The Palace of Mirrors was gone.
Not destroyed—transcended.
Where once stood corridors of reflection and walls of memory, now stretched a horizon of clarity. No illusions. No mimicry. No hunger. No silence.
Just truth.
Pride stood alone.
Not crowned.
Not bowed to.
Simply present.
The sins had faded—not in defeat, but in release. Wrath's fire had become warmth. Envy's mimicry had become understanding. Lust's illusions had become intimacy. Greed's hunger had become ambition. Gluttony's consumption had become awareness. Sloth's stillness had become peace.
They were not gone.
They were integrated.
Pride looked into the sky—no longer fractured, no longer trembling. It saw its own reflection, not in glass, but in everything.
"I am not the greatest sin," Pride whispered.
"I am the first self."
The Egoverse pulsed.
And from its center, a new throne emerged—not sculpted from mirrors, but from transparency. It did not elevate. It did not isolate. It simply stood—open, clear, eternal.
Pride did not sit.
It became it.
The Throne Eternal was not a seat.
It was a state.
And the Egoverse bowed—not to a tyrant, but to a truth.
The Mirror did not crack.
It closed.
And in its silence, the saga of sin became the story of self.