I woke in the middle of the night: rain pelted the roof, a voice was calling. Somehow, I was forced out into the fray, roving across midnight fields, past forests and plateaus, many mysterious boulders—all I knew was that I must travel north. Someone’s life was at stake—apparently someone of grave importance; my help was desperately needed. I pressed through the storm. I found a castle hedged by a neat rows of bushes—surely I had crossed some boundary, forsaking my rural abode for the upper strata of royalty. Guards stood a night-long watch. They blocked my path. I snuck into the garden, slashed a bush, found a secret entrance. I snaked my way through halls I’d never seen, shouldn’t have been able to see; eventually I’d find what I was looking for.

I came too late—she was gone. It didn’t matter though; something life-altering had been set into motion that stormy night. I would rise from my humble beginnings, a poor boy of Hyrule. I would find the evil that had new-festered and destroy it, saving the one who called upon me. Rote life ceased, transmuted simply into adventure, adventure to save a beautiful princess. If this could be done, my station would change; I would be a hero, and I might even get the girl.

The mysterious stones drew me in. They were there from the start—all around in fact. Some I could lift, and beneath them would be a surprise: sometimes treasure, sometimes evil, sometimes merely grass. But there were some that I could not lift, no matter how long I tugged (I tugged for a minute once). These were strange, immovable giants, but I knew they concealed something powerful, good or evil. If it was good, I would grow richer, stronger; if it was evil, I would slay it where it sprang. Either way, I had to discover the might to unearth the stones. I found them far and wide, logging their locations in my head, longing to uncover the strength somehow to affect them. Finally, after enduring much battle, I found a glove of great power. The stones stood no chance.

I loved the hookshot. And the boomerang. And the power glove. And the golden sword. And the stalwart blacksmith who lived in the shack in the deep southwest who forged it for me—it took him quite awhile. I think I paced the desert while he worked, checking back incessantly to see when it would be done. When I finally held that sword, the game might have ended then for all I cared, such was my stupor in wielding it. Each new item I found on my adventure allowed me to interact with the world in a deeper way—I could swim in waters that were once too swift, I could catapult across ravines at will, I could set bombs of greater and greater power.

The world was huge. I had the right to wander it, regardless of the evil and peril that awaited. I had also in my possession a grand map; Hyrule I would chart—although not all of it I could clearly understand. I had to travel relentlessly south, then north again, rechecking my routes—some ways were impassable, but I would always find a path—my first storm-ridden night, stealing into the castle through a hole in the ground had taught me that. Green fields, blue streams, and thick forests speckled the landscape. Sometimes I would find a great castle of dark power. When I discovered one, I invariably wandered in. I was fearless. Often I died. But in the inevitable part of my journey when I prevailed, I found some demon or monster to contend with, deep within the recesses of the stronghold. These monsters I destroyed, time and time again, finding the giant treasure chests left in their wake. Each time I felled one of these foul ravagers, I grew stronger—my health increased, and a new artifact of power was put in my possession, through whose use the world became more my own. Slowly, I rose to greater power—before long, I knew nothing would be able to stop me any longer, or stand before me and my princess.

There loomed a great pyramid, dim-cast under a perpetual twilit sky. There I ventured. I blasted a whole in the wall of the pyramid—it took a damn near unthinkable bomb of power. Once inside, I shot arrows at this hated pig-man. I wouldn’t fail—it had taken too much to get to this point. My arrows were not the arrows of yore, as when I had first learned to shoot them. These were silver arrows. They could stun him, allow me to strike with my golden sword. At last he fell. The princess returned. Light reclaimed the land. I had become the greatest hero in the history of Hyrule. Surely I would get the girl…

One of the happiest days of my life is the day I donned my mother-made custom Link outfit. I wore his green hat, tights (did my father worry at this?), and shirt. More importantly, I sported a sword and shield—no one could mess with me. Did they know my sword shot bolts of energy, even if I provided the sound effect for it? I knew how powerful I was, and that all who might intend evil ought to stand nervously around me. Link and I, on that long-past Halloween, stood united. I was just learning how evil the real world actually was, how kidnapping really happened, how unstoppable the malevolent could be. Still, as powerless as I know I am now against such forces, at that time I stood against them unfazed. Good would always triumphant over evil, for there was Link. And for one day, I was him.

The lines of Link: his sword, his shield, the weapons he won, the people he met, the places he went. The pencil, pen, and color of these images had a great affect upon me. Without these lines I would never have become Link; I would never experience immersion, unification. I cannot justly guess how many times I would draw Link, his sword, his world. Mimicking this world, art representing art, helped carve my identity as an artist. Without the grandeur of Hyrule’s imagination-igniting art, I would have charted a different course artistically, and my style would never have been quite what it is today.

I remember whetting my appetite for Hyrule long before I owned a copy of the beautiful plastic myself. I fell into the poor class of children who did not own a Super Nintendo system. I would walk one street away and watch one of my best friends play for hours, and hours, and hours; needless to say, I yearned to partake in the adventure myself. Years later, finally, my dream came true. On my tenth birthday (if memory serves me well), I was granted the most fantastical wish—my own SNES and a copy of one game of my choice. There was not a sliver of indecision—I picked A Link to the Past. That night, fueled by candy and a long-latent well of hero-adventuring adrenaline, my friend and I (of course there was a sleepover on this momentous rite of passage) pulled an all-nighter. It was my first official all-nighter, accomplished only by questing through Hyrule until dawn. By then, I’d nearly tripled my hearts. My parents would soon-after become concerned about how much less outside-time their son was getting.

Zelda is a community, like most other monolithic games. When you overhear someone mention Zelda, you instantly want to throw in your two cents—you want to let them know you too have been Link. Most special to me, of all the Zelda games, is A Link to the Past. When I hear someone mention Zelda, it is my way into the conversation: I let them know I play Zelda, and that A Link to the Past is an awesome game, my favorite. They will inevitably come back with: “Such a great game, but Ocarina of Time is my favorite.” The usual response to this is, “Yea, also my favorite.” Who said we could only have one favorite? Did Link have a favorite way to destroy bushes? No—he would charge them as often as he slashed and upheaved them.

Hyrule has enthralled me since I was 9 years old. It left me longing to revisit my adventure time and time again. At first, I could only play the older versions on the NES, or replay A Link to the Past. Eventually, one special Christmas, I was gifted with Ocarina of Time. The plastic was gold. My parents lost their son again for some time. To this day, I enter a dream-like state thinking of entering Lon Lon Ranch at sunset, hearing Epona’s song—something I still hum occasionally to this day. I can’t forget to mention the fever that beset me each time a Mario Brothers cartoon episode randomly chose to make my day with an episode of the Zelda show.

Sadly, I haven’t played many of the recent Zelda games. I become extremely excited when I see a news blurb mentioning the next great Zelda game. In fact, at 27 years old, I was filled with wonderment several weeks ago when I saw an IGN article brandishing a video of new Zelda gameplay. I drooled over the amazing graphics. Zelda has always represented the pinnacle of Nintendo visuals, especially when it is a launch game for a new system. I probably won’t play the new game, because I probably won’t buy the Wii-U. Then again, who’s to say I won’t have a dream where some beautiful princess’s voice asks me to come save her, one more time…could I refuse to help someone who so desperately needed me?