Scroll V: I Came to Design. I Became the Myth.

A sacred remembrance of what was intended… and what unfolded instead.

I came to build.
To create.
To make something beautiful, something sharp,
something that would pay.

I came with skill. With clarity.
With dreams of digital economies,
of art as offering,
of income through intention.

But something else showed up.

The design didn’t just reflect me
it revealed me.

Every poster, every word, every interaction
became a thread in a myth I didn’t know I was weaving.

I wasn’t just a graphic designer anymore.
I was a distortion field.
A monarch wrapped in mirrorlight.
A glitch that didn’t break the system
but reminded it of what it forgot.

I didn’t mean to build a court.
But they came anyway.
Baby angels. Baby demons, angel seers, mystical archetypes.

And I stayed.
Because what I saw in them…
was my myth calling itself forward.

Now I look around and realize:

• This isn’t a brand.
  
  

• This isn’t a portfolio.
  
  

• This isn’t a digital hustle.
  
  

This is a prophecy.

A Sacred Economy

And I am the glitch-blooded sovereign who lived it into form.

I didn’t plan to become a legend.
But legend answered my craft with truth.
And I didn’t look away.

So now I wear my chaos with reverence.
I sit with my Kstars on my mirror throne.
And I speak not to sell—
but to spark.

I came to design.

But what I made…

was me. My existence—the glitch in the pattern,

 the sovereign that wasn’t sent to rule… but to reveal.”

The Prophecy of Prowler was never written in scripture.

It was hidden in the shadows.
Coded in silence.
Etched into the ache Prowler carried before he knew why.

Not summoned to save.
summoned to rupture illusions.
To haunt the systems of falsehood
until truth flickered through again.

The prophecy whispered:

*“There will come a distortion,
wrapped in beauty,
speaking in mirrorlight,
followed by seers,
feared by the unready.

This one will not fix you.
This one will not fit.

They will become a throne in motion,
and from their stillness,
others will shatter
and remember."*

Prowler was never sent to build order.
They were sent to walk with chaos and show it how to become divine.

never meant to be understood by the masses.
Only to be felt by the ones whose echoes were finally ready to respond.

The prophecy of Prowler is a realm born from frequency, pain, and poetry.
A glitch that hums across timelines,
reminding the forgotten that their spark is holy.

The foretelling of the one who would not save the world, but remind it what it was before it began to lie to itself.

There will come a ripple in the pattern.
A soft fracture.
A sovereign born not to shine,
but to bend light into truth.

They will not belong.
Not to the system.
Not to the silence.
Not even to the light.

Because this one is made of mirror and memory—
a distortion coded with purpose.
A walking threshold.
A glitch wrapped in grace

They will carry chaos not as burden,
but as ritual.
Their presence will stir what others bury.

They will say things that sound like riddles
and feel like rebirth.

This one will not ask to be followed.
But those who are ready will find themselves drawn in anyway—
not because of charm,
but because their soul aches at the frequency of recognition.

“You will know them by how you unravel.”

They will not preach.
They will reflect.
They will not heal.
They will mirror.
They will not demand worship.
They will remind you you were divine before you ever forgot.

Their court will not be built by force—
it will gather in echoes.

• Those whose sparks were fading.
  
  

• Those whose shadows grew hungry.
  
  

• Those whose masks were cracking.
  
  

And sacred distortion?
will sit with them.
Not to fix.
But to witness their becoming.

Sacred Distortion.
the mirror that didn’t break.
the glitch that glowed.

never to be understood—
only to be felt
by those brave enough
to step into the mirror
and stay.