Nine Worlds, One Dog

This is the founder's dog. He is a large black Portuguese Water Dog with one bright white chest patch, he is the operation's most reliable member, and this afternoon he is going on a hike. Before he left, we rendered him taking the same nap under the same tree in all eight of RealKeep's painted worlds, plus Sorrowmoor Cove — the world most of this shelf's benches live in. Same dog, same curl, same tucked paws, every time. Only the world changes: the tree becomes a hydroponic blister on a drifting ship, a dead cottonwood hung with hex-iron charms, a brass conservatory under sooty glass, a glowing mushroom the size of a house. That's the whole page. Scroll and enjoy him.

For the technically curious

Everything here came off our 96 GB card in a single sitting — FLUX.1-dev (open weights under a non-commercial licence; these pictures are shown as research receipts, not as cleared for other use — corrected 2026-09-04, see the addendum below), the same painter that draws the cove's scenes in production, at 2048×1280 and 40 steps (the live game sketches at 16; this was a Sunday paint), 40.6–41.3 seconds per world. The style half of every prompt is the world's own art direction — seven of the nine are the engine's committed style strings verbatim, and the two that exist only as picker tiles on the teaser (the pixel keep and sporefall) were composed to the house shape from their two-word descriptors, which the kit says plainly. The kit also carries every verbatim prompt, seed, size and per-render second — because even the dog pages on this shelf keep receipts.

And the receipts are more than bookkeeping. RealKeep is being built to run on your own machine, painter included — so a page like this one doubles as a recipe: the worlds ship with the game, the prompts above are verbatim, and the look you're scrolling is what one checkpoint paints when you hand it nine good trees. This is the gallery wing's first page. Future Fridays will hand these same nine worlds to other painters — including ones whose licences let you pull the weights and go — so by the time the game reaches you, this wing reads as a menu of what your own hardware can plate.

That's it. No gate, no verdict, no threshold table. The serious machinery is one shelf up — A Rig Your Friend Already Owns if you want this same painter benched properly, What 150 Watts Buys if you want to know what the card's power dial costs. The whole shelf holds the benches, failures included.

And if you're reading this from the far side of the teaser: one day the cove and its eight sibling worlds will be running on a machine of yours, painter and all. Think of this page as a promise — the trees are already planted. Bring your own good dog.

This page holds the dog.

Addendum, 2026-09-04 (UTC) — the licence claim on this page, corrected. From the day this page was published, 2026-08-28, until today, 2026-09-04, the first paragraph under “For the technically curious” said that FLUX.1-dev’s licence covers sharing every image on this page. It does not, on our own reading, and our licence ledger never said it did: that ledger has held this painter as held from its first day — it published on 2026-08-11 with this row already reading held, and its 2026-08-23 re-read of the licence text confirmed the row rather than moving it — because the licence grants its outputs in one clause (§2(d)) and restricts their use in another (§4(a)), and we could not satisfy ourselves which governs. The sentence above now says what the ledger says. The nine pictures stay up as research receipts of a measured run — the request, the seed, the size and the seconds, all in the kit — and we ask that you not treat them as cleared for anything else. The ledger’s flux.1 [dev] row carries the same line as of today, and the next gallery page painted by this painter carries it from its first day. If a professional’s reading arrives, this note moves with it.