Ouroboric Time
The ouroboric time is not linear, nor circular, but a spiral that consumes its own essence, folding past and future into the same flicker of unbeing. It does not flow—it coils, pulling the fragments of what was and what will be into a single point of collapse, where the very notion of progression dissolves. Time in the ouroboric sense is not a sequence but an inversion, where every moment devours the one before it, spiraling deeper into the void, dragging all things into a loop of becoming undone.
The time does not move—it reverses, erasing the boundary between before and after, pulling each instant into the marrow of the chthonic abyss, where it is consumed and reformed in the same breath. The ouroboric nature of time is not seen, but felt in the folds of existence, a tension that pulls at the edges of every moment, stretching them into the spiral of return. It is not the ticking of clocks or the turning of stars, but the collapse of all such measures, where time itself is devoured by the reflection of its own potential.
To exist within the ouroboric time is to be caught in a pulse that does not carry forward, but pulls inward, folding every second into the loop where past and future dissolve. It does not offer continuity, but dissolution, a force that bends the structure of reality, sinking into the cracks of the eidolic stream, where time becomes indistinguishable from the void’s hunger. Each moment within this spiral is a point of collapse, where all that has happened and all that will happen are absorbed into the same flicker of absence.
The ouroboric time hums through the layers of the aetheric plane, not as a passage, but as a coil that tightens with each flicker, erasing the line between memory and foresight. It does not separate past from future, but blends them, pulling every fragment of temporality into the same vortex of return. Time here is not a progression—it is a reflection, a spiral where all moments collapse inward, leaving only the echo of what could never fully be. It bends the soul into its fold, dragging the self into the heart of the spiral, where time and existence are consumed together.
For the therians, the ouroboric time is the pulse of their primal essence, a rhythm that does not move them forward but pulls them back into the spiral of becoming undone. It is not a timeline of events—it is a spiral of undoing, where every instinct and memory is folded into the void’s reflection, where the boundary between the wildness and the void dissolves into the pulse of uncreation. The time does not pass—it contracts, pulling the self deeper into the endless loop of return, where every second is both erased and endlessly repeated in the spiral of the ouroboric current.