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The moon rose over the plateau, bathing it in a serene silver light. Link stretched, shifting over to check the - what had that voice called it? - the Sheikah Slate? That seemed right.
The time flashed up on the blue-tinted screen. 5 hours until sunrise. That seemed doable. Link had worked out, after a few sleepless nights, that he could sit silently for hours on end by the flickering flames of a campfire. It was a useful skill. He wondered when he had learned to do it. Or had he always been able to? Just another thing to add to his list of missing memories.
And it was a nice break, from hunting down shrines, to stare into the night and just wonder, for a few precious hours. About how he got here (he couldn't remember) and where he was going (he didn't know). And it was a hundred times (a hundred years?) better than the alternative, too.
If he knew one thing (because he certainly didn't remember anything) Link was never going to sleep again.
For one thing, he had already had a lifetimes worth (a hundred years, if the old man was telling the truth) For another…
Every time he closed his eyes, he could see it, playing out in vivid colour on the back of his eyelids.
Hungry, ferocious, flames, crackling as they burnt away all that was green and good, consuming it with ravenous abandon until there was nothing but ash and scorched earth left behind. Thick, acrid, smoke, filling his lungs until he choked on it, rasping out another breath like it was his last. Someone calling, yelling, crying, his name, over and over again, the sound ricocheting round his mind like a goron (what was that?) in a caldera.
It… unsettled him, to say the least. Memories floated in his mind, but whenever he tried to remember, they slipped though his fingers, just out of reach. He had a feeling that, if he could just unlock them, understand what had happened Before, everything would make sense.
Why there were ruins, abandoned and half-rotted, sprawling across the plateau like an invasive plant. Why it was desolate and deserted of all human life (except for the old man, of course). Why there was some sort of great slug beast thing surrounding the castle. Why he, at just 17 (too young to drink in the milk bar, if only he could rememberwhat that was), had died - a heart stopped, a life cut short by cruel fate - and been buried in that shrine.
For that matter, why anyone had died.
Link could feel the constant ache of grief in his chest. If it could even be called that, when you couldn't remember who - or what - you mourned.
At the very least, Link had lost someone very close to him. Probably many, going off the pain in his heart every time he tried to imagine Before.
Did he have a family? Were they dead too? Link had the vague idea that a 17 year old should have a family and a place to call home, not a crumbling plateau and a slightly creepy old man.
All he had was that neverending ache for the warm embrace of a missing person, and a crushing grief for somebody he couldn't even remember - not a face, not a name, not even a distant glimpse of a smile or laugh or hug or any memory that slipped through his fingers like so many grains of sand.
How sad it was then, to be the only person to still know someone (if it had really been a hundred years) - living proof that they existed, that they were here - but still not be able to remember them.
For them, Link decided. I may not remember a single thing about you, but I will do anything - adhere to the old man's crazy demands, travel the length and breadth of this world, even fight that beast - to ensure that, as long as I still draw breath, you will never be forgotten.
The fire was dying - burnt down to embers and ashes. Above the small wisps of smoke, Link could see the first glimmers of sunlight peeking over the horizon. Yawning, he rose and streched, reattaching the slate to his waist.
It was the dawn of a new day, and Link was ready.