The council house stood at the center of the village, a wide structure of stone and timber where matters of weight were decided. That evening, its lamps burned brightly, and a crowd gathered outside. Word had spread quickly—tonight, the stranger who claimed visions from heaven would be tested.
Samuel, Grace, and I walked together through the crowd. Ruth clung to her mother's hand, while little Mary slept against her shoulder. Whispers followed us as we passed, some laced with curiosity, others with suspicion.
Inside, the elders sat in a circle. Elias, tall and stern, presided at the center. Around him were six other men, each respected in the community. They motioned for me to stand in the middle.
Elias rose and addressed the assembly. "People of our village, tonight we weigh the words of this man called Alfred. He claims to be sent by God, to have seen angels, to warn us of coming days. Some among us believe him. Others say he deceives. We shall hear him, and we shall decide."
The room grew still as all eyes turned toward me. I took a slow breath and began.
"I did not come here by my own will. I was taken by angels through a portal of light. I saw Gabriel, who stands before the throne of God. He gave me a charge—to live among you for a time, to warn you that the trumpet of heaven is nearer than you think. I do not come with riches, nor do I seek honor. I come with a message, and the message is this: repent, for the time is short."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Some nodded with wide eyes, while others scoffed. One of the elders raised his hand.
"If what you say is true, then give us a sign. Show us proof that we may believe."
I lifted my eyes toward him. "Signs are in God's hands, not mine. But know this: signs follow faith, not the other way around. If you harden your hearts, no sign will be enough. If you open them, even the smallest word will be proof."
The elder sat back, frowning. Elias then stepped forward. "You speak boldly, Alfred. But boldness does not prove truth. You stir the people, divide households, and unsettle our peace. Why should we risk our village for your words?"
My voice grew stronger, though my heart trembled within me. "Peace without truth is not peace—it is sleep before destruction. Better to be unsettled and awake than calm and blind. I did not come to divide, but truth always divides light from darkness."
The silence in the room was heavy. Some of the elders exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, an old man at the far end rose slowly to his feet. His name was Malach, the oldest in the council. His beard was white, and his back slightly bent, but his eyes were sharp.
"I have lived many years," he said, his voice steady. "I have seen liars, and I have seen men of God. This man—his words burn, and his eyes carry no greed. I say we do not cast him out. Let him stay, and let time prove whether he is true."
A murmur of agreement followed, though not all joined in. Elias pressed his lips together tightly but did not argue. At last, he raised his hand.
"Very well. The council has heard. Alfred may remain among us, but know this: we will continue to watch. If your words bring harm, the blame will fall on you."
I bowed my head. "So be it. I will stand before God and before you. The truth will defend itself."
With that, the meeting ended. The crowd outside buzzed with questions and debates, but Samuel and Grace walked close beside me as we returned home.
That night, as I prayed, Gabriel appeared once more. His light filled the room, and his voice carried both strength and gentleness.
"You have spoken well, Alfred. Do not fear their doubts. Even in judgment, a door has opened. Time will soon reveal what words cannot."
As the vision faded, I felt a peace settle over me. The council had judged, but the true judgment was yet to come—and it would not be in the hands of men.