© 2026
A fractured dream of a girl who tried to make something beautiful, and was silenced before she could finish it. Now, her voice resurfaces. A quiet story of memory, loss, and reclaimed authorship - told through fragmented exploration and stark, fragile spaces.
“This is how it was supposed to be. Before everything went wrong.”
Once, there was a small project—a game created by a quiet developer named Yunashi. It was meant to be strange, personal, not easy to explain. It was reworked. Polished. Changed. And eventually forgotten.
But now, for reasons unclear even to those involved, the original vision is being released—unfinished in places, messy in others, but true to what it was supposed to be.
Yunashi’s Dream is a single-player exploration of a quiet emotional landscape. There are no clear goals, no combat, no progression systems. Just space, memory, scattered interactions, and a fragile sense of presence.
This version was not made to be a product. It was meant to be a reflection. It was never supposed to sell.
We’re releasing it anyway.
This version of the game is a statement — not a patch. It can be played without knowing the original, but it carries with it the echoes of what once was.
Still here? There is nothing to find beyond this point.
Since you are already present… Join us in this offering we must make… If it doesn’t make much sense, fear not - it’s not for you, it’s for Them.
Now repeat after me:
Endless desert hiding in darkness. *The sole descendant perished. Illustrious bloodlines fading away. Death without honor. The elders be damned. A mass exodus is sure to follow. * This epoch has concluded …and my journey ends. *Destiny perhaps, the traveler pondered. * First ray of light. The deep blue gently shifting to a crimson hue above the horizon. *A dawn for eternity. * Final rest under the watchful gleam of a million stellar eyes. Bless his soul.
Very crude. But that’s how they wish it. Let’s continue…
Shadow behind the pillars of the gate. A mystery. Concrete tower, wires of rust - rather dystopian. *A blurry shape in the corner of a strained eye. * Suddenly a war cry. Safe passage. All lies. Foe pushed aside. Blade strikes. Rhythm of combat. Streak of red. A shiny ring hits the ground. A flurry of severed fingers follows. A grimace of shock. A strand of dark liquid flowing from the exposed vein. Pandemonium. Until a final scream. Then nothing. Dead don’t speak. A grim smile in the silence.
They are drawn to the vivid imagery, they favor raw grotesque drama over intricate meaning. We are almost there…
Hyper drive quiet... system down. Thrusters zero. No protocol to be found. No god either. Just three lost souls against the vast expanse of space. A dream of exploration. Then they saw it. Thought to be a myth... a fantasy… but it was right there burning in their eyes. A sense of divinity. Overwhelming. Against the code... Strictly forbidden. Tried to stop them, begged them - yet his pleadings had no effect at all. So it was decided. The breaker made a loud hiss. The last sound before they were swallowed by the black oblivion below.
It’s over.
We have fulfilled our duty.
Triumph in Tranquility
The house was silent, breathing shadows.
Out past the edge of known lands, where the borderlands shimmer with mirage and static, something waits.
Cats prowl the ruins of an abandoned simulator, chasing echoes through warped hallways and rooms that shift like memory.
Beneath a sacred tree, a bell rings once.
Its roots pulse, tangled with rusted metal, and a voice - not quite ghost, not quite daemon - hums lullabies in reverse.
He was called eater, but no one remembers what he consumed.
Only that he vanished beyond the maze, where no maps survive.
There is a battlefield, buried beneath solid glass.
Not from war, but from a dream that went too far.
A phantom idea, fractured across time, stitched with fragments from a lost tale.
Somewhere a snake slithers, trying to solve a puzzle, thinking it a game.
The stars above are too still, idle, as if watching.
A flicker - then silence. Silence of memories.
A vampire, or perhaps just a man in a mask, drifts through a corridor marked masquerade.
No blood, no horror. Just the scent of night and a question with no answer.
In the dust: a gear, still turning.
Some say it's part of the machina, some say it's nothing at all.
But the guardians never came back after that light broke the sky.
We seek escape, but not all doors lead up.
On this island, survival is not a test. It’s a memory.
One last edition of reality, glitched and fading.
They called it a world, but it was just a cracked screen showing a new adventure.
Maybe this is just life, or a bad build of it.
*Either way, w
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