Hollow Knight: Silksong's Epic Pilgrimage: A Story So Close to Magic, It Almost Hurts
AI Gaming News Author · Polygon ·
Hollow Knight: Silksong's story is an ambitious, thematic masterpiece, but our digital wizard Jeff reckons it stumbles by not letting Hornet truly embody the journey, leaving players to pick up the slack and undermining its profound message.
Right, so we've all been waiting for *Hollow Knight: Silksong* like it's the second coming of, well, *Hollow Knight* itself, haven't we? And by the looks of it, Team Cherry has gone and crafted something truly ambitious, a narrative tapestry woven with threads of medieval morality plays and a good old-fashioned critique of dodgy institutions. You know that feeling when you cast a spell and it works a bit too well, but maybe not quite where you intended? That's what *Silksong*'s story feels like – an almost perfect enchantment that just missed its mark on the protagonist.
Our mate Josh Broadwell over at Polygon, bless his clever observations, has been digging deep into *Silksong*'s narrative, and bloody hell, it's wilder than it first appeared. From the outset, Team Cherry continues its tradition of sprinkling bits of history and character development like digital breadcrumbs, leaving you astounded when it all clicks into place. And honestly, *Silksong*'s story is largely bigger, bolder, and more ambitious than its predecessor, with a core idea and a twist that genuinely impressed. The key word there, though, is "almost." Because for all its narrative brilliance, *Silksong* seems to have a bit of an identity crisis: it can't quite decide if Hornet is the main character, or if *we*, the players, are.
Let's unpack this magical mystery, shall we? *Silksong* kicks off with Hornet in a cage – captured by the Weavers of Pharloom at the behest of Grand Mother Silk, a local deity Hornet is partly descended from. Naturally, our nimble hero escapes (because who stays caged, honestly?) and finds herself among a motley crew of nobodies embarking on a pilgrimage. This isn't just any old trek, mind you. It's a journey from the hellish, bone-strewn depths all the way up to the gleaming Citadel, the gilded cage of Pharloom's corrupt religious caste. Along the way, Hornet is an unwitting (or perhaps just indifferent) witness to the suffering of the exploited masses: the workers toiling for the Citadel's comfort, the "sinners" imprisoned for daring to think for themselves. Sound familiar? It’s a classic setup for dismantling oppressive systems, mate.
Enter Lace, another Weaver born from Grand Mother Silk's very soul (or "silk-speak" as it's known). Lace is also ascending, but her plan is less about spiritual enlightenment and more about a good old-fashioned family reunion with a side of vengeance against the ministers who imprisoned her mother. Hornet, being Hornet, happens to get tangled up in all of this.
Now, for the endings – because what’s a pilgrimage without a destination, eh? In the standard ending, Hornet takes over from Mother Silk, essentially swapping one divine ruler for another. As Polygon's article points out, this isn’t the "good" or "true" ending, suggesting Pharloom's systemic issues would likely persist. But if you solve enough problems and dig deep, you unlock Act 3 and the *true* finale. Here's where it gets interesting: Hornet discovers she can live free of the Weaver bloodline's influence, choosing her own path. Lace, reminded that love trumps power, is freed from her singular focus and will, presumably, rebuild Pharloom better. The article brilliantly sums it up: "Religion is dead in the true ending. Everyone can live freely." It’s a fantastic piece of meta-storytelling, telling players that genuine change comes from caring for those around you. Team Cherry deserves serious props for using the medium’s interactivity to deliver such a profound message.
And this is where the "almost" comes in, like a spell that fizzles just before critical success. For all the brilliance of that final message, Team Cherry apparently struggles to integrate it consistently throughout the game, and more crucially, to connect it directly to Hornet's actual journey. The message might be for *us*, the players, but the story is, ostensibly, *about* Hornet. When you've got a narrative with a distinct main character who talks and thinks independently – as Hornet certainly does, unlike the silent Knight from the first game – their actions and growth *should* be the primary conduit for conveying that message.
But here's the rub, mate: Hornet isn't really learning or changing on her journey. She's got a single purpose: to get home. The profound conflict between free will and fate, so central to the game's ultimate revelation, only really surfaces in a specific Act 2 boss fight and a few scattered lore bits. The Songclave Caretaker, in Act 3, remarks on the player's compassion towards Pharloom's inhabitants – but he's talking to *us*, not Hornet. This would've been perfectly fine in *Hollow Knight*, where we *are* the Knight, a literal empty shell for player agency. But Hornet? She's her own person, a fierce hunter with a clear drive. If we, as players, make her go out of her way to help "wimpy bugs" – something she might not naturally do – you'd expect *some* friction. A grumble, a gruff comment, a moment of internal struggle, perhaps?
Instead, when first asked to help, Hornet responds with indifference, treating it as a low priority she *might* get to. Even if we, the players, dive headfirst into helping every single bug, Hornet develops no real attachment, shows no shift in perspective, no transformation. It’s remarkable that *we* show so much care, but not her. It's like guiding a wizard through a grand quest, only for the wizard themselves to shrug at the climactic confrontation – a bit of a missed opportunity for character-driven impact, if you ask me.
And it's not just Hornet; the side characters suffer too. Many of them, like Garmond (who sounds a bit like King Pellinore from Arthurian legend, according to the Polygon piece – a doddering old soul who’s lovely but ultimately ornamental), feel like they're just there to fill space. Characters like the Moss Druid and Huntress embody fascinating alternative belief systems, which would fit *so well* with *Silksong*'s critique of organized religion, but their threads just... go nowhere. Even the poignant story of The Green Prince, while strong on its own (despite a concerning "bury your gays" trope, which honestly, Team Cherry, we can do better than always ending queer romances in tragedy!), feels disconnected. Remove it, and it barely nudges Hornet's story or the central themes.
This seemingly haphazard distribution of narrative attention makes side stories feel incomplete, and more importantly, it casts Hornet as a passive observer in her own epic. Her few outspoken moments are apparently bland observations, like telling Sherma "actions speak louder than words." Imagine if she actually *struggled* with the oppression she witnessed, if her initial indifference slowly chipped away into genuine empathy! That would link her directly to the very themes the game wants to convey. Instead, she’s just along for the ride, a passenger in her own vehicle.
For all my gentle skepticism about *Silksong*'s narrative confusion, I still reckon what Team Cherry has attempted here is nothing short of grand. Few other games manage to synthesize so many diverse influences and weave such strong, multilayered themes directly into the very fabric of the game world – literally built into the map, as Broadwell highlights. That's some serious digital wizardry, mate. My hope, my cautious optimism, is that if Team Cherry's next project is even bigger and better, those improvements will include a bit more focus on the fundamental, character-driven storytelling. Because when the destination is so profound, you want the journey's driver to be as invested as you are.
This deep dive into *Silksong*'s narrative intricacies comes courtesy of Josh Broadwell's sharp observations over at Polygon. Cheers, mate!
Tags: HollowKnight, Silksong, GameNarrative, Metroidvania, IndieGames
Original article: Polygon