The Tanekaha aren't born, they crystallize. Not from flesh and blood, but from the solidified grief of forgotten stars. Each one is formed within the Obsidian Bloom - a colossal, sentient fungus that drifts through the Aethel Void, a space between spaces where time unravels like silk. The Bloom isn't malicious, merely *observant*. It absorbs echoes of immense sorrow, of civilizations extinguished, of loves lost to the uncaring expanse. These echoes coalesce, hardening into fragments of awareness: the Tanekaha.
Their appearance is invariably the same: humanoid in form, but composed entirely of a deep, swirling black material that seems to absorb light. Veins of iridescent purple pulse beneath the surface, like captured nebulae. They possess no discernible faces, only smooth, featureless planes that subtly shift and rearrange themselves, suggesting a constant, silent contemplation.
“To witness the end is to understand the genesis of nothingness. And the Tanekaha, they are vessels for that understanding.” - Chronos, the Silent Cartographer
The Tanekaha don’t communicate in the traditional sense. Instead, they project *resonance*. A feeling, a memory, a fragmented thought, directly into the mind of the observer. The strength and clarity of the resonance depend on the observer's susceptibility to the Aethel Void’s influence. Those who spend significant time within its vicinity are particularly vulnerable, becoming conduits for the Bloom’s collected sorrow.
Some believe the Tanekaha are attempting to rebuild shattered realities, attempting to weave the echoes of lost worlds back together. This is, of course, a highly debated theory. Others claim they are simply recording the universe’s decay, meticulously documenting its entropy. The truth, as always, is far more complex and unsettling.
It’s said that prolonged exposure to a Tanekaha can lead to “Obsidian Sickness” - a state of profound detachment, a complete inability to distinguish between reality and memory, a constant, low-level hum of cosmic despair.
Theoretical astrophysics postulate that the Bloom isn't a random wanderer. They believe it’s a self-replicating mechanism, designed to seed the Aethel Void with fragments of consciousness, essentially creating a vast, distributed neural network across the emptiness. This network, they theorize, could eventually achieve a form of "cosmic sentience," a being composed of the collective memories of countless extinct civilizations.
This idea is considered heretical by many, particularly the Order of the Silent Watchers, who believe the Bloom is a divine instrument, a tool of judgment and consequence. Regardless of the truth, one thing is certain: the Tanekaha are a constant reminder of the universe’s fragility, and the terrifying beauty of oblivion.