"The first of mankind chose the forbidden fruit,
And thus were they cast out from the garden." Neva's voice is gentle and steady as she speaks, her breath forming pale puffs in the cold air with each word.
"Although forgiven, consequences stemmed from their disobedience.
The seed of devastation had already been sown,
And grave evil and sorrow filled the world."
"The bridge to eternal life was broken.
It would be mended only if humanity were cleansed—purified as pure as a white lamb.
The Father had no other way,
but to give His only Son to rescue us.
So, the Son of Man was born on a night like this, ages ago beneath these very stars," she says, her eyes secured on the constellation glittering across the deep purplish-blue sky,
trailing a shooting star as it falls into the western horizon, her hands lifted slightly as she stands under their archaic light.
Her eyes sweep over the thousands of believers before her, gathered in this cold December night—silent,
listening as her voice rises, echoing through the clearing by the village's edge,
where the dark forest looms, a tangle of dead trunks and steadfast evergreen.
She lowers her hands. "He lived, He died, and He rose for our salvation. All for the sinners He can never cease to love."
"Now it is for us to choose—between the Lord and the World.
Remember, fate does not decide our choices,
The choices we make shape our fate."
"So, tonight we celebrate to remember the birth of Jesus Christ, the King of the Universe—
and we pray, believing in the beginning of a new journey toward freedom of Miraeth's people,
And for our brothers and sisters from another land—taken prisoner, yet rescued by His merciful love just days ago."
Juvenile murmurs ripple through the crowd at once.
The multitude before her sits upon the dry grass beneath the open sky—
clad in thick garments, loved ones huddled close, their warmth shared among the thousands gathered together.
It hasn't snowed for nearly a week now, the air holds a serene chill, crisp and still—a beautiful night to celebrate Christmas.
Fire torches border the clearing, their flames casting an amber glow across the believers—reflecting the golden grace of being present in the purity of the Holy Spirit, illuminating and warming the hearts of the old and weary, the anguished youth, and the cold, forsaken children.
As she parts her lips to continue, their gazes settle on her, quieting the crowd, allowing her words to flow with reverence, the light of the Word tugging at their hearts.
"God gave us freedom, and even the world moves unchained.
The way of the world may wound us, or bless us, yet He allows it—
Not because He delights in our pain,
But we know that all things work together for good to those that love God, for those who are called according to His purpose."
She has just quoted Romans 8:28 from the Scripture.
"He hears us when we call to him. There we find His hands steady, ready to catch and heal us as we fall.
For He always reveals His peace within the struggle.
And when we surrender all to Him, He uses even our pain to fulfil a loving purpose that transcends the suffering itself.
For everything God allows,
He allows for redemption—never for ruin."
Neva draws in a deep breath as she finishes.
"Let us pray," she says softly, folding her hands as the cold wind swirls past, stirring the loose curls under her veil.
She bows her head and closes her eyes.
When the final prayer fades, gentle murmurs and laughter ripple through the clearing.
The silhouettes of the crowd begin to drift toward the festival tents—raised on slender wooden panels, bordered by low railings patched together from the same materials as their roofs. The thatched coverings, woven from dry reeds, straw,
and long grasses, are adorned with green wreaths and garlands of Christmas cheer.
After long years of tested faith, restrained joy, and subdued freedom, this is the first Christmas they can truly celebrate—
even with the threat of danger waiting in the shadows, ready to strike at any moment.
She prays silently that peace will endure through this Christmas night, from the 24th until the first light of dawn.
"Neva," a familiar voice calls from behind her.
Neva turns and finds Apphia walking toward her, her grandson in tow.
"Nana," Neva says, a smile softening her lips.
"Won't you join the others for the feast?"
She gazes toward one of the thatched tents, where people have already begun serving food—the invigorating aroma of warm bread, hearty stew, and sweet cake mingling in the cold night air.
"Although it's hardly a Christmas feast—with rations so carefully measured," she murmurs, then lifts her gaze to meet Apphia's pale, bluish-grey eyes once more.
"Fairer days shall come, my child," Apphia says, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she offers Neva a kind smile.
"Only let us hold fast to one another, and to the Lord's grace."
Neva returns a small smile, her gaze drifting to the child beside Apphia, his small hand tucked securely in hers.
The boy signs something to her with his hands, and though Neva is still unfamiliar with Adam's silent way of speaking, she's slowly learning to read the meaning behind his gestures and expressions.
Neva shakes her head in response.
"Rhean and the twins are at home," she says, signing along with her hands, hoping he'll understand.
"They won't be joining us tonight."
Adam's lips form a small pout as he lowers his gaze, disheartened that his friends won't be with him. Neva gently caresses his head, a faint, regretful smile curving her lips.
"A blessed sermon you have given us, my child. May the Lord's grace ever abide with you," Apphia says, a gentle light kindling across her aged face.
Neva nods in gratitude, though her gaze drifts toward Rhett in the distance—the fire torches along the forest's edge casting a gentle glow over him and the two silhouettes with whom he speaks.
One she recognizes as the chief of Ephrath, but the other remains unknown to her.
"Come along, child. Take supper with us, for my Adam complains he is famished," Apphia says, a tender smile warming her face as she caresses her grandson's hair.
"You go on with Adam, Nana," Neva says, her smile lingering.
"I'll join you later—with Rhett."
"Sister Neva," a familiar, honeyed voice calls suddenly, just before Apphia can reply.
Neva turns, glancing over her shoulder to see a young woman approaching—her smile bright and blooming, lighting up her graceful face.
It's Maria, a fellow villager from Ephrath, the wife of Jeremiah—one of the guards appointed to watch over their home.
"Hello, Maria," Neva says with a gentle smile, her tone soft and welcoming as she meets the young woman's bright eyes.
Maria's smile lingers as she steps up beside Neva.
"Oho, our little Adam is here as well," she chirps, gently pinching the boy's chubby cheek.
The wicker basket rests at her hip beneath a clean beige cloth, the faint scent of warm, freshly baked bread drifting in the air.
"Why stand here alone?" Maria asks, her gaze drifting toward the tents crowded with people—and to those without space, dining beneath the trees, circled around the bonfires. Women move among the lighthearted believers more than men, bearing large wooden bowls brimming with meat and vegetable stew, and baskets of warm bread—
serving each portion upon bowls and plates fashioned from firm, pressed leaves.
The air is rich with laughter and cheer,
voices of the young and old mingling beneath the starlit sky,
surrounded by golden candlelight and fire torches shimmering with delight.
"With the way folk swarm for food, it shall not be long before we run out," Maria says, glancing between Neva and Apphia.
"We do not have enough for all?" Neva frowns, her brows knitting softly.
"Oh, nay," Maria says with a playful swat of her hand. "There is plenty yet—but if you do not claim your portion soon, they'll have it all devoured before you come near," she adds, a grin curving her lips.
"Maria!" a woman's voice calls from the distance.
They turn to see two women standing by the bonfire, empty wicker baskets dangling loosely from their hands. "Make haste with the bread, you!" one of them calls, her voice carrying over the crowded voices.
"Here I come!" Maria calls back, then turns to Neva and Apphia with a bright smile.
"Nana, take Sister Neva there," she says, pointing toward a quieter corner where a small family and two men sit apart from the larger crowd.
"It is less crowded than the rest."
"I will meet you there with your portion," Maria says, grinning as she waves to them before hurrying toward the two waiting women.
One of the women leans in, murmuring something into the other's ear, both stealing fleeting, petty glances in their direction.
Whispers about her—wretched and lingering—still drift through the village of Ephrath, cutting deeper than she lets on.
A gentle hand rests on Neva's shoulder, drawing her gaze to Apphia's eyes.
Apphia offers her a warm, reassuring smile. "I shall go on with my grandson hither, dear. You come with your husband."
Neva nods, her gaze following the darkening silhouettes of Apphia and little Adam as they walk away toward the quiet corner Maria had pointed out.
Neva exhales softly, her longing gaze sweeping the clearing in search of Rhett.
But her brow furrows—he is no longer where he stood. The two other men are gone as well, and Jack, who had come with them, is nowhere to be seen.
She looks around in every direction, searching between the shifting figures—straining to catch a familiar voice amid the swell of laughter and chatter that fills the night.
She stands alone in the middle of the clearing, unable to distinguish the sea of faces in the distance—those gathered in the shadowed corners where the firelight cannot reach, their features swallowed by the dark.
A deep hollowness blooms in her chest, heavy and still.
She longs to return to the cottage—to her children, to the warmth of home.
"Fire!" a voice cries out, raw with terror, tearing through the bustle of celebration.
"The forest—the forest is on fire!"
Neva sees a man stumbling out from the treeline into the clearing near the bonfire.
Startled villagers rush forward to steady him, their voices rising in alarm.
The atmosphere shifts in an instant—
joyous laughter gives way to chaos, the warmth of celebration consumed by confusion and fear.
Then she smells it—the sharp sting of smoke and ash threading through the cold night air, stirring the hem of her dress.
Faint crackles reach her ears, and a gray haze begins to rise—not from the bonfires, but from the forest itself.
Loud voices erupt, followed by the distant thunder of hooves rumbling through the ground.
The peace she had hoped for had not lasted the night at all.
She clutches her head, a sharp ache throbbing at her temples as chaos erupts through the clearing.
Baskets overturn, food scatters across the ground, and screams pierce the night as people leap to their feet—their silhouettes a blur of panic sweeping past her. Fire arrows streak across the sky—then plunge downward, piercing the believers where they are.
They collapse with shattering cries, bodies thudding against the earth, trampled beneath the fleeing crowd.
The corpses of the multitude turn the land into an ocean of blood,
the metallic scent coiling in her gut as her knees give way.
She folds over, retching violently.
"Neva!"
Her name—uttered by a familiar voice—fades before it reaches her mind.
A hand finds her, drawing slow, gentle circles along her back as she gasps for air, her fingers clawing at the dirt.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs, his low voice laced with worry.
Neva raises her chin, her mind still reeling as her gaze meets Rhett's,
where a shadow of softness hazes through the lines of concern upon his face.
Her gaze sweeps across the clearing—but there are no corpses, no sea of red, no arrows raining from the sky.
Yet the place is cluttered, filled with frantic murmurs and motion.
A crowd stands gathered before a silhouette—blurry to her glassy eyes—speaking in a voice both loud and anchoring.
"We have to go," Rhett says, his palm gliding down her spine.
"Can you stand?"
Neva gives him a faint nod.
Her legs tremble as she tries to push herself up, but his arm tightens around her shoulders, steadying her before she can fall.
"What's happening?" she whispers, swallowing hard, the bitterness on her tongue and the ache in her throat twisting through her voice.
"An ambush," Rhett replies, his gaze turning keen as he looks ahead.
The crowd begins to settle. Volunteer scouts on horseback move through the masses, gathering people into groups.
At the front, the Chief of Ephrath—
the one who had been speaking to the believers—starts to lead the march.
Neva reaches for Rhett, her trembling fingers clutching his trench blazer—the soft, fuzzy fabric warm against her slick skin.
"The children?" Neva echoes, her voice barely audible against the crackle of the burning forest, carried by the heated breeze.
The scent of smoke thickens in the air as people begin to move out of the clearing in orderly clusters—each column of five to eight hundred led by vanguards at the front.
"They're already headed out with Sky and Hunter," Rhett says, threading his fingers through hers as they start forward.
Jack spots them and strides to meet them halfway, two guards following close behind.
"Wagons are loaded with the sick and the elderly, all the necessary provisions secured," Jack declares, stopping before them.
"And your car's waiting by the village entrance," Jack says, nodding toward the bearded, gruff looking men armed with bows at the back. "I'll go with them."
Rhett studies the two men, his expression stoic, before turning to Jack.
"Ride with the rear guards. I'll take the front. Make sure no one's left behind."
"Got it," Jack replies,
heading off with the men toward the horses gathered by the scouts.
"Let's go," Rhett says, leading Neva toward a less crowded path—
opposite the one the villagers take, where the scouts guide them out in orderly lines despite the lingering panic.
"It doesn't feel right," Neva murmurs, breath hitching. "We're in a car while they walk."
"You're overthinking it," Rhett replies, his voice low, edged with grim restraint.
"I'll see that no one is harmed," he adds, his hand tightening around her wrist as silence descends over her.