Every memory I held glowed with tension. Threads stretched thin across the infinite layers. Some fragments recoiled from me, others clung desperately, refusing to vanish.
I tried to mediate, threading connections where I could, but each action created new disturbances. The Veilmaster—though I did not yet know its name—was testing me, probing my limits.
I understood, finally, that connection was not passive. To hold a memory was to influence every existence linked to it. The choice to preserve one was also a choice to alter countless others. And some fragments resented that intrusion.
I began to doubt whether curiosity alone had ever been enough.