Prompt No.27
Word count: ~750
Universe: Breath of the Wild
Pairings: None
Rating: K
Themes: Torture, sacrifice
Ransom
The dais shudders as he climbs the steps, reverberating as the blade hums in its pedestal. He knows that sword was meant for him. He knows it's his destiny. He knows that won't stop it from trying to kill him.
It gleams with a sacred luster that can repel evil. That's what the legends said. The truth is the light is just what the rest of the world sees when it opens its eyes to examine him—weigh him in its unfathomable balances and judge him worthy or not. He doesn't understand that until he's standing right in front of it, feet glued to the stone and heart bursting with terror in his chest. The sword's voice is breath and light, and he's fixed in its piercing gaze, and he knows if he fails to prove himself now it will strike him down before he can step off the dais.
He wraps his hands around the hilt and pulls. It accepts his challenge, sealing his hands to the grip, and he can feel it prying him open and searching every moment of his past, the very fabric of his future, all the pieces of him that define who he is and what he can be. Then he hears and sees and feels the voice again, all breath and light, vibrating through his soul so brightly that for a moment he's blind.
Price. Ransom.
And he tries to understand it. He tries to fathom why the goddesses would imprison this blade in a pedestal, why they would demand a price to free it if it was their will that it be drawn at all. And then the sword glows and burns between his hands, and when he tries to jerk away from the pain he can't, and when the test begins his vision sears white and the voice is reverberating in him, part of him, and he has to listen as it lists the demands.
Freedom.
And he feels it, shackling him to it forever. His destiny is bound up in that blade, threaded so inseparably that he knows he'll be its slave forever, and the loss of his will is so breath-taking and unreal that his legs nearly buckle.
Self.
Because whoever he was, whoever he wanted to be, is irrelevant now. He's offering himself to the sword, and it's accepting him—he can feel it, binding itself to him, threading itself in his destiny—and it demands all of him. His identity is changing, morphing into something he barely recognizes. It's like he's being flayed alive, peeling away his old self so that he can be something else. He wants to scream. He wants to beg for it to stop. He doesn't want to lose himself. But the sword has chosen him now, and the only way out of their bargain is failure.
Life.
And though he always knew offering himself meant as far as laying down his life, the sword means to make sure he grasps exactly how terrifying that will be; because any fool can die. But is he willing to let himself be ripped limb from limb, suffer in ways no man has suffered, for as long and for as many times as his destiny demands? And the sword pulls him there, dragging him down to the brink of death, to see how long he lasts. He can't breathe. His body is screaming and every nerve ending is burning. His blood is stilling in his veins and the horror of coming face to face with his own demise is swelling in him like tidewaters, reaching down his throat like it means to pull his heart out of his mouth.
And he realizes, then, that he could let go. The sword is giving him a chance—it has shown him the price that must be paid and the voice is asking him if he wants to walk away. But now he understands. The sword is not what's imprisoned. It's Hyrule itself. Her people. Her princess. And no person demands those things of him. It it simply what being the Hero means. And if he walks away now, there will be no one else to take his place, and the world will simply fade into darkness—so how could he?
He doesn't let go, and in the moment next the blade slips out of the stone.
And the sword closes its eyes and exhales in his hands, and leaves the rest up to him.