Chapter Text
Guilt,
It was an ugly accessory, seen only by the eyes of the bearer. It chewed at his mentality greedily, weaving itself through his veins and plunging into his blood with ease.
Failure.
Refusing to let him breath for a moment, it crushed his lungs, stomping violently against his ribs and burrowing deep within his bones.
Selfish..
There was no escaping it anymore.
He'd failed the people too many times, took away their hero and replaced it with a mere doll.
He doesn't know how to fix it, he got rid of Ganon after 100 years of sleep and yet the malice continued to lurk, having never left. The world of Hyrule was a catastrophe not even the goddesses could save.
And it was all Wild's fault.
He knows it, deep down within the pits of his stomach, within the dark cell of his mind and through the eyes of the people. They know his failures, sing it like a prayer and remind him of his faults, of how he should be dead, how he plunged the world they knew into ruin.
He was no hero, he would never be a hero, he was undeserving of the title.
It left him hollow. Guilty. Burdened.
He helped as much as he could to fix his mistakes, but a life of comfort wasn't what he was created for.
But he couldn't remain idle, not when monsters continued to prey on the people of Hyrule.
There's no comfort when the hero couldn't save their world, couldn't return it to its previous state, couldn't save the people.
Pathetic...
Regardless, he continued to slay the creatures lurking, ridding the world of their repulsive nature. The people sent their prayers to the goddesses, praised him with their cruel songs, praised him with their false admiration.
And honestly, he wished for a time where he could be free from their judgement, wished to be beyond their time, wished to be free.
And more than anything,
He wished for
A lonesome death.
But Hylia refused him time and time again, condemning him to a punishment of life. Forcing him to be haunted by ghosts of the past, friends of old and their clutch to life. But in a way, he deserved it, to suffer in his failures, in his guilt, in his mistakes.
It was fine, as long as the others didn't notice. As long as no one mentioned his dawdling mentality.
Perhaps he was condemned to a fate of unjust failure in disguise of heroic actions. Maybe the cruel reasoning for his dragged on life was that his quest was incomplete.
He doesn't know why the goddesses would ever rely on him again, he was a failure. It made less sense as Zelda would tell him of her unease. An unease that burrowed deep within her gut, curling and coiling around her organs and tainting them with merciless fear.
She'd tell him of her dream-like premonitions, clinging to him as though she didn't believe his existence, crying her woes.
She'd explain the shrouds of darkness, clinging to nine figures from eons ago. Purple swirls of despair consuming them, dragging them from families and forcing them into times unknown to them. And for what? She never said, biting her tongue and crying, clinging to him in her weakest moments.
It became a reoccurring dream, something that put her on edge, lurking in her mind like a parasite.
He didn't know how to help her, wasn't made to help with words, but rather action. He was born for the sole purpose of fighting. It was carved into his soul, the action easier than breathing, than talking, than existing. He wasn't made for idle life, pointless conversations, and living.
What use was a hero unable to fight? What use was his existence if everything he knew was snatched away again?
...
He was nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
...
With overwhelming thoughts of self-deprication, he let his emotional turmoil spill into his sword, cutting through the air and piercing the disgusting bokoblin.
That was all he was good for, and even then, he was a failure.
He didn't have anything else other than survival instinct. He doesn't think he could ever live a dormant life.
Hell...
He doesn't even want to live...
...
..
Sighing, he plunged the sword into one last gnarly creature, any remorse for it gone at the idea of it terrorizing the villagers.
Disgusting.
But never quite as disgusting as he was...
...