"The sun rises each morning, it has no impromptu qualities, it will never fail to heal us each morning with its glow, so why not give tribute to the messenger of light? There is but one true herald of the times and I will be the first two admit that it is not the moon. The moon is a shadow of the sun; it is a crashing ocean without its waves: a delicious treat devoid of love. The moon of life lies within its death, the sun is the sign of birth, ascension, an omen of good luck. Originality is the rain that falls while the sun shines upon our hide; the sweet quilt of life cannot exist or have been brought into existence without the dear glance from the sun.
Yet I am a harbinger of the three, I am a bearer of news. I am a herald, a true one, one that reads and writes, I see the stars for what they are; objects that await our future ascension. This has been taught to me by elders, other sages before my time, and I must continue to do so in times to come. I am a follower of the goddesses, I have no preference in life or death, my existence is forfeit to their will. If their word is to become but a straw in a field of grass then my entire being will become the meadow, I will be that which is part of true nature, I will be their voice in the storm. Nevertheless, there is one thing I cannot throw away; I cannot delude myself not to want; my race of earthen kind will reach the stars someday.
Have you ever been seen the drifting sand which is called a desert? Have you seen how the wind toys with the sand, blowing dunes away as it places new ones in its places? Better yet, have you seen the three pyramids as the sun falls upon them on a desert morning? If not let me depict a scene for you. Millions of minuscule particles of sand lifting into the air as if by magic, the blue hue of day tinted by the brown expanse of rise and fall. I cannot describe to you the sea of abandon and freedom; I cannot sketch a portrait from the paint of my mind. The pastels in my mind do not translate upon paper of any kind, yet one thing I can describe it in full splendor; The sunlight falling in angled rays from heavens as if created for this moment. Golden emission scatters across the angled slopes of hewn rock like a witches spell; enchanting and breathtaking many more times than the first one.
The three pyramids, though seen as a tribute to the sun, are separate structures that symbolize one of the goddesses. The three structures, if seen from the nearby mountains, are like the crest that is present in the Hylian family. Oh yes, but it is at night the true crest is to be seen, when shadow fills the space between the triangles. Ah yes, many secrets are there to this world, and not one being upon this earth has had the wisdom to find them all.
Does this not bring me to assume that the moon is a characteristic of the goddesses? Has the sun not always been noted as a male entity in saying that 'his rays' or 'his glow'? The sun is the opposite of the moon and then a sign to the opposite of the goddesses. But must I also assume that to each goddess there is an opposite, to each yin a yang, and that the goddesses, creators loving, wise and courageous, are to be countered by those hating, dim and cowardly? There is too much to ponder, too much to think, and too much time in which I will have to do so.
Yes, time I have enough. Until the day comes when I will find a protégé, I will continue dutifully with my chores. Yet in the foremost corners of my mind I must doubt the that teachings I hold true, or at least close to my heart, are true and earnest. There are too many connections in this world for them to be but chance, there are too many obstacles which present themselves as allies, and again I ask myself; how deep does this river flow, how high does this fire churn?
I await the goddesses; I do so with my heart yearning for answers and my soul waiting for rest. But I look upon that fateful day with a grim eye; I have seen too many haunted moons to believe in the sincere smile of a full moon…"
As written by Rauru in the Book of Chains
IIIIIIII
The halls were empty and the air heavy with a scent reminiscent of death; a blue haze filled all the chambers and all the rooms, and everything was still. The moonlight did not reach this hall, its illumination came from the shadows whispering along the walls, playing from the crevices as the air sat there, still and unmoving. The beautiful curtains adorned with matching sheers were tied at three quarters, their legs sprawling like the dress of a young princess. Those dresses normally swayed with the gaiety of a newborn, fighting to be released from the confines of a granite and stone castle. Through a hall of red and dark she ran, panting, unsettled and scared. The nightmare scene was without end, all corridors held the same mist, that dreaded haze. Its billowing mass hung in transition, seemingly moving the myriad shadows. Her footsteps left no sound in the air and no sound could be heard elsewhere, nothing but the pulse encaged in her ribcage.
Through the courtyard: scared, panting, unsettled and wet. Before the haze had invaded the castle, she had been in the confines of the washing room and its heated mist. She had simply traded one haze for the other. How she wished she could return to the bath and wash these sordid memories from the palette of her mind, but the water had become stone cold the moment the blue oddity invaded the lavatory. With the swiftness of curiosity, she had robed with a towel and left the room. She now moved through the serried bushes of the courtyard, naked from the knees down. No shivers ran down her back, the azure darkness brought no cliché coldness, only the eeriness of an abyss.
She was nearing the stairs of the inner courtyard when she heard a low hum. A frequency near silence, but she heard it none-the-less. Up the stairs, the monotonous sound was still to be heard, but no increase could be detected. Her pointy ears made sounds easily discernable but, nothing seemed in its place. The guards were not at their posts, the house cleaners not about. She followed the hum. Another guard post, no guards. Father's watch of this brick anthill was constant; his suspicions were made solid in the vigilant watch. All seemed an abyss, and his minions and henchmen are nowhere to be found. However, she followed the soft drizzle of sound. It came from the throne room.
IIIIIIIIII
Link walked slowly passed the fountain, his feet sliding across the cobblestone. He had fought his shadow two times in this awful dark cloud that had descended upon the city, and this time, instead of facing him head on he had fled into the shadows, attacking him from the shadows and sorts. Each time they clashed his shadow resembled him more. He seemed more human than shadow now, his chest bore the last remnants of the black that stained his skin: on the height of his right armpit, the shadow looked like a black sun.
"Live a little brother. I cannot die as long you live." The voice came from behind him, but the nearing footsteps could not be heard in this mass of dark blue. Link turned and met his shadow, sword to sword. Their bout had many spectators, none of them truly seeing what happened before them. Even as the sparks flew and the swords were properly introduced repeatedly, the dull shimmer in the people's eyes did not glimmer. Their faces were still contorted in the rarest of expressions: they seemed lost between puzzlement and pain.
"Isn't it beautiful, brother dear? We have crowd. Our sword no longer howl alone, watch their mouths in pain. Mortality is such a sad thing to waste isn't it, brother?" Each vehement outburst came with its own attack, each directed at the brother he taunted so well. Left, upper right, lower right, mid-left; the shadows constantly attacked. Each time they neared one of the inanimate people Link would push him back and commence his own string of attacks. This kept on until they both parried with an overhead maneuver, interlocking the swords at the hilts: Link with the blue hilt, and his 'brother' with a black one.
"Think about it. I am you: the same blond locks, the same boyish grin, and though I'm more handsome, you and I have the same emblem on my hand. Yet you don't take the time to see it as I do." Shadows grew from his legs and started up Link's legs. The shadows scurried up his body and blackened his chest. "Are you truly so naïve?"
IIIIIIIIIII
The throne room was chaos. Before the scene is to be explained, a small inquiry into the nature of the room is in order. The room is large by all standards: it runs the length of three mansions long and one mansion wide. In this foreboding gloom the arched ceilings and its intrinsic detail isn't to be seen. The throne room has two levels, connected by two arched stairways, leading from the lower area to the throne room and its collective splendor. The lower area is a hylian museum filled with ancient shields and armor, intrinsic lattice work from the old ages and other rarities from the glorious days of conquest: all these tinted the walls and columns. In the center stood two dining tables, each thirty chairs long, and when they were moved to the side the floor was capable of handling hundreds of emissaries and noblemen. Lit by candle and torch they could bask in revelry. Thus, the small inquiry ends.
The throne room was chaos. Chairs hung in mid-air, threads of food and drink floated in a successful effort to defy gravity. A brilliant array of faces, all contorted between agony and pain. People who had been dancing, others had been eating; others hung in positions unknown to humankind. Their torsos had been severed from their extremities, their eyes absent. The purple blood was frozen in movement, gravity pulling to no avail. Stains of horror and death covered all. The macabre scene was filled with young and old; the concubines and consorts lay beside their masters, wrangled and cold. Death was unforgiving.
She wept. Her tears streamed down her face, warm, saltine. However, they could not fall to the ground, they simply hung there, awaiting gravities bountiful spell. Betwixt by the chaos, surrounded by morbid illusions, she fell to the floor burdened by the weight of life. Her wail did not leave the room. All noise she made seemed to be for her ears and her ears alone. Nothing was alive. Why, consort why, why does such a plague haunts my estate? Her answer was the muted muffle of a shadow.
IIIIIIIIIIII
They fought in a dense matrix of black and blue. The blue haze had become even thicker, the sky a distant painting. Their swords longed for one another, and the ferocity of the duel grew with each strike. They were no longer on the town square. The clang of metal on metal now rung close to the temple, and the racket was music only to their ears. They weaved through the trees, snipping leaves here and there. The leaves just hung there, waiting for a succession of gravity. As even the shadows hung suspended the blades rung forth, howling with killing intent.
"You bastard," Link's blade came down hard on his shadow, "You bastard!" He stabbed and jabbed, each on target. As our shadows mimic our own movements, invariably, Link's Yang also mimicked his, a strike or kick countered each attack, invariably. Link hooked his sword with the other one, the two hilts rubbed against one another, and then the killing intent from Link—You Bastard—and his shadow—Come on brother, it's just a stain—erupted. Indigo lights trailed from Link's palm, just as shadows trailed from the other's hand. Their hands met and crushed a leaf, their swords forgotten as their vacant hands also filled with energy. The swords floated as the night filled with lights and shadows, a cacophony of silence.
"Look at you two, fighting like two siblings." Laughter came from the thick azure shadows and another voice continued, "Aren't you going to welcome us back, brothers?"
IIIIIIIIIIII
She walked up the stairs, each step taking her deeper into the throne room. The beautiful upholstery no longer had any allure; no presence had beauty in this deviant darkness. The diocese that watched over this realm of dark seemed to be tightening his hold on this land, sending more and more shadows towards her. The only light was not the moon, which had long left her without comfort, rather the golden emblem on her hand. It gave her warmth. It consoled her. Moreover, it was with her when she found her father sprawled across the air, his eyes absent, his hands holding on to the last moments of his life.