Grandfather insisted on one last walk with the boys up to the old olive grove on the hill—the same place he had planted the tiny sapling years ago. Mother and Father stayed behind at the house, watching them go with worried eyes.
They sat beneath the sprawling branches as the sun dipped below the horizon. But as they started the walk back down, a fierce wind blew through the valley, and their only oil lantern died.
The night was completely moonless. The darkness was absolute.
Kynthos grabbed Grandfather's hand in terror. "I can't see!"
Steve froze on the path. The drop-off to the river was somewhere to their left, and the thick briars were to their right. "We have to wait for morning," Steve said, his voice tight with panic. "If we walk, we'll fall."
Grandfather's voice came softly in the dark, calm and steady. "Can you feel the solid dirt beneath your sandals, Steve?"
"Yes."
"Can you take one single step forward?"
"...Yes."
"Then take it," Grandfather said. "You do not need to see the whole road. You only need to see the next step."
With Grandfather's hands resting heavily on both their shoulders, they walked blindly in the dark. One slow step at a time.
"How do you know we're going the right way?" Kynthos whimpered.
"Because I have walked this path a thousand times," Grandfather replied. "And even when my eyes cannot see it, I trust what I know to be true."
It felt like hours, but eventually, a warm, golden glow appeared in the distance. It was Mother, standing on the porch, holding a bright lamp high into the night, with Father rushing down the path to meet them.
Kynthos exhaled a massive breath of relief. Grandfather squeezed their shoulders in the dark. "That is faith, boys. Not the absence of darkness. But the willingness to keep walking through it."
