It’s been almost a decade since we first stepped out of the Shrine of Resurrection. You remember that moment. The blinding light, the swell of the piano, and that massive, sweeping view of a ruined Hyrule. It’s a bit cliché to say it changed everything, but honestly, it did. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild didn’t just save the Wii U from being a total footnote or launch the Switch into the stratosphere; it basically broke the "Open World" genre and glued it back together in a way that most developers are still trying to copy today.
People are still playing it. Not just for nostalgia, either. They’re still finding weird physics glitches, hidden chests, and ways to launch Guardians into orbit with a well-placed Cryonis block. It’s weirdly resilient.
That "Chemistry Engine" Secret Sauce
Most games have a physics engine. You drop a rock, it falls. You hit a crate, it breaks. But Hidemaro Fujibayashi and the team at Nintendo EPD went a step further with what they called the "Chemistry Engine." This is the stuff that makes The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild feel alive rather than just a digital playground.
Think about how fire works in the game. It’s not just a visual effect. Fire creates an updraft. If you stand in a field of dry grass during a thunderstorm, and you’re wearing metal armor, you’re basically a walking lightning rod. If you drop a Fire Chuchu Jelly near wood, it ignites. This isn’t scripted. It’s just how the world’s rules function. It allows for "emergent gameplay," which is a fancy way of saying "I did something stupid and it actually worked."
I remember trying to cross a river early on without enough stamina. I couldn't swim it. I didn't have the Zora armor yet. So, I chopped down a tree, timed the fall so it landed across the gap, and walked over. The game didn't tell me to do that. It just provided the tools—an axe and a tree—and let the physics do the rest. That’s the magic. It treats the player like they have a brain.
The Problem with "Towers" and Waypoints
Before 2017, open-world games were becoming a chore. You’d climb a tower, and suddenly your map would be vomited on by a thousand icons. Go here. Collect 10 feathers. Kill this bandit. It felt like a grocery list.
The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild flipped the script. When you climb a Sheikah Tower, it reveals the map, sure, but it doesn't give you the locations of the shrines or the points of interest. You have to use your actual eyes. You look out, see a glowing orange glow in the distance, and pin it yourself. It’s "subtractive design." By taking away the hand-holding, Nintendo made the discovery feel earned.
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It’s about the journey between point A and point B. In most games, point B is the only thing that matters. In Breath of the Wild, you’ll be heading toward a Divine Beast and see a weirdly shaped mountain. You get distracted. Two hours later, you’ve found three Korok seeds, a hidden shrine, and a Hinox you weren't prepared to fight. And you've forgotten all about the Divine Beast. That’s fine. That’s actually the point.
The Durability Debate (Yeah, We’re Going There)
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: weapon durability.
People hated it. They still do. There’s nothing more heartbreaking than your Royal Broadsword shattering into blue sparkles right as a Lynel is about to charge. But if the weapons didn't break, the game would be fundamentally broken.
If you had a permanent "Best Sword," you’d never interact with the world. You wouldn't use Magnesis to drop a metal crate on a Moblin’s head. You wouldn't sneak into a camp at night to steal their wooden clubs while they sleep. You wouldn't experiment. The durability system forces you to be a scavenger. It makes every encounter a resource management puzzle. Is this Blue Bokoblin worth the three hits left on my Soldier’s Spear? Maybe not. Maybe I’ll just roll a boulder down the hill instead.
The Sound of Silence
Manaka Kataoka’s score is a masterpiece of restraint.
In older Zelda games, you had these sweeping, iconic themes playing constantly. Hyrule Field was a march. In Breath of the Wild, the music is mostly... gone. You get these sparse, melancholic piano notes. A few tinkles here, a somber chord there. It reflects the state of the world—a kingdom that’s been dead for a hundred years.
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When the music does kick in, it matters. The sudden, frantic violins of a Guardian locking onto you are genuinely terrifying. The cozy, accordion-heavy theme of Rito Village feels like a warm blanket. By using silence as a tool, the game makes the world feel vast and lonely, emphasizing Link’s isolation as the last knight of a fallen age.
Misconceptions About the Story
A lot of critics at launch said the story was "thin." That’s a bit of a misunderstanding of how the narrative is structured. It’s not a linear movie; it’s an archaeological dig.
You’re playing as someone with amnesia. You’re literally piecing together your own life through the "Captured Memories" quest. The real story isn't what Link is doing now—Ganon is just sitting in the castle like a giant purple cloud—the real story is the tragedy of what happened 100 years ago.
The journals you find in Hyrule Castle, like Zelda’s diary or King Rhoam’s notes, add so much layer. You realize Zelda didn't even like Link at first. She was frustrated because she couldn't unlock her sealing power while he was a natural prodigy with the sword. It’s a very human, very grounded story hidden inside a high-fantasy epic. If you just rush to the end, you miss the heart of the game.
Technical Limitations vs. Art Direction
The Switch isn't a powerhouse. We know this. Even in 2017, the game had frame rate drops in the Korok Forest (which, honestly, it still does). But the art direction carries it.
The "cel-shaded" look, inspired by Japanese gouache paintings and Studio Ghibli films, ensures the game doesn't age. Realistic games from 2017 look "old" now. Breath of the Wild still looks like a painting. The way the light hits the grass at sunset or how the fog settles in the Faron woods—it’s stunning. It proves that style beats raw polygons every single time.
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Why You Should Go Back (Even After Tears of the Kingdom)
Now that Tears of the Kingdom exists with its Ultrahand and Fuse abilities, some people think The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild is obsolete. I don't buy that.
There’s a purity to the first game. Tears is a game about building and complexity. Breath is a game about survival and wandering. It’s quieter. It’s less cluttered. Sometimes you don't want to build a hoverbike; you just want to ride a horse through a rainstorm and listen to the hooves on the dirt.
The sense of scale in the original game still feels massive. Even without the sky islands or the depths, the Great Plateau remains one of the best-designed tutorials in gaming history. It teaches you every mechanic—climbing, swimming, combat, runes—without a single intrusive pop-up menu.
How to Get the Most Out of a Replay
If you're jumping back in for the third or fourth time, stop playing it like an objective-based game. Turn off the HUD. There’s a "Pro" setting in the options that removes everything but your hearts.
- Follow the roads. Seriously. We usually just climb over mountains in a straight line. If you follow the actual paths, you find NPCs, stables, and little environmental details you’d normally skip.
- Don’t fast travel. This changes everything. It makes the world feel huge again. You have to plan your trips. You have to check the weather forecast.
- Master the parry. Most players rely on the "Flurry Rush," but learning to parry Guardian beams back at them or parrying a Lynel’s charge is incredibly satisfying.
- Read the books. Check every table in every ruin. The world-building in the text is top-tier.
The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild isn't just a game you finish. It’s a place you visit. Whether you're hunting for that final 900th Korok seed or just trying to cook the perfect "Mighty Simmered Fruit," there’s a level of craft here that we rarely see. It’s a reminder that games can be more than just "content." They can be experiences that stick with you for a decade.
If you’re looking for your next step in Hyrule, try a "No Map" run. Only use your scope and your sense of direction. You’ll find things you never noticed when you were staring at a mini-map in the corner of the screen. Just grab a torch, find a horse, and start walking. Hyrule is still waiting.