Archive of Our Own

The powerful Din, flexing her strong arms, kindled flames through her fiery dance and stamped the promised land into being. The wise Nayru, singing an ode, bound the stars to their paths and gave the spirit of law to the world. The courageous Farore, spreading the winds, produced all life forms with her rich soul.

At the birth of the world, all things new and unawakened, the land was not yet given name.

The Goddesses transformed their remnant power into crystals of golden radiance, and the first rain poured its blessing from the clouds. The raindrops fell upon the solid red earth, instantly birthing a flawless vision.

Yet another deity was born betwixt earth and sky, the sacred triangle shining bright at her back. She cradled a lyre in her left hand and wielded a sword in her right, a beaded headdress draped across her brow like suspended tears. With cascading hair and arms like jade, she was resplendent without match.

The three Goddesses rose to their feet with hands clasped, sighing in one voice, "How beautiful!"

Thus this newborn goddess was named Hylia, meaning a thing of beauty. The three Goddesses departed after imparting the golden triangles to her care, and this vast land was hence named for her.

*

The catacombs are long and snaking, torchlight flickering along its walls. The monster, gripping the sword once worn by the human king, found its way here through smell. Its fangs jut out of its mouth, spotted with blood and gore. In this putrid place of darkness, a faint breath of vitality drifts forth somewhere from its depths.

At the hour of twilight, the demon tribe had breached the capitol with a force of merely one thousand, encroaching directly through the palace's main hall. Servants and guards were cut down by blades and arrows, their lifeless eyes reflecting the starry night sky. Long spears and short swords adorned the metallic red carpet, gleaming madly with their brilliance.

Its fellow monsters were either gnawing upon bone and flesh, or killing and burning for sport, or squabbling over treasures. Meanwhile, it mistakenly found its way into the twisting catacombs through some secret entrance, only to realize that it led to an underground prison.

Bats flap and rats scurry in their haste to flee. A haphazard array of metal bars encircles a beast pen. The monster plants its feet before the cell, its vertical slitted pupils emitting an eerie green phosphorescent light, briefly illuminating the prisoner's face.

The man is half-buried in darkness, heavy shackles upon each limb. His chest is largely laid bare, clothing in tatters, barely enough to conceal his body.

"Hey, you hungry?"

He speaks to the monster. That voice had been dead alongside his heart for too long. It revives now, unavoidably hoarse and raspy.

Its prey is so close at hand, free for the slaughter but for the bars in the way. Dragging a long scarlet tongue along its mouth, saliva wells up from the monster's maw, wetting two rows of gleaming white fangs, dripping endlessly onto the ground.

His face drowned beneath a tangled mat of hair, the man's parched lips quiver, his voice somehow crazed with ecstasy. "Come on. Come here, you."

The scaled tail unwittingly sweeps across a lever. A grinding sound rings out, and the jail cell springs open. Unable to bear its hunger with a scrumptious meal so close at hand, the monster unleashes a roar, and dives toward the prisoner.

*

A harsh metallic sound approaches from the distance. A sword's tip scrapes across the ground, leaving a spotted trail of dusk-purple blood. Link drags his steps into the throne room and lifts his eyes to the surroundings. A group of prisoners, granted freedom by him, follows close at his heels.

He is twenty-two, and finally able to lay sunken steel blue eyes upon the sky once more. His lips are lined deep like etched wax, his heart ground away like rusted iron.

Opulent draperies sag to the floor, curled into a dying dragon of scarlet. Concubines and courtesans drank poison to escape defilement; court musicians snapped their strings for their own garrote. Loyal advisors are piled along the steps, and the king's dismembered corpse is strewn by the throne, his neck empty, a bloody hole raw beneath the white sun.

Link turns his head, and averts his gaze.

A long robe lies bonelessly by his feet. The young man lifts it on the point of his sword, and covers the dead face unwilling to shut its eyes.

The robe is embroidered with the royal emblem in gold, saturated with lament and pillage, its color dyed from solemnity to vibrance. If laid upon the corpse, it could still preserve the dead's last dignity.

Link had once fought beneath this man's high-raised banner, had once drawn daggers with him to open their wrists and bleed as one. They had pressed the fresh wounds together, swearing to never betray the other.

But once the ruler sank into the throne's embrace, doubt sprouted within his heart. To say nothing of Link's audacity to debate him before the court as a mere general; in the end he was even unwilling to obey orders to conquer other tribes or expand their borders.

Sensing a perfect opportunity, chancellors and advisors whispered their words, providing excellent excuses. Time passed like water within the dungeon. By the time the shackles binding his limbs finally fell away, the most illustrious eighteenth year of his life had already rushed past.

Since he is dead, the slate is wiped clear.

Leading a battalion of troops, his comrades from ages past charge through the door in time to witness this bone-thin figure hurl his sword at the chalk-white throne. His expression is hidden beneath his untrimmed blond hair, piled before his eyes like a lion's wild mane.

With a screech, the sword falls to the floor snapped in half. Link impatiently wrests the hair from his brow, turning his coal-red gaze to the crowd, scorching them into a trembling mass.

There was no need for words. One man, head bowed, offers Link's old sword on outstretched arms. Countless eyes surround the youth, filled with both awe and fear.

Link's chest rises and falls, exhaling a long stagnant breath. He accepts the sword, the sleeping lion again awakened, unsheathing its teeth and claws.

*

The grand palace, despite having suffered a looting, still retained much wealth. Link directs the remaining troops to scatter the monsters wreaking havoc across the land, then issues emergency orders for his subordinates to remove the remaining treasury from the palace, to be distributed amongst the war-torn populace.

The castle moat seems to enclose a lonesome island. Standing atop the parapet, Link gazes out to the distant mountains' expanse, to the wind's ceaseless chorus.

After these few days, attacks from the demonic tribe have lessened somewhat. Just as they pause for rest and preparations, one man glances toward the horizon and suddenly cries aloud, pointing to the sky.

Link looks up to see what appears to be a person riding on the back of a bright red bird. Casting a silhouette against the sun, too bright to look upon, they come gliding straight toward the earth.

Exclaiming about a monster attack, the soldiers leap into action. As one they aim their bows skyward, yet every arrow snaps as soon as it leaves its string, not a single one nearing their target.

Realizing that this bird and rider are unperturbed by ordinary arrows, something stirs in Link's heart. He holds up his hand, and orders a cease fire to the troops.

A woman leaps off the back of the bird, landing feather-light before the young man.

Bright beads are strung across her brow, yet her eyes are more radiant than the pearls, her lips virginal, unadorned by paint. Her hair hangs heavy past her knees, as if spun from a rain of half-melted gold. Her skirts coalesce into a flurry of snow, brushing the ground yet not dissolving away.

Her beauty is without measure, a beauty of the ages, impossible to achieve without divinity.

Seeing the disquiet within the crowd, she announces herself: "Everyone, I am the White Goddess, Hylia."

The giant crimson bird stoops beside the goddess, its head raised high for her melodic introduction. "And this is the messenger of the gods, the Loftwing."

The crowd bursts into uproar.

The Loftwing scoffs, wings bristling, and speaks in a human tongue: "You see, Hylia, they are so fearful they cannot even distinguish between gods and demons. All they know is how to brainlessly resist! Humans are no more than this, so pathetic that they are not worth my aid!"

Link's expression darkens. He retorts in a raised voice: "Loftwing, we have battled to this day, and the prices we've paid in blood are not for you to belittle. You may be a messenger of the gods, but it's overly arrogant of you to underestimate mankind!"

The giant bird pierces him with an unerring glare. "And who might you be?"

The young man takes a step forward, matching its assessing gaze. "I am Link."

He speaks like a clarion's call: "Compared to gods, humans are indeed small and insignificant. But we do not lack in courage and tenacity!"

"Hmph, we'll see about that," the Loftwing spits unyieldingly, then turns its head and begins preening its flame-red plumage with its bright yellow beak.

"Link." The goddess repeats the word, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Your name... its meaning should be 'rain'."¹

He startles momentarily, lips pursed. Yet she brings forth a gentle smile, and says, "Hero of this land... I've met you at last."

Seeing Hylia's outstretched hand, Link grasps it in a careless grip. The sensation in his palm is as of cupping a cascade from the heavens, soft yet colorless.

*

A goddess descends upon the world, residing in the same city as the races that serve her. This miraculous news lifted depressed morales, and brought insuppressible joy to the citizens.

The previous king had once sworn to erect a marble statue of the Goddess in the center of the capitol. Due to its enormous scale, much manpower and resources had been wasted, yet it was never finished even up till the demon tribe's invasion.

Yet now the people organize and volunteer themselves, their hearts and efforts united to complete the statue's construction. Hearing of this news, Link makes no move to prevent it. In this chaotic world with folks scattered to the winds, the worship of deities may not be able to fill empty bellies, but it was at least a balm to the stray homeless souls.

He returns his sword to its sheath, and spots her entering the city barefoot. Scores of people kneel upon the ground, pressing their foreheads into the dirt trodden by divinity, shouting in tears or in laughter: we have received the aid of the Goddess; we are beloved by the Goddess; truly the Goddess would not abandon her children.

Tracing his fingers along the grooves of his sword hilt, Link mutters to himself, regarding the nearby worshippers who kowtow till their foreheads bleed, "...Merely bowing and praying won't be enough to drive the monsters out of here."

"Indeed. Amongst all men, you are the most qualified to say so." He doesn't know when she'd appeared by his side, her gown like snow and hair like gold, footsteps light as a feather.

"Link, I have a query, for which I seek your answer." Hylia bites her lip in thought, the gap between her brows narrowing. "These people were not birthed or nurtured by me, so why do they view me as their mother?"

Link glances at her and casually replies, "Don't worry about it. Most of our kind claim themselves as descendants of the Goddess."

Hearing this, Hylia tilts her head, looking deep in thought. "Indeed I did linger long upon this world, but I've never coupled with any human, so how could I have left offspring upon the earth?"

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Link could only patiently explain, "Those are only legends from the various tribes, mostly borrowing your name to prove their own bloodline's worth. Do not take them at face value."

The goddess tosses him a smile. Looking to him, she says aloud, "Link, the reason I came to find you is to bestow upon you a sword. Its name is the Blade of Evil's Bane.

"This sword was once created by the gods, and usable only by the gods. But I know, you are the only one who can unleash its full potential, something not even the gods can achieve."

Gazing at his stoic face, Hylia asks softly, "Link, I would grant you the Blade of Evil's Bane. Are you willing to accept?"

The longer Link listens, the tighter his heavy brows knit. Rows of wrinkles cross his forehead, the line of his lips thin as a leaf.

After a momentary silence, Link replies in a low voice, "O Goddess, I was long imprisoned, and my body is tainted. What right have I to touch such a sacred sword?"

The Goddess's heavy lashes droop and quiver, her expression suddenly dark.

"Link, you are absolutely not tainted." Hylia raises her eyes to him, her words sharp and clear. "The sword and I know better than anyone."

Link huffs out a laugh, pointing out to her the stone rings hanging from his ears. "I was once a slave, lowly and filthy, with countless kills to my name—You do not mind even a person such as this?"

Standing slightly shorter than Link in height, Hylia needs only to slightly incline her head for her lips to brush the stone rings that pierce his earlobes. The goddess's breath flits across the hero's cheeks from left to right, neglecting neither.

Holding his sapphire gaze, she etches her words like stone: "So what if you were a slave? My trust lies in your integrity, unaffected by worldly matters. You need not die upon this hill. From now on, these shall become the symbol of a hero."

Link touches a hand to his ear, a light dawning in his eyes. Unwittingly he sighs, "What you've said sounds more like an oath."

Hylia nods, and answers him without a doubt, "Words spoken by a deity shall become an oath."

Shoulders sagging, Link at last abandons all his protests. If there is no denying this constant power, then he can only accept this path wholeheartedly.

*

The sword bequeathal ceremony takes place beneath the castle that same day. Under the eyes of the crowd, Hylia recites a benediction, using some type of ancient, long-lost intonation, sounding akin to a ritual hymn.

"Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight—
O Hero of this land, this sword shall be bound to your side as fate itself.
Beginning from the blessing rain, ending with the flames of war."

A glacial silence from the crowd. Link casts a glance around himself, sensing he is the only one who understands her words. She extends one hand from her sleeve, a signet of jade upon her finger, lingering before his eyes like a bird alighting with folded wings.

The Goddess's blessing concluded, the Hero sweeps his cape aside, and drops to one knee. He bows his head, his lips brushing not her skin, but the jewel adorning her middle finger that receives this immaterial kiss in her stead.

He raises his head, stretches out both arms, and accepts the sword from her hand at last.

The crowd cheers like thunder, while Link stares mesmerized at the Blade of Evil's Bane. Grey-blue wings unfurl to become the cross-guard of the sword; the blade is keen and bright, so radiant it is hard to look upon directly.

The motion of raising his arm extended to the wound on his back, the not-yet healed flesh tearing open once again. A wince flashes across the young man's face before vanishing. Her eyes, trailing him, does not miss that one moment.

*

The night wind outside the tent slithers past like snakes. The firelight within the tent is colored like ripe honey, swaying ceaselessly with just a shake from the tent flap.

Without a single sign, Link recognizes her presence. It must be an awareness that comes from within body and soul, like two halves of a whole seeking out each other.

The mortal tilts his head ever so slightly toward the deity, his gaze deep but still. Black-tinged blood trickles from his shoulder down his back. He turns back and says nothing, his torso bare and sturdy.

She says softly, "Your wound from back then has yet to heal, am I correct?"

Her tone is firm and assured, as if she already knows the answer. Link remains silent, neither confirming nor denying.

Back then, trapped in the cell, he wagered his life for a chance to break free of his manacles. Though he had successfully killed the monster and claimed its weapon, his back was unable to avoid deep gouges from the sharp claws. The wound has been slow to heal, remaining raw and open to this day.

But he had no thought to spare for its care, the situation at the time dire as it was.

She falls silent, caressing him with eyes and hand alike.

His body is lean as if sculpted from stone, tinged with some remnant of youth, no patch of skin unmarred from horrific battle wounds. There is no erasing the old scars, already stiff and pale from the passing of years.

Hylia removes her fingertip, a glow fading into her palm. "I have dispelled the toxin. But the wound is still deep; you must treat it with care."

Paying it no mind, he carelessly responds, "I could've toughed it out. It'll be fine once it scabs."

From the moment of his birth, Link was marked as a slave. In this life he possessed nothing more than his reflection in water, and left nothing more than footprints in sand. Like the brand of a rancher upon the pelt of his livestock, his pierced and damaged ears are the imprints left by a life of slavery.

As soon as the boy could lift a wooden spear, the tip of the lash had menacingly dangled between his bare shoulder blades, herding him onto the coliseum arena. From savage beasts to bloodthirsty monsters, he had fought for his life through countless battles, all for the entertainment of nobles.

In order to survive to this day, his body has borne countless new wounds and old scars. Since the injury on his back was nowhere near fatal, an extra few days of pain was no matter.

Her palms are filled with coolness, overlaid upon his goosefleshed skin, pressing down with the weight of an accusation. "So you just leave it to freely bleed?"

Link laughs soundlessly, his shoulders shaking. He turns his head, his gaze like sharp blades, his words like dull knives, all hurled mercilessly together towards Hylia. "What of it? I've shed plenty enough blood; this bit won't be missed."

A mournful mist spreads from the goddess's eyes to her face, yet she still looks blithely self-unaware. "...I know."

Hylia catches the dull blade barehanded, and flips it back into Link's palm. "But you are only mortal. When all your blood has been shed, you will die."

She sets her gaze on him with such deep caring that it's impossible to avoid the illusion of being loved by her. Link turns his head aside, at a sudden loss for words.

By the time he can look straight at her again, it's only in time to see Hylia grow still into a stained, faded painting. Her colors peel away in turns, then her lines gradually withdraw, and at last her form vanishes entirely into the air.

Link sighs softly, and presses a hand to his temple, feeling as if a thorn had buried itself into his chest unawares, grinding a dull ache into his heart.

*

Hylia had only left for a few days when Link began feeling out of sorts, the symptom worsening by the day. Her pensive afterimage stings at his thoughts, like an orphaned rose spreading its brambles across the wilds. She seems everywhere at once, yet impossible to miss.

Bird and man having cohabitated for so long, reluctant though the Loftwing may be, it still takes Link upon its back. They soar low over the city, surveying the vast land. Streaks of black cracks split the topsoil in a dense array, spreading out like spiderwebs.

Link asks Hylia's whereabouts, acting casual. Haughtily, the red-winged emissary answers that Hylia has gone to visit her friends of old. The young man's lips flutter, but does not ask further.

Sometimes he actually loses the nerve to lay eyes upon that newly-completed marble Goddess statue. That grand and solemn figure, with its wings folded behind its back, a matronly smile upon its immaculate face, is nothing like her at all.

Or perhaps because the sculptors' work is so distant from her, the people only revere the deity, rather than adore the deity.

The Loftwing beats its wings into the distance. Link walks to the Goddess statue, and finds a white-haired roaming minstrel at its feet. Back in the days when he was still under the kingdom's employ, he had been close acquaintances with the old man due to a shared love of music.

A few children are seated around the bard, but they scatter with giggles at the sight of his arrival. With one look at him, the old man's expression fills with surprise and asks, "What's all this then? You seem to have dropped half your heart somewhere."

Link ponders for a moment, then states his intentions without pretense. "Recently I keep thinking of someone, and so a song arose within my heart.

"I wish to cheer her heart with this song, but I am not good with words, so I can only perform it for her on the instrument. Being an amateur, I come seeking your guidance."

Stroking the long beard beneath his chin, the minstrel asks with interest, "I've never seen you spend your thoughts on such matters. Tell me, who's your girl that you want to play for?"

The young man wavers, and says ruefully, "How can she be my girl? Please do not make fun at my expense."

Seeing his expression, the old man's heart wrenches, though his face reveals nothing. "Then what reason have you to seek her delight?"

Link hesitates, and explains honestly, "I lost my temper at her, yet she was never at fault."

The young man pulls out his ocarina. This melody has swirled through his mind day and night, and now it rises from his lips. Upon hearing the song, the traveling minstrel bursts into peals of laughter, sending his cradled harp's twelve strings into ripples.

The bard finally stops laughing, wiping away tears at the corners of his eyes. "Goddesses above, what have you composed if not a love song? Child, why do you deceive your own heart!"

Momentarily mortified, Link contends, "Please don't be absurd, I had no such intention. Besides, she is not someone who can be profaned by romance."

A light sparks in the clouded gaze of the aged minstrel, like a candle shining clear through the veiled emotions within Link's soul. "And if even a Goddess does not necessarily think so?"

The young man still attempts to protest, but the minstrel is already shaking his grey, wispy head. "I can tell, your eyes are always following her, a shadow chasing the sun that only rests in the night."

Link does not respond for a long time, his gaze drifting unconsciously.

*

As for the one in his thoughts, she currently stands upon the clouds, her head raised to converse with a giant white-whiskered whale.

"Drought from the heavens parches the land, while monsters run amok... If my suspicions are not wrong, then Demise will soon break free of his seal. If he awakens, then he will seek me first for his blade."

Hylia closes her eyes and smiles. "I have already paid a visit to the three dragons. With them guarding the earth, and your sentinel in the sky, I can rest assured."

"Then what of Your Grace?" the sky spirit asks worriedly. The giant whale's voice is like an old man bent with age. Deep green vines twine along his sides, a few shaken loose from the movement.

The deity's expression remains placid, delicate like a summer snow or a winter bloom. "Do not worry, Levias. I shall spend all my effort to stop Demise, even if we mutually perish."

Having concluded her words, the goddess bows. "Levias, I leave everything to you."

Thunder and lightning skim past his body from time to time. The giant whale that swims through rainclouds dips his long snout and rumbles, "Fear not, I shall fulfill my duty."

She inclines her head and says, "Then, farewell."

Hylia is about to depart when she comes to a sudden halt. She murmurs to herself, "...This is the sound from his ocarina."

The sound of the wind blows the rain into song. The sound of the flute is melancholy and soulful, stirring the snowy hem of her ankle-length skirt. Hylia follows this spiraling trail, each note a stepping stone towards Link below the clouds.

Before long, Link's figure appears before her eyes. Eyes half-closed, his fingers dance over the ocarina. A pure-white doe fearlessly approaches, and lies down at his side.

The music pauses. Link pulls out a piece of honey candy from his pouch, unwraps the leaf around it and feeds it to the doe. The white deer buries its face into the young man's open palm, licking him until he chuckles aloud from the ticklish sensation.

Draped in pale white, the goddess arrives at the young man's side. The doe flicks its ears and raises its head. It studies her with its jet-black eyes, and bleats aloud.

Hearing the sound, Link turns his head, looking toward her along with the deer. Shock and shyness flicker in turn across the young man's face, his tune falling into disarray.

Grass stalks rustle and sway, scattering pale green seeds to the winds. Hylia sits in their midst, using her fingers to comb through the deer's glossy pelt.

The doe adoringly rests its head upon the Goddess's knee. She allows it free rein, and says softly to Link, "This little one loves listening to you play."

He rubs the back of his neck, and bashfully replies, "I'm not so sure about that. I started playing and it just showed up."

Actually he had been thinking of her, using the ocarina to recite the song he composed for her. He had not expected her to arrive just now, much less sitting down by his side.

The goddess's lips curl with the hint of a smile. She asks in a hushed voice, "That song just now, would you play it once more for me?"

Avoiding her gaze, Link agrees with a hasty nod.

The notes crystallize in the wind and scatter onto the grass, sparkling like gems. The melody drifts like fine waves on the sea, rolling dazzlingly in the last rays of twilight.

*

His song concluded, Link lowers the ocarina in time to see Hylia move even closer to him, her eyes sparkling. "What a beautiful melody. What is its name?"

He ducks his gaze away from her clear, earnest eyes, and answers shyly, "Hylia's... I mean, the Goddess's Ballad."

Seeing her raised brow, Link senses a misstep, and awkwardly shifts the topic. "It's all thanks to this ocarina that I did not die of madness in the dungeons."

"In those four years, when I really felt like I couldn't go on, I'd play the ocarina. Whatever tune, it didn't matter," he says, fingers unconsciously rubbing at the instrument's holes. "At least music is free, and cannot be caged by anyone."

Hearing this, Hylia's expression darkens with a frown. "...You should never have been imprisoned."

Link lets out a self-deprecating chuckle, the dampness of the cell resurging in his heart. "I was sentenced to imprisonment for arrogance and defying orders from the king. But I did indeed tell the king to his face that I would never fight for him again.

"Because I did not wish to attack other tribes, and was not willing to abduct their people to make them our slaves.

"Overthrow the old king, and crown a new king. But new or old, every king is the same! It's all still one group of people oppressing another group of people. Slaves live and die as slaves, while the wealthy remain wealthy for generations."

Fire in his eyes, Link clenches the hand hanging at his side into a fist. "I fought, I bled, all in the hopes that others will no longer suffer. Not so that a different group of people can suffer what I went through."

Hylia covers his curled hand with a gentle caress. His ten fingers are dense with calluses from long years of reins and weaponry. Though the finger bones are still slender, they are bent and misshapen from multiple fractures.

For the first time, Link looks straight upon her face, the whites of his eyes webbed with tangled threads of red. He had grown up on the coliseum arena, where bloodstains never dried. The strands of scarlet seeped into his vision, never able to be wiped away.

"When I was little, I always wondered - if we are all the same humans, why are some born with not a coin to their name, while others want for nothing without even a struggle? They say that fate is granted by the heavens, but what is destiny good for!

"Only a long time later did I understand - we never counted as men, merely livestock that can speak human words. So what if a few get injured or killed! If we leave behind a good-looking corpse, we can even earn a few extra drops of tears from our masters.

"Later they made me a gladiator... I didn't want to die, so I had to make others die. Having lived up to now, I don't even remember how many I've killed."

Link clenches his teeth, agony written across his face, baring a depth like the fractured face of a crystal. Though he is still young in age, he gives the impression of being far more weathered.

He turns his eyes away from her, and murmurs as if to himself, "How can someone like me not be deserving of death?"

"Look at me, Link."

Hylia grips his hand tight, her eyes clear and bright. She speaks purposefully, each word hammering against his chest. "It was not your own will to take the lives of others. Link, you do not deserve death, nor should you denigrate yourself."

She expresses neither pity nor indignation, only serving as a lake that mirrors one's reflection. He finds his own reflection within her eyes, infusing his burning white-hot heart with a long-lost peace. How incredible it is.

A silence weaves between the two of them. She takes the initiative to break it. "Do you hate them?" Seemingly a simple question, yet its meaning unclear.

He smiles bitterly, and speaks without artifice: "I've hated them."

Link hangs his head, his words unconsciously cold. "I hated him, hated them, and naturally I've hated you... my Goddess. You see, I am no saint, nor am I free of resentment."

—O merciful and holy Goddess Hylia. If you exist alongside the earth and the sky, and love every being equally without bias, then why am I alone not worthy of your compassion?

Previously he had resentfully shouted at her like this.

—From the bottom of my heart I pray for you to grant me a death, even one as pathetic and insignificant as a bug's, to me it would still be a release.

But she has never heard his prayers. Not even once.

Sorrow hangs between Hylia's brows. "You have the right to hate me."

Link's head snaps up, and declares with steel-forged resolve: "No. This fate in the end belongs to me. Directing anger toward you is a coward's path.

"That's why all this time I've wanted to apologize to you. That day, I shouldn't have gotten angry at you. I blamed you for the unfairness I suffered, but you were only urging me to treat my wounds."

Eyes connected, the two of them speak no more words. The white deer lows, and rises to its feet. Spreading its slender legs, it bounds into the distance.

After a long moment, Hylia suddenly smiles. "As punishment for your offense... Link, would you listen to a tune from me?"

*

Hearing those words, Link's heart floods with relief and then warmth, while Hylia hurriedly explains, "Earlier I was in too much haste, and forgot I should have told you to your face - actually I had not been angry with you."

She ticks on her fingers, with an air of childishness: "The fire dragon, Eldin, the water dragon, Faron, and the thunder dragon, Lanayru. I rushed off to see them in order to impart some things."

A dreamy expression on her face, Hylia muses, "When we first met, they were still young, rampaging at will and causing harm to mortals. I was very angry, so I battled with the three of them. After my victory, they did indeed learn some manners."

She chuckles. "But that was long ago—now they've all grown up."

A strand of golden hair drifts from her nape to her chest. Hylia brushes it aside, her words distant. "It's been so long since I've played the lyre. How nostalgic it is. Back then I took the name Zelda, and walked upon this earth."

"Zelda?" Link quirks an eyebrow.

"Yes." She tips her head, a hint of glee in her words. "That way I could walk more freely. I do not wish to be worshipped and idolized at every turn."

The goddess summons a kithara lyre with a wave of her hand and straightens it, preparing to play. The instrument perches upon her knee, and the young man startles to find himself actually jealous of it.

He is about to speak, but Hylia raises a finger to her lips, the sight tugging at his heart.

"Shh—

"Link, listen."

Pressing the strings with her left hand, the fingers of her right hand sweep over the chords. Rays of light carve out her lithe silhouette, her draping sleeves seemingly ready to take flight in the evening breeze.

The sound of the lyre suddenly grows in volume, their surroundings hushed into transparency. The sky leans down upon the earth, listening together with him.

She must've been long accustomed to playing the lyre alone in the wilds, bathing in the mountain winds and valley rains. Each musical phrase overflows with richness, echoes with melancholy, and yet is laden with an exuberant, passionate power.

From the start of the melody, Link could tell that Hylia was playing the song he composed for her from the end back to the beginning. As such, it became a song she sends him in return.

*

Before the notes could dissipate, two sets of feathered lashes quiver, and Hylia's eyes spring open. The silver strings simultaneously snap, and she folds at the waist, sagging into his side. The beaded chain slips from her hair, falling like dejected leaves.

In shock, Link reaches out and steadies Hylia, his heart drowning in concern. Her hair pours across his chest like water, her drooped face just in place to taste his heartbeat.

She is as delicate as nothing, like light withering away. Out of instinct he draws his arm close, but in the next instant, she fades from his arms and hands, leaving only the chill fragrance of crushed ice.

In a panic, he asks urgently, "Are you all right?"

The goddess smiles at him, indicating that she's fine. Her lips have lost the brilliance of a fresh bloom, the whiteness of a moon short of full.

"The flesh and blood of a god is immortal. I used my flesh as the lure and music as the bail, and thus I was able to set a barrier between heaven and earth, impenetrable by evil power."

"Did I scare you?" she asks apologetically.

Link shakes his head slowly, but his eyes remain on her, unwilling to relax. "Though I'm not sure why you need to sacrifice yourself to this extent, but—"

"You once said, I am only a mortal." Link adds, "Yet you are only a god, is that not so?"

Immersed in the young man's striking eyes, Hylia is briefly at a loss. The deity's expressive eyes are now mute, only ripples of light swaying within.

And then the drawbridge falls, the castle gate agape. She admits her defeat without a shred of remorse. "Ah, you are correct. I've been struck by my own spear."

She patiently eases apart his tightly clenched fingers, her smile like the dawn upon snow. "But mortals have things mortals must do, and gods have things gods must do."

Link says nothing more. He leans down and retrieves the beaded chain, setting it once more upon the goddess's hair.

Her eyes are like twin lotuses at the center of a lake. In this moment he is reflected within her eyes, this pristine flower blossoming for him alone.

Gazing at her, he can't help but marvel: "It suits you very much."

Delightedly she replies, "Thank you for your compliment. The original meaning of my divine name is 'a thing of beauty'."

Link glances at the kithara at her side, seemingly remembering something, and asks Hylia, "Can you teach me this melody?"

Slight surprise appears on Hylia's face. "I thought you had already learned it," she murmurs.

Link has indeed already engraved the melody into his every breath and heartbeat, but he says to her, "I've not memorized it yet. So if you would, please play it again."

Hylia shows no suspicion upon her face, only fixing Link with a lingering stare. The pools of her eyes ripple with blue, as clear as crystal.

The evening breeze stirs her white silk and golden hair. The goddess smiles and gently promises him: "You may hear it as many times as you want. If you request it, then I will play for you."

"Because this is your wish, so I shall grant it for you."

Link allows himself to be lost for a moment, to wordlessly enjoy this lucid moment as brief as a lifetime. He drinks up Hylia's form with his eyes, so that he can eternally brand her into his heart.

*

From that day on, whenever Link leaves the city walls, it is shoulder-to-shoulder with Hylia. He stands guard at her side with sword in hand, a silent audience to her performance in the woods in order to strengthen the barrier.

Three times this went on, until the final time, Hylia gathers up the harptones scattered across the ground. She breathes a sigh, and finally unveils to Link the reason for all that she's done. She actually plans for mankind to evacuate to the sky.

"As a relic left by the Goddesses of creation, the Triforce is close to the foundational codes of this world." After a moment lost in thought, Hylia continues calmly. "Yet the code does not distinguish between good or evil. How it is used depends wholly on the one who wields it." 

Hylia's brows furrow deeply as she points out to Link the widespread cracks along the earth. "The monsters are unusually active now, because the Endbringer² belowground is about to awaken."

"The Endbringer came about as a manifestation of the world's evils. Four thousand year ago, I had an exhaustive battle with him, but I was unable to destroy him entirely, and could only seal him away for a time."

The goddess's brows sag as she touches a hand to her breast. "Back then I was too careless of my opponent, and took a blow from his sword. I spent all my divine power to seal him, but I was forced to return to the sky."

"The Endbringer is single-minded on acquiring the relic of the gods. On the day he reappears in the world, he is sure to immolate everything in the flames of evil."

Hylia strokes the sword lying across her palm, her touch gentle and adoring. "I shall use the Blade of Evil's Bane to cleave the earth and create a floating island, and it shall become the pillar that supports the island in the sky."

Link's heart clenches. Unable to help himself, he asks, "Then what of you?"

Hylia answers, "I shall remain upon the earth with the other races, until the time to seal the demon arrives."

When the goddess and Link stood together before the Goddess statue and announced this decision to the masses, she also spoke calmly like this.

"My children, take up residence in the sky. The Demon's hand cannot reach you there. Worry not, the spirits of the sky shall protect you in my stead. You will be able to flourish beyond the sea of clouds."

"The City in the Sky, a city of mirage—"

The goddess's figure is slender to begin with, but with a breath from the wind, she appears ever more frail as a shadow. Gazing over the crowd, she breathes a sigh, as if in joy or in sorrow. "I only hope you can establish happy lives above the clouds."

Hylia turns her head to look into the young man's eyes, her voice deep as a dream. "Link, is this what you longed for - a world without inequality, and a world without slavery?"

*

That night, a festive celebration spreads into every corner. But even the effects of the festivities can only last for so long, in the end unable to hold back the reminder of a deep melancholy.

Because not long from now, like an infant leaving the womb, they will have to bid farewell to this vast and beautiful land, and make the trek to an unknown world.

The wandering minstrel's white hair is tousled, his face beet-red. Swinging a bottle from his left hand, he drapes his right arm across Link's shoulder and asks, "Did you catch your girl?"

Nearly suffocating from the stink of alcohol, Link pushes him aside. Heaving a sigh, he admits in resignation, "She was never my girl, but I cannot help but shadow her footsteps."

The elderly bard sprays a booze-filled breath, the wrinkled web of his face breaking into a drunken grin. "Foolish boy! Then let me sing you a song."

The old man takes a cross-legged seat on the ground. He clears his throat and strikes up a chord, singing an age-old serenade.

"My beloved beauty, your hair is like a rain cloud, drenching my heart.
In dreams I feast on your radiance, but when I wake you've left me behind.
See the rain that pours from the sky, they are all my tears that spill for you."

His voice is far younger than his face. Twelve copper strings tremble soulfully, as if a pair of enchanting lips, affixed to the listener's ears, are chanting a love song unchanged since antiquity.

Though his song concludes, the notes still quivering through the air, the bard has yet to sober. He gives Link a shove, and urges, "Go, tell her how you feel. Maybe she's waiting for you even now."

But Hylia has never waited for him. Within her hands, the kithara sings a lengthy song as beautiful and moving as a rose. She is a moon that has forgotten the changing of phase, her skirts full of soft light and encircling her by the bonfire.

Flames soar and kindling chatters. Neither feasting nor drinking, she focuses only on playing for the young couples, dressed in colorful costumes, who pour out their feelings through their dance.

Link does not seek her out either. He remains seated in a corner, tipping down drinks to the sound of her lyre. The clear-brewed alcohol trickles down his neck and soaks into his collar. Flushed with liquor, he cannot help mindlessly humming the serenade from the minstrel earlier.

*

The newly-fermented wine is thick as blood, burning a hole through stomach and heart alike. Link lies alone in his tent, drifting in and out of sleep. Having had a few extra cups tonight, he is thoroughly weighed down in inebriation.

The broken sound of footsteps approaching; a hemp skirt swaying pure white. An unfamiliar but warm body steals near, the sensation of hair like spun-gold sweeping weightlessly across his eyes.

At their first meeting, the chain of beads had draped across her brow like a rain of tears, and now they seem to jingle right by his ears. Link unknowingly sinks into a trance, tempted to reach out for a caress.

The aroma of hair wax drifts through the air, mundane and earthly, incomparable to her natural fragrance.

"You're not her." Link comes to his senses, revulsion filling his chest. He twists away from the arms purposefully twined around his waist, the force of liquor behind his words.

But no matter how dazed his senses, he never forgets to conceal the true name hidden in his heart, for it is not to be spoken by mundane tongues.

Her extended fingertip had never been rushed with passion. The gown that drapes her form is pristine and soft like silk, like gauze. Music rises like curled smoke from the array of strings; she plucks the kithara with a smile, and has never encroached upon his bedroll.

"Begone! You're not her!" Caught in a sudden agony, Link roars in anger. He rises with a shove, his eyes alight with flames. His low growl bursts like a tapestry split from the loom, then falls into hushed silence.

She was not Hylia.

How many undeniable feelings and fears had he fought so hard to conceal to this day, now finally unveiled by his own hand.

The girl sits on the floor bawling into her hands, her bosom half uncovered beneath her blouse, a fledgling dove exposing a row of white feathers beneath her wing. Perhaps he should have sired five children with her, and died of old age in her arms.

Yet he has no desire to view her face, much less find out where she came from.

Link helps the girl fix her blouse, trying to sooth her with the tone of a father or brother, not looking at her while he speaks. Only until she has left the tent and faded into the distance did he feel his splitting headache. He bites his lip until it bleeds, secretly swearing to never again touch alcohol, regardless of strength or quality.

Previously he had heard of the old customs, where some brazen mothers, in an attempt to elevate their bloodlines, will send their fresh-faced daughters into heroes' beds under the cover of night. Of course there were also daring girls who venture forth of their own volition, like farmers seeking top-quality seeds before sowing their fields.

Having just met one, he has no choice but to believe it at last.

*

A cool drizzle moistens Link's burning brow. Through the haze, Hylia's lone figure appears before his eyes. Her long hair sweeps into a tapestry of woven gold, while she coalesces in the night like a misty cloud.

The goddess asks worriedly, "Link, are you well?"

A bitter taste in his mouth, he can only shake his head.

Hylia takes a step toward him, but hesitates for a minute before saying in a low voice, "...But I hear you weeping."

Link starts at her words, unconsciously raising his hand to wipe at his red-stained eyes. Yet they are hot and arid as a desert, the springs of tears long since run dry.

She states bemusedly, "It is your heart that weeps."

The goddess's sight upon the hero is like a smokeless flame, her gaze piercing a hole through the left side of his half-bared chest. The longer it burns, the more unbearable his scorching pain.

Link comes to his senses, hopelessly aware. He had already long ago carved out his own heart as an offering on her altar.

As if having taken an unsuspecting stab from her, his chest burns with the pain of gushing blood. Steeling himself, Link offers a polite thanks to the goddess. Then he takes a step back, turns, and returns to his tent alone.

Hylia stands futilely outside the tent, about to say something but stopping again, feeling as if the departed young man is more than ever like a wounded beast.

He would rather take a head-on blow from a bloodthirsty spear, running him through from front to back, than to express out loud how he is willing to die for her.

If that were all, then it could be left at that, but he actually dares to dream that she could love him, like any man in the world dreams of the woman he longs for.

Is that not the most unforgivable sin?

As he tosses and turns, the sound of a lyre drifts from somewhere like glistening starlight, scattering again without a trace as soon he attempts to listen close.

That night, Link falls into a delirious dream, where he is following someone, roaming at the birth of the world.

Who was it that once wielded him, swung him, cradled him? Who was it that released him and left him behind? Who was it that loitered in the forest with hair unbound, who lifted their skirts to wade through dappled sunlight, and whose voice was it that originally granted him his name, with such tenderness, with such serenity?

—Link. I shall bestow upon you the name Link. The meaning of this name is the rain; you shall descend from the sky unto the earth, connecting the two that have been separated since antiquity. No matter when or where you are reborn, my eyes will always be upon you.

The sights and sounds in his dream are like scattered fragments of a steel heart. No matter how he searches, he cannot distinguish their shapes.

*

In what time there is remaining, Link leads troops to all corners of the land. They dispel the remaining monsters, as well as gather the scattered peoples into one place, in preparation for their journey into the sky.

Hylia treats him the same as ever, but Link begins purposefully dodging her gaze, yet still unavoidably wanting to lock away the sight of her into his own eyes.

One evening on the verge between spring and summer, Link walks alone to water his horse by the lakeside. She tiptoes up behind his back, but the lake's surface prematurely betrays to him her white-gold reflection. He clearly knows her intentions, but still allows that pair of palms, cool as soft jade, to cover his eyes.

"I've caught you," the deity breathes at the edge of mortal ears. Sleek strands of hair brush past newly-knit scabs on his face, leaving behind an intoxicating hint of agony.

She looks to him for answers, an innocent confusion upon her face. "Link, why are you never willing to look at me directly?"

Seeing Link's refusal to speak, Hylia sighs helplessly. She lowers her hands and commands him, "First hold out your hand, then open your eyes."

Link does as she asks, only to see a flower wreath drop into his palm, fragrant and fresh. He stares at it with wide-eyed astonishment. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Beyond the wreath, the goddess flashes him a pristine smile, her countenance bright as alabaster.

Hylia says unhurriedly, "You are my Hero, therefore I crown you thus."

Her lips curl in a slight arc, her face clear and lovely. "My Hero, I grant you this token of spring's final glory, my only wish that you would not evade my gaze."

So obediently the hero bows his head to his goddess, allowing her to straighten his flower crown. She steps close to him, her intentions innocent, her natural fragrance trapping him helplessly.

His hair spreads loose over his shoulders like a golden lion, dotted inbetween with woven flowers. The green-garbed hero's eyes gleam bright, suddenly looking unusually youthful.

Hylia gazes purposefully at Link, until he turns his head, the back of his ears faintly red. Only then does she reveal a heartfelt smile.

"Please accept it. These are flowers for Link gifted from Hylia, and also flowers from me to you."

Flower petals scatter loose with the wind, gliding past Link's burning ears, still fragrant with remnant warmth. He has no desire to remove it - even a rightfully-granted crown cannot compare with the loveliness of this simple flower ring.

His heart overflowing its banks like a rain-swollen river, Link blurts out unthinkingly: "If they could be preserved forever, how nice it would be."

The goddess lowers her eyes, the flowers buried in her voice wilting alongside the flowers beneath her touch. "I am sorry, Link. Even for me, that is impossible."

Link is silent for a moment before responding with a smile. "No need for your apology; it was merely a moment of greed from me."

He tries to take back the wreath from Hylia's hand, but his fingers close on nothing. A wind carrying the damp scent of rain sweeps by, and deftly steals it away.

The goddess exclaims softly and makes a grab for it, but somehow could not catch it. Chasing the wreath, she breaks into a run.

He hears her laughter ring out, overflowing with joy, probably already aware that this is a practical joke from the fairies within the woods.

The wreath darts high and low through the air, twirling and lingering but never landing, like a dancing butterfly taken wing. Behind the wreath is her; behind her is him.

Her running profile is like a streaming river, white gown flowing unhindered, golden hair rippling in the breeze. She glimmers in the yawning dusk, her laughter like fireworks.

*

The wreath makes a bored loop, as if feeling weary, and floats lingering by Hylia's hand. The goddess clasps it and returns it to Link's hands. The night wind has tousled the petals and leaves into slight disarray, but in his eyes they are still as vibrant as ever.

As if enchanted by the resplendent colors of twilight, Hylia turns and walks toward a sharp cliff. She comes to a graceful stop to stand at the cliff edge.

Without looking back, the goddess opens her arms to the setting sun, letting her voice scatter into the wind. "From the day I was born from the falling rain, I fell in love with this land... so I will never allow it to be trampled or ruined."

Hylia faces the distance, and says softly, "I will not return to the sky again.

"Regardless of the outcome of this battle, the era of gods is already coming to a close. Just as you said, destiny means nothing; one wields their fate within their own hands.

"My divine power has already diminished, and the children of men have no more need to worship me. I would even rather be forgotten entirely.

"Link, did you know? I've actually been afraid all along. I fear that I cannot protect the Triforce, and fear even more that you all would perish due to my decisions."

She is clearly close within hand's reach, yet again distant as the horizon. Link is about to walk up, but at last stops behind Hylia, merely watching her from afar.

Rubbing the wreath in his hand, the young man quietly gives voice to his thoughts: "I will never forget you."

He ponders for a moment, then continues, "So... don't be afraid. I will protect you, and protect all that's beloved by you."

"Link, how should I thank you?"

Hylia turns back to meet his gaze, and Link drinks in the longing and tenderness flowing from her eyes. One has not truly lived without having been intoxicated by those eyes.

The goddess conceals one hand behind her back, putting on a mysterious air. "Apart from the flower crown, I have one more gift for you, as thanks for all your help up to now."

Link inclines his head with a smile, waiting quietly as she takes out a shield and solemnly delivers it into his hands. Its edges are gilded silver, its surface deep blue, its material hard and sturdy without equal. Upon it is etched an emblem of triangles in dark gold, and adorned with the crest of a crimson bird with wings displayed.

She says to him, "It feels exceedingly cruel to bless you with certain victory in all your battles. Link, I bestow upon you sword and shield, only wishing for your safe return."

With a deep inhale, the young man accepts the shield in both hands. "Please be assured, we will surely achieve victory."

A hot surge floods into Link's chest. He draws the Blade of Evil's Bane, about to again kneel and present it to her as an offering of devotion. But before he can fall to his knee, she reaches out and guides him back upright.

Hylia presses the sword back into his hand, her face suddenly serious, and speaks gravely: "Link, remember well. In my hand, this sword is simply a tool imbued with the power of the divine. Only when wielded by you can it be granted a true soul."

"The sword once had its own innate soul... but it has since left me. Without him, I felt all the more lonely, so I drew out a sentiment from my heart, and created another sword spirit."

The Goddess lowers her eyes, sweeping her gaze across the surface of the sword. "But she is yet young, and still slumbers within."

She traces his face with her eyes, her cheeks blossoming again with joy. "But now, I no longer feel lonely."

The goddess and hero gaze at each other, and say as one: "Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight."

Link lowers his voice, though it still rings firm with resolve. "I would fight for you to the end of the world."

The sword-granting ceremony performed this time is shared only between two hearts. Their words concluded, they clasp hands, and cast secret smiles at each other.

*

The Endbringer reappears in the world, shattering Hylia's land. Toxic malice gushes forth from pitch-dark crevices, while infernal fires incinerate vales and rivers, forests and plains. After seven days and seven nights, the dead and injured are innumerable.

The black sky is torn asunder by a giant hand, the jagged wound spewing hot blood that drenches the stumbling full moon in red. Fallen arrows and dulled blades sink into the soil, devoured into becoming the mud's bones. Smoke gleams deathly white, hanging lifelessly in midair.

The army of the Goddess has already battled the forces of the Demon King to the seventh night.

A sharp blade slices open his skin, the pain clearing his senses. The oath he swore with her seems like just yesterday. By the time Link focuses his eyes, the ancient demon is already upon him, lobbing at him a soul-shaking question.

"To think you can stall my feet, you must be the mortal chosen by her... Just look at you. You must've suffered at the hands of your kin, haven't you?"

"Don't you want to take revenge on this kingdom that disgraced you so? If you're willing to kneel and pledge loyalty to me, it's not out of the question for you to have an end seat at the demons' banquet."

The black sword cleaves into his side, the sharp pain jarring through every organ. Link chokes back his cough, hot blood filling his mouth, every breath agony like swallowing a fire.

He spits out a mouthful of blood. "You understand nothing. I already had my revenge when I refused to submit to those unjust charges."

Leaning on his sword, Link rises to his feet, his voice intermittent. "I don't particularly care to live, but neither do I want to die worthlessly... I want to see more people go on living."

The Endbringer casts a side glance at this beaten and bloodied human, scornful pity floating across his face. "Pathetic insect, thinking you can challenge me."

Link raises his sword, unwilling to take even a step in retreat. "So what if I lose? I will fight until... I can't fight anymore."

Flesh may decay, and lives may end. Humans are not immortal, but they are insuppressible. In the face of fate, they raise their resilient courage from countless moments of overcoming fear.

Wicked infernal fire burns beneath the feet of the demon tribe's leader. Wherever he tramples, the ground cracks like spiderwebs.

"Well said!" The demon claps, a terrifying light shining from his eyes. "Then allow me to first tear you apart!"

The Endbringer chuckles hungrily. Raising his heavy sword, his enormous form bears down on Link like a rolling thunderhead.

Time suddenly halts. The divine-forged weapon lies within Link's palm, resonating nonstop as if having found its other half. The emblem of the Triforce shines bright from the sword's blade, the pulse in his ears ringing like heavy drums.

*

Memories carved deep within the soul, once farther than distant ages past, now float to the surface, bobbing in the swift current of his thoughts. The her from his dreams, the her in his heart, in this moment they overlap to reappear before him.

Back then, she named herself Zelda, taking on the form of a lithe-figured girl with hair loose and feet bare. She swung a keen blade, tamed dragons, and slew monsters; she played the lyre and composed melodies, all creatures great and small singing for her and dancing with her.

Afterwards she mounted the divine bird to return to the heavens, yet the sword spoke to her, requesting to remain in the mortal world.

The deity lifted the sword that had been her other half from birth. They were once as winter and snow, as sound and language, intimate beyond approach. But she chose to grant his wish, and so they parted for time immemorial.

The goddess, carrying the empty hull of the sword, returned to the clouds, while the sword's soul remained upon the mortal realm, falling into untold cycles of reincarnation.

The sword's steely soul drifted upon the world, being hammered and smelted, repeatedly tempered and torn, yet its blazing flames within were never quenched.

And her eyes were always watching him, witnessing his struggles, overseeing his battles, and observing his fate.

Link finally understood the reason for all this.

The Blade of Evil's Bane can only be awoken by him.

Because he and the sword were always one and the same.

*

A fierce wind kicks up across the plains. Link comes to his senses, raises his sword to parry a strike, and tumbles into a half-roll. He straightens up, his heart bright as a mirror. Since the relic of the gods already resides in the sword, what he must do is return the Blade of Evil's Bane to Hylia.

Behind him the ancient demon king does not pursue, probably thinking him merely fleeing from cowardice. With a scoff and a careless wave of his arm, countless monsters flash into being before Link, baying for his blood.

Lifting his sword, Link twirls and slashes in a frenzy. He does not know how many necks he severs or how many limbs he cleaves through, until his blade dulls and his shield cracks, his limbs wet with fresh wounds.

A monstrous wolf pounces from the side, a mouthful of sharp teeth gleaming ominously. Unable to dodge in time, Link's right arm is pierced through by the wolf's fangs. He sucks in a sharp breath from the pain, and balls up his left fist to pummel the wolf's snout.

The demon wolf howls with pain. Clenching his teeth, Link yanks his right arm free, the flesh already gruesomely torn, nearly to the bone.

His stolen sword's blade curls after only a few strikes. Link tosses it aside and simply flips atop the wolf's back, bare-handedly snapping its thick neck. The beast spasms with blood foaming from its mouth, collapsing without another sound.

"Out of the way if you don't want to die!" Link roars, a red rain drowning his vision. He charges forward, his steps unflagging, smeared in gore from head to toe.

Only one thought remains in his heart: I must find her.

Seeing an opportunity, the giant crimson bird dives down into the fray, heedless for its own life. After a few circles it manages to bear Link into the sky, taking him to the goddess's side.

The wind slices at them, and the Loftwing screeches aloud. Leaning against its warm solid neck, Link murmurs his thanks. His scarlet cape streams behind him, the cloth saturated with blood, its color darkened to near-black.

His body still knows consciousness, but his fingers, clenched around the sword hilt, are gradually losing their warmth. His flowing blood is so red, and the bird's beating wings are so red - no one would know if his lost lifeforce soaks thus into the crimson feathers.

Within the flurry of blades and firelight, Link's sightline has only room for Hylia. Her golden hair is mussed and her skirts splattered with mud. Although a hot wind scatters the black mists, it cannot wipe away the dried and caked wounds upon her face.

Hylia frees herself from the melee, appearance already haggard, yet she still grants him a smile. "Link, you've come."

Link tosses the sword back to Hylia, responding in a voice hoarse with resolve, "As long as I'm not dead, I will come."

Hylia takes up the Blade of Evil's Bane. With a single swing, the sword bursts with power, rending the land. At once the earth heaves and pitches, the divided land rising skyward into an island.

The sword flies again from her hand to his. He can still feel a remnant thread of warmth from her palm. Hylia looks up at him, having spoken not a word, but the goddess's eyes and heart both say to the hero, Link, I believe in you.

The goddess does not look back again, only turning toward the whereabouts of the demon, her figure vanishing decisively into the endless black mist.

His hand once again heavy with the sword, Link looks up at the floating island, then turns to the Loftwing. "I beseech you, my friend, please guide the others to the sky."

Sensing something amiss, the Loftwing asks him with unusual seriousness, "Then will you still fly with me in the future?"

Link shoots it a grin, and answers, "Naturally."

He swears an oath across the ages: "Once I've completed her request, then I'll head to the sky."

The words dissipate into distant crimson winds.

With a great shout, Link leaps from the Loftwing's back, throwing himself toward where she once stood. The Blade of Evil's Bane sinks to its hilt, and instantly, stones crumble and mountains tremble.

A gold-white column of light springs forth from sky to earth, lifting the floating island in a steady and rapid ascent.

Digging his fingers into the dirt, Link bows his head and coughs for a few moments before rising. He waves to the giant bird circling overhead, and ushers his strength for a shout, "Go on ahead... I'll be right behind!"

Watching the Loftwing spiral away like a flame, leading the people into the clouds, the young man knows he had pulled victory from the jaws of defeat.

The sword that was once his true form vibrates uneasily. With a relieved smile, Link releases his hand and discards his final shackle. The Blade of Evil's Bane rings out with a piercing chime, and plunges into the pillar of light connecting earth and sky, vanishing without a trace.

The young man no longer hears his companions' urgent calls. He merely sinks down limply to sit against a huge rock, his expression at ease.

*

The crimson silhouette of the Loftwing spirals upward, shrinking at last into a pinpoint. The floating island is already far and away, the sunlight becoming white and scorching. Link's upward-gazing eyes dim, losing all sight at last.

His body nearly drained of warm blood, a foreboding coldness fills his nostrils. Death's shroud descends, molding Link to the ground. He hardens into a statue of iron, even the shadow he casts too weak to move an inch.

Bound in chains, Link was once imprisoned on death's row. The populace were wary of him and his sword, the king growing from uncertainty to suspicion, the common folk from respect to fear. Link was finally discarded by his beloved kingdom, the so-called hero stripped of his bedecked glory to nothing more than a common carcass.

Countless voices cursed him and scorned him, filled with hatred and loathing. He heard them in his ears, felt the ache in his heart, and grew cold in his depression.

The heavy sentence upon his shoulders, Link lost his freedom, darkness welling forth to cover the last ray of starlight. Back then he wordlessly watched the jailer depart, the cell door slamming shut before his eyes. Four years passed, and no one came to his rescue.

Now he once again watches the people retreat into the distance, but this time, Link's heart is free of resentment. To have been able to protect others in this life, short though it was, was everything he could've hoped for.

Her lyre's song seems to ring in his ears, such an endless, everlasting ballad.

No matter how many thousands of times the cycle of rebirth turns, he will still kneel before her, and swear a solemn oath engraved into his soul, as immovable as moss upon stone.³

"...Whether skyward bound... adrift in time... or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight..."

His vision breaking apart, Link breaks into a dazed smile. His parched lips move laboriously, nearly devoid of sound.

"I will always... be by your side."

Exhausted, Link closes his eyes only to see Hylia standing before him, her golden hair stirring her white skirts like the wind raising waves, just as the first time he saw her.

The goddess extends a hand to him, her sleeve clear as snow, her smile inviting. "Link, will you come with me? We'll go together, to the city above the clouds."

A crystalline smile graces her lips, truly beautiful like nothing else, sending time flowing backwards for centuries and millennia, the shriveled buds on the wreath of yore once again blooming in full.

The moment his breathing ceases, his body becomes unusually light, so he rises to his feet, and heads to where she is.

*

The ancient demon bares its fangs at the deity, and demands, "Where have you hidden the Triforce?"

Hylia blocks the onslaught of black aura all around her, but her heart suddenly spasms in pain for reasons unknown. A strand of hair by her brow is severed in her oversight, fluttering to the ground. Having traded blows with the Endbringer up to now, her divine power has nearly drained beyond recovery.

The goddess's lips flutter, her words like shards of ice: "It will be protected by my courageous people for generations to come, unbreachable by evil. And you will never be able to touch its light."

Taken aback, the Endbringer growls, "So, you have entrusted the relic of the gods to humans—"

Just then, the wind roars, and a sword of pure clear gold flies towards Hylia, stopping in the goddess's red-streaked palm. It is heavy and warm, just like the hero's unceasing heartbeat, pulsing gently for her alone.

Pupils contracting in shock, Hylia wraps her hands around the sword's hilt, as if grasping a flame borne from the grief in her heart. The goddess had not shown an ounce of fear when battling her old foe, but now her expression is filled with unbearable pain.

Seeing her state, the demon's scowl turns into laughter. "Hylia! Hylia! You feel it too, don't you... Your sword is so loyal, it does not forget to lend you a hand even after death!"

Before his words fall, the sword erupts like a dragon, sending an eye-searing golden ray biting straight toward him. The Endbringer's strength is already at the end of its rope; upon receiving such a powerful blow, his shadowy form loses its cohesion all the more.

"Don't be so quick to anger!" He makes no effort to evade, merely honing his verbal barbs into a blade, carving repeatedly at her raw bloody wound. "This reminds me of when we first crossed swords, four thousand years ago.

"It's a shame you haven't grown a bit, still every bit as foolish as before."

He continues, beguilingly, "You've struggled so hard until now, paying an incomparable price, tearing your own body apart and risking your immortality. Yet your beloved hero dies because of your compassion, dies for those other puny lives—

"That Chosen One of yours, he faces your direction even in death. He is free of regret, but what of you?"

The Demon King asks the Goddess with something akin to sincerity, "Hylia, have you no regrets?"

Hylia's long lashes fall closed and tremble. The goddess glares at the Endbringer, deadly frost between her brows.

"Silence, Demise. I should've cut out your tongue long ago."

Hylia raises the sword and hacks at his throat, each word falling with the strength of sealing power. "You will never acquire the relic of the gods. You can never understand his heart and mine."

An enormous shadow previously lay coiled upon the ground from the demon's feet, but now it suddenly changes shape. Emitting a shrieking noise, tentacle-like arms wave into motion, dragging this tattered mass of miasma deep into the abyss. The crevasse clamps shut, swallowing the demon's still-cursing voice.

All of this comes to an end.

The soul-formed sword dissolves into wisps of red-gold flames. Wordlessly they circle the goddess for a heartbeat, suddenly converging into a half-transparent figure of a slender young man, so real it could be a dream.

Please don't go... wait for me.

Her knees like cotton, she attempts to shuffle to him, while he silently remains in place.

In a low trembling voice she calls his name. His features shadowed, he gives no response.

The moment before she touches him, he dissolves into golden ash.

*

A long, long time seems to pass, or perhaps only an infinitesimal instant. Hylia walks toward a particular spot, her steps weak and arduous, until she finally reunites with the figure sitting against the rock.

Hylia falls to her knees, and takes him into her arms. Slowly she closes her eyes, her clothes sagging upon the ground, no longer pure white.

"Link... Link!" The goddess pleads to her hero, tears in her voice, as if she can awaken him with her call.

Yet he only sleeps, the smile on his face frozen into eternity, unable to wake and grant her a response.

Even a goddess is not omnipotent. There is no defying the star of death upon his brow. His neck lolled against the crook of her arm as if broken, his flowing blood at last cold and congealed, his eyes set in the dim blue of death.

A faint warmth still lingers within his eyelids as they close softly beneath her fingertips.

A sob swells from her chest to her throat. She speaks to him now without reservation.

"When you begged to remain on the earth, I knew it then... You and I were the same, unable to part from this land and its people...

"You wished for my sight upon you, so I no longer looked away, but even so I wished I could close my eyes...

"A sword's soul cannot awaken without being forged and tempered. So many of your lives were spent struggling in agonizing pain..."

Tears well soundlessly from Hylia's eyes, impossible to contain.

Hesitantly the goddess strokes his cheeks, her fingertips frail as withered petals, stained in his blood, and soaked in her tears.

She does not know how to discard those tears, and so the salt-imbued droplets soak impatiently into the parched fields, transforming into blue-white flowers, nameless and scattered to the wilds.

The flowers sprout up in barren places, giving off a cool, ethereal light, growing gracefully around the hero and his goddess.

This scenery is truly like a dream.

*

The time of parting approaches us, she thinks calmly, cradling his body.

A breath, three heartbeats, lips pressed upon lips.

She can still love him for this much longer.

—Hereby I swear. Lips moving, Hylia prays soundlessly. I willingly discard the eternity of divinity, in exchange for this singular wish.

From now on, I shall never again look upon your fate from above. I shall cast myself into the journey with you, sharing your burdens and joys.

At this moment, you enter the long slumber ahead of me.

But do not worry; I will wake you, no matter how many hundreds of years we have to wait.

If someday, I meet you again in a mortal body, I wonder if your reborn soul will recognize me from this life.

*

Thousands of years later, when the divine soul is once again reborn in the lofts above the clouds, a boy and girl of that era will stand shoulder-to-shoulder and hand-in-hand, not quite understanding what the poets sing of the legend of the Goddess and the Hero.

According to the lore of people generations past, on that day of destiny, from the scorched and charred skies fell a long-awaited rain.

That rain, all those thousands of years ago, was cool and clean, sprinkling the scarred land with countless drops of light, glistening faintly gold.

Sunlight pours down, breaking through the curtain of rain. A boulder stands silently by the road, the color of dead steel. Beneath the stone, a carpet of flowers bloom pure and fragrant, bright as crystals.

The wind blows upon the land, pushing waves through the grass, rippling the rivers and lakes, stirring the flower stalks and buds.

The wind will keep on blowing, past countless ages, past the home above the clouds sung in ballads past.

In the end the wind will leave this land, leaving only the flowers year upon year, tirelessly spreading their aroma.

(End)