Chapter 1:  Power & Burden

In Arc One, we witnessed Max’s awakening as the bearer of the Living Scripture, her bond with Seth, and the long road through betrayal, loss, and divine revelation. We watched the team stand against corruption, uncover sacred truths, and defy both Heaven and darkness to reclaim faith itself.

Now, peace has returned, briefly.

Arc Two picks up in that fragile silence, where laughter hides exhaustion and destiny begins to stir again. What was written in fire now meets in breath, and every heartbeat will test the meaning of divine unity.

If you journeyed through Arc One with me, thank you for standing in the light when the pages grew dark.

If you are new, welcome to the storm. You can start here and still find your footing; the Scripture remembers every soul that joins its story.

Please follow or favorite this book to walk beside Max, Seth, and their companions as Arc Two unfolds. Every click and comment helps the story grow brighter.

May the Scripture guide your steps, and may the Breath keep you steady.

Amanda Hannibal (Mandy H)

Seth and I chose the kind of honeymoon that would make influencers weep.

No electricity. No cell service. No TikTok.

Just sea, sun, and the slow char of meat on open flame.

To hell with the world, its wars, its whispers, its Wi-Fi.

To Heaven, it was a pause in prophecy.

Eric, of all people, had said without irony, “You’ve earned it.”

Three weeks of uninterrupted bliss, saltwater naps, bare feet, red wine at noon, and kisses that didn’t taste like battle smoke.

We even snuck in a few barbecues and divine cuddles, the kind Heaven might frown upon if it weren’t so distracted by war.

Last week, we invited the gang. A peace offering. A thank-you. A warning.

Because if anyone deserved a break from spiritual warfare and borderline martyrdom, it was them.

But there were rules. Firm ones.

No divine dreams. No late-night exorcisms. No mysterious bleeding from the palms.

And anyone who uttered a prophecy over breakfast would wash dishes until the Rapture.

They arrived like waves, scattered, unhurried, each dragging in sand and silence like travelers stepping out of unfinished dreams.

Lady Elsa came first, dignified even in flip-flops, still walking as if the earth served at her pleasure.

Alec followed, brooding in board shorts, as though the sea itself had chosen him to sulk through.

Samantha clutched her journal like she could rewrite destiny if she wrote fast enough.

Samuel carried snacks under both arms, offerings to whichever god demanded chips first.

Then Jamey burst through the haze, laughter spilling out like something sacred escaping a cage.

“Max!” He swung me in a dizzy circle. “Still alive. Still pretty. Still terrifying.”

I laughed, breathless, kissed his cheek. “You forgot merciful.”

He blinked, mock solemn. “Tell that to the crab I stepped on.”

Alec came next, unarmored, lightning gone quiet. I pulled him into a hug longer than I meant.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

He kissed my hair, sure and steady. “I know.”

Even Eric came, with his new family.

I’d heard he’d married the mother of his child.

I played the part of the indifferent ex-ally flawlessly. I even smiled at her. Twice.

And it wasn’t a lie, not completely. I was happy for him, the way Heaven might be happy for sinners who finally learned to pray quietly.

Still, the air tightened when our eyes met, too much history, too much unsaid.

The laughter dimmed just slightly, like the tide remembering what it came to claim.

Our cabin could house four couples; the rest camped beneath the trees, brave souls tempting falling coconuts and territorial crabs.

Naturally, Jamey was already halfway up a palm.

“Ooh, Bella,” he called, swinging like a prophet of chaos, “bet you can’t get a meter off the ground without screeching like a fruit-market monkey.”

Campbell hurled a driftwood branch skyward. “Do I look like I collect bananas for a living? Save your monkey business for the trees.”

Seth and I watched from our thrones of palm-woven poofs, sea-scented and wonderfully lopsided, comfort pretending to be luxury.

Alec poured coconut water, handed a glass to Lady Elsa, then looked at me over the rim.

“Want one?”

I shook my head, smiling. “I’ve had my fill.”

He settled, shifting, then, deadpan, “So… what happens if the two of you make a baby?”

The wind stopped. Even the ocean held its breath.

I expected a tease. Not that.

Seth and I locked eyes, then burst out laughing.

Not a polite laugh, the kind that collapses lungs and makes crabs retreat in horror. Jamey nearly drowned in coconut water, which only made it worse.

When I could breathe again, I said, “What kind of baby? Hopefully one that sleeps through the night. Anything else is Heaven’s problem.”

The laughter drifted off like foam.

Lady Elsa set her glass down. “If such a child were born,” she began carefully, “it would not be ordinary. It would be written before its first cry, a covenant in…”

“Lady Elsa,” I cut in, hand raised. “No prophecies. That rule applies to babies too.”

The group chuckled; tension cracked.

And for one trembling moment, ridiculous and radiant, it almost felt like peace.

The kind that stays.