There are games that entertain — and then there are games that remind you who you are.
Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 was the latter for me.
A rare, once-in-a-lifetime creation that didn’t just ask to be played — it asked to be felt.
I’ve been playing games for as long as I can remember. But I never made content about it.
Gaming was always my quiet hobby, a private joy.
In a world growing increasingly loud, gaming had been my sanctuary.
But somewhere along the way, that joy dulled.
Life crept in. Bills. Pressure. Dreams that hadn’t panned out.
I turned 27, and the thing I once used to escape — gaming — now felt more like a guilty distraction than a source of wonder.
I still remember the days from my childhood — coming back from school, eager to turn on the computer and get lost in those incredible worlds right at my fingertips.
One of the games I absolutely loved was Assassin’s Creed. The early versions had incredible world-building and storytelling. They weren’t perfect, but they made me feel something.
They transported me. I lived in those stories.
I remember dreaming of growing up just so I could play more games. I even built my dream PC with my own money back in 2023 — a fully decked-out rig… and I barely touched it.
The tragedy of adulthood isn’t just losing time — it’s losing feeling.
You dream of the stars as a child, and when you finally reach them… they don’t shine the same.
But Expedition 33 — it didn’t just reignite my love for games.
It healed something in me.
Last year, I tried to return. I decided I wanted to feel that old excitement again.
I picked up The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild — and I absolutely loved it.
The journey I had… the interaction with NPCs… it was magical. I played over 50 hours, exploring every corner. I never wanted it to end.
But once I finished, I moved on. Like it never happened.
Then I picked up Black Myth: Wukong.
I stayed not for the story — but for the graphics and gameplay.
I played it twice, chasing that excitement again.
But life interfered. And gaming faded once more.
That hunger — that childlike excitement — I hadn’t felt that in a long, long time.
Until now.
Until Clair Obscur: Expedition 33.
It didn’t feel like a game.
It felt like a memory I hadn’t lived yet — something I’d been searching for.
A reminder of everything I used to love but had forgotten how to feel.
When I first picked up the controller, I had no idea what I was getting into.
The game introduces us to two characters — Gustav and Maëlle.
You know a story is going to be special when the opening line makes you pause.
And Expedition 33 had one of those moments.
Maëlle says:
“If you’re going to give someone flowers, you should probably do it before they wither and die.”
To which Gustav replies:
“The flower… or Sofie?”
We often take death for granted because we never know when our last day is.
When is our last meal?
When is the last time we say “I love you”?
When is the last time we see the moon… or the sun?
But what if you knew when you were going to die?
That’s the hook of this game.
At first, I didn’t understand the mechanics. It was overwhelming — dodging, parrying, skills…
The story was even more confusing: a Paintress erasing ages from existence? A ritual called Gommage?
I was lost — but something in that confusion was beautiful.
In every story ever told, the first few minutes matter the most.
They ask the viewer to care.
And this game did exactly that.
Every line of dialogue, every interaction, kept the questions piling up — making us push forward, making us feel with the characters.
The world was stunning.
From Lumière — where we first start — to the Monolith… every frame felt like it was crafted with love and passion.
The art. The sound design. The music — oh god, the music.
It all felt so personal. Like every pixel and every note had a purpose to fulfill.
The first track that moved me was Gommage — when Sofie turns to dust. I almost teared up.
The voice actors poured their souls into each character.
There were so many great tracks, but some stuck with me:
- Alicia’s theme when she appears — I fell in love with it instantly.
- Serien’s theme, during the Axon fight — I didn’t want to leave that place. It was a beautiful dance.
- The fight against Renoir — when that music hit, I just put down my controller and listened.
They even added a feature where you can replay songs at the camp.
Whoever thought of that — bravo.
I go to the camp just to sit and listen.
Now, gameplay.
I never thought I’d fall in love with a turn-based system.
I’ve been playing Pokémon since the very first versions — and looking back, it had the potential to become the best turn-based game ever.
But Expedition 33?
It set a new standard. This is what turn-based RPGs should’ve always been.
The game has three acts, plus a prologue and epilogue.
With each act, the questions keep piling up — pushing you to explore more, to read more from the past expeditions, to feel more.
By the time I reached the epilogue…
I wasn’t playing a game.
I was reliving a dream I didn’t know I had.
Towards the end, the game presents you with two choices.
They may seem like just gameplay decisions, but they’re so much more.
One choice represents escapism — spending time in a fictional world.
The other is about returning to the people you love, in the real world.
If you’ve played the game, I don’t need to tell you which choice is which.
Just… think about the choice you made.
And maybe what it says about your real life.
I’ve just finished the main game.
There are still 30+ hours of content waiting for me.
You know something is truly good when you’re still thinking about it long after stepping away.
After finishing, I looked up the developers.
The end credits were some of the shortest I’ve ever seen for a game this polished.
Turns out — they’re former Ubisoft devs.
That hit hard.
Assassin’s Creed II was my favorite game growing up.
And knowing this game was made by people like them? It felt full circle.
Most games today are made for the sake of being made.
For money.
For shareholders.
But Expedition 33 didn’t feel like that.
It felt pure.
It felt honest.
It felt like a love child — when passion meets time and care.
You can feel it — in every brushstroke, every line of dialogue, every chord in the soundtrack.
This wasn’t a game made for a quarterly report.
This was a love letter to art itself.
If you’ve ever loved games — truly loved them — you owe it to yourself to play this one. Not because it’s the most polished. Not because it’s hyped. But because it reminds you why you started gaming in the first place.
And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help you find the part of yourself you thought you lost along the way.
Because in the end, all we really want… is to feel like that kid again.
And that’s what Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 did for me.
It reminded me that I still had a soul for this.
That I hadn’t truly lost the child who used to sneak in game time on school nights, dreaming of worlds far away.
That the joy wasn’t gone — it was just waiting for the right story to return.
This game was that story.
It reminded me why we game in the first place.
Not for graphics. Not for scores.
But to feel something real.
To be a kid again — on holiday, controller in hand, heart full of wonder.
And maybe… that’s what this game wanted to be all along.
A message passed down:
“For those who come after.”
Thank you, Expedition 33.
You didn’t just make a game.
You made me remember who I was.