The cold in Hebra was more biting than Link had anticipated. The wind howled through the towering mountains, sweeping across the snow-covered landscape with an unforgiving chill. His body, still recovering from the wounds of the Lynel and the previous battles, struggled to keep up with the demands of this new journey. The temperature was harsh, even for him, and it seemed to seep into his bones no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in his cloak.
Despite the cold, Link pressed on. His mind was set on his task, and the hero within him pushed him forward, even as his body begged for rest. He had grown accustomed to surviving in harsh conditions, but the terrain of Hebra tested even his limits.
As he trudged through the snow, his senses sharpened, alert to any potential danger. The sound of cracking ice and snow underfoot suddenly shifted, and his instincts screamed at him to look around. From the shadows of the ice-covered cliffs, a pair of Lizalfos appeared—ice-enchanted ones. Their scales shimmered like frost under the pale sunlight, their eyes glowing with an unsettling intensity. They moved quickly, each of them wielding jagged ice spears that gleamed with deadly promise.
Link reached for his shield and sword, his muscles protesting the effort as he stood tall against the cold wind. The Lizalfos charged, their movements fluid and swift, faster than he could have expected in this frozen environment.
One lunged at him with its spear, but Link parried it, his shield absorbing the blow. The force of the attack rattled his bones, and he staggered back. His movements were growing slower, his exhaustion from the previous battles finally catching up with him. He managed to deflect another spear strike, but his strength was waning.
The second Lizalfos took advantage of his weariness, leaping at him from the side with a deadly strike aimed at his exposed side. Link tried to move, but his body wasn't responding the way it should. His muscles screamed in protest as he stumbled backward. The attack connected, leaving a sharp, burning pain as the ice blade dug into his ribs.
He gasped in pain, his breath becoming shallow. He could feel the cold creeping deeper into his wound, and the weight of exhaustion pulling at him. The battle was slipping out of his control. But before he could react, a sharp, high-pitched whistling sound sliced through the air.
A single arrow—frosted and deadly—struck him square in the shoulder. The impact knocked him off his feet, and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the snow around him turning red as his blood stained the white landscape.
Link's breath hitched as his vision blurred. He tried to rise, to defend himself, but his body wouldn't obey him. Every movement sent a wave of agony through his chest, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away.
He tried to make a sound—something, anything to push through the pain—but all that escaped was a guttural groan, "Di—agg... uh..."
His body gave one final tremor before his eyes fluttered closed. The sounds of the Lizalfos echoing in his fading mind seemed so distant now. The cold, the pain, it all melted away, and the world around him turned black.
In that moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had finally crushed him. All the battles, all the loss, it had come to this. He had fought so hard, but in the end, it wasn't enough.
Link's body lay still in the snow, alone in the cold expanse of Hebra, as his life faded from the world.
The cold winds continued to howl across the snow-covered plains, unrelenting in their bitter intensity. Link's body lay motionless on the frozen ground, surrounded by the stillness of Hebra. The Lizalfos, after seeing their prey fall, paused for a moment. They circled, cautious but unbothered. But soon, the sound of their claws scraping against the ice faded into the distance, leaving only the deafening silence of the mountain range.
