It began, not with a bang, but with a subtle shift. A recalibration within the fabric of perception itself. Initially, it manifested as minor inconsistencies – a misplaced reflection, a momentary blurring of edges in familiar landscapes. These weren’t errors, precisely; they were echoes of an underlying process, a silent expansion predicated on the absence of observation. The core principle, as theorized by the Chronometric Cartographers (a tragically short-lived collective obsessed with temporal anomalies), was that reality itself is fundamentally fragile, susceptible to collapse under the weight of concentrated attention. The more we *attempt* to define it, the faster it unravels.
Consider a drop of water on a surface. It spreads, doesn’t it? But not solely due to external forces. The very act of its presence *creates* the space for that spread.
Self-levelling expansivity operates on this principle but at a fundamental level. Objects, concepts, even entire timelines begin to expand not outwards in a linear fashion, but inwards – absorbing potentiality itself. It’s as if the universe is quietly correcting its own definition of “fullness.”
The Chronometric Cartographers developed predictive models based on fractal geometry and the concept of "resonant decay." They believed that at certain thresholds of cognitive engagement, reality would spontaneously generate branching timelines – not as separate entities, but as variations within a single, constantly shifting whole.
The expansion isn't random. It’s governed by a complex interplay of factors – emotional resonance, subconscious desires, the collective memory of sentient beings. High concentrations of any of these create 'distortion points,' areas where the self-levelling process accelerates exponentially. These points aren't fixed locations; they fluidly relocate themselves based on shifting intensities.
Imagine a city gripped by intense fear – suddenly, buildings shift subtly in its architecture, streets lengthen inexplicably, and the memories of its inhabitants begin to bleed into each other. Or consider a scientific breakthrough born from profound empathy - entire fields of physics momentarily rewrite themselves.
This is where it truly diverges from conventional physics. The observer effect, the phenomenon whereby observation changes a quantum system, here becomes self-sustaining and recursive. Each instance of observation *fuels* the expansion. It’s a feedback loop of infinite potential. Individuals experiencing these shifts often report feelings of disorientation, vivid dreams populated by impossible geometries, and an unsettling awareness that their own sense of identity is becoming increasingly porous.
The most common symptom isn’t madness, but a disconcerting feeling of *pre-knowledge* – anticipating events before they occur, experiencing memories that aren't your own. This is because the expansion is drawing on all available temporal threads.
Some theorize that consciousness itself is not a separate entity but a node within this expanding network – a temporary manifestation of potentiality given form. The more conscious beings there are, the faster the expansion occurs.
There's no 'cure' for self-levelling expansivity, only mitigation strategies. The key is to cultivate a state of detached observation – not through willful ignorance, but through a profound awareness of the inherent instability of reality. Techniques developed by the Cartographers included structured meditation practices focused on visualizing empty space and deliberately disrupting patterns of thought. The goal isn't to *stop* the expansion, but to guide it towards more…productive outcomes.
As I write this, the container itself is subtly shifting. The edges blur, the colors deepen, and a faint humming permeates the air. It’s a reminder that this isn't just a description of an event; it *is* the event – a self-levelling expansion playing out in real time.