“That’s her. She’s got like a 4.0 GPA, helps run the Women in Gaming club. She’s basically perfect.” I pause. “I’m just about to finish. Wanna watch?”
That gets her attention. Riya abandons her tea to perch on the arm of the sofa, watching as my apprentice—now practically glowing with power—climbs the tower stairs toward the Archmage.
“He’s harsh,” I gush, completely abandoning any pretense of objectivity. “The mentor, I mean. They call him the Archmage. Total tyrant, but layered. And the upgrade loop is addictive as hell.” I mime a tiny explosion. “Every single rune you carve matters. It’s like... I want to be friends with every character in this thing.”
“Look at you, full fangirl mode,” she teases. “I thought video games were ‘an inefficient use of brain’ or whatever you said last month.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling—really smiling—as the final cutscene loads. The Archmage looms over the apprentice, who kneels with his cracked but still-sparking staff.
Here it comes. This is it. I’ve spent six hours building toward this moment where my apprentice will ascend to becoming an Archmage himself.
The Archmage speaks one line…
Power without purpose will devour you.
The energy in the staff flares. My eyes widen. The shards ignite white-hot. The entire tower detonates in a pillar of violet fire. Screen shakes. Runes shatter. Everything turns to ash. No victory fanfare, no credits—just black screen and stark white text:
NOT EVERY STORY GETS REBUILT.
The game boots me back to the main menu.
“What,” I whisper, “the fuck just happened?”
Riya blinks. “Was that... it?”
“That can’t be it.” My pulse spikes. Six hours of perfect gameplay destroyed in thirty seconds. I reload my save. Same cutscene, same explosion. No alternate ending. No epilogue. Nothing.
Then, just as I’m about to quit, I hear it. Faint, almost buried in the silence—a heartbeat. Getting stronger. Text fades in…This is only the beginning.
“Oh, they’re setting up a sequel,” Riya says. “That’s actually kind of clever.”
“Clever?” I’m already opening a new document. “It’s manipulative. It’s a cop-out. It’s?—”
“The reason you’re about to write a novel-length review?”
I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She’s right. I’m furious, but I’m also... engaged.
“The game was perfect until that ending,” I mutter, starting to type. “Mechanically flawless, emotionally engaging, and then—boom. She chicken’s out with a cliffhanger.”
“Maybe that’s the point? Life doesn’t always have clean endings?”
“This isn’tlife, it’s a game. Games need closure. I need to give her this feedback.” But even as I say it, I’m thinkingabout that heartbeat. The promise of continuation. It’s frustrating as hell, but also kinda smart.
“You seem pretty sure it’s this Zarah person.”
“Who else? She gave a whole presentation last month about ‘games as emotional experiences’ and ‘subverting player expectations.’” I open a new document, trying to organize my thoughts. “Plus, she can afford to experiment. A couple of harsh beta reviews won’t touch her GPA—she’s already got job offers lined up.”
I start typing, choosing my words carefully.
This game is technically impressive. The mechanics are smooth, the puzzles are clever, and the world-building had me completely immersed for six hours straight. The dialog is particularly strong—witty, natural, and emotionally resonant. The game play was addictive, I felt like I was friends with every character.
However, the ending left me feeling... empty? Disappointed? I understand the desire to subvert expectations, but this felt less like a narrative choice and more like a betrayal of the player-character relationship we’d spent the entire game building.
Shock does not equal satisfaction.
The mentor’s final line—“Power without purpose will devour you”—is haunting, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to take from it. Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe that’s the point. But right now, I just feel like I wasted six hours falling in love with a game that didn’t love me back.
Rating: 2/5 (Excellent execution, but the ending undermined everything)
