Dark's POV

My journey to Ordon is uneventful and as I round my final turn on the forest path, just outside the village, I come across Link's old home. Perched high in the branches of an ancient oak, the treehouse has begun to show signs of neglect and abandonment.

The once-weathered wood of the structure is now mottled with patches of moss and lichen. Vines and ivy, once a gentle embrace, have now aggressively claimed the treehouse as their own, winding tightly around the support beams and partially obscuring the windows and entrance. The wooden shutters hang askew, creaking eerily in the wind.

Even the front door, once carved with intricate designs of leaves and vines, now bears the marks of time. The door is slightly ajar, swinging gently with the breeze.

Only the only remaining signs of life are the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. They add a sense of melancholy to the air, as if the forest itself mourns the absence of its former inhabitant.

Curiosity gets the better of me andI climb up the ladder towards the entrance, the wood creaking under my weight. Inside, the treehouse is just as I remember from Link's stories—a cozy space filled with simple comforts.

As I explore the small space, I run my fingers over the rough wood of the walls, feeling a strange connection to the past. I find remnants of Link's life here—an old wooden sword, a well-worn book of Hyrule's legends, and a small, framed drawing of an Ordon goat.

As I pick up the framed drawing to inspect it closer, I feel a memory wash over me.

—

It is Link and I's first home together, a modest but charming house nestled among the bustling streets just outside Hyrule Castle. The walls are bare, waiting to be filled with the tokens of our shared life. Together, we carefully hang paintings and drawings, each one holding a story or a memory.

"Here," Link says, handing me a frame. "This one should go in the center. It reminds me of the first time we met."

I take the frame from him, feeling the warmth of his hand linger. The painting is of a ranch nestled in the middle of a rolling prairie.

As we work, the house begins to transform. Each painting, each drawing adds a piece of our history to the walls. There is a formal painting of Link holding the Four Sword, being knighted by Princess Zelda. Another shows two birds sitting together on a branch watching the sunset, Link likes that one because it reminds him of us.

"This place is really starting to feel like home," Link says, stepping back to admire our work.

We continue decorating, as the sound of bustling town fades away.

—

I open my eyes and find myself back in the present, standing in Link's treehouse. I set down the framed painting and turn to leave, but my breath catches as I spot a hooded figure standing in the doorway. The stranger cuts an imposing figure, draped in a tattered brown hooded cloak with deep hood pulled low and dark cloth wraps around their lower face, hiding an trace of their identity.

Their posture is tense, a simple sword in their hand, ready for a fight.

"Who are you?" I demand, my eyes narrowing. "Drop your weapon now."

Drawing my own sword, I let the familiar weight of it ground me. "I won't ask again," my voice is cold and commanding. "Drop your weapon or die."

Without a word, they lunge. Our swords clash, the sharp ring of steel reverberating through the small space. The stranger's fighting style is calculated and powerful. There's an unsettling familiarity to it, something that gnaws at the edge of my memory.

As we duel, the stranger's skill becomes evident. They are a formidable opponent, their attacks unyielding. I find myself on the defensive, my own strikes parried with ease. The dark magic within me fuels my strength and speed, but even that seems barely enough.

"Who are you?" I repeat.

The stranger remains silent. They press their attack, driving me out of the treehouse. I backflip off the platform, using some dark magic to cushion my landing. The stranger follows, landing gracefully, but instead of attacking me, they turn and flee towards Faron Woods.

I give myself just a moment to process before jumping into action to pursue my attacker. I follow them, crashing through the forest underbrush. The hooded figure moves with uncanny agility, their cloak flickering in and out of sight as they dart between the trees. Each time I think I'm gaining ground, they pull ahead, slipping just beyond my reach.

Branches claw at my skin, the terrain rough and unforgiving, but I press on. The forest around me grows denser, the light filtering through the canopy dimming. The figure suddenly disappears into a thicket, and I barrel through it, emerging into a small clearing. They stand at the far edge, breathing heavily but poised, ready for another confrontation.

"Stop!" I shout, frustration edging my voice. "Tell me who you are!"

The figure tilts their head slightly, considering. For a moment, there's a palpable tension, as if they're deciding whether to reveal themselves. Then, with a swift motion, they pull back their hood. My breath catches in my throat and my sword slips from my hand.

As I look into the face of my opponent, I find the piercing blue eyes of my dead lover.