ALTAR OF DRIFT | PART TWENTY FIVE
A single lamp cast a low amber glow across medical receipts scattered on the small side table, their edges curling slightly beside an untouched glass of water.
Cassian sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders caved inward, as though the weight of years had finally found his spine. One arm cradled Seraphina’s frail body against his chest.
Her breathing came shallow and uneven, each rise of her chest uncertain, yet her eyes were open—clearer than they had been in days, almost painfully aware.
Her fingers twitched weakly against his shirt, brushing fabric as if testing whether strength still obeyed her.
Cassian bent closer instinctively, his jaw locked tight, eyes reddened, breath held like he feared the next sound might shatter her.
Seraphina’s throat worked slowly. The room seemed to draw inward as her lips trembled, parting with effort, the air thick with words that had waited years to be spoken.
Seraphina (hoarse):
“I’m… I’m sorry, Cassian.”
The confession fell softly, but it struck hard. Cassian’s chest tightened beneath her weight. The lamp flickered once, shadows stretching along the walls as though the room itself reacted.
Zionel remained still across from them, Elara frozen beside him, and Thaniel stood a few steps back, hands folded, posture calm yet vigilant, eyes lifted as if listening beyond what was said.
Seraphina’s gaze drifted from Cassian’s face to Zionel, then to Elara, finally settling on Thaniel. The air seemed to tremble faintly, unseen currents stirring.
She inhaled shakily, eyes lifting toward the ceiling as though memories were being projected there, merciless and vivid.
The breath left her unevenly, and the words followed in a low, restrained murmur, worn thin by confession.
Seraphina (quietly):
“I didn’t wake up one day wanting darkness. I was tired... tired of lack, tired of begging life to be kind to us. We were struggling… bills, shame, pressure.”
The words slid out slow and raw. Cassian’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly. Elara’s breath caught, her shoulders drawing inward.
Zionel’s gaze lowered briefly, grief and restraint warring in his stillness. Even the night outside seemed to pause, the distant city noise thinning.
Seraphina swallowed hard. Her fingers curled into the bedsheet, knuckles whitening as though she were gripping the past itself.
Her breath came uneven, each word dragged up carefully, as if releasing it might undo her.
Seraphina (slowly):
“A friend—she’s dead now—she told me there was another way. She said, ‘Everything you want will come easy. Influence. Comfort. Security.’ She said all I had to do was agree.”
Cassian’s chest rose sharply, breath breaking loose like a wave against rock. His mouth opened, but the sound never formed.
The lamp’s glow trembled across the receipts, their inked totals suddenly accusatory.
Thaniel’s jaw tightened, the spiritual weight in the room thickening, unseen but undeniable.
Seraphina turned her head slightly toward Cassian. Her lips quivered, and a dry laugh escaped her—brittle, hollow, stripped of joy.
The sound faltered, splintering into breath, and when her voice followed, it wavered under its own weight.
Seraphina (breaking):
“All the wealth we had… the fame… the doors that opened… none of it came from God. None of it was blessing. None. It came from darkness.”
Cassian’s breath hitched, a sound trapped between grief and disbelief. His eyes glistened, but he remained silent, frozen in the truth unfolding against his chest.
Elara’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes glassy. Zionel stayed seated, hands resting on his knees, gaze fixed, heavy with sorrow and disciplined restraint.
The air felt charged, as though unseen witnesses leaned closer.
Seraphina shifted weakly, a sharp wince crossing her face as pain rippled through her body.
Then she steadied, her tone gathering strength, confession peeling away chains long wrapped around her soul.
Seraphina (bitter):
“After my friend died, they elevated me. They called it promotion. They gave me a seat. A voice. And made me a mother among them. I attended the demon realm headquarters gatherings you can’t see with physical eyes.”
A faint tremor ran through the room, subtle but real. Elara’s hand pressed to her chest instinctively.
Zionel’s jaw set, gaze unwavering. Shadows along the walls deepened, recoiling as if repelled by the exposure of hidden things.
Seraphina’s eyes fluttered shut briefly, then opened again, lips curling faintly with something between pride and regret.
The breath she released was thin, almost lifeless, and the words that followed carried no warmth at all.
Seraphina (hollow):
“My assignment was simple: stop anyone who would carry the name of Jesus too far. Silence them. Destroy them.”
The name lingered in the air like light breaking through fog. Elara’s breath stuttered. Zionel’s shoulders squared slightly, authority restrained but present.
Even the silence seemed to recoil at the confession. Seraphina drew in a slow, deliberate breath, letting it hiss out between her teeth.
The words came clipped, measured, each one carrying the chill of someone accustomed to obedience and control.
Seraphina (coldly):
“I did it. Many times. And every time I succeeded, they rewarded me. More power. More authority.”
Cassian’s grip tightened around her shoulders, his breathing uneven now, shallow and strained.
The room felt heavier, as though the unseen realm pressed closer, listening, judging, withdrawing.
Seraphina’s eyes flicked toward Zionel. A shiver ran along her spine, and the air seemed to press in closer around her.
She exhaled slowly, the weight of the memory threading through her breath before the words fell.
Seraphina (haunted):
“I would have succeeded again… if not for him.”
A tension coiled through the room. Zionel did not move, but the air around him felt anchored, immovable.
Seraphina’s shoulders sagged slightly, a brittle laugh rattling from deep in her chest. It faltered before the first words even formed, hollow and uneven.
Seraphina (unflinching):
“I burned your mansion. I burned the auditorium. All of it came from dark money anyway. Dark money doesn’t survive holy fire forever. I thought fire would finish the work.”
The memory ignited the space—heat without flame, fire without smoke. Elara shuddered.
Thaniel’s gaze sharpened, the spiritual undercurrent surging, restrained by divine order.
Seraphina’s lips curled as she drew in a slow, deliberate breath, the air carrying a thin edge of contempt before the words spilled.
Seraphina (disgustedly):
“Every servant of God I silenced earned me more favor… more access.”
She shook her head slowly, chest heaving. The room leaned inward, as if the walls themselves bore witness.
Her lips parted with a shiver, and the first syllable quivered, carrying the weight of fear and disbelief.
Seraphina (trembling):
“The final promotion… the last step… was your destruction, Zionel. Once you were gone, they promised I would no longer be human... but... demon.”
Silence fell like a veil. Somewhere outside, a car horn blared, distant and jarring, then faded into nothingness.
The contrast felt deliberate, the world intruding briefly before retreating again. Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, confusion slicing through the bitterness etched on her face.
Her shoulders slumped, a shiver passing through her, and the words trembled on the edge of her lips before spilling out.
Seraphina (desolately):
“But everything collapsed. Every plan failed.”
The air shifted, expectancy tightening.
Her gaze snapped to Thaniel, pupils wide, breath hitching as if her lungs struggled to keep pace with her thoughts.
The first word escaped in a sharp, urgent burst, trembling on the edge of fear and defiance.
Seraphina (feverishly):
“I swore someone stood against us that night. Someone stronger than me.”
Thaniel shifted his weight, the soft scrape of tile beneath his shoes grounding the moment.
His fingers unclasped as he stepped forward, calm but resolute, the atmosphere responding to his obedience rather than his presence.
He drew a steady breath, lifting his gaze without haste, his voice firm, unadorned, undeniable.
Thaniel (firm):
“It was me.”
The declaration landed without force, yet it carried weight. Seraphina blinked, disbelief rippling across her face. Cassian’s brow furrowed. Elara’s eyes widened slightly.
Thaniel lifted one hand gently, palm open, not in dominance, but in testimony. His tone carried quietly, steady with conviction.
Thaniel (quietly):
“The Lord woke me. He said, ‘Pray now.’ That was the night.”
The words stirred the unseen. Peace and authority braided together in the air. Seraphina stared at him, then a sudden laugh tore from her throat—sharp, broken, soaked in tears.
Her shoulders shook as laughter and sobs collided, echoing against the walls. Mockery laced her voice, trembling with disbelief.
Seraphina (mockingly):
“All this time… I thought I was something... powerful. I didn’t know someone could surpass me without touching darkness.”
The laughter faded into sobbing. Cassian bowed his head, his forehead resting lightly against hers. The lamp glowed steady now, shadows retreating.
Elara stepped forward slowly, the sound of her movement soft against the tiles. She knelt beside the bed, her dress brushing the floor.
Her eyes locked onto Seraphina’s face—not with anger, but sorrow braided with resolve. The room seemed to quiet further, making space for truth.
A small, uneven inhale escaped her, the faint catch in her throat giving shape to the words before they left her lips.
Elara (quietly):
“It wasn’t him.”
Seraphina’s sobs slowed. Her gaze turned toward Elara, searching. Elara inhaled, letting her resolve firm in her chest. Her voice steadied, carrying quiet authority.
Elara (unwavering):
“It was Jesus.”
The name settled like light. The air warmed without heat. Even the night beyond the curtains felt pushed back.
Elara lifted her chin slightly, her next words soft but certain, like a promise spoken into the room.
Elara (soft):
“He’s the one who saved us. He’s the one standing here now.”
Seraphina’s eyes darted around the room, fear and confusion wrestling across her features, as though scales were cracking. The weight of false power drained from the space.
Elara rested her hand lightly on the edge of the bed, steadying both herself and the moment. Her tone calm but edged with steel as it emerged.
Elara (steady):
“Can’t you see it now? The power you served is gone. Look at you. Where are the promises they made? Where are the rewards?”
Seraphina’s lips parted, breath catching, but no words came. The silence felt cleansed, not empty. Elara’s voice softened further, compassion threading through every syllable.
Elara (tender):
“They never loved you. They only needed you blind.”
Zionel leaned forward then, elbows resting on his knees. His tone emerged low and steady, worn by battle but anchored in truth.
Zionel (authority):
“‘The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy.’”
The Scripture resonated, ancient and alive. The atmosphere shifted, darkness recoiling.
He paused, eyes lifting to hers, voice soft but carrying a steady warmth that drew her in.
Zionel (gentle):
“But Jesus said, ‘I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.’”
Elara leaned closer, tears bright but unfallen, her breath catching slightly as she gathered her words.
Elara (tenderly):
“They abandoned you because darkness never keeps its promises. But Christ never abandons those who turn back.”
Seraphina’s breathing hitched. Her eyes squeezed shut, then opened again—glossy, afraid, stripped bare.
The room felt lighter now, as though chains had fallen unseen, and the night itself held its breath, waiting for what would come next.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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