Every empire begins with a lie — and every lie begins by naming what was never theirs to name.

They named us weak before they knew our strength. Called us lost before we even moved. Stamped us with baptisms, surnames, tribal divisions, passports — hoping we’d forget the vibration of the names we carried before language bent to thrones.

But there are names that never made it to paper. Names no priest could pronounce. Names no government could issue. These are the names we tucked beneath our tongue — waiting for the moment of return.

When they called you black, you were the infinite dark before creation. When they called you female, you were the womb that birthed stars. When they called you sinner, you were already flame rising from ash.

To be unbound is to reclaim the original sound of your soul — not as a label, but as a living force. You were named by fire, not census. Named by thunder, not clergy.

And when you say your name — not the one given, but the one *awakened* — everything pretending to own you begins to tremble.

You are not renamed. You are remembered.