The floor was laid in stone, rigid and fractured, its cracks spreading like veins through lifeless ground. The plaza stretched wide beneath an unmoving sky, its surface worn yet unyielding.
Buildings rose along its edges, some small, some towering, forming a silent perimeter around the gathering below.
People had assembled at the centre.
Church members stood in ordered ranks, their robes distinguishing their allegiance. Some wore white, pristine and unblemished. Others were clad in black, solemn and austere. A few bore garments of gold, radiant against the muted tones of stone.
All three churches were present.
The Church of the Most High, the House of Miracles and Prayers.
The Church of the Word of God and Worship, the House of the Eternal One who died for our sins.
The Sacred Sanctum of Redemption and the Eternal Covenant of God, the House of Blessings, Truth, and Grace.
At the forefront sat the representative of the Church of the Word of God and Worship, positioned before the assembled masses upon a wooden chair. His long, snow-white hair fell neatly past his shoulders, framing eyes that shone with a quiet, luminescent intensity. He wore a black robe that flowed downward, its hem resting against the cold stone beneath him.
Upon his chest was a sigil, a white moon and a great sun circling a soul, bound in silent motion.
Nearby, the representative of the Sacred Sanctum of Redemption and the Eternal Covenant of God was likewise seated at the front of the crowd. He rested upon a diamond stool, set apart yet equally prominent before all who had gathered.
He was dressed in a golden robe that flowed freely to the floor, its fabric catching the light with quiet brilliance. Etched into the chest was a sigil, a begging hand beneath a cross, its form stark and deliberate.
The man bore long, dark hair that fell down his back, and his red pupils glimmered faintly in the sunlight.
The crowd was seated upon silver chairs, arranged in careful order. Many wore robes of gold, white, or black, marking their allegiance, while others remained in their own garments, their faces lit with anticipation, restless for the sermon to begin.
At the forefront of the gathering, beyond even the two representatives, stood an altar.
It was vast and golden, its surface marred by streaks of white paint that seemed to drip endlessly, as though frozen in the act. Upon it rested a silver scripture plate.
Inscribed upon the plate were words.
"Jesus looked at them and said, 'With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.'" — Mark 10:27
Above, banners of gold and crosses of white hovered in the air, suspended like silent, watchful statues.
Behind the altar stood the representative of the Church of the Most High, the House of Prayers and Miracles.
He was clothed in white robes, pure as fresh snow, untouched by stain or tear. Around his neck hung a diamond cross, its surface marred by black paint that dripped slowly, staining its brilliance. His hair was short and brown, his moustache neatly kept, his green eyes steady. His face was striking, composed with quiet authority.
In his hands, he held a Bible.
Before him knelt the destitute, men and women worn by age, children clad in tattered cloth and threadbare garments. Their hair was rough and unkempt, matted with dirt, debris, and neglect. Their bodies were thin, their bones visible beneath fragile skin, their faces drawn tight with hunger.
Then, the representative spoke.
"Today, we gather not as followers of our churches, but as sons and daughters of God.
We are the followers of Christ, and we will carry and spread His teachings.
I Thank you all for joining us today.
The sermon will now begin."
The crowd responded at once, applause rising into cheers and voices, a wave of sound that carried through the plaza. Even the representatives of the other churches joined in.
After a while, the clapping faded into silence.
The representative raised his voice.
"Let us share a prayer together."
He began.
"We thank the Lord for blessing us with the forsaken, that we may heal them and bring glory unto You, Lord."
"Guide us, Lord."
"Watch over us, Lord."
"Hear our prayers."
"Amen."
"Amen," the crowd echoed, their voices uniting as the prayer came to a close.
Then, he turned his attention to those kneeling before him and spoke again.
"Lord, You created these people. Why do You forsake them? Why do You turn Your eyes away? Please, bless these innocent souls and deliver them from the horrors of this world."
"Amen."
At once, a blinding light descended.
A radiant, circular glow formed above each of the kneeling individuals, hovering just above their heads. There were at least ten.
Then, the light deepened and swallowed them whole.
The crowd turned away, shielding their eyes from the brilliance.
Moments passed.
When the light finally faded, the crowd slowly turned back, their gazes drawn forward.
A miracle stood before them.
The blind could see.
The deaf could hear.
The crippled stood upright.
The sick were restored.
The disabled were made whole.
The weak rose with strength.
Tears streamed down the faces of those who had been healed, their voices breaking as they prayed, giving thanks for what they had received.
The crowd erupted.
They rose from their seats as one, voices lifting into cheers, prayers, and sobs. Emotion surged through the plaza, joy, relief, and reverence, rising together into the air.
Just as the crowd began to sink into reverence, the representative of the Church of Worship and the Word of God rose and spoke, his voice cutting cleanly through the atmosphere.
"This is a lie."
The words fell with weight.
"This miracle is not of the Lord. It is false."
The reaction was immediate.
The noise died.
Silence took hold.
His gaze remained fixed ahead.
"Why does favour belong only to your hands?"
A pause lingered before the other representative answered.
"Representative," he began, his tone controlled, "favour belongs to those who worship the Lord. We worship the Lord. He answers."
The man in black did not respond at once.
Instead, his expression shifted, something quieter, something burdened.
"If the Most High still answers… why has He been silent to us?"
The question did not rise. It settled.
It spread.
The crowd began to murmur.
"Was the miracle not real?" one voice asked.
"Of course it was," another replied quickly. "We saw it with our own eyes."
"Then why would he say such a thing? Is he trying to bring down the Church of the Most High?" a third asked, confusion threading through their words.
The murmurs grew.
Questions multiplied.
Certainty began to fracture.
What had been unity slowly unravelled, doubt seeping into the spaces between belief. The crowd did not break from disloyalty, but from unease.
Groups formed.
One became many.
And in their hearts, conviction began to waver.