Plurk paste

Long ago, it is said, three golden goddesses formed the Land of Hyrule, each blessing it with their power, as it seemed good to them. Din, whose fire formed the lands. Farore, whose wind brought life. And Nayru, whose water carried order. And when their tasks were done, they left Hyrule, leaving behind three pieces of themselves, and the goddess Hylia to guard it. But all this happened a very, very, long time ago. So long ago that even this tale is but the faintest of rumors, passed down through the Ages.

Long ago, there were three jewels, that captured the Light that was before moon and sun, so beautiful that all the world went to war for them, kin killing kin, and cities brought down into blood and ruin, the earth itself cracking in distress beneath the weight. In the end, they found their long homes away from the grief and strife, one carried up into the airs of the world, to sail high amongst the stars, seeking ever onwards. One to hide in the deeps of the sea, carrying the murmur of the wisdom of the waves. And one cast down into the fires at the heart of the world. But this tale too, is very, very old.

Which is the truth of it?

Perhaps both, perhaps neither.

But there are always three.

Three golden goddesses, three pieces of the triforce. Three jewels. One for power, one for wisdom, and one for courage.

Power’s piece remembers a king without a crown, an escaped thrall, a man who became a monster despite his best efforts otherwise. Tall and crowned with hair like flames. It still seeks out that memory. But power burns, for it remembers that too. Ultimately, it will destroy, unless brought to heel.

Courage remembers a sailor bold, too young for his destiny, who left everything he loved behind to seek aid for those unable to seek it for themselves, and gave up the life he wanted for their sake. It remembers hair like flaxen gold and eyes as blue as the sea that whispered ever in his ears, and still, it seeks out that memory. Courage is restless, always, ever seeking, never finding, but always lighting the way and bringing Hope. But the price it demands is always high.

Wisdom remembers Song, strong enough to cleave gold and stir hearts. It remembers the heavy weight of lives that might have been spared, if only they had courage enough, it remembers the grief of not stopping power’s fury. It remembers the comfort of the waves and the fear of the storm, the clarity that comes too late. Wisdom follows behind, as it always has, trying to mitigate the damage, and mourning when it is never enough.

There are always three.