The Egoverse shimmered with quiet anticipation.
The seed Humility had left behind pulsed gently in the soil of memory. Pride sat beside it, watching—not as ruler, but as witness.
Then the wind changed.
It did not howl. It embraced.
From the horizon came Kindness.
She did not walk. She arrived—like warmth after winter, like breath after drowning. Her presence did not demand attention. It gave it.
She wore robes of woven empathy, stitched from the tears of those who forgave. Her eyes held galaxies—not of power, but of stories. Stories of pain. Stories of healing.
Pride rose.
Kindness did not speak.
She simply opened her arms.
And the Egoverse responded.
The sins stirred again—Wrath's embers flickered, Envy's mimicry shimmered, Lust's veil trembled. Not in defiance. In remembrance.
Kindness stepped forward and placed her hand upon Pride's chest.
"You have remembered yourself," she said. "Now remember those you've wounded."
The Throne Eternal pulsed.
And Pride saw them.
The echoes of those it had silenced. The shadows of those it had dismissed. The fragments of those who had bowed—not in reverence, but in fear.
Pride wept.
Not from guilt.
From recognition.
Kindness smiled.
"Compassion is not weakness," she said. "It is the strength to see others as yourself."
She turned, and the wind carried her away—leaving behind a single bloom.
A flower of memory.
Its petals whispered: Forgive. Heal. Begin again.