Warm water releases him gently from slumber into soft darkness. He feels weightless; loose-limbed and pliant. Through the fuzz, a woman is speaking. "Wake up, Link," she urges softly.
The name isn't familiar to him. He glances around but sees no one else. Not even the woman who had spoken, in fact. Where is she? As if that thought has opened a floodgate, more questions come rushing in like a tide. Who is she who am I what is this place where was I before this... An odd sensation tugs at his mind. He was doing something urgent. How did he get here? Panic seizes his chest like ice water. Someone else is meant to be here. He sits up, head spinning from the sudden change in posture. Where is she where is she? His fingers clench around nothing. He needs to... to do what? The thought slips from his grasp like a fish.
He looks round. He's in a stone basin at the center of an circular room. It feels like a tomb, the air stale and still. When he swings his feet down the floor is disconcertingly warm. He wiggles his toes, staring blankly at them. Why is he undressed? He's naked except for a snug pair of shorts, and he's dry despite waking up suspended in liquid. That's odd. Across the room he sees a doorway, but when he gets up to try the door it's blocked fast. He traces his fingertips across its carved surface. There are no hidden handles. The only other thing of interest in the room is an unusual pedestal. As he approaches, he sees there's an odd looking tablet on top, connected by a thick cable.
"That is a Sheikah Slate," the unseen woman says. "Take it. It will help guide you after your long slumber." How is she speaking to him?
He unplugs and picks up the tablet, and the door retracts with a grinding of stone on stone. Beyond lies a disused-looking corridor. There's a wooden chest, which contains a battered pair of ankle boots and a coarse linen shirt and trousers. The fit suggests they aren't his. Under the clothes is a leather holster which looks designed to hold the slate. Who left these here? The next door lets in a gust of fresh air and sunlight, and he breathes deep in relief. The mystery voice is speaking again. "Link... you are the light that must shine upon Hyrule once again. Now go," she pleads.
"Link" must be him. If this woman knows him, maybe she can tell him what's going on. He calls out, but all that comes out is a croaking noise. He'll need to find some water. He heaves himself over the collapsed stairs and emerges blinking into bright sunlight. Long grass tickles his ankles where the trousers leave them bare. The view is amazing; he's on a raised plateau and in the clear air he can see for miles. Lush plains and deep forests stretch to a series of imposing peaks at the horizon. Looking closer by he spots another person, waving at him. Even from here he can tell it's a man. No sign of the mysterious woman yet.
"Well met," the man hails as he approaches. Link's second attempt at speech is as unsuccessful as the last. "Not a talkative one?" the man chuckles. Link shrugs. How should he know? His companion doesn't seem deterred by the one-sided conversation. "No matter," he says cheerfully. "A comfortable silence by the fireside can be as fine a treat as that baked apple there. I see you eyeing it, my boy. Please help yourself!"
Link's instinct is to politely decline, but his stomach growls fiercely and he realizes he's ravenous. He nearly groans with pleasure at the first bite; the apple is hot and sweet and bursting with juice. He makes himself chew each mouthful rather than inhaling it whole, and wipes his mouth sheepishly with his tattered sleeve when he's done. The man passes him a water-skin, which Link gulps from greedily. "Now that you're no longer in danger of keeling over from hunger, perhaps some introductions are due," the man smiles. "I am Rhoam. And your name, friend?"
"Link," he replies hoarsely, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a question. "Nice to meet you," he adds after a moment's hesitation.
"And the same to you! It's strange to see another soul in these parts," Rhoam observes.
"Where are we?" Link asks. He didn't recognize any of the places he could see from the clifftop.
"This is the Great Plateau. According to legend, it is the birthplace of the entire Kingdom of Hyrule, though now its buildings are decaying and forgotten, like so much since the decline of the kingdom one hundred years ago". Rhoam gazes quietly into the fire for a moment before continuing with a more upbeat tone. "What brings a bright-eyed young man like yourself to a place like this?" he asks.
"I... don't know," Link admits. "I don't remember how I got here."
"Indeed? Most curious. Perhaps retracing your steps will help," Rhoam suggests.
Well, that's as good a plan as any. Link stands, brushing off his borrowed trousers and resettling the odd slate at his hip.
"I shall be here for some time," Rhoam calls after him as he heads down the hill path. "Please let me know if I may be of service."
He only manages a few paces before he realizes the problem with retracing steps you can't remember. Thankfully the mysterious voice comes to his rescue. "Head to the point marked on your Sheikah Slate," she instructs. It's a crisp day and the terrain is easy; it would be a pleasant walk if only he wasn't consumed by this sense of being lost and misplaced. His destination is another pedestal, identical to the one he took the slate from. A message flashes up on the smooth face of the slate when he slides it into the socket.
[Sheikah Tower Activated]
...What tower?
Without warning, the ground surges upwards, throwing him flat on his back and exploding chunks of rock outwards. He cries out in alarm, arms instinctively spreading out to cling to the floor beneath him. Once the movement stops he cautiously climbs to his feet, heart rate returning to normal. That was... unexpected. He's now at the top of a fairly large tower. The pedestal has released his slate, which now displays a map of the local area. None of the place names seem familiar. As he scrutinizes them, the woman speaks once more.
"Remember, Link," she entreats. Her voice seems to come simultaneously from inside his head and from the far distance. Through the viewfinder on the slate, he can just about make out a castle on a hill to the North, surrounded by odd pillars. It's wreathed in some kind of roiling smoke. Is there a fire?
"You have been asleep for the past 100 years," the woman is saying.
...What?
"When the beast regains its true power, this world will face its end. You must hurry, Link. Before it's too late," she pleads.
He can see now that it's not smoke enveloping the castle. The miasma is the beast. It circles, bellowing, before diving back down out of sight. This woman, whoever she is, wants him to stop that thing? The idea is ludicrous. What can he possibly do against such a monster, with no weapon, no army, no memory? Does she have him confused with someone else? And yet, through the disbelief he also feels a sort of inevitability curling in his gut. As if he's been cornered by a wolf he thought he'd outrun.
He inches his way down the tower's latticed sides, and no sooner have his feet hit the ground than Rhoam appears with a friendly shout, swooping in on a ... glider? There's definitely something off about this guy. His suspicion isn't helped by the man suddenly talking about long-dormant powers and asking very pointed questions. Can he be trusted? Link supposes he doesn't have much to lose, and he needs to get to civilization, where he can find someone to help him. He agrees to the proposed exchange of the glider for "treasure" from one of the shrines. He has a vague feeling he should be clasping forearms to seal the agreement, but Rhoam doesn't offer, so he shrugs and heads out.
The shrine is fascinating. It was clearly built by the same people as the room in which he awoke, but where that was stale and dark this room is vast, bright and new. The light seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, casting confusing shadows on the smooth floor. There's another disembodied voice and another pedestal for the slate, this one adding not a map but a mode which allows him to lift metal objects with merely a gesture. There's a mummified monk, dissipating into thin air even as Link's outstretched fingertips brush its arms.
Back on the surface, Rhoam re-appears and instantly reneges on their deal. Link should have pushed for that handshake... Still, whatever the monk did to him in the shrine has left him refreshed and buoyant, and an opportunity to see what other tricks the slate might possess sounds good. He plots a route to the second shrine with only minor resentment. It's sort of reassuring (familiar) to be told what to do.
He's absently chewing an apple as he rounds the corner to the abbey, so he's caught off-guard by the rusted machine in front of him coming sluggishly back to life. Lurid red-pink-purple pulses over its shell as it grinds its head round to face him. He instinctively reaches for a weapon and shield that aren't there, nausea rising in his throat. He's frozen in place as fear washes over him, breath shallow, heart pounding in his chest so hard he thinks it might burst. He can smell blood and smoke thick on the air; hear distant screams and cries even over the clanking of metal legs and the increasingly urgent beeping. Wait. Beeping... He flings himself out of the way just as a beam of light explodes into the bricks above his head, showering him in a fine coating of dust. He stays huddled behind the wall, panting, straining to hear anything over his own pulse rushing in his ears and his quick-fire breaths. Sweet Hylia, what is that thing? Eventually his shaking limbs cooperate, and he creeps carefully round the back to the shrine.
By the time he exits with the newfound power to create ephemeral bombs, the sun is dipping towards the horizon. He sees smoke not too far off and skirts his way out of the ruins towards it. None of the demon machines rouse as he passes, though his heart leaps in his chest at each one. The smoke leads him to Rhoam's cabin. Link swallows his irritation towards the man in exchange for a portion of surprisingly decent fish stew and a warm dry place to sleep.
He dreams he's hacking at an endless stream of vicious metal demons, calf deep in sucking mud. He's already exhausted. His legs tremble; every gasping breath draws fire into his lungs. Blood and fatigue blur his vision. He slices through grasping appendages on pure instinct until finally he drops to his knees, spent. He's helpless to stop the next one as it slams sharp claws into his back; there's searing agony and a sickening crunch of bone and then he wakes, sweat-drenched, kneading at his breastbone.
Only scraps of fitful sleep come to him for the rest of the night. Rhoam is already up and about when he emerges groggily and gratefully accepts a bowl of thick porridge. As he eats, perched on the log-bench, Rhoam rummages around and returns holding a worn-looking doublet. "You'll be wanting this if you're heading up into the highlands," he says as he hands it over. "It gets cold up there even at this time of year. Good luck!"
It takes Link all morning to hike to and complete the two shrines in the highlands, and the afternoon to tramp back down again. By the end, his toes are painfully numb. He's glad for the warmth of the doublet on his torso. While he walks, he ponders what the woman told him. How can he have been asleep for a century? People don't generally live that long, he's sure. He feels young, and when he holds his hands out the skin is smooth, with no age spots or wrinkles. He even stops to break the ice on a pond to look at his reflection. The face staring back is youthful, though still frustratingly unfamiliar. Perhaps the same magic which held the shrine monks in stasis? The idea creeps him out; he can barely comprehend how a person could linger so long just to pass on a wisp of power to some long-prophesied hero.
A few miles further on, another thought occurs to him. If a hundred years truly has passed, anyone who might have been able to help him work out his identity, to help him get home, will surely be long dead. Even if he remembers on his own, there can be no return to his old life. His family, if he had one, will all be dead and buried. Did they know what happened to him? Did he leave behind a wife, children, to struggle on without him? He may never find out. Is it better not to know?
He makes it back to the cabin with the last rays of the sun, and picks halfheartedly at a braised pigeon breast and mushrooms while he warms his toes. His dreams that night are full of people whose names he doesn't know, and whose faces he can't make out. Their words are garbled, as though he's underwater.
When he wakes, Rhoam beckons him to follow to the temple. The plateau is bathed in the golds and pinks of early sunrise as they reach the top of the spire. Rhoam turns to face him, expression somber. "I have not been entirely honest with you, Link," he admits. No kidding, Link thinks, though he keeps this to himself. Rhoam lets his disguise melt away to reveal the fine robes and crown of a king, and Link twitches with the sudden urge to drop to his knees. Swift on the heels of that comes a somewhat bewildering desire to punch him in the face, which Link also fights down.
"You'll forgive the deception, I hope," Rhoam says. "Truth be told, I wasn't sure you would agree to help if you remembered who I was, and when it became clear your memories would not simply return on their own..."
Link stares blankly at him.
"Well. I suppose I must begin at the very start," Rhoam says. "When the fortune teller first made her prophecy."
Rhoam's exposition on the calamity feels like a story. Link honestly tries, but he can't imagine himself in the place of the Hylian Champion being described. But when the former King describes the fate of the princess - the thought of anyone being trapped with that monstrosity for so long sends a wave of empathy and guilt washing over him. Along with awe, at this woman who sounds almost like a goddess herself, to have gone up alone against a nightmare and fought it to a standstill for a century. And fear, of this ridiculous, impossible thing being asked of him when he's just some guy without even the clothes on his back to his name. But whatever Rhoam sees in Link's face apparently satisfies him, and he presses the glider into Link's hands.
"Link... when you see my daughter, please tell her... Tell her I am truly sorry. She will know what for, and I can only regret that my apology comes too late. I hope the two of you can break this goddess-cursed cycle once and for all," he says. Then with a grateful nod he slowly fades away. Link heads down to the chancel and sits on the pedestal of the statue of Hylia to watch the sun come up through the ruined walls. He half-remembers watching another sunrise through the stained-glass windows, before they were shattered outwards like snow.
Notes: I realize I'm several years late to this party, but I thought I'd finally finish this up and post it :) I wrote this fic mostly for myself as an exploration of how the BOTW storyline might look free of the weird restrictions of being a single player open-world game, and with more detail on the world and characters. This chapter sticks quite closely to the events in-game, but there will be more divergence as we get out into Hyrule. Title taken from "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads.