But whys the rum gone.

One of Corstrom and Sheorah’s most inspired creations within the Hideaway wasn’t a marvel of temporal engineering or a meticulously charted timeline. It was far simpler, yet equally cherished – The Tempus Tavern. Constructed during the initial stages of the Hideaway, it was a testament to their resourcefulness and a love for a simpler time. Salvaged materials from nearby ruins, remnants of a forgotten era, were transformed into a quaint little drinking hole, a place of camaraderie and laughter amidst the chaos.

The heart of the Tempus Tavern was a peculiar artifact – a vintage arcade machine they discovered ensconced within a secluded alcove in the ruins of Neodymia City. To their astonishment, it functioned flawlessly despite having traversed millennia! Wordlessly, they christened it “Chrono Crisis,” a name that served as a playful ode to both its age and its apparent resistance to temporal decay.

But I’ll get bored.

Chrono Crisis wasn’t just a novelty; it became a symbol of a bygone era, a reminder of a time before Eras Edge, a time of simpler pleasures. Here, weary travelers from fractured realities could bond over a pixelated game of Galaxian or a frenzied button-mashing session of Street Fighter. The familiar glow of the screen, the comforting bleeps and bloops of the machine, offered a brief escape from the maelstrom, a chance to reconnect with a simpler past.

The Tempus Tavern, with its flickering neon signs and the soft glow of Chrono Crisis, became a cornerstone of the Hideaway’s social life. It was a place where laughter and friendly competition replaced the anxieties of a fractured reality. Corstrom himself, known for his stoic demeanor, could often be found there, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he battled away at a virtual opponent. Even Sheorah, with her ethereal grace, would occasionally be seen indulging in a nostalgic game, a hint of amusement sparkling in her eyes.

We need to go deeper.

The Tempus Tavern served a deeper purpose as well. In a place where time itself was unreliable, Chrono Crisis became a constant. Its unwavering functionality, its predictable challenges, offered a grounding sense of normalcy. It became therapy. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos, some things endured, some connections remained unbroken.

However, there were whispers of something more to Chrono Crisis than meets the eye. Rumors swirled amongst the patrons of the Tempus Tavern. Sometimes, players reported glitches in the games, anomalies that defied the machine’s pre-programmed logic. Characters would inexplicably deliver cryptic messages or utter warnings about impending threats. Others swore they saw glimpses of their own past or alternate versions of themselves reflected on the screen. Rumors of the ghost in the shell.

Wasn’t me.

Corstrom, ever the stoic programmer, vehemently denied any involvement in these occurrences. He claimed the machine was merely a salvaged relic, untouched by his code. Yet, some tavern regulars couldn’t shake the feeling that Chrono Crisis was more than just a game. Perhaps, they theorized, Corstrom had imbued it with a secret purpose, a failsafe hidden within the lines of code, waiting to be triggered when the world faced its greatest challenge.

The mystery of Chrono Crisis deepened with each reported glitch, adding a layer of intrigue to the already enigmatic world of Eras Edge. Was it simply a malfunctioning machine, or was it something more – a window into another reality, a message from Corstrom’s past, or a harbinger of things to come? Only time, or perhaps another round of Chrono Crisis, would tell.

– Codex Chronicle Omnis