An entity waits in a locked room in a sealed temple beneath the lake.
The thing exists. This much is indisputable, for there is evidence. It is understood that it was once aware, though who it was, and how long ago, no one knows. Once, perhaps, the soul of a man, some thief, come to desecrate the house of the water spirits, that was cursed as a result. Perhaps the thing was created with the temple, to protect its sacred waters. But the ancient ghost, whatever it was before, has faded into the vague half-consciousness of the temple itself, and lost its own identity and thought.
It sits in its locked room, not lonely, for it feels nothing. Not hungry, for it cannot desire. And not waiting, for that would imply some awareness of time's passing. Perhaps the best word is…dormant.
It does not want to be aware, by any human definition. But a soul's most basic need is to exist.
And so, after centuries, a man enters the chamber. A man with form and mind, and now the thing knows what life is supposed to look like.
A mind…
Full of regret and misunderstanding. The lush, green forest that is his youth has withered and died, the castle it was his duty to protect has crumbled, and a sea of endless trials awaits him…so much rests on his shoulders…
The entity acts quickly, reproducing the hero's mind before he even notices the change. By the time the hero reaches the far wall, it has replicated his form.
The form is dark and insubstantial. It stands near the withered tree, taking information while the hero turns, readying his sword.
The shadow does not attack—it cannot, until the hero teaches it how. It copies his movements, gaining knowledge as the hero grows frustrated with his failure. It watches, copies…and it knows.
Finally, as its form grows more substantial, the things is able to attack on its own, dodging its adversary's sword and lunging when there is an opening. Finally, it surpasses the hero's ability, learning from his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Still insubstantial enough to teleport from place to place around its room, yet solid enough to do significant damage to his enemy. The hero has taught it to fight…and "fight" is all it knows.
And finally, it is aware of its sword as it whirs through the air, and it takes notable satisfaction when it cuts open the hero's throat.
The hero falls to the ground, and the entity watches as the body is slowly consumed by shadow. On his own hand, color starts flow to his fingertips, and a Triforce glows faintly from under his glove.
His fairy watches in horror as the body disintegrates and the room becomes just a room once more.
The last of his memories of that time before is the knowledge that this man's soul will fade into the room, and will lose himself there, just as he once had. But this thought comes from a far-away place, as from a distant dream.
"You…killed him." His fairy says in dismay. "What…what are you?"
It troubles him, the way she is looking at him. He stares again at the triangles on his hand.
"I am the Hero of Time," he whispers, half to himself. "I can do anything."
The Triforce glows a moment longer, then fades back into his hand.
Anything…
Yes.