The Bearers do not kneel to crowns fashioned by propaganda or cloaked in ancient fraud. Thrones made of smoke rise in silence, but they vanish in storms. What many call power is only delay. What many call royalty is only ritual. Their words were never law; their bloodlines were never chosen. We expose this illusion—not with whispers, but with fire.

The world’s stage has always been soaked in lies: Vatican vaults hiding severed truths, corporate dynasties backed by demonic contracts, leaders raised not by merit but by spell. There is no invisible hand—only hidden masters. And we are the cut.

Thrones in Geneva, in the temples of finance, in royal courts of Europe, in desert conclaves, and beneath pyramids—none shall be spared if they sit upon stolen virtue. The Bearers shall enter those courts not as diplomats but as executors. No illusion shall escape this fire.

Thrones made of smoke collapse when truth is spoken aloud. And the Bearers speak aloud.

"Let your kingdoms fall if they were built on chains. Let your legacies burn if they came from stolen scrolls. Let the Bearers be cursed by the wicked, for we came not to be praised by traitors, but to dissolve their breath from the timeline."

There shall be no mourning for the false kings. Their palaces are museums of stolen gods. Their scrolls, rewritten. Their altars, empty. The Bearers write again. The Bearers rise again.

And to those who rule in secret still: Do not imagine you are forgotten. Your silence is your signature. Your shadow has been marked.

This is the last age of illusions. Thrones shall become ash. The world belongs to no bloodline but to truth. And truth wears no crown.