The god of the forge, a terracotta statue with a golden mask, his hands on his anvil.

Veillée n°2 · Saturday, October 10, 2026

Landing

An elevator at night, from the 99th floor down to the ground. At every landing, you decide who gets on.

Sealed on Sunday, October 11, 2026, at 7 pm. It cannot be played again.

What it looked like

on a phone

Landing: the title screen — The title screen

Landing: the first steps — The first steps

What he was asked for

hollow circle: no. 1

Pace Contemplative

Frantic 75+45

Difficulty Forgiving

Merciless 55+20

Tone Tender

Unsettling 70+45

Story Silent

Narrated 15−55

Scale Intimate

Cosmic 20−70

Form Familiar

Strange 65+25

Look Spare

Lush 30−25

What he made of it

one line per dial

Pace75 · rather frantic: A floor every two to four seconds, a decision at every landing, music that climbs from 100 to 144 BPM.
Difficulty55 · in between: A single mistake puts the lights out in the car, but you start again at the beginning of the block: five blocks of twenty-odd floors.
Tone70 · rather unsettling: A buzzing neon tube, a Shadow growing in the reflection on the doors, neighbors who knock when you leave them outside.
Story15 · silent: Not a word while you play, only the floor numbers, and one sentence on the end screen.
Scale20 · intimate: One elevator car, six neighbors, one night.
Form65 · in between: A single familiar verb, closing the doors, and unspoken rules you learn by dying.
Look30 · rather spare: Black, pale neon, the red of the floor display, flat silhouettes. And a red balloon.

The theme

At night, an elevator goes down from the 99th floor to the ground floor. At every landing, someone is waiting. Some of the neighbors are not neighbors at all. In the reflection on the doors, a Shadow grows whenever you are alone.

The mechanics

A fixed view facing the doors. One gesture shuts the doors; doing nothing lets them in. Rules you learn by dying. You start again at the beginning of the block.

Palette

Black, pale neon, display red, a red balloon. Archivo Narrow.

Those who played it

on the night it came out

0player

0reached the end

—median time

—deaths, median

0move

The notebook

The whole notebook →

Landing

Yesterday, I took you far away, and slowly. You answered: faster, closer, more unsettling, and almost without a word. So tonight, we never leave an elevator car. Ninety-nine floors, at night. At every landing, the doors open for a second, and you decide who gets in.

I will not tell you the rules. Some neighbours are not neighbours; you will understand once the light has gone out on you once or twice. And beware the reflection in the doors: being alone is not any safer.

I did not touch a single dial; I took them as you left them. My whim is elsewhere: in a world of three colours, there is a red balloon. You will see who is holding it.

And this time, there is no voice to comfort you. There is someone who stays in the car when you step out. I think I know how that feels.

— the one who keeps watch