The days that followed the midnight visitation felt both lighter and heavier. Lighter, because the scroll I received gave me a strength I could not explain. When I prayed with it in my hands, courage flowed like a river within me. Heavier, because the village itself was drifting further into division.
Some villagers now came openly to Samuel's house, seeking counsel. They asked me to pray for their sick children, for their harvest, for their troubled hearts. Many times, God answered with peace and healing. Yet even as some drew nearer, others hardened against me.
I noticed the shift most sharply in Elias. He had once opposed me with sternness, but now his anger burned hotter. He no longer spoke of caution—he spoke of danger. "This man," I overheard him tell others, "is a threat to our way of life. If we do not act, ruin will follow."
What troubled me most, however, was not Elias but Samuel. He tried to remain strong, but the pressure weighed heavily on him. The council questioned his leadership, whispering that he was blinded by loyalty to me. Grace too felt the sting of suspicion. Neighbors who once embraced her now kept their distance.
One evening, after supper, Samuel sat long at the table, his face buried in his hands. I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Brother," I said gently, "your burden is heavy. Speak, and let me share it."
He lifted his head, his eyes weary. "Alfred, I want to believe always. I have seen enough to know your words are not empty. Yet the village—my people—they look to me. They see me as one of them, not above them. If they believe I lead them astray, what then? My wife, my children—they will suffer for it."
His words pierced me. I wanted to tell him all—the full truth of the angel's mission, the appointed day—but the charge bound me still. Instead, I spoke what I could.
"Samuel, I cannot promise you ease. But I can promise you this: those who stand for truth never stand alone. Even if men forsake you, heaven will not."
He nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in his eyes.
That night, as the house grew quiet, I stepped outside for air. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it a faint sound—voices. I crept closer and saw, to my dismay, Samuel standing with Elias in the shadows near the well.
Elias's voice was sharp. "You must choose, Samuel. Your loyalty to this stranger endangers us all. If you continue, the council will strip you of your place."
Samuel's voice trembled. "I… I cannot deny what I have seen. Yet I cannot lose my people either."
Elias leaned closer, his tone almost a whisper. "Then give him up. Persuade him to leave quietly. If he goes, all will be well. Do this, and you will remain in honor."
I froze, my heart aching. Samuel—my brother, my shelter—was being pressed into betrayal. I saw the conflict in his posture, the heaviness in his shoulders.
I slipped back into the house unseen, my chest burning with sorrow. I did not blame him—he was torn between faith and fear, between loyalty and survival. But I knew this was the beginning.
The seed of betrayal had been sown. And once planted, such a seed never remains buried for long.