Amberspire, a unique tabletop-inspired city builder from Lunar Division—the minds behind The Banished Vault—transports players to a desolate moon long past its prime. Once home to a flourishing, opulent society, the landscape is now defined by the dead. This somber history is omnipresent; the city’s architects have essentially repurposed the moon as a massive subterranean mausoleum. Periodically, fissures rupture the lunar surface, offering unsettling glimpses into the rows of interred remains beneath. With the grand central shaft of this necropolis serving as your town square, you are constantly reminded that while your eyes may be set on the future, you cannot entirely escape the past.
Or so it seems, until the fickle nature of the dice intervenes. Much like its peers in the city-building genre, Amberspire emphasizes growth, tasking you with transforming this eerie death-trap into a thriving settlement. Challenges arise in the present—perhaps a localized catastrophe threatens a vital structure, or shifting political winds leave your off-world benefactors less than generous. These events leave an indelible, often detrimental mark on your city. Yet, for a civilization physically tethered to a gargantuan cemetery, the inhabitants remain strangely indifferent to their grim foundation.
For the majority of a city’s lifespan, your populace displays no desire to reckon with, investigate, or even utilize the historical significance of their surroundings—not even to uncover relics or draw strength from the past during more nationalistic periods. While this doesn’t break the experience, it does render one of Amberspire‘s most striking visual and narrative elements somewhat superficial—an aesthetic backdrop rather than an integrated component of gameplay.
Perhaps I simply lacked the fortune of the invisible dice to trigger those specific, more integrated events. Indeed, chance is the lifeblood of Amberspire. Dice are not merely a mechanic; they are the literal foundation upon which you build your city, rolled to extract resources from essential infrastructure. These results are then funneled into further expansion or traded for the prestige points necessary to advance your civilization.
Each cycle unfolds over four turns: three for your own resource gathering and decision-making, and a fourth dictated by nature. Most dice feature a “weather” side, and these accumulated weather results resolve on the final turn. They may bring floods or encroaching rust that ravages nearby structures. Furthermore, collecting three “event” faces triggers a narrative complication, the resolution of which again hinges on a die roll. Your ultimate goal is to guide your city through various prestige phases, attracting settlers and amassing influence—the latter serving as both a primary currency and a frequent casualty of negative events.
Buildings are not passive resource generators. You must actively assign a die to a structure and roll it to determine output—a kiln might yield bricks, salt, or earth, while more esoteric facilities might produce “starglow” or “ritual.” While some resources appear bizarre, each holds specific utility, whether for market exploitation or attracting new inhabitants.
Where Amberspire truly shines is in how it maps your city’s evolution like a compressed history lesson, rather than the standard trajectory of mere linear efficiency. You begin in a “caveman phase” of crude kilns and rudimentary crystal devices. Ascending to the next prestige level unlocks refined commodities like tea or textiles, breathing life into what was once a desolate outpost. Eventually, the church enters the fray, and military ambition follows, as is the cyclical nature of states. You must balance this progress against the constant, looming threat of ecological disaster as your weather dice pile up. It is, in essence, the trajectory of human civilization captured within a six-sided die—and it is brilliant.
Despite the inherent repetition of the core cycle—build, gather, expand—Amberspire rarely feels tedious. Managing a limited pool of dice each turn forces constant strategic prioritization, ensuring there is always a new objective to pursue. Above all, it maintains an infectious sense of discovery, at least initially.
It sounds idealistic, yet it is the enduring allure of Amberspire. The inherent randomness ensures you are always adapting to new variables. The pace is measured, allowing you to gradually accumulate mastery over complex, multi-cycle tasks. Even when confronting a minor apocalypse, you feel equipped to handle it. For a long time, the game’s primary appeal lies in this satisfying rhythm of overcoming unexpected disruptions.
However, once that initial sense of wonder dissipates, the motivation to continue wanes. The game might have benefited from greater complexity; as it stands, the loop of using buildings to acquire resources for more buildings eventually hits a plateau. Once I reached the final tier, my compulsion to play diminished, though I still found enjoyment in constructing several varied cities.
Ultimately, that is the essence of Amberspire. It functions less like an all-consuming time sink and more like a traditional board game. It is something you return to periodically, appreciating its design and accepting its constraints, before setting it aside for something else. Perhaps unintended by Lunar Division, the game embodies its own premise perfectly: nothing lasts forever, nor should it.
Amberspire is available now for Windows PC. This review was conducted on Windows PC using a prerelease code provided by Bithell Games. You can find additional information about Polygon’s ethics policy here.
Source: Polygon
