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Chapter 4 — The Prophecy of Choice
I didn’t want to be there.
Not after the week I’d had.
Not after Nyxion.
He had this way of talking that made the whole world slow down, like the noise in my head finally had somewhere to rest. With him, I didn’t feel like the church’s reject. I felt seen. He called it awakening. He said I was stepping into who I really was.
And I believed him. At least, part of me did.
But Mama didn’t care about any of that. She saw my eyes, the circles under them, the weight in my shoulders, and dragged me to church anyway. Said I needed “covering.” Said God had a word waiting for me.
So I ended up here—back on a pew I didn’t feel at home on, in a sanctuary that never stopped reminding me I didn’t belong.
---
The sanctuary hummed like it was alive—choir belting, tambourines rattling, people swaying like they were standing in wind. Even the kids my age, who usually scrolled their phones through service, sat up straighter. Everyone was waiting for the guest prophet.
Me? I kept to the back pew, hood half-up, trying to sink into the shadows.
But even in here, Nyxion’s words followed me. His promise of belonging tugged at me, like a second altar call no one else could hear.
---
Then altar call started. The crowd pressed forward, voices rising in hallelujahs and tears. That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
The prophet.
He bent low, speaking without his mic, just for me.
“Son,” he whispered, his voice steady but warm. “You’ve been carrying more than anyone your age should. But God’s hand is still on you. If you walk with Him, your days will be marked with peace, with purpose, with fruit that remains. You will see things many only dream of—healing, hope, and joy overflowing.”
His eyes locked with mine, like he was seeing past the mask I wore.
“You will choose,” he went on softly. “The fire in you is meant to restore, not destroy. To guide, not scatter. If you let Him, He’ll make your life a light others follow. But if you step away… what comes will glitter like gold, but it won’t last. It won’t be what was promised.”
He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze, then moved on, his voice booming back into the mic for someone else’s word.
For a moment, I sat frozen. His whisper still burned in my ears like it had been carved just for me.
But Nyxion’s voice burned too.
And the two of them clashed inside me, light and heat, both promising I was more than what I’d been told.
---
By the time I hit the aisle, the snickers had started.
“God’s gonna use you? Please, He can’t even keep you in church.”
Laughter rippled.
Another voice, sharper: “Why would God pick you when you’re the one nobody even wants here?”
The laughter stuck harder than the prophecy. By the time I reached the door, their voices had wrapped tighter around me than the whisper ever had.
And just like that, I wasn’t sure if God had spoken at all… or if the prophet was only being kind.
End of Chapter 4
End of Chapter 4
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