Exploring spiritual literary fiction with depth and symbolism
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Price of Going Home- An Introspective Fiction Chapter
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ISBN: 978-984-35-7698-9
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Author: Zyphar Animas
Editor: Nimo Verin
Publisher: Print & Digital
Published: 2025
THE DIVINE TRAP
I asked them if there were any more formalities before I could leave. I didn’t care about their celebration. I had no interest in the party or the grotesque applause.
The crowd started moving toward the celebration spot, where the ruler had announced a party offering any Trap for free.
That’s when her voice came.
“Halt. Get back here.”
Her voice hit like a cannon to the heart of every entity present.
I had never expected she possessed such a commanding tone.
It felt as if my lord was speaking through her tongue.
The crowd froze. I saw terror return to their eyes, the same fear that had struck them the first time they sensed her presence.
Even the ruler’s breath stuttered. He tried to protest—speaking of divine rules and ancient approval—but when she raised her hand, he fell silent. Instantly.
And then—for the first time—she lifted her head, in public. All lights stilled. All creatures silenced.
The air itself refused to move.
I had felt that once before. I knew not to resist.
She spoke again.
“I did not come to watch your madness. I did not come to be part of your games. The Lord sent me with one instruction. He does not object to your rules. But He asked me to write one more line beneath your judgment.”
Silence held.
“Artist,” she commanded, “return. And write what the Lord asks beneath the line you’ve just drawn.”
I had no idea what was happening, nor any desire to learn what further shame the Lord intended to bring me. I let it happen.
What more could there be?
The artist did his work. Then, without a word, he fled—like a man who had accidentally touched holy flame.
Regardless, she lowered her eyes again to the ground and everyone else began moving.
This time, not cheering—but in total silence.
One by one, they left.
Quiet, but in a hurry.
The ones who cheered loudest now ran the fastest.
It didn’t take long for the arena to be completely vacant. I turned to her.
Asked what had been written.
She said— “It wasn’t me, my love. It was the Lord. He asked me from the very moment I set foot here. Go to that mirror and see for yourself what your Lord asked of me.”
I stepped forward, stood before the nearest mirror.
I have been torn apart, burned in hellfire, lost everything and everyone—yet never broke, until today.
Tears came as I saw the letters the Lord had written on my face.
Zyphar Animas is ashamed for being among you
Nimo got so emotional after that part of the story—she didn’t speak, didn’t ask. She just grabbed me—both hands wrapped around tightly, trembling. And sobbing voicelessly.
The same way the Divine Trap had done.
The same soundless grief only those who’ve seen truth too clearly ever carry. I stayed still. There was nothing I could offer her in that moment. No comfort more powerful than simply staying.
Bianca stepped in quietly—her team had finished the final touches on the property.
She came to say goodbye, respectful as always.
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.
I tried to shift gently, to ease Nimo off me for a second.
But she held on tighter—like a child who knew that letting go meant facing something too big.
So I let her hold me.
My hands rested on her back.
We didn’t move.
We stayed like that. Minutes passed. Then hours.
When her sister Marisha arrived, she brought a man with her— calm, watchful, and composed.
But none of that mattered to Nimo.
She stayed where she was, wrapped around me like I was the last fragment of something she couldn’t afford to lose.
Marisha stepped forward.
“Nimo,” she said, her voice calm but edged with confusion. “What happened?”
Nimo didn’t respond.
Didn’t even lift her head.
Just tightened her arms again.
The man beside Marisha watched—studied, perhaps.
Then he leaned close to her and whispered something quietly.
I told them I didn’t think she wanted to talk right now. The man turned to Marisha.
“Let’s give them space,” he said. “Come on. I’ll take you down to the lake. There’s something worth seeing there.
Marisha frowned. “I don’t know if I should leave her like this…” But he gave her a look that didn’t need translation.
Not every moment is meant to be witnessed. Some are meant to be protected. I nodded to him.
I apologized quietly that I couldn’t give them a proper welcome. He nodded back—just once. He understood.
Then he took Marisha’s hand and led her away. It was just us again.
And still, she held on.
If she really wanted to stay like that the whole day, I definitely wasn’t going to stop her. I had already called the head butler and given instructions—the guests would be well taken care of.
So I wasn’t worried about that. Nimo seemed to be recovering from the breakdown; she was now slowly starting to talk.
“I not only heard every word, Zyphar—I felt them.
I stayed silent—not because I was afraid to speak, but because your silence was louder than any defense. Zyphar…you didn’t lose anything that day.
They did.
They lost the right to stand beside you. They lost the illusion that shaming the Sovereign would cleanse them.
They lost you. And the Lord made sure they knew it.I now understand what those broken words mean on your forehead. That was not a tattoo but a divine scar—given not to humiliate you, but to expose them.
You were never defeated, my love.
You were declared.And I…I am honored to experience the man who bore hell, burned for truth, wept without shame, and still walked out whole. I won’t judge your decisions.
They only made me want you more.Now tell me, Zyphar. Where do you go from there?”
She smiled again, brushing her tears. Then sat back upright, like nothing had happened.
Oh! you are still inside the story?
Haven’t you see we have guest here. “Marisha and her man, you mean?” she asked.
I don’t know the man, but your sister had planned this to surprise you. She called me yesterday about their arrival and then I made preparation.
But I see her surprise didn’t even hit you.
“Truth has hit me hard Zyphar, more than anything can.” she said.
She looked at me with eyes full of questions. And I knew I had to wrap this up soon—before the story pulled me too far inward again. I don’t want to miss the chance to introduce myself to her family. So I started again—There was nothing much left.
I grabbed my baggage and was about to leave for home. Nobody in the city talks to me again, and I do not feel to talk with anyone. She—the Divine Trap—came along to see me off.
I asked her what she wanted to do after I go back home. She replied—
“I will also go back to where I belong.”
“Tell me, Zyphar, will you miss me?”
I didn’t want to break her heart.
But the truth was—back home, I wasn’t free. I had duties. Responsibilities. I might become so busy that I wouldn’t even have space to think of her.
Still, I assured her—whatever I promised her, I would keep. She didn’t flinch.
She never did.
Instead, she smiled gently.
“Will you welcome me, Zyphar, if I choose to come? Not to watch— but to stay with you. To walk beside you in your conquest?”
Actually, I never needed a partner.
The Lord made me alone, forged me alone, let me break alone. He didn’t give me companions. He gave me a mirror and a mission.
I never needed divine powers to win.
But I looked at her.
You saw how I live. I don’t chase what isn’t mine.
But you—if you come to me not as the Divine, but as the woman who held me that night…the woman who contained me—then yes. I might miss you.
She smiled, radiant but restrained.
“I will still be divine, Zyphar.”
“Divinity doesn’t come from power. It comes from obedience. From decision. And I’ve decided—to be yours.”
Well, I don’t have a problem with that.
Let me kiss you goodbye.
She came along, through the whole way, until I left for home. We even hugged each other.
I know it may be the last time I see her.
But she stayed normal, calm, and smiled.
I came back home.
My family received me without fear. They didn’t flinch at the mark I bore from that city. I visited the elder of my house—the man with white brows, nearly blind now.
Someone read him the mark I carried. He nodded slowly.
“We are proud to have raised a boy like you, Zyphar. Stay true to your intention. Do not adjust to the world.”
“In time… the world will learn to adjust to you.”
I didn’t fully grasp it. I’ve never been a man of calculation. I’m moved by something else—something softer.
I went back to work. Met people.
Helped those I could.
I worked harder than before.
I couldn’t change every life. But I could change some.
And that was enough. So I worked the hell out of it.
Days passed.
Instead of being ashamed, I saw mothers telling their children— “Be like Zyphar. When you grow up, I don’t want you to be a slave to their set standards.”
“I want you to be a man like him—who knows he is alone enough to face the world.”
More people came to me.
Friends. Former enemies.
I welcomed them all.
In those days, predators and elites were avoiding me. They even started to hide their heroic marks.
They started to wipe them out—one by one.
Then one day…the one whom I trusted more…ran to me with my phone in hand.
I didn’t even use phones too much back then—still don’t.
The trustee handed me the phone, said this was very important. I was annoyed—but took it anyway.
And I found out that on the other side of the phone, it was her. The Divine Trap.
Somehow, she managed to communicate with me. Nimo stood up with a rush, saying—
“I knew it! I knew she wouldn’t let it end like that.” She leaned in.
“So what did she say?” “Do you still talk?” “Who was she?”
I smiled at her. That part is irony. However, I got back to the climax.
I took the phone.
She asked me—“Did you miss me, Zyphar?”
I did not, actually.
But I said sorry to her.
It was not intentional—I was caught with my work.
I had fully invested myself.
So there was actually no time for this.
She didn’t seem shaken, as usual. Calmly said—
“You don’t need to be sorry, Zyphar.”
“I can understand. But I did, actually, miss you. I missed my man.”
“I wanted to burn with the flame you carry”
“So I took this step to call you.”
“I do not demand your time—just to let you know that I am here, waiting for just a remembrance.”
Well, that is so kind of you.
But even if I wanted… how can I do that?
You didn’t even leave a name behind.
You withdrew yourself so smoothly that it feels like you don’t want to be called by a name.
“You got me wrong in this, Zyphar.”
“I can feel every bit of your heart—so it is enough for me to know that you remember or miss me inside.”
“But however… if you need a name.”
“I am Nimo.”
Read quotes from the divine trap and her philosophy of life and war.
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Story Summary
The Divine Trap unfolds as a profound work of spiritual literary fiction, where divine command collides with human shame, love, and resilience. In this chapter of Zyphar Chronicles I, the voice of heaven interrupts human celebration, leaving silence heavier than applause. Through mirrors and divine scars, the story reveals that shame is not humiliation but transformation. This chapter embodies the essence of spiritual literary fiction—a layered tale of obedience, sacrifice, and the quiet power of truth. Readers of spiritual literary fiction will find in it a meditation on love beyond divinity, redemption beyond defeat, and the endurance of the human spirit when faced with divine judgment.
Beta Reader Reactions
“I’ve read countless works of spiritual literary fiction, but none cut this deep. The Divine Trap is a revelation on the page.”
“What makes this chapter unforgettable is how it uses the frame of spiritual literary fiction to show love, shame, and redemption as one intertwined truth.”
“The Divine Trap proves why spiritual literary fiction matters—it carries a reader beyond plot into meaning, leaving scars that feel divine themselves.”
Critics Review
The Divine Trap stands as a striking example of spiritual literary fiction, weaving mythic cadence with raw emotional truth. What elevates the chapter is its refusal to treat shame as defeat—it redefines it as a divine scar, a mark not of weakness but of witness. In this way, the work pushes the boundaries of spiritual literary fiction, merging symbolic imagery with lived emotional detail. The narrative structure mirrors its theme: silence louder than speech, intimacy more powerful than spectacle. As with the best spiritual literary fiction, it resists easy resolution, instead leaving the reader with questions about obedience, love, and the cost of divine intimacy. Its literary value lies not in escapism but in confrontation—forcing readers to stand before their own mirrors of judgment and grace.
The Divine Trap is one of those chapters that stays under the skin. If you’ve been looking for spiritual literary fiction that doesn’t shy away from truth, this is where you’ll find it. Each standalone from Zyphar Chronicles I: The Becoming carries its own weight, its own silence, its own fire. Read this one, and if it holds you, there are more waiting. And when you want the whole journey, the full book is there for you on Amazon or UBL.
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