The world around flickered—like a memory forcing its way back through cracks in time.
Amon stood alone, his figure illuminated only by the cold light of an artificial moon, eyes staring down into the endless pit beneath his feet. His voice was calm, almost too calm for the storm he carried within.
"You asked why I built the prison," he began, his voice echoing. "Why I twisted minds. Why I became what you call a god."
He raised his hand slowly, watching the illusion of stars swirl in his palm like dust.
"I was once like you. A believer. Not in gods, but in systems. I believed if we made laws better… if we educated minds… we'd change the world."
His tone darkened.
"In my world, crimes were treated gently. Rapists walked free after a few years. Murderers were given redemption. Everyone had a second chance. Until one day, it wasn't someone else's sister who got raped. It was mine. Until it wasn't someone else's father who was butchered. It was mine."
His eyes glowed now—not with divinity, but grief.
"They died because of someone else's belief. A man who said God whispered to him… that impurity must be cleansed."
Amon turned to face the shadows behind him—perhaps speaking to Sunny, or maybe to the ghosts of his past.
"That day, I stopped believing in forgiveness. I stopped believing in second chances."
He clenched his fist.
"That's when your father—brilliant and foolish—came to me. He created something extraordinary: a way to alter reality, a way to shape minds for good. But he… he was weak. He thought we could persuade people."
Amon laughed bitterly.
"I showed it to the world instead. I didn't ask them to be better. I made them believe they already were. And when they worshipped me… they stopped questioning."
A pause.
"I didn't want power, Sunny. I wanted order. A world where no sister would suffer. A world where belief couldn't be weaponized. Where every heart beat under the same rule."
He stepped forward.
"Do you know why I built the prison?"
The lights flickered. Behind him, an image of endless cages appeared—minds shackled not by chains, but by ideas.
"Because humans don't fear punishment. They fear truth. So I built a system where truth is filtered—through me."
He looked up. His voice now calm, resolute, and terrifying.
"Religion isn't the enemy. Difference is. As long as you believe in something I don't… war will always return. That's why all beliefs must die."
He whispered, almost tenderly:
> "In a world full of gods… peace is the greatest heresy."
The vision ended.
Silence returned.
But Sunny, standing in the wake of those words, felt a chill deeper than death. Amon wasn't a tyrant.
He was what remained… after all hope had been burned.