Forgotlings Reviews
There are video games where words fall short. Forgotlings is one of them: a work that resists easy description, because it does not simply tell a story — it builds an experience that continues to settle long after the screen goes dark. Throughline Games returns to the universe of Forgotton Anne with a prequel that expands its emotional foundations without betraying its spirit. The Forgotten Lands are not a backdrop: they stand as the direct consequence of our most daily and most overlooked act — forgetting. Here objects do not disappear: they awaken, acquire identity, seek a meaning that no longer depends on whoever once owned them. And in this space suspended between memory and abandonment, Forgotlings poses a question no game truly resolves — because the answer, here, is not the point. At the center stands Fig, a posing doll without a role or a past, who becomes a mediator between five tribes unable to speak to one another: the Videra, custodians of memory; the Aufero, engines of progress; the Servus, devoted to care; the Sonavi, perpetual explorers; the Karus, seekers of transcendence. Each carries a different answer to the same crisis — the loss of function — and none is right. None is wrong. They are all real, all partial, all profoundly human. The gameplay mirrors this complexity: it does not impose, it exposes itself. Combat stays deliberately marginal, almost as a reminder that violence is always the last resort. Exploration unfolds as a slow breath through environments built to be inhabited, not cleared. And it is in relationship management — through the Choice Wheel and the silent ritual of INA, the board game that becomes a shared grammar between tribes — that Forgotlings finds its most authentic voice. That said, this narrative vocation carries a cost: the dialogues are often very extensive, and at certain moments their weight slows the rhythm of the experience considerably. For those willing to embrace the game’s reflective cadence, this presents no obstacle; for those seeking a more sustained flow, it demands a patience that does not always pay off immediately. The art direction is extraordinary: thousands of hand-drawn frames, tribe-differentiated color palettes, a character design where the physical nature of each object becomes its expressive tool. Peter Due’s soundtrack, performed by the Theatre of Voices, does not accompany the game: it forms a structural part of it, carrying autonomous narrative information through leitmotifs that transform, interweave, and resonate well beyond any single scene. There are works that do not ask to be understood, but felt. Works that do not seek to impress, but to stay. Forgotlings is exactly this: an experience that does not consume itself as you live it, but settles slowly, like fine dust on the soul, returning at the most unexpected moments, when silence makes room for the truest thoughts. Throughline Games does not simply build a prequel: it makes a gesture that is more intimate, almost vulnerable. It returns to an already beloved universe not to expand it in the traditional sense, but to draw even closer to its beating heart. The Forgotten Lands are not just a world to explore – they are a shared wound, the inevitable consequence of something all of us, without exception, do every day: let go, forget, turn the page. Yet here, what we forget does not vanish. It remains. It breathes. It seeks. And it is precisely this seeking that makes Forgotlings so profoundly human. Because beneath the surface of objects coming to life hides a disarming truth: the need to exist in someone’s eyes, to have a purpose, to feel that one’s own being – however small, however fragile – still carries meaning. Fig embodies all of this with a rare delicacy. She is not a hero, not special in the conventional sense. She is incomplete. She is uncertain. She is, at her core, profoundly alone. And for exactly that reason she becomes the point of connection between worlds that can no longer recognize one another. Hers is a silent search, made of attempts, hesitations, small steps that often lead to no answers but open new questions. The five tribes she encounters are not simple narrative factions, but reflections of different ways of facing the same fear: the fear of no longer having a purpose. The Videra cling to the past as to an anchor; the Aufero look ahead with a determination that borders on obsession; the Servus find meaning only in being useful to others; the Sonavi never stop searching, as if standing still meant vanishing; the Karus pursue something higher, almost seeking to transcend their own existence. No judgment runs through any of this. No right or wrong. Only truth – fragmented, imperfect, but authentic. And perhaps this is precisely where Forgotlings manages to touch something so deep: in reminding us that we too, in different ways, belong a little to all of these visions. The game never forces your hand. It does not tell you what to feel, nor how to interpret what happens. It gives you space. It gives you time. And in this space, in this time, something happens. The gameplay becomes almost an emotional extension: combat is rare, distant, as if the game itself wanted to whisper that real answers do not live there. Exploration is never frantic, but contemplative, like a walk through a place you do not truly want to leave. And then there are the relationships. Fragile, complex, never obvious. Every choice on the Choice Wheel is not just a narrative direction, but a small act of trust – or of distance. INA, the board game, becomes something more than a mechanic: it is a shared language for when words no longer suffice, an attempt to understand one another even when everything seems to divide. Granted, this depth carries a price. The dialogues expand, linger, insist. There are moments where the rhythm slows almost to a halt, asking of the player a patience that today is no longer so common. But perhaps this is precisely the point: Forgotlings does not want to be consumed quickly. It wants to be lived. And truly living something requires time. The art direction amplifies every emotion without ever overwhelming it. Every hand-drawn detail conveys a care that feels almost affectionate, as if every element came into being not only to be seen, but to be felt. Colors tell as much as the dialogues; shapes speak as much as the silences. The music, then, does not accompany: it envelops. The themes interweave, return, transform – just like the thoughts that move through us when we try to make sense of what we are living. It is a constant presence, discreet but essential. In the end, Forgotlings does not leave you with a clear answer. It leaves you with something harder to define, but infinitely more precious: a feeling. The awareness that meaning is not something one finds once and for all, but something one builds, slowly, in the smallest choices, in the most fragile bonds, in the moments when one decides to stay instead of walking away. This is a game about what remains when everything else fades. About what we are when no one is watching. About what we choose to remember – and about what, perhaps, we should never forget.
Forgotlings is a cinematic action-adventure game with a Metroidvania feel and an aesthetic inspired by Studio Ghibli. Playing as Fig, you explore a semi-open world and unite tribes of forgotten objects through hack-and-slash combat, stealth, or diplomacy. Highlights include its hand-drawn world, strong narrative, and truly outstanding sound design.
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“ This is a narrative-driven adventure through and through, and the writing carries a genuine sense of wonder. The central journey of bringing together fractured tribes of forgotten objects is heartfelt, occasionally funny, and surprisingly thoughtful.”