Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time is one of my favorite games of all time. It does so much with its story, gameplay, and themes that I can’t wait to talk more about it. But for now, I want to draw attention to a little detail that I love about this game.
The story of the game is told by the titular Prince himself in the first person. “You may wonder who I am and why I say this,” the Prince says to the player. “Sit down, and I will tell you a tale like none you have ever heard.”
Early in the story, the Prince obtains the legendary Dagger of Time which gives him several time-related powers, including the ability to rewind time for up to 15 seconds. This is a power that’s completely controlled by the player. If the player makes a mistake in combat and is defeated, they can just rewind to a point when the enemy was on the back foot. If the player misjudges a jump and falls to their death, they can just rewind and try again.
But what happens when the Prince’s sand powers run out? Eventually, the Prince does fall to his death. Or he does succumb to perilous traps. Or he does get eaten by monstrous creatures. The Game Over screen appears, and this is when the game does something truly brilliant.
The Prince interjects: “No, no, no, that didn’t happen. May I start again?” The player is given the option to Retry, and suddenly the Prince is back in battle, or standing just before a perilous jump.
That’s right: The Prince dying in the game is merely his character misremembering the events of his own adventure as he recounts it to you.
Different Game Overs also trigger different interjections:
“Wait, that’s not right. I didn’t fall. Let me start again.”
“No, no, that didn’t happen. I defeated those creatures. Let me tell you how.”
“Wait, what did I say? I didn’t die on that blade. Let me back up a bit.”
“No, no, I made it through those traps. Let me tell you how.”
Not only is this fun storytelling, it’s brilliant ludonarrative design. Every fall into a pit of spikes, every mistimed swing towards an enemy, every failed wall run, merely a forgetful storyteller who wants to make sure he gets his facts right.
