Echoes from the void

The Sword of Darkness

The Hanson party pushed through the lush foliage of the Peak, the air heavy with humidity and foreboding. Beneath their feet, the earth began to vibrate with rhythmic drumming. It was intoxicating, a beat that seemed to draw them toward the village square like moths to a flame.

Peter, eager to keep pace with Troy Jeff, stumbled over a root and fell hard. As he looked up, a figure stepped out of the void—a ripple in the shadows. The man’s skin glowed faintly, and his eyes held the depth of ancient oceans. He lifted Peter effortlessly.

“Peter Hanson,” the man said, his gaze piercing the boy's soul. “Listen with the ears of your spirit. Tell your parents they have thirty minutes to leave. The Sword of Darkness is unsheathed. Run!”

Peter turned for a heartbeat to look at his parents; when he turned back, the man was gone. No rustle of leaves, no footprint. The void had closed. The scales fell from Peter’s eyes—Claudia wasn't crazy. He dashed forward, seizing his father’s arm.

“Dad! Stop!” Peter gasped. “Claudia was right! I saw him! He said we have thirty minutes to leave or we'll be killed!”

George looked at his son with annoyance and pity. He laughed sharply. “The heat must be getting to you, Peter. Sunstroke.” Clara and Troy laughed with him as they stepped into the village square.

The Snatched Soul

The square was a whirlwind of motion—hundreds danced in ash and ochre. Yet the missionaries were treated as ghosts; the elders looked right through them. Peter felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the same man, now draped in a robe of white fire.

“Do not be afraid,” the Being said. “God has sent me to pluck you from the fire. Come now.”

“Mummy! Dad!” Peter screamed, grabbing Clara’s hand. “Please, look at him!”

Clara shoved him away, disgusted by the "embarrassing display," and George roared at him to get a hold of himself. Their laughter mingled with the drums—a cacophony of madness. The Angel’s expression turned solemn.

“Leave them. They have chosen their path. Save yourself and your sister.”

In a flash faster than lightning, the Angel snatched Peter. The world blurred. In a heartbeat, Peter stood at the gangplank of the ship.

The Pillar and the Abyss

Peter lunged aboard, screaming for Claudia. Deep in her heart, the Voice spoke: “Now is the hour. Take your Bible. Leave everything else.”

The Angel appeared in the living room, now a towering Pillar of Light. He swept them away. They reappeared on a rocky outcropping miles from the harbor. When they turned back, their hearts stopped.

An invisible, titanic force was dragging the Missionary Star toward the center of the bay. The water boiled and churned. With a metallic groan, the ship and Troy Jeff’s vessel were sucked into the abyss, vanishing beneath the black waves.

“No!” Claudia screamed. Her parents and Troy were still on the shore—trapped in a land that wanted their blood, with no way home.

The Angel, now a Pillar of Fire in the twilight, transported them one final time to a hidden cove. A small canoe waited in the reeds.

“Go,” the Pillar hummed. “Escape the Peak. Your journey has only just begun.”

With trembling hands, the siblings climbed into the canoe. Behind them, the silhouette of the Peak of Terror loomed like a hungry beast, its prey finally within reach.

The "Sword of Darkness" has fallen, not on the children, but on the pride of the parents. While George and Clara stand in a village of people who refuse to see them, the ocean has swallowed their only exit. Will the siblings find Beeshanga in a mere canoe, or will the High Lords send the "North Wind" to capsize their final hope?