A black fog is swallowing the white void.
Scattered across the land lie the parts of old wind machines.

Find them. Merge them. Raise turbines.
Their wind pushes the dark back — and where the fog lifts, the land remembers how to be green. Green every last cell, and the wind carries you onward to the next land — deeper and darker each time. Your boons travel with you.

The fog is unbreathable. Inside it your gas tank drains — and when the tank runs dry, your health follows. Only on green grass can you refill your air and heal.

Shadow wisps hunt in the deep dark — scatter them with a gust. The fog fights back in surges. Relics, wisp nests and tank cells wait out in the black — and every turbine you raise grants you a boon of your choosing.