ELEVEN - BLESS


There was an unspoken frustration, tangibly solid, within the cruiser; guided by silence that coasted along the hum of the engine. The vehicle rolled to a stop at an intersection. Link continuously stole glances, catching his partner's demeanor as it tensed the longer the red light remained.

"What is going on with you?" Pipit was terse as he kept his attention glued to the traffic light. "You space out, way more than normal. I was hoping a day off would do you some good, but if anything, it's only seemed to make you worse. And you looked like you were about to vomit up all the coffee from earlier in there, especially when we ran into Dragmire. Which, might I add, was a miracle that will never happen again. We were this close to getting an interview with Ganon Dragmire. The man, the myth, the legend that has a knack for avoiding the spotlight if it doesn't suit him or Lon Lon. He even said yes to an interview, Link, and he didn't have to, he wasn't obligated."

Golden opportunity and your insanity blew it out of the water . Link grimaced and turned his full attention to the gaping stretch of road ahead of them.

"Something's up, and as your best bud and partner, I need to know what it is. You aren't sick, are you?"

Sick in the head, maybe. "No… I don't know."

"Well, that's as reassuring as it gets, I guess. You and Malon aren't butting heads?"

"No."

"And this isn't about your birthday or the gruesome ODs we've been having is it? None of that's really new…"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it? Why are you acting so, I don't know, weird? Like you're on drugs half the time."

"You'll think I've gone mental." Link admitted solemnly. The pen would be a pen, the shade a figment of his imagination, and the vile nostalgia and gut wrenching terror from the very presence of Ganon a mere stomach bug. Everything would be a hallucination, a sign of sleep deprivation, or the prattling of a budding dementia patient. No matter what he said, whether he himself believed it or not, there was never enough evidence to back it up.

"Can't be as mental as Malon falling for someone like you." It was meant to be a joke, Link knew, but it still rubbed him raw. Still picked at an already frayed insecurity that he'd been plucking on more times than he could count. Why she still stood beside him through all of his turmoil, a solid rock in a raging sea, he'd never know.

The light overhead turned green, and as the cruiser inched forward, Link concluded then that he would not confide in his partner. No matter what anyone said, confiding in them would give him a one way ticket to an insane asylum. He'd already come to this conclusion the moment he'd accepted Malon's plea to seek help, but now, he was solidifying it. "I just-" Still there was a pause, a battle of wills and words. What would appease Pipit, what would make Link's abnormalities seem lesser than they were?

Partial truths and partial lies.

"I can't stop thinking about how maybe I'm not cut out for this." His own words were akin to a bee sting. It dredged up old memories and forgotten pains, and from the silence that made its home in the back seat of the cruiser, he could tell that he wasn't the only one that suffered from that specific insecurity. It came with the profession though, the human need to fulfill unrealistic expectations of a hero-the people's protector. Where every person was saved, where emotions didn't get the best of you, where your judgement and your actions were spot on and foolproof at the drop of a hat. "Drug investigations, general crimes investigations, all of it. It's just an endless cycle of us trying to hit an impossible home run."

You're only human, Link. You can't save everyone. Especially if they do not want to be saved.

Link continued, "or more like we're fighting a war that has no end."

"I think everyone, no matter the job, has those days." Pipit's words were a vine. Tangled and strained. He wanted to say more, Link could tell as he drew doubtful glances, but he didn't pry. Whether it was because he was uncertain, maybe concerned, or confused, he let the silence ride along with them for a block or two before adding, "I feel like that often. Especially when we see the damage and losses first, like Lara and Rito. It can be overwhelming. All of it stresses me out too, but you know me, always trying to focus on the positives."

"Positives like how, win or lose, at least we make progress? That's a terrible positive."

"That's not what I was going for, but it's something. Think of it this way, if you can't or don't do it, who else will."

The statement resonated, leaving a dull ache to linger at the back of his head, and for the breath of a second Link thought that it was the Shade speaking those words. It'd said something like that in one of the dreams, hadn't it? "If it's like that then that's just more overwhelming, isn't it?"

"True. Can definitely feel suffocating. This job isn't quite a calling, but more or less a duty. At least to me. I do it because it's all I know. Nothing as simple as that. And I figure, since not everyone is cut out for it, why not me?"

Pipit ebbed back into the silence that was no longer weighed upon by tension. Any doubts or concerns he'd had seemed satiated by Link's half truths and bold-faced lies. If they weren't crammed into the cruiser together, Link would have sighed in relief. Instead he turned to watch the scenery glide by as they neared the department's headquarters.

It was as the cruiser pulled into the small parking lot of the department that Link caught sight of Malon's beat up sedan. The ugly bronze color glared at him, its missing hubcap sneering as Pipit parked two parking spots away from it.

"Well, isn't that sweet." Pipit remarked with a grin, "Malon came to see you."

Link only nodded, too caught up in how surprising it really was for the death trap on wheels to make the journey from Valoo to the FCPD. Though the distance between their house and Valoo was roughly equal. It really should be totaled and replaced with something much more safer, but that would cost money that they most certainly didn't have.

Ignoring the incessant string of teases from his partner, the two slid out of the carrier and halfway up to the back door of the FCPD before they spotted Malon's blindingly red hair. She stood near the entrance, her back to the parking lot, as she laughed and chattered away with two Faron officers who were likely awaiting the shift change. Her laugh was a sprinkling of bells, and at the sound of it, Link felt a sense of calm push aside his unease. It urged him to sigh with relief as a feeling of weight left his shoulders entirely.

"Oh, Link, Pipit, how's it goin'!" An officer called, his name coming up blank for Link as Pipit replied in turn.

"Not much. Almost had a date with the Ganon Dragmire."

Malon had turned on her heel then, a smile as bright as a Christmas tree lit up on her face. "I might be able to help with that date then, Pip!"

The officers at her back suddenly grinned from ear to ear at her offer. Nodding excitedly to one another as Pipit and Link stopped before her. "I got an offer at Lon Lon today. One of my applications finally went through!"

No. This can't...

The calm that Link had managed to grasp slipped between his fingers. In its wake, a hollowness, a frigid unease, prickled along his skin. "You-what? When did you apply?" His voice must have come across wrong; her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before it bounced back tenfold.

"I saw a position for one of Lon Lon's biomedical engineers a while ago and applied 'cause why not, and I got accepted today! I just need to go to Lon Lon tomorrow for an interview. The email kind of hints that I might be able to meet Mr. Dragmire himself so hopefully I can do my best and give it my all. Maybe put in a good word for that date."

This can't be happening. The prickling of unease turned into a frenzy of fire ants that seeped into his senses. They swarmed along his nerves, plucked along his bones, burning everything in their path until the hellish sensations crawled their way up to his left hand. There, they settled like a sack of rocks tossed into the river. There, they anchored, and he quickly covered his hand with the other. Though his mind was rampant with emotions, confusing, frightful, and nostalgic all at once, he faintly realized that the back of his hand was hot to the touch.

Then, somewhere in the fog of his mind, the Shade's words brushed alongside his mounting hysteria. " If you meet with them now, then the events that will unfold will surely alter the course of destiny."

"Oh wow, that's awesome, Malon!" Pipit gushed while Link felt his whole body plunging into ice. "Do you know if you're the only one? How much of a pay increase will that be? Because we've really got to look into getting rid of that ugly, yellow excuse you call a car."

Malon's grin, her bubbling laughter, didn't seem to satiate his frazzled state of mind, if anything it seemed to only make it worse. He wanted to deny that, vehemently so, but foriegn strings of emotion and thoughts pushed his own aside. Things like sickening fear, the kind that made the blood run cold, and numbing dread, the kind that lingered in the pit of his stomach even as they finally made their separate ways home. It all felt misplaced, not his own despite the familiarity they brought. It was just a job opportunity, just a man, and yet...

This leads to a bad end, just like before.

He shuddered against the full-blast heat of his cruiser. Shuddered against the endless weight of those words that held a solidity, a thickness to them, an omen that opened to a deadend. They made him feel weak, helpless, insane , something he had long since grown tired of. And in some strange and unknown way, they made absolute sense. Just like the dreams, in their own, special way, and just like Shade and its tales.

Link's hands curled along the steering wheel until his nails dug into the palm of his hand. Yet the sharp bite of nails on skin did little to silence the madness that boiled within him. Even the urge to scream, that had come and gone in the guise of curses, had only chipped the block of despair.

Putting all the Hero nonsense on the shelf… whether he was insane or not, all the lies, the lack of sleep, the hallucinations, if he wasn't cracking now, he was bound to sooner or later.

"I can't do this anymore."


Sunlight coated the mask over Queen Zelda's face,saturating the soft blue undertones and diamond encrusted ribbons until only the blinding white of the facade remained. With her head held high, the queen descended the courtyard's steps in small strides. The trail of her sky-blue dress brushed softly over the brick while the gentlest of breezes ran fingers along the black veil that encircled her golden hair.

Before the brick stairs stretched a quaint dirt path that twirled in and out of flower beds, fruit trees, weeping willows, vibrant shrubs, and weather-kissed statues. She paused at the last step, letting the sun caress her for a moment longer before she sought the refuge of a tall, thick, and twisted weeping willow that towered at the garden's center. Its long, drooping branches tangled amidst each other, dotting the tree in a series of leafy crowns. From each crown fell even longer branches that obscured the trunk from sight. She gently pushed them to the side as she passed underneath, letting a verdant tangle of limbs fall at her back, chasing away the rays of sunlight.

She always came to the willow in search of solace, for a place that would help reign in her negative emotions and quell her stress. "Hello, again." She said to the bark as she pressed her hand against it. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Her voice was barely a whisper as she rubbed her fingers over its trunk. "A while and yet you haven't changed, not in the slightest." The garden housed other willows yet this particular one had been the first to call the garden it's home. She'd watched it grow, watched its drooping limbs age and mature. Its canopy offered security, more than her masks and veils ever could.

But more than anything, it also seemed to silence both the chorus of voices and her chaotic visions. A simple touch of the bark or a branch was all it took. Though strange, she'd never questioned it. Yet as she pulled away, taking a step back to peer upward into its canopy, she wondered. Of all the people to confide in, she'd only ever spoken her thoughts, worries, and troubles to Ganon. And though she'd done so for centuries, it always felt indescribably wrong to seek closure of any kind with a man such as he.

"What would Link think of me?" Zelda mused. "Depending on the villain and a tree for some twisted form of comfort, as if either cares about you, about Hyrule and her people." She shook her head.

Who cares what the Hero thinks of you when he's nothing but dust. Ganon's words picked at the wound in her heart. Truth hurt, but hearing it from a man like him, time and time again, seemed to hurt far worse than any other wound.

"I care… I care because if it were not for me, none of us would be in this predicament." Zelda's voice strained, the guilt grating on truth. Sure, she could have done more back then, but at the end of the day, they all could have done more. It wasn't just her, she knew that, but it was easier to accept the fault as her own. As if accepting the blame would make the reality less harsher, less colder, and less scarier.

She turned her back to the tree and sat down, using its support to calm her. "But caring isn't enough, is it? It doesn't rewrite history. What's done is done. Link is gone, perhaps for good. My premonitions are likely faulty; visions merely influenced by my desire to set things right or to see things as they were." Her sigh was long and winded.

For once, talking to the garden's silent, wooden sentinel did little good in easing the stress that had wounds its way up her back. Her own words felt weak, like a gentle breeze, against the turmoutlous emotions and thoughts that broiled within her. If anything, her words seemed to anger her more.

"Everything we've bled, sweated, died for; everything we've done, in the end it was all for nothing. All those sacrifices, all that pain…" she shook her head, anger building as she realized just how much Ganon was impressing upon her. Surely this was his pessimism, his eternal hatred, rubbing off on her. But then the goddesses, after all she'd done for them, where were they now?

Gone. They'd turned their backs on the world and never once looked back. How easy it must have been to them, to leave their pawns to rot. To leave their chessboard to wither away into dust.

Zelda stood up then, the tree still at her back. It had been many years ago, the events that had changed everything, and yet she still felt a twinge of self-hatred and self-doubt. Perhaps it was the loyalty and faith that had been ground into her very being, or perhaps it was simply her wanting some silver lining, starved for a sense of hope. She wanted to believe it just as simply as Ganon did, that they and all Hyrule had been abandoned. The goddesses were no more. It was easy to think that, but it was harder to accept.

They had turned their backs, but surely… surely… after all that bloodshed and all that sacrifice, they wouldn't just leave. They couldn't. They'd made the planet, formed the land and the sky, the law and its people.

"And yet I can no longer hear Nayru and her wisdom." Her eyes cast downward to her left hand, she extended it outward and turned it over until the palm faced the ground. "Even the mark."

That had been proof enough for Ganon, the absence of the mark of the Triforce could only mean that the goddesses had forsaken them. And though it was easy to think that, it was still harder for her to accept.


When Link opened the front door, his gaze immediately settled on Malon who had taken up to leaning against the peninsula. She was out of her scrubs, clad in small cotton shorts and one of his running shirts, with her nose buried in whatever was on her phone. As soon as the door latched behind him, she looked up and let loose a smile that was brighter than the lights overhead. "Was worried you got lost on your way home, or worse, that you got called back to work."

He wasn't about to admit that he'd parked the cruiser in the park nearby and cussed up a storm to himself. Wasn't going to deny that he'd sat there for a good thirty minutes, going over everything that he'd witnessed the past few days. He definitely wasn't going to say how he'd screamed his head off, or how he threw the magical pen outside and peeled off onto the road back home only to quickly go back and recover it. He didn't want to lie about it either.

His delay was easily noticed in the way that her smile faltered, but if she sensed his unease, she didn't press. Instead she set her phone down on the counter and hopped toward him. She stopped until the top of her bare feet pushed up against the toe of his boots. "You look like you need a hug."

An understatement, and he accepted it. Leaning forward, he lightly wrapped his arms around her and she quickly burrowed into his warmth.

"I'm sorry if you had a rough day. I hope coming to see you at work was okay. I should have asked." Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, but he heard it nonetheless.

"No, no, you were fine. Perfect even. It made my day ten times better seeing you earlier than expected." He was fairly sure he felt her grin. "If you tried to call me, I don't think I would've been able to pick up."

"Because of the failed interview? Pipit said you guys almost had one with Dragmire."

His arms tightened around her, "Don't worry about it. That reminds me though, about your interview tomorrow. Do you really want to work for Lon Lon?"

It was Malon who pulled back, but she ran her hands along his shoulders. "It's the best opportunity that I've gotten since Valoo. Plus it has way better benefits, salary too. Maybe even better hours."

What was it that the Shade had said? A beast of malevolence…. But it's operating under a beast of malevolence.

"Plus, I'll finally be able to make use of those expensive pieces of paper." She said, and she turned her head to their television and couch. Between them, on the wall, they'd placed both of their diplomas. She had two that were positioned side-by-side while his, a single diploma, was nailed underneath them.

"You sound like you don't want me to take the offer." It was then that she pulled away and headed into their small kitchen. His eyes followed her as unspoken thoughts twisted and turned.

Would he have been more excited for her if the events from today had not happened in Lon Lon? No. Dragmire was shady and untrustworthy, any law enforcement officer would agree. Sure, Lon Lon was renowned, a miracle worker, and a great asset to Hyrule, but the man that led it was surely not as clean and angelic as he appeared. Of course, the Shade's words and his own experience could be influencing him. After all, the premonitions he felt had been stronger than any sixth sense he'd ever had. There's no doubting that malice I felt when we first met.

"I'm just concerned. Lon Lon is painted as this picture perfect company, and I don't buy that." He finally replied.

"Well, no one does. Who would? Every business, just like a job or a person, has their pros and cons."

It's more than that. "True, but not every business or person can meet up to the reputation of Lon Lon or its CEO."

"So then, would you prefer I just turn it down? The offer, I mean."

Yes. The singly reply stuck on his tongue. He wanted to say that, both in hopes of ensuring her safety and his sanity. Yet the word didn't come. Why? Because I don't know if these hallucinations, these feelings, and these thoughts are true, real.

Who was he to deny her an opportunity that she clearly wanted to pursue?

This isn't about me or my stupid sanity.

"No," he grimaced, the word feeling bitter, "I want you to be happy. If you want to pursue this, do it. Don't let me hold you back. I'm just being-" scared, uncertain, childish, lost , "-paranoid."

He drew up to the counter on the other side of the peninsula. She'd pulled out an assortment of sandwich ingredients, along with the cutting board and one of their slightly dull knives. When he came to her side, she turned to hand him an apple and the knife.

"Paranoid?" She asked before slightly turning to pop four pieces of bread into their bulky toaster.

He sliced the apple in half, nodding. "I mean, can you blame me? Their CEO is sketchy. If Lon Lon is ever in the spotlight for something bad, it barely lasts a day before something crazier happens."

"That's media for you though."

"I feel like there's more to it than that, but yes. Media does play a part in that. He's rarely interviewed, if ever too. Which isn't that strange, I guess, but he only appears if it makes him or Lon Lon look good."

"That's every CEO."

He gradually sliced thinner pieces of apple, and brushed them to the side of the cutting board. "It's just, I don't know, too perfect and clean. Lon Lon is rarely included in any drama or politics."

"What about Valoo? It's never in the media. Granted, it's a hospital, and Lon Lon is a business centralized in medicine. 'Sides, not every business needs to have dirt on their floor, you know."

There was far more to it than that, but Link didn't press it any further. Instead, he handed the apple slices to her, and started searching for a pair of clean glasses. All the while, as she finished making the sandwiches, he let his thoughts simmer. Feelings of guilt and remorse, of fear, broiled and baked within him. Churning and souring. Out of everything he'd faced he was certain that this was not an opportunity, not a blessing or miracle in disguise. No, this was some form of twisted aftermath,a tainted bit of ominous fate that he'd created from his encounter with Dragmire.

It sparked a momentary feeling of hopelessness, one that lingered until they both went to bed. It was then as she cuddled up beside him under the covers, and he ran his fingers through her fiery hair, that he found himself growing tired.

He'd had enough.


A stretch of water, as smooth and as reflective as a mirror, made up the ground. It followed the far off distance endlessly, chasing away the dark shadows that glared overhead. Link stood in the wake of its stillness. His bare feet chilled by the waters below as he scanned over the rock that sat just a few feet ahead of him.

The rock itself was black as night and it shifted like a flame, flickering in and out. It protruded straight from the water, and yet the reflective surface did not catch it in its gaze. Not even the strange skeletal creature, the one that haunted both his dreams and nightmares, that sat atop it. No reflection, no shadow.

The sight of it, the Shade and his dreamscape, was exhausting. That feeling of dread and remembrance, the combination of the two that seemed to accompany the Shade left Link feeling nauseous. Everything, as it always did in the dreams, felt real. His bare feet were freezing, and his ears ached against the deafening silence that consumed them.

Will this ever end? It was a helpless thought that was quickly followed with a solid no . Something in his gut had accepted all of this as normal long ago. This, all of it, would never really end. Nevertheless, the hallucinations, the dreams, he was tired of it.

It was more than that though because now Malon was involved. That alone chased away the nausea, the fear and the acceptance. Out of everyone in his life, Malon-his rock and his light-deserved none of this.

So that means that I am accepting this? What choice did he have? Whether he ignored it or not, all of it repeated. And, over time, all of it grew worse. Though none of it has escalated until the Shade waltzed into his dreams, as if it belonged there.

The Shade itself sat as still as the water, and it seemed to be admiring the darkness beyond them. That or maybe it hadn't seen him, noticed his presence yet. "Why are you doing this?" Link finally spoke. His voice echoed and caused the water to ripple, and the Shade turned its head to look at him. The movement was subtle, but the edge of its tattered cloak slipped from the rock and into the waters. No reflection, no shadow, and no ripples formed.

"Doing what?" Its single red eye bore into Link's gaze.

"Everything."

"If I have done something, it is done in hopes that you will regain what you have lost."

Link's eyes twitched. His fingers curled against his palms. He remembered, right before he slept, how he'd prayed for a dreamless sleep. And if that could not be granted, then he prayed for answers because this was bringing him closer to that metaphorical edge. Something he'd had quite enough of. Though the hallucinations said otherwise, there was a part of him that was as sure as there was a sun in the sky that he wasn't insane. He couldn't be. This wasn't some schizophrenic episode, this wasn't some high or some fever dream. And yet… just like in a case, there was cold, hard evidence. All of which pointed out that he wasn't in the right mind.

This was agony. A constant tidal wave of emotions and thoughts, an eternal battle that matched blade to blade. He just wanted an end, an end or maybe a rope. Something that would help him either make sense of it all or escape.

If nothing else, think of Malon. It was a trigger, and it nudged a swarm of emotions awake.

He moved. He closed the distance between himself and the Shade, across the short expanse of cold waters, and grabbed the top of the skeleton's breastplate that peeked from behind the cloak. The rusted metal was hot to the touch, but Link cared little as he jerked the Shade so that their eyes were mere centimeters apart. "Regain what I've lost? Enough of this cryptic bullshit . The only thing I've lost is my sanity."

The Shade moved much slower than he. Its bones groaned and cracked, aged armor creaked, and a puff of rust twirled between them. Its skeletal arm wrapped around his left wrist, the fingers cutting into the flesh. "As doubtful as ever." Came the reply, and it pulled him even closer to where his nose would have bumped into its nose, if such a thing existed. "But for once you seem certain. A striking contrast to our past meetings. I feared that you would break this time, like we did before, and like we did back then. I would favor giving you all the answers, but you are burdened even with what little I've given you. Especially now, I can see that your heart and soul are heavy with burden."

"I'm a 'hero' aren't I? I think I can handle whatever you throw at me."

"You are a Hero that is not ready, but what can be defined as 'being ready?' The time before you, I was ready, and yet here I stand as a remnant. Forgotten and yet remembered all the same. So perhaps… perhaps it is not my place to determine you are ready." Its other skeletal hand wrapped around his left wrist and promptly freed its breastplate from his grip. "Forgive me, I was merely atoning for past mistakes, and finding myself depending on aid that we will never see. They have left us… this I know. I cannot depend on them any longer, they who cut our lives so short. It is because of them that we-that you-have suffered."

"I don't really get what you're saying." Link said. He tried freeing his wrist, but the bony fingers held strong and true. "But about 'being ready,' that's not for you to decide. I'm tired of all this, and I want answers. I'm ready ."

Beneath them the waters gradually became opaque. Tendrils of gray, black, and white cut through the reflective surface, corroding the illusion as the Shade replied. "You have been allowed to be uncertain, allowed to doubt, allowed to be lost and as forgotten as I, but no more. Know that what is said cannot be unsaid. There is no going back from this, only forward."


For as long as there has been life, there has been light and dark. White and black, good and evil. Two sides of a coin that battled one another for space and time. Their fight was timeless and redundant. When the light consumed the dark, the dark consumed the light. It was an eternal cycle that was balanced at first, but as time elapsed, so too did the strength of the light and the the light's strength waned, the dark became overpowering. When the dark's strength waned, the light became overwhelming. They tipped each other's balance, and with each tip, the world that thrived from their balance suffered.

War, famine, plague, and death wreaked havoc. The fields turned red, the waters dried up, and the stars vanished from the skies. Fueled by the prayers and the fear of their people, the goddesses sought a way to remedy the instability before it spiraled out of their control.

One remedy came in the guise of artifacts. Treasures forged by both the souls and desires of the goddesses. They reflected both the light and the dark, and demonstrated fragile stability in their power. Power which quickly proved to easily sway the people that the goddesses watched over; they clung to the treasures, greedy and fearful.

In response, the goddesses chose warriors and prophets. Those that could speak for them, act for them, and most importantly, protect the balance and its treasures. And as time passed, the balance remained for a time.

The people's greed and fear evolved into anxiety, doubt, and anger. War erupted like a ravenous beast, and it violated the balance until both the light and the dark became mixed and dangerous.

That war left many dead, many depressed, and many lost. It faced brother against brother, drenched the fields in blood, and painted the skies with a black so vile that even the rain fell with gruesome colors. It even corrupted the warriors and the prophets, pitching them against one another as they fought to either protect or to steal the treasures.

At that time, the prophets were able to rally and instill hope in the people. Temples were erected, mass prayers were made, and the goddesses answered. Their answer took fifteen days of hardship, of blood and sweat, and millions of lives, but the war settled, the treasures remained, and the balance was restored.

Yet the greed remained and it festered. The second time it erupted, the temples were consumed by the war. The people were hurt by the second war, hurt that they had instilled so much hope in the goddesses. The goddesses, in response, decided to let the war run its course. For thirty years, thirty painful years, the world was wrought in sickening violence. It was only in the thirtieth year of the war that the goddesses grew tired, and so they chose their next warrior amidst the living. A child who they quickly fell in love with and favored above all mortals.

A child that they loved so much that they gifted him eternity. His blood was blessed, and with his blessed blood, he was reincarnated and given the same task every life, to protect and serve. It was a simple and noble task, one that became a prophecy of sorts for his lineage would only appear during hardships.

His blessed blood could only last so long however. Mortal blood diluted the blessing every life, and it pained the goddesses. They had already gone against their intention to never place a blessing on a mortal, and yet if they did not bestow such a blessing again, their warrior would not continue his reincarnation. This fear urged them to bless his blood again, and again, setting the prophecy and the story of his deeds in stone.

In time of need, in time of hardship and darkness, a Hero garbed in green and blessed by the goddesses will appear.

But just as before, all good things must come to an end.

It was during the time when one of their warriors could no longer keep their greediness, their foulness, at bay. They sought out the power of the treasures, but before they could twist the scale between light and dark, the goddesses' beloved warrior stopped them. Unbeknownst to the goddesses, that felled warrior had also been blessed. His blood had been touched by the treasure, by the Triforce that they had left behind. And so he, just like the prophesied Hero, had many lives.

Over time, this caused the balance to shift one way and then the other until finally, finally, it was broken. Yet the outcome was not what the goddesses had foreseen, and it was most certainly not what the goddesses favored.

Their beloved Hero had died, protecting and serving to his last breath by the very warrior that had been blessed by their own treasure.