No hymns.
No candles.
Only cold stone and thick dust.

The greatest temple of Pride had gone silent.

Myraleth was once the center of the gaze.
Thousands came each day, standing beneath the mirrored dome,
hoping to catch a sliver of His radiance.

But now...
The mirrors were dusty.
The altars were bare.
Light still poured in-
but there was no one left to reflect it.

Pride entered. Alone.

No horns.
No chants.
Only the sound of his own footsteps echoing back-
as if even his shadow wanted to stay behind.

He walked the grand hall where Reflected once bowed in unison.
Now... not one soul.

Only his own figure stretching across the stone floor,
long and warped, like a memory refusing to fade.

On the western wall, where once it was carved:

"The Mirror Reflects the Divine."

...a crude line had been scratched over it:

"Every mirror cracks eventually."

Pride stood before the central altar-the very heart of the Mirror Faith.

He looked up at the greatest relic: The Mirror of Origin.

It once revealed his truest form, so brilliant it was said no one could stare into it for more than a moment.
Now, it was blank.

Not broken.
Not clouded.
Just... refusing to reflect anything.

"Who has extinguished my gaze?" Pride asked-not in anger,
but like a breath escaping a tired soul.

No voice answered.

Only the wind whispering through the dome.
And from the wind came something almost like a voice:

"You did, long ago."

Outside the temple, Ashen sat on an old stone step.
He did not enter.

Not out of fear.
But because he already knew:

There was nothing left inside worth beholding.

Only a god unraveling from within, still unwilling to let go.