eEthan Cole had never been one for grand gestures. He'd learned early in life that people didn't need the grandiose; they needed someone who would show up when they were broken, someone who would listen, someone who understood the spaces between words. He wasn't a man of words, but a man of actions — small, purposeful actions that often went unnoticed but meant everything to the people who needed him.
That morning, like any other, he woke to the soft hum of his alarm clock. The room was dim, the sun barely spilling through the half-drawn curtains. His feet hit the cold hardwood floor with the practiced ease of someone who had long ago forgotten how to sleep in.
He shuffled to the small kitchen, made himself a cup of coffee — nothing fancy, just a cheap filter and a bit too much sugar. It was the same routine that had carried him through years of working with people who had nothing. His days bled into one another — cases, appointments, home visits. Ethan worked in social services, dealing with the broken, the lost, and the forgotten. He didn't mind the work; in fact, it gave him purpose. But he was growing tired. Life was like a slow drip, each drop heavier than the last, each step forward feeling more like a climb up a never-ending mountain.
But he kept going. Because someone had to.
He dressed quickly, pulling on worn jeans, a faded T-shirt, and a jacket that had seen better days. The city outside was as it always was — cold, indifferent, shrouded in gray. The streets were wet from an earlier rain, steam rising from the pavement as the sun began to make its feeble attempt at breaking through the clouds. Ethan pulled his hood up, tightened his coat, and headed out the door.
Today, like all other days, he walked to work. It was a short distance, just a few blocks, but the streets always felt like an endless stretch of asphalt and noise. People bustled by without seeing him — the city a blur of passing strangers, all wrapped in their own worlds. Ethan didn't mind the anonymity. He preferred it that way. He was no hero, no savior. He was just a man who helped where he could.
But that was before the street corner.
Before the alley.
Before everything changed.
Ethan had walked past the entrance to the alley dozens of times, never giving it much thought. It was an ordinary street in a city full of them. But today, something felt off. There was a flicker in the air, a strange shift, like the world around him had stuttered for a moment. A whisper carried on the breeze, something faint and fragile.
At first, he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him — lack of sleep, maybe. But as he passed by the alley again, he felt a sudden, unshakable pull to turn in. He wasn't sure why, but the feeling was stronger than any rational thought.
And then he saw them.
Three figures, cloaked in the mist of the morning rain, standing at the far end of the alley. At first, they appeared human — their forms tall and imposing, though their features were obscured by hoods and shadow. But as Ethan stepped closer, he felt a strange energy thrumming in the air. It wasn't the typical buzz of the city or the dull hum of traffic. This was different. This was otherworldly.
One of the figures turned, and in that moment, Ethan realized they weren't human. Their eyes shone like twin stars in a dark sky, glowing with a faint, ethereal light. Their skin was a smooth, almost translucent white, and the air around them shimmered with a soft, golden hue. They were angels — not in the traditional sense, but in a way that felt old and unseen, like something out of a forgotten myth.
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to run, to flee, but his legs felt frozen to the spot. The figure stepped forward, its movements fluid and graceful, as if it were a part of the wind itself. And though it didn't speak, the presence of the being was undeniable — it was as if the entire universe had exhaled a breath, and it was standing before him.
"I didn't... I didn't expect this," Ethan whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
The angel's eyes softened, the light in them flickering like the last ember of a dying fire. Then, without a word, the figure raised its hand, and the air around Ethan seemed to change. A weight pressed down on him, like time itself had slowed, and the world around him blurred into a hazy dream.
A second figure moved beside the first. This one, darker, more angular, its eyes flashing with a cold intensity. Ethan felt the temperature drop sharply, a biting chill that cut through his skin and to his very bones.
"What is this?" Ethan's voice trembled, and for the first time in his life, he felt small. Insignificant.
"You have chosen to stand," the first angel said, its voice like the soft rustle of wind through dry leaves. "But not all choices are yours to make."
Ethan felt the weight of those words pressing into him, an ancient force he couldn't fully comprehend. The angels weren't just observers. They weren't here by accident. Their presence felt deliberate, as though they had been waiting for him.
"Chosen? I don't understand." Ethan tried to take a step back, but his feet wouldn't move. Fear swelled in his chest, suffocating him. "I'm just a man."
The second angel stepped forward, its gaze sharp and penetrating. "You are more than you realize, Ethan Cole. You have already chosen, though you may not yet see the path before you."
Before he could speak, there was a sudden flash of light — bright, blinding, the world around him evaporating into pure radiance. Ethan gasped, his body shaking, and as quickly as the light appeared, it disappeared. The angels were gone.
He was alone.
But not entirely.
A feeling lingered in the air, an energy he couldn't quite place. As if the very atmosphere around him had shifted, and the boundaries of his reality had been cracked open, just a little. He stood there, heart racing, breath shallow. His hands trembled.
He had seen them. Felt them. And yet, there was no denying what had just happened. The impossible had unfolded before him — angels, beings of light and shadow, watching him, waiting.
But why?
As he stood there, caught between disbelief and awe, he suddenly understood. The verse — the reality that had always seemed so concrete, so unchanging — had just cracked open for him. And somehow, he had been the catalyst.
It wasn't an accident. It wasn't a mistake.
He had been called.
But the question remained: Why him?
And what would it mean for the world to come?
The sound of footsteps echoed in the alley, bringing him back to his senses. The normalcy of the city around him felt so out of place after the otherworldly experience he had just endured. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes.
As he turned to leave, the faintest whisper of a voice tickled his ear. It was soft, just a ripple against his consciousness.