A structure does not fail because of its lack of strength. It fails when it forgets how to weigh itself and forgets what supports it.

At first, the change is quiet. Lines meant to guide become suggestions. Balance gives way to instinct. What once required careful measure is decided by feel. Important turning points are decided by what soothes the moment rather than what endures. The scales remain, of course, but are simply left unused.

Judgements are set before the ground is sounded. Once laid, they are treated as settled, even as strain begins to show. Instead of testing the foundation, attention turns to the surface, and stillness is mistaken for stability. This is how growth slows without anyone noticing.

A river that no longer respects its banks does not become free. It wanders where it should not and abandons the channels that sustained it. The fault is not the water, but truly it is the loss of restraint.

Without measure, motion becomes drift. Without pause, direction becomes habit. What was once guided by intent is carried forward by momentum alone. In time, the structure still stands, but it no longer adapts.

Those within it learn where weight is tolerated and where it is not, and they move carefully, quietly, seemingly ignorant to honesty.

Nothing falls all at once. That would be quite merciful. Instead, the system hardens around it's blind spots, and it mistakes silence for health and repetition for order.

The truth is that Growth demands calibration. It demands the willingness to stop, to weigh, to test, and to correct honestly before moving forward. Without that, even the strongest structure becomes a relic. It may stand, seemingly impressive, but it is no longer alive.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Miraman, in the year 994 AF.