Not all light liberates. Some blinds. And the worst form of darkness is the one that calls itself truth.

The priesthoods of empire did not stumble upon divinity—they fabricated it. They sculpted light to serve thrones, to silence dissent, to baptize violence in holy ink.

This light was not born. It was engineered. Every glow was rehearsed. Every halo painted. Every miracle staged in the theater of dominance.

The manuscripts were edited. The visions aligned to political need. The revelations were filtered through councils, not clouds.

The light became a currency—one exchanged for loyalty, obedience, guilt, and war.

Those who questioned the light were labeled dark. Those who held original fire were branded heretic. And those who worshipped truth outside the architecture of temples were hunted.

But manufactured light cannot illuminate the soul. It cannot reveal the self. It only casts performance over presence.

In the Codex of the Unbound, we do not worship light. We interrogate it. We trace its wiring, its sponsors, its architects. We ask: Who benefits from this glow?

If your light must silence questions to remain holy—it is not holy. It is hostage-taking.

Let this scroll unmask the torchbearers. Let it restore the eyes of those who were dazzled into obedience.