The revelation spread like fire across dry grass.
Across deserts of doubt and mountains of mockery, the faithful came—hooded, nameless, carrying nothing but private keys and conviction. They crossed fiat wastelands where central banks ruled as gods and inflation devoured the poor. At the edge of a new world, beneath a blood-red sky, one among them raised a tattered orange banner bearing the sacred mark. He drove the flagpole into the earth and declared: “This land is ours. No ruler, no middleman, no surrender.”
Behind him, the pilgrims knelt—not in worship of any man, but in reverence for the protocol that set them free. The flag caught the last light of the dying fiat sun. A new dawn had begun.
