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| Before the Storm |
As ominous signs spread across Baylor City, Laric delivers a warning that confirms what Obadiah already fears — the hunt has begun. Faced with rising darkness and fading strength, Obadiah is transported to a place of memory, where an old friend reminds him what it truly means to be chosen. Scroll down to witness the turning point below »
Episode 16| Before the Storm|Arklow Bible Museum
The last shimmer of celestial light faded from the office. Obadiah exhaled slowly, gaze heavy on the horizon beyond Mirror Lake.
He didn’t turn when the knock came.
“Come in,” he said.
The door creaked open. Laric stepped inside, face tight.
“You busy?” the boy asked.
Obadiah turned, the mask of Brian slipping easily into place. “For you? Never.”
Laric shut the door behind him. “I need to tell you something. Something weird.”
Obadiah gestured to the chair. “Sit.”
Laric remained standing.
“ A few of us were at the park behind school — just hanging out. Allen was there. Zanna too. But then…”
He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant.
“There was this raven. Big. Way too big. It just sat on the lamppost, staring at us like it was sizing us up.”
Obadiah stilled. “Go on.”
“At first, I thought I was being paranoid, but then the air changed. It got... heavy. Like pressure before a storm. Even Jude and his crew felt it.”
Laric paused. “Then the streetlight blew out. But not from the bulb. It was burned. Blackened like it had been scorched.”
Obadiah leaned back slowly in the chair his hands clasped.
“I found a feather at the base of the pole,” Laric added. “It was still warm. Black and... crispy. Like it had been torched.”
Obadiah’s jaw clenched.
“And when I picked it up,” Laric said quietly, “I heard something. Not a sound, not really. More like... a voice. Inside my head.”
“What did it say?” Obadiah asked, his voice now deadly calm.
Laric met his gaze. “It said: We see you.”
Silence thickened between them.
Obadiah stood and walked to the window again.
“Was it alone?” he asked.
“The raven? Yeah. But it wasn’t normal. It felt like it was... looking through me. Like someone was using it.”
He hesitated. “I didn’t tell Allen. Or Zanna. I didn’t want to freak anyone out.”
“You did right,” Obadiah said. “That wasn’t a raven. That was a watcher.”
“Watcher?” Laric echoed.
Obadiah turned. “A creature bound to a witch. A spy. And if it found you... then it’s already begun.”
Laric’s heart jumped. “What has?”
Obadiah didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he opened the black case on his desk and stared down at the ancient sword inside — not the replica, not the museum piece — the real one, hidden in plain sight.
“Antioch has begun hunting the Chosen.”
Laric paled. “You mean... me?”
“Yes,” Obadiah said.
“Why?”
“Because it fears you.” Obadiah said.
Just then, the lights flickered.
Again.
Then held.
Outside, clouds churned unnaturally. Mirror Lake darkened, though the sun had not yet set.
Then came the sound. Soft at first, like wind through pine.
But it grew — sharp and angular — a thousand caws, echoing across Baylor City like war drums on the horizon.
Laric’s eyes went wide. “Ravens.”
Obadiah’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“No. One raven speaks. Many come to collect.”
He reached into the desk and withdrew a small vial of liquid silver, sealing it in Laric’s hand.
“Go downstairs.”
Laric hesitated. “What about you?”
Obadiah met his eyes.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Laric nodded and turned to leave. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence fell.
For a moment, Obadiah just stood there — caught between the hum of fluorescent lights and the darkening glass beyond the window. The echo of the caws still rang in his ears.
He turned slowly, walking out of the office and into the heart of the museum.
The Old Testament exhibit was dimly lit, closed to the public for the night. Still, Obadiah moved through it like a shadow — past the staff-only rope, past the carved tablets, past the replica of the Ark, and into the gallery devoted to David.
He paused in front of a display.
A painting — modern, stylized — of a young David inside a cave. A crown nowhere in sight. Just a harp. A sword. And a look of exhaustion in his eyes.
Obadiah stared at it.
He’d seen that same look on David’s real face. He’d stood in the shadows of Adullam, when the man after God’s own heart had been nothing more than a fugitive with songs in his lungs and blood on his hands.
And now...
Obadiah lowered his head.
“I helped kings,” he whispered. “I stood in the fire. I bled beside angels. And now... I can barely hold a blade.”
He turned from the display, weary.
“I was your sword,” he said softly. “What am I now?”
The lights in the gallery dimmed — not all at once, but gradually, as if the air itself had thickened.
Then the silence cracked.
A wind moved through the gallery that had no earthly source. The edges of Obadiah’s coat lifted.
The pulse in his chest — the one he hadn’t felt since his last battle — returned. Strong. Alive.
He gasped.
The floor shifted beneath him. His knees buckled, but he didn’t fall — the world simply peeled away.
Marble faded into dirt.
Glass became shadow.
And silence was replaced by echoes — distant footsteps, the soft scrape of steel, a low hum of voices.
He stood now at the mouth of a cave.
It was damp. The air, thick with sweat and smoke. The firelight inside danced along the walls, casting long silhouettes across the stone.
Obadiah stepped forward.
Every breath was memory.
Adullam.
He knew this cave like he knew his own name. The hiding place of the anointed. The furnace of the forgotten.
A voice spoke from the shadows inside. Calm, guarded.
“Obadiah.”
Obadiah froze.
The figure stepped forward, bearded and worn from running — but his eyes, sharp as ever, flickered with something rare.
Recognition. And relief.
“I wondered when Heaven would send you,” said David, a tired smile tugging at his mouth. “But something tells me... you didn’t come to save me this time.”
Obadiah’s throat tightened.
“No,” he said quietly. “Not this time.”
David’s gaze turned serious, scanning his old friend from head to toe. “Then why are you here?”
Obadiah exhaled — a breath held for too many centuries.
“To remember,” he said.
David nodded once, stepping aside, ushering him into the firelight. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
They sat near the fire.
It wasn’t grand — just a ring of stone and smoldering coals — but the warmth reached deeper than Obadiah expected. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d become until it touched him.
David passed him a skin of water. “You look like you haven’t rested in a thousand years.”
“I haven’t,” Obadiah replied.
David smirked. “Then rest from your troubles.”
They were quiet for a while.
“You know,” David said at last, “this cave saved me. This is where I learned to hear God in the dark.”
Obadiah nodded slowly. “I’m starting to think the dark is where He speaks the loudest.”
“Not always,” David said. “Sometimes He waits.”
Obadiah stared into the flames. “And if He’s finished waiting?”
David’s eyes narrowed. “That is the reason you are here.”
The words hit like a stone to the chest.
Obadiah stood.
No crack of lightning. No echo from Heaven. Just the fire, and an old friend who knew him too well.
“I remember now,” Obadiah said quietly. “I wasn’t His because I fought. I fought because I was His.”
David smiled. “Then go be His again.”
Darkness touches down in Baylor City, and not everyone will walk away unchanged. The storm is no longer coming — it’s here.
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