The genesis of heliotyping, as it began to coalesce within the mind of Professor Silas Blackwood in the autumn of 1888, wasn't a sudden epiphany, but rather a slow, deliberate accretion – a geological layering of observation and mathematical obsession. Blackwood, a man perpetually adrift on the currents of time, was a cartographer by trade, yet fundamentally unafraid of the chaotic, unpredictable nature of the celestial clockwork. He'd spent years charting the migratory patterns of the Arctic terns, meticulously documenting their relentless journeys, their absolute dedication to their annual cycles. It was this dedication, this unwavering adherence to a pre-ordained path, that sparked the initial unsettling notion: could the movement of objects be translated, not into maps of geography, but into maps of time itself?
1888 – The Year of the Perpetual Dawn
Blackwood’s methodology was, to put it mildly, unorthodox. He rejected the conventional methods of chronometry – the pendulums, the escapements, the meticulously calibrated gears. He believed that the universe wasn't governed by discrete, measurable units of time, but by a continuous, flowing stream, a 'chronometric current' as he termed it. His instruments weren't clocks, but elaborate, hand-crafted devices constructed from polished obsidian, intricately carved bone, and meticulously tuned brass. These devices, dubbed ‘Chronometers of Resonance,’ were designed to detect and amplify the subtle fluctuations in this current – fluctuations he theorized were directly linked to the movement of celestial bodies, the flow of rivers, and even the growth cycles of plants.
1892 – The Obsidian Resonance
His initial experiments focused on the movement of the sun. He noticed, for instance, that the angle of sunlight through a narrow slit in his observatory shifted not just with the hour, but with a subtle, almost imperceptible rhythm, a rhythm he correlated with the position of Jupiter. He developed a system of ‘temporal glyphs,’ abstract symbols derived from the patterns of sunlight, which he painstakingly recorded on sheets of treated vellum. These glyphs, when arranged in specific sequences, he believed, could unlock predictive models of temporal events – not in terms of dates, but in terms of 'chronometric intensities.' A high intensity might indicate a period of heightened temporal flux, a time of increased probability for significant events. He documented a particularly striking instance in 1895, when the glyphs indicated a ‘high flux’ coinciding with the eruption of Krakatoa – an event he claimed was not merely an eruption, but a 'temporal rupture.'
1903 – The Krakatoa Anomaly
The academic community, predictably, dismissed Blackwood's work as the ravings of a brilliant but eccentric mind. However, Blackwood persevered, driven by an increasingly fervent conviction. He attracted a small, devoted following – a retired clockmaker named Elias Thorne, a botanist obsessed with the temporal rhythms of flowering plants, and a young, mathematically gifted student named Seraphina Bellweather. Together, they delved deeper into the Chronometers of Resonance, attempting to decipher the complex ‘temporal harmonies’ they detected. Seraphina, in particular, developed a complex mathematical framework, a 'Chronometric Algebra,' designed to quantify the fluctuations in the temporal current. Her work, though largely unpublished during Blackwood’s lifetime, hinted at the possibility of manipulating the temporal current – a prospect that, frankly, terrified him. He always insisted the current should only be observed, never controlled.
1914 – The Bellweather Equation