As Night came gently.
The heat of the day loosened its grip, replaced by cool air that carried the scent of dust and firewood. Stars emerged one by one, distant and steady, watching the earth without judgment.
A small bonfire crackled beside the road.
Lucas sat near it, turning a spit where meat slowly cooked, its smell warm and grounding. Not far away, the girl slept beneath a borrowed cloak, her breathing deep and even—alive in a way she had not been hours before.
Bereshith lay beside the fire, unmoving.
Yareach slept close to him, her tiny chest rising and falling softly.
Lucas kept glancing at the child.
He had seen death before. He had carried bodies. He had chosen mercy when pain became too great.
But he had never seen a child burn like a candle to give light.
Bereshith stirred.
Lucas noticed instantly.
The child's brow creased. His fingers twitched. Then his eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then clearer.
Bereshith pushed himself up on one elbow.
"What… happened?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Lucas froze for half a heartbeat.
Then he smiled—small, careful, as if afraid the moment might break.
"You saved the girl," he said calmly.
Bereshith blinked.
He turned his head and saw her—lying there, whole, breathing, her leg wrapped but no longer broken. Alive.
A long breath left his chest.
"Oh," Bereshith said softly."Thank God."
Lucas answered immediately.
"Yes," he said."Thank you."
The words were not worship.
They were recognition.
Bereshith looked at him, confused for a moment, then understanding flickered—not pride, not fear, but humility.
He nodded once.
Lucas cleared his throat, gesturing toward the fire.
"Dinner's almost ready," he said. "And—I got milk for your sister."
Bereshith's eyes widened slightly.
"You did?"
Lucas scratched the back of his neck, half-embarrassed.
"Yeah. From a lost sheep."He hesitated, then added, "It… kind of followed me."
Bereshith turned his head.
"Look," Lucas said, pointing.
A sheep stood just beyond the firelight, calm as if it belonged there.
"Baaaaa."
Bereshith stared.
Then he smiled.
Not widely.
But warmly.
Yareach stirred at the sound, making a small noise, and Lucas quickly fetched the milk. She drank peacefully, utterly unaware of miracles or costs or roads east.
Bereshith watched her, exhaustion finally settling into his bones.
"That light…" he murmured. "It felt like it took something from me."
Lucas nodded slowly.
"You didn't scream," he said. "You didn't shake. You just… fell."
Bereshith considered that.
"I think," he said quietly, "when I helped her, I forgot about myself."
Lucas looked at the fire.
"That's the cost," he said. "Isn't it?"
Bereshith didn't answer right away.
He looked up at the stars.
God did not speak.
But He was there.
"I don't feel weaker," Bereshith said at last. "Just… empty."
Lucas poked the fire, sparks rising briefly into the dark.
"Empty things can be filled," he said. "But full things break easier."
Bereshith smiled faintly.
They ate together in silence.
The fire burned low.
The sheep lay down nearby.
And Lucas understood something at last:
Miracles were not free.
They were paid forwith strength,with faith,with innocence.
And the child beside him was willing to pay that cost again.
Which terrified him.
And made him stay.