Unbreakable Spirit
The self-proclaimed Demon Lord's eerie laughter echoed through the room. Link's head thudded to the ground and his breath came in short, pained gasps, his shaking hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. Always one for theatrics, he thought bitterly, trying to avoid thinking about just how dire his situation truly was. He didn't know why he kept his hand on the sword – it certainly wasn't doing him any good as it was.
"Farewell, little Sky Child," the demon's airy voice trilled. It hardened into a delighted, victorious shout. "I'll pass along the sound of your screams to the Spirit Maiden when I find the Gate of Time!"
And with a final evil giggle, the dark presence of the Demon Lord vanished. Golden light seemed to return to the Fire Sanctuary, shining through the circular iron-wrought rose-framed windows above him, bringing vibrance back to the crimson tiles lining the ceiling.
The hilt of his sword flashed, and Fi's familiar voice chimed in his head. Master, she said, seeming oddly hesitant. I detect that the entity known as Ghirahim has left the vicinity. Master, I am… sorry.
"Not your fault," Link grunted, grimacing. "I… I should've been better." Shame, sickening and hot, pooled in his gut, and he closed his eyes. How many monsters had he fought to reach this point? How many atrocities had he vanquished, how many trials had he overcome, to make it this far – only to fail now?
"S-so," he said shakily. "How… how am I going to get out of this?" Because failure wasn't an option. It couldn't be. Zelda was stuck in the past – his heart squeezed, tears prickling at his eyes – and she'd stay like that unless he could destroy Ghirahim and the Imprisoned – Demise – once and for all. I can't stop here!
Fi took her time to respond. Do you wish me to give you facts, or shall I attempt what your people refer to as 'bedside manner?'
Link bit back a groan. That bad? "Facts," he croaked, his breaths coming shorter and more strained.
Fi paused a moment. Her face was expressionless, as always; Link figured he was imagining the worry in her empty eyes. I am the only thing keeping you from bleeding out, she said at last. If you are to survive, you must keep the Goddess Sword embedded in your body for now, and… get help.
Link swallowed, tasting blood in his mouth. "Get… help?" he wheezed through gritted teeth. The edges of his sword seemed to tear into him with each rapid breath.
Get to someone capable of treating this level of damage, Fi clarified. I would recommend Faron, the Water Dragon.
Link snorted and instantly regretted it, instinctively doubling over at the sudden flare of burning pain from his middle and shouting out as he only cut himself further on his own blade. Gripping the hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned white, he slowly eased himself back down and lay still, trembling from the pain. "Faron?" he whispered. "She… she hates my guts…"
She may hate them more if they succeed in escaping your body, Fi commented.
Link managed a shaky grin. "Was that a joke?" he grunted.
Fi didn't respond right away. Unfortunately, you will have to stand if you are to get to Faron, she said grimly. And you must pass through the chamber beyond this room, in which lies the Flame of Din.
Link grimaced, his eyes squeezing shut. "You mean… I have to temper the Goddess Sword still?" he asked. "I can't… come back later?"
I am sorry, Master. However, upon kindling the Flame of Din, you may be able to seek the aid of the guardian of this region – one of Faron's kin. He can travel through any of the flames in his domain, and may be able to deliver you to Faron.
"I'll… I'll do it, then," Link ground out, forcing his eyes open. Goddess Hylia, grant me strength – this's gonna hurt.
He inhaled as deeply as he could manage, struggling to ready himself. Then with a strangled cry he flipped over onto his hands and knees; he knelt for a moment, shuddering violently from the effort, tasting blood rising up in his mouth and struggling for each frantic, shallow gasp of air. Gritting his teeth, he shoved himself upwards to his feet and instantly stumbled with a groan of pain, nearly collapsing. Eyes narrowed against the renewed stinging burn of sharp metal through his flesh, he staggered like a drunken man one dizzy, unsteady foot after another towards the door to the arena. He pressed a hand against the glowing seal and it gave way, revealing a narrow corridor to a familiar-looking room beyond.
His vision was darkening, both from the all-consuming pain of each breath and from how little air his hard-fought gasps brought in. He leaned heavily against one side of the corridor, sliding along it until he came to the chamber of the Sacred Flame.
The all-too recognizable crest of Hylia sat in the center of the room. Link studied it wearily, knowing exactly how it would be triggered and dreading what would come next. He slumped to his knees before it, resting one hand on the ground as his other wrapped around the Goddess Sword's hilt.
"Y-you said… I'd bleed out… if I removed the sword," he mumbled, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. "But… there's no other way… is there?"
I'm sorry, Master, Fi chimed once more. You must kindle the flame.
Link grimaced. There's no good way to prepare for this, he thought, dread pooling like acid in his stomach. He grit his teeth, lifting his hand from the ground to grip the Goddess Sword's hilt. His fingers flexed, he counted to three –
And nothing. He exhaled shakily, tried again – Just pull it out! Get it over with! – and failed.
He licked his lips uncertainly. "Fi," he called weakly, his voice cracking. "I… I don't know if you can… but I can't – can't get it… on my own…"
I cannot, she informed him, and this time he wasn't so certain that the sadness in her voice was entirely imagined. However… I suppose I can try.
Link nodded gratefully, wiping the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. She materialized before him, the ends of her robe draping across the end of the hilt as if she were about to pull. He gripped the sword with her, listened to her count down. One… two… three…
He knew at once that she hadn't, couldn't, wield the Goddess Sword. But perhaps because he had believed she could, he somehow gained the willpower to add his full effort. A strangled cry, a howl of agony, tore from his throat as he ripped his sword from his torso with a spray of blood. He dropped it at once, curling in over himself, writhing in utter agony as a crimson river spurted from his chest and dripped down his back, flames hotter than hate tearing at his insides. Tears spilled shamelessly from his eyes as he covered the front side of his wound desperately in both hands, feeling the warmth of his life slipping through his fingers.
Master… Fi's voice came, calm as always. Master, you must kindle the Flame of Din.
Right… Link's thoughts were dim, a lantern on a fog-shrouded evening. The… the flame…
He managed to lift his right hand from his middle with a faint whimper of pain, and scraped his fingers along the floor until they closed around the hilt of the Goddess Sword. Eyes narrowed, teeth grinding against each other from the effort, he dug the tip of the blade between flagstones and used it to drag himself to a sitting position. Then, his arm shaking violently, he endeavored to lift the sword high enough above his head that it could charge with holy energy, involuntary groans rasping from his throat as he held it there, tearing at the edges of the wound in his middle.
He swung the glowing blade forward with a ragged cry, blood flicking from the edges along with a beam of sacred power that struck true, lighting the crest of Hylia and sending it spinning in its alcove. Red flames burst from the brazier set above the crest, frantic angry tongues matching the color of Link's blood spilling across the ground.
His breaths came in sharp bursts. He set the tip of the Goddess Sword between flagstones again and slumped against it more than supported it as a great fireball burst from the brazier, Fi floating within it. Several blasts of the magical flame shot one after the other into his blade, dancing along its length, a barrage of crimson might. He could feel the heat, drying the tears on his cheeks, drawing more sweat prickling at his hairline. It burned his own blood into the metal of the sacred blade, honing it to perfection. At the last blow from heavenly flame, he collapsed with a pained grunt, his sword slipping sideways to lie in his open palm.
He felt an almost electric flare of power along the length of his sword and saw it lengthen and darken in color before his eyes, the hilt a lovely shade of cobalt instead of pale teal. The blade seemed to glow with faint white light.
Master, now that it has been tempered by the last of the Sacred Flames, your blade has finally revealed its true form, Fi noted reverently. You now hold the Master Sword.
"So this is the chosen youth," a deep voice rumbled, and Link's head snapped up instinctively in surprise. He hissed at the sharp ache in his middle and curled tighter around it, letting his head fall limply back to the ground.
A great creature similar to Faron in its serpentine shape and ornate silken robe, but entirely different in coloration – fiery red and orange in sharp contrast to her stern, yet soothing blue, bravado instead of temperance.
"I – I need…" Link grimaced weakly, his eyes flashing closed. "Faron… I need to get to… I need… I need help…"
"Indeed," the great fiery dragon growled, his regal brow furrowing as his golden gaze drifted across the puddle of blood slowly spreading on the floor. "Faron, you say? Yes, in her life-giving waters she would indeed have the means to heal your dire wound. Bear with me, young one…"
And before Link had the chance to scream the dragon was lunging at him with jaws gaping wide, and darkness closed around him. He was aware of searing heat that made his flesh feel as though it was mere seconds from peeling from his bones, and in the next moment he was tumbling through a confusing blur of pale blue and deep purples with faint hues of rosy pink, and then he struck something solid and grunted at the wave of pain the impact sent ricocheting through his body.
"You ate him?" came the outraged voice of the Water Dragon, Faron. "What were you –"
"Use your eyes, sister," the Fire Dragon huffed. "He is injured. Fatally so, if you waste time bickering over my means of transportation."
Silence for a moment. Link's vision was filled with the soothing sight of water reflections dancing on the walls of Faron's cavern; he felt so cold now, out of the volcano's heat, drenched in his own blood.
"He's in luck," Faron sighed. "The spirit water he fetched for me has not yet lost its potency; it should fix him up nicely. One good turn yields another, I suppose."
The Water Dragon's face filled his darkening field of view, gaze calm and considering. "Don't you get accustomed to free favors from me," she warned, a hint of amusement in her voice as her claws, surprisingly gentle, slipped around Link's shoulders and legs and lifted his limp body into a familiar dark basin. "An unbreakable spirit, indeed… perhaps she did know what she was doing when she chose you."