I didn’t start The Rogue Prince of Persia with nostalgia in mind. I wasn’t looking for a return to Sands of Time, nor did I need this to justify its existence as a roguelike. What I wanted was something simpler: that unmistakable Prince of Persia feeling where movement matters, where timing matters, and where failure feels personal rather than programmed. What surprised me is how quickly this game stops being “the roguelike Prince of Persia” and just becomes a very confident action game that happens to wear that name.
This isn’t a title that spends time holding your hand. Within minutes, it’s clear what it expects from you: keep moving, stay alert, commit to your decisions. Standing still feels wrong. Hesitating feels unsafe. The Prince is agile to the point of restlessness, and the game is built to reward players who lean into that momentum instead of fighting it.
Movement as identity
Everything here starts with movement. Wall runs, vaults, aerial dodges, quick directional shifts, they aren’t secondary mechanics layered on top of combat, they are the combat. Fights don’t play out as exchanges of blows but as spatial puzzles. Where you stand, where you jump, and where you land matter more than how hard you hit.
What I liked most is how readable the chaos stays. Even when enemies pile up, the game rarely feels messy. Attacks are telegraphed clearly, escape routes are usually visible, and mistakes are easy to trace back to a moment where you got greedy or lost focus. That clarity goes a long way in a roguelike. It turns failure into feedback instead of frustration.
There’s also a satisfying physicality to the Prince’s movement. He doesn’t float, and he doesn’t snap unrealistically between animations. Everything flows, but it still feels grounded. When you mess up a jump or mistime a dodge, you feel it immediately.
Runs, rhythm, repetition
Structurally, this is a roguelike through and through. Short runs, procedural elements, upgrades that reset on death, and gradual meta-progression. None of that is revolutionary, but it’s paced well. Runs are long enough to feel meaningful, short enough to invite “one more try”.
What makes the repetition work is how much the game leans into learning rather than grinding. Unlocks rarely just make numbers bigger. They change how you approach situations. Some upgrades encourage aggressive aerial play, others reward patience or precise timing. Over time, I noticed my playstyle shifting organically based on what felt good rather than what seemed optimal on paper.
Not every run feels equal, and some builds clearly come together more smoothly than others. That’s part of the genre. What matters is that even weaker runs still feel playable, and strong runs never completely remove tension.
Boss fights that demand patience
Boss encounters are where the game really shows its teeth. These fights don’t ask for endurance; they ask for control and patience. You’re constantly managing space, reading patterns, and choosing when to push and when to reset. Winning isn’t about chipping away at a health bar but about staying composed under pressure.
When a boss finally goes down, it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels earned. Like the game acknowledging that you stayed sharp long enough. Losses hurt, but they also make sense. I never felt cheated, only exposed.
Visually, The Rogue Prince of Persia keeps things clean and functional. It doesn’t chase realism or spectacle, and that’s a strength. Environments are readable at speed, colour is used with intent, and animations sell momentum beautifully. The Prince always looks like he’s in motion, even when you briefly stop.
Audio design supports that flow rather than competing with it. Music keeps pace without dominating, sound effects communicate danger clearly, and silence is used effectively between bursts of action. Nothing here is trying to be iconic on its own. It all exists to serve the feel of play.
Conclusion:
This is not a game that tries to convince you it belongs in the Prince of Persia lineage. It assumes that if you care about movement, rhythm, and personal accountability, you’ll feel the connection on your own. And honestly, that confidence is what makes it work. Yes, repetition is part of the package. Long sessions can blur together, and if roguelikes aren’t your thing, this won’t suddenly change your mind. But if you enjoy games that reward improvement over accumulation, and flow over spectacle, The Rogue Prince of Persia hits a very satisfying balance.
