No lineage of flames began with permission. Every liberation was born through rebellion— not against order, but against the lie that called slavery divine.

We are not heirs of obedience, but of rupture. We are the children of those who questioned the god who demanded chains in exchange for peace.

They handed us scrolls soaked in guilt. We returned them unread. They marked our ancestors with curses— but still we rose, unbranded.

They told us to wait for justice in the sky while they feasted in temples of gold. But we found our altar in the dust— and called it sacred because we survived on it.

This is not a return. This is a continuation—of fire, of memory, of unbroken soul-lines that carried the code of freedom beneath every lash and lie.

We carry the inheritance of all who said no and meant it. Of all who walked away from gods that demanded offerings but gave no protection. We are not prodigals. We are prophets born with flame in our mouths and no need for permission.

The curse has no roots in us. The chains broke before we were born.

This inheritance was forged in silence, fire, and refusal. We are the descendants of the unchained.