Open-world games have long been a cornerstone of modern gaming, offering players vast landscapes to explore, quests to complete, and secrets to uncover. For years, the formula seemed unshakable: big maps dotted with question marks, icons to collect, and towers to climb. From The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion to The Witcher 3 and Skyrim, this structure became the blueprint for success. But in recent years, the genre has found itself in the throes of an existential crisis. The once-reliable formula feels tired, and developers are grappling with how to evolve. At the heart of this struggle lies The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, a game so revolutionary that it has left the entire genre scrambling to catch up.
When Breath of the Wild launched in 2017, it didn’t just redefine open-world games—it shattered expectations. Gone were the endless map markers and incremental gear upgrades. Instead, Nintendo offered a world that felt alive, a map that invited exploration through its topography rather than dictating it with icons. Players were drawn to curious rock formations, distant plumes of smoke, and the promise of discovery rather than the obligation of completing checklists. The game’s minimalist approach was a breath of fresh air, and its success sparked a seismic shift in how developers and players alike thought about open-world design.
But this shift has not been easy to navigate. In the years since Breath of the Wild, many open-world games have attempted to borrow from its playbook, often with mixed results. The most common—and perhaps most baffling—addition has been the paraglider, a mechanic that feels almost comically out of place in games that lack the thoughtful world design to support it. Few games, however, have encapsulated the genre’s identity crisis as starkly as Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla.
Valhalla represents a fascinating, if flawed, attempt to reconcile the old ways with the new. Its map, initially shrouded in fog, gradually reveals itself as players explore. But instead of the traditional question marks and icons, Ubisoft opted for glowing dots—silver for one type of activity, gold for rare loot. It was an attempt to move away from the “low-brow” clutter of past Assassin’s Creed games while still providing players with clear objectives. The result, however, was a confusing hybrid that neither embraced the minimalist elegance of Breath of the Wild nor fully retained the convenience of its predecessors.
This struggle is emblematic of a broader trend in the genre. Developers are caught between two competing philosophies: the desire to make games accessible and frictionless, and the belief that players should engage more actively with the world. Ubisoft, in particular, has found itself at the center of this debate. Once celebrated for its formula of tower-climbing and icon-revealing, the studio has faced increasing criticism for its reliance on passive gameplay mechanics. In Valhalla, for example, players could set their horse to auto-run to a destination, effectively allowing them to disengage entirely from the act of exploration.
This passivity is at the core of the open-world genre’s crisis. Traditional open-world games are designed to feed players a steady stream of dopamine hits, with quest markers, fast travel, and highlighted interactables ensuring that the experience is as frictionless as possible. The player’s role is not to discover or experiment but to follow the path laid out for them. This approach has its merits—it’s comforting, predictable, and easy to pick up—but it also risks reducing the game to a series of chores.
Breath of the Wild challenged this philosophy by asking players to think for themselves. Climbable surfaces weren’t marked with yellow paint; instead, players had to assess the terrain and plan their route. Quests didn’t come with GPS-style directions; players had to use landmarks and environmental clues to find their way. This shift from passive to active engagement was revelatory, but it also set a high bar that few games have been able to meet.
The tension between these two approaches has only grown in the years since Breath of the Wild. On one hand, there’s a desire to create worlds that feel alive and immersive, where discovery is driven by curiosity rather than obligation. On the other, there’s the pressure to deliver a polished, accessible experience that appeals to a broad audience. This conflict is evident in games like Horizon Forbidden West, which combines stunning visuals and intricate world-building with a map cluttered with icons, and Elden Ring, which takes a more hands-off approach but risks alienating players with its lack of guidance.
Even Assassin’s Creed, once the poster child for the traditional open-world formula, is trying to adapt. The upcoming Assassin’s Creed Shadows promises a more dynamic world, with changing seasons and a greater emphasis on player agency. But whether it can break free from the genre’s entrenched habits remains to be seen.
The open-world genre’s crisis is, at its core, a question of identity. What does it mean to create a world that feels truly open? Is it about giving players the freedom to explore and discover, or is it about providing a curated experience that guides them from one moment to the next? Breath of the Wild offered one answer, but it’s clear that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution.
As the genre continues to evolve, one thing is certain: the days of relying on question marks and icons are numbered. Players are hungry for something new, something that challenges them to engage with the world in meaningful ways. Whether that means embracing the minimalist ethos of Breath of the Wild or forging an entirely new path, the future of open-world games will depend on developers’ willingness to take risks and rethink the formula.
For now, the genre remains in flux, caught between the past and an uncertain future. But if there’s one lesson to be learned from Breath of the Wild, it’s that innovation is possible—and that sometimes, the best way forward is to let go of what came before.
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