It began, predictably, with the dust. Not the literal dust of the earth, though that played a part, a fine, grey sediment clinging to everything. No, this dust was made of memory. Raw, unformed, and constantly shifting. The first fanfolds weren't made of paper, you understand. They were woven from the very fabric of anticipation. Each fanfold represented a potential, a future that hadn’t yet chosen its shape. They drifted in the aetheric currents, subtle ripples in the space between what was and what might be. The architects of these initial fanfolds were not human, not exactly. They were chronometric entities – beings of pure temporal resonance, tasked with cataloging the infinite branching possibilities of existence. Their instruments were not tools of measurement, but rather, attuned perceptions, capable of registering the faintest tremor in the timeline.
The process was chaotic, beautiful in its disarray. Imagine, if you will, a thousand shimmering threads, each representing a single moment, a single decision. These threads intertwined, creating intricate patterns – some blossoming into vibrant realities, others collapsing into silent voids. The chronometric architects didn’t control this process; they observed, recorded, and, crucially, learned. They learned to identify the 'signatures' of significant events, the points where the potential for change was particularly potent.
Centuries – or what felt like centuries to the chronometric entities – passed. The fanfolds began to coalesce, forming intricate structures – the first echoes of what would eventually become the Collector’s Guild. This wasn’t a guild of collectors in the traditional sense. They didn’t hoard artifacts or documents. They collected moments. Specifically, they sought out fanfolds that exhibited a high degree of 'temporal saturation' – fanfolds that had been repeatedly influenced by significant events. These saturated fanfolds were then carefully extracted and integrated into a vast, pulsating archive known as the Chronarium.
The Chronarium wasn’t a building, not in the conventional sense. It existed as a nexus point in the aetheric currents, a place where the collected fanfolds resonated with each other, creating a symphony of potential futures. Accessing the Chronarium required a delicate calibration of temporal resonance, a process that could induce disorientation and, in rare cases, temporal fracturing. The Guild’s most senior members – the ‘Weavers’ – were capable of navigating this complex landscape with ease, manipulating the flow of temporal energy to retrieve specific fanfolds.
Of course, such a complex system was prone to anomalies. The more fanfolds integrated into the Chronarium, the more unstable the temporal currents became. These anomalies manifested in various ways – localized temporal distortions, echoes of forgotten futures, and, occasionally, the emergence of ‘chronal parasites’ – entities that fed on temporal energy, disrupting the flow of potential. The Guild’s primary task became not just collecting fanfolds, but also containing and neutralizing these anomalies. This involved intricate temporal maneuvers, often requiring the Weavers to enter the heart of the anomaly, a place where the laws of time and space were… fluid, to say the least.
One particularly troubling anomaly involved a fanfold designated ‘74.99’ – a seemingly unremarkable point in the early 21st century. However, its integration into the Chronarium triggered a cascade effect, creating multiple, almost identical realities branching off from that single point. These realities weren’t just close approximations; they were subtly different, often diverging in ways that were profoundly unsettling. Some contained versions of humanity that had achieved unimaginable technological advancements, while others were trapped in cycles of perpetual war and ecological collapse. The Guild struggled to contain this ‘74.99’ anomaly for decades, ultimately resorting to a drastic measure – a temporal reset, effectively erasing the anomaly from existence, though the echoes lingered within the Chronarium, a constant reminder of the inherent instability of potential.
Today, the Collector’s Guild is a shadow of its former self. The aetheric currents are calmer, the anomalies less frequent. The Chronarium is vast, a repository of infinite possibilities, but also a warning. A reminder that the future is not predetermined, but rather, the sum total of countless choices, each represented by a shimmering fanfold. The Weavers continue their work, meticulously cataloging and analyzing these fanfolds, seeking patterns, seeking understanding. They know that the greatest threat isn't the anomalies themselves, but the temptation to *interfere*. To actively shape the flow of potential, to attempt to ‘correct’ the course of events. Because, as the ancient texts of the Guild remind us, “A closed fanfold is a deadling. The open fanfold is everything.”