The name Weatherley isn’t etched in stone, not truly. It’s a resonance, a vibration lingering in the air after the storm. It began with the Bloom – a phenomenon witnessed only by the first generation of the Weatherley family, a cascade of obsidian petals that unfurled across the valley during the convergence of the twin moons. The Bloom was, according to the fragmented texts recovered from the ruins of the Keep, a key, a conduit to something…older.
The Weatherleys weren't born; they coalesced. The initial lineage, seven souls bound together by a shared grief and an inexplicable connection to the Bloom, found themselves inexplicably teleported to the valley, a place geographically impossible according to any known cartography. They were tasked, not by a deity, but by the Bloom itself, with safeguarding its memory, with preventing its replication, a task that felt both profoundly important and utterly bewildering.
The Keep, constructed from a stone that seems to absorb light, is not merely a fortress, but a temporal anchor. Its walls whisper with the echoes of countless iterations of the Weatherley family, each attempting to decipher the Bloom’s purpose, each failing spectacularly, leading to a tangled web of timelines and alternate realities.
The core of Weatherley’s existence revolves around ‘resonance’. It’s not a force in the traditional sense; it’s an entanglement of consciousness, a sympathetic vibration between the Weatherleys and the Bloom. The stronger the resonance, the more vividly they experience the past, the more potent their ability to manipulate the flow of time – a dangerous gift, prone to shattering mental stability. Each Weatherley possesses a ‘shard’ of the Bloom’s energy, manifested as a unique ability – some can accelerate their perception, others can momentarily rewind events, and a rare few can even create localized temporal distortions.
However, manipulating resonance isn’t without consequence. Each alteration creates a ‘fracture’ in the timeline, a ripple effect that can manifest as personal hallucinations, objects appearing and disappearing without explanation, or, in extreme cases, the complete erasure of a Weatherley from existence. The Keep’s archives are filled with meticulous records of these fractures, a testament to the inherent instability of their existence.
The ‘Chronomasters’, as they unofficially call themselves, operate under a strict code: observe, record, and *never* interfere directly. They believe that the Bloom is a self-regulating system, and any attempt to control it will inevitably lead to its demise – and, consequently, their own.
The Bloom itself is not a physical entity in the conventional sense. It’s a concentrated repository of memories, a living echo of events that transpired across countless epochs. The Weatherleys believe that the Bloom remembers everything – the rise and fall of civilizations, the births and deaths of stars, even the silent thoughts of those who once walked the valley.
Communication with the Bloom is achieved through a ritual known as ‘The Echoing’. This involves a prolonged meditation within the Keep’s central chamber, during which the Weatherleys attempt to align their consciousness with the Bloom’s resonant frequency. The results are often fragmented and cryptic, delivered in the form of images, emotions, and fleeting sensations.
The Keep’s ancient librarians, the ‘Keepers of the Echo’, spend their entire lives meticulously transcribing these ‘Echoes’ into the Keep’s vast archives, a task that has spanned millennia. It’s rumored that the Keep’s archives contain more than just historical records; they hold the key to understanding the very nature of time, and perhaps, even the origins of consciousness itself.