There is one button. You press it and something settles on you — an aura, out
of seventy, most of them ordinary and a few of them not. Wear the one you like. It stays
lit around you until something better lands.
The rare ones announce themselves. Past a certain point the screen stops being
a screen: the world drains, the light comes in from somewhere else, and the name arrives
on its own. There are five of those, each longer and less reasonable than the last, and
the longest is reserved for things almost nobody sees.
The sky is not decoration. Biomes turn over on their own — rain, snow, starfall,
a corrupted one that eats the color out of everything — and each of them leans on a
different family of aura. Roll in the right weather and the odds move.
Everything you find is kept. The index remembers, and a fuller index is better
luck for good. That is the whole game: press it again.
The Index
—
Click one you have found to wear it. Every name here is
+0.9% luck for good, and the rarer tiers carry more.