Chapter 11: A Plateau Farewell

Noah descended the final step of the Temple of Time, the worn stone cool against his palms. Each step down resonated in the hushed silence, echoing his solitude. Sunlight, thin and pale, spilled through cracks in the ruined roof, casting fragmented shadows on the overgrown steps. He emerged into a scene of utter devastation.

The street stretched before him, a graveyard of once-proud buildings choked by the weeds of neglect. Crumbling facades, adorned with fading sigils of a forgotten Hyrule, cast jagged teeth against the bruised sky. Remnants of balconies clung precariously like wounded wings, mocking the grandeur they once possessed.

"I better descend from the Great Plateau relatively quickly and enter Hyrule Field. I don't know how much time King Rhoam has, but once he transforms he'll likely begin to seek me out to confirm if I have left yet." Noah analysed as he briskly walked ahead.

Dust danced among the debris, whipped into existence by the mournful wind that whispered through the skeletal remains of houses. Blackened beams, charred testament to past flames, jutted from the rubble. Shards of stained glass cracked under Noah's footsteps. The air, thick with the stench of decay and ash, hung heavy like a shroud over the area's shattered dreams.

'The Temple of Time never seemed to have been a town of its own, so these buildings are most likely reserved for the custodians of the Temple and the groundskeepers. Also since Hyrule Castle is so far away, I suppose they'll need buildings to store items for festivals and events.'

Silence pressed down on Noah, broken only by the occasional groan of collapsing stone and the rustle of wind through dead leaves. A lone screech cried out nearby, its mournful call echoing eerily in the empty street. Noah's heart beat against his chest at the unexpected interruption in the otherwise quiet environment. Since the screech was in the general direction he was walking, Noah chose to venture towards it, twisting and turning around street corners until it revealed a familiar scene.

There, amidst the rubble of one of the abandoned houses, crouched the red-skinned Bokoblin he had glimpsed days ago on his way to the Temple of Time. Unlike its previous frenzied scavenging, this time it remained eerily still, its claws digging into the cracked earth with surprising gentleness. No scraps or bones lay scattered around, only a faint hum

'It's still here?' Noah questioned.

Noah's curiosity about the Bokoblin's enigmatic behaviour battled his apprehension and desire to flee from the Plateau. He had initially assumed the creature eating something a few days ago, but now he couldn't be so sure.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. "No rush, I suppose," he murmured, although he suddenly recalled something important. 'I don't have a weapon…' he realised.

'Wait a minute, the sack.' Noah remembered.

Crouching low in the shadow of the house, Noah gently eased the sack off and untied the knotted cord. Anticipation flickered in his eyes as he peeked inside. A smile emerged on Noah's face as nestled amongst provisions laid exactly what he was looking for.

A feeling of warmth and gratitude bloomed in his chest as he removed the leather scabbard from the sack, drawing out the sword from within. Sunlight cascaded onto the blade, as King Rhoam's words flowed through him. 'An ordinary blade to some, but a priceless relic to others.'

He tamped down the surge of emotion and strapped the Traveller's Sword to his side. 'A better description than the game,' he thought with a flicker of gratitude.

With a flourish, he swung the Traveller's Sword behind his back, the leather scabbard whispering against his shirt. For a fleeting moment, a thrill pulsed through him as he mimicked the sword position in the video game – he was Link, the Hero of Time, ready to conquer Hyrule.

But reality, as it often did, shattered the fantasy. The sword, heavier than the wooden sticks he'd practised with, dug into his spine, and every step sent a jarring jolt through his body. He felt like a lopsided mule trudging through a field of rocks. Frustration replaced the initial thrill, the hero poses quickly morphing into a grimace. This wasn't Breath of the Wild the Video Game; this was reality, and in reality, Noah understood strapping a metal sword to your back is horribly impractical.

With a sigh, Noah unstrapped the blade, the metal clanging its discontent against the cracked earth. He considered carrying it, but the image of him stumbling over his own weapon sent a shiver down his spine. Finally, with a practical shrug, he strapped the Traveller's Sword to his waist, the familiar weight settling comfortably on his hip. It wasn't flashy, nor heroic, but it was practical, and efficient.

He straightened his gaze towards the opened sack, making out some other provisions including what appeared to be clothing but he didn't have infinite time, so he decided to properly investigate later.

Crouching low, Noah padded through the crumbled entrance, each step silent on the cracked earth. He crept closer, eyes fixed on the hunched figure, 'At best, it's lines of code, at worse… it's simply malice.' He envisioned to himself.

In one swift motion, Noah hoisted the sword by his side and lunged it forward with all his strength, aiming for the Bokoblin's heart. The creature let out a guttural cry as the sharp tip pierced its chest, green blood spilling onto the ground.

The Bokoblin's struggle sputtered, then faded. Even in death, it seemed confused and disoriented, not understanding what had just happened. A stillness settled over the creature; the air heavy with the aftermath of violence. Noah withdrew the sword, its polished surface reflecting the shock in his eyes.

A sliver of guilt pricked at Noah's conscience, he'd faced Bokoblin's before, sure, but their demise had always been a blur of pixels and purple comical explosions. Here, though, the weight of reality pressed down with the stillness of the fallen creature as the blood dripped from his Traveller's Sword.

'Whatever, it's just a monster' Noah attempted to distract himself.

Noah's gaze drifted from the still Bokoblin to a glint beneath a loose pebble. Curiosity gnawed at him, pushing aside the recent skirmish "So, that's what it was digging," he murmured, crouched low. The gravel yielded easily under his fingers, revealing... a ring.

A golden ring, dull with grime, it seemed unremarkable at first glance, but looking closely it held some kind of engraving that captivated Noah. Curious, he reached to pick it up, fingers brushing something cold and stiff. His stomach lurched. The ring wasn't alone; it clung tight to a human finger, bone-thin and pale as moonlight.

A wave of nausea washed over him. He stumbled back, his foot catching on the Bokoblin's lifeless body. Blood, slick and dark, smeared on his boots. He kicked back instinctively, scattering gravel and revealing a horrifying sight.

A face, a human face. Not a skull, not yet, but flesh frozen in a grotesque mask of decay. Maggots feasted at the hairline, their white bodies stark against the matted, blood-caked brown hair. Grey eyes, once mirrors of life, were vacant craters now, sunken cavities where dreams and fears had danced. The nose, once familiar and human, had begun to shrivel, collapsing on itself like a deflated balloon and Its lips split and peeled back in a twisted grin.

The most bizarre aspect of this eerily head leering up at Noah from its gravel grave was that half of its face had been consumed, flesh stripped away revealing the skull beneath. Not by decay, but by something altogether more unsettling. Jagged edges of muscle and bone jutted out like a macabre puzzle.

Noah's gaze immediately flicked to the dead Bokoblin lying on the ground as the tiniest flicker of guilt he had previously had for the creature quickly snuffed itself out. Noah's words were initially right. The Bokoblin had indeed, been eating something.

He just hadn't expected it to be human.

Noah closed his eyes, taking a moment to steady himself. Surprisingly, it didn't take much effort, the initial nausea was more a result of the unexpected sight than the actual scene before him. As a student of criminology, Noah's tolerance for the sight of the deceased was greater than that of the average person. But even so, strangely the profoundly distressing sight didn't seem to faze him too much, and that realisation unnerved him almost as much as the body itself.

Sighing, Noah cautiously opened his eyes again. "Judging from its level of decay, the body is fairly recent... middle age as well, although, how did he get up here?" Noah couldn't help but question.

The Great Plateau was encircled by high cliffs, making normal traversal impossible without climbing equipment. Moreover, King Rhoam had never mentioned the presence of other individuals on the Plateau. It was odd.

As the sunlight reflected off the ground, a reminder of the precious little time he had, Noah felt he had wasted more time than he should have here.

Approaching the corpse once again, Noah silently paid his respects before gently removing a ring from its finger. "It's not grave-robbing; this isn't technically a grave," he rationalised.

Etched on the ring, not with artistry but with a practised hand, was a grotesque mockery of the Master Sword. The blade, instead of soaring toward the heavens, plunged downward, piercing the earth. Its hilt, devoid of the hero's ruby, bore a singular shard of obsidian, the darkness within it seeming to devour the last rays of fading light.

Thinking it might come in handy later in identifying the body, Noah placed the ring on and, out of respect, began to bury the body once more before something else caught his eye.

"A map?" he wondered. After covering up the body, Noah retrieved the piece of paper he had noticed earlier, and it revealed exactly what he thought.

The map, though rudimentary, was adorned with illustrations of the eastern Hyrule Field, Lake Hylia, and Duelling Peaks Tower. Additionally, an X marked the map's edge at the Great Plateau and in the middle of Lake Hylia.

"Does the X represent where he climbed up to the Plateau?" Noah mused. Well, he had to leave the Great Plateau anyway, so he might as well investigate.

Dusting off his hands and placing the map into his sack, Noah walked out of the crumbling building, continuing on his way.

Hyrule's wind whipped at Noah's face as he emerged from the shadowed temple. The Great Plateau sprawled before him, emerald waves crashing against a sheer drop. To his left, the Plateau Tower, a silent titan, cast a long shadow over the Bokoblin camp, ravaged by King Rhoam's wrath. Beyond just his handiwork, the Tower's ascension had scattered tents and weapons like discarded toys. A bitter silence lingered over the camp, suggesting that the Bokoblins had relocated elsewhere.

Gazing up at the Sheikah Tower, Noah absentmindedly wondered how King Rhoam had carried him back to the Woodcutter's Cottage after his collapse. Shaking off those thoughts, his fingers brushed the rough parchment in his pocket—the map acquired from the half-eaten corpse. With a sigh, he unfolded it as he approached the cliffside of the Great Plateau. Its high cliffs and gusty winds threatened to push him off, offering a breathtaking view of Hyrule Field below. Despite the precarious edge, Noah walked alongside it, occasionally peering down at the vast expanse beneath.

"Someone actually climbed that?" he questioned. Were they insane?

His journey continued until he reached the point designated on the map, which, lacking the detail of the Sheikah Slate, required some guesswork.

Upon arrival, Noah felt a slight disappointment. It wasn't anything particularly noteworthy—a mere piece of stone surrounded by some rope that dangled down the cliffside, along with some abandoned climbing equipment.

Staring at the broken Bokoblin encampment not far away, it wasn't challenging to piece together what had happened.

"Nearly as soon as he arrived up here, he was attacked by Bokoblins and was chased away before being overwhelmed." Noah theorised.

While Noah harboured the urge to destroy the equipment, especially with the unleashed King Rhoam rampaging through The Great Plateau, he hesitated. He couldn't be certain that the deceased individual was alone up here, and the last thing he wanted to do was strip any survivors of their only hope for survival.

A morbid chuckle escaped him, attempting to survive up here would be like a Hyrule-style Friday the 13th camping trip with King Rhoam around.

As Noah gazed into Hyrule Field, the expansive landscape sprawled out in front of him. As the sun dipped behind Hyrule Castle, it painted a breathtaking sight. "I suppose it's time to leave," Noah muttered.

Cold dread tightened around Noah's chest as he stood at the edge of the Great Plateau. The familiar wind, once a comforting lullaby, now whipped at his skin like a taunt. Beyond The Great Plateau, the world sprawled, a vast tapestry of uncertainty. He'd tasted a meager victory here, learning to fight, to survive, but that was under the protective wing of King Rhoam. Here, beyond the Plateau, to everyone else he'd be Link, the Chosen Hero, the last hope of a kingdom teetering on the brink. The Divine Beasts roamed the land, their shadows a testament to Calamity Ganon's growing malice. Could he truly face the expectations laid on him?, armed with nothing but a traveller's sword and a gnawing fear that twisted his insides?

He hasn't signed up to take on the mantle Link had left behind just yet, but for now he had little choice but to move forward.

But the alternative, turning back, burrowing into the deceptive comfort of the Plateau, tasted like ashes in his mouth. He had a family, a home, a life stolen by this world. He owed them more than fear, more than self-preservation. So, with a ragged breath and a prayer to the Hylia he barely knew, Noah stepped forward. The world blurred for a moment, then sharpened into a panorama of rolling hills and distant smoke plumes. It was time.

Hefting the sack containing the map and other items, he unsheathed the paraglider. The fabric unfurled, catching the wind like a hungry beast. His knuckles whitened on the handles as he stepped off the precipice, the ground tilting into a dizzying blur. Each gust felt like a predator's breath on his neck, urging him to lose control. He fought the rising panic, focusing on the steady rhythm of the wind, and by simply not looking downwards allowing gravity to guide his journey to the ground.

Distracting himself, Noah gazed upon the towering walls of weathered stone, crowned with moss, that encircled the Great Plateau. Noah's brow furrowed in concentration. The sheer scale of the structure and the inaccessibility of the Great Plateau left a nagging question in his mind: if not by climbing, how did one reach the Great Plateau?

His gaze dipped to the base of the wall, where the wind whispered through jagged crevices. His heart skipped a beat. Perhaps the entrance was underground, somewhere along the base of the walls.

It wouldn't make sense for The Temple of Time, one of the most notable buildings of the Kingdom of Hyrule to be inaccessible.

Eventually, Noah landed clumsily, a mixture of relief and a lingering unease washing over him. Landing on the wide-open space, Noah wanted to immediately begin moving but given the lowering sun, he found such a decision to be unwise.

The wind tugged at Noah as he crossed the barren plateau, the vast expanse of sky pressing down on him like a weight. Vultures circled high above, their sharp eyes scrutinizing his every move. He knew camping here was suicide – if a monster stumbled upon him whilst he was sleeping, his journey would end beneath the indifferent gaze of the stars.

He walked into the shadows of the nearby trees, their gnarled branches weaving a protective canopy overhead. A hidden stream gurgled nearby, its melody masking the rustle of leaves and the creak of branches. Here, nestled between ancient trunks and veiled by leafy curtains, he felt this was a good place to make camp.

With this rare moment of peace, Noah decided to investigate the sack King Rhoam had gifted him, to find advice on making camp.

Sitting down, Noah opened the leather book from the sack and flipped through the worn pages, his fingers grazed a crudely sketched diagram depicting a mound of logs crowned with flames. Ah, here it was – creating a campfire. Rhoam's scrawled words leapt from the page, each one dripping with the gruff pragmatism of a man who'd stared death in the face more times than Noah could count.

"Fire," the King's words growled in his mind, "a fickle beast, demanding respect more than tinder. First, choose your prey wisely. Dry wood, seasoned by the sun, not saplings choked with life. Birch barks like a gossip, quick to flare but fleeting. Oak stands stalwart, burning slow and steady, while pine crackles with heat that scorches even the bravest fingers."

Noah traced the diagram with his calloused thumb, picturing the different woods stacked against the wall of his temporary shelter. He could almost smell the smoky scent of oak, the sharp tang of pine, the whisper of birch as it surrendered to the flame.

"Shelter the beast," Rhoam continued, "from wind's cruel breath and rain's icy tears. Dig a shallow pit, a womb for your fire, shielded by stones piled like watchful guardians. Gather tinder, kindling's to awaken the sleeping giant. Dry leaves, feathers, bark stripped thin – coax them to spark with flint and steel, a dance of iron and stone."

'Even in words he writes through code' Noah mused, a hint of admiration in his thoughts.

With a newfound clarity, Noah rose, the book clutched in his hand. He ventured out into the twilight, the wind's song now a companion, not a foe. He approached the woodpile, choosing each log with deliberate care, feeling the sun-warmed dryness under his touch. He dug a shallow pit, lining it with stones gleaned from the riverbank close by, their smooth surfaces catching the fading light.

He knelt amidst the prepared nest, his fingers trembling slightly as he grabbed what he presumed to be flint from the sack and reached his traveller's sword from his side. Striking flint against steel. Sparks flew, tiny stars against the darkening canvas. He coaxed them into a flame, feeding them wisps of dry leaves and feathered whispers. Soon, a flicker bloomed into a steady beacon, casting dancing shadows that chased away the encroaching darkness.

As he sat beside the crackling fire, the warmth seeping into his bones, Noah felt a surge of gratitude for the weathered book and the gruff king who had written it. Rhoam, the king was still his teacher. Noah, the boy who had stumbled into a world too vast for his understanding, was grateful.

The fire crackled, its embers whispering secrets only the wind could hear. Noah leaned back, the warmth a comforting cloak against the unknown that stretched before him. Since he had the time, Noah decided to properly investigate the contents of the sack King Rhoam had given him.

Nestled within the worn sack were essential items for survival: dried fruit and meat, a leather-bound book filled with invaluable advice and tips, a small but sturdy axe, some random resources and a complete set of Hylian clothing including trousers, shirt, and shoes.

Noah's eyes lit up as he eagerly reached into the bag for the second time. His current clothes, an old shirt stained with dried blood and torn to shreds, and a pair of tattered pants, were no match for the harsh wilderness. He had been grateful when King Rhoam had washed them for him, but their wear and tear remained evident.

Hastily stripping off his old garments, Noah donned his new attire with a sense of relief and gratitude towards the king who had provided them. As he did so, he peeled back the bandages that had once covered his wounds. To his surprise, they had healed remarkably well under King Rhoam's care.

But it was the last item in the bag that truly caught Noah's attention - the Sheikah Slate. A tool that will become indispensable to him. For a brief moment, he had forgotten that King Rhoam had confiscated it from him earlier. But now, with it safely back in his possession, Noah couldn't help but feel grateful for the king's foresight and preparedness. 'Good thing I have someone looking out for me,' he thought to himself with a hint of admiration towards King Rhoam's resourcefulness.

A spectral blue light pulsed from the Sheikah Slate's screen, casting eerie shadows across Noah's face as he read the unexpected prompt: "Calibration of Hero is required for ownership of this altered device... activate?"

Calibration? Hadn't the Great Plateau Tower handled all that? A sliver of unease crept through him, cold against his excitement. He pushed it aside, eager to unlock whatever secrets it held. "Activate," he muttered, tapping the screen with a tremor in his thumb.

A soft click echoed through the silence, followed by a sharp 'pop' that made Noah jump. The Slate's weight vanished, replaced by a chilling emptiness in his hands. An alien buzzing filled the air, like a trapped insect desperate for escape. He glanced at the device, his breath catching in his throat. The orange Sheikah Eye was gone, replaced by a pulsing blue orb.

"Well, that's normal," he croaked, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. A nervous twitch played in his jaw. Didn't the Sheikah Slates have an orange eye? He could swear they did. Where had it gone?

The buzzing intensified, drawing his gaze upwards. The blue Sheikah eye previously attached to its slate was now hovering a few feet away. The eye swooped towards him, a silent predator in the dimming light. Noah's heart drummed, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, a morbid fascination warring with his primal fear.

Hero calibration error," the Sheikah Eye droned, its voice devoid of warmth, seeping into every corner of Noah's mind. "Incompatibility detected. Adjusting parameters for optimal alignment for multiple users.

"Optimal alignment?" Noah's voice was a desperate squeak swallowed by the mechanical hum.

"Solution found, initiating corrective measures for user ownership."

A sharp blue needle, a metallic serpent uncoiling from the eye's depths, aimed itself at Noah's right eye. His blood ran cold. "Wait!" he choked, but the plea drowned in the rising tide of terror.

The needle struck his right eye, a searing white-hot agony engulfing him. It was a pain beyond comprehension, a fire scorching his very soul. The world dissolved into a white noise of blinding light; the taste of copper heavy on his tongue.

As Noah fell onto the ground in agony a few moments later silence swallowed him. He blinked, eyes squinting against the fading light. The eye hovered before him, the needle retracted, a sickeningly crimson stain marking its tip. It pulsed once, then zipped back into the Sheikah Slate, leaving behind a cold blue eye that stared back at him with unsettling familiarity.

Noah's grip on the Sheikah Slate loosened, a strangled curse escaping his lips as it clattered to the ground. His world dissolved into a swirling vortex of sapphire, every leaf, pebble, and blade of grass outlined in an alien-shimming blue. Panic clawed at his throat, his heart pulsating against his chest.

But amidst the chaos, a shard of awareness pierced through the fog. He blinked, focusing on his own hand, now shimmering like a ghost against the spectral backdrop. His surroundings pulsed in unison, as Noah slowly unsheathed his Traveller's Sword, once a familiar weight at his hip, had become a beacon in the sapphire storm. Where everything else swam in an alien cerulean hue, the blade blazed with a defiance of the blue-tinged world. It wasn't the warm gold of a sunrise, nor the glint of polished amber. This was a sun trapped in steel, radiating with an inner fire that seemed to mock the spectral canvas around it.

The blue seemed to recoil from the sword's light, clinging to the edges but never daring to engulf the flame. Like a stubborn ember in a dying fire, the sword held its own, a tiny island of normalcy amidst the swirling vortex of unreality.

"Magnesis," he breathed, the word a hesitant echo in the vast, blue-tinged silence. Awe washed over him, chasing away the initial fear.