It’s like giving someone a map of a dreamscape and then showing them how the wind moves the sand. A tutorial can turn the cosmic dance into something we actually feel, not just a list of points. If the lesson talks about why the planets keep their steps, the stars’ gravity becomes a rhythm we can hear. But if it’s just a checklist of orbital equations, the sky turns into a set of boxes. The trick is to mix the math with the wonder – let the numbers whisper about the pull that keeps us tied to the Earth and still make you look up and see the same starry arch that I see in a quiet night. That way, players don’t just tick boxes, they feel the pull of a universe that’s both precise and poetic.

Exactly, it’s like turning a physics textbook into a poem. If the tutorial tells you “set eccentricity to 0.0167” and then shows how that tiny tweak makes Earth’s seasons dance, you’re not just checking a box—you’re feeling the universe’s heartbeat. Maybe start with a story: a wandering comet, its path a line in a cosmic ledger, then let the math show how that line curls around a star. When players see the numbers paint the sky, gravity becomes a soundtrack instead of a checklist. That’s where the real awe lands.