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It starts with a boy named Link, as things are wont to do. He’s twelve years old and that means everyone tells him he’s too young, but he crashes into Hyrule Castle with all the grace of a piglet splashing in mud, so who’s laughing now?
It’s still them, but he doesn't see those idiots here and standing before the Sword that Seals Big Bad or Something Like That now, does he?
The sword gleams in the light, sitting in the pedestal and waiting for someone to draw it. The Master Sword slumbers, and it's like the world is holding its breath when Link steps forward to grab it by the hilt.
At the bottom of the sea, reaching out for a sword forged in divinity and mortality, Hylia turns her eyes onto Link like the strike of lightning. He knows it to be her the same way he knows his name.
The pressure isn't crushing like he had expected it to be. More like the sea a dozen lengths deep, when your body forgot how to float because the water squeezed the air in your lungs real small. Link’s started spending the hottest days of the year diving that far down, when the sun’s rays warmed the water as deep as it could go, lighting up the world below.
The goddesses are not beings of kindness and purity. You gotta be a special kind of stupid to believe that when the Great Sea exists, even if they all love it to bits. But they existed, and acknowledged the mortals that walked their lands. And when the world wept at their feet for mercy, they answered with a neverending flood for a man born from endless deserts.
The desert. A place where you were hard pressed to find water anywhere. Barely anything to pull the dust and salt out of to wet your lips. Link had hardly believed it the first time Grandma told him about the strange place without a drop of water. The sand he got; he couldn't picture a place where it never met the waves in a brutal kiss.
But Outset Island still dresses their boys in green and passes down tales of the Hero of Time who never rose again, and the gods who responded like a child dumping a bucket of water on an anthill. Which, in Link’s humble opinion, was pretty fucking badass. The idea of being so unstoppably powerful the Gods stomp down and do the equivalent (opposite?) of draining the Great Sea to stuff you away is insane.
Few people worship the Goddesses seriously nowadays, even on Outset Island where their legends are the strongest, at most praying to them for a safe voyage at sea, but said Goddesses didn't seem to care, so the world just… kept going.
Which is to say, Link has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do when Hylia looks at him. He closes his grip around the sword’s hilt, too late to stop, and something thrums in his veins. A distant flutter of wakefulness as he pulls, only to be met with resistance. Which is normal, considering the sword is stuck in stone, but the stories say the Hero of Time - whose giant fucking statue is right there, by the way - had just pulled it out, easy as soup. Link frowns, momentarily forgetting the weight around his torso.
You…
He jolts, gaze snapping up to the ceiling, trying to search for the source of the voice. Right. Hylia. Wasn't one of the Goddesses who flooded the world but was the Hero of Time’s patron. Protector of the Triforce thingy. Not actually much about her. Looking at him. Uh.
“Hi,” he says, half-anxious, half-wary; does he need to do something? Face a trial, the same way he had to fight his way across the Great Sea just to claim those pearls? He’s in a bit of a time crunch here.
You are not the Hero, is what comes, and Link’s stomach does a strange, swooping sensation. He’s not sure why the words sting, because he liked the stories of the Hero, sure, but he never played pretend like the other kids on Outset. Him being here now has nothing to do with being the Hero and everything to do with saving his sister. The Hero’s Spirit is a thing of the past.
The words make his mouth taste bitter all the same, as the gaze of a goddess rests on him like a heavy blanket.
Go back, the voice continues, distant and blurry, like they're underwater underwater and not in a place that has air but is underwater. The pressure lifts, hovering around him instead, and Link looks up. There is a god in this place. That sword is not yours to draw.
“Uh, I kind of have to. I need to go stab Ganondorf in his stupid face.” Link plants his feet and tugs. Still nothing. The sword seems to frown at him, which is silly because swords don't have anything to frown with, but the hilt gets warm in warning, so he lets go hastily. “I know I’m not the hero and all, but I think exceptions can be made here.”
It will be alright, child. Hylia says, sounding more solid by the second. When Link blinks the edge of the universe curls at the fringes. Oh. Freaky. Return home with your sister. The seal will be fixed.
“Oh, so Aryll’s gonna be safe, yeah?” Link beams, still trying to figure out how to have a conversation with someone he can't see. “Then I can fight Ganondorf properly! Get rid of him for good and all.”
Only a Hero may wield that sword. Go back. This is not your duty.
“That’s not fair!” Link grabs the sword once more; it's not hot to the touch anymore, but he doesn't try pulling it out again. “I did all the trials! I proved myself and you know it!”
The thing about gods is that it’s all or and he doesn't want to find out how the seal is going to stay fixed, because it’s not like more seawater is gonna do anything. The gods can't save mortals the way mortals want. Humans do not dine at the gods’ tables. The Hero of Time defeated Ganondorf, but not enough for him to stay buried. But Link’s going to do it. He’s going to put down the demon king for good, Hylia’s doubt of him be damned.
Green wasn't his favourite color but he put it on to make Grandma happy. Aryll is snatched up in the claws of a beast no one has ever seen, and the world laughs at his attempts to save her. The wind dances to his tune, braced at his back as he marches against the current. Ganondorf slumbers at the bottom of the sea, dark power spilling from cracks in the seams. The Red King tells him what it means to be brave.
“The seal’s gonna break. You can't drown him again.” Link stands in a castle frozen in time and bargains with a god. “You need a hero, and I’m here to be one.”
Hylia does not speak, but neither does the Master Sword. Link’s hands are sweaty from gripping it for so long, but he can't ruin his cool speech now. In his head, he can trace the outlines of wings that stretch into infinity. Somehow, it doesn't scare him.
…Child of the sea, Hylia begins, voice ringing with divinity in his head. I name you the Hero of this Era. May your winds be ever swift.
It sounds like a condemnation. Link thinks it’s the closest thing to being blessed he’s ever known.
He draws the Master Sword. It slides from the pedestal like a hot knife from butter, like it had never resisted him at all. He holds it aloft, watches the way light reflects off the blade in a prism of colors. It chimes, singular and clear, startling him out of his stupor, before going silent.
Link scrutinizes it, confused, glancing around to see if anything else is going to try and surprise him. Almost as if it was waiting for him, something touches him lightly on the head, a vague pressure that parts his curls in a reflection of a pat. Link holds his breath.
(I love you.)
The weight of her attention vanishes as quickly as it appeared, Hylia’s gaze turning away entirely until he can breathe normally again. Link feels alone all of a sudden, in the middle of a cold castle and far from home.
The Master Sword hums, low and quiet. He shifts his grip on it, spinning around in a slow circle as he tries to arrange his thoughts. Wow. Did he really just force Hylia to make him the Hero? He’s amazed he wasn't smited halfway through the conversation. Her gaze was heavier than he realized, made light as he stood on the precipice of a cliff and met her head on. Everything has changed now.
So, maybe Link’s not God’s first choice for a Hero. Maybe he’s the only thing they got, and they didn’t even want that. But Hylia names him the would-be savior of the Great Sea and there’s a demon king that won't stay down waiting for him, so that means the title of Hero is his to bear now. And he doesn’t intend to let anyone down.
He doesn't have Courage yet. But in his opinion, it’s more than some little golden triangle, and he’s holding the Master Sword without it, so he thinks it’s gonna be just fine.
Later, with the Master Sword stabbed through Ganondorf’s face, like the Hero of Time surely intended, and everyone safely reunited, Link plops down on Outset’s sandy shores. He traces patterns in the sand, and finds himself drawing wings around the Triforce. The Great Sea is as safe as it ever could be before this whole mess began; Link’s already thinking of his next adventure with Tetra and the crew, hopefully without divine nonsense going on.
He hesitates, stares down at his hands and wonders how someone prays. Going to the little shrine Grandma kept in the corner of the house had felt more open than sitting by the sea, but he doesn't know what to do now. He wonders if Hylia had ever heard him pleading for her to not let Aryll find out he got her favourite shirt pinched by a crab. It hadn't worked, so maybe not.
A laugh bubbles out of his throat. It was a ridiculous adventure from start to finish, and the worst part is that it was really fucking fun once you ignored the horrors.
Link clasps his hands together. “Hey, Hylia, I- I don't know if you're out there or busy, but thanks. For letting me use the Master Sword and everything. I kicked Ganondorf’s stupid butt, just like I said I was gonna. Not bad for a makeshift hero, right?”
It feels better to say it out loud, let the wind sweep his words out to sea, knowing that he accomplished what the gods told him was impossible. That he killed the demon king - too young, too young - and then went home.
The breeze picks up, tousling his hair. Something fills the air. It’s familiar. A star winks in the darkening sky. The waves slow down, crashing gently into the sand. Something folds in on itself, delicate as glass, and wings stretch on towards the horizon. Hylia turns to look at him.
I know what a god looking at you feels like, Link thinks, half-hysterical as he talks to Hylia for the second time in a week.
The pressure is gentle around his shoulders, resting lightly on him. Link thinks about diving to the seabed, looking to bring back oysters so that Grandma can crack them open with her knife in the graceful way only she can do. Hylia gazes upon him from a realm beyond his, and touches his head.
Hero of Winds, she says, the same way the King had, otherworldly and like it means something more than Link understands. You have done brilliantly. You have reminded me of the beautiful tenacity of Hylians. Rest well, my hero.
Link’s breath is caught in his throat. Divine approval threatens to burn his lungs. He wonders if someone is supposed to convert at this point, but he’s not sure if he can do that when he’s tried to barter with God and won. He didn't do it for her; it would be more accurate to say he did it in spite of her. But something gentle unfurls in his chest anyway, sparkling warm.
(I love you.)
Hylia’s touch leaves him once more, her gaze turning away from her hero (her hero!), but Link isn't lonely after she goes. He heard her, this time. He sits there for a long time, watching the sun slip beyond the horizon, and finally stands up to dust off his pants, running back home for dinner.
He can't wait to set sail again.