Link lay motionless, the weight of fatigue pulling him into a deep sleep. The soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the room, a reassuring sign of life amid the stillness. His body felt heavy, but he was cocooned in warmth and safety, his mind shrouded in an inky darkness where nothing stirred.
Zelda sat beside him, her heart heavy with worry yet infused with hope. She watched as Link's chest rose and fell steadily, his face relaxed and peaceful. The aftereffects of his battle with the Yiga Clan lingered, but she knew he was strong. He had survived so much already; she had faith that he would pull through this as well.
"Just rest, Link," she whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. "You've fought hard. Now it's time to heal."
In his deep sleep, Link drifted through a void where thoughts and memories faded into nothingness. It was a strange sensation, a stark contrast to the chaotic battles he had faced not long ago. There were no dreams to chase, no fears to confront—just silence, like the calm after a storm.
He felt as if he were floating in an endless sea of darkness, free from the burdens of the past and the uncertainty of the future. There were no echoes of the Yiga Clan, no voices calling out for help, and no pain radiating through his body. It was a blank slate, a welcome respite from the harshness of reality.
In this realm of stillness, Link's consciousness slipped deeper. He didn't think of his sword, his shield, or the battles yet to come. He didn't dwell on his failures or the weight of his responsibilities. In that moment, he simply existed, unburdened and serene.
Time passed in an unmeasurable blur. Outside, the sun rose and set, casting warm golden light through the windows, illuminating the small room where Link lay. Zelda remained at his side, keeping vigil, her eyes trained on him, hopeful for signs of recovery.
Days went by, and Link remained in his deep sleep, each passing moment bringing Zelda both anxiety and hope. She would sometimes leave his side to take care of chores around the house or to fetch food, but she always returned, bringing with her the aroma of freshly cooked meals and the warmth of her presence.
One afternoon, as she prepared a light soup in the kitchen, she could hear the distant chirping of birds outside, a reminder of life continuing beyond their small home in Hateno. The gentle breeze rustled through the trees, and she allowed herself to hope that Link would awaken soon.
"Please, Link," she whispered as she stirred the pot, "I need you to come back to me."
In the depths of his unconsciousness, Link was suspended in a void, his mind utterly quiet. There were no thoughts, no memories, and no echoes of the outside world reaching him. It was a profound stillness, as if the fabric of reality had folded in on itself, leaving him adrift in an infinite sea of black.
He felt no time passing, no sensation of hunger or thirst. The only constant was the sense of absence—a space where anxiety, pain, and purpose used to dwell. Even the familiar sounds of Hyrule—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of wildlife, or the gentle hum of Zelda's voice—were muted to nothingness.
Zelda, despite her unwavering hope, began to feel the weight of worry pressing down on her. Each day spent waiting for him to awaken was like an eternity stretched out before her. She would sit beside him, gently holding his hand, wishing for even the faintest sign that he could hear her, that he was still there somewhere beneath the surface.
"Link," she would call softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Please, come back to me. I need you to wake up."
But he remained unresponsive, lost in the depths of his mind. In this realm of darkness, he felt neither fear nor desperation—only an overwhelming sense of peace, as if he were floating in a tranquil sea far removed from the troubles of Hyrule.
