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The years were written in the dust of stars, Before the crowns ever learned their names, Empires marched like measured drums, Following footsteps they could not see. We thought the road was built by chance, But every turn was already known, Every rise a whispered sentence, Every fall a line in stone. Dreams were sealed in foreign tongues, Locked in symbols, beasts, and gold, Yet time itself became the key, As shadows matched the ancient mold. What the night once hid in riddles, Daylight taught the world to read, History bent toward the promise, Like iron drawn to unseen decree. The calendar becomes a witness, The clock begins to testify, What was spoken in the silence Now stands written in the sky. The pattern proves the Author’s hand, The ages move at His command, Kings arise, kings disappear, But every step was counted here. What was foretold now stands fulfilled, The future echoes what was willed, Time itself confesses truth— The throne outlives the dust and youth. Not by sword but by alignment, Not by chance but by design, Every border, every season Crosses lines already drawn. We trace the scars of broken kingdoms, Find the map beneath their fall, Every ruin bears a message: There is One who orders all. Let the centuries bow low, Let the scrolls of years unroll, Let the wheels of nations turn Until the hidden fire is known. The clock is not an accident, The storm obeys a greater breath, Even chaos keeps its promise When it marches into death. The pattern proves the Author’s hand, The ages pulse at His command, Voices fade, but truth remains, Written through the rise of reigns. What was sealed is now revealed, What was whispered now is sealed, Time becomes the living proof— The throne outlasts the flame and youth. So we stand inside the timeline, Between the promise and the proof, Reading heaven in the headlines, Hearing God in what came true. History is not the master, It is the servant of the Word, Every hour bends its knee To the future it has heard.