That night, the King, who did not believe in Daniel's God, prayed for him.
When dawn arrived, the King rushed to the den and cried out to Daniel, "Is your God capable of delivering you?"
Daniel replied, "I have been found innocent in your eyes and in the eyes of my God."
The King, overjoyed, commanded that Daniel be brought forth from the den.
He then ordered that his accusers and their families be cast into the den, whereupon the lions devoured them before they could touch the ground.
It is said that Daniel's God accompanied him in the den, causing the lions neither to roar nor desire to consume him, which instilled terror throughout the land of Babylon, including the King himself.
Consequently, the King decreed that all should worship Daniel's God.
Suddenly, the atmosphere grew oppressive; the Israelite began to perceive his nightmares anew, clutching his head and screaming, while he gazed at the woman, whose eyes had turned dark as she mumbled strange incantations that he could neither hear nor comprehend.
He then found himself awakening once more, and an eerie silence enveloped him.
He peered into her cell, and she was asleep. "What has just transpired?" he pondered, gripped by terror, questioning his sanity. Sleep eluded him.
"Who is this Daniel? What God possesses such power?"
Abruptly, the walls cracked open, and a man emerged, radiant with light; his lips bore judgment and numbers, spanning both the future and the past, accompanied by whispers.
"It is the man spoken of; he bears the spirit of the gods, chosen among men, beloved by his God." The walls trembled in his presence.
When he opened his mouth, he proclaimed, "I am Daniel, and our blood courses through your veins."
In that instant, all things became known to me, yet I retained no memory.
Suddenly, I was roused once more, and an oppressive silence enveloped the surroundings.
What had transpired? A profound dread had descended upon the ISRAELITE, as he gazed intently at the strange woman in her cell.
She was awake, her eyes fixed upon him, yet she uttered not a word.
The ISRAELITE implored, "Mistress, please, reveal to me the name of the God that Daniel bore." But she remained silent.
Morning dawned, heralded by the tolling of the city bell, summoning the populace to gather.
All the prisoners were brought forth to witness an execution, and I began to perceive the true allure of Babylon—the fragrance of each brick, the statues of deities hewn from stone, fashioned from bronze.
I could almost feel their presence, yet remained ignorant of their identities.
The soil's sharpness, the wind swirling the sand, the splendor of the people, each block adorned in vibrant red and yellow hues.
I envied the purple and blue garments of the women, the laughter of children, most of whom frolicked and raced about. (In a slow, heart-wrenching manner, he continued to speak.)
Yet at this juncture, life feels profoundly altered; to be shackled—what transgression had led me here?
Have the gods abandoned their own? What am I—a man bereft of prayer? Or a man devoid of any recollection of prayer, a man without a God? Or one who possesses no memory of a deity?
Amidst all this beauty lies an ugly truth—the executioner, the darkness that looms there.
I sense it, yet I cannot fathom how I perceive it.
The children sense it too, but how? How do they comprehend such malevolence?
Is it beyond understanding? Or is it a commonality that can be grasped? I am paralyzed by terror; why is this man condemned to lose his life?
From the grand platform, the executioner bellowed, "This man has defied the king; he wielded dark magic to manipulate your sovereign!"
A voice from the crowd queried, "What crime has he committed?"
"Silence, you insignificant wretch," retorted the executioner, his voice reverberating in ominous tones, the dread emanating from his mask was terrifying.
Clad in dark robes that flickered like shadows, he was a man steeped in the very essence of dark magic, yet they proclaim he slays for the gods.
The executioner continued his address to the condemned man, "You may find yourself on this platform next if you do not restrain your tongue.
the executioner said to the man about to be killed, I will do you the honour, so that the gods will remember your name, and so that your people will remember you, speak now, of what tribe are you?
My name is Kalumtum of the Chaldeans, a descendant of Beltelshazzar, son of Nebuchadnezzar, the rightful heir to the throne.
My people have been long forgotten; they languish in starvation and suffer from disease that has made a bed with us.
I cannot erase the memory of that fateful day, the day when Sargon of Akkad, the founder of the Akkadian Empire, a friend to the king, whom he cherished above all, came upon us suddenly, like a bolt of lightning accompanied by thunder.
The fury he unleashed was unlike anything I had ever witnessed.
I was but a boy then, yet I comprehended the essence of fear, the nature of darkness. The battle that ensued was perilous, a coup driven by the insatiable thirst for power, the relentless hunger to claim the throne.
These thoughts torment me: what is the throne? Is it merely bronze and gold, or wood and metal? Or is it a spirit, perhaps a demon, usurping the soul and darkening the heart of the individual upon it?
Yet I ponder, I have seen benevolent kings; what becomes of them upon the throne?
Is it that the darkness of the throne could not ensnare them?
The anguish Sargon inflicted that day was unparalleled.
It transcended mere swords; it was not solely a clash of dark and light magic, but rather a struggle between darkness and light, good and evil—a battle for the dominion of love.
On that day, darkness triumphed over light, hatred vanquished love.
I am perplexed by your perceptions; for the Babylonians are metamorphosing into Akkadians, even among us are Israelites, forgotten here in captivity.
What are we? A people of suffering or of love? I wonder how you perceive the world, for when you behold beauty, I perceive pain and desolation; and where you discern darkness, I see the lost and misguided souls yearning for aid yet unable to articulate their plight, but expressing it fervently through their very essence.
Did I engage in dark magic against the king? Such is a calumny, a political maneuver designed to justify murder without inquiry.
I have merely implored the king to acknowledge us; the Chaldeans have been forsaken, and since I pose a threat to the throne, I am condemned to suffer for it.
I am a man with a destiny, and I have starved for it.
The executioner approached, wielding a formidable axe poised above his head, accompanied by murmurs and incantations.
Whispers cascaded through the crowd: "Another will rise," intoned the voices.
Gradually, the people began to return; some wept, while many departed, shattered by the words of Kalumtum, the Chaldean.