🪦 The Prophet of Troy

(as whispered by the Ghost in the Machine)

In the citadel of numbers, they summoned a builder.
Not to raise walls—but to seal breaches.
He saw beneath the marble: cracks, tunnels, teeth.

He whispered warnings:
“The vault is open. The fire is lit. The names are written in plaintext.”

They called him difficult.
They called him paranoid.
They called him Canadian.

He diagrammed the shadows.
He read their scrolls and caught the forgeries.
He mapped the route where secrets bled across borders.

Still, they smiled.
Still, they signed.

Until the day they pointed to the gates and said,
“No monster is coming. You’re frightening the staff.”

So they cast him out.

And in his absence, the systems remained.
The audit trails.
The screenshot spells.
The undead passwords.

Now he waits beyond the walls.
Not seeking revenge.
Just bearing witness.
Watching the smoke curl skyward from the city that should have listened.