(Zelink) The Legend of Zelda and the Last knight- Swords and Roses

Why we failed pt. 27 A Hero is Born

Chapter

Why we failed 100 years ago pt. 27

A Hero is Born

The wind met him first. Cool and fragrant, a whisper off the tall grass that rolled like seafoam across the open field. Link emerged from the ancient stairwell with a squint, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the slanting light of lunar luminescence. The circular opening behind him—the mouth of the cistern—vanished seamlessly into the woodland, a small stony crest nestled among moss and bramble.

He exhaled sharply, expecting to see the vibrant pavilions, colorful tents flapping, and the distant clamor of the cheering festival crowd. Instead, only silence greeted him—save for the soft rustle of trees and the quiet trill of unseen critters of the night. No fanfare, no fireworks. Just wind and wilderness. It almost seemed peaceful, except that he knew this is not the end of his troubles yet.

"This... isn't the way I came. Is this the exit?"

His boots crunched against dew kissed pine needles as he stepped further from the forest's mouth, gazing across the meadow. A wide expanse of green stretched before him, but what caught his eye was the colossal structure rising on the far end of the field: a great arena, its ringed walls standing two-and-a-half men high made from timber logs, interspersed with banners bearing the Hyrulean crest. Palisades guarded certain outposts within he could see from his vantage point and atop its parapets, no guards yet stood. No faces peered down. A quiet hush clung to the place, like breath held before a battle.

It was unmistakably the crudely crafted coliseum—the Crucible of Inferno, if whispers were to be believed. The path was plain before him—no crossroads, no fork. Only one way forward. He walked over cautiously.

As he neared the outer edge of the coliseum grounds, something new stirred in the air—a scent of roasted nuts and spiced bread, out of place in such solemn surroundings. That was when he noticed the table—set oddly alone beneath a lean wooden awning draped with silken cloth. A pair of finely hewned, Goron-carved tankards, shaped from pewter, shimmered atop its surface, sweating with condensation. Beside them, platters of simple fare—dried meats, fruit slices, and crisp bread rolls.

Link took in a breath and recollected where he had just emerged. "Must've come out a league off from where the others are watching," he muttered, his damp hair dripping under his helm atop his shoulder. "Clever cistern. Dropping me here like a misdelivered parcel. But how will they?—"

"—See your progress?" came a sudden voice that startled him. And there, seated behind the spread, was a hooded man. Link had nearly missed him. He blended in so well with the surroundings like a stone. The man stood and approached, his footfalls silent as sunrise.

His robes were tattered and the color of pale ash, long and flowing, and his face—if he had one—was shadowed beneath the cowl. When he spoke, his voice was as smooth as still water, neither young nor old, warm nor cold. Just... there.

"You are early," the figure intoned, nodding once. "The others are yet to arrive."

Link stopped in his tracks. His instincts tensed—not fear, exactly, but a feeling that curled like a cat's tail around his spine. Something wasn't right. Yet nothing screamed danger either.

"Who are you?" he asked, not reaching for his blade... but not stepping closer yet.

"A warden. Or perhaps a witness. It matters little, lad."

Lad. Link's brows pulled together. He frowned at the familiarity, but the man gestured with a single hand toward the table. "Eat. The trials demand much. And what lies ahead... demands more. You'll need your strength."