Strawberry's Descent

It was, by every measure, an entirely ordinary afternoon.

The crew had gathered at Arista's workshop for no particular reason beyond simply wanting to be together.

Bram had sprawled across a bench near the window, running a whetstone along his blade. Claire sat nearby with structural notes spread across her lap, occasionally reaching for a pencil to mark something in the margins. Colm had claimed the corner stool by the window, sketchbook open to a page that wasn't a survey chart at all, just an unhurried study of the harbor view outside, the kind of sketch he only ever made when nothing else needed his attention.

Nettle held court near the center of the room, recounting the final details of her negotiation with Saturnus, gesturing widely enough that Bram had to lean out of the way twice.

Petrov listened with patient, amused attention, arms crossed, a small smile threatening the corner of his mouth every time she reached for another gesture.

"...So we're actual, official competitors now," Nettle finished, grinning. "Properly, fairly, no more scorched-earth nonsense. He even sent over a fruit basket yesterday. I'm keeping the card. I may need proof."

"That's oddly sweet," Claire said, amused, not looking up from her notes.

"He's oddly sweet, once you get past the mustache and the wounded institutional pride," Nettle said. "I think we're going to get along fine, going forward."

Bram grinned at her. "You negotiated a truce with your rival and got a fruit basket out of it. That's basically a win twice over."

"I'm framing the card."

Arista, listening from her workbench, smiled. "...What's next for you, then? Now that the whole banking war's actually settled?"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Honestly? I was thinking of finally taking a proper vacation," Nettle said. "Somewhere I haven't built anything. Somewhere I can just exist for a while."

"You've earned it," Bram said, setting down his blade at last. "Where were you thinking?"

"Maybe the Elven groves," Nettle mused. "Somewhere quiet. Somewhere—"

A notification opened across each player's interface.

[GLOBAL ANNOUNCEMENT — ETERNAL HORIZON 2.0]

The easy chatter died instantly.

With great pride, we want to announce the upcoming sequel to the game you have called home.

The new world will be a full globe, rather than the flat continent you have known.

New races. New classes. Improved visuals. Deeper immersion than ever before possible.

The current game runs on our original system architecture. To build the world you deserve, we require an entirely new foundation. Therefore, the servers for Eternal Horizon will close permanently on the 31st of March.

Thank you for showing us what true freedom in a game can create. We hope to see you again in the new world.

Nobody moved.

Arista read the message a second time, then a third, waiting for the words to somehow rearrange themselves into something less final.

They didn't.

"...March thirty-first," Bram said finally, voice strange and distant. "That's, how long is that from now?"

Claire checked the calendar against the date, hands unsteady. "...A little over three months."

Colm was still looking at his own sketchbook, at the harbor view he'd been idly capturing moments earlier.

"They're closing it," he said quietly, still not looking up. "Everything. The metro. The dome. Squishy. Selen."

"They said a new world," Petrov offered, though even his usual steady calm sounded thin. "A sequel. Perhaps that means something's carried over. Perhaps—"

"A new world isn't this one," Arista said. She read the announcement again. "What happens to everyone here?"

Claire opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Nobody answered.

Bram stared at the notification, the whetstone forgotten in his hand. Colm's pencil hadn't moved from the edge of the harbor sketch, the drawing left exactly as unfinished as it had been a minute earlier. Claire looked down at the structural notes still spread across her lap, as if they belonged to some other afternoon entirely.

Nettle lowered her hand.

"...Three months," Bram said again, quieter this time.

"Three months," Arista repeated, staring at the notification still glowing on her own screen.

Outside, a boat sounded its horn, perhaps the Hive. Laughter rose from the harbor.

Arista read the announcement again.