Roman Festivals

Perhaps the end of the world, in other universes, did not involve so much busywork for the hero. Was it truly busywork, though - what else was there to saving the world, such as it was, if not setting alight and aright the hearts of those who lived in it?

The more he got to know the people of Termina, in Clock Town and the four reaches far beyond, the more determined Link became in his quest. The threat of Skull Kid's caprice was perhaps slightly more impersonal than Ganondorf had been to Hyrule, but the spirit was the same. Even this ostensibly doomed, dismal world was full of so much life and love.

Anju and Kafei personified Link's side quests most. However, a similar tale of bittersweet yearning transpired between the playwright Minoth (pseudonym Cole) and his traveling partner Addam.

"I don't know where he's gone," Minoth admitted, so easily but so gravely to a boy he'd never met nor heard of. "It's been years since I saw him last. And now I come to regret..."

Stacks and stacks of papers filled the cluttered office. Some were bound; most weren't.

"I gave up on finishing this play properly just as the moon began to snarl. But the idea just wouldn't leave me, so I keep writing it out in dribs and drabs."

He went on to explain the principal thrust: hope and community spirit embodied by a partnership of all tribes and races, fighting an ominous force that turns out to be just the other side of the same coin from our own nature. People taking each other in, growing together.

Nobody was taking Link in, here. He just helped them all the best he could, stitching together memories and tools and time, and time, and time. Each cycle, he helped someone different. Occasionally, he doubled back and ran the same route again.

Just as he always did, when Minoth implored Link to look for a man named Addam somewhere out in the vast fields, Link nodded, made a note as the Bombers had taught him, and scheduled a visit to Milk Road.

It wasn't that far a trip. Indeed, old man Cole, as he seemed to present himself, was decrepit, and would sway slightly when he talked if he didn't have such strong posture (if he wasn't so hunched).

If the playwright could have penned that the world didn't end, would he? Or were they all, the Terminans, just quietly wed to the certainty of the moon kissing the clock tower a wretched good night, on this the third of all days?

Link watched Minoth bowing, his eyes glued to the back of the theater where a single man, uncharacteristically silent, shone an unmistakable gold.