I paced along the dimly lit corridor of my underwater sanctuary, savoring each step that echoed through the metal halls. Ya-hé awaited me in my private quarters, standing at attention like the good soldier he was.

“Five years.” I spread my arms wide. “Five glorious years since we purged those festering cities from the face of the earth. And what do we hear of my dear niece or that meddlesome Marduk?”

Ya-hé’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Nothing, my lord. Not a whisper.”

“And my weakling brother?” I sprawled across my command chair, running my fingers along its golden armrests. “Still hiding with that woman in their floating fortress, I assume? Licking their wounds like the dogs they are.”

“Indeed, Lord Enlil. Our scouts report no movement from the Atlantic.”

I threw back my head and laughed. “Perfect! The path is clear then. Time for the next phase of our divine plan.”

Ya-hé shifted his weight, his eyes gleaming. “Speaking of divine, my lord… the humans have proven quite… receptive.”

“Ah yes, tell me of our little puppet Abram. How fares our ‘chosen one’?”

“The genetic implantation into his wife four years ago was flawless. The miracle child has made him quite the celebrity among the primitives. They flock to hear tales of his powerful god who blessed a barren woman.”

I snorted. “Primitives indeed. One simple DNA manipulation and they’re ready to worship shadows and whispers.”

“They’re particularly impressed by the burning bush hologram, my lord. Such simple tricks, yet they fall to their knees in awe.”

“As they should.” I rose and clasped Ya-hé’s shoulder. “Let them grovel before their invisible god. Much easier to control sheep when they think the shepherd is all-powerful, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Agreed, my lord!”

“Let’s test their faith and dedication to the fullest before we up the level of our game!”

My heart felt heavier with each step up Mount Moriah. Isaac walked beside me, carrying the bundle of wood on his young shoulders. The morning sun beat down mercilessly as we climbed higher.

“Father, we have the wood and the fire, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”

His innocent question pierced my chest like a blade. I gripped the knife hidden beneath my cloak, my fingers trembling. “God will provide the lamb for the offering, my son.”

The words tasted like ashes in my mouth. My beloved boy, the miracle child given to Sarah and me in our old age, now walked trustingly beside me to his own sacrifice. Each step forward felt like walking through deep sand.

At the summit, I gathered stones with numb fingers, building the altar as I had done countless times before. Isaac helped, placing each rock carefully. His eagerness to assist only deepened my anguish.

“Let me arrange the wood, father.”

I watched him lay out the branches, my vision blurring with unshed tears. The moment could not be delayed any longer. I reached for the rope at my belt.

“Isaac…” My voice cracked. “You must trust me now, as I trust God.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes as I bound his hands and feet. He did not fight or cry out, though fear showed plainly on his face. Such faith in his father, even now.

I lifted him onto the altar, my arms shaking with the effort to be gentle even in this terrible act. The knife felt impossibly heavy as I raised it skyward. My son’s eyes locked with mine, filled with confusion and terror, yet still trusting.

“STOP!” The thunderous voice froze my hand mid-strike. “Abram! Do not lay a hand on the boy!”

The knife slipped from my nerveless fingers, clattering against the stones. “Here I am,” I choked out.

I trembled, the knife falling from my hand. My breath came in ragged gasps, sweat mixing with dust on my weathered skin.

A ram appeared suddenly, its curved horns tangled in a nearby thicket. A divine provision, just as I had told Isaac moments before. My son remained still on the altar, bound but unharmed.

“Father?” Isaac’s voice was small, uncertain.

I moved quickly, untying the ropes that bound him. My hands shook as I pulled him close, feeling the warmth of his body, the rapid beat of his heart against my chest. Tears I had held back now flowed freely.

“The Lord has provided,” I whispered, more to myself than to Isaac.

Later, as the flames consumed the ram, I reflected on the command that had brought us here. The voice of God, clear and unquestionable. The test of faith that had nearly broken me. The promise of descendants more numerous than the stars.

I placed my hand on Isaac’s shoulder, feeling the weight of our shared experience. We would speak of this day, but not now. Not yet.