When people acted, they felt it more directly. Even routine tasks carried a faint sense of responsibility. Following instructions, executing plans, or making choices all reminded them, however subtly, that they were part of what happened.
This did not stop mistakes. It did not prevent harm. It did not guarantee understanding. People still acted out of habit, impulse, fear, or desire. Nothing about the world's pressures lessened.
But it changed something small and persistent: the sense that actions were separate from oneself. They were not. Every step, every word, every decision, even the ones taken without thought, now carried a trace of their presence.
People continued to tell stories about what happened, but the stories felt slightly less like fiction. There were gaps that could not be neatly filled. Moments where they knew they had been there, even if they hadn't wanted to be. Moments where they had chosen, even if it was only to follow someone else's path.
