didn’t. Because at that exact moment, the dead man on her gurney—lips cracked, eyes glassy—sat up, looked directly at her, and whispered:
“He’s the one.”
Before collapsing back into silence.
---
Adrian – Geneva, Switzerland
He felt the world bending toward him.
Adrian stood on the balcony of the UN complex, the Alps shrouded in cloud beyond, his phone buzzing with endless messages: savior, leader, messiah.
The words pleased him.
He gazed into the mist, and in the shifting gray he saw the faint outline of a horse’s skull, eyes burning like coals. The vision didn’t frighten him. It thrilled him.
“Soon,” he murmured.
Behind him, his aides whispered about logistics, relief funds, and media optics. He barely heard them.
Because inside his skull, a voice louder than thunder spoke:
The crown is yours. Take it. And all will bow.
---
Jonah – Chicago
The rain had stopped, but smoke rolled over the city. Jonah’s congregation—no more than twenty souls—huddled in the basement of his church, candles flickering.
They looked at him with frightened eyes, the kind that begged for answers.
Jonah opened his Bible, hands trembling. He wanted to tell them it would be all right. But the words on the page had shifted. Ink ran like blood across Revelation 6:2.
And as he stared, the letters rearranged themselves into fresh words that hadn’t been there before.
The first rider has come. The world cheers its conqueror.
Jonah dropped the book. The flame of the candles bent toward the open door, though there was no wind.
Something was standing there.
Watching.
