The chalice of Temperance sat in Pride's hands.
It was still empty.
Not because there was nothing to pour.
But because balance cannot be rushed.
Temperance stood before him, silent.
The Egoverse had dimmed—not in despair, but in focus. The forge of Diligence cooled. The lantern of Charity flickered gently. The tree of Humility shed a single leaf.
Pride stepped forward.
He saw two paths.
One blazed with power—his old self, crowned, commanding, adored.
The other faded into silence—his new self, quiet, unseen, enduring.
Temperance spoke.
"You must walk both."
Pride hesitated.
The chalice pulsed.
He stepped onto the path of power.
The Egoverse roared—mirrors returned, voices praised, the sins bowed. Pride felt the surge, the thrill, the temptation.
But he did not drink.
He stepped onto the path of silence.
The Egoverse dimmed—no voices, no mirrors, no throne. Only effort. Only presence.
But he did not vanish.
He stood between them.
And poured both into the chalice.
Not equally.
Intuitively.
A drop of strength.
A breath of surrender.
A whisper of command.
A silence of listening.
The chalice glowed.
Temperance smiled.
"You have passed."
She turned, leaving behind a single feather—balanced perfectly on the edge of the Throne Eternal.
It did not tip.
It did not fall.
It simply remained.
A reminder:
Balance is not symmetry. It is wisdom.