The Legend of Zelda: Forgotten Goddess

by N Felts

the house, Link gains even more momentum after shooting the windmill, tearing the hook free once he has found his ideal trajectory. A chain spears across Rift’s vision, and before the boy can react, his neck hits the metal like a clothesline. Dropping into the narrow passage aggressively, Link smashes the rocky earth with a hammer-fist, narrowly missing Rift as he rolls to the side. Dashing forward with another punch, Link’s hopes are realized as the boy attempts to block the attack. A mighty clang sounds as the Hylian’s fist bounces off the boy’s crossed forearms, throwing Rift into the wall of the canyon forcefully.

  “Been working out?” Rift nervously jokes while shaking his vibrating arm, ducking to the side at Mai’s command as Link bashes the wall with another furious punch. Quickly realizing he has nowhere to run, the boy skips back a step before taking his battle stance. Taking significantly longer than he should, Link slowly pulls his fist from the mountain wall, the entire section cracking apart with deep crunching noises. Finally realizing what he is up to, Rift must leap completely out of the canyon as the Hylian rips a colossal chunk of rock out of the mountainside, then launches it in the boy’s direction. The boulder misses its mark, smashing to pieces after destroying what is left of the gate leading back into the village. Seeing his foe has significantly increased his agility, Link charges back into the village at ground level, carefully monitoring the boy’s location.

  “We need to get out of here,” Mai instructs, sounding very concerned. “He’s much stronger than before.”

  “No, I’m sure it’s just you,” Rift quips, feeling oddly sarcastic today as he lands on a ruined rooftop, searching for his assailant below. Without warning, a gigantic piece of stone pulled out of the windmill smashes up through the building at an angle. Leaping to the side just before being crushed like a fly, Rift still cannot locate his amplified antagonist. The horrible sound of a reeling chain fills his ears, and before he can react, Link swoops by, grabbing hold of his ankle as he passes. Reaching the mountainside the hookshot is anchored to, the Hylian swings the boy like a ragdoll, violently bashing him into the rock repeatedly. Barely able to absorb the impacts with his gauntlets, Rift manages to kick his leg free, tumbling back to the ground with Link in hot pursuit. Powering up for the finishing blow, Link sees his enemy will be unable to evade the coming attack. Soaring downward, he trails the boy by a negligible margin, winding up to smash him into the ground the instant he lands.

  “Now!” Rift cries just before impact. An image of Death Mountain appears beneath the boy, starkly contrasting the smooth section of recently relocated wall surrounding it. Falling through the portrait, Rift vanishes completely as Link hits the spot where the portal rested only a moment ago. A shockwave of force ripples the earth around him as if it were a pool of water, but his target has disappeared. Realizing he must have used some manner of magic to ascend the trail, the enraged Hylian begins to give chase.

  “Link! Wait!” Zelda cries from below. Searching the area he spots her holding someone next to the crater at the village’s center. Taking one more moment to consider chasing the boy, he stands idle, cracking his knuckles with hesitation. In a moment of uncharacteristic anger, the hero feels a need to chase the culprit, Garo’s warning of failure still drifting through his subconscious. “Link! Let him go. Please,” she cries, coursing him to finally descend back into the village. Rounding a large pile of obliterated stone and wood, he spots the old and fragile Impa lying in the queen’s arms. Rushing to her side, he curses himself for even deliberating whether or not to chase the boy.

  “Our hero has arrived,” Impa starts with a tired smile. Clearly on her last leg, she speaks slowly and meticulously to be certain her words are understood. “I have watched over her my entire life,” she imparts, touching Zelda’s cheek tenderly. “I bequeath that duty to you now,” she instructs, pointing at Link’s sad visage. “Do not fault the boy. I saw him clearly. He tried to help before he left,” she reveals with a nasty cough. “Ganondorf has brought this horror upon us. He’s killed the sage of shadow. I could not protect him from that monster’s wrath.”

  “It’s okay, Impa,” Zelda attempts to assure.

  “No,” she sternly interjects. “You were right. Young Sanzu was ready. I was foolish not to send the sage to her. Now all is lost,” she concludes with another coughing fit. Dark blood leaks from the corners of her mouth as she struggles to communicate her final thoughts. “Ganondorf will not be imprisoned or banished. He must be destroyed. You must find a way, Link,” she sighs, her muscles suddenly relaxing. “Find… a… way.” Fighting the urge to sob, Zelda’s tears flow just the same. A loud thunderclap sounds overhead, and Link tilts her mess of hair into his shoulder as it starts to rain. Stroking her shoulder lovingly, he doesn’t realize it is his memories that comfort her far more than his physical embrace. Endless instances of heroics pour into her mind, and more importantly, the utter absence of fear. A bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, and after a few more seconds, the queen decides she has no more time for mourning.

  “Talk to me, Ashei,” she commands, rising to her feet. Certain she had approached undetected, Ashei reluctantly steps out of the remnants of an old house to converse.

  “Castle Town is secure. The survivors have all been moved to the castle and every last soul has been accounted for. The rest are cleaning up while they await your orders,” she reports, a lingering compassion reflected in her eyes. Caring little for politics, Link glances down at Impa once more, recalling his completion of her training. The silver earring he wears to this day, his secret certification of respect from the Sheikah. Another clap of thunder sounds, and a glowing form catches his eye. A golden wolf seated amongst the debris stares at him with its single red eye. The murmur of conversation as well as the increasing sound of rainfall fades away as he is transported to the familiar training ground of translucent white surroundings. Standing tall with his sword speared into the earth before him, the Hero’s Shade rests his shield and sword hand atop the handle. An outdated set of golden armor hangs upon his ghostly form, broken and tarnished beyond repair. With no interest in learning battle techniques at such a time, Link immediately turns to leave.

  “Hold,” the ghost commands, his voice much more stern than in previous encounters so many years ago. A deep breath later, Link turns to face the spirit with an irritated gaze. “I’ve nothing more to teach you in terms of combat,” he reveals, his emotionless visage still as a statue beneath his horned helm. “However, I’ve still one final lesson, saved until it became essential for you to remain upon the proper path. First, I must tell you a story,” he continues, briefly glancing down to collect his memories. “Many years ago, a young King Harkinian ordered the Knights of Hyrule to spearhead the defense of a coming assault. He’d been informed of an ambush from the north, and had no intention of seeing his people trapped on the front lines. One of these knights had guarded doorways for too long. Longed to tell his loving wife tales of strength and victory. He’d stood idle day after day despite his excelling training, and the terrible state of the civil war. He pleaded to join the offensive in hopes of seeing glorious combat at the king’s side, but he was ordered to stay behind. I was that knight,” he reveals, the statement radiating regret and remorse. Drawn into the story slowly, Link listens with a much more captivated expression as the apparition continues. “Our forces marched north while I was left to watch the western front. Frustrated with rejection, I failed in my duty. Those who would take advantage of such a situation arose from the desert. A rabble of thieves,” he adds with a sad chuckle. “I could not have imagined the attack would be so vast in scale. I lost count of the dozens I cut down early on. I finally had my story, but I lost everything to obtain it,” he pauses, the painful memories beginning to affect him. The only thing still binding him to the physical world clearly being regret, with every admission, the phantom fades imperceptibly.

  “They took the town in mere hou
rs. I sent my wife east on horseback through the fires of war with my infant son, but I had no way of knowing if they ever reached safety. I was wounded defending the castle gates. Managed to retreat to the castle gardens, but it was there I fell,” he nods, remembering the battle clearly. “I tell you this, my story of disgrace, for a simple reason. It takes but one act, one miniscule moment without valor, to destroy everything you’ve ever stood for. I possessed the blood of a hero charging through my veins, but my fate was never to be the slaying of a grand evil. No matter how badly I craved it. My purpose was the very same as all who came before me. It is the same as your purpose now. Mine may have been left unfulfilled in life, but perhaps in death I could still realize my responsibility. I release my bindings to this world with this knowledge I impart to you. Your sword is nothing more than a tool to build a better world. It is your choices that truly matter. Live with honor, fight with valor, and die without regret. A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage. Never forget,” he