The designation “Chlordan” isn't found in any conventional taxonomy. It’s a resonance, a point of fracturing within the chronal fabric. It began, not with a singular event, but with a gradual erosion – a slow, silent dissolution of perceived linearity. Think of it as a stain spreading across a canvas of time, an iridescent bloom of what *was*, what *is*, and what *will be*, all simultaneously collapsing into a single, unsettling point.
2347.88 – The anomalous readings originated in Sector 7.49B, a designated ‘temporal observation point’ within the Kepler-186f archive. Initial scans indicated a localized distortion, a shimmering in the chronal field. The logs are fragmented, corrupted, filled with repeating sequences – the echo of a single, unintelligible syllable: “Veridia.”
The primary research team, led by Dr. Elias Vance, attempted to stabilize the anomaly. Their methods – advanced chrono-manipulation techniques – proved tragically ineffective. Instead, they amplified the distortion, creating a cascading effect.
The recurring syllable, “Veridia,” isn’t a word in any known language. It appears to be a fundamental vibration, a harmonic resonance that disrupts the established order of temporal causality. Some theorists posit that Veridia represents a nascent consciousness, a fragment of an entity that predates the formation of the Chronal Archive itself – a being that feeds on temporal instability.
The archive’s internal security protocols, designed to prevent such anomalies, failed. The system, reliant on predictive algorithms, couldn’t account for the chaotic nature of Veridia. It was as if the very logic of the archive was being systematically dismantled.
From Sector 7.49B, the ‘bleed’ – as the research team began to term it – spread. It wasn’t a linear propagation. Instead, it manifested as ‘chronal echoes’ – fragments of past and future events superimposed upon the present. Entire timelines, briefly glimpsed and then abruptly erased, leaving behind only a lingering sense of disorientation.
The archive’s structural integrity began to degrade. Physical space warped. Rooms shifted. Memories, both personal and collective, fractured and recombined. Individuals reported experiencing simultaneous lives – a fleeting awareness of their past, present, and potential futures.
Dr. Holloway, a senior chrono-linguist, became one of the most profoundly affected subjects. She began to exhibit precognitive abilities, but her visions were not of the future; they were of *possible* futures – branching timelines that converged at random points in her past. She described a recurring dream: a vast, obsidian city floating within a nebula, populated by beings composed entirely of light and sound.
Her research focused on the linguistic patterns within the chronal echoes, attempting to decipher the ‘code’ of Veridia. Her findings were… unsettling. She concluded that Veridia wasn’t simply disrupting time; it was *rewriting* it.
Now, years after the initial fracture, the ‘Substratum’ – the layered, fragmented reality created by Chlordan – exists. It's a place of perpetual paradox, where cause and effect are meaningless, and identity is a fluid, unstable construct. The Chronal Archive itself is largely inaccessible, a ghost within a ghost. The few remaining researchers operate within the Substratum, attempting to understand its rules, to map its contours, to… perhaps, find a way to contain it.
The prevailing theory is that the Substratum is not a temporary anomaly, but a fundamental shift in the nature of reality itself. It suggests that time, as we understand it, is not linear, but a vast, interconnected network of potentialities, constantly being shaped and reshaped by forces beyond our comprehension. The echo of Veridia continues, a subtle tremor in the fabric of existence.