Under Northern Provence’s azure skies, there is no joy at the castle. Lacking a direct issue, an ancient lineage is dying. Two ‘visitors’ from ‘another realm’ suddenly appear, to prophesize that a child will be born, and continue the family line, if conceived on the altar of a blood god. They refer to this child as the ‘Chosen of the Gods’. Destined to restore a now extinct race, they say, he will also hold the key to defeat an all-pervasive form of evil, older than time itself.
In 2020, as ‘the visitors’ had predicted, this scion is born. By 2040, despite his fragile health, he becomes an overindulgent, overmedicated, mildly autistic French version of Indiana Jones.
In 2042, trapped by a flood during the excavation of an ancient tomb, he blacks out—to next inexplicably awaken, unmistakably alive, in a strange, windowless dungeon, where voices in his head confirm ‘the visitors’ prophecy and tell him to wait.
Is he simply delusional, still agonizing at Nahash’s tomb, comatose again in some ICU, tripping at yet another pricey rehab outfit—or, indeed, in ‘another realm’, destined to become an instrument of ancient gods, unlike any ever worshipped on Earth?
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