While they were speaking, Noah was not far from them, and he heard much of what they said. He was relieved that Seth was still lying down and—most importantly—that he had not heard their conversation about Noah himself or the alchemists. Inwardly he thought:

“Perhaps Seth is not the kind of man I fear he is. Perhaps there is still humanity in him. But the way things look now… it seems the warnings were right after all. Still, may Allah protect me and these innocent people in the end—may He prevent these twisted minds from turning into monsters who commit slaughter.”

In another room of the house, Linda and Melisa’s mother, Madam Cindy, believed the young ones were still chatting among themselves. Linda stepped quietly into Cindy’s room. Cindy was surprised—if only a little—by her presence. After all, she herself was considered a sinner on this island, a second-class person. But Linda, as if intentionally defying this cruel custom, asked permission to enter and stepped inside.

After exchanging pleasantries and offering her condolences, Linda did not take her eyes off Cindy. Cindy looked away, but she could feel Linda’s persistent gaze on her. Realizing this was not absent-minded staring, she began to grow uneasy. Her first thought was that Linda suspected her of trying to push Melisa toward Abraham. What kind of indecency would that be? she thought.

Then Linda asked:

“I believe you already know who she is. That woman must be you, correct?”

When Cindy saw the worry behind Linda’s eyes, she understood whom she meant and what she was trying to ask.

Cindy said:

“Yes. When he first came to the farm—those large round eyes, that wavy hair, and later the clarity of his reasoning—he reminded me of his mother. And when I saw the man standing behind you, I knew for certain. That is why I did not oppose his meeting Melisa, who is his kin. Besides, I could tell he knew his boundaries when he spoke with my daughter.”

Linda, her eyes filled with anxiety, asked:

“And what will you do now?”

Cindy lifted her hands helplessly and replied:

“What can I do? Everything depends on his mother’s decision. From what I have seen, his mother and father have raised him well—he is a young man whose intellect and heart are in harmony.”

Linda asked softly:

“If you were in my place, what would you do?”

Cindy shrugged.

“Nothing. I understand what you are implying. But think about it—what would change if he learned who gave birth to him? If he learned the truth—that his father, that Lord who strives to be God and protect a so-called superior bloodline, murdered the woman who was not of his own lineage—would it not shatter his world? If he learned his mother was killed by her own father, do you think his spirit would remain untouched? Even with faith and a strong mind, he is human; such truth would wound him deeply.

This is a decision only you can make. But if God decrees that Abraham learns the truth—without either of you realizing how—it will fall upon you to explain everything. And by then he will be older, more mature. You know how, at this age, growth and change can make emotions flare even more intensely.”

Linda blinked, signaling that she agreed with her, then said:
“Just now you said he did it to become a god? What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s quite simple. Gods don’t marry, and they don’t have children. They don’t have families,” Cindy replied.

“Lord never had parents to begin with. In his twisted mind, he believed he could convince the people that he was God Himself. Setting aside a love he had cherished for ages and killing the woman he once called my love, my life, and only sparing the baby at the very last moment—that was all part of this deranged belief.”

Linda thought Cindy was exaggerating when she said a love cherished for ages, imagining she only meant the depth of his affection. She decided not to question that part, but another question pressed on her mind:

“Everyone has parents. Are you saying Lord came into the world as some kind of miracle?”

“Of course not,” Cindy answered, quickly realizing from Linda’s earnest tone that she didn’t know how the story began. Cindy thought to herself: If I tell her, it will sound far too fantastical. She won’t believe me—or she’ll drown me in endless questions.
She spoke plainly:

“It’s a story that goes far back, very far. And with the worry you already carry, it would only burden you more. I don’t think knowing it now would help you. Let me not tell you this tale—not yet, maybe later…”

Linda agreed with her; the fear of losing her son had already given her a pounding headache. Wanting to shift Linda’s attention to something else, Cindy said, “Everyone has a different temperament,” and began to explain:

“Yes, children may inherit certain traits from their families, but they still choose—by their own will—what suits them best and what they believe to be right, leaving the rest aside. For example, my daughters… they were both born and raised in the same home. But once they reached maturity, we noticed that Melisa, like me, leaned toward religious references as her guiding principle, while Odessa—like her father—prioritized reasoning and analysis.

We explained everything to them. We taught them that events should be evaluated with the intellect, but also that situations may arise where knowledge and intellect are insufficient, and that such matters should be understood through reliable religious guidance. Even the sharpest intellect cannot grasp everything. Some truths must be interpreted through divine reference.”

She shrugged softly.

“In the end, because their temperaments differ, it became clear that Odessa was more inclined toward alchemy, while Melisa had a natural leaning toward being a cleric. After a while, to avoid drawing attention and to keep Lord from finding them, we decided that Melisa would stay with me, and Odessa with her father.”

Cindy had just spoken her final sentence when they heard a faint rustling sound from behind the door. They immediately opened it and saw someone rushing out. At the cave’s entrance, Noah and Melisa looked after the fleeing figure in shock before turning back to them.

“Did something happen to Abraham? He ran out crying!” Noah exclaimed, and Melisa added:

“Besides, he’s running toward the area where the snakes are. If he strays from the path…”

At that moment, Linda realized her son had heard the truth. And when she heard he might be bitten by snakes at any moment, her delicate body could no longer endure it—she collapsed backward into Cindy’s arms.

Outside, Petrus—who had been keeping watch—understood what had happened. He immediately went after Abraham, trying to catch up. Noah looked between them, unable to decide whether he should follow or stay. From what he had heard, he now understood the situation clearly: Abraham had just learned that he was adopted, and the shock had driven him to tears and solitude.

Thinking the father and son might want to speak alone, Noah decided not to approach them and instead follow from a distance. Abraham had accidentally overheard his mother speaking with Cindy. He had been about to leave, but when he realized that the woman’s physical description matched his own, he became curious and listened longer—long enough to hear the painful truth.

Abraham wandered hesitantly into the forest. It was as if he no longer walked in this world, but in a realm of spirits before creation. Within his heart, he experienced the universal turmoil of every person who faces a hardship they never wanted, or who learns a truth they never wished to know.

“I wish I had never been born,” he whispered.

Being born as the son of such a cruel father felt to him like starting life far behind every other young man. One part of his mind whispered, “A person cannot choose their parents; this is God’s decree.” Yet through that small opening, the whisper of the devil slipped in:

“God is mocking you. He is not merciful as they claim!”

But another part of his mind spoke:

“Nations glorify themselves by telling of heroic ancestors—stories of a handful of soldiers defending their homeland and achieving impossible victories. Similar legends and epics are told by parents to their children to instill love of homeland and identity. But we must not forget one truth: a newborn child cannot choose its family or its lineage. So no one can be judged for the nation they are born into. And you cannot blame yourself for being the son of the Lord. That is what I am trying to say.”

At this moment, Abraham cared for none of this—nor for whose ancestors were braver or nobler. Yet deep in his subconscious he knew one thing with certainty: within him, virtues like patience, goodness, and moral integrity were waging a fierce battle against rebellion, resentment, and the urge to defy the whole world. It was clear that the faculties that govern a person—mind, heart, conscience—were struggling desperately not to lose control.

The scream behind him jolted Abraham out of the war raging inside his mind. In the faint silver glow of the moon, which barely softened the pitch-black darkness, he stared blankly at his father, Petrus, writhing in pain on the ground. When he saw the snake slithering toward him with a hiss, Abraham understood—his father had stretched out his leg to shield him from the bite. Enraged that its nest and young had been disturbed, the snake was about to strike Abraham as well, when its head was crushed by a large stone.

Noah, who had been watching them from a distance, had rushed over the moment he saw Petrus being bitten and subdued the snake with a stone.

To stop the venom from spreading, Noah quickly tied a tourniquet just above the bite, then handed Petrus a clean cloth to clench between his teeth. When Petrus saw the knife in Noah’s hand, he understood his intention. Without wasting a second, Noah cut the wound open, allowing the blood—and with it, the venom—to flow out. Judging that any further bleeding might endanger Petrus’s health, Noah began to bandage the wound, but Petrus, unable to endure the pain any longer, lost consciousness.

With Abraham’s help, Noah carried him back to the cave-home. Noticing that his fever wasn’t rising, he said to Abraham:

“Don’t worry. Since there’s no fever, it means we stopped the venom before it spread.”

But Abraham’s psychological fever was still burning high. Noah realized he needed to tend to that wound as well.

Noah said, “Abraham, you are a clever young man. Let’s think this through together—let’s reason side by side.”

But Abraham still couldn’t lift his head, as if being Lord’s son were somehow his fault. On top of that, he believed his father Petrus had been poisoned because of him. He kept his gaze on the ground, only nodding to show that he was listening.

Noah spoke at length. He reminded him that every human being on earth complains about something, that people live under different conditions, and that these differing circumstances naturally lead to different kinds of happiness—both in this world and the hereafter. He emphasized that what matters is not the circumstances themselves, but the meaning we assign to them, and then continued:

“For example, wealth, health, or knowledge bring no good to those who see them as a means of superiority over others. But for those who see wealth, health, or knowledge as opportunities to benefit themselves and society, those very conditions become a source of good. The meaning you attach to the truth you learned today will determine whether it brings you happiness or misery. In this brief life, why not choose happiness?

As for the spiritual side of the matter, here is what we understand from the Divine revelations: the more difficult the circumstances and the wider the impact of the goodness you do, the greater the reward may be. For instance, discovering something that benefits humanity, inspiring many people toward goodness, or making a sincere repentance from the heart—all of these can carry a reward beyond measure.

Moreover, because no definitive ruling (fatwa) can be given on this matter, no one has the right to say ‘my circumstances are too miserable’ and flee from their spiritual or social responsibilities. One must not deceive himself by thinking, ‘God will grant me Paradise anyway.’ In fact, the good you do as the child of a man whom everyone knows as a tyrant will resonate even more deeply within society—and, likewise, even more in the sight of Allah.”