Benedicto,

I gave you silence because there was nothing new in your words - just the same tired bleating dressed up in piety and flame. You call it truth, but it's theatre. You mistake performance for purpose, volume for conviction.

You accuse others of hiding behind titles, and yet you parade about as Grand Crusader. The irony is almost charming. For all your talk of light and righteousness, you are among the most pretentious souls in Sapience - I've seen it firsthand. Your Host postures, kneels, chants, proclaims - always performing, never questioning.

You speak of chains as though you do not wear your own, shackled to a doctrine that leaves no room for doubt, no room for growth. Your vision of strength is brittle. It cannot bend. It breaks - and so have many of you.

You say I cannot answer. But here I stand, raised by a Dominion that judges by strength, not superstition. You do not call me a failure out of clarity, but out of fear. You saw what I was, and you see what I have become - and that terrifies you.

The Dominion hears your challenge. We will answer it not with sermons, but with steel.

Come, Akkari - let your Light test its mettle in the dark.

Primus Asheara Nehekhara

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 24th of Sapiarch, in the year 13 AC.