Outer Wilds is the only game I can think of where within its first moments, I knew I was in for something very, very special without really understanding why. The title screen is already so inviting, with its gentle acoustic glow fading in over a collage of shimmering stars. The game opens, I wake up on my back, looking up into the sky to see something explode in the distant orbit of a giant, green planet deep in space, and my imagination is immediately captured. I feel an intangible warmth as I speak to my fellow Hearthians and wander our village, a sense of wonder and anticipation as I walk through our peoples' museum, learning about things that I realize I will inevitably have to face or utilize in the adventures ahead. All this before even seeing my ship, let alone blasting off with it into the far reaches of space.

The expectations and tone of Outer Wilds are set up pitch perfectly in this opening. On the whole, the game captures the innate desire we all have to learn more, to reach out for what's next, even if we have no idea what it is we are searching for or why we seek it. It's the only thing Outer Wilds relies on to lead players forward. There are no objectives or goals, no waypoints to show you where to go next; there only those which you create for yourself. What drives us forward is the need to understand the world(s) around us, or at least attempt to understand. Is there a more human desire than that?

Outer Wilds is a masterpiece for its many balances: of warmth and intimacy with the melancholic loneliness of space; a constant sense of wonder with an equally constant fear of the unknown; its charming, colorful art style with its hard, scientific approach; its reverence for the teachings of both classical and quantum physics; its personal, micro-level character stories set against the fate of the universe. The list goes on. And that's without even mentioning the game's emotional linchpin: Andrew Prahlow's incredible score, a healthy mix of folk, ambient and post-rock that is a delicate tight-wire act in and of itself, managing to capture both the vastness of space and the intimate glow of a campfire without compromise.

Whatever feelings Outer Wilds brought out of me in its opening moments were only further heightened and more deeply understood as I began unraveling the mysteries of its clockwork solar system, spiraling faster and faster towards an ending that left me in awe of everything that came before it and soon yearning for other experiences that could fill the black hole that the game's sudden absence left in place of my heart. Outer Wilds is not only a perfect game, but also one of the medium's purest expressions of its most inspiring possibilities. If only I could breathe out a sigh of relief and wake up on Timber Hearth for the first time again.

I think about this game every day and still find myself humming the Traveler's Theme; Andrew Prahlow's soundtrack is a wonderfully composed piece of art that moves in ways only music can do, whether its to convey comfort or instill fear or the idea of something bigger than you. As an experience, I can confidently proclaim I've never played another game that deeply affected me in the way Outer Wilds did. As someone full of anxiety and existential dread, the core tenets here were made both to sooth and directly confront the inevitability of life and its end.

Gameplay-wise, being a metroidvania where the upgrades are straight to your brain makes revelations and puzzle solving feels incredibly rewarding, since your own desire and anticipation is what fuels progress. You're dropped into this world from second one with all the tools necessary for success. The game constantly rewards you for being curious, while instilling a renewed child-like wonder at the universe alongside a primal fear of the unknown. The execution is flawless, and really evocative a completely fresh and unique experience.

Throughout the time spent in Outer Wilds' galaxy, you learn that it's best to just let go of your fear and take chances, as while dangerous, most things in it bear no ill will. In that same vein, a core theme that really resonated with me personally was the importance of cherishing the calm and quiet moments as something special. In a game filled with so much mystery, tragedy, and vast loneliness are also very tender moments that reaffirm you aren't alone.

It's obvious every single aspect of this project was a labor of love, and it payed off astoundingly. Despite the melancholy and abject horror inherent in a narrative on this topic, Outer Wilds makes its final message one of resounding hope and acceptance in the smallness of life; of our place in the universe and its importance through personal connection and just being, rather than due to a grandiose plot destined for us. Curiosity is a beautiful thing but It's okay if we don't understand everything, we were never meant to. It's a warm embrace at the end of the world, and that's something I can't put a price on.

“We do not have much connection, you and I. Still, this encounter feels special. I hope you won't mind if I think of you as a friend.”