“I’m going to try one more time, Bill,” my grandma says, undeterred by her bad RNG, walking into the dungeon once again and all the way to that chest that might have the Death Necklace.

As my grandpa flips back a page in his thick, well-loved Dragon Warrior GameFAQs printed walkthrough, he smiles back and says, “Remember to use the torch as you walk into the dungeon, Mom.”

Grandma looks back, huddled in her blanket. “Which way do I turn again? Zach, remember that the item you can get from this chest every once in a while is worth a lot of money.”

I glance over at my wife and give her a smirk before replying, “Oh, I remember, Grandma. Aren’t you a high enough level to just move on without it?” 

I already know her answer before she gives it.

“This is always the way I do it. I need that gold. Remember when I helped you find it? Which way do I go again?”

Patient as ever, Grandpa gently points and says, “Turn right after the stairs there, Mom.”

In so many ways, it’s appropriate that this is the last time I saw my grandma. She was always fiercely intransigent: she wanted to do things and play things her way. Even with other versions of Dragon Quest I available, she wanted to play the NES version. She wanted the familiar rhythms, the familiar RNG, and the familiar instructions my grandpa so lovingly gave her. Even as she was losing her memory, even as she couldn’t wrap her head around new games, even as she could barely see the screen, this is how she held on to a fundamental piece of who she was.  

Still, even with her stubborn love for how “things should be,” I am convinced my grandma would have loved last year’s Dragon Quest III HD-2D Remake, a game that is faithful in all the right ways to the original while also updating it for a modern audience.

Would she have liked Dragon Quest I & II HD-2D Remake? I’m less sure. These are ultimately very different games. They use the original iterations as a baseline, but have their own identity. This largely works with Dragon Quest II, turning it from an overly ambitious slog into something actually fun to play, but with Dragon Quest I, it’s sometimes an awkward fit, muddying something that has always been pure and simple.

Don’t get me wrong: I understand why the original Dragon Quest in particular needed some adjustments. As revolutionary and genre-defining as it was (I mean, it was the first true JRPG), it’s not a pleasant experience in 2025. Being forced to use a torch in dungeons to get around, buying keys at the shop to get into certain doors, and only fighting one enemy at a time is pretty darn boring nowadays. The horrible balancing and broad aimlessness of Dragon Quest II isn’t exactly a blast either. These games needed more changes than the already excellent Dragon Quest III, but that doesn’t mean that they all work.

Take combat, for instance. In Dragon Quest I HD-2D, you still only control one character (something the NPCs comment on a lot, a fun little jab at the original), but he’s an absolute beast, replete with dozens of skills, some of which you find from exploring and grabbing “Scrolls,” far more than you had in previous versions. You can even superpower those moves by gathering the five Sigils that originally only appeared in Dragon Quest II. These Sigils might allow your moves to “crit” randomly, or you can choose to power them up if you’re at low HP. There are also multiple enemies in random encounters, and a lot more boss fights. Put simply, there’s just a lot more going on.

That all sounds more fun than the original, right? Early on, I agreed; it’s certainly more interesting to have multiple enemies in battles. But eventually, especially in the late game, fights turn into an RNG-fest. Far too many battles are determined by one thing going wrong, and with just one party member, there’s no way to recover from bad luck. I spent at least two hours on a boss fight, and I didn’t go grind because I knew if my Midheal recovery spell critted at the right time, I’d be perfectly fine. And lo and behold, when the turns came out right, when a couple of abilities randomly powered up at the right time, I breezed through. No amount of Dragon Quest knowledge or tinkering saved me, and frankly, I don’t think it could have. I don’t even want to imagine the profanity that would have poured out of my grandma if she had to deal with some of these boss fights. 

Most of those adjustments carry through to Dragon Quest II 2D-HD, but here they work. The Sigils still give you random buffs, and everyone, including enemies, has a lot more skills to work with than before. The difference, of course, is that this time you have four party members (with the delightful addition of the Princess of Cannock). Oh, and a huge change from the original DQII is that the whole party is actually useful. So, if something went wrong and killed one party member, instead of an inevitable wipe and retry, I managed with the other three. It plays fair because it knows how to play with all the tools in your box—the new Dragon Quest I doesn’t.

That goes for the story, too, which is greatly expanded in both games. The base narrative is still the same in each: you play as the descendant(s) of the legendary hero Erdrick, and you need to tackle the great evil that threatens the world. Both games’ NPCs get more dialogue, villains get a back story and understandable “motivations,” and there are a lot more things you need to do. The party members in Dragon Quest II each have distinct and vibrant personalities. Understandably, this makes both games significantly more linear, as many once optional tasks are required (yes, you have to save Princess Gwaelin in Dragon Quest I this time, but what monster would skip that?). 

But does Dragon Quest I really need all that? Sure, the additional dialogue and characterization is nice, especially for the aforementioned Princess, and I always enjoy reading more of the delightful localization, but what was once a quick, simple, clean 6 or 7 hour game now takes twice as long. A lot of the additional content feels like padding that is either meant to call back to the chronologically prior Dragon Quest III or set something up in Dragon Quest II. Dragon Quest I has always been a smaller game that doesn’t need railroading, and the additional pointers, roadblocks, and content detract from the simple magic of discovery.

For Dragon Quest II, however, this all makes sense and almost entirely works for me. It is a game that thirsts for complexity, a game that swung big back in 1987, and if you ask most people (me included), it whiffed. It wanted to give you the freedom to explore with your boat but didn’t give you enough direction. It wanted to be more story-driven, but it didn’t have the space on the cartridge to tell a compelling one. It wanted to add complexity to combat, but it only made one party member worth anything. They finally achieve all of their ambitions here, with just enough direction to go along with the exploration, a fully fleshed-out story with charming characters, and a combat system that is strategic and balanced without any major difficulty spikes (if you’ve played the original, you know what I’m talking about). It might take over 40 hours to complete now, but the additional time feels organic and essential. Put simply, Dragon Quest II is the crown jewel of the two games here, and finally worth playing as more than just a history lesson. 

That isn’t to say that every addition to Dragon Quest II is successful, but my complaints are mostly minor. The added underwater exploration is slow and awkward—and if you want to find all of the secrets this game has to offer, you’re going to be spending a lot of time down there. This issue is compounded by the number of important items randomly strewn throughout the different areas, or chests tucked into the very end of a dungeon that you can’t open until much later with a key. Even now, I still haven’t found a few items, and trust me, I have looked, but eventually I got tired of walking back and forth and hitting “X” until I located them. And don’t even get me started on the new dungeon required for the “true” ending—it’s an hours-and-hours-long exercise in tedium and despair, though the effort is absolutely worth it for long-time series fans.

I know I haven’t addressed this up to this point, but to be clear, both of these games still look and feel a lot like Dragon Quest III HD-2D Remake. Battles are still random and from a first-person perspective. The graphical style is entirely intact and, on occasion, improved, with even more verticality in the towns and dungeons in particular. There are secret spots and glittering item spots littered over the world map. The music still pulls from the Sugiyama-conducted “Symphonic Suites,” and while I prefer Dragon Quest III‘s OST to either of these, the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony still does an amazing job of bringing the original classics to life in a way that fits the style and flavor of the remakes. 

All of those quality-of-life features of Dragon Quest III HD-2D are back, too, including quest markers, difficulty settings, and the ability to speed up battles. They’ve even added a few more that I happily imbibed in, including marking treasure chests and secret spots on the map. As always, you can turn off these features if you want a more pure experience, but especially in the still open-ended Dragon Quest II, I am delighted they are here, no matter what my grandma might have thought of them.

Part of me wonders if I’m a little like my grandma while playing Dragon Quest I & II HD-2D Remake. Maybe I’m too attached to what I love to want things to change. Maybe the only reason I love the changes to Dragon Quest II is because I never loved it to begin with. Maybe I only want Dragon Quest I to stay the same because it’s the last game I ever saw her play. Maybe I want the developers to cherish that moment, that simplicity, the same way I do. Maybe it’s just because I miss her.

You know what? My grandma was right. Some things don’t need to change. But I can always go back and recreate that moment any time I want with the original. Maybe this new version of Dragon Quest I isn’t for me, but the new Dragon Quest II sure is, and it’s glorious.

I played The Outer Worlds 2 wanting to be surprised. I wanted the sequel to take the rough promise of the first game and turn it into something deeper, not bigger for the sake of being bigger. I followed developer interviews about the team leaning into classic RPG trade-offs and focusing on a denser opening world, and I understood the logic behind removing the ability to respec to make choices matter. After dozens of hours and too many half-baked quests, I can say those intentions are visible. I can also say they do not justify the way the game often collapses under its own ambitions.

From my first touchdown on the enlarged opening planet, I felt like I was being asked to do the heavy lifting for the game. The region is cluttered with errands disguised as quests. I cleared more than I should have, and by the time I finally left that world, I was exhausted rather than hungry to see more. That feeling stuck with me, as the promise of a varied galaxy turned out to be a slog through the same kinds of objectives. Twice the content, yes, but it too often comes across as twice the padding and not twice the imagination.

The game did have moments where it still grabbed me. The art direction and certain environmental set pieces are beautiful. Later planets that lean darker and more oppressive gave me the best moments in the playthrough; they felt thematically coherent and actually earned my attention. And companions mostly still work: banter in combat, consistent character beats, the one companion arc I genuinely enjoyed.

Unfortunately, those moments are islands in a sea of uneven design. Too many NPCs feel like set dressing. I found myself talking to townsfolk who had nothing interesting to say, who were clearly waiting for a quest marker to justify their existence. Characters appear when the plot needs them and vanish when it does not, with zero sense of introduction or stakes. I felt like I was being handed pieces of a story rather than invited to live inside one.

Quest design is the sequel’s biggest failure. Obsidian’s other titles had a knack for making even small quests reveal something meaningful about the world. Here, most side missions are busywork: fetch, return, repeat. I cannot overstate what a disappointment that was. In an RPG, the reward structure teaches the player what matters, and in this case the signals are broken. 

The Outer Worlds 2 caps you at level 30, which, in theory, is a good screen against becoming a one-person army of every skill. I get the reasoning. I even like the idea of permanence in choices. But I reached level 30 well before I finished many companion arcs. Once I hit the cap, the motivation to finish content evaporated. Why engage in combat if the experience no longer changes my build? Why grind repetitive tasks for rewards that feel cosmetic? I found myself skipping fights because the game had simply stopped rewarding me.

The point isn’t min-maxing, but preserving the loop of risk and reward. When the game removes the carrot, the loop becomes a treadmill. The skill design compounds the problem. Speech lets you bypass entire boss fights and defang tension. Lockpicking mostly gets you small amounts of bits (currency) and a sliver of experience. Both cost skill points, but they do not carry the same weight in play, which makes choices feel arbitrary or meta-driven rather than role-play driven. The inability to respec means it’s impossible to design an important locked door that requires lockpicking, because what if the player doesn’t have it? The philosophy might be noble, but the balance is sloppy.

And on that note, the writing is also sloppy in a way that feels shocking and uncharacteristic. I expected uneven satire, but I did not expect NPCs to be dropped into scenes with no introduction or explanation. More than once, I encountered someone who seemed critical to the plot and had no establishment or motive; they essentially showed up because a quest needed a face. That felt like being handed a script that had not been fully staged. A few lines of genuine satire still landed, though the humor is too patchy. While the commentary on society is interesting at times, it too often reads like an outline rather than a targeted critique.

The antagonists are particularly weak; they exist to create friction rather than to be compelling figures in their own right, and they barely succeed even at that. I want villains who make me care, who push the narrative into deeper territory. Instead, I shrugged. It is a strange failing, because the game can create striking environments, yet it fails to craft believable characters who justify a player’s journey from planet to planet.

The Outer Worlds 2 also feels like it’s held together by duct tape. I hit a ton of annoying bugs: dialogue that failed to trigger, AI that idled in combat, odd UI behavior. One memorable example was when an elevator interaction told me I lacked authorization to enter, and then I rode the elevator up anyway. By the end of the game, my trust was completely eroded to the point that I expected every quest to have bugs.

This should be the part where I mention the soundtrack, except I couldn’t recall a single theme if I tried. The background music is so subdued and forgettable that it might as well not exist. The only note I wrote down was that NPCs occasionally bugged out and stopped talking altogether. Performances often sound like they’re being read straight off a script, though it’s hard to tell whether that comes from the acting or from the story giving them so little to work with.

There are design choices I appreciate even as they frustrate me. I liked the Spectrum Dance Saber, a rhythm-based melee weapon, more than I should have. Stealing adds a layer of emergent fun in certain pockets. Leveling feels rewarding when the systems actually work. The added verticality sometimes brings fresh possibilities. Those aspects kept me intrigued, but the positive flashes highlight the rest of the game’s inconsistencies.

Economy and reputation systems are undercooked. Bits feel useless because there are too few meaningful things to spend them on, and your standing with the factions never leads to interesting consequences. These are systems that, in a stronger game, would encourage experimentation. Here, they sit like empty scaffolding.

What bothered me most was how rarely The Outer Worlds 2 ever answered the simple question of why. Why am I going to this planet? Why does this person matter? Why should I care about these antagonists? Story beats exist largely to create new tasks rather than to grow stakes. The stakes do get higher eventually, but it feels completely forced and inorganic. This is a creative philosophy that favors structure and size over narrative purpose.

I still believe in Obsidian. I want this team to succeed. I have watched them turn messy starts into classics before. The constellation of a great RPG is visible: the atmosphere, the occasional inspired companion quest, the delight of the right weapon in the right encounter. But here the stars never align.

Play this if you love the setting and are prepared to sift through repetition for what looks like a diamond. But I’ll warn you now: when you finally dig it up, you’ll realize it’s just a rock. That’s the feeling this game leaves you with. The Outer Worlds 2 is not Obsidian at their best; it might be the worst Obsidian game I’ve ever played. For now, it is a sprawling failure of focus and pacing, a game that is often interesting by accident rather than by design.

There’s no shyness in Lucy Dreaming regarding its influences. When I’d wake from slumber as a teen in the nineties, my remembered nighttime gaming visions looked like this. Back then, the quality of video game storytelling drove many of us away from action titles and towards more accommodating forms, like JRPGs. However, players also found solace in the burgeoning adventure game genre, which placed an eccentric and comedic spin on narrative-based interactive experiences.

During this period, LucasArts, the undisputed titan of the field, built on the success of eighties titles such as Maniac Mansion by creating enduring classics, like The Secret of Monkey Island. These games inspired the small team at developer Tall Story Games, who obviously have the same affection for those days that I do.

Lucy Dreaming follows in LucasArts and its contemporaries’ hallowed footsteps, attempting to replicate the experience of booting up one of those legendary titles. It tells the story of Lucy, a young English girl who lives in the small town of Figgington, a bizarre hybrid of a seaside postcard, a British rural detective drama, and The League of Gentlemen.

Lucy suffers from nightmares that make it impossible for her to sleep, so she turns to one of her father’s psychology books for advice. It advocates creating a dream box and filling it with inspiration, along with an appropriate companion. If you think Figgington sounds odd, just wait until you see the outlandish worlds that await Lucy when she pops on her pyjamas and takes the plunge into her unconscious.

Lucy Dreaming adopts a simplified variation on the SCUMM control system developed by LucasArts for Maniac Mansion. You have four commands that you use to interact with objects: Look At, Pick Up, Talk To, and Use. From these limited options spring a multitude of possibilities, but the cursor defaults to “Look At.” You press a button to scroll through the others, which feels like a legacy of its pre-console origin. I believe a better choice would be to allow the mapping of the options onto different inputs, but even so, cycling through to find what you need soon becomes second nature.

You use the commands to explore the environment, examine artefacts, hold conversations, and merge items. As any keen adventure game player will tell you, the primary purpose lies in finding the silliest combinations of instructions that you possibly can just to see what happens. If this sounds appealing, then Lucy Dreaming has you covered, as nearly everything you can think to do results in a witty response, or at the very least a groan-inducing pun.

Only every so often do you come up against the dreaded stock phrases prevalent in the genre, with Lucy saying something along the lines of “I don’t want to do that.” This happens much less than in other, similar titles, sometimes sounding as repetitive as that time you played Tomb Raider and kept trying to make Lara do something unpleasant.

Lucy Dreaming gives you many incentives to explore. With its pixellated graphics, it has a wonderfully retro look that transported me straight back to rainy afternoons after school, marvelling at the sophisticated graphics of the new age. It could be the nostalgia talking, but its muted palette, which blends a gritty, down-to-earth look with a comic-book aesthetic, perfectly suits the project. Lucy Dreaming’s style captures the run-down banality of Figgington’s environments but adapts nicely to the more fantastical dream worlds that Lucy travels to. This makes sense, as things drawn from Lucy’s life populate the dreams, and subtly linking the dreams in this way really works.

Lucy Dreaming takes place in a relatively small number of environments, but each makes a distinctive impact. In Figgington itself we have Lucy’s home, which, despite only having a few rooms, still manages to feel large and imposing, emphasising Lucy’s relative isolation. Other areas include the town centre, consisting, like many English high streets today, mainly of a charity shop and a run-down pub. The library appears very traditional, except for the addition of some rather odd retro-futuristic machinery. The dream lands, unique zones of surreal hilarity, present the player with extended skits that could be drawn straight from the minds of the best of the Python era comedians.

Tall Story Games populates Lucy Dreaming with characters ranging from the outright disturbed, such as Lucy’s twin brother Lloyd, who performs twisted experiments on animals of both the living and the stuffed variety, to hilarious caricatures of English life. The latter includes a jam-obsessed vicar, a charity shop worker with little to no interest in the charity they work for, and the hard-pressed owner of the worst English corner shop you could possibly imagine. In Lucy’s sleeping world, we encounter friendly carnivorous plants and trolls who love baking more than bludgeoning.

Many of these creatures have a generally gloomy disposition, something almost required in humorous point-and-clicks. There’s something immensely fun about seeing these creatures’ reactions to the ridiculous things that you make Lucy do throughout the course of the game. Lucy herself recognises this, commenting on her own ethically dubious behaviour, providing some of the funniest moments in a very funny game.

The full voice acting also impresses in this indie title. The husband-and-wife team behind Tall Story Games, Emma and Tom Hardwidge, decided that Emma would provide the voice of Lucy to save on cost. What could have been an unfortunate compromise turns out to be a complete triumph, as Hardwidge puts in a magnificent performance. Her soft Midlands accent and droll delivery ensure that nearly every gag lands, even when they really shouldn’t. She doesn’t try to sound like a child, but even so, we soon accept the premise, drawn in by the absurdity of it all.

The rest of the relatively small cast also perform admirably, with a manic-sounding Lloyd elevating the early moments of the game. Lucy’s primary dream companion Fumbles the Bear sounds suitably depressed, and a wonderfully clichéd take on the Igor archetype entertains in the later stages of the game. The team also secured the services of Dominic Armato, the iconic voice of Guybrush Threepwood from the Monkey Island series, who gives an entertaining performance as a local food critic. Whilst relatively brief, it’s a great callback to those earlier days of adventuring.

The puzzling, forming the core of the gameplay, delights in its construction. The challenges have the right level of difficulty; not so easy that you will breeze through them, but not hard enough to cause frustration. With logically built puzzles requiring only a little experimentation and thought to solve, the joy in finally working out a tricky conundrum cannot be understated. Only on one occasion did the game truly stump me, which I believe lies more in my failings than the game’s.

Difficulty can be an issue for point-and-clicks, as encountering an intransigent problem can result in a player tossing a game aside. Recent titles and remasters have dealt with this issue in different ways, with some opting for a hint system that becomes increasingly explicit according to player needs. Tall Story Games have adopted a more subtle approach, with a button on screen that you click on to reveal the key items in a scene that you can interact with. This provides just enough impetus to help surmount potential roadblocks without removing the sense of achievement so crucial to the experience.

The music in Lucy Dreaming again calls back to the golden age of adventure games with enjoyable tunes that fit the situations Lucy finds herself in. The nature of the game means you will be spending large amounts of time in singular locations attempting to solve difficult dilemmas. Composer Bertrand Guégan and the creative team decided on a relatively unobtrusive musical style, though individual tracks can be repetitive in consequence.

You may be asking yourself whether such a game appeals to modern tastes as well as to more vintage gamers like myself. In answer to that question, I played Lucy Dreaming with my own children, and my youngest so loves Lucy’s story that he demands a sequel immediately. On the same subject, if you feel like letting the younger folk loose on Lucy Dreaming, you will be glad to know about the option to turn the swearing off if desired, although none of it would upset your grandparents, even at its most expletive-filled worst.

Lucy Dreaming represents an astounding achievement when you consider the size of the development team and the results they achieved. Playing feels like chancing upon long-forgotten memories of better days. Despite this, the game pushes forwards, making these narrative adventures no longer just abandoned nocturnes summoning dreams of the past, but hopes for what we might see again in the future.

The Digimon anime franchise will always hold a special place in my heart: I grew up watching the shows and found their stories about the importance of bonds and connections to be genuinely heartfelt. While the plots lean towards a younger audience, there’s also a universal and timeless quality. My exposure to the Digimon RPGs was severely limited by comparison until monster-taming turn-based RPG Digimon Story: Time Stranger. After spending time with the game, I found a title that plays much like an interactive narrative arc of the beloved series, attempting to grow up alongside its original, mature audience. Time Stranger largely succeeds, providing countless hours of entertainment, yet it’s not without some audience dissonance.

Digimon Story: Time Stranger tells the tale of a secret agent from an agency called ADAMAS, tasked with keeping the world safe from dangerous anomalies. Upon starting, you pick between a male or female protagonist (narratively known simply as “Agent” regardless of how you name them). This decision is essentially superficial, as the plot remains as gender-neutral as possible. While on a mission, Agent encounters strange digital beings described as electron phase lifeforms, better known by the moniker “Digimon.” It isn’t long after that Agent gains the ability to partner with various Digimon they encounter that a disaster occurs, spanning both the human realm and the conflict-soaked Digital World of Iliad, alongside the very fabric of space and time itself. Together with their Digimon partners and a colorful assortment of allies from both worlds, can Agent prevent a reality-ending tragedy?

I don’t want to spoil too much of Digimon Story: Time Stranger‘s plot, as it goes through some pretty hefty twists and reveals that players should experience first-hand. The main characters and their supporting cast of allies, both human and Digimon alike, are largely likable and memorable in various ways. Even many of the antagonists have surprising depth or a compelling reason behind their actions. Time travel tales are often convoluted, and I wouldn’t say Time Stranger differs in that regard, but things manage to play out in a surprisingly satisfactory way despite that.

From a concept stance, Digimon Story: Time Stranger takes the Digimon franchise formula of humans forming bonds with Digimon while going on an adventure to save all existence and runs with it to new heights. Throw in some reality-breaking elements like a Persona Velvet Room-esque area in-between time and space, and the morally complex/ambiguous anti-war messages found in Bandai franchise line Gundam, and you have a rather interesting narrative. In a lot of ways, I appreciate that the story doesn’t dumb down its serious messaging or tone, seemingly matured with the no doubt aging original audience of the Digimon franchise; however, it’s within that very aspect that the title suffers its biggest weakness: the dissonance of just who this RPG means to cater to.

Digimon began as a family-friendly series that could appeal to adventure-seeking children without completely losing its appeal to older audiences, which is why it continues to have a devoted fan base. Digimon Story: Time Stranger approaches its multi-layered tale of bonds, time travel, and conflict with a more mature mindset. In many ways, this is the continuation of a franchise that returning fans have aged alongside. Yet the shadows of its initial, family-friendly form remain. The Digimon themselves often appear cutesy and childish, which could lead someone to dismiss the RPG as kids’ fare. However, the subject matter it covers is far from kid-friendly, with several later plot twists that are triggering and disturbing even for adults. Those wanting the nostalgic adventures of youth will only find slivers here, while those wanting more mature storytelling will similarly only find slivers. Given that, I feel like the actual audience for Time Stranger will be severely limited.

From an RPG stance, Digimon Story: Time Stranger provides a richly detailed and in-depth monster-taming experience. Upon selecting a starting Digimon to help get through the first dungeon, you can add several to your initially limited roster. This addition is initially accomplished by encountering various types of Digimon and fighting them on the field, scanning the digital beings each time you battle them. A higher percentage scan means stronger Digimon once you’ve enough of a percentage to add them to your roster. You can create a party of up to six active Digimon with three actually fighting and three in reserve, switching between them at any point during your turn. Combat is a straightforward, traditional turn-based affair, yet it feels like it goes at a breakneck pace given all the skill-slinging that occurs.

Certain types of Digimon have their own strengths and weaknesses alongside innate skills and stats, though you can provide them with additional skills and stat-boosting gear to help fully augment and customize their arsenal as you see fit. Essential to this is the combat’s Rock-Paper-Scissors type triangle between Digimon: Vaccine type Digimon deal extra damage to Virus, who are effective against Data types, who in turn beat Vaccine types. Once a Digimon reaches specific goals, it can also digivolve to a stronger form (or, if it is a particular Digimon you’re after, you can de-digivolve and attempt a different digivolution phase). Numerous permutations are available depending on a Digimon’s stats, their base personality, and Agent’s rank. As you advance in the game, Agent gains anomaly points, which you can then spend on fairly extensive skill trees that help unlock a new super move during combat or boost stats of the differing Digimon personalities. With so many different approaches to how a Digimon can advance, one could spend hours simply experimenting with the system to gain potent allies.

To further strengthen Digimon, the In-Between Theater you can visit also allows you access to additional Outer Dungeons for experience and awards. You can also place Digimon you aren’t currently using at a digi-farm to undergo training to help further strengthen them or alter personality traits, which in turn changes their stats. It’s a nice touch, albeit perhaps more superfluous than not, depending on your chosen difficulty settings. Aside from advancing the main storyline, you can also partake in numerous side quests. These side quests are of the fetch or battle variety, but offer pretty decent rewards as incentives for completion. Again, you could spend hours attempting to do everything this title offers, especially with its various replayability features. Because there’s so much to see and do, a way to travel between the realms easily without backtracking would’ve been welcome.

Visually, Digimon Story: Time Stranger isn’t terrible-looking, though it does suffer from some budgetary issues. This issue is, namely, apparent in the limited animations for the various Digimon you encounter. I must admit that I’m not the biggest fan of the character designs by Suzuhito Yasuda, but that’s more a personal preference than anything else, and I think they transition well enough to the game’s graphics, regardless. The game’s artwork and its visual presentation are certainly eye-catching!  However, the dialogue subtitle UI font can be challenging to read at times, depending on the background’s color and lighting.  Soundwise, the English language voice work is decent enough to carry the narrative, and the music effectively bolsters pivotal moments and battles. I especially like the instrumentation and lyrical message behind the sentimental theme song. The script works, and the localization is superb. I only noticed two spelling errors, which is impressive given the amount of dialogue.

Digimon Story: Time Stranger has a lot to offer as a monster-taming RPG. A heartfelt story lies at its core, despite some dissonance regarding its target audience, and the gameplay mechanics are polished and thoroughly entertaining. You could find yourself spending hours and hours playing the game and experimenting with customization alone! I had a great time playing the primary story campaign in particular, and found myself growing to care about the characters. As far as an interactive Digimon experience goes, I think that sentiment proves just how much Digimon Story: Time Stranger ultimately delivers.

For years, I’ve felt a palpable sense of FOMO regarding Nihon Falcom‘s Trails / Kiseki series. Many of my peers are avid fans of it, and their praise inevitably left me with a voice inside my head yelling to stop dawdling and see what all the hype is about. As a longtime sucker for a good JRPG and a fan of Trails‘ sister series Ys, this voice has never stopped its pestering.

However, deciding where to start created serious decision anxiety in me. Even ignoring my extensive backlog, this is a continuity-heavy series with multiple, interlocking plotlines, an expansive world, and an absurdly large cast. Choosing to play one of the later games first risks ruining some of the fun. As such, starting from the beginning with Trails in the Sky FC and playing chronologically is the sensible choice, but with so many entries of intimidating length, my plans for a Trails marathon have repeatedly fallen through. The last one I played to completion was Trails of Cold Steel more than half a decade ago. But now, I’ve finally started my journey through the Zemurian continent in earnest.

Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter arrives just over twenty years after the series’ beginning to remake Sky FC from the ground up. It has completely reworked graphics and aesthetics, modernized RPG combat, and fully-voiced cutscenes for the first time in English, but in many ways it is still the same game. The story beats and dialogue structure are as close to the original as can be, the sidequests are intact, and even specific items remain in the same areas. Having only played through the prologue of that original game, the opportunity to play a version with an identical story, modernized gameplay, and conveniences like fast travel is much appreciated.

While some changes complicate appraising it as a straight vertical upgrade, 1st Chapter is still a strong, well-made game with an enjoyable cast, a gripping story, and a fascinating setting to explore. That it’s only a taste of what’s to come for the nation of Liberl and also standalone enough to feel complete is an accomplishment for a series this massive in scope.

1st Chapter retells the story of Estelle Bright and her adopted brother Joshua, the children of renowned warrior Cassius Bright. Both aspire to follow his example by joining the Bracer Guild, an international organization dedicated to serving the civilian populations of the Zemurian continent. However, when Cassius goes missing during an important mission, Estelle and Joshua follow his trail and stumble upon multiple interlocking plots with devastating implications while fighting sky pirates, mysterious black-clad agents, and lots and lots of monsters.

Between all that fighting, they also take time to work towards a promotion from Junior to Senior Bracers. Sometimes this means fighting threats that imperil the populace, though it just as often means contributing in more mundane ways, like finding lost items or running deliveries. At a surface level, this suggests that the game spins its wheels on busywork. While it’s true that many of these jobs are optional, the player is substantially rewarded for completing them, and they’re better telegraphed than ever before. Even big portions of the main story, such as Chapter Two, can seem fairly low-stakes at first glance. What makes it all work is the way it interacts with the larger world.

One of the core themes explored by Trails is the value in learning about and interacting with other people. Estelle and Joshua encounter multiple new perspectives and charming personalities across their journey, and come to learn that Bracers serve a vital community role beyond mere mercenary work. One of the most memorable sections in the game sees them assist with a play, and surprisingly enough, it ends up being both a fun comedic diversion and a meaningful part of the more serious central plot.

This is also why such a large focus is placed on giving each major location its own atmosphere and history. A great balance is struck between giving Liberl’s various locales a unified sense of culture and distinct economic and social idiosyncrasies, not to mention the subtly brilliant way each location builds on the last. Rolent, the Brights’ hometown, is noticeably rural and isn’t too far removed from most other fantasy RPG towns, but the subsequent cities show increasing levels of modernity and technological development that gradually pull the setting’s deliberately anachronistic style into focus. Even when the capital city, Grancel, subverts this pattern, its position in the plot gives that subversion dramatic weight.

All of this adds up to a satisfying story that simultaneously works as a singular narrative and as a 50-hour prologue for both its direct sequels and the gargantuan saga to follow. And just to make sure you’re hooked, 1st Chapter hits you with a powerful cliffhanger ending on the way out. Any minor conveniences or catches aside, it does its job masterfully.

That being said, there are two notable catches to Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter‘s story. The first concerns Estelle and Joshua’s relationship, which, while I don’t object to the surprising place it goes given their circumstances, could probably benefit from some very slight alterations in how it gets there. The other is a more general complication: the dialogue. It’s not outright bad, though it is nonetheless a sore point.

Checking it against the XSEED’s Sky FC script, the two share their general content, and 1st Chapter still conveys the appeal of the cast. But even before looking at the two releases in comparison, I found 1st Chapter slightly lacking in personality, and comparison to XSEED’s punched-up script only solidifies this assessment. Even though the character voices certainly aren’t written interchangeably, they do feel somewhat restrained. Some frequently awkward phrasing and word choice definitely doesn’t help. While I doubt this is a major problem to any newcomers, it is still noticeable despite my having barely played the original, and Trails die-hards have much to discuss.

It’s a relief, then, that 1st Chapter‘s cast boasts so many talented performers who are able to work with most of those faults. The dialogue’s weaknesses do occasionally manifest in vocal performances, but it is mercifully competent enough that they still come out well overall. Stephanie Sheh and Johnny Yong Bosch reprise their roles as Estelle and Joshua, and given the remarkable frequency with which these two actors star opposite one another, their chemistry here is only to be expected. It’s especially refreshing to hear Sheh in the lead, given that Bosch is usually playing that role.

The supporting players are no slouches either; Matthew Mercer as Olivier, Michael Allen Schneider as Nial, and George Peter as Colonel Richard are only a few of the top-notch actors on display, and I’d go on save for the cast’s size. Even comparatively minor characters like David Lodge’s Professor Alba are well-acted enough to leave huge impressions.

English vocals aren’t the only aesthetic overhaul, and the new models and environments are debatably an even bigger deal. These are probably Falcom’s best-looking 3D models thus far, and the cinematography and animation of key cutscenes and special attacks are genuinely superb, though I do think the original top-down perspective and how it emphasized the characters’ small size compared to the world around them still deserves acknowledgment. Likewise, the environments have a pleasant, welcoming feel, meshing perfectly with the plot’s road trip vibe. Topping it off is an update of an already strong soundtrack that feels right at home with the new look, complete with an all-timer basic battle theme.

The most significant deviation, however, is the combat, which integrates the Brave mechanics from the Cold Steel games and the hybrid combat system from the Daybreak games. While it’s easy at first to avoid using the turn-based Command Battles in favor of real-time Quick Battles, 1st Chapter gradually strikes a good parity between these two systems. And with the Quick Battle mechanics being fairly simple, the nuances of the Command Battles shine even more, with the largely unchanged Orbment customization system allowing for a fun degree of modular character building.

The addition of Daybreak‘s task-based reward system does give access to a lot of useful items earlier than normal, which is thankfully measured enough for the game to maintain a reasonable level of challenge on hard mode. Just keep in mind that this is the rare JRPG where at least half of its playtime is spent without a full party, so I hope you like how the Brights play.

I’m still impressed by how at home Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter feels in its new form two decades down the line. It’s the opening act of an epic, long-running narrative and yet manages to feel down-to-earth and personal. It maintains its tone while updating it to a modern standard of presentation, and despite the stumbles in its dialogue, its characters are relentlessly charming. It’s more than just a great game—it’s a great starting point for a celebrated series, and that’s an utterly invaluable quality for one as daunting as this.

Having a “favorite game of all time” can feel like a trite, tedious topic of conversation, especially amongst groups who spend a lot of time together. Most of my gamer friends know that I put Final Fantasy Tactics on a bit of a pedestal, though I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve done full playthroughs of this strategy RPG more than I have almost any other game, thanks to its gripping narrative, enthralling music, and highly customizable gameplay. One would assume the genre has moved forward since 1997 and this classic, while worthy of its place in history, has weathered over time. I am here to tell you: not so. Somehow, no game—that I’ve played, anyway—has surpassed FFT’s unbeatable combination of story, gameplay, and presentation. Now, we get to enjoy this timeless work of art with a fresh coat of paint, full voice acting, a rewritten script, and some adjustments to gameplay.

FFT follows Ramza Beoulve who, in present day, fights with a band of mercenaries doing odd jobs, though we learn immediately that he’s taken a fateful job involving a princess that somehow reconnects him with a childhood friend. After a well-constructed tutorial battle, we cut to a year earlier, wherein Ramza and dear friend Delita fight off bandits right outside their academy. Only squires learning how to become full knights, the two venture off to meet with Ramza’s father on his deathbed, as he has fallen ill. His father, a knight of legend from a war that lasted fifty years in this kingdom of Ivalice, shares precious words of encouragement with Ramza, who is nobility and carries a name with legacy of protecting the weak. As his older brother, Dycedarg, begins to lead the family, Ramza gets tasked with slaying rebels who resist the aristocracy and nobility. Alongside Delita, Ramza learns that the definition of “right” and “wrong” blurs for all, perhaps even himself.

The ensuing story continues like this with sophistry, moral greys, commentary about leaders and who writes history, and religion. All tightly compact with little clutter. While by no means a short game, FFT respects the players’ time with meaningful engagements and dialogue that drive the story forward while simultaneously characterizing the cast. With almost no humor or romance, FFT maintains its mission as a grim, serious narrative that defines what true heroism is.

I cannot think of one title that crisply, without waste, tells an epic narrative over years’ time and offers a weighty sense of place, atmosphere, and urgency from start to finish without relinquishing my attention. Japanese-style RPGs, like the rest of the Final Fantasy series, Dragon Quest, and the SNES and PS1 games of yore all have a certain feeling to them that marries light-heartedness with robust David-and-Goliath yarns emphasizing friendship. While many of them vary, the feeling they convey and tone remain largely consistent. Next, we have Western-style RPGs that favor dense, gruesome stories in worlds where living is akin to suffering. Prose goes on and on as grand, fantastical worlds appear on our screens, impress upon our minds, and are elaborated on seemingly endlessly. Then there’s FFT, which somehow blends these two feelings; it lacks the teenager-esque breeziness we get from JRPGs, but favors a sense of hope and drama we don’t typically encounter in WRPGs. In fact, that drama occurs as if on a stage as we hear poetry expressed through the lips of actors who seem to have waited their entire careers for this one script.

And I do mean poetry. The language here borders on melodramatic, but the weight of the War of the Lions, plight of the common folk, and unbridled arrogance of the nobility and church demand such intensity. Characters speak as if using a language akin to English with grammatical structure reminiscent of times long past. Words are used in ways no modern person speaks, yet the writing is almost always intelligible and rarely causes confusion. I consider myself as having a decent vocabulary and love of words, though there were times I heard a line spoken, read that sentence or two again, and still had no clue what the person said. I imagine folks who prefer grounded, concrete words may roll their eyes throughout, but for those who love flowery expressions and exchanges almost never stated plainly, the emotions evoked by each cast member ignited feelings I never felt before in the five or so times I completed this game.

I honestly can’t pick a stand-out performer here. The entire cast, including no-name passersby, absolutely kill their lines. While Ben Starr will earn accolades with his outstanding performance as Dycedarg, every other actor deserves as much—or more—recognition. Joe Pitts as Ramza acts as if playing five different characters as we witness Ramza grow from ignorant boyhood to angry outcast to bold hero. Timothy Watson’s Cidolfus expertly communicates as a not-too-old, grizzled knight of legend who stands by principles alone, yet simultaneously delivers terrifying lines during ability scripts in battle. Then there’s the guy at the poacher, who is easily the star of the show with the absolute creepshow he has no business putting out there in the universe.

Oh my God, I haven’t even talked about the gameplay yet. So, strategy RPGs take place on grids—usually squares—wherein characters take turns all proper-like before initiating attacks. In FFT, characters move on rotatable maps in isometric view as they get one action and one move. Most battles task players to eliminate all enemies, while some require meeting an objective or protecting one person. Place four or five of your characters on the battlefield and whack enemies, sling spells, and exploit auto-potion. (Because how else are you going to beat Tactician difficulty?)

Character customization is one of the best aspects of FFT, and something only executed as well in Fell Seal, which, let’s face it, was completely inspired by FFT. Each character, story-driven or no-name recruit, levels up to get stronger (as usual), but also accrues job points to develop their current job class. Jobs are exactly what you think they are: knight, white mage, black mage, dragoon, orator—you know, the basics. Over twenty basics, in fact. Each character not only learns abilities accrued through job points, but can adopt another job class as a sub-class, as well as equip reaction, support, and movement abilities. This means a character could potentially harness abilities from five different jobs, making experimentation an exhilarating prospect. Of course, some combinations are more intuitive than others, but don’t think it’s that simple, either. FFT, while a notoriously breakable game, has dozens of legitimate playstyles. Though, those daring enough to attempt Tactician mode may need to discover some of those aforementioned game-breaking strategies.

I played (most of) the game through Tactician difficulty, because after five playthroughs, I wanted a challenge. Yes, I employed some strong strategies I’ve learned over the years, but that seems required on Tactician. The original difficulty felt as if playing on easy mode. Then again, don’t expect any revolutionary game balancing or surprises on Tactician difficulty; for the most part, this feels like a numbers game, though I will say arithmeticks (math skill), as an example, was surprisingly nerfed on Tactician. Flip the switch to Knight (default difficulty), and you can cheese every battle in the game. Tip: think of arithmeticks more as a support tool than a damage cannon.

Going back to what makes FFT great: the maps! Several of the maps are so incredibly imaginative, as if painstakingly handcrafted to create a sense of place while simultaneously generating a strategic landscape. Height matters not just in terms of positioning and how characters can move, but also the range available when using abilities. Some abilities are irritatingly precise (looking at you, monks), while others are appealing simply for their flexibility. Do I surpass the cheaper job ability in favor of the more expensive, slower one simply because of its range and area of effect, or do I work up to it, forcing myself to build this character up more? Fortunately, grinding has never been easier.

I don’t like the word “grinding,” though, because it implies the battles aren’t fun. The battles are always fun. However, not everyone likes fighting battles for the sake of leveling, so in that case, the fast-forward feature on R1 makes leveling a breeze. What’s more, if you’re sick of fighting at Zeirchele Falls (why do I always get battles there?), you can simply choose the “flee” option on the world map to ditch the fight and move on with your life. You can also click your current node to generate a battle automatically, in case you’re hunting for rare fights (I still have never beaten the one at Barius Hill…) This also means that engaging in errands in towns is easy, because you can just bypass all of the random fights as you walk around spending days, waiting for your allies to get back.

Errands allow players to pull three no-name characters out of their party to engage in some mini-story (without you) and come back after eight to fifteen days. After returning, the characters talk about what a great success or failure the errand was, and provide some gil, which is plentiful even without errands. Sometimes, a rare trinket or wonder surfaces that has no in-game effect, but serves as a reference to other Final Fantasy games (think Matoya’s Cave as a lost wonder). Wink wink, nudge nudge, etc. For the fans.

Anyway, The Ivalice Chronicles introduces reading material, which players can actually read, but there are only a few of them. And—they’re not great. These books, while not poorly written, are poorly delivered. The scripts are hard to follow, and they frequently offer a basic choose-your-own-adventure style of minigame that is long and tedious. If you “win,” then you get a credits screen with the contributors of the book, and that’s it. These reading materials are truly for diehard fans, and even then, I can’t say they are worth my time. They only vaguely reference the FFT world, and the tone doesn’t match the game whatsoever.

Other furnishings I’ve noticed—or are openly publicized—in The Ivalice Chronicles include new visuals, rebalanced charge times and ability costs, and quality-of-life improvements regarding sidequests. While I find the visual “enhancements” a bit disappointing, I’m not sure what else they could have done without stripping FFT of its core identity. Further, I will say that I stopped caring about or noticing the visuals after a while, and they kinda fell to the background. Also, characters’ mouths move in dialogue, which, if you stare at it, is not great. I might even say terrible. I think you’re not supposed to be staring at the black line that widens and shrinks awkwardly—read the words along with the actor and take in the moving mouth with your peripheral vision; this actually enhanced my experience. I think.

Retooled charge times make classes like mages accessible and useful. Gone are the days in which black mages rely on Fire or maybe Fire 2 (now “Fira”) because higher-tier spells are impossible to cast before enemies act. This makes black mages way more powerful, even on Tactician difficulty. Further, powerful abilities, like Teleport, have increased job point costs to learn. Teleport, in particular, is a lot more. Like…a lot more. Frustrated with how to adopt <secret character>? Not anymore, because The Ivalice Chronicles painstakingly announces with a giant, bright blue marker where the next side quest is.

I could complain about how The Ivalice Chronicles doesn’t have a revamped soundtrack like we got with the Pixel Remasters, that the PSP content wasn’t included, or that it didn’t have new cinematics, but you know what? This is an outstanding remaster with a subtle touch to rebalancing that fans—and newcomers—will clamor for. Having Final Fantasy Tactics accessible on modern hardware with all the furnishings Square Enix was kind enough to bestow upon us—all I can say is “thank you.” In truth, while an updated soundtrack would have been my biggest ask, I still cannot believe how good this voice acting is. The localization team and actors have absolutely done us a service with this masterpiece, treating this title with the respect it deserves. This epic fantasy that tonally draws from different styles into one coherent, beautiful voice is available to all of us, and if communication from its creators is to be believed, we might see more of this world if we support Ivalice Chronicles. Do yourself a favor and enjoy what is, without question, one of the greatest tales ever told. One of the greatest RPGs ever created.

If you’ve seen anything about the new Idea Factory title, Mado Monogatari: Fia and the Wondrous Academy, and you’re wondering whether that name sounds familiar, then you are my kind of gamer. Because, frankly, that was my immediate thought as well. It required a brief history lesson, and I have to say, it was worthwhile. And, given that this particular game takes place inside an academy, we may as well start with a little history lecture.

History

Mado Monogatari was first released on the MSX computer system in 1989 by developer Compile. You play as a young wizard in training named Arle Nadja, who managed to pass a written exam despite being only six years old, and must now take on the practical portion of the exam: scaling a labyrinthine tower filled with monsters. The gameplay features random encounters with turn-based combat and exploration in a first-person perspective similar to the first Phantasy Star. Elements of The Tower of Druaga and Wizardry seem to have influenced this game heavily at the time.

This dungeon crawler achieved moderate success and saw ports, sequels, and spin-offs for the NEC PC-98, Super Famicom, and even Sega Saturn. All of these games stayed Japan-exclusive, even as a puzzle series spin-off based on the Mado Monogatari‘s cast of characters and monsters (Puyo Puyo) had some entries localized.

The series developer, Compile, went bankrupt in the early 2000s. Much of Compile’s key staff and many of its IPs (such as Mado Monogatari) reformed as a subsidiary under Idea Factory called Compile Heart. That’s right, the folks behind Agarest, Neptunia, and more have connections to a classic RPG franchise. Said franchise reared its head again in the form of Sei Mado Monogatari in 2013. And guess what? This is actually the first time the series had an English localization! In doing so, they dropped the romaji title and called it Sorcery Saga: Curse of the Great Curry God. This spiritual successor revamped the formula of the early series, now a top-down, roguelike title (tiles, simple maps, like a Chunsoft Mystery Dungeon title). The game met with middling reception, and I’d personally forgotten about it… until now.

ELA

Idea Factory International decided to stick with the Mado Monogatari moniker for its English language release in this case! So here we are, with the second release in the long-running franchise to find its way stateside. Mado Monogatari: Fia and the Wondrous Academy tells the story of a young woman named Fia who goes to the Magic Artes academy. Fia befriends four other students who act as the other characters in the party: sword-wielding wannabe hero Will, bookish and snobby Leena, mysterious and money-hungry Totto, and the lovestruck Eska. Yes, there is something Sapphic going on in this cute story, even if it appears to be one-sided. After a combat trial early in the game, Eska falls head over heels for Fia. Her being a kind of magical demi-human known as a Dragonewt results in some strange social and cultural dynamics, and her devotion to Fia is just one of them.

The antics between the five students and their professors at the academy make up the majority of the game’s dialogue. The introductory hour was painful to slog through, but once you’re up to speed on how the game works and what story the developers are trying to tell, the story itself is fun and leisurely, even if it’s a bit too trope-heavy. Do not expect much in the way of depth or surprises that you couldn’t predict a mile away. But, for what the story is? I can’t complain. Hardcore fans may also notice an implied connection between the original games starring Arle Nadja and the characters of this generation.

And for those of us in the classroom experiencing eye strain, good news: the font size is ideal, even for those of us with smaller televisions, or playing handheld on a Switch. Maybe it’s just my own eyesight that is the problem, but tiny text is becoming more and more frequent in gaming. Being able to actually read the words on the screen without issue was a blessing.

Now you may be asking: what exactly happens over the course of Fia and the Wondrous Academy? Glad you asked!

STEM

The new Mado Monogatari sticks to its dungeon-crawling roots, even taking a page from the PS Vita Sorcery Saga entry to incorporate a few roguelike elements. Alongside the starting/tutorial dungeon “The Mage’s Tower,” about a dozen other dungeons become accessible throughout the course of the game. Each has a maximum floor level, unique visuals, hazards, specific monster encounters, and item drops. The floors of each dungeon are randomly generated, typically a series of rooms and hallways similar to typical roguelikes. However, combat does not take place in the dungeon, and your character is not moving on fixed tiles. Monsters that appear in the dungeon start a separate combat scenario upon contact, within a circular combat arena.

And here’s where I have some mixed feelings.

The combat in Mado Monogatari: Fia and the Wondrous Academy is complicated. Movement in the circle occurs in real-time, and basic physical attacks can occur at will. All other actions (Magic Artes, weapon skills, even items) depend on what is essentially an ATB bar. Your attacks come in a variety of basic shapes (areas of effect) on this condensed field, while healing tends to be auto-targeted to the party. Your party consists of three characters: always Fia, plus two of the other four characters. However, you only control Fia; the other characters operate based on one of a handful of command settings (“all-out attack,” “support and healing,” “target who I target,” etc).

Systems and mechanics pile on top of one another in a bit of a convoluted mess. On top of everything I’ve already described, there is the five-element system, special attacks (using a match-three system, a nod to Puyo Puyo), equipment synthesis, fishing minigames, and cooking. Sometimes, as I look at everything that went into building this game, I feel like I’m staring at a “design by committee” monstrosity. And, when I notice that Compile Heart, Idea Factory, and Sting (how I long for more Dept. Heaven games) are all credited as developers, it’s no wonder!

However things came to be, the overall flow and gameplay loop of “accept quest, climb tower, fight enemies, survive, fight boss, return to base, prepare for next quest” works well. I attribute much of the success here to what happens back at the Magic Artes academy itself. Alongside the main quest, there are loads of side quests to unlock skills, obtain special equipment, learn new curry recipes, and even boost base stats. There is plenty to do, and even if the design isn’t sleek or flawless, I enjoyed what I experienced as I played through the game. And for those wondering, my own playtime was somewhere in the 20-hour range to see the end credits, though I was skipping most side quests because I just wanted to learn what happens to Fia and crew near the end.

Art and Music

One thing I must give this new Mado Monogatari props for: a decent opening animation sequence and accompanying music track! Since the days of the original PlayStation, I have adored good opening videos. Lately, I have seen developers skimping on production value here or entirely tossing out the idea of an opening video. And sure, there’s nothing wrong with that. But, let’s be real: Wild Arms is a decent and memorable RPG, but what’s the thing we most remember about it? It’s the intro, right?

Granted, I don’t think you want an intro so good that it outclasses the entirety of the game beneath. That would be like, in the metaphor of “judging a book by its cover,” buying a book because it has really awesome cover art, only to discover the book itself is gibberish. Fair enough. Part of me does want to argue that Fia and the Wondrous Academy‘s best feature is its introduction animation sequence, however. I love it so much!

The introduction paints a lovely picture. We’ve got bright, fun, stylized characters and monsters. And we’ve also got super fun, catchy, big band/jazz/pop music? “ASOVENTURE,” the opening theme song, has this killer fiddle running throughout, performed by Mai Ohtani (whose credits include Final Fantasy VII Rebirth and multiple SaGa titles). Vocalist Shachi Tsumugi brings a lively, bubbly sound, proving an expert at a bouncy staccato, especially in that surprising scaled-back outro! Fun fact: Shachi Tsumugi also recently recorded vocals for Atelier Yumia, so that’s a cool connection!

In-game, things are markedly less impressive. While the animation is smooth, the overall 3D character design and rendering look dated. PlayStation 3 dated. What Mado Monogatari lacks in technical prowess and performance, however, it makes up for with fantastic 2D character art and surprisingly catchy music. Alongside the happy-go-lucky vibes of the intro, which carry over into much of the academy music, there are some impressive tunes happening in each of the game’s dungeons. Some reminded me of the more intense puzzle music from the Zero Escape series. Others reminded me of the soft, breezy music of the forested areas in the Etrian Odyssey series. I wasn’t expecting this music to hit so hard. But it did.

Additionally, I have to offer praise to the game’s voiceover artists. This is Japanese-only audio, so if you were looking for English dubs, you’ve come to the wrong place. But the VA in this game was exactly what it needed to be: over the top, expressive, but not so silly as to make the experience unenjoyable.

Finals

Mado Monogatari: Fia and the Wondrous Academy earns a passing grade, but just barely. Honestly, I did have fun playing through this one… most of the time. But in a market saturated with clever and impressive games of a similar vein (say, Shiren the Wanderer: The Mystery Dungeon of Serpentcoil Island), there was no way I could allow Fia and her friends a spot on the honor roll. If you can’t get enough of anime-infused dungeon-crawling adventures, the latest in the Mado Monogatari series might be for you.