I've been playing through Kena: Bridge of Spirits and can't get the cutscene preceding the first major boss battle out of my mind (runs from the 0:15 to the 1:15 mark).
There's a lot to unpack in those 60 seconds of silent storytelling. Kena enters the arena with hope, wonder, and a little sadness-- not typical expressions for a warrior about to battle a monster. The scene flips the script on us again when the tortured ghost of Taro (the boy you're trying to save) himself appears. He's then ensnared in evil energy and transformed into the monster.
Stuff like this is a major reason why the game works so well. In terms of level design and combat, Kena isn't doing anything really new. The story is very straightforward with no major side quests. What makes it stand out is that it nails the fundamentals of storytelling so well. Instead, it packs huge emotional energy into the events of the main storyline. It is a creation that knew going into development that it was a meat-and-potatoes game and committed to making them the best damn meat and potatoes possible.
Normally, the opening cinematic for a boss battle focuses on the sheer physical aspects, like the adversary's size, or power, or weaponry, or the peripheral dangers of their lair. Kena largely eschews that approach, and I think for good and deliberate reasons. By simplifying the physical elements of the battle, the player can remain more focused on the emotional stakes. They are not trying to slay a beast. They are trying to free a scared little boy trapped within his own grief and guilt.
For protagonists like Kratos or the Master Chief, the impetus to keep playing is always a physical challenge. But the driving force behind the quest to defeat them all is pretty one-dimensional. Kratos is angry. Master Chief wants to save the universe. That's pretty much it. Their games present them as super powerful icons with a perma-grimace or a blank orange visor, and their stories rarely go beyond that. They are defined by whatever stands between them and their ultimate target.
As seen above and below, Kena is much more expressive. She's going through a range of emotion. She's determined to do the right thing yet apprehensive that she'll accidentally hurt someone, enthralled by the magic around her yet fearful for her own safety. We are invested and involved, and there's always a sense of background tension about what will happen next.
It's consequential then that Kena never starts out with an intent to purge the land of evil. She begins by meeting the spirits of two small children and deciding to help them find their brother. The quest is small, focused, and personal.
This narrative setup recurs in each of Kena's missions toward her ultimate goal. Each time, Kena seeks to free tortured spirits from the evil keeping them bound to the mortal plane. Kena learns about their lives in brief flashbacks, develops a connection based on sympathy and loss, and then experiences a kind of mourning and sadness at the passing of the spirit she just helped, as demonstrated by the wrap-up cinematic following her battle:
This scene is a textbook demonstration of the concept that "the player must always be allowed to succeed, but it doesn't mean the character has to." The team behind Kena did a great job employing that principle in subtle and multi-layered ways. Yes, she has won. But she is also losing friends she's made and that (at least for me) the player has come to like along the way.
There's no loot drop, no new weapon or trophy acquired. And adding one would be a terrible distraction from the game's theme, which is the real reward. The payoff is completely in the catharsis of the mission's story. As a choice in game design, that's a bold gamble. But thanks to the way the team executed those cinematic moments, it works. By really thinking their story and characters through, the Kena team was able to enrich the reward of finishing a level by making each victory bittersweet. Each mission's completion takes time to conclude multiple plot threads. They're not always entirely happy, but they are satisfying.
It's that insistence on emotional satisfaction that gives the game's narrative its real brilliance. The first mission defines what the game's story is, and it never flinches from pursuing that vision. It is a story about loss and letting go. Making that into a fun game is super difficult. Making one that is enlightening and uplifting is even more so. But Kena does it because it never compromises from its vision to keep pulling you forward with the story. No gimmicks. No unlockables. No upgrades. Just characters and their arcs.
It's not that there's no substitute for a good story. But if your story is good enough you don't need one.
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