In Tunic, every step feels like a hike through corridors of someone else’s nostalgia. They are familiar to us, though, as if someone told us about this place a long time ago. Are we traversing the remnants of our own memories, or are we guests in the recollections of another?

The language here is foreign, but translatable if you want to do the work. The instruction manual shows up as collectible pieces in-universe. The very cute character reads them as you, the player, read them.

The aesthetic captivates with its blend of low-poly simplicity and high-contrast intensity, especially when a baddie hits you (you can toggle that violent shake in settings). This world sucked me in with violent cuteness. The challenge presented is high, but that setting screen lets you dial in your own amount of comfort. After a while, I found myself in “no-hit mode,” and I began to feel more like a tourist than a survivor.

But perhaps the invincibility setting isn’t the solution. There are instances where the relentless assault of enemies becomes a tiresome slog, a hurdle that could have been alleviated by their removal rather than invulnerability. What would the game have felt like if there had been more ghosts than ghouls?

Tunic is a canvas, a modern art piece inviting us to bring our own meanings, to ponder "What if Link’s Awakening but more metaphors"? It becomes an allegory of environmental and personal energy, an exploration of the unseen forces that propel us forward.

Screenshots: https://parosilience.tumblr.com/tagged/Tunic