American Prophet — Book Two — Chapter 10: The Concord of Origins
Teaser: Scholars, monks, and listeners gather under one roof to compare myths and waveforms. The world decides to read together.
They met in an old train station whose roof let in winter light. Tables formed a circle. At each seat sat someone who had kept a kind of memory: a monk with a bell log, a diver with a crystal core, a river scribe with a wall of names, a child who could hear when the ground was about to speak.
They called themselves the Concord of Origins. No one led. A rope in the middle let anyone ring a bell if they needed quiet. Naomi and Thomas placed the wind harp and the vault strip on the table and waited.
An elder from the islands unrolled a tapa cloth painted with spirals and ladders. “This is what our grandparents said the sea kept,” she told them. A scholar from the valleys held up a clay shard marked with scratches. “This is what our grandparents said the river kept.” A boy from the hills touched the harp. “This is what the wind kept.”
Thomas projected the ratios—3:2, 5:3, 8:5—on a sheet. Lines from around the world rose to meet them like friends arriving late but expected. The Concord compared alphabets to waveforms, chants to mass maps, prayers to pressure logs. Differences fell away when the pattern was the subject.
At midday, the rope bell rang not to hush them but to mark agreement. The room settled into a simple plan. Each node would listen at dawn and dusk. If a node heard the chord, it would reply in the same steps—no words necessary, only the blessing: halem sares. They wrote it on the wall in chalk and in Neo‑Atlantean runes that were simple enough for any hand to learn.
Night came early. They slept on the floor and dreamed of waves that did not drown but carried.
American Prophet 