The Star of Saros Disproves a Theory I Wish Had Stuck Around
While diving into Saros for review, I found myself chatting with fellow players who were also exploring the game ahead of its release. Together, we tried to unravel the intricate narrative threads woven into Housemarque’s latest roguelike shooter and psychological mystery. Although it doesn’t reach the same level of abstraction as Returnal, Saros is rich with mythology and character dynamics that invite a range of interpretations. Among the theories circulating among reviewers, one stood out, adding depth to protagonist Arjun’s internal conflicts. Recently, actor Rahul Kohli shared his thoughts on this interpretation, leaving me wishing I could unlearn what I now know.
In Saros, your home base is the Passage, where, between runs, Arjun can interact with the surviving crew members of the Echelon IV expedition. One notable character is Sebastian, who occupies a quiet corner of the Passage. Their exchanges hint at a shared history back on Earth, suggesting they worked together before Arjun embarked on his journey to find his wife, Nitya, on the time-warping planet of Carcosa. Their warm greetings quickly give way to a tension-filled dialogue, filled with veiled references to blame and guilt. Despite this strain, Sebastian remains at the base, nurturing plants while Arjun battles monsters and the rest of the crew succumbs to the madness induced by Carcosa’s sun.
Sebastian’s corner is adjacent to a tree that occasionally opens a portal, revealing glimpses of Arjun’s past that hint at significant events leading up to Saros. In these visions, Arjun traverses a recreated alleyway on Earth, situated between a nightclub he frequented and a hotel where he appears to have engaged in infidelity. During one flashback, he observes a dinner setup, and as he gazes at the empty wine glasses, he mutters that his actions behind Nitya’s back “didn’t mean anything.”
Initially, it seems we may never discover who Arjun cheated on Nitya with, but as I played, I began piecing together clues that suggested this mystery person was closer than I thought.
None of the other Echelon crew members interact with Sebastian, and Arjun never mentions him to anyone else. As more crew members die or vanish, Arjun realizes that no one else has seen Sebastian, and there’s no record of him being part of the team sent from Earth to investigate Nitya’s disappearance. It becomes clear that Sebastian is a hallucination, a manifestation of Arjun’s guilt—but guilt over what?
Flashbacks and text logs reveal that Sebastian died under mysterious circumstances on Earth, and Saros continually drags Arjun through his past. We revisit the hotel room where Arjun cheated, witnessing Sebastian appear, casually inspecting the window before it shatters, leaving Arjun in a state of despair when he returns to the present. The implications are heavy, but Arjun doesn’t confront the truth until much later.
In the final act of Saros, Arjun embarks on a quest for redemption, seeking to make amends with those he wronged or abandoned during his decades-long pursuit of ghosts. One of his last stops is the portal where Sebastian once tended to plants and made sarcastic remarks. Inside, we learn that Arjun is implicated in Sebastian’s death, finding him slumped against a wall next to the hotel, bleeding out.
With his final breaths, Sebastian poses a poignant question: “What was I to you?”
Arjun’s response clarifies many of the game’s mysteries: “You were nothing… that’s what I told myself,” he admits. “I didn’t deserve your trust.” The last time Arjun dismissed something as meaningless, he was reflecting on the dinner arrangement for his affair. The realization that Sebastian was Arjun’s secret lover, and that he killed him to maintain appearances and hide his lies from Nitya, hit me hard.
I was genuinely amazed at how much of Saros fell into place for me with this revelation. The game’s flashbacks portray Arjun as a deeply flawed individual, shaped by an abusive father who instilled toxic masculine ideals, leading him to lash out at both his wife and himself. While my interpretation of Saros isn’t a cheerful gay love story, I’ve come to appreciate queer narratives that highlight our shared capacity for brokenness and wrongdoing. This perspective added significant depth to Arjun’s character and to Saros as a whole, becoming central to my understanding of the game’s flawed journey toward redemption.
This theory resonated with me and many other reviewers, yet upon the game’s launch, I noticed it was only occasionally mentioned in discussions. Saros isn’t as cryptic as Returnal, but it thrives on interpretation, so I assumed that as long as some players embraced this reading, it wasn’t entirely out of the blue. However, with Kohli now participating in post-launch interviews, he has cast doubt on this interpretation.
In a recent interview, Kohli discussed the line “What was I to you?” and noted that neither he nor Sebastian’s actor, David DeSantos, received direction suggesting a romantic relationship between their characters.
He reiterated that the line is often interpreted in various ways, emphasizing that their intention was to explore friendship and the impact of Sebastian’s death on Arjun. Kohli explained that Arjun’s response was a way of coping with guilt, framing Sebastian’s death as a “casualty of war.” While some players may read a romantic angle into their relationship, Kohli clarified that this wasn’t the direction he and DeSantos were given, suggesting that if there had been a romantic element, the creators would have communicated that to the actors.
Kohli’s comments aren’t problematic; actors and developers often discuss their projects and the intentions behind them. However, Saros is designed to leverage ambiguity and abstraction, inviting interpretation. This kind of storytelling often leads to extensive discussions and analyses, where players dissect mythology, obscure references, and subtle dialogue to uncover deeper meanings. The exploration of these themes is as integral to the experience as the gameplay itself.
Saros isn’t the only narrative prompting me to reflect on this issue. Recently, the director of Obsession has been clarifying aspects of his (incredible) romantic horror film that were previously open to interpretation. While I still enjoy the film, the clarity provided by these interviews has, paradoxically, muddied my understanding of it. Some elements now seem less coherent than they did before.
The challenge lies in the fact that while there’s a strong audience for abstract storytelling, there’s an equally large audience for straightforward explanations, lore breakdowns, and trivia that aim to present an “objective” truth. This often proves futile, as any work is subject to audience interpretation. However, much of the magic and debate dissipates when creators explicitly state their intentions. It becomes particularly challenging to discuss abstract works without overshadowing interpretations that fans have embraced. Now, when Saros fans who view Arjun as straight debate the story, they have ammunition against those who see a romantic connection with Sebastian, complicating the discourse around queer readings that already face scrutiny, especially when it’s plausible that the creators intended for it to be interpreted that way. Saros features explicitly queer characters and relationships in its supporting cast and lore, but it felt bold for a male protagonist in a AAA game to potentially be queer, even within such a tragic narrative.
So where does that leave me? Saros remains one of my favorite games of the year, and I can still view Arjun as a narcissistic bisexual character seeking a lesson in humility across the galaxy. However, my appreciation for the game’s bold narrative choices feels less robust now that I’m aware of the creators’ intentions. Despite my role in discussing creative processes, I often find that I derive the most meaning from fiction when it speaks for itself. My favorite games are often those where I’ve never heard the creators share their thoughts. It’s a delicate balance; I love hearing creators passionately discuss their inspirations and ideas, but I cherish the introspection their work evokes in me, regardless of their intentions. Saros is the kind of story I enjoy most when its meanings are left to my imagination, and today, the tension between creator intent and player interpretation often manifests in stark absolutes. I miss the days when I perceived a broader spectrum of colors; now, I find myself squinting at Saros from a different angle, just to confirm they were there all along.
