Loss.

It was a flicker of foretelling that wound around his spine, something that called out to him from across the world. And suddenly there was a void within him, as half of his soul left his world, fallen into a trap, calling from across dimensions.

That night, he dreamt of a masked imp, a pair of fairies and a terrible moon in the horizon. He dreamed of a broken world, doomed by the ticking of the clock. Of monsters like there were none in his own world, of masks and stories, of people with shattered lives that tried to piece them together before their time unraveled into shreds.

But above it all, he dreamed of the Hero, a child not older than himself, wielding Time itself as his best weapon, with the strength of will to bend the world around himself. With deep blue eyes and golden hair, a silly grin and a serious scowl. A creature of destiny that called out to him, with a silent plea to find him, to guard him.

And alone in a tend, the small Sheikah child trembled, for now he knew the bitter taste of loneliness... the telltale signs of sure Loss.