In the silent hush of 2026, I catch myself thumbing through old saves, tracing the ghostly outlines of a past that still clings to the present like frost on a windowpane. The game that called to me then, that stirred the gaming world into a frenzy just before its launch, was God of War: Ragnarök. Even now, I can feel the echo of that anticipation—a trembling in the collective heartbeat of players everywhere, waiting for Kratos’ final saga in the Norse realm. As the final days of 2022 blurred into memory, we stood on the edge of something monumental, and the critics were already weaving their verdict into a tapestry of numbers and stars.

I remember the alchemy of Metacritic’s lists in those waning autumn days. The PlayStation 5 edition of Ragnarök settled like a bright ember at a score of 94, a mighty mark on the 100-point scale, yet not quite the crown jewel. The site’s peculiar habit of counting each platform’s version as a separate entry meant the same soul could appear many times over. So, while Ragnarök glowed at seventh position, it was really sharing the air with giants: Elden Ring stood sentinel at 96 on both Xbox Series X and PlayStation 5, a twin peak of desolation and grace; the Portal Companion Collection shimmered on Switch at 96, a rekindling of older flames; and Persona 5 Royal, that phantom thief of hearts, danced at 95 on PC and Xbox Series X, a score that had, just a week prior, soared to a astonishing 97 before gravity pulled it back. Oh, the fickleness of the aggregate—a single point could tumble down like a loose stone on a mountain pass.

📊 Reflecting on that distant leaderboard, I picture the numbers as ancient constellations:

• Elden Ring: 96 (shining equally on Xbox Series X and PS5)

• Portal Companion Collection: 96 (a nostalgic wind on Switch)

• Persona 5 Royal: 95 (a second life on PC and Xbox Series X, briefly touching 97)

• God of War: Ragnarök: 94 (PS5), the roaring newcomer wrapped in winter storms

But numbers, I’ve learned, are just the chime of a bell far away. The truth lived in the voices of the forty or more professional critics who bestowed upon Ragnarök the flawless hymn of a perfect score. Their applause was a choir; even the harsher voices, those that handed down scores in the 80s, never fell below that threshold, weaving a consensus both fierce and tender. In a year that counted 667 ranked titles—a sprawling garden of pixels and passion—settling into fourth place among unique creations (or seventh when counting each platform’s echo) was no small feat. It was the thunder before the bolt, the breath before the war cry.

I find a peculiar poetry in the fact that two of the three entities outranking Ragnarök that season were themselves revenants, specters of earlier eras. The Portal Companion Collection, for all its brilliance, carried the DNA of puzzles from 2007 and 2011—a double helix of companion cubes and dark humor, now reborn on the Switch. Persona 5 Royal, though newly arrived on fresh hardware in 2022, traced its lineage back to 2016’s Persona 5 and its 2019 expansion; a royal descendant donning a new mask. Only Elden Ring arose from the same primordial forge as Ragnarök—a wholly new epic, a fresh wound on the world’s skin. The contrast whispers something about our hunger: we crave what is new, yet we also cherish the embalming of our memories, the perfect transplantation of beloved ghosts into modern shrines.

By the time the winter solstice of 2022 wrapped its arms around the year, both Ragnarök and Elden Ring had cemented themselves as twin kings, each wearing a different crown. November 9th arrived like a long-awaited sunrise, and we could finally decide for ourselves which saga cut deeper, which world burned brighter. I recall lifting the controller, the weight of the Leviathan Axe still familiar, the DualSense humming with a living chill. The game unfolded like a saga carved into the trunk of Yggdrasil itself: a father’s grief, a boy’s destiny, and the inevitable, beautiful twilight of gods.

💭 And what has changed in these four winters? The echoes of 2022 have fermented into legacy. Ragnarök’s transmog system, once a whispered rumor, is now a staple of player expression. The graphics modes that were debated in detail before launch have become a reference point for every PlayStation port that followed. The forums no longer debate who sits atop the annual Metacritic list; instead, we speak of emotions, of how a game’s impact stretches beyond any numerical silhouette. Yet, when I look back, I see not a ranking war but a moment of convergence—a time when the gaming gallery was so rich that even a masterpiece like Ragnarök had to share its spotlight with the undying spirits of past and present. And isn’t that the truest victory? To stand shoulder to shoulder with giants, both new and ancient, and be remembered not as a score, but as a story that helped us carry our own burdens through the long, uncertain winters of our lives.