The Story Behind Trinity
This is the story of how I started making games.
When I began, I did what everyone does: I looked at what already existed. I studied other games. I analyzed mechanics. I tried to understand what works. What sells. What players respond to.
But pretty quickly, I ran into a problem.
The Trap of Building on What Exists
If you only build on what is already out there, you end up with something that feels familiar… but also unnecessary.
Why would anyone choose your game if it is just a worse version of something they already have?
At the same time, if you go the opposite direction and try to be 100% original, you run into a different problem: no one understands your game. The friction is too high. The learning curve is too steep. People will not even try it.
This is the core dilemma of game design:
Where on the scale between familiar and new should you land?
The Moment Everything Clicked
I remember looking at a game made by a well-known designer. It was complex. Full of variables. Systems on top of systems. Just watching a tutorial was enough to make me lose interest.
And that was a turning point.
I realized: I do not want to make games for the most hardcore players. I want to make games for everyone. Games that feel intuitive from the first second. Games you can understand without feeling overwhelmed.
So I started thinking differently.
The Three Questions That Changed Everything
Instead of starting with “what is out there?”, I began asking three simple questions:
1. What do I want to make?
Not what the market demands. Not what is trending. What do I genuinely want to create?
2. Why does this game exist?
What purpose does it serve? What experience does it deliver that nothing else does?
3. What is the simplest loop that can deliver that experience?
Before adding complexity, what is the core interaction that makes the game work?
Once you have that loop, only then do you start adding variables.
The Key: Few Variables, But Meaningful Ones
The secret is not to add more. It is to add better.
In my games, the mechanics often come down to something very simple:
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Some elements give you advantages.
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Others give you disadvantages.
That is it.
But by adjusting small things within that framework, you can create completely different experiences. Same game loop. Same structure. But an entirely new feeling.
This is where good game design happens. Not by adding more complexity. By refining what matters.
How This Shaped Trinity
Trinity was built on this philosophy.
The core loop is simple. Play cards. Make decisions. Work toward a win condition. Anyone can understand it in minutes.
But within that simplicity lies depth. Multiple paths to victory. Strategic choices. Psychological play. The complexity emerges naturally from the interactions, not from bloated rules.
This is the balance I was searching for. Familiar enough to be accessible. New enough to be meaningful.
Why It Matters
Games should not require a manual to enjoy. They should not demand hours of study before you can have fun.
The best games invite you in. They teach you through play. They reward curiosity. And they leave you wanting more.
That is what Trinity was designed to be.
Not the most complex game. Not the most original. But the right balance between the two.
And that is a lesson I carry into everything I create.