v0.33.0 gives your peoples a memory of their own — and it does not always match yours.
They tell stories about you. Every people now keeps the great turns of its own history — the winters, the droughts, the wonders you worked over their fields — and tells them by firelight long after the last witness is dust.
The telling drifts. Each lifetime of tellers reshapes what it inherited. A hard winter grows into an age of white death; a mercy you never intended is read into a flood; the deed you did may end up credited to a leader who was not yet born. Two towns that lived the same year can end up telling it two different ways — and each will call the other's version the corrupted one.
The Living Scripture. A new book, beside the Saga on the status bar, opens what every people believes — and under each passage, one click away, the log of heaven records what actually happened. The gap between them is the point.
Scripture, revelation, and schism. Where faith runs deep enough, a people sets its canon down in writing and the drifting stops — the book cannot change its mind. Send a revelation through one of their own and the plain truth walks back in; but against a canon already written, the truth divides a town against its own book, and both are kept.
The hard years are remembered. A people's scripture is drawn from the history of their own ground, so the deep cold, the drought and the returning rains take their place in the canon beside your miracles.
A first hour rebuilt. Thirty-two panels became sixteen, and what you must read before you may act fell from about a thousand words to under three hundred. A taught power is now one lesson carrying all its motions — take it up, set its reach, lay it on the ground — with the panel re-pointing itself as you go. Each lesson still advances on what your act actually accomplished, not merely on the click, and explains itself in the world's own words. The colour and the caveats are all still there, one click behind “Tell me more”.
A way out, and a way deeper. Leaving the lesson asks once now, and leaving no longer marks the first hour finished for good. At the end the game offers to teach you how to read the world — the relief lens, the Visuals tab, the layers you may raise and lower — and takes no for an answer. And should a living soul ask something of you mid-lesson, they are no longer lost: the lesson holds them back, then introduces them.
The frost tells the truth. The chapter of cold no longer claims a farmstead cannot be kept. It can. What it costs you to keep it is the lesson.
A clearer map. Place names now sit beneath their cities and turn with the light, the Chronicle's marks explain themselves when a cursor rests on them, and the first embers of a settled night read more warmly.
Words that match the world. The Early Access note now describes what is actually in your hands instead of promising work already delivered, and an omen of peril names the peril your world truly faces rather than always the cold.
Continuing an older age: a world kept by v0.32.0 carries on unchanged — this update re-blessed nothing. The one exception is a First Valley still under way: it has been retimed, and its goal now counts the hidden works you fulfilled rather than the acts you cast, so a valley already past those years may find one of them out of reach. Begin it afresh to meet the first lessons as they now stand. Finished ages and their scores are untouched.