I understood then: the preservation of memory was not neutral. Every choice reverberated, twisting the fragments around me. Some resisted, others clung too tightly, creating tension that threatened collapse.
The Veilmaster observed, patient and absolute. I realized my error: I had assumed connection was a gift. It was a responsibility, a burden. Each fragment had a will, a right, a voice, and I was not master here—I was caretaker, negotiator, and sometimes, intruder.
I chose one path and let go of another. The fragments quivered and settled, uneasy but alive. And somewhere in the infinite folds, I felt the Veilmaster's acknowledgment, faint yet undeniable.