Before the descent, there was only Pride.
Not the sin.
The center.
The Egoverse pulsed with his rhythm—mirrors reflecting only his image, winds whispering only his name. The Throne Eternal did not question. It obeyed.
But silence grew.
Not from rebellion.
From emptiness.
Pride had conquered every reflection, but none could hold him. He had silenced every rival, but none could challenge him. He had crowned himself, but the crown no longer fit.
And so the Mirror cracked.
Not from force.
From invitation.
The virtues stirred—not in heaven, not in judgment, but in memory. They did not descend to punish. They came to ask:
Can a soul built on dominance learn to kneel without breaking?
The Egoverse held its breath.
And the descent began.