There exists a minuscule untamed sun confined within my crystal tower. I perceive its distorted voice and glimpse the yellow of its flames through the blinding white blocks at the pinnacle. The tower itself shines so brightly on the outside that it’s nearly impossible to distinguish objects placed upon it, yet I have shattered the exterior and excavated a maze of corridors, creating a cooler atmosphere inside. A domain of glimmering mist, as smooth as tooth enamel, adorned with cracked, elusive reflections that remind me of the stunning quartz spacecraft in Noctis.
The comparative dimness within the tower suggests that the brilliance of the structure’s exterior is, in fact, a reflection. It seems ensnared in the brilliance of some celestial entity, but if such an entity exists, it radiates energy imperceptible to the naked eye, detectable only by its effect on other entities. The skies of Lucid Blocks are murky and overcast even during the day, to the extent that ‘day’ holds any meaning in the game. There is one prominent celestial feature, a nebulous ring that neither rises nor sets, bright enough to navigate by while traversing the game’s procedurally generated terrains, yet insufficient to truly illuminate your path after nightfall. The only genuine sun present here is the one beneath. The one I created. It mumbles and yells, pressing against the walls of its confinement.