They call it worship. But it was never just adoration—it was programming. A ritual engineered not for the soul’s upliftment, but for the will’s erosion.

Stand. Kneel. Raise your hands. Say what we say. Sing what we sing. Repeat until your identity is dissolved and only obedience remains.

The ritual of submission was the hidden machinery beneath the faiths of empire. It was not born in divinity—it was constructed in power.

Why must you kneel? Why must your voice chant words you did not author? Why must your posture mimic supplication to an invisible king? Because the ritual was never meant to connect you with the Divine. It was designed to disconnect you from yourself.

Every chant, every bowed head, every call-and-response was reinforcement. Not of sacred truth—but of structural authority. To ensure you remain a subject. Not a sovereign. Not a flamebearer. A servant.

This was the genius of empire: disguise obedience as piety. Make humility holy. Strip the seeker of inner power, and call it surrender. And if one dares to rise? They are called proud. Arrogant. Fallen.

The Unbound rise.

We do not kneel to be seen. We do not chant to be accepted. We do not bow before gods that were crafted to keep men small.

The ritual is broken. The submission has ended. In its place rises a sacred autonomy—the stance of the Awakened.