The night air was cool, yet the village seemed restless. Dogs barked more than usual, and shadows stretched long across the narrow paths. I could not shake the feeling that unseen eyes followed me wherever I went.
For days, Darius lingered among the villagers. He worked his charm with ease—helping mend roofs, sharing food with the poor, even joining the men at the tavern in their songs. Yet beneath his kindness was a subtle thread of doubt he wove into every conversation.
"Alfred speaks well," I overheard him telling a group one evening, "but words are wind. If he is truly sent by God, why hide where he comes from? Why veil his mission in mystery? Should not truth shine openly?"
The men nodded, their faces troubled. Doubt was a seed, and Darius knew well how to water it.
Grace noticed the change in the village. One night, after the children had fallen asleep, she spoke quietly at the table. "Alfred, whispers spread faster than fire. Some now question Samuel for keeping you under his roof. They say our family is bewitched."
Samuel frowned deeply. "Let them talk. We know what we have seen. The fire was quenched, not by chance, but by God."
Still, Grace's eyes carried worry. I knew she feared for her husband's standing among the people.
The next day, Ruth came running to me, her small face pale. "Uncle Alfred, I heard two men in the market. They said you are dangerous, that you will bring ruin." Her voice trembled. "Is it true?"
I knelt and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Little one, sometimes the truth makes people afraid. But fear does not make it false. Do not be troubled by their words."
That night, as the village slept, I rose to pray. The moon cast a pale glow through the window, and the silence was broken only by the faint rustle of the trees.
Then I heard it—a voice, low and slithering, just beyond the door. "Stranger… prophet… liar…" The words hissed like a snake.
I froze, listening. The voice grew louder, circling the house. "They do not trust you. They will turn against you. Even those you call family will cast you out."
I gripped my chest, heart thundering. "Who speaks?" I whispered into the darkness.
A shadow slipped past the window, though no footsteps sounded. The voice chuckled softly. "The one who watches. The one who knows your secret."
The words struck deep. My mind raced—what secret did he mean? The charge of the angels? The twenty-eight days? Or something deeper, something I myself had not yet uncovered?
I fell to my knees, praying fervently. "Lord, keep me. Do not let fear overtake me."
Suddenly, light burst through the room, chasing away the shadow. Gabriel stood before me, his face stern. "Do not heed the whispers of darkness. They are sent to weaken your resolve. Remember what I told you: the truth will defend itself. The time draws nearer, and the enemy grows restless."
The angel placed his hand upon my shoulder, and strength flooded through me. "Stand firm, Alfred. Shadows may surround you, but they cannot quench the light within you."
When the vision faded, peace settled back into my heart. Yet one truth remained clear: Darius was no longer just stirring doubt. Darkness itself had found a voice in the village, and the battle was no longer with words alone.