The ribbon of generosity shimmered around the Throne Eternal.
It did not bind.
It reminded.
Pride stood beneath it, holding the ember Charity had placed in his hand. It pulsed with warmth—not of power, but of potential. A gift waiting to be given.
Charity watched silently.
"This gift must be offered," she said. "To one who will never know your name. Who may never thank you. Who may never even realize you gave."
Pride nodded.
The Egoverse shifted.
He found himself in a village of shadows—souls wandering, burdened by silence, unaware of the light that hovered just beyond their reach. Pride walked among them, unseen.
He saw a child, eyes dim, clutching a broken mirror.
He saw an elder, hands trembling, whispering apologies to the wind.
He saw a wanderer, lost in memory, searching for a home that no longer existed.
Pride approached the child.
He knelt.
And placed the ember in her hands.
She did not look up.
She did not speak.
But the mirror in her grasp began to glow.
She smiled—softly, quietly, to herself.
Pride stepped back.
The elder's hands steadied.
The wanderer paused, turned, and walked toward the light.
None of them saw Pride.
None of them knew.
But the Egoverse pulsed.
And Charity smiled.
"You have passed."
She turned, leaving behind a single lantern—lit not by fire, but by offering.
It hung above the Throne Eternal, casting no shadow.
Only warmth.