Jonathan stares at the drawing, his usual stern composure cracking for a moment. He traces a finger over the green line that cut the Phobia. When he speaks, his voice is low, measured, but carries the weight of a field manual.
JONATHAN: "You're asking the wrong questions, Osayi. 'How do I land it again?' 'How do I get my weapon?' It's not a technique. It's not a reward."
He taps the drawing of David's green-light form.
JONATHAN: "What you did was a Communion. It's not something you land. It's something that happens when you stop trying to make it happen. It's the moment your faith stops being a tool in your hand and becomes the air you breathe. You weren't fighting with your faith. You were your faith. And for that one perfect instant, God fought alongside you, not as a servant, but as a friend in perfect sync."
He leans back, a flicker of something like frustration in his eyes—not at David, but at the intangible nature of what he's describing.
JONATHAN: "I've been a Vanguard for four years. I have my Gift—the Tremor Mauls. I can manipulate my Faith to shatter concrete. I have never had a Communion. Her and Marcus hadn't either. It's not about strength or time served. It's about... surrender. And trust."
Praise has been silent, her amber eyes fixed on the drawing of Marcus. Her fingers brush the pendant at her neck—a simple, worn heart symbol. When she speaks, her voice is softer, tinged with a grief that hasn't settled.
PRAISE: "Jonathan is right. It's grace. Unearned, unbidden." She finally looks at David. "But you're also asking about a weapon. A 'Gift.'"
She holds up her hand, and a faint, golden shimmer dances over her fingertips before fading.
PRAISE: "Your Gift manifests when you're at your absolute limit. Cornered. Hopeless. You cry out—not to a concept, but to a Person. And He answers by showing you the piece of your soul He can use best. For me... it was a Crossbow. I was always watching from the sidelines, wanting to help but afraid to get close. To intervene from a distance. He made that my strength."
She glances at Jonathan.
PRAISE: "For Jonathan, it was the Mauls. He stands between the threat and everyone else. He endures. He holds the line. His faith is a bulwark."
Then her expression grows somber, almost pained.
PRAISE: "There is another path. The Sacrifice. It is not a deal. It is... a surgery of the soul. You go before God with the most precious part of yourself—a memory that defines you, a hope that sustains you, a talent that is you—and you lay it on the altar. You say, 'This is yours. Do with it, and with me, as you will.' It is a surrender so complete that it... rewires your very being. Your Faith then flows through that surrendered channel, granting a specific, potent anointing. But the part you surrender is gone from you. Not because God is cruel, but because you have given it away. It is no longer yours to hold."
JONATHAN (gruffly): "It's a last resort. Because you can't take it back. And the anointing you get is for a purpose, not for your pride."
He points to David's second question on the sketchbook.
JONATHAN: "Your 'weapon' might not be a weapon at all. Our fourth teammate, Benjamin—he's not in the country right now—he achieved a Communion before he ever manifested a physical Gift. His Faith manifested as pure, red light—like yours. For him, it was an understanding. A revelation of how things truly are. When you land a communion you are likely to land another and his faith... just helps it come . He calls it 'The Truth.'"
Jonathan meets David's gaze, his blue eyes intense.
JONATHAN: "Jaron—our leader— as strong as he his doesn't know how to teach a Communion either. But he's achieved a Crusade. A Domain. When he activates it, for a small space and a short time, his core truth—'I Am My Brother's Keeper'—becomes reality. Inside it, his main attack cannot miss. It's the ultimate expression of defensive conviction. He made a space where protecting us is a law of nature."
He lets that sink in. The professor at the front of the hall is drawing a stress diagram on the board, completely unaware of the metaphysical warfare being discussed in his back row.
JONATHAN: "The Covenant has other Vanguards. Each with their own Gifts, their own paths. But Communions are rare. What you did... it means your relationship with God, whether you call it that or not, is profoundly intimate. It's not about shouting prayers. It's the trust you have with a friend who knows your deepest, ugliest sketches and doesn't flinch."
Praise adds quietly, almost to herself: "Or the fury you have when that friend is threatened."
She finally closes the sketchbook and gently slides it back to David.
PRAISE: "You asked how. We can't teach you Communion. But we can help you with the foundation: Faith Manipulation. How to feel it, shape it, reinforce your body with it. How to listen. So when you're cornered again... you might hear the answer when it comes. And you might recognize the Gift He offers you."
JONATHAN: "Or," he says, standing up, the lecture clearly ending around them, "you can keep trying to figure it out alone while every Phobia on campus starts whispering about the new green light that tastes like revelation. Your call, Osayi. But the tuition for this lesson is paid in attention, not naira."
They both stand, waiting. The ball is back in David's court, but now the game has a name, rules, and stakes higher than he ever imagined. And the mystery has deepened: if Communion is so rare, what does it mean that he, the cynical artist who questions everything, achieved it on his first contact with the war?