This is the game that made me realize how much I appreciate a good ambience, as well as overall one of the most formative videogames for me, it really changed my outlook on things. Each time I'd open the game, I'd just leave Wander near Mono and stare at the screen for some long minutes. The minimalistic narrative approach of this game makes it excel absolutely in its visual presentation and atmosphere. There's almost zero dialogue in this game, as well as almost zero pieces of lore and information about the world itslef.

We don't know almost anything about the Forbidden Lands, nor about Wander and Mono for instance, and we never will. No one will ever uncover the secrets and backstory of the Forbidden Lands, for this tale will remain forever lost to time and history.

I was initially torn between including either Dark Souls or Bloodborne, and while Dark Souls had more personal impact on me as a player, I really think that Bloodborne is the real masterpiece of Miyazaki as a creator.

Bloodborne has probably my favorite art direction and level design ever, and while I won't enter into spoilery details, I feel like there's no other game that combines its visual storytelling, art direction and level design in such a cohesive and masterful way. If you still haven't played this game but want to give it a try, please, do not follow a guide. Try again if you can't beat an enemy, experiment with your build, loose yourself in the intricate streets of Yharnam until you memorize every different way to get to a certain place...Trust me, it's all worth it. To me, Bloodborne is a game that only works because of how it's conceptualized, because absolutely every element of the game resonates with the city of Yharnam and the presentation of the game's themes.

Bloodborne is timeless, and Yharnam will forever remain as one of the most masterfully immersive settings I've seen in any piece of media.

Fate may be cruel, but a smile better suits a hero.

The beginning of Shadowbringers might be my favorite in all videogames, which is in great part due to the nature of the setting of Norvrandt. Up to this point, every step in the story of FFXIV has been tread really carefully, with great attention to detail as per what's the next thing to come—but not this time.

Shadowbringers is unexpected, and if that wasn't enough, the game throws you in the middle of the chaos, waiting for the player to figure things out. All of this works perfectly because of how the setting is conceptualized, feeling so foreign to the player, yet so familiar at the same time, creating a stark contrast in our minds, only wanting to figure what's going on and why are we in that place. Everything in the earlier portions of the game is meant to symbolize that nothing is what it may seem at first glance, creating many layers and conflicts that characterize and give a more meaningful reasons to what's happening at the moment. Even the slower, more "build-up" oriented portions of the game (to which XIV is no stranger) are used to the game's advantage in order to explore more deeply the inner-workings of this place, which only solidifies further the thematic potency and cohesion of Shadowbringers.

Norvrandt is one of the most creative and unthinkable set pieces I've ever seen in a game, and what amazes me the most is how its alienating nature is what makes it able to humanize the narrative and characters in ways that I couldn't see coming in FFXIV. While it could be said that certain story elements are executed better in Endwalker, the more cohesive and focused nature of Shadowbringers is what probably still makes me doubt whether I prefer one or the other.

The House in Fata Morgana is a truly masterful display of Novectacle knowing exactly which pieces to move in order to create a truly immersive experience.

One of its biggest strenghts is that Fata Morgana understands absolutely what is important to the core of a visual novel in order to deliver an experience that is impossible to conceive in any other medium or format. Right from the beginning, it sucks you right in with its overwhelmingly ominous, yet desolately beatiful art, it keeps you on track with one of the most atmospheric soundtracks I've ever heard, and on top of all that, the brilliant flow of the narration and dialogue simply won't leave you bored in any moment.

Fata Morgana is not a story about mystery per se, yet the nature of the desolation and overwhelming grief that permeates in the mansion during the entirety of the story is enough to keep you massively intrigued in the inner-workings of the mansion itself and what it hides from us at first sight. At heart, nothing truly is the way it is presented, and while it may not seem like it at times, every dialogue and every scene serves a higher purpose in the grand scheme of things.

This is a cursed mansion, and I adore how the cursed aspect of it plays an important role as well in the visual presentation and, of course, the thematic identity of the story. That's why I think that the haunting, abstract and ethereal art and sound direction is something really instrumental to the story. Yet, anything I say here is just never going to be enough to fully describe the feeling of going through the story of Fata Morgana, there's just an unparalleled beauty in its desolation.

The intro sequence of Final Fantasy X represents one of the most insane and absolutely brilliant beginnings to a videogame. Tidus is thrown right into the thick of it whithout wasting any time whatsoever, and everything that happens feels so foreign and outwardly chaotic. that it quickly becomes something too overwhelming to witness. The reason for me making such an emphasis on this, is precisely because said intro sequence is incredibly pivotal to the understanding of the game's narrative and thematic identity

Being an entirely asian-inspired fantasy, there's a great amount of care and dedication put into it from the dev team—they understand how things should feel and be from an artistic point of view. Clearly, the world of Spira feels like a breath of fresh air, and I can't help but love how everything seems to be intended in its own way, how well fleshed-out the aesthetics and designs are, and how surprisingly meaningful the symbolysms are.

Spira finds itself in the midst of needing change, yet blatantly rejecting it, of thoroughly lamenting the past, yet being unable of letting it go—this is a world between cycles, surrounded by an all-consuming spiral of death.

Final Fantasy X doesn't have the most heavy or dense world-building, but between its masterful blend of aesthetics, atmosphere and visual symbolysms, it manages to pull off an incredibly creative and thematically meaningful setting in the world of Spira. Yet all of this wouldn't work in the same way if it wasn't for the integration of the character of Tidus into the story, who with his honesty and emotional clumsiness humanizes incredibly well the otherwise filled with death and despair pilgrimage to Zanarkand.

Still to this day, I remember the first time I ever booted Hollow Knight and its enthralling and absolutely captivating title theme. A sense of sorrow and loss, of a time gone by, yet in the end, you can't help but feel a strange kind of serenity that makes you feel safe...even in this desolate world. To me, that's what Hollow Knight is about, an experience that I just wish I was able to experience again for the first game, getting myself lost time and time again, finding myself mesmerized by the majesty of the kingdom of Hallownest.

Hollow Knight has, undoubtedly, one of the most memorable hub areas in gaming, and the best part about it, is its incidental spark of greatness. When you first arrive to Dirtmouth, you're most likely drawn in by the atmosphere of the place, but in the same way, you'll likely not think too much about it...that is, for now. It's no wonder at all that Hollow Knight's world is one of desolation and hostility, like you've got no place in there, which is incredibly amplified by the game's absolutely brilliant visual story-telling and ability to convey a specific atmosphere; and precisely because of that, when you return to Dirtmouth you feel...at home. The town itself is almost entirely devoid of life, and even when you re-open the shops, that feeling hardly wavers. Yet, despite all of that, you can't help but feel a most strange sensation of respite, a feeling encompassing the overcoming of a great trial, or its failing; in the end, that hardly matters, because you're back at home.

I feel that the atmosphere of Hollow Knight is only greatly enhance by how charming and almost innocent the art-style can be, it invites empathy and makes you want to cheer for these little guys that you meet along the way. And, then again, precisely because of that, the game is really poignant and depressing when you make certain tragic discoveries, only then do you realize the gravity of the situation, and the utter grief of Hallownest's existence.

Twilight Princess was one of the first games that I've ever played and...well, initially I didn't really do much about it at the time. When I first experienced the game, I was really young and, honestly, I was absolutely terrified of the Twili creatures. Now, too many years later, while I'm obviously not terrified at all anymore, I can certainly still recall that feeling as I ponder about the game.

I think that speaks volume about what this game entails—a massively ethereal and atmospheric experience. To this day, I still have not found a game similar to this one in tone and setting. One of my favorite things of Twilight Princess, is its aproach to the more bleak aspect of its identity, a deeply thematic, ethereal and, at times, lyrical approach to both storytelling and art direction. Twilight is the theme of the game, and I really think you can really appreciate how deeply integrated it is in the game itself and its visual storytelling, most of all. This Hyrule is and feels hollow. It's a husk, a relic, a memoire of something that may have been great at a time, but that's all that we know about it. Obviously, The Legend of Zelda is no stranger to desolation, but in this case, the world really and wholeheartedly revolves around that idea. Some of the areas being empty only help to accentuate this theme, the theme of loneliness and sadness that permeates in the air.

Twilight is the moment, the gap and separation between night and day, in the same way that it separates us, creating a stagnation. The one time of the day in which we can feel the sadness of a day come and gone, with its regrets whithering away—the one time of the day in which our world intersects with theirs. Even if this game can be quite bombastic and epic, it's always the more quiet and contemplative moments that I remember and think about the most. The beauty in the loneliness of the first scene of the game, the absolute and unnerving surrealism of the Twilight Realm, or the introspective conversations between the characters, just to name a few instances where this applies.

Due to its very identity, Twilight Princess is bound to not be a game for everyone, but it really is a game for me, and its beauty has been an undeniable formative experience for me. And, honestly, that's okay, because if this game wasn't so bold about its ideas, it definitely wouldn't have marked me so deeply.

To me, The Witcher 3 has one of the most captivating worlds and settings in videogames, and that's in a big part thanks to its visual presentation and how the player interacts with the world itself.

Now, that being said, I'm going to be completely honest, because the thing is that I really think this is a very flawed game from a technical angle and, well, gameplay-wise overall. While it has really good activities, the formula of the questing is really redundant and even one of the bigger bigger regions is absolutely underused in that regards. Now....that problems aside, the ones that have to do more with the technical side of things, this world is an absolute delight. I don't dislike at all, and I have the firm opinion that realism and high graphical fidelity does have a place in gaming, there are games that really can benefit from that....although in many cases, it can really lead to uninspired visuals, or to a straight-up lack of identity. And I'm incredibly glad to say that The Witcher 3 (and The Witcher in general) is a most needed breath of fresh air.

On one hand, it's kind of debatable to determine the genre of fantasy this series belongs to. The more obvious answer would be high-fantasy, but at least for me, that's not really the case, since The Witcher has a very defined identity that doesn't really match with high-fantasy standarts in more ways than one. While it's obviously european, it's actually eastern-europesn fantasy, with a clear focus on Polish folklore, although implement some Balcan elements as well, and that really speaks to me. As a bulgarian, I was really blown away when I witnessed how different is The Witcher from other fantasy worlds and how perfectly it represents Eastern European folklore. The visual presentation of the respective kingdoms, alongside the masterful thematic integration of the non-human races and how they interact with the rest of the world are things that, even to this day, never fail to amaze me.