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As a newborn would draw breath the moment daylight kissed its skin, he awoke.
He was first woken by light. Dim in the beginning, but as it strengthened the tiny spec of gold bloomed into a radiant glow that drove away the darkness. He felt it spread. From chest to limbs, to toes and fingertips, it was a kind of pulse; the embers of a fire flaring back to life by the kindling of another's breath. It burned, almost to the point of pain.
Something rang in the distance. The sound of gold personified in his mind , not his ears, scrambling his first string of thoughts. They were drowned by the muffled voice— a voice —that echoed through the light.
…
..O...n..y..ur….es...
...Open your eyes ... Wake up, Link…
The divine tones were laced with the sweetness of honey, leaving the taste on his tongue and the memory of a floral scent in his nose. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that the name spoken was his and the sound of her voice left a terrible pain in his chest.
The golden light dispersed, fading from warmth to the cool hue of blue.
Then Link was acutely aware of the water encompassing his body. Lukewarm, like a bath he’d soaked in for too long. It began to drain, he could tell, as the floaty feeling in his stomach sunk and his body felt a dreadful heaviness . He sucked in his first breath as a seam of bitter cold spliced reality into him, starting from the tip of his nose to his cheeks, past his face and chest, until the whole of him lied there shivering.
It was cold. He was cold. His palms and the skin of his back itched against the rugged stone, prickling him.
Link opened his eyes.
His vision was blurry, blinded by bright blue lights hanging above him. It took an awful long time to for them to adjust, but, before long, the formless shades of blue sharpened to round orbs.
He was alone. Cold body enveloped by colder, unfeeling stone. Forgotten.
By who?
Anxiety crept into him as he rose from the bed. The cold shocked his mind into action, and the individual whispers of thoughts began to stream into coherency. There were so many questions.
Where am I? What is this place?
Achy bones popped, joints snapped with satisfying cracks, and as he swung his jelly legs over the rims, he noticed his scars. There were little nicks here and there, but the concerning one was the ugly shriveled pink patch of healed flesh wrapping up the better half of his torso. A burn scar. It still stung when he ran his hand over it.
What happened to me?
Link decided to ignore the other obvious questions and stood to his feet. His legs shook underneath his own weight, muscles atrophied, but they still managed to hold their ground as he wobbled through his first few steps. By the time he reached the pedestal on the far side of the room, however, he was winded. He slumped against the stone, jelly fingers slipping on the smooth curved edges as he fumbled for a grip.
Just awoken, yet exhausted .
The golden voice revitalized him, though.
...That is a sheikah slate…
The sounds and sights of stone grinding together evaded Link’s senses. That voice had evoked a feeling of warmth that overwhelmed him again. Warmth, and also that pain , the stubborn one that twisted his gut and crushed his heart with a weight so profound he thought it might stop beating. His entire body shook with an indescribable urge to reach towards the voice—the voice heard without sound, seen without a face, felt without being.
He knew , somewhere, the voice had a sound, a face, a being, and he ached for it.
What does my face look like?
...Take it.. It will help guide you after your long slumber...
And then Link noticed the small stone tablet. An odd, glowing rectangular object, presenting itself to him by sticking out of the pedestal like a sore thumb.
It’s hers. Who’s?
It felt like a child sneaking a parent’s prized possession out of the house. The slate was not his to take. And yet, he still grasped the rough edges of the cold stone, flinching when it made an odd, yet familiar noise.
Link knew what it was. He recognized its faint mechanical hum, the way the eye-like symbol pierced his gaze and made him uncomfortable. Yes, the slate felt as familiar as sunlight.
But he couldn’t place it. Its memory was a page missing from a book.
One of many, he was beginning to realize.
Link was overwhelmed by a myriad of senses, yet he felt empty. Numb. The eyes saw the door open, the hands felt the soft worn cloth of cotton pants, and the ears heard the noises from the slate, now strapped to the hip.
All the while, a million questions burned through him with the intensity of lightning. One thought crashed into the other, the rusty cogs creaking to life, only to be switched into overdrive. He searched every corner of his mind for truths, but he found none. A name, a voice…a tomb…and then nothing. His mind was an infinite pond of black, inky water soaked in oil. He knew the waters underneath were clear, but he couldn’t sift through the dirty surface enough to see them.
They were words on the tip of his tongue. There, and yet, not. It was infuriating.
From the murky darkness, the light pierced through once again.
...Hold the sheikah slate up to the pedestal. That will show you the way...
How could something he couldn’t see or hear have so much hold over him? Why was he both so elated and so pained to feel her voice resonate with him? Link gripped his chest. He wanted to shout out. To scream. Cry. I know you! Please, tell me who you are!
Then he was blinded by light. It crept in through the door, flooding the room in gold. Warm, comforting, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t her light.
...Link…
Why does she sound so sad?
...You are the light—our light—that must shine upon Hyrule once again. Now go…
And she was gone.
Link stood still as sand, letting the last thought sink in. He could hear birds chirping outside.
She was wrong.
Link was a cold, useless heap of murky water.
She was a shining star. Brilliant, golden and beautiful . A fixed point in the unending darkness.
No, clearly it was she who was the light. Not him.
As the last of her golden warmth faded, his fingertips tingling with a kind of numbness, he took his first step toward the wilderness and surmised three undeniable truths about himself.
My name is Link.
I have no memory of who I am.
I will find whoever that voice belongs to. Even if I have to follow it to the edge of the world.