No one could tell when it began—because "when" was no longer one thing.Moments no longer followed; they resonated.Past, present, and the just-about-to-be intertwined, vibrating like notes on a single string.
The Continuants heard it first.Their memories, once stable, began to shimmer with overtones—one event humming three different ways,each melody a possible outcome coexisting in harmony.
They called it The Rhythm.
And from that rhythm, futures began to appear not as lines, but as chords.
The Polytime Age
Cities adapted.Reson built towers that existed in more than one sequence,each floor a separate moment in simultaneous bloom.
Kethra's laws now rotated through choices—one version kind, one cruel, one uncertain—each equally real, each aware of the others.
The Waking Fields gleamed with multiplicity.Dream Cartographers abandoned maps entirely and turned to composition,writing symphonies that could only be understood by being lived.
