ALTAR OF DRIFT | PART TWELVE
Morning light filtered through the narrow blinds of a modest third-floor apartment on a quiet city block.
Thin bars of gold stretched across the cream-colored walls, cutting through dust motes suspended in the air.
Outside, the low hum of distant traffic blended with the soft chirping of birds perched along electric wires.
A standing fan rotated slowly in the corner, its faint mechanical whirr pushing cool air across the tiled floor.
Near the door, a small backpack rested beside a pair of worn sneakers, their edges frayed from miles walked in quiet obedience.
Thaniel adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder, his fingers brushing the familiar shape of a folded Bible inside.
Gospel tracts peeked from the side pocket, corners slightly bent from use.
He paused near the door, his hand hovering just above the knob. His lips moved without sound, forming a prayer already known in heaven. His breathing was steady, measured.
The room felt heavier, as though the outside noise had been wrapped in cotton and pressed away.
As he straightened, an unnatural stillness settled.
The fan slowed, its blades dragging against the air, then stopped completely. The breeze vanished. The atmosphere thickened, charged, as though something unseen had leaned closer.
Thaniel’s brows knitted together. His chest rose sharply as his eyes lifted, drawn upward without conscious thought.
In the open space before him, light began to gather—not harsh, not blinding, but alive.
It layered gently upon itself until a vast spiritual screen stood suspended in the air, like a window torn open between realms.
The glow reflected faintly against the walls, shadows trembling as if stirred by a breath not of this world.
Thaniel stepped back, his heel brushing the edge of the rug. His hand lifted instinctively, palm open, fingers trembling. His pulse thudded in his ears.
Figures moved within the screen.
Cities flashed by. Crowds surged. A large modern church building appeared, flooded with lights and people.
Then Zionel—instantly recognizable—stood behind a polished pulpit. Stage lights washed over him as applause rose like waves crashing again and again.
Thaniel’s lips parted, but no sound came.
The image slowed, as if waiting for his understanding. His breathing grew shallow. The glow deepened, weight pressing against his chest.
Hands rushed Zionel forward—contracts signed too quickly, keys handed over too soon. Doors opened that looked like favor, yet shadows clung just behind them, stretching long and patient.
The air tightened.
From within the light, sound gathered before speech. The stillness seemed to bow.
A presence filled the room, holy and immovable, pressing against Thaniel’s spirit before a word was spoken.
Voice (weighty):
“There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”
The words settled like iron. Thaniel’s knees weakened. He reached for the edge of the small table, gripping it as the room seemed to tilt. The walls felt farther away.
The light pulsed once, and the screen unfolded further.
The birds outside fell silent, and even the distant traffic seemed muted, as though creation itself paused under the weight of the declaration.
Images poured forward—timing ignored, blessings received before maturity could bear them.
A church stood where obedience should have waited, its walls rising as evidence of impatience dressed in gratitude.
Divine promise rushed into premature fulfillment, its beauty bent under haste.
Thaniel swallowed hard, his throat dry.
The vision shifted again.
A lavish living room appeared—glass walls, expensive furniture, muted lighting reflecting off polished surfaces.
Seraphina stood beside Cassian, posture elegant, face composed. Her calm was precise, controlled.
Yet beneath her skin, darkness pulsed faintly, like ink swirling under clear water.
The screen peeled back another layer.
Thaniel recoiled as images sharpened.
Seraphina’s hands were raised in secret rituals, her voice commanding forces unseen. Orean lay still, his life masked, not taken.
Dark power clung to the child like smoke trapped beneath water.
The room reacted as if struck. The light quivered. The screen rippled. Thaniel’s heartbeat thundered in his ears while the air pressed heavy against his lungs.
Shadows along the walls stretched and recoiled, and the spiritual weight thickened, bearing down on him.
The image continued.
Zionel entered the same house, sincerity written plainly across his face. As his hand touched the boy’s fingers, Seraphina’s eyes flickered.
At her silent command, the darkness withdrew, slipping away like a tide pulled back by force unseen. Life surged into Orean’s body.
The room seemed to tilt again.
Thaniel staggered back, his hand flying to his mouth as breath hitched in his chest. His voice pushed through the tightness, breaking the silence with shock and grief.
Thaniel (shaken):
“That… that wasn’t resurrection…”
Zionel’s joy filled the screen—pure, grateful, unaware. The applause of heaven was absent, replaced by something quieter and far more dangerous.
Thaniel pressed his palm to his chest, breath uneven, and his tone surfaced, strained with sorrow and reverence.
Thaniel (pained):
“He thought it was you, Lord…”
The words lingered. The light dimmed slightly, as though grieving with him. The apartment felt too small to contain the truth pressing against its walls.
Outside, a car passed, its sound distant and hollow, while the unseen realm pressed closer.
The vision shifted once more.
Plans were whispered between Seraphina and unseen figures. Blueprints unfolded. Finances moved. Influence spread.
Cassian stood at the center, eyes blind to the hand guiding him—carefully, lovingly deceived.
The air stilled again before the voice returned. Authority gathered, calm yet piercing, filling the room before sound emerged.
Voice (calm):
“My servant ran ahead of my timing. I promised him glory, but he did not wait for my season.”
Thaniel’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat beaded along his hairline. The light pulsed once, heavy with restrained power.
The screen seemed to lean closer, as though heaven itself was bearing witness. The fan remained motionless, and the silence rang louder than sound.
Then the final image appeared.
Elara.
Always in the front row. Posture reverent. Eyes shining. Voice soft. Then the image split. Behind her devotion, another scene unfolded—quiet meetings, whispered instructions, a mission assigned.
Marriage chosen, not temptation. A covenant sealed, not in love, but in darkness.
Thaniel’s breath came in short gasps as understanding settled like ash in his chest.
The air thickened once more. The voice returned, closer now, firm and unyielding.
Voice (firm):
“They knew he would not fall by fornication. So they waited… and used marriage as a bait to destroy him.”
The screen dimmed slightly, holding the image of holiness made flexible, standards softened, sin redefined as humanity. Applause drowned conviction. Comfort replaced fire.
The spiritual atmosphere groaned under the weight of compromise, and the apartment felt cold despite the morning light.
Thaniel’s legs gave way.
He dropped to his knees, palms flat against the cold tiles. Sweat beaded along his temples as his shoulders shook. He bowed forward, breath breaking, tears spilling freely onto the floor.
The screen hovered above him, unwavering. The silence that followed was thick, merciful, and holy.
His voice emerged from the depths of his chest, raw and trembling.
Thaniel (broken):
“Lord, keep me. Please… keep me. Let me not drift. Let me not trade your voice for noise. Let me not mistake your power for your permission.”
The words echoed softly, absorbed by the room. The light above him softened, and the heaviness shifted from crushing to covering. The unseen realm stirred, attentive, as his plea rose like incense.
Then the presence drew nearer still. The voice came commanding yet compassionate, firm with urgency and care.
Voice (commanding):
“The enemy seeketh his life. Arise. Go to him. Speak all that thou hast seen.”
Thaniel lifted his head slowly, tears streaking his cheeks. The floor beneath his hands felt colder now, anchoring him to the moment.
The glow intensified briefly, pressing the command deeper into his spirit.
The voice continued, steady and unrelenting.
Voice (steadfast):
“He will not believe thee. His eyes are blinded. Yet thou shalt speak. And thou shalt not give up.”
Thaniel bowed low, forehead touching the tiles. His lips quivered as submission overtook fear. The room felt as though it breathed with him, the light holding steady above.
His answer came quietly, surrendered.
Thaniel (submissive):
“Yes, Lord.”
As his trembling hand lifted, the screen responded. The light folded inward, retreating like a tide drawn back by an unseen shore. The glow vanished.
The fan remained still. The apartment returned to its ordinary stillness—unchanged, yet irrevocably transformed.
Thaniel stayed kneeling for a long moment. A distant car horn drifted through the window.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright and sat on the floor, staring at the door he had planned to walk through minutes earlier.
His evangelism route could wait.
Days passed.
Thaniel fasted. He prayed until his voice grew hoarse and his knees ached. Morning light turned to evening shadows and back again.
Each night, far away and unseen, darkness gathered. Elara appeared. Seraphina’s voice cut through a shadowed council, sharp and urgent, pressing Elara toward a final command.
Dark figures leaned closer as plans were whispered.
And in a quiet apartment across the city, Thaniel remained on his knees—unseen, underestimated—holding fast to a word heaven had entrusted to him.
The room settled into silence once more, broken only by his steady breathing and the soft rustle of pages as he opened his Bible, eyes fixed, waiting for the next instruction.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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