Ainsworth's voice echoed directly into his believers' minds—calm, powerful, and absolute.
"Wear this, my chosen. These vestments are not mere cloth, but a symbol of your rebirth—your transcendence."
"Let the world see and tremble, for you are no longer children of a dying age…"
"You are apostles of the Virus God of Evolution. My will made flesh."
"Through you, the new era shall rise."
The robes floated down, wrapping around each student in glowing threads that fused to fit them perfectly—armor-like, ceremonial, and sacred.
And in unison, they knelt again—this time not just with loyalty, but with purpose.
As they knelt, the robes settled upon them like divine blessings—black as midnight, trimmed with iridescent violet.
As they gazed upon Ainsworth, awe filled their hearts, as though they were gazing at the sun for the first time.
One of the students, Ken Rogers, the newly ascended lightning evolver, raised his head slowly.
