Final Fantasy (1987)

The land rots. The seas turn stagnant. The wind ceases to blow and the fires fade. The four crystals of the elements have turned dark and the world stands on the brink of collapse. The great sage Lukahn tells a prophecy of the Warriors of Light, four individuals who will come and save the world by bringing light back to the crystals. Years later, four youths appear in the Kingdom of Corneria, each carrying a shard of crystal in their hands. Believed to be the prophesised Warriors of Light, the four youths set out on their destined path to save the world…

 

Have you ever been completely, utterly, and hopelessly lost? Ever taken a wrong turn on a city street or down a country lane and ended up somewhere completely the opposite of your destination? What do you do in those situations? Do you stop and ask for directions, or immediately turn your phone on and hope St. Google can point you in the right direction? More importantly, how does being in that situation make you feel? Worried, concerned, maybe even a little bit frightened? Because once upon a time, that’s exactly how I would feel.

 

It’s incredible to me now that I felt that way. Planning a journey would require the utmost attention. Back before we could rely on things as Google Maps, we had to use actual maps, or failing that a quick visit to the AA website to download and print an electronic one accompanied with a full set of directions from A to B. What route was the quickest? What roads should I avoid? Are there any rest stops on the way? Will I have enough petrol for one trip or will I need to fill up? And that’s just planning for road trips. Walking was just as in depth. What’s the shortest route so I won’t tire my legs? How long will it take for me to get there on just my two feet? Where’s the nearest bathroom should I suddenly feel the urge? That’s just the journey planning. What about supplies? I’ll be gone for a few days, so will need to pack essentials. Clothes, toiletries, shoes. Food and drink? Better get a pack of water bottles and soda and some light snacks. Wait, what if I break down? Do I have my hazard sign? Yes, it’s in the back of the boot. Number for the AA is in the glove box. Oil for the engine just in case. I think that’s everything. Oh wait, what if it rains? Best get an umbrella to put in the car. Music! I only have a CD player in my car. Best take all my CDs with me just to be sure I have something to listen to.

 

This was my thought process on any journey I had before me, planned out down to the last letter. The thought of getting lost on one of these trips was something that would fill me with quiet dread. The potential embarrassment of finding myself completely out of the way with no idea on where to go or how to get back on track was enough to make a full itinerary. Forget about asking for directions, too. Put that down to a combination of crippling shyness and upright stubbornness that I knew exactly what I was doing. It’s a stark contrast to how I would later approach such things. Unless I have a set time or destination, such as a meeting or a dinner out, St. Google remains off. The adventurous side of me came out much later in my life, but it’s also something that I was fully familiar with all the same. Maybe it was always there and took years to finally become apparent. Whatever the case, the thought of getting lost or setting out on a road with no clear destination is nowhere near as scary or intimidating as it used to be. Sure, a wrong turn or a missed exit will draw out a groan of frustration but take a deep breath and look out at your surroundings for anything familiar. Remember the way back. Enjoy these vistas whilst they’re still there.

 

In some ways, it reflects the opening of the original Final Fantasy game. If you’ve played the game or are a fan of the series like I am, I’m sure you remember the grandiose of the title sequence; the four Warriors of Light crossing the newly built bridge out of the kingdom of Corneria, looking at the vast lands around them as the morning sun casts them in a shadowed silhouette, accompanied by the now iconic theme of the Final Fantasy series. The scrolling text declares that you are about to set forth on a quest to restore light to the world, the great unknown lying before you. It’s a scene so revered within the franchise that it’s been remade, replicated, and alluded to in the many years since.

 

What I think is less talked about is how Final Fantasy starts. After selecting your beginning classes and naming each of the four characters (which if you’ve ever played an RPG before is a very important and final decision), you’re immediately dropped into Corneria, just a few steps away from the surrounding town and its castle. There’s no explanation as to how you got there or when. You just are. Upon your initial investigation as to what’s going on, you discover that the kingdom’s princess, Sarah, has been kidnapped by the disgraced knight of the king’s guard, Garland. In a surprise move, he has whisked the princess away to the nearby Chaos Shrine and has demanded the king turn over his reign to him in exchange for her life. Setting forth to rescue the princess, you start to become familiar with the kingdom as you battle goblins, creatures and other nefarious beasts on your way to the Chaos Shrine. Once there, you dive deep into shrine to confront Garland, ultimately defeating him and rescuing Princess Sarah from her predicament. As reward, the king rebuilds the bridge leading out of his kingdom, letting you leave Corneria to explore the world. This all leads to the title card and text scroll described earlier.

 

When this fades back to the game proper, however, you’re ultimately left to your own devices. There’s no clear-cut path laid before you to follow, nor is there any indication as to where you should go. On top of that, there is no definitive objective to fulfil besides ‘bring light back to the crystals’. You can head north and keep going until you find something. Or you can head back to Corneria to stock up on supplies and find any information on what to do. Even then, the townsfolk you speak to in Corneria and beyond don’t give you clear directions; only hints at what to do or rumours of events happening in neighbouring towns. For a large part of Final Fantasy’s first act, or the gaming equivalent of one, this is how it plays. The freedom you’re given to travel and explore is broad, especially when you consider how old the original game is.

 

An argument could be made that this is inherent of early game design. Games from the 80s and 90s were designed to take as much time from you as possible, cues taken from the arcade machines that eagerly awaited your next coin. Games as we know them today had yet to find their footing into how to play in the comfort of your own home. Instructions on how to play the game and backgrounds on its lore were contained in thick manuals bundled with every box. Game designers on this era relied on the game itself to show you how to play; enemy placements, platform puzzles, map layouts and level design all came together to instruct the player on how to proceed.

 

It’s a far cry from what games have become now. Gaming is now a mainstream form of media and must cater to a wider audience than it had originally. Every game must have a tutorial to let you know how to play, and this can come in varying degrees. Some games have their instructions pop up or somehow layered within the game world itself. Others actively stop the game whilst you’re shown a video or a wall of text. You may even have a constant companion that will tell you what to do, where to go, or interrupt you at the worst possible time to tell you you’re not playing the game correctly. To play a game without such instances is a rarity nowadays. An irony now exists in its place. As games become broader in scope and scale, we as players are railroaded into how to play and experience the worlds created for us. Freedom of exploration has been sacrificed for guided tours.

 

This may be the reason why the first Final Fantasy will come as a shock to those playing it for the first time. The bombast of the game’s opening directly conflicts with how it’s played afterwards. You’re suddenly left with only a vague idea of what to do and where to go. On the one hand, it’s daunting not knowing what lies ahead of you. On the other, the prospect of exploring the unknown is enticing and exciting. For me, I fall into the latter. Or I do now, at least. The first few hours spent in travelling the world of Final Fantasy was some of the best in the whole game. I’m starting to believe that this is inherent to me.

 

Whenever I feel bored, down or suddenly gain a small sense of adventure, I tend to go out for a walk. I rarely plan on where to go, nor do I decide beforehand what time I should go home. I open the front door, step outside, and set off. Often, I’m accompanied by music on my phone, the genres of which change depending on the mood I’m in. Movie or video game soundtracks if I’m feeling adventurous. Fast-paced rock if I want to keep a good pace. Heavier sounds if I’m in the mood or feel like letting off some steam. That’s not to say I don’t plan my journeys entirely. The local areas I’ve come to know in my lifetime are still familiar in my mind. The walk to and from my high school the layouts of all the town centres, the footpaths between towns and villages. I don’t need to plan these journeys so perfectly etched in my mind.

 

What I do plan for is journeys into the unknown, to places I’ve never been to before. I check routes for walking, driving, trains, how much it will cost, places to visit and places to eat. But even these plans for flimsy at best nowadays. I may learn of how best to get to these places or the best restaurants and bars to sate my hunger, but I prefer not to make a definitive decision on these unless it’s the reason for going. My sense of adventure now comes from exploring without knowing where to go. To arrive at an unknown place and walk down the street, making a turn at random down a narrow path between two buildings or ending up in a small park surrounded by plants and flowers so carefully maintained. Take another turn and find a quaint little café that sells homemade goods, maybe catch a view of the town itself or maybe even the mountains or ocean surrounding it. The idea of finding or discovering these getaways and vistas is more appealing to me now than making a rigid and immutable agenda.

 

It’s this sense of adventure that Final Fantasy captures so well. The ultimate goal of the game is to restore the crystals to their shining glory, much like the goal of any journey is to get from point A to point B. But it’s what happens between the beginning and final destination that adds to the feeling of adventure. Recovering the lost eye of the witch Matoya, vanquishing the dark elf Astos to revive Elfheim’s slumbering prince, offering a rat’s tail to the dragon king Bahamut in exchange for more power. Again, the game doesn’t tell you what to do or where to go, nor does it tell you explicitly that these quests exist. It’s all discovered on your own volition by exploring the world of the game, listening to the townsfolk of each city or village you pass through or by simply journeying across the map. Discovering these quests and the stories behind them only makes the adventure more thrilling and fulfilling. That’s not to say the main quest itself is boring or uneventful. You discover many memorable locations along the way, such as the fiery mouth of Mount Gulug or the hidden depths of the Sunken Temple, even leaping across time and space in the Chaos Shrine. Along the way, you’ll take charge of a pirate’s ship and uncover the world’s only airship to fly across the world with speed and ease. Before long, you will be travelling across, above and below the entire world.

 

Whilst my personal travel experiences haven’t been as fantastical as the ones in Final Fantasy (or any video game, for that matter), there are a few that I can pick that are certainly warranted of such a description. Sailing across Lake Ashi in Japan on a pirate ship, going off-road through the forests of Portugal, sailing to the city of Venice from the airport on a barge. These are the kind of journeys that you’ll describe to friends with grandiose fervour and gestures to try and match the experience of actually doing them. And as time passes, I find myself wanting to go on further adventures such as these, experience new things to try. Yet when I look back at myself not even ten years ago, where the prospect of doing anything like this was of little to no interest, it makes me wonder where this sudden urge came from.

 

The truth, it seems, is much closer than I think. My grandfather was in the Navy in his youth, and also served in the Second World War. He would tell us stories of his time spent aboard ships and vessels, traversing the open seas in service to his county. One notable tale was how he had to sail a ship through a thunderstorm whilst overcoming waves he described as the size of hills. Beyond his time in the Navy, he would enjoy the simple pleasures of going for a walk, with no destination set or a time intent to come back. I remember times he would leave for his walks to his explore his seaside home and how it was treated as a regular part of his routine. It wasn’t just my grandfather. My grandmother, too, had a love for exploration. Especially exploring history, through ancient castle grounds, pristine cathedrals and well-maintained gardens. She had a natural wonder for all things and loved to learn. These traits seemed to have been passed down throughout my family. My cousin flew the world over as a flight attendant, and arguably has spent more time overseas than most of my family combined. Many members of my extended family have visited locations around the world, or have decided to move overseas.

 

Perhaps the greatest example of this, or at least the one I am most familiar with, would be with my aunt. Out of everyone in my family, we can all agree that my aunt has the most mileage when it comes to walking. Where she gets this energy and longevity from is a mystery to us all. I can recall many a time when the family get together for a nice, gentle walk only for it to turn into a trek across the land (and in one case, across the sea). These events have become so infamous in the family that any walk led by my aunt are affectionally called ‘desert walks’. I’m unsure if this is meant to be in reference to Moses leading his people across said deserts, but it paints an appropriate picture.

 

Needless to say, I come from a family of intrepid walkers. Yet when I think of how I used to react when I was younger, having to carry my little legs over a huge distance with little chance for rest, it’s incredible to me now that I can now walk over those same distances with little to no effort. When I first landed in Japan, I had to quarantine in Tokyo for two whole weeks as part of the then-quarantine measures the country had in place. What’s more, the hotel that I was quarantined in was slap bang in the middle of Shinjuku, the centre of the city’s nightlife. Having to stay in a hotel room knowing what was outside of it and knowing that I couldn’t leave for two whole weeks was like torture. I wanted to explore. I wanted to walk the streets of Tokyo and find its hidden depths, the small bars tucked away on street corners or noodle shops found in the subterrain. During my stay, I could hear a street party that walked down the street in the late evening, drums pounding, people chanting, and all I could do was watch out of my window at the tiny figures dancing in the street. Even when we could socialise in designated 15-minute time slots at the top floor, we had a view outside of the bright lights of Shinjuku, so tantalisingly close but completely out of reach. I even had the good fortune to be put in a room that had a clear view of Mount Fuji in the distance. One day, I thought to myself, I will go there. I will climb Mount Fuji!

 

When I finally was out of quarantine and landed in my new home, the first thing I wanted to do was explore. I spent the first day walking back and forth around the town, taking in the sights, familiarising myself with the locations, important places to go. Ever since, it’s been one field trip after another, whether it be walking to one side of town and back or jumping on a train to the centre of the prefecture to explore the cities nearby. Yes, every so often, I will wear myself down or feel tired. But even when I’m having an off-day or relaxing, I will be thinking of where to go and what to do next. The adventurer in me is fully awake, and I don’t think they’ll be going away anytime soon.

 

And honestly, I don’t want them to. I want that sense of adventure to stay, that ability to pick a direction and keep going until I find something fascinating. In some way, that’s what led me to Japan in the first place. But now there are other places and other countries that I would love to visit. Being so close to these countries only fuels that desire. I’ve always heard nothing but good things about Australia, from the grand cities of Sydney and Melbourne to venturing out to see Uluru. The port city I live in offers a ferry service that goes to the islands off the coast, and even to Donghae City in South Korea (at least when it’s save to do so. Damn you, Covid!). One country that has always been at the top of my list has been New Zealand, ever since it served as the setting for Middle-Earth in The Lord of the Rings films. Tours in the country offer visits to the sets of Hobbiton and to the volcanic landscape that doubled for the jagged peaks of Mordor. When I will go to these places, or perhaps if would be the bigger question, is anyone’s guess.

 

Again, I cast back to the twenty-something I used to be sat at his computer desk imagining these possibilities but never leaping at the opportunity to take them. Whilst I am still undeniably a creature of comfort when it comes right down to it, being where I am now has made a whole world of difference. Much like the four youths stepping across the bridge out of Corneria to places unknown, I find now that I am less afraid to do the same. It may have taken a long time for my spirit of adventure to finally become manifest, but I’m all the happier that it is here. My hope now is that I have the same longevity as my family does when it comes to exploring. I want to be able to go to all these amazing places, share my experiences with friends and family, find new places to go and discover. Part of it feels like I’m catching up for lost time, as if I should’ve found this part of myself a lot sooner. But as my grandmother said, all things will come in time.

 

For now, I can look forward to the journeys ahead, without worry or fear. Maybe one day I will go on a journey as fantastical as Final Fantasy, who knows? That’s part of the excitement after all. And of course, I will be sure to share my journeys with everyone I know, passed down like a myth or legend like the end of the game. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but you see what I’m getting at, I hope.

 

Onwards, good adventurer!