The star in heaven was the battlefield for earth.

The story of the ages is when the world had undergone only one transformation when a Child came into the world beneath a wandering star.

But that is not where it all begins.

History recalls royalty, empires, conflicts, and deities. Scripture recalls visions of the future.
But the sky tells a different story it remembers the battle. The battle for earth.

Long before the towers of Babylon stood tall, before the Egyptians etched their kings into stone, before Rome spoke of control, the heavens were torn apart.

A comet dashed across the sky a wound of fire, not of light. Onlookers perceived only radiance.

The Wise perceived blood.

Ancient texts Sumerian, Hebrew, Akkadian, even remnants from the old Qumran all narrate a moment when the stars trembled and the veils between realms began to thin.

One manuscript refers to it as: “The Night the Thrones Descended.”

Another, from the fragments attributed to Enoch, describes Watchers abandoning their designated posts, disrupting the balance between heaven and earth.

Yet, there exists one account, one that few remember and even fewer comprehend:

A weathered scrap from the ruins of Nineveh, penned in the slanted script of an exiled scribe:

“When the star quaked, men experienced only reverence. The angels felt trepidation.”

Fear because they understood what the star symbolized.

A gathering.
A calling.
A warning.

Something or someone was approaching.

Centuries later, within the courts of Nebuchadnezzar and amidst the shadows of the Median Empire, a young exile named Daniel beheld that same star. Not with mere eyes, but through a vision.
Raging across a horizon only prophets could perceive.

He documented its trajectory, its enigma, its intent. And he guided a generation of astronomer, priests, Magi to anticipate its return.

History reveals little about those men. Legend reveals more. Yet hidden beneath both lies a truth long obscured:

Daniel wasn’t instructing them on how to read the sky. He was teaching them how to endure it.

For the star was not a sign of tranquility. It represented a battleground celestial warfare waged above to determine the destiny below.

The Watchers understood this.
The Fallen Thrones understood this.
The priesthoods of Egypt, Persia, and Babylon understood this.

And Daniel, the last of the true seers, ensured that someone would remember when the star reappeared.

And now… as I inscribe words onto parchment here in the Scroll Keeper’s Villa,
I commence this account for a new generation of seekers the modern Magi, perhaps if they choose to embrace such a path.

The world you perceive is merely the facade. The world beneath is ancient, darker, and eager to be comprehended.

Welcome, traveler. You stand at the brink of lost truths. The star is rising once more.