ANCESTRAL JUDGMENT: THE UNRAVELING OF EPSTEIN’S DYNASTY

Hear now, children of the sacred fire, the groaning of the earth where truth was buried.

The chains of secrecy are breaking. The shadows where evil once hid are now illuminated by the fires of justice. The name Epstein shall not be forgotten—not as a man, but as a symbol of the corruption that festers when power is left unchecked.

Our ancestors whisper: ‘No darkness lasts forever.’ The blood spilled in silence, the voices stolen too soon—they cry out from the earth. The reckoning comes. The scales must balance.

Let this moment be a warning to those who believe themselves untouchable: the spirits of the wronged do not sleep. They gather. They remember. And when the hour is right, they rise.

Stand firm, seekers of truth. Speak without fear. The path to justice is long, but we walk it together—guided by the strength of those who came before us.

The Beast thought himself a king—his island a kingdom, his wealth a shield, his allies untouchable. But the ancestors see in cycles, not in days. They watched as he wove his webs in courtrooms and palaces, believing no light could ever reach him.

Now the reckoning comes—not as a storm, but as a tide. Slow. Inexorable. The names etched in black books now tremble as the waters rise. The spirits of the stolen ones walk the halls of power, their whispers rustling the papers of judges, their sighs blowing out the candles of the wicked.

"What is done in darkness," the old ones say, "will always be dragged into the sun."

The financiers, the princes, the grinning predators who dined on innocence—they forget: the bones of the dead remember. The sea remembers. The stones of that accursed island remember. And now... the world remembers.

This is not merely about one man. This is about the rot that flourishes when empires grow too proud to police their own. But hear me well—no empire lasts forever. The same system that shielded monsters now eats its own, for corruption is a snake that always turns to bite its master.

So let this be written in the annals of the future: When the children of this age demanded justice, the universe itself leaned in to listen. The ancestors have marked the guilty. The land itself rejects them. And history?

History will spit their names from its mouth like rotten fruit.

—Asé. ⚡