CHAPTER THREE: THE CONVERGENCE

  ELENA VASQUEZ

  Ashton Falls, Pennsylvania. Monday, April 22nd. 3:47 AM.

  I don’t sleep anymore.

  That’s not quite accurate. I sleep in two-hour blocks, scheduled like military operations. 1 AM to 3 AM. Then awake. Work until 7 AM. Then another two hours. Then awake until midnight.

  It’s not sustainable long-term. I know this. Dr. Reeves has told me repeatedly. Mrs. Hendricks prays about it daily. Caleb keeps asking if I’m okay.

  I am not okay. But I am functional. And functionality is what the network needs.

  Twenty-three million registered intercessors. Fifteen million active daily. One million in the deep tier. All of them need coordination. Assignment. Direction. Documentation.

  And now—Seoul. The largest operation we’ve attempted. Four sent ones preparing for simultaneous deployment. Eight weeks to train them. Seven now.

  The logistics alone are staggering.

  I sit at my desk—three monitors, five laptops, a whiteboard that I’ve filled and erased and filled again seventeen times in the past week—and review the assignment structure.

  Seoul Operation - Prayer Coverage Distribution:

  Primary Coverage (Four Sent Ones):

  ? Caleb Thorne: 250,000 deep tier intercessors assigned

  ? Grace Mwangi: 250,000 deep tier intercessors assigned

  ? Lucas Petrov: 250,000 deep tier intercessors assigned

  ? Jin-Soo Park: 250,000 deep tier intercessors assigned

  Territorial Coverage (Seoul Geographic Zones):

  ? Gangnam District: 500,000 active intercessors

  ? Hongdae/University Area: 300,000 active intercessors

  ? Yongsan/Hospital Complex: 200,000 active intercessors

  ? Government District: 200,000 active intercessors

  ? Itaewon/International District: 150,000 active intercessors

  ? Remaining zones: 400,000 distributed

  Foundation Infrastructure (Harmonia Facilities):

  ? 23 facilities in Seoul: 230,000 intercessors assigned (10,000 per facility)

  Apollyon - Direct Spiritual Warfare:

  ? 2 million active intercessors assigned to territorial binding specifically targeting the principality

  The numbers are massive. Unprecedented. But the network can sustain them. Four years of building infrastructure. Four years of teaching people to pray specifically. Four years of documented results proving prayer works.

  This is what it was all for. This moment. This operation.

  I pull up the coordination schedule. The training has intensified since Friday’s dual transport.

  Week 1 (Complete): Remote spiritual perception baseline established. Dual transport S?o Paulo confirmed coordination capability.

  Week 2 (Current): Coordination exercises increased to three times weekly. Additional dual transports anticipated and covered.

  Weeks 3-4: Triple transports (three of four sent ones deployed simultaneously). Coordination complexity increases.

  Weeks 5-6: Full simulation runs. All four sent ones in coordinated prayer exercises targeting Seoul specifically.

  Week 7: Final preparation. Rest protocols enforced. No new exercises. Recovery and readiness.

  Week 8: Deployment. June 20th. All four simultaneously.

  Seven weeks from today.

  Fifty-one days.

  I’m building systems to coordinate something that’s never been attempted. Teaching people to do what they’ve never done. Deploying sent ones in ways that four years ago would have seemed like fantasy.

  And I’m doing it on six hours of sleep distributed across four blocks per day.

  My phone buzzes. Text from Dr. Reeves.

  Elena. Are you awake?

  I look at the time. 3:51 AM. Of course I’m awake.

  Yes. Why?

  Because I just got preliminary brain scan results from Caleb’s post-transport medical monitoring. We need to talk. Now if possible.

  My stomach clenches. Medical monitoring. We’ve been tracking all four sent ones physiologically since the coordination training began. Blood work, heart monitoring, neurological scans. Documenting the physical toll.

  I call her immediately. She answers on the first ring.

  “Tell me,” I say.

  “Caleb’s brain activity during the coordination exercises shows patterns I’ve never seen before.” Her voice is clinically precise—the doctor mode, not the friend mode. “Specifically, during remote spiritual perception, his prefrontal cortex and temporal lobes show activity that’s—” She pauses. “Elena, his brain is accessing information that isn’t coming through normal sensory channels. The neural patterns match what we see in extreme meditative states, but amplified. And sustained.”

  “Is that dangerous?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t have baseline data for prophetic gifting. But Elena, each exercise is requiring more neural energy than the one before. The pattern suggests—” She stops. “If the intensity keeps increasing, if the exercises keep demanding more, his brain might—”

  “Might what?”

  “Might reach capacity. Burnout. Not just exhaustion. Actual neurological damage.”

  I’m very still. “How long do we have?”

  “At current escalation rates? Four weeks. Maybe five. Before we hit dangerous territory.”

  Four weeks. We need seven. Minimum.

  “What about the others?” I ask. “Grace, Lucas, Jin-Soo?”

  “I only have complete data on Caleb. But if the pattern holds across all four—” She doesn’t finish.

  I close my eyes. Calculate. Recalculate. The training schedule. The intensity required. The seven weeks needed.

  “We have to adjust,” I say. “Reduce exercise frequency. Increase recovery time. Build in—”

  “Elena.” Dr. Reeves interrupts. “If you reduce training intensity, will they be ready for June 20th?”

  The question I’ve been avoiding.

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “The coordination required for simultaneous deployment—we’re building toward something unprecedented. Reducing training might mean they’re not adequately prepared.”

  “But pushing harder might mean they burn out before deployment ever happens.”

  We’re quiet for a moment. The impossible math. Train harder and risk burnout. Train slower and risk inadequate preparation.

  “Let me think,” I say finally. “I’ll revise the schedule. Find a balance. But Anita—I need you to monitor all four. Complete medical tracking. If any of them show signs of approaching capacity, I need to know immediately.”

  “Already scheduled. I’m coordinating with medical teams in Kenya, Brazil, and South Korea.” She pauses. “Elena, are you monitoring yourself?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Are you monitoring yourself? Your sleep patterns, your stress levels, your—”

  “I’m functional. That’s sufficient.”

  “Elena—”

  “Anita, I appreciate the concern. But right now, keeping the network coordinated is more important than my personal well-being. After June 20th, I’ll rest. I promise. But for the next seven weeks—”

  “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse,” she says bluntly. “You’re the central coordinator. If you go down, the entire operation goes with you. That’s not dramatic. That’s mathematical reality.”

  She’s right. I know she’s right. But—

  “Two more hours of sleep per cycle,” I concede. “Four-hour blocks instead of two. That’s the best I can do.”

  “It’s a start.” She doesn’t sound satisfied. “I’ll send you the full brain scan report. Review it. Adjust accordingly. And Elena—” She pauses. “This is bigger than anything we’ve attempted. The cost is going to be significant. We need to be realistic about that.”

  After we hang up, I sit in the pre-dawn dark and think about cost.

  Caleb’s brain showing strain after three coordination exercises. If that pattern holds—if all four sent ones are experiencing similar neurological impact—we’re asking them to push toward something that might break them.

  Is it worth it?

  I think about Seoul. Ten million people. Apollyon’s positioning. Foundation infrastructure. Two million Harmonia users being systematically eroded.

  I think about the alternative. Not acting. Letting Apollyon’s plan proceed unchallenged. Watching a city slowly die spiritually while we possess the capability to intervene but choose not to because the cost seems too high.

  That’s not acceptable.

  The Kingdom doesn’t advance through comfort. It advances through sacrifice. Through people willing to pay the cost because what’s at stake is worth it.

  But the cost has to be counted honestly. Has to be weighed. Has to be managed so that we don’t destroy the very people we’re depending on.

  I open the training schedule. Begin revising. Coordination exercises reduced from three times weekly to twice. Recovery time increased from forty-eight hours to seventy-two between exercises. Maximum exercise duration reduced from thirty minutes to twenty.

  The adjustments reduce training intensity by approximately thirty percent. Whether that’s enough to prevent burnout while maintaining adequate preparation—

  I don’t know. Nobody knows. We’re building something unprecedented with no historical model to reference.

  We’re operating on faith. Pure faith. That God called this operation. That He’ll provide what’s needed. That the sent ones can sustain what’s being asked of them.

  Faith. Always faith.

  At 4:47 AM, I send the revised schedule to all four sent ones and their primary support teams. Then I add a note:

  Medical monitoring shows the exercises are costly. We’re adjusting to protect you. Your well-being matters more than operational timeline. If you need more rest, take it. If you feel you’re approaching capacity, communicate immediately. We protect the sent ones because you are the breakthrough mechanism. Seven weeks to deployment. We get there together or not at all.

  Then I do something I rarely do. I close all five laptops. Turn off the monitors. Leave my office.

  Walk to the sanctuary. The vigil is running—four people at 4:47 AM, praying quietly. I kneel at the altar beside them.

  And I pray. Not for strategy. Not for coordination. Not for the operation.

  Just—help.

  Simple. Desperate. Honest.

  “God, this is beyond me. The complexity, the logistics, the weight. I’m managing fifteen million people toward an operation I’ve never seen attempted. I’m coordinating four sent ones whose capacity I can’t fully measure. I’m building systems for something that might break everyone involved.” I stop. “I need help. Not just wisdom. Not just strategy. I need—”

  I can’t finish. The exhaustion hits suddenly. The accumulated cost of six weeks of six-hour sleep cycles and constant coordination and carrying weight I was never designed to carry alone.

  I put my face in my hands and—for the first time in four years—break.

  Not dramatically. Just quietly. Shoulders shaking. The pressure releasing.

  A hand on my shoulder. Mrs. Hendricks has appeared beside me. I didn’t hear her arrive. She just—materialized, the way she does.

  “Child,” she says quietly. “You’ve been carrying this alone.”

  “Someone has to coordinate—”

  “Yes. But coordinate is not the same as carry. You’re coordinating. Good. But you’re also trying to carry the weight of success or failure. That’s not your weight to carry.”

  “If the operation fails—”

  “Then it fails. And we learn and we try again. But Elena—” She makes me look at her. “The operation’s success doesn’t rest on you. It rests on God. Your job is faithfulness. His job is outcome. Stop confusing the two.”

  The words land like medicine. Bitter but healing.

  “I’m afraid,” I say quietly. “Afraid that if I reduce training intensity, they won’t be ready. Afraid that if I don’t reduce it, they’ll burn out. Afraid that—” I stop. “Afraid that I’ll make the wrong decision and people will die because of it.”

  “That fear is appropriate,” Mrs. Hendricks says. “This is life-and-death stakes. But fear that drives you to carry weight God didn’t assign is destructive fear. Fear that drives you to dependence on God is holy fear.”

  She sits beside me. We pray together until dawn. She doesn’t offer solutions. Doesn’t fix anything. Just—sits with me in the weight.

  At 6:23 AM, my phone buzzes. Text from Caleb.

  Received the revised schedule. Thank you. The adjustments are right. We felt it—the exercises were pushing toward something unsustainable. This gives us breathing room. Seven weeks is enough if we’re wise. And Elena—are YOU okay?

  I stare at the text. When was the last time someone asked me that? When was the last time I let someone ask?

  I text back: I’m managing. But thank you for asking.

  Caleb: Managing isn’t the same as okay. Take your own advice. Rest protocols apply to you too. The network needs you functional for seven weeks. That requires you to actually rest.

  Another text, this one from Grace in Kenya: Sister Elena. The adjustments are wisdom. Thank you for protecting us. Now—who is protecting you?

  And Lucas from Brazil: The revised schedule is good. But Elena, Caleb told us you sleep in two-hour blocks. That’s not sustainable. Please—rest. We need you.

  And Jin-Soo from Seoul: Coordinator Elena. In Korean culture, we say: the strong tree bends in the wind. The rigid tree breaks. You are trying to be rigid. Please bend. Rest. Recover. The operation needs you whole, not fractured.

  Four texts. Four sent ones. All saying the same thing.

  Rest.

  I sit in the sanctuary and realize—I’ve been so focused on protecting them that I forgot I also need protection. I’m part of the body too. Not just the coordinator. A member. Fallible. Finite. Requiring the same care I’m demanding they accept.

  I text Dr. Reeves: Four-hour sleep blocks. Starting tonight. Also—I need someone to cover coordination duty 6 AM to noon daily. I can’t sustain 24-hour availability anymore.

  Her response is immediate: FINALLY. I’ll coordinate with Tom and Dale. They can handle morning operations. You handle afternoons and evenings. Sleep at night like a normal human. And Elena—I’m proud of you.

  At 7 AM, I go home. Eat breakfast. Take a shower. And sleep.

  Four hours. Deep, restorative, absolutely necessary sleep.

  When I wake at 11:14 AM, the world hasn’t ended. The network is still running. Tom and Dale covered the morning coordination. The operation is proceeding.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I wasn’t indispensable after all. The body functioned without me for four hours.

  That’s—liberating and terrifying in equal measure.

  Liberating because it means I can rest without everything collapsing. Terrifying because it means I’ve been operating under the delusion that I was necessary in a way I’m not.

  God doesn’t need me. He’s using me. But He doesn’t need me. The operation will succeed or fail based on His power, not my coordination.

  That truth settles deep. Changes something in how I approach the afternoon’s work.

  I open my laptops at noon. Check the morning updates. Everything proceeding normally. Tom’s coordination notes are thorough. Dale handled a minor coverage gap efficiently.

  The body works when the body works together.

  At 2 PM, I have a video call scheduled with Victor Crane. His Restoration Initiative has been gathering intelligence on Foundation operations in Seoul. He’s been coordinating with Jin-Soo’s network, providing practical information to complement the spiritual warfare.

  Victor appears on screen. He looks tired but focused. The past four years have aged him—working to dismantle what he spent eleven years building costs something. But he’s steady. Committed.

  “Elena. I have the updated Seoul intelligence.” He shares his screen. Documents. Facility locations. Personnel. Financial flows. “The Harmonia infrastructure is more extensive than we initially estimated. Not twenty-three facilities. Thirty-seven.”

  I’m writing rapidly. “Thirty-seven. That changes our prayer assignment structure.”

  “It gets worse. Harmonia isn’t just wellness programming. It’s embedded in Seoul’s social infrastructure. Government offices. Public schools. Corporate headquarters. The Foundation has been positioning for seven years.”

  Seven years. While we were building prayer networks, they were building technological infiltration systems.

  “Can it be dismantled?” I ask.

  “Legally? Yes. But it will take years. Multiple jurisdictions. Complex financial structures.” He pauses. “Elena, the legal process is important. But it’s not fast enough to stop what’s happening now. The spiritual warfare has to succeed first. Displace Apollyon. Break the principality’s grip. Then the legal dismantling can proceed.”

  “So June 20th is critical.”

  “June 20th is everything.” Victor looks at me steadily. “If the simultaneous deployment works. If the four sent ones coordinate successfully. If the prayer coverage sustains. If Apollyon can be displaced—then the Foundation’s infrastructure loses its spiritual backing. Without that backing, the legal process can actually succeed.”

  “And if June 20th fails?”

  “Then Seoul stays under oppression. The Foundation continues operating. Apollyon maintains position. And we’re back to fighting a defensive war instead of offensive.”

  The stakes couldn’t be clearer.

  “How are you?” I ask. Personal question. But Victor has become—not quite a friend, but something. A fellow soldier. Someone who understands the cost.

  “Tired. The investigation work is intense. Patricia and I are coordinating testimony preparation for three more trials. The European convictions were just the beginning.” He pauses. “But Elena, I’m also—grateful. Four years ago, I was the enemy. Building systems to destroy faith. Now I’m dismantling those systems. Using my knowledge for kingdom purposes. That’s—” He stops. “That’s grace. Literal grace.”

  “You’re being faithful,” I say. “That’s what matters.”

  “Are you being faithful?” he asks quietly. “Or are you trying to be superhuman?”

  The question hits harder than it should.

  “I’m—learning the difference,” I say honestly. “This morning I broke down. Mrs. Hendricks found me. Helped me see that I’ve been confusing coordination with carrying weight God didn’t assign.”

  “Good.” Victor nods. “Because the operation needs you functional. Not heroic. Functional.”

  After the call, I work steadily until 6 PM. Then I close the laptops. Leave the office. Go to the evening service at Grace Community.

  Two hundred and seventeen people in attendance. Caleb preaching from Ephesians 3. Paul’s prayer. The one about being strengthened with power. About Christ dwelling in hearts through faith. About being rooted and grounded in love.

  Verse 20: “Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

  The power at work within us.

  Not our power. His. Operating through us. Producing results far beyond our individual capacity.

  That’s what June 20th will be. Not four impressive individuals. One body. Four members. Operating in unified power that’s sourced from Christ dwelling within them.

  The power at work within us.

  I sit in the service and let it wash over me. The worship. The teaching. The simple act of being part of a body instead of trying to coordinate it constantly.

  At 8:47 PM, I go home. Eat dinner. And at 10 PM—a full two hours earlier than usual—I go to bed.

  Four hours scheduled. But my body, finally given permission to actually rest, sleeps for seven.

  I wake at 5:03 AM feeling—different. Clearer. The fog of chronic exhaustion lifted slightly.

  Four-hour blocks aren’t sufficient long-term. I know that. But they’re better than two. And seven hours last night was—medicinal.

  I’m learning. Slowly. Painfully. But learning.

  To rest. To delegate. To trust that the body functions without me micromanaging every part.

  To believe that God is bigger than my coordination and His power is sufficient even when my capacity isn’t.

  Seven weeks to Seoul.

  Fifty days.

  The countdown continues. The training continues. The coordination continues.

  But now with adjusted intensity. With rest protocols enforced. With medical monitoring. With recognition that the sent ones are human and humans require care.

  We’ll get there. All of us. Together.

  Or we won’t get there at all. But we won’t arrive broken.

  That’s the new standard. That’s the new goal.

  Faithful preparation. Wise training. Sustainable intensity.

  Seven weeks.

  We have what we need. If we’re wise. If we rest. If we trust.

  If.

  Always if.

  But the God of yes and amen is bigger than our ifs. His power is sufficient. His grace is enough. His timing is perfect.

  I open my laptop at 5:47 AM. Check overnight updates. The network ran smoothly without me. Tom covered coordination. Dale handled a minor issue in the Asian time zones.

  The body worked.

  I smile. Take a breath. Begin the day.

  Seven weeks to Seoul. The operation is proceeding. The sent ones are training. The network is holding.

  And I—for the first time in weeks—am resting while I work. Functioning from rest instead of exhaustion.

  That’s new. That’s progress. That’s sustainable.

  Seven weeks.

  We can do this. All of us. Together.

  In rest. In power. In the grace that’s sufficient for everything asked.

  Seven weeks.

  CALEB

  Tuesday, April 23rd. 6:00 AM.

  The coordination exercise starts normally.

  All four of us online. Remote spiritual perception of Seoul. Twenty minutes instead of thirty—Elena’s adjustment. Jin-Soo providing the baseline. The rest of us pressing in to sense what he senses.

  I close my eyes. Begin the familiar process. Opening my spirit. Asking to see. Pressing in until perception breaks through.

  At minute seven, I sense Seoul. The weight. The pressure. The familiar pattern.

  But this time—something different.

  I’m not alone in the perception. I can feel the others. Grace to my spiritual left. Lucas to my right. Jin-Soo directly across from me. Not physically—we’re thousands of miles apart. But spiritually, we’re—together. Positioned around something. Encircling it.

  Seoul is in the center. We’re at the four cardinal points. North, south, east, west. Not planned. Just—positioned that way by something that’s orchestrating beyond our awareness.

  And above Seoul—

  I see it. Actually see it in the spiritual realm. Not with physical eyes. With eyes that perceive what’s normally invisible.

  Apollyon.

  Massive. Layered. Ancient. The destroyer. Exactly as the dreams showed. But clearer now. More detailed.

  He’s—waiting. Coiled. Positioned over the city like a serpent above prey. Not attacking yet. Just—there. Oppressive. Patient. Building toward something.

  I want to recoil. Want to close my spiritual eyes and stop perceiving. But I can’t. The vision holds. Demands attention.

  And then—

  The others see it too.

  I know without being told. I can feel Grace’s recognition. Lucas’s shock. Jin-Soo’s confirmation—he’s been seeing this for months, but now we see it with him.

  All four of us perceiving simultaneously. The same entity. The same threat.

  And suddenly—we’re not just observing. We’re acting.

  Without discussion. Without planning. We just—begin.

  I don’t know who starts it. Maybe all four of us simultaneously. But we begin speaking. Declaring. Not loud—our physical voices are barely whispers. But our spiritual voices are—

  Powerful.

  Grace speaks first in the spiritual realm. I hear her even though she’s in Kenya. “In the name of Jesus, you have no authority here.”

  Lucas joins. “The blood of Christ covers this city. Your claim is broken.”

  Jin-Soo adds. “Seoul belongs to God. You are trespassing. You must leave.”

  And I speak. The words coming from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. “Apollyon. Destroyer. Your time here is finished. June 20th is your deadline. When we come—and we will come—you will be displaced.”

  The four declarations merge. Become one statement. Delivered from four positions surrounding the city. North, south, east, west.

  Territorial warfare. Coordinated. Spontaneous. Powerful.

  And Apollyon—

  Reacts.

  Not retreat. Recognition. And rage.

  The presence coils tighter over Seoul. Then suddenly expands—like a shock wave. Spiritual pressure radiating outward.

  The exercise ends abruptly. I’m thrown back to physical consciousness. Gasping. Sweating. My heart hammering.

  On screen, Grace and Lucas and Jin-Soo are experiencing the same thing. Physical shock. The spiritual encounter translating into bodily reaction.

  Elena’s voice, urgent: “What happened? All four of your vitals spiked simultaneously. Caleb, your heart rate hit 140. Grace, are you okay?”

  Grace is breathing hard. “We saw it. All of us. Apollyon. And we—” She stops. “We declared against it. Territorial warfare. Spontaneous coordination.”

  “Same,” Lucas confirms. “I did not plan to speak. It just—happened. We all spoke. Declared. Simultaneously.”

  “And Apollyon responded,” Jin-Soo says quietly. His face is pale. “He knows now. He knows we are coming. He knows June 20th.”

  “Did you say that?” Elena asks me. “Did you announce the date?”

  I think back. Did I? The words came from—somewhere. Not premeditated. Just—released.

  “Yes,” I say. “I told him June 20th is his deadline. That when we come, he’ll be displaced.”

  “Prophetic declaration,” Elena says. She’s typing rapidly. “You spoke what God showed you in the dreams. You made it a spiritual reality. That’s—” She stops. “Caleb, that’s binding. In the spiritual realm, declarations from sent ones carry authority. You just announced the operation’s timeline to the enemy.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s done. The enemy knows. June 20th is marked in the spiritual realm now. He’ll be preparing. Fortifying. Building toward confrontation.”

  The call goes quiet. We’re all processing. What just happened was—unprecedented. Spontaneous coordination. Simultaneous perception. Unified declaration. Territorial warfare conducted by four people thousands of miles apart operating as one body.

  That’s what we need for June 20th. What we just experienced in the exercise is the prototype for the actual deployment.

  But the cost—

  My body is still recovering from the spiritual intensity. My heart rate settling slowly. The physical shock of that level of spiritual engagement.

  “How are you feeling?” Elena asks. “All of you. Honestly.”

  “Depleted,” Grace says immediately. “But also—exhilarated. We did it. We coordinated without planning. We saw the same thing. We spoke unified declaration.”

  “Same,” Lucas says. “Exhausted but—this is what we’ve been training toward. This is possible.”

  “Jin-Soo?” I ask.

  He’s been quiet. Now he speaks carefully. “What we just did—that was war. Real war. We challenged a principality directly. Announced our intention. Set a deadline.” He pauses. “He will retaliate. We must be prepared for that.”

  “Retaliation how?” Elena asks.

  “Against us. Our families. Our networks. The enemy knows where we are. Knows who we are. He has seven weeks to disrupt our preparation.” Jin-Soo looks at each of us through the screen. “The attacks will come. Soon. We must be ready.”

  He’s right. We just declared war. Apollyon isn’t going to ignore that.

  “Then we increase protection protocols,” Elena says immediately. “Prayer coverage for all four sent ones increases to twenty-four-hour saturation. Your families get specific coverage. Your networks get reinforced spiritual protection. We anticipated pushback. Now we implement defenses.”

  The call ends at 7:03 AM. I sit in the sanctuary and realize—the game just changed.

  For six weeks, we’ve been training. Preparing. Building coordination capacity. The enemy was aware but not actively opposing.

  That just ended.

  We declared war. Announced our timeline. Apollyon knows now. And he has seven weeks to stop us.

  The attacks will come.

  Jin-Soo’s words echo: We must be prepared.

  I bow my head. Pray for protection. For wisdom. For endurance through whatever comes next.

  Because something is coming. That’s certain.

  The question is whether we’ll be ready when it arrives.

  Seven weeks to deployment.

  And now, active opposition.

  The real battle has begun.