A Fides Short Story- A Quest For The Cabin

Read this exclusive Christian fantasy short story

This short story is apart of the Creativity Stone series. Before reading this story, it's encouraged that you read the novel Downfall, which can be found here.

A Quest for The Cabin

A Christian Fantasy Short Story

Steven Waters sat cross-legged by the fire, its flickering glow casting shadows across his weathered face. His voice carried over the crackling embers, weaving a tale that had been told countless times but never lost its weight.

“So there I was, hopelessly lost in a deep forest beyond the White Mountains, when I stumbled upon a flower-lined trail. It led me to a small cabin.”

Four wide-eyed children sat across from him, their attention fixed on his every word. After seven years, the details should have begun to fade, yet the experience remained as vivid as the day it happened—both because of its life-altering nature and the countless times he had recounted it.

“Unlike the cabins we have here in Fides,” he continued, “this one was different. It wasn’t made from Novitas wood, but from Earth wood—real oak and pine. And it had running water, electricity, and appliances.”

A boy no older than nine raised his hand hesitantly. “What are… applances?” His tongue tripped over the unfamiliar word.

“Appliances,” Steven corrected with a chuckle. “They were machines we used back on Earth. A refrigerator kept food cold so it didn’t spoil, and instead of cooking over a fire, we had ovens, stoves, and even microwaves.”

“I wish we had those.” A girl wrinkled her nose.

“Well,” Steven said, casting a glance beyond the fire, “Jefferson is working on figuring out a way to get electricity and water to all our houses.”

At the mention of his name, Jefferson Gent emerged from the dimly lit path, his face barely visible in the golden moonlight. His sharp features twisted into a scowl.

“Speaking of Jefferson.” Steven smiled, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes.

Jefferson sighed, stepping closer. “Are you telling that ridiculous story again?” His tone dripped with condescension. “It is utterly preposterous to believe that a cabin with all the modern technology of Earth simply materialized on Novitas.”

“Well, it was—” Steven started.

“And furthermore,” Jefferson cut in, his voice rising, “it is dangerous to spread such fabrications about our holy God. To claim that some man—Emeth, was it?—knew personal details about you and persuaded you to abandon the true faith is heretical.”

Steven stood slowly, his posture unwavering. “He didn’t tell me to abandon the Bible, Jefferson. He told me to stop following your exhaustive list of rules and regulations of your cult that have turned faith into a prison. I am following Jesus, who confirmed and explained the law—not your laws.”

Jefferson’s expression darkened. “How dare you call the New Day Separatists a cult. You’re starting to sound like your father. When he took me to court, he spread fabricated stories, too.”

“What happened at the cabin wasn’t a lie.” Steven clenched his fists. “Don’t you believe in miracles? The Bible is full of God moving in strange and incredible ways.”

Jefferson let out a bitter laugh, rolling his eyes. “God can do whatever He pleases, of course. But there is a reason He hasn’t revealed Himself to us for thousands of years—we’ve strayed too far. That’s why we must return to Him, purify ourselves, and become holy once more.”

A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the occasional pop of burning wood. The firelight danced in their eyes—one pair filled with conviction, the other with unwavering certainty in his own righteousness.

“You really believe you went to this so-called cabin and met some man named Emeth, don’t you?” Jefferson’s voice was sharp, laced with condescension.

“Yes, I do.”

Jefferson scoffed. “You really are a dullard. I don’t know why I even bothered talking to you.” He turned, ready to dismiss him.

Steven didn’t let him go so easily. “You label anyone who disagrees with you a dullard. Anyone who doesn’t fit inside your rigid box—including God.”

Jefferson paused mid-step. He turned back, his expression darkening. “Fine. I’ll entertain your little fantasy. If this cabin was real—anything more than a figment of your broken mind—why haven’t you gone back?”

Steven hesitated. “I tried. But… I couldn’t find it again.”

“Ahh, of course.” Jefferson smirked. “How convenient.”

Steven’s jaw tightened. “I saw him again, though. When the fire burned down the church. Emeth appeared and told me to save Esther. If I hadn’t listened, the Judge of Justice would be dead.”

“Yes, yes, and we shower our undying gratitude upon you,” Jefferson said dryly, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been spreading this tale for years as undeniable proof that we are wrong to follow the seven remembrances and laws. And yet, with every retelling, your story shifts. More dramatic, more miraculous.” He narrowed his eyes. “You expect us to abandon the very foundation of our faith because of this mysterious Emeth. But tell me, Steven—do you have any actual proof?”

Steven exhaled through his nose, grounding himself. “I haven’t changed the story. The Old and New Testaments both point to a God of relationship, a God who will do anything to restore us—not just individually, but collectively.”

Jefferson snorted. “And do you have any proof?”

Steven hesitated. He had only seen Emeth twice—and both times, Emeth had found him.

Jefferson smirked at the silence. “If you want us to believe your story about this cabin, then prove it. Now, normally the burden of proof would rest entirely on you, but I’m feeling generous. I propose you and I take this little journey past the White Mountains together and see if we can find this Emeth and his miraculous Earth cabin.”

Steven’s stomach tightened. “But I—”

“Or maybe,” Jefferson interrupted, his tone smug, “you were making all of this up. Why else would you refuse?”

Steven glanced at the wide-eyed children, who had been watching the exchange with rapt attention. His chest ached at the thought of them growing up under Jefferson’s brand of faith—rigid, cold, obsessed with rules.

Steven sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to my wife, Hannah. But we should be good to go.”

Jefferson’s lips curled into a victorious smirk. “Excellent. I look forward to finally putting this nonsense to rest.”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the night, leaving Steven staring after him, a strange unease settling in his gut.

***

Jefferson and Steven trudged through the dense palm forest, the towering trees stretching skyward like skeletal fingers. The thick canopy filtered the fading sunlight, casting long, wavering shadows on the ground. They had passed through the White Mountains the day before, and now they wandered the uncharted woods beyond, their boots crunching against the forest floor.

Jefferson marched forward with rigid determination, his gaze fixed ahead as if ignoring the absurdity of their journey would make it more tolerable. It didn’t.

Beside him, Steven scanned the landscape, his eyes darting between the slender trees, searching for any sign of the cabin.

“We should probably set up camp for the night,” Steven said, glancing at the fiery streaks of orange cutting through the trees. “The sun’s about to set, and we’ve been walking all day.”

Jefferson let out a dry chuckle. “Afraid we won’t locate your magical cabin?”

Steven exhaled slowly. “Well, when I found it last time, I wandered around for a while. It’ll be easier to find in daylight.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Jefferson scoffed, shaking his head.

Regret burned in Jefferson’s chest. He never should have followed this fool into the depths of the wilderness. The pack on his back weighed him down, making each step heavier, but worse than the physical strain was the certainty that this entire expedition was a waste of time. He had entertained many intellectual debates in his life, but none as infuriating as this one. Steven’s delusion ran so deep, no amount of logic or evidence would dissuade him.

Steven stopped and leaned against a palm tree, brushing sweat from his forehead. “Here’s as good a place as any.”

Jefferson grunted and shrugged off his pack. It hit the ground with a dull thud. “I told you we’d need to bring supplies,” he muttered.

Steven didn’t respond, already kneeling to arrange the firewood from his pack. He struck a flint stone, and within moments, the green palm hairs on the logs caught flame, feeding a small but steady blaze. The flickering firelight illuminated the tension between them, each man caught in his own thoughts.

Jefferson reached into his bag and pulled out two strips of dried jerky, tossing one to Steven. “Eat.”

Steven caught it and sat down across from him. The fire crackled between them, the only sound in the vast, empty woods. He studied Jefferson for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Can I ask you something?” Steven finally said.

Jefferson, mid-bite, raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You believe in God, right?”

Jefferson gave him an incredulous look. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I believe in God. I wouldn’t have left Earth to come to this planet if I didn’t.”

Steven chewed on his jerky, then swallowed. “It’s just… from my perspective, you seem full of contradictions.”

Jefferson scoffed. “Oh, this should be good.”

Steven gestured vaguely. “You’re a brilliant scientist, and no offense, but you have a bit of a superiority complex. You reject anything that doesn’t fit neatly into your understanding of the world. And yet, you’re also a passionate Christian—someone who risked everything to follow what you believe. That doesn’t quite add up. When I tell you I experienced a miracle, you dismiss me as an idiot. But isn’t that exactly what faith is? Believing in what you can’t always explain?”

Jefferson wiped his hands on his trousers and let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll give you this, Steven—you’re not as much of a dullard as most people I deal with.” His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re right about one thing. A lot of my so-called intellectual peers are more foolish than you. They refuse to see the truth that’s right in front of them.”

Steven frowned. “Then why is it so hard for you to believe that God moved the way I said He did?”

Jefferson leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he stared into the fire. The flames reflected in his sharp eyes, making them burn with a fervor that had nothing to do with the heat. “Because belief in God isn’t some blind superstition, Steven. It’s rooted in reason. When you really examine history, science, and logic, it’s impossible not to believe. We have more historical evidence for the events in the Bible than we do for the existence of Julius Caesar. And when you study the intricate complexities of life, of the universe itself, the idea that it all happened by coincidence is absurd.”

He shook his head, his voice growing more animated. “And then there’s the Big Bang—a childish name for a senseless theory. If everything was created from an explosion, then there had to be something before the explosion. Events, matter—something to set it in motion. Nothing comes from nothing. That’s logic.” He jabbed a finger into the dirt for emphasis.

Steven nodded slowly, absorbing Jefferson’s words. “So you believe in God because science demands a Creator.”

Jefferson smirked, brushing dust from his trousers as he leaned back against a palm tree. “Precisely. Meanwhile, your story—a man, presumably God himself, appearing in a cabin on Novitas to correct your theology—is ridiculous. Even if He would do something like that, the notion—”

“Are you saying He wouldn’t?” Steven tilted his head, watching Jefferson carefully.

“Well, of course not.” Jefferson scoffed, waving a dismissive hand.

Steven didn’t react. Instead, he shifted, settling more comfortably by the fire. “Can you bear with me for a minute? Let’s just assume, theologically, that I’m right. That God isn’t calling us to be perfect, that Jesus didn’t die so we could master man-made laws and eventually earn eternity.”

Jefferson crossed his arms. “The Bible clearly commands us to be perfect. It’s filled with examples of God rewarding righteousness and favor.”

“We could argue all day about what perfection and favor mean.” Steven poked at the fire with a stick, sending embers spiraling upward. “But let’s set that aside for now. Just for a minute.”

Jefferson’s glare deepened, but after a moment, he nodded. “Fine. Go on.”

Steven exhaled, rubbing his hands together against the cool night air. “What I experienced would be considered a miracle. Do you believe God still works miracles today?”

Jefferson snorted. “Empirically? What we call miracles are usually just psychological placebos or natural phenomena we haven’t yet understood.”

A rustling sound came from the dense foliage to their left, but Jefferson ignored it. Novitas wasn’t home to many dangerous animals—not that he’d seen, anyway.

Steven, however, glanced toward the noise before returning his focus to Jefferson. “What about the parting of the Red Sea? Jesus healing the blind? His resurrection? Are you rejecting those too?”

Jefferson chuckled, shaking his head. “Ahh, I see where you went wrong in your thinking.” He shifted forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice taking on the measured cadence of a scholar addressing a student. “I could give you a lengthy breakdown of dispensational shifts—how God works differently in different eras—but let me put it simply. Biblically, what do you see whenever God moves?”

Steven remained silent, letting Jefferson explain.

“Righteousness and favor.” Jefferson gestured toward him with two fingers. “The Bible repeatedly says, And he found favor in God’s eyes. There’s a clear pattern—those who are righteous experience more of God. I know you wanted me to follow your premise, to back me into a contradiction, but the answer is obvious.” He leaned back. “The reason we don’t see God move today is because we are unworthy. Sin prevents us from experiencing more.”

Steven watched the flames lick at the wood, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. He was used to these debates. Used to Jefferson’s rehearsed defenses.

Jefferson smirked. “I see where you were going with this. You wanted to corner me, to make me admit that I believe in biblical miracles but reject them today. And you almost had me.” He tilted his head slightly. “But the difference is, I believe in miracles that align with how God actually works. Yours is delusional because it contradicts everything we know about Him.”

Steven finally looked up, his gaze trailing past Jefferson and up to the stars overhead. The firelight flickered across his face, casting long shadows.

“We should get to bed,” he murmured. “We’ve got a long day of walking tomorrow.”

Jefferson nodded, pleased with himself for having won the exchange. He grabbed his pack and unrolled his blanket, ready to put an end to the conversation.

But then Steven spoke again. His voice was calm. Thoughtful.

“But before you sleep,” he said, “I want you to consider something.”

Jefferson glanced at him, waiting.

“What if God is bigger than your carefully defined logic?”

The words lingered in the air, mixing with the crackling fire and the distant rustling in the trees.

For the first time that night, Jefferson had no retort.

***

A rustling sound jarred Jefferson from his dreams. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the golden moonlight filtering through the palm canopy.

Probably just the wind.

He shut his eyes and tried to slip back into sleep.

Then came another rustling—followed by the distinct clank of metal.

Jefferson shot upright, every muscle in his body tensing. He scanned the dimly lit campsite.

A large creature rummaged through their supply packs, its hooked claws scraping against the fabric and spilling their belongings onto the forest floor. It was massive—its hulking form covered in coarse brown fur, its long limbs rippling with muscle. It resembled a bear but with a smaller face, disproportionately long claws, and feet that clung effortlessly to the side of a palm tree as it hung upside down, tearing into their provisions.

Jefferson’s mind raced through possible responses. It hadn’t ventured close to the village before, which meant it was either opportunistic or wary of humans. If he startled it enough, it might flee.

He leapt to his feet, waving his arms. “Hey! Get out of there!”

The creature’s head snapped toward him, its piercing eyes locking onto his.

Slowly, deliberately, it released its grip on the tree and dropped to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. Then, it bared its teeth.

Maybe I miscalculated.

Jefferson’s heart pounded. He turned and kicked Steven in the side. “Wake up.”

Steven groaned and rolled over, mumbling something incoherent.

Jefferson clenched his jaw. How could anyone sleep through this?

The bear took a slow, deliberate step forward, its low growl rumbling through the night air. It was only a few paces from Steven’s sleeping body now, its breath fogging in the cool air.

Jefferson took a step back. “Steven,” he hissed. Then louder, “Steven!”

The bear roared and lunged.

Steven’s blankets shredded beneath its claws as it struck, just missing his body.

Steven’s eyes snapped open, and he let out a strangled scream.

“Run!” Jefferson barked, already sprinting. He didn’t check to see if Steven followed.

The ground trembled beneath pounding paws. The bear was charging.

Steven, panting, caught up to him. “Bears can’t climb,” he gasped. “That tree—climb it!”

“Wait—"

Steven grabbed the nearest tree trunk and scrambled upward.

“The bear came from the trees,” Jefferson snapped, but Steven was already halfway up.

The bear barreled toward them. Jefferson hesitated for a split second—then turned and ran. Steven was a grown man, he could take care of himself.

Jefferson’s lungs burned as he sprinted, dodging between trees, barely registering the sound of his own ragged breaths. After several long seconds, he chanced a glance back.

Nothing.

The bear wasn’t following him.

A scream echoed through the forest.

Cursing under his breath, Jefferson retraced his steps. He broke through the clearing to see Steven clinging to the top of the palm, his arms wrapped tightly around the trunk. Below him, the bear was perched on its hind legs, one enormous claw swiping dangerously close.

Steven kicked at the air. “Help!”

Jefferson’s mind snapped into action. The bear had been searching for food. If it was hungry, he could use that.

He bolted toward the campsite, skidding to a stop at their packs. He grabbed the dried jerky—every last scrap—and ran back.

Just as he arrived, a scream split the night.

A scream split the air.

A sickening thud followed.

Jefferson skidded to a stop, heart hammering.

He turned to see Steven sprawled at the base of the tree, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, motionless. The bear had already begun its descent, its long claws raking against the bark as it climbed down, its beady eyes locked onto the broken body below.

Jefferson let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. Of course this had to happen.

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t like Steven. The man was an insufferable idealist, convinced of his own self-righteousness. He had led half of Fides into theological chaos, undermining the foundation that Jefferson had spent years reinforcing. He had been a thorn in his side for far too long.

But that didn’t mean Jefferson wanted him dead.

Steven was an idiot, but he was a good idiot. And maybe—just maybe—Jefferson respected him more than he had ever admitted.

He exhaled sharply and squared his shoulders. Fine.

“Hey, bear!” Jefferson’s voice rang out, cutting through the heavy night air.

The bear’s head jerked toward him, nostrils flaring.

Jefferson tightened his grip on the jerky in his hand. “Hungry?”

The bear grunted, its weight shifting forward, muscles coiling.

Jefferson flicked his wrist, sending the dried meat flying. Strips scattered through the air, landing in the underbrush.

The bear hesitated—then turned, bounding after the food.

Without wasting a second, Jefferson rushed to Steven’s side, kneeling over him. His gaze flickered over Steven’s broken form—his arms bent at odd angles, his chest barely rising.

He reached for Steven’s neck, pressing two fingers against the pulse point.

It was there. Weak, but steady.

Jefferson let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Well, you’re not dead yet,” he muttered.

Steven didn’t respond.

Jefferson hesitated, then lightly smacked his cheek. “Hey. Wake up.”

Still nothing.

Jefferson groaned, running a hand down his face. This was bad. The fall had done serious damage—probably broken half the bones in his body. If he stayed out here much longer, he wouldn’t need the bear to finish him off.

Jefferson’s mind raced.

He couldn’t just leave him.

And despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to walk away, to let Steven reap the consequences of his own stupidity, Jefferson found himself muttering a curse under his breath as he bent down, and with a grunt, hoisted Steven into his arms.

Steven was heavier than he looked, and Jefferson’s legs buckled slightly under the weight. He adjusted his grip, securing Steven as best he could.

With one last glance at the bear, he turned toward the White Mountains and started moving.

The journey was miserable.

Jefferson’s arms burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his pace slowed with each agonizing step. The sky had begun to lighten, pale streaks of dawn threading through the palm canopy, but Fides was still impossibly far.

His muscles screamed. His mind raged.

This is ridiculous.

He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t some martyr for Steven’s cause. He wasn’t even friends with the man.

So why had he just spent the last mile hauling his broken body through the jungle like some sort of self-sacrificing saint?

He gritted his teeth.

Maybe because, despite everything, Steven wasn’t a bad man.

Infuriating? Absolutely. Stubborn? Beyond measure.

But Jefferson had spent years arguing with him, pushing against him, testing him.

And Steven never wavered.

He believed what he preached, even when it cost him. Even when people turned against him. Even when Jefferson himself had torn apart his arguments piece by piece.

Jefferson had always considered Steven a fool. But now, carrying his unconscious body through the wilderness, he was beginning to wonder if he misjudged the man.

Panting, he finally stopped, leaning heavily against a tree, trying to catch his breath. His arms trembled from the effort of carrying Steven’s dead weight.

There’s no way I can get him back to Fides like this.

A voice broke the silence.

“Allow me to take a turn.”

Jefferson nearly dropped Steven.

He spun, heart pounding.

A man stood a few paces away, hands folded behind his back, a slight smile on his lips.

Jefferson’s mind reeled. He hadn’t heard footsteps. Hadn’t sensed anyone nearby. And yet, here this man stood, as if he had materialized from the very trees.

His voice caught in his throat. He could only stare.

The man nodded toward Steven. “He doesn’t look so good. And Fides is quite a long walk.” His voice was calm, soothing, almost matter-of-fact. “Perhaps we should take him to my place. It’s just over there.”

Jefferson hesitated. Every logical instinct screamed that this was impossible.

But logic had stopped making sense hours ago.

Before he could protest, the man stepped forward and, with surprising ease, lifted Steven from his arms. Then he turned and walked deeper into the forest.

Jefferson stood frozen for half a second before his feet moved on their own, following.

They walked for less than a minute before the trees opened up into a clearing.

Jefferson’s breath hitched.

Nestled among the foliage stood a quaint cabin, its wooden exterior looking as though it had been plucked straight from an old Earth magazine. The structure was impossibly out of place—made from Earth wood, with a porch swing, flower boxes, and a stone chimney curling smoke into the morning air.

Jefferson’s stomach twisted.

“You’re… you’re Emeth.” His voice came out quieter than he expected.

The man turned his head and smiled. “So you’ve heard of me?”

Jefferson’s brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

There had been no evidence of anyone living in these woods. No trails, no signs of human habitation. No logical reason for a fully furnished Earth-style cabin to exist here. No explanation for how this man had appeared just when they needed help.

And yet… here it was.

Emeth stepped onto the porch and opened the door. Without hesitation, he carried Steven inside.

Jefferson swallowed and followed.

The interior was exactly as Steven had described. A plush chair sat beside a long couch. A crackling fireplace bathed the room in a warm glow. A grandfather clock ticked methodically against the far wall, its sound rhythmic, steady. Thousands of pictures lined the walls—memories frozen in time.

Jefferson barely registered it. His thoughts were too loud, too tangled.

“We’ll put him in my bed,” Emeth said, pushing open a side door.

The bedroom was just as surreal—large, welcoming, with even more pictures adorning the walls.

Gently, Emeth laid Steven down.

Jefferson stood at the threshold, his gaze flickering between Steven’s unmoving form and the older man beside him. Steven looked worse under the warm light—his arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles, blood seeping through his torn clothing, his face pale as death itself.

Jefferson exhaled slowly. “Will he be okay?”

Emeth didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, studying Steven with an expression Jefferson couldn’t place.

Emeth studied Jefferson with quiet patience, the weight of unspoken depth settling between them. “Tell me, Jefferson… do you believe in miracles?”

Jefferson clenched his jaw, his chest rising and falling in controlled breaths. “We don’t have time for a theological debate,” he said sharply. “Steven needs medical attention.”

Emeth didn’t react to his frustration. “He has broken most of the bones in his body. He’s suffering from significant internal bleeding. He’s alive, but not for long. And there is nothing we can do for him medically.”

The statement landed like a stone in Jefferson’s gut. He stiffened.

Emeth let the silence linger, then repeated, “So without a miracle… he will die.”

Jefferson swallowed hard.

Emeth’s voice remained steady. “I’ll ask again, Jefferson. Do you believe in miracles?”

Jefferson’s mind was a machine, finely tuned, built to analyze, dissect, and rationalize. But logic was failing him now. He exhaled sharply, grasping onto certainty where he could find it.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I do. However, we don’t see miracles today because we aren’t in that dispensation. Miracles had a purpose—they displayed God’s authority, confirmed His promises, and spurred His people to endure suffering. But now, we live in an era where we are called to live by faith, not by sight.”

Emeth tilted his head. “Ahh. So God has changed.”

Jefferson bristled. “No. But the way He operates has.”

Emeth raised a brow. “Then you agree—God no longer interacts with the world the way He once did?”

Jefferson hesitated. “Blessed are those who do not see and yet believe,” he said firmly.

Emeth nodded, considering him. “Of course. But does the Bible say there will no longer be things to see?”

Jefferson frowned. “Not exactly, but—”

“And who decided that God only needed to confirm His promises through miracles back then?” Emeth leaned forward slightly. “If miracles confirmed His faithfulness and strengthened people in times of suffering, then we have two possibilities. Either God no longer keeps His promises… or we no longer need to endure suffering.”

Jefferson opened his mouth—then shut it.

His thoughts scrambled for a response.

“That’s not—” He exhaled sharply. “We have the Bible as our confirmation now.”

Emeth gave a knowing smile. “Yes, and in the first century, they had the Torah. The Psalms. The words of the prophets.” He spread his hands. “In fact, most Jewish adults had the majority of the Old Testament memorized. And yet—miracles still happened.”

Jefferson blinked, momentarily thrown off.

Emeth continued. “I would never negate the significance of scripture, but tell me, Jefferson—did having the Scriptures prevent the Israelites from struggling to believe? Did it keep them from doubting God’s faithfulness?”

Jefferson clenched his jaw. “No… but—”

“But what?” Emeth pressed. “God confirmed His faithfulness through miracles in times of suffering. He strengthened His people with tangible signs so they would endure. And the scriptures act as testimonies to some of those miracles. But has endurance become any less necessary?”

Jefferson’s throat tightened.

Emeth gestured to Steven’s still body. “You say we have the Bible now, and that’s true. But even when people knew God’s promises, they still needed to see those promises fulfilled. They needed to be reminded that the suffering was worth it. That God was present in it. Do you honestly believe that’s changed?”

Jefferson crossed his arms, forcing himself to keep his posture rigid. “Jesus was doing something completely different. He had to do miracles to prove He was the Messiah.”

“So God changed His mind?” Emeth countered. “In the Old Testament, He confirmed His promises through miracles. Then Jesus came and performed them as well. But now, suddenly, He stopped? That would be strange—especially since your faith is still based on those past miracles.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Emeth simply lifted his hands. “Then explain.”

Jefferson’s mind whirled, racing for a counterargument that wouldn’t come.

After a long pause, Emeth’s voice softened. “Jesus turned water into wine. He healed the sick. He raised the dead. Yes, it confirmed His power. But it also reminded people that God sees them. That He is faithful. That His promises are true.”

Jefferson felt the words hit somewhere deep in his chest, unsettling something he had long kept bolted down.

“If miracles were only about proving Jesus’ divinity,” Emeth continued, “why did He heal people who didn’t ask? Why did He provide wine at a wedding when no one knew He was the one who did it? Why did He tell some not to speak of their healings at all?”

Jefferson’s breath hitched.

“If miracles confirmed God’s faithfulness then,” Emeth finished, “why wouldn’t they confirm His faithfulness now?”

Jefferson stiffened.

This was not how debates usually went. He was used to tearing apart arguments, exposing weak logic.

But now Jefferson had no immediate rebuttal.

He crossed his arms tighter, forcing himself to maintain composure despite the shift happening in his mind. “Okay,” he muttered, jaw tight. “I’ll concede that it would be beneficial to see miracles today.” His gaze flickered toward Steven, still unconscious. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we don’t see them.”

Emeth leaned forward, smiling slightly. “Says who?”

Jefferson hesitated. “Well… everybody, I suppose.”

Emeth chuckled. “Everybody?” He gestured toward the cabin. “What if God is working miracles every day—but modern intellectuals dismiss the possibility. You’ll accept any implausible explanation for the unexplainable before you’ll consider that maybe, just maybe, God still works miracles.”

Jefferson frowned. “And what exactly are you implying?”

Emeth spread his arms, gesturing to their surroundings. “For example, how do you explain this cabin? Me being here? Your arrival at my doorstep just when you needed help?”

Jefferson’s throat felt dry. “Are you saying this—you being here—is a miracle?”

Emeth shrugged. “What do you think? Do you believe I created a portal, transported an entire cabin to a random planet, just so I could be here at the exact moment you needed me?” His eyes glinted in the firelight. “Or is it possible that someone else orchestrated it?”

Jefferson’s mind raced for an explanation, but everything about this situation defied logic. The cabin. Emeth himself. The perfect timing. There were too many impossibilities stacked together.

Still, he shook his head. “So I should just blindly accept this as a miracle? Why would God spend His energy on us?”

“Ahh, now that’s an interesting question.” Emeth folded his hands together. “You assume you’re unworthy of a miracle.” His gaze flicked toward Steven’s unmoving body. “Or maybe you think he’s unworthy. After all, he leads people away from your precious laws. He encourages what you’d call a sin free-for-all.”

Jefferson bristled. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

But Emeth’s words struck a nerve.

Were they unworthy? That was the foundation of everything, wasn’t it? Mankind was broken, fallen. That’s why they needed God. That’s why they were called to become sanctified, to earn righteousness.

And yet, as Jefferson stared at Steven—pale, bruised, bloodied—calling him unworthy felt… wrong.

Emeth tilted his head. “Surely you’re better, though.” His voice was light, almost teasing. “You, Esther, and your followers—models of righteousness and purity. You don’t even need God’s grace because you’re so perfect.”

Jefferson scowled. “I never said that.”

“But you believe it, don’t you? That grace gives you the ability to become sanctified. To stop sinning altogether.”

Jefferson clenched his fists. “Grace does enable us to pursue righteousness. We can stop sinning.”

Emeth exhaled, shaking his head. “And yet… you follow your long list of rules, but your heart is full of pride and anger.” His voice softened, but it hit like a hammer. “You love to call people dullards, but you’re just as blind. You hide your pride behind intellectualism, but that doesn’t change what it is.”

Jefferson’s teeth clenched. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’m prideful. I still sin. But surely you don’t expect me to be perfect.”

Emeth raised an eyebrow. “And yet, isn’t that exactly what you expect from everyone else?”

Jefferson opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“That’s only because God expects it,” he finally muttered.

Emeth smiled, as though he had been waiting for that answer. “And yet, tell me, Jefferson—what did Jesus do in John 8? When the adulterous woman was brought forward to be stoned?”

Jefferson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He said, Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone. And everyone left because they had all sinned.”

Emeth nodded. “Ahh, but the story doesn’t end there, does it?” He stood, pacing slowly. “Jesus had never sinned. He had the right to condemn her. So did He?”

Jefferson swallowed. “No. He forgave her.”

Emeth turned, his eyes sharp. “And was she worthy of that forgiveness?”

Jefferson hesitated.

Emeth gestured broadly. “And what about the guests at the wedding feast? Were they worthy of a miracle? Or the lepers? The blind and the lame? And going even further back—were the stubborn, stiff-necked Israelites worthy of being rescued from Egypt?”

Jefferson rubbed his temples. “I… I guess not.”

Emeth stopped pacing and looked at him. “So then, could God choose to heal Steven right now? Or would that be out of character for Him?”

Jefferson’s mouth felt dry. “I… I suppose He could… if He wanted to.”

Emeth smiled. “Then let’s pray for him.”

Jefferson’s stomach twisted. “Right now?”

“Of course.” Emeth knelt beside the bed, placing one hand on Steven’s forehead, the other on his bruised chest. “If God can perform miracles, and Steven needs a miracle, then our response should be to pray.”

Jefferson hesitated.

He wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. But he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to pray.

Slowly, he stepped to the other side of the bed, laying his hands on Steven’s arm.

Emeth nodded. “Why don’t you start?”

Jefferson licked his lips, then closed his eyes. “Lord God, thou art our majestic King. We come seeking thy favor for Steven. He needs thy healing lest he perish. However, thy will be done. Amen.”

Emeth chuckled softly. “Father God, heal Steven.” Then, he added simply, “Now rise, Steven.”

Jefferson opened his eyes—just in time to see Emeth helping Steven sit up.

His breath caught.

Steven’s clothes were still bloodstained, the bedding still torn from the struggle. But his bruises and cuts were gone. His limbs were straight. His chest rose and fell, steady and strong.

Jefferson’s knees nearly buckled. “How… how?” He could barely force the words out.

Steven let out a loud, incredulous laugh. “I told you he was real!”

Jefferson barely heard him. His mind was frozen, reeling, grasping for explanations that no longer existed.

For the first time in his life, Jefferson Gent had no logical answer.

And that terrified him.