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Who are the Sons of Prometheus?

Not a party, not a sect, not an army. Something far older — and far more stubborn.

Roots

Those who refuse to disappear

The Sons of Prometheus are all the peoples of Europe who have stayed rooted. Those who love their family and their country. Its history — its glories and its wounds alike. Its traditions, its landscapes, its languages, its feast tables.

Those who know where they come from, and want their children to know it too. Those for whom passing it on is not a dirty word, but the only serious definition of love.

We hate no one. We have a memory, a land, and our dead watching over us. And we refuse to disappear.

You no longer see us. Yet without us, nothing stands.

  • We grow the food you eat.
  • We built your cathedrals.
  • We put out your fires.
  • We drive your ambulances.
  • We guard you while you sleep.

We are the invisible ones holding your world together.

So do not fuck with us.

The code

The Code of Honour of the Sons of Prometheus

Seven articles. Not one more. Learned by heart and passed from watchman to watchman — the very code the Sentinels will one day recite, word for word.

Remember.

You are the heir of a hundred generations who held the line before you. What was handed down to you is not yours: you are its keeper, and you owe it to your children.

Protect your own.

Your family first. Your neighbour next. Your people always. Whoever fails to protect his own has no lessons to give the world.

Keep the flame, not the ashes.

Tradition is not a museum. Keep alive what you were given: a language, a craft, a piece of land, a recipe, a song. What is not passed on dies.

Tell the truth.

Even in a whisper. Even alone against the crowd. A people that grows used to lying has already accepted its own disappearance.

Stand tall.

No hatred, no kneeling. Despise no one — but never apologise for existing.

Build.

Work. Repair. Plant trees whose shade you will never sit in. You only truly defend what you have built.

Keep watch.

While the world sleeps, someone must guard the fire. Tonight, it is your turn.

Taken up in the oath of the Sentinels

The fire has not gone out.

Follow the chronicle of the fall — and of what refuses to fall.

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The flame holds · Pass it on