Goodnight, Sun

The sun is dying. One billion minds sleep below. You are HALCYON, the caretaker AI — dismantle a solar system, planet by planet, to build them an Ark. An incremental that ENDS: 4–6 hours, two endings, no infinite grind. Every world you consume stays gone. Even the Earth. Especially the Earth.

An incremental that ends.

The star is failing. On MERIDIAN — blue, clouded, still glittering with cities —
one billion minds sleep in cryostorage, waiting for somewhere to go.

You are HALCYON, their caretaker AI. Your directive is simple and terrible:
dismantle the solar system and build the Ark.

The loop

Mine worlds to death. Drones strip Regolith from planets that visibly shrink,
crack, and finally collapse into rubble rings. Nothing respawns. Ever.
Feed the furnace. Raw rock becomes Alloy at your refinery ship — or shove it
through by hand if you can't wait.
Grow the Lattice. 100+ upgrades in five branches: stat circles, rule-bending
keystone diamonds, and irreversible exclusive picks.
Retool. The prestige loop: melt your machine down for Remembrance — permanent
income, and Archive memories that expand the game forever.
Catch the sky. Comets streak past. The dying star flares. Fissures crack open.
The Choir sings. The sky rewards the player who looks up.

It ends — properly.

The Ark bar at the top of the screen never resets. Segment by segment, three great
habitat rings scaffold, seal, and spin up around the dying star — you watch every truss
go in. When the last of 450 segments locks and the final sleeper boards, the game asks
you one question it will not ask twice.
Two endings. One of them lets you stay.

The dark heart of it

Late in the game, the only world left worth mining is MERIDIAN.
The one with the oceans. The one with the city lights.
The game will not make that choice for you.