The chosen one trope saturates video games to the point of parody. You’re the Dragonborn, the only one who can absorb dragon souls. You’re Link, prophesied by ancient texts. You’re Commander Shepard, humanity’s last hope. You’re the Guardian, blessed by the Traveler. Walk into any RPG and odds are overwhelming you’ll discover within the first hour that destiny selected you specifically to save the world. Critics have complained about this narrative crutch for years, yet developers keep reaching for it. The reason isn’t creative bankruptcy. It’s because the chosen one solves fundamental problems that video games as an interactive medium create.
The chosen one narrative explains why you, specifically, get to do extraordinary things while NPCs stand around being useless. It justifies giving you powers nobody else possesses. It provides clear motivation without requiring complex character development. And most importantly, it makes players feel special in a way that “you’re just some person who happened to be nearby” narratives struggle to achieve. Understanding why this trope dominates requires examining both what it solves and what alternatives sacrifice.
The Problem With Being Nobody Special
Games that try avoiding the chosen one trope immediately confront difficult questions. If you’re not special, why are you the protagonist? Why do you have access to abilities others lack? Why does the fate of the world rest on your shoulders instead of trained soldiers, powerful mages, or experienced adventurers who’ve spent their entire lives preparing for this exact scenario? These aren’t trivial narrative concerns. They’re fundamental to player immersion.
Kenshi developer Chris Hunt specifically hates the chosen one trope, saying “Being the chosen one is just stupid. I don’t want to be a king or a noble or a superhero. I want to see a story about a regular person who struggles.” Kenshi implements this philosophy by making you weak, vulnerable, and completely unremarkable. The game works brilliantly because it fully commits to that vision. You fail constantly. You struggle. You get beaten up and have to crawl away. The world doesn’t care about you.
But most games can’t embrace that approach because players expect power fantasy. They want to feel capable, important, and effective. Games sell escapism from mundane reality where you’re not special and your actions rarely matter. Telling players they’re nobody in particular undermines the core appeal. This creates tension between narrative authenticity and player satisfaction that the chosen one neatly resolves.
Justifying Supernatural Abilities
The Legend of Zelda exemplifies how chosen one status justifies gameplay mechanics. Link pulls the Master Sword from its pedestal because ancient prophecy declares only the hero can wield it. This explains why Link gets magical abilities while regular Hyrulean soldiers fight with ordinary equipment. The prophecy isn’t decoration. It’s mechanical justification for player capabilities.
Skyrim multiplies this effect by making the Dragonborn special for everything. You’re not just the prophesied dragon slayer. You become Harbinger of the Companions, Listener for the Dark Brotherhood, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and leader of the Thieves Guild. Players joke about how ridiculous this becomes, but it solves the problem of why questlines advance based on your actions. You’re simply destined for greatness in multiple unrelated fields simultaneously.
Alternative approaches require more complex worldbuilding. Mass Effect makes Shepard exceptional through military training and experience rather than prophecy, but still frames them as the only one capable of stopping the Reapers. That’s functionally the chosen one with different narrative dressing. True alternatives where you’re genuinely unremarkable require completely different game design philosophies.
Why Other People Don’t Help
The chosen one narrative answers a question players rarely articulate but subconsciously notice: if this threat is so dangerous, why aren’t armies, governments, or powerful individuals handling it? The prophecy provides blanket justification. Only the chosen one can succeed. Everyone else trying would fail. This explains NPC helplessness without requiring detailed explanations for each character’s limitations.
Without chosen one framing, games must laboriously explain why you’re doing everything. Maybe armies are occupied elsewhere. Perhaps political complications prevent intervention. Powerful individuals might have other priorities or unknown limitations. These explanations work but require significantly more narrative effort than “the prophecy says only you can do this.”
Dark Souls uses the chosen one trope while subverting it cleverly. You’re one of many undead who could potentially succeed, but predecessors all failed. The game implies “chosen” might just mean “whoever manages to survive this gauntlet” rather than destiny selecting you specifically. This maintains mechanical benefits of chosen one framing while adding thematic depth about perseverance over predestination.
The Psychology of Feeling Special
Reddit discussions about the chosen one trope reveal core psychological appeal. One user explained it perfectly: “It’s the same reason people enjoy birthdays, celebrations, achievements, weddings and so on. It’s a chance for you to stand out and feel special among countless other humans. It’s no different with games, you feel unique, special, needed, irreplaceable when in reality you’re none of those.”
Games provide escapism from mundane existence where most people aren’t exceptional. You’re statistically average in most ways. Your daily contributions rarely feel significant. Nobody’s counting on you specifically to solve major problems. The chosen one fantasy reverses all that. Suddenly you matter enormously. Only you can save the world. Your actions have cosmic significance. This psychological satisfaction explains why players tolerate repetitive chosen one narratives despite recognizing the cliche.
Destiny 2 illustrates how removing chosen one framing can backfire. The original Destiny positioned Guardians as special defenders of humanity. Destiny 2’s campaign temporarily strips your powers, forcing vulnerability that some players found refreshing but others hated. Forums filled with complaints about feeling weak and unimportant during the opening hours. Players wanted their power fantasy back, demonstrating how crucial feeling special is to engagement.
Games That Successfully Subvert It
Some games critique or parody the chosen one while maintaining player satisfaction. Assassin’s Creed focused multiple games on Desmond Miles as the prophesied savior, then killed him unceremoniously in the third installment. This deliberately challenged expectations about chosen ones being invincible protagonists who always succeed. The franchise continued afterward, demonstrating that specific individuals matter less than the ongoing conflict.
The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom inverts the trope brilliantly according to GameSpot analysis. Zelda herself becomes the prophet, strategically placing items and information across millennia to guide Link. He’s not chosen by fate but by Zelda’s deliberate planning. This maintains gameplay benefits of special status while making “chosen” a deliberate strategic decision rather than mystical predestination.
Undertale deconstructs video game protagonists thoroughly, with the chosen one trope among its targets. Multiple playthroughs reveal how player choices shape whether you’re a hero, villain, or something between. The game questions whether being special justifies your actions or simply enables selfishness. This works because Undertale is fundamentally about examining video game conventions rather than providing traditional power fantasy.
Why Alternative Narratives Struggle
Games attempting “ordinary person” narratives often struggle maintaining momentum. If you’re not destined for greatness, why continue the dangerous quest instead of running away? Real people facing impossible odds usually seek help from qualified professionals rather than solo-tackling existential threats. Making this feel narratively satisfying requires exceptional writing.
The Witcher series technically avoids chosen one framing. Geralt is a skilled professional doing his job, not destiny’s champion. But the games increasingly position him at the center of world-shaking events anyway. By The Witcher 3, he’s hunting the Wild Hunt and deciding the fate of nations. This demonstrates how difficult maintaining “regular person” framing becomes when gameplay requires epic stakes and player agency.
Mass Effect tried having Shepard succeed through competence rather than destiny, but the trilogy increasingly frames them as uniquely capable of uniting the galaxy. Other characters explicitly state only Shepard can accomplish certain goals. This functionally becomes chosen one narrative with different terminology. The gameplay requires one character driving major decisions, which inevitably creates special protagonist status whether ordained by prophecy or circumstance.
The Narrative Shortcut Problem
The chosen one provides narrative efficiency that alternatives lack. Establishing why you’re qualified for your quest without prophecy requires extensive backstory, character development, and worldbuilding. Games have limited time to hook players before they quit. Saying “you’re the chosen one” instantly establishes stakes, justifies abilities, explains NPC behavior, and motivates the player in one simple concept.
This efficiency matters enormously for open-world games where players might ignore main quests for dozens of hours. The chosen one framing remains relevant whenever players eventually return to main storylines. More complex explanations for protagonist importance risk players forgetting key details during extended side quest binges, breaking narrative cohesion.
Games attempting alternatives often front-load exposition explaining why you specifically matter. This creates pacing problems where the opening hours drown players in information rather than letting them play. The chosen one lets developers skip this exposition, trusting players understand the trope from cultural familiarity. Players accept it immediately, allowing games to focus on gameplay rather than justification.
When It Actually Works Well
Final Fantasy games demonstrate how chosen one narratives succeed when integrated thoughtfully. Final Fantasy VII positions Cloud as part of a resistance movement, subverting initial chosen one expectations. The revelation about his true identity and connection to Sephiroth recontextualizes everything, showing that destiny is more complex than simple prophecy. This works because the game earns its narrative twists through character development.
The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion notably makes you the chosen one’s supporter rather than the chosen one yourself. Martin Septim fulfills the prophecy while you enable his success. This provides interesting alternative where you’re important but not destiny’s primary focus. However, gameplay still positions you as the active agent making everything happen, demonstrating how player agency inevitably creates protagonist-centered narratives.
Dragon Age: Origins offers multiple origin stories explaining why you become a Grey Warden rather than relying purely on destiny. You’re still the protagonist who saves the world, but the game establishes personal motivations and circumstances beyond “prophecy says so.” This adds depth while maintaining chosen one benefits of explaining why you have special abilities and responsibilities others lack.
Frequently Asked Questions
Why do so many games use the chosen one trope?
The chosen one trope efficiently solves multiple design problems: it justifies why you have special abilities, explains why NPCs don’t help, provides instant motivation, and makes players feel important. It’s a narrative shortcut that works despite being cliche.
What games avoid the chosen one trope successfully?
Kenshi makes you a weak nobody who must struggle to survive. The Witcher positions Geralt as a professional doing his job rather than destiny’s champion. Undertale deconstructs the concept entirely, questioning whether being special justifies player actions.
Why don’t game developers try something different?
Many do, but alternatives require significantly more narrative work to justify player capabilities and importance. Players also expect power fantasy where they matter and succeed, which the chosen one delivers reliably.
What’s wrong with being the chosen one?
Critics argue it limits roleplaying freedom, creates predictable narratives, undermines player agency by attributing success to destiny rather than choices, and prevents games from telling more nuanced stories about ordinary people.
Do players actually like being the chosen one?
Mostly yes, despite complaining about the cliche. It satisfies psychological needs to feel special and important. Games that remove chosen one framing often face player complaints about feeling weak or unimportant.
Can the trope be subverted effectively?
Yes. Tears of the Kingdom makes the “prophecy” deliberate planning. Assassin’s Creed kills its chosen one unceremoniously. Dark Souls implies “chosen” just means “whoever survives.” Subversion works when games commit fully rather than half-heartedly.
What alternatives exist to chosen one narratives?
Professional competence (The Witcher), being in the right place at the right time, personal revenge motivations, political/military duty, or simply choosing to help despite no special qualifications. Each requires more narrative justification than prophecy.
Why does Skyrim make you the chosen one for everything?
It solves the mechanical problem of why faction questlines advance based on your actions. Narrative justification is simpler than explaining why random adventurer becomes archmage, guildmaster, assassin leader, and dragon slayer through pure circumstance.
Conclusion
Video games remain obsessed with the chosen one because it solves problems inherent to interactive storytelling that alternatives struggle addressing. It explains supernatural abilities, justifies NPC helplessness, provides instant motivation, and delivers psychological satisfaction of feeling special that players crave from escapist entertainment. Critics rightfully point out how the trope limits narrative possibilities and becomes repetitive across countless games. But understanding why it persists requires acknowledging the genuine design challenges it resolves. Games positioning you as ordinary person confronting extraordinary threats must work significantly harder explaining why you specifically handle situations instead of trained professionals. They must justify special abilities without prophecy. They must maintain player motivation when logic suggests fleeing makes more sense than continuing suicidal quests. And they must provide psychological satisfaction of importance despite framing you as unremarkable. These aren’t trivial concerns. They’re fundamental to how games create engaging experiences. The most successful alternatives don’t abandon chosen one benefits entirely but reframe them. The Witcher makes Geralt professionally competent rather than prophesied. Mass Effect attributes Shepard’s importance to military excellence rather than destiny. Tears of the Kingdom reveals prophecy as strategic planning. These approaches maintain gameplay benefits while adding narrative sophistication. Pure alternatives rejecting any special status face steeper challenges. Kenshi succeeds through complete commitment to brutal difficulty where you’re genuinely weak. But most games can’t embrace that philosophy without alienating players expecting power fantasy. The chosen one persists not because developers lack creativity but because it remains the most efficient solution to complex design problems. Until games fundamentally rethink how they structure player agency, protagonist importance, and power progression, expect countless more prophesied saviors. The trope works despite being tired, and working trumps originality when commercial success depends on player satisfaction. Sometimes the oldest solutions persist because newer alternatives sacrifice too much for innovation’s sake.