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Link sighed.
Walking at a leisurely pace, the soft grass brushed against hard leather boots encasing his feet—boots that weren’t his—as a cloud of weary deja-vu weighed heavily on his thoughts. His eyes scanned the horizon for any tall towers penetrating the sky. Again, he saw nothing.
Link hummed to himself as his thoughts flowed. Although the towers he sought weren’t the same as the previous Shiekah Towers, they were still technically towers created by a Shiekah. He internally marveled at the way history repeated itself, even the little things. It felt like it was only yesterday when he was running around Hyrule with whatever he could scavenge—head thrumming with urgency to save a land he couldn’t even remember, from a foe he couldn’t remember, either.
A grim expression tugging at his lips, the Hylian Champion wondered if it was worse this time, since he could remember exactly what he had lost, and what he was fighting to get back. His heart ached and his scars burned at the thought.
Meanwhile, the winds of Gerudo whispered against Link’s skin as he gave another glance around the area for any undiscovered shrines or towers. Unsurprisingly, he saw nothing, considering he was in a valley, somewhere northeast of the Gerudo Canyons if he were to guess.
Although, maybe he was more east, than north? Or perhaps he was a tad west?
The knight scratched his head. Gripping the Purah Pad, Link mourned at the map’s blankness. He missed the Shiekah Slate.
One fateful day, not long after Calamity Ganon’s defeat, all of the Ancient Sheikah tech disappeared into familiar strings of blue light, before lazily drifting into the sky and fading away. By sunset, everything Ancient Sheikah vanished—guardians, shrines, the slate, all erased without a trace.
Nobody had an explanation for the seemingly-random disappearance of technology, until Zelda woke up with a gasp later that same evening, tears in her eyes as she gripped at her knight for comfort. Link could still remember the way her breaths shuddered against his chest, as she spoke about a vivid dream involving ancient voices, a completed destiny, and a final farewell.
“Ganon can’t use it against us ever again,” his Princess finished the tale, her voice wet and full of gratitude. She held him tight, her fingers divoting the scarred skin of his back, as if he would disappear from her grasp at any moment. “Never again, never again…”
After those words were spoken, Link understood why the technology had been removed, and had squeezed her tighter with a tired sigh. The rest of that night had been filled with bittersweet peace and roaming thoughts, of everyone and everything that had been lost to Calamity Ganon.
Link remembered staring at the photo resting on his wall that night, long after the Princess fell back asleep. He could picture his fellow Champion’s faces with ease, even through the darkness. Though their spirits had long passed, he could feel a reflection of their hope and gratitude flutter in his chest, as if they were still there, cheering him on.
Before long, the echoes of their proud voices had lured him to sleep.
That next morning, Link and Zelda spread news of the Princess’s dream to the Sheikah scientists.
Expecting harsh curses and mournful shrieks, they were shocked when Purah was actually inspired by the news. Though she clearly wasn’t happy about the loss of everything she’d been researching for the past century, the scientist proudly pledged to recreate the lost technology that Link had used to travel the land, this time for the entire public to use—without any harmful capabilities that could be turned against them.
It took a while for Purah to design and build the towers. The wait wasn’t easy—especially with Link so eager to have a personal detailed map again (Zelda called him spoiled)—but traveling to each new tower in order to recreate the Sheikah Slate’s map was an entirely different challenge. Familiar, though.
Link let himself become lost into the blue areas of his incomplete map, trying to picture the way they were supposed to look—like a puzzle he had completed before, yet was starting over from the beginning again. In his brain, he had a general idea of what he remembered the map should look like, but the smaller details escaped him.
He wished Zelda was here. She’d probably know the exact area he was in, just from a single look at the nearby plants. A wave of bitter, self-deprecation gripped at his heart. If only he hadn’t failed her a second time, his thoughts scolded with venom.
With a sigh of frustration, he quickly put the Purah Pad away, its likeness to the Sheikah Slate now bringing too many unwelcome memories to bear. It’s not like the screen would reveal the location of the next tower or shrine until he arrived at it, anyways.
A few minutes later, his nose detected a foul tinge to the air, one that he was becoming more and more familiar with these days. It reeked of malaise and dread—almost similar to the sharp, fleshy odor of Malice, except it was more rotten, as if Malice could expire like milk.
Gloom.
It didn’t take long for him to spot the glowing patch of red as he walked in the middle of the path. Glowing hues of red and black interrupted the greens and browns of the forest like a giant scar.
The sight of it sparked anger in the Hyrule Champion’s veins, so he looked away.
Link returned his gaze on the path ahead, huffing. Still no shrines or towers. He doubted one would even come into view until the large hills on both of his sides would roll down into flatter ground again.
A low hissing noise sounded from far behind him, and Link he spun around in an instant, weapon in hand, eager to take out his growing frustration on the nearest monster—
But only the green grass of the valley greeted him, still stained by that small patch of Gloom he had walked past earlier. No monsters in sight.
Link frowned, ready to turn back around—but stopped. The quiet, squishy hiss sound was still going, and it was getting closer. Link’s gaze fell on the patch of Gloom, which seemed to be the source of the noise—puzzling him.
In Link’s experience, Gloom was silent as death—unlike Malice, which throbbed and pulsed with its own living energy, audibly bubbling and churning like a large organ of thick fluid.
The Gloom was only a couple yards away from him, and a bad feeling started to weigh down in his gut. Shouldn't that stuff be farther behind him by now?
Before he could investigate that thought, the sky started to bleed. Crimson light flooded onto the land from above, covering everything in sight, a phenomenon he hadn’t experienced in years. The clouds raced across the atmosphere, and Link felt his heart start to pound in dread as he watched the sky shift with a sinister air.
His pupils shrank in fear as they instinctively sought the glowing red of the moon, only to find the sun. It was still mid-day. Somehow, that detail felt even worse.
Stealing his attention, the Gloom beside him bubbled threateningly, and Link backpedaled for a moment as he watched it with dreadful curiosity. His eyed were focused, muscles tense, weapon ready.
Thick tendrils of blacking-red suddenly erupted from the growing puddle—they were tall, taller than a Moblin—writhing as they reached for the bloody sky, before molting and growing clawed fingers. The palms opened, revealing eyes, whose pupils burned with hatred. They focused on him.
Eyes of Ganon, glowing like embers.
The puddle of Gloom grew, spreading out from the hands, and Link realized that he would never get close enough to use a melee weapon. Inhaling, he switched tactics. The Champion hastily pulled out his bow, attaching a bomb flower to an arrow before letting it whistle through the air.
Sprinting away from the creature immediately after letting the arrow fly, he anticipated the loud explosion which came only a second later, followed by a piercing, raging screech. Link quickly looked over his shoulder to assess the damage he did to that thing. To his misfortune, the bomb arrow had hardly made any visible difference.
He didn’t know what to call it. This creature was not an enemy that’s been present throughout known history like the others. No—it was something horribly new. A sentient puddle of hissing Gloom and reaching hands, coming for him, like it knew him.
Link decided to abandon the idea of ranged combat altogether, running as fast as he possibly could. Lungs burning, he looked over his shoulder again, only to watch the living Gloom match his speed with ease, as if he was being chased by his own shadow. The knight’s mind was too clouded with panic to be able to tell if it was closing the gap.
Between his panicked breath, a soft cry of exasperation escaped from his lips. He was losing steam, and fast. “Hylia, help me,” Link whispered. His body was still weak from the attack beneath the castle, where Gloom had flooded into his pores and sapped him of his strength.
It was obvious that he wouldn’t last. He couldn’t.
The instant his speed inevitably slowed, the scent of Gloom filled his nostrils, and a crushing grip wrapped around his torso.
Link would have screamed if the air hadn’t already been forced out of his lungs. The other four hands, each palm filled with an amber-glowing eye of Ganon, glared with an angry hunger at the Hylian Champion, who could do nothing but weakly struggle in the grip. His energy slipped from his body, like wet sand through a child’s fingers. Each second felt like hours, and he thrashed harder. A flicker of amusement could be seen in their stares. The satisfaction in it almost seemed personal.
With a adrenaline-fueled tug, Link suddenly broke through the grip and tumbled back onto the ground, his back aching at the heavy impact. He wondered if Hylia had heard his pleas, or if the Gloom Hands simply decided to toy with its prey for a bit longer—the thought of which made him feel sick.
He staggered to his feet, no amount of air able to satisfy his lungs, and tried to run again. The Gloom Hands hissed, pursuing him, silent eyes watching his attempt at escape. They both knew he couldn’t get away, not in his current state.
A different hand took its turn this time, snatching his chest and squeezing the life from him. This one was slower with the way it squeezed him, leaving enough air in his lungs to drink in the agonized moan that came from his throat.
At this point, Link was too tired to scream. Breaking free was hopeless. Gloom flooded into his skin through the grip again, the energy-draining sensation making the Hylian feel ill, leeching away at his life force a second time. Not that he had much left to give, at this point.
The young knight gave a hoarse, pain-filled croak, and the other hands leaned in, almost eagerly. Their gaze was on his skin, relishing in the way he slowly grew limp in their hold.
His eyelids grew heavy, vision blurring into a fuzzy wash of red and black. Sounds around him were becoming more and more muffled, like he was underwater, and he embraced it.
Link’s heart finally started to slow, no longer pounding uncomfortably in his chest. Before long, his brain followed his eyes and ears into the quiet darkness washing over him like a blanket, and he let it carry him away.
Link's eyes hardened, and he quickly batted at the fuzziness that was clinging to his brain.
The scent of grass drifted past his nose, and the Hylian groaned as he shook his head in frustration. He had caught himself daydreaming again.
Zelda had brought it up once before, shortly after Calamity’s defeat. She said that she’s never seen him daydream when he was her personal knight over a century ago, and explained how she suspected that it could be a side effect of his time in the Shrine of Resurrection.
Link didn’t know the answer. He just hated how vulnerable he felt when coming back to awareness, and the way he could never remember what his daydreams actually were.
Grounding himself, he focused on his surroundings, drinking them in.
The valley was quiet, the sun bright. Clouds lazily drifted across the blue sky.
He gave a heavy sigh as he put the Purah Pad away, and continued walking.
As Link walked further along the path, he slowly got a cautious urge to walk closer to the left of the valley, instead of the main path.
With a shrug, he listened.