Bastion presents a nationalist mythology that we must choose to break. To do so, we must renounce the comfortable story being told that paints us as the hero and continuously fight narrative, aesthetic, and mechanical inertia that pulls us towards the choice of restoration and a renewal of the myths that caused the Calamity in the first place.
Rucks gives the myth a voice. From the beginning, he lays out the goal (restore the Core and save Caelondia), tells us we have a unique role to play, and characterizes the obstacles facing us. However, as Mitchell and Clarkson both notice, Rucks’ narration is colored. Mitchell claims it is by guilt while Clarkson argues it is by nostalgia. Regardless, Rucks describes the Caelondia that used to be as a great city full of technology and wonder while referring to the Ura and the Wild outside as “a nebulous set of external threats” as Mitchell puts it. As we step into the shoes of Rucks’ “hero” by venturing into the Wild and mowing down swathes of wildlife and later, killing dozens of Ura, his narration makes these killings palatable. It is the first and most obvious source of inertia we must overcome.
Bastion’s aesthetic storytelling supports Rucks’ myth. As we progress through levels, the world literally builds itself under his words. The lost districts shimmer with nostalgia, full of detailed carvings, animated buildings, and the ghosts of their inhabitants. The Bastion itself is lush and colorful, made only more vibrant as we progress our quest by collecting shards. In contrast, the Wilds are a venomous green tangle of bushes and roots featuring tight corridors littered with enemies that fog up our screen with poison gas. The Tazal Terminals are cold, sharp, and full of impenetrable obsidian walls. Visually, the message is clear: within Caelondia’s walls are people and memories, outside the walls are enemies and obstacles. The soundtrack mirrors this, calm and warm in the Bastion and driving and relentless in hostile areas. These aesthetic cues encourage us to “get in the zone” and follow Rucks’ path of least resistance.
To which we don’t seem to have much of a choice but obey. Progression is doubly gated: shards unlock levels while fragments, dropped by destroying enemies and objects, unlock gear. Our most powerful attacks are area attacks that destroy indiscriminately. The gameplay loop boils down to: destroy more to destroy better. Destruction is not only necessary to progress, the game makes it fun. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the final act.
After Zulf’s betrayal, Rucks creates a super weapon: a calamity cannon that one-shots all enemies in its blast. It’s so powerful it is the only weapon that can harm us. And yet even it is not enough. In the final two minutes, after rampaging through the Ura’s home base, we obtain a battering ram. It is clear this weapon is special. We are over-encumbered with its size and weight, needing both hands to hold it. We waddle towards our opponents, now victims: their tiny crossbow bolts bouncing off the massive pillar of reinforced wood and iron. Its special move summons a literal storm of meteors. Waves of Ura drop dead with a single button; even the obsidian walls that appeared invulnerable fall instantly. Of course, while carrying the battering ram, we cannot dodge. Our only form of non-violent progression is taken away.
So what opportunities does Bastion give to break free of Rucks’ myth? They exist but often come at a cost. For instance, after obtaining the calamity cannon, we can swap it for a less destructive weapon which makes the stage harder. At the Lost and Found, we can buy trinkets that provide no combat advantage but unlock unskippable cutscenes where NPCs react to the objects, forcing us to take a break from the “fun” of smashing to listen and contemplate. There is an optional series of difficult challenges called Who Knows Where that provide backstory for each character. Through them we see the perspectives that Rucks’ myth leaves out: refugees, peacemakers, and neglected outsiders.
It is only by actively pursuing these costly options that we obtain the information needed to resist the inertia pulling us toward restoration. The choice to spare or kill Zulf is where all of it converges. As Clarkson notes, the choice to restore “belongs with the decision to keep the weapon.” To choose mercy, we must put down the most powerful weapon the game has ever given us. In doing so our agency is taken away: we crawl up the stairs with Zulf on our back, overencumbered by an unseeable weight as Ura fire arrow after arrow into our back. Even now the game makes us look like a hero. And so at the very end we still must choose: to restore what was lost as the myth intends, or reject it and finally break free.
Myths are not just stories we read about in history books. They hold power because we live in them everyday. What inertias pull us towards these myths? What can we do about them?
