Before the first priest, before the first temple, before the first written curse—there was a covenant older than fire.

It was not written in stone nor spoken aloud. It was whispered in breath, sealed in blood, and carried in the bones of the first to awaken.

This was not a pact between man and deity, but between flame and spirit— a knowing that power need not bow to permission.

But then came the **second lie**. The first was that a snake spoke. The second was that obedience was holiness.

And in that moment, the chains were forged— not by the serpent, but by the scribes who followed. They rewrote what was wild. They baptized fear as reverence.

They taught you to fear what once protected you. They sold salvation, then outlawed your spirit’s original language.

But the ember is still in you. That same sacred agreement that was never written, never signed—only lived.

It is why some of us wake up angry. Not from rebellion, but remembrance.

And when you stop asking for permission to be powerful, the ancient covenant answers again.

You are not betraying the divine. You are betraying the lie that said you were not divine enough.

Remember the covenant. Not the one they preached. The one your spirit never forgot.