Chapter 8: Honesty is the Best Policy

With such a high attitude the winds clawed at the Sheikah Tower illusioning a chorus of shrieks and ghostly moans. Below, the Kingdom of Hyrule sprawled with melodies of verdant valleys and scarred wind peaks Sun-kissed ruins, testaments to the fallen kingdom, harmonised with the vibrant tapestry of nature's reclamation.

The fading growls from the once lively Bokoblin camps below now seemed distant, accentuating the prevailing quietness. Yet, their faint echo served as a reminder of the silence that enveloped the surroundings.

Standing on the highest platform of the Sheikah Tower were two individuals, Noah dressed in his 'Old Shirt' was shredded, and stained with his own blood. Beside him, King Rhoam stood, a spectral shadow of his former regal self. The Malice was gone, exorcised by Zelda's desperate magic, but it had left its mark. Rhoam's eyes, once bright and commanding, were hollowed caverns, his skin tinged with the unnatural red of Ganon's touch.

The wind ripped through them, tearing at their wounds, both physical and psychic. Each gust felt like a fresh reminder of their injuries. With every passing second every Injury Noah had accumulated became more unbearable, his sliced stomach, his shot shoulder and general fatigue clawed at him. As for King Rhoam, he kept the aura of a King and stood tall perhaps afraid to show weakness despite that he had quite the injuries.

As the silence between the two persisted, Noah found it increasingly unbearable, but thankfully, it didn't last much longer.

"…Are you really… not Link?" King Rhoam asked in a faint breath.

Noah's gaze remained fixed on King Rhoam. It was evident that King Rhoam had known for a long time, but perhaps, after all that had transpired, he sought confirmation, something to ease the burden.

Noah slowly nodded. "My name is Noah. I'm afraid... I apologize for disappointing Your Majesty."

King Rhoam closed his eyes and released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Yet you know me" King Rhoam let out a small laugh.

"Indeed but be warned: I haven't stood in front of a King before… can't say I'm well-versed in royal formalities," he remarked with a gentle shake of his head.

"I've mentioned this before… I am merely an old fool. It's been ages since I've been a King," he added, his voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and resignation.

As the pain began to surpass what Noah could tolerate, he forced himself to lean against a pillar of the Tower and slowly leaned himself to the ground grunting in pain "…I suppose you did"

"I apologise Your Majesty for this may seem to be rude... but I am about to pass out, please don't finish me off." Noah managed to express amidst the overwhelming discomfort.

True to his word Noah's vision swam, the edges of the world blurring into a watercolour wash of pain. His lungs rasped, each breath a searing knife twisting in his chest. The king's face, contorted with surprise and confusion, was the last thing he registered before darkness claimed him.

He dreamed of falling, endless and weightless, through a bottomless well of shadows. Death whispered at the fringes of his consciousness, its words cold and seductive, promising oblivion. He fought it, clinging to the last vestiges of light – the searing memory of his parents and family keeping him together.

Then, oblivion.

Creaking his eyes open, Noah was drawn to the silvers of sunlight filtering through the gaps of the thatched roof above him. His senses eventually caught up as his body singed with a dull ache, especially in his shoulder and stomach. After clearing his throat and gaining rational thought, Noah ignored the pain he felt and looked around.

He was in a small, rustic room, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and pine needles. Rough-hewn beams held up the ceiling, adorned with dried herbs and faded hunting trophies, the occasional glint of metal hinting at their former glory. A worn bearskin rug covered the uneven stone floor, its fur matted with age and use.

Beside the cold ashes of the fireplace, a rough-hewn table was laden with the remnants of a simple meal: a half-eaten bowl of stew, a chunk of crusty bread, and a dented mug. A single wooden chair sat overturned beside it as if someone had risen in haste.

King Rhoam was nowhere to be seen.

He hated to admit it but he felt a sense of relief with that, relaxing himself Noah's gaze felt to himself, his shirt had been removed and his wounds had been bandaged with dry blood reaching the surface of the dressings. Noah saw his 'Boko Club' & 'Boko Shield' resting at the end of the bed, wondering if King Rhoam placed it there Noah was tempted to get out of bed and grab them for protection but instead something else caught his eye.

In the corner of the room next to a large mirror hung on the wall was a 'Traveller's Sword', its steel shimmering with a hint of blue, while the sunlight traced its undulating surface, revealing nicks and scratches from countless battles and use.

Noah knew it was a Traveller's Sword because he had naturally recognised it from the game, although the description flashed into his head 'It's fairly durable, but a bit unreliable against monsters', Noah didn't know how that translated here assuming the description was incorporated into this world but it was better than his Boko Club

And he needed to potentially defend himself in case King Rhoam came back.

Ignoring his fatigued body, Noah placed the covers from the bed away from him and stepped off the bed, the pain from his wounds grew but compared to before it was within an acceptable range.

Noah slowly walked over towards the Traveller's Sword but before he reached out his steps faltered, drawn not by the sword's call, but by the glint of something else in the corner of his eye. As he looked towards the mirror, a curious sliver of silver reflected his path at him. He squinted, expecting the familiar blur of the rough wooden frame, but what stared back was something… different.

His other hand drifted up, hovering near the cool surface of the mirror. The reflection blinked back, mirroring his movement with an uncanny precision. Then, despair, a cold, suffocating blanket, settled over Noah as he stared into the mirror. The face staring back wasn't his. It was… Link's.

His reflection mocked him. Link's features, sculpted by the Hyrulean sun and honed by endless trials, stared back in an almost cruel perfection. The mop of golden hair, the sapphire eyes that seemed to hold galaxies within their depths, the broad jaw set with a hint of youthful determination held an unwavering, almost heroic, glint. Even the familiar acne markings on Noah's face seemed muted, replaced by a smooth, unblemished canvas. But beneath the Hero's mask, Noah saw fragments of himself. The quirk of his eyebrow when he was concentrating, it was the only proof that the individual the mirror was reflecting was Noah.

His brunette hair, brown eyes and ordinary face were nowhere to be seen anymore.

His breath hitched in his throat, a choked laugh escaping his lips. This. This was where he was. Not some dream, not some bizarre video game gone rogue. He was truly, undeniably, trapped in the body of the Hero of Hyrule, this wasn't just displacement, it was an erasure.

The laughter dissolved into a dry sob, tears stinging his eyes. The room blurred, the warmth of the fire lost in the sudden chill of revelation as the pain he felt became nulled. His fingers clenched, nails digging into the rough edge of the wooden frame of the mirror. It wasn't just his appearance that sent shockwaves through him, it was the weight of expectation reflected in Link's eyes. The burden of a hero, the saviour of a kingdom he barely knew, stared back at him from the surface of the glass.

The gaze of such a determined stare caused an overwhelming amount of Guilt to swell into him.

The weight of the Traveller's Sword, hanging dormant beside the mirror, suddenly felt symbolic. This wasn't just a weapon; it was the physical embodiment of everything Noah wasn't – courage, strength, destiny. He was a stranger in this Hero's body, a boy from another world thrust into a role he never signed up for.

But as the initial shock began to recede, a flicker of something else rose within him. Not despair, not fear, but a stubborn spark of defiance. Noah with new-found determination broke his gaze from the mirror and reached out towards the Sword.

King Rhoam's voice startled him, sharp and unexpected. "Admiring my trophies, are we?" the king said, standing in the doorway, his face a mask of neutrality.

Noah turned around quickly while his hand instinctively flew behind him as he immediately went within grabbing distance of the Sword in a guarded response, the memory of their clash under the Calamity's grip was still fresh, a raw wound on his soul.

Your Majesty," he said, Noah's voice hoarse. "Didn't hear you come in."

King Rhoam chuckled, a dry, humourless sound. "A king learns to tread softly, even in borrowed boots." His gaze drifted to the sword, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "An ordinary blade to some, but a priceless relic to others."

Noah stepped back, maintaining a wary distance. "Priceless? Why?"

"Certainly not for its craftsmanship, that's for sure. This blade's seen more wear than a tavern floorboard, nicked and scratched by countless battles. No, its worth lies not in the steel, but in the stories it's accumulated." He spoke approaching the sword

King Rhoam stood in front of the blade, his finger tracing the frame. "This belonged to a… wanderer, long ago. No longer burdened with his fancy title, no grand deeds sung by bards. Just a soul with a knapsack and a thirst for the unknown. They walked where maps failed, faced dangers both mundane and monstrous, all with this blade at their side."

King Rhoam's gaze met Noah's, his eyes holding a distant glint. "It's not about the battles won. It's about the journey, the resilience to keep walking even when the path crumbles beneath your feet. This blade saw frozen wastelands, and heard languages only the wind speaks. It's a testament to the human spirit, its ability to carve a path where none exists."

"This isn't a hero's weapon, forged in celestial fires. It's a reminder that heroism can bloom in the unlikeliest places, in the quiet courage of a single soul facing the vast unknown. That's what makes it priceless, you see. It's a diary to the journey that lies within, whilst waiting for a new one to be written."

His voice softened, almost lost in the crackle of the fire. "That's what makes it priceless… Noah"

Unexpectedly King Rhoam's words caused a lump to form in Noah's throat, constricting his breath. His eyes stung, blurring the firelight, as a wave of loneliness washed over him. It was the first time since this strange new reality had swallowed him whole that anyone had addressed him, not as "Link" or "Hero," but as Noah. The simple sound seemed to crack open a dam within him, emotions he hadn't dared to acknowledge flooding in.

In his own world, Noah wasn't the most sociable soul, but the sheer absence of familiarity, of anyone knowing him, had gnawed at him like a starving beast. King Rhoam's voice, warm and direct, was a lifeline thrown across the vast ocean of his displacement.

Whatever the reason, Noah let himself bask in the sound of his name, savouring the feeling of being seen he took a shuddering breath, wiping the moisture from his eyes.

Unsure of how to continue the conversation, Noah changed topics. "Thank you for cleaning my wounds" Noah gestured to the bandages

King Rhoam sighed, regret etched on his face. "It's the least I can do, considering I'm responsible for their existence," he admitted, his voice heavy with remorse. "I apologize, for that and... for everything."

Noah hesitated, his gaze drifted to the sickly green mark on the king's chest, a silent echo of his own encounter with darkness. "And what of your own wounds?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper

Observing Noah's cautious gaze, King Rhoam erupted into a hearty laugh. "Ahah! I commend your concern, but physical wounds trouble me far less than they trouble you young Noah. This form you see is my true visage; but as you're aware, I have already departed from this realm. At the very least physical injuries merely weary me; they could never bring about my second departure."

"However, I fear the grasp of death is nearing its hold upon me after all these years." King Rhoam mused

"Hold on," Noah frowned, "Didn't you just say physical wounds wouldn't finish you off? What then? Is time your enemy now, not injury?"

King Rhoam nodded his head. "Malice is more complicated than just a simple injury."

King Rhoam's weathered hand hovered over his chest, where remnants of Malice still held a spectral grip. "Like a creeping fire," he rasped, "Malice seizes its victims. Most who come into contact with it perish instantly, their essence devoured by its cruel touch. But others...oh, for them, it's a slow, agonizing scene."

He shifted, his gaze hardening. "Those spared the immediate kill become infected, marionettes crafted from their own warped memories and poisoned minds. Their minds twist under Malice's grip, morphing into grotesque parodies of their former selves. They become...mirrors reflecting our darkest fears, whispering nightmares sculpted from our most desperate regrets."

A tremor ran through King Rhoam's hand as memories resurfaced. "It feeds on them, you see. Exacerbates their rage, their despair, until they become properly infected, at that point they are little more than vessels of destruction. spewing a tide of Malice that consumes all it touches."

His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "They don't last long, these twisted infected. The Malice, insatiable, eventually devours them from within. But in their brief, volatile existence, they are monstrous threats. Their warped perceptions twist their loved ones into enemies, their poisoned rage obliterates anything in their path."

King Rhoam looked at Noah, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and defiance. "That's what you faced, my boy. Not I, but a reflection of Hyrule's own shattered soul, poisoned by Malice. And that's why I..." His voice choked; the weight of his past actions heavy on his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Noah's gaze. "That's why I saw you as the enemy. I mistook the warped reflection for the source, blinded by my own failures. But you saved me from that."

"Your daughter saved us," Noah corrected, his voice firm, a spark of defiance flickering in his eyes. "I merely followed your instructions."

King Rhoam's gaze drifted to the flickering flames, casting grotesque shadows on the wall. "Not quite," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his truth. "Zelda's light burned fierce, yet it was a spark against a wildfire. The infection... it had dug its claws too deep for such a brief touch to purge. Eventually, I will return to the beast you saw in the forest."

Noah's face fell, despair mirroring the fading embers. 'Returning to a rampaging beast without rational thought, or self-deprecating ones at that. Left to rot on the Great Plateau torturing themselves, perhaps that's a fate worse than death,' he thought depressingly

My fault," he whispered, the words heavy with unspoken regret. "How much time...?"

"Days, perhaps," King Rhoam rasped, each breath a battle against the encroaching darkness. '"The Malice gnaws, whispers of oblivion echoing in my bones. But blame not yourself. This fate was woven long before your arrival."

Noah knew this was a lie or an omission of some kind. Within the game, after Link had collected the initial spirit orbs and was ready to depart from the Great Plateau, King Rhoam rested peacefully as a spirit until the player saw him again in the ending scene of the game. The game had evidently changed its rules, or King Rhoam was lying to lessen Noah's burden.

A long silence fell, the fire crackling like a mournful dirge. Then, with a gaze hardened by newfound resolve, Noah turned to King Rhoam. "After all this," he said, his voice rough with unshed tears, "I owe you an answer. For who I am, I mean."

King Rhoam's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion clouding his gaze. "You are Noah, are you not? Or have you deceived me twice?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Noah stumbles over his words, his face paling. "No, I am Noah,"

"Then I need to hear no more," King Rhoam says, turning away abruptly. Shame contorted his features, his voice filled with remorse. "I have no right to ask after what I've done."

"Aren't you curious?" Noah persists, his voice hardening with determination. He steps closer, meeting King Rhoam's gaze head-on.

King Rhoam lets out a sharp laugh, his eyes hardening like steel. "Curiosity gnaws at me, Noah," he confessed, his face contorted in longing. "You stand within the body of the champion I selected, yet I have cemented my actions. You owe me nothing."

Noah's eyes harden with resolve. "Three questions," he declared, his voice ringing with newfound authority. "One for the meal you provided, another for giving me a place to rest, and lastly a third for tending to my wounds.

Perhaps King Rhoam was just that desperate, or perhaps he was respecting Noah's resolve. Regardless, King Rhoam didn't hesitate Very well," Rhoam growled, the words scraping from his throat.

"The first, Is Link dead?" King Rhoam asked patiently.

'Why did you have to ask such a difficult question' Noah mused annoyingly, after some contemplation, Noah spoke cautiously "I do not know." Noah paused but believing that wasn't a sufficient answer he substituted it with his own theory. "I've had no indication to believe he's either dead or alive, although if I had to give an answer, I'd hope he is alive. After all, the movements you saw when you were hunting me were not my own.

King Rhoam's eye raised "That could be instinctive no?"

"I can't deny that," Noah affirmed. But after thinking Noah decided to use this opportunity. "… I also have memories, most of them are disjoined but some I can piece together. If Link was dead I don't believe I would be able to access his memories.

The king's surprised expression morphed into contemplation. "Very well," he conceded. "I don't need to waste a question asking how you came about the knowledge you possess."

"The second, did you do this intentionally?"

Noah shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not, this caught me by complete surprise. I had no voluntary involvement in this."

"And the third," King Rhoam continued, his voice measured, "your origin?"

"Another world," Noah answered concisely.

Silence fell as the king absorbed this, but to Noah's surprise, he didn't press further. Instead, he shifted the direction. "What do you intend to do?"

Noah raised an eyebrow. "That's four questions, Your Majesty."

A smile emerged on King Rhoam's face. "You got to hear the voice of the Princess, the heir to the Kingdom of Hyrule and most importantly my daughter."

King Roam looked at Noah with a jesting gaze. "That's worthy of another question."

'This sly king, did he forget he nearly killed me?' Noah returned with a crooked smile

"I... don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "I want to return home, or at least find answers."

The king's eyes sharpened. "So you sought her grace's guidance at the Temple. Yet, she remained silent."

Noah's shoulders slumped. "Perhaps I'm not the hero she needs."

King Rhoam turned, his gaze settling on the Traveler's Sword hanging on the wall. A minute stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I will train you."

Noah blinked, unsure he heard right. "Train me?"

"You seek help, understanding, answers, and a way back," King Rhoam elaborated. "Staying here won't provide them. And to survive outside the Plateau, you'll need guidance."

Hesitation flickered in Noah's eyes. "...About Link…"

The king shook his head. "My aim isn't to make you a replacement. You are not meant for his path. My motivations are...different."

"Then what are they?" Noah pressed.

King Rhoam's lips tightened. "A secret for another time. What I can say is that you are another victim of our fate, although I am unsure to call this the work of Calamity Ganon or her Grace… although in that case, you would be the first."

"However, your appearance cannot be a coincidence, If your arrival was orchestrated by her Grace, the pieces will fall into place, eventually. For now, this old man can be satisfied with that."

A hint of a smile touched the king's lips. "Who knows, maybe you've inadvertently saved Link. The Shrine of Resurrection wasn't guaranteed to work, after all."

Noah contemplated the thought carefully, still processing its implications. He had never considered this after all, he didn't believe it was likely, the game had shown no indication of Link supposedly suffering from complications from the Shrine of Resurrection, nor did anyone say it was possible.

Still, rarely anything had gone according to the game.

"Time is short," the king cautioned. "The Malice's grip tightens with each passing day. We begin tomorrow."