There was no procession, no guarded threshold, no architecture announcing importance.
No herald cried out His name.
No priest stood watch.
No lamp burned brighter than another.
Instead, there was the quiet sound of breathing.
The star did not blaze or thunder. It simply rested. As if it had reached the end of its sentence.
We stood still.
Instead, there was the quiet sound of breathing.
The star did not blaze or thunder. It simply rested. As if it had reached the end of its sentence.
We stood still.
A low structure — scarcely more than borrowed shelter — leaned against the edge of the town. Animals were nearby. The smell of hay and earth filled the air. Somewhere within, a woman spoke softly, her voice worn with exhaustion yet steady with care. A man moved gently, as though afraid to disturb something infinitely fragile.
This, we realised, was the destination of everything.
We hesitated.
After all the deserts, the storms, the robbers, the lame camels, the palace of Herod, the weight of our past sins, the long renunciation of forbidden knowledge — could this really be the end?
One of the oldest among us whispered words from the Psalms, barely audible:
"Be still, and know that I am God."
(Psalm 46:10, RSV-CE)
So we were still.
The Parents
Joseph saw us first.
He did not recoil, though surprise crossed his face. He measured us not as a guard might, but as a father would — assessing threat, intent, and heart all at once. He placed himself instinctively between us and the Child.
We bowed deeply.
"We mean no harm," one of us said. "We have come a long way. We seek the Child."
Joseph studied us again, then stepped aside.
Mary sat nearby.
She did not rise. She did not speak immediately. Her gaze met ours — calm, searching, unafraid. There was no suspicion in her eyes, only attentiveness, as though she had been expecting everything her whole life.
The Child slept.
No crown. No sign. No visible power.
And yet — something within us broke open.
We fell silent.
We did not discuss it. We did not signal one another.
Twelve men — scholars, mystics, former practitioners of dark and hidden arts — lowered ourselves to the earth before a sleeping infant.
The irony did not escape us.
Once we had sought mastery over the heavens. Now we knelt before the One who had made them.
The First Man – Belshar
Belshar had once been the most confident among us. His calculations were precise. His interpretations admired. He had believed the universe was a system to be unlocked.
Now his hands shook.
"I searched the stars," he said quietly, "and found only myself. I sought power and mistook it for truth."
Tears fell freely.
"If You are wisdom," he whispered toward the Child, "then forgive me for every time I chose knowledge without reverence."
The Second Man – Ashur
Ashur had practiced the darkest arts longest. He had known invocation, secrecy, control.
He could not lift his eyes.
"I bound myself to shadows," he confessed. "I mistook fear for authority. I regret it with every breath."
He placed his gift down slowly, deliberately.
"Receive this not as tribute," he said, "but as surrender."
The Third Man – Naram
Naram had always doubted more than the others. Even on the journey, he had questioned whether repentance was possible.
Now he laughed softly — not in joy, but disbelief.
"All my doubt," he said, "and still You came."
He looked at Mary then.
"How did you carry certainty like this?"
She answered only with a faint smile.
The Fourth Man – Zikar
Zikar had been a teacher to many. His pride had been subtle, intellectual.
"I loved being called wise," he admitted. "I loved being needed."
He bowed low.
"If I am ever called wise again," he said, "let it be because I listened."
The Fifth Man – Ramesh
Ramesh had almost turned back during the storms.
"I feared the cost," he said. "I feared arriving late. I feared this would all be for nothing."
He looked at the Child.
"And yet here You are. Waiting. As though time itself bent for mercy."
The Sixth Man – Elior
Elior had studied Solomon deeply since abandoning the occult.
"I asked for wisdom," he said, "not knowing what it would require."
He exhaled.
"It requires kneeling."
The Seventh Man – Mattan
Mattan spoke little. He had lost a brother to the very arts they had practiced.
"I cannot undo what I have done," he said. "But I can stop."
He placed his forehead to the ground.
"Let this be the end of my darkness."
The Eighth Man – Kedar
Kedar had joked once that perhaps they would be called wise men someday.
Now he smiled faintly.
"If this is wisdom," he said, "it is heavier than I imagined — and lighter too."
The Ninth Man – Obed
Obed had been a servant who learned alongside the others.
"I was never important," he said. "Never powerful."
Mary looked at him then.
"You are seen," she said simply.
Obed wept.
The Tenth Man – Simeon
Simeon was old. Very old. One of those who had hoped only to see the Child before dying.
"I can go now," he said peacefully. "I have seen salvation."
The Eleventh Man – Ezra
Ezra had carried the scrolls.
"All the words," he said. "All the promises."
He gestured toward the Child.
"They have become flesh."
The Twelfth Man – Malek
Malek spoke last.
"We came because of a star," he said. "But we stay because of love."
The Gifts
Gold — not for wealth, but for kingship that would never exploit.
Frankincense — for prayer rising not from temples alone, but from suffering.
Myrrh — a gift we barely understood when we packed it, and now feared to comprehend.
Mary accepted them quietly.
Joseph nodded, as though storing everything in a place deeper than memory.
After
We stayed only briefly.
Holiness does not demand long explanations.
That night, we dreamed — all of us — warned not to return to Herod.
We would leave by another way.
And so we did.
Changed.
... to be continued...
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