Despite the long hours and the stress, Aaron was beginning to see the fruits of their labor. The characters started to take shape, the world became more immersive, and the mechanics began to flow seamlessly. It was in these moments of progress that he found renewed energy, propelling him forward despite the challenges.

As the crowdfunding campaign approached its final stretch, Aaron felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. They had garnered a significant amount of support, and he was hopeful they would reach their initial goal. With the team’s commitment and the community’s encouragement, he knew they were on the verge of something incredible.

Finally, as the deadline approached, Aaron reflected on the journey so far. It had been filled with challenges, sacrifices, and moments of doubt, but it had also been a testament to his determination and the strength of his team. They were not just pursuing a dream; they were building a legacy, and Eternal Night was their canvas to paint that legacy on.

The days began to bleed together, each one dragging Aaron deeper into a haze of sleeplessness and fatigue. He’d sit in front of his computer, half-lidded eyes fixed on the screen, forcing himself to focus on the endless lines of code that felt both familiar and dauntingly alien. His hands moved over the keyboard with a mechanical rhythm, but his mind was often miles away, circling around thoughts of whether he could sustain this pace.

Eternal Night, his dream project, had once felt like an escape from the pressures of everyday life—a chance to build something meaningful. But now, it felt like the very thing that was trapping him. The excitement that had fueled countless late nights and marathon coding sessions was fading, replaced by a dull, relentless weight. Each bug fixed and feature added brought a sense of accomplishment, but it was fleeting, drowned out by the growing pile of tasks that seemed to multiply every time he checked his to-do list.

Aaron was barely sleeping. At first, it had been a sacrifice he’d made willingly, a trade-off to keep his vision alive. But now, sleep eluded him even when he allowed himself a break. He’d lie in bed, eyes closed, mind still buzzing with ideas and worries, running through the code he’d written and the things he needed to change or improve. The faint glow of his computer screen often seeped into his dreams, turning them into endless loops of debugging and coding, leaving him more tired than before.

Bills had started piling up, each one a reminder of the financial strain his project was causing. He’d poured nearly everything into Eternal Night, every spare dollar saved from his part-time job, every penny he could scrounge from his already tight budget. He’d skipped meals, pushed aside personal expenses, and refused invitations from friends, all to make sure he had enough to keep going. The costs of server fees, software licenses, and testing equipment were a constant worry, but the thought of giving up felt even worse.

“Hey, you look terrible, man.” Jake, his co-worker at the café, shook his head as he handed Aaron a coffee during their morning shift. Aaron managed a half-hearted chuckle, though the weariness in his voice was impossible to hide.

“Just been working on the game a lot,” Aaron muttered, taking a grateful sip. The caffeine jolted his senses momentarily, but it did little to fill the emptiness inside. Jake frowned, leaning against the counter as they waited for the morning rush.

“You know, you’ve got to take a break once in a while. You’re here working, then you go home and work more? That’s not healthy, Aaron.”

“I know,” he replied, more out of habit than conviction. “But I’m close to something big. Just a few more months, and maybe I’ll be able to launch a beta. I can’t afford to slow down now.”

Jake sighed, watching him for a moment. “Just don’t lose yourself in the process. I’ve seen too many people burn out, chasing dreams that didn’t come through.”

Aaron nodded, but he didn’t say anything more. The fear of failing, of letting go of something he’d poured his heart and soul into, felt more terrifying than any consequence of his exhaustion.

That evening, after a gruelling shift, Aaron found himself back at his desk, staring at the screen with heavy eyes. The code blurred in front of him, lines shifting and merging until he could hardly tell what he was reading. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and forced himself to keep going. His mind told him he should stop, take a break, but something deeper—some voice of obligation—urged him forward.

In the dim glow of his room, surrounded by crumpled papers filled with sketches and notes, Aaron began to feel the weight of loneliness. Working on Eternal Night had isolated him. He hadn’t spoken to his friends in weeks, hadn’t seen his family in even longer. The few texts he got from people asking if he wanted to hang out went unanswered, accumulating dust in his phone like unread notifications on a forgotten app.

As he adjusted the game’s user interface, tweaking the placement of buttons and icons, a thought crossed his mind—a dangerous one that he quickly tried to dismiss. Is this worth it? He knew the passion that had driven him to start the project, the love he’d felt for creating a world that would captivate players. But that passion now felt more like an obligation, a heavy weight he had to carry because he’d invested so much into it. If he quit now, he’d have nothing to show for all the time, energy, and money he’d sacrificed.

But every hour he poured into Eternal Night drained him further. His hands cramped from typing, his back ached from long hours hunched over his desk, and his head pounded from lack of sleep. He thought about the life he’d put on hold—the hobbies he’d abandoned, the friends he’d left behind, the simple pleasures he no longer had time for. Everything had taken a backseat to his project, and now he was left wondering if he’d made the right choices.

In his exhaustion, Aaron started making mistakes. He’d spend hours chasing down bugs, only to realize he’d misread a line of code. Features he’d already completed broke inexplicably, forcing him to redo hours of work. The more he struggled to fix things, the more frustrated he became, and the more mistakes he made. It felt like he was stuck in a vicious cycle, unable to escape the mess he’d created.

One night, as he scrolled through his project plan, the sheer enormity of it hit him. Every feature, every character, every line of dialogue was something he had to create, test, and perfect. The realization was overwhelming, like standing at the base of a mountain he’d barely begun to climb. He felt a surge of anxiety, a tightening in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he took slow, shaky breaths. He thought of all the advice he’d read about avoiding burnout—taking breaks, setting boundaries, asking for help. But those suggestions felt laughably out of reach. He didn’t have the luxury of slowing down, not when every hour he lost could mean falling further behind. And as for asking for help… he didn’t know anyone who could help him, not in the way he needed.

Eternal Night was his vision, his responsibility, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t give it everything he had, it would fall apart. But the thought of continuing this way, of pushing himself to the breaking point, was equally terrifying.

He tried to shake off the doubts, focusing on his work as he ran through the game's mechanics again. He found himself drawn to a new idea—a feature he’d thought about adding but never had the time for. It was a small change, one that would make the gameplay smoother and more intuitive, but it would take hours to implement. Hours he didn’t have.

But the thought of giving up on the idea was unbearable, so he dove in, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he coded with an intensity that bordered on desperation. For a brief, shining moment, he felt that old spark of excitement, the thrill of bringing his vision to life. But as the hours dragged on, that spark faded, replaced by exhaustion and frustration.

At some point, he fell asleep at his desk, the glow of the screen casting a faint light over his face. When he woke up, his body felt stiff, and his mind was clouded with confusion. He glanced at the time, realizing he was already late for his morning shift. He stumbled out of his chair, threw on his work uniform, and rushed out the door, his head pounding with the remnants of his interrupted sleep.

At the café, his exhaustion was painfully obvious. His co-workers gave him sympathetic looks, and his manager asked if he was okay, but Aaron brushed them off. He couldn’t afford to slow down, couldn’t afford to let anyone see how close he was to breaking. He kept his head down, focusing on the mindless tasks in front of him, waiting for the day to end so he could go back to his game.

That night, as he sat in front of his computer once again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trapped. Eternal Night, the project that had once given him purpose, now felt like a prison. He wanted to stop, to take a break, to sleep for a week and forget about everything. But he couldn’t. The fear of failure, of letting his dream slip through his fingers, kept him going.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. The human body wasn’t meant to run on caffeine and determination alone. His health was deteriorating, his relationships were suffering, and his mind was fraying at the edges. He was burning out, and he didn’t know how to stop.

As he stared at the screen, a thought flickered through his mind—a small, persistent whisper that grew louder with each passing day. Is this worth it?

The question lingered, refusing to be silenced. He thought of all the sacrifices he’d made, the time he’d lost, the friends he’d pushed away. Was his dream worth losing everything else? Or had he become so consumed by the idea of success that he’d lost sight of what truly mattered?

He didn’t have an answer, not yet. But as he sat there, alone in the dim glow of his computer, he realized that something had to change. He couldn’t keep pushing himself like this, couldn’t keep sacrificing everything for a dream that was slowly consuming him.

For the first time, he considered the possibility of taking a step back, of giving himself a break. It was a terrifying thought, one that filled him with a sense of failure. But it was also a small glimmer of hope—a chance to reclaim a part of himself, to find balance, and maybe, just maybe, to rediscover the joy that had once driven him.

As he shut down his computer and crawled into bed, Aaron made a silent promise to himself. He would find a way to balance his passion with his well-being. He didn’t know how or when, but he knew it was the only way he could keep going, the only way he could turn Eternal Night into something he could be proud of.

For now, he would rest. And tomorrow, he would try again—this time, with a little more kindness toward himself.

The next morning, Aaron awoke feeling groggy but slightly less on edge. The dim sunlight filtering through his window reminded him of all the mornings he’d missed, either asleep until noon or in such a rush he hadn’t stopped to notice. Sitting up slowly, he stretched, feeling the soreness in his muscles from long nights hunched over his desk.

It had been weeks since he’d woken up without his first thought being about the lines of code waiting for him.

The day at the café seemed to pass slower than usual. Aaron was distracted, his mind caught between the desire to go home and return to his project and a newfound awareness of just how exhausted he truly felt. He realized now, as he absent-mindedly wiped down tables, that he’d been running on autopilot, barely noticing the world around him. The conversations, the sounds, the laughter of customers—all of it had been drowned out by the relentless noise of his mind focused on Eternal Night.

In the break room, Jake found him sitting on one of the benches, staring into space. “You good, Aaron?” he asked, concern etched into his face.

“Yeah,” Aaron replied automatically. But when he looked up and saw the worry in Jake’s eyes, he hesitated. “Actually… I don’t know. I guess I’m just... tired.”

Jake nodded knowingly. “It’s the game, isn’t it? It’s like you’re here, but you’re not really here, you know?”

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It’s all I think about lately. Feels like if I don’t get it done, I’ll lose everything. But at the same time, I’m losing everything because of it.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you need to give yourself a break. Just a small one. The game isn’t going anywhere, and I’m pretty sure you’ll be better at it when you’re not on the edge of collapse.”

Aaron considered it, but the thought of taking a break, even a small one, filled him with guilt. What if he missed an opportunity? What if taking a step back meant losing momentum? Yet, as he left work that day, Jake’s words lingered.

Returning to his apartment, he hesitated before turning on his computer. Instead, he looked around his small, cluttered living space, the stacks of bills, empty coffee mugs, and scattered sketches and notes lying everywhere. It was as if his apartment reflected his mind—messy, chaotic, a place where work overshadowed everything else. He started to clean, hoping to clear both his space and his head. As he picked up the mess, he stumbled across an old photo of himself with his friends, laughing at some forgotten joke, their faces carefree and bright. They’d taken it just before he’d begun working on Eternal Night.

He stared at the photo, a sharp pang of nostalgia hitting him. He missed those days, missed the feeling of being part of something outside of himself. Since then, his social circle had dwindled, and while his friends had initially supported his project, he’d barely reached out to any of them lately. Everyone else seemed to be moving forward, living lives full of experiences and connections, while he was trapped in a world of his own making.

Before he knew it, he’d pulled out his phone and opened a group chat that had been silent for months. With a deep breath, he typed, Hey, it’s been a while. Want to catch up sometime?

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, feeling a strange combination of relief and nervousness. It didn’t take long for replies to come in. His friends were thrilled to hear from him, suggesting a casual meet-up that weekend. He felt a flicker of excitement, but also a twinge of anxiety. What if he had nothing to talk about but Eternal Night? Would they understand his obsession, his reasons for dropping out of their lives?

But as the weekend drew closer, Aaron realized how much he needed this. He arrived at the café they’d chosen, a familiar spot they used to frequent, and was immediately hit with a sense of nostalgia. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw them—a few old friends laughing together, waving him over with grins that hadn’t changed. They greeted him warmly, as if no time had passed at all.

At first, Aaron found himself retreating into silence, unsure of how to join the conversation. But gradually, as his friends caught him up on their lives, he started to relax. They shared stories of new jobs, travels, awkward dating experiences, and petty office dramas, all of which felt like a welcome escape from the world he’d been trapped in.

Eventually, one of them turned to him. “So, how’s that game going?” they asked, genuinely curious.

Aaron hesitated, unsure of how to answer. He took a breath, choosing to be honest. “It’s… been a lot,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize how much it would take out of me. I thought I could handle it all, but lately, I’ve been feeling like it’s too much. Like I’m drowning in it.”

His friends listened quietly, nodding in understanding. One of them, Sarah, reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “It sounds like you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to do it all at once, you know? Dreams take time. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to make it happen.”

“Yeah,” another friend chimed in, “and we’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone. If you need help or even just a break, reach out. We miss hanging out with you.”

Aaron felt a warmth spread through him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Their support was a balm to his weary mind, reminding him that he wasn’t as alone as he’d made himself believe. For the first time in months, he felt lighter, as though he’d finally allowed himself to breathe.

The gathering lasted hours, spilling into the evening, and by the time they all went their separate ways, Aaron felt a profound sense of gratitude. His friends had reminded him of the importance of balance, of the need to remember the parts of himself that weren’t tied to his project. He walked home with a renewed sense of perspective.

When he returned to his apartment that night, he sat at his desk, staring at his computer. Eternal Night still awaited him, the lines of code still there, but they didn’t feel as imposing. Instead, they felt like pieces of a puzzle he could take his time with. The game would still be there if he slowed down, and he would be in a better place to work on it if he took care of himself.

The next morning, Aaron woke up feeling rested for the first time in months. He made a cup of coffee, savouring it without the rush he usually felt. For once, he allowed himself to ease into the day, taking a walk outside to clear his head before sitting down to work.

As he resumed his work on Eternal Night, he felt a strange sense of calm. The code didn’t feel as overwhelming, the to-do list didn’t feel as insurmountable. He worked steadily, taking breaks when he needed, and allowing himself time to think and breathe. He knew he still had a long way to go, but for the first time, he felt like he could manage it without breaking himself in the process.

He also made a commitment to reconnect with his friends regularly, to maintain a part of his life that wasn’t tied to his project. He started going to the gym again, even if it was just a few days a week, and took time to read books he’d been neglecting. Slowly but surely, he began to reclaim pieces of himself he’d sacrificed to his dream.

Eternal Night would always be important to him—it was his passion, his purpose. But he realized now that he didn’t have to destroy himself to make it a reality. He could chase his dream without losing himself in the process.

As he shut down his computer for the night, Aaron felt a deep sense of peace. He knew he would face more challenges, that the road ahead was still long and difficult. But he also knew that he had people who cared about him, a life worth living beyond the screen, and a dream that could wait long enough for him to live it healthily.

For the first time in a long time, Aaron felt hopeful. Burnout had loomed, casting a shadow over his passion, but he had chosen a different path, one that allowed him to preserve himself. He was ready to continue, this time with both his dream and his well-being intact.