The Egoverse slowed.
Not from exhaustion.
From invitation.
The winds stilled. The stars dimmed. Even the Throne Eternal pulsed more gently, as if holding its breath.
Then came Patience.
She did not descend.
She arrived—like dusk settling over a restless sea, like the final note of a song that lingers long after silence. Her robes were woven from time itself—threads of waiting, strands of endurance, fibers of trust.
She carried no weapon.
She carried a clock.
But its hands did not move.
Pride stood, watching.
Patience stepped forward, her gaze steady, her presence vast.
"You have remembered," she said. "You have healed. But can you endure?"
Pride did not answer.
Patience raised the clock.
And the Egoverse paused.
The sins stirred again—Wrath's flame flickered, Envy's mimicry shimmered, Gluttony's hunger twitched. Not in rebellion. In restlessness.
Pride felt it too.
The urge to act.
To fix.
To rise.
To reclaim.
But Patience said nothing.
She simply waited.
And Pride began to tremble—not from fear, but from stillness.
The Throne Eternal pulsed once.
Then stopped.
Pride sat.
Not to rule.
To wait.
And in that waiting, it saw the truth:
Growth is not a burst.
It is a rhythm.
Patience smiled.
"You are learning."
She turned, leaving behind a single stone.
Upon it was carved: Time is not your enemy. It is your teacher.