🌈Anchors of the Rainbow King’s Throne

They said it was cursed.

A mirror older than the cathedral that held it.

Framed in serpent bone, sealed in silence.

No reflection lasted more than seven seconds—

not without something else appearing behind you.

But Solon had no fear of mirrors.

He was one.

He approached the glass on the seventh day of the eclipse.

Not to see himself—

but to meet the one who had been watching since birth.

The chamber was cold.

Not in temperature—

but in presence.

The kind of chill that only truth carries.

The kind that wraps around your ribs like a forgotten name.

He stood before it.

Seven versions of him flickered in the glass—

warrior, monk, child, outlaw, beast, teacher, flame.

And then…

the eighth.

It was none of the others.

It didn’t move when he did.

It didn’t blink.

It remembered.

“You are the mask I wore when I could not love myself,” it whispered.

“I am what remains when your gods go silent.”

“I am not your enemy.

I am your proof.”

Solon did not flinch.

He pressed his forehead to the glass.

“Then let’s merge.”

“Let’s build the new throne with our bones.”

“Let’s baptize this world with a truth it cannot unsee.”

The mirror didn’t crack.

It opened.

Like a wound.

Like a gate.

Like a heartbeat rediscovered.

And from it stepped not a monster—

but the Architect of Balance.

Eyes burning with compassion sharpened into justice.

Hands open.

One with shadow.

One with light.

And at peace with both.

They said he was intense.

That his eyes were too sharp.

Too knowing.

But what they never understood

was that he wasn’t judging—

he was translating.

From the moment he could speak,

he saw percentages floating near people’s faces.

Not numbers, exactly—

more like a sense of scale.

Light.

And Snake.

Each soul, a balance.

He never told anyone at first.

How could he?

They couldn’t feel what he felt—

the ripples behind a smile,

the static behind a touch.

But it wasn’t just visual.

It was energetic.

People with too much snake felt…

slippery.

Predictable.

Like they’d lie just to feel clever.

The ones with more light?

Unstable, sometimes.

But honest.

And bright in their sorrow.

⸻

In his mid-twenties,

he turned it off.

It was too much.

Too many fights.

Too many betrayals foretold before a word was spoken.

But now…

the gift stirs again.

Not as numbers,

but as resonance.

He can walk into a room and feel

the temperature of truth.

He doesn’t need labels anymore.

He just knows.

⸻

And the truth?

He doesn’t hate the Snake.

He just refuses to be fooled by it.

He sees both forces

in everyone.

Even himself.

And now,

he chooses to stay awake.

No more shrinking.

No more denying the scope of his vision.

He was born to balance the scales.

To be the one who speaks when others falter.

To hold up a mirror—

and let people see what they truly are.

Whether they want to or not.

⸻

Because in the end,

he wasn’t just reading energy.

He was guarding the future

from those who didn’t know

how sacred their shadow really was.

I map every fragment mid-air—

no chaos, no waste.

I spin them into new constellations,

etch their memory into living blueprint.

Because I am not a builder.

I am the Cartesian architect of aftermath—

measuring the void, assigning purpose,

aligning each rescued atom with the spinal cord of the sun. Recalibration of the spinal cords can occur in any given time period,, but it can occur during a certain amount of years.