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Zelda doesn’t know who she is anymore.
She used to know, back before she fell out of the sky. Now those days feel like they took place a lifetime ago. The world above the clouds was but a dream from which her true self was roused.
She can still recall every piece of her identity: every memory, every belief, and every value she holds dear. These simple truths have always kept her grounded. Always reminded her that this is who she is. A girl meant to soar the skies. Someone who stood at the top of her class at the academy. Zelda: Skyloft’s golden girl.
But now there are so many complexities to consider. Her old life feels like one flat side on a dodecahedron. She has a divine soul beating in her chest which her enemies crave. She can recall countless memories from an era before she was even born. There’s so many thoughts. So many emotions. So many individuals in this new era who are counting on her, both divine and not.
It’s a lot to process.
Goddesses and humans are very different. In fact, they’re so far apart on the spectrum of entities that Zelda doesn’t know what to make of herself. She often feels like she’s being torn in half—stretched between two extremes that she will never fully satisfy.
The sensation of being tugged back and forth eventually snaps Zelda awake, rousing her from a dream—a real dream—and she blinks drearily as she stares at the inside of her cabin.
It’s a shabby little dwelling, but it’s home. Her room consists of two beds crammed into opposite corners. Zelda glances to the one she doesn’t occupy to find Link snoring soundly.
At least some things never change. He’s a sleepyhead, through and through.
Such peace has been all but lost on Zelda. Her mind is stirring so much that she knows she won’t find any further rest. So she slips out of bed as quietly as she can and makes for her wardrobe. Thin rays of sunlight squeeze through the wooden walls to guide her path. She takes extra care to avoid the squeaky step that Link has pounded a dozen nails into in the hopes of silencing it.
Not that it helps. The board still screeches like a Loftwing.
Zelda dresses without fear of Link seeing her. She recalls that it had taken some convincing for her father to allow the two of them to live together on the surface, but he eventually came around, seeing as it wasn’t all that different from the two of them living in the same academy. Besides, they’re good kids with pure souls. There’s never been any risk of them doing something shameful.
In fact, Zelda’s soul is so pure, it almost scares her.
Zelda starts every morning with the same routine. She stands in front of the local bird statue, clasps her hands together, and bows her head. It feels beyond strange, praying to a being that exists solely within herself. She knows now that there is no Hylia up among the stars, listening to the people’s every plea. There is only Zelda.
She figures it sets a good example for the others, so she does it anyway.
If nothing else, Zelda knows they can defer to the old gods. They still watch. They still listen. They still extend ethereal hands and pull the strings of fate whenever necessary. Zelda wishes that they might intervene a little more often than they currently do, but at the same time, she has a nagging sense that there’s a lesson to be learned in being self-reliant.
Zelda sighs, finishes her prayer, and walks the Sealed Grounds. It’s become something of a holy place for their surface settlement. Everyone treads quietly the moment they enter the temple. They act with the utmost reverence. It’s like they can feel the weight of divinity in the very air they breathe.
But who knows how long it’s meant to last? Zelda can see the signs of decay—the ending of one era as another consumes it. She can already see it clearly in the goddess statue that descended from Skyloft. In a single year, it’s been cracked and chipped by the surface’s ever-changing weather. Zelda believes it’s only a matter of time before it falls apart and becomes just another piece of earth beneath their feet.
Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. The time of Hylia is over. Sort of. Almost. It’s burning up the last of its embers, anyway…
It’s a shame that Zelda will never know an era without Hylia. For so long as she draws breath, so does the goddess.
It’s summer, and there’s a mountain of work to be done.
Their surface settlement is coming along nicely. As a collective community, they’ve managed to make so much progress in a single year. They have homes and dirt paths and gardens and markets. And to Zelda’s relief, there’s no shortage of familiar faces.
A lot of people are on board with the idea of a surface settlement. There’s so much more space down here. The land is rich. There’s plenty of food and water and game to go around. And that’s to speak nothing of the opportunities! A fresh start. Land, free for whoever is brave enough to claim it. A town that is defining its personality with each passing day.
It’s a great place to live. Or at least, Zelda hopes it is.
She hates to admit it, but the progress of the settlement has consumed her in recent months. She frets over every minor detail. Every morning, she prays that the town continues to grow. That it sees success. That she isn’t leading her beloved people on a fool’s errand which ultimately ends in their shared demise.
She constantly asks herself, what is she hoping to accomplish with this settlement?
Who is she trying to appease? Her old self? Her current self?
The people, she always answers. Those who have been locked away behind the clouds because she couldn’t protect them otherwise.
They’re safe now. They’re free to live their lives. Free to enjoy the sprawling earth which the goddesses left for them. She grieves for those who never got the chance to see it. She grieves for those who are still stuck in their ways on Skyloft, satisfied with their scattered floating rocks.
Zelda doesn’t plan to force anyone to make the move. But she wishes they could see what she sees.
The community gardens are as promising as ever. Sprouts of various shapes and sizes crawl out of the earth, stretching towards the sunshine. Groose and a few others have taken advantage of the nice weather to continue all the necessary upkeep. There’s so much work that goes into feeding a settlement. Plowing, planting, weeding, watching.
Link helps too, of course. He’s claimed his own share of the fields for planting whatever he fancies. Zelda stops by whenever her schedule allows, and she quickly finds that despite their ironclad comradery, Link still finds a way to get on Groose’s nerves without even trying.
Sure enough, it doesn’t take long before Groose comes (carefully) bounding over rows of produce to gawk at Link’s efforts. “Hey butthead, you’re taking up valuable space. We could be using that for pumpkins!”
“We have enough pumpkin patches to feed a country,” Link shoots back. “Besides, it’s kind of fun. Just digging into the earth and seeing what bounty we can make it yield.”
Groose pinches his nose, like he’s the only smart one around for miles. “You’re way too experimental. We need nourishment! Not science projects! What are you even planting in that patch anyway?”
“Secret seeds,” Link snubs matter-of-factly.
Everyone laughs while Groose shakes his head. “I swear, if it’s one of those weird fruits you brought back—”
“Oh, you mean the lemons?” Link grins at Zelda. “We really should consider growing them here.”
Groose’s lips pucker at the mention of those sour yellow fruits. Link has taken to collecting them on some of his surface-exploring excursions. They’re not the most appetizing delicacy, but the last time they experimented with them, Link had deemed the concoction “refreshing”. Zelda now suspects that he has a new addiction.
“Yeah, ew, no,” Groose deadpans. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Those things are nasty.”
“Not when you use them to make lemonhelp!”
The field falls dead silent as everyone internally contemplates whether Link is making an unfunny joke, or if he’s just plain stupid.
In the end, Zelda is the one who humors him. “What is lemon-help?”
Link beams at her. “It’s the juice we make from the lemons! I figured we could call it that, because back when we first made it, you said the juice just needs a little help. And then you added water and sugar so it wouldn’t be so sour. Remember?”
Zelda sighs. Bless Link and his simple little mind. “I believe my exact words were that the lemons could use a little aid.”
“We’ll workshop the name then.”
Zelda snorts. It’s an action that she isn’t sure a goddess can perform.
If they can, Zelda has no memory of such a thing.
It’s a scorching summer morning when Link suddenly declares that today is Festival Day. He asserts that no work is to be done. It’s going to be all feasts and games and cozy bonfires. Zelda is completely stunned by this impromptu proposal, but the reactions of the other settlers suggest that they’ve been planning this for weeks. Groose in particular can’t stop chuckling every time he sees Zelda’s face.
She tries to relax and ease into the celebration. Everyone is smiling and having fun and simply appreciating what’s been built here. There’s no reason why Zelda can’t do the same.
She takes Link’s hand and joins him for every activity. Pumpkin shooting, bamboo cutting, and Loftwing racing. It all culminates in a magnificent dinner where the literal fruits of their labor are savored.
This is surface living, she thinks.
Overall, Zelda is impressed. Link must have went to a lot of effort to set all of this up. And seeing how much he cares about their livelihood just makes her want to fall in love with him all over again.
But somewhere along the way, Zelda finds herself feeling guilty.
Here she is, indulging in human pleasures. Acting like her life is normal when it is anything but. She recalls every golden memory from time immemorial, and they collectively scream in her head, accusing her of being a walking contradiction.
She’s a goddess in a mortal vessel. She’s divine and yet she’s not. She hungers. She grows weary. She needs to use the bathroom, just like everyone else.
And it’s strange. Because she should be better than this. She should be able to raise the land with a flick of her wrist. The winds and waves should follow her every command. Her beloved people should pray to her, and she should come to their rescue, always, without question, never once failing them.
And yet here she is, stuffing her face with pumpkin.
Zelda dismisses herself from dinner and takes a long walk around the crumbling goddess statue.
Zelda is brooding by a bonfire when Link finds her. He quickly snuggles up next to her, adding a sense of warmth that the fire alone could not. Even quicker, he retreats and stares at Zelda like she’s a puzzle.
She stares back. “Yes?”
“Is something wrong?”
Yes. Oh yes. Everything is wrong. Everything feels so terribly, earth-shatteringly off. Where can she even begin?
“No, I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.”
Zelda suspects that Link accepts her lie more than he believes it. He falls silent, simply content to hold her and watch the fire dance.
Meanwhile, Zelda peers inward. It’s kind of amazing, really, how simple it is for a goddess to smear her own purity. A lie pours out of her mouth so easily, drowning the notion of honesty and sinking it beneath waves of reticence.
Zelda blinks when she glances up and finds Link staring again.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
Zelda nods.
“Why don’t you wear ribbons in your hair anymore?”
The question startles her more than she expected. She fumbles for an answer.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She runs her fingers through her long strands of gold. “I thought they seemed a little too childish, I guess.”
A little too childish. A little too human.
A little too Zelda…
Link frowns as he stares at her thoughtfully. Eventually he shrugs and faces the fire again. “Pity. I liked them.”
She blinks, barely comprehending this piece of information as she releases her hair and stares into the flames as well. Eventually, she reaches over and locks hands with Link.
Zelda wears ribbons in her hair every day of the following week.
“I’m going exploring. I’m thinking about heading southwest this time. Wanna come with?”
Link asks the question which Zelda only ever seems to have one answer to. “No, I’m afraid I’m needed here.”
Her face falls. His face falls. Link ultimately shrugs and walks away. Zelda smiles and tries to convince herself that she’s doing good here, and that the needs of Hyrule Town come before any flights of fancy. There’s still so much work to do. So many buildings to raise and resources to allocate and seasonal preparations to consider.
And sure, exploring the surface is important too. But Link doesn’t need Zelda for that.
Nevertheless, Link asks her again on another day. And again, and again, and again.
Until one morning, when he decides to stop asking.
“Wake up and get dressed. We’re going flying!” he asserts.
Zelda merely blinks. “I—”
“Nope, shhhh,” he cuts her off before she even has a chance to say boo. “You’ve been stuck in town for too long. You need to have some fun. And I’ve missed having fun with you. So we’re going exploring today. Sound cool?”
Zelda blinks again. It honestly feels strange, to be on the receiving end of this. Link has this newfound confidence in him that he never had back when they occupied Skyloft. He was aways the timid one. The one to stay silent and hold his thoughts, for fear of aggravating others. And Zelda was always his shining knight to the rescue, when he was too meek to rescue himself.
She still remembers back when they were children, how upset she was when she first saw Groose taunting him. She still remembers the way she shoved the bully, planted tiny fists on her hips, and told him to stop being such a meanie. And she certainly still remembers the scolding she received for not being ladylike.
Zelda became best friends with Link after that. Though she always wondered if he was just too scared to say no to her.
Oh, how things have changed. Here he is now, telling Zelda exactly how the day will pan out, like he’s already written it word for word himself.
It’s a nice change.
Zelda likes to think she may have brought that confidence out of him, somehow.
Zelda isn’t sure when she stopped thinking of blue as the color of her Loftwing, or ever the color of the sky.
She now knows it best as the striking color of Link’s eyes.
Cool, reassuring blue. When Zelda glances at the great expanse, a memory washes over her like water. Link’s eyes, always staring at her so softly. So fondly. The thought alone makes Zelda’s heart bounce.
The two of them fly south over a stretch of jungle. There’s greenery and rivers and brightly colored birds filling out every inch of the scene. Their Loftwings fit the picture perfectly—outstretched wings of red and blue, streaking across the sky.
Zelda presses her body against her Loftwing’s back and hugs her close. She may have settled on the surface, but she will always love flying.
Their excursion today is a casual one. They’re going to a beach to salvage some fruit. That’s it. Zelda questioned if this was a valuable use of their typically limited time, but Link insisted that not every task had to be in service of saving the world.
Zelda smiles at the memory. She’s glad she chose to come along. She’s glad that Link can get her to do anything with only the smallest of prompts. The way he treats her is not manipulative. It’s… guiding. She’s like a harp, and he’s pulling her strings, and together they make music.
It doesn’t take long before they can spot a shining sea before them. The water blankets the land all the way to the horizon. As far as Zelda knows, it might stretch on forever. Endless oceans. What a world, what a world.
Once the trees give way to the blinding white sand of the beach, Link laughs and looks back at her. He shouts something with a big, goofy smile on his face. Zelda can’t hear a word he’s saying over the rush of wind. But she doesn’t have to. She already knows without a moment’s thought. Together they begin to circle the beach, slowly and gracefully descending. Zelda’s pen follows her every subtle command. She swoops and slows and catches the air at just the right angle to make a comfortable landing for her rider. The beautiful blue bird is a dream.
Again, Zelda smiles. She used to believe that she was one half of a pair with her Loftwing. They understood each other better than any other soul in the sky. And while that is still true, Zelda isn’t quite sure that it feels accurate anymore.
Zelda knows she has a second half. His name is Link.
The pair of Loftwings plant their feet in the sand and fold their wings. Zelda hops to the ground while the wind plays with her hair. She reunites with Link, who seems far too excited to be here.
“Look at this, huh?” He raises his arms for emphasis. “A beach like you wouldn’t believe.”
“It’s huge,” she agrees. She’s seen beaches before, but they were always small shores. She’s never seen anything quite like this. White, powdery sand stretching from one direction to the other. Waves crashing and ebbing, like the ocean is one big, breathing life.
“Care to go for a dip?” Link offers.
Zelda is quick to put him in his place. “I’m not dressed for it. And neither are you.”
They’re garbed in comfortable clothes that suit the endless sunshine. Link is wearing his green tunic in place of a t-shirt along with a pair of shorts, while Zelda is donning a sleeveless dress the color of coral. They’re nothing fancy, but they’re not exactly swimsuits either.
Link just laughs. “You could at least get your feet wet. Maybe we could do a little splashing to ward off this heat.”
“Oh no. I know exactly how you like to play in the water.” Zelda crosses her arms. “Toss me in that freezing ocean and I’m smacking you with my sandal.”
Link snorts at the thought before shaking his head. “I’m only joking. We came here for fruit anyway.”
He draws near. Zelda wonders if he’s about to press her to his chest and peck her cheek with kisses, claiming that “she’s the only strawberry he needs to taste”, or some other such nonsense. Instead, he reveals a bright red feather from behind his back. She presumes he plucked it from his Loftwing. Without missing a beat, he smoothly slides it into her hair, just behind her ear.
A new hair decoration, completely out of the blue. He really likes to keep her on her toes.
Zelda blushes a little and pushes some of her hair back to help the feather stand out. “How does it look?”
“The feather looks good. You look amazing though.”
Such a goofball. Such a sweet talker.
Zelda shakes her head before shoving him back. “Go get your fruit already,” she says with a laugh.
Link snickers as he dashes for the tree line. Zelda will never understand where he gets his boundless energy from.
Now left on her lonesome, Zelda wanders down to the shore. She steps out of her sandals and wades into the water, allowing the waves to lap at her ankles. It’s cold, as she expected, but it’s a welcome sensation among the blistering heat.
And it’s familiar.
Zelda has visited a number of beaches since moving to the surface, but the nostalgia has never hit her quite like this. She recalls memories from a time before she was born. The fragments come together like puzzle pieces, building an old identity whether Zelda likes it or not.
This moment—it’s something she’s always longed for. Sturdy ground beneath her feet, warm breeze in her hair, and clouds above her head where they belong.
Zelda frowns. She wanted this. But… which one was it?
A year ago, Zelda made the decision to leave Skyloft behind and settle on the surface. But now she ponders, how much of that was truly her own will? Why does watching over the earth sound so appealing?
Is this Hylia speaking, or the girl with a beating heart?
Zelda kicks the water. Her memories are a mess. She wishes her life didn’t have to be so complicated. She wishes she didn’t have to wander, and second guess, and bring every staple of her life into question.
An hour later, Link returns from his jungle escapades. To little surprise, he’s collected an entire bag full of that sour yellow fruit—lemons.
“You happy?” she asks, despite the fact that he’s grinning like a schoolboy.
“Yeah. You happy?”
Zelda wants to answer him, but she doesn’t think she should. There’s too many thoughts in her head, and she’s not about to ruin their outing with questions that neither of them could possibly have the answer to.
Instead, she pecks his cheek with a kiss and leans her head against his shoulder as they watch the waves slither along the shore.
Eventually, her racing thoughts begin to settle.
It’s the middle of the afternoon when they return home. The sun has kissed their skin so much that it’s practically sucked the life out of them. But Link insists that he knows exactly what they need. He takes an armful of his newly acquired lemons and begins juicing them. He adds water and sugar, and ultimately presents Zelda with a refreshing glass of lemonhelp (they still need to workshop that name).
They take their drinks outside and sit in the shade of a tree. Here, the air is hot yet soothing. Two opposites that somehow perfectly coexist.
The thought brings comfort to Zelda.
The hours appear to be passing slowly. Even when they spend their afternoon so lazily, it feels like barely any time has slipped away at all. They finish their refreshments, and Link decides that there’s still enough daylight left to get some work done in the gardens. Zelda offers to join him. He seems hesitant, but he ultimately takes her hand, presses a kiss to it, and whispers, “That would be perfect.”
Forget the humid summer heat. Zelda is practically shivering.
They arrive at the gardens to find themselves alone. Anyone who was working under the constant glare of the sun must have retired hours ago. But Zelda doesn’t mind. She enjoys this solitude—this quiet time with Link.
He tells her that he’s going to check on his secret seeds and begs her not to peek. Zelda giggles and swears to avert her gaze. Once he runs off, she kneels in the garden and sets to work. Digging, planting, weeding. She places human hands in the dirt and works the very earth.
When Zelda goes to wipe the sweat off her brow, she spots dirt beneath her fingernails. Divine fingernails, smeared with the earth she once abandoned.
It makes her laugh.
There’s something freeing about this moment. She feels like a Loftwing, perched atop a cliff’s edge with an endless sky sprawled out before her, begging her to take flight.
But the moment of true peace doesn’t arrive until Zelda feels a faint tapping on her shoulder. She glances back to find Link grinning, his hand equally dirty, while the other is hidden behind his back. “Stand up. I have a surprise for you.”
Zelda smiles, slowly rises to her feet, and dusts the dirt off her dress as best she can. She then looks into eyes of blue and offers Link her full attention.
“The secret seeds bloomed,” he says, blushing a bit. “I wanted you to have the first batch.”
“You’ve grown something just for me?” Zelda delightfully taps her fingers together. She feels weightless. Giddy and ready for flight. “Let’s see it!”
Link smiles his sheepish smile one more time before revealing a bouquet. And the blooms that compose the bundle are… heart flowers.
Slim stems, bright green leaves, all topped with heart piece petals.
It doesn’t take long before Link’s cheeks match the red of the flowers. “They, uh, always reminded me of you. So I wanted to grow you some.”
A smile breaks free of Zelda’s doubts, fears, and worries. She is bewitched by this boy who loves her so immeasurably. She takes the flowers as if in a trance and brings them close. Their pleasant aroma tickles her nose as she breathes it in. She’s not sure if she’s ever felt more alive than she does in this moment.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “They’re beautiful.”
Link rubs the back of his neck. “Well yeah. That’s why I said they remind me of you. Haha.”
Zelda can’t resist beaming at her sweetheart. And slowly but surely, her cheeks flush until they match the shade of the flowers too.
Zelda wonders if Hylia ever imagined that she’d be permanently stained by the colors of mortals.
Being a goddess doesn’t often leave room for color. In all of her memories, there’s too much light. Blinding whites and dazzling golds cover everything in sight. There is no red or blue or green. No oranges, pinks, or violets.
Things are so different now.
There are ribbons in her hair and feathers behind her ears. There’s red on her cheeks and scarlet in her very veins. There’s blue reflected in her eyes and black soil nestled in her fingers. There’s a laugh springing from her lips, louder and more musical than any song she’s ever sung in worship.
Zelda reaches for Link and wraps him in her arms. She feels like crying. She feels like whispering “thank you” into his ear one thousand times over. But she does neither. She merely holds him in her hands, cherishing a warmth that not even the sun could provide as he wraps his arms around her in return.
It’s at times like these that Zelda knows exactly who she’s supposed to be.