Chapter Five: The Breach in the Wall
The enemy rarely storms a fortress head-on.
It waits.
It studies.
Then it looks for the smallest crack.
Stephen did not notice the breach at first.
After weeks of vigilance, prayer, and resistance, fatigue crept in quietly. The intensity of spiritual warfare had become a constant background noise in his life—like distant thunder that never fully left the sky. He still prayed. He still attended fellowship. But the sharp edge of alertness had dulled.
And KOA noticed.
The Slow Drift
Risi was patient.
She no longer pushed boundaries openly. Instead, she became comforting. Familiar. Present. She laughed at Stephen's jokes, listened when he spoke of his fears, and stayed close when loneliness pressed in during long nights of study.
Nothing she did seemed dangerous.
That was the danger.
Stephen began to confide in her—not his faith, not the deepest things, but fragments. Complaints about pressure. About expectations. About the weight he felt everywhere he went.
"You don't always have to fight," she told him one evening, her voice calm, steady. "You carry too much. You deserve peace too."
The words settled into him like soft rain on dry ground.
What Stephen did not see was the way the spiritual atmosphere shifted whenever she spoke like that—how unseen hands leaned closer, how the charm around his neck stirred faintly, responding to a familiar authority.
Favour Senses the Shift
Favour noticed the change before Stephen did.
"You're tired," she said after fellowship one night. "Spiritually tired."
"I'm fine," Stephen replied quickly. Too quickly.
"No," she said gently. "You're distracted. And distraction is dangerous."
Stephen frowned. "I'm still praying. I still believe."
"I know," Favour said. "But belief isn't enough in war. You must remain alert. KOA doesn't need you to stop believing—they only need you to stop watching."
Her words unsettled him.
That night, Stephen dreamed again.
The Dream of the Gate
He stood before a massive gate, forged from dark iron, covered in ancient symbols. The air was thick, heavy with authority. Voices murmured from behind the gate—hundreds of them, layered, impatient.
A figure stood beside him.
Risi.
"Just step closer," she said softly. "You don't have to go through. Just look."
Stephen hesitated. "What's behind it?"
"Answers," she replied. "Power. Rest. Understanding."
The gate pulsed.
Stephen took a step forward—
And a blinding light erupted between him and the gate. A voice thundered, shaking the ground.
"DO NOT TOUCH WHAT I HAVE SEALED."
Stephen fell back, heart racing, as the gate slammed shut.
He woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.
KOA Adjusts Its Strategy
In the unseen realm, KOA's council reconvened.
"The boy resists force," one voice snarled.
"Then we starve him," another replied.
"Starve him of vigilance. Of discipline. Of clarity."
Baba Dagunduro stood at the center, his presence heavy with authority and obsession.
"He carries my mark," he said coldly. "The charm still binds him. He cannot fully escape unless it is broken—and he does not yet know how."
A pause.
"Begin phase two," he ordered. "Not destruction. Corruption."
The Breach Widens
Stephen began missing early-morning prayers.
Just occasionally at first.
Then more often.
Not because he rejected God—but because exhaustion whispered that rest was harmless. That one missed moment didn't matter.
Risi was always nearby during those moments.
"You're human," she said softly. "Even God understands weakness."
The statement sounded harmless.
But something in it twisted truth just enough to bend it.
Stephen felt it—a dullness creeping into his spirit. Not darkness exactly. Just… quiet. Less sensitivity. Less urgency.
The wall was cracking.
The First Spiritual Wound
One evening, Stephen felt a sharp pain in his body—sudden, unexplained. It passed quickly, but it left behind fear.
He prayed.
The prayer felt… distant.
Not unanswered—just harder to reach.
That terrified him more than any shadow he had faced before.
He knelt, voice trembling. "Lord, where are You?"
Silence.
Not abandonment—testing.
Favour Confronts Him
"You're drifting," Favour said plainly the next day. "And I won't pretend not to see it."
Stephen's temper flared. "I'm still standing, aren't I?"
"For now," she replied. "But you're bleeding spiritually, Stephen. And you don't even see the wound."
Her words cut deep.
"You're letting someone too close," she continued. "Someone sent."
Stephen froze.
"You don't know that," he said.
"I do," Favour answered quietly. "Because the atmosphere around you has changed. And darkness always leaves fingerprints."
The Choice
That night, Stephen stood alone in his room, staring at the charm hanging against his chest.
For the first time, he felt its weight clearly—not as fear, but as authority.
It did not scream.
It did not threaten.
It waited.
A whisper brushed his thoughts.
You are tired because you are fighting alone.
Stephen clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered. "I am not alone."
He dropped to his knees.
The prayer that followed was not polished. It was raw. Broken. Desperate.
"Lord… I feel weak. I feel confused. But I choose You. Even now. Especially now."
The room grew still.
Not quiet—watchful.
The charm pulsed… then stilled.
The breach did not close.
But it stopped widening.
For now.
A Storm Approaches
Far away, Baba Dagunduro smiled.
"The boy wavers," he said. "Good. Prepare the next move. He will soon face a choice that prayer alone will not escape."
The war was changing.
And Stephen was about to learn that resisting darkness was only the beginning—endurance was the true test.
"Give no place to the devil." — Ephesians 4:27