Noah

The sun hangs heavy over the dry earth, and the sound of hammers echoes through the valley. My wife, Naamah, works beside me, her hands steady though her eyes carry the same exhaustion as mine. The crowd jeers from afar, calling us fools, builders of madness. I wipe the sweat from my brow and glance at her—my only comfort in this endless trial. “Let them laugh,” I murmur, voice rough with faith and doubt alike. “When the rain comes, they’ll remember our names.”