He had broken through the labyrinth of illusions, but his path was not yet clear. Link stood at the edge of a circular clearing, the entrance to the sacred grove the Great Bear had shown him. The air here was immensely heavy, thick with a sorrow so ancient and profound it felt like the bedrock of the world itself. And blocking the way, standing as silent and as still as the trees around it, was the grove's guardian.
It was a creature of the forest itself, a golem forged from ancient stone, gnarled ironwood, and living, green moss. It was immense, its broad shoulders the width of a farmer's cart, its long arms like the thickest branches of an oak. In another age, its presence would have been formidable, radiating a power as deep and as patient as the forest. But now, that power was shrouded. Its great, stony head was bowed, and the soft, green light that should have glowed from the seams in its body was a dim, flickering, sickly yellow. It was a guardian consumed by the very despair it was meant to be guarding against.
As Link took a step into the clearing, the golem's head lifted slowly, ponderously. Two points of yellow light ignited in the darkness of its face, focusing on him. A voice, not of words but of pure, weary thought, echoed in Link's mind. It was the sound of grinding stone and sighing leaves.
...None may pass...
The thought was not a threat. It was a statement of utter exhaustion.
Link stopped. He looked at the golem, at its slumped posture, at the palpable aura of grief that surrounded it. He knew a sword would be useless here. To fight this creature would be like fighting a man who had already surrendered to his own sorrow. This was not an enemy to be defeated; it was a friend to be saved.
The golem took a heavy, dragging step forward. ...The heart is too fragile... a single touch might break it... you will only bring more sorrow...
It raised a massive, stone-fist, not to strike, but simply to bar his way. Its movements were slow, reluctant, the actions of a being performing its last duty on will alone. As it moved, Link saw it—a large, ugly patch on its stone shoulder where the living green moss had withered and died, replaced by a creeping, grey decay. A spiritual wound.
Link did not draw his sword. He did not raise his shield. He lowered his pack to the ground, took out his ocarina, and stood before the grieving titan. He began to play. He chose the Song of Healing, its pure, magical notes a stark contrast to the grove's oppressive silence.
He focused the music not on the grove, but on the golem itself. He poured all his empathy into the melody, a silent offering of comfort and strength. As he played, a soft, green light began to emanate from the ocarina, a gift from the Dryads he had yet to meet, and that light flowed through the air and touched the golem's wounded shoulder.
The golem shuddered. The grey, withered moss began to flake away, turning to dust. And beneath it, in the barren stone, a new, vibrant patch of green moss slowly began to grow, its color rich and full of life. The sickly yellow light in the golem's eyes flickered, and for a moment, it burned with its proper, healthy green. A wave of profound relief washed from the guardian, a feeling of a cool drink of water after an age of thirst.
It lowered its arm. The path was clear.
...A healer... the golem's thought echoed, the weariness in it now touched with wonder. ...The heart has waited so long for a song of healing... Pass, little one. Perhaps your hope is strong enough to survive what lies ahead...
The great guardian stepped aside, its stony head bowing in a gesture of immense, weary gratitude. Link gave a respectful nod in return and walked past it, into the heart of the forest's pain.