Dolapo Ayanlola

1 TABLE OF CONTENTS FOREWORD ..................................................................................5 CHAPTER ONE ...............................................................................6 THE SILENCE BETWEEN THE SPARKS ...................................................6 CHAPTER TWO ..............................................................................8 LETTERS TO THE LOST ....................................................................8 CHAPTER THREE .......................................................................... 10 THE CIRCLE BEGINS ..................................................................... 10 CHAPTER FOUR............................................................................ 12 FIRE AND FEEDBACK ..................................................................... 12 CHAPTER FIVE ............................................................................ 14 THE FLICKER AND THE FOG ............................................................ 14 CHAPTER SIX ............................................................................. 16 THE POWER OF OBEDIENCE ............................................................ 16 CHAPTER SEVEN .......................................................................... 18 SMOKE IN THE SYSTEM ................................................................. 18 CHAPTER EIGHT .......................................................................... 20 THE ONES IN THE SHADOWS .......................................................... 20 CHAPTER NINE............................................................................ 22 THE SEED AND THE STORM ............................................................ 22 CHAPTER TEN ............................................................................. 24 SMOKE AND MIRRORS ................................................................... 24 CHAPTER ELEVEN ......................................................................... 26 VIRAL FIRE ................................................................................ 26 CHAPTER TWELVE ........................................................................ 28 REFINING FIRES ......................................................................... 28 CHAPTER THIRTEEN...................................................................... 30 WHEN ALTARS TREMBLE ................................................................ 30 2 CHAPTER FOURTEEN ..................................................................... 32 THE NIGHT THE FIRE ROARED ......................................................... 32 CHAPTER FIFTEEN........................................................................ 34 THE DOUBT IN THE DARK .............................................................. 34 CHAPTER SIXTEEN ....................................................................... 36 THE WILDERNESS WITHIN ............................................................. 36 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN .................................................................... 38 STAGES AND SNAKES ................................................................... 38 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ...................................................................... 40 WHEN HOME FEELS LIKE WAR ......................................................... 40 CHAPTER NINETEEN ..................................................................... 42 WHY ME? .................................................................................. 42 CHAPTER TWENTY ........................................................................ 44 THE FIRE NEVER DIES................................................................... 44 EPILOGUE .................................................................................. 46 ABOUT THE AUTHOR .................................................................... 47 3 4 FOREWORD If you’re reading this, there’s probably a spark inside you. Maybe it’s small. Maybe it’s hidden. Maybe you’ve tried to smother it, silence it, or convince yourself it doesn’t matter. I know that feeling too well. For a long time, I thought light belonged to louder people. Braver people. People with perfect prayers and polished platforms. But then one night, in the stillness of a Lagos balcony at 4:12 a.m., everything changed. A whisper from heaven disrupted my quiet life. And a question buried itself deep inside me: What if your words could wake the world? This book is the story of what happened next. It’s fiction, yes—but it’s also more than that. It’s every invisible dreamer. Every weary intercessor. Every teenager who wonders if their story could ever carry fire. It’s a map for the misfits, the burnt out, and the barely holding on. You’ll meet battle-scarred believers and digital darkness. You’ll walk through betrayal, revival, and the kind of warfare that happens when the light finally decides to fight back. And through it all, you’ll find this truth glowing steady: You don’t have to be the fire. You just have to stay lit. So, take a deep breath. Turn the page. You’re not here by accident. The flame has found you. Anonymous 5 CHAPTER ONE THE SILENCE BETWEEN THE SPARKS Zaria Afolayan always believed that silence had a sound. Not the kind you hear in libraries or after a power outage — but the kind that sits in your chest like unspoken prayers. Heavy. Lingering. Holy. She felt it now, sitting cross-legged on the balcony of her mother’s flat in Ajara Estate, Lagos, where the air buzzed with distant danfo horns, the scent of akara frying downstairs, and dreams too big for a rented twobedroom apartment. It was 4:12 a.m She should have been sleeping. But for the third night in a row, the same scripture had woken her like an alarm clock set by heaven: “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” Isaiah 60:1 The first time, she brushed it off. The second time, she wrote it in her journal. Tonight, she whispered it aloud like it was a prophecy. "God... me? Light?" she breathed, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m not even sure I can shine inside this house, talk less of the world.” Inside, her mother’s snores rolled through the hallway. Zaria smiled faintly. Mama worked three jobs: school cook by day, small-chops caterer by night, and prayer warrior always. But Zaria? She just wrote. Pages and pages of words she never showed anyone. Thoughts too sacred to post online. Letters she sometimes addressed To The One Who Feels Invisible... 6 Maybe that’s all she was, a writer nobody knew, with a fire nobody asked for. Then it happened again. That thing. That presence. It started like a warm breath behind her ear. Not scary, just... there. The wind stilled. The city went quiet. Even the night insects hushed. Zaria turned, heart hammering. Nothing. But she knew. She had grown familiar with God’s nudges — not always loud, but always unmistakable. This time, she heard it clearly. “Your words are not just words, Zaria. They are weapons. Wake up. Write. Speak. Mentor. Move.” Her hands trembled. Her chest burned. She grabbed her old jotter, the one with a cracked spine and pages curled from years of use, and scribbled four words: "I am a Lightkeeper." It didn’t make full sense yet. But it felt like the beginning of something weighty. Like destiny was stretching its fingers toward her, whispering, Come. Reflection Zaria doesn’t feel like much yet; but something is awakening. The call has been made. Her pen is about to become her sword, her scars a testimony, and her silence the birthplace of a revolution. 7 CHAPTER TWO LETTERS TO THE LOST Zaria didn’t go back to sleep. She sat at the dining table, a kerosene lantern flickering beside her, casting soft shadows across the walls. Electricity had been out since yesterday — Nepa, una do well, but she didn’t care. Light was coming from somewhere else now. She flipped to a blank page in her journal and wrote like she was being watched. Not in fear, but in purpose. As if heaven had an audience and the angels were leaning over the railing of glory to read her words. To the one who feels forgotten, You are not late. You are not invisible. Your pain didn’t make you useless instead it made you sharp. When the world forgot you, God didn’t. When you thought no one saw your cry, He counted every tear. The silence was never a punishment; it was preparation. You were hidden because you’re a weapon being forged. Your time is coming. And when it does, your light won’t just shine — it’ll set others on fire too. She stopped, exhaled, closed her eyes. This wasn’t poetry nor even motivational writing. This was a letter to who she used to be — and maybe, to who she was still becoming. Strangely, she knew someone out there needed to read it. She took a picture of the page and posted it to her barely-followed blog and Instagram page: @ZariaWritesFire. Then she added the hashtag: #LightkeeperChronicles. She didn’t expect anything but by morning, the post had over 9,000 views. DMs flooded in from girls and guys across Lagos, Nairobi, Cape Town, even Atlanta. Messages like: 8 “This saved me.” “How did you know exactly what I was going through?” “Please, can you mentor me?” Zaria’s throat tightened. She had no blue checkmark. No influencer clout. No viral strategy. Just a jotter, an honest voice, and obedience. But in a world drowning in noise, God was using her whisper. Later that day, in the school, everything felt the same — loud boys joking in pidgin, teachers shouting over generators, students rehearsing TikTok dances in the hallway. But Zaria walked differently now. Like she was carrying fire in her bones. After classes, she stopped by the campus chapel — quiet, dusty, and mostly empty these days. She sat at the back pew, knees trembling, and whispered: “God... is this really You?” A soft breeze stirred the curtains, she heard it again, faint but clear: “Start the circle.” Reflection Zaria's first post becomes a spark. A whisper of purpose begins echoing through the noise. But heaven’s next instruction is clear — it’s time to gather the first flames of The Spark. 9 CHAPTER THREE THE CIRCLE BEGINS Two days later, Zaria stood in front of a small notice board near the university chapel, her heart galloping like an untrained horse. She pinned a simple flyer. “Are you a creative with a burden? A dreamer with a story? A believer who feels like you're fighting alone? Come sit in the circle. No judgment. No hype. Just light.” Venue: Chapel Annex Room 3. Time: Friday, 4 p.m. Host: Zaria Afolayan #LightkeeperChronicles She stepped back. Took a photo. Posted it with the caption: We’re starting. One spark at a time. #TheCircle #TheSparkIsHere. And then… she waited. Friday, 4:00 p.m. Zaria arrived early. The room smelled like old hymn books and floor polish. She set up six plastic chairs in a circle - not a row, not a stage but a circle. Equal, open and vulnerable. She brought her Bible, a flask of zobo, and her journal. By 4:15, the room was still empty. By 4:27, she began to sweat, both from the heat and the haunting question: What if no one comes? But at exactly 4:30, the door creaked open. First came Tobe, tall, dark-skinned, with headphones hanging around his neck. He wore a hoodie that read “Code, Pray, Repeat.” He didn’t smile, just nodded and sat. Then Maya, petite, hijab neatly tied, eyes curious but cautious. “I saw your post,” she said. “I’m not Christian, but... I felt drawn.” Zaria smiled. “You’re welcome, light has no bias.” 10 Then came Leke, a wiry boy with paint-stained hands and a sketchpad under his arm. “I see visions when I paint,” he said plainly, like it was no big deal. “My pastor said it’s strange. But it won’t stop.” By 5:00, there were six of them. Zaria included. She stood, heart thudding. “This circle isn’t for perfect people,” she said. “It’s for those who feel something rising in them, but don’t know what to do with it yet. This is a space for light to grow, quietly, but powerfully.” Then she opened Isaiah 60 and read again: “Arise, shine, for your light has come…” Silence…Then Maya whispered, “...and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” Goosebumps spread through the room. That day, The Circle was born and so was The Spark — a quiet underground movement of faith, creativity, and supernatural purpose. No followers. No sponsors. Just burning hearts and a calling. Reflection Zaria obeyed. Just one flyer, one invitation. But from that small circle, God was gathering an army; not loud, not flashy, but burning. The kind that changes the world from the inside out. 11 CHAPTER FOUR FIRE AND FEEDBACK The next week, something wild happened; the Circle’s second meeting had twelve people. Zaria sat in the same plastic chair, amazed. Some had come because they’d seen a screenshot of her original post on WhatsApp status. Others had heard about the “faith-and-fire group” from classmates. One girl, Amaka, a spoken word poet, said she had a dream about a circle of light and googled the phrase. Every chair was filled. So were the cracks in Zaria’s confidence. God… what are You doing? I didn’t plan this to grow. I’m not ready for this but when she opened her mouth, the words came, like wind blowing through her chest. She didn’t preach. She shared her stories, her questions, her fears, and, they did too. Tobe talked about feeling spiritually numb for months, until he dreamed of a glowing Bible with code streaming out of it. Leke passed around a sketch he drew after last week’s session; a blazing torch held by a faceless figure. “I think it’s one of us,” he said. “Or all of us.” Maya recited part of a Sufi poem that made the room go silent. Amaka stood, no intro, no warning, she began to speak: They told me to shrink my voice to fit their fear, But God built my lungs for more than air. He built me for fire, 12 For flickers that spark revolutions in broken rooms. I am not too much. I am just enough. And tonight, I burn for someone else’s awakening. The room erupted. It wasn’t noise, it was a release. Claps, tears, bowed heads. Someone started humming a spontaneous worship tune. Maya joined with harmonies. Zaria closed her eyes and felt it: This wasn’t a gathering anymore. This was a revival in seed form. Later that night, Zaria got a DM. “What you’re doing is powerful. But be careful. Light attracts both seekers... and destroyers.” No name, no profile picture. Just those chilly words. She read it twice, then whispered, “The Null…” She’d heard rumors; online mostly, about the stories of a digital cult targeting spiritually gifted youth: draining influence, dismantling identity. Some called it a myth, others, distraction, but something inside her knew, this was more than a warning. It was a starting shot. Reflection The Spark is gaining traction. What began as healing is becoming holy fire but as the flame grows, shadows are waking, and Zaria’s about to find out that every calling comes with conflict. 13 CHAPTER FIVE THE FLICKER AND THE FOG Zaria couldn’t sleep. The DM haunted her like a shadow at noon: no face, no identity, just that eerie message: “Light attracts both seekers... and destroyers.” She stared at the words until her eyes burned. Then she prayed, a bit shakier than usual. “Father… if this is from You, protect us. And if it’s not, silence the fear.” But heaven was quiet. The next day, after lectures, Zaria stopped by the library café to work on her blog post for the week. She ordered her usual: puff-puff and chilled Zobo, and opened her laptop. That’s when she saw him. A guy, maybe 22, clean haircut, dark shades indoors, leather wristbands, and a smartwatch he kept tapping like it was talking back. He stared at her, not rudely, just... too directly. “Zaria Afolayan?” he asked. She blinked. “Yes?” “I’ve read your posts.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You write like someone who’s seen the unseen.” That should’ve flattered her but something in her spirit twitched. “I’m working,” she said, a bit guarded. “Right,” he said, sliding a card across the table. Black background. A single silver symbol; a flame being snuffed out by a hand. No name, no number, just a symbol. Then he leaned in. “You’re drawing people who don’t belong to you. The sooner you understand that... the better.” And just like that, he stood and left. Zaria’s fingers went cold. 14 Later that evening, during the Circle’s gathering, she told the group what happened. The room stiffened. Tobe’s jaw clenched. “That’s The Null. I’ve seen them online. They hide behind art collectives, book clubs, even therapy pages, but they’re organized, and they target voices with purpose.” Maya nodded slowly. “They recruit creatives... or crush them.” “What do they want?” Zaria asked. “Disconnection,” said Leke. “If they can’t stop your fire, they’ll isolate you until you question it.” A heavy pause. Then Amaka whispered, “So what do we do now?” Zaria stood. And for the first time, there was no fear in her voice. “We burn anyway.” Reflection Darkness has noticed. The flame has drawn enemies. But Zaria’s courage is rising; not from hype, but from obedience. The cost of purpose is real... but so is the fire within. 15 CHAPTER SIX THE POWER OF OBEDIENCE Sunday evening came with its own kind of peace. Zaria walked into The Chapel of Light; a lesser-known prayer house tucked behind her school’s old ICT block. It was quiet, no stage, no mics — just wooden benches, dusty kneelers, and oil-stained walls from years of worship that had outlived the paint. She wasn’t here to lead nor to escape but she was there to obey. Earlier that morning, during worship in her local church, she had heard it — a clear voice inside her spirit: “Call them higher. Start the fast.” It didn’t make sense at first. A fast? For what? They had just started The Circle. Things were gaining momentum; weren’t they supposed to ride the wave? But the instruction burned. So, she sent a group text that afternoon: “God is calling us to go deeper. 3-days fast. Sunday to Tuesday. Water only. Focused prayer: Discernment. Protection. Power. This isn’t for show — it’s for fire.” To her surprise, everyone replied “Yes.” Even Maya. Monday — Day 2 of the Fast By noon, the group chat was alive. Tobe shared a code snippet he wrote during prayer — a real-time scripture API that filters out toxic content from any comment thread. Amaka said she kept hearing the phrase "Words are swords". She opened her Bible to Proverbs and felt like her whole calling downloaded in a moment. Leke painted a canvas of a tree made entirely of flames. He wept halfway through and didn’t know why. 16 Zaria? She spent most of the day on her face. Literally. The hunger was intense, but the presence of God was thicker. She saw visions — people chained by shame, screaming without sound. She wept. Interceded. And then… She saw a circle of burning stones. One stone in the middle — with her name glowing on it. “Obedience is not about feeling ready. It’s about being available. Tuesday Night — The Upper Room Zaria invited The Circle to her family’s flat. Mama had gone to a night vigil, so they had the small parlor to themselves. No fan, no fancy light: just sweat, floor mats, and soft worship music playing from a dusty Bluetooth speaker. As they prayed, something shifted. The air thickened. Hands trembled. Maya began to weep and pray in her own language. Tobe fell silent, then blurted out a word in tongues — shocked at himself. Amaka sang softly. The kind of sound that makes angels lean in. Zaria looked around. Twelve people. One room. No followers. No platform. Just presence. And then she heard it: “This is what revival starts with. Not crowds. Not stages. Just consecrated sparks.” Reflection Obedience unlocked something deeper: not just passion, but power. The Spark is no longer a cute idea. It's a consecrated movement; one that doesn’t just inspire... it invades. 17 CHAPTER SEVEN SMOKE IN THE SYSTEM The next morning, Zaria’s phone lit up with a single notification from her blog dashboard: Unusual Activity Detected: Content Flagged for “Psychological Manipulation”. she blinked, re-read, then refreshed, nothing loaded. The blog was down. She checked Instagram, her page still existed — but all her posts from the past two weeks, especially the #LightkeeperChronicles series had vanished. Like someone had scrubbed her timeline. Her inbox? Full of error messages and one strange email titled: “Silence is Safer. Last warning.” She froze. “The Null.” By midday, Tobe was already on it. “They hacked you,” he said, pacing the small tech lab. “Not random but strategic. They didn’t just delete your work; they silenced your impact.” He pulled up his laptop. Lines of code ran across the screen like a digital waterfall. “I’ve seen this pattern before, part of a shadow protocol called BlankSync. Targets posts with spiritual or purpose-driven keywords. Especially ones tied to freedom or awakening.” “Wait, they have a system that attacks light?” Amaka asked. “Exactly,” Tobe replied. “This isn’t just hacking. It’s spiritual warfare with code.” “Can we recover it?” Zaria asked. “Maybe, but even if we can’t... you already planted the seeds.” Later that evening, they met at the basketball court behind the student hostel. Night had fallen, but the moon cast a wide silver glow over the court, almost theatrical. Zaria stood at the center, her Circle gathered around. “They tried to 18 silence us,” she began. “But God didn’t give us light to hide it. This isn’t the time to shrink. It’s the time to speak louder, bolder, freer.” She pulled out a new journal. “We start again from scratch if we must. Because our fire doesn’t come from Wi-Fi; it comes from within.” The group clapped, but Maya stepped forward and raised her hand. “Actually... What if we don’t just recover? What if we build something new?” Everyone turned to her. “A platform,” she continued. “Created by us, for voices like us. Clean space, spiritled, unhackable.” Tobe lit up. “A decentralized hub: peer-to-peer, encrypted, protected by prayer and code.” Zaria smiled wide. “Let’s call it The EmberNet,” she whispered. Reflection Opposition struck. But instead of fear, it triggered innovation. God is raising not just voices, but builders; creatives who don’t just talk about light, they create homes for it to live in. 19 CHAPTER EIGHT THE ONES IN THE SHADOWS It started with a voice note. Zaria received it around 2:06 a.m. from an unknown number. She was half-asleep, curled up with her jotter beside her when the buzz startled her. She pressed play. “They’re watching from within. One of you... is already marked.” Then static. Zaria sat up, heart pounding like a drum at war. She replayed it. Same message. Same cryptic tone. Same finality. She reached for her Bible, flipped to Psalm 91, and whispered through every verse. But her mind was spinning. One of us… is marked? At The Circle’s next meet-up; a quiet Thursday evening on the chapel lawn, she didn’t wait long. “We need to talk,” she said firmly, after a short worship session. Everyone looked up. “I received a message that someone among us has been compromised.” Silence. “Wait,” Leke said, hands trembling slightly, “you mean… like, possessed?” Zaria shook her head. “Not necessarily. But influenced, monitored, maybe unknowingly.” Tobe frowned. “They could’ve slipped in a spy, Zaria. We’re not just a group anymore; we’re a threat.” Amaka’s voice rose. “This sounds like paranoia, we’re family.” Then Maya stood, quietly. “I think it’s me,” she said. Everyone turned. “I’ve been having dreams,” Maya continued. “Dark ones. Someone in a suit... keeps offering me a pen. Says I’ll have influence, but I have to ‘mute’ my spirit. I didn’t think much of it until I started losing my voice randomly... even during prayer.” She 20 looked at her hands. “Two nights ago, I woke up with bruises on my neck. And I haven’t told anyone this, but when I’m around fire — like candles or even light bulbs, they flicker. Or go out.” Zaria’s heart twisted; not in suspicion, but in compassion. “You’re not the enemy,” she said gently. “You’re under attack.” “We need to cover her,” Tobe added. “No,” Maya said, standing straighter. “I need freedom.” They formed a circle: real, raw, uncoordinated. No altar call, no keyboard in the background. Just faith, intercession, and a group of young believers who refused to let the supernatural scare them. Zaria led the prayer. Her hands didn’t shake this time. “Maya, you are not marked for shame. You’re marked for glory. Whatever chain was sent to quiet your voice, we break it, not by our might, but in the name of Jesus.” As the prayer rose, so did the wind. The candles they’d lit began to flicker wildly. Maya began to cry — deep, guttural sobs, like something was ripping out of her. Tobe placed his hand gently on her back, praying in tongues. Amaka sang softly in the Spirit. Leke wept without words, then silence. Maya’s eyes opened. Clear, alive, and when she spoke, her voice was steady: “I can feel again.” Reflection The battle got personal. But the light didn’t run; it stood. Deliverance is no longer a church event for them… it’s a daily reality. And the war has only just begun. 21 CHAPTER NINE THE SEED AND THE STORM The next two weeks were like holy wildfire. Maya was transformed. Her voice now carried weight — not just volume, but presence. She led a Circle session on spiritual authority that left everyone in awe. Tobe finished a prototype of EmberNet — a digital sanctuary where creatives could post without fear of deletion. It wasn’t just a platform; it was a revelation wrapped in code. Zaria’s blog came back online. Miraculously. And The Circle? It grew from twelve… to thirty-eight. Students, creators, quiet types, firebrands, even an atheist came; sat silently for the whole session, then whispered to Zaria afterward: “I don’t know what this is... but it’s real.” But then came the storm. One Monday morning, Zaria walked into campus and froze. Plastered all over the school gates, walls, and boards were flyers, big bold font with her face and a warning. “Beware: Cult-Like Movement in Disguise - targeting vulnerable youth and manipulating minds. Report to the office of Student Affairs.” There was even a hashtag: #ExposingTheSpark. Zaria’s heart dropped. Crowds gathered, whispering, pointing, taking photos. Some with mocking laughter, others with curiosity. A few… with anger. Her phone buzzed. Calls, DMs, even Mama texted: "What’s going on, Zaria? Someone from church sent me a flyer. Are you in trouble?" She couldn’t even respond, her mouth was dry and her soul numb. That night, she skipped the Circle meeting, first time ever. She sat 22 on her bed, staring at the flyer on her phone. The words burned deeper than any digital hack, and then… her room went dark. NEPA again. Classic. But in that stillness, something whispered — so clear, it could’ve been audible. “This is how fires are tested, Zaria. Through rain.” She dropped to her knees. Not with answers, not with a speech, but with surrender. “God, if this is what obedience looks like… I’m still in.” Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room across campus, four students sat around a circular table They were not part of The Spark but of The Null. The guy who had given Zaria that first card, tapped his screen.” She’s breaking, just as planned. Once the school shuts her down, we infiltrate the circle and redirect their hunger.” Another smiled. “Darkness doesn’t need to scream. It just needs to distract.” But someone else; a girl in the group, shifted uncomfortably. “What if the fire isn’t hers?” she asked. “What if it’s... divine?” Silence. Then the leader spoke, “then we learn to fake it better.” Reflection The storm has broken. Accusation has replaced applause. But Zaria’s decision to stay planted could be the very thing that makes the flame unstoppable. Meanwhile, darkness is planning its boldest move yet — infiltration. 23 CHAPTER TEN SMOKE AND MIRRORS Zaria returned to campus three days after the flyer storm, eyes forward, spirit heavy, but feet steady. Most people still whispered. Some avoided her. A few smiled with pity, like she was the star of a scandal documentary. She didn’t care anymore. She had died to public opinion on her bedroom floor that night. Now, she walked like someone carrying fire in her bones and nothing to prove. That evening, The Circle met under the school’s open-air pavilion. Zaria didn’t address the drama, she didn’t defend herself. she just said, “Let’s worship.” And they did; raw, unpolished and real. Then something unexpected happened – a new girl stood up, she was tall, with sunset-red braids, deep brown eyes, and an accent Zaria couldn’t place. “I’m not here to judge or be inspired,” she said bluntly. “I came to test this.” She walked slowly into the center of the circle. “If this is real, then show me.” The room tensed. Leke looked confused. Maya raised an eyebrow. Tobe subtly reached for his phone — just in case. Zaria didn’t panic. She walked into the center too. “I don’t have a miracle for you,” she said. “But I have a word. One God gave me before I knew you were coming.” She held the girl’s gaze. “You don’t doubt God. You doubt that you are still eligible for Him.” Silence. Then, without warning, the girl dropped to her knees. Sobbing. “I tried 24 to kill myself last week.” Zaria knelt beside her. No theatrics, just presence. The Circle gathered around, no one spoke, no one posted. They just covered her. Meanwhile, elsewhere on campus, inside the Null HQ (aka the unused music room), two members debriefed. The girl with the sunset braids walked in. “I did what you asked. Got in. No walls. She’s not fake.” The leader, Reece, looked up. “So? You want out?” She hesitated, then nodded, “I think I’ve already left.” He stood, furious. “We gave you identity.” She smiled sadly. “No. You offered control. Zaria gave me The Truth.” Later that night, The EmberNet was launched by Tobe, he pushed the final line of code and EmberNet was live. A creative refuge built by The Circle for the hungry, the rejected, the gifted, and the weary. Zaria uploaded her first post: “The world tried to cancel the light but light doesn’t need permission to shine.” And across the platform, one line became the unofficial anthem: The fire is spreading. Reflection The infiltration failed; not because the enemy wasn’t strategic, but because love spoke louder than control. One broken soul found the truth, and now light has gone viral. The revival is no longer local. It’s digital, emotional, spiritual and unstoppable. 25 CHAPTER ELEVEN VIRAL FIRE The moment EmberNet launched, it didn’t spread; it erupted, within 48 hours, over 5,000 young creators signed up. Writers, musicians, coders, poets, painters and pastors' kids with buried talents. Atheists with questions, broken dreamers who’d stopped praying. They didn’t just come to post, they came to ignite, and at the center of it all? A girl with a pen, a whisper from God, and no stage. Zaria Afolayan. #TheSparkChallenge The first video came from Kenya, a boy danced on a rooftop while reciting Isaiah 60:1, the caption read: “I used to dance for applause, now I dance for The Light.” Then came Brazil; a group of teens staged a silent protest against suicide, holding candles and handwritten signs: “You are not too broken to burn bright.” Then Nigeria again; Maya and Amaka co-wrote a spoken word piece called "Tongues of Fire, Feet of Clay." It trended for days. The hashtag? #TheSparkChallenge One prompt, one post, one testimony at a time. It Hit the News. The national headline: “Teen Movement Uses Faith and Creativity to Battle Depression: Can Light Save a Generation?” They called Zaria “The Quiet Commander.” She laughed when she saw it. “If only they knew how loud fear used to be in my life,” she said. But the attention came with pressure. University officials requested a “formal proposal” for The Circle. Donors reached out. A pastor from South Africa asked Zaria to speak on his youth live stream. She stared at her screen, stunned. “God… is this what You meant when You said light?” 26 In the Shadow Rooms, The Null met in silence. Reece stared at the screen, watching EmberNet stats skyrocket. “This isn’t just content anymore,” he growled. “It’s a movement. It’s making people believe again.” One of his lieutenants asked, “Should we take it down? Reece smirked. “No. We infiltrate deeper. The bigger the light, the longer the shadow.” Then he pulled out a file, a printed image of someone in The Circle. “Let’s start with the weak link.” Back in Lagos; Zaria’s journal entry: “Dear God, I don’t know where this ends, But I know where it started: In the silence. In the ache. In the feeling that I wasn’t enough. And You met me there. If You’re taking this to the nations, I won’t pretend to be fearless. I’ll just be faithful.” Reflection The fire has crossed borders, screens, and languages. What began in obscurity is now a spark shaking systems. But as revival rises, so does resistance — and darkness is no longer trying to stop Zaria… it’s trying to corrupt what she’s built. 27 CHAPTER TWELVE REFINING FIRES Zaria was tired. Not burnt out, just stretched, like a flame dancing in too much wind. Between managing EmberNet, replying to invitations, running The Circle, checking on Maya (who was now mentoring others), and dodging social pressure from people who “suddenly remembered her,” she barely had time to breathe. So, she did the only thing that still made sense: She fasted. She shut her phone off. Locked herself in the Chapel Annex. Three days. No food, no noise, no circle, just God. At first, nothing happened. No visions. No dreams. Just silence. Then, on day two, she collapsed mid-prayer; not from exhaustion, but presence. She saw a vision. She stood in a hall of mirrors, each mirror reflected a version of her: Zaria, the influencer, the burnt-out leader, the girl who kept it all together and the imposter, but one mirror was different. It didn’t reflect her face. It reflected fire - pure, golden, undiluted fire. Then a voice boomed: “The only version of you that will survive this season… is the one I refined.” She woke up in tears. While Zaria was away, The Null made their move. They slipped a “new creative” into The Circle — a soft-spoken guy named Elim, who claimed to be a songwriter. He quickly gained favor, especially with Leke and Amaka, but behind the charm, he was forwarding EmberNet back-end data to Reece. They didn’t just want to observe 28 anymore. They wanted to influence the platform from the inside and it worked. A trend began: motivational posts with zero depth, spirituality without the Spirit. Quotes that sounded good, but fed ego over surrender. EmberNet felt... off. On Zaria’s return, her face leaner, eyes brighter — like someone who’d wrestled with heaven and survived. She noticed it immediately. She scrolled, read and paused immediately. “Something’s shifted,” she said aloud. Maya ran up to her. “I’ve been trying to reach you! People are posting things that feel... hollow. Some even contradict what we stand for.” Zaria nodded slowly. “It’s time to prune the platform.” That night, Zaria did a livestream on EmberNet. No script, no hype. Just fire. She declared “We didn’t start this to trend. We started this to transform. If your post draws applause but no repentance, delete it. If your creativity shines but your spirit’s dull - return to the secret place. We are not a digital Christian club. We are light, and we were born for war.” Thousands watched, hundreds logged off, but hundreds more lit up. “Let the fire burn clean,” she finished. Then she prayed over the platform — not just with words, but authority, and something broke in the spirit. Reflection Zaria was refined. EmberNet was cleansed. The infiltration nearly succeeded but fire, when pure, exposes the counterfeit. The movement is no longer about emotion. It’s about eternity. 29 CHAPTER THIRTEEN WHEN ALTARS TREMBLE The next day, Zaria woke up with one word ringing in her spirit: “Confrontation.” Not with The Null. Not with outsiders but within The Circle. That morning, Leke messaged Zaria before sunrise. “I had a dream. We were painting together, but every time I dipped my brush, the water turned black. I looked over, and your canvas was glowing, but mine was bleeding.” “I think I’ve compromised,” he wrote. “Help me.” Zaria didn't waste time. She asked him to come over to the chapel. When he arrived, he looked like he hadn’t slept; eyes sunken, hands shaking, guilt carved into his frame. “I started posting for applause,” he confessed. “Elim encouraged me. He said it was ‘strategy.’ But I feel… empty. Like I’ve sold something sacred.” Zaria neither scold nor preach, but simply said: “Repentance doesn’t shame. It refines.” Afterwards, they prayed, and in that tiny moment, something massive broke in the spirit. Leke wasn’t just restored, also became watchful. That week, others came forward: one girl admitted she’d been copying “trending” posts and faking visions. A guy revealed he was using EmberNet for clout to grow his podcast. Even Maya confessed she’d been holding bitterness toward Zaria for growing so fast. Through every confession, Zaria responded the same: “Let the altar shake. We’re not afraid of brokenness.’’ Then they fasted again, together. They 30 wrote Psalms of repentance and posted them on EmberNet under the tag: #AltarsOfAshes People across the globe joined. “I lost my fire. This is my return.” “I’ve performed long enough. I want presence.” “If this is what church looks like... I’m home again. Just like that, what the enemy meant to fracture the Circle became the spark of global cleansing. Meanwhile, Reece unravels - Inside The Null’s HQ, the atmosphere was no longer confident. It was shaky. Reece had been silent for hours, staring at EmberNet. “Why are they not breaking?” he growled. One of the lieutenants, a girl with silver braids, replied softly: “Because they don’t build on platforms. They build on altars.” Reece stood. “If altars are the problem, then we burn the altar.” He pointed at a map of the university. “Start with their base — the Chapel Annex.” Reflection The shaking came; not as destruction, but as purification. Altars were rebuilt, not by perfect people, but by honest ones. Now, The Null’s desperation is rising. Because fire… refuses to die. 31 CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE NIGHT THE FIRE ROARED The warning came from Tobe. “They’re coming tonight. 1:00 a.m. The Chapel Annex. Reece has someone on the inside, one of the janitors. They plan to destroy the room, the actual space where this whole thing began.” Zaria’s first reaction? Fear. Then anger. But what settled deepest? Resolve. “We won’t fight fire with fists,” she said. “We’ll fight it with altar.” At midnight, The Circle Gathers, Zaria sent a simple message: “If you can pray, come. If you can watch, come. If all you can do is stand, still come. We won’t surrender what God gave us.” By 12:30 a.m., over 50 people stood around the Chapel Annex. No fanfare, no Instagram lives. Just whispers, tears and hands lifted. They began with worship; raw, acoustic, and thunderous in the spirit. Leke led. Amaka followed with spontaneous poetry that sounded like prophecy. Tobe prayed in tongues until the ground felt like it was vibrating. Zaria stood in the center, eyes closed, senses heightened. At 1:00 a.m., exactly, they came; three hooded figures via the back entrance, carrying kerosene and cloth-wrapped bottles. But the moment they stepped onto the chapel compound; they froze. Neither by guards nor by confrontation but by glorythe overwhelming presence of God. One dropped to his knees instantly. Another turned and ran, screaming. The third stood trembling, bottle still in hand. Zaria 32 approached him, slowly - “You don’t have to do this,” she said. He looked at her, and wept. “Reece said this would be power,” he whispered. “I didn’t know I’d be standing in the middle of heaven.” She took the bottle from his hand. Set it down. Then held his face gently and said: “This is what power really looks like; peace in a storm.” Across Town, Reece watches from the inside of The Null’s headquarters, the power flickered. Literally. Reece sat watching his feed — waiting to see flames, but instead, He saw worship. He saw people kneeling. He saw one of his own agents fall under conviction, and then, his screen went black. Not from a power outage. From heaven. The next morning, EmberNet exploded after Zaria posted a picture, a single photo of the Chapel Annex, lit by sunrise and completely untouched. Her caption? “When altars are built by fire, no darkness can burn them down.” And under that post… came stories. Hundreds, thousands from around the world. Which reads: “They tried to cancel me, but I’m still here.” “My dorm mates laughed when I prayed. Last night, one of them asked me how to hear from God. “This isn’t a trend anymore. It’s a revolution.” Reflection They came to burn it down, but were met by something more dangerous than fire: the unshakable light. Zaria didn’t just survive the attack; she converted it into glory. Revival doesn’t retreat; it roars. 33 CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE DOUBT IN THE DARK Reece sat alone in the dark room, with his laptop shut and phone off. The Null headquarters, usually alive with whispers and screens was silent. Not out of strategy, but shock. They had thrown their best weapon at the light, and it failed. Not because Zaria fought back but because she didn’t. All she did was to worship and it shattered everything. That night, Reece couldn’t sleep. Instead, memories flooded his mind; ones he’d buried long ago. He was eight. Sitting in his grandmother’s tiny living room with the bible open, hymns playing from a radio with broken buttons. His grandma used to say: “Reece, if you stay near the Light, the dark will never own you.” For a while, he did, until she died. The light inside him dimmed, not all at once, but drip by drip. First came the silence, then the questions, the bitterness and the rage. He vowed never to need God again. So, he built a system to undo belief - The Null. But now? Now he was watching his whole empire crumble in the face of a girl who reminded him of the fire he once had. At 3:07 a.m., Reece did something no one expected. He messaged Zaria. Reece: “I don’t know what this is. But I’ve been watching, all of that is breaking something in me I swore was dead.” Zaria, already awake in prayer, read the message with tears in her eyes. She replied. Zaria: “You’re not too far gone; fire reaches ashes too.” “Come and watch with us; no pressure, just presence.” 34 That Friday night, Reece came. No hoodie, no henchmen and no scripts. Just him with his scars. He sat at the back while The Circle worshipped. He didn’t move nor raise his hands, but at one point, as Tobe read from Acts 9 - the story of Saul becoming Paul: Reece wept, silently and uncontrollably. Zaria saw him. She didn’t approach. She just whispered in prayer: “Lord, finish what You started in him.” Reece didn’t speak until the end of the meeting. Then, quietly, he stood up. Everyone went silent. He walked to the front. “I don’t know how to say sorry… for what I tried to burn,” he said. “But I think I’m ready to burn again, not the kind that destroys… the kind that heals.” In that holy moment, The Circle - even those who once feared him, stood and surrounded him. No judgment. No speeches. Just welcome. Reflection When the enemy breaks, heaven rejoices. Reece wasn’t defeated by force. He was dismantled by mercy, and that’s what revival does: it converts enemies into embers. 35 CHAPTER SIXTEEN THE WILDERNESS WITHIN Two weeks after Reece joined The Circle, things were different. EmberNet had hit 50,000 users globally. Universities were requesting Zaria to speak. Pastors were quoting her words in sermons. Even platforms that once mocked the movement were now reposting clips and calling it “Gen Z’s Awakening.” It should’ve felt like victory, but for Zaria? It felt like weight. She couldn’t sleep and eat much. She smiled on the outside, preached fire, but on the inside? She felt empty. One night, after a livestream session that hit 100K views, Zaria stood in the bathroom. All alone with her makeup smeared, hands gripping the sink. She whispered: “God, I’m losing myself trying to carry what You gave me.” Then she heard it, not out loud but deep within - the kind of whisper that makes your bones pause. “I never asked you to carry it. I asked you to be carried.” She sank to the floor, no tongues, no power prayer but in tears and absolute surrender. She stayed there for hours. Zaria didn’t show up for The Circle that weekend. Instead, she wrote a letter to herself, to God, and to the fire burning on her inside: “Dear Light, I thought I had to keep burning to prove I was chosen. But You were never asking for sparks. You were asking for surrender. I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to be. But I 36 remember now. I am not the flame. You are. I’m just the wick. Burn through me — not by my strength, but by Your grace.” That same night, The Circle met regardless, Maya led worship, Tobe preached, and guess who stood up? Reece. He shared his story, shame and surrender. Then he said: “Zaria taught me what light looks like, but God showed me what light feels like.” Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, people cried out. Some dropped to their knees. There was no Zaria in the room. Yet revival roared. Because the spark had multiplied. The next morning, Zaria walked into the chapel quietly. She didn’t expect anything dramatic, but as she entered, she saw something on the wall, painted in bold brush strokes by someone anonymous: “The wick may rest… but the fire will not die.” In that moment…She smiled, neither as a leader nor as a voice, but as a daughter. Reflection The fire didn’t burn her out; it brought her back. Zaria finally realized: she wasn’t the revival… she was just the vessel. Sometimes, the holiest thing you can do… is breathe. 37 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN STAGES AND SNAKES The invitation came on a Monday. Subject: “You’ve Been Selected — LightTalks Global Summit, London” Purpose: “To deliver the keynote on Purpose, Fire, and the Future of Youth Movements.” Zaria blinked. This wasn’t just big, it was global: a room filled with CEOs, creatives, pastors, policy makers. All waiting to hear from a girl whose blog was once shut down for being “manipulative.” Tobe, Maya, even Reece were hype. “This is it,” Reece said. “The nations you saw in your dream? This is the start.” Zaria nodded… but her spirit wasn’t settled. “God, if this is You, prepare me. If it’s not, protect me.” At her arrival in London, the lights were blinding, the hotel suite was massive. The schedule? Brutal. Everywhere she went, cameras followed, makeup team, stylist, and so many Interview requests. One platform even tried to reframe her movement as a “motivational brand.” “No,” Zaria said. “It’s a spiritual fire built by God.” But some organizers weren’t comfortable with that. They offered her a “suggested” speech; watered down, palatable, clean, no Jesus, no warfare, just mere “inspiration.” She refused. One executive smiled and said, “You’ll have to choose; your message, or the mic.” Zaria didn’t answer but that night, she prayed like never before. After her prayers, she decided to sleep for some hours before the major event, then, she dreamt, of a tall tower, sleek, modern, digital. At the top stood a throne of mirrors. Zaria walked up, holding a torch. But every step made her reflection shift: confident, insecure, proud, and empty. When she reached the top, a voice 38 asked: “Will you shine… or reflect?” Suddenly, the mirrors shattered, and all that remained was fire. Light, cameras, with thousands of people in the room, Zaria stepped up, but took a deep breath, then closed her notes. “I was asked to speak about purpose. I will tell you all this: purpose without God is just productivity. I did not come with strategy, I come with the fire because what this generation needs aren’t motivation but resurrection.” The room went quiet. She continued: “Some of you will walk out confused. Some of you will cancel me but I’m not here for applause. I’m here to burn.” And then, she prayed. Right there in the public, raw, and unapologetic. Some stood, some wept. One executive stormed out. But revival? It entered the room that day. Reflection She had the stage, yet chose to burn for God in the midst of so many voices. Zaria didn’t water the message - she poured it out, and for the first time, a global room saw what it looks like when (as it is in heaven) boldness kisses obedience (thy will be done earth). 39 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN WHEN HOME FEELS LIKE WAR Zaria landed in Lagos to a hero’s welcome; at least online. DMs flooded in; clips of her London keynote went viral. #SheDidNotWaterIt was trending. Even secular platforms reposted her closing line: “I’m not here for applause. I’m here to burn.” But home? Home was different. The church that raised her, her home church, the very one she grew up in; invited her to speak. Zaria was honored, even nervous, until the message came in from the head pastor: “Keep it short, don’t overdo the ‘Spirit stuff.’ Stick to encouragement, not fire.” That was her first red flag. Then came the whispers in the choir: “She’s become too loud.” “She’s showing off.” “This whole EmberNet thing looks like pride.” Zaria didn’t argue but her heart was cracking. She stood on the familiar altar; one she once swept as a teenager. She smiled. Greeted the crowd. Opened her notes. But the Spirit whispered: “Don’t preach comfort but conviction.” So, she did. Zaria preached on lukewarm altars. How fire isn’t volume rather purity. How platforms mean nothing if our hearts are numb, how some churches have traded revival for routine. You could feel the discomfort in the room. After the service, the pastor didn’t shake her hand. Instead, he said quietly: “Maybe you're anointed for the world… but not for this house.” Zaria nodded. She walked to her car, sat alone and cried. Not because she was rejected, but because home didn’t recognize her fire anymore. When Maya heard, she didn’t flinch. She gathered The Circle. “We fight for her in prayer,” she said. “Not in the comments, not in dragging people online. In the secret 40 place.” And they did. For three nights straight. Then the letter came, from a girl named Dami; a member of that same church. She messaged Zaria anonymously: “I was in the crowd that day, almost left the faith two weeks ago but your sermon revived me. I cried for hours after. The church may have misunderstood you. But God didn’t miss a word. Thank you for burning anyway.” Zaria smiled through tears. God had heard her fire, even in the coldest room. Reflection Sometimes, rejection isn’t opposition; it’s refinement. Zaria learned that being misunderstood is part of being marked for a bigger purpose. She didn’t fight to be accepted. She stayed faithful to the fire. 41 CHAPTER NINETEEN WHY ME? The viral fame died down. The travel invites paused. The Circle grew stronger, deeper, but quieter. For the first time in weeks, Zaria had a moment to breathe. She visited her grandmother’s old house, the one Mama had been too heartbroken to sell; dusty shelves, faded curtains but peaceful. So much peace that she sat in the living room with her bible open, journal beside her, then whispered the question she’d never dared speak aloud: “God… why me?” “Why pick a quiet, unsure, doubting girl to carry revival?” “I didn’t ask for fire. I just asked for help.” As she moved to clean the bookshelf, a worn envelope slipped out from between two hymn books. Her name in her grandmother’s handwriting. She opened it slowly. Inside, a letter, faint, aged, but intact. It read: “Zaria, The Lord showed me you’d carry something wild and holy, a spark that would terrify hell. But baby, it won’t be easy. You’ll be crushed before you’re crowned. Rejected before you’re recognized. But never forget; this fire won’t burn you; it will make you gold.” Zaria dropped to her knees. The tears came fast; not from pain, but release. Her “why me” was met, not with explanation… but with affirmation. She wasn’t crazy. She was called. 42 Simultaneously, Maya was having a vision of a massive field, dry, cracked, dead. Then she saw Zaria walking across it. Everywhere her feet touched, flames burst forth, but they didn’t destroy, they restored, green followed, life returned. Also, behind her? Thousands walking. Each carrying light. Each, once broken, now burning. She woke up crying. “It’s not just about her,” she whispered. “It never was. She was the matchstick but the fire is all of us.” Zaria’s prayed that night; “Lord… if I was ever tempted to think this was about me, forgive me. If I ever held onto the spotlight like a crown, burn that off too. I’m not here to be known. I’m here to make You known. Let me be forgotten, as long as Your fire keeps burning. Almost immediately after her prayer, her phone pinged: a message from a nation she’d never been to. “We don’t know how you reached us, but our youth just began what they’re calling the 'Lightwave'. They said they caught it from you. Please come. Or send someone.” Reflection Zaria didn’t get a blueprint, she got confirmation. The fire she carried wasn’t to glorify her. It was to ignite nations. The question “Why me?” was never about her worth… It was always about His will. 43 CHAPTER TWENTY THE FIRE NEVER DIES Six months later, Zaria stood on the edge of a cliff in Cape Town, South Africa. Not for drama, but for legacy. Behind her: The Circle, now grown into Circles — the firebearing movements across five continents. Ahead of her: a global youth summit. 15,000 in person. Millions watching online, not for hype, not for her, all for God. She stood on stage. No lights in her face this time, no curated intro video. Just silence; thick and holy. She breathed in deeply, then spoke: “Years ago, I was just a girl with a blog no one read, a burden I didn’t ask for, and a voice I wasn’t sure was loud enough, but God lit a fire in me, not to make me famous… but to make Him known to nations and generations.” She paused. “The world is dark, I won’t lie, but the light isn’t gone. It’s in the hands of the surrendered. It’s in the voice of the forgotten. It’s in the room with you, right now.” Then she looked straight into the camera. “God is in your story too, and if you feel too broken to burn, good. That means you're ready for real fire.” The Circle went on to do make great impacts for God. Tobe leads EmberCode Africa, training tech-driven missionaries. Maya’s poetry collection Altars of Ashes became a best-seller and soul-restorer. Leke became a worship leader in three countries, leading spontaneous revival nights. Reece teaches a class called Fire After Failure: training ex-witches, atheists, and skeptics in how to walk with God again. And Zaria? 44 She still writes, worships, still disappears from platforms for months just to be alone with God, because the fire wasn’t the fame, It was the secret place all along. Zaria's Last Journal Entry (Shared Publicly) “Dear World, I’m not your savior. I’m not your answer. I’m not even your hero. I’m just proof that when God puts fire on dry bones, they don’t just live; they light cities. If He could do it in me, He can do it in you. This isn’t the end. This is your beginning. Light it up. Burn for Him. And never look back.” 45 EPILOGUE If you’ve ever doubted that God could use someone ordinary or you’ve ever questioned your voice, your past, your purpose… Let Zaria’s story be your reminder: You are neither too far, too small, nor too late. You were born to burn. You are part of The Lightwave. THE END. (Or maybe… just the beginning.) 46 ABOUT THE AUTHOR Ayanlola Dolapo is a passionate storyteller, English educator, and graduate of the prestigious University of Ibadan. With a heart anchored in faith and a pen ignited by purpose, she writes to awaken the unseen, encourage the weary, and remind a generation that light still speaks; even in silence. For any enquiries, request or comments, kindly reach out to us via the following: Email:-or Whatsapp: - God bless! 47