Chapter Text
Chapter One: Awakening
"...Open your eyes."
A soothing male voice echoed from somewhere. Where, she didn't know—all she could see was blackness.
Then, the darkness was suffused with a white light, blinding and all-encompassing. The color shifted to an alien blue, and the voice spoke again, more insistent this time.
"Open your eyes."
She did.
Lying in a shallow pool of water and her own sweat, she was staring up at a... bizarre light fixture. Glowing blue constellations surrounded four S shaped bulbs, which themselves surrounded a blue circle. The room—what she could see of it, anyway—was dark and indistinct.
Where in Hylia's name am I? she wondered.
She searched her mind, grasping for memories which... simply were not there?
She blinked, trying again. But no matter how she tried to, she simply could not remember what her name was, how she had gotten here, or even who she was.
She couldn't remember her own name!
Panic swelled in her chest, and for a scary moment, she couldn't move. Her limbs didn't respond to her desperate attempts to move them. She only felt pins and needles, like her body was waking up after a long, long time asleep.
Then, to her immense relief, she could finally sit up. Her hair, which had been floating in the strange water around her like feelers, fell across her back as she sat up.
For some reason, she was completely dry. She looked down at the liquid, which was draining away into who-knew where.
Whatever she'd been suspending in, it was definitely not water.
Unsteadily, she pulled herself out of the glowing bath, feeling her bare feet press against the brown stone floor. It was ridged and intricately carved, patterned in waves emanating from whatever it was she'd woken up inside. The room itself was buried in darkness and mist, broken only by odd orange and blue lights on the floors and walls. She turned around, to see that the strange fixture she'd woken up beneath was a network of blue and brown tendrils which sunk into the ceiling, like the roots of a tree turned upside down.
She looked down at herself. Just who was she? Maybe she could glean some information from her appearance.
She had long blonde hair which was laid against her back. It flowed from her head like a waterfall, pinched closer at her neck before widening out at her shoulders, and gradually narrowing into a V shape which ended below her tailbone. She was wearing a simple blue camisole and a white brassiere which she couldn't recall having seen before. Though she could not see them, her brilliant, large green eyes reflected the blue light above her. Glancing over her arms and legs, the skin was light and unblemished. She experimentally tugged lightly on twin locks of blonde hair framed her round face on either side, and long pointed ears peeked out just behind them. A small, upturned nose sat above her pale lips.
Across the room, a pedestal sat in the corner. It was illuminated with an internal blue light, which continually faded and brightened with a slow, steady rhythm. She realized that all of the lights in the room followed that cycle, slowly dimming and glowing.
Slowly, she walked to the pedestal. Inside of a blue circular pattern, a rectangular device seemed to call to her. She flinched when, unprompted, the podium face rose, twisted, and held up the unusual device to her.
It had a handle wrapped with the same brown rock the floor was made of, and an orange light rose from between the gaps of the grip, An eye symbol with three triangles and a teardrop glowed on the back of the device, like a coat of arms, or a sigil.
She jumped violently when that same male voice spoke again. "That is a Sheikah Slate. Take it. It will help guide you after your long slumber."
Slowly, she outstretched a hand to grip it. She turned it to her, and blinked when the smooth, black face reacted. An electric blue rendition of the eye symbol formed on the Sheikah Slate's screen—how?
She was fascinated. She prodded at the Sheikah Slate, which revealed a yellow arrowhead shape in the middle of a vast sea of nothing—black with a blue grid pattern extending all over the screen. She discovered she could pinch it to zoom in and out, which automatically broke down the squares into smaller or bigger ones.
She found herself absolutely transfixed by the strange technology. Something was vaguely familiar about it, which only added to her interest—how did it work? What did the arrowhead represent?
She turned to face the wall, which was grinding open, pillars of stone rising up into the ceiling. Her eyes widened when the Sheikah Slate reacted to her motion, her eyes rushing to the screen. What had changed?
Slowly, she moved again, and saw the little arrowhead rotate in time with her.
"Ha!" she gasped, and covered her own mouth.
The noise felt transgressive in the clinical silence of the room, but she couldn't contain her awe of the technology, nor her glee at having discovered something.
She walked into the next room, watching the arrowhead move as she did. How did it work? Did the Sheikah Slate have an entire map of Hyrule buried somewhere inside of it, constantly aware of its own position on it? How could it know—did it somehow emit signals which bounced back and forth from some central relay? Was it akin to echolocation? She'd read somewhere that some kind of... creature used echolocation...
She tried desperately to grab onto that train of thought. Where had she read that? What creature used echolocation?
But already, it was draining away like water through her hands. She'd read something about some sort of creature using echolocation to navigate... Leese? Reese? She couldn't remember.
She couldn't remember anything!
She kicked the nearest object in frustration with all of her strength, and immediately regretted that when a bolt of pain shot its way up her leg from her bare foot. She yelped, gripping her foot and hopping around for a second, before the pain faded enough to set her foot down. She looked down at the victim of her anger.
It was a chest, grey and old, so aged that the metal exterior resembled rock more than steel. Her kick had pried it open, and she reached inside to see what was contained within.
Some... well-worn trousers. They were brown, threadbare in some spots, and far too loose to be worn without a belt. She looked around.
Two faded red ropes were tied over the round top of the chest, vertical decorations that she supposed were designed to give it flair. She gripped one, pulling hard. She had to use both hands, but it came free with a snap! It was just long enough to use as a belt, so she tied it around her waist as she put on the brown pants.
She looked into the chest again, and saw some leather sandals. They had flat soles, with some straps which crossed her feet. The main strap wrapped around her calf. Eerily, they were a perfect fit despite their lack of a frame. They were just straps—but they fit her so well, they could only have been made for her. It was strange, especially since—like everything else in her life, they were totally foreign.
She walked to the left, and found another chest beside it. She opened this one more carefully, deliberately electing not to injure herself.
Inside was a patchwork shirt which seemed to be cobbled together from two different outfits. One, the torso, was a white, poofy dress-like piece of attire, with three golden triangles at the brooch, and a leather belt which tied it back just under her breasts. Under the belt, the white fabric tried to billow outwards gracefully, but was abruptly cut off at the waist, serrated threads ending at her improvised belt, as if the original form had been hacked away with a sword. The sleeves were beige cloth, rough and kind of itchy, a significantly lower quality material than the white part.
She put on the outfit. It wasn't fun nor comfortable to wear what were effectively rags, but it made her feel more secure than running around in an undershirt and a bra.
She unconsciously tilted her head and tugged on a lock of hair at the side of her face, and realized that she was comforted by the motion. It felt familiar somehow, like she'd been doing it all her life.
She reluctantly released it, and walked forward confidently.
Then, she tripped over herself and nearly face-planted on the floor. She spread her hands to break her fall, catching herself. She groaned, getting back to her feet, and turned around. A large ramp sloped downwards unexpectedly.
Who builds a room like that?!
But, then, an oddly placed ramp was far from the strangest thing in here. Why, the walls were lined with blue torches with no flames—a ramp was downright normal.
She walked forward, more cautiously this time, and found another podium.
It had no indentation to set the Sheikah Slate inside—not that she was sure she wanted one. She wanted to understand every facet of the captivating device before even thinking of returning it.
Instead, the pedestal had that eye symbol again ringed by an orange circle on a slightly rounded face.
"Hold the Sheikah Slate up to the pedestal. That will show you the way." said that mysterious voice again.
She drew the Slate and held it to the pedestal, and jumped back when it flashed a bright blue. The Sheikah Slate's flat screen reacted, and blue text appeared, reading, Authenticating... Sheikah Slate confirmed.
A larger door than the last opened up, and blinding light poured into the dark room. She was forced to raise her hand to shield her protesting eyes.
"Zelda." the voice murmured.
Is that my name? she wondered.
"You are the light—our light—that must shine upon Hyrule once again. Now go..."
The golden light faded, revealing a blue sky and trees beyond a staircase which led outside.
Zelda...
The name felt right for some reason, and she felt... glad to have reclaimed a part of herself. She did have some kind of a life—one named Zelda, apparently—in which she knew who she was and what creature used echolocation and remembered where she'd read that.
Maybe she had... a family? Friends? Goals, knowledge, quirks, and a real personality? Right now, she felt out of place and alone, as if she didn't even exist in the world properly. Like she were acting out someone else's part in a play without ever having read the script. It made her want to kick a thousand more innocent chests.
Her lack of identity was disorienting, unpleasant, and she hated it with every fiber of her being.
Zelda swallowed, and vowed then and there to do everything she could to reclaim who she was. Zelda would not rest until she had done everything possible to learn exactly who Zelda was.
She marched forward with newfound determination, climbing up the stairs, walking across the grass, and taking in the view of Hyrule Kingdom, bathed in the golden light of the sun.
Nearby, her father watched as his daugther closed her eyes and felt the warm sunlight on her skin for the first time in, though she did not know it, a century. He fought back the tears of grief and joy which threatened to overwhelm him.
He turned away from her, taking his seat across from the fire and steeling himself to his role as an old man.