The Blue-Sky Optimism of Skies of Arcadia

Each time I write it, the phrase 'Sega blue skies' evokes so many sensations in me. It may be, for some people, a cliché – a meaningless bit of nostalgic fiction. But back in 2000 those Sega blue skies were a real feeling. They were symbolic of the optimism of the rapid technological leaps of console gaming and the utopic consumerism of Japanese electronics, which the buoyant and bold vision that the Dreamcast – with its futuristic VMUs and charming spiral logo – seemed to be a herald of. Even in the not-so-futuristic setting of my friend's dingy house in the North of England, in his older brother’s room (the type who had the disposable income to splurge on the new console), those Sega blue skies shone brightly, and no more brightly than in Skies of Arcadia.

In the JRPG Skies of Arcadia the skies are, as you might expect, ubiquitous – they describe the limits of Sky Pirates’ globe, just as they do ours. Everywhere you look there’s sky: filtering through the windows of your airship’s galleon-style bridge, surrounding the floating rock that an ancient monolith rises from, or acting as a windswept backdrop for two flying man-o-wars to exchange cannon fire. This is very intentional, with joint developers Overworks and AM2 (who could be argued were the originators of the Sega blue sky) never missing an opportunity to draw your eyes to the horizon. 

You might go through a doorway and find yourself clambering down a ladder on the side of an airship, clouds whipping by. You might unlock a stone door deep in a temple and find yourself on the underside of its floating island, crossing ancient walkways suspended above infinite blue. Dungeon floors fall away to reveal only sky, while every balcony or walkway is a chance to turn the screen cyan. The sky is always there, behind everything, like those blue skies we know are waiting for us every day on Earth if we could only get up above the clouds.