You could spend hours doing something completely pointless and still feel like you had accomplished something and that’s ultimately what makes Oblivion great. The developers’ story about the poisoned apple says it all. A player found a solution that nobody had specifically designed, because the systems were allowed to interact in ways that produced an unexpected result. That is the kind of emergent storytelling that made Oblivion special in the first place. The Nintendo Switch 2 version doesn’t try to replace that; it gives it a new home. My little brother had Morrowind. I had Oblivion, and I still don’t care for Skyrim (sorry). Nearly twenty years later, Bethesda has given me the opportunity to return to the game that introduced me to Tamriel, this time on a Nintendo handheld. They rebuilt a large portion of the underlying technology and made the game work on hardware that didn’t exist when Oblivion originally launched. But the brain is still there. The strange quests are still there, and the freedom is still there. And somewhere in Cyrodiil, there’s probably still an NPC doing something completely ridiculous for no apparent reason. That’s Oblivion, and that’s exactly what I wanted back.
Perhaps that’s why the Switch 2 Edition works so well: it doesn’t need to reinvent Xenoblade Chronicles 2. Monolith Soft already did that in 2017. This time, it simply gives that experiment the hardware it deserved. The Nintendo Switch 2 Edition makes Alrest sharper, smoother, and considerably easier on the eyes, while Merc Assault, MOMO, the new Pyra and Mythra styles, and the Field Skill improvement provide returning players with meaningful reasons to explore it all over again. Is it a completely new experience? No, and it doesn’t need to be. Because Xenoblade Chronicles 2 was already doing something more important back in 2017. It was proving that a sequel doesn’t have to follow the path laid out by its predecessor. Sometimes you need to build a completely different road, and sometimes, almost nine years later, you just need better hardware to appreciate where that road took you.
Whether every individual entry reaches the same heights is debatable, and the collection’s modern alterations will undoubtedly remain a point of contention among longtime fans. Yet taken as a whole, Blue Reflection Quartet succeeds in something far more difficult than simply compiling four releases onto a single cartridge. It preserves the identity of a franchise that has always dared to be different. It doesn’t want its players to simply become heroes, it asks them to become more understanding human beings, and that’s an idea worth preserving.
Looking back, Helix: Descent N Ascent worked best when it trusted me to figure things out for myself. The story is told without long explanations, and most puzzles expect you to experiment instead of waiting for a tutorial. For a large part of the game, that approach works really well. There were also moments where Helix became too vague for its own good, though. Instead of asking myself, “How do I solve this?”, I occasionally started wondering, “Am I even supposed to be doing this?” That can be frustrating, especially because the rest of the game proves that the developers know how to build clever puzzles. By the time the credits rolled, however, I was thinking more about the strange landscapes, the quiet story, and the puzzles that made me feel smart once everything finally clicked. Helix doesn’t always explain enough, but I would rather play a puzzle game that occasionally asks too much than one that gives away every answer before I have the chance to find it myself.
Perhaps the nicest thing I can say about Teeto is that it never felt like the first game from such a small studio. It often reminded me of the work Playtonic has done, not because it copies those games directly, but because the developers clearly grew up with the same kind of collect-a-thons and knew which parts were worth bringing back. Teeto does not try to completely change the genre, and does not need to. Exploring colorful worlds, finding collectibles without being buried under them, and returning to older areas with a new ability were already enough to keep me interested. The game could have used a few harder optional challenges for experienced players, especially near the end, but its lower difficulty also makes it much easier to enjoy with children. For a first game from a small team, Teeto turned out better than I expected, and I would gladly see what Eat Pant Games does next.
Moonlight Peaks won’t redefine the genre in the way Stardew Valley once did, nor does it need to. Instead, it successfully carves out its own moonlit corner by combining familiar mechanics with world-building, charming writing, and an aesthetic that feels wonderfully in tune with today’s love for cozy fantasy and romantasy. Its occasionally overwhelming opening hours prevent it from reaching the very top tier of farming simulators, but once the game settles into its own, it’s remarkably easy to lose yourself in. For anyone who has ever wished their farming simulator came with glowing crops, lovable vampires, and just enough gothic charm to make every evening feel like autumn, Moonlight Peaks is well worth a visit. Just don’t be surprised if your first year feels less like a peaceful moonlit stroll and more like trying to organise a harvest festival planned by an overenthusiastic coven of witches.
Rhythm Paradise Groove never overcomplicates things. It’s all about feeling the rhythm, reacting at the right time, and trying again when you mess up. There are no sprawling skill trees, endless checklists, or unnecessary progression systems designed to artificially extend the experience. Instead, Nintendo places complete faith in a deceptively simple idea: if the music is catchy, the gameplay satisfying, and the presentation charming enough, players will naturally want to improve. And turns out, Nintendo was right. Looking back, I realized something that genuinely surprised me. I never became particularly good at Rhythm Paradise Groove. Even after dozens of completed minigames, countless retries, and more than a few bruises to my musical ego, I still wouldn’t describe myself as someone blessed with impeccable rhythm. The results screen continued to remind me of that often enough. Yet somehow, I never really cared, because somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying about chasing perfect scores. I started enjoying the process of getting a little better each time. That’s a difficult feeling to manufacture, and it’s one Rhythm Paradise Groove captures beautifully. Perhaps that’s the biggest compliment I can give Nintendo’s long-awaited return, since it didn’t transform me into someone with perfect rhythm (sorry to my family). It transformed someone with absolutely no rhythm into someone who couldn’t wait to press “Retry.” And if a rhythm game can accomplish that, it’s doing something very, very right.
It’s ambitious, stylish and full of promising ideas, yet it never quite finds the balance needed to turn those ideas into consistently enjoyable gameplay. And sometimes expectations are unfair, but this time, I don’t think they were. Dark Scrolls looked like the kind of game I’d happily lose dozens of hours to. Instead, it became a game I admired far more than I enjoyed, and somehow, that’s the greatest disappointment of all.
By the time the credits rolled for the first time, I realized something that surprised me even more than the remake itself. I wasn’t thinking about the review anymore; I was thinking about Star Fox, and more specifically, how unfairly I’d judged the series over the years. I’ve always held Star Fox Adventures close to my heart because it represented such an important part of my childhood. In many ways, it was my entry point into the franchise rather than Star Fox 64. Revisiting Fox McCloud’s most celebrated adventure on Nintendo Switch 2 made me appreciate that connection even more. It also made me wonder whether I had been too dismissive of Star Fox Assault, a game I hadn’t thought about in years but suddenly found myself wanting to revisit with fresh eyes. Perhaps that’s the highest compliment I can pay this remake. It didn’t simply remind me why Star Fox 64 became one of Nintendo’s defining classics; it made me excited about Star Fox again. That may sound like a subtle distinction, but I believe it’s an important one. Great remakes preserve great games. Exceptional remakes reignite enthusiasm for entire franchises. After spending countless hours chasing medals, discovering alternate routes, and hearing Peppy remind me to “do a barrel roll” for what feels like the thousandth time, I found myself wanting more, not because this remake feels incomplete, but because it reminded me how much potential the series still possesses. If Nintendo’s intention was to determine whether Fox McCloud still has a place alongside Mario, Link, Samus, and Kirby on the Nintendo Switch 2, I sincerely hope it has found its answer. Because when I finished this remake, I didn’t immediately start another run through Corneria. I started hoping for a return to Dinosaur Planet. And that, perhaps more than anything else, proves just how successful this remake truly is.
Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition – Nintendo Switch 2 Edition somehow manages to improve a game that already felt complete. The additional content may not dramatically alter the experience, but the cumulative effect of the improvements is undeniable. The Ether Jet speeds up exploration in meaningful ways, the newly voiced Heart-to-Hearts strengthen character interactions, and the Nintendo Switch 2 hardware finally gives the game the technical foundation it deserves. More importantly, the core experience remains extraordinary. Shulk’s journey is still one of the finest stories in the JRPG genre. The combat system remains engaging and layered. The world continues to inspire exploration at every turn. Sixteen years later, Xenoblade Chronicles remains a benchmark for the genre. This might be the second definitive edition, but this time, that label finally feels impossible to argue with.
Mina the Hollower succeeds because it understands that nostalgia is only valuable when paired with innovation. It borrows inspiration from Zelda, Castlevania, Bloodborne, and countless retro classics, but never loses its own identity in the process. The Hollowing mechanic is brilliant, the world is endlessly rewarding to explore, the bosses are unforgettable, and the presentation perfectly balances retro authenticity with modern craftsmanship. More importantly, it captures the magical feeling of discovery that defined gaming’s earlier generations while remaining unmistakably contemporary. Yacht Club Games built its reputation with Shovel Knight, and with Mina the Hollower, the studio proves that lightning can strike twice.
R-Type Dimensions III is an undeniably faithful restoration of one of gaming’s most influential shoot-’em-ups. The ability to switch between classic and modern visuals is a genuinely cool feature, the presentation is polished, and longtime fans will likely appreciate the preservation effort. But faithfulness can be both a blessing and a curse. For all its historical significance, R-Type remains trapped in design philosophies that have aged poorly. The difficulty frequently crosses the line from demanding to exhausting, progression relies heavily on memorization, and the overall experience feels more punishing than rewarding. I genuinely wanted to enjoy this, and I gave it chance after chance, hoping that persistence would reveal the magic that made R-Type a legend. Instead, I came away with respect for its legacy but little desire to ever return. For hardcore retro enthusiasts, this may represent a nostalgic trip back to arcade glory days. For everyone else, it’s a reminder that not every classic benefits from being preserved exactly as it was.
Final Fantasy VII Rebirth accomplishes something extraordinarily difficult. It takes a beloved story that many considered impossible to improve upon and expands it in ways that feel meaningful, ambitious, and surprisingly respectful. It transforms a focused remake into a sprawling adventure, deepens an already exceptional cast, and delivers one of the most content-rich RPG experiences available today. More importantly, it validates everything Square Enix set out to achieve with this trilogy. For Nintendo Switch 2 owners, the achievement becomes even more remarkable. Rebirth isn’t merely another major third-party release arriving on Nintendo hardware. It’s proof that the platform can host modern blockbuster RPGs without sacrificing their identities. Just a few months ago, Remake Intergrade demonstrated what was possible, and now Rebirth demonstrates what is achievable. The fact that one of the most ambitious role-playing games of the decade can be played both on a television and in handheld form without losing the essence of what makes it special is nothing short of impressive. For longtime fans, this is an easy recommendation. For newcomers willing to start with Intergrade first, it represents one of the finest RPG journeys currently available. And for Nintendo Switch 2 itself? This may very well be one of its defining showcase titles (for now).
In many ways, Tales of Arise feels perfect for Nintendo’s hybrid. The structure naturally lends itself to portable play, the performance holds up remarkably well, and the complete package offers absurd value for JRPG fans who somehow missed it the first time around. More importantly, this isn’t one of those compromised handheld ports that constantly remind you what you’re missing elsewhere. The soul of Tales of Arise remains completely intact on Switch 2. The emotional story still land. Combat still feels fantastic. The world still begs to be explored. That’s what matters most. For newcomers, this is an easy recommendation. For returning fans, the portability alone might justify a second journey through Dahna.
Still, depth alone doesn’t completely save the experience, which clocks out after a good five or six hours of story-driven gameplay. Why? Because ultimately, Bubsy 4D remains trapped between reinvention and nostalgia. It wants to modernize Bubsy while simultaneously preserving everything people remember about him, including many of the frustrating parts. The game constantly brushes against greatness without ever fully committing to it. You can see glimpses of an incredible platformer buried underneath the noise, but those glimpses never fully stabilize into something consistently excellent. And maybe that’s the most fitting outcome possible for Bubsy. Because, against all odds, Bubsy 4D actually succeeds in making Bubsy relevant again. Not purely as a meme, but as a legitimately entertaining, occasionally brilliant platformer revival with genuine mechanical ambition behind it. That alone feels borderline impossible. Unfortunately, even breathing new life into the franchise couldn’t fully save Bubsy from the same issues that have haunted him for decades. The uneven pacing, the frustrating design decisions, the technical roughness, and the overreliance on repetitive collect-a-thon structure keep dragging the experience back down whenever it threatens to truly evolve. Bubsy 4D is fascinating. It’s weird, it’s ambitious, and it’s messy. Sometimes it’s even genuinely great. But in the end, it still feels like Bubsy, and maybe that’s exactly the problem.
Thick as Thieves annoyed me more than I wanted it to, because the good parts are easy to see. The atmosphere is strong, some escapes really do get tense, and the idea of learning a location piece by piece fits the thief fantasy well. But the game keeps getting in its own way. Too many objectives are vague, too many systems are left half-explained, and solo runs start to feel like you are wasting time rather than pulling off a clever heist. Co-op might help with that, but it was not available in the review build, so I can only judge what I played. And as a solo stealth game, Thick as Thieves has promise, but not enough direction or variety to make that promise pay off.
Wardrum ultimately succeeds because it understands both halves of its identity equally well. It isn’t a strategy game awkwardly stapled onto rhythm mechanics, nor is it a rhythm game pretending to have tactical depth. It fully commits to being both at once, and that gives the experience a freshness that’s genuinely hard to find right now. Even in a crowded indie landscape overflowing with roguelites, Wardrum manages to carve out something distinctly its own. And it’s not always approachable, and the difficulty curve will absolutely frustrate some players. There are moments where runs collapse spectacularly because your rhythm faltered for only a few seconds, and the game can occasionally feel overwhelming when several mechanics collide simultaneously. Yet those frustrations are overshadowed by the incredible satisfaction that comes from finally mastering a difficult encounter, perfectly syncing your warband’s abilities, and watching an impossible fight unravel exactly as planned. For fans of tactical RPGs, rhythm games, or simply inventive indie projects willing to take risks, Wardrum is one of the most interesting releases of the year. It takes familiar ideas, smashes them together, and somehow creates something that feels genuinely original.
In the end, Duck Side of the Moon is one of those experiences that thrives on its identity. It knows exactly what it wants to be, a slightly odd but thoughtful collectathon with a duck in space, and it delivers on that vision without overcomplicating things. The combination of exploration, puzzle-solving, and understated storytelling creates a cohesive experience that’s easy to get lost in. There are moments where the pacing could feel a bit uneven, and the point-of-no-return system won’t be for everyone. But these are relatively minor bumps in an otherwise smooth journey. The game balances humor and sincerity successfully. It’s a rather complicated mix, but one that Duck Side of the Moon handles with surprising ease. So yes, it turns out ducks do belong in space as fully-fledged protagonists of their own strange, compelling adventures. Duck Side of the Moon may not change what a collectathon can be, but it absolutely reminds you why the genre works in the first place; this is one quacktastic space adventure.
So to conclude! OPUS: Prism Peak is not a game that tries to win you over right from the start. It takes its time to develop, and you’ll need some patience. In return, it offers something that feels personal, sometimes uncomfortably so. It’s a game about looking back, about the things we carry with us, and the ways we choose to frame them. That doesn’t mean it’s without flaws. The lack of clear direction can occasionally break immersion rather than enhance it, leaving you momentarily disconnected from the experience. There are stretches where the pacing dips, where the balance between exploration and progression feels slightly off. But those moments don’t define the game. In a landscape where games often feel the need to constantly guide, inform, and validate (or throw you off the deep end over and over again), something is refreshing about a title that’s willing to step back and let you find your own way. Even if that means getting a little lost along the journey, because that’s what being on a journey is all about, no?
Ultimately, Shapez 2 is a game that knows exactly what it wants to be. It’s not here to tell a grand story or dazzle you with spectacle. Instead, it offers a space to think, to experiment, and to create systems that are uniquely your own. And in a landscape where bigger often tries to mean better, there’s power in not trying to do so. Because sometimes, all you really need is a few shapes, a handful of belts, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that, for once, everything is running exactly as it should. Excel, hidden in a ga- oh, no wait, that was Europa Universalis.