By the time I'd finished Final Fantasy IV, there were still two months left before the Switch release of FFVII. I looked back over my shoulder at that Chrono Triggerian crossroads, pondering the genre’s founding fathers. I’d followed Hironobu Sakaguchi’s path, but Yuji Horii hadn’t forsaken me. Noting my glance, he turned, tinted glasses flashing against the sun, and offered a smile. I sheathed the Paladin’s Sword, set aside my hoard of crystals, and stepped forward. It wasn’t without a hint of embarrassment.

At the end of the previous summer I’d taken the opportunity to try a demo of the upcoming Dragon Quest XI, and expressed bewilderment over the boilerplate simplicity of its combat system. Certain other RPGs had conditioned my tastes toward “action commands,” and the classic format was a thing of the past. Still, I considered that EarthBound might not have been a fluke, and I’d given FF a fair enough shake. It would’ve been easy to give in to skepticism and back out of the whole prospect of entering yet another massive role-playing series, but before I could fully consider that, Dragon Quest V materialized from behind a glass display case at a local shop.

Clicking it into my Nintendo DS and entering a name came with a whiplash I now realize Japanese fans of Super Famicom role-playing games might’ve shared in 1992. Though gifted with some substantial foreknowledge of what the genre had in store, the recency of my Final Fantasy IV completion kept its audacious, free-wheeling style at the top of my brain. FFIV began with a fleet of airships soaring against a booming Star Warsian score. Dragon Quest V opens with a man pacing slowly and anxiously. The repetitive ticking of an echoing clock envelops the throne room. The chancellor urges his king to take a seat. He plods himself down, but darts up again. A messenger rushes in to deliver the news. The music begins as King Pankraz emerges upstairs to reunite with his wife and meet his newborn son. He’s eager to provide the child a name, and Queen Madalena suggests what we’ve chosen. Pankraz delivers us into the world of Dragon Quest V, the scene shifts, and the title descends from the heavens to a chorus of trumpets. Some years will pass before we return.

Already, Dragon Quest V has impressed us with its patient direction and emotional maturity. It impresses us further. I learned quickly to respect and enjoy its commitment to sharpened, gambling-flavored battle mechanics and strict resource management. I became engrossed in its humble writing and subtle humanity as the story and gameplay quietly intertwined. Though full of tenderness and joyful whimsy, the wisdom sleeping beneath its life-spanning story never fails to sober me, even today. Where Final Fantasy IV had fought hard to astonish, Dragon Quest V managed to bring tears to my eyes more than once using simple lines of text. If Sakaguchi were a fireworks engineer, we might call Horii a master of sleight of hand.

What have we done wrong as a community to always expect a reward for everything we do? 



Listen, I've read lots of people complaining about how pointless this game is and how it doesn't really do anything for you to keep playing. You plant seeds in order to grow Pikmin, then feed them. Those Pikmin will leave a trail of flowers behind you when you go for a walk. That's it.



But Pikmin Bloom is not a game about taking advantage of pikmins or about making your walks more exciting. Pikmin Bloom's sole purpose is to fill the world with flowers. Together, as a community. Whether you want to participate or not is up to you. If that's not one of the most beautiful things to ever happen in videogame history then I don't know what is.