Mere days before the highly anticipated release of Hollow Knight: Silksong—a DLC and Kickstarter stretch goal turned mammoth sequel to one of the most impactful games of the 2010s–the lead developers behind the game, William Gibson and Ari Pellen, broke their near-monastic vow of silence and explained the reason for the game’s long absence from the public eye. After years of no communication, during which many assumed the long-delayed game was suffering through development hell, the pair revealed the exact opposite.
In an interview with Bloomberg, they explained that Silksong only took so long because the team had been having fun making the game. There was no behind-the-scenes catastrophe. No drama or rift between the members of the relatively small development team in Adelaide or the dozens of contractors who helped Team Cherry bring Silksong across the finish line. There was no meddling from the various publishers that, at one point or another, seemed to vie for the team’s favor and the ability to promote the titanic sequel at one or several showcases. It turned out that Silksong was just a really intense, and really prolonged, labor of love, a rarity in an industry that has only grown smaller and colder in the time the game’s taken to gestate.
A funny thing happened during that self-imposed, years-long radio silence: Silksong became the most wildly anticipated game of the generation, outside of only the next Grand Theft Auto. Through little more than effusive word-of-mouth around its predecessor and a few rock-solid previews, Silksong came entirely undone from reality and entered the harrowed halls of gaming legend. For years, players would champ at the bit in livestream chats in which they endlessly screamed “SILKSONG???” to no avail.
At last though, on September 4, 2025, Silksong arrived, and with its arrival came the teardown of a long-held fantasy. Finally, we were able to see, hear, and feel the game in its entirety for ourselves, as it actually exists. Evaluate it for what it was rather than what we wanted it to be. This cherished thing that so many, across the game’s developers and its many fans, had poured an immense measure of love into for all these years.
So, is Silksong everything that I, a self-professed Hollow Knight sicko, wanted? Does it live up to the hype? Does it reinvent the Metroidvania? Is it a cultural reset? Is it too hard? Was it worth the wait? Is it fun?
Act I
Well, what should a game of Silksong‘s magnitude be? To understand that, I think you first have to get what Hollow Knight was.
In 2018, Hollow Knight came to the Nintendo Switch. I could wax poetic about how much the experience meant to me and how thoroughly it rewired parts of my brain. How much of my own taste clicked into place while combing the depths of Hallownest, the collapsed bug kingdom in which the first game takes place. How in touch it felt with my own anxieties. How beautiful it felt despite the collapse, barbarity, and ruin that it invited players into.
The now thoroughly memed final encounter against the game’s true villain, a deity-like figure known as the Radiance that at first disguises itself as the sun, has not only given me my desktop wallpaper, but also, in its hero’s resistance and determination, offered me a model of absolute defiance. The weirdos, adventurers, and screwballs tucked away in the darkest corners of Hallownest have time and time again embodied the virtues of diversity and acceptance that I live my life by. Quirrel, one of those very same oddballs, is one of my favorite characters of all time, and his odyssey through Hallownest is one of my very favorite threads of the whole adventure.
Of course, it’s hard to talk about that first game without mentioning its spectacular cadre of boss fights either, which goes well beyond that final confrontation I mentioned. While much continues to be made of the series’ difficulty, especially with the release of Silksong, I’ve hardly ever seen the games as ones driven by a merciless bloodlust that tests the players at every turn. Don’t get me wrong, many a Hollow Knight boss has stumped me, but I’ve rarely thought of these fights as particularly grueling. They’re more…rhythmic. I’ve written before about how I think Silksong‘s combat can feel balletic and, well, Hollow Knight was my first dance instructor. Through its rigorous gauntlets and tutelage, including the game’s now renowned bouts against the Mantis Lords, Watcher Knights, and Troupe Master Grimm to name a few, I learned my marks and how to hit them with something resembling grace and finesse.
And as a reward for diving in headfirst and drinking so deeply of Hollow Knight‘s waters, I was granted the keys to Hallownest, one of the most thoroughly realized settings any work has ever spirited me away to. It’s a well-worn trope at this point to marvel at its construction and level of detail, but the City of Tears moves me so deeply that I must always invoke its quiet majesty. The city’s defining quality, outside of its lavish and stately skyline, is the rain. Despite being underground, a crack in the ceiling above it–a strong but subtle metaphor among Hollow Knight‘s numerous elements that echo with greater meaning–invites the pristine waters of an underground lake, casting a pallid blue light over the decaying city and drenching it in a never-ending rainfall as if trying to wash away its sins.
Though it never occurs in the game, I think about the day that crack rips the sky above the City of Tears wide open. In a rapturous moment, the lake it holds up will appear to the city’s precious few survivors like the ocean coming down on their heads, and in an instant, it’ll swallow the city whole.
This, and so much more, is the precedent set forth by Hollow Knight. It is the legacy of that game, and it only grows with each passing year. Suffice to say, it is a hell of a thing to live up to, and a tough–some might even say impossible–act to follow and build atop. But that’s what Silksong sets out to do. And I tell you what, it makes a tremendous attempt, even if some cracks begin to form in the foundation under the sheer weight of it all.
Act II
Silksong largely continues Hollow Knight‘s exemplary work. It once again casts players as a diminutive but fearsome warrior critter, though this time as the first game’s deuteragonist–and sometimes rival–Hornet. Much like the Knight of the previous title, Hornet is driven to Pharloom, Silksong‘s similarly haunted kingdom, by forces greater than herself. Along her journey, she learns of a similar corruption to the one that threatened Hallownest before–Silksong does make clear it is a successor that follows after the events of the first Hollow Knight. And just like the Knight, Hornet befriends many oddball (and adorable) bugs, fells terrible foes left and right, discovers many secret passages, and uncovers the unflinching cruelty of this doomed, yet beautiful setting she’s now forced to save. You’d be forgiven for thinking Silksong was a “lazy” sequel given these familiar parameters and beats, but the comparisons (outside of the game’s visuals and atmosphere) mostly end there.
That’s because Silksong knows its playing the hits–which its developers workshopped in Hollow Knight and then sharpened here–and then spends much of the rest of its runtime constantly fucking with the foundation in ingenious, and often dastardly, ways. Like Silksong‘s inverted narrative–in which Hornet climbs from the depths of the kingdom as opposed to the Knight’s descent into the abyss–the game’s hostile design delights in toying with your expectations. Hunter’s March and Bilewater, two of the new locales nestled in Pharloom’s expanse (a word I do not use lightly in this game’s case), are now infamous for the way that they jostle the player and refuse to allow them the time and space for complacency, but could you believe they’re only the tip of the iceberg?
Later sequences, like a rad-as-hell prison escape and an icy climb against the clock, prove out how exciting it is that Silksong, as a core principle, kind of fucking hates the player. In Hollow Knight, like in most Metroidvania fare, it’s enthralling to grow more powerful and open up doors that you were previously locked out of. Silksong recognizes this, but slows that progression to a relative crawl and regularly forces Hornet, and the player, on their backfoot. The result is a tangibly scrappier game that is less and less decided by arbitrary numbers and levels and has more to do with what I can only describe as achieving a level of drift compatibility.
This antagonism bleeds into several of the pain points and criticisms that have been levied at the game, such as punitive and demoralizing runbacks to several bosses, especially one to a certain fight in a sandblasted region ripped straight out of Hell. And yes, it also extends to Silksong‘s several–and I do mean several–wave-based gauntlets, as well as its sometimes oppressive (not to mention optional) third act, both of which feel like exhaustive trials by fire. But I’ve gotta admit, I’ve learned to love this game throwing the whole damn book at me. For the most part. It keeps me on my toes.
If Silksong is guilty of anything, it is knowing what the player expects to find at nearly every twist and turn and preempting them, sometimes with a new form of obstacle or gag, and trusting them to overcome these regular tests. This surely must be the mark of well-learned students of the medium and form, and makes the hackneyed turn of phrase “a love letter to the genre” into something resembling a more concrete argument. Since being released, Silksong has been accused of being a pretty unforgiving game for many of the above reasons and more. If you ask me, though, what it really is pretty damn playful. Playful and trusting of your ability to pick up the game and triumph over anything it throws at you, especially with the arsenal of tools and movement abilities bestowed upon you, as well as Hornet’s natural grace.
Reader, I hooted (I never hoot) at the fakeout bench trap in Hunter’s March. I jumped in my seat at my triumph over the gauntlet in High Halls and hardly regretted the hours I spent chipping away at it. The climb up Mount Fay falls just shy of Celeste-level platforming in my eyes, and the Deep Docks? Well, they’re never boring. And with time, these lessons all taught me to dance through the Blasted Steps unscathed by any of the man-eating sandworms that occupy it. By the time I confronted The Last Judge for the final time, I emerged free of any burns, like only the warrior-princess Hornet could.
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Back-of-the-box quote:
“Uptown Girl, but make it haunting.”
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Developer:
Team Cherry
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Type of game:
Metroidvania
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Liked:
Gorgeous hand-drawn world filled with thrilling encounters and challenging level design around every corner, and driven by an all-time great platforming heroine.
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Disliked:
Less cohesive than its predecessor in narrative and worldbuilding due to excess.
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Platforms:
PC, PS5, PS5, Xbox Series X/S, Nintendo Switch 2 (Played on), Nintendo Switch
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Release date:
September 4, 2025
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Played:
About 73 hours, completing the entirety of the game’s main story (including an optional third act), as well as most sidequests and optional bosses, and acquiring most collectibles in the game. Still only at 86 percent completion.
Silksong relishes in a kind of defiance that I admire. Sequels, especially video game sequels, are often bigger than their predecessors, a sin which Silksong is guilty of, but they’re rarely more frictional. And because Silksong zigs where others would zag, it has a personality that I think is rare to come across in sequels, which are so often by-the-numbers. It’s got bite and verve, just like its sharp and commanding protagonist. It’s headstrong, and its architects–Team Cherry itself–feel like a friendly rival I’m in competition with, and that back-and-forth has consistently motivated me to push back and push further. Playing Silksong feels like being in conversation with it, and with every session–with every talk–I regularly felt like I was learning more than I would playing a game perfectly content with playing it safe.
And the thing is, Silksong‘s heights are largely worth these long talks and toils, but that steadfast attitude and hardheadedness only get it so far.
Act III
Silksong is an exceptionally well-constructed game up to the end of its first act, filled with rousing fights against spectacular bosses that test your mettle early on, as well as locales that tease the imagination while simultaneously sating that thirst for adventure that the first game so thoroughly quenched. But it’s really in the game’s second act, which sees Hornet exploring the intricacies of the Citadel—a brass city and holy place at the very top of Pharloom—that it explodes and starts building the connective tissue that binds the entirety of this enormous kingdom together.
Remember how I invoked the City of Tears from Hollow Knight earlier? How much I loved the depth of it, not only as a setting but because of the simple and powerful metaphor accomplished by linking it to Blue Lake above it? Silksong’s vistas enthrall me to no end, and its visuals are no doubt more varied than those of its predecessor, but it fails to tell stories as succinct or as impactful as that first game did.
To its credit, there are places where Silksong rises to the occasion. Greymoor, a downtrodden village that sits squarely beneath the Citadel (and also boasts a rainy disposition) plays a familiar tune. That and the intended route of the Pilgrimage on which so many bugs find themselves reveal a lot about Pharloom and its people while saying very little. But by and large, I found looser connections between regions, fewer storytelling nuggets and pocket-sized narratives, and less opportunity for my own curiosity to thrive.
Silksong still yields so much to see, and there are inarguably more nooks and crannies than ever to explore in Pharloom, but Hallownest’s elegant and understated mystique is absent here, and it is instead replaced by a labyrinthine behemoth–complete with many proverbial Minotaurs–though one that instills in you the pressure of obligatory completionism rather than the liberating sense of adventure.
At this point in my own experience with it, the sheer excess of Silksong began to weigh on the game, my own interest in it, and the world which Team Cherry had so immaculately constructed. Its cast of characters dwarfs that of Hollow Knight, but less of them stand out among the rest of the noise here. Shakra, the game’s recurring map maker and traveling warrior, is always a joy to interact with, and following her narrative thread to its end provided an emotionally satisfying resolution I’m grateful to have seen to its end, but she’s one of the game’s exceptions in this regard. By comparison, there are numerous threads I can remember following in Hollow Knight, like the stories of Quirrel and Cloth, as well as boss characters like the Traitor Lord and Soul Master, all of which provided narrative bows with which to wrap up and package the small, impactful vignettes across Hallownest.
Silksong seems interested in turning some of these interactions and asides into a more concrete facet of the series, but they almost seem lost in the expanded scope of the game. For example, job boards filled with side-quests called “Wishes” seem like they’d provide ample opportunities to expand on characters in explicit ways—Hollow Knight preferred the Elden Ring approach of loosely threaded emergent narratives—but they mostly amount to busy work and chores which fortify pockets of community around Pharloom, but rarely dive deeper into the make-up of these towns and their bug denizens.
What stings is that underneath it all, there are some truly awesome things tucked away in Silksong, a game whose depth in places frequently, yes, awed me. Awesome encounters and sequences that continued to test me right up to the very end, threads which tied the two games together, and glimpses at the world outside of the Hollow Knight series’ haunted kingdoms that I would love to see explored further down the line. But it does also feel at times like a sequel made for players with an eye towards awe and spectacle rather than profundity.
Maybe that weight I’m referring to, the one that threatens to undo Silksong at times, has less to do with literal bloat from the game’s prolonged development (though it has surely manifested in this way) and more to do with the impossible burden placed on Silksong to be the most incredible game ever. I reckon that when Team Cherry first released Hollow Knight, they’d no idea the ripples it would make and the legacy it’d establish. And it’s impossible to separate what Silksong wound up being–a fork-tongued middle finger of a game that nobly aims to avoid being a standard, conventional sequel but also feels stretched in places to meet the expectations of a Hollow Knight game–from the reputation it built up in its time outside the limelight.
Love breathed life into Silksong all those years ago, transforming a would-be expansion into a sprawling title whose development was cultivated over many years with great care and attention, which makes it all the more ironic that over the course of that development, so much of what made Hollow Knight special to begin with feels diminished here. That very love pushes Silksong to be a rich experience, one that makes you work to love it and prefers to shock rather than lull you with awe. At some point though, the former gives way to the latter, and underneath that weight, Silksong begins to crack. Its enormity hides these fractures well, but they’re still there. And maybe, just maybe, one day, like the City of Tears, that crushing weight will collapse the foundation and swallow it whole.
