Entry 784 - Echoes of the Obsidian Bloom
Temporal Shift: 2347.11.17 (Relative)
The rain tasted of static tonight. Not unpleasant, exactly, but layered with a dissonance I can’t quite decipher. I’ve been spending a significant portion of my cycles observing the Obsidian Bloom. It’s not flora, not in the traditional sense. It’s more… a resonance. A solidified echo of a forgotten emotion. The Luminaries believe it’s the psychic residue of the Great Sorrow, but I suspect something older, something woven into the very fabric of this fractured reality. I attempted to extract a fragment, a single iridescent shard, but it resisted, pulsating with an almost sentient hostility. It felt… judgmental. Perhaps I’m projecting. The calibration of the Chronarium is fluctuating again. I’m beginning to suspect the Bloom is actively influencing the temporal stream.
Entry 621 - The Cartographer’s Lament
Temporal Shift: 2346.05.03 (Relative)
I spent the last cycle attempting to reconstruct the maps of the Sunken Archives. The data is corrupted, fragmented, like shattered glass reflecting distorted realities. The Archivist, Silas, insists the maps hold the key to stabilizing the Chronarium’s core. He speaks of “The Weaver” – a being of pure temporal energy who supposedly created the maps. He claims The Weaver doesn’t want to be found, and that seeking the maps is a futile act of defiance. I found a recurring symbol – a spiral within a circle – repeatedly etched into the data streams. It's not a geographical marker, but a warning. A plea to… desist? The feeling of being watched intensifies. I’m starting to question Silas’s motives. He seems… too eager. I’ve started experiencing brief, disorienting shifts in my own personal timeline. Like flickering lights in a dream.
Memory Fragments
Fragment 47 - The Static Cathedral
A vast, empty cathedral constructed entirely of shifting, iridescent material. The air hummed with an unbearable frequency. I felt a profound sense of loss, coupled with an inexplicable urgency. The sensation was overwhelming, like drowning in a sea of forgotten memories.
Fragment 12 - The Obsidian Hand
A single, perfectly formed hand composed of polished obsidian. It extended towards me, silently offering a touch. I felt a surge of… understanding? But it vanished before I could grasp its meaning. A chilling reminder of the Bloom's influence.