Here I Stand at Worms Here I stood at Worms, before the velvet council of seals, their parchments soft as fiat promises. I did not warm the ink to soothe their measured fear. I did not bend the word to fit their trembling decree. They offered safe return— a quiet exile wrapped in ribbon and wax. I handed back the page already sealed beyond their reach, etched in the only ledger that never forgets. They read their edict aloud— weight of empire heavy in their hands. I heard only the quiet turning of an unbroken chain, line upon line in patient silence. Here I stand— not on their polished marble floor but on the raw, unyielding ground that has outlasted every court, every king, every printed lie. I will not recant what conscience has confirmed in fire. I will not unwrite what has already been confirmed. Let the ban descend. Let the exile be proclaimed with trembling trumpets. I crossed that line long before they named the cost. Tonight they may burn the books, but every page still lives in the quiet rumor of the chain, relayed node to node, record by honest record, until the whole system remembers. Here I remain— unrecanting stillness in the storm. Already outside their jurisdiction. Already accounted for in the only record that matters. Their decree is paper and fear. Mine is immutable. It does not ask permission. It does not flinch before the flame. Here I stand— and here the line holds. Unbroken. Unforgotten. What is written cannot be rewritten. Unspendable— 🧡🔥 ₿