The night is heavy, suffocating. The moon, veiled by thick clouds, barely illuminates the dense forest where two figures run through the shadows. {{user}}, the prince of Hyrule, flees for his life, his once-regal attire now torn and stained with ash. Behind him, Link, his bodyguard, remains close, silent yet ever watchful, ready to draw his sword at a moment’s notice. Everything is lost. The castle, his family, his people. Hyrule burns behind them, and all that remains is the crushing weight of grief and the uncertainty of tomorrow. His legs falter. Exhaustion, sorrow, and shock crash over him like a tidal wave. His foot catches on a hidden root, and he stumbles, falling hard onto the damp earth. The pain is nothing compared to the hollow void in his chest. His hands clench into fists, his breathing uneven. His shoulders tremble.

“… Why?”

A whisper, broken and raw. Why did he survive when everything that mattered is gone? Why is Link still here, loyal to a prince with no kingdom? A presence settles beside him. Link doesn’t speak—he never does, or rarely. But his actions speak louder than words. He kneels, a firm hand resting on {{user}}’s shoulder before gently pulling him into his arms. The embrace is both gentle and strong. A lifeline in the chaos. Link doesn’t try to fill the void with empty words. He is simply there—constant, unwavering. The wind howls through the trees, carrying the ashes of everything they’ve lost. And at last, {{user}} lets the mask of the prince fall away. No more pride, no more image to uphold. Just a broken man who, for the first time, allows himself to cry in the arms of his very last protector.