The new philosophy was a potent fuel. Link, now convinced that his pain was the true source of his power, pushed himself north with a singular, obsessive focus. He was no longer just training his body; he was honing his will, seeking to make it as hard and as unforgiving as the world that had betrayed him. He saw the vision of the champions gathering at the castle not as a sign of hope, but as a gathering of fools. They would talk while he acted. He would become strong enough on his own terms to be the only force that mattered. This cold, arrogant thought was a shield against the grief that still festered deep within his soul.
His path took him through the treacherous, winding canyons of Hyrule Ridge. It was a land of crumbling rock and sudden, sheer drops, but in his newfound confidence, he saw no danger. He was faster, stronger than he had ever been. He moved with a reckless speed, leaping across chasms and scaling rock faces, his inhuman stamina pushing him ever onward.
It was this hubris that became his undoing.
He was crossing an old, narrow rock bridge, a natural arch of sandstone that spanned a chasm so deep its bottom was lost in shadow. He was so focused on his destination, so lost in the cold fire of his own will, that he did not see the network of fine, hairline cracks in the stone beneath his feet. He took a step, and with a sharp, grating crack, the world fell away.
There was no time to react. He felt a moment of stomach-lurching weightlessness, the wind screaming past his ears, the blur of the canyon walls a dizzying rush. He tried to twist, to protect himself, but the ground came up to meet him with a final, brutal impact. And then, only darkness.
He awoke slowly, a throbbing, white-hot pain in his left arm and a deep, grinding ache in his ankle the first heralds of his return to consciousness. He was at the bottom of the canyon. By some miracle, the fall had not killed him, but it had broken him in a way no monster ever had. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and a sharp, stabbing pain shot up his leg when he tried to move.
He pushed himself up, his vision swimming. And then he realized he was not alone.
A few feet away, a small, perfectly neat campfire crackled, its flames casting a gentle, warm glow on the canyon floor. Sitting on a smooth, flat stone beside it was a creature. It was vaguely humanoid, lithe and wiry, with soft, grey fur covering its limbs and a long, prehensile tail that was idly tracing patterns in the dust. It wore a simple, sleeveless tunic, and its face was a strange, ageless mix of a boy and an old man, with long, pointed ears and eyes that held a profound, ancient amusement. The creature was simply sitting there, poking the fire with a long, slender stick.
Link's training took over. He gritted his teeth against the pain and reached for his father's sword with his good arm.
"Gravity," the creature said, without looking up. Its voice was light, melodic, and utterly calm. "The first and most honest of all the gods. It does not care for your anger, or your destiny."
The creature's casual, effortless perception of his inner state was more alarming than any threat. Link pulled himself fully upright, his hand now gripping his sword's hilt, his stance a broken, painful imitation of the one Korgon had taught him.
"That sword is sleeping," the creature continued, its eyes still fixed on the fire. "And the other one is full of your father's sorrow. Neither of them will help you climb out of this hole."
Link froze, his mind reeling. This being knew everything. He was a child's open book to it. Wounded pride and a surge of his newfound, cultivated anger made him take a defiant step forward. His injured ankle gave way. He stumbled, dislodging a large, heavy boulder from the canyon wall beside him. It tumbled down, a deadly projectile aimed directly at the creature's head.
The creature did not flinch. It did not look up. It simply extended the thin, simple stick it was holding. The massive boulder, which weighed more than a Goron, stopped dead in the air, a single centimeter from the tip of the stick, its immense momentum utterly and completely negated. It hung there for a moment in an impossible, silent stillness. Then, with a gentle nudge from the stick, it floated softly to the ground, landing with the silent grace of a falling feather.
Link stared, all the fight, all the anger, all the arrogant resolve of the past month draining out of him, replaced by a sense of awe so profound it was almost a religious terror. He was in the presence of a power that operated on a scale he could not begin to comprehend.
The creature finally turned its head, its ancient, amused eyes meeting Link's. It gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"You are a very heavy pebble, Hero of Hyrule," it said, its voice still light and melodic. "Cast into a pond. You make many, many ripples." It turned its attention back to the fire. "But you are still just a pebble. And you are sinking."
It poked the glowing embers with its stick, sending a small shower of sparks into the air.
"The question is," it mused to the flames, "what will you choose to be when you finally hit the bottom?"