The creature, who had been an inscrutable observer for a month, was not quite like the beasts Link knew. It bore a humanoid form, but its limbs were impossibly long and wiry, covered in soft, pale grey fur that hinted at something ancient and untamed. Its hands were delicately proportioned, yet held an air of immense strength. Its face, framed by longer, pointed ears, was a strange, ageless tapestry—the innocent curiosity of a young boy mixed with the profound, knowing weariness of an immortal. It wore a simple, sleeveless tunic of undyed linen, but on its head, atop its short, grey hair, sat a circlet of polished, dark wood, intricately carved with symbols that seemed to writhe with their own subtle power. Its eyes, the windows to an incomprehensible age, were the deepest, most tranquil green Link had ever seen. This was not a beast of the wild; it was a being that the wild itself bowed to.
Link did not spare the creature more than a passing glance. His focus was entirely on the wall. He had no time for awe, no room for fear. Only the cold, precise calculations of his escape.
He began the ascent. It was not a grand, furious leap, but a slow, methodical crawl. His movements were deliberate, each handhold tested, each foot placement precise. The lessons learned in the long, agonizing weeks of observation and practice were now being put to the ultimate test. His injured arm, though mended, still carried the ghost of pain, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. His ankle, though stronger, sometimes buckled under the strain, sending sharp, warning signals up his leg.
The first few dozen feet were a brutal dance of muscle and will. He moved with the silence of his Sheikah blood, his body pressing against the cold stone, finding purchase in cracks no wider than his fingers. The sun, when it reached into the canyon, beat down with merciless intensity, baking the rock until it seared his skin. When it retreated, the shadows brought a chilling dampness that seeped into his bones.
Hours turned into days. Link did not climb continuously. He would find a small, precarious ledge, a slight indentation in the cliff face, and rest there, clinging to the rock like a limpet. He would eat a mouthful of dried meat, sip precious water, and then resume his grueling climb. His dreams were not of burning villages, but of falling, an endless, silent plunge into the abyss.
Below, the creature remained by its eternal campfire. It did not speak. It did not move, save for the slow, rhythmic chewing of its apples. Its green eyes, however, never left Link. It watched with an unwavering, almost scientific interest, a silent, implacable judge of the boy's struggle. It offered no encouragement, no criticism. Just observation.
Link, for his part, tried to ignore the creature. But its presence was a constant, subtle pressure, a reminder that he was not truly alone, even in his solitude. He began to see the creature's indifference not as cruelty, but as a challenge. It believed he was a pebble. He would prove it wrong. He would become the mountain.
Days blurred into a single, agonizing eternity of upward movement. His calloused fingers bled, leaving crimson streaks on the grey rock. His muscles screamed with a constant, protesting ache. His mind, stripped bare of all extraneous thought, was focused solely on the next handhold, the next foot placement, the next breath. He was no longer thinking of vengeance, or of protecting those he loved. He was thinking only of the climb. He was thinking only of survival.
He moved through the night, guided by the pale, cold light of the two moons, his body numb, his mind a single, burning point of will. He reached a particularly difficult overhang, the rock smooth and unforgiving. His good arm was shaking, his grip slipping. He gritted his teeth, focused on the searing pain in his hand, and for the first time since leaving the old man, consciously allowed the raw, cold fire of his anger to surge through him.
It was not a chaotic burst. It was controlled, a focused surge of adrenaline that gave his muscles one last, impossible burst of strength. He lunged, his fingers scraping, finding a tiny, improbable crack. He pulled himself over the overhang, collapsing onto a small, flat plateau, gasping for breath, his body shaking uncontrollably.
He had made it. He was halfway up the canyon.
He looked down, his eyes scanning the vast, dark chasm. Far below, the creature was still there, a tiny, glowing ember in the darkness. It was still watching him. And for a fleeting, disorienting moment, Link thought he saw, in the infinite green of its eyes, something that resembled… approval.
But then, the creature simply took another bite of its apple, the small, crisp sound echoing in the vast, silent canyon. And Link knew. He was still just a pebble. He still had a long, long way to climb.