The month of *Nisan* had arrived, and the City of Babel buzzed with activity, its streets thronged with people celebrating the New Year Festival—the most important holiday in the Land of Shinar.
Originally a festival exclusive to the City of Babel, it had become a celebration shared by the entire Land of Shinar and its neighboring countries since the formation of the Alliance of Four Kings ten years prior.
Despite the national promotion of his own festival, King Amraphel of Shinar felt no joy. After bathing and changing his robes, he prayed before the statue of the Moon God, seeking prosperity for his kingdom.
This was the final day of the New Year Festival, yet only a handful of minor priests assisted Amraphel. This wasn't due to the festival's waning end; unlike other celebrations, the New Year Festival grew only more grand and lively as it approached its conclusion.
However, this grandeur no longer belonged to Amraphel.
The most renowned priests had gathered at the largest Temple of the Creator God in the City of Babel.
That's right, the Temple of the Creator God. Amraphel worshipped the native Moon God, while the creation myth had come from Elam to the east. Unlike the traditional, rigid monotheistic creation views, Elam did not reject polytheism. They acknowledged Babel's Sun and Moon Gods but argued that deities varied in hierarchy. Compared to the Sun and Moon Gods, the Elamite "Creator God"—the one who had forged the world—was clearly supreme.
Thus, on this New Year Festival, which had once been the exclusive domain of Babel's inner city, the Moon God Temple stood sparsely attended, while the true festivities were concentrated in the Temple of the Creator God at the city's opposite end.
Babel's prime location, at the heart of the four kingdoms, made it ideal for communication with Ellasar, Elam, and Goyim. Nimrod had originally chosen this site for his convenience, but now it worked against him. King Chedorlaomer of Elam entered Shinar as if it were his own city, his incursions growing increasingly frequent and brazen.
Not only did he move the gods of Elam into the City of Babel, but he also boldly hosted the Creator God's New Year Festival there, forcing the other kings of the plains and remote vassal states to attend. He acted like a true master of the land, his arrogance no less than Nimrod's in his day.
As the son of the plains' former true overlord, Amraphel naturally resented this. However, fearing the King of Elam's formidable military strength, he could only force a smile. For now, he had barely managed to steal a moment from the Creator God's festival to pray to his own deity.
Even a minor god was still his own. Besides, the Creator God would surely favor Elam over the Land of Shinar.
With this in mind, Amraphel naturally preferred to trust the Moon God he had worshipped since childhood. He had once followed his father in worshipping the Sun God, but that god had proven unreliable. Otherwise, why would his father, in the prime of his life, have suddenly died, plunging the kingdom into chaos?
When Amraphel finished his ritual and emerged from the Moon God Temple, he found envoys waiting outside. Recognizing them as trusted confidants of the King of Elam, he hurried forward to help them up.
"There's no need for such formality, envoys. Does the King of Elam have a message?"
As the King of Shinar, Amraphel showed such deference to an envoy of Elam, his words and actions devoid of royal pride. The envoy, however, was accustomed to this.
The era of the King of Shinar had long passed. Though they publicly spoke of the Alliance of Four Kings, everyone knew that the true overlord of the plains was now King Chedorlaomer of Elam.
The envoy went through the motions of politeness before straightening up, lifting his chin, and haughtily stating his purpose:
"The King of Sodom showed considerable disrespect during the New Year Festival. We showed restraint due to the holiday, but now that it's over, the King wishes to administer a small punishment. The Alliance of Four Kings shows no favoritism. He has sent me to invite you to a council to discuss this matter."
Though the envoy's words were humble, their tone allowed no refusal. Amraphel disliked this, but he was helpless.
The current situation was unlike the past. King Chedorlaomer was a man of deep cunning. Amraphel bitterly regretted that his father had failed to recognize Chedorlaomer's wolfish ambition, leaving Amraphel no choice but to lead the Land of Shinar in submission to the eastern power of Elam.
Though Elam, the founder of the Shem, had never produced a great figure like Eber, the Shem people had always maintained an unshakable position of power. Their true rise to prominence, however, had occurred in the last decade.
Rumor had it that the Shem possessed a sacred book, passed down from their ancestor, Shem. Shem had given it to his eldest son, Elam, and it had been passed down through generations until it fell into the hands of King Chedorlaomer of Elam, finally enabling the Shem people to achieve such dominance.
Amraphel couldn't verify the truth of these rumors. If the Shem really possessed such a book, why had they only revealed it now?
Yet the fact remained that Chedorlaomer had spent over a decade achieving the dominance his father, Nimrod, had never accomplished—the complete subjugation of the Five Kings of the Southern Frontier, forcing them into vassalage. Therefore, he wouldn't make any rash moves. As long as Elam didn't set his sights on the Land of Shinar, Amraphel would tolerate even the forced adoption of the Shem calendar across the land and the renaming of the City of Nimrod. Moreover, the tribute from the Kings of Canaan over the past decade had brought considerable benefits to the Land of Shinar.
Amraphel knew that Bera, the new King of Sodom, was a successor to the Canaanite kings. While Chedorlaomer had conquered Bera's father, that didn't mean he had conquered Bera himself. Yet having tasted the benefits of this arrangement, Amraphel had no desire to see the Canaanite kings grow too powerful, even though they were all descendants of Ham.
"The new King of Sodom is likely young and arrogant, unwilling to submit to the suzerainty of the great kingdom. He deserves to be taught a lesson," Amraphel said to the envoy, showing no particular fondness for his distant Canaanite kinsmen. He readily agreed to attend the meeting.
Meanwhile, God and Haniya left the snow plains, which had just entered the period of perpetual daylight, and headed south toward the City of Nimrod.
Haniya was not surprised. Although Yahweh hadn't revealed their destination, he reasoned that since the wager with Hell had been struck in the City of Nimrod, Yahweh's actions now made sense.
A few days later, they arrived at the City of Nimrod, only to find it renamed the City of Babel.
This piqued the angel's curiosity. How had the humans learned this name?
"Babel" was a term used in Heaven, neither he nor Yahweh had ever revealed it to mortals.
Upon inquiry, he learned that King Chedorlaomer of Elam, one of the Human Kings, had renamed the City of Nimrod.
But instead of resolving his confusion, this answer only deepened it. He couldn't help but ask Yahweh:
"Who is this Chedorlaomer, and how could he have learned the name 'Babel'?"
God remained silent, but he already knew the reason.
It was because of the Book of Enoch.
God stepped into the City of Nimrod. King Chedorlaomer of Elam had just finished "disciplining" the King of Sodom, successfully intimidating the Five Kings of the Southern Frontier. It was a time of universal submission and widespread reverence.
The Four Kings jointly sacrificed to the Moon God, while the common people hung colorful banners and burned incense. From his high platform, the King of Elam gazed down at the masses, a cruel smile spreading across his face as he watched their unprovoked fear.
In his prime, King Chedorlaomer was full of vigor and ambition. With a flick of his finger, he could determine the fate of a nation. From his elevated position, he proclaimed his policies to the world.
Seventeen years prior, Noah had passed away, entrusting the Book of Enoch to his eldest son, Shem, before his death. As was customary, the eldest son was highly esteemed. Shem passed the book to his own eldest son, Elam, who then passed it down to his successor, Chedorlaomer. Thus, the Book of Enoch had been passed down through the generations of humankind.
This system had its merits. Lacking the immortality of angels or demons, humanity developed slowly through this generational transmission, gradually building a strong foundation.
Yet God did not favor Chedorlaomer. Though perhaps the most intelligent of Shem's descendants and the first to fully unlock the wealth of knowledge Enoch had left behind, Chedorlaomer, armed with the Book of Enoch, had divined the true meaning of Babel. However, he rejected the book's spirit and refused to believe that the Creator God, mentioned so frequently within its pages, was the sole sovereign. Instead, he allowed the three kings to indulge in polytheistic and heterodox worship.
Because his heart lacked faith, he naturally refused to submit to the authority of faith. God was somewhat disappointed, perhaps believing that no one else in the world could ever be as perfect as Enoch. Noah came close, but he had already ascended to Heaven. Among Noah's three sons, God most cherished Shem for his humility and piety, yet none of his descendants inherited his virtuous qualities.
"We come from different lands... and worship different deities, but this need not prevent us from forging an alliance... As we move toward greatness through integration and coexistence... those who obey the alliance will prosper, while those who defy it will pay the price!"
The Human King's words drew cheers from his subjects. At their core, these lofty pronouncements were merely a means to eliminate rivals and establish his absolute dominance.
Chedorlaomer worshipped the Creator God but refused to praise Jehovah's name, as acknowledging a single God would hinder his grand vision of unification.
God's gaze grew colder. "You are unworthy to possess the Book of Enoch."
As the words fell, a book materialized in God's hand.
It had no cover, appearing like an ordinary notebook, yet after centuries, its pages remained as fresh as if they had been written yesterday.
Disappointed by the King of Elam, God withdrew the Book of Enoch, ensuring that the true original of the righteous Enoch would never again be found in the world.
Haniya was unaware that King Chedorlaomer of Elam above was rapidly losing God's favor. He looked around, his curiosity barely concealed.
Over a decade had passed, and the human cities had changed considerably. They communicated with each other, speaking the same language in different accents. As Yahweh had said, the changes in language hadn't truly affected them, merely categorizing them by region.
But Yahweh showed no interest here. After a single glance at the Human King, he left without hesitation, showing no sign of lingering.
Haniya didn't understand why Yahweh had suddenly become displeased, so he followed him onward. They soon left Nimrod—no, the City of Babel. Regrettably, he saw no trace of Hell within its walls; the demons seemed to have vanished from the city. Yahweh's destination was clearly not here. They ambled leisurely along the Euphrates River. Haniya grew bored, but as they reached the river's upper reaches, the angel's eyes suddenly lit up.
"Yahweh, look—it's him," he said, pointing to a man lost in thought beneath an oak tree. It was Abram, who had fled the City of Nimrod many years ago.
"Why is he still here?" Haniya asked, slightly puzzled. The place wasn't too far from the City of Nimrod, and given the circumstances back then, he'd expected the humans to have gone much farther.
God gazed quietly at the man beneath the tree, his golden eyes rippling with time. In an instant, he saw the passage of years across Abram's form.
After fleeing the City of Nimrod, Abram had led his son, Bela, and over two hundred young men of their clan northwest along the Great River. Abram's primary goal was Mount Ararat, the legendary final resting place of the Ark in Shem's lore.
*If our ancestor were still alive, we might find refuge there,* he had originally planned. But after just a few days' journey, Bela suddenly refused to go any further.
Looking at this land so similar to Ur,
In this seemingly barren land, Abram knew he could no longer persuade his stubborn father to change his mind. They were forced to stop, and he contacted his brother Nahor, who had taken a different route with the rest of the clan. Nahor quickly arrived with the clan members and their valuable possessions to reunite with them.
Thus, they established their roots here. To commemorate their fallen brother, they named the land Haran. Being capable people, they soon thrived after settling in.
As life stabilized and prosperity grew, Abram remained perpetually restless. He had no desire to remain in Haran, too close to the City of Nimrod. But filial duty forbade him from defying his father's command, so he could only intensify his surveillance of the city. Unexpectedly, news soon arrived of Nimrod's death.
With Nimrod gone, their safety was no longer threatened. The new King of Shinar, Amraphel, was busy forging alliances with neighboring kingdoms. Lacking Nimrod's authority and prestige, he had no time to bother with a small, rebellious tribe from the land of Ur.
Abram breathed a sigh of relief, yet his heart remained unsettled.
I was chosen by Jehovah. How can I stop here?
He often pondered this, his usual enthusiasm for clan affairs waning. His father, Terah, knew his son best and saw his restlessness but offered no support.
In God's eyes, Abram's current situation bore striking similarities to Enoch's, yet also differed fundamentally.
Enoch had been Jared's only son, while Abram had a brother and numerous nephews. His concerns were far more complex than Enoch's had been, and most importantly, his father, Terah, was far more stubborn.
Terah refused to leave Haran. Though he heard God's words that night, unlike Abram, he dismissed them.
"Who can truly explain where humanity came from?" he often argued with Abram. "If that's the case, we shouldn't be heading to Mount Ararat, but back to the City of Adam."
But the Great Flood had destroyed everything, and now no one knew where the original City of Adam had been.
"Besides, I'm old now. Do you expect me to endure the hardships of travel?"
In truth, Terah had regretted leaving the City of Nimrod almost immediately. As time passed, this regret only deepened. He felt the current King of Shinar was more reasonable than Nimrod. If they had just endured a little longer, perhaps waiting for Nimrod's death, they might have avoided leaving their homeland and still be living peacefully in Ur.
There was no turning back now, but thankfully, they had already established themselves in Haran and were living no worse than before. The old man was content, his only worry being Abram.
His son was too ambitious, never satisfied with a stable life. If Abram were still young, it might be understandable, but now that he was seventy-five, how could he still be so reckless?
"A few words from an outsider have shaken your resolve?"
But Abram was the son he favored, his eldest son. According to Semitic custom, half of Terah's future enterprises would be managed by Abram. Therefore, he wanted his son to remain steady and not stir up trouble.
"What makes you so special that Jehovah treats you with such favor?" The Chieftain of Harran didn't hesitate to use the harshest words to strike at his son, hoping to make him settle down.
Neither father nor son could convince the other. Both were equally stubborn and obstinate, each convinced of his own righteousness. As the years passed, Terah grew increasingly impatient. After more than a decade, Abram still had no children.
Normal people have children in their teens or twenties. Terah had to endure the hardships of late parenthood, only having Abram at the age of seventy because he followed Nimrod. But could his son's situation be the same as his own? He had arranged Sarai for Abram in his youth, and watched them grow from young lovers into middle-aged spouses, yet they had still failed to have even a single child. Recently, Sarai had become increasingly impatient with him.
Terah believed this was because Abram wasn't close enough to Sarai. But why wasn't he?
Clearly, he was too preoccupied with trivial thoughts.
At the most recent tribal meeting, Terah glared coldly at Abram. "Look at your brother Nahor—he's the one who truly knows how to live properly."
Nahor was obedient and dutiful, with a large family of children. It was through his second son that Terah finally experienced the joys of fatherhood.
"If you don't learn to behave yourself, I'll hand over all the family business to Nahor!"
The words sent shockwaves through the assembly. Fine beads of sweat appeared on Nahor's forehead, his eyes flickering with a mixture of nervousness and barely concealed delight. Lot, the son of the late Haran, turned pale, his eyes darting uneasily between his uncle and grandfather.
This quarrel feels particularly severe. Grandfather has never spoken like this before, he thought uneasily.
Abram, however, was listless, showing no energy despite his father's reprimand.
Seeing this, Terah flew into a rage and drove him from his tent. News of the Chieftain's family affairs always spread swiftly, and soon Sarai heard about the events at the tribal council.
Yet her husband had not returned, and she had no one to ask. After much deliberation, she called for her nephew, Lot, and asked him to find Abram.
"Your uncle is stubborn, always provoking your grandfather," Sarai said, her face etched with worry, hesitating to say more.
"I know, Aunt. Uncle treats me like his own son, and I regard him as my father. I'll speak with him properly. I saw clearly today that Second Uncle has his own agenda. I was just thinking how to warn him," Lot said frankly, understanding Sarai's concerns.
Hearing this, Sarai felt slightly reassured. She watched her nephew leave, a sense of pride welling up in her heart.
It seems Abram didn't dote on Lot in vain. But this comfort was quickly swept away by the rising tide of anxiety.
"If this continues, we'll truly lose our footing in Haran... What is he thinking?"
While Sarai was seething with anger at Abram, Lot followed the road and asked the shepherds along the way for his uncle's location.
The terrain here was flat, with only one towering oak tree. Abram often sat beneath this tree, and Lot quickly found him.
Lot, in his early twenties, had grown into a robust young man. Having lost his father at a young age, he had witnessed the harsh realities of human nature. It was Abram's protection that had saved him from being devoured by cynicism, but his sensitive nature remained. Fortunately, as Abram had no children of his own, Lot gradually came to see himself as Abram's true son.
Now that his 'father's' inheritance was threatened, how could the 'son' remain idle?
Righteously indignant, Lot voiced his suspicion that Second Uncle Nahor might contest Abram's claim to the family fortune. He declared that no matter what happened, he would stand by Abram's side.
But Abram only uttered one sentence:
"I don't think I should stay here."
"Uncle?" Lot looked at Abram, puzzled. What did this abrupt, out-of-the-blue statement mean?
But if I'm not here, where else could I be? Abram sighed inwardly, shaking his head at his bewildered nephew.
"Go back, Lot. I need to be alone."
Lot assumed his uncle was upset about his father's warning. In truth, Abram felt no sadness over it. He didn't want to rack his brain over the family inheritance; the wealth belonged to his father. While it would be a lie to say he felt no desire for it, it didn't consume his thoughts.
More than his father's legacy, Abram longed to become like Nimrod—no, to surpass Nimrod. He didn't want to be stuck managing his father's business and overseeing a few mediocre shepherds, living out his days in mediocrity.
Seventeen years had passed. He thought time would extinguish this mad ambition. After all, he was no longer young, and as the eldest son, his duty was to revitalize his father's enterprise.
But it hadn't worked. The fire of ambition burned fiercely in his heart, yet reality, like clinging vines, held his feet firmly in place.
Abram didn't know how to make a choice.
Should he obey his father's words and settle down in Haran, living a quiet, stable life? Or should he defy his father's command for that elusive yet intense yearning in his heart?
It all began over a decade ago when two strangers, claiming to be messengers of Jehovah, planted a seed of hope in his heart. They ignited the flame of hope within him, making him yearn for the favor of destiny.
Yet since then, nothing extraordinary had happened, as if he had been forgotten.
He lowered his head and prayed to God beneath the oak tree—he preferred to believe that a God existed above. He hoped that the Creator of the universe, as described in the legends of Shem, would ultimately take pity on his faithful follower.
If you have the power, please guide this lost lamb.
Suddenly, a golden streak of light flashed across Abram's tightly closed eyes, illuminating the darkness before him like lightning.
He had prayed to God many times before, but this was the first time he had witnessed such a phenomenon during meditation. Abram opened his eyes in astonishment and found a pair of dustless silver boots suddenly standing before him.
Beneath the giant oak tree of Haran, this was the second meeting between God and Abram.
God gazed down at Abram, who sat on the stone bench, with golden eyes. The evening breeze stirred His hair, yet the scene felt frozen in time.
"You... are you..." Abram's mind went blank. In that instant, he even forgot what he was doing or thinking. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.
He had never seen God before, yet the figure before him felt incredibly familiar.
This was because he had prayed countless times in his dreams for an encounter with the Creator. The divine mind would respond to the call of its creation, and that was why Abram felt this sense of familiarity.
But ultimately, he couldn't make out God's face. As the fleeting sense of wonder faded, Abram snapped back to his senses, immediately bewildered by his own words.
What was I saying?
Who is this "you"?
Do I even know this person?
Haniya bristled at the human's gaze being fixed solely on Yahweh. After all, he was the one who had painstakingly escorted them safely out of the city. How could this man so completely ignore his presence?!
He cleared his throat loudly beside them, not stopping until the human's attention was drawn, then asked with a grin, "What are you thinking about? So captivated."
Seeing Haniya, Abram froze for a moment, then his eyes lit up with surprise and delight.
"It's you! The messengers of Jehovah!"
"Uh..." Haniya felt strangely uncomfortable with this title. He glanced at Yahweh, not rushing to...
He responded.
For some reason, he didn't want to address Yahweh that way.
Yahweh was too special; he should be unique, not anyone's messenger—even if that "anyone" was God himself.
Why! Have I betrayed My God after not seeing Him for too long?!
Yahweh is important! But no matter how important, he can't be more important than God!
What's going on?!
God glanced at Haniya, who was once again battling himself in his mind. Ignoring the angel, he gave a brief nod to the human.
"You could think of it that way."
The silver-haired one was far more reserved than the golden-haired one. He wasn't particularly friendly, but he radiated an undeniable presence that, once noticed, became impossible to ignore.
"I've heard that Melchizedek, King of Salem, is the wisest man in the world. Are you King Melchizedek?"
"Yahweh is far wiser than Melchizedek!" Haniya finally snapped out of his mental debate between God and Yahweh. He stole a guilty glance at Yahweh, relieved to confirm that God still ranked first in his heart. Then, feeling a pang of guilt toward Yahweh, he grew even more eager to demonstrate Yahweh's omnipotence before Abram.
Abram didn't believe Haniya's words. The angel's exaggerated expressions and speech were simply not convincing. Still, he apologized for mistaking him for someone else.
"I'm sorry, please forgive my shallowness and rudeness. I was just so desperate for a wise person to help me understand."
He began to pour out his troubles. His words were rambling and sometimes incoherent, but God listened quietly, showing no sign of impatience.
Abram rambled on until his throat was parched, only then realizing how much he had revealed to someone he barely knew. A proud man who rarely shared his true feelings, he had lost control today. Perhaps it was the weight of long-suppressed emotions, or perhaps the unique aura of the person before him had rare-ly stirred his desire to confide.
"I must have made you laugh. Even at my age, I still spend my days chasing unrealistic dreams." Abram chuckled self-mockingly, using the sound to wipe away the tears at the corners of his eyes.
God gazed at him for a moment before speaking.
"The foundation of any endeavor has nothing to do with age." Besides, Abram didn't look particularly old.
"Please, enlighten me," Abram said, his voice filled with genuine respect. He had never been addressed in such a deferential manner before.
As dusk began to fall, Abram invited them to his home. Haniya had expected Yahweh to decline, as he didn't seem the type to accept such an invitation. To his surprise, Yahweh readily agreed.
Not only did he agree, but he even appeared to be thoroughly enjoying their conversation.
Abram proudly introduced his guests to the customs and industries of Haran. Most of these were managed by his family: the vineyards, pomegranate orchards, vast fig groves, and olive groves they had seen along the way, as well as thousands of cattle, sheep, and livestock.
Though his wealth could not compare to the foundations of a great nation, Abram's prosperity far surpassed that of an ordinary person. Yet he still felt a lingering dissatisfaction. God didn't perceive him as greedy; the human desire to achieve something great in life outweighed the craving for treasure and a stable, comfortable existence.
It was a desire that no amount of wealth seemed capable of satisfying.
God remained uncertain whether this stemmed from Abram's lingering innocence, unburdened by the tempering of poverty, or from a genuine lack of material desires. For these reasons, he said little more.
They soon entered a luxurious tent. Eliezer, the servant, followed his master's instructions to welcome and refresh the guests. He held a water pitcher high above, signaling to a companion to place a basin below to catch the water and prevent it from splashing on the floor.
"Allow me to wash away the dust of your journey," he said.
Such meticulous care was rare. God extended his hand, letting the cool well water flow over it. Haniya followed suit, and finally, Abram, the tent's owner, did the same.
"Abram! I heard Lot say..." A sweet voice called from outside, then abruptly fell silent.
"How could you bring guests without a word?" The woman's voice had noticeably softened.
God saw Abram's wife, Sarai, whose beauty belied her sixty-five years. She wore a vibrant robe, adorned from her hairnet to her anklets in a display of opulence.
Sarai noticed the guests looking at her. She was accustomed to men's gazes, but she found no discomfort in this one. For the first time in years, she felt a rare shyness. She quickly pulled down her veil and hurried out of the tent.
Behind the tent, the woman regained her vitality. God heard Sarai outside, her voice booming as she directed the servants in preparing dinner.
"This is my wife," Abram introduced awkwardly.
God nodded, a smile in his eyes, for he saw a shadow of Eve in Sarai.
The dinner was lavish, with unleavened bread as the staple, baked over charcoal and sprinkled with sesame seeds. The fragrant aroma made Haniya's appetite surge.
God carefully broke off pieces of the bread. Abram's household didn't use knives for meals, nor did they cut the bread, fearing that a blade might sever the lifeline as easily as it cut the bread. God accepted this method of breaking bread with ease. Under the hands of a skilled cook, even the dry taste took on a unique charm, and soon a full stack of bread piled up before him.
God placed all the bread before Haniya, and the angel stared wide-eyed, his stomach already full.
Yahweh ignored him, washing his hands and continuing to speak with Abram.
"Risk often accompanies reward. The process may be arduous, but it depends on whether you have the courage to strive."
Abram listened intently. These ideas had crossed his mind before, but hearing someone else articulate them for the first time made him feel like he had found a kindred spirit.
Little did he know that this kindred spirit would utter something extraordinary in the next moment.
"If I were to grant you the foundation of nations, would you have the confidence to bear its weight?"
Abram's eyes widened in disbelief. "The foundation of nations?!" he repeated.
"How would I do that?"
"You must sever your original roots," God replied. In human society, the firstborn held a special status. God disapproved of Chedorlaomer's arrogance, and he knew well where that self-importance came from. Thus, when he encountered Abram, who shared the same lineage as the King of Elam but lacked that arrogance and instead trusted in God, he felt compelled to test him, to see if he was as he had anticipated.
"You must leave your clan, your land, your father's house..."
The angel beside him swallowed painfully, but then suddenly slowed his movements. Though Yahweh hadn't explicitly stated it, Haniya understood that he was guiding Abram toward Canaan.
"You may go south, but do not cross Mount Sinai."
Abram, who had been listening intently, couldn't help but ask, "Why not?"
"You will become unhappy," God said, patting the angel who was nearly choking, helping him escape his suffering.
"Is this also God's will...?"
God turned to look at him. "If you believe it is, then it is."
With that, He politely declined Abram's invitation to stay the night and rose, disappearing into the vast night with Haniya.
Abram stood at the tent entrance, gazing in the direction his guests had gone for most of the night. The biting wind pierced to the bone, and the night dew clung to his body, seeping into his robes. He shivered involuntarily, pulling his wide robe tighter. Yet his eyes settled, a firm resolve hardening within them.
"This is God's will," he declared to Nahor, who tried to stop him, his voice firm despite his shock.
"I renounce the rights of the eldest son, leave Haran, and seek the true meaning of my life."
Because of Yahweh's words, Abram resolutely abandoned his birthright—something he had never truly desired anyway. With his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot, who was willing to join him in this venture, he left Haran.
Even at this moment, he himself didn't know where his path lay or how long the journey would take.
The foundation of nations!
He believed in the name of Jehovah, trusted the messenger He sent, and above all, followed Yahweh's guidance. Thus, he moved forward without hesitation.
Unbeknownst to him, two hidden figures stood beside him: Yahweh and Haniya, who Abram believed had already departed.
Haniya admired Abram's drive but still didn't understand.
"Why Canaan?"
That was their first destination. Did it hold special significance?
"Because that's where we're going," God said.
"Are you referring to your wager with Lucifer?" Haniya recalled their purpose and blinked. "Then why tell Abram not to cross Mount Sinai?"
"Because the land beyond the Sinai Peninsula is the final place where the wager will be fulfilled."
"Huh?" Haniya didn't grasp it immediately. Yahweh never acted or spoke without purpose. If that were the case, he could guess that the wager between Yahweh and Lucifer would involve Mount Sinai.
But he still didn't understand what that had to do with Abram. He couldn't just be babbling nonsense, casually pointing to a place and promising him the foundation of nations, could he?!
Thinking this, he couldn't help but complain.
"Yahweh, you're acting reckless again! Can you just make promises like that? Even King Nimrod only calls himself the 'King of Many Nations.' You don't need to flatter Abram so much, even if you like him."
"He can help me win the wager," God replied simply.
"Oh, I see... Wait! What did you say?!" Haniya stared at Yahweh in shock. "You can foresee the outcome of the wager?!"
If Abram could help Yahweh defeat that arrogant demon, Haniya said he'd happily pack him up and send him over immediately.
But that didn't make sense!
The final place of fulfillment was outside the Sinai Peninsula, and if Abram could help them win the wager... then why was Yahweh telling him not to cross Mount Sinai?
While Haniya was frantic and confused, God remained calm.
"Human rebellion lies in doing exactly what they're told not to do."
"If he obeys me, I will protect him and grant him the glory of being the Father of Many Nations. If he disobeys and insists on crossing Mount Sinai, he will still help me break Hell's scheme."
Haniya was suddenly speechless.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked.
God pulled out the unresponsive golden bell and glanced at it.
"Since we have nothing better to do, let's just follow him and see what he does."