You know that moment in a game when you think that you can see the end? Your brain says “Hey! Look: that’s the end,” and if it’s a good game, you get a little disappointed. “No way it’ll end there,” you tell yourself. “I want more.”
Sometimes it’s just the end of a part of the game: “There’s the end of the dungeon,” or “There’s the end of that skill tree.”
It can be a little different: “Things will be like this until I see the end.” Imagine a horizon: you see desert stretching towards it, and believe (reasonably) that the desert will extend forever. Or, at least, until you die. I mean, you’re walking through a desert. “That dragon’s death is the end of the game.” “I will never explore that part of the city; I’m looking at a backdrop.”
All in all, this horizon is at the periphery of what might be progress. “Once I reach that point,” you think to yourself, “there’s no moving forward. I might backtrack; I might move to a new track and progress there; but that is the end of what I’m doing right now.”
I call this thing is called the Horizon, and not the Wall or something similarly terminal, because sometimes it isn’t an ending. It can be more.
New blog post incoming.