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

Why we failed 100 years ago pt.36 A Leap of Faith

Chapter

Why we failed 100 years ago pt. 36

A Leap of Faith

The deeper Link ventured into the Forest of Dark Whispers, the more oppressive the air grew, heavy with dampness and decay. Moisture clung to his skin, thickening with each labored step he took through the tangled undergrowth. He paused briefly, bracing one hand against the rough bark of a towering Echo Pine, gasping softly as his heart continued its wild, panicked rhythm. Even the trees here were all wrong. Older than memory and quiet as night, their gnarled limbs, warped trunks, and shadows resemble faces or beasts. Ever present and always watching. It made Link's skin crawl, but he knew he had to press on.

Screaming steel and bloodshed still rang in his ears from the battle in the courtyard; every shadow cast by the deformed trees seemed to morph, taking on shapes both familiar and terrifying—ghosts of foes he'd fought, echoes of lives he had failed to save.

Finn.

The name tasted bitter, tainted with betrayal. Link clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on the haft of the poleaxe, the rough wood biting into his calloused palms. Finn had been one of them—a brother, a trusted comrade in arms. His final words haunted Link, ringing through his memory like a funeral bell, heavy and inescapable:

'Forgive me, my boy, I've lost sight of the light...'

Link squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly. How had he not seen it? Had he been so blinded by the Trials, so preoccupied with petty rivalries and hidden identities that he failed to recognize the darkness coiling beneath the surface? Each life lost at the tournament ground weighed heavily upon him—the screams of nobles and commoners alike, cut down by assassins' blades and foul magic. And then those monstrous beasts, their searching blue eyes of scorching death; cold and callous without pity or remorse. Just blind methodical duty. No, they weren't beasts, they were sorcerous devices from an age meant to be forgotten. To be left buried and hidden for all time. If only he could've saved more people from their onslaught.

The burning eyes of the slain stared at him now from every shadowy corner, silent yet accusing.

A sudden gust of wind rustled through the twisted branches, carrying with it a hushed murmur, a whispery sigh that sounded too distinctly like a voice. He spun, weapon raised instinctively, heart hammering, eyes wide in the oppressive gloom.

Nothing. Nothing but shadows playing cruel tricks. Not even the critters of the night dared venture in these dead, forsaken woods.

He pressed onward, feet dragging through the tangled underbrush, caught in a ceaseless battle against exhaustion and the rising tide of dread. His mind raced with the images of those he had left behind—Commander Athelon, wounded but unbowed, bloodied yet strong; Sven and Orin, loyal to the last, eyes darkened with sorrow at his departure. How many more would fall before this was over? How many had he already failed to save?

He cursed under his breath, halting once more beneath the dense canopy, frustration seeping into his bones. "Idiot," he growled, voice barely above a whisper. "How did you let this happen?"

And then there was her, Zelda.

The memory of losing her brought fresh pain, sharper and deeper than any blade he'd faced. The look of confusion and hurt in her eyes still lingered, piercing his heart with relentless precision. He had wanted—no, needed—to tell her everything, the truth of who he was, the hidden face behind Helmsworth's mask. A thousand times, the words had been poised on his tongue, ready to spill forth. But every time, his throat tightened, his tongue felt heavy, the courage fled. He cursed his clumsy words, his inability to speak plainly when his emotions ran deepest.