Cocoon opens with a beam of light. It descends from the sky, then impacts a mountain, illuminating a series of runes carved into the rock, then trails it down to a cocoon, which undulates and then opens. A tiny winged creature pops out. I didn't know who my new friend was or what he wanted, but I'd be spending the next hour with him. During that hour, Cocoon constantly surprised and delighted me.
Cocoon defies easy description. It has no narrative to speak of, no dialogue, spoken or written, no text to read, and few cutscenes. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t any story. As I navigated through the craggy rocks and white sand of the starting area, I was interacting with ancient technology: moving platforms, disappearing stairs, even the cocoon my character emerged from. What was it for? Who made it? I didn’t know, but I wanted to find out.
Cocoon is a puzzle game with limited interaction. I could flip switches and grab and carry objects - but that was all initially. I’d use a button to open a door, activate a platform, or ride an elevator. But soon, things started to get more complicated. I’d have to ride a platform a little way and get off to maneuver another platform into place or activate a series of switches to turn on a circular platform. Cocoon had been delightful up until that point, but the first time I used that platform, it blew my mind.
I flew up and out of the world I’d been inhabiting, which was actually just an orange orb. The world I’d been exploring, which had and seemed so large and wondrous, was something small I could carry with me. However, doing so upset a large mechanical moth. More on him later.
I could use the orb to power platforms and open doors. Once, I had to drop it into a tube, following it and
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