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Her first act as a mortal is a selfish one.
Hylia can feel her power beginning to flicker like a candle burning through the last of its wick. What remains of her waning divinity must be used to finish what they started, but instead of rushing to make preparations while gold still shimmers on her fingertips, she turns her back to the heavens and cradles Link’s body for a little bit longer on the scarred battlefield where he fell.
He will not be left to face the end alone.
She smooths his hair back from his face. The hardened expression he wore when he declared his fealty anew to this embattled land and the people who abandoned him has been replaced with a gentler one. He’s pale and peaceful and mercifully free from pain, though Hylia knows that means his wounds are well beyond repair. Even when her power was whole, she could not ward off death when it came for her people. She could only help ease them into the inevitable embrace of it.
His eyes flutter open at her touch, slow and searching.
“Hylia,” he breathes. Has her name always sounded like a melody spoken from his lips?
“Bravest Hero,” she answers.
Link grasps the sleeves of her once white robes, sullied now by the stains of battle. A reflection of her blossoming mortality. Impurity. She is a priestess of brimstone and grime and gore.
And still he reaches for her.
“Did we stop him?”
Hylia sets her jaw. It’s a complicated question to answer and she knows he does not have much time. “For now. The Demon King’s army is scattered and he is imprisoned in the Sealing Grounds.”
“And our people?” The righteousness of his spirit! There could not be a truer master of the great Sword. Even in the end, he thinks of his people. His friends.
“They are safe in Skyloft with the Loftwing,” she tells him.
He gets a confused look. “Skyloft?”
“The name of the sanctuary above the clouds where evil cannot follow. Our people will flourish there beneath a sea of stars that shine bright each night and a brilliant sun that rises warm every morning.”
“It sounds beautiful,” he swallows hard and closes his eyes. “I would’ve liked to see it.” Before charging into the battle against the Demon King, all he’d known of sunlight for so long had been the fixed square through the window of his prison cell. She can tell he’s trying to picture an entire kingdom basking in it.
Her stomach sours with guilt. It was meant to test him, to temper his soul such that the Sword would sing true in his hand when he wielded it, but now that she’s nearly human, she can hear the cruel whisper of self-doubt. Could there have been another way to test him? One that did not require such anguish? Such loneliness? Couldn’t he face the trials of Courage with guidance? An ally?
It’s so very dangerous to go alone.
She deflates and tilts her head back to release a dispirited breath. The magic seal upon the Demon King will not hold eternal. His malevolence is too great. And although his army is defeated, with his essence tethered to the land, where there is light on the Surface, there will always be a shadow that stalks it. She will raise a barrier of clouds to protect their people and the Triforce further, but she needs to figure out how to better prepare the spirit of the Chosen Hero to face the Demon King again when the time comes. Her shoulders sink under the weight of the burden he must bear.
“I am so sorry,” she whispers.
Hylia gazes to the south. She can see the towers of the Sealed Temple stretching tall against the smoke from the fires smoldering in the Faron Woods. She had feared the great forest would be lost when she first saw the blaze, ravaged by monsters for seven days and nights, but the Water Dragon called the rain and the Kikwi assured her an even greater wood would spring forth from ashes. They promise to tend to it in her name, as did the Mogma of Eldin and the wandering Gorons and sentient machines to the west. So much courage to behold; not just from those who rose up and faced the Demon King and his army, but also those who volunteered to stay behind.
But courage is not enough. Hylia gently inspects Link’s wounds, his emerald tunic torn wide in a crimson smile that weeps onto her hand. The Demon King cut him down with a single, devastating strike. She curls her fingers into a fist, the unfamiliar burn of anger—nay, for the first time she feels rage! —like a fire in her belly. The Chosen Hero will also require Power, the very might of Din’s fist, to withstand the Demon King’s might.
The heat cools as quickly as it flared up and she blinks, baffled by her impetuosity. She inspects her fist, rotating it back and forth in front of her face. Painful red indents mark where her nails dug hard into her palms. Violence is seductive, but blinding. She nods and rolls her shoulders back, drawing breath deep through her nose. Demise is a cunning demon. Link will require Wisdom as well, not just knowing the available choices at hand, but the ability to make the right one when the time comes. When the chips are down and the pressure is high–
She touches her fingers to her lips. To conquer this Evil once and for all, he will need to make the greatest wish. He will need to wield the Sword and the power of the whole Triforce!
“Hylia?” His voice pulls her back from the spiral. It is the kind of whisper that needs to be one. Death is a vulture on a low-hanging branch. Always listening. His hand finds her cheek, cold as steel and yet her skin beneath the touch ignites with warmth. She tilts her face against it and finds his eyes again.
“Yes, I’m right here,” she answers.
“Will…will my Goddess smile upon me?”
Such a simple request and yet, it feels heavier than any prayer offered when she was holy.
Somehow she does it, lips quivering with the effort, and wills her face to turn to stone. She blinks back the tears threatening to river down her face. “In this life and the next.”
There is a heavy pause and then, “When you found me just now you said…you will become human?”
She nods. “Yes. I will do everything I can to aid you, hero…Link.”
Speaking his name does something to him. His eyes flash between wonder and trepidation. “You cannot do this…I…failed.”
She shakes her head, the gemstones of her circlet swaying against her forehead with the motion. “No. You have not failed. Our people are safe and this land will heal. We will finish this as it was started. Together.”
“I am…I am not worthy of such sacrifice.” He lowers his gaze.
“Waste not another breath questioning your worth. It is already done. This body will die and I will be reborn as a simple human. I shall carry this burden with you.” She fortifies the smile he asked for and captures his chin with her fingers to bring his eyes back to hers. “This is my choice. For this land…for you.”
Link closes his eyes, in disbelief or surrender of her decision she can’t be sure, and keeps them closed for a long moment. She lets him rest in silence, listening to the deliberate cadence of his breath. In order to wield the Triforce, he will need to be tested again, but she will stand beside him this time. Though no longer immortal, her sealing powers will follow her into the next life and she will figure out a way to unlock them and hold off the Demon King until Link is ready. She will leave behind favors to reward his struggles; relics to strengthen his body and spirit and Sword. The Sword! She can create a companion and attach it to the blade to assist him in fulfilling his destiny.
He will never be alone again.
“Will we recognize each other in the next life?” He’s looking at her again. It’s a human question. Familiarity is a mortal desire and now that she’s becoming one, suddenly, she feels a yearning for it, too. As a Goddess, she knows what becomes of a soul when the body has died. She can gaze into the future from the edge of time before her power completely eclipses to see what awaits them, but she has no way to protect their memories from the cool and cleansing waters that await them in resurrection.
“We must venture blindly into the future, with a story yet to be written, like all the mortals of this realm. We…we will be different people bound by destiny,” she tells him sadly.
His eyebrow furrows stubbornly. Determined. “But…if we are bound by destiny…it doesn’t matter if my body is changed, my soul will know yours, and yours will know mine. Right?”
Something flutters in her chest.
He wishes to know her.
She could order the Sword to tell him, or create some kind of dowsing feature to lead his spirit to hers, but she feels a strange sadness at the thought. Must it be a sword that unites their souls? Does it have to be the key? She aches to be something gentle, something that will grant his innocent last request again and again; that lets her smile upon him and he upon her.
Can she be more than just a call to arms?
“Long I have watched you, Link. Before your imprisonment, before the people’s lion needed fangs. Most would choose prayer when they spoke to me, but you…”—her voice surprises her and catches in her throat at the memory—“you often played music.”
He tilts his head. “You were listening?”
“Here,” Hylia eases him back against the stone where she found him. He leans his head back, exposing the hard edge of his handsome jaw, the long line of his throat, and she suddenly becomes aware of her pulse racing in her ears. She does several oddly human things right in a row under his stare: wipes her cheeks clean, pushes her hair behind her ears, smoothes the front of her gown.
Is she nervous?
Hylia summons courage into her heart and gold to her fingers and begins to weave together the image held in her mind. She draws a curve and strings it quickly, a soft crescendo sounding as each thread is set. The harp is small and adorned with the wingspan of the Loftwing he pledged to soar with eternally. When it is complete, she holds it against her shoulder and strums it tentatively to test the sound.
“That’s lovely,” he whispers.
“This pleases you?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks flush with warmth. She smiles and he returns it.
“Beautiful,” he sighs.
She blushes deeper and begins strumming one of the songs he would often play for her. It's the song that came to mind when she vowed to shed her divinity; the one that kicked up something curious from the depths of her sacrality years ago. It always made her feel something she was not meant to, and yet, it existed and persisted after all this time, tapping gently against her piety like fingers upon a window.
And when she finally gazed upon her reflection, although she stood exalted, she discovered she wasn’t whole. She’d never been, despite divine purpose and sacred duty. Not until now.
“This is always my favorite,” she tells him. She can see all the places he worshiped her in this way: the spring deep inside Faron, in the shadow of the angry mountain in Eldin, under the moonlight just outside his hometown village, from the despair of his prison cell when he could only rattle his chains.
Whenever he played this song, she listened.
She is sad to near the end and hesitates before it, fingers slow and unsure. “Tell me, Link. Does it have a name?”
He barely has the strength to open his eyes, which have closed in his listening. “It is called “Ballad of the Goddess”.”
Her heart flutters again. “It’s like a lullaby.”
“It can be yours, if you like.”
Hylia has witnessed many people dying in her name. Even before the war against the Demon King, ever since she accepted the Triforce from the Goddesses three and the land of Hylia flourished beneath her feet, she has been the one people seek in the end. But the closeness of this, the devotion in his stare; the way she’s gripping him back in return. She feels the whole of her burgeoning humanity like a gaping wound. It mirrors the one that steals him from her now.
She may live to see tomorrow but from this she will never recover.
She begins to weep. Through the blur of her tears, she sees Link reach forward and hears the echo of the song's final note. It will end with them in the next life. It has to. She will sing a song across the ages and he will be the one to finish it.
He talks of being unworthy, but she…
Hylia sets down the harp and gathers him back up in her arms. He’s heavy with death. “All you need to do is listen. I’ll play my harp for you and your soul will know mine, I promise.”
“I’ll come running,” he says.
This feeling could fill a lifetime—a hundred lifetimes. Her body shakes with it, even though she doesn’t know its name. It just swirls and swirls in her chest like a gathering storm. She takes his face in her hands and brushes her lips against his. His eyes flutter closed with a sigh.
“Rest now, Link. And when you're ready,” she kisses him one last time as he slips away, willing her words to follow, “come and find me.”
—
Link is a little out of breath when he finally finds her standing in the shade of the Goddess statue at the highest point in all of Skyloft. Zelda has her back to him, but he can see the golden harp in her hands and assumes she’s been practicing while she waits for him to meet her. It is finally her turn to play the “Ballad of the Goddess” during the Wing Ceremony this year and he knows she’s feeling nervous because she’s told him. She’s good at everything she does, so he’s not exactly sure why she’s so worried, but he’s also very relieved he doesn’t have to play harp in front of the entire island. He’d probably mess up and play it backwards.
He lingers back as she begins strumming the first few notes. It isn't a long song, but it’ll give him a minute to catch his breath and hopefully come up with a legitimate excuse for making her wait. He can’t believe he overslept, on today of all days! He sleeps like he’s dead.
When she starts to sing, her voice light and pleasant, the shade from the Goddess statue momentarily recedes. The sun shines bright and brilliant from behind her, edging her silhouette in gold. He’s heard the “Ballad of the Goddess” a hundred times before, Zelda is his childhood friend, and yet, at this moment, this song, her voice—it’s more than just a familiar melody. It’s something deeper. Something to be cherished. A promise kept.
The song echoes from his marrow, like it was born there, and before he can stop himself, he’s off running again, overwhelmed by the sense of urgency to reach her. To stand beside her.
He’s sorry it took him so long, but he’s here! He finally—
She stops mid-strum, undoubtedly distracted by the rumble of his rapid approach, and just as quickly as it appeared, whatever possessed him to start sprinting abruptly vanishes in the silence. He skids to a halt but there is no time to process what came over him and nowhere to hide. She begins to turn around and Link does the only thing he can think to do—he smiles. He smiles because he’s breathless and speechless and really confused, and, even though he doesn’t deserve it, sometimes a smile will buy him some mercy when she’s gearing up to really give it to him.
But Zelda doesn’t look angry, though. Not at all. In fact, when she finally spots him, she loops her arms behind her back and steps forward to meet him exactly where he stands. And just like the Goddess statue watching over them, she’s smiling back at him, too.