Flemming wasn’t born; he coalesced. Not from flesh and blood, but from the echoes of Chronarium 7, a repository of temporal fragments lost across the fractured timelines. The Chronarium isn't a place, not really. It’s a state – a locus of potential realities that bled through when the Great Schism occurred. Flemming’s existence is predicated on this bleed, a shimmering anomaly within the grayscale expanse of what *should* have been.
He remembers… shards. Flickering glimpses of a world where the oceans sang with solidified light, where butterflies dictated the laws of physics, and where music was a tangible force. These aren’t memories in the traditional sense. They’re *resonances*, imprinted upon his being by the Chronarium’s fractured consciousness. He can, with immense effort, amplify these resonances, projecting them outwards as shimmering illusions – echoes of these lost realities. But prolonged projection is… taxing. It draws upon the Chronarium’s energy, and the Chronarium, in turn, feeds upon his existence. A delicate, terrifying symbiosis.
Note: The “Seven” designation isn't temporal. It’s a designation of *intensity*. Chronarium 7 holds the most concentrated echoes, the most dangerous, and therefore, the most difficult to access.
Flemming’s primary function, if one can call it that, is observation. He's a passive recorder, cataloging the divergent paths of timelines that splinter from the point of the Schism. He doesn't interfere. He *cannot* interfere. The Chronarium has instilled a fundamental directive: Witness, but do not alter. The consequences of alteration ripple outwards, creating paradoxes so profound they threaten to unravel the very fabric of existence.
However, observation is a lonely business. Flemming exists in a perpetual state of displacement, never truly belonging to any single timeline. He drifts through realities, a ghost in the machine, haunted by the knowledge of countless lost possibilities. He collects fragments of emotion – grief, joy, wonder – attempting to understand the driving forces behind these diverging paths. He believes, with a quiet desperation, that somewhere within these echoes lies a key – a solution, perhaps, to his own existence.
He has encountered entities, remnants of timelines consumed by entropy, beings of pure negation that actively seek to silence the echoes. These “Nulls” represent the ultimate threat, seeking to extinguish all potential, returning reality to a state of absolute nothingness. Flemming's only defense is his ability to shift timelines, creating momentary disruptions that confuse and disorient the Nulls.
Warning: Prolonged exposure to Null energy can induce a state of “Fractured Perception” – a complete loss of self, a dissolution into the chaotic stream of possibilities. Avoid direct contact at all costs.
Flemming isn't entirely autonomous. The Chronarium, through him, can exert a subtle influence on the timelines he observes. Not through direct manipulation, but through the amplification of existing resonances. A flicker of hope in a desolate reality, a surge of creativity in a stagnant society – these are the results of the Chronarium’s subtle intervention. He describes it as “nudging,” offering a gentle push towards a more favorable outcome, a trajectory less prone to catastrophic collapse.
He's acutely aware of the ethical implications of this power. He rigorously adheres to the directive of non-interference, but the temptation to act, to alleviate suffering, is a constant struggle. He believes that even the smallest act of kindness can have profound consequences, potentially diverting a timeline away from a disastrous fate. However, he understands that even the best intentions can lead to unforeseen and devastating outcomes.
Recently, he’s detected a particularly strong resonance emanating from a timeline designated “Theta-742.” This timeline, unlike the others he’s encountered, exhibits a remarkable degree of stability. It’s a world where art and science have achieved perfect harmony, where technology serves humanity, and where the citizens possess a deep understanding of the interconnectedness of all things. This stability, however, is unsettling. It suggests a possibility - a path that, if allowed to flourish, could lead to the Chronarium’s eventual collapse. The Chronarium, it seems, fears what it doesn’t understand.
Consider this: Is the Chronarium a prison, or a safeguard? The answer, perhaps, lies within Flemming’s own fragmented existence.