Three knobs. One short story.
Select a mood, an era, and a paradox class. The generator assembles a deterministic short story from local templates — no remote AI is called. Use it as a writing prompt or a thought experiment.
A cinematic archive of time travel, recovered from a far-future humanity that learned how — and what it cost. Physics, paradoxes, machines, civilizations, multiverses, and the philosophy under all of it.
A clock is not time. A calendar is not history. The arrow is not a guarantee.
Most of what humans call time is the felt motion of one observer through one slice of spacetime. The full picture — relativity, quantum decoherence, entropy, gravitational dilation, closed timelike curves, the cosmological constant — is stranger, more local, and more contingent than the everyday picture suggests. Chrono Void is not a prediction. It is an inventory: the physics, the paradoxes, the machines that have not been built, the civilizations that might one day build them, and the philosophy that has been arguing about all of it for three thousand years.
Simultaneity is observer-relative. There is no single present everywhere.
The arrow comes from entropy, not from physics' equations.
Speed and gravity bend time identically. Both have been measured.
Information cannot travel faster than light, but the geometry of spacetime can.
Read horizontally as a single deep-time spine. Time on the rail is logarithmic — equal screen distance covers vastly different durations as you pass present-day. Each card is one entered state of the universe; the next state always arrives, eventually.
Each module is a load-bearing piece of physics that any time-travel claim has to negotiate with. None of these is a workshop manual. All of them are the constraints inside which any working machine would have to operate.
Pick any paradox on the left. The stage on the right will set up the premise — then offer three "what-if" forks. Each fork commits to one resolution: many-worlds branching, Novikov self-consistency, Hawking chronology protection, or an explicit causal collapse. The narrative under each is what that physics implies.
A canvas tunnel approximating the optical experience of falling through a traversable wormhole — concentric rings of curved spacetime receding into the throat, the far mouth bending light around itself. The readout below the tunnel updates with the radius and the negative energy density required to keep the throat open under the Morris-Thorne metric.
Each is consistent with general relativity as currently understood. Each requires either exotic matter, energy budgets that exceed the entire observable universe's mass-energy, or both. Read the spec sheet. The point is not "would it work" — the point is what the universe demands of any civilization that wants to try.
A civilization able to bend the temporal axis is a different category of thing from a civilization able to harvest its star. The two often correlate — gravity, mass, and energy are deeply entangled — but a civilization can run far ahead in one and lag in the other. Five tiers, each defined by what the species can do to its own clock.
An interactive Everett-style branching tree, drawn live in SVG. Each click forks the selected node into two child universes with subtly different physical constants. The tree never collapses; the instance you started with is still there, in the canvas, somewhere.
A speculative threat catalog: not a manual, an inventory. If a civilization could rewrite causal history at modest cost, it would face new doctrines — temporal espionage, retroactive sabotage, entropy weapons, fragmentation events. Five archetypes, each with a notional severity index.
Time is the oldest question in philosophy that has never been retired. It survived Aristotle, Augustine, Kant, McTaggart, and Einstein. Each school below has a frame in which time travel is either trivial, impossible, or a category error.
Real formulas. No remote calls. Move the sliders to feel where the numbers go non-linear. Below 70% of c the dilation is mild; above 99% it is brutal. Below the Schwarzschild radius the geometry stops being a coordinate system at all.
Half are real scientific or philosophical references. Half are from the in-universe archive — a fictional far-future humanity's notes on what worked and what cost what. Filed alphabetically; the timestamps are deliberately ambiguous.
Select a mood, an era, and a paradox class. The generator assembles a deterministic short story from local templates — no remote AI is called. Use it as a writing prompt or a thought experiment.