ALTAR OF DRIFT | PART TWENTY FOUR
The tiled floor caught the glow from the streetlights outside, reflecting soft amber lines across the walls, while the distant hum of passing cars drifted in through the glass.
The moment Cassian stepped inside, his shoes barely touched the floor before a small body slammed into his legs, the impact sudden and desperate.
Orean’s stomach growling loudly between sobs, the sound sharp in the quiet house.
He collided into Cassian’s legs, clutching him tightly, his small hands gripping the fabric of his trousers as if afraid he might disappear again.
His shoulders shook, breath hitching, lips trembling as his voice broke free.
Orean (crying):
“Daddy… I’m hungry. Mum and I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Where were you? Why didn’t you come home?”
The words hit the room like a wound opening. Cassian’s breath caught, his injured body trembling as guilt surged through him.
He bent with visible difficulty, muscles protesting as he pulled his son close.
His hand moved slowly over the boy’s hair, fingers shaking, eyes closing briefly as pain, shame, and love pressed into his chest.
The air itself seemed to sag under the weight of the moment, the walls bearing silent witness.
Before Cassian could speak, a gentle urgency moved through the room. Elara was already kneeling, her presence calm but purposeful.
She reached out and touched Orean’s shoulder, her palm warm and steady, grounding him.
With quiet authority, she guided him toward the dining area where a simple table stood polished but bare, chairs neatly pushed in, untouched for days.
The scrape of a chair against tile broke the stillness. She inhaled lightly, letting her tone settle into calm warmth as she moved closer.
Elara (softly):
“Come, Orean. Sit here. Eat first.”
Her voice settled like balm. She pulled out a chair, set a covered plate down, then uncovered it slowly.
Steam curled upward, carrying the warm scent of food through the room, filling the space with life again.
Orean sniffed, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and nodded quickly, the ache in his stomach overpowering his tears. A quiet tremor threaded his tone as he lifted his gaze.
Orean (softly):
“Thank you…”
Relief spread through the room as he climbed onto the chair and began to eat, slow at first, then faster, his small hands trembling less with each bite.
The clink of cutlery sounded almost sacred in the quiet house, a simple act of survival pushing back the darkness.
Cassian watched him for a moment, his chest tightening, before turning away toward the hallway, shoulders heavy, footsteps uneven.
Near the hallway entrance, Zionel stood still, hands folded tightly before him, jaw set.
Thaniel remained beside him, eyes alert, shoulders squared, his breath slow and deliberate, as though already preparing for battle unseen.
They moved together down the narrow corridor into the bedroom, the sounds of eating fading behind them, replaced by silence that grew thicker with each step.
At the end of the corridor, the bedroom door stood slightly ajar.
Inside, heavy curtains blocked most of the outside light, leaving the room washed in dull shadows. The air was still, thick with sickness and silence, pressing against the skin.
Seraphina lay on the bed. A small bedside lamp cast a pale glow over her body, its light trembling faintly.
Her form was sunken into the mattress, skin dull, breathing shallow, eyes shut. She looked smaller than before—fragile in a way Cassian had never seen her.
The once-commanding presence was gone, replaced with weakness that clung to the room like heavy air.
Elara entered quietly and set the tray gently on the bedside table. The clink of cutlery sounded louder than it should have, echoing against the walls.
Cassian lowered himself onto the edge of the bed with effort, pain flashing across his face.
Carefully, he slid his arm behind Seraphina’s shoulders, lifting her head and resting it against his chest.
His jaw tightened as he adjusted, ensuring she was comfortable, his breath shallow with strain.
Elara took a spoon, dipped it slowly, and brought it toward Seraphina’s lips. At first there was no response.
Then her throat moved. A faint swallow. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Zionel and Thaniel stepped back slightly and knelt on the tiled floor, the cool surface pressing against their knees. Zionel’s hands trembled as he clasped them together.
Thaniel bowed his head, eyes closed, lips moving quietly at first, his voice forming beneath the stillness like a steady flame.
Thaniel (praying):
“Father… thou art ‘merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth.’”
The words settled into the room, and the air responded, tightening, as though something unseen was listening.
Zionel’s breath caught, then his tone joined, soft but anchored, carrying Scripture like a shield.
Zionel (whispering):
“‘Have mercy..., O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out... transgressions.’”
The atmosphere shifted. Elara felt it—a pressure, unseen and oppressive, pressing against her chest.
She kept feeding, her movements calm and deliberate, refusing to yield to the weight.
Seraphina swallowed slowly. After a few mouthfuls, faint color returned to her face. Her breathing changed, deeper now.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened—unfocused at first—then slowly sharpened.
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, then to Elara. Confusion crossed her face, followed by shock.
Her eyes locked onto Elara, fear flickering beneath the surface. Her lips parted, dry and trembling, and her voice scraped its way out.
Seraphina (hoarse):
“How… how are you still alive?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. The lamp flickered once. Her eyes shifted weakly, searching, until they caught sight of Zionel.
A tremor ran through her body, memory surging its way back, tightening her chest. Breath caught, and her words trembled on the edge of sound.
Seraphina (whispering):
“I saw… fire. I thought… you were burned.”
The room seemed to contract. Elara paused mid-motion, her hand steady, the spoon hovering briefly before she lowered it back into the bowl.
She leaned closer, her eyes firm but not cruel, her presence cutting through the fear like light through fog.
A quiet authority hummed in the air before her words even came.
Elara (quietly):
“This is not the time for that. Speak the truth. Confess… and be free.”
Cassian’s arms tightened around his wife, his body shaking as emotion broke through.
His voice cracked as tears slipped down his cheeks, soaking into her hair, his words heavy with love and regret.
Cassian (trembling):
“Don’t be afraid. Don’t be ashamed. I still love you. I won’t blame you… even now.”
He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling as the room absorbed his confession. The air quivered, tension stretching thin.
A low, hesitant sound escaped him before the words came, steadying into quiet resolve.
Cassian (quietly):
“If I were in your place… I would have made the same choices. So don’t hide the truth. Please.”
Seraphina’s breathing grew uneven. Her fingers twitched against the blanket, nails scraping faintly against the fabric.
The air shifted again—heavier, darker. The light from the lamp flickered once more, shadows stretching unnaturally along the walls.
Thaniel lifted his head, his voice rising with authority, slicing through the heaviness like a blade.
Thaniel (commanding):
“In the name of Jesus, every voice of darkness be silenced.”
The words struck with force. Zionel lifted his head, eyes closed, his hands spreading slightly apart as though pushing against something unseen.
His tone followed, stronger now, unwavering.
Zionel (intense):
“The Lord rebuke thee. This soul shall speak. This soul shall live.”
A sudden pressure lifted, like chains snapping in the air. The room exhaled.
Elara breathed out slowly, her shoulders easing as peace pressed back into the space. She resumed feeding, spoon by spoon, patient and gentle.
Seraphina gasped, her chest rising sharply as if she had been holding her breath for far too long.
Tears slid from the corners of her eyes into her hair, her body shaking beneath Cassian’s arms.
Her lips trembled again, but no words came yet.
From the next room came the distant sound of Orean eating, the soft scrape of spoon against plate, life continuing.
The fragile rhythm of a heart still fighting to live filled the space between breaths.
The room grew quiet—so quiet that the faint ticking of a wall clock became audible, each second stretching, waiting.
The air felt cleaner, lighter, as though something unholy had fled, leaving behind the stillness of victory and the fragile promise of truth yet to be spoken.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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