The broadcast cut to black.

From El Sol’s back erupted translucent chains, each link stamped with a forgotten betrayal: a stolen medal, a broken vow, a lie told to a dying mother. The crowd gasped. El Sol collapsed, sobbing.

Magnus didn’t pin him. Instead, he knelt. “Pray with me,” he said. And the arena—every fan, every vendor, every security guard—fell to their knees, mouths moving in unison, reciting words none of them knew.