![]() While gameplay is a little free-form, the main through line revolves around a scrapbook that can be filled out throughout the journey. When my journey ends, I have more to show for my time than a few Steam trophies.Įach of its few systems is thoughtfully considered to pair with those strengths. That idea is reflected both in its painterly countryside vistas and its rich soundscape, full of rushing water and clicking cicadas. Every sight and sound is just as important as a hidden piece of lore that explicitly details the history of a mysterious military operation. It’s ultimately a story about being present in the world and learning about it through osmosis. Season keeps its gameplay simple, taking a “walking simulator” approach, but the little choices it does make are meaningful. It is not my job to stop the impending season, only to take as many memories as I can with me before I must move on. I desperately wanted to cling on and keep learning, but time waits for no one. Though there’s power in its limitations too. There are only a small handful of characters scattered around too, which left me with only a partial view of what this world’s inhabitants are actually like. ![]() After five hours, I wished there was more history and mystery for me to uncover. ![]() There are moments where the project can feel a bit limited in scope. When I record a bird’s song near the end of the game, the protagonist starts to weave a wandering poem before admitting she has no idea where she’s going with the thought and abandoning it. ![]() Scavengers Studio almost seems self-aware of itself too. Some of its writing vaguely meanders around a wide array of themes, cluttering an otherwise clear meditation on memory. Season’s only real flaw is that it has the tendency to overthink itself, with its protagonist offering meandering philosophical waxing as she explores. Sometimes, I’m even more satisfied not knowing. That setup makes for an engrossing collection of minor mysteries that I can either work to piece together or simply accept and move on. Image used with permission by copyright holder It’s up to players to seek out answers about the old ways by filling up a journal that’ll act as a lasting record of history. It’s not that humanity is gone it’s that it’s always in flux. Abandoned cars line the streets, which the protagonist excitedly observes like ancient relics from a previous, tech-oriented season. It’s borderline postapocalyptic, but in a way that feels oddly soft and comforting. I’m not there to judge, but to listen and understand.Ī large bulk of the six-hour game takes place in a small open-ended area where players are free to bike around and discover what happened in previous seasons through subtle environmental storytelling. No matter what discovery I make on my journey, I’m easily able to accept it as the natural order of the world. The next, I’m praying at the altar of a God that will wipe away a bit of my memory. One moment ,I’m serenely strolling through a field of cows, basking in the sun’s golden glow. Developer Scavengers Studio excels at crafting its own intriguing reality that blends naturalism with sincere spirituality. While it looks like a grounded slice-of-life tale initially, its tone more veers into quiet magical realism. I’m not there to judge, but to listen and understand. One previous season, for instance, brought a war, the remnants of which still linger through its landscapes. The word marks a major sea change in the world, almost operating like a prophecy. That may sound like a low-stakes setup, but seasons in this universe don’t just signal a few months of cold weather. Season: A Letter to the Future joins a small list of games that I’d describe as “road trip stories.” It follows a young woman who’s tasked with leaving her isolated hillside village to alert the world of an impending season change. ![]() Even when its written story wanders, its vibrant world and detailed sound design always speaks for itself. Season: A Letter to the Future is a meditative indie adventure that rewards players who are willing to slow down and take it all in. If you stopped playing the game there, you could still understand everything it communicates to you throughout its six-hour adventure. I can hear the gentle sound of my bike tires spinning, imagine the splashes of cool colors, and feel the smooth motion of my bike careening through the countryside. Rather, the broad strokes of it remain etched in my mind like a sketchbook doodle. It’s not that I can recall every moment of the scene beat for beat. ![]()
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