The mountain house interior was bathed in a soft, golden luminescence, making the wood inside seem to glow with an inner warmth. A rustic table, strewn with remnants of dinner, stood as the epicenter of an intense discussion. Each dish, each utensil, told a silent story of a meal long finished, but the conversation that followed was far from over.
Izaak, Samira, and Udo, sat around the table. The initial lightness of the evening was replaced by a palpable heaviness, as if the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe.
Udo's voice, vulnerable and shaking, rose above the silence. "Before I knew it, I woke up the next morning and was told I had blood on my hands. They were all killed by me, including her son." A shadow of pain crossed his eyes, memories threatening to drown him. "Th-that's not what I wanted. I was just trying to get her on our side, but I ended up taking away the one thing she had left."
A pause, a gulp, a deep breath. "I can't use my Fiend vibration anymore. I can't have the fiend take full control of me. But I need to save Bowen. I want to save him, but not at the risk of hurting those around me. Izaak, please. Please help me become a Dove host. You're right, I don't exactly know who a Dove host is, or their true duty, but I'm willing to learn. I will do anything you need me to do if it means I could have another chance at saving Bowen."
Samira's eyes softened, her maternal instincts overriding every other emotion. "Poor boy," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine sympathy, "you've been through so much, Udo. Honestly, I'm surprised you're still willing to fight for what you want." She turned towards her husband, seeking understanding, "Izaak, what do you have in mind?"
Izaak's face remained inscrutable, his thoughts guarded. Letting out a slow exhale, he began, "Udo, I know how much you want to save Bowen. I know you feel guilty for dragging him into a battle he had nothing to do with. But that's the issue, Udo. Your sole motivation is Bowen." He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "Let's say you save him, then what? Do you think Dovanity is about getting what you want? We already have enough hosts solely motivated by personal gains. Sorry, Udo. But my decision has been made."
Samira's eyes glittered with a mix of determination and righteousness as she faced her husband, her voice carrying an undercurrent of passion. "Izaak," she began, invoking a verse that clearly held deep significance to both of them. "Leviticus 19:34: 'The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.'" The words hung heavily in the air, as did the weight of their shared history.
She continued, her voice never wavering, "You say he doesn't truly understand Dovanity, but clearly, you have some learning to do too. How are you only going to save those you deem worth saving?"
Izaak's face contorted with conflict. "Samira, he's in it for completely selfish reasons. We need people who are willing to put their lives on the line for the world.."
A soft yet fiery look glinted in Samira's eyes as she retorted, "We can't tell the future, Izaak. He may develop into one of our greatest warriors; who knows? Just from hearing everything he has been through, the fact that he's still willing to fight says everything about his spirit. Izaak, please reconsider."
Izaak, usually so certain, now appeared lost in a sea of contemplation. The weight of his wife's words and the responsibility of his decision pressed down on him. He sat, wracked with thought, the room waiting with bated breath for his verdict.
Amidst the vast stretch of nature, with soft sunlight dappling through the leaves, the image of a younger Izaak and Father Abrams materialized in his memories.
The young Izaak sat, legs dangling off the edge of a weathered bench, the uneven planks testimony to years of stories whispered between its armrests. The backdrop of a quaint church painted a serene picture as blooming flowers swayed gently to the rhythms of nature.
Father Abrams, an older man with a face etched with wisdom and grace, turned his gaze towards the boy beside him, his voice filled with the weight of experience. "Remember, Izaak. The power of Dovanity can be a force for transformation, but it must be harnessed with humility and compassion. The will of the Lord calls upon us to use these abilities for selfless purposes—to aid those in need, to heal the suffering, and to protect the innocent. It is a responsibility that goes beyond ourselves."
Izaak's eyes, filled with youthful inquisitiveness, met those of the elderly priest. "But what about those who wish to use Dovanity for selfish gains? Should we not be cautious of them?"
Father Abrams responded, "A discerning heart is essential, Izaak. Some may initially seek Dovanity for personal gain, but as they embrace its teachings and the will of the Lord, their hearts may be transformed. It is not for us to judge but to guide them towards the path of righteousness."
Young Izaak, filled with the fervor of his convictions, countered, "Father Abrams, we shouldn't just be handing our power to anyone. It could land in the wrong hands!"
Father Abrams replied, "Your concern is valid, and it reflects a noble heart. As my future successor, you shall wield great influence over the seekers who come to us. Embrace them with compassion, and lead them to understand that the true strength of Dovanity comes from unity, not division. Encourage them to grow in faith and humility."
A steely resolve shone in Izaak's eyes as he responded, "I will do my best, Father Abrams. But what if some refuse to change?"
The wise old man softly said, "The will of the Lord guides us to be patient and to trust in His plan. Everyone walks their own path, and we can only offer guidance and love. Remember, even the most hardened hearts can be softened by the grace of the Divine. Trust in the power of faith and the transformative nature of Dovanity."
As this memory faded, Izaak was jolted back to the present, the words of Father Abrams echoing in his ears, and the weight of his current decision pressing heavily upon him.
His face, previously fraught with indecision, now held a hint of amusement. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, one that hadn't been there moments before.
Murmuring to himself, almost as if indulging in an inside joke, he said, "And I guess you did send him to me, Father Abrams."
With renewed determination, Izaak pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. His tall figure casting an imposing shadow across the table. His voice held a mix of sternness and warmth as he addressed Udo. "Get some rest, Udo. Your conversion will be tomorrow, and it will not be pretty."
The gloom that had settled over Udo's face vanished in an instant, replaced by a radiant hope that made his eyes dance with joy. "Th-thank you, Izaak! I won't disappoint you! I swear!" he exclaimed, his gratitude evident in every word.
Samira watched the exchange with a soft smile playing on her lips, her earlier anxieties melting away. Her heart swelled with pride for her husband's capacity for compassion.
Izaak, ever the tease, couldn't resist one last jab. "Yeah, it only took a home invasion to convince me. Good start, Udo."
The room's tense atmosphere, previously thick with uncertainty, now dissolved into one of hope and anticipation for what the future might bring.