There’s a mug I own, which I use for coffee nearly every day.

It’s not an exceptional mug—at least it didn’t start that way. It was just a cheap mug from IKEA, cream-coloured. Out of habit, I drank from it without giving it much thought. One day, I dropped it—butterfingers. I was in the kitchen and lost focus. It hit the floor. The handle came off, and the rim chipped. I sanded the edges to make it easier to carry. I didn’t throw it out. I glued the chip back in place. It still worked, but it didn’t feel right without that piece. The handle? I didn’t need it, so I sanded that down too. The mug works fine.

My kid once marked it up with a felt pen. I tried to clean it, but the ink stuck. Now it’s part of the mug’s look. There are coffee and tea stains—little bits of history in the glaze. My wife calls it my cult mug—not out of reverence, but because I never replace it. It’s simply here for good.

And that mug? It’s not so different from cult media.

You know the type—the stuff that never went mainstream, at least not right away. It stuck around because people kept coming back to it.

Movies have this kind of staying power. Metropolis came out nearly 100 years ago. It wasn’t a hit in North America. No Oscars. But it inspired everything—even Star Wars. Or take Citizen Kane, Little Shop of Horrors, Chopping Mall, King of New York, Donnie Darko. None of them exploded, but they never left. Some cult movies break out. Mad Max started small. Now it’s a giant.

The same thing happens in music. The Velvet Underground flopped commercially, but everyone who heard them started a band. Joy Division too. Even the Unknown Pleasures cover became iconic. Hip-hop has MF DOOM—one of the most unforgettable personas in a genre full of them. Country music has Townes Van Zandt. His music is incredible, and his life was insane—but real.

Video games have cult classics too. Spacewar! from 1962 was barely played, but it inspired Atari. Akalabeth started RPGs as we know them, created by Richard Garriott—Lord British—who went on to make Ultima. Then there’s Catacomb 3-D, Little Samson, EarthBound, Jumping Flash, Killer7. Overlooked then, beloved now.

And then there’s Enclave.

It came out in 2002 and was mostly ignored. It was meant to show off Xbox visuals, which were better than what the GameCube or PS2 could manage. But it didn’t hit. Not a failure, not a success—just there. On PC, though? It was a different story.

It stuck. It showed up on Steam, often 90% off—sometimes less than a dollar. Budget gamers bought it and kept it alive. Not unlike my mug.

That long tail led to more ports: Enclave: Shadows of Twilight on Wii (Europe-only), then Mac and Linux, where it actually made a splash since games there are scarce. Later, it arrived on PS4 and Switch, advertised as an HD remaster. But honestly, the original PC version still looks better.

So why did it stick?

First, the graphics hold up. It runs at 1080p or 4K out of the box. No mods needed. But if you want them, there’s ReShade, SweetFX, and modded levels—it shines.

Second, the soundtrack is full of long tracks—some orchestral, some metal. People were trading it before it was ever sold. One track, For the Queen, is nine minutes long. It’s a monster.

The campaign helps too. You start as the good guys. Beat it, and then you play as the bad ones. It’s not a gimmick; both sides are fully fleshed out. The light side opens with a prison break—walls collapsing, total chaos. It’s electric. It makes you feel like a badass.

The lore isn’t elaborate. Celenheim was split by magic. A chasm—the Enclave—was created by a wizard named Zale. Light on one side, dark on the other. The chasm’s closing. War is returning. It’s simple but effective.

There’s jank, for sure. Physics glitch. AI acts dumb. Orcs fall into pits for no reason. The combat is fine—hack and slash. Arrows and axes float weirdly. Enemies don’t show health bars—just numbers when you hit. It’s hard to tell what’s working.

You unlock characters: Warrior, Huntress, Halfling, Wizard. Honestly, Warrior and Wizard are the best. Melee and ranged—that’s all you need. The dark side has equivalents.

As an action RPG, you collect money to spend on gear, armor, potions. It’s linear and level-based. No open world, not many NPCs. Just stages. Finish one, go to the next. You can replay levels to grind, but that’s it.

And yet—Enclave has a legacy.

Starbreeze made it. Yes, the same studio that went on to make The Darkness, one of the best FPS games of its generation. It was re-released in 2018. A pure cult hit.

Then they made Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons—a milestone indie, emotional and beloved.

Then Dead by Daylight. Then Payday 3. Not cult hits—blockbusters. And it all started here.

When I found Enclave in the early 2010s, reviews were mixed. Xbox Metacritic? Mediocre. But now—in the 2020s—Steam is positive. GOG fans are ecstatic.

That almost never happens. Old games usually rot. But not this one. It keeps growing. Maybe it’s the bargain sales. Maybe the rereleases. Maybe the jank is part of the charm.

But people keep buying it. And they wouldn’t if they didn’t love it.

For me—and I think for a lot of people—Enclave hit something emotional. Not because the story was brilliant or the gameplay flawless, but because it made you feel like part of something bigger. The music was epic and eclectic. The world was broken but vivid. It wasn’t about grinding through levels—you were surviving inside this half-forgotten fantasy, stumbling through jank and glitches, trying to make it work—somehow, if you made it work, it was glorious.

That struggle, that imperfection, made it feel more human. It’s the kind of game you find when you’re looking for something else entirely, and it stays with you longer than it has any right to.

Enclave is the definition of a cult game.

Just like my mug. It didn’t start out special. But over time—with wear and care—it became irreplaceable.

Flawed? Absolutely.

Forgettable? Never.