The sea is the enemy
Endtide's ocean is not a spawn table. It is one deterministic fluid, simulated cell by cell. It pools behind ridges, funnels down valleys, and finds the one gap you forgot.
The threat vocabulary is physical and learnable. A surge spikes and recedes. A king tide leans on your highest wall for one long, patient minute. A storm wave breaks in from a flank. A breach turns a comfortable evening into a sprint.
Hold the line
Seawalls raise the land itself. Pumps and evaporators spend power to push the water back. Channels decide where the flood goes when you cannot stop it. Every placement is a bet measured in centimetres of freeboard: the forecast peak says 4.2 metres, and your wall stands at 4.5. For now.
Energy is the spine, and the waterfall plant feeds on the very sea that is trying to drown you. The deeper the water against your wall, the harder it works. The thing killing you is also the engine.
The toolkit, straight from the build:
Read the tide
Tides arrive as rounds, telegraphed a beat before they land. Fast bores punish absence. Slow swells drain your reserves. A smooth crest rewards exact arithmetic; a rough one punishes any wall built without margin.
The biggest are seeded and forecast like weather: you know Boreas is coming before it lands. The resolve is honest: HELD, or OVERTOPPED, and the count of what the water took.
The clock only moves forward
The campaign is a planet on one shared clock, and the sea rises on it for everyone. You found cities on purpose: a trade seat, a barrier anchor, a science farm, or a city you already know you will lose, sealed under a dome to feed the ones behind it.
Every run banks something permanent. And when a city is overwhelmed, you do the thing no one else lets you do: wind the world back and play those years better. Losing a city is not losing the war.
How the branching, the trade, and the Compact fit together: the campaign page. The planet, its biomes, and its flood signatures: the world page.
Everything on this page is a pre-alpha capture from the real simulation. No mockups, no concept paintings; this is the water that will drown you.
Stand the watch
One short letter when there is something real: playtest doors opening, the store page going live, a storm worth naming. The first letter comes with the wallpaper.
Or take the wallpaper now: the ringwall, 2560 × 1440