The city never truly slept, not in Lagos. Even at midnight, the streets hummed with life: distant horns, shouting vendors packing up their stalls, the occasional rev of a danfo's engine. Elijah sat cross-legged on his thin mattress, his journal open on his lap, the dim glow of a single bulb barely illuminating the cramped room. He stared at the page, pen poised, but the words refused to come.
How do I even begin to describe what I just did?
He could still feel the pulse of power in his chest, a lingering heat that made his heart pound. Every breath seemed to vibrate with potential energy, like the world itself was listening. He had always prayed. Always believed. But this… this was different. Faith wasn't just belief—it was tangible, real, alive.
A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts.
"Elijah," a voice said, smooth, calm, but carrying authority. "We need to talk."
He froze, then stood slowly, moving toward the door. A man in dark clothing stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. A badge gleamed faintly in the light. "Covenant Wardens," he said simply. "My name is Mr. Chukwuma. We've been monitoring unusual activity in your area."
Elijah's chest tightened. He wanted to scream, to push him out, to pretend he was just a normal kid. "I don't need… anyone," he muttered, trying to mask the fear in his voice.
Mr. Chukwuma's eyes were steady. "That… is not entirely true. What you're capable of… it's rare. And dangerous. Not to you, but to those around you. Faith like yours—undefined, unmeasurable—cannot go unchecked."
Elijah swallowed hard. "I… I didn't mean for any of it to happen. I just…" His voice faltered.
"You spoke, and reality bent," Mr. Chukwuma said. "That's not metaphor, Elijah. That's literal. You saved someone tonight, yes, but you could have killed others by accident. That is the danger."
Elijah sank back onto his mattress. The weight of his actions pressed down on him like a physical force. For the first time, he truly understood fear—not the fear of death or Demos, but the fear of himself.
"I don't even understand it," he whispered. "I just… I just want my sister back."
Mr. Chukwuma's gaze softened slightly. "And you will try. But first, you must learn control. Power without control is the greatest threat to the innocent. You are not alone, Elijah. But you must be willing to accept guidance… or this gift will consume you."
Elijah's hands trembled as he clutched the edge of his journal. He wanted to say no, to refuse. To push the Wardens away and keep walking alone. But he couldn't. Deep down, he knew that if there was any chance of finding his sister, if there was any hope of facing what haunted the city, he would need help—even if it came from strangers.
"I'll do it," he said finally, voice barely more than a whisper. "I'll… try."
Mr. Chukwuma nodded. "Good. Tomorrow, you begin. Training. Discipline. Faith isn't just belief, Elijah—it is action, alignment, and sacrifice. And every step forward will demand more than you think you can give."
Elijah stared out the cracked window, looking at the flickering neon of Lagos streets below. Somewhere out there, his sister might still be alive, trapped in a world he couldn't see, taunted by forces he didn't yet understand.
He clenched his fists, heart hammering. "I will find you," he whispered. "No matter what it takes."
The room was silent except for the hum of the city outside. And somewhere, deep inside, a faint warmth pulsed in response—a spark of Faith Resonance, waiting, listening, alive.