It’s been three months since the last one of these, which feels odd given how frequently I’ve been both tired and sad during that time period. I don’t really have a great answer about why it took me this long to write another one (maybe I was too excited about Tears of the Kingdom to think about anything else or maybe I was too tired/sad to think about anything other than how tired/sad I was?), but this past week has been a doozy that has left me emotionally drained and sad in a more manageable way than the past few months so I guess I’m back to writing about The Legend of Zelda rather than what I’m sad about. Which, you know, probably is a good thing since these posts are an effort to shake myself out of my mood and lift my spirits, so it’s definitely progress that I’m trying to do anything positive at all.

My favorite part of playing through Breath of the Wild initially was seeing the world change every time it rained. Short climbs I could handle with ease suddenly became insurmountable. Battles that I could handle without worry suddenly carried the threat of death from above preceeded by the anxiety-inducing crackle of imminent lightning. The great equalizer of all creatures, fire, was rendered useless. The people of the world ran for cover, either hurrying in the direction of their destination or fleeing to tents, homes, stables, or trees in order to keep dry. Some traveling merchant you stopped on the road to talk might remark on the weather, offering you a lower price for items in hopes of wrapping up the transaction more quickly. Only the monsters, abberations given life by a power desiring the destruction fo all things, did not change their behavior, still dancing around unlight fires and clinging to what weapons they were given despite the the warning crackle of lightning or the example of their allies being struck down by the forces of nature. It always made me want to join the NPCs under cover, away from the dangers of the storm, so I could watch the rain fall and enjoy a few moments of peace before I inevitably continued on my journey.

I spent a long time looking for something like that in Tears of the Kingdom. I spent time appreciating the rain and the way the world seemed more responsive than even Breath of the Wild did. I moved through the weather, noting the way different people reacted different ways, each of them a reflection of the things they cared about, some fleeing for cover to protect their outfits, some hoping to take advantage of the silence the rain created, some even enjoying the weather just because it was so different from what they were used to. In different parts of the world, as the rain changed to snow or the weather shifted to warm or cold, people responded accordingly, commenting on the way things had changed in the recent Upheaval (named such because things fell from the sky and rose out of the ground, shaking the world into an altered shape that brought both new wonders to explore and the loss of familiar comforts). Some complained about the biting cold in the northwest, the odd disappearance of of the heat in the northeast, the loss of natural beauty in the east, and the rising wind and sandstorms in the southwest. The world had changed, becoming more dangerous than it had ever been even as it offered new opportunities for those willing to take risks. The familiar comforts and worries of the relatively stable world from a few years prior (in Breath of the Wild) were gone and the peace I’d enjoyed in the rain was gone as well. Now I had caves to explore, an underground world to fill with light, and a space above the clouds to try to comprehend.

What peace I can find is short-lived. It is moments of listening to music performed at stables as I pause to rest before carrying on. It is searching the world below me for any points of interest or a new shrine to explore as I slowly fall out of the sky. It is taking twenty minutes to build an odd contraption of dubious utility that I’ll use for five minutes before my curiosity and desire to go somewhere the contraption cannot pull me far enough away from my vehicle that it despawns. It is walking through a forest, looking for mushrooms, before a tree leaps out of the ground to attack me. It is taking the time to walk around the burgeoning town south of what remains of Hyrule Castle to see what has changed since the last time I was there or my latest plot advancement. It is any time I can grab between the danger, exploration, and quests that fill almost every moment of the game. Peace seems even more precious than it used to because of how rare it is and how impossible it feels to create it on my own like I could in Breath of the Wild.

What has replaced a desire for peace in my heart is a desire for connection. The people of the world change, wander, and remember. Any time I find someone in need of help, who has a quest that can only be addressed by me, and assist them, they eventually leave me with a request to say hello if I ever spot them out in the world. While they might not be able to number the times I’ve run into them, they remember that I helped them. They remember the work we’ve done together. Some of them even offer new quests based on what has happened in their life since the last time I met them. Even the towns and the people who live in them change, marking the passage of time not by the days and nights that pass, but by the actions I take to impact their lives.

Change occurs slowly in this world, despite the occasional drastic event, not because time is slow to pass but because it is moved forward by the interactions of people. Time will change little without action and this game reaffirms that on every level from the minor interactions of homeless wanderers to the rise and fall of town governments. The whole world often seems to hinge on Link and me driving it forward, but it is impossible to miss the point the game carefully makes that all we’re doing is providing a single (albeit frequently pivotal) piece of the larger puzzle. The people of the world have lives that we are but a blip in. They have worked on a problem for a long time and all we do is give them a little help to finish their work. We are mighty heros saving the world one person at a time.

It is difficult not to focus on the small details in this game. The thrill of exploration, of finding what lies under or behind the next hill, of bringing a just a bit more light to the darkness. The entire game is made of these things that, over time, add up to the huge moments of battling giant foes, solving mysteries of the world, and making things safer for the people who helped us get into the position to tip the scales in the world’s favor. There is no peace for us because there is no peace for anyone right now. All we have, all we can find or build to rely on in these difficult moments, is community. We are nothing without each other and even the greatest heroes would fall without the support of the people around them. These days, as I work my way through the second half of the game, I no longer look for peace. I enjoy it when I find it, sure, but my focus is on building community, saving lives, and doing my best to bring the people of the world together in opposition to something that wants nothing more than to destroy us all. Which, you know, feels pretty relevant to the rest of my life these days.