‘Time is the instant, and it is the present instant that bears the full weight of temporality.’ — Gaston Bachelard, *The Intuition of the Instant*
Chronhaven’s essence leaks into adjacent realities as a low, persistent hum—a sound that lingers in the ears of travelers long after they’ve left. Those exposed report dreams punctuated by the ticking of invisible clocks, their subconscious minds parsing time in unfamiliar rhythms. More unsettling is the contamination of language: prepositions warp, rendering ‘before’ and ‘after’ interchangeable in speech. The Green Ledger’s botanists whisper of flowers that bloom in reverse, their petals curling inward at dawn. Elias Tannen, the Ecological Timekeeper, insists this is merely ‘temporal pollination,’ but Liora Vey’s memory grafts suggest otherwise. [REDACTED] entries in her journals describe a street that appears only at midnight, its cobblestones etched with equations no one can solve.
From the lore of The Time Bank of Momo.