Determination

The morning silence was suddenly shattered by a sharp beep that startled Link, pulling him from his darker thoughts. It was Purah's Pad, vibrating in his hand—a signal of an urgent message in the group chat. Smiling, he welcomed the break from his ominous musings, feeling warmth at the thought of his friends, and quickly opened the messaging panel.

"Good morning!" greeted Yunobo with the boundless cheer and warmth characteristic of the Gorons. He seemed particularly proud since he had been named Sage of Fire. "Ready? I'm on my way to Lookout Landing with a fresh arsenal of rock roast, just finished up at the Grill."

Riju replied with a chuckle, always amused by the young Goron's insatiable appetite.

"Ha, ha, ha! I'm all set to go too!" laughed Riju. The young Chief of the Gerudo and Sage of Lightning was in high spirits that morning. "I'm just finalizing a few last details with Buliara. She's the one I've entrusted with my duties while I'm away from the Town."

Link smiled; Buliara was undeniably perfect for the role. Not only was she Riju's right hand, well-versed in the intricacies of command, but she had also served faithfully under the young matriarch's mother before her. With Buliara at the helm, Gerudo Town was in excellent hands.

An audio message broke the silence. It was Tulin, the son of the newly appointed Rito chieftain, and the Sage of Wind.

A knot tightened in Link's stomach as he listened to the message. "Barely a teenager, and he already bears the weight of being named Sage of Wind," he thought.

"Liiink! I'm on my way!" Tulin's youthful voice rang out, filled with boundless enthusiasm. "I'm flying to Lookout Landing! We're going to give that Demon King a real fight!"

Sidon, King of the Zora and Sage of Water, also wrote to the group:

"My apologies for the delay. Yona and I have just finished packing up. We'll set out shortly after a few final words with my father and Muzu, who will be overseeing the Domain in our absence."

Mineru, the Sage of Spirit, sent her morning greeting. Though she would not be with them at Lookout Landing, she understood the importance of joining their morning salutations.

Link smiled and wrote a reply:

"Thank you all. I truly appreciate your support. When all this is over, we'll have a grand feast of roast rocks, salmon in sauce, hearty Hyrule bass, and, of course, rivers of Noble Pursuit."

"Oh, absolutely!" Purah added. "Everyone, take care on the journey and make sure your teleport coordinates are correctly configured. I emailed all of you yesterday with the details… even you, Tulin, since although you're flying, you never know if something might go wrong mid-flight."

Almost in unison, everyone confirmed their coordinates were set. Purah, sighing to herself, murmured quietly:

"Let's just hope no one ends up teleporting into a river of lava…"

With the exchange of messages concluded, Link sighed and stepped out onto the balcony of his home in Arkadia. From there, he gazed out at the vast horizon, where the sea met the sky in a distant line that seemed as infinite as his own thoughts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill his lungs, searching for the calm he so desperately needed. He knew that soon he would face the greatest trial of his life, but for a brief moment, he longed for peace.

However, he couldn't shake the unease that gripped him. The sky, tinged a deep red, reminded him of the malice looming over the kingdom, the darkness gnawing at its foundations, the inevitable confrontation that lay ahead. Though the scenery appeared tranquil, the storm's omen was unmistakable.

The wind howled against the house, whispering against the glass as if delivering a silent warning of what was to come. A chill ran down Link's spine, and without thinking, he stepped away from the balcony, seeking the warmth of the house's interior. He approached the fireplace, where the fire crackled with a dim warmth, yet the glow of the flames failed to dispel the cold he felt inside. The real chill lay in his heart, a weight of responsibility he couldn't cast into the fire.

He returned to his bedroom, where the weapons and shields he had gathered throughout his journey lay scattered across his bed, not without a certain amount of chaos. He looked over his collection with pride. Most of these pieces had cost him blood, sweat, and tears, but now, along with the Master Sword, they would all serve him in his final battle.

First, he examined and selected from his shields—one from a silver Lynel, the Hylian shield, and several royal shields. As he did so, his mind filled with memories. One of them had a plush desert walrus stuck in the center, a gift from Riju. Seeing it, he recalled his last visit to the Gerudo Citadel, amused by the young matriarch's laughter when she discovered his quirky sense of humor: "Link, you've always had a peculiar sense of humor!"

Next, he admired his weapons. Some had been earned in the depths, among puzzles and dangers. These were his most treasured trophies, weapons of ancient heroes who had once freed Hyrule from the Demon King's darkness. He knew they were perfect for the task; surface weapons, corroded by malice, wouldn't withstand as much as these relics.

He chose the best, the most powerful, and then dressed in his favorite attire: the Hylian hood and trousers combined with the new Champion's Tunic, the one Zelda had carefully hidden. He packed the Depths Armor, in case he needed extra protection against the malice underground, and the Aerodynamic Suit, though he wasn't sure why—something told him it would come in handy.

As he adjusted his new tunic, he felt the softness of the fabric and the delicate embroidery. A pang of sadness gripped him. The image of his previous Champion's Tunic, the one Zelda had so painstakingly embroidered for him a hundred years ago, resurfaced in his mind. It had been completely destroyed after the mummy's attack. Though already worn by time and battle, seeing it in tatters had deeply wounded him.

Then, he remembered how, upon returning home after the incident and his slow recovery at the Temple of Time, a surprise awaited him. Zelda, always attentive to details, had commissioned a new tunic for his birthday. The small clues she had left led him to its hiding place, and when he found it, his heart swelled with emotion.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment to relive that instant. That night, filled with gratitude and melancholy, Link made his way to the castle. In Zelda's ruined chamber, he sat beside her broken bed, clutching the tunic to his chest. The memory of her filled every thread of the garment. He took a Silent Princess from his pouch, inhaling its sweet scent, which still echoed in his memory like a whisper of peace.

The fabric's softness wrapped him in a vestige of Zelda: her warmth, her tenderness, her very presence. As he held it, Link noticed a detail he hadn't seen before—golden threads interwoven with the original white design. A sigh of emotion escaped him as he recalled the Sheikah art of Kintsugi, which repairs fractures with gold, beautifying scars rather than hiding them. "Perhaps she thought my wounds could be part of my strength too," he reflected, tracing the golden threads with his fingers.

With a final deep breath, Link stepped out the door, fully prepared. The battle ahead was inevitable, but he was ready to face it—not just for Hyrule, but for Zelda.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a few moments to relive that instant. That night, carried by a mix of gratitude and melancholy, Link made his way to the castle. In Zelda's ruined chamber, he sat beside her broken bed, clutching the tunic to his chest. The memory of her filled every thread of the garment. He took a Silent Princess from his pouch, inhaling its sweet scent, which still echoed in his memory like a whisper of peace.

The softness of the fabric wrapped him in a vestige of Zelda: her warmth, her tenderness, her very presence. As he held it, Link noticed a detail he hadn't seen before—golden threads interwoven with the original white design. A sigh of emotion escaped him as he recalled the Sheikah art of Kintsugi, which repairs fractures with gold, beautifying scars rather than hiding them. "Perhaps she thought my wounds could be part of my strength too," he reflected, tracing the golden threads with his fingers.

"Thank you for your gift, Zelda," he thought, adjusting the garment with care and closing his eyes, as if that gesture were enough to communicate with her wherever she was at that moment. "I promise that when I find you… because I will find you, that much is certain… we will celebrate together. I… have so much to tell you, so much I want to share with you."

As he ran his fingers over the fabric, his heart still racing with emotion, memories of his own scars—both physical and emotional—surged forward. He had tried to hide them for so long, especially from her. But now, looking at the golden threads in the tunic, something clicked. Zelda had sent him a deeper message, one that went beyond the garment itself: scars were not the end of his story but the beginning of something new. A reminder that what is broken can be transformed, that his pain, his wounds, could be part of his strength.

The echo of those thoughts pulled him back to the present, and with it, the weight of what he had to do. Zelda was no longer just a symbol of love and hope; her memory now became a force driving him forward. But he couldn't afford to lose more time reminiscing. The impending battle, the fight against the Demon King, was the true challenge he had to face. Only after defeating the darkness that had invaded Hyrule could he focus on what truly mattered: finding Zelda. If Mineru was right, the Demon King's darkness had to be vanquished first if he was to bring her back to the world.

With renewed determination, he removed his hands from the tunic, leaving behind the emotions it had evoked. The moment of introspection had ended. A final adjustment to his attire, and he rose from the bed, his resolve unwavering. The upcoming battle would not only determine the fate of Hyrule but also Zelda's. He could not fail.

Shaking his head, he dispelled the lingering shadows of nostalgia that tried to cling to his mind. "I cannot be distracted now," he reminded himself, as the weight of the mission enveloped him like a cloak. Emotions were left behind; purpose guided him forward.

With steady hands, he locked away the rest of his outfits, aware of the rumors about a clothing thief in the area. With a snap of his fingers, he activated Ultrahand, creating a sealed compartment to secure everything. But at that moment, his gaze inevitably fell upon his arm. The greenish glow of his prosthetic, the almost palpable pulse of the malice still nestled within it, made him hesitate for a moment.

"Why can't I get rid of this?" The thought echoed in his mind as he gritted his teeth. The unease grew in his chest, a weight he couldn't shake. "Is this malice a part of me now? Will there always be something marking me, something reminding me how close I was to losing everything?"

The flicker of darkness in his arm seemed to whisper to him, as if it sought to claim what remained of his humanity. He knew the battle was not just against the Demon King—it was against the echoes of his own past, against the invisible scars the fight had left on his soul.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He couldn't afford to waver. The battle ahead required everything he had. He closed his backpack and, as he adjusted the straps, one last question crept into his mind, cold and sharp as a blade:

"What if this shadow never disappears?"

But now he had another mission to fulfill. With his backpack filled with outfits, weapons, shields, and lively food rations, Link scanned every corner of his home, as if trying to engrave it in his memory. He mentally reviewed everything he would need for the battle against the Demon King, assessing whether there was anything else that could give him an advantage. However, his thoughts soon drifted to something deeper.

"What if I don't come back? Or worse, what if one of my friends doesn't return?" The thought struck him hard, a weight he hadn't anticipated. "How would I face their families, their loved ones, if any of the sages fell in battle or returned with wounds that could never heal?" He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the rising pressure overwhelming him. The responsibility felt unbearable, like a shadow he couldn't ignore.

"I failed to protect one… How can I protect five?"

With his eyes closed, he tried to steady his breathing, but his mind betrayed him. "What's wrong with me today?" Normally, he faced every battle without hesitation. He charged forward with the certainty that victory was within reach. But this time… dark images flooded his mind, piling up uncontrollably: visions of blood, lost battles, familiar faces falling to the ground. Zelda, collapsing as he failed to reach her. Tulin, Yunobo, Riju, Sidon… staring at him in despair from the ground.

His jaw clenched as he shook his head, trying to dispel those images. "It's just pre-battle tension," he reasoned, trying to hold onto logic. "I just need to calm down. Come on… think of something cheerful, some nonsense."

He forced himself to look around, grounding himself in the present. That was when his sword began to flicker softly. The light it emitted wasn't blinding, but its glow intertwined with a faint vibration, almost like a whisper.

And then, a voice emerged, clear and firm, resonating deep within him.

—Link... you are more than ready. Do not doubt now. —The voice was warm, but there was a tone of warning, as if trying to hold him on the edge of the abyss—. And be careful… there is still malice inside you.

The whisper of those words faded into the air, leaving him with a sense of unease and renewed resolve. Though the anxiety hadn't fully disappeared, something in those words reminded him that, even if he doubted, he was not alone in this fight.

Time was running out. Link headed for the door, but just before opening it, he stopped. He looked around his home once more, as if trying to capture every detail in his memory. The past months had been a whirlwind: challenges overcome, truths uncovered, and alliances forged. But now, a new battle loomed over him. He took a deep breath, and with one final glance, he finally opened the door.

As he stepped through, the sky greeted him with its ominous crimson hue. The sun's rays struggled to pierce through the thick clouds, as if nature itself was at war. The atmosphere was heavy, charged with an energy that made his skin prickle.

"This is not just any dawn," he thought. Every step towards Lookout Landing brought him closer to his destiny, to a battle that would decide the future of Hyrule. It wasn't just the kingdom's fate at stake—it was also his own soul.

With one final glance at his home, Link shut the door behind him. The dry thud of the wood settling confirmed the inevitable: the final battle, not just for the future of Hyrule, but for his very soul, was about to be decided.

IN THE ABYSS

In the abyss, in the darkest and deepest hole, the Demon King waited impatiently, seated on his throne of shadows. The darkness around him seemed to devour everything, while his blazing gaze burned with a contained fury that grew with every passing moment. They were close—he could feel the approach of Link and the sages—but he was not worried. Not yet.

The shadows of the abyss stirred as if they were alive, filled with monstrous creatures crawling through its dark recesses. In the distance, guttural whispers and deranged laughter echoed. The Poes, wandering spirits trapped in this cursed dimension, screamed in despair, doomed to wander for eternity, prisoners of the infinite darkness that surrounded them. Their voices were like muted echoes, a constant reminder of the power the Demon King wielded over this place.

The Demon King let out a deep, macabre laugh. Every fiber of his being reveled in the victory he already considered assured, relishing the torments that awaited his enemies. His laughter echoed through the abyss, causing even the most fearsome creatures to shrink back, crushed by the weight of his power.

—Does he really believe he can defeat me? That his courage is enough? He has no idea who he is facing. I am Power itself. He will fall before he even reaches the abyss.

He closed his eyes in disdain, as if the mere thought of the heroes' arrival was a nuisance, a game that would soon be extinguished in his infinite darkness. The Demon King was above everything—above hope and struggle, above any attempt at resistance. He had already won, even before the battle had begun.

However, as his mind drifted through these thoughts, a figure appeared in the shadows. Clad in a tight red suit that ominously reflected the faint light reaching the depths of the abyss, the figure knelt before the Demon King's dark throne. A white mask covered its face, implacable and cold, revealing no trace of emotion. Its earrings, shaped like bananas, jingled softly with each movement. The figure remained silent, waiting for its presence to be acknowledged.

The Demon King opened his eyes, a malevolent smile forming as he perceived the presence before him. He knew who it was: his loyal servant, his executioner, always ready to carry out his will.

—Are you ready for what is to come? —the Demon King asked, his voice deep and laden with dark promises.

The figure remained silent for a few seconds before responding, its tone icy and devoid of fear:

—I will be, Your Magnificence.

—By the way... —the Demon King narrowed his eyes and straightened slightly, scrutinizing his servant more intently—. Are my vassals prepared to lay waste to everything?

—Of course, Your Magnificence —the figure replied without hesitation—. My minions are summoning them as we speak. Soon, Hyrule will be overwhelmed by the wave of evil we are about to unleash.

—Excellent... excellent... —murmured the Demon King, reclining once more in his throne with palpable satisfaction—. Let's see how that pathetic hero holds up as his friends fall one by one...

A new wave of tension coursed through the abyss. The air itself seemed to thicken with the impending catastrophe. The Demon King knew the confrontation was near, that everything he had planned, all the darkness he had sown, would soon reach its climax. In his heart, pulsed an absolute certainty of victory. However, he could not help but savor the final moments of waiting, knowing that the fate of the brave ones approaching was all too predictable.