Lunar Remastered Collection: Still Cheesy. Still Charming. Still Lunar.

April 20, 2025

There's a strange kind of magic in seeing Lunar: The Silver Star lit up on a modern screen. Not because it's suddenly stunning in high definition, but because it's here at all. In an industry where classics are constantly being reimagined with bigger budgets and louder presentations, Lunar always felt like one of those games that might slip through the cracks. It was never a blockbuster. Never the flagship title people rallied around. But for the ones who played it—especially on the Sega CD or during its PS1 rebirth—Lunar wasn't just another JRPG. It was the one that hit you differently.

It told a smaller story. More hopeful. More earnest. There were no massive political conflicts or convoluted timelines. Just a boy, a dream, a girl with a secret, and a cast of characters who felt strangely real, even when they were bickering with talking dragons or saving the world in slow, deliberate steps. And now, Lunar Remastered brings those stories back with a gentle touch. The visuals have been cleaned up, the music rebalanced, and the overall experience softened just enough for a modern audience—but the heart remains completely intact.

When it was first released, Lunar felt quietly revolutionary. It didn't compete with the genre's titans through sheer scale or depth. What it offered instead was something simpler: connection. It was one of the first RPGs where the characters spoke—not just through early voice acting but through dialogue written by people who understood people. It didn't always land. Sure, some parts were clunky or even a bit corny—but it meant every word, and that honesty stuck with you.

And that honesty—that's what still gives it weight. Lunar didn't have to be the biggest to leave a mark. It found its place and quietly stayed there, nestled in memory. Even now, all these years later, that place feels just as warm and welcoming as it did the first time.

A History Lesson You Can Actually Feel

Back in the early '90s, JRPGs were mostly a Super Nintendo affair. You had your Final Fantasies, Breath of Fires, and Lufias—games that lived in pixels and text boxes, delivering big stories through small sprites and even smaller budgets. And then, almost out of nowhere, Lunar: The Silver Star shows up on the Sega CD. Which, let's be honest, wasn't exactly the go-to console for role-playing games. It was weird. Bold. Maybe even a little desperate. But it also had something the SNES didn't: CD audio and full-motion video. And Lunar used every bit of that to make an entrance.

It looked and sounded different. The colors popped. The music swelled. The characters had actual voices, and the story didn't roll along in exposition dumps. It performed. Yeah, it was corny. A little stiff. But it leaned into that drama the way early anime used to before the internet made everything self-aware and ironic. Lunar wasn't just a game for many kids growing up in the pre-streaming, pre-social media, pre-voice acting-as-standard era. It was a gateway. Into something more emotional. More expressive. More human.

This was when most RPGs gave you silent protagonists and vague threats. Lunar gave you awkward teen crushes, sarcastic flying cats, betrayal, heartbreak, and hope—and it delivered all that through lines that sounded like someone meant them. It didn't dumb things down. It wasn't chasing some forced idea of "gritty" or "mature." It just cared. About its characters. About its world. About you, the player, being invested in more than just the next dungeon.

And yeah, if you stack it against today's standards, it doesn't seem revolutionary. The mechanics were simple. The dungeons weren't clever. The combat was mostly meat and potatoes. But if you were there—if you played it when games still came in giant boxes with foam inserts and shiny manuals—it felt huge. Like a secret, you wanted to share but also keep to yourself.

The remaster gets that. It doesn't try to be something it isn't. It doesn't slap a grim, modern twist on Lunar just for the sake of it. Instead, it leans toward sincerity. The remaster knows exactly what it's sitting on: not a technical marvel, but an emotional landmark. A relic from when video games were starting to feel like more than just games—they were beginning to feel like stories you lived through.

And Lunar? It was one of the first to make you feel like the story lived back.

So What's Actually New? (Besides the Obvious)

Let's get straight: this isn't a remake — and it's not trying to be. Suppose you're walking into the Lunar Remastered Collection expecting a modern reimagining in the style of Final Fantasy VII Remake. In that case, you're setting yourself up for disappointment. This collection doesn't flip the script. It sticks to the ones it had — two of them, in fact — with a careful, respectful cleanup that highlights what made both games special in the first place.

Visually, both Silver Star Story and Eternal Blue have been touched up with a steady hand. Sprites are cleaner, colors brighter, and environments have more life without losing that 16-bit soul. Eternal Blue, especially, benefits from the extra clarity. The towns and dungeons feel more open, the spell effects have a little more punch, and the characters pop more. It's all subtle stuff, but it matters. These still look like the games you remember — sharpened enough to feel comfortable on a modern screen.

Cutscenes have gotten a similar treatment. They haven't been redrawn or reanimated, but the grain's been toned down, the colors enriched, and the motion cleaned up just enough to smooth out the worst of the aging. They still carry that unmistakable '90s anime energy — a little stiff and dated — but that's part of the appeal. In Silver Star, those scenes still feel whimsical and sweet. In Eternal Blue, they lean more dramatic, darker, and intense. But across both games, they remind you of a time when just seeing characters move and speak was exciting all on its own.

The music is where the remaster really shines. This isn't just a filter job — the soundtracks have been fully rebalanced and remastered. Silver Star's melodies still soar and shimmer. Eternal Blue's more moody, layered score comes through with far more depth than it ever did on the original hardware. You'll hear details you never noticed: flutes hiding in the background, subtle strings that build tension, and little melodic flourishes that once got buried. And yes, "Wind's Nocturne" still hits like a quiet punch to the chest — one of those songs that catches you off guard and leaves you silent when it's over.

Voice acting has been partially redone across both games. Some characters sound more natural now, with performances that hit the emotional beats more cleanly. Others remain untouched — and that's honestly a good thing. Lunar's voice work was never perfect, but it had personality, and the remaster doesn't try to scrub that out. A few goofy, earnest lines still sneak through, making the whole thing feel more genuine. That mix of melodrama and Saturday morning cartoon energy? It's still there, and it still works.

The gameplay has been refined with modern quality-of-life features. You can fast-forward through combat now, which is a huge deal — especially in Eternal Blue, where things could get gritty fast. You can also save anywhere, which makes both games far more portable-friendly and helps break them up into more manageable chunks. Difficulty settings let you tailor the experience — whether you want to relive the original challenge or take your time with the story.

The UI has also been cleaned up. Menus are faster and easier to navigate, text is more legible, and transitions feel smoother. Nothing flashy is just smart changes that make the games less clunky without messing with their identity.

The collection runs great across all platforms. Everything runs smoothly whether you're on PC, PlayStation, or handheld. But on the Switch OLED, it truly comes alive. The colors feel deeper, the light more forgiving, and the music—especially in headphones—wraps you up like a memory you didn't realize you'd forgotten. It's crisper, cozier, and much easier to lose yourself.

No, this collection isn't reinventing the wheel. And that's exactly the point. It offers something rare: a respectful, gentle update that lets both games breathe without changing their soul. It's not trying to blow you away with sheer size. It's here to remind you what made you fall in love with these games.

And it absolutely does.

The Core's Still the Core — For Better and Worse

What makes this remaster work is what it doesn't do. It doesn't mess with the foundation. The Silver Star and Eternal Blue play almost exactly how you remember— depending on your expectations, it is either a warm hug or a mild frustration.

Combat remains old-school and deliberate. Turn-based, simple, no frills. You pick commands, position characters, and watch them act it out. There's no job system, no deep customization, and no flashy real-time hybrid system layered on top. Just you, a party, and a strategy that leans more on resource management than spectacle. It's charming in its own right—but don't expect complexity.

Where Eternal Blue steps things up is in its pacing and challenge. It's a longer game, more intense in spots, with battles that can wear you down if you're not paying attention. The bosses hit harder, and the game expects you to grind a bit. The new fast-forward and save-anywhere features go a long way toward easing the bumps. What felt punishing in the '90s now feels fair—maybe even relaxing.

And what really keeps both games afloat, even now, are the characters. In The Silver Star, Alex and Luna are the heart. Their bond is soft, understated, and still surprisingly effective. Nall's snark, Jessica's fire, and Nash's overconfidence still hold up. Eternal Blue, on the other hand, brings a sharper, more layered tone. Hiro and Lucia start more reserved, their dynamic growing slowly and organically. Ronfar is chaotic in the best way, Lemina is all ego and ambition, and Jean's arc is still one of the most memorable turns in the whole series. It's a deeper cast with heavier emotional beats—and that maturity gives Eternal Blue its own lasting resonance.

Both games wear their hearts on their sleeves. They're not out here trying to be dark or edgy just for the sake of it. Even when things get a little goofy, they still feel real. There's this sense of care—in the characters, the world they live in, and in the idea that good people can still matter, even when the odds are totally against them. And that? That never goes out of style.

Let's Talk Voices: The Emotional Time Machine

You still remember some of the lines if you played these games back then. Not because they were perfect—actually, not even close—but because they had heart. The original English voice work in The Silver Star and Eternal Blue wasn't what you'd call polished, but man, it had heart. You could hear those actors throwing themselves into every line, even when they weren't totally sure how it was supposed to come out. There was something weirdly endearing about the awkward pauses, the over-the-top deliveries, and the fact that they were clearly giving it their all. That kind of effort? It stuck with you.

The remasters smooth a lot of that stuff out. The newer voice tracks sound more polished, better timed, and, yeah, way more professional. On paper, sure—it's an upgrade. But for returning fans, that raw charm is a little quieter now. It's kinda like hearing a remix of some old track you grew up with—cleaner, yeah, maybe more polished—but missing just enough of that scruffy charm, that little messiness, that made it feel like it actually belonged to you.

That said, the tone is still intact. There are no meme-y rewrites or awkward attempts to sound "modern." The localization still leans into humor and emotion without trying to be ironic. It keeps the melodrama where it matters and isn't afraid to be a little silly when the moment calls for it. That balance is rare and part of Lunar's staying power.

Whether you're hearing these lines for the first time or reliving them decades later, the delivery still feels genuine — and that counts.

Who's This Actually For?

This is where things get interesting. Who is the Lunar Remastered Collection really for?

The honest answer? Mostly the folks who were already in love with it. The ones who played The Silver Star on the Sega CD or Eternal Blue on the PS1 still remember the soundtrack, the one-liners, and how Luna's voice made them feel something they didn't quite understand yet. For that crowd, this collection is a warm return — the kind of nostalgia that doesn't hit you over the head, quietly taps your shoulder, and smiles.

But that's not to say new players can't get something from it. This may feel quaint if you've grown up on Persona 5 Xe, No Blade Chronicles, or the Flash Aside fantasy. Slower pace. Simpler systems. Smaller stakes. But give it time, and Lunar starts to work differently. It doesn't beg for your attention with big twists or epic cutscenes. It builds trust. It makes you care about characters before asking you to save anything.

The structure is old-school, no question. You'll grind. You'll walk through towns where people say the same things for hours. But the emotional beats hit differently. There's a kind of honesty here you don't get much anymore. It's not trying to impress you. It wants to tell a good story with heart, music, and magic. And if you let it, it'll absolutely deliver.

This could be a quiet surprise for new players with patience and curiosity. For returning fans? It's home.

The Cultural Ripples That Still Matter

To really appreciate Lunar, you have to zoom out a bit.

Back when it first dropped, Lunar wasn't just impressive for what it did — it was quietly influential in ways that aren't always obvious unless you're looking for them, especially in how it was localized. Working Designs didn't just translate these games — they interpreted them. Sometimes a little too loosely, sure, but they added personality, humor, and emotional nuance in a way that most localizations at the time didn't. Dialogue felt alive. Characters had voices that felt like real people, not just lines of text someone had machine-translated from Japanese.

You can still feel the effects of that approach in modern RPGs. Games like Persona, The Legend of Heroes, and even Fire Emblem now treat localization as an art form that can shape tone and deepen emotional connection. That didn't start with Lunar, but Lunar helped show what was possible.

It also carved out space for games where the story wasn't just about saving the world and feeling something while you did. The Silver Star gave us childhood dreams and soft-spoken heroes. Eternal Blue gave us bittersweet love, moral ambiguity, and characters with real emotional scars. Both games took emotional storytelling seriously long before it became the genre standard.

And no, this remastered collection won't change the industry again—but it might remind a few developers and players that sincerity still matters. A good story told with care can outlast the loudest trends.

Not Louder, Just Clearer

The Lunar Remastered Collection doesn't try to make a grand statement. It's not flashy. It's not trying to reintroduce the series as some bold new reboot. It's more modest than that — and more meaningful, too.

This collection clears the dust off two classic games with something to say. It preserves the heart of The Silver Star and Eternal Blue while making them easier to revisit — or discover — in 2025. The new coat of polish doesn't scream for attention. It just lets you focus on what mattered: the characters, the music, the warmth, the little moments you probably forgot you remembered.

If you're chasing flashy mechanics, sprawling worlds, or the latest in visual tech, this probably won't hit you. But if what you're after is a story that believes in its characters, music that squeezes your heart a little, and a rare kind of honesty most games don't bother with anymore—this is it. In that case, this collection is worth your time.

Not every remaster needs to be a reinvention. Sometimes, it just needs to be honest.

And Lunar still is.