In 2026, a special edition art book still sits on its owner's shelf with the shrink wrap perfectly intact. It was never opened, not even once. The player who bought it considered it a must-have when Tears of the Kingdom launched in 2023, but the art inside supposedly spills major spoilers, and he absolutely hates spoilers. So the book stayed sealed. The strange thing? He still hasn't cracked it open, and by now the plastic has become less about avoiding spoilers and more about something else—a quiet reminder of a game he wanted to love but never quite could. The art book has turned into a tiny, glossy monument to mixed feelings. And honestly? It sits there judging him every time he walks by. He really tried to love the game. He really did.

The opening hours were incredible. Exploring the sky archipelago was genuinely breathtaking, and Link's first dive toward the surface below felt like a shot of pure adrenaline. For a moment, the player believed this would be the game of the year, maybe the game of the decade. But after the initial high, things started to feel familiar in a way that was less cozy and more disappointing. Hyrule itself, as stunning as ever, still had its towns in the same old places. The four Temples—which are, to be fair, some of the best parts of the game—are tucked into the exact same cities that once housed the Divine Beasts in Breath of the Wild. Anyone who replayed the 2017 classic to prepare for this sequel probably felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

The biggest difference between the two games is how Link gets around. In Breath of the Wild, travel meant walking, riding, or gliding. Tears of the Kingdom hands over a whole construction kit: motorised monster trucks, titanic mechs, or just a long plank with a few fans strapped on. Social media is packed with wild inventions, and the player will occasionally mutter 'woah, cool' to an empty room. But that's where it ends. He has no real motivation to build any of it himself. He has exactly one Zonai charge left, and the grind to earn more feels gargantuan. The Ultrahand mechanic never clicked for him—like a friend who speaks in riddles and expects you to keep up. When the game's whole identity is built around that system, it starts to feel like maybe he just doesn't get it. Cue the shrug. 🤷‍♂️

To keep his interest alive, the player put together a quick mental comparison:

Aspect	Breath of the Wild	Tears of the Kingdom
Main traversal	Walking, horses, glider	Building vehicles, Zonai devices
Temple locations	Divine Beasts in four towns	Temples in the same four towns
Story pull	Calamity Ganon mystery	Ganondorf's ancient invasion and Zelda's puzzle
Player's verdict	Exciting in 2017	Familiar, sometimes too familiar

The only real driving force, apart from the Temples he genuinely enjoys, is the story. Ganondorf's invasion of ancient Hyrule is compelling, and Zelda's strange predicament has him curious enough to want answers. He would love to reach the ending. But the busywork in between—the side quests, the item hunts, the endless little chores—feels like filler episodes in a show he is ready to binge-finish.

So now, in 2026, he's doing something drastic. He's going to play the game in the exact opposite way Nintendo probably intended. No more wandering. No more side quests. No detours to Tarry Town. No dealing with those pirates on the south coast—they're just Bokoblins anyway. The new plan is simple: mainline the story, blitz the Temples, and head straight for the Gerudo warlord himself. Where is he at again?

Maybe after that, the art book will finally get opened. Or maybe it will stay sealed forever, a perfect little monument to a game he liked but never truly fell for. Either way, Hyrule will still be there, waiting patiently—just like that unwrapped book on the shelf.