[ At the edges of Link's perception, a harrowing darkness starts to enclose around him. It is quiet and gentle, but it encroaches without permission, unceremonious in its intent to snuff the last of the Meridian from his soul. His Shard, normally warm to the touch, feels freezing cold, prickling the skin on the back of his hand. Where his palmis laid over his heart, it saps the body heat underneath it — but no, it is not absorbing that heat, but obliterating it outright.
The state of his mind is just as grave. A voice — his own voice — wails sorrowfully that John is right, that Hyrule, and all worlds, and this world too, are all doomed. The young Hylian has seem immeasurable loss in his short yet unnaturally long life, and every ounce of it the seed for a pound of grief. That grief is greater than any burden the Goddesses could have saddled him with. A responsibility for the deaths of countless victims, the enslavement of the ghosts of his friends, and one hundred years of suffering by his princess. Saving Hyrule has been about his redemption, just as much as it was ever about saving his people — but he will never find the redemption he seeks, will he. Even if he did, it would all fall apart eventually. It would all trend towards collapse and disaster.
What's the point of fighting to survive if you will always lose in the end?
The last of his hope is vanishing fast, like an ice cube thrown into a blaze. Only a few more seconds and it would be completely burnt away, replaced by the brand of the Zenith on his soul. But then, cutting through the miasma, is a sharp, horrible pain in his hand. His other hand. Like a screeching alarm clock, it interrupts the spiral long enough for Link's mind to come up for air, just long and barely enough for him to look down at the searing pain. In his hand, his other hand, is the sharp rock he'd picked up for the purpose of drawing his blood for the Trade. He was squeezing his hand so hard that arrow-like point of the stone was driven deep into his palm and now scrapes against his metacarpals.
Gasping, he drops the rock. Gooey, viscous, blood-colored sap begins to ooze uncontrollably from the deep wound. Staring down, watching the foreign compound bleed from his body, gives him a strange and new kind of clarity. This, he knows. Pain and injury. The fear of another death, of becoming permanently disabled in some way such that he could never complete his goals. This hand is his sword hand. He needs this hand. What would he do if he couldn't hold a sword anymore?
What would he do. How would he spend his days. What would he look forward to? And this is the core flaw with the Zenith, at least insofar as it has any application in Link's life. If he were to abandon Hyrule, to stop caring about its fate, then he would essentially abandon the meaning of his very life. He would have no reason to go on, no reason to care about any world, including the new world promised by Yima. If there is "no point" in trying to save his home, there is no point in trying to make a new one either. Because if all of it is pointless then all of it is pointless.
A glowing warmth suddenly rushes back into his Shard. Taken by a sudden panic, Link jumps to his feet, clutching his right hand in his left. He turns and stares down at John with wide, intense eyes. ]
What was that? What did — what are you trying to do to me?
[ He's stunned, angry, hurt, and betrayed. John had just tried to corrupt him, hadn't he? To force himself into Link's soul. To change his mind, to hurt him. His other emotions give way to his anger now. Very few things make the level-headed and mild-mannered Hero openly, visibly angry. Betrayal is one of those things, and at the moment, he is feeling very betrayed. ]
How dare you. How dare you try to... lead me astray...!
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The state of his mind is just as grave. A voice — his own voice — wails sorrowfully that John is right, that Hyrule, and all worlds, and this world too, are all doomed. The young Hylian has seem immeasurable loss in his short yet unnaturally long life, and every ounce of it the seed for a pound of grief. That grief is greater than any burden the Goddesses could have saddled him with. A responsibility for the deaths of countless victims, the enslavement of the ghosts of his friends, and one hundred years of suffering by his princess. Saving Hyrule has been about his redemption, just as much as it was ever about saving his people — but he will never find the redemption he seeks, will he. Even if he did, it would all fall apart eventually. It would all trend towards collapse and disaster.
What's the point of fighting to survive if you will always lose in the end?
The last of his hope is vanishing fast, like an ice cube thrown into a blaze. Only a few more seconds and it would be completely burnt away, replaced by the brand of the Zenith on his soul. But then, cutting through the miasma, is a sharp, horrible pain in his hand. His other hand. Like a screeching alarm clock, it interrupts the spiral long enough for Link's mind to come up for air, just long and barely enough for him to look down at the searing pain. In his hand, his other hand, is the sharp rock he'd picked up for the purpose of drawing his blood for the Trade. He was squeezing his hand so hard that arrow-like point of the stone was driven deep into his palm and now scrapes against his metacarpals.
Gasping, he drops the rock. Gooey, viscous, blood-colored sap begins to ooze uncontrollably from the deep wound. Staring down, watching the foreign compound bleed from his body, gives him a strange and new kind of clarity. This, he knows. Pain and injury. The fear of another death, of becoming permanently disabled in some way such that he could never complete his goals. This hand is his sword hand. He needs this hand. What would he do if he couldn't hold a sword anymore?
What would he do. How would he spend his days. What would he look forward to? And this is the core flaw with the Zenith, at least insofar as it has any application in Link's life. If he were to abandon Hyrule, to stop caring about its fate, then he would essentially abandon the meaning of his very life. He would have no reason to go on, no reason to care about any world, including the new world promised by Yima. If there is "no point" in trying to save his home, there is no point in trying to make a new one either. Because if all of it is pointless then all of it is pointless.
A glowing warmth suddenly rushes back into his Shard. Taken by a sudden panic, Link jumps to his feet, clutching his right hand in his left. He turns and stares down at John with wide, intense eyes. ]
What was that? What did — what are you trying to do to me?
[ He's stunned, angry, hurt, and betrayed. John had just tried to corrupt him, hadn't he? To force himself into Link's soul. To change his mind, to hurt him. His other emotions give way to his anger now. Very few things make the level-headed and mild-mannered Hero openly, visibly angry. Betrayal is one of those things, and at the moment, he is feeling very betrayed. ]
How dare you. How dare you try to... lead me astray...!