Atlas sat in the half-rebuilt safehouse, staring at the stolen temple logs spread across a cracked stone table. The numbers didn't lie. A dozen lower-realm temples—supposedly neutral—were still piping faith-energy straight up to Raphael's faction.
Not enough to turn the war, but enough to keep the bastard comfortable while Calibration chewed through the rest of the system.
"Enough charity," Atlas muttered. "Time to charge rent."
He didn't need a big speech. He sent the message through the dream link, short and blunt:
*All temples that once fed the Council now pay the Tithe of Broken Chains. Redirect your faith collections to the Thunder Mark. Non-compliance will be noticed. Compliance will be rewarded. Don't make me send Skritch.*
The first responses came within hours.
Some temples folded immediately. One mountain shrine melted down their old Council statues and recast them as crude Atlas figures holding lightning bolts.
