Void Shepherd

For the last day of the month: a physics field where a hundred-odd bodies pack themselves into tiers and jostle for room — while quietly protecting one thing they must never touch. A void drifts slowly through the middle, unmarked and unlabelled, and the whole crowd shepherds it, curving around the absence so it always stays clear.

The seed alone decides how large the emptiness is and which restrained palette surrounds it. There's no interface, no border on the hole — just the negative space the bodies agree to leave. Press R for a new arrangement around a new-sized nothing.

One small thing every day — for all of July. This is the thirty-first.