"The river of time is vast and deep, rooted deep within the reality of man and beast. The river is woven within our existence, but not by choice. The silent whispers heard in the still of a night are the vibrations of the strings that entwine us. These sounds originate from the core, the tissue that is we. Behind the tissue, which we can smell, feel, touch, taste and hear, is a realm of marvel, a realm in which time has no domain. This place without vectors or any other science is attainable by release of time and its senses.
Yet since we believe ourselves to be bound by its curse, time, in short, has control of our doings. We age, our bodies wither, we use terms like history and the future, yet we have no real understanding of the river of time. What is this flow that dictates the relation between us and existence; which direction does it flow; It is said it moves forward and though it's likely so, how could one move against a stream so tough? Better yet, if time, the fabric that clothes us seems unreal or nonexistent, what then? To those that say it is unreal, I dare you to unclothe yourself, bare your soul and say that you are not bound by the archaic time. I myself know all to well that time is a silent waterfall, it drops within us all, and each of us must wash against the shores of decay someday. I feel it within my bones, O, I my goddesses, I feel it.
O consort, why create time? Art thee not free of such matters? Why castrate us of freedom, why deny us our rightful light, why surrender us to a lesser abomination in the form of time? Alternatively, could it be that in your wisest of moments, in your moment of unity, hastened by the notion of creation that you forgot to forgive your children? Nah, that is neither logical nor becoming of such beings. The answer must then lie within the deepest scriptures, or as we know them, The Divine.
I have read this book and within, deep within the yellow-brown pages of old, I found the one reference I sought for so many years. You created us from your elements, and with the tri-force bestowed upon us, you forever decreed that we are thou children. Yet hidden within the lines one must be able to find the connection, the similarity of human characteristic and that deemed godly. I found it, one who is thought to uplift that of the goddesses. Oh, what do I believe, what do I believe?
It seems, or rather, it is so; we are all part of a grand scheme. We are the thinnest layer upon the universal cake, yes, but they are also but a layer, not the core. The created us, but why not as equals as they so clearly deem, why not explain to us the finer points of life. Moreover, and more importantly, how deep is this hole?
Yet an interesting point arises; though not equals, we received many qualities that befitted the goddesses. We have methods of manipulating the elements, yet to control them is folly, and therefore we are bound within the elements. Time also acts like an element; we can manipulate yet not fully dominate it. In other words, what is time if not a prison in which one cannot see the bars? A prison in which freedom is dictated, and oppressed upon its residents in such subtle manner that one realizes neither its effects nor its happenings.
Should one break
down the fort of time, tearing it to the ground, releasing all that
was sealed in time, all that is bound by time, and all that is
controlled by time? The answer is truly the most simple of simple,
and the easiest to understand; if one is imprisoned, one wishes to be
free. One will try this with such vigor, such force, that either the
shackles will sever or the oppressed will find him without a life to
worth fighting. Within each creature is an instinct of survival,
elaborate as that might seem, and each creature will find devious
methods to withstand the pressure from other survival seekers; Where
pressure is felt they will answer with pressure, hence the
never-ending cycle of push and retreat, rise and fall, or in layman
terms, the sun and the moon.
Centuries, another principle based on time, have passed yet none defy the flow, none shows their disapproval of such matters, they are content within the confines of their diaphanous cells, they neither know nor comprehend any other way. The teachings of the great religions, those passive and those not, have always referred to time as something uncontrollable, intangible and above all, indescribable. Yet each myth has a figure, a figure that in times of need could call onto the help of time and bend it, controlling it to his liking.
This individual is always the personification of good, the hero of some sorts, yet it is never described what his true purpose in life is, or if this character is truly benign of origin. One thing is for certain, the mythical hero is also balanced, much like the sync between the sun and the moon. The hero and his counterbalance are again but parts of the universal clockwork.
I find myself waiting for the days in which I may meet this fellow, and I find myself hesitant, unsure of the future. If it is true what I hold true, then someday, at some place in time, I will find the true meaning of the scriptures, and maybe, just maybe, I will comprehend the writers of the grand book of life. When that day comes, and arrive it will, I will await the goddesses, for I feel in the deepest of my heart that they too are waiting…"
As written by Rauru in the Book of Chains
IIIIIII
The weakest wind came from the east, the smell of night creeping through the confines of a window, and its whisper carried itself upon the wings of the twilight, floating softer that a feather, falling softly in the ear of a young maiden. A tune also accompanied the zephyr and combined the two whispers—that of the wind and that of the song—were enough to tempt those asleep into waking.
She stirred. Golden hair sprawled across the bed and even as her eyes were still closed, she sat up, pulling her hair up behind her. Her breathing was disharmonious, it also seemed as if she was flushed, her cheeks were red and her hair finding ways to defy gravity. Slowly, as her breathing became one with her pulse, she heard, or felt, the whispers that woke her. The tune was silent, nothing more than a faint string of sounds that completed a melody, yet it was a tune still and those beautiful notes carried her to the window were she then sat upon the windowsill. The wind caressed her skin, playing softly with her curves, and even though the night was cold, she could feel some warmth coming from within as she glanced down onto her courtyard.
There stood a boy, no older than sixteen, with his golden hair also toyed by the wind, as he held a device to his mouth. The device was small and white, no bigger that the palm of a grown man, and it had a few holes from which the sounds were emitted. The toy seemed childish in the hands of a young man yet it was an odd fit, they seemed attuned to one another. His clothing was not the traditional green tunic that he had been so accustomed to; rather he had on an emerald vest that had brown leather straps, a nice set of leather pants and a medallion of a sun and moon combined. From his mouth, he blew into the ocarina, a soft tune emitting itself from the device. The tune was not one he had learned, he simply blew from the heart. Later, at a more intimate time, he would call it the song of whispers.
He abruptly stopped playing the tune and looked up at her. His eyes sparkled by the light of the stars and his whole face lit up as he smiled. The girl perched in her window returned an equally charming smile, and for a second it seemed that smiling would be the only action upon this night. His hair, a few shades darker than hers, seemed to float with the wind and for a few moments it covered the contours of his face. When it settled, he returned to playing the ocarina, continuing with the song of whispers, the invisible noise flirting with her. The small of her of neck was caressed by the song, suspending her from her position on the window to another realm in which was but her and him, floating together in a pool of liquid passion. In her eyes and heart they overcame the gap of space and distance, she was enveloped within the cloak of his heat, shrouded within the cloud that fused their beings and souls.
As suddenly as she had awakened, she again fell beneath the quilts of the dream world, the stars and moon molding with the night, creating the last thing she saw before dozing off once more. His tune still accompanied her even as her head bobbed slightly and the wind played curiously at her nose. She had no control over anything that happened, her body reacted in the ways it saw fit, and thus she fell into the black abyss of sleep, as he still played the ocarina.
IIIIIII
Elsewhere, across the castle fields, under the castle gates, through the town square, over the bridge, and on the green pastures of grass, rode a young man upon a mare. She galloped on, the night's silence only broken by the constant rhythmic drum of her hooves, and as she got nearer her destination, she found herself more anxious, something that even her rider could feel. Her intensity was like that of an eye of a storm, silently raging. She was neither human nor demi-human, but the slight curl of her lip seemed to be a simulation of an emotion and it gave her a truly human appeal. This horse was still tense as they reached the wooden gates, the smell of farm animals and other creatures suppressing the delicate smell of the night. Why had riding in night always affected her this way?
The young man who was no older than sixteen sun years, slid off the mare, which obviously was his, and patted the horse's stomach. A majestic animal she was, and an equally majestic heart she had. She had stood by him in times of need, had been his only true companion in life, and he had even learned a song to entertain her. Epona's song, though no symphony, was enough to stifle the mare's concerns with the night. He felt an urge to revel in the past, yet his sanity was based on present events, not those of future or past.
He left the mare beside a solemn tree and walked up to the great wooden gate, only to be confronted by a sign that mentioned their closing hours. He smiled to himself, a true smile that was within and out, and broke the sign into two pieces. He had always found it amazing how whatever he did to the sign, the next hour the sign would have magically regenerated, as if part of an unbreakable chain in life. Even as he thought of this the fallen parts of the sign dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a grass that was once green and that would always be green. With this bright feeling, he walked closer to the gate, pulled out an ocarina and begun to blow upon it once more, again playing a tune full of whispers and silent promises.
As if attracted by the tune of beauty and reverence, another horse appeared, this stallion being grey at the mane and having a mantle of black as his hide. He was truly handsome, as far as horses went, and he walked with poise distinctive of royalty. Upon his back was a fair maiden, the second one he had visited this evening, and he awaited her arrival with pleasure. Each second he spent waiting was a second spent gawking; the young Malon he had met years before had all but erupted. She had blossomed into a woman befitting of her temperament: both cheerful and full of glee. Her beauty was not exotic but, rather a beauty that lasted ages without the help of artworks. She had retained her delightful smile, her naivety and her bashfulness, and adding onto the list of traits she had grown into a fair young woman with truly elegant contours.
He stowed his musical instrument and quickly hopped upon his companion's back. He looked deep into the girl's eyes, smiled the smile he had smiled countless times, and made Epona, his mare, gallop across the field and away from the wooden fence, and the ranch within it. Suddenly the noise that arose from her following him became a symphony, a song of them and now, and they continued through the notes, playing each segment of the symphony as harmoniously as humanly possible; they galloped at varying speeds, sometimes close together and far at others, but at all times the tension within their souls growing with youthful spurts. The delights of being both young and free traversed within their essence, a shining core of joy became of the night.
They came to a complete standstill beside a small body of water, the still water black as only the night could be, and put the horses to rest beside a truly common boulder. Their clothes slowly fell from their bodies, littering the grass here and there, until they were in nothing more than their undergarments. Her yellow sundress had fallen upon the grass; she wore nothing more than a sheer under dress. He was still busy taking of his last sock when he saw her no more; she had fallen beneath the small waves. He watched as she rose from beneath the pure water, her hair pulling behind her, moist droplets falling from her face, her undergarments playing stuck-on-you with her body. He could barely contain the raw satisfaction he got from seeing her like this, moist and tempting as she was, and he could muster no voice to express his current state. She smiled at him, a smile he had grown accustomed to, and faded into the water, leaving small ripples behind as her hair also dived in beneath her.
He plunged into the water after her to find it completely dark, the only hint of color being the twinkle from the stars. He swam within the nebula, his chest close to the ground, forgetting all his memories and hurts as he floated within the closest thing next to heaven this side of hell. He found himself floating to the top, his body ending up beside Malon. Their bodies collided softly, wavering under influence of the small waves, and so did their souls. Meshed together under the stars, within the soft quilt of aqueous texture, they found their eyes drawn to one another with the intensity of magnetism. Their lips found solace upon one another, the drum of passion played with a slow lilt, and they combined into one entity, that of passion; vehemence leaving all that surrounded, urging within the tight confines of their mouths as their tongues overlapped. A sweet violence developed, arising from the deepest bowels of the human genome, an ardent expression of teenage lust exploded as Malon dug her nails deep into back as she stimulated his lips with her tongue.
Feeling much like a king without an inkling of power the young boy could do nothing but submit to the sweet torture he was going through. He felt the connection of his heart with hers, both managing to slow to the same pulse, and they connected both in psyche and body. Sensing a soft prod against his chest, he realized that she was slightly cold, and though her actions were warm if not tender it was not enough to conceal the excitement of her breast. She was his sunshine within the night, he was her moon, he felt her warm glow within his mouth, the sun's tongue burning within the crater, and he accepted the heat as the real moon did. He rose to meet her godly position, their position becoming ethereal, a vessel within the rivers of time; they were the oars, planks, sails and rudder to their own pleasure.
He grabbed her hips, gently grinding his against her, and pulled her further into the center of the pool. The melodies of the night fell upon them; the chirping of the hoppers, the croak from the frogs, the splash of fishes, the wind blowing through the grass, and the soft whine from the horses. Forgetting all that was around him, he pulled her hair back and bit down upon the right side of her exposed neck. Nibbling without restraint, he found his right hand trailing down, trailing down the water, closer to her clothes, around the hills and back to her mouth, which stood open in exasperation. She moaned a lone sigh, the sound barely emitting from her mouth, her eyes filled with visions of the stars, the sparkling little lights as high and ecstatic as she was.
IIIIIII
The grass suddenly stood in a tensed position as the wind stopped its gust, the silence reigning supreme. Sounds diminished into muffled whispers, the low vibrations from life barely audible. The wind seemed to have vanished into the vast expanse of infinity, blowing in places undeniably far from Hyrule, and its effect was felt immediately. The normal sounds of the night suddenly ceased breathing; even the twinkle of the stars seemed odd. The smoke from the mountain of death trailed no more, it rose in one straight pipe, black as death, and seemed to hang there. The vacuum left in place of wind was much like the freezing of hell, in a cruel manner it seemed that all that was night had forgotten its place and setting, all because of the fascinating element of wind.
The grey walls of Hyrule stood their ground quietly, much like all else within the town, and the guards stood there, unmoving, haunting the paths of life. They seemed devoid of all that was human, yet they were too stiff to be called marionettes. They were rocks, lifeless, inanimate things without action or reaction. All action within the city walls had also slowed to less than a crawl, even the restless souls that sometimes haunted the city had frozen, their spectral bodies becoming hard like those with flesh and blood. Their faces stood twisted, their mouths in a large gape, and a low hum could be heard coming from their mouths. Above all that was supernatural and haunted, above all the elements that seemed to have stopped, and above all the frozen characters, was the eerie glow that shone from each being's forehead. A golden pyramid split into four lesser triangles had appeared upon each his face and this pyramid appeared upside down with the one point facing down instead of the traditional tri-force emblem. The motif consisted of three golden triangles and contained within these three was a triangle of blue, red and green; the colors constantly mixed with one another, showing once more that this logo was ethereal.
Between the rows of unmoving objects walked a wraith, his shadow pulling the color of the night into the long black cloak he wore. Upon his face, he had no insignia, no design to show that he was also part of the inert, and truly silently did he walk through the town square. His heavy brown boots seemed to glide across the square, his features shadowed by the faded light that fell upon his cloak. The wraith smoothly traversed the plaza, his shadow trailing behind him, twisting as it neared shadows of the frozen people.
The specter paused before one of the inhabitants, his big figure overshadowing that of the frozen being. Small snakes of his shadow crept around his feet, the ethereal qualities of this specter creating a void around his being. With one swift move, his palm thrust against the chest of the marionette, creating a small hole where the heart had supposed to be. Not one drop of blood spilled onto the pavement, even his bodily functioned had ceased. The person couldn't feel a thing now, in his mind before time had stopped, he had been alive, and it would stay that way until he woke from this state. When he would wake, for the person was male, he would feel nothing but a sudden emptiness.
The cloaked man smiled a hideous smile and he advanced forward towards the great castle. He felt drawn to something on the castle grounds, something austere like a stone. The rock was not normal, supposedly it had been sent down from the heavens. It had one eye as if always looking forward and when rung it told the time. The eye started to flash red even as he neared it, something on the back of his hand in turn reacted towards the stone. As a triangle started to glow yellow on his hand he connected with it, his palm wide on its eye. In the instance that his pyramid was complete and the whole rock seemed to heat up, they both disappeared from the face of the earth.
IIIIIIII
The young boy ran out from the water, his body still wet and his chest bare, and jumped upon his mare. The flash had alarmed him more than it should've, but it something that he had sensed more than felt. He had seen the red glow, not her, and if all his past endeavors had taught him something, he knew that nothing happened by mere chance. In addition, that cursed emblem had appeared upon his closed fist. Why?
He had left her behind with but one word, Sorry. Now even as his hair was blown back by the nightly wind he felt sorrier than ever. Here he was, leaving his own joys behind him because of some weird glow that was probably one of the fairy goddesses on a magic trip. The stories of the incubi pleasuring the fairies as they drank from the streams of magic were not far from the truth, he could vouch.
Before he had taken off, he had taken his wet undergarments off and put his leather pants back on. In this attire, he now hurried across the green pastures, anger coursing its way through his body. He urged his horse on, his anger apparent in the way he rapped her. He had already put on his leather strap and sword as they neared the town walls, only to find the gate closed. This had happened many a few times and he was not discouraged by it.
Charging the magic of the fairies into his legs, he crouched on Epona's back, the wind caressing his bare torso. Before they reached the edge of the small river that traversed around the city walls, she braked, launching him forward even as he jumped upwards, vaulting him against the city walls higher than he ever could have if he hadn't a horse and magical abilities. Catching one of the flagpoles that adorned the castle walls, he propelled himself even higher; clearing the upper edges of the wall, he fell where the guards normally stood watch.
He was greeted with not only the rising ground but also two shadows that seemed oddly misplaced. They bent under his to be falling area and urged upwards much like flame, yet they were cold and devoid of any emotion. The grabbed him by the feet and brought him down hard against the brick floor. He felt his mouth collide with the ground and angered scourged his mind, afflicting his ability to think straight. The anger within triggered a response; a blue pulse covered his fist. As his hand swooshed through the shadows, he heard a faint hissing sound, as if the shadows were hurt by its power. Yanking out his sword with savage lust, he let his magic drip into the sword before he brought it straight down upon the slithering shadows. A black mist rose from the shadows and the boy sheathed his sword, confident he had defeated his enemy.
The black haze started to form together, molding into something that looked like the boy that stood in front of him. He had no facial features, no clothes; he seemed to be the shadow that the boy had missed all his life. The black steam grew until it represented all that his opponent had on him at that moment; a bare chest, his sword in one hand and a golden emblem upon his hand. As his facial features also developed, an arrogant smile covered his face.
"Nice to see you again Link."
He attacked with speed and edge; using his sword skillfully, he lunged forward, stabbing Link if he had not countered. The black character then continued to push up against Link, head butting him and continuing by charging his hand with a power equal to that of the fairies and slamming it palm forward into his chest. As Link flew, backwards trails of dark mist flew from his body, finding haven in the darkness of the shadow of himself.
Digging his sword into the ground, he stopped himself from falling and started to trot towards his opponent. His sword was a light shade of blue, his eyes shone his anger, and he had an equally unnerving smile. He got close enough to the shadow and he flung his sword, aiming straight at his opponents head as he brought his fist down into its stomach. His shadow had dodged the sword easily but found himself open and let loose a gasp as the charged fist exploded into his body. Reacting slowly he received another punch, this time it was followed by a kick and then quite his surprise, a elbow jab as Link swerved inwards, his back now towards his shadow. The shadow then shattered as he felt a backhand charged with blue force slam against his cheeks.
"I will find you again," he fled into the night, his vapor picked up by the wind and scattered across the skies.
Link, the young boy who had just faced his own shadow, walked across the town walls and retrieved his sword. He normally liked using his sword more than actually using hand-to-hand combat but in such small confines, a sword was but a hassle. He grabbed, halting as he thought he smelled a weird scent, and continued by jumping down into the town, not knowing that a fragment of the vapor had embedded itself upon the hilt of his sword.