The young Prince slept uneasily, his dreams filled with shadows.
Dark, writhing monstrosities reached out at him from every side, tugging him deeper into the water. Only it wasn't the calm, soothing water of his homeland, Zora's Domain, or of his tribe's sacred grounds beneath Lake Hylia. This water was somehow thicker, almost gelatinous, and so murky he couldn't see his own arms stretched out before him, and he felt as though he were suffocating within its heavy embrace. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe! . . . His lungs shuddered, a strange cough tore out of his throat, and somehow he managed to draw in a little more air, enough to sustain him just a little longer, and his tired and confused mind did not question why the life-giving air came through his nostrils and not his gills, as it should have if he were truly underwater.
And so it went for a long time, longer than he would have thought possible. The shadows clawed at him angrily, his breaths came farther and farther apart as the impossibly heavy water held him trapped, trying to stop his lungs from expanding. Every now and then, he thought he heard voices around him, from a great distance away; they seemed to be concerned about something. But it wasn't for him, he knew, because they never came close enough to help him, to hear his barely whispered plea before the water muffled it completely. And they always went away after a while, leaving him alone again with the shadows.
An eternity passed, and somehow he was still alive, and he began to fear being trapped forever in that dark and lonely place – the fear was stifling. And he wondered where his mother was, if she was well and if she might be looking for him, and he realized that she might never find him and he was heartbroken for her sake. Every breath was more painful than the last.
Change came suddenly – the shadows became stronger and more solid, but instead of tugging him further down into the murky water they began pulling him upward. He wondered if he was dead, finally dead, his spirit lifted away – but a moment later decided he was still alive, as pain rushed into every limb and he felt himself being jostled around roughly – at least, he hoped death wasn't this unpleasant.
The new, rougher pain lasted for another eternity. It felt like he was being tossed around on a field of sharp rocks, each movement sending terrible stabs of pain piercing through him. For a while he thought he heard more voices, calling out urgently about something, and the whinny of horses, but then the pain was too much and the calls faded into oblivion. And the shadows continued to swarm around him.
For a long time after that there were only shadows, and he remembered that he was lonely in this strange dark place, so lonely. It was a hollow ache beneath the other pain, less sharp but somehow deeper. If only someone could help him, ease his pain just a little! Always the image of his mother hovered just beyond sight, like an echo too faint to understand clearly. He longed to hear her voice, just one more time. And he wondered why she did not come, for he knew that she loved him dearly and would never abandon him to the shadows.
Gradually he became aware of a new voice. This one started out distant like the others, and at first it faded in and out of his awareness frequently. After a time, though, it became steadier, and he realized that it seemed to be growing stronger as well, if slowly. The voice was uttering some kind of chant in a language he didn't know, or perhaps his exhausted mind just couldn't piece together the words. Sometimes he felt a coldness spreading through his body, numbing the stabs of pain that wracked him constantly. Later, he began to feel a warmth spreading through him, a pleasant sensation that calmed his fears and allowed him to rest more peacefully. And gradually, he realized that the writhing shadows that had plagued him for so long were beginning to grow thinner, fainter, and their reach was not so great as before. And the pain began to fade away, and his breathing became stronger, and he felt himself gaining strength.
He knew that he was finally beginning to heal from his ordeal. Still, there was darkness in his dreams, and the shadows never completely went away. There was something else, an emptiness within him that was not caused by any physical illness – one particular shadow that he was afraid to confront directly, hovering on the edges of his vision, and he feared that if he looked directly into it, he would learn the truth of what continued to haunt him, even as his body healed.
Just as that darkness threatened to become too much for his tired heart to bear, a vision came to him. In it, there was a great light that pushed back all the other shadows, a light that lifted his spirit and reminded him that he was of a proud and noble race who did not cower in the face of darkness. For within the light he saw that his mother had come to him, and his heart was joyful to see her standing before him again, beautiful and proud and full of love for him. She told him a curious tale of a journey, of the many who had tried to help him, and of the one who had risked his own life to protect the Prince during that dangerous journey. And as the vision faded away, she told him that she loved him, and he saw that she appeared strangely sad as her image trailed away, and despite his own happiness at seeing her again he felt a tear slide down his cheek. But as the light vanished, so too did the shadows, and he fell into the first true sleep he had had since falling ill.
When he opened his eyes, he would become the proud and noble Zora leader he was meant to be, and he would become the child who suddenly discovered the truth of the world, what pain really felt like, what love really meant. When he opened his eyes, he would face the hard truth and there would be no going back, no stopping time in its untiring march forward, and he would be swept up in that march all too quickly.
When he opened his eyes . . .
For now, though, he kept them closed just a little longer.