Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction ❯ Who By Fire ❯ Lore ( Chapter 12 )

"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path." – Buddha

Though Faron woods is glid with sunlight, he can smell darkness lingering within its trees even still.

Link slouches on the dais where the Gate of Time rests, tirelessly wheeling away.

The Imprisoned has been sealed away, again. Link is sure there is to be another time, yet he has little choice but to beat it into submission, each time it reawakens.

He supposes that's why it's called destiny.

The word leaves ugly imprints in his skull.

He has opened the Gate of Time, its holy magic pulling him in with invisible hands; but Link resists, by either fear or hesitance.

He presses his lips together. What's there to be afraid of?

Link considers this, brows lowering with thought. He wrings his hands in his lap, staring with fixed intent at the cobbled floor. A beetle scuttles across his boot, its shiny black shell so much like that horrible ebony blade -

Link hisses, jerking his head up.

He cranes his neck to one side, eyeing the old woman, who sits motionlessly before the cracked stone doors, her great red hood shadowing her face. Groose has left to do something or other, unhindered from their battle. Link feels a twinge of jealousy prick his stomach, how Groose can so easily brush off exhaustion.

It feels as if someone has opened up his spine and poured boiling oil there, rushing into the cavities of his body, burning away musculature and bone. He aches. It hurts even to blink.

"Hey, Link! Come over here for a minute!"

Groose motions him over to where he kneels on the ground, inside an open antechamber within the temple. Link gives him a decidedly grumpy look. Groose gives one right back.

"C'mon, I just want to show you something! You're seriously out of shape, if you're this exhausted after such an easy fight!"

Link glares. Groose glares back.

Heavily, Link drops his head with a sigh, rising to his feet, to trudge tiredly to where Groose kneels. Sunlight cuts in through the decrepit stone ceiling, illuminating a mound of softly tilled soil Groose stoops beside. The air smells less like darkness here, more like freshly cut grass, turpentine-sharp.

Groose glances up at him, blunt features softening in a grin.

"I like this place, Link," he mumbles quietly, looking back to the mound of soil.

Link licks his lips, gazing awkwardly to one side. He hikes up one shoulder in a clumsy shrug. "I guess it's nice. It's bigger than Skyloft, at least."

Groose grins at him from where he rests in the dirt, grass staining the knees of his trousers. "It's not just that, though. I don't know what it is, but I just got this feeling in my belly, you know? It feels like I should stay here, doing my part. Besides, Grannie needs someone to make sure she's all right, and I can't think of a better person to do it."

Sunlight warms Link's neck, shimmering off his sandy-blond hair, as he tips his head up to smile, hesitantly. Groose stands, patting dirt from his trousers, muscled arms smeared with soil.

"I never thought I'd hear you say something nice about anyone, Groose. Congratulations."

Groose smirks, slamming one large hand onto Link's aching shoulder; Link immediately recoils in pain.

"Erm, oops," Groose mutters sheepishly, smoothing his pompadour back on reflex. Link glares at him, rubbing his sore shoulder.

Groose looks over Link's head, thin lips pressing together. Link follows the invisible line of his eyes. Behind them, the Gate of Time continues to rotate, throwing precious seconds away with each turn of its gears.

"Well, you went through so much trouble to open it, Link, I think you should make good use of it."

Link faces the Gate of Time.

Gaepora sneezes brutally into his open book.

"Ugh," he groans, wiping his nose with a kerchief retrieved from his robes, "I forgot how dusty long-unread books can become."

His office is brightly lit, curtains pulled away from the windows. Scattered all along his desk are dozens of books, in varying states of disarray and use. Those oldest in age have been opened many times, pages furling away from their spines, browned from age. He has made a separate stack of books he has already combed through.

In his hands, he currently reads a book of considerable age, its pages dotted with ink spills here or there. Its cover has been lost, maiming the book to be untitled; it's not the title that matters to him, however.

With reading glasses perched on his crooked nose, Gaepora turns a page, skimming the next, before turning another. He does this for a few dozen more pages, before closing it with a final thud. He sets it aside to rub angrily at his temples.

"Nothing! You'd think ancient historians would do a better job of recounting such an important period in time, I thought tales of wars and all-powerful relics were important."

He sits heavily at his desk, leaning against it, head held in his hands. Between his arms lies a book which has fallen on its front, split open so that its spine sticks up.

He had glanced through this one an hour ago, paying it little attention, as most of its passages were too old to decipher.

Turning it right-side up and opening it, Gaepora is immediately greeted by one, singular paragraph, less aged than the rest. Its print is so small he has to bring it within a mere inch before his face to read it aloud:

"It is said that the Goddess Hylia, patron of Time, was bestowed the duty of guarding The Golden Power. To aid her, Hylia brought into being two entities, which would each embody the pieces of Wisdom and Power. One, although young in appearance, possessed wisdom beyond mortal years. She would guard the Triforce of Wisdom. The other, her counterpart, guarded the Triforce of Power…"

The rest is smudged beyond readability.

Gaepora's forehead wrinkles, bushy brows forced low over his eyes. Frantically, he turns the book from page to page, nearly ripping it from its bindings in his haste.

"This must have been important to be recorded in such an old book….Din damn me to hell for not minding my books more carefully!"

A page is rent from its binding, fluttering to the floor. Using his choicest and most colorful language, Gaepora bends to retrieve it, nearly sticking it back in its place. It has ripped in such a way that the last few sentences are all that remain clear. Moistening his lips, Gaepora nudges his reading glasses up his nose to read again.

"….her dark counterpart would come to betray Hylia and her cause, joining The Demon King's many hordes as their leader. In return, The Demon King promised him possession of great power, should they come to defeat the Goddess. This counterpart would come to be known…"

Gaepora blinks, flipping the page from front to back in bewilderment. There is nothing else written upon it.

Rain begins to pour against the windows.

"I'm still your Zelda…"

By now, Zelda has become used to hearing words she has never spoken. These words are not a memory of some life she has lived before; rather, a memory of something that should have happened, but which destiny has not allowed.

She feels wrong.

Zelda lies face-up upon her bed, the silken red sheets bundling around her legs. Her hair falls across one shoulder, the hem of her powder-blue dress hiked up along her ankles. Through the lace bed canopy she can see the ceiling; had it any cracks, she would count them, yet the white expanse is unmarred.

She breathes in and out.

Inhale. Exhale.

She closes her eyes, and the world disappears.

Link's face springs up in her mind, blotted, a half-finished painting. He looks more sorrowful than she can bear, though she's not looking at him, not truly, not in the present.

"When Demise is finally gone, there will be no need for the seal which binds him, and I'll be able to wake up…"

Zelda opens her eyes, shocking blue in the darkness of her bedroom. Sitting up, hair loose down her back, she counts the lines of melted wax she has poured on the mirror, to count the days since her failed escape. There are five neat lines, the hardened wax slashing red across her reflection.

A candle burns upon her vanity, its single flame punching through the shadows surrounding her.

"I don't understand," Zelda breathes, a few strands of hair sticking to her lips, ignored. Her voice gains a shrill ring. "What does any of this mean?"

Kneeling on the floor, she fumbles beneath the mattress, retrieving her book of myths. It is not the familiar pages she turns to; instead, she pauses at the very back, where her father had jotted something in scribbled Hylian:

"The seal can break."

Zelda squints hard at the words. She reads them over and over, until they begin to blur together. From them she remembers something her father had said, years and years ago –

"…It's said that the Goddess Hylia placed herself into a thousand-year sleep, so that she might keep the seal upon The Demon King strong."

Zelda drops the book, as Ghirahim's words finally gain a cold, frightful meaning.

He had called her something, something, days before, his breath smelling of steel –

Zelda presses trembling fingers to her mouth.

"My dearest little Hylia…"

The past is, much to his astonishment, largely unchanged from the present.

Link sucks in a tremulous breath of air; it smells fresh, full of sharp purity. Around him, the temple is unmarred by time. There are no vines shouldering their way between the stones, nor a mossy covering beneath his boots.

His hand is at the hilt of his sword before Link even knows why.

Impa emerges from a far corner, out of the shadows clinging there, as if made from them herself. Her tawny arms are bare, crossed over her chest. Her dark garb seems out-of-place to him, in a world full of such light. She is tall, tenuous, with sleekness he can never hope to attain; though she could slip through cracks in a wall, Link knows she has strength enough to break his spine (or any other body part) without effort.

There is deadliness in every flutter of her eyelids.

She tips her head, raising one blond eyebrow. "You've improved since our last meeting, I see."

A moment of hesitation; Link lowers his sword-hand.

Impa motions toward the stone floor. "Join me, Link. We have much to discuss." With boneless ease, she sits, long legs tucked beneath her.

Link stands ineptly in the sunlight. He stares at the weeping red eye, tattooed upon her bronzed forehead.

"I've seen that symbol on your forehead before."

Her bright, bright red eyes blink up at him. "Have you?"

Link joins Impa, kneeling across from her on the stone ground, an arm's length away.

Her magic itches along his skin; subtly, light enough to barely be felt.

Link ignores the urge to scratch. "Yes, in an ancient history book, a few years ago. There wasn't very much information, except a picture of that symbol. Does it mean anything?"

Impa lowers her head, chin tucked down into sharp collarbones. "Neither of us have the pleasantry of time to discuss this, Link."

Heat washes up his neck – he blinks a moment after, startled. "I've never told you my name!"

She scoffs through her nose. "It took you this long to notice? Yes, Link, I have known your name as soon as we set eyes. You wear it as clearly as your own skin." She holds up one slender hand to silence him, adding, "There is no time to discuss these matters. They are unimportant. What's important, right now, is Zelda."

Link straightens, shoulders tensing. "Yes, but you were supposed to protect her. How do I know I can trust you? I hardly know anything about you, much less your people."

She looks at him with the intensity of a blizzard. The itch of her magic intensifies on his skin.

"You've got more of a spine than I first assumed," Impa utters, her refined profile stilling as she squints at something he cannot see.

When she faces him again, Link shirks from her fearsome red gaze.

"Whatever information I give to you is not to be repeated, not even upon your deathbed, Hero. I only tell you these things because she trusts you, and whomever she bestows her trust onto, I do as well. Am I understood?"

Link sets his jaw. "Yes."

Those crimson eyes whisk closed. After a moment, they open once again.

"I was able to know your name by using Sight."

"Sight?"

"Yes, the ability to see beyond our material world. Not just into the minds and hearts of mortals, but also into the future."

"So those myths about your people are true, then."

Impa nods. "My tribe – the Sheikah – are sworn to protect Her Grace. We are Seers, fortune-tellers, and assassins. We are Shadow Folk. Are you familiar with that tale as well?"

Link bites his cheek, face scrunching. "I think so. It said that the Sheikah were born of the first shadow to ever come into being, not long after the Old Gods left our realm."

There is a strange smile curving Impa's sculpted lips. In the waning sunlight, her eyes burn fiercest red.

"Yes. We gained Her favor with our skills. We were promised nothing for our services; we have been given nothing still, but that is our way. We serve Her for no other purpose than to protect."

Link rubs his chin thoughtfully. "What about you? Why do you, personally, protect Zelda?"

When he looks to her next, there is a wistful sadness darkening her face; it feels as if he's gazing at someone much older than any mortal should be.

"Ah, the point I wished to come to, Link. I knew her, the girl you call Zelda, in her past life."

There is a great moment of pause. Outside the stone walls, birdsong echoes.

Link pales, shaking his head incomprehensibly. "Her past life?"

Impa inclines her face upward, toward a stained-glass window behind him. Link turns to better observe it; upon the glass shines the image of a radiant woman, her flaxen hair impossibly long, wearing a flowing blue gown that seems to ripple within the picture itself. In her left hand, she holds a sword identical to his own, fiercer in its angles, and in her right, a bright crimson apple.

Link feels his breath stiffen inside his own lungs. He forces his eyes away from the image, back to Impa.

His tongue is coarse with disbelief. "You're saying that Zelda…she was the Goddess in her past life? That's why you protect her? Zelda was…Hylia?"

Even as he says it, Link cannot bring himself to contemplate the weight those names hold, spoken on the same breath.

Impa leans closer, reaching one lithe arm between them, to rest two fingertips against his forehead. Her eyes hold him steadier than stone. This close, she smells like spice and steel.

"Observe closely, boy. I will not show you this again."

A sensation like warm water gushing into his cranium overcomes him, the world veering off into violent colors, as if someone has swept the present away like a tablecloth. In its place entifies a barren black field, coalescing into solid, harsh lines inside his mind.

When Impa speaks, he hears her voice echoing infinitely through his skull, lulling, strange.

"During The Ancient War, I served as Hylia's vanguard and Seer, aiding her battle against Demonic forces. Hylia guarded the Triforce; I guarded Hylia."

Within the broiling red sky appears a brilliant light, white-hot in its intensity, through which he can see a feminine silhouette. Another figure joins it from the shadows, to bow in reverence.

"Her Grace laid her plans before me, her plot to undue the evil which sought the Triforce. As a divine being, Hylia herself was not able to wield it. As such, she set two plans into motion."

The landscape changes again, collapsing into itself. Another scene unfurls before Link's consciousness. Below him, as unchanged as he has ever known it, floats Skyloft, surrounded by endless blue.

He squints as two figures slip into view, running along Skyloft's pathways; himself, and Zelda, much younger. She races ahead of him, her plaited hair trailing behind her, wearing a dress of brightest yellow.

"Her first plan, Link, was to reincarnate herself as a mortal, so that she could wield the Triforce herself. You have come to know this mortal as Zelda. She did so hoping that, should the need come, you would risk yourself – your body, as well as your soul – to aid her."

Distantly, Zelda giggles, childlike.

Impa continues. "Her second plan involved you. The mark you bear upon your hand is a testament to your struggles, your awakening as what Hylia meant for you to be: The Hero, who would vanquish the evil you know as The Demon King, Demise. Only by tempering yourself, and your sword, would you be able to accomplish this."

Bodiless, Link watches his former self race after the younger Zelda. She squeals as he catches her, tumbling to the grassy earth together.

Link swallows painfully, an unexplained soreness crashing into his chest.

The scene vanishes like smoke.

He blinks dazedly, Impa's dark face coming into being, rippling a moment before solidifying again. She withdraws her hand, resting it atop her bent knee.

"Hylia knew that, if it meant saving Zelda, you would throw yourself into any danger. She knew that you, above all others, would possess an unbreakable spirit. Because of this, she appointed you – rather, the you who would be born, thousands of years into the future – as The Hero."

Link swallows heavily, throat bereft of moisture. "So this…all of this…Zelda falling from Skyloft, me chasing after her..Ghirahim…this was all preplanned? By her?"

Impa shakes her head, straight-backed, serious. "Not all of it, Hero. There are some things even a Goddess cannot prevent. She never anticipated on falling into Ghirahim's grasp."

He stares at her without expression, blue eyes cloudy, lips slightly parted.

Link inhales shakily.

"What do I do?"

Her lips curl into a rueful smirk. "You know that already. You have come very far in your journey, Link, but it's not yet over. I have one more thing to tell you before you leave."

Link leans forward without conscious thought, face alight from within, anxious. "Zelda?"

"Yes, Link. Zelda. As I have said, Sheikah can see beyond the material world. I have searched every grain of sand on this earth; I'm now certain Zelda is not on the plane of existence we are. I believe Ghirahim is keeping her in another dimension."

His thick brows furrow. "I don't understand. A dimension?"

Impa sighs begrudgingly, shoulders slumping. She lowers her head, blond hair shining in the light. "There is more to this world than what you can see with your eyes. I don't expect one so young to fully understand this. The dimension I speak of is far beyond your comprehension. It's a world between worlds, Link. A space between time itself."

Link bites his lower lip, hands balling into his trousers. "I think I understand, a little. This other dimension – how would I get there to save her?"

He looks to her with hopeful eyes. Impa frowns.

"I'm uncertain if that's possible. Ghirahim is a demon as well as a powerful sorcerer, his magic is not like either of ours. I doubt there's a way either of us could enter this dimension ourselves."

The whole cavern of his insides seems to crash down into his toes. Link clutches his chest as if someone has torn a hole there, fingers twisting into his mossy tunic. His lips tremble.

"Then what was the point of this –of anything? If I neither of us can save her, who will?" Link turns his head, gritting his jaw so hard it cracks. Impa sits, neither speaking nor moving, waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

Link balls both hands into fists, the leather of his gloves rasping against his flesh.

Impa chooses this moment to flick a hank of hair from his forehead, so quickly he's unsure if she has even moved. Slowly, he turns his head toward her once more.

When he looks into her face, it feels like he's gazing into millions of infinities, a long stretch of time spanning inside her red irises.

"Zelda will have to save herself."

AN: I can't believe this almost has 100 reviews! Thanks so much, everyone, your comments always make my day!