Critical Play: Worldbuilding

Game: Hollow Knight | Creator: Team Cherry | Platform: PC, Nintendo Switch, PlayStation | Target audience: Fans of challenging 2D action platformers

Hollow Knight makes you care about its world not by explaining it to you, but by making you responsible for discovering it. The emotional weight of Hallownest comes from the fact that you had to go looking, and what you found when you did.

The tool that made me feel this was the Dream Nail. By the time I found it, Hollow Knight had already trained me to look closely at ruins, enemies, and scraps of dialogue, but the Dream Nail changed looking into listening. It lets me cut into dreams and memories, reading thoughts from enemies, NPCs, corpses, statues, and other remnants of Hallownest. At first, I used it just to see what would happen. Later, I was using it on almost everything I passed because I could not stand not knowing what was still hidden there. In MDA terms, the mechanic is simple: charge the Dream Nail and press a button near something. But the dynamic it creates is obsessive curiosity. The aesthetic that grows from that curiosity is grief. We are not just moving through a ruined kingdom; we are piecing together a civilization from the inside out.  That is what makes the mechanic so powerful. The game does not hand players emotion through a cutscene. It makes players search for it, and the sadness feels discovered rather than assigned. That distinction is everything.

This is what separates Hollow Knight from Dark Souls, which is the other game people usually bring up when talking about environmental storytelling. Dark Souls hides its lore in item descriptions, dense and beautifully written paragraphs attached to armor sets and rings. I love those. But reading them feels like being a scholar. Hollow Knight feels like being an archaeologist who keeps finding things. The difference is proximity. In Dark Souls you learn about the world. In Hollow Knight you keep accidentally stumbling into people’s last moments, and that feels personal in a way that item text rarely does.

The characters scattered across Hallownest deepen this further. Gabriela Pereira writes on the psychology of worldbuilding that “a world only feels real when the characters inside it seem genuinely shaped by it, when the ecosystem and the person have clearly been pressing on each other for a long time”. Hollow Knight gets this right. Quirrel wanders because curiosity is the only thing keeping his grief from swallowing him. Zote performs bravado because the alternative is admitting how lost he is. Cornifer makes maps of a dying kingdom because the act of caring for a falling place is how he stays sane. I used to hear him humming and that sound became part of how Hallownest felt to me. Later, when I found his notes without hearing the hum, the silence landed harder than any boss death in the game.

Compared to Celeste, which I think is the closest emotional comparison in the genre, Hollow Knight takes the opposite approach to making you feel something. Celeste is explicit. Madeline’s anxiety is mechanically embedded in how the game works. You know exactly what you are carrying. Hollow Knight gives you a protagonist who is empty, a being without voice or face or expressed feeling, and trusts you to fill that silence with whatever you bring to it. That is a real creative risk, and I think it mostly pays off. But it also has a cost. The game withholds its emotional depth behind many hours of difficulty, with almost no accessibility options to bridge the gap. Some players will never reach the parts of Hallownest that would have meant the most to them, and that would be a genuine failure of design.

The ethics of the body in Hollow Knight also stayed with me. Many species in Hallownest seem biologically tied to specific roles: armored bugs are built to defend, moths are connected to dreams and light, and Vessels are created to be empty. The most disturbing example is the Pale King’s creation of the Vessels. He believes that the Radiance can corrupt any being with a mind, so he tries to breed a body without thoughts, emotions, or attachments. He treats a living being as a container rather than a person. That logic is close to eugenics because it imagines that a “better” body can be manufactured for a specific purpose, and that feeling is a flaw that should be removed. What makes the game more ethically acceptable is that later it does not fully support this logic. The Hollow Knight, who was supposed to be the perfect empty Vessel, still developed attachment.  To me, this suggests that personhood cannot be designed away. If I were changing the game, I would revise the story so Hallownest is not saved by one empty Vessel. Instead, characters would resist the infection through care, memory, and loyalty to one another. This would make the ethical message clearer: living beings should not be valued because they are easy to control, but because they have inner lives and relationships.

Hollow Knight is not flawless. Its lore can be dense that players may feel lost, and its difficulty can keep some people from reaching the parts of Hallownest that would move them most. Still, the game’s achievement is hard to dismiss. It trusts players to care without being told to care. It gives players a ruined kingdom, a way to listen, and enough silence to find own grief inside it. Somewhere along the way, Hallownest stops feeling like a level map and starts feeling like a place players are mourning.

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