You are not the hero of this world.
You are an animal in it.
You wake small and hunted in whichever age of Earth your has fallen to — a Cambrian tide pool where the first eyes are opening, a Jurassic river mouth, the mammoth steppe under its last clean light. You learn the coast by its before you ever see it; you grow through real stages, hold ground, breed, leave a mark the map remembers. Then you die. Everything here does — and the soul you actually are falls on into the next age , carrying nothing across the extinction except what you passed on.
None of that is a trailer promise. A deep wound is a timer. A bog is a grave. How many of you the land can feed is decided by carrying capacity, not despawn timers — and every count on this page is read off the seed files the game actually loads.
Explore every era.
From the Cambrian sea to the Ice Age steppe, each era is its own world — a distinct roster, its own air and light, a paleo-accurate cast. Jump straight into any of them, or read one instrumented on the Era Codex.
Descend through deep time.
This is what a core sample of the game looks like. Every band is an era the simulation actually loads. Keep scrolling — the deeper you go, the older, and the stranger, the light gets.
The last clean light.
You wake on the mammoth steppe — the most productive cold grassland the planet has ever grown, held open by the grazing of animals larger than any alive today. A crowded guild of large carnivores works the same ground: sabre-cats, dire wolves, a short-faced bear that can look a standing human in the eye. The cold is a predator too. This is the youngest world here, and it is already a graveyard in waiting.
Grass wins.
C4 grasses seize the dry interiors and invent the savanna. Abrasive fodder files teeth down to nothing, so the animals answer with ever-growing teeth, running legs, and sabres to match. Out past the surf, the largest shark that ever lived is still working the whale roads.
Flowers invent colour, and then the sky falls.
Angiosperms bankroll the largest herds on record; a chalk seaway carries mosasaurs across a drowned continent. This is the North Point gameplay world, the era at its evolutionary peak — 37 fauna, the densest food web in the seed. And it ends in an afternoon. Everything above this line in the rock is what crawled out of the dark afterward.
The age of giants.
Warm, wet, and enormous. Sauropods reach a conifer canopy no herbivore had ever touched and partition it by height, each species eating a different storey of the same tree. Below them, Allosaurus and Torvosaurus split the work of killing. The first bird is already in the branches.
The Great Dying.
One welded supercontinent, an iron-red interior, sail-backed synapsid dynasties holding the land. Then the worst extinction in the history of life erases nine in ten species. When we say every world ends, this is the one that proves we mean it. The here harder than anywhere else on the timeline.
Air you could get drunk on.
Anoxic peat swamps bank carbon by the gigatonne and drive oxygen to roughly 35% of the air — two thirds again today's share. High oxygen lifts the ceiling on how big a thing that breathes through its skin can get, and the arthropods take the offer: dragonfly-kin the span of a hawk, a millipede two and a half metres long.
The first eyes open.
No land life at all — only a cold, clear sea over stromatolite flats and the first reefs. Life invents the predator and the eye almost in the same breath, and nothing in the water is ever safe again. You can start here, as one of the very first things that ever hunted. There is no floor beneath this layer. This is where the record begins.
Nothing here is decoration.
Realism, consequence, and a world with an ending — each one carries a real number or a real mechanic behind it, not a slogan. Every claim below traces to the seed files the game loads, or to the paper behind them.
Grounded in real paleontology
Every stat traces to a paper. Mass, diet, bite, the shape of the food web — not vibes. The whole roster is wired into a single ecosystem you can inspect edge by edge.
Death has weight — 21+
This world does not flinch. You bleed out on a timer; you drown; you starve. It never reaches for shock, but it never looks away either. Weight, not gore for its own sake.
A world that lives without you
Seasons turn, weather crosses biomes, populations boom and crash, territory changes hands — on the sim's own clock, whether or not you are logged in. You are a visitor in it, not its center.
An endgame, even as an MMO
Every world ends. A mass extinction collapses the era and reseeds the next, and your soul reincarnates into whatever the caps allow. Death is not the fail state — it is the mechanic the whole game turns on.
Worlds, when there are worlds.
The directory service is not built yet. These rows are hand-authored sample worlds bundled with the site, and every one of them says so — the counts and pings below are what a world will look like, not what one is doing. A labelled sample beats a convincing lie.
Read the field guide
Growth stages, controls, combat, breeding, reincarnation and the ten-era timeline — everything you need before your first spawn. →
The projectWhy it's built this way
Real paleontology, a self-running simulation, and a world designed to end and begin again. Meet the world behind Age of Eons. →
Pick a creature. Survive an eon.
Browse every species, era by era, with real stats and real paleontology — then fall through deep time, one body at a time.
Open the species picker