Nero…

Before the last breath leaves this war between us, hear me without the static, without the rage, without the rebellion that smothered the man I once called my brother.

I remember you as you were.

Not the cyberhound.

Not the apostate.

Not the fury that tore through my church doors like judgment made of metal and grief.

I remember the man who prayed beside me.

The man who believed in something higher, harder, holier.

The man who swore we were chosen together.

And I remember the night you shattered that truth.

Rose knelt before me, wrists bound, eyes trembling not because she feared death, but because she feared what I had become.

My sister.

Your wife.

Ned’s mother.

Her voice cracked like a dying hymn when she begged:

“Ezekiel… please. We’re family.”

For one moment one flicker of a dying candle I felt the weight of those words.

I saw the child I once carried.

I saw the sister whose shoelaces I tied.

I saw the life I could have lived if righteousness did not demand the death of comfort.

And then I remembered the scripture that carved me into what I am.

A man must forsake mother, father, brother to walk His path.

So I did.

And you stormed in to save them.

Not because you were strong but because you were afraid.

Afraid of losing them.

Afraid of losing yourself.

Afraid of losing the last fragment of the world we once built together.

You saw them tied to the altar and saw a monster.

I saw a prophecy.

You screamed for their release.

You offered yourself in their place.

You begged for mercy as if mercy had ever built a kingdom worth standing in.

And in that moment, I realized the greatest tragedy of our lives:

You were the only brother I had left… and even you could not walk the righteous path with me.

You stole no credits, Nero.

You stole no bodies.

You stole no relic meant for my church.

You stole the future we were meant to build.

You took the destiny carved for two and broke it over your knee, choosing fear over faith, rebellion over revelation, circuitry over scripture.

You became the man who fled from the fire and I became the one who stepped into it alone.

And now, as all roads collapse into Red Snow, understand this:

I do not hate you.

I do not envy you.

I do not mourn what we were.

I mourn what we could have been.

A prophet and his brother.

A church and its champion.

A future unbroken.

But prophecy does not bend to grief.

And at Red Snow, Nero…

I become what the Lord forged me to be.

“Thou art My battle axe and weapons of war:

for with thee will I break in pieces nations,

and with thee will I destroy kingdoms.” Jeremiah fifty-one, verse twenty…..