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| My Brother's Fate |
When Cassandra Gregory receives a mysterious video suggesting her brother—presumed dead—is still alive, Obadiah is drawn into a rescue that feels far more than coincidence. Guided by divine whispers and old loyalties, he infiltrates enemy lines with help from angels in disguise. But even a miracle mission has a cost—and Obadiah is reminded that purpose always comes calling. Scroll to the read the episode below »
Episode 9 | My Brother's Fate|Nineveh Province, Northern Iraq
Obadiah didn’t speak right away. They kept walking—slow, steady steps beneath the shade of the sycamore—until they reached a quieter corner of the park. Cassandra’s voice had steadied, but the weight of her request still lingered in the air between them.
“I didn’t want to fall apart in front of anyone,” she began. “But I had to tell someone. My brother, Daniel... he might be alive.”
He blinked. “Cassandra, I thought—”
“I thought the same thing,” she said, her voice trembling. “Daniel was declared killed in action months ago after his fighter jet went down — no wreckage, no remains. But something doesn’t sit right. I’ve contacted the State Department, written my senator, exhausted every avenue. No one’s listening. Brian, you have connections in that region. Please… I’m begging you for help.”
His mind flashed to the frantic battles he’d experienced in past missions, both in biblical eras and modern times. He knew one slip could expose his secret. Yet Cassandra was near tears for her own family.
“Tell me everything,” Obadiah said gently.
She recounted the grainy footage: Daniel, alive but imprisoned by a militant group overseas. Officials offered no help, claiming the video was fake. Her hands shook as she clung to what little hope remained.
Obadiah carefully weighed his options. Ultimately, how could he refuse her? “You believe it’s real?”
Cassandra nodded and wiped away her tears. “I have a gut feeling Daniel is still alive.”
After a moment of reflection, he replied, “All right, I’ll give it a shot. But I can’t make guarantees. This might be beyond my reach. I want to see that video.”
She exhaled, her eyes brimming. “Thank you. Even if it’s a long shot, I have to try.”
That evening, after Cassandra left, Obadiah wandered into the museum’s archive room. Soft overhead lights pooled over shelves of manuscripts. A tapestry depicting an angel shielding travelers reminded him of both his duty and his burden.
A glow spread across the far wall. Obadiah closed his eyes. “Michael,” he said.
Obadiah inhaled shakily. “Is this the soldier you spoke about?”
Michael nodded. “It is.”
“I’m reluctant,” Obadiah admitted. “My last mission was so long ago.”
Michael gave a sympathetic nod. “I know you hesitate. Still, Daniel Gregory’s survival matters more than you realize. You must intervene—discreetly. I will call upon those to help.”
Obadiah murmured. “This one’s personal. For Cassandra.”
Michael’s presence faded. “Go, Obadiah. Let your faith guide you.”
The next day, Obadiah pieced together a cover story for traveling overseas: a quest for rumored biblical artifacts in a war-torn region. Cassandra asked few questions, grateful for any hope.
Within a week, Obadiah stepped onto a dusty airstrip in a country scarred by conflict. Soldiers patrolled warily. Presenting his Arklow Bible Museum credentials, he cleared the initial checkpoints, claiming he needed to reach an archaeological site rumored to contain ancient scrolls.
Heart pounding, he left the airport for a makeshift aid station, silently praying for angelic allies to blend in among mortals. If all went well, no one would suspect a thing.
Inside the aid station, men and women in worn uniforms distributed supplies to displaced families. One, a slim man with kind eyes, approached him.
“Obadiah,” he said quietly. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Obadiah felt a faint aura of celestial energy—angels in disguise, sent by Michael. “Thank you for coming,” he said under his breath.
The disguised angel nodded. “We have intel on a militant group holding captives—Daniel Gregory among them, plus others. We act tonight, under darkness.”
That evening, Obadiah and his angelic companions approached a heavily guarded compound. Rather than violence or firearms, they relied on illusions, silent maneuvering, and well-timed distractions.
Whenever a guard patrol neared, angels whispered prayers that conjured faint mirages, sending guards chasing shadows. Obadiah’s heart pounded at each step. A single misstep could destroy everything.
Finally, they found a makeshift prison block. Inside cramped cells, people lay huddled on filthy mats. Obadiah scanned the dim hall.
“Daniel Gregory?” he called softly.
A weak voice answered from the far corner, raw with thirst and exhaustion. Obadiah crouched by the bars, shining a small flashlight. A man with familiar hazel eyes sat there, dazed.
“I’m a friend of your sister,” Obadiah whispered, crouching beside the rusted lock. He hesitated, reaching out — unsure what he expected. Maybe nothing.
But the moment his hand touched the metal, a soft click echoed through the cell.
The lock fell open.
Obadiah blinked, startled. His pulse quickened.
Michael said he’d send help, he thought. He didn’t say I’d still have any part to play like this.
He pushed the door open quietly. “We’re getting you out.”
Footsteps approached—a guard. One of the angels murmured a prayer, a ripple of light disorienting him. Gently, they laid him aside, unconscious. No violence, just a quiet miracle.
Obadiah helped Daniel up. The man’s knees nearly buckled. Two other captives, a journalist and an aid worker, stood nearby, pleading.
“You’re coming too,” he said. “We’ll get everyone out.”
With illusions and divine nudges, they slipped past the militants’ perimeter to an old truck. Daniel collapsed into a seat, an angel disguised as a driver steadying him. Obadiah glanced at the starless sky, silently praying they’d make it out safely. Moments later, the truck rumbled into the desert, vanishing into the night.
Two days later, Daniel lay in a hospital bed back in Cassandra’s city. He was exhausted but alive. The other captives were also recovering, thanks to humanitarian groups who’d flown them home.
In a quiet hospital corridor, Cassandra paced, awaiting the doctor’s updates. She brightened when Obadiah rounded the corner.
“Brian!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “They got him out—he’s here!”
He returned the embrace, feeling her relief. “I’m glad he’s safe.”
“How did you manage this?” she asked, pulling back. “I know you have museum contacts, but this is beyond imagination.”
Obadiah offered a modest shrug. “I reached out to humanitarian folks overseas. Right place, right time.”
A nurse motioned Cassandra into Daniel’s room. Obadiah followed quietly. Daniel lay propped up by pillows, an IV in place. A faint grin spread across his gaunt face when he saw his sister.
“Sis,” he croaked. “I’m sorry you worried so long.”
Cassandra pressed a hand over her mouth, tears falling. She bent to hug him gently. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
Daniel’s gaze shifted to Obadiah. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t get how you did it, but… I owe you my life.”
Obadiah shook his head. “You owe your sister. She never stopped believing.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
🔙 Next, in Episode 10| Call of the Shadows
Heaven itself is stirring. While angels debate his fate in the Celestial Watchtower, Obadiah begins to feel the old weight return — not as punishment, but as purpose.
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