THE BATTLE FOR A SAINTESS | PART ELEVEN
Late afternoon light pressed gently through the tall glass windows of Excel’s private sitting room, spilling long golden shapes across the polished marble floor like quiet rivers of fire.
The ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, its soft hum blending with the distant pulse of a generator beyond the compound walls.
A faint jasmine scent lingered in the air, rising from a flower vase at the center table, giving the room a calm, almost sacred stillness.
Orean had only taken a few steps when the air shifted sharply behind him. A sudden urgency cut through the quiet room like a breaking thread, pulling the stillness apart.
Excel’s shoulders tensed as her hand lifted slightly, instinct overriding composure.
Her voice followed immediately, edged with urgency and a sudden emotional pull she didn’t have time to hide.
Excel (quickly):
“Wait…”
The single word cut through the room with surprising urgency. Orean paused immediately, though he did not turn right away.
The curtains fluttered again in the breeze as the fading sunlight shifted across the floor.
Excel inhaled slowly before walking toward him again. This time her steps were slower, more measured. The authority in her tone softened as she spoke again.
Excel (quiet):
“Please… I’m sorry for how I spoke earlier. Forgive me. I… am Excel, the one you’ve been looking for.”
The confession hung in the air like a sudden unveiling. Orean turned fully now, surprise flickering across his face. His eyes lifted briefly toward the ceiling.
Gratitude flooded his expression, like light breaking through cloud. His voice lowered with reverence, steady but overwhelmed with awe.
Orean (awed):
“Thank You, Jesus.”
The whispered praise carried quiet reverence. For a brief instant, the atmosphere inside the room seemed to lighten, as though unseen grace had entered the space.
Yet far beyond human sight, shadows trembled violently at the sound of that holy name.
The sunlight shifted slightly, illuminating Excel’s face with a warm glow. Her tone regained its calm firmness.
Excel (firm):
“Since you’re a stranger in my country and don’t know any places, you’ll stay in this house.”
She gestured toward a corridor that stretched deeper into the quiet house.
Orean followed the direction of her hand with his eyes, uncertainty lingering in his stillness as he took in the space ahead.
Excel’s fingers remained lightly extended for a moment, then relaxed at her side. Her posture steadied, voice settling into calm assurance, as though drawing a clear boundary of hospitality.
Excel (calm):
“That room over there—it’s yours. Whatever you need, just let me know.”
The offer settled between them with quiet authority.
The jasmine scent drifted through the room again as Orean glanced down the hallway before looking back at her, as though weighing comfort against conviction.
Orean gave a slow nod, gratitude softening his features. His tone was warm with sincerity, yet careful—like he was choosing respect over ease.
Orean (carefully):
“Thank you so much for your kindness.”
His gratitude was sincere, yet hesitation lingered in his eyes. The compound outside remained calm, but something deeper in the spiritual atmosphere stirred uneasily.
Orean shifted his weight slightly, composure intact but thoughtful restraint tightening his expression.
He let out a measured breath, voice steady yet cautious, carrying conviction beneath politeness.
Orean (thoughtful):
“But staying in your house… it might not be spiritually appropriate. Perhaps it’s better you help me find another place to stay?”
The careful refusal hung delicately in the air. Excel’s expression changed instantly, her eyes sharpening as she stepped closer to him.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the atmosphere tightening as unseen forces watched closely. Her tone dropped lower.
Excel (intense):
“No. You’re not going anywhere.”
The firmness of her words struck the quiet room with quiet force, as though even the air had to adjust to it.
The curtains paused mid-sway in the breeze, holding still for a heartbeat.
Excel’s posture straightened slightly, her gaze locking onto his without wavering.
A subtle breath grounded her next words, her tone sharpening with urgency beneath its calm surface.
Excel (pressing):
“How can you protect me from the evil planned against me if you’re far away? Think about it.”
As the words left her lips, a faint rumble of distant thunder rolled beyond the compound walls—even though the sky outside remained clear and bright.
The subtle warning echoed through the atmosphere like an omen.
Orean studied her quietly, sensing that deeper forces were now moving beneath the surface of their conversation.
His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, then softened as he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.
His tone was low and restrained, carrying a reluctant acceptance rather than full agreement.
Orean (reluctantly):
“Alright. If you insist, I’ll stay.”
His acceptance settled into the room with quiet weight.
Somewhere deep in the unseen realm, shadows recoiled violently as though a gate had just opened that they desperately wanted to keep closed.
Orean lowered his head slightly, a quiet gratitude settling over his expression as his shoulders eased. His voice came—gentle and sincere, softened by appreciation and restraint.
Orean (grateful):
“God bless you for your hospitality.”
The blessing lingered in the air like a small spark of holy fire. Excel nodded slowly, her calm smile returning to her lips—perfect, smooth, composed, unreadable, and convincing.
But deep within unseen realms beyond the walls of the compound—shadows trembled. Dark presences stirred violently at his acceptance.
For they knew something the humans in the room did not yet understand.
A holy presence had just stepped into a battlefield.
Night settled quietly over the compound, the world outside wrapped in a calm that felt almost sacred.
The pale moon hung above the tiled roofs, and its light filtered through the sitting room windows, painting thin silver bars across the smooth cream walls.
A soft breeze brushed against the compound gate outside, stirring the leaves of the small plants near the veranda.
In the distance, crickets sang their steady chorus beneath the night sky.
Inside the house, the ceiling light glowed gently, casting a warm amber hue over the dining space.
The wooden dining table stood between two chairs, its polished surface reflecting the faint shimmer of the light.
Orean sat on one side of the table with a Bible open before him. The thin pages rustled softly beneath his fingers as he turned them carefully, settling in the Book of Psalms.
Across from him sat Excel, leaning slightly back in her chair as the glow of her phone screen reflected faintly across her face.
Her thumb moved across the screen, yet her eyes occasionally lifted toward him, as if drawn by the quiet gravity of his presence.
Orean’s fingers brushed the worn edges of the sacred pages. He drew in a steady breath, lifting his eyes from the Scriptures to meet hers. The quiet of the room deepened around them.
His voice came—gentle and unhurried, carrying warmth that invited rather than pressed.
Orean (gently):
“My sister… before we retire for the night, shall we pray together?”
The words moved softly through the stillness like a calm ripple across water. Excel’s thumb paused mid-scroll, though her gaze remained fixed on the glowing screen.
The faint hum of the air conditioner drifted through the room while the crickets outside continued their patient rhythm.
Orean remained still, his eyes steady and sincere, the open Bible between them like a silent witness.
The glow from the phone reflected across Excel’s face as she exhaled quietly. Without lifting her head immediately, her voice slipped into the room with a casual tone.
Excel (indifferently):
“You can go ahead. I’ll pray later.”
The screen light flickered across her eyes as she resumed scrolling. Orean remained unmoving, his hands resting near the open pages.
The air seemed to pause between them, as though even the room itself was waiting to see how he would respond.
A faint breeze stirred the curtains by the window. Orean’s gaze remained patient, unwavering, the quiet authority of the Scriptures resting in his presence.
He drew a slow breath, tone calm and assured, carrying gentle conviction rather than pressure—like an invitation grounded in peace.
Orean (calmly):
“And perhaps study the Word together? Iron sharpeneth iron.”
The sentence settled into the space like a gentle invitation. Excel’s scrolling slowed before stopping altogether.
The room felt heavier for a brief moment, as if something unseen had shifted within the spiritual air surrounding them.
Excel slowly turned her head toward the window beside the table. Beyond the glass, the compound lay under the silver glow of moonlight.
Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened pane. Her arms folded lightly across her chest as her eyes drifted back toward Orean—cool, composed, unreadable.
Her voice was low and controlled, carrying a distant firmness that left no room for further probing.
Excel (coolly):
“I prefer doing mine privately.”
The words landed firmly. At that exact moment, the ceiling light flickered once—just briefly—as though disturbed by a faint current passing through the room.
Orean noticed, though he did not react outwardly.
Outside, the wind rustled through the plants near the compound wall, and somewhere in the darkness a dog barked once before silence returned.
Orean closed the Bible gently, the sound of the pages pressing together soft yet deliberate.
His hands folded calmly over the cover as his gaze rested upon her—not accusing, not wounded, but searching with quiet spiritual weight.
A brief pause settled between them; his expression was unwavering, his voice low and steady, with calm conviction settled deep within it.
Orean (steadily):
“But the Scripture says, ‘Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.’”
The verse moved through the room with the quiet strength of truth. The air conditioner hummed softly while the amber ceiling light steadied again above them.
Excel shifted slightly in her chair, though her expression remained guarded. Orean lifted his chin slightly, his tone calm but purposeful as the Word continued to flow.
Orean (firmly):
“‘For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.’”
The ancient words carried the quiet authority of Ecclesiastes 4:9–10. The room seemed to absorb the Scripture itself.
Outside, the crickets paused for a moment before resuming their rhythmic song. The spiritual atmosphere felt subtly heavier, as though invisible ears were listening.
Orean allowed the silence to breathe for a moment before speaking again. His eyes remained fixed on her, calm yet resolute.
Orean (earnestly):
“I am not here merely as a guest. I was sent to stand with you. Prayer is not an intrusion—it is protection.”
The sentence hung in the air like a shield being quietly raised. Excel’s gaze lowered briefly to the table, her fingers tapping once against her phone.
The faint wind outside pressed against the window glass before easing again.
Orean’s posture leaned slightly forward, his presence steady like a watchman guarding a gate. His jaw set subtly, voice firm and assured, quiet confidence grounded beneath every word.
Orean (convincingly):
“If we stand together in prayer, the enemy will not prevail against us.”
The statement echoed with quiet conviction. For a moment the air felt dense, almost charged. The distant sounds of the compound faded slightly as though the night itself was listening.
Orean leaned forward a little more, his tone gentle yet unwavering, as if guiding someone standing near the edge of unseen danger.
Orean (assuringly):
“And the Lord also said, ‘Again I say unto you, That if two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.’”
The Scripture from Matthew 18:19 flowed into the room with calm spiritual authority.
The faint rustle of the curtains near the window continued as the breeze moved through the compound.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the sound of a passing motorcycle faded into the distance.
Orean’s hands rested firmly upon the closed Bible as his gaze remained steady upon her.
A quiet weight entered his tone—measured, reflective, shaped by something deeper than the moment.
Orean (thoughtfully):
“There is power in agreement. Not agreement in flesh… but agreement in spirit.”
The phrase lingered in the air like a quiet declaration of spiritual law. The night outside deepened, and the moonlight shifted slightly across the floor tiles.
The atmosphere in the room subtly thickened, like unseen tension pressing quietly against the edges of the space. Orean’s voice softened, almost like a careful appeal spoken into fragile ground.
Orean (softly):
“God did not send me here for us to walk separately. Let us seek Him together. Even if it is just morning and evening devotion.”
The humility in his tone carried sincerity rather than pressure. Excel’s jaw tightened slightly as the words reached her. The phone in her hand lowered slowly to the table.
She lifted her eyes toward him again, the firmness in her voice returning like a small barrier rising between them.
Excel (firmly):
“I said I’ll handle mine privately.”
The sentence dropped with finality. Silence immediately filled the space afterward. For a brief moment the entire room felt suspended between peace and resistance.
Orean watched her quietly, his eyes thoughtful as though sensing something deeper than a simple disagreement. Something beneath the surface—something spiritual.
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair. His fingers rested gently on top of the closed Bible. A quiet acceptance shaped his tone—soft, restrained, leaving no room for resistance.
Orean (quietly):
“Very well.”
The two simple words carried no anger, only quiet acceptance. Yet his eyes remained on her, watchful and discerning.
Excel turned her gaze back toward the window, her reflection staring silently back at her from the dark glass.
Outside, the night deepened over the compound. The moon climbed higher above the rooftops, and the crickets resumed their endless rhythm beneath the darkness.
Unseen by human eyes, shadows gathered beyond the edges of the physical world. Watching. Waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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