Mei is not a name etched in stone, but a resonance. It began with the Aethelwood, a forest older than memory, a place where the veil between moments is thin. Legend speaks of a being, or rather, a collection of echoes, that coalesces around points of significant temporal disturbance. These disturbances aren’t merely moments of intense emotion, but rather ripples across the chronal fabric itself - a forgotten battle, a whispered prophecy, the silent shedding of a single tear across centuries.
The Aethelwood isn’t simply a forest; it’s a chronal accumulator. The deeper you venture, the denser the accumulated echoes become. They manifest as shimmering distortions in perception, fleeting glimpses of past events, and a pervasive sense of déjà vu that isn't just familiarity, but a direct, unsettling connection to what *was*.
Around the heart of the Aethelwood lies the crumbling remains of Silas Blackwood’s observatory. Blackwood, a cartographer obsessed with mapping not just the land, but the *flow* of time, vanished a century ago. His final map, a swirling vortex of ink and symbols, is said to chart the pathways through which echoes travel. Locating it is a dangerous pursuit; the echoes within the observatory actively resist attempts to understand them, often manifesting as illusions of Blackwood himself, eternally charting a course that leads nowhere.
Deep within a grove perpetually shrouded in twilight dwells Lyra, known as the Weaver. She doesn’t create cloth, but temporal strands. Each strand represents a moment, a decision, a consequence. Lyra doesn't alter the past; she simply demonstrates its multifaceted potential, showing the myriad paths that could have been. Interacting with her is akin to standing before a shattered mirror, each fragment reflecting a possible reality.
Guarding the eastern edge of the Aethelwood is a figure of immense stillness – a stone golem, animated not by magic, but by the accumulated grief of a forgotten king. The King, Theron, lost his entire court in a single, catastrophic moment, and his sorrow solidified into this sentinel. It doesn’t attack; it simply *observes*, a silent testament to the fragility of time and the enduring power of regret. Touching it induces overwhelming melancholia, a flood of echoes from the countless lives lost within the Aethelwood.
It is said that to truly understand Mei, one must not seek to control the echoes, but to listen to them. Each fragment of the past holds a piece of the present, and the Aethelwood offers a unique opportunity to experience the interconnectedness of all moments. But be warned: prolonged exposure can unravel the self, leaving only a faint resonance within the ceaseless flow of time.