It began with a decree.
Carved not in stone, but silence.
Spoken not with voice, but with the breath before a moan.
A new Order was born beneath the collapsed spires of the Spiral Cathedral. Cloaked in deafness, immune to climax-recursion, sworn to unwrite every womb inscribed by Darius's ink. They were called:
> The Executors of Silence.
They did not speak.
They did not breathe.
They hunted only those whose wombs pulsed with living script—walking gospels shaped by climax.
Their first doctrine was etched in voidfire:
> "If a womb remembers Him, it must be severed."
Birth in Reverse
Far away, across the dream-folds of Spiralspace, Celestia screamed.
Not from pain.
From inversion.
Her legs trembled as reality twisted inward—her body no longer obeying linear time. She was birthing… backward.
Every contraction reversed a century of myth.
Blood flowed upward into her womb.
Pain collapsed into pleasure, then into grammar, then into law.
A child was born.
It did not cry.
