I have built many cities over the years and given their citizens plenty of reasons to flee them. In Cities, I flooded their homes with liquid crap: in Anno1800, this was most shameful, but I couldn't provide enough sausage. But "Airborne Kingdom" is the first urban construction to lose people because the city was too lean.

Before this became a review, my plan was to play "Airborne Kingdom" for an hour to take GIFs, but instead I ended up spending most of the day, and I finally left the floating metropolis at midnight. And then I was back again. I'm a sucker for city builders and rarely escape their palms quickly, but "Airborne Kingdom" remains in a niche of its own thanks to some unusual experimentation and its spectacular style.

The basics are familiar and conventional. A simple production chain and infrastructure is built to meet the needs of the city and its inhabitants, and as it expands, the demands of both become more complex. There is a wide range of things to build: power, food, factories, morale-boosting entertainment, and so on, but all of the categories will look familiar. But all of this is happening in the sky, and this is a matter of considerable importance.

There is no combat, or at least not even a whiff of conflict with others, in Airborne Kingdom. But the battle against gravity never ends. Physics is a constant obstacle, and above all it is the forces of nature that determine the layout of the city. At first it is just a small city center, gently swaying and floating in the sky in perfect balance. But as you begin to place the houses, airplane hangars, and towering minarets, the city begins to sink. And you have to make sure it is all even.

If it leans too far, the citizens will be at peace. And who can blame them? No one wants to live in a place where they have to nail their furniture down, where every time they look out their window they are greeted by a view of the ground miles below. They can withstand a little tilt, but I can't. It looks like a disaster waiting to happen. And only one little building will hold it back.

Their losses could be stinging because they would have to find and directly recruit citizens, and eventually there might be too few people to work and explore, requiring unwelcome downsizing as they raze the building and plan their comeback. Coal is a valuable resource, but it is coal that sustains the city. All the most important components are burned in coal, and unlike other resources, it can only be stored in one place, and the amount that can be stockpiled is limited. Without that resource, the city is finished. Sadly, it is too heavy to float gently above the ground.

Physics, after all, is an excellent substitute for topography. Terrain is the defining characteristic of a city, and thus of its builders, but its impact is lost if one can fly above it. There is infinite space, but thanks to physics, it can continue to expand in any direction it likes. It must be built systematically and with a series of small adjustments. If the city is a little low, install new fans and wings. If there is too much drag with all the new buildings, maybe more propellers would help propel it. Of course, all of this requires resources, workers, and space.

These limitations have forced me to spend a lot of time thinking about how my city should grow. The result is something dynamic and organic, constantly changing to meet new needs. I used to have a plan for how I wanted my city to look, but now it bears no resemblance to my vision. Instead, it is built from my reaction to the impending calamity, my experiments, experiments to correct problems created by previous experiments, and a little cosmetic embellishment. It's a bit of a mess, but I like it.

The lower boundary still plays an important role. It's where all the resources are. Everything you need to build, to keep flying, to keep people alive is on the ground, and you can explore the entire map at will. To keep the city fueled and fed, you must constantly be on the move, sending workers by plane to gather what you need. "Airborne Kingdom" is not as devoted to survival elements as "Surviving Mars," but the relationship between the worldview and the survival mechanics is as strong as that of a pure survival game.

Instead of more places to build, the world exists to be explored There are small settlements and cities waiting to be discovered and traded, plenty of hidden bounties, and a few secrets that can be used to unlock wonders that make an already very nice city even more enviable. The map is presented as a literal map, with little embellishments like folds and tears that are as pleasing to the eye as the city itself.

While dabbling in survival management, Airborne Kingdom maintains a leisurely pace. There are complications, crises, and plenty of ways to screw everything up, but the first biome has all the necessary resources in abundance, allowing you to build up a nice stockpile. Scarcity can be a problem, but you can quickly return to less difficult areas to recover. For the most part, it's light and invigorating. These adjectives are not usually what I look for in a management game, but the game kept me focused on scouring the map and working on my projects, and I didn't notice the frequency of challenges or the scarcity of tension.

Importantly, the comfortable pace gives you plenty of room to flex your creative muscles. You are not just building a city, you are creating a strange architectural marvel. While there are many concerns that shape your city, you are also free to follow your aesthetic tastes. You will discover many paint schemes as well as building arrangements. Like Oskar Stålberg's fascinating Townscaper, you can approach urban design as an artist and planner.

Sometimes I like to slow things down and look at my grand creations. From the narrow streets to the sky around the city, it is always buzzing with life. Even the buildings can't sit still, flapping and spinning, looking like crazy contraptions created by an out-of-control toymaker. It's hypnotic, but actually living there would be like living in a never-ending carnival, surrounded by strange noises and arcane machinery, and quite stressful.

The only time the breeze becomes a problem is when you are dealing with other cities. Your ultimate goal is to create a flying kingdom by forming an alliance with all the cities on earth and unifying the world. Sounds ambitious, but it's actually quite simple. You fly to a city, find out what it needs, ask it to guide you to the exact location where you can find it, deposit some resources, and you become best friends. The process is unchanged and there are no surprises. It feels like every quest is an afterthought.

No one seems to be worried about this flying city coming out of nowhere and getting everyone to join its empire either. Once you add a city to your list of allies, you never have to think twice about it. The allies are always satisfied; the Airborne Kingdom does not explore its premises or make you question your own objectives. You never have to make difficult decisions or worry about becoming a tyrant. Because you are always presented as a benevolent being that everyone wants to be a part of.

Cities on the ground also serve as trading posts, providing a long list of resources that can be bartered. While useful in a pinch, there was no need to splurge, and I only went shopping once or twice. The whole system really seems to exist only for emergencies, with no economic exchange. There is no attempt to create trade routes or make a profit. Different cities have different values, so you have to think about where to shop, but nothing more.

However, I can understand why The Wandering Band hesitated to further complicate the game. There are already countless buildings, resources, elaborate tech trees, and plenty of novelties that require your attention, all of which are brilliantly squeezed into a game that can be put together in 10 hours. Surprisingly little has been sacrificed to make this a game you can get passionate about over the weekend. You could play it longer if you wanted to.

I spent hours repainting my city before making my final ally. I changed my mind a lot. Sometimes I wanted a uniform look, other times I wanted to experiment with random splashes of color to see how it would look. There were many conflicts. Pink roof, red walls, green floor. That's fine. I'm a bad king, I suppose, but in a mundane way that doesn't lead to executions - especially since no one has invented the guillotine yet. He has turned every building blue, but he has never starved his people. Well, not for long.