Polygalin. The word itself feels like a held breath, a vibration just beyond the grasp of comprehension. It's not a substance, not in the way we traditionally understand it. It’s a resonance, a temporal distortion, a lingering impression left by events that never truly ceased to be.
For centuries, cartographers of the unseen – those who charted the eddies of probability and the whispers of forgotten timelines – spoke of Polygalin. They claimed it was the residue of moments of profound emotional intensity, moments where the fabric of reality momentarily thinned, allowing echoes of the original event to bleed into the present.
“To perceive Polygalin is to feel the ghost of a decision, the phantom weight of a lost love, the lingering sorrow of a forgotten battle.” – Silas Thorne, Cartographer of the Veiled Shores
The formation of Polygalin is theorized to be linked to what we now understand as “chronal fracturing.” Essentially, an event – a significant birth, a tragic death, a moment of intense betrayal, a profound artistic creation – generates a localized fluctuation in the temporal field. This fluctuation isn’t a collapse, but a compression, a focusing of the temporal energy.
The greater the emotional charge, the more intense the chronal fracturing. A simple argument leaves a faint trace; the execution of a king leaves a substantial residue. The decay of Polygalin isn't governed by time’s linear progression. Instead, it’s influenced by the *resonance* – the continued emotional investment of those who were present or affected by the original event.
Furthermore, certain materials seem to act as focal points, amplifying the chronal fracturing. Obsidian, for instance, is frequently cited by the cartographers as a conduit. Similarly, places of historical significance, particularly those associated with ritualistic practices or acts of great passion, are prone to accumulating Polygalin.
Detecting Polygalin isn't a matter of scientific instrumentation. It’s a subjective experience, an alteration in perception. Individuals with a heightened sensitivity – often referred to as “Resonants” – can experience this shift.
Common symptoms include:
The intensity of the resonance also manifests in tangible ways: objects in the affected area may exhibit minor distortions – a flickering light, a slight temperature change, a fleeting visual anomaly. These are the “echoes” – the physical manifestations of the temporal distortion.
The Cartographers of the Veiled Shores were a secretive order dedicated to mapping these temporal distortions. Their work was considered heretical by many, but they believed that understanding Polygalin was key to navigating the complexities of time itself. They meticulously recorded their findings in elaborate, spiraling charts – diagrams of interconnected resonances, each node representing a point of temporal instability.
Unfortunately, much of their knowledge was lost during the “Great Dissolution,” a cataclysmic event that seemingly erased a significant portion of the Cartographers’ archives. However, fragments of their work survive in scattered texts and cryptic symbols – a testament to the enduring power of Polygalin.
It is said that the next generation of Resonants, those who can truly *hear* the echoes, hold the key to unlocking the full potential of Polygalin. Perhaps, one day, they will be able to heal the fractures and restore the lost timelines. Or perhaps, they will simply fade away, swallowed by the infinite resonance of the past.
Learn more about the work of Silas Thorne here.