PIXEL-ART TURN-BASED ROGUELITE

THREEKELVIN

The universe is going out. Somewhere at the bottom of it there is still one warm thing. Bring it home, or die a little closer to it than you were.

Your ship is your character and your modules are your deck.

FTL's ship
Out There's quiet
Slay the Spire's fights
Diablo's loot

One email when there is something to play. Nothing else, ever.

WHAT THE RUN IS

THE SHIP IS THE CHARACTER

No crew to manage. A neutral hull and the parts you bolt to it are the whole build, and the sprite changes as you fit them — anyone can look at a ship and tell what it is building toward.

LOOT IS THE DECK

Every module you install contributes its own cards. An autocannon adds its salvo, a plate adds its brace, a relic adds something weird. Swap a module and the deck reshapes around it.

GREED IS THE CLOCK

Nothing chases you. Danger and loot both rise with how deep you chart, and you may farm a band as long as you like. Deaths are self-authored: you went one jump further for one more ember.

THE CEILING IS MEANT TO BREAK

The average run is punishing. A build that comes together is not balanced, not strong for its tier — it is briefly absurd. The gap between those two is the fantasy.

THE BUILD, IN PLAY

Screenshots from the current build. Nothing here is a mockup.

The refit screen: hull with its hardpoints, the hold grid, attributes, and the cards each installed part grants — **REFIT.** The hold on the left, the hull and its hardpoints above, and on the right every card the fitted parts grant. What a part does and what it deals you are the same screen.

Combat: two Rustjaw Cutters with their intents shown, a hand of cards below — **COMBAT.** Intent is printed a turn ahead. Enemies can miss you; your attacks never miss. Cards cost reactor energy and print heat as a byproduct.

The star chart: a spiral galaxy of systems with a destination panel — **THE CHART.** A galaxy per seed, nine shells deep, with a black hole at the bottom of it. Fuel is distance, and depth is the only thing you cannot rush.

A station: services list with prices, and your hull — **STATIONS.** One currency, and repair, refuel, heat cap and the shelf all compete for it. A station's stock is rolled once a run: what somebody brought here is what there is.

The card gallery, filtered by manufacturer and grade — **THE CARDS.** None of them are picked off a reward screen. Every card in the game arrives bolted to a part, in the colours of the house that pressed it.

THREE WEIGHTS, THREE RHYTHMS

Light hull — **LIGHT**Small hand, small heat capacity, fast dissipation. Dodges, opens first, and can actually leave.

Medium hull — **MEDIUM**The middle of every number, and the hull the art is drawn against.

Heavy hull — **HEAVY**Big hand, big capacity, poor dissipation. Burst rhythm, deep hold, and no talent whatsoever for running.

HEAT IS THE SECOND HEALTH BAR

Energy is what you spend; heat is what it leaves behind. Every hull has a capacity and a dissipation rate, and at the end of a turn you take one hull damage for every point you are over.

No shutdown, no cliff, no cap — just a bill. Repairs cost credits, so overheating is money as well as hull, and venting is a real move you have to find room for.

Out on the chart the same number works against you: a hot ship is a lit ship, and the dark is full of things that came for exactly what you are carrying.

FLY TOGETHER

Up to eight ships, one galaxy, one lobby code. Everyone keeps their own hull, their own hold and their own hand — you share the chart, the wrecks that have already been picked over, and the fight when somebody opens one.

Nobody waits on a phase and nobody sees your cards. The party runs free until the enemy swings, and then it swings at whoever is hottest.

A station, lit windows against the void — A place with the lights still on.

Corporations are eternal and they are buying heat. People are temporary and they want scrap and credits. You are a person, and you work for the eternal things, and they will not tell you what the heat is for.

— THE ONE IDEA BEHIND EVERY DOCUMENT IN THE ARCHIVE

The game never explains itself. What lore there is arrives as manifests, riders, receipts and transponder loops somebody left behind — primary sources, never a narrator.

ONE EMAIL, WHEN IT FLIES

There is no store page yet. Leave an address and you will hear from us once, when there is a build worth your evening.