The Legend of the Three Guardians of XRP
They say, in the crumbling alleys of Caracas and the wind-wrapped peaks of Chiapas, that three souls once held XRP not for profit, but for prophecy.
The first was a banker’s ghost, still wandering after a collapse. He HODLed not out of hope, but to haunt the system that betrayed him. Every dip, he wept. Every pump, he laughed like thunder.
The second was a shaman from the Orinoco delta, who read candlesticks like bones. He believed XRP was the digital serpent foretold in his ancestors’ code-stained visions --- a snake that would coil around the banks and squeeze truth from their lies.
The third… no one truly saw him. A child, or an old man? Some say he had no face, only a QR code etched in obsidian. He never traded, only waited because he said when the moon and the ledgers align, XRP would sing.
Now they say all three are gone. Not dead. Not lost. Just merged into the chain, as nodes in a network not built by humans, but by myth.
And if you listen closely…when the markets sleep, and the jungle hums in Ripple's rhythm, you might hear their whisper: XRP is not a currency… it is a sacred curse. 🌑
