In the thick, magic-infused air of the Korok Forest, it’s easy to tell when someone is warping in. There’s a faint tang of metal on the breeze, and the wooden chimes of the forest children always fall silent for a few moments as they wait to see who is invading their home.
It should be Zelda, of course. She’s been tackling her final trial all day, and it’s about time she got back. But the spirits are cautious. One can never be sure.
The past two days, when she’s returned, Zelda has reformed on the sword pedestal, with her hands wrapped around its hilt, in the exact state that she left. That’s not what happens now.
A crack like thunder splits the peace of the clearing, and a body flies out of nowhere, appearing from blue light as it’s tossed onto the grass like a discarded doll. Zelda’s skin, exposed in her simple undergarments, is more burned than clear, and the smell of singed flesh overpowers the Forest’s flowery scent. Her hair is all but gone, cut to her scalp and matted with blood, both mortal and monster. She’s missing the smallest finger on her right hand, and her triforce looks blackened like a brand. Green eyes stare blankly skyward, reflecting sunlight that their owner can’t see.
