Final Fantasy Tactics Advance is the lighthearted younger brother of the gritty former title, Final Fantasy Tactics. It begins with a boy who, after a snowball fight with some bullies from school, gets sucked into a magical storybook and into the world of Ivalice. It’s a harmless affair, but one that I always related to more than the political intrigue of its counterpart. It’s a simpler game through and through, and that’s what I loved about it.

Ever since I started messing around with code as a kid, creating comic book web pages and MySpace layouts, I always wanted to make games. The trouble was that making games always felt out of reach — it was something reserved for big teams in far away cities. But playing through Tactics Advance changed everything. I became obsessed with grids, pathfinding and targeting mechanics, creating countless prototypes over the years. Friends often joked about how I only cared about games if they contained squares, and well, they weren’t entirely wrong. I was determined to make my own fantasy world with its own systems and stories, and it all started with that first time Marche landed an Attack on an unsuspecting Bangaa.

The earliest memories I have with Tactics Advance are of playing it in the most obtuse setup imaginable — sat at the top of the stairs at a friend’s house, on a GameCube with the Game Boy Player and a 5” MadCatz screen. Clearly I’d do anything back then to avoid running through AA batteries and needing a desk lamp to illuminate the GBA screen. It was a blessing though as it led to us being able to play for hours on end, eventually sneaking into the living room to use the widescreen TV when our parents were out. I was so excited to play as even the most basic jobs, such as Thief or White Mage, only to have my mind blown when my friend unlocked Bishop! I was desperate to know how he’d done it. The answer, of course, was buried in the progression systems I’d barely scratched the surface of. Now I needed to explore all of them.

What I hadn’t yet realised was just how deep the rabbit hole went. Playing with the huge variety of jobs was already enough to keep me going, but then I realised you could break the rules by mixing them! Suddenly I was creating Summoner Assassins and Templar Dragoons, scouring the shops after every quest so I could outfit them with the latest gear. Even the weapons themselves were a wonder, flaunting special abilities for jobs I hadn’t unlocked yet. There was still so much to discover as I sculpted my party into a formidable force, ready for combat.

The isometric battlefields held such a depth of character I didn’t think was possible for a game running on a tiny plastic cartridge. The vibrancy of the rivers and flora, the little jugs that cluttered the outskirts of the adobe houses, all of it painted a picture of somewhere I could whisk myself away to. The depth and verticality of the maps felt monumental, ripe with avenues and platforms for my party to launch coordinated attacks from. There was something especially satisfying about having Montblanc nestled safely in a canopy of trees, only for him to rain hellish Firaga spells down on the enemy. The omnipresent judge, clad in full plate armour atop his Chocobo, kept everyone in check with the ever-changing laws. These didn’t bother me much until I forgot about them halfway through a fight, sending my main units straight into the slammer. Still, it was only a temporary loss, they’d be back.

That was until Jagd Dorsa. In these barren lands on the outskirts of Ivalice, there were no judges, there were no laws. I revelled in the freedom of it, engaging in a flurry of combat without a care for what unfolded. But then, when the dust had settled and the victory screen appeared, my mage was gone. I went into the clan menu, changed all of the sorting options, checked the prison, nothing. A character that I’d spent countless hours building up had simply vanished — permadeath, in a game I thought had none.

The knot in my stomach would soon settle as I trained up a Viera in place of my fallen mage, using my experience to forge an even greater party. I was back in the safety of familiar lands I’d fought in before, only for an enormous otherworldly portal to tear a hole in reality and spirit me away. Now, inside an ancient ruin, a giant crystal loomed ahead. A voice spoke of my intrusion, the music surged, a hulking boss appeared. “Oh crap”, I thought. I had no idea I’d be fighting anything besides goblins, flans and rival clans. But here I was fighting a god in another dimension. Classic Final Fantasy.

It’s been over 20 years since I first played this game. The memories, the mechanics, the music — none of it ever really left me. I’ve replayed it countless times, and to this day it remains one of my biggest inspirations. My obsession with grids and squares isn’t just based on mechanics and gameplay systems, but the feeling I got as a child playing with my own little party through the magical land of Ivalice. Perhaps one day I’ll manage to finish my own tactics game. But until then, I’ll always have Final Fantasy Tactics Advance — one of my favourite games of all time.

Final Fantasy Tactics Advance is the lighthearted younger brother of the gritty former title, Final Fantasy Tactics. It begins with a boy who, after a snowball fight with some bullies from school, gets sucked into a magical storybook and into the world of Ivalice. It’s a harmless affair, but one that I always related to more than the political intrigue of its counterpart. It’s a simpler game through and through, and that’s what I loved about it.

Ever since I started messing around with code as a kid, creating comic book web pages and MySpace layouts, I always wanted to make games. The trouble was that making games always felt out of reach — it was something reserved for big teams in far away cities. But playing through Tactics Advance changed everything. I became obsessed with grids, pathfinding and targeting mechanics, creating countless prototypes over the years. Friends often joked about how I only cared about games if they contained squares, and well, they weren’t entirely wrong. I was determined to make my own fantasy world with its own systems and stories, and it all started with that first time Marche landed an Attack on an unsuspecting Bangaa.

The earliest memories I have with Tactics Advance are of playing it in the most obtuse setup imaginable — sat at the top of the stairs at a friend’s house, on a GameCube with the Game Boy Player and a 5” MadCatz screen. Clearly I’d do anything back then to avoid running through AA batteries and needing a desk lamp to illuminate the GBA screen. It was a blessing though as it led to us being able to play for hours on end, eventually sneaking into the living room to use the widescreen TV when our parents were out. I was so excited to play as even the most basic jobs, such as Thief or White Mage, only to have my mind blown when my friend unlocked Bishop! I was desperate to know how he’d done it. The answer, of course, was buried in the progression systems I’d barely scratched the surface of. Now I needed to explore all of them.

What I hadn’t yet realised was just how deep the rabbit hole went. Playing with the huge variety of jobs was already enough to keep me going, but then I realised you could break the rules by mixing them! Suddenly I was creating Summoner Assassins and Templar Dragoons, scouring the shops after every quest so I could outfit them with the latest gear. Even the weapons themselves were a wonder, flaunting special abilities for jobs I hadn’t unlocked yet. There was still so much to discover as I sculpted my party into a formidable force, ready for combat.

The isometric battlefields held such a depth of character I didn’t think was possible for a game running on a tiny plastic cartridge. The vibrancy of the rivers and flora, the little jugs that cluttered the outskirts of the adobe houses, all of it painted a picture of somewhere I could whisk myself away to. The depth and verticality of the maps felt monumental, ripe with avenues and platforms for my party to launch coordinated attacks from. There was something especially satisfying about having Montblanc nestled safely in a canopy of trees, only for him to rain hellish Firaga spells down on the enemy. The omnipresent judge, clad in full plate armour atop his Chocobo, kept everyone in check with the ever-changing laws. These didn’t bother me much until I forgot about them halfway through a fight, sending my main units straight into the slammer. Still, it was only a temporary loss, they’d be back.

That was until Jagd Dorsa. In these barren lands on the outskirts of Ivalice, there were no judges, there were no laws. I revelled in the freedom of it, engaging in a flurry of combat without a care for what unfolded. But then, when the dust had settled and the victory screen appeared, my mage was gone. I went into the clan menu, changed all of the sorting options, checked the prison, nothing. A character that I’d spent countless hours building up had simply vanished — permadeath, in a game I thought had none.

The knot in my stomach would soon settle as I trained up a Viera in place of my fallen mage, using my experience to forge an even greater party. I was back in the safety of familiar lands I’d fought in before, only for an enormous otherworldly portal to tear a hole in reality and spirit me away. Now, inside an ancient ruin, a giant crystal loomed ahead. A voice spoke of my intrusion, the music surged, a hulking boss appeared. “Oh crap”, I thought. I had no idea I’d be fighting anything besides goblins, flans and rival clans. But here I was fighting a god in another dimension. Classic Final Fantasy.

It’s been over 20 years since I first played this game. The memories, the mechanics, the music — none of it ever really left me. I’ve replayed it countless times, and to this day it remains one of my biggest inspirations. My obsession with grids and squares isn’t just based on mechanics and gameplay systems, but the feeling I got as a child playing with my own little party through the magical land of Ivalice. Perhaps one day I’ll manage to finish my own tactics game. But until then, I’ll always have Final Fantasy Tactics Advance — one of my favourite games of all time.