The days after the market encounter moved with a quiet rhythm. Samuel returned to his work on the farmland, Grace kept the home warm with her care, and Ruth and Mary filled the air with laughter. Yet beneath this calm surface, I could feel an invisible current pulling everything toward a greater purpose.
Each night, as I prayed in the small guest room, the weight of Gabriel's words pressed harder on my heart. Twenty-eight days. The number repeated in my spirit like the steady beat of a drum. The thought of time running quickly filled me with urgency.
On the third morning after the market, Samuel approached me while sharpening his hoe by the barn. His face carried a look of decision.
"Alfred," he began, "I have thought much about what I saw in you at the market. You stopped that fight as though authority was resting on your shoulders. Even the old man who spoke with you seemed touched. My heart tells me that hiding you is no longer possible. People will start to notice you, whether we like it or not."
I listened silently as he continued.
"So here is my thought," Samuel said, lowering his voice. "On the seventh day of every week, the community gathers in the open field for stories, songs, and prayers. It is not a church, but more like a place where neighbors come together. Perhaps that is where you should speak for the first time. But it will be risky."
His words stirred my spirit. The idea of standing before the people, declaring the message of warning and hope, both excited and frightened me.
"I will pray about it," I answered gently.
Grace, who had overheard part of our conversation, walked closer. She placed her hand on Samuel's arm and looked at me with cautious eyes. "If Alfred is truly sent, then the people must hear him. But Samuel, promise me you will stand by him. If trouble comes, I don't want him alone."
Samuel nodded firmly. "I will stand by him."
That evening, while the children slept, the three of us sat outside under the stars. Samuel and Grace asked me questions about the visions I had seen, the angels I had met, and the reasons for my journey. I told them what I could: about Gabriel's shining eyes, about Uriel's speed faster than light, about the warning that time was short.
Tears filled Grace's eyes as she whispered, "The world has grown darker. People are chasing wealth and power, forgetting God. Perhaps He truly sent you to wake us up."
I looked at her and replied, "Grace, God sees every heart. Even when the world forgets Him, He still raises voices to call His children home."
The following day, Ruth and Mary insisted on playing near me as I helped Samuel on the farm. The little girls asked endless questions: about heaven, about angels, about whether they would see them one day. Their innocent curiosity made me smile, yet it also reminded me of the weight of guiding the next generation.
That night, as I knelt again in prayer, I felt a sudden rush of light fill the room. My body trembled, and I knew I was no longer alone. Gabriel stood before me, taller and brighter than the last time. His golden eyes pierced into my soul.
"Alfred," he said, "the time draws near. The field gathering will be your first trumpet. Speak without fear, for the Spirit of God will rest upon your words. Do not measure success by numbers, but by obedience. The message will cut through hearts, and those chosen will hear."
I bowed my head to the floor. "But Lord, will they not call me a madman?"
Gabriel's voice thundered like waves crashing on a shore. "Even the prophets of old were called madmen, yet the word of God in their mouth burned like fire. Fear not. I will be with you."
The light faded, and I was left shaking, but also filled with peace.
The next morning, I shared the vision with Samuel and Grace. Samuel's face turned pale, but then hardened with resolve. "Then we will prepare for the gathering," he said.
Grace added, "And we will pray for you."
On the seventh day, we walked together to the open field. The whole community was present—men, women, and children gathered under the wide sky. Some sang, some traded news, while others simply sat and listened.
When Samuel introduced me to the people, whispers ran through the crowd. "Who is this stranger?" some asked. Others said, "Is he not the man who stopped the quarrel in the market?"
I stepped forward, my heart pounding, but my spirit steady. I looked at the faces before me—the weary, the curious, the skeptical—and I opened my mouth.
"People of this land," I began, my voice carrying across the field, "I am not here by accident. I was sent. I have seen things you cannot imagine—signs of the time, visions of what is to come. The days ahead are shorter than you think. The trumpet of God is near, and the souls of men must awaken before it sounds."
Murmurs spread through the crowd, some mocking, others nodding in silence. I raised my hand for calm and continued.
"I do not bring fear, but truth. I was lifted by angels faster than light. I saw crowns and thrones. I heard the voice of Gabriel himself. And he sent me here—to you. Not to the rich or the mighty, but to the humble and the faithful, that you may prepare your hearts."
The words flowed out of me like water from a fountain. I did not struggle for speech; each sentence seemed carried on wings of fire.
Some people bowed their heads in reverence. Others shook their heads in disbelief. But one thing was clear: no one remained untouched.
When I finished, the field was silent for a long moment. Then a woman in the back cried out, "God, have mercy on us!" Others followed, kneeling to pray. Yet there were still those who crossed their arms and muttered, "He is only a dreamer."
Samuel stood by my side, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder. Grace wept openly, holding Ruth and Mary close.
In that moment, I realized that the mission had truly begun.