I was first introduced to Golden Sun via an issue of Nintendo Power Advance, which I bought because it had a guide for Mario Kart: Super Circuit, a game I had received for Christmas along with a Game Boy Advance. I read the feature on the epic GBA RPG multiple times, front to back, and finally convinced my parents to get me a copy of the game for my birthday the following month. I played through the opening prologue sequence only to realize the cartridge was busted somehow and had no ability to save. I remember calling the Nintendo hotline, mailing the cartridge in, and waiting four weeks for a new copy to be shipped to me. I was so impatient I joined an online discussion forum about the game.
It’s hard to remember, fuzzily, from childhood, what it was that compelled me about Golden Sun. Probably, at age 11, it was the cool anime characters with their awesome outfits and sick poses in the official art as they cast magic spells, or Psynergy in Golden Sun’s language. I remember loving the adorable Djinn, the elemental spirits you could collect throughout your journey. While I loved Pokémon by that age, I had never really played any games quite like Golden Sun before. No big adventures, no fantasy RPGs. I also think there was just something about Weyard—the world of Golden Sun—that called to me. It was brilliantly green, mysterious, and to me, seemed enormous. I wanted to be there.
I devoured that game. I loved the way the ruins and temples suggested so much more to the world than what the plot laid out: ancient civilizations and hidden artifacts and ruined temples. I loved hunting down the Djinn in odd places: in a non-descript forest on the overworld, or hidden in the ruins of a pirate’s lair. I loved the feeling of power when I got a cool new Psynergy ability, the way light seemed to splash, like liquid, across the screen during moves like Ragnarok and Shine Plasma. I loved the cutscenes that played when you summoned the game’s most powerful spirits: Judgment, Meteor, Thor, Boreas. I never skipped them (except Boreas; it’s weird that Boreas was a snow cone machine).
Golden Sun had a sound test function, something that feels rather quaint nowadays when all our music is online. I ran track at the time, and while warming up I’d walk laps around the track with my GBA in my big hoodie pocket, my headphones in, and the Colosso music playing to hype me up. I listened to Imil when it snowed outside, Kolima Forest when I was surrounded by nature, Lamakin Desert during the summer, Vale whenever I was at home. In band class, I honked the Venus Lighthouse theme on my clarinet and thought I was cool.
I mean come on, listen to that bass line!
I remember hunting for secrets, Mind Reading every character in the game, and finding ways to break out of bounds and run through the game’s massive, unused overworld. I remember making horrifically embarrassing OCs and drawing the worst fanart of them (I have never claimed to be an artist). I read theories online about the sequel (don’t get me started on how much I loved that!) and begged my dad to take me to EB Games the day it came out. I became a mod on the Golden Sun community discussion board I had previously joined, made friendships that shaped my adolescence, and became comfortable moving in online communities such that I can’t help but think it shaped my career, too.
Like other fans, I longed for a follow-up for years. The less we say about 2010’s Dark Dawn for the DS, the better. At this point, I’ve mostly given up hope—though there’s still a tiny part of me that stirs every Nintendo Direct hoping, with just the smallest amount of hope, for something. A crumb. A remake? Anything. Surely someone at Camelot is sick of making sports games, right?
I think most people who love games must have a game that’s like this for them, one that represented their awakening into what video games could be and the worlds they could take you to. It doesn’t matter if the game is good or not, as long as it’s the one you love. Golden Sun, 25 years later, is probably just fine-ish if you’ve never played it before. It’s still visually and audibly impressive for its time, one of the best efforts the GBA had to offer and featuring one of Motoi Sakuraba’s finest soundtracks. But I can admit its story is kind of lackluster, everyone talks too much, and there’s little reason to experiment with its magic system. The sequel, The Lost Age, does some major work to rectify parts of that, but I find it hard to sell 50+ hours of RPG across two games to people when the first game doesn’t immediately resonate.
Even so, I love Golden Sun! It was my gateway into so many more wonderful RPGs like it. Because of Golden Sun, I’ve gone on to experience and enjoy games like Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, Elden Ring, Skyrim, Divinity: Original Sin 2, Dragon’s Dogma, and so many more. My life is richer because I spent so many hours of my childhood in Weyard.
Golden Sun is 25 years old today, and it’s available on Nintendo Switch Online, which is the most attention the series has gotten in years and was a cause for celebration in my house when it was announced. It’s only around 20 hours long. Maybe, if you’re a lover of retro, turn-based RPGs, you might love and appreciate Golden Sun, too (and Golden Sun 2).
