Sable is about a lot of things, but first of all, it is about self-discovery, a long and complicated challenge that is as exciting as scary. By logical extension, Sable is a coming-of-age story — a trope that is quite rarely explored in video games, which is a bit surprising to me. The vastness of the Midden and the emptiness of its deserts intensify the feeling of being lost and disconnected from both adults, who seem to be established in life, and children, who can allow themselves much more carelessness. At the same time, it strengthens the bonds between people. Many are still traveling and searching for themselves in this world or bound to walk alone by the nature of their craft, but they know for sure that anywhere they go they will find a friendly face.

Funnily enough, the game itself seems to be on its own search for identity. Just like Sable herself tries different masks, Sable the game draws from different inspirations yet manages to maintain its own unique identity. It's exciting to notice small similarities to other art in design and aesthetic and think about how much the present is built on the past.

The most obvious reference here is the Zelda series, which becomes obvious in the puzzles and dungeons design and the atmosphere of the world itself, which itself is strongly inspired by Mœbius's art. Some moments also bring the images from Miyazaki's movies to mind (that flying cartographer's station immediately made me think about the Castle in the Sky). The deserts, dunes and traversal remind of some Star Wars planets and obviously Dune (especially after seeing that wyrm cavern). And if we're talking about games, another one that come to mind are Journey, and by extension, Ico and Shadow of the Colossus.

Sable's approach to the open world is also really intriguing to me. I have admiration for games that can pull off intentionally empty worlds, and on that front Sable reminds me of Morrowind a lot. It's not just the idea that everything must be reachable. ("See that mountain? You can climb it"). Morrowind's world is also insanely empty — almost half of it is just rocks, mountains and foyadas, and the majority of life is concentrated around big cities and a few isolated dungeons, forts and camps. All of it is intentional — the island is harsh and unhospitable, and as you traverse it, you feel how unwelcoming it is, not just for you but for everyone. While Sable's world feels a bit more comfortable, the emptiness and vastness still drive the point home perfectly. The world is unwelcoming, but it's also insanely beautiful. And there is also one crucial difference between the worlds of Sable and Morrowind, which brings to mind another, more recent comparison.

Sable definitely reminds me of Outer Wilds. Thу similarities are clear as day. Ancient civilizations, environmental storytelling, vast and unhospitable worlds, the vibe itself. But at the same time, like in Outer Wilds, there're no enemies. And while in Outer Wilds environment still can kill you, in Sable you literally cannot die. And if you try, the game will take control away from you. Sable is protected by the magic gifted to her for her gliding and neither wants nor needs to die — this is not your call to make. There are obviously narrative and gameplay reasons for such choice. Game designers seem conditioned to think that games are incomplete without death mechanics and shove it there even when it's unnecessary and ruins the experience. Of course, Sable can still punish you for failure, though it's only a mechanical punishment. In a similar fashion to Getting Over It, the punishment is given for failure to climb the heights, for miscalculation. Minutes of progress can be eradicated if you lacked stamina to reach the top. However, it's still not that severe in the grand scheme of things. Coming of age is already stressful enough. And while the desert may be vast and empty and people can be grumpy, Sable, just like Outer Wilds, paints a peaceful world where people are not enemies to each other, even when separated by space and time. The harshness of Midden brings them closer together, and no matter where they are, they are still connected to each other.

This also plays the role in probably my favorite subplot in Sable, the one about ancient spaceships and the civilization that landed on the planet centuries ago and influenced local people in some way. They are obviously us, humans, just read the markings on the boxes. You collect their story piece by piece and eventually reach The Whale. At first, it reminded me of Pathologic's Termitary. That one big thing there that you're initially forbidden from entering. Of course you can explore it, but when you stumble upon it randomly for the first time, you feel like you shouldn't have, it's too early, you must find something else first. I personally left it for the last moments of the game, because it felt like something so monumental and central to Sable's exploration that it had to be something final (along with chum eggs, yeah). I definitely have a soft spot for gigantic structures, especially when they are broken and abandoned. They inspire both awe and some weird sense of horror. The Whale feels like another eternal mark on this world. It's not really natural, like mountains and pillars in the Badlands, but it already feels like one. The world of Sable presents an interesting mixture of tradition, magic and technology, but even then The Whale feels completely alien and unapproachable, like that one pyramid-shaped "planet" you see in the observatory (and it's hard to not think about Outer Wilds once again with its Dark Bramble).

There are so many other great things about Sable. The lore, the writing, the fantastic soundtrack and sound design. But its biggest strength is in how it approaches exploration. I felt really excited to visit every single town, dungeon and point of interest. The best part is that all of this is not even necessary, you can complete the game as soon as you get your first couple of masks. And there's no grand feat or purpose aside from basically choosing what to dedicate your life to. But sometimes the adventure is not about saving the world but about seeing it, understanding it and finding your own place in it.