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To become a Sheikah Monk, one must know patience. A quiet, unconditional devotion to the higher powers. Above all else, a Sheikah Monk must know their place in the Goddess’ divine plan.
Maz Koshia had yet to know his place. The answer lay hidden at the peak of the Hebra Mountains. Barefoot through the powdered snow, Maz pressed forward as though he trod across the lush grass of Faron. In all his years of training, he had been subjected to conditions far harsher than this. Trekked the scorching magma-lined paths of Death Mountain and meditated for hours under the rapid downpour of the Veiled Falls. The cold was nothing in comparison. This was to be the last step on his journey to Monkhood. The first step to fulfilling his true purpose.
Frost fell from his eyelashes with every blink against the wind. Fingers rigid and knuckles numb. Behind his chest, his heart rattled not from the cold but from the unknown. The unsettling mystery of his task. The Sheikah were known for keeping secrets, carrying them to their very graves and beyond. Even the monks in training had no idea what this final trial entailed; only that those who failed were said to be lost to the whims of time.
The air left his lungs like dragon’s breath when he stopped short of the mountain peak and gazed out at the misted horizon. The sky bled orange beneath a bejewelled violet tapestry as Maz watched the birthing of the dawn. A hollow silence blew across the mountain, rolling down into the snow. Peaceful, just as the rest of the kingdom had been. How it would remain to be, Maz hoped.
But that was not how the world was balanced. Peace was a fickle thing; a fleeting concept in such a delicate, perilous land. It was imperative that he find his place before the tides of fate would once again turn against Hyrule.
Slowly, Maz stepped around the mountain peak, breathing deep the thin, frigid air. Frost tickled his cheeks as he closed his eyes, invigorating his senses until he could feel the negligible waft and wobble of Chuchus shifting along the snow several metres away, and hear the swift flutter of Keese wings as they fled from the slow rising sun. A faint earthy scent tingled the hairs of his nostrils, and he knew Cool Safflina flowers must be hidden somewhere nearby.
Suddenly a familiar pulse rang through his body. Taut muscles tensed at the sensation. He was close. With open eyes, Maz rounded the summit and descended to the other side until he saw the shrine’s entrance. The structure was half-buried in the snow, almost entirely embedded in the mountain. All that could be seen was its rounded stone doorway and the soft blue glow of ancient runes behind sheets of white.
Stone began to rumble and grind, shedding the shrine of its snowy coating. The door rolled up, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. Shoulders squared, Maz filled his lungs with air and braced himself. Like any monk in training, he had mastered all manner of combat. His lean body was adept to stealth, flexible yet hardy. Hands calloused by years of gripping cleavers, blades and shurikens.
Yet many of his peers had been just as proficient and many of them had failed this final test. Whatever lay ahead, Maz was wise enough to know that he might not defeat it. But with enough courage to try, he stepped into the shadows.
The moment his foot hit the stone floor, a ring of floating blue flames roared to life. Three monks stood in the centre of the ring, willowy men with arms and legs like deep veined branches yet all the resilience of a mighty Deku tree.
“Come forth, Maz Koshia,” the tallest monk spoke. “Sit.”
Maz obeyed. Obedience was the first lesson the Sheikah Monks had taught him, after all. Only when he was settled, cross-legged on the cold hard floor, did he glance cautiously between the other two monks.
One clasped his bony fingers around a thin glass vial, swirling with lavender mist. The other tentatively held a peculiar mask with a single unblinking eye and a wide red smile. The painted lines were chipped, narrow curves dull and cracked.
“Do you know what this is?” the tallest monk asked.
Maz’s jaw tightened as he pondered over the strange relic. Aside from the unmistakable Sheikah Eye upon its face, it was unlike anything he had seen or read of before. A strange power emanated from the mask, making the hairs of his neck quiver.
“It is an ancient Sheikah artefact,” he guessed.
“This is the Mask of Truth,” the monk holding the mask spoke. “Crafted by the Sheikah when the Goddess still walked the earth. In the hands of a mere Hylian, it will reveal snippets of the truth. Small secrets and hidden treasures. But this mask knows far more than most living souls ever will.”
“With this vapour,” the third monk held up his vial of smoke, “your mind’s eye will open and the mask will unleash everything it knows unto you. Everything that has happened since the dawn of creation, and everything that will happen until the end of days. But heed this: such knowledge can drive a man to madness if he has not mastered his own mind. Will you accept this challenge?”
A vigorous drumbeat pounded in Maz’s chest, and he could only hope the elder monks hadn’t heard it. This was his single goal in life. The very thing he had set out to achieve since he was just a boy, skipping across the rocks by Lake Siela and gathering apples for his grandmother’s favourite dessert. Now the thought of achieving that goal terrified him. There was a good reason why no mere man could perceive all of time. All of everything.
What horrors would he see? If he survived it, would he only wish that he hadn’t?
Now was not the time for doubts. After all he had toiled and travelled, he could not live his life without ever knowing. Not now. The mask stared at him, deep into his soul as though it could read his very mind. That mask held all the answers.
Breathing in slowly, Maz steadied his shivering heart. “In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I accept the gift of Her divine knowledge.”
The two monks enclosed in on him, dark cloaks blocking out the simmering blue flames. Maz could barely see in the dim light; could only hear the vial’s cork pop open. A thin vapour flowed into his nostrils, wet and burning like cinnamon and chlorine. His vision blurred, but it made little difference. Once the mask was placed upon his face, he couldn’t see a thing.
The gentle hum of the blue flames felt distant now. A light, dizzy air consumed his body and it took every ounce of his muscles to keep himself upright. It felt as though he were floating, not up and out of his body but inside the vast cavern of his mind. Alone in a perpetual, empty space.
Up above, amidst the endless black, a small light flickered. It pulsed white, soft at first. But its whistled song grew louder, brighter, shrill . Suddenly he was consumed by merciless light, burning into his laden eyes.
Millions upon millions of images and sounds flooded his mind. Screaming, flashing, relentless. Overwhelming his senses until he forgot how to breathe. Until every nerve in his body was electric, heart beating harder and faster until it was a constant rumble that could burst from his ribcage at any moment.
Blood ran cold through his veins. Eyes welled as he choked on nothing. Drowning in mid-air.
Thoughts of the Sheikah Monks swirled in his mind. Countless others had gone before him. The monks that he admired as a child, those that trained him and watched over him now. He could not allow himself to fail. He would not allow himself to be a waste of time.
His chest burned hotter than the sands of Gerudo Desert, but Maz willed away the mangled images and foreign sounds that plagued him. With clenched his fists, he tensed his calves, his jaw, everything . But the muscle that mattered the most was his mind.
‘ Focus, ’ he repeated over and over, allowing the words to take root and ground him.
After several laboured attempts, a gasp rattled through every bone in his body. The sky opened up to him like a breath of fresh air. But the sky was empty. Infinite.
Three golden figures burst through the blackness like shooting stars. Before his very eyes, the world was created from nothingness. Filled with strange primitive creatures, living forests, beguiled dragons and fantastic leviathans. A glowing Goddess dressed in white. The embodiment of grace. She played with the first people to walk the land, strumming her golden harp and filling the world with music.
All too soon, smoke filled the air. The earth’s crust cracked, demons bursting forth from the fiery depths. They clawed and culled. Marred and maimed. The Goddess took up a sword, rallying her troops with righteous tenacity. Fought tooth and nail for her home. Her people. But when the dark burning shadow of Demise closed in, the ground where Maz stood shook. A little island rose promptly into the sky. Beyond the clouds, where he saw the fall of the Goddess. The birth of a golden-haired girl. Children carried on the backs of great birds until one day the island tumbled back to the surface.
He saw the girl born over and over again.
He saw the evil that hunted her through each generation.
He saw branched and broken paths. Ones of downfall, of darkness, of devastating floods. Things that had not yet come to pass, and things that already had in another world.
And soon, he saw himself. In his own time. Sitting alone in the shrine, meditating indefinitely. Beyond that. To the Calamity that loomed overhead, when it would finally be unleashed. Maz could smell the smoke of blood and bones, watched as people were run out of their homes and Hyrule Castle was consumed by malice. The princess too; the golden-haired girl who had been born again and again to fend off this ancient evil. The Goddess reborn.
Maz tried to force his body forward. Tried to reach the Goddess before she made another needless sacrifice. He could help . He could fight by her side .
But he was stuck. A mere observer to the destruction of a land he cherished. Flashing fortunes dragged his mind away. The world turned one hundred times more and only then did he see the fabled hero emerge from a slumbering cave. Saw the Master Sword unsheathed. The Calamity conquered. The Goddess freed. One hundred years of suffering. One hundred years of lives snuffed out of existence, villages trampled and destroyed beyond recognition. Waiting .
Was this really Her Divine Plan?
Were the Sheikah Monks really to sit and wait and waste away while the world burned?
A fire roared deep within his chest, willing him to search for another way. There had to be more, hidden deep within the cracks of truth. He centred all of his focus on the scenes laid before him. Strained his teeth and heart and mind. Desperate for a way to fight the whims of fate.
A faint blue orb pulsed softly in his periphery.
A sweet melody whistled in the distance.
It compelled him. Maz followed that soft glow. Pushed hard against the thick tar-like atmosphere of his mind, past twisting timelines and upside-down worlds, until he stumbled upon another faint path beyond the fray.
A new path. As if some string of fate had been snipped up and tied to another. The blue orb was not of Maz’s time, yet it found its way there. Before the Calamity.
The timorous timeline unfolded before his eyes. Demise lurked around every corner, revealing a thousand new possibilities. More death and failure. Brothers lost and sisters fallen. Kings crushed and Divine Beasts in ruins. Yet the blue orb marched on until finally, to his utter relief, Maz saw it. The path of least casualties, where Hyrule Castle would never fall. Where the Goddess need not suffer for one hundred years in wait for Her hero.
Where Maz Koshia could fulfil his true purpose.
The mask peeled from his face like hardened skin. When Maz lifted his heavy head, he was blinded by the faint candlelight held above him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he listened to the person’s footsteps. A cloak wafted around their shuffling feet.
“Finally. You have awoken,” a new voice spoke. One Maz was sure he had never heard before, and yet he knew it to be a Sheikah Elder. “We feared we had lost you to the mask. No other monk has taken quite so long.”
Maz stood, surprised by the tightness of his skin and the weightlessness of his arms. He felt thin. Frail. His knees ached, but he stood his ground.
“Now that you have seen the Divine Plan, you understand what awaits us,” the voice continued. “One hundred and twelve years from now, we are to test the chosen hero. I recommend you resume your training immediately and prepare the trial you wish to set for him.”
“Why,” Maz croaked, “are we not making preparations to prevent the Calamity?”
The sound of his own voice was utterly foreign to his ears. It was dry, heavy, cutting his throat as it passed through him. He could hear the shift in the Sheikah’s step. The twist of their lips and scrunch of their forehead.
“You have seen the Plan,” they repeated incredulously. “You know there is nothing we can do. No matter how we intervene, Hyrule Castle will always fall. The princess will always be trapped in a battle against Calamity Ganon for one hundred years. All we can do is ensure the hero survives in the interim. Once he is resurrected, we will aid him on his quest.”
It became clear to Maz then that only he had seen the blue orb. The very thing that led him to a better timeline. A way to save the Champions and one hundred years of tragedy. Perhaps the Goddess chose him to see it. The only monk who wasn’t prepared to sit idly by and slowly calcify while the world collapsed.
Twelve years to retrain his body and set up a most difficult trial for the hero. Twelve years to wait for the little blue orb to emerge from another time.
Then Maz would reject the pacifism expected of a Sheikah Monk and embrace his true calling. This time, Hyrule would triumph.