Link, like all the ones that come before him, was born as the answer to a great call. With a warrior's strong arm and a hero's pure heart, he had the makings of another legend. His name, they always told him, bore good omens. When he sat by the window and read the old stories of light battling the darkness, he knew in every fiber that he would be that light.
The day came that he grew into a man, the day he had been waiting for for all his life. But the darkness never came to his home. The sun rose the same as it always had. The air was still clean and the rain-touched earth beneath his feet smelled pure. He sat and waited by the window for the doom to come. He knew in every fiber that terror would descend.
When it didn't descend, he woke and rode into town. Nothing was different at all. Nothing. But the call still burned within his heart. He went to the smithy and bought a sword and shield. He went home and waited by the window for a cry to ring out. He knew in every fiber that fate was giving him time to prepare, for his would be the greatest strife known to history.
When the trial never began, he struck out in search of it. He traveled to the shrines of the elements, but there were only priests and worshipers. He journeyed the plains by night, but there were only nomads. He climbed the tallest mountain and explored its deepest caves, but there were only stones. He sat by the stones and waited for a cruel hand to strike out from the shadows. He no longer knew anything for certain.
When the blow never fell, he knew something different. Legend was only given to those strong enough to make the call real. He left a black piece of himself in the cave. It was like a cruel hand, reaching out from the shadows. He journeyed the plains by night and turned the nomads against each other, to bring the greatest strife known to history. He traveled to the shrines of the elements and cut the innocents down before their gods so that terror would descend.
He returned home and sat by the window. In the evening, the gods sent monsters for revenge and ruined the powerless. In the night, a man named Ganondorf foolishly took his nomads up the mountain to escape the war. In the morning, a cruel hand struck out from the shadows, striking a nameless fear into every heart in the land. The call had left him, but the people cried out for a light to crush the darkness. He knew in every fiber that he would be that light.