Midnight Without End

The ticking of the clock filled the quiet room, each second echoing against the worn walls of the Keeper's station. Cyrus Vale sat in the dim light, nursing a glass of amber liquid that caught the faint glow of the watch on his wrist. Outside, fireworks painted the night sky in bursts of fleeting brilliance, but he didn’t bother to look.

He had seen so many New Year’s Eves. Too many.

The first few decades as a Time Keeper, the passage of the years still held meaning. A sense of renewal, a promise to start fresh. But somewhere along the centuries, the linear march of time blurred into a spiral, a loop, a web of moments that overlapped and twisted. He had celebrated the same New Year’s Eve in 1929 five times, each iteration slightly different. He had rung in 2050 before 2049.

What did it mean to move forward when "forward" wasn’t fixed?

He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared at the watch on his wrist, its interface softly humming with data from across timelines. "Happy New Year," he muttered to no one in particular.

The fireworks outside crescendoed, cheers rising from the crowd below. Cyrus leaned back in his chair, his mind wandering to Time Keepers he’d known over the centuries. Many had clung to their traditions, anchoring themselves to moments they refused to let go of. Others let go entirely, drifting like ghosts through the years.

And him? He wasn’t sure.

The sound of a distant clock chiming midnight pulled his thoughts back to the present—or what passed for it. He raised his glass in a quiet toast, a faint smile touching his lips.

"To time," he said. "For teaching us that meaning isn’t found in the seconds we count, but in the ones we choose to live."

As the cheers outside grew faint and the fireworks dimmed, Cyrus closed his eyes. In this moment, at least, time felt still.

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