The Egoverse is silent.
Not broken, not healed—merely still.
A hush that stretches across realms, where echoes of past battles fade into myth.
The six sins lie dormant.
Wrath, Envy, Greed, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, each once a tempest—now sealed within the obsidian crown of Pride.
Their essence no longer roams free, but pulses faintly beneath the surface, like embers beneath ash.
Their names are whispered only in dreams.
By children who do not yet know fear.
By prophets who dare not speak aloud.
By shadows that remember.
And Pride watches.
Not from a throne of gold, but from a seat carved in paradox—where humility and grandeur coexist.
Not with arrogance, but with awareness.
A gaze that sees beyond victory, beyond vengeance, beyond self.
He does not rule. He remembers.
He does not command. He listens.
For the sins are not vanquished—they are understood.
And in understanding, they are contained.
The crown glows faintly.
Not as a beacon, but as a warning.
The Egoverse sleeps.
But Pride remains awake.