The Still-Burn isn’t a place, not really. It’s a resonance. A lingering echo of a cataclysm known only as the Sundering. Before the Sundering, there was the Chronarium – a repository of all temporal knowledge, guarded by the Silent Watchers, beings of pure chronal energy. They didn’t *guard* it in the traditional sense; they *maintained* it, constantly adjusting the flow of time to prevent paradoxes and catastrophic temporal shifts. But the Chronarium grew too vast, too powerful. The Silent Watchers, burdened by the weight of countless timelines, began to unravel. Their essence fractured, scattering across the dimensions, becoming the source of the Still-Burn.
The Still-Burn manifests as pockets of temporal instability. Time flows differently – sometimes accelerating, sometimes slowing, sometimes looping back on itself. Objects and creatures caught within these pockets are subjected to a form of chronal erosion, their existence subtly altered, their memories fragmented. The most potent manifestations are centered around the Obsidian Heart – a shard of the Silent Watchers’ core, pulsing with raw temporal energy. Legend says that touching the Obsidian Heart can grant you glimpses of lost timelines, or worse, trap you within an endless loop of your own making.
“The past isn’t a monument to be admired, but a wound that refuses to heal,” muttered Silas, a chronomancer who’d spent decades lost within the Still-Burn’s embrace. “Each touch is a betrayal.”
Those who can navigate the Still-Burn are known as Chronomancers. They aren’t warriors or scholars, but rather technicians of time. They use intricate devices – Chronometers – to stabilize their surroundings, to track temporal anomalies, and to, occasionally, exploit them. Chronometers aren't built; they’re *grown*, cultivated from crystalline structures found within the most volatile zones of the Still-Burn. These crystals absorb and channel temporal energy, allowing the Chronomancer to manipulate the flow around them.
The most respected Chronomancers aren't those who can simply stop time, but those who can *redirect* it. They can subtly alter the trajectory of a falling object, accelerate the growth of a plant, or even rewind a small section of memory. But every manipulation comes at a cost. The Still-Burn resists alteration, and the more you try to control it, the more unstable it becomes. The Chronomancers speak of a “Temporal Debt” – a measure of the strain placed upon the fabric of time. Excessive manipulation can lead to complete temporal collapse, erasing an individual from existence, or, worse, fracturing the entire timeline.
“Remember,” warned Master Theron, his voice echoing with the weight of countless corrections, “Time is a river. You can guide it, but you cannot dam it.”
Within the Still-Burn, echoes persist – fragments of memories, emotions, and entire events trapped in temporal stasis. These echoes aren't ghosts in the traditional sense; they’re distortions in the flow of time, remnants of moments that never truly ceased to exist. You might encounter a soldier reliving a final, desperate charge, or a child laughing in a playground that no longer exists. Some echoes are benign, offering a fleeting glimpse of beauty or sorrow. Others are malignant, feeding on the temporal energy of those who wander too close, driving them to madness.
The most dangerous echoes are those associated with the original Sundering. These are raw, untamed temporal storms, capable of overwhelming even the most experienced Chronomancer. They’re said to contain the screams of the Silent Watchers, the last vestiges of their shattered consciousness. Prolonged exposure to these echoes can lead to a complete temporal disintegration, a slow unraveling of one's identity, until nothing remains but a shimmering void.
“Don’t seek answers in the echoes,” advised Lyra, a young Chronomancer haunted by a recurring vision of a collapsing city. “The past is a prison, and you are a prisoner within it.”