The days after the fire brought a fragile calm to the village. People greeted me with more openness now, some even with gratitude, yet suspicion still lingered in the eyes of a few. Elias, especially, grew colder by the day. He no longer tried to hide his disdain.
One evening, while the family and I sat at supper, Samuel leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. "Alfred, there is something you should know. A stranger arrived today. He asked many questions about you—too many. Grace and I thought it best to keep Ruth and Mary close."
My heart quickened. "What sort of questions?"
"He wanted to know where you came from, what business you had here, and why the council allowed you to stay. He pressed the men at the tavern, offering coin for answers. No one gave him much, but his persistence unsettles me."
I sat back, thinking. It was not unusual for strangers to pass through, yet this felt different. "Did he say his name?"
Samuel nodded. "He called himself Darius. Tall, with a scar across his cheek. His words were smooth, but his eyes—cold as stone."
That night, I lay awake long after the house had gone silent. The angel's charge weighed on me: warn them, live among them, but reveal not the appointed day. Who was this Darius? A simple traveler—or something more sinister?
The next morning, I went to the well to draw water. As I bent over the rope, a shadow fell across me. I turned, and there he stood.
Darius was as Samuel described—tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar slanting down his cheek. His cloak was travel-worn, yet his boots were well-kept, too fine for a wanderer. His smile was practiced, almost polite, but his gaze pierced like a knife.
"You are Alfred," he said, his voice smooth and even.
"Yes," I answered cautiously.
"I have heard much about you," he continued. "Some call you prophet, others deceiver. Which are you?"
"I am a servant," I said simply. "I carry a message that is not my own."
He tilted his head, studying me. "A message, you say. Then perhaps you and I seek the same thing. For I too am a seeker of truth." His smile widened, but it did not reach his eyes. "Perhaps we might walk together one day, and you can share your truths with me."
I nodded, though unease twisted within me. He left as quickly as he came, disappearing into the market crowd.
When I told Samuel later, he frowned. "I do not trust him. There is something in his manner that speaks of hidden intent. Be careful, Alfred."
That evening, as I prayed alone, a sudden chill filled the room. The light around me dimmed, and in the dimness, Gabriel appeared. His expression was grave.
"Alfred," he said, "you must guard your words. Not all who listen seek life. The stranger you met is not sent to learn, but to test. He walks under shadows, though he cloaks himself in courtesy. Beware."
My heart pounded. "Who is he?"
Gabriel's gaze grew distant, as if looking far beyond my sight. "He is an agent of those who resist the will of God. He has not yet revealed his full purpose, but he watches you with intent. Do not yield to fear, and do not give him more than you must."
With that, the vision faded, leaving me alone once more. Yet the angel's warning burned in my mind. Darius was no ordinary traveler—he was a test, a snare set upon my path.
As the night deepened, I understood one thing clearly: the message I carried was no longer only resisted by doubt. Now, it was pursued by enemies who wore human faces.