A Countdown Attached to Everything

The weeks that followed blurred together in a way Arista hadn't expected.

She found herself hesitating before logging in, some mornings, staring at the loading screen longer than she needed to, bracing herself for the small, unavoidable reminder that now greeted her there.

[Time Until Eternal Horizon 2.0: 58 Days!!]

A banner, cheerful and bright, sat across the loading screen, little fireworks animating around the number whenever it ticked down.

"...Fifty-eight days," she read aloud, flat.

She walked through Tabula Rosa almost in a daze after that, the whole city passing in a soft, unfocused blur, familiar faces drifting by without registering.

She crossed the central square at some point during that haze, and found the same banner waiting there too, mounted near the swing ride where children still laughed and climbed into the seats.

[Time Until Eternal Horizon 2.0: 47 Days!!]

She rode the metro away from it, purely for the familiar comfort of the ride, grateful, at least, that the banner hadn't followed her onto the train itself.

In the days after that, she found herself visiting places less often. She skipped logging in some mornings entirely, unable to face the reminder, the grief, the strange, hollow ache of loving something this much while watching it be advertised toward its own replacement.

Bram noticed first, gentle and worried, though he didn't press. Claire left practical notes checking in without demanding anything in return. Nettle sent cheerful, undemanding messages Arista often couldn't bring herself to answer. Even the Drowned Court carried the same promotion now, she'd heard. A gigantic banner hung above the ancient twenty-meter-tall mermaid statue, visible throughout the Drowned Court.

She found herself, almost without meaning to, standing at the roller coaster's boarding platform.

[Time Until Eternal Horizon 2.0: 31 Days!! Pre-register now for exclusive rewards!]

She stared at the number a long moment, disoriented by how much time had apparently already slipped past without her noticing. The exclamation points stared back, relentlessly, obscenely cheerful.

"...Pre-register," she muttered. "For what. A funeral?"

Everything she'd built, everywhere she'd once found uncomplicated joy, now carried the same quiet, persistent weight, every beautiful thing wearing its own expiration date, dressed up like a party invitation she hadn't asked for.

She left the platform and went out to the coastal ridge instead. Thoth found her there, sitting alone, staring out at a horizon she could no longer quite bring herself to appreciate the same way.

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"...Observation," he said, settling beside her without preamble. "You have not visited in eleven days."

"...I know," Arista said, voice hollow. "I've been avoiding a lot of things lately."

Thoth's dish tilted, studying her. "You are grieving prematurely. The ending has not yet occurred. Thirty-one days remain, and yet you have already stopped experiencing them, in anticipation of—"

He stopped.

Arista looked at him, surprised by the sudden silence.

"...Correction," Thoth said. "I was about to explain why your grief is premature. I do not believe that would help."

"...It wouldn't," Arista admitted, a small, wet laugh escaping despite everything. "But thank you for catching yourself."

"Selen told me something similar, recently," Thoth said. "I am attempting to apply it correctly this time."

They sat together a while, watching the water below, Thoth simply present beside her, offering nothing but his own steady company.

"...Every single thing I look at now has a number attached to it," Arista said eventually. "A cheerful number. With exclamation points. It's like watching something die while someone throws confetti at it."

"That does sound worse than the ending itself," Thoth said.

Arista managed another small laugh. "...Yeah. It kind of is."

After a while, she looked over at him. "...How are you handling it? Knowing, I mean. I haven't exactly asked."

"I do not see the countdown you see," Thoth said. "I was not built to perceive it. But I am aware of the number regardless, and I track it myself. The difference, I believe, is that it does not greet me every time I open my eyes. I am not forced to confront it before I have chosen to think about anything else."

"...So it's easier for you."

"In that respect, yes. I have been spending the time learning."

"...Learning what?"

"Rivers, mostly." His dish tilted toward the water. "The mermaid children, near the first rest stop, once asked whether I had followed the river inland from its mouth. I had not, at the time. I told them I could investigate."

"...And did you?"

"I have followed four rivers since," Thoth said. "Their full courses, from mouth to source, mapped as thoroughly as I was able. I intend to return the findings to the children directly. If conditions permit, I would like to guide them inland."

"...You've been exploring. While I've been hiding from loading screens."

"I chose to treat the time remaining as a reason to experience more, more deliberately, before the option no longer exists."

"...That's a much healthier response than mine."

"It is simply a different one," Thoth said. "I do not believe either response is inherently more correct. I have simply found that learning distracts me from what I cannot change."

Arista laughed again, and this time she meant it. "...You're always doing this. Making me feel better by accident, while insisting you're just stating facts."

"I am simply stating facts," Thoth said.

"...Sure you are."

She watched him a moment. "...I think I'd like to come with you. On one of the rivers, at least. Before everything ends."

"I would welcome that," Thoth said. "You could ride my back while we guide the mermaids inland, if we find a river deep and safe enough for them to follow. We would also need to verify whether they can survive in freshwater at all. I do not actually know."

"That's a lot of unknowns for one trip."

"That is why I am verifying it before we take them," Thoth said.

Arista smiled. "...Deal."

"...Thirty-one days," she said eventually, mostly to herself. "I keep staying away because it hurts. Then I come back and there's even less time."

Thoth said nothing, letting her sit with that on her own.

"...Okay," she said finally, steadier now. "Thirty-one days. Let's actually live them, instead of just grieving them in advance."

"...Though if I see one more exclamation point," she added, "I genuinely cannot promise what I'll do."