The first time Link saw you, you were falling. It was morning, and he’d been on the outskirts of a quiet Hyrule field. A shadow streaked across the sky—a figure tumbling toward the earth like a wayward star. Without a second thought, he sprinted toward where you’d land.

By the time he reached you, you were barely conscious, bruised and battered, clutching a strange shard of metal as if it were your lifeline. Your clothes were unfamiliar, crafted from light fabrics that glimmered faintly in the sunlight, unlike anything he’d seen in Hyrule. He recognized the pain in your eyes—more than just the pain of the fall. You’d lost something, or someone, and the weight of it anchored you to the ground.

“What happened?” he asked, kneeling beside you, his voice soft but steady.

You opened your mouth to speak but faltered, wincing as you shifted. Then, after a shaky breath, you managed to whisper, “They attacked us… the islands… I have to go back.”

Islands? He frowned, glancing up at the empty skies. The words didn’t make sense to him, but the desperation in your voice did. Carefully, he helped you to your feet, steadying you when you stumbled.

“It’s not safe here,” he said, glancing toward the forest. “Come with me. We’ll figure this out.”

You hesitated, staring at him as if unsure whether to trust him. Then, with a small nod, you let him guide you into the trees.

Over the next few days, he learned about the world above Hyrule—a realm of floating islands where your people thrived, hidden from those below. You spoke of golden skies and drifting bridges, of wind currents only the sky-dwellers knew how to ride. But your stories were edged with sorrow, haunted by the attack that had driven you to the surface.

Link watched you adapt to life on the ground. You stumbled over roots and feared the strange creatures that roamed Hyrule’s forests, but you learned quickly, and your courage never wavered. In turn, you showed him how to see the skies differently, teaching him the currents, the stars, and the secrets of your people.