The Lord spoke clear, no tremble, no haste. “Throw down the staff in Pharaoh’s place.” Aaron obeyed, the wood took breath, and serpent coiled where silence slept. Pharaoh scoffed, called magic near, the sorcerers came with practiced fear. Their staffs turned snakes, a mimicry, but Heaven’s power would not agree. Aaron’s serpent moved with grace, no hiss of pride, no hurried pace. It swallowed theirs, no clash, no fight, just quiet proof of holy might. Yet Pharaoh’s heart, like stone remained, unmoved by signs, unchanged by pain. But God had said, and so it stood, His plan would bloom, as only it could.