full summary:

(cross the badlands to rise again, i will see you where the shadow ends)

Eijiro wakes with nothing. No supplies, no memory, no idea of what the strange, ancient chamber he awakens in is. All he has to guide him are a mysterious ancient piece of technology called a Sheikah Slate, a kind old woman who lives near to where he awakes, and above all—the voice, gruff and reassuring, that calls out to him from somewhere far off and bathes him in golden light.

Tasked with recovering his memories and left with the entire future of Hyrule—a kingdom which fell a century before—in his hands, Eijiro has a monumental responsibility laid before him. It will be worth it, he thinks, to finally see the voice that's been calling to him from Hyrule Castle, and to finally know once more who the voice belongs to.

A/N: i wrote a prequel one-shot to this, you've got a look in your eyes (i knew you in a past life), that you can find on my profile!
songs for chapters 1-5:
always by panic at the disco, radioactive by imagine dragons, and the cave by mumford & sons

There's a light behind his eyelids; a vivid, warm yellow that he can't ignore. It's an explosion of color—small at first, but then all-encompassing and undeniable. For the moment, he knows only these two things: that there's a brilliant blast of golden light even with his eyes closed, and that waking up is hard.

His mind comes around slowly, in sluggish fits and starts. His thoughts are quiet in a way that almost feels peaceful and he feels sort of exhausted, like if he really tried he could drift off and sleep a while longer, and it's tempting. Waking up is hard, yeah, but he thinks it'd be harder if not for the stony, uncomfortable surface he's laid on and the cold, thick feeling of some sort of liquid lapping at his sides ruining what could otherwise have been a great nap.

That, and the rough voice that almost seems to grate at the edges of his mind, more than his ears. He associates it with the gold, somehow.

Oi. Come on, up. Get up already.

The voice—it tugs at something, he thinks, in the back of his mind. That near-peaceful feeling is gone, but the exhaustion isn't, and he fights through the lethargy blanketing his thoughts to try and do what the voice asks, but it's—it's not easy. Not even when the explosion of light flares so bright it hurts.

Fuck. Fuck, can't you just open your eyes? This time, when the voice presses on, it sounds… it's hard to describe. Maybe sad, maybe lonely—but both words seem too small and simple to encompass all of the weight behind the words. Gods, you're a lazy bastard. Haven't you slept long enough?

And finally, he manages it; a fluttering of his eyelids, a furrowing of his brow, and then—his eyes open for real.

He's rewarded with an immediate, There you are, so quick and colored with relief that it almost seems like the words had come unbidden, before their source had even realized they were escaping. He manages to lift his head, craning his neck to find some sign of who's been watching him—but he's alone. That golden glow is gone.

And now that the hard part of battling his way to consciousness is over, he's surprised with how quickly and easily his body responds when he props himself up on his elbows, searching the dim space more fully and squinting against what few lights there are. But there really is no one else here. How?

He clambers out of the strange stone basin he's been laid in as the last of some strange, vividly glowing blue substance drains out of it, and as he pulls himself to his full height, he's—he's at a loss.

This room, it's so oppressively silent but for the sound of droplets falling from his shorts and hair to hit the floor at his feet, and some strange constant humming sound, and it's so oppressively dim but for the blue glow of the basin behind him and the orange, constellation-like markings lit up on the walls. He has no idea what in the hell is going on.

He feels… alert, on edge as he tries to puzzle out any sort of detail that would make his surroundings make sense, but curious, too. There's something across the way that… might be an entrance? But it's sealed over with what seem to be several thick stone pillars or panels, pressed so tightly that not even light can seep through the cracks. Is he trapped?

He starts towards the door, not sure what he'll do if he is sealed in, but he knows he's not about to just sit here and rot in this chamber. There has to be a way out, and he's not going to give up before trying to find it.

There's a pedestal a few steps from the entryway, but he doesn't pay it any mind. He's a little more concerned with the obvious point of exit than with staying in this odd, dust-filled space to poke at random details. He'd have walked right past the weird plinth entirely, without another thought, if an odd chime and flash of light off of the strange glowing patterns on its face didn't startle him as soon as he got close.

With a click and a whirr, part of the pedestal starts moving—lifting and rotating, before levering some sort of small, detailed slab out of its face and presenting it upright. Is… he supposed to take that?

He only takes half a step closer, examining the glowing markings and detailed carving of the Sheikah symbol on this strange tablet that—that he suddenly knows, with all his heart, is familiar to him somehow. It's a relief, and a comfort, when nothing else has been remotely recognizable so far. He jumps when his moment of recognition is suddenly interrupted.

We don't have all day, Shitty Hair. That's my Sheikah Slate. You're gonna need it to get around.

A pout comes unbidden to his lips, brow furrowing as his hand moves to his hair self-consciously. "It's shitty?" he mumbles, honestly more to himself than anything, his voice hoarse from disuse.

There's a pause in which he's left to ponder it, before the voice is back, giving off almost embarrassed tones. Fuck. Sorry. Just—just hurry up and grab the damn thing, Eijiro.

It doesn't even come to mind to question the demand; there's just something about the voice that he trusts, and wants to listen to without hesitation. His hand is already halfway to the slate when he pauses, a small pang of alarm and confusion registering when he fully processes.

Eijiro. The voice had called him that, right? So, was it his name? Why did he not know his own name?

Shaken, he—Eijiro?—grabs the Sheikah Slate, weighing it in his hands and looking it over distractedly. He's too preoccupied with not knowing—well, anything, the more he thinks about it. But the device does feel right, even more familiar now that he's seeing it up close, and that's some small comfort as he looks up, eyes searching even though he knows he'll find no trace of the voice.

"Hey… what's going on? Who—..." He trails off before he can even form a sentence, because—because there's too many questions to ask. Who am I? Who are you? Who put me here? Where is this place? What is this place? Why am I here? What the hell is going on?

Eijiro doesn't get any time to pull his thoughts together enough to ask any of those questions, because almost immediately there's a subdued, mechanical grinding noise. Head snapping up, he registers with relief that the patterned stone panels that blocked the entryway start to slide upwards, not making half so much noise as he'd expect as they grate past each other.

He can't help but be a little relieved—he's not trapped, after all.

There's no more input from the voice, though. Eijiro feels… antsy about it. In part because it hasn't answered what little he has managed to ask, but also largely just because… he wants to hear more of it. He doesn't really understand why; there's no quality to the voice that's especially appealing or comforting, if anything it's coming off kind of gruff and rude, but there's something about hearing it that settles his nerves. That makes him feel like things are okay, maybe.

Not about to waste time—Eijiro has no idea if the entrance opening is a temporary thing, or not, and he's not looking forward to finding out until he's on the other side of that door—he hurries out, eyes scanning the next chamber.

He's… disappointed, he thinks, to find it empty. Nearly as barren as the room before, with just as little light, and no inhabitants. No one to explain things to him. And no sign of the voice here, either. He didn't even realize he was specifically looking for the voice before the pang of disappointment, honestly. And it persists when there's no further commentary from him, either.

Still, this room's only nearly as empty as the previous room—there are, at least, a few things lying around that are much more familiar than the alien architecture of this place. Two chests haphazardly placed in front of the door, and several old-looking crates and barrels—the latter of which all seem to be splintered and rotted.

So Eijiro does what any self-respecting person trapped with no belongings, supplies, or apparent clothing would do when confronted with these seemingly long-abandoned surroundings.

He starts looting like crazy.

The chests, to his relief, hold pants, socks, boots, a belt, and a shirt. He wonders if the items were placed there for him, specifically? But it's hard to remain enthusiastic about them as he tugs them all on, discovering the socks and pants are threadbare and spotted with holes—and the pants don't even come close to reaching his ankles. The boots and belt both seem fine, if a little dubious; he kind of feels like the leather might just disintegrate out of the blue, but they're workable. The shirt's so itchy and moth-bitten and ill-fitted that he tugs it off immediately, making a face as he decides, really, he may as well go without.

The barrels and crates are, honestly, much less helpful. The barrels have already caved in on themselves and smell very faintly of rot, like whatever was in them had decayed away so long ago that even the smell had had time to fade; and he's disappointed to discover after tearing the crates apart with single minded zeal that… just about anything of use in them has long-decayed, as well. He scores an empty satchel, quiver, and sheath—all of their previous contents unusably decrepit—and a few more belts to secure them all. And an absurd amount of empty bottles, all dusty but usable. There's also some strange hooked clip for his belt that he realizes pretty quickly is made for him to link the Sheikah Slate's handle into.

Surveying the wreckage of the crates and barrels he'd just torn through, he finds himself pouting again. All that property damage, and for nothing that useful.

Looking around again, he takes note, down a ramp from where he'd emerged, of the only other doorway out of this room—this one much larger and more intricate, though it also seems to be made of interlocking pillars. The Sheikah symbol sits at the center of this grand door as well. And just like the last room, there's a pedestal to the side of this door—though it doesn't have an indentation for the Sheikah Slate to fit into, like the last one did.

He jogs down the ramp, stopping in front of the pedestal to examine it curiously. In the last room, taking the slate from the similar plinth had been what caused the door to open—he thinks, at least? Probably? It's the thing that makes the most sense, anyway. So is there something he can do with this one, to open the way? He hardly gets any time to wonder, before the voice is back and he feels a line of tension he hadn't even realized was there bleed out of his shoulders.

This isn't complicated, Sh—Eijiro. Just hold the Sheikah Slate to the pedestal.

He knows he's not in the position right now—he has no idea what he's doing and this voice, coarse at it is, is helping him—but Eijiro can't help but roll his eyes as he reaches for the slate. He wonders if the voice would hear him if he teased, Bossy, much?, or commented on his haughty, judgmental tone.

Unhooking the slate from its new carrier on his belt, Eijiro only wavers for a moment as he wonders which side he's meant to hold to the pedestal—it'd be pretty embarrassing to roll his eyes at this voice for giving him shit, only to fuck it up immediately. But he settles quickly on pressing the smooth side, with the flat panel that lights up, to the face of the pedestal.

Something about that looks right, even if he's pretty sure he's never done it before. And he's rewarded for his guess with a flash of light and an almost musical chime as the glowing orange curved lines atop the plinth turn blue.

Well, hey, the voice was right. This wasn't complicated at all. He doesn't really get time to bask in his success before he's jumping as a bizarre, inhuman-sounding feminine voice sounds from the pedestal.

"Authenticating…"

The pedestal and the slate both seem to be making some repetitive, again near-musical beeping sound in sync with each other, before the unsettling new voice says, "Sheikah Slate confirmed."

The symbol in the center of the huge, sealed doorway lights up blue with a hum, and then with a loud rumble parts of the door that Eijiro didn't even realize previously were there begin to rotate and unlatch and slide away, before the panels of this gate lift away to let him out as well.

This time, the difference is starkly and immediately noticeable—bright, unmistakable daylight and a rush of clean, fresh air begin pouring in when the door has only barely begun to open. The sight is so reassuring, so sorely missed even if he hadn't realized it before, that he honestly almost throws himself to the ground to try to cram his way out into the freedom of the outdoors that much faster.

He doesn't, of course, because he's not an animal (the thorough wreckage of the crates and barrels behind him aside), but he moves to stand directly in front of the door with eager, curious eyes.

Where is he, exactly? Will he know, once he can see?

It's when the door is only around halfway lifted away that the consequences of his earlier surroundings catch up with a vengeance—the sunlight so obligingly radiant that he's forced to lift a hand to shield himself from the light, one eye squinted against the painful relief. Goddess, but he's so glad to feel the sunlight on his skin again.

He finds himself unnerved to realize he can't remember the last time he'd been out in the daylight. Not in the sense that it's been a long time—though for all he knows, it has been—but in the sense that he genuinely doesn't know.

He keeps realizing it, over and over again—when the name he assumes is his own was so unfamiliar to him, when he didn't remember how he'd come to be in this place in the first place, when he'd had so many questions he couldn't even figure out where to start—but as the failure to remember persists through everything, no matter how inane and everyday the memory might be, he finds himself growing increasingly alarmed. Why can't he remember? Why can't he remember anything?

Before panic can fully get its claws into him, the voice is back. And in spite of its rough tone, he somehow knows this voice well enough to know there's more to it. Below the brusque surface it's earnest, beseeching… and above all, encouraging.

Eijiro... Hyrule needs someone unbreakable, someone who's not gonna waver. Hyrule needs you.I—

The voice cuts out, and by some means he can't describe, he can sense something frustrated in the silence that follows for the next beat or two.

I'm fucking waiting. So get off your ass and help me fix this mess, already.

Somehow, he doesn't think that's what the voice was going to say, originally.

Either his eyes finally adjust to the light, or it somehow lessens—he wonders, suddenly, if that first blast of light hadn't been the sun's rays at all, but more of that explosive golden glow that had pierced his slumber?—because he can see, now, and his eyes no longer ache for trying. In front of him is a passageway, short enough to easily see up the stairs in front of him, to the opening that leads to the sky.

Gods, he can't wait to see the sky again.

He can't help it—he runs. He's up the first set of dust-covered stairs in a flash, and doesn't waver for more than a split-second when he's confronted with a wide puddle that reaches halfway up his calves, or the uneven, eroded face of rock where there had clearly once been another set of stairs. As if he's going to let something like that slow him down.

With a wild and eager whoop, he launches himself up out of the water he'd just soaked his pants splashing through, fingers easily finding grip on the rugged surface. It's not so easy to tug himself up as he'd expected, even accounting for how slippery his old boots are from the water—but he's still up the surface in a matter of seconds. He levers himself up over the ledge to sprawl at the foot of another set of stairs with only a little wheezing. Which is more than he expected, honestly? It was such a short climb.

He doesn't give himself time to dwell on it, though, as he clambers to his feet to jog once more up the final stretch of the passageway, and out into the fresh air.

It's… well, it's breathtaking, out there. Even just from the mouth of the carefully-constructed cave—the overgrown grass at the foot of the entrance even looks vivid in the daylight, the sky a clear and welcome view, the foliage hanging over the entrance and the pines that dot the ground in a few places just outside all so full of life and color. There's a volcano directly ahead in the distance—Death Mountain, his mind chimes helpfully, and he's relieved to know something. The more of the world he sees opening around the entrance to the cave, the more beautiful it is.

Eijiro lets his feet carry him forward unthinkingly, moving slowly at first and then with more purpose, until he's all-out running. Past grass and bushes and rocks that jut from the ground, until he's standing at the edge of a cliff face out in front of the cavern he'd emerged from, and the sensation is all at once overwhelming, as he looks out over forests and plains and mountains and most of Hyrule in the distance.

Eyes wide in wonder, he feels like he has the entire world at his feet. It takes a bit for Eijiro to adjust to how good this all feels.

The colors are so bright, the wind and sunlight on his skin feel downright heavenly, and even just the smell of the fresh air around him is overwhelmingly exhilarating after the stifling chambers he'd just left. He looks around, again searching—if not for some sign of the voice that's been guiding and beckoning him, then at least for something else to prompt him to speak to Eijiro. He's the only thing Eijiro really, really knows right now—he feels a little adrift without the voice, wants to hear more.

When he turns his head, though, the wind blows his hair into his face, and he's—startled, honestly, by how red it is. He doesn't know why he wasn't expecting that—doesn't know if he should have been expecting it? Was it always red? No… he's fairly certain it used to be black, at some point.

Little victories—he's increasingly relieved to at least know some things. Aside from that, though, the red doesn't bother him. He kind of likes it. A lot, actually. He wonders how long it's been red.

His moment of distraction over, Eijiro finally catches sight of something of note—a figure off to the right, farther down the incline of the cliff he stands on. It's a woman, he thinks? But it's hard to tell between the distance and the hooded cloak she wears. She's hunched over a campfire under a stone overhang some eighty feet away, maybe, tending to the flames by prodding with a stick. She looks up at him, then, and he thinks he makes out her head tilting inquisitively.

Finally—finally! Another person! Maybe she knows him, or can at least give him some context for where he is and what's going on.

He barely takes half a step in her direction before realizing, flustered, that he should probably put on the shirt he'd discarded in the shrine. Gods, he doesn't want to be rude. He drops to a crouch and pulls the old satchel off his shoulder, opening it and digging through the few supplies he'd managed to accumulate to try and gingerly extricate the ratty old shirt from the mess without tearing or damaging it further on anything else he's stuffed in there.

He tugs the shirt on quickly, sighing in resignation as the scratchy, too-small shirt slides over his skin. This sucks. Is it so much to ask that he have some clothes that fit? Or that are, you know, comfortable, maybe?

But he pulls the satchel back over his shoulder anyways, hoping it won't be long before he can find something that suits him better. Standing once more, he starts down the gentle slope that the top of the cliff follows, towards the woman and her cozy fire. It's not far—he keeps up a quick pace and closes the distance quickly, only slowing when he gets nearer so as not to alarm her.

He can make out, now, more details as soon as she lifts her head—like the grey hair that spills from her deep navy hood, and the laughter lines that crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiles warmly at him. He's not sure how old he'd guess she is—very, maybe?—but he can see some strands of dark green hair mixed in with the grey that hint at what her hair used to look like, and everything about her posture and expression screams welcoming.

"Well, hello!" she calls as he approaches, and her eyes sparkle kindly. There's something about the color—a bright, lively green—that feels… important, somehow? He doesn't think she's familiar to him, but he's not sure if how comforted he is by her demeanor is just how she is, or because he does know her. "What a pleasant surprise; it's not often that I see travelers hereabouts."

Eijiro hesitates. She doesn't seem to recognize him, or, at least, hasn't addressed him as someone she knows. Is she a traveler? If she's not, then she has to live around here—so—so she should know something about how he got here, right? Maybe she'd seen something? She's the only person he's seen in a position to answer any questions, and it all depends on how long she's been here.

His mouth, unfortunately, moves far faster than he can think of what to say, so abruptly he blurts, "Who're you?"

He flushes immediately at how rude of a response that is, but before he has a chance to start stammering out apologies at having completely brushed off her greeting, she cuts him off with a forgiving laugh. She seems surprised by his blunder, but not upset—if anything, she looks downright delighted at his lack of manners.

"Straight to business, I see. Sorry to say it, but I'm not really anyone of note." She pauses, and though her approachable demeanor doesn't shift at all, Eijiro swears that for just a moment, there's something sharper to her expression, like she's gauging something about him—and then, almost as quick as it came, it's gone, and she's smiling a little wider. "But my name is Inko, if that's what you mean. What brings a bright-eyed young man like you to such an odd place?"

See, he'd answer that, if he knew. Blinking, he looks around as he asks, "Uh, where are we?"

"Question for a question, hm?" She sits back a little, still with that warm and comforting expression, and gestures to the fire. "Why don't you at least sit down, sweetie? Then I'll gladly answer any questions you have."

He hesitates. Everything out here is so—so open and bright and tangible, it almost makes the waking up seem fake. Like that bizarre underground structure he'd come from, the odd way it functioned, the air of disuse, and the voice, most of all the strange and inexplicable voice—like all of it was some weird fantasy, because it doesn't make any sense. Out here, he's still confused, but it all feels so much less surreal. If it weren't for the slate still hooked to his belt, and how very real the feeling the voice evoked in him was, he might have dismissed it all. But he can't.

And if it was all real—the last thing the voice had said to him. That Hyrule needs him, and the voice is waiting. And that Eijiro has to fix... something. Does he really have time for this?

Meeting her eyes, hopeful and kindhearted and—and there's still something about that green that seems significant to him, though he can't say what or why—he realizes he doesn't have the heart to say no. She's just a sweet little old lady! He can't tell her he doesn't want to sit and talk, especially when she'd seemed so happy for company she'd implied was so rare, surely the voice wouldn't expect that of him. It might as well start asking him to kick puppies at that rate.

"Um, sure." He figures—as long as the voice doesn't emerge from its silence to start yelling at him, this can't be that much of a delay. And if he does start yelling at him, Eijiro can always tell him to chill out. Eijiro takes the final few steps forwards, and starts to crouch by the fire when the wind shifts and he catches a scent so mouth-watering he thinks he's going to die. His eyes zero in for the first time on its source—a small basket Inko has next to the fire, full of baked apples—and, by the Goddesses, he suddenly realizes he's more starving than he's ever been in his life.

His stomach rumbles absurdly loud and he's grabbed one of the apples faster than he can so much as think—it's already halfway to his mouth by the time he remembers himself, eyes flicking to Inko sheepishly.

Her only reaction is to throw her head back and laugh, and the sound's too comforting and motherly for him to get embarrassed. "By all means, help yourself."

"No, I—that was really rude, sorry, you can—" He starts to offer it back to her but she leans towards him and reaches forward to secure her hands around his, keeping his fingers curled around the still-toasty apple. She gives a firm shake of her head, the kind he doesn't think it's even possible to argue against.

"I'm just one old woman, sweetie; I can't eat all of these by myself. Have one. You sound awfully hungry." Oh, no, she's got a Mom Tone, too; she really can't be argued with. As soon as she seems satisfied that he's going to take the apple—which he does, and immediately takes a huge bite—she sits back once more. "Now, then. What's your name, dear?"

Oh. Uh... "...Eijiro?" He really, really tries not to make it sound like a question, but he doesn't think he succeeded. She doesn't seem to find it amiss, however, smiling brighter and giving a nod.

"Eijiro. Let's get started on those questions of yours, hm? Now, you asked where we are..."

A/N: find me at belladxne on tumblr!
here it is, chapter 1 of the botw au! i've got a few chapters stocked up, so this will update semi-regularly at first and probably a bit slower as time goes on. please please feel free to talk to me about this au, in comments or on tumblr idc i'm so excited to hear other people's questions, predictions, and reactions :')