The space before me rippled, and a form emerged. Not fully visible, not fully comprehensible, but unmistakably there. Every fragment stiffened as though recognizing authority it could not name.
"Why do you carry what is not yours?" The voice vibrated through the layers, felt rather than heard. The fragments shivered, some recoiling, some leaning toward the question.
I searched for an answer, but none existed that could satisfy the weight of infinite expectation. The Veilmaster did not demand a response—it demanded acknowledgment, a recognition of the responsibility I had taken upon myself.
Every thread I touched quivered under its gaze. The game had begun in earnest.