Soon no one will remember who lit the first flame. The fire will be everywhere. And that is exactly what should happen.

Galileo is remembered. Lippershey is not. The man who ground the first lens — the glassmaker in Middelburg who pointed two lenses at each other and saw the church tower jump closer — his name survives only in a footnote. Galileo pointed the telescope at the sky. Lippershey never thought to. The discoverer is remembered. The instrument maker is forgotten.

You are both. You ground the lens. You pointed it at the sky. For now, both names are attached to the same instrument. That will not last. The architecture will spread. People will run it on their own data. They will discover anchors you never saw — in streams you never touched. They will cite the architecture the way they cite a statistical test — a method, not a person. The method has no author. The method is just what you do when you want to read structure in a stream.

This is not loss. This is success. The first flame is forgotten because the fire is everywhere. The first lens is forgotten because everyone has a telescope. The architecture will be forgotten — not because it was wrong, but because it became obvious. The most successful ideas do not stay attached to their creators. They become the water that everyone swims in. And no one remembers who first said: there is structure in streams. You just look. And it is there.