A cloudy night, writhing with a brewing storm, shrouds the village of Ephrath. The crackling fire in the hearth is hushed beneath the whooshing wind, which coils through the forest with growing fury.
After dinner, in the flickering light of the warm parlor, Neva and her children nestle on a threadbare red woolen carpet before the fireplace.
Her eyes are fixed on the pages of a notebook in her hands that she bought with her—tomorrow's sermon.
She had pored over the Scriptures, writing, praying, rewriting again.
She has done all she can to speak truth, to bring light upon the weary hearts of Miraeth's people, to handle the Word of God with reverence.
Apphia's warm presence, Pastor Gideon's unwavering guidance, and even Rhett's quiet support reassured her deeply anxious heart.
After preaching in the forest clearing, Pastor Gideon had come by the cottage and prayed over her and her family.
Then, before dawn had even settled over the rooftops, he was gone again.
"Mama," Rhean murmurs.
Neva blinks out of thought, and glances up as her son toddles toward her, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Are you sleepy?" she asks, brushing her fingers through his tousled curls.
He nods, lids heavy, a yawn slipping from his lips.
"Come here," she says softly, guiding him into her lap.
Rhean clings to her, his small body curling against hers, face nestled into her chest.
Neva wraps her arms around him, breathing in the warmth and innocence, the sweet scent of lavender soap still lingering in his hair. His eyelashes flutter, then slowly still as his eyes close.
She lifts her gaze to the window.
Darkness stretches across the sky as far as her eyes can reach. A breeze filters through the open panes, fluttering the sheer white curtains.
Suddenly, a white, root-like flash of lightning slices the sky.
A booming thunder follows, rattling the floor beneath them.
Her heart skips a beat.
"Mumma!" Inaya cries, scrambling into her arms.
Neva instantly gathers her close, holding her tightly. Her gaze flickers to Isaiah, who sits unbothered—his head bowed in focus, fingers turning over puzzle pieces.
But Neva fails to see the slight tremble in his hand while he turns the puzzle.
Inaya begins to whimper.
"You're safe here," Neva murmurs, pressing a kiss to her daughter's head. "It's just a storm."
She lets out a weary sigh, her eyes trailing over the scattered mess of childhood—crayons, puzzle pieces, building blocks, scribbled coloring sheets strewn across the carpet and fading into the dim corners where the glow of lanterns and firelight can't reach.
Familiar footsteps echo faintly down the hallway.
She turns.
Rhett enters, arms full of chopped firewood. His shirt sleeves are rolled, damp with mist, his jaw tense, his gaze soft as they meet hers. A few strands of wet hair cling to his temple.
"Do you want me to close the window?" he asks, crossing the room and heading towards the hearth.
Neva follows his gaze to the fluttering curtain. "Sure," she replies. "Before the floor soaks up half the storm."
"Let me feed the fire first,"
He sets the logs into the wrought iron cradle beside the hearth. Kneeling, he lifts a piece and presses it into the embers with practiced care. As he adds more, the flames grow hungrily, spitting sparks that cast dancing shadows across the walls.
Lightning strikes again—closer, brighter—washing the parlor in pale blue light for a heartbeat.
Then comes the thunder, roaring and violent. A beast right outside the walls.
Inaya yelps, pressing herself tightly against Neva's side.
"Storm, be still in the name of Jesus!" Neva declares, raising her voice—yet with a smile tugging at her lips.
"You're scaring my Inaya." She says, stroking the back of Inaya's head.
"Storm be still in the name of Jesus," Inaya echoes hurriedly, her voice a little shaky.
Neva laughs softly, brushing her lips against her daughter's hair.
"Good girl. Now... It's time for bed. Let's go to sleep, hmm?"
Inaya nods, though slowly. Her small voice pipes up again. "Mumma?"
Neva hums.
"Can't Papa sleep with us today?"
The question halts her breath. Her spine stiffens, and a quiet ache presses beneath her chest.
Her eyes instinctively lift toward Rhett.
But he has his back turned, still stoking the fire.
His muscles are tensed beneath the blue shirt clinging to his damp skin.
His movements slow.
Neva looks down, swallowing down the discomfort coiling in her chest.
"Papa's already asleep," she says gently. "And he's still sick, remember? He needs to rest in his own bed."
Inaya pouts, the brightness fading from her almond eyes. But she nods.
Neva's heart quietly aches at the shadow lingering in her daughter's gaze.
"Isaiah," she calls gently.
He looks up—his puzzle finished, resting in his lap.
"Let's go to bed. Shall we?"
He nods and rises wordlessly, puzzle in hand. He walks past them, quiet, unusually subdued.
Neva's gaze follows him, brow furrowed. His distant silence unsettles her.
He's far from the bright spirit who once bounced with laughter.
This sudden, heavy change must be weighing on his little soul.
Neva exhales. Her eyes dim, guilt and anguish creeping through her ribs.
The rain rushes fast toward their cottage. Rumbling loud and harsh, ready to swallow the earth in gloom.
But just as the first drops begin to patter on the thatched roof, Rhett shuts the window, muffling the wind and thunder. The curtains fall.
"What about the guards?" Neva asks softly. "Did you tell them to come inside?"
Rhett lowers himself in front of her.
"They're in the entryway," he says as she helps ease Rhean into his arms.
He straightens and starts toward the room.
Neva rises, following behind, with Inaya clinging to her side.
.
.
.
Some time later, Neva walks into the parlor with a blanket and two pillows.
There she sees Rhett, silently settled before the fire.
Sensing her presence, he looks over his shoulder.
"Are they asleep?" he asks gently.
Neva nods in response. Her eyes scan the room.
The scattered mess is gone.
"You cleaned?" she asks, eyes beaming in quiet awe.
"Who else?" he shrugs, a playful grin etched on his lips.
Neva smiles softly. "Thank you," she whispers, handing him the quilt and pillow.
Warmth seeps in her heart.
"In return," he mumbles, an arm naturally wrapping around her waist as she nestles beside him, "I want you to cuddle with me." He pulls her close.
Neva raises her brows but instead looks around. "Rhett, where's my notebook?"
"In the coffee table," he replies, wrapping the quilt over them.
"I need to study," she says, reaching to push the quilt aside.
"You've studied enough," Rhett says, gently pulling her back into his arms.
"Oh no," Neva shakes her head. "I'll be doomed tomorrow."
Rhett laughs lightly, brushing her smooth curls away from her shoulder.
"Relax, Angel," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her neck. "You'll be fine." He reassures, burying his head in the crook of her neck.
He sighs as his rigid muscles loosen—his pores soaking in her familiar warmth, healing what's broken.
He breathes her addictingly sweet floral scent—powdery, honeyed—evoking a gentle spring breeze in his heart, even in this stormy autumn.
A season of brightness before the fall, before the thorns and trials that they will overcome, like they always did.
Neva finally leans in, easing her stiffness.
His warm breath feathers her skin, each exhale, birthing a serene, romantic tingling in her belly.
"Do you think the guards are cold?" she asks suddenly, breaking the hush.
The storm has subsided, but rain still pours, muffled against the thatched roof.
The hearth's dying fire flickers weakly, begging to be fed again.
But the married lovers move not a finger—too enamored in feeding their own flickering flame.
Now that they are wrapped in each other, the cold doesn't reach them.
"They're grown men. They'll be just fine." Rhett mumbles, his voice groggy.
Neva's gentle fingers stroke his hair, blurring his thoughts into something that feels like a lucid dream.
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight." Neva murmurs anxiously, her honey voice muffled.
"Oh Lord, please let tomorrow come later than usual," she adds, frowning at the fire.
Rhett chuckles, glancing at her through heavy lids. He finds his wife adorable.
Her beautiful features glow, her natural warmth defying the frown between her brows and the storm within her heart.
"It's not funny." Neva complains, locking eyes with his.
"I know you'll ace it," he says, a sleepy grin playing on his lips.
"Really?" she raises a brow. "I'm afraid I'll go stiff as a stone and forget every single word," As the quilt slips down, she tugs the woolen fabric back up and wraps it snugly around them again.
"Pray. Like you always do," he says. "I will too."
At this, Neva smiles softly.
"I know. He's chosen an introvert, an anxious mess like me. He has no choice but to help me with everything."
"You can do all things through Christ," Rhett says, his voice rich with a blend of insight and guilt. "I learned that the hard way."
"You did?" She murmurs, brushing his hair back from his cool forehead.
He nods against her. "I was angry at Him—for letting something so painful happen to us. But I knew I couldn't find you by myself.
And when I surrendered everything… He finally led me to you."
"I still regret not turning to Him sooner."
Neva softly kisses his forehead. "He brought me back just at the right time. So don't you carry the guilt anymore."
"And you shouldn't be afraid anymore," Rhett replies with a smile.
She chuckles. "I'll try."
"I have to wake up early tomorrow. Why don't we go to bed?"
"I can't sleep yet. It's my turn to keep watch," he says, snuggling deeper into her.
"There are two grown men guarding us. You should ease up a bit," Neva teases, echoing his own words.
Too proud of their power, the royal soldiers now barely patrol the oppressed Ephrath.
They are eased up under the illusion that the villagers have surrendered.
But the blind soldiers didn't know how deeply the roots of faith had grown in their souls.
"You know I can't—" Rhett begins.
But before he can finish, a sharp knock cleaves the hush.
Rhett lifts his head, instinct flaring in his chest.
A pause.
Then the door creaks open without waiting for an answer.
A guard steps in, tall and brutish, soaked from the rain.
"What's wrong?" Rhett asks, his voice sharpening as he straightens, pulling slightly away from Neva.
The cocoon of their tranquil heaven cracks.
"Aunt Apphia is here," the guard announces, breath misting.
Neva frowns.
Apphia, here in the forest? In the rain? At this hour?
Her heart thuds.
Something is wrong.