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| The Summons |
Obadiah is thrust back into the realm of angels—not by choice, but by divine command. Stripped of his wings yet tethered to purpose, he’s tasked with finding a missing soldier tied to the fate of the Chosen. But old wounds and reluctant obedience make this mission anything but simple. Scroll to the read the episode below »
Episode 6 | The Summons|The Palace Courtyard Jerusalem
The light still hadn’t faded when David disappeared into the palace.
Obadiah turned slowly to face them—Gabriel and Michael, towering figures of divine presence, their forms radiant and still. The courtyard felt smaller now. Or maybe it was just the weight of what was coming.
His jaw was tight.
“Twelve years,” Obadiah said, voice low. “Twelve years without a word. And now you show up. Why?”
Gabriel’s expression remained unreadable. “There is a situation. A soldier has gone missing.”
Obadiah folded his arms. “And that concerns me how?”
Michael’s voice came like distant thunder. “Because this soldier is tied to the Chosen Ones. He carries knowledge of a greater battle—one that could alter both Heaven and Earth. He must be recovered.”
Obadiah scoffed. “Then send someone else. I clipped my wings. I made my choice.”
Gabriel stepped forward, his tone sharp. “You may have clipped your wings, but you were not cast out. You’re still part of this world. You cannot ignore what you are.”
Obadiah’s gaze darkened. “I’ve been ignoring it just fine.”
“You were not sent to Earth to play human and grieve,” Gabriel said. “You are a warrior. There is work yet to be done.”
“And what if I don’t want to do it?” Obadiah snapped. “What if I’m tired of fighting battles I didn’t start, of cleaning up the wreckage left behind by Heaven and Hell? I’ve done my part.”
Michael’s gaze softened. “Then why haven’t you moved on? Why do you feel the restlessness in your bones—the emptiness that won’t let you sleep? That’s not grief, Obadiah. That’s denial.”
Obadiah turned away, fists clenched at his sides. His silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of wind stirring the olive branches.
They were right. That was the worst part.
The emptiness wasn’t just from Kristiel’s death. It was the void left behind by purpose abandoned.
After a moment, he muttered, “Fine. I’ll look into it.”
Michael inclined his head slightly. “That’s all we ask.”
Obadiah’s jaw clenched. “Then tell me something useful. Where is this soldier? Who is he?”
Gabriel’s eyes met his. “You won’t have to find him.”
Obadiah frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Gabriel said, “the assignment will find you.”
Obadiah gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t think for a second this means I’m coming back.”
Michael gave the faintest smirk. “We’ll see.”
And with that, the light surrounding them surged—and vanished.
The courtyard was still again.
Obadiah exhaled slowly and sat heavily on a nearby bench. The weight of the world—of Heaven, of promises, of blood and memory—pressed against him all at once. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the empty sky.
He wanted to believe he could just return to Baylor City, to the museum, to Laric. That this was just a moment. Just another vision.
But deep down, he knew.
The choice had already been made.
“You’ve always been stubborn,” came a voice from the colonnade behind him.
Obadiah didn’t even look up. “David.”
The king approached, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“They didn’t tell me much,” Obadiah muttered. “A soldier. A ghost. Something about the Chosen Ones. It’s always cryptic.”
David chuckled as he sat beside him. “They give just enough to nudge you forward. The rest? That’s for you to uncover.”
“I don’t want to go back to this,” Obadiah said, his voice thin. “The battles. The loss. The weight of it all... I walked away for a reason.”
David studied him in silence. Then: “Do you think you’ll find peace in hiding?”
Obadiah didn’t answer.
“You are a protector,” David continued. “A guide. That hasn’t changed. And the world still needs you—even more than before.”
Obadiah looked out across the courtyard, past the olive trees, to the glint of sunlight on ancient stone. He could almost hear Laric’s voice, laughter echoing in a world far from this one. The ache in his chest pressed deeper.
“I’m not sure I can do it again,” he said.
David laid a steady hand on his shoulder. “You can. And you will. Because that restlessness inside you? It’s not a punishment. It’s your purpose knocking.”
The words settled around him like a mantle—heavy, inevitable.
Obadiah leaned back, eyes closed. He still wasn’t sure he was ready. But maybe readiness wasn’t the point.
Maybe obedience was.
David smiled faintly. “You’ll find your way, old friend. You always do.”
___
As the golden courtyard faded into white light, Obadiah felt the familiar pressure tighten behind his ribs—the strange sensation of being pulled, not by wings, but by a thread of divine will. This wasn’t a free jump. It was granted. And it always came with a price.
His feet touched down on cold concrete.
The dusty air of Jerusalem vanished, replaced by the sterile hum of fluorescent lights. The Arklow Bible Museum’s basement corridor greeted him—quiet and cool beneath the weight of modern time.
He inhaled slowly, grounding himself.
“Uncle?” came a voice from the stairwell. “What are you doing here?”
Obadiah turned slowly as Laric’s footsteps echoed down the stone steps. His nephew’s tousled curls framed sharp, intelligent eyes—eyes that saw more than Obadiah sometimes wished they did.
“You jumped,” Laric said—not a question. He looked his uncle over, brow creased. “But… you haven’t in years. I thought you couldn’t.”
Obadiah hesitated. “Not by choice.”
Laric frowned. “Then how—?”
“It was granted,” Obadiah said simply. He leaned a hand against the cool concrete wall, still unsteady. “I didn’t initiate it. They pulled me.”
Laric’s voice dipped lower. “They? Who pulled you? Heaven?”
Obadiah gave a tired nod.
“You said you were done. That your wings were clipped,” Laric pressed. “That you don’t have that anymore.”
“I didn’t,” Obadiah replied quietly. “Not unless they want me to.”
The weight of the statement hung between them.
“So, what now?” Laric asked. “Are you back in?”
Obadiah’s jaw tightened. “No. I’m not back. I’m… involved. For now. They want me to do an assignment—something about a missing soldier. A Chosen One.”
They climbed to the museum’s main floor. Morning sunlight streamed in through tall windows, casting warm light over ancient scrolls and glass displays. The staff bustled, unaware of the shifting tides swirling just beneath their world.
Laric kept close beside him. “Let me tag along. I’m old enough. I can help.”
“No,” Obadiah said, glancing sideways. “I don’t want you involved. This is my only assignment.”
“Even more reason why I should go,” Laric pressed, softer now.
Obadiah didn’t answer immediately. He just looked around the museum—a sanctuary built out of relics, history, and regret.
“I already said no,” he said, firm.
Laric exhaled hard. “Okay. I’ll hold the line here.”
Obadiah nodded once, slowly. “I’m counting on you.”
They reached the exhibit floor, the noise of the world returning—tour guides briefing their groups, phones ringing at the front desk, the scent of coffee from the café.
Obadiah paused, one hand on the glass case containing a replica of the Ark.
Something was shifting.
The Summons had come. And whatever followed… wouldn’t let him remain hidden for long.
TO BE CONTINUED…
🔙 Next, in Episode 7: The Assignment Unfolds
Peace has a short shelf life. When a mysterious video resurfaces a soldier thought lost, Obadiah realizes his mission isn't coming — it’s already here.
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