In the beginning, Adam was admired.
In the region of Eshara, faith was not loud but it was everywhere. It lived in doorways, in greetings, in the way people lowered their voices when speaking of God as if He might be listening from the walls. Men were measured not only by what they believed, but by how convincingly they believed it.
Adam believed beautifully.
He arrived in the city of Nereth as an outsider, which only made his devotion more impressive. When he spoke of God, his words were careful and steady, like stones placed one by one to build a bridge. He did not rush. He did not stumble. He spoke as if faith had found him gently, rather than the other way around.
People listened.
His conversion was announced in the grand hall after evening prayer. Elders nodded. Neighbors whispered approval. Someone cried quietly in the back. Adam stood still as his name was spoken, head bowed, hands open, receiving the moment as if it had always belonged to him.
He promised God everything.
That was how it was said later. That he had promised everything.
Not in private, where promises tremble. But in front of witnesses, where promises shine.
Eve was there that night.
She watched from the side, her expression calm, her faith unperformed. She had grown up in Nereth. She knew how devotion could look like love if you stared at it long enough. When Adam's eyes found hers across the room, he smiled as if the promise had been made for her.
They married soon after.
The ceremony was simple, as custom demanded, but the celebration lasted days. Adam spoke often of responsibility, of building a household guided by God. People admired the way he said family as if it were a sacred task and not a weight.
Eve believed him. Or perhaps she believed the way he was believed.
Their home filled quickly. Children arrived one after another, small hands and loud voices and the constant movement of life. From the outside, it looked full. Blessed. Complete.
Inside, something quieter began to take shape.
Adam was present in form but absent in labor. He spoke of provision more than he practiced it. He spoke of guidance while leaving decisions to Eve. He spoke of patience when confronted with needs, as if time itself were an answer.
When questioned, he reminded others of his promise to God. Of how much he had given up. Of how faith required endurance.
People listened.
It was not yet neglect. Not yet abandonment. It was something softer and harder to name. A distance disguised as devotion. A stillness where effort should have been.
At night, when the house finally slept, Adam would sit alone, silent, untouched by the noise he had helped create. He never looked afraid. He never looked unsure.
He looked finished.
Years later, those who remembered the beginning would say they never saw it coming. That Adam had been so convincing. So faithful. So sure.
But the promise, once spoken, had never been tested.
It had only been admired.
And admiration, as Nereth would learn, is not the same as truth.