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)
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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.
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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.
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The tide lapped at their ankles, cool and insistent, as if it, too, wanted to join the conversation neither man wished to finish.
Seth walked ahead of Eric, hands in pockets, head bowed. His silver-threaded tunic caught the dying light, each movement a breath of Heaven against mortal dusk.
I followed with Lady Elsa, our shadows trailing in quiet rhythm, witnesses to old scars.
Eric's gait was tight, every step an unfinished argument.
"So," he said at last, squinting toward the horizon, "you and Max…"
Seth did not slow. "Yes?"
"I need you to hear me out," Eric pressed.
Silence stretched until even the sea began to listen.
"I knew who she was before we met," Seth said softly.
Eric frowned. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
Seth stopped, eyes on the horizon where sunlight bled into the tide.
"I knew her," he said, voice steady but threaded with memory. "I have always known her, and I loved her then just as I do now, if not more."
The wind shifted, carrying salt and something older.
"Our mothers knew each other before the end," he continued. "While they carried us, they dreamed the same dream, light and flame sharing one heartbeat.
When they died, Christopher took me in, and she was raised by her aunt and Master Dan. But even then…" He paused; the surf exhaled around his ankles. "Even then, our paths were already being written toward each other."
Eric's expression hardened. "So you've been watching her all this time?"
"Not watching," Seth corrected, softer now. "Guarding. When Christopher visited her, I stayed back. She never saw me, though I saw her. I knew her laughter before I heard her voice. I knew the shape of her faith before she ever spoke it aloud."
He turned fully to Eric, eyes bright with silver fire. "I waited until the design allowed me to stand before her, until she was ready to remember what Heaven had already written."
Eric's breath hitched. "So that's what this was to you? A divine schedule?"
He laughed once, short, sharp, unbelieving. "You talk about design like it excuses everything. You make it sound holy, but it's still betrayal."
The sea drew back, leaving their words stranded on wet sand.
"No," Seth said quietly, almost mournfully. "You'll never understand what Max and I are. It wasn't about stealing. It was about completion. You've moved on, Eric. You have a wife. A son. Don't pretend your hands are clean."
Seth turned at last, his silver eyes glowing faintly as if he knew the future a second before it arrived. He met Eric's rage with calm, watching the fist arc toward him, and in the span of a breath, he decided to take it.
Eric's fist connected with Seth's jaw before the sea breeze had time to carry the sound. The crack echoed, sharp as splitting wood.
Seth's head snapped to the side. He staggered, spat, and a glint of silver breath caught the light as he straightened. His lip split, leaving a red stain on the edge of perfection.
Eric's chest heaved, his fists still clenched. "Do not bring them into this. You have no right to even speak of their existence."
Seth spat blood into the sand, then raised his gaze, silver burning like fire hammered into steel. "That was your mistake. Believing I would stay silent forever."
He stepped forward, the tide rushing against his ankles as if even the sea braced for impact.
"I knew this fight would come, Eric. I knew you would never let her go in peace. But hear me now. Max is mine to guard, mine to protect, and she does not belong to the past you keep choking on."
His voice cut like a blade, fury rising to match Eric's, no longer calm, no longer patient. "You throw fists because you have nothing left. I return them because I will not let you bind her to what she has already broken free from."
The next punch came from Seth, fast and brutal. His knuckles slammed into Eric's cheekbone, driving him back into the sand. The sound was raw, flesh against flesh, a reminder that divinity did not dull the force of a man's anger. A flicker of silver breath sparked across Seth's arm, fading just as quickly, leaving only bruised flesh and raw fury.
"You tried to forbid me from speaking of your family," Seth growled, his finger leveled like a blade. "Then hear this. Max is not yours to drag into the past. She is my wife, and she will never be yours again."
Eric growled, stumbled upright, and lunged. They collided chest to chest, grappling in the surf, fists flying, grunts swallowed by crashing waves. Sand clung to their skin, blood mixed with saltwater, and every strike carried echoes of something greater straining to break loose.
"I don't need my power to put you in your place," Seth snarled, driving his shoulder into Eric's gut. "I don't need my power to break you."
Eric spat blood, swung wildly, and landed a strike to Seth's ribs. For an instant, his hands glowed with faint golden sparks, a residue of battles past. "You think she belongs to you. You think Heaven itself carved her for your hands."
Seth hit him again, harder, a vicious hook that split Eric's lip. "Max is mine to protect. Mine to stand with. My concern. You have no say."
They fell into the shallows, waves thrashing around them, each hit louder than the last. Fists cracked against jaws, ribs groaned under the impact, knuckles tore skin. No intention of miracles, yet stray glimmers of silver and gold bled from their blows, staining the water with brief bursts of light.
Eric caught Seth by the hair, yanked his head back, and drove his fist into his face. Seth roared, tackled him into the sand, and repaid the blow twice over. Water foamed violently around them as if creation itself flinched at their struggle.
Silver breath shimmered in the air, threading between their strikes like ghostly fire. Gold sparks trailed from Eric's hands, clashing in radiant bursts that sent ripples tearing across the surface of the sea.
The sky dimmed, the horizon trembling as though Heaven itself held its breath.
Seth pinned Eric beneath him, both panting, blood and light running in rivulets down their faces. "You think I fight to own her?" he hissed, breath shaking. "I fight to prove she's free."
Eric shoved him off, eyes burning. "You think love gives you the right to rewrite destiny."
Seth rose, silver glow rippling through every breath. "It's not only love that binds us, Eric. It's Heaven's design too. You can't fight what was written before you were born."
Eric's hand sparked again, gold and defiance mingling in the same trembling fist. "Then maybe Heaven was wrong."
The words cracked like lightning.
They collided once more, their blows sending rings of light scattering through the surf. The water churned in luminous bursts, white foam turning to fire as it caught the breath of two divine forces refusing to yield.
Their fists struck together, and for a heartbeat, sound died.
The sea peeled back. Air folded in on itself.
And the world felt their pain, their fury, their love, and embraced it, as if it had always known this fight was destined to come.
The horizon blinked with light.
And all at once, the world shuddered.
Behind them, I froze. The Living Scripture surged across my skin, molten gold and firelight, rewriting itself with every heartbeat.
I loved one once, but I was bound to another forever.
And Heaven watched, unblinking.
Seth was written for me, breath and flame, oath and blood. I could no more turn from him than silence the Scripture in my veins.
My hands trembled, aching to intervene, but the glyphs whispered truth: some storms aren't meant to be stopped, only survived.
Lady Elsa's voice broke through the roar. "Enough!"
Her command cut the air, but the sea still hissed where their fury had broken it.
Seth stood ankle-deep in the surf, blood sliding from his lip in silver threads that caught the dying light.
Eric bent over, palms on his knees, chest heaving, rage thinning to shame.
I crossed the sand.
My feet sank where the tide had pulled away, the prints filling with gold as the Scripture dimmed across my skin.
I reached Seth first.
"Hold still," I murmured.
He tried to smile, but it twisted beneath the bruise.
I wiped his nose, checked his ribs. "You'll live."
He caught my wrist, more comfort than thanks. "You shouldn't…"
I pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't."
Then I turned toward Eric.
He straightened, already defensive. I seized his wrist and dragged him farther up the beach, away from Seth, until the crash of waves swallowed our voices.
Behind us, Seth started forward.
I lifted a hand without looking back, one small motion, one wordless command.
He stopped.
This conversation had waited too long.
Eric's breath came ragged. "Say it," he muttered. "Say what you've been holding."
I met his eyes. "You already know. The Heavens have affirmed it. Seth and I are bound. We're married now, Eric. Destined, not decided."
He laughed once, hollow. "Destined. That's convenient."
"It's not convenience," I said quietly. "It's consequence. If we're to stay friends, if you truly want peace, then we forgive and we move on."
The wind crawled between us, tasting of salt and blood.
Eric's voice dropped. "I hate this game, Max. You think I didn't suffer? When you vanished for five years, I thought you were dead. But when you heard I was married, even though I moved on because I thought you died, you went to him without a word. I felt like you died twice."
I stared back, the ache turning sharp. "You should have trusted me. You should have known I cannot simply die."
The Scripture shimmered faintly along my collarbone, gold veins stirring under my skin.
"But you didn't have faith in me. You let the world decide for you, and you moved on."
My voice hardened. "I would have waited an eternity before moving on, Eric. That's the betrayal. Yet you act as if what Seth and I share is…"
I pointed at Seth, still motionless in the distance.
"I turned to him when I nearly crumbled. And he, without question, without doubt, raised me up again."
I drew a shaking breath. "I let you go. I let you have your family. I would never take you from them, even if you said you'd give up the world for me."
My gaze drifted back to Seth, voice low but resolute. "I don't stay because Heaven designed it. I stay because I love him with everything I am, with everything I'll ever be. Destiny may have brought us together, but love keeps me there."
I jabbed a finger at his chest. "But you didn't give up the world, Eric. You gave me up for it."
Eric's face twisted, grief, guilt, desire, a storm all its own.
He caught my shoulders, shaking me once. "I still love you," he said. "I love my wife. I love my son. But you, you mean everything. I can't erase you. I never could."
The moment snapped.
Seth moved, a blur of silver breath, but he was too far.
The Living Scripture reacted first.
Gold rippled across my skin, alive and knowing. The glyphs rose like a living tide, their pulse synchronized with the rhythm of Seth's distant breath.
It wasn't rage that moved it; it was recognition.
The Scripture, bound to the Breath, knew its counterpart. It knew destiny, and it would not let anyone's confession fracture what Heaven had already written.
Light flared, blinding and absolute.
The glyphs struck, not to destroy but to warn.
Eric's body arched as the brilliance met him. It didn't burn; it commanded. The sound that followed wasn't a scream but a gasp, as though Heaven itself had inhaled through him.
Then he fell.
The world froze.
I stood trembling, the glow fading to a faint pulse beneath my skin, like a heart remembering mercy.
The surf crept forward, brushed his hand, then withdrew in silence.
I didn't move. Didn't dare.
Seth reached me, breath uneven, silver light ghosting the air between us.
Neither of us spoke.
Only the wind did, soft, mournful, and full of knowing, as if it too understood what the Living Scripture had done.
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Thank you for reading the first chapter of Arc Two.
Alec's baby question still makes me laugh, and Jamey's monkey impression remains either his finest or most questionable performance.
But even paradise has edges.
Eric and Seth's feud finally broke the surface, fists, faith, and unfinished love.
So tell me, did you laugh, wince, or cheer when Heaven's calm broke?
And the question that lingers:
If Heaven itself wrote their child, what kind of miracle would it be?