The Vatican was silent in a way no holy place should ever be.
Not peaceful.
Not reverent.
Guarded.
Mohamed felt it the moment they crossed the invisible threshold beneath St. Peter's Basilica. The air thickened, pressing against his chest like an unspoken warning. Even Selene—who rarely showed tension—moved more carefully now.
"This place isn't built to inspire faith," she whispered.
"It's built to contain it."
They descended.
Not by stairs.
By layers.
Each level stripped something away: sound, warmth, certainty. Symbols replaced decorations. Geometry replaced art. The deeper they went, the less human the architecture became.
Mohamed noticed it first.
"The proportions are wrong," he said. "This isn't Roman."
Selene nodded. "Because it predates Rome."
They reached a sealed door of black stone.
No lock.
No handle.
Only a symbol carved at its center: a cross intersected by a circle—almost familiar, yet subtly distorted.
Selene placed her hand against it.
"Remember this," she said quietly. "The Vatican didn't conquer belief. They standardized it."
The door opened.
The vault was not filled with gold.
It was filled with books that felt alive.
Scrolls written in languages Mohamed recognized only through instinct. Gospels bearing names he had never heard. Diagrams of consciousness shaped like crucifixions. Texts describing resurrection not as miracle—but as procedure.
Mohamed's breath caught.
"These were hidden on purpose," he whispered.
"Yes," Selene replied. "Because they break narrative control."
A voice echoed from the shadows.
"You always were curious."
A figure stepped forward—elderly, robed in white, eyes sharp as broken glass.
A Custodian Cardinal.
"This place exists," the man said calmly, "so humanity does not tear itself apart with half-understood truths."
Mohamed turned to him. "You rewrote history."
The Cardinal smiled sadly. "We edited it."
He gestured to a gospel bound in black leather.
"That one," he said, "claims Christ never died."
Selene stiffened.
"And that one," the Cardinal continued, pointing to another, "suggests resurrection was a state of consciousness, not an act of God."
Mohamed felt dizzy.
"And this?" he asked, pointing to a diagram eerily similar to the Tree of Life.
The Cardinal hesitated.
"That," he said, "connects Kabbalah to early Christianity. It implies enlightenment was taught, not gifted."
Silence.
"You couldn't allow that," Mohamed said.
"No," the Cardinal admitted. "Because belief without dependence collapses authority."
The vault trembled.
Cold pressure flooded the room.
The shadows folded inward.
Faromet emerged.
Even here—even here—the Cardinal knelt.
"You preserved fragments well," Faromet said.
"But preservation is stagnation."
The Cardinal bowed his head. "We did what we could."
Faromet turned to Mohamed.
"Faith is the most efficient operating system ever created," he said.
"But it becomes obsolete."
Mohamed clenched his fists. "So you erase it?"
"No," Faromet replied.
"I upgrade it."
A symbol ignited beneath the vault.
The books began to rise, pages fluttering like wings.
"This convergence determines whether belief evolves… or dies."
Selene grabbed Mohamed. "Anchor yourself!"
Mohamed closed his eyes.
He didn't reject faith.
He questioned it.
He saw crowds praying—not to God, but to certainty.
He saw leaders using salvation as currency.
He saw rebels using doubt as weapon.
And then—
He saw something else.
A man teaching not obedience, but responsibility.
Not worship, but awareness.
Not heaven—but accountability.
The symbol cracked.
The books fell.
Faromet took a step back.
Just one.
Again.
"You do not destroy belief," Faromet said quietly.
"You destabilize it."
Mohamed opened his eyes.
"Belief doesn't need cages," he said.
"It needs courage."
The vault began to collapse—not physically—but symbolically. The texts faded, not destroyed, but released.
The Cardinal looked relieved.
"Perhaps," he whispered, "this is what faith was meant to survive."
Faromet's presence faded.
"Three convergences complete," he said.
"Nineteen remain."
They emerged into moonlight.
St. Peter's stood unchanged above them.
No alarms.
No miracles.
Just silence.
Selene exhaled. "You just survived theology."
Mohamed looked at the sky.
"They hid truth to preserve order," he said.
"The Order hides truth to rewrite existence."
Selene nodded.
"And you?"
Mohamed's voice was steady.
"I let truth be dangerous."