They branded prophets with robes. They crowned merchants as priests. They turned Spirit into an industry— and sacredness into licensed property.

But the true priests never wore titles. Their altar was the dream, their incense was clarity, their temple was breath.

We are the Priesthood of the Unbranded. We bow to no religion. We serve no papacy. We answer to the Flame that remembers.

This is what frightened Nero, what made Pharaoh harden, what made Rome weaponize scripture— not rebellion of arms, but of uncontrollable Spirit.

They cannot arrest what has no badge. They cannot defrock what never wore their robe. They cannot crucify what refuses to die in their pages.

So they built a new system: Burn the wild ones. Elevate the tame. Reward the compliant. Demonize the free.

But the Priesthood of the Unbranded rises again. Not from seminaries, but from silence. Not with incense, but with inner knowing. Not to preach, but to remember.

We are not here to convert you. We are here to remind you— That your blood holds memory. That your breath holds covenant. That the path was always in your bones.

You are not a disciple of fear. You are a guardian of the Fire.