The post-apocalyptic wasteland usually results in two things: Bombed-out remnants of a world gone to hell, and some kind of battle or struggle pitting doomsday survivors against monsters, mutants or other survivors over real estate, property or food.
Very rarely, if ever, do we see personal, introspective stories of people trying to survive after the world has essentially ended. However, Fragile Dreams‘ narrative dynamic involves this exact scenario. The game tells the story of Seto, a young boy who lives with an old man in an observatory following an unknown cataclysmic event.
The old man dies of natural causes in the game’s opening, leaving the boy a cryptic letter that tells him he must head east. There may in fact be other survivors, the letter says, and thus begins Seto’s journey. The world’s population has all but disappeared, and, although Seto does encounter a handful of people throughout his travels, he is most often alone.
This sets the tone for the game, whose thematic dealings are concerned with Seto’s isolation and his psychological struggle for a sense of self, as well as certain desperation for human connection. There are some game design prerequisites—because a game about a boy who simply wanders around environments looking at things just wouldn’t sell.
In this case, the game’s combat is one such example. The thought signatures of those who died haunt the land. This basically makes the world, while almost entirely devoid of human life, populated with malevolent ghosts who wish to do Seto harm.
But rather than taking a horror angle (despite some pretty creepy and grotesque enemy design) Fragile Dreams refreshingly remains a narrative-heavy adventure game. Exploration takes precedence over combat, meaning most of the time you’re going to be looking around dark rooms with your flashlight for clues, keys and other assorted items.
Seto encounters a lot of discarded items on his journey, and he can “read” their stories when camping out in front of a fire. These little tidbits give you a small slice of humanity, telling stories of loss, joy, sorrow, regret, pain, fear and loneliness, echoing the changing dynamics of Seto’s own internal monologue as he makes his way through the world, alone.
Interestingly, the world of Fragile Dreams hasn’t been completely destroyed—the planet has clearly continued to live even as the ruins of humanity grow, wither and decay, making the game’s setting an interesting take on its well-worn subject matter.
The game isn’t going to appeal to everyone, given its slow, methodical pacing, but the story is interesting even on the occasion that the design hitches (which is thankfully rare). Personally, I wish the character designs were just a little less stylized, since it can be a little distracting watching such young, overly-anime-style characters deal with issues like depression, suicide and existentialism. But even with its unorthodox ways, Fragile Dreams is a thought-provoking game—something that’s very different—and, if just for its psychological fallout, is well worth the price of admission.