Many Nights a Whisper review: "With one chance to land a single, perfect shot – few games have this tension and impact"

Usually, games are about winning or losing, success or failure – but rarely do games take the time to make you think about what the distinction between the two means. Many Nights a Whisper, like your in-game goal of landing one single trickshot with your sling to set a huge torch alight during a ritual, is deeply focused on hitting the mark with this idea. And it's on target.

Sure, I feel bad when my party wipes in Baldur's Gate 3, or when the Doom Slayer gets destroyed by demons in Doom: The Dark Ages. But I can't think of any other games where the entire time I'm playing I'm turning over the idea of what it means to succeed in the task the game is challenging me to do, and what it means if I don't. Many Nights a Whisper is clear about your task from the off: spend a few days practicing your archery skills, and, whether your shot finds its mark during the ritual on the final day, your save won't persist for you to retry again. Developed by Deconstructeam and Selkie Harbour, this marks a new era of self-publishing for the studio (some of the former's other games, like The Red Strings Club and The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood were published by Devolver Digital).

Sling and a miss

Many Nights a Whisper is a breezy experience, a little over an hour – but it's the perfect amount of time to keep you sitting with the idea of this challenge looming over you. And just enough to also make you think twice about going back to see whatever the other ending holds. It encourages me, against my pro gamer instincts, not to do that, but to instead sit with the results, leaving the other path unexplored. This is a small game, but one that, by design, has bigger ideas pushing at the edges, leaving you to scoop up what seeps through and think about it for yourself.

Each day you, a chosen teen who has been trained and brought up in the temple for the single purpose of performing this rite for your community, must prepare for the impending ritual that's held every ten years. You begin by talking with your mentor, turning over the task ahead and what it means for the community, but are then free to wander the limited space of the temple.

Sling strapped to your wrist, you simply click and hold to take aim, charging the shot. Naturally, the further back you pull, the further your fiery ammunition will go, the shot arcing as it soars through the air. There's not a lot of indicators on the UI beyond that – even the button prompts eventually fade away as you get familiar with the repetition of the action. Pull, release. Pull, release.

Around the temple are plenty of torches to light, ranging from small ones within the garden itself to bigger ones spaced progressively further out – the community in which you live is surrounded by the sea. These help you become comfortable with taking shots, getting used to the arc of your ammunition, and how far you can reach.

Each torch, when lit, gives you a snippet of lore about the world as well, told through the medium of achievement descriptions. A single massive torch in the distance is the one you'll ultimately be aiming for. At first, it'll be out of reach. But, eventually, you can try lighting it ahead of ritual time, getting comfortable with making that final, ultimate shot.

Shot in the dark

You can practice for as long or as little as you like, telling your mentor when you want to turn in for the day. At night, you observe the wishes of the community in anonymous silence – like a church confessional. Each person will put a long braid they've been growing through a hole in the temple while they relay their desire. Any wishes you accept, by cutting their braid with a big knife will – they say – be granted if you manage to land the shot during the ritual. Anything at all. It can be a scary thought. Perhaps the sky was once red, your Mentor notes, before a wish was granted.

Every braid you cut will be added to your slingshot each day by your Mentor, a piece of all the people you've accepted working together to send your shot flying just a bit further. There's pleasant feedback in the motion of pulling the slingshot back too – as you pull back, it stops, and then after a second snaps just a bit further, your shot igniting in your hand. There are a few limits you can push past in this way with enough wish braids, even beyond strictly what you need to reach the final torch on ritual night. It feels great to land far-off shots, but, at the same time, the more power you wield, the harder it can feel to control.

Which wishes to accept, your Mentor tells you, is entirely up to you. But there's also the unspoken pressure that, not knowing how many days remain, you do need more braids to stand any hope of landing your shot on the big torch. You're not making these decisions in a vacuum.

Potential wishes run the gamut between thoughtful and selfish, frivolous and world-altering. Many wishes introduce ideas that build on one another. A child may wish for their arguing parents to love one another again – a simple comfort you could grant them by accepting their wish. But then, a girl may ask you to force a boy to fall in love with her. What's the difference between the former and the latter? And will you promise the gift of a fluffy pink cat to someone else?

Wish upon a flame

But also… was the sky really ever red? Or is the idea just completely unbelievable? Do you really buy into this faith? How much do you have to weigh the responsibility of granting a wish itself with the comfort you may bring to an individual by the simple act of accepting the desire into your slingshot? What's the harm? One night passes and I accept no braids at all – an act commented upon by my Mentor the next morning, telling me that it is of course within my remit to accept what I please but also reminding me that I do need to improve my slingshot.

I'm certain my choices weren't consistent, but I stand by all of them. I try to lean on accepting what I deem to be morally good and broadly unselfish, but I can't resist promising to deliver on the odd spicy request. I may need to be silent (part of the ritual you have the choice to occasionally break), but that doesn't mean I can't kick my feet and twirl my hair silently – please, spill the tea on your revenge fantasy.

Then comes the night. I've heard all the wishes, feel each one in my bow. I've hit the shot bang into the ritual torch time and time again. But that was in my casual wear, under the warm sun. Now, at night, in the dark, things look different – the flickering torches leading the eye to my final target altering the perspective I've grown used to. All I can do is pull back and give it my best one final time. Does it land? Does it need to land? Either way, the game is over – but the struggles remain the same.

Many Nights a Whisper is out now on Steam.

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