Chapter Text
In the shroud of darkness came a voice. The voice was golden, shining deep into the far corners of his mind – corners which had been dark for so, so long. How long, you may ask? It's difficult to say. The voice beckoned him forward, and as he chased the sweet yellow golden hue, the voice became clearer. It was a woman's voice, and though he did not recognize it, her tones felt calming – familiar – relieving.
And at the same time – insufferable.
He opened his eyes.
Soothing sunlight was replaced by blinding blues – it occurred to him that she had been saying 'open your eyes', and against his will, he had obeyed. The blinding blues dissolved into something more specific – and that something specific was so foreign to him that he had no word for what he was looking at.
She beckoned him again and he blinked, as his senses slowly crawled back to him. The first thing he noticed after his vision sharpened and loosened with his weary eyes was the air – stale against his lungs, as they heaved in a breath. His lungs expanded, stretching against his chest – like it was a task long forgotten.
He thought it better to close his eyes. Even the small act of opening his eyes and taking a breath was draining. Perhaps drifting back to the pleasant shroud of darkness would be more peaceful – less agonizing.
Away from the incessant voice on the wind.
"Wake up, Link."
Link. That was what she had called him, and somehow, he knew it to be correct and true. It stirred up something from deep within him – though the tangible memories that came with one's identity were blurred, with only the emotions present to back it up. Try as he may, but they were just beyond reach – just beyond his grasp and perfectly languid, dissolving through his fingertips.
Though he recalled nothing at the mention of his name – the emotions connected to it were prideful – boastful – powerful.
At the words she spoke in the tones of her voice – he felt hatred – disdain – bitter.
Who was she? And how did she know his name?
More pressing, however: why hadn't he known his name?
Why could he recall nothing at all?
Indeed, as he fought for a glimpse of a memory – of something substantial he could conjure to resolve his identity, he came up short. There, among sweet golden and bitter blues, he was – devoid of everything except his name and the seething anger bubbling from within him.
Then, he was assaulted by new sensations.
In the absence of the woman's voice was the sound of rushing water – disappearing somewhere just beneath him. Around him, the water he was encased in began to drain, and he was aware of every droplet dripping from his skin, cognizant of how the air felt cool against it, and startled at how it dried in mere seconds – as though this were not simply water, but something else entirely.
His eyes drifted, noting the dust particles still lingering around above his head in the stale air. They were of a greenish tint, and smelled of something ancient – something long forgotten, but underscored with the scent of burnt skin and pouring rain.
He lifted himself up onto his arms, noting that with each muscle moved, he was met with a burning strain that could only be accompanied by extreme disuse. He looked down at his chest, taking in a sharp breath. This breath was easier than the last, but was protested greatly still by his weary lungs. His chest, he noted, was littered with scars, ranging from small and light to long and deep. On some, the skin felt loose and thin – on others, it was tight and thick, protruding against the rest of it. Yet despite this, he felt no pain. He swung his legs over the bed, and was met with cool floor against warm feet.
Where was he? What had happened?
He looked around the room, expecting to find the woman who had woken him up, and to demand answers. Yet, he found that within the dark, dusty room he was… incredibly alone. Equally as pressing, he realized, there was no clear exit out. Though it was dark, he could see divine constellations littering the walls – their cool, orange light pulsating softly across the room, almost imperceptible.
And through the dull orange – not quite the wonderful golden yellow he had seen before – he noticed something blue penetrating through the darkness. It was a pedestal – softly glowing and pulsing through the cavern.
More out of curiosity than anything, Link approached it.
The pedestal flashed when approached. It rose, spinning a quarter of a circle around before ejecting a small, rectangular object with a glowing blue eye carved onto the back.
"That is a Sheikah Slate," the voice whispered again. Link darted his head around, trying to find the source of the voice, but came up short. Indeed, it sounded as though the voice was coming from within him.
"Take it," the voice insisted, "It will help guide you after your long slumber."
"Who are you?" Link asked out loud, noticing how his voice felt rough, like sandpaper against his throat. She had mentioned he had been in a long slumber. Just how long had he been asleep?
The voice answered him not, though through the silence, Link could feel the weight of her listening. She certainly knew him, he reasoned, else she would not have reached out to him.
When it became clear that she was not going to answer, his eyes drifted back to the slate in front of him. The… Sheikah Slate, she had called it. Though he had never seen this device before, there was something familiar about it. He lifted the slate from its pedestal and held it out in his hands before him. Despite its familiarity, it felt foreign in his hands. The screen lit up once again, the glowing blue eye staring at him menacingly and benevolently.
Like he was being watched.
Before he could ponder the implications of this further, the pedestal spun once again and settled, and with it, Link saw a doorway he had not noticed before opening just beyond it, a cloud of dust erupting in its wake.
Well, it wasn't like he had anywhere else he could go.
He walked into the next chamber, noticing this time that instead of dull orange constellations dotting the walls, dim blue lanterns lit the room in its low light. Through this, Link could make out two chests sitting just beyond the doorway.
Opening the first one, he found a pair threadbare trousers and a pair of old shoes, and it was only then that he realized with mortifying clarity that he was completely naked.
Though there was no one around to see – as far as he could tell – the woman's voice had spoken to him, and must have seen him approach the pedestal. Not to mention, the eye of the Sheikah Slate unnerved him – so much to the point that he immediately set it down beside the chest with the eye facing down, as he trudged on the well worn pants, taking care not to rip additional holes into them.
The second chest held an old shirt – nothing special, he had to admit – but at least now he was properly clothed.
Though in retrospect, perhaps he shouldn't have been so worried about disembodied voices catching a glimpse at him fully exposed.
There was still the question of where he was and why he was here.
He attached the Sheikah Slate to his belt, and walked further into the chamber, noticing that though this room was less stuffy than the previous, dust motes still hung in the air like the stars those constellations depicted.
At the end of the room was another sealed door – he noticed it now where he hadn't before. Like the previous chamber too, this door had a pedestal placed next to it as well. However, this pedestal did not have a Sheikah Slate lodged into it. Instead, this one had that same glowing blue eye staring blankly into the cavern.
He was constantly being watched, he realized. If it had just been one or two of those eyes, he could have chalked it up as being coincidental. However, this was the third one he had seen – or was it the fourth?
The room was suddenly suffocating. He needed to get out of there.
"Hold the Sheikah Slate up to the pedestal," the voice returned, whispering in his ears, all around, from above, from below, everywhere, "That will show you the way."
"Who are you?" He asked again, though was only met with the echoing sounds of his own voice throughout the ancient cavern.
There was no way to escape it, he realized, and though the voice seemed benevolent at first, it was also content to leave his questions unanswered. Again, left with little choice in the matter, he lifted the Sheikah Slate from his hip, its material feeling ancient and foreign and startlingly familiar once again, before he pressed the eye of the slate to the eye of the pedestal.
The pedestal flashed blue, much like the previous one had, but this time, words began to materialize from it: authenticating.
Sheikah Slate confirmed.
Then, from the door before him, another blue eye began to glow – the largest of them all. These eyes – these Sheikah eyes – they were everywhere, etched into the very architecture of this chamber. Some were hidden, some were quite obvious, but in that moment, Link realized something about them – though mundane as they were, they were important, somehow.
And he couldn't help but despise them.
The door began to lift from the ground, and instantly, sweet golden yellow light burst into chamber. It was that same wonderful yellow he had seen before. It called and beckoned him forward, and Link felt the sensation of warmth across his skin. He had been cold before – why hadn't he realized that?
The lovely sweet delicious gold was blinding, and Link shielded his eyes. But even then, he felt compelled to follow it – felt compelled to dive deep into its swirling pools.
"Link…" the incessant voice spoke again, content to leave their conversation one-sided, "You are the light – our light – that must shine upon Hyrule once again."
That made little sense – the light was right in front of him, dilating his eyes and threatening to burn him. Indeed, even as he felt beckoned by the sweet golden rays, he felt pain; he felt agony at the notion of stepping further into the blinding light.
"Now go…" and he went, his legs being pushed forward by a will not his own. He was sent stumbling through the tunnel – towards the light – towards the pain and the unknown. He was sent careening through shallow waters, ruining his already disintegrating shoes, and splashing it up his calves to the ends of his pant legs. Still, though, he ran – dusty air being sucked deep into sore, unused lungs. He leaped, lurching up a short rocky landing, before he was met with stairs.
And as he emerged from the cave, he was met with greens and blues and browns and reds and sweet wonderful yellows. The smell of pine hit his nose, along with something else, delicate and soft. It smelled achingly familiar, like a scent long forgotten and nostalgic. Yet still, it conjured nothing within him, and he was left with no memories to accompany the sensation. His legs pushed him forward, his muscles protesting from severe lack of use, but he couldn't stop – he wouldn't stop.
Then, he breached the top of the hill, and laid witness to a kingdom amongst the wild.
To the east, that wonderful blinding yellow came from the sun, just peaking over the horizon in the dawn. To the left of it was a monstrous volcano, clearly active, with the spikes of its cliffs penetrating the dewy morning sky.
And just in front of him, off in the distance, was a castle, with lovely cherry blossoms looming just beyond it.
It was a stunning, stark contrast from the stuffy cave he had been in. Across the fields, the dewy fog of morning was fading – evaporating in the sun's morning glow. Here, the wind caressed and tickled his arms, and he felt acutely aware of every chirp of a bird, of the grass scratching his ankles.
Then: the snap of a twig, and movement in the corner of his eye.
He wasn't alone.
His head snapped towards the right, looking down from the hill. There, just before a magnificent temple, he saw an old man staring back up at him. They locked eyes for a moment – two – three – before the man smiled and turned around, walking with slow, careful steps back to his campfire in the shadow of the temple.
Perhaps that old man could make himself useful, and give him some answers.
Link raced down the hillside, noting that, despite the Old Man taking residence there, it seemed that the land sprawled out before him was relatively untouched. Although the distance going downhill wasn't far at all, Link was still out of breath as he reached the bottom of the hill, where the Old Man sat.
The Old Man stared up at him, his eyes squinting in caution? – recognition? – hatred? He couldn't tell.
In the end, none of that really mattered, now did it?
As it was, the Old Man spoke first; his face morphing into something more jovial, "Oho ho! Well met, stranger! It's rather unusual to see another soul in these parts."
"Who are you?" Link asked, hoping that, unlike the disembodied voice from up in the cave, this wrinkly man would actually answer him.
"Me," the Old Man smiled, "I'll spare you my life story. I'm just an old fool who has lived here, alone, for quite some time now. What brings a bright-eyed young man like you to a place like this?"
"I was hoping you would be able to answer that," Link muttered, looking off towards the temple, "Where are we?"
"Answering a question with a question. That is fair enough – it's a response I would have gotten from someone who is quite dear to me. As I cannot imagine our meeting to be a simple coincidence… I shall tell you. This is the Great Plateau," he whispered, his eyes grazing out towards the grasslands, "According to legend, this is the birthplace of the entire kingdom of Hyrule."
The Old Man stood up on slow, creaking legs, using his walking stick for support. He pointed off towards the magnificent temple, "That temple there… long ago… it was the site of many sacred ceremonies. Ever since the decline of the kingdom one hundred years ago, it has sat abandoned, in a state of decay," he turned back towards Link, his lips formed together in a thin line, "Yet another forgotten entity – a mere ghost of its former self…" he lowered himself back down next to the fire, "I shall be here for some time. Please let me know if I may be of service."
Link nodded, before turning back towards the temple. It seemed to call to him in a way, and he felt the wind shift around him, beckoning him forward. He took a step towards the temple, but then stopped, a sharp pang in his gut.
He was hungry, he realized. How could he have forgotten what hunger felt like?
The burning rage that had simmered upon breaching the cave boiled again.
He stepped back towards the camp, looking around for something he could forage. There, lying almost forgotten at the base of the campfire, was a roasted apple. Well, the bitter Old Man had said to let him know how he could be of service, so he certainly wouldn't mind if he helped himself.
He reached down and plucked the roasted apple from the ground.
"I beg your pardon!" The Old Man stood up, "I do believe that is my baked apple! You can't just go around taking whatever you please!"
The voice echoes in his head – and suddenly it is higher in pitch, less gravelly. He opens his eyes to find him not on the Great Plateau but just off to the side of a road, by a sprawling field. The old man looks the same – yet different – his face morphing into something grotesque and horrific.
And the pang in his stomach is just as strong – and entirely more urgent.
"Beat it, kid," the old man hisses, "I ain't got enough for the two of us."
It is either kill or be killed. If the elements do not get him first, his empty stomach will.
Link itched for a knife. He could see the old man in his mind's eye, with his eyes gazing upwards, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. He couldn't exactly get in the way if he were dead.
He had no weapons, and the nearest thing he could possibly use was an old torch just behind the Old Man. His breath shortened, and his heart rate sped up. This crippled old man was content to just let him starve.
With no other options, and with his vision turning red, Link tackled the Old Man to the ground.
His hands found their way to the Old Man's neck, tightening beneath the black hood and long, white beard. He saw the man's eyes go wide, as Link pressed down with as much force as he could muster. He would strangle this man until he was dead, or at least unconscious. He hadn't a clue who he was, where he was, or why he was there, and the disgruntled Old Man thought it well to let him starve and –
The Old Man shoved Link back in a surge of unanticipated strength, and sent him sprawling back into the grass. He had thought him to be some frail, wrinkly man, but he supposed his black cloak did well to hide his unassuming strength. Looking up, Link saw the Old Man sitting back down by the fire, though even from his distance, he could see an air of caution about him.
"While that wasn't quite what I was expecting," the Old Man shook his head, "It does shed some light onto things. You remembered something, didn't you?"
"I…" Link held his head in his hands, reeling as the world spun around him. He didn't understand – he could feel the cold breeze from the day around him – he could feel the sharp droplets of rain battering against his skin – he could taste the sweet and sour juices from that very same baked apple as he walked away from that old man – rubbing his bloodied knife on his trousers.
Yet that old man was not this Old Man. Here it was sunny and warm, and he was not on a road in an open field. Was that, as the Old Man had suggested, a memory from before?
Yet… he had never told the Old Man that he couldn't remember anything.
How could the Old Man know he had remembered something if he had no prior knowledge that he had forgotten anything?
Link's head snapped up from the ground, "How… how do you know that?"
"Once you get to be my age, you get to know a great many things," the Old Man whispered, his hood casting a long shadow over his face, "In any case, I hadn't expected you to react the way you did – I was just pulling your leg. Please help yourself – an apple and an open flame make for a succulent treat."
Link was silent for a moment, before he nodded, pocketing the apple. His appetite was suddenly quite gone.
He left the Old Man in the shadow of the rocky outcrop and went further down the hill, his destination being the temple looming in the distance. Just beyond the Old Man's camp was an old axe lodged into a tree stump.
And just beyond that – he noticed – was a blade on a small island, lodged deep into a small stone.
There was something about the blade that spoke to him, in a similar way that the temple had when he first saw it. His palms itched and his fingers buzzed – desperate to wrap themselves around the hilt of the blade. The breeze shifted, and he smelled cherry blossoms – though there were none in sight – and something else, delicate and soft.
He needed to get that sword.
With no easier way to make it to that blade, Link jumped into the cool waters of the pond, only resurfacing with a slight panic that perhaps he didn't remember how to swim. Despite this, he found himself treading water easily, and made his way to the small island in the center of the pond.
Link, now drenched to the bone and dripping wet, lifted the rusty broadsword from its pitiful pedestal. It was chipped and broken – the light from the sun couldn't even shine off of it in places. No doubt, in its prime, it was a magnificent sword.
Now, it was just a piece of shit.
Well, it wasn't like Link had anything better to use.
Thus, he tied off the piece of shit to a makeshift baldric and made his way off the island and back to the main path.
He pulled himself out of the water – feeling the soft heat from the sun's rays against his skin, getting warmer as the sun was lifted higher in the sky – before he paused, hearing something soft on the breeze.
Perhaps he was just imagining it?
"Link."
He wasn't.
The woman was back, and this time, her voice held an urgent tone and was almost… annoyed?
It was something they both had in common, it seemed.
"Head for the point marked on the map in your Sheikah Slate."
"Show yourself!" Link yelled out towards the sky, grunting as he shoved his plastered bangs out of his face.
He had come to expect it now that the woman would remain silent to his calls, but it did not escape him that the Old Man just up the hill tilted his head ever so slightly towards him.
Link sighed, reaching down towards the Sheikah Slate…
Well shit.
He had just dived headfirst into the pond – twice! – and now the Sheikah Slate attached to his hip was soaking wet. However, reaching down towards his hip and grabbing it, he found that the slate still functioned perfectly normal – though it did slip a bit in his hands as he fumbled for a grip. There, the screen on the slate lit up, and he was faced with an entirely devoid map. It was not as though there just weren't landmarks notated – it was completely blank, save for a marker for what was called the 'Shrine of Resurrection', and a glowing yellow dot marked in the upper right corner.
He looked off towards the east, his brow furrowing, before it clicked. This 'Shrine of Resurrection'… that was where he had woken up. That was that mysterious cave with those glowing blue eyes… all watching him.
He had no desire to go back to that place.
This voice had requested – no, demanded – that he head for that marker on the map. He saw no reason as to why he should obey her demands, as she had not taken the time to answer his questions.
However… perhaps the point marked on the map would answer his questions.
With a shrug, he tucked the Sheikah Slate back against his hip, and trudged onwards, following the relentless woman's request.
Along the way, Link could not help but notice how much the plateau was in a state of disrepair. As he passed the ruined temple, with a mental note to check it out later, he saw shells of buildings, barely standing along the main road. They were open to the elements – roofs caved in and walls completely dismantled – while vines of ivy and moss inched its way over every exposed brick and panel, as though the wild were reclaiming its once untouched lands.
It was a shame that this country had let the plateau rot.
He came to pause at a strange monument, half overturned along the road leading to the temple. Moss grew along the side of it, and its metal was rusted brown from what looked like years of neglect. Upon inspecting it, it looked like a giant metal spider – with six rusted legs cemented into the mud.
Guardian. Though no memories of one surfaced with the word, he stared upon the mechanical defender with the hint of a pang of terror in his gut. He closed his eyes, placing his hand on the eroded metal, and just on the edge of his scent, he smelled burning wood – just on the tip of his tongue, he tasted blood – just beyond the heat of the sun beating down on him and the gentle sway of the wind, he felt cold, clammy, and wet.
And that was all he could feel – all he could remember. Despite this, his heart raced, his breath quickened, the edge of his vision darkened, and he settled to walk away from the Guardian – away from the echo of claws crunching against the cobblestone.
The Old Man had mentioned that the Kingdom of Hyrule had been in a state of decay since its decline a century prior. How great of a decline would it have been for the birthplace of Hyrule to be left in such a state of disrepair? Where were its people? If this were such an important place, wouldn't its people make the plateau a priority?
He was so distracted by all of this, that he nearly didn't hear the warning snort before he ducked, as a crude bat swung over his head.
He rolled out of the way, grasping the sword tied to his back in a swift, practiced motion that he hadn't expected. He stumbled to his feet, facing the threat.
And he was faced with the ugliest creature he had ever seen.
He held the sword in front of him with both hands, accessing the situation as the red, pig-like beast snorted and salivated. The beast moved on uncoordinated feet, stumbling around as though it couldn't find its balance.
Bokoblin. The name of the creature came to him instantly, and rather than take a precious moment to wonder how he knew that, he filed that information away for later and sidestepped the beast, using the dumb monster's momentum against it. He slid the edge of his blade up the beast's side from torso to shoulder.
Either the Bokoblin was fairly easy to dispatch, or he was quite adept with the sword. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.
He sheathed the broadsword and moved onwards, following the Sheikah Slate to the point marked on the map just ahead.
As he approached the marker on his map, he noted with disdain that there was a whole lot of nothing in front of him. He expected to maybe see a hut, or a statue, or better yet, see that woman come out so he could demand answers. However, circling the perimeter, he found no such hut, no such statue, and no such woman.
He held up the slate again, furrowing his brow. He was in the right spot. What was he supposed to do? Spin around in a circle three times while tapping his head?
He sighed, pulling himself up onto a rock to sit and try and figure out what he needed to do next.
Then, a flash of orange caught his eye. He looked down, and his eyes widened.
Within a small opening in the rock was an even smaller platform. And just on the platform was a pedestal, just like the one he had retrieved the Sheikah Slate from in the Shrine of Resurrection.
Link hopped down into the crevice, and approached the pedestal. He was getting quite good at this now, he had to admit. See a pedestal – tap the Sheikah Slate.
Place the Sheikah Slate in the pedestal.
The pedestal illuminated in familiar script, and Link looked around, wondering how the pedestal seemed to know he was there. With no clear answer, Link shrugged, before unhooking the slate from his belt and placing it into the indentation on the pedestal. It sucked the Sheikah Slate in, spinning on its axis one quarter of a circle – much like the pedestal had in the shrine. It clicked into place in a flash of orange.
Sheikah Tower activated. Please watch for falling rocks.
Rocks?
Before Link could ponder this further, the ground around him began to shake – threatening to dislodge him. Then, in a surge of power, the platform burst free from the ground.
The last thing Link saw before he hit his head was that blue, malicious eye, before everything went black.
When Link came to, he was met with cloudy skies and deep, endless blue.
He groaned, covering his eyes with his arm as his head throbbed. Memories flooded his mind, from the shrine – to the old man – to the sword – and that voice.
That incessant, horrible, repulsively constant voice.
Perhaps it had all been a dream.
That seemed logical, he reasoned. Beyond finding that rusty sword, he had been nudged by that woman to follow the point on the Sheikah Slate – that otherworldly contraption with that glowing blue eye that seemed to be following him and watching him wherever he went. Yes, certainly this was a dream: for only in his dreams could he conjure up something so asinine – so unrealistic.
And then… then! – the dream was coming back in full now – he had approached a pedestal, much like the one in that damned shrine. It had asked him to watch out for falling rocks, but of course, there were no falling rocks. It was just a dream.
And that had been where his dream had stopped.
He laughed, trying to push away the throbbing pain from his head and moved to stand up. The sun was beating down on his skin, and he noticed as it stretched against his muscles and bones that it was sore and red. Sunburnt, he realized. He must have fallen asleep here. He must have been asleep for a long time.
Then, as he pushed himself to his feet, the world spun around him, and he gripped the pedestal he had fallen asleep next to.
The pedestal... which housed the fucking Sheikah Slate.
He dared to raise his gaze.
He was up high – higher than he had ever been, or remembered. The platform, which housed the pedestal, was expansive – spreading out further than he had seen when it had been on par with the ground.
Suddenly, the slab of rock above the pedestal – inconspicuous as it had been before – began to glow a soft blue. Link gasped, stumbling backwards as he watched the rock light up with ancient texts and words that glimmered in a sweet cerulean. None of the words made sense. He stared at them, struggling to process them. Had he known these words before? Was this a different language? Or was this his language?
Had he forgotten how to read?
He shrugged this off as he remembered from his not dream that the pedestal had lit up with words that he could understand. These words that trailed down the rock before him like little tear drops were different than those words from before. Their structure was different – its language was different.
He felt relieved – but at the same time, more disturbed.
He watched as the words dissolved at the end of the rock, where, again, a light blue eye formed staring at him – watching him. Then, before he could ponder that further, the words fell together and dropped onto the Sheikah Slate in a single drop of condensation, dissolving instantly.
He leaned forward, gingerly easing his head forward to look at the slate, wary of any other damned Sheikah words or wet weird water splashing onto him. The screen of the Sheikah Slate illuminated once again – the map, from before. Only except this time, the map was not blank.
This time, it gave a detailed map of his surroundings.
Regional map extracted.
The pedestal ejected the Sheikah Slate once again, and Link thought for a moment to just leave it there: forget about it. He thought to just leave the slate and that horrific woman's voice and go off on his own – to figure out exactly who he was and why he was here.
In a huff, he stepped away from the pedestal and the slate, his mind thoroughly made up. But then he paused, as he looked out over the edge of the tower.
He saw what he had come to be known as the Great Plateau sprawled out beneath him. Nearby, he saw a camp of those nasty red Bokoblins vaulting and screeching along to some savage fire dance. Just beyond that camp, he saw that majestic temple from before, withered and crippled against the wild that threatened to engulf it. And up the hill, he gazed upon a cave that was hardly noticeable against the mountain – just a small, inconspicuous break in the mountain wall.
And to the north, Link's gaze was, once again, drawn to the castle.
"Remember…"
That sweet golden delicious yellow began to glow softly from the castle once again, and Link froze, every instinct and need and want and desire urging him forward: towards that wonderful entrancing gold.
"Try… Try to remember…"
He took a few staggered steps towards the edge of the tower closest to the castle. From his vantage point, Link could clearly see what he could not before. This castle, up against a backdrop of whispering blossoms was surrounded on all sides by malicious columns, all pointed inward. The sweet golden lovely sunshine grew brighter, as though it sensed him watching.
"You have been asleep for the past one hundred years."
One hundred years? Link felt the blood drain from his head and fingertips, and felt his vision grow dizzy and hazy at the revelation. He knew he had no reason to take her word for it, and yet he knew it to be correct and true. He had been asleep for one hundred years.
A century.
Shit.
The ground shook beneath him once again, and Link grasped the side of the tower frantically, his fingertips and nails digging into the ancient walls of the tower. He looked up and gasped.
"The beast…" the woman's voice supplied, her voice shaking with a slight waver, "When the beast regains its true power, this world will face its end."
He had thought that the castle had just been shrouded in shadows, but as the shadows swirled and boiled, Link realized that there was more at hand than just mere shadows. Deep, dark, magenta magic swirled around the castle – opaque and sinister. And from the darkest parts of the magic came a beast so vicious, so vile and horrific, it made Link shudder and made his blood run cold.
And at the same time, he could not help but gasp in awe.
From the swirling clouds came the beast – its eyes glowing bright and its horns cutting gashes into the crystal blue sky. Then, the beast growled: its mouth unhinging as though it were not wide enough to let loose its anger. It wove around the castle, enveloping each spire in its frantic magic.
Then, for a moment, the beast seemed to lock eyes with him. Its gaze was penetrating, firmly rooting Link where he stood. It was all Link could do to stare back – his eyes wide as he looked into the void.
And then the beast roared.
Link thought for a moment that the beast would break free from the castle – as it thrashed and clawed its way against invisible confines – but then, once again, he was blinded by wonderful yellow.
The yellow cast out the magenta, dissolving its magic and sending the beast back, back, back – until all Link could see was mere shadows.
"Now then…"the woman sounded tired, her voice stretching with each syllable – as though each word in itself was becoming increasingly more difficult, "You must hurry, Link… before it's too late."
Then, as suddenly as it came, the sweet yellow dissolved completely, and Link was left utterly alone once again.
But now…
Now, he was livid.
What did this woman expect him to do? Was she calling out to him to save her? Was she really so powerless and weak that she called upon a man – who had no recollection beyond an hour ago – to come and save her from a malicious beast?
He was angry – and yet he would be lying if he said he was not still drawn towards that sweet golden light.
There was something about it – something that drew him in to that sweet, sparkling light. Not to mention, there was definitely something missing from the narrative. It was clear that there were key pieces of information that he could not remember. Key pieces that would certainly explain why he felt this compelling need to run towards the light.
Key pieces that would, too, explain why the anger within him still bubbled and roared at the tones of her voice.
There was much he didn't know, he realized, and he needed to find out what that was. Yet, even in his confusion, there were a few things that were clear. His memories had left him, but his emotions had not: and what he felt now was a deep, seething anger. With every turn brought unbidden memories to the surface, and it was all he could do to push those sentiments far, far down. Who was he, and why did he hear a voice beckoning him to the castle? The voice had said that he was the light, but all he wanted was to fill the world with darkness.