He isn't a hero. Not really. When you first take control of Wander in Shadow of the Colossus, he looks like your typical fantasy protagonist—young, determined, and willing to cross a forbidden boundary for love. But the more time you spend in his boots, the more you realize he’s actually a desperate kid making a catastrophic mistake. There is no glory here. There is only a slow, agonizing descent into physical and moral decay that most games are too scared to portray.
Wander is a thief. He stole the Ancient Sword. He invaded the Forbidden Lands. He’s there to demand a favor from a primordial entity named Dormin, all to bring back a girl named Mono who was sacrificed because of her "cursed destiny."
It’s a simple setup. Honestly, it feels like a fairy tale at first. But Team ICO, led by the legendary Fumito Ueda, didn't want to make a fairy tale. They made a tragedy.
The Physical Toll of Wander's Quest
Most games reward you for killing bosses. You get XP. You get shiny new armor. You get a level-up chime that makes your brain leak dopamine. Wander in Shadow of the Colossus does the exact opposite. Every time a Colossus falls, these weird, oily black tendrils erupt from the carcass and impale Wander. He passes out. He wakes up back at the Shrine of Worship, looking just a little bit worse than he did before.
Have you ever actually looked at his character model as the game progresses? It’s horrifying.
By the time you’re hunting the twelfth or thirteenth Colossus, Wander’s skin is turning a sickly, pale grey. Dark veins start spider-webbing across his face. His hair gets matted and darker. He starts to look like a corpse that’s been walking in the sun for too long. This isn't just a visual flourish; it’s a narrative mechanic that communicates the cost of his deal with Dormin. He’s literally being hollowed out to act as a vessel.
The game doesn't need a dialogue box to tell you this. You see it. You feel it in the way he moves.
The Myth of the "Classic Hero"
Wander is often compared to Link from The Legend of Zelda, but that’s a superficial comparison at best. Link fights to save a kingdom. Wander fights for a purely selfish, albeit sympathetic, reason. He is willing to break the laws of nature and risk releasing a sealed evil just to satisfy his own grief.
Lord Emon, the shaman who pursues Wander, isn't actually the "villain" in the traditional sense. He’s essentially a cop trying to stop a guy from setting off a spiritual nuclear bomb. When you view the game through Emon's eyes, Wander is a dangerous heretic.
Why We Still Root for Him
Despite the red flags, we stay attached to Wander. Why? Because of Agro.
The relationship between Wander and his horse, Agro, is arguably the emotional core of the entire experience. In the vast, empty stretches of the Forbidden Lands, Agro is your only companion. She’s the only thing that responds to your calls. When Wander yells "Agro!" his voice changes based on his health and the urgency of the situation.
- Early on, it’s a confident command.
- By the end, it’s a raspy, desperate plea.
The horse isn't just a vehicle. She’s the anchor to Wander’s humanity. When you’re hanging off the fur of a massive stone beast hundreds of feet in the air, Agro is usually down on the ground, circling, waiting for you. That loyalty makes Wander’s eventual transformation even harder to swallow. You aren't just watching a hero die; you’re watching a friendship be systematically destroyed by obsession.
The Colossi Aren't Monsters
We have to talk about the "enemies." Calling the Colossi "bosses" feels wrong. Most of them are just... existing.
Take the fifth Colossus, Avion. He’s a giant bird perched on a pillar in the middle of a lake. He doesn't attack you until you provoke him. You have to shoot an arrow at him just to get his attention so you can climb on his back and stab him to death. The music, composed by Kow Otani, reinforces this guilt. When you find a weak point, the music doesn't become triumphant. It becomes "The Opened Way" or "Revived Power"—tracks that feel grand, yes, but also deeply mournful and intense.
When the final blow is struck, the music stops. Silence. The giant falls with a heavy, sickening thud. Wander stands over the body, covered in black blood, looking less like a savior and more like a butcher.
The Technical Wizardry Behind Wander's Movement
Back in 2005, the PlayStation 2 was screaming for mercy trying to run this game. What Ueda achieved with Wander’s physics was decades ahead of its time.
Wander doesn't have "canned" animations. He uses inverse kinematics and procedural animation. This means that when he stands on an uneven rock, his feet actually plant on the different elevations. When he’s clinging to a shaking Colossus, his body flails realistically based on the centrifugal force.
It makes the player feel small. Weak.
If Wander moved like a polished superhero, the game wouldn't work. He needs to stumble. He needs to lose his grip. He needs to look like a kid who is way out of his depth. That "clunkiness" people sometimes complain about is actually a deliberate design choice to emphasize the scale of the world. You’re a 150-pound human trying to topple a 100-foot-tall stone skyscraper. You should be struggling.
The Ending That Broke Everyone
If you haven't finished the game, skip this. Seriously.
The "final boss" isn't a fight. It’s a tragedy. Wander finally kills the sixteenth Colossus, Malus, and returns to the temple. But he’s not Wander anymore. He’s a twisted, demonic shadow. Emon arrives, casts the sword into the pool, and Wander is sucked into a vortex.
The brilliance of this scene is that the game gives you control one last time. You try to run toward Mono. You try to resist the wind pulling you into the light. You can tap the buttons as fast as you want, but you will lose. Wander loses. He is consumed by the very darkness he invited in.
But then, the twist. Mono wakes up. Wander is gone, but in his place is a baby with horns.
This connects Shadow of the Colossus to Ico, suggesting Wander is the progenitor of the horned boys who are sacrificed in that game. His "victory" was actually the start of a multi-generational curse. It’s a bitter pill. He got what he wanted, but the cost was his soul and the peace of the world.
What We Can Learn From Wander's Journey
Wander represents the danger of "at all costs" thinking. He is a cautionary tale about grief.
Honestly, it’s rare to find a game that respects the player enough to let them be the "bad guy" without telling them they are. There are no moral choice meters. No "Renegade" or "Paragon" points. You just play, and by the end, you have to live with what you’ve done.
If you’re revisiting the game—whether it's the PS2 original, the PS3 remaster, or the stunning Bluepoint Games remake on PS4—pay attention to the small things. Look at how Wander’s grip meter shrinks when he’s tired. Listen to the way his breathing becomes labored.
Next Steps for Players:
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- Observe the Transformation: Use the Photo Mode in the PS4 version to zoom in on Wander’s face after Colossus 3, 8, and 15. The level of detail in his skin degradation is insane.
- Read the Environment: Look at the ruins in the Forbidden Lands. There are hints of a civilization that once worshipped these creatures before realizing they were containers for Dormin.
- Check Out "Ico": If you haven't played the spiritual successor, do it. It provides the context for why Wander’s ending is so significant for the lore of this universe.
- Experiment with Stamina: Try to find the secret garden at the top of the Shrine of Worship. It requires a massive amount of stamina (gained from eating lizard tails), but it offers a unique perspective on the world Wander invaded.
Wander isn't a hero you should want to be. He’s a character you should pity. That’s what makes him one of the greatest protagonists in the history of the medium.