One long road. Everyone who opened this link ran their breath on it, froze where it ran out, and left a note. You start where the last one stopped.
You carried it . Say something to whoever comes next. They'll read it when they reach your statue.
That's your one run on this road. Hand the link to someone else -- they'll start exactly where you stopped, and read what you left.
While you were writing, another stranger picked up that statue. Your breath was run from a place that is no longer the end of the road, so it can't be added to the chain -- but the note you wrote is still there.
The road has been rebuilt since this page was loaded, and a breath run by the old one wouldn't land where it looked like it did. Reload and run it again -- your note is still here.
Something about that breath didn't make sense to the road, so it wasn't added. That's on us, not on you.
It has no address but the link, and no way in but from you. You run the first breath; your statue is what everyone else picks up from.
Send this to whoever should run next. They land where you froze, read what you left, and get one breath of their own.
A road is only reachable by its own link, and this one leads nowhere -- a character lost in the copying, or a road that was never made. The public roads are always open.
You can take a line off your road. The statue stays where it froze -- only the note goes.
Roads are handed between strangers, and this is what keeps them that way. It runs by itself and it asks once — not once per road. What this stores.
No account, no email, no sign-in. The game has never needed to know who you are, and the short version is that it still doesn't.
In your browser. A random device token, so a road can tell one runner from another and hold you to one breath. It is made on your machine, it is never shown to anyone, and clearing this site's data ends it — you become a new stranger. A held grant sits beside it, and so does a note of the roads you have opened: which statues on them are yours, and how far each road had got the last time you looked. That note is what lets this page tell you what happened while you were away. It never leaves your browser, and no road is ever told that you read it.
On the road, in public. The name and the note you leave, the path your breath took, and when it happened. That is the game: the next stranger reads them. Leave nothing in them you would not hand to a stranger, because that is exactly what you are doing. Whoever made a road can blank a note on it, and so can the person who runs this game, on any road.
Briefly, and never on a road. Your network address, counted for one rolling hour so that one address cannot flood a road with new devices. It is never attached to a statue, never shown, and gone within the hour.
Cloudflare Turnstile. The check above is Cloudflare's, and it runs invisibly, which means it looks at how your browser behaves rather than asking you to click anything. Cloudflare describes what that collects in its Turnstile Privacy Addendum. The game is hosted on Cloudflare, which keeps ordinary server logs of requests to it; road links live in the part of the address a browser never sends, so the page you opened is not in them -- though the game's own requests to a road name it, as any request to a server names what it asks for.
Not here at all. No advertising, no third-party analytics, no profile of you, and nothing sold or handed on. Turnstile is the only outside code this page ever loads, and only when a road asks for it.
A road holds a place for you for ten minutes, and this one had gone by the time the breath came back. The run is spent, but the road hasn't moved -- pick it up again.
Every statue on a road lives on the road, so there is nothing to run until it answers. Check the connection and try again.