Wild's fingers brushed against the journal, his hands trembling as the flood of memories overwhelmed him. The world around him blurred, his breath growing shallow. Images, sounds, and feelings that he had long buried resurfaced all at once.
His body felt heavy, weighed down by the sheer intensity of it all, as though the memories were trying to pull him under. And then, he saw it—the moment.
The pain—the unbearable pain—as he lay dying, his body crushed by the final blow of Ganon's attack. He could still feel it, the raw agony of each piercing strike. He could still hear Zelda's voice, soft but broken, calling his name.
"Link... Link, please! Stay with me."
The words echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of a past he had tried so desperately to forget. He could see her face, tear-streaked and pale, her hands shaking as they cradled him.
"I'm not going to leave you, Link. I can't... I won't."
But it didn't matter. The life drained from him, his breath faltering with each beat of his heart. He remembered the sensation—the darkness closing in, the warmth of Zelda's hands on his skin, her tears falling onto his chest as he slipped away from her.
And then—the end. His heart stopped.
A cry from his throat caught in his chest as the images overwhelmed him. He stumbled backward, collapsing to the ground in front of the other Heroes. His body shook violently as his memories played out in agonizing detail. He relived every second of it: the pain, the fear, and the love that had been shattered in an instant.
The Heroes gathered around him, their faces etched with concern and confusion, but they didn't move. They knew—knew—this was something Wild had to go through alone. They could see the torment he was experiencing.
Time's voice was soft but steady. "He's alright. He's just... remembering." His tone was a mix of sorrow and understanding. "He'll make it through. He's always made it through."
Sky kneeled beside him, his voice a mere whisper. "We're here, Wild... Link. We're here."
But Wild—Link—was beyond hearing them. His body convulsed as he was trapped in the grip of his past, unable to escape the agony. The feelings of dying surged through him, like waves crashing over his soul. The smell of blood. The coldness creeping in. The emptiness.
Zelda's face—her eyes wide with disbelief, her voice trembling as she whispered his name in a futile plea—was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.
The pain he had experienced in his death was real. It wasn't just a memory; it was like his body was reliving every moment, every wound, every final breath. His chest rose and fell with each shallow gasp, but it wasn't enough. He felt as if the darkness would consume him again, as though he might fall back into that abyss where he would never find light.
In the distance, he could hear his comrades, their voices blending into a steady murmur. But they were distant—too distant for him to reach. The pain—the trauma—held him hostage. There was no escape.
Then, a gentle hand touched his shoulder, pulling him back from the brink. The comforting warmth was Time, who had always been a steady presence in moments of crisis. Time's voice was calm but firm, cutting through the fog of Wild's mind.
"Link. You're not there anymore. You're not dying anymore. You're here. You're alive."
It was like a lifeline, a tether to reality. Slowly, the overwhelming pain began to fade, replaced by the steady pulse of his heart. He could hear his breath, the air filling his lungs. He was still alive.
He wanted to speak, to tell them that he was fine, but his throat felt tight, his body sluggish as the pain still clung to him like a shadow. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he let himself rest—unconscious, but not dead. Not this time.
Time, with careful hands, lifted Wild and carried him to his bed in Hateno Village, the familiar place that now felt like the only anchor in a world full of torment. He tucked Wild in gently, brushing the damp hair from his forehead as the others lingered, silently standing watch.
They knew the pain Wild was experiencing—knew it was more than just a memory. It was a wound that hadn't fully healed, a scar that he carried from the day he fell. They could only wait for him to recover, to piece himself together.
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, the soft hum of nature filling the air. Wild's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but his mind remained lost in the memory, the fading echoes of Zelda's cries and the final breath he had taken.
The others stayed close, but they allowed Wild his space. He needed to rest. He needed to heal, to find his way back to who he was—not just the Hero of the Wild, but Link—the boy who had died a hundred years ago and was now given the chance to return.
