Visions

Wafula barely remembered closing his eyes before sleep took him.

His body, exhausted from the night's madness, surrendered to the comfort of the hotel bed. He didn't dream not at first. It was as if he had been swallowed by the void.

Then, it happened.

The white space enveloped him once more.

But this time, he didn't resist.

Unlike the other times when he was forcefully pulled into this strange dimension, today felt different.

He was not confused.

He was not afraid.

He simply was.

And then, the visions began.

-----

Before him, a great hall stretched into infinity. Golden pillars reached toward a ceiling too high to see. The floor was of polished marble, reflecting the light of countless torches lining the walls.

And in the center of it all, stood a man.

His presence alone commanded attention.

He was dressed in simple robes, yet the aura around him shone with an otherworldly glow. Twelve others stood around him, their faces blurred as if hidden by time itself.

Before them, placed on an ornate stone table, was the chalice.

Wafula recognized it instantly.

It was the same one that had disappeared into him.

The man spoke, his words flowing like poetry in a language Wafula could not understand. But he didn't need to.

The moment the words were spoken, he felt them.

A blessing. A ritual. A moment that would forever be marked in history.

The man lifted a golden flask and poured deep red wine into the chalice. The liquid shimmered unnaturally, as though infused with light itself.

Then, he blessed it.

One by one, the twelve figures took a sip, and as they did, they changed.

They glowed, their very forms radiating divine energy. Their eyes burned with newfound wisdom, their posture straightened as if they had been unburdened from an unseen weight.

Wafula felt a shiver run down his spine.

He was witnessing something beyond human understanding.

Something that should not have been seen by mortal eyes.

And just as he began to grasp its significance.

The vision shifted.

The scene dissolved, and when it reformed, he was in a throne room.

Before him, a man draped in silks and adorned with rings lounged on a magnificent throne. A king.

And in his hand....

The chalice.

Wafula's breath hitched as the king lifted it to his lips and drank deeply.

Unlike the first vision, this act was not one of ritual or divine blessing.

This was greedy indulgence.

The king exhaled slowly, his eyes flashing with raw power. Around him, nobles and warriors kneeled, awaiting his command.

But something was off.

The king was wounded.

At first, Wafula hadn't noticed it, but now he could see the deep cuts lining his arms. A gash on his forehead still dripped with blood.

Had he been attacked?

Then, before Wafula's eyes.

The wounds began to close.

Slowly. Methodically.

The torn flesh knitted back together, the bruises faded, and the blood dried into nothingness.

The man's strength returned, his body once again untouched by weakness.

Wafula stared in awe.

The chalice had healed him.

Not instantly, but the process was undeniable. This was no ordinary artifact.

And once again, just as the full weight of realization settled upon him...

The vision changed.

This time, Wafula found himself in a vast open land. The air smelled of burning herbs, and the sound of distant drums echoed through the space.

He was no longer in a castle, nor a grand hall.

Instead, he stood in the midst of a great kingdom.

A crowd had gathered before a majestic figure of an African king adorned in robes made from animal skins and gold. His face was aged yet powerful, his eyes filled with wisdom beyond mortal years.

In his hand...

The chalice.

Wafula couldn't believe it.

Again?

The king lifted the chalice high, and the people fell to their knees in reverence.

He muttered something, words unknown to Wafula and poured water into the cup.

Then, he drank.

The transformation was immediate.

A golden aura enveloped him, his body stiffened, and his breathing deepened. He stretched his arms wide, and the people cheered wildly.

To them, he was divine.

A sorcerer.

A god among men.

And then, he turned to his people.

One by one, they stepped forward, sickly and wounded. He touched their foreheads, offering them sips from the chalice.

The blind could see.

The lame could walk.

The dying regained their strength.

Wafula felt his knees weaken.

This wasn't just history.

This was legend turned reality.

And then, the mistake happened.

One night, the king grew reckless.

He drank too much from the chalice, reveling in its power. But as fate would have it, in his drunken stupor, he dropped it into the river.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the river began to glow.

A secret only he knew for a time, the water itself became magical.

But even so, the king was determined.

And so, he had another chalice made, one that resembled the lost one.

Wafula gasped.

So there were two chalices?

Was the one he now possessed the true one?

Or was it the king's imitation?

Before he could think further

The vision faded.

Wafula gasped as he snapped back to consciousness.

His body was covered in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum.

The hotel room was still dark. Silent.

Yet he felt different.

He knew things now.

Things he shouldn't.

As he sat up, his fingers trembled against his chest where the chalice had disappeared.

Had it really happened?

Or was it just a dream?

His mind raced with unanswered questions.

But one thing was clear.

Whatever he had become a part of, it was bigger than anything he had ever imagined.