Primal Planet

My first hour with Primal Planet was spent just standing still, watching. Dinosaurs drift across multi-layered backgrounds with total indifference to your existence. Fireflies pulse in the evening light. Rain breaks over a bioluminescent cave entrance. Solo developer Albert van Zyl, operating as Seethingswarm, spent five years building this world, and every single minute of that time is visible on screen. The pixel artistry here sits comfortably among the best the medium has produced in recent memory, and that is not a claim I make lightly. Structurally, Primal Planet is a metroidvania with survival and crafting layered on top, a combination that works better than you might expect. You start with almost nothing, a crude spear and bare feet, then gradually unlock movement abilities, craft healing items, cook meat from hunted creatures, and spend skill points on a build that you cannot respec, so choose with care. The crafting never becomes burdensome because resources are generous and the upgrade loop feels purposeful rather than padded. What makes the combat interesting is how deliberate it is: positioning, traps, bait, a fire-tipped spear that can burn through overgrown barriers or be shielded from waterfalls in small environmental puzzles. The spear-as-wall-anchor mechanic, where a thrown spear becomes a climbable platform, is the kind of clever design that reminds you why handcrafted games still matter. Your dinosaur companion Sino fights alongside you and can be upgraded for health, damage, and speed, while a second player can drop in locally as Sino at any moment, turning the survival loop into something genuinely warm to share on a couch. The story is told entirely without words. Cave paintings, physical gestures, a hug before you head into the dark, a daughter getting taken while you can only watch. The emotional core of this game, a father trying to hold a broken family together while something much stranger than dinosaurs is revealed layer by layer, lands with more force precisely because nothing is ever explained aloud. The sci-fi elements creep in slowly, and when alien architecture starts appearing beneath the prehistoric canopy, the tonal shift feels earned rather than grafted on. Where the game stumbles is navigation. After the guided opening, Primal Planet opens up completely and then largely stops helping you. There is no quest log, no pin system, and the map only shows the section you are currently in, with no way to mark points of interest you cannot yet reach. Players who enjoy the pure organic discovery of classic metroidvanias will find this freeing. Players who have a limited gaming window per week will find it exhausting, especially mid-campaign where the emotional drive dips and the wandering-in-circles feeling peaks. The difficulty curve also has a few jagged spikes, particularly as alien enemy types increase in later areas. The lack of a respec option compounds this: if your skill build ignored combat upgrades in favour of inventory space, some encounters will feel unfair rather than challenging. None of that dims my affection for what this game is at its core. The soundtrack and ambient sound design do something rare: they make the silence matter. Jungle calls fade into a low mechanical hum near alien ruins. Music appears sparingly, which means when it does arrive it carries genuine weight. A playtime of roughly fifteen to eighteen hours for completionists, or six to eight for players who follow the critical path, feels correctly sized. The world knows when it has said what it needs to say.

Kai · Scout Team

Indie & narrative

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