The sky was dark, shadowed with magenta-streaked hate that formed a swirling vortex above the barely visible castle. Peals of thunder rumbled in the distance, flashes of lightning illuminating the smoldering landscape in terrifying bursts. An armored figure atop a dappled white and black horse erupted from the neighboring treeline, racing into the field. They yanked the reigns back, and the horse reared with an impressive neigh, skidding to a stop amongst the lonely ruins. Small clouds of breath puffed from the vertical slit in their helmet, dented in more places than the eye could count. The figure dismounted and unsheathed their sword with unusual grace, the polished metal gleaming softly in the faint light. The Hylean crest adorned the pommel, painted a soft gold that seemed to glow with its own light.
The battle started in an instant. In a flash, a blinking laser focused on the figure’s breastplate, followed by two more on their hip and shin. A whirling sound started as the Guardians primed to fire, rising from their earthy prisons onto creaking joints in desperate need of oiling. Skillfully, the figure reached for their shield, deflecting the first strike with great ease, then somersaulting behind a large section of ruins to avoid the second and third. Two more blasts rang out, the paltry stone walls shuddering on impact, and the figure rolled left, slashing at the approaching guardian’s legs. With a metallic groan, the machine tumbled, leaving space for them to deflect the next strike back into another guardian. A fierce explosion shook the clearing, undoubtedly attracting more foes. The figure turned tail, whistling for their horse, which had bolted when the battle began.
A neigh sounded, and the figure hopped back on their horse, nudging it into a full gallop as more guardians closed in, aiming their lasers at the retreating figure. Several more explosions rang out, but quickly dissipated with each stride the horse took.
The figure traveled for an unidentifiable amount of time, skillfully guiding their steed back to the safety of the forest, still headed in the direction of the castle. The night began to close in, a terrible crimson moon blotting out the very sun, filling the remaining sky in putrid burgundy light. Yet the figure rode on, only stopping to slash at the group of Lizalfos in their path, born of the blood moon itself. It was pitch black by the time they reached the first friendly light of the Wetland Stable.
“Traveler!” an exhausted Lawden, owner of the stable, called as the figure approached, dismounting just outside the main entrance. They padded to the desk, producing a red rupee from the small pouch on their belt, dropping it on the table with their horse’s reins. “Ah– enjoy your rest!”
There was no response, and the figure disappeared into the stable, taking the first available room. Only when the door was closed did a drawn-out sigh leave their lips. With shaking hands, the figure removed their helmet, revealing what appeared to be a nest of hair, two weary eyes, and a stern, cracked mouth. The rest of the armor was next to go, falling to the ground as it was removed rather unceremoniously. Dressed in only their dark undershirt and black trousers, the figure waddled to the bed, flopping down as sleep consumed them.
You awoke an hour after dawn.
While the sky was no less angry–magenta clouds still obscuring the once cerulean atmosphere–it was a far cry from the state it had been a day ago, practically bursting with malice. You cringed at the memory, forcing yourself to the edge of the bed, legs hanging limply as you smacked your cheeks in an attempt to regain some feeling. Your eye twitched when you caught sight of your armor strewn across the floor, cursing yourself for being so careless. There was a distinct ache in your head as you bent to gather the scattered items, gently placing them on the bed before migrating to your traveling pack, practically smushed into the corner in what you could only assume had been a delirious bid for sleep.
There was a mirror on the same wall, though you dared not look at it until you had run a comb through your hair at least once. Not that you were embarrassed by your appearance, but it was still jarring when you remembered your life before the calamity. Growing up in Lurelin Village had taught you many things–fishing, astronomy, knot work, gambling –though you never expected to use them quite as frequently as you did now. Up until a year ago, you had been an ordinary fisherman’s kid, spending your days on the beach with friends, the boat with your father, or the stable greeting weary travelers. Until a squadron of Guardians swept in from the West, desecrating your village beyond repair. Despite never handling a sword before, you took a stand against the monsters, only to take a laser to the chest in the final moment of the battle as the screams of your family and friends rang out, forever branded to your brain. It was a miracle you hadn’t shot up in the night, scarred breast heaving with stolen life.
The sun crept up in the sky as you redressed. First, a chainmail shift that once belonged to your father, a forest green surcoat, and your trusty breastplate, followed by the pauldrons, forearm guards, and gauntlets. The boots came last, the polished metal extending to your knees. You flexed your arms, testing for any unwanted tightness, and adjusted the scabbard belt around your waist, pulling it close. Only your helmet remained on the bed, though you left it off–it was too good a morning for that.
The stable was practically buzzing with activity–at least ten travelers mulling around–when you exited the room, b-lining straight for the nearby cooking pot for breakfast. You had enough fish stored to last at least a fortnight, but life on the road left little opportunity to cook your spoils. Plopping down on a nearby log, you tossed a mighty porgy and Hylian rice into the already steaming pot, waiting patiently as it sizzled. Until a cheery voice sounded behind you.
“Hello there! Do you mind if I sit?”
You shook your head. The log creaked as a burgundy-haired woman took the seat beside you, a large map in her hands. She pulled at it lightly to fluff out the creases. “First time in the Faron Woods? I can’t recall seeing you around before.”
“It isn’t,” you intoned, watching the meat and rice crackle away in the pot. A light breeze blew into the clearing, ruffling your hair like a rowdy sibling. You tipped your head to the map. “It’s good to be prepared.”
“Isn’t it?” The woman laughed, extending a hand for you to shake. “I’m Meeshy, adventurer and fashionista!”
You took her hand, introducing yourself in turn. Meeshy nodded along before sighing. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Misko’s Treasure?”
It felt almost surreal to have a normal conversation with the raging sky, but you weren’t one to rebuke small mercies. “I haven’t.”
“Well, there was a bandit with unparalleled fashion sense named Misko,” you hummed in acknowledgment despite having never heard of such a person. “Legend has it that he collected legendary outfits from all over the world and hid their pieces throughout Hyrule.”
“You seek them?”
“Who wouldn’t ?”
Well, she had you there. You turned your attention back to the pot, skillfully forming the fish and rice into large balls, packing them closed with stripes of dried seaweed from your village. The smell was divine , and you had to hold yourself back from stuffing the entire thing into your mouth at once. Sure, you had lived like a soldier for the better part of the last year, but it was no excuse to behave like a barbarian . Glancing at Meeshy, you held out the remaining rice ball, though it pained you to potentially part with such a delicious item. Fortunately, she held up her hands, thanking you for the company. You watched her departure with a mouthful of rice and fish, turning back to the fire to examine the burning embers, not unlike the smoldering remains of Lurelin as you crawled through the wreckage, stained in more blood than you could stand.
In Hyrule, ignorance was bliss. Even Meeshy, a traveler, hadn’t said a peep about the mass in the sky, nor had anyone on your journey. You supposed it was a side effect of living with a two-hundred-year calamity; people became used to misfortune, accepting it into their lives like one would bad weather. Never mind the fact that the supposed Hero of Hyrule hadn’t been seen since the calamity struck, and had all but been pronounced dead. Even stranger, the malice surrounding the castle was stagnant, neither expanding nor contracting in the years you’d observed it.
The longer you stared at the embers, the angrier you became. Your father had died in flames, barely able to breathe when you managed to pull him from the wreckage. His last words were uttered in your blood-stained lap, a whispered plea for vengeance that continued to haunt your dreams. What could you do but comply with his wishes, which is why you dragged yourself to the smoldering armory, stumbling upon a suit of armor lying on the dirt? Your path was clearer than the Lurelin waters when you donned the scratched metal, blood pouring from the wound on your chest to soak the silver of the breastplate, staining it in the fires of your ire. Pain became secondary to the burden placed upon your shoulders.
You would find the Hero, and you would destroy Calamity Ganon, or die trying.
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You visited the Temple of Time at dawn.
Old habits die hard , you were forced to remember when the first rays of light touched your face through the gaps in the wall and you awoke like clockwork, shivering on the heels of some horrid nightmare. The dead Hero plagued your thoughts in ways you couldn’t describe, and you were fairly sure you would never be able to look at that shade of blue again.
There was no particular reason for your visit, if the giant mark on your chest wasn’t reason already. Your boots clicked on the stone stairs of the dias, but you refused to climb to the top. You refused to touch Hylia’s statue, contemplating it with burning eyes. The ache in your ribcage was back, thrumming against your bones with the same ferocity as your beating heart.
You wanted to tell her that you were leaving, but you remained silent, hand clenching the hilt of your sword for support.
Until a crackling noise could be heard from the base of the statue. You took a step back as the flame from last night materialized above the stone robes, a muffled curse leaving your lips. You had assumed it was all a dream, but it seems fate had other plans.
“It’s you,” your voice cracked like rotten wood, a bitter taste on your tongue as your hands fell to your sides in defeat. Chest pulsing, you sighed. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The flame wavered, crackling softly. Your brows knitted together and you drew your sword, pointing it squarely at the ball of fire. A gust of wind whistled in from between the missing rafters, ruffling your hair, and you wondered if violence truly was the answer in this situation. Not that you planned to commit any acts against the flame, but you were not above threatening it to protect both yourself and your quest.
Crackle , went the flame, and you lowered your weapon, running a hand down your face. Slowly. Exhaustedly. Life felt like a dream, slipping through your clenched fingers like sand. Your armor creaked as you re-sheathed the sword, casting a glance at the statue.
The Goddess’ eyes were cold, but you felt frozen. The dead hero had made sure of that.
“Are you real?” you asked, though it was mostly to yourself, and you could have sworn the goddess was looking straight at you. Your voice rose, both in urgency and volume. “Tell me!”
Nothing.
You wanted to scream, cry, or do both simultaneously, but you forced your emotions aside with a shaky exhale. The flame remained; bright, smoky wisps floating from its crackling edges. It reminded you of a companion, however unlikely it seemed.
You left the temple with a heavy heart, not bothering to watch as a final gust of wind swept the flame into nothingness.
If climbing the Great Plateau was a challenge, then getting down was a trial unto itself. Standing on the edge of the plateau, you watched the smoldering castle carefully, feeling slightly numb to the glowing hate radiating like corrupted vessels through the ground, feeding the land with its accursed lifeblood. It was becoming increasingly obvious that no one would stand up to the evil that seemed to permeate the very air, and your heart ached at the indifference. Ignorance was bliss, yes, but at what point did bliss become denial? Happiness become dangerous?
It was staggering how, in your youth, you had looked up at the pinked sky and smiled. Smiled at the corruption, the evil, the sickness ; unknowingly encouraging the very thing ripping your kingdom from the very seams .
And now, it was your price to pay. The mark on your chest and the rotten blessing of a goddess solidified it, and you weren’t sure whether you were within your rights to simply hurl yourself from the cliff and be done with life altogether. Would anyone care? Would they even know ?
Your pack–filled with enough food to last weeks and half a quiver of arrows to cover the difference–weighed heavy on your shoulder as you turned, heading for nowhere in particular. The shrine was off-limits, and you had no reason to step foot in the Temple of Time again, so you merely plodded down the path, pace far slower than the one you had arrived with. There was no destination in your mind, only the waving grass beneath your boots and soft breeze in your ear. You turned the corner, trudging through a grove of trees. Every breath rang like a drum in your ears, until you spotted something in the distance. A paraglider, rust-brown with the Hylian crest emblazoned in the center of the thick fabric.
A gift , your mind whispered as you approached, hand outstretched to poke the center of the paraglider with startling care. It was rough and clearly well-loved, which was far more than you had witnessed on this cemetery of a land. A gift from the goddess .
You scoffed, sending the object flying with a single swipe of your hand. It fell to the ground with a thud , rolling to a stop among the trees. A thick breeze blew through the greenery, ruffling both your hair and several branches, sending wide leaves fluttering to the ground. You ignored the chill, crouching down to study the object closer, when there was a very familiar crackle and the flame popped into existence, floating half a foot above the glider.
Your body moved for you, shooting back in a bid to put some distance between you and the recurring ball of fire. Every nerve in your body tightened, preparing for a fight, but the flame didn’t seem to get the message, floating closer. Only when you drew your sword did it halt, hovering less than an inch from the tip of your blade.
“ What are you doing here?” You hissed, knowing full-well that conversation was useless; it didn’t understand you more than you understood it.
There was no response–because why would there be–and you couldn’t help but feel yourself falling deeper into a state of resignation. It had followed you all the way here, only to interfere when you touched the paraglider? Several branches waved insistently in the wind, and you stepped back when the flame appeared before the glider, hovering insistently, if inanimate… things(?) could even convey such profound notions.
Your brows furrowed, and something deep within your chest urged you to re-sheath your sword; flowing through your blood, coiling between the rough slopes of your ribs beneath your flesh and armor. It pressed against your heart, and you found that weariness beat deep in the organ. You were tired, not to mention the swirling flavors of betrayal and anger coating your tongue.
Fine , your eyes whispered as you seized the paraglider, nearly crinkling the fabric in your grip. Fine, goddess.
The edge of the plateau wasn’t far, considering the determined pace in which you trudged to the ledge, overlooking every corner of your terrible, beautiful land. You held the glider high, like a weapon, and took a deep breath, stomach dropping as soon as you flung yourself into the air. Turrets of wind whistled in your ear, deafeningly loud as the landscape spun in a flurry of blues and greens and plums, making you half-heartedly wonder if you should have just listened to your gut and climbed down. The glider caught the breeze with a jolt, holding strong as you drifted down to solid ground. You jumped down as soon as you could, arms aching from the strain of holding yourself up for so long, boots hitting the grass with an impressive thud .
This was it–you were finally away from that cursed place, hopefully forever, but you knew it wasn’t in the cards. The brand on your chest was more than a symbol of forced loyalty, it was a connection . A link , but you felt that joke a bit inappropriate considering the situation.
You stood in the field, the plateau to your back, and attached the paraglider to your back via a set of convenient straps. Despite everything, it was a useful item, and you had no intention of destroying it. Yet.
The sun was high in the sky when you began your search for Rala, your stalwart companion through the worst of what life could throw at you. She was a stubborn creature, maybe even more than you, and you took a saddened pleasure in whistling for her, the sound carrying mournfully through the air. You hoped she was safe.
It was nearly sundown when you found the horse, galloping in a field, the waving grass obscuring her thudding legs as she ran to you, neighing loudly. You held out your arms with a smile, uncaring of the unsightly brown color her once white coat had adopted, and stroked her velvety nose when she drew close, tail swishing wildly. Rala nickered when you pulled an apple from your bag, offering it to her.
Relief coursed through you when she took the offering without hesitation, munching happily as drops of juice rained down on your fingers.
That night, the flame didn’t appear.
You had half expected it to, keeping one eye cracked open as you leaned against a random tree. Rala foraged before you, the crackling campfire serving as your only light in the darkness.
You had a plan. Of sorts.
There was a nicker, and Rala trotted over. Her muzzle swung forward, lips nibbling at your hairline. You swatted her nose gently before relenting, reaching up to stroke her warm neck with your frozen fingers, which tangled in the coarse hair of her mane as you dared wonder if things would have been different if you had the courage to refuse, if you had the courage to accept that revenge was a luxury afforded to heroes and madmen.
The horse snorted, ears pricking as she rose to meet the darkness, hoved scraping against the grass. You put one hand on your sword, but didn’t stand, knowing that even the bravest of creatures could be fooled by the shadows of night. The campfire flickered, and light danced where it previously hadn’t, revealing the scrunched nose of a rabbit, which darted as soon as it’s cover was blown. Rala tossed her head, and you leaned yours back against the tree.
Far above, the stars twinkled in the sky, illuminated by the fierce glow of the moon, as untouchable as the goddess who had cursed you. You once loved the moon, but now you couldn’t bear to gaze at it for fear of… well, you weren’t sure, but it was certainly profound from the way a shiver ran down your spine every time your eyes landed on it’s fullness.
With a sigh, you relaxed into the tree, hand falling from the hilt of your sword to the cool, grassy ground.
You slept, and the dead hero bothered you all night long.
A day passed, and the flame was nowhere to be seen.
Aimlessly, you rode across the countryside, heading for the Dueling Peaks. The land was silent, as if morning the loss of order itself, save for the occasional rumble from the Castle, but you temporarily adopted the traditional Hylian bliss and continued like your land wasn’t crumbling at the seams to a problem that should have been solved years ago. It was a shame that the hero was dead, because you had some choice words for him.
Despite the crippling despair of your situation, the journey was peaceful. The travelers you passed were happy, often humming tunes or calling out as you urged Rala down the road, and their ignorance was both admirable and dizzying, until you considered that many of them had been born into avoidance, suckled it from their mother’s bosom and soaked it from their father’s words. It was all they knew, and it made your teeth ache.
The Dueling Peaks came into view around dusk, the setting sun peeking between the crevice in the peaks like it belonged there. Your eyes lingered on the tower in the distance; if there was anywhere in the world you could hide, it would be atop one of those, caressed in wind and twice as carefree. A small part of you considered it, but a larger part knew full well that if you wanted to escape the goddess, you might as well throw yourself from the tower than hide in it.
Your thoughts were interrupted when Rala snorted, slowing to a walk as you passed a large sign. ‘Dueling Peaks Stable’ it read, and you felt the corners of your mouth tug up. It had been a long time since you visited the stable, mostly because of the volume of travelers that passed through and partly because the previous stablemaster was a crotchety old man who believed you should have married young and put on a dress.
As if the armor you wore was not a symbol of your independence, and the sword at your side not a beacon of the blood, sweat, and tears staining your flesh.
You gave a gentle tug of the reins, coaxing Rala to stop. Her hooves clicked against the road as she came to a halt. You hopped off, taking a short moment to stretch–it was a bit of a walk to the stable, but you had been riding all day and your legs were stiff from disuse.
“Hey!” A voice broke through the silence, and you froze. “Do I know you?”
You didn’t recognize the voice, nor the tone, and the urge to hop back on Rala and ride away was a strong one. Instead, you turned, coming face-to-face with a tall, red-haired woman. Her curls, tighter than you had ever seen, framed her face as she smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re Hylian, right?”
“Yes,” you said, unsure of how else to respond.
“That’s good,” she responded cheerily, adjusting the bundle of wood she was carrying higher on her hip, though you didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked to your sword.. “I’m Freya, the stablemaster here.”
You didn’t introduce yourself, only nodding politely and waiting to see if she had anything else to say, which, unfortunately, she did. “Forgive me, but you’re not a knight… are you? The one who’s been saving everyone?”
“No,” a bitter taste coated your tongue.
“Really?” Freya seemed doubtful. “Because my sister, who’s a bit of a storyteller, met a knight a bit ago with a sword just like yours. I know we’re far from the castle, but–”
“ I’m not the Hero ,” you interjected, not meaning to raise your voice, but also not wanting her to get the wrong idea. Freya’s expression dropped, and you half-heartedly wondered if she was going to kick you out or simply ignore the conversation altogether.
That is, until she smiled again, softer than the first. “Come,” she said, walking up next to you. “I don’t care who you are, and it’s getting dark. I’ll even give you a discount on a bed.”
You blinked in disbelief, having been sure than your outburst would have driven her away by now. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” she grinned, and your mouth opened again, though nothing came out this time. “Now chop, chop. I’m sure you’ll fight anything that comes along, but let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”
You followed dumbly as she headed to the stable, grabbing Rala’s reins in your left hand. The building was just as you remembered, albeit a bit larger, and with a few more additions. Several horses stood in the stalls outside the stable, nickering softly when you and Rala passed. Warm light poured out from the windows, illuminating the road before them.
You left Rala outside as Freya led you to the main counter, pointing you to one of the empty beds and informing you that your horse was in good hands, to which you nodded robotically and plodded to the bed, only realizing what kind of discount had been offered to you when she let you go with a smile, demanding no payment whatsoever. You didn’t bother removing your armor, choosing to collapse on the bed like your life depended on it, practically dozing off as soon as your head touched the downy pillow.
You slept, and the dead hero bothered you for half the night.
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The Goddess Statue was cold, the approaching dusk casting an almost calculating hood to the rounded stone of its eyes. You could hardly speak as you stumbled back to the temple, shaking like a leaf after your latest revelation, vision blotted with salty tears and mouth permanently open, mind grasping for words you could not speak.
The hero was dead. The hero was dead . Who would defeat Ganon and put an end to this madness, avenging Lurelin and all the Hylians who had fallen? It was unfathomable that the belief, no… hope , Hyrule had been holding on to was but a mere fable : a skeleton in a shrine. You couldn’t believe it; you wouldn’t believe it–there had to be an answer to this insanity, it couldn’t end like this!
Time was a mere concept as you fell at the statue’s feet, hands blindly grasping at stone-cut robes, every nerve in your body screaming for a reprieve, yearning for another chance. You would search to the ends of Hyrule if you had to, ripping it at the very seams to get what you wanted, so why couldn’t you? Had all your efforts truly been in vain, the mere dreams of a girl with nothing and no one? Or perhaps fate was behind your loss, determined to tear your very morals from your poor, broken body, fighting for something that didn’t even exist in the first place.
You felt cheated. Betrayed by a hero you had never met. Robbed of your only shot at happiness.
Even the goddess was freezing beneath your fingers, nothing like the mother you thought her, if such a thing wasn’t already hedonistically sacreligious. Frantically, you looked into her cold eyes, pleading with everything you had within you, a mere whisper in the wind’s raging whistle
“Help me.”
Whether it was a question or a statement, you would never know, only that a profound calm seemed to blanket the space. ‘Calm’ in the sense that, for a split second, the wind died down, the flowers and grass stilled, and the trees held their very breath, creating a silence so unnerving that it was almost comforting . Your neck trembled as you forced it to tilt upward, and the rest of your body wasn’t far behind, chattering with the weight of your thoughts.
Help me, you had said, but what you really meant was: bring him back. Maybe the goddess knew, as your vision began to blacken and exhaustion caught up with you, whirling around you like a curse, or maybe it was simply a turgid twist of fate, but, either way, you would swear up and down about the golden light that flashed in her granite pupils just before everything went dark.
You awoke to the sound of your name, a warbling rendition that had every place to be spoken and a thousand more not to be. A soft breeze whistled in your ears, melding with the muted bubbling of what you could only assume was a brook of some kind. Rolling from your side to your back, you groaned, lazily rubbing sleep from your eyes with a hand. There was a certain urgency in the sky above, cerulean blue with clouds so perfect the gods must have brushed them directly in the backdrop.
Urgency… what was urgent? To the left of you was a forest, not dissimilar from the Faron Woods, and the right was a perfect replica, towering trees that waved in the wind, creating a canopy more beautiful than you’d allowed yourself to admire in years. Despite it’s flaws, Hyrule was unrequitedly beautiful, all towering peaks and sloping hills, wispy groves and crystal lakes. It was the perfect land, as wonderful as it was terrible.
Which is why, when a fragmented memory of a skeleton in a pool razed your mind, you wanted to dismiss it. Just once, you wanted to forget, if only for the sky and the stars, so you could gaze at them with eyes reborn, but the visual of a blue tunic followed shortly, and you shot up, fantasies all but forgotten.
You… you had found the hero; the Hylian Champion, the savior of Hyrule… dead. A body in a pool. Red tinted water and salty tears were at the forefront of your mind as you considered the reality of the situation… and what it meant for the land you loved so dearly .
There had to be a way to rescue Hyrule, it couldn’t end like this. You refused to live with the knowledge only you possessed, unable to return to bliss.
There was another call of your name, so clear that you couldn’t help but whirl around, facing the Goddess Statue looming beneath a large oak.
“Where am I? ” were the first words to leave your throat, still raw from hours without water. The heady beat of your heart was at the forefront of your senses, thumping in your chest like a war drum. Then, in dutiful exchange: “Please, Hylia–”
Silence , said the statue as the sky turned dark, and the forest faded away, leaving you alone, floating in an abyss only fathomed in your wildest nightmares. There was a pregnant pause as you attempted to decide whether you had truly gone mad. Is the champion all that you seek?
There was no question, only an answer. Resolve steeling, you forced your emotions to the backburner. “Yes.”
Explain it to me , demanded the statue, crystal clear in the fog your mind had become. Vent your desire.
“I need…” you hesitated, words trailing to nothing more than hissed syllables on your tongue. How were you to explain your greatest want to a deity, assuming this wasn’t some wretched fever dream? The answer was practically inscribed on the thudding caverns of your heart, and yet you couldn’t voice them when it mattered, settling lamely with. “. ..a hero. ”
Why? The statue’s gaze prompted, more lifelike than you’d thought possible.
“I…”
What has made your destiny incapable?
You froze.
“My… destiny?”
The statue was silent, and the glade began to flicker in and out of existence, a terrifying meld of comfort and horror. Your first instinct was to fight, but with the discovery of your missing sword, all you could do was jump to your feet with the care of a newborn deer, wobbling as fate flashed before you. Only the statue remained the same, a relic of love and fear, of devotion and obsession.
“Stop!” The words left your mouth before you could stifle them, ringing loudly in the whirling cacophony. “I said STOP!”
And stop it did. The darkness returned just as your legs gave out and you felt as thought this was the end. Fear made you crazy, if yelling at a goddess wasn’t already an indication, but you were too frazzled to care. With exhausted eyes and a voice quieter than a mouse, you whispered. “Forgive me.”
But there was no answer. The darkness crept further, and your last thought before it consumed you was how useful a sword that sealed darkness would be.
There was a small shack south of the Temple of Time.
Dawn had just begun to break when you awoke at the feet of the statue, hands still clasped pleadingly over cold stone robes, flecks of sleep caked in the corners of your eyes. Finding your feet was a feat in itself, every step you took from the blasted temple razing your shins like a wildfire. You don’t know how long you walked, or even what you were looking for, but the cabin nestled among a grove of trees was the closest answer your prayers had received in years.
There was no door, so you stumbled in without much care, examining the sparse layout of the cabin. Whoever built it obviously hadn’t heard of insulation, judging by the myriad of cracks between the thick logs that made up the walls. A small table occupied the wall closest to the ‘door’, a worn journal resting atop it. You ignored the book and walked to the furthest spot inward, plopping down with a groan as your weary back pressed against the wood.
It was a labored sigh that you brought your knees, burying your face in your hands. Strands of hair cascaded over your eyes, falling prey to nervous, tugging fingers as you fought to ground yourself. Every part of you ached and you wanted nothing more for the earth to swallow you up. You never considered peace an option, but now…
No.
There was a solution, you just knew it, because why wouldn’t there be? Hope was a fickle thing, but maybe you were determined enough to hold on to it.
Until the pointed metal on your knee brushed the scar on your chest over your armor and all you knew was pain . A scream wrenched from your throat as you forced yourself to uncurl, legs straightening within an instant. Your fingers shot to your chest, frantically pulling at your breastplate. It fell easily, and you wasted no time yanking the chainmail shift from your body, tossing it carelessly across the room. Then came your tunic–which met the same fate as your poor shift–and the cause of your pain was finally revealed.
It was a brand, a fucking brand . Two curved lines extended from the original wound in your chest, like the wings of some godforsaken angel, raised and angry. A spear-shaped mark connected with the bottom of the wound, the tip disappearing into the bindings over your breasts. You traced the brand with a single finger, sending powerful shockwaves down your very spine.
The longer you looked, the more affronted you felt. It was obviously the Goddess Crest, a mark used to identify followers of Hylia for as long as anyone could remember, but the lack of choice–yours, specifically–in the matter only fueled the fire raging in your belly. In the center of the accursed mark was the wound that almost killed you, flanked by a crest that fit so perfectly it made you want to tear your hair out.
There was no other way around it; the goddess had branded you her own, for better… or worse.
But for now, you needed rest. And, if not more desperately, food and a bath. You’d left your pack with Rala, thousands of feet below the plateau’s edge, so retrieving it was out of the question, though that didn’t mean you weren’t capable of hunting for yourself. It was the reason you kept a spare fishing line in the pouch at your hip, and a quiver of arrows at your back–a bitter representation of why you would never let yourself be overtaken again.
Everything was bitter. Cathartic. Resentful.
Will rest come? You wondered, feeling yourself relax fully against the wooden wall, head lolling to lay against the leftmost corner. Or were you simply delaying the inevitable, no more prepared than a child? That part of you died with Lurelin, but, in the dead of night, you would awake in a cold sweat, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. They spilled down when you blinked, creating thin, salted tracks that shone in the magenta moonlight. There were nights where you were inconsolable–a hair’s width from screaming your frustration to the sky till Hylia herself cut you down–and others where melancholy replaced rage. Your body had never felt so broken, so disconnected from the hazy abyss of your mind.
You allowed your eyelids to close, the heavy thud of your heart deafening in the quiet space. Peace, however temporary, was not to be taken lightly.
In Hyrule, when it rains, it pours .
As a fisherman yourself, rain meant food. It meant comfort, celebration, and rest–often foreshadowing a successful catch. You felt inclined to believe it, as two freshly-caught bass dangled from your grip, so fresh that they continued to twitch with the bitter remnants of life.
You had ventured out as soon as you awoke, determined to make the most of your current situation. There was only so much time you could sulk in a day, and you refused to let it boil over in such a way. Moreso, you were still Hylian, despite all intents and purposes, which conveyed a sense of responsibility that forced you to your feet amidst the thundering sky.
Setting fishing lines from your emergency stash was all but instinct. Within minutes, you made your first catch and everything seemed right in the world. The bath that followed was comparable to the stories your father told you of a place called ‘Heaven’, and you trudged back to the house with the ghost of a smile forming on your lips.
The small fire crackled amidst the thundering sky, two fish skewers set securely above the curling, flickered edges. The scent of roasted fish filled the air, as did wisps of smoke the fire generated, swirling around the space in thin streaks. Fat drops of rain pattered the foyer, and you were glad you had the foresight to move the fire inwards.
Within minutes, the fish were done. You used an arrow to flip the spit upwards, catching it cleanly in your other hand, scoring a large bite seconds later. And, by Hylia, was it worth it, as you doubted you had tasted better food in your whole life. Within no time, the first fish was but a pile of bones, picked clean, tossed beside the fire, and the second one wasn’t far behind. You wiped your chin with a satisfied groan, reclining against the wall once again. Despite the dampness of your pants and undershirt–because there was no way in Hylia you were going to willingly deal with rusted armor–it was the best night you’d had in a while. Lonely, sure, but calm? Absolutely.
There was much to be thought in the silence. You mused over what your life had become, and how long it would take for something spectacular to occur. Perhaps the mark would begin to glow spontaneously while you took a piss, or maybe your sword would speak to you in the common tongue in the dead of night. Either way, it was expectedly unexpected, and you found yourself falling deeper into stagnancy.
The sky was still terribly dark, and exhaustion weighed on your every pore. Even so, your path was clear; you had already left Rala alone for a few days, which was unacceptable in the world you lived in, and she was your first priority. Then, you would resume your travels, slaying any and all monsters you encountered. Perhaps you would hop from town to town, or simply find a single area to protect until you couldn’t. Visiting Lurelin was another tick on the list, but that would come later, when the scent of smoke no longer carried in the sea-salted breeze and you could finally walk around without a smoldering beam crashing down on you.
A burst of lightning drew your attention back to the thundering heavens, illuminated the thick clouds in brilliant white light as another torrent bombarded the roof. Only a fool would miss the tell-tale creaking of the wood, and it only solidified the fact that leaving soon was the best course of action.
But first, sleep. It had been a hell of a day and you were keen on getting one last bit of rest before heading out for good. You could already feel your body relaxing into the wall, uncaring of the hardness of the wood–you could handle a backache any day.
That is, until another peal of thunder rang out and the sky was awash in light once more, though you hardly felt it over the spontaneous sear of heat over your chest. Your back became ramrod straight, clutching your hands to your sternum with thick, gasping breaths. Every second felt like a blinding slew of days, months… even years , and there wasn’t much that you could do past hold yourself like a scared child, eyes screwed shut hard enough to never open again. There was another burst of light, though suspiciously without the telling herald of thunder, and you forced yourself to glance forward.
A spark of white danced in the air, inches from the ground. The pouring rain created a sort of cathartic backdrop as you tried to decipher what exactly you were seeing. It was undoubtedly real–the blinding edges curling like a miniature flame–but you couldn't place its purpose for the life of you.
It was with half-steady hands that you reached forward, fingers outstretched cautiously towards the flame; the meager light blazing brighter and brighter with every inch that died between you–
Ssc!
You jerked your hand back as soon as the tip of your finger came into contact with the glowing surface, sucking it into your mouth to soothe the small burn, because, fuck , it was always the little things that hurt the most. The flare in your chest had faded to an uncomfortable stab with every raspy breath you took. You wanted to scream and you wanted to dash your hand through the flame, only fearing a second, more powerful burn.
“Get out of here,” you hissed softly, as if your words held any weight in this situation. “ Leave .”
But the flame–or was it more of a burning wisp–remained, glowing cheerily in the raging storm. You watched it with a resigned expression, injured hand creeping up to rest against your chest. “You hurt me,” you said, without any real heat. You needed to hear words again. You needed to think again. “I don’t want you here.”
Nothing.
Until the edges of the flame flickered purple, and it fizzled into nothing. You blinked as it reappeared at the threshold of the shack, inches from the merciless rain. A particularly large drop collided with the wisp, razing a hole through the center of it.
Your expression softened as the flame… shivered ? Was that the right word to describe an supposedly nonhuman object or were you simply out of practice? Another droplet dashed the flickering apparition, followed by a cloud of steam and thin hiss of steam, and you felt yourself sigh.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You gestured to the glowing embers of the campfire in a manner that was supposed to be joking, but the short hiss of steam forced your hand. “If you burn me again, I’ll throw you out.”
With an almost delighted… crackle(?), the flame reappeared over the main fire. You watched with mild interest as it floated prone-ly, simply existing among the dancing flames of the larger fire, never once losing its signature color.
“What are you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
The flame made noise similar to a log being dumped on a roaring bonfire, and, after absentmindedly nodding along, you began to wonder if you had finally gone mad–if you weren’t already after what you saw in the shrine. None of this should have been possible, yet here you were, acknowledging a flame like a person.
Was this insanity?
Either way, you were wholeheartedly exhausted and even keener on getting a good night’s rest. With a final, insane nod to the living flame, you tilted your head against the wall and allowed sleep to consume you.
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The ride to the Great Plateau was a somber one.
Legend has it that the Temple of Time was the final resting place of Hyrule’s lost Hero, and while you were skeptical, it was the only lead to be had. You spurred your white mare, Rala, down the ancient path to the temple, racing past forgotten structures and towering trees. The Calamity had wiped much of Hyrule’s history from the books, leaving word-of-mouth as the primary method of exchanging information, and it wasn’t like you could march into the castle and demand entrance to the royal archives. That being said, Hateno’s library yielded enough knowledge that you were well aware of the main gate’s collapse–one of Princess Zelda’s last decrees before she disappeared.
The hookshot sat heavy in your pack; as if feeling the weight of its impending responsibility. And what a responsibility it was, you mused as the towering plateau came into view above the treeline. You pulled Rala into a trot, rounding out to follow the heavy stone walls Northeast, where the gate supposedly lay. There was a certain beauty in the towering structure, a certain strength in the spider-webbed cracks marring the base, and a certain enchantment in the way it seemed to touch the very sky, casting a long shadow across the forest that somehow managed to be more imposing than the mana-clouded sky.
After a few more minutes, the craggy peaks of the gate came into view. You slowed Rala to a walk, taking in the towering sight. Two pillars framed the main doors, obscured by a large rockslide. You dismounted, grabbing the hookshot from your pack. The stony ground crunched beneath your boots as you stepped forward, eyes turned skyward.
The plateau was unreasonably tall; you doubted you had enough rope to scale the whole thing in one go, but the lowest ‘beam’ of the gate looked low enough to snag. With a renewed sense of determination, you stumbled up the rock slide until you were at the highest point. The gate loomed before you, and you realized why no one had been there in over a century. Living on the coast had done no favors to your tolerance of heights, but it was a small price to pay in exchange for finding The Hero. Reports of his appearance were shoddy at best, but it was said he was of average height and build. ‘Link’ was his name, but it felt strange to use it without actually meeting said hero.
There was something oddly cathartic in aiming the hook at the beam, hefting it onto your shoulder for better aim. It wasn’t your last chance, but it was your first, and you intended not to put it to waste. You clicked the hooking mechanism, and the hook rocketed up, locking onto the edge of the beam with a loud ching . You gripped the inner handle and pressed again, gasping when it pulled you up at breakneck speed.
Your heartbeat thudded in your ears as the hookshot pulled you closer, reaching out to grasp the rough stone of the beam before it clicked to a stop. Hoisting yourself onto the freezing stone was a feat in itself, but you managed, backplate clanging with the wall as you practically threw yourself into it, legs dangling over the edge.
Reality came crashing down when you forced your eyes open. A dizzy feeling bubbled in your stomach as you gazed at the land below, beautiful and terrifying. Even the volcanic peaks of Death Mountain had a clouded silhouette among the swirling clouds surrounding the castle, and it hit you again just how high you were.
You wanted to scream your frustrations to the bleeding sky for daring to shine brighter than your heart, but you bit your tongue until you were sure any more pressure would draw blood. The reality Hyrule faced was a terrible one that you knew all too well–the land needed their Champion; no one else had bothered to become one.
Forcing yourself to stand was a feat in itself, as was retrieving the hookshot from its clamped position. Being nearly vertical to the top made aiming nigh impossible, but you tried anyway, the heels of your boots hanging over the edge. Adrenaline raced through your body as the hook snagged the second ledge with a resonating crunch and grew taunt. You yanked it once, then jammed the recall mechanism with your thumb. The chain snapped tight, rocketing you to the ledge. Stomach practically leaping to your throat, you pulled yourself to rest on the flattened stone, panting like you’d run a marathon. There was a small window embedded in the wall beside you, a myriad of wry cracks spiderwebbing across the thin glass.
Sweat dripped down your brow as you sat, panting like a canine. The scarce light of the sun was far too warm, and the wind was no different, swirling hotly in magenta magma. What you would have given to drift down with the breeze like a leaf, to return to Lurelin and continue life with no greater amount of carelessness than the next Hylian, with the skin-deep scars on your sternum the only reminder of a half-baked adventure.
Your eyes found the horizon, more breathtaking than the dawn and the dusk and the death. Perhaps it was fate, woven torturously in the fabric of your mind, branded within the confines of your head and heart, but the feeling of something guiding you forward was unmistakable. Was this religion? Obsession? Passion ? You could only wonder as your gaze turned skyward, further than even the towering gate. Palms clenching, chest heaving, you aimed the hookshot and began anew.
The Great Plateau was unlike anything you’d seen before, yet so similar that it would have given a younger Hylian a conniption. Soft grass greeted your weary fingers when you pulled yourself over the last ledge, collapsing on the ground with a labored sigh. Even with a faceful of dirt, it was a thousand times better than climbing the gate, and you intended to give yourself even a modicum of rest after such an ordeal.
A hawk screeched in the marbled sky, soaring far above the plateau. Your gaze flicked skyward, then down at the grass. A Hylian beetle crawled among the thin blades, but you paid it no mind, shoving yourself to your feet with no less care than you had while scaling the gate. Tottered down the rocky path on aching feet, you passed the Sheikah Tower with nothing more than a short glance and a subtle sag of your shoulders–there was only so much climbing one could manage in a day. A tall spire lay past the thin treeline, the stone nearly purple from the sky’s plum backdrop: The Temple of Time, if any of your research had paid off.
Every step you took up the blasted slope to the temple was either a blessing or curse, though you were inclined to believe it was both by the time you reached the top, facing the very object of your adventure; the renowned Temple of Time. Tall grass swayed against your shins as you trudged nearer, taking in the rust-red roof that registered as more of a gaping hole than a ceiling of any kind, and disheveled appearance. It was almost laughable that this was the greatest temple of your time, but you were all too aware that looks could be deceiving.
The landscape surrounding the temple was curiously barren, replaced by fallen stones, crumbling architecture, and curious slopes with no purpose other than terrain aesthetics. You hopped over one such stone, ignoring the searing heat in your shoulders and back, and stood before the cracked wooden door, complete with metal detailings that looked as though they had seen many better days.
As if of its own will, your hand reached out, connecting softly with the aged wood. It felt grainy and rough, blistered from countless years of exposure to the blazing sun. With an air of reverence, you pushed it open with a horrendous creak that would surely ring in your ears for many lifetimes, revealing the overgrown beauty of the Temple of Time. A multitude of flowers and grasses lay harbored in the many cracked gaps of the floor, illuminated by the magenta light streaming in through the caved roof, the leftover rafters resembling sun-bleached ribs as they extended harshly from the main structure.
You pressed on, boots clinking softly against the scattered square stones, eyes fixed on the Goddess statue in the back of the building. It was easily the most important structure in the temple, as well as the least damaged. A smiling face holds many secrets , was the first thought in your mind as you stepped up to the dias, standing just feet from the statue, stony arms clasped to its chest in a gesture that instantly reminded you of a mother. Flowing marble robes ‘clothed’ the statue, as did the verdant moss creeping over its shoulders and shift like a creeping cape.
You stared into the statue’s eyes, unusually detailed for a stone creation, only for a small shiver to wrack your spine. ‘Different’ was too kind a word to describe the feelings evoked by such a… trivial structure, but you would have used it all the same. Hooded eyes and carved smiles meant many things, and none of them were good. Which is probably why, when a thin breeze snaked into the temple to ruffle the hairs on the back of your neck, you whirled around, drawing your sword and hissing: “Who’s there?”
No one, of course, but what did it matter when the feeling of being watched only seemed to increase? You spun around, facing the statue once more, sword gleaming in the golden light of the approaching dusk. “Who are you?”
That was the question. You knew the statue depicted Hylia, sovereign goddess of Hyrule, and maybe that could have meant something had you come a year prior. Religion was as uncommon as ignorance was common, and your childhood certainly reflected that. Your father was as unreligious as one could get in Lurelin, though he spared you no stories of Hyrule’s heroes, shrouded with more myth than the night itself. Curiously, the Temple of Time had a part in every tale, which is what led you to the real thing.
After an excruciating pause, there was still no answer. Tension raged in your heart as you resheathed your sword, rising higher than the bay after rainfall. You began to search the building, hopping down the stairs to the grassy plane on the left of the statue. The wall had completely collapsed, baring the ruined landscape to your prying eyes. There had to be something –it couldn’t end like this, not after all the blood, sweat, and tears you spent over the last year; sleeping in trees, fighting guardians, nearly dying more times than you could count.
You couldn’t accept this, you wouldn’t . Not after everything, not after what the Calamity had done to you.
Looking back, you could see your father’s smile as you showed him your first catch, a Hylian bass, and his grimace as his life faded in your very arms. It wasn’t hard to remember the blood stained your forearms and hands, never to be cleaned. You thought of Lurelin when you undressed, catching glances at the terrible wound on your chest, blotchy with raised, puffy scars that would surely disgust anyone who saw them. They were marks of… whatever you were, and would remain so until your time had come, wherever that was.
It was in your moment of regret that something truly impossible occurred: your name, called by a voice wispier than the wind, in the direction of the statue. As if on instinct, you scrambled back up the stairs, terror and amazement painting every nerve in your body as you stood before the mossy relic, ears perked for even the slightest inclination of life within the stone.
Again, your whispered name was carried forth, as if by the breeze itself. Following it to the center of the temple, you sprinted outside when another call emanated from the planes, waving with the grasses themselves. Every muscle in your body was tight with a strange sort of need, as was why you were here. You wanted something, and as the voice beckoned you down a small path on the other end of the temple, the promise of obtaining it was too strong to refuse. You needed to find the hero almost as fiercely as you needed oxygen, a blazing drive that burned hotter than the fires of Death Mountain, than the magma-streaked slopes or clouded sky. Your hair flew free from it’s protective confines, flapping in the wind as you raced alongside destiny, exhaustion forgotten.
Time was a mere blur by the time you reached a large rock protrusion, seeming almost out of place among the gentle grassland. A half-circle ‘door’ extended from the bottom side of the rock, sporting a very familiar pattern. You skidded to a stop, eyes fixed on the glowing door, just as a final call of your name rang out.
It was clear what you were to do, there had been rumors that the hero had been sealed away when the calamity became too powerful, but you hadn’t given them more than an afterthought. Until now, when it made more sense than you could fully comprehend in your weary state. Of coursethe hero would be here, it was practically void of danger and virtually unreachable to anyone wishing harm on Hyrule’s champion.
With curious wonder, you approached the door. There didn’t appear to be any access points, but you never deluded yourself into thinking that any of this would be easy. Gently, you ran your hand over the dark, cool surface. For a moment, nothing happened, and that is where it happened. The once golden lights flickered, brightening and dimming interchangeably as ribbons of blue snaked through the colored passages, spreading farther and farther until all the gold had been swallowed in bright, flashing cerulean. You watched in disbelief as the stone sunk a fraction inward, then split at the middle with a heady crack, revealing a cavernous tunnel.
There was no hesitation as you steeled yourself with a steadying breath and headed into the belly of the beast. The air was understandably stale, with an sharp undertone that you couldn’t hope to place, and the only light emanated softly from the pulsing streaks of blue embedded in the walls. You walked slowly, not wanting to miss a single thing, with a mindful hand on the hilt of your sword–you had no idea what else could be here, and you didn’t want to find out the hard way.
After another minute of walking, the tunnel opened up, revealing a large cavern. More streaks of blue and gold shone, ingrained in the very walls and ceiling. You gripped your sword tighter, eyes roving over your newfound surroundings; the feeling of being watched increasing with every cautious step you took. There was something off about this place, and you were determined to discover what it was, even if you died trying. What was life when you had no reason to live? Time and time again, you’d been told revenge wouldn’t satisfy you in the end, that a humble fisherman’s child couldn’t survive in the wild, but their words had fallen on deaf ears.
Your boots clinked against the polished stone of the floor as you skidded to a stop. The lights only seemed to flash brighter; enhancing the strangeness of the situation in… wherever you were. The make of the cavern reminded you of a shrine, which was only cemented when you caught sight of the raised dais in the back of the room, bathed in the eerie cerulean glow of the tiled lights that made up the ceiling.
Cautiously, you climbed the stairs, one fateful step at a time. The cave was silent, and so were you.
Until you saw it; the terrible sight resting in the small ‘bath’ of water in the center of the dais, and, by that point, no one could blame the scream that tore from your parched throat. You stumbled back, eyes wide in abject fear as you beheld the scene before you, tripping on the last jagged step. Another cry slipped from your lips as you fell backwards, the clang of your armor against the floor far louder than you could ever hope to yell, resonating harshly within your very mind as you lay prone, unable to come to terms with your own eyes.
You couldn’t breathe–gasping huffs and shocked hiccups razing your throat raw. You were no stranger to decay, but this…
It was a quest unto itself to force yourself to stand, and twice more to stumble back up the stairs, hands shaking harder than they had ever shook since Lurelin’s destruction. Each step felt like thunder to your sensitive ears, pricked close to your neck in a bare reflection of your terror, and each breath was an accurate representation of a bolt of lightning streaking through your poor, metal, aching body.
And as you stared at the rotted skeleton in the pool, you felt as though lightning would be preferable to this hell. It was undoubtedly someone of importance, from the design of what you could only assume was now a tomb , but the bright blue tunic–torn in several places with thick red stains around them–worn around the skeleton’s bony torso only cemented your fears.
