Chapter Text
A sister once lost… a refrain cut, untold—
Hear now her story beside the hero of old…
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Act One
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Prologue
Amidst this song’s humble prelude, the soothing release of sunset beckons.
Gentle, formless whispers he can’t begin to apply shape or meaning to caress his mind in an endless breeze, incessantly pressing upon him like he’s a lone plank of driftwood lost at sea, caught amidst an unexpected squall. It’s gentle, yes, but like so many other facets of this world, there’s untold complexity lurking under the surface of every crack and weathered blemish.
Recklessness, where once there was courage.
Ill-fated sentimentality, where once there was wisdom.
Acts of immense violence played out in the name of love.
The canvas behind his eyes is bathed in flickering spots of green and gold as he continues to drift amongst these unintelligible whispers. With much effort, he manages to will those tired, weary eyelids to flutter open. He’s greeted by a burst of pale white light, almost too overwhelming in its star-bright aura to derive any coherent threads of meaning from, but a few rapid blinks later and the light’s intensity fades at the edges to reveal a bloom of dazzling colors. A rebirth just as vibrant as the so-named season.
He’s lying in an open, sunny grove… surrounded by lush, green grass and a myriad of wildflowers. The sky’s horizon is etched with a ring of pinkish gold. A deep shudder wracks his numb body as he attempts to make sense of these suspiciously idyllic surroundings. How did he even arrive here? When pressed, he can only recall the faintest flickers of days long past… a sturdy, encouraging hand meeting his shoulder, the stinging sensation of ice-cold rain cutting rivulets down his forehead, half-braided tresses of long blonde hair delicately captured between calloused fingers…
And then, amidst those formless, undeveloped whispers, a singular voice pushes to the forefront, singing some nameless melody:
“—be at peace, it’s all right…
“All our worries fade to light…
“And in—”
The voice is youthful. Somewhat pitchy on the high notes. Moreover, it’s undeniably familiar, a realization that makes his heart ache with sentimental abandon and his left flank twinge in unsolicited discomfort.
He… he must determine where that voice is coming from.
Upon that very thought he finds himself standing upright, actively advancing towards the tree-lined horizon. The walk is well worth the view. The blueish-green limbs of these mighty trees dance and flicker like a living fire, though as he approaches the outer boundary of the woods he soon realizes they are fire, their shape formed out of a million pulsing, breathing flames woven into a veritable tapestry of light just as complex in its layering as the web of whispers he still hears, much louder now. He exhales heavily, eyes widening in silent awe as he contemplates the meaning of this mesmerizing sight.
And then his glance falls upon a girl perched atop a low stump in the distance. A blonde girl— the very voice he’s been looking for. She’s facing away from him, serenading the forest of light with her song. When he sees her, a blockage in his soul ruptures, and the overwhelmingly numb sensation that’s been holding him captive up until now is suddenly overturned by spellbinding joy. This girl… how does he know this young girl? Who is she to him? How far into the soil do these roots of haunting familiarity reach?
In the nebulous space between heartbeats, he finds himself striding towards her, desperately needing to see her face, to confirm her identity… naïvely believing her as the key to his vacant memory. Long, confident strides transform into a light jog. From that jog, he advances into a sprint. It’s clear there’s strength in these legs, strength enough to propel him across entire kingdoms. But no matter the distance he traverses, the girl grows no closer. His throat grows tight. His fate is more than clear now. She’s nothing but a mirage, a cruel piece of bait set to ensnare a desperate soul such as his. The beginnings of a strained syllable— a name??— bubble upon his tongue, but it seems memory is not in his favor in this place. No, the sound is struck dead before it can ever be spoken. His chest heaves with overworked exertion as he lurches to a stop, hunching over to anchor himself with hands on knees. Hot, desolate tears threaten to overflow their banks.
H-he… he can’t remember, he can’t reach her, he can’t—
Something in the winds— once thought indelible— shifts.
He’s being pulled away, he dimly recognizes. His body, his mind, his whole spirit. The girl and her song gradually disappear from all perception. So too does the green fire, the wildflower grove, those formless whispers, the very sky itself… shrinking into the distance until they coalesce into a minuscule pinprick of light.
Sunset has ended. And eventually, even that solitary glimmer of day must fade into all-encompassing oblivion.
The last emotion he’s consciously aware of before the long silence that follows is earth-shattering heartbreak.
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Urgent, formless whispers press upon him with a fervid percussion as he drifts at the furthest edge of awareness. They’re muffled, though… sounding as if someone’s calling from the surface, and he’s floating a leviathan’s length under the waves.
Perhaps by subconscious thought, a still, tiny voice emanating from within the fathomless unknown of his very soul beckons him to move. Open your eyes, it commands. Wake up! Hah. Wake up? How rich. He can’t help but balk at the very idea, a childish part of him yearning to remain in this safe, abstract place forever. He’s warm, here— suspended within this nourishing, watery cocoon. How could any other form of existence possibly begin to prove superior?
But alas, these unfamiliar auditory stimuli show no sign of fading away into blissful obscurity, and neither does he.
The whispers drastically increase in volume as the seconds tick onward, transforming into persistent cries. The rusted mechanisms of his mind slowly start to lock into place— turning once again, carving meaning out of those once unintelligible sounds— but certainly not by choice.
At the very periphery of his perception, he can almost make out…
“—please, please!” the voice— higher pitched, juvenile sounding in tone— says, warbling with distress. “You have to wake up!”
Foreign hands grasp his shoulders now, shaking him with an unexpected vigor.
His chest rapidly expands with a startled gasp for breath as he snaps into full consciousness, the sensation of stale air rushing down his windpipe and into his lungs physically painful. As consequence he’s assailed by a brief fit of coughing. Blinking through the lingering fog, his eyelids part. It’s hard to make out anything concrete amidst such a confusing assault of visual impulses, but he thinks he can see dark stone up above… striated with veins of dimly glowing blue… and a blurry face hovering over him, fringed by long, messy tresses of blonde hair…
Craving a better view of his surroundings, he wills his body to sit upright, a wave of lightheadedness assailing him at the sudden shift in position. He grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before allowing them to flutter open once more.
The blonde figure… It’s a girl. A young girl, with sloppy tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks. She’s wearing light undergarments, and her hair is flattened and damp. Damp? His nose scrunching inwards at the very thought, he quickly takes note of the receding liquid in the large pod they’re both sitting in. He logs this discovery away for later, not yet understanding enough about his situation to form a reasonable hypothesis as to its purpose.
Appearing relieved, the girl shouts something he can’t quite distinguish and launches herself straight at him. Small, clinging arms wrap around his bare torso with a desperation exceeding one’s attachment to the womb. His breath hitches in surprise. Anxious, over-taut muscles respond to this jarring sensory experience on rote instinct, locking in place, his arms hanging stiff at his side. He swears his skin is tingling. As a sensation, this embrace is wholly unfamiliar, as is every other facet of his current surroundings. The strangely textured walls of this chamber, this bizarre contraption he sits in, this girl who’s on the brink of sobbing rivers of tears into his shoulder, and— as he soon discovers— even his own body. Once the child pulls away, allowing him much needed space to breathe, to think, he lifts his forearms to eye’s view.
His skin is deeply marred, streaked with clear evidence of conflict and struggle. Numerous healed-over slash marks cross his arms, and there’s broad, reddened expanses of scarring enveloping the whole left side of his torso, somewhat puckered at the edges. These are merely the most distinct features— he’s sure he could catalogue plenty of subtler scars given time— but damningly, he cannot recall receiving any of these injuries. Not a single one.
Riding on the winds of this rather disturbing revelation, his vision grows spotted and faint, the whole room beginning to swirl around him. His breathing becomes labored, all feeling in his limbs turning to nothing but burning static. Not only is he lost in every aspect of the word, he’s trapped. He’s a wild animal caught in the hunter’s snare. He’s a bug in a display case. He’s a heavy stone sinking straight to the bottom of a lake. Because this chamber… there’s no clear, distinguishable exits in this confined space, no natural light, no food, no context as to his presence here, no—
“Link?” the girl calls in a hoarse voice, firmly gripping him by the arms in a blind attempt to shake him from his stupor. “What’s going on? Where are we?”
Blinking his way through the fog, he peers at this girl for a long, drawn out moment, noting the stark familiarity in her eyes. As his heart pounds rapidly within his rib cage, his aching lungs still acclimating to taking full, deep breaths, a singular thought— a bright pinprick of light shining amidst the inky black expanse— dances across his consciousness:
Sister.
The very concept hits him like a bloody dagger being plunged straight into his chest.
S- she’s my sister…!
He has no real reason to believe this nebulous thought must be true, and yet the more he considers it, the more it feels right.
It’s the only thing about this scenario that feels right.
So what is going on, here?
His attempt at a vocal response ends in nothing but a stammered syllable, his tongue falling limp and his voice strained and scratchy with disuse.
“I-I…”
I don’t know, he realizes with dawning horror.
I don’t know.