The flower of memory bloomed quietly.
Its petals shimmered with moments Pride had long buried—words spoken too sharply, glances that dismissed, silences that wounded. Each petal held a name. Each name held a wound.
Kindness stood beside it, her gaze gentle but unwavering.
"You do not heal by forgetting," she said. "You heal by returning."
The Egoverse shifted.
Pride found itself in a corridor of echoes—each wall lined with reflections of those it had once ruled. Not enemies. Not allies. Just souls.
One stepped forward.
A soldier, bowed by duty, eyes hollow from years of unacknowledged service.
"You never saw me," he said.
Pride stepped closer.
"I see you now."
The soldier dissolved—not in pain, but in peace.
Another appeared.
A lover, veiled in illusions, her voice trembling.
"You loved your reflection more than me."
Pride bowed.
"I loved wrongly. But I remember you truly."
She wept.
And vanished.
One by one, they came.
A child silenced by command.
A friend forgotten in ambition.
A rival crushed by arrogance.
Pride did not defend.
It listened.
It did not justify.
It acknowledged.
And with each act of recognition, the corridor brightened. The echoes faded—not erased, but healed.
Kindness placed her hand upon Pride's heart.
"You have passed."
She turned, leaving behind a stream of light that flowed into the Throne Eternal.
It did not crown.
It embraced.