Dawn in the Ashen Plains was a brutal affair. There was no gentle diffusion of light, only a sharp, sudden line drawn across the horizon, as if a great furnace door had been thrown open. The cold of the night did not fade; it was violently banished by a dry, searing heat that promised a day of trial. Link was awake before the first light touched the canyon rim, his body already aching in anticipation. He found Korgon waiting for him at the forge's entrance, the massive Goron's stony form seeming to draw power from the first rays of the sun.
"So," the Goron's voice rumbled, the sound of a deep-earth tremor. "The little twig did not break in the night." There was no warmth in his tone, only a grim statement of fact. "The work begins."
Link expected drills, stances, perhaps a lesson on parrying. He was wrong. Korgon's idea of a first lesson was far more fundamental. He pointed a finger the size of a chisel at a massive, solitary pillar of black basalt that stood at the edge of the forge's clearing, its surface scarred and chipped from years of the Goron's own casual tests of strength.
"The spirits of the woods filled your head with heroic nonsense," Korgon growled. "But heroism is just a word. Strength is a fact. Show me the strength of a Hylian hero. Strike the stone."
Link drew his father's sword. The blade felt light and familiar in his hand. He settled into the practical, balanced stance Rohm had taught him, a stance designed for efficiency and defense. He focused his will, his breath, and struck. The sword cut the air with a clean hiss and impacted the basalt with a sharp, ringing CLANG. A few sparks flew. A painful, jarring vibration shot up his arm, and when he looked, he saw he had left a scratch on the stone no deeper than his fingernail.
Korgon let out a short, explosive laugh that sounded like a rockslide. "A stinging fly!" he roared. "Fast. Annoying. But you couldn't break a rock in a landslide. You do not fight with the sword, boy. You are just swinging it."
He strode over and took the sword from Link's unresisting hand. He held it not like a weapon, but as a smith holds a tool, feeling its essence. "This is not a toy," he said, his voice lowering to a serious, rumbling lecture. "It is a piece of the mountain's heart, given form through fire and will. To wield it, you must have the mountain in you. Your strength must come from the ground, not from your arms."
He gestured to Link's feet. "Your stance. It is like a leaf in the wind, ready to be blown away." He shoved Link's feet apart, forcing him into a lower, wider, more grounded position that felt awkward and slow. "The mountain does not dance. It stands." He then repositioned Link's hands on the hilt. "Your grip. You hold it like a child holding a doll. You must hold it as if your hands are the roots of a tree. It is a part of you."
When Korgon was done, Link felt clumsy, heavy, and rooted to the spot. The Goron nodded, a flicker of something like approval in his fiery eyes. "Good. Now you look less like a hero and more like a rock. We can work with a rock."
But the day's training had nothing more to do with the sword. Korgon pointed to a pile of scrap metal and a blacksmith's hammer—a smaller one, but still heavy enough that Link had to struggle to lift it with two hands.
"Your enemy is not a lizard," the Goron grumbled. "It is the steel. The steel is honest. It will not bend for you unless you have the will to command it. Make it bend."
And so began Link's first lesson. For hours, under the blistering sun, he did nothing but hammer hot metal. His arms screamed, his back ached, and sweat poured from him, sizzling on the hot stone floor. He learned to put the force not just of his arms, but of his legs, his back, his entire being into each strike, just to make a dent in the unyielding metal.
When he was about to collapse from exhaustion, the lesson changed. Korgon pointed to a great pile of heavy, basalt rocks at one end of the canyon. Then he pointed to the other. "The mountain does not tire," he stated, as if this explained everything. "The mountain does not complain. To have its strength, you must understand its patience."
Link spent the afternoon hauling rocks, his muscles burning with a fire that dwarfed the forge. Each rock was a new torment, each step a battle of will. He was no longer a boy; he was a beast of burden, performing a seemingly pointless, Sisyphean task.
His final trial of the day was the great bellows. "A hero's spirit must be a fire that never goes out," Korgon roared over the groan of the leather. "And a fire needs air. It needs will. Pump."
Link pumped until his arms were numb, his vision blurring, the only thing keeping him standing the sheer, stubborn refusal to fall. He was forcing the forge's heart to beat, feeding the fire that was meant to purify and strengthen, and in doing so, he was feeding his own.
As the sun finally set, casting long, merciful shadows across the canyon, Korgon called a halt. Link collapsed against the forge wall, his body a single, throbbing ache, covered in soot, sweat, and the metallic tang of his own grueling labor. He looked at his father's sword, lying untouched where he had left it. He then looked at the massive Goron, a silent question in his exhausted eyes. Why this? Why not teach me how to fight?
Korgon seemed to read the question. He walked over and stood before Link, a great, rocky shadow against the dying light. "You think this is about fighting lizards?" he rumbled, his voice losing its mocking edge for the first time. "You think I am a brute teaching you how to be a bigger brute? This is about worthiness."
He gestured with his great head toward the high, sun-scorched mountains that loomed on the horizon. "Up there," he said, his voice taking on a new, reverent tone, "in a place the world has forgotten, sleeping in a cradle of ancient light, is a blade of legend. The Blade of Evil's Bane. The Master Sword."
He knelt, bringing his fiery eyes level with Link's. The intensity in his gaze was a physical force. "It is not a sword you can lift with clever tricks and a quick wrist. It is a sword that tastes the spirit, yes. The Deku Tree's vision told me yours was pure." He leaned closer. "But it also tests the body. It is a vessel of divine power, and it demands a will of stone and a foundation as strong as the mountain to even be held. It will shatter the body of anyone who is not strong enough to be its master."
He stood up, his point made. "You want to be a hero? You want to fight the shadow that poisons the world?" Korgon grunted, a sound of finality. "First, you must prove you are strong enough to hold the light."
Link stared past the Goron, his gaze fixed on the distant, silent mountains where the legendary sword slept. The brutal, agonizing, seemingly pointless day suddenly snapped into a sharp, epic focus. This was not a punishment. It was a pilgrimage. He looked down at his own aching, soot-stained hands, then back at the forge. A new fire, hotter and stronger than any furnace, ignited in his soul. The path was harder than he had ever imagined. But the prize was greater than he had ever dreamed.