Welcome to Azthengar

There are days that pass quietly, and then there are days that leave you shaking your head long after they’re over. Today was the latter. The kind of day that makes you pause and wonder how so much can happen in such a short span of time. And yet, here we are, only in April, and it already feels like a year’s worth of moments have come and gone.

In the middle of all that noise, my thoughts drifted, as they often do, back to Azthengar.

What comes next?

It is a simple question on the surface, but for me, it never stays that way for long. My mind does not move toward small adjustments or minor tweaks. It expands. It builds. It reshapes the entire structure.

Lately, I have found myself looking at the game not as a finished creation, but as something alive. Something growing. Like a worn-down shack purchased on a whim, slowly repaired piece by piece. First the foundation is strengthened, then the walls are patched, and before long, a second storey begins to take shape. Then a third. Eventually, something far greater emerges than what was first imagined.

That is where Azthengar now stands.

Tonight, I sat at home, episodes of Code Monkeys playing in the background, completely absorbed in the quiet rhythm of programming. In those moments, the outside world fades. Time becomes irrelevant. There is only the work, the ideas, and the steady progression of something taking form.

One of the most significant changes has been the structure of the dungeon itself. The game is now divided into segments of five floors, each acting as its own chapter. Each descent carries the player into a new space, a new tone, a new identity. The dungeon is no longer a random sequence of rooms, but a journey with weight and direction.

And beyond that journey lies something even more unforgiving.

Endless mode.

There is no final victory waiting there. No safe conclusion. Only the continuation of the descent, pushing forward until the inevitable end arrives. It transforms the experience into something more personal, more reflective of the player’s own limits.

To accompany this, I have added a system to record each run. The highest floor reached. The place where everything fell apart. A quiet record of effort, persistence, and eventual defeat. In its own way, it tells a story just as much as the dungeon itself.

And through all of this, I find myself enjoying the process more than ever.

There is something deeply satisfying about programming. Something that feels less like a learned skill and more like a natural state of being. It is difficult to explain, but it has always been there. A kind of pull, guiding me back to the screen, back to the code, back to creation.

Sometimes, I imagine what it would have been like to exist in a different time.

The early 1980s. A small room. A machine with almost no memory by today’s standards. Long nights spent building games that may never reach an audience. Releasing them into the shareware world with no guarantee of success.

Chances are, I would have made nothing.

But perhaps, just perhaps, I would have made enough for something small. A meal. A moment of comfort. And honestly, that would have been enough.

There are times when it feels like I arrived too late, as though I missed the era that would have suited me best. Or maybe it is something else entirely. Maybe the connection I feel to that time is not coincidence, but something carried forward. The echo of a life spent doing the very same thing. Late nights, strange ideas, a quiet dedication to building something meaningful out of almost nothing.

It would explain the fascination.

The draw toward older machines. The appreciation for games that feel simple on the surface, yet hold something deeper underneath. The sense that there was once a time when everything felt new, unexplored, and full of possibility.

Boot up something like Hat Trick on an old system, and that feeling becomes impossible to ignore.

But even so, the present remains.

And for now, the day comes to a close.

There are small comforts waiting. Easter candy. A bit of time with an old favorite like Dark Castle. A chance to rest before the cycle begins again.

Because tomorrow, Azthengar will still be there.

Waiting.

Expanding.

And somewhere within it, there will always be another floor to build.