The concept of interconnectedness surfaces in a vision that spans from contemporary cityscapes to a fractured future in IKONA by M.D. Dixon.
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This story follows four strangers who are unknowingly linked by an ancient, healing cross, examining how personal sacrifice and collective evolution are often intertwined. It is a contemplative look at how the choices made in the present ripple through the fabric of time.
As the resonance of the cross pulls them together, these four must navigate the shifting realities of their existence. The ultimate question becomes which future they will inhabit and what price they must pay to secure a path toward healing.
IKON
by M.D. Dixon
February 20, 2026
Genre: Religious Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic Engineering
A mysterious Russian Orthodox cross, a holy icon with inexplicable healing power, begins to surface across cities, lifetimes, and fractured timelines.
Four strangers find themselves drawn into its field—from the bustle of Sydney, Hong Kong, Atlanta and Berlin to the stark quiet of Siberia’s post-apocalyptic tundra.
In Atlanta, Kate Davies witnesses the icon’s strange effect on a sick child. In Sydney, Finley Minor is haunted by visions of possible futures and the quiet weight of consequence. Jia Li MacPherson, former thief and Shibari performer, holds secrets that powerful forces would kill to keep buried. Wallace Deng Moroz, a monk living a century ahead, clings to visions of a cure in a world where a genetic engineering catastrophe has nearly ended humanity, and the political landscape is dangerously polarised.
The convergence of these four heroes feels destined, yet it is shaped by choice – and the deeper they move into the cross’s resonance, the more the question shifts:
Which version of the future will they choose to inhabit?
And what must be surrendered to reach it?
IKONA is a visionary novel of shifting realities and inner reckonings—a meditation on time, memory, and healing.
Excerpt
———
FINLEY & THE SEA
MAY 2019
SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
Finley
Minor was by his own accounts an empty man, a listless man, spiritually
and emotionally sparse. Blink a thousand times and his course in life
would not have shifted an inch. He was motionless like a chameleon in
the presence of a threat. But this was not fact, only fear, and that of a
man who knew that he’d not lived at full throttle and had succumbed to
the fate of it —a slow and shallow life. He ruminated on it. He judged
himself for it. He laughed at his own expense, without thinking he might
ever change a thing.
In the way one always has a beginning, a
great excuse, this was Finley’s: at the age of seven, in his native
England, he sat on the beach as his stick wove tessellations in the sand
(almost of its own accord, it seemed in retrospect), and he looked to
the horizon towards France with the open, impressionable curiosity of
his young age. He wondered at the sea’s depth, its great distance, how
one might (as many had) swim across the channel, what creatures might
lurk there, what they might feel like against bare skin. He imagined
something slimy and cold, fanged, and slithering. The waves seemed to
roar at him, even though they descended in the rockpools with the
gentleness of pooling cream.
He stood, determined to satisfy his
curiosity. He took halting steps over the rocks and shells, straight
ahead, then bearing left around a rock face that jutted into the sea. He
sat on a big, flat rock and stared into the gray water. He heard his
father calling out his name, but ignored him. The water rushed in again
and again, and each time reached further and further, first sucking at
his toes, then his heels, then his knees. His curiosity fled; he became
afraid, and all sound was magnified, the dull ocean roar, the seagull
squawking a few feet away, his heartbeat. He knew he had to go back to
shore. He waved to his father, stood, and took a faltering step. There
was a low murmur; the water fizzled once more in retreat from the rocky
sand like the gasping breath of a dying man. He felt dizzy and fell to
his knees. He crouched on all fours and steadied himself as the water
swirled and grasped at him, and the sky looped and the clouds fell from
the corner of his eyes. He felt his head winched back towards the
horizon, and the sea reached for his throat. Blackness.
When he
came to, dragged back to shore by his father, he announced that his aunt
would never return from her CĆ“te D’Azur holiday. He wagged his finger
towards the surf and pulled a face, “Over there, there is smooching.”
The
official prognosis was that he’d had an epileptic fit, though none of
the tests proved it. He must have passed out, in that case, the doctor
pronounced, low blood sugar, a low-level virus, dehydration.
But Finley knew, only he knew.
The ocean had rent a hole in his soul, and let in the future.
About the Author:
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M.D. Dixon is a novelist, somatic therapist, and explorer of the intersections between the psyche and the sacred, science and mysticism, trauma and transformation. Holding a Ph.D. in the social sciences with a focus on Russia and Ukraine, Dixon has spent nearly fifteen years in therapeutic practice in Sydney, Australia. Dixon’s debut novel, IKONA, weaves visionary fiction, myth, and metaphysics to illuminate the evolution of consciousness. Dixon also hosts The Shattering Place, a podcast on multidimesional healing and the awakening human story, launching in early 2026.
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