Digital Extremes didn’t just celebrate ten years of TennoCon this past weekend—it canonized it. From the moment the lights dimmed and the trailer for The Old Peace flickered onto the screen, it was clear this wasn’t just another expansion. It was a reckoning. A return to Warframe’s deepest philosophical roots: legacy, conflict, and the fragile threads that hold a dying empire together.
Set for a 2025 release, The Old Peace isn’t merely the next mainline narrative quest—it’s an excavation of trauma, diplomacy, and forgotten friendship. For long-time players, the name Tau alone carries decades of narrative inertia, and here it resurfaces like a myth long buried. The story follows Adis, a Sentient whose childhood innocence is haunted by systemic betrayal. The past is never dormant in Warframe—it’s weaponized.
Tethered to this main act is The Devil’s Triad, a side story drenched in gothic motifs and symbolic collapse. Uriel, the devil Warframe, headlines the trio, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with protoframes of Harrow and Wisp, portrayed as Father Lyon Allard and Marie Leroux, respectively. These aren’t just new characters—they’re ideological fractures rendered in flesh and chrome. All of it is anchored on the Perita moon, where diplomacy rotted into myth, and Dax Anarchs now test the limits of peace through violent dissonance.
The expansion’s weight doesn’t just come from its plot, but its presentation. Operators have been graphically remastered, now sporting facial animations and textures that elevate them to the standards of a next-gen cinematic. It’s not a visual glow-up—it’s an aesthetic declaration that Warframe is no longer hiding its ambition behind abstraction.
And yet, for all its political intensity and Sentient sorrow, Digital Extremes grounds the experience in intimacy. The hauntingly somber Lullaby of the Manifold, revealed during the gameplay demo, plays less like a soundtrack and more like a memory you didn’t know you shared. It’s Adis’ voice, but it might as well be the voice of Warframe itself—fragile, broken, still singing.
But TennoCon’s revelations didn’t stop at narrative. Warframe continues its metamorphosis across mediums. In October, tabletop meets space opera with Warframe x Starfinder: Operation Orias, a collaboration with RPG titan Paizo. This isn’t brand synergy—it’s Warframe mythos expanding into dice rolls and character sheets, allowing players to bring the origin systems to their own living rooms. A demo at GenCon promises to tease its surreal aesthetic and cosmic horror tone, according to a press release.
Meanwhile, the digital frontier expands. A closed Android beta arrives this fall, and with it, a new audience. Warframe on mobile isn’t a pared-down shadow of the full experience—it’s a portable monument to ten years of iterative design. Alongside it comes The Teacher, a fresh quest designed to teach new players the intricacies of Mod systems, developed in collaboration with Sumo Digital. Warframe has never been more welcoming—or more unforgiving.
Then there’s Caliban Prime, waiting in stasis but close to release, adorned in gilded echoes of the Orokin Empire. His return isn’t just fanservice—it’s a callback to Warframe’s obsession with duality: destruction and creation, machine and flesh, past and present.
In a way, The Old Peace is Warframe itself—a fragile truce between systems, ideologies, and aesthetics. It doesn’t seek to clean up its contradictions; it leans into them. The game has always been a baroque fever dream of metal and memory, and in its tenth year, it finally sounds like it knows that.
From TennoCon’s packed halls to the flickering screens of solo players, The Old Peace is more than a milestone—it’s an overture. One that reaches back to Tau and forward to an uncertain silence. The war never ends in Warframe. But every lullaby deserves a final note.