Templar Field Report

INCIDENT REPORT: COVENT GARDEN ANOMALY

AGENT: Marlowe, Rank IV

DATE: 19-01-2026

SUBJECT: Spatio-Temporal Distortion, Seven Dials

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY: Responded to Class-3 temporal echoes flagged by monitoring station ‘Cromwell.’ Initial investigation suggests a localized reality bleed, non-hostile but highly unstable. Standard containment protocols are insufficient.

Upon arrival, the area appeared normal to mundane perception. However, activating my signet revealed the extent of the anomaly. The cobblestones at the center of the Seven Dials monument were rippling, not like water, but like hardening glass. The air tasted of ozone and old parchment.

For a period of 4.7 seconds, the entire intersection flickered. The modern storefronts were replaced with gas lamps and phantom figures in Victorian attire. They moved without sound, their faces indistinct. The distortion was cold, a deep, cellular chill that had nothing to do with the January air. It felt ancient, like a memory the city itself was struggling to forget.

This is not a simple haunting. It is a structural weakness, a fraying of the Veil. Recommend immediate dispatch of a certified Chrono-Weaver for assessment and reinforcement. We cannot allow this wound to fester. Against the darkness, we must be the light.

[Dictated and filed via Templar secure comms, Channel Primus.]

Field Report: Anomaly in Kingsmouth

REPORT REF: KM-739-B, AGENT CODE: Nightingale-007

The incident began as a routine preliminary sweep of the Fog Hounds' recent activity near the lighthouse. Ambient atmospheric readings were nominal until 03:17 Zulu, at which point localized energetic fluctuations registered. Coincided with a high-pitched whine, audible only to myself, that felt less like sound and more like a vibration directly behind my eyes. The old lighthouse lamp, long decommissioned, flickered with an internal, greenish glow, casting unsettling shadows that stretched too long, pulsed with an impossible rhythm. My comms unit crackled, not with static, but with faint, distorted whispers that were almost words, almost a language I once knew.

My hands, usually steady, began to tingle. Not a normal nerve sensation, but a deep, resonant hum, as if the very air around them had suddenly thickened. A faint static electricity discharged from my fingertips, causing the dead leaves on the ground to twitch. I tried to log the anomalous energy signature, but the interface on my tablet shimmered, briefly displaying archaic symbols before reverting to standard metrics. A profound sense of disorientation, a certainty that the ground beneath me was not solid, only a thin crust over something vast and hungry. The familiar smell of salt and decay in the Kingsmouth air was momentarily replaced by ozone and something floral, sweet and sickly, like dying jasmine.

Recovered from a sealed waterproof pouch, located three days later in the Kingsmouth marsh. Agent Nightingale-007 still classified as MIA.