There is a testimony about Saint King John, found in an article published in the 1990’s by the first presenter of Greek Television, journalist Eleni Kypraiou. The central figure of the article is a Greek general who has since passed away. I researched the matter and ultimately verified that this testimony is indeed true.
Read it: a few years ago less than a decade two generals served on opposite sides of the Evros River, at the border that divides our Thrace in two: one Greek, one Turkish. The two men had formed a close friendship, made even stronger by the fact that the Turkish general’s wife was Greek. When the time came for them to be reassigned to other posts, the Turkish general invited his Greek colleague: ‘All this time,’ he said, ‘we have spent together peacefully. The differences between our countries never affected our friendship. And we Turks consider friendship sacred. Tomorrow night, I want to prove that to you.’ The next evening, at exactly 10 o’clock, the Greek general got into the Turkish general’s private car. It was a moonless night. The streets were deserted. The highway to the City (Constantinople) lay open. Around midnight, they must have approached its outskirts. A deep sleep had settled over the city’s residents. Silence reigned in the streets. Swiftly, the Turkish driver entered and exited narrow alleys, winding cobblestone paths like tangled yarn. Still a moonless night. He turned off the engine and stopped in front of an iron gate with inscriptions in Greek. The rapid pace, the suspense, the curiosity left the Greek no room to question or even reflect. He followed the Turk obediently, like an automaton, without fear, with complete trust. It never even crossed his mind that the Turk’s intentions could be anything but good.
They stood before a narrow iron door, double-bolted. The Turk pulled a key from his pocket. He unlocked it. Opened it. It was a basement. The walls emitted mold. Mold and confinement. Forgotten depths of the earth. They walked through corridors without stumbling. Silence weighed on them. Anticipation. Where were they going, blindly like this? Where were they headed? Backward in time. But which time? Human or Divine? The Turk knew. But the Greek did not yet know. He couldn’t explain the wandering. Nor did he have time to ponder. He followed. With the certainty that this moment was unique. That he would never again have the chance to relive it. He followed. Was he dreaming? Sleepwalking? His winged imagination recreated paths that one walks only in light sleep. One thing was certain: He would never find the way again. Not without a guide. They had reached the end. Another fortified door stood before them. Heavy silence. The hush of the final hour. Broken only by the creaking of the lock. The groan of rusted iron. The heavy door opened slightly. A faint light inside. Otherworldly. Mysterious. A basement? A dungeon? A cenotaph? And then only then the Turk spoke: “You Greeks don’t believe in the legend of the Marble King? Don’t you say, again and again among yourselves, that no enemy bullet touched him? That he wasn’t swallowed by the frenzied crowd of the City’s conquerors? But that the Virgin Mary pulled him into her embrace to make him Immortal? Aren’t you certain that the Marble King lives? It’s not a legend. Not false hope. Not fantasy. It is real. See for yourself.”
On the ground, half-raised on one elbow, the Greek saw, he saw with his own eyes, the Marble King. Raised. A metaphysical shiver ran through him. His eyes blurred with tears. His vision dimmed. He made the sign of the cross. Before him, just a breath away, stood the miracle. And he was the fortunate one, deemed worthy to experience it with his senses. In a specific place and time. The silence was thick almost cuttable with a knife. The Turk spoke again: “A few years ago, the Marble King lay on the ground. Lately, he has slowly begun to rise. Let’s go.” They closed the door again. Locked it once more. Retraced their steps from the basement back to the courtyard. Passed again through the iron gate. Left no trace of their footsteps. No one had seen them. They got into the car and took the road back. Silent. Without exchanging a word. It was still dark when they reached the Evros River. Before parting, they kissed each other on both cheeks. The river rushed toward the Aegean. “The river turning back,” the Greek general murmured. “It turns when God wills it.” He later served at the Central Command. Before retiring, he felt it his duty to reveal the great secret to the person who entrusted it to us, naming the general under the gaze of God and the Virgin Mary. We too made the sign of the cross, murmuring, “The City is not fallen!” It is said that the general passed away in 2001, and the testimony was confirmed by his sister Eleni, who additionally stated that her brother had seen an inscription above the head of the Marble King, bearing the name “John.”
This are excerpts from the Book: The Way to the Queen City - by: Elias Kallioras (2024).
The prophecies excerpts translation were prepared by The Holy Wisdom and uploaded to the YouTube channel on November 1, 2025.