This is an idea that I've had for a while, which I've now decided to write down for Breath of the Wild's third anniversary. I may have been inspired slightly by some other story I read, but I don't remember any names or anything. The idea that struck me and stuck with me is that Link hears a voice that ultimately leads him to the woods and to the Master Sword. So if you notice any similarities to any older story or stories, and if I saw it, that could be the reason.

Breath of the Wild, Link, the Master Sword, all associated places and events, etc. belong to Nintendo. But I don't need to tell you that, do I?

Voice of the Sword - by Pseudo Twili

Like an unyielding overseer, the sun beat down on the military training grounds, with powder-dry dust constantly being kicked up and swirled up into the faces of the men. The nearby trees made hardly a whisper as a careless breeze tickled their hundreds of thousands of leaves. The sky was wonderfully clear and serenely blue, with nary a storm in sight and only a couple wisps of white making a race for the horizon. The cries of birds and the repetitive lyrics of insects could be discerned by anyone who listened closely, but those were mostly drowned out by the constant sounds of clashing weapons, the thwacks and hisses of the hot, dusty air being disturbed repeatedly, and the shouts, grunts, curses and bellowings of men.

At the moment, Link noticed very little of his surroundings and heard even less. He was sure someone had called his name—or rather it felt like more of a whisper, which was strange considering the din that was going on around him. He strained to hear, but nothing more came. Then, all too quickly, he was forcibly broken from his reverie when a practice sword came within a few inches of his face. Bringing up his own dulled blade, he only just blocked the blow from his opponent. After a few more strokes, he disarmed the other man, sending his sword skittering a few feet away in the dust. He knew he'd come very close to being defeated himself, which was something he never did.

This time someone was shouting his name. Knowing what he faced, he swallowed quickly and licked his dry lips before turning around. Sweat prickled the back of his neck and made his undershirt cling to his skin. His armor felt heavier than usual, more stifling under the early afternoon sun. He tightened his hold on his blade.

"What sort of exhibition was that?! Did you expect the sun to blind your partner and disarm him too?!"

"No sir…" Link muttered just so he could be heard over the din around them.

Other nearby soldiers turned to stare at the knight commander as he stared Link down. They swiftly returned to their own practice when the commander glanced their way. Link's opponent picked himself up off the ground, scowled as he looked around for his weapon, and then went off to fight someone else.

The tawny-haired commander motioned him to the perimeter of the large training yard so they could converse without being so easily overheard. Link held his breath and let it go slowly, almost painfully, steeling himself for what was coming. He wasn't just one of the knights, even if he was reputed to be the best swordsman in the land, but the knight commander, Rankin, was also his father. It was a fact which never left the youth's mind, making it even more difficult for Link to please him, and more likely that the commander would be harder on him, shout at him more, and push him more forcefully than anyone else.

"You're supposed to be an example to all the new recruits, especially the young ones! They need someone to show them how to fight and it is your job to help train them. Hyrule needs its soldiers, especially now. You know that!"

"Yes sir, I do."

"Then get back out there and do your duty."

Link acknowledged his father and obeyed him seconds later. The young knight clenched his own jaw and tried to make his own expression as stern and unyielding as Rankin's face had been before he turned away. Link returned to the thick of the trainees, where he worked with them until the deep blush of sunset crept over them from the horizon. Even when the soldiers trudged back to the barracks to clean up, he didn't have the chance to speak to his father, as they were both kept busy until after night had settled over the land like a cloak lined with all the stars of the universe. Then the knight commander and his son met in the cramped quarters belonging to the former.

"What were you doing out there?" Rankin demanded, fixing his lad with a stern glare.

"I'm sorry, Father. I... I thought I heard someone calling me."

"There are many noises on the training ground. You must have been mistaken."

But it was something Link couldn't find the right words to describe. Someone was calling him, he was sure of it. When he thought harder on it, however, it wasn't his name that he seemed to hear but a cry that went much deeper. It was not a thing he heard with his ears so much, but something that spoke to and prodded his very soul. It pulled at him, making him antsy, anxious, and feeling more than a little addled, and he had no idea what it meant or how he could rid himself of it. It was a call both sweet with promise and laden with responsibility. It was earnest and repetitious and he yearned to follow it, if only he knew how.

His father cocked his brows, his lips twisting downward. The doubt that clouded his eyes was as obvious as the gray-white clouds that stole over the Woodland region for an approaching squall. Two days passed, in which the coming storm built up on the horizon and the knight commander was almost always glancing in his son's direction. Link tried his best, but he kept hearing, or feeling, the voice that no one else was even aware of. He heard it even in his sleep, causing him to wake multiple times in one night.

Finally, the clouds which had been gathering themselves up like a huge soap bubble, released the moisture they were holding. In a matter of minutes the training grounds were running with water, visibility was reduced almost to nothing by the stringing, driving rain, and the men found themselves slipping and sliding more than sparring. The knight commander called an early halt to the exercises and instead ordered the recruits to clean up their gear and living quarters. By the time they ate their dinner, the rain had subsided almost to the point of stopping.

Rankin noticed the dark circles and the unusual exhaustion in his boy's face, and his own expression darkened with a frown. "Go to bed, son. Get some rest," he commanded the youth, as he might anyone else under his command, except his eyes were considerably softer than his tone.

Link obeyed with nary a thought to the contrary. He shared a room with some other young men who'd been knighted around the same time he had been, though they were all older than he was. He fell asleep easily, but then awoke in the middle of the night, unsure for a moment as to what had roused him. Enough moonlight invaded the room that he could see the shapes of the other men in their beds, the air occasionally punctuated by snores and snorts. The window was open and he could hear crickets and feel tendrils of the night breeze.

Then the voice called to him again and he knew what had pulled him from his slumber. So too, he remembered what he'd been dreaming just moments before; in them he'd been in a strange, misty place that he did not recognize, one with bizarre trees that reached up with scraggly arms and seemed to jump out at him from the fog. He'd been afraid of getting lost, but something pulled him onward…

The dream left his heart thumping madly against his ribcage and he wasn't sure why. He heard the call again, and a third time. He knew sleep would elude him and so he hastily pulled on a pair of leggings, boots, and a tunic over the undershirt he slept in. Slipping out of the barracks and the compound was a nearly effortless matter for him; he'd been raised in garrisons and training camps after all, and this one was no stranger to him.

As he put distance between himself and the grounds, the voice kept calling and pulling at him. When he knew he could not be heard by any of the sentries, he lifted his face partway to the heavens and shouted, "What do you want?! Who's calling me? Leave me alone!" He received no reply, but the voice kept up its urgent summons.

A great wood was just north of the military training camp, but everyone knew to stay away from it and its confusing, swirling mists that would turn a person around and lead him back to his starting point before he'd realize how. When he was a bit younger, Link had been curious about the forest, much as any young boy would be, but his father warned him to stay away. The boy and a friend had once tried to venture therein, but one attempt had been enough, and Link had nightmares for a week afterward.

A dozen soldiers had once tried to battle their way through the fog, only for one of them to come out a survivor. The others were eventually found, some having drowned in the lake, while the hearts of the others stopped, terrible expressions of fear on their faces. Others had tried to breach the woods at some time or another too, but no one who survived knew quite how he'd gotten out, and the fear had created a gap in his mind. The locals knew to keep their distance.

"Where are you?" he asked, but received no response. Only an owl hooted at him from the bough of a tree.

He took the little path that climbed a steepening hill. As he walked, the voice grew stronger and the trees thicker. The clouds had all been swept away and the moon was nearly full, giving Link wide swaths of pale light to help him find his way. He needed no lantern and he hadn't thought to bring a weapon with him. When the mist started curling around his legs like ethereal chains set on ensnaring him, he suddenly realized his error. The mist swirled higher, making his skin feel clammy and break out in cucco-flesh. Quickly snatching a weighty branch and banging it on a tree to get rid of any lose bits, he held it at the ready, just in case.

"What do you want?" he again implored. "Why are you calling me?"

He felt as though he was about to swallowed by the fog, which was so thick that he could only barely make out the shapes of the trees which were within touching distance. He suddenly knew what it must have felt like when others had foolishly gone too deep into the woods and hadn't returned alive. His breath caught in his throat as he thought he heard something behind him; he whirled but could see nothing. He heard strange, muted laughter that seemed to creep into the marrow of his bones and turn it to ice. He might have turned around and fled the place, except that he didn't know right from left anymore and certainly didn't know where he was going or whence he'd come.

But then the voice changed. Instead of calling to him, it seemed to say, "Come. This way."

Wisps of wind ruffled his hair and swept past him, sending the mist leaping in swirls. He could see just a bit further ahead and he no longer felt as though the otherworldly fog would swallow him whole. His heart still pounded and he clenched at his stick with a cold, pale-knuckled grip, but he didn't dare turn away from the direction the voice was guiding him. He was sweating and yet he felt cold all over with the mist at his back. That trip through the mysterious woods could have taken a few minutes, or a few years. It was as if even time had no interest in the place.

Almost as suddenly, the voice ceased. All the hairs on his head seemed to stand at attention, the back of his neck seized up, and his hands shook so much that he all but dropped his stick. The mist swirled around him in eddies, enveloping him for the last time, or so he thought. He took a couple of blinds steps and it was as if he'd passed through a curtain, for the fog thinned right before his eyes. His heart in his throat, he marched a few more paces, and the mist was suddenly behind him.

He was still in the forest, but what a different forest it seemed to him after all that he'd been through! The trees were no longer reaching out to him with branches like cold dead fingers; they rustled serenely in the night breeze and appeared quite green even in the moonlight. Ferns, grass and all manner of other lush growth vied for their own space on the forest floor, mixed with fallen leaves and the occasional rock, fallen branch, or long-forgotten stump. Link drank in the new surroundings with his eyes, wondering if the others who had died had gotten that far. He gulped in the dewy air of the forest to replace the chilling dampness in his lungs.

"Where…where are you?" he whispered, his voice breaking with relief.

The voice called him once more and was again silent. His legs still rather shaky, he ventured forward, realizing there was a sort of path through the faintly sweet-scented foliage when he glimpsed the contours of a series of perfectly flat stones set into the forest floor. Again he heard giggles to which there wasn't much volume left by the time they reached his ears, but these did not carry the same kind of cold dread as those he'd heard in the mist. This laughter was carefree and light, like it had come from the throats of children.

After he'd gone a little way, the trees began to lean their trunks and their branches away, as if they'd been commanded by some ancient and revered being. Though the gap, Link could see that the stars were still shimmering in the sky and the moon was lowering toward the horizon. Part of the sky was obscured and he quickly realized why; an immense tree reached its pink-blossomed branches upward, so high that they might have touched the heavens themselves. He stared up at it, his eyes wide with wonder as he tried to figure out how old it might be. He couldn't even tell where the trunk and roots of the great tree stopped and the rest of the forest took over.

At the base of the majestic tree was a clearing into which the other trees did not intrude. In this space, fringed with lacy ferns and softly luminescent flowers, was a sort of flat pedestal which was formed by no mere chance. It was in the shape of a triangle, with larger rocks set purposefully at the three corners. In the center was a sword, unblemished by dust and weather, its blade pulsing with a faint, blue-white light. Suddenly Link knew that the voice he'd been feeling was coming from the sword.

"Were you the one calling me?" he asked, his whispered words carrying on the night air along with the sounds of crickets and owls.

No one told him what to do but he felt compelled all the same, as if he'd always known what path he was to take. He let his sturdy stick fall from his hands and he advanced up the two shallow steps to the pedestal. He placed his hands on the blue-purple hilt, which felt not quite cool and oddly welcoming in his grip, and pulled.

It was as if his strength, every ounce of courage had suddenly abandoned him, leaving him to feel as though he were surrounded by rings of the worst kinds of monsters, and had not even a twig to fight them off. His heart felt ready to burst and his mind screamed at him to let go, but he held fast. There was a spirit housed in the sword, he was sure, the same one belonging to the voice that had called him there. It was relentless, peering into his mind and heart and peeling back the layers of his being as if they were cabbage leaves.

The sword gave a little and the being inside probed harder. With each successful tug, another part of him was laid bare. He, too, could see everything about himself, and he remembered all the times he'd been disobedient to his parents, lied, been unkind or broken a promise, when he'd broken his mother's vase and blamed it on the neighbor's cat, sneaking out at night with friends and they'd pulled all sorts of pranks and mischief, and everything else he'd ever done that had made him ashamed.

Then others things he'd done paraded themselves through his mind and he knew the spirit saw them too, such as his stubbornness in refusing to tell on his friend who was in hiding and needed his help because he was the only one who believed in her, or when he'd taken a terrible fall, broken his arm in two places and still picked himself up to warn the garrison, or when he'd threatened a gaggle of street bullies when they were harassing a pair of siblings. Under the spirit's searching scrutiny, he felt small and ineffectual, as if none of those things mattered and could have been handled much better if he were smarter or cleverer.

All his fears came to the surface, turning his already quivering legs to jelly. Tears coursed down his face, though he didn't realize it. He was afraid that he would always be a disappointment to his father, that somehow he would disgrace himself and his knighthood subsequently stripped from him. He was terrified of the Calamity that was rumored to wreck itself upon the land, and he hated the Guardians and other technology the Sheikah were forever unearthing. He knew he was supposed to be a brave knight, but he shuddered mightily at the mere thought of anyone finding out how many things he feared.

The spirit did not let up, and he did not let go, even though his breaths hardly came and he felt more exposed than a newborn babe. He didn't know why or how, but only that he mustn't give up. It was so essential that everything else eclipsed it. And even though the spirit examined him more thoroughly than anyone mortal had ever done or could do, there was a thread of a whisper, telling him to keep fast. The hilt was no longer cool; instead it seemed to burn him. Though his hands felt as though they were seared to it, he clung to it still and yanked at the sword with all the seeming strength of a grasshopper trying to lift the castle.

The spirit reached the very core of his being, his hopes, his motivations, his love, his tenacity which was sometimes described as stubbornness, his empathy for those who were in need, and overall, his courage. Then the tip of the sword came free from the stone that had surrounded it for countless ages, or perhaps it was the sword releasing itself completely into his hands. Link almost fell back and then caught himself, taking the first achingly deep breath in he didn't know how long. He stared down at the wondrous weapon which had allowed him to take it. The blade pulsed once more and he could hear the voice so much clearer, as if it were speaking right in his head.

Recognition complete…Master.

~O~

Hours later, Link exited the woods, the sword strapped to his back and glowing, however subdued, with holy power. The Great Deku Tree had awakened and talked to him for a while, telling him that he'd been chosen by the sword and his was no insignificant destiny. The other heroes of the ages long past had all had trials of some sort that brought them closer to the darkness-sealing blade that chose them. One hero had forged through spirit realms with nothing but his wit and courageous heart, another hero knew the sword only when he was as old in mind as he was in body, and still others had proven their strength, fighting through obstacles and harsh conditions of all sort.

Not even the great tree knew what Link's trials would be, but he told the young knight to remember that he'd been chosen. The Deku Tree bade him to take care of the sacred blade, and that it housed a spirit who was as old as law itself, that she was wise and she always chose her champion carefully. She was to be his companion, his edge against the Calamity that was coming as surely as the morrow.

Those words, spoken in a voice that sounded as though it was lined with weather-beaten bark and softened with thick green lichen, did not leave the young knight as he trekked the path back to the training ground. He turned them over and over in his mind as one might search under rocks for the juiciest worms and nightcrawlers to use in fishing. They were to be both a comfort and a burden in the many trials stretched across the path of his future.

The sun had peeked up from the horizon and begun its unfailing ascent by the time he returned. The sentries and all the soldiers inside the camp gave him nasty glances or pitying ones; not a one of them wanted to be on the bad side of the authoritative knight commander. Then they saw the sword on his back and they gaped all the more. Link marched past them with a step that seemed sure but a heart that quivered with uncertainty about what was to come, going immediately to his superior officer, his father.

He expected that Rankin would berate him soundly for going off without leave and thus he was completely unprepared for the astonished look and the near reverence in the tone which the elder man used as soon as he glimpsed the sword in his son's possession. The knight commander made no mention of the nightly disappearance or of punishment, and instead dispatched a messenger to the castle and the king. Then he bade Link tell him just how and where he had found the blade.

The following morning, King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule entered the camp with his guard and entourage, and immediately requested the presence of the boy who had pulled the darkness-sealing sword. Even the king treated Link with considerable respect, declaring that he'd known for some time that the young knight had a special fate in store for him. Then, before the gathered companies of soldiers, the staff, his guards and any other stray Hylians who happened to be there at the time, King Rhoam placed his hands on Link's shoulders and spoke in a deep, resonant voice that reached the edges of the camp and beyond.

"Behold the hero who will face the Calamity, he who is chosen by will of the goddess! Behold your Champion!"

From then on, Link's life was changed as swiftly as winter snows can cover slopes and flatlands alike. Everyone looked to him as the savior of Hyrule, and he was sure they expected him to be afraid of nothing, never to falter. He helped train the troops sometimes, but the rest of his days were spent at the castle. In a grand ceremony he was inaugurated as a champion, along with the representatives of the four tribes of Hyrule who would pilot the Divine Beasts, and he was given a tunic made by the very hand of the princess.

The king assigned him as the princess' guard and Link tried to close himself off from her completely, fearing that she knew how ineffectual and afraid he felt in the face of the horror everyone expected him to defeat. He learned gradually that she had her own demons to battle and then his one great desire became to help her find her power. He let her pour her troubles into his ready ear and merely nodded or gave her a few words in response, not judging her. He knew what it was like to be uncertain, to feel frightened and sickened, and to wish he could run from everything, but at least he had the comfort of the sword and the voice of the spirit housed therein.

He hated how weak the spirit sounded in that field littered with the husks of deactivated Guardians and filled with the still scuttling forms of too many that were still functioning under Ganon's Malice. He had to continue fighting, keeping them from getting to the princess! The sword too urged him to push on, never to give up, though her edges were dulled and her gleaming white blade dulled against the seemingly endless onslaught of evil. His legs would scarcely hold him upright, his body ached with wounds, burns and exhaustion, and his arms wanted nothing more than to drop the weight that he clung to. Instead he used the sword to lean upon, hoping she wouldn't mind.

Another Guardian sighted his movement and bore down on them. He tried to stand again and stumbled; the voice in the sword urged him on again, her own strength hardly discernable. Then the princess jumped in front of him and unleashed her power. The Guardians fell, suddenly silent as the Malice was forced from their circuitry, and Link fell too. He knew he was dying. He heard Princess Zelda crying over him, and his sword pulsed with a response, to which the princess started. She heard the voice of the sword too! He smiled faintly and closed his eyes as death pulled at him. The last thing he remembered was both the princess and the spirit saying that he could still be saved.

One hundred years later, he found his way again to the forest surrounded by mist and was reunited with the sword. He heard her voice before he saw her, and he distinctly felt that he'd held her blade close and listened to her before, though he had no particular memory to go with it. She greeted him as one would a friend who had been away far too long, and she begged him to use her against Ganon once more.

She glowed when she was near anything infected with the Malice of the Calamity, and when Link learned that he could fortify both himself and his blade, he undertook the trials immediately. Her splendor was indeed great when he claimed her for the third and final time, her voice tinged with happiness that crept to his heart and made him forget the arduous trials behind him. Then she bade him make all haste to defeat Ganon and help the princess. He couldn't quite explain why, but with her on his back or her weight balanced in his hand, he felt more sure of himself. She didn't seem to mind that his memories were but sad little glimpses at the past he did not know.

After it was all over and both Ganon and his Malice were gone from the land, the princess confided in him that she could no longer hear the sword-spirit's voice. He did, however. Her sleep seemed to be much deeper when evil was not lurking, but she aroused whenever he had to deal with the remnants of monster groups. Her sacred glow was constant, only pulsing with her own frequency when she spoke to him.

Master Link…

~ Fin ~

I have other Breath of the Wild ideas floating around in the mess that is my mind, but ultimately this is the one I decided to write for this anniversary.

Something I've thought about before is where did Link find the Master Sword the first time? I believe I've seen other writers put it in a temple, or maybe the castle. But I guess I'm just attached to having it in the forest where you also find it in-game. To my mind it does make some sense. After all, Zelda takes it to the forest (the game seems to cleverly leave of any mention of her returning it to the forest so it's ambiguous where it was in the first place), but there is a pedestal there and everything. She just brought the sword there. She didn't craft the pedestal. Perhaps the pedestal was there for another reason, but I like to think that she took the sword there because that's where it was before. It would be safe for those hundred years in the forest, so it would have been safe there who knows how many eons before it was needed and Link withdrew it the first time. I like to think the Deku Tree has been watching over the sword for all that time too.

Do you have any thoughts on it? Or about this story? Or any amusing stories about your experiences in playing the game? I'd love to hear them!

03-03-2020 ~ Published