Ripples erupted without warning. Fragments collided and twisted into strange geometries, shapes that made no sense yet seemed deliberate, purposeful. One memory—a city long forgotten, shimmering with echoes of its past—shattered under an invisible force, scattering into threads of light and shadow.
I realized then that the presence was no longer passive. It interfered, manipulating fragments, testing my ability to preserve them. My pulse synchronized with the memory I carried, and I extended myself into the turbulence, threading connections where I could, stabilizing what resisted.
But the fragments were not obedient. Some bucked against me, twisting, merging, fracturing. The very air of thought vibrated with tension, and somewhere deep within the folds of existence, the presence lingered, patient and unyielding.
"You do not yet understand," it pressed into my mind—not with words, but as a weight, shaping the currents of my awareness. And I knew: the first challenge had begun, and there would be no turning back.