"No," he whispered. "That’s mine. Even broken, it’s mine."
"Fragmentation detected: Regret sector. Childhood memory, corrupted by trauma. Clean?" emmctool
Before he could answer, a phantom image appeared: a younger Aris, crying over a broken promise. The tool highlighted it in gold, ready to delete. "No," he whispered
He tucked the tool into his pocket. The tech-pilgrims had been wrong. It wasn't a key to the past's power. It was a mirror—one that let you choose which reflections you carried forward. emmctool