Final Hour

by Charlie

Author's Note: This is what would have happened on the final day if Link hadn't come to Termina.

A bell tolls somewhere, one…two…three,

First bell rings to call on me.

Second bell chimes and all is grim,

Third bell sings its requiem.


Nine more knells and then it’s time,

Time to go, to start the climb.

Through dark and shadow I must keep running,

It’s my final hour; my angel’s coming.


How did it end? When did I fall?

Is this nightmare happening at all?

They gaze in wonder, with bloody eyes,

As the harsh sun sets, the moon starts to rise.


The bell tolls again, my time is nigh,

I pray to God to help me fly

From this sinful world of evil untold,

In my final hour on wings of gold.


Oblivious, wishful, or always assuming,

The dream will end; the dark will stop looming.

No choice anymore…must accept my fate,

There is no saviour until it’s too late.


Bell five through the still air echoes

A sorrowful sound, unwavering and slow.

Each second soars; each minute nears

My final hour of pain and tears.


A curse stains the sky, an awful despair

Sweeps over the land, poisons the air.

This darkness and shadow had me afraid,

As my eyes turned black from the sickening shade.


Clear as day, cold as snow, I hear the clamour.

Six beats gone, six beats left until the bell’s hammer.

Cries, “The time is midnight, the new day’s birth!

But still your final hour on Earth.”


A rage so blind, a power so dire,

A burning hatred of storms and fire

Drawing nearer, eyes like deep black holes,

Staring into living hearts, into cringing souls.


As the wind ascends to heaven,

Down to hell falls bell chime seven.

The eighth thunders with newfound power,

The ninth drags closer my final hour.


And as the clock strikes ten, I feel the tremors,

Walls crack, glass breaks; no one remembers

Their sins; they fall and beg for Heaven

To save them from judgement eleven.


Before the moon meets the ground

A heartbeat of farewell resounds.

Before we feel the searing burn

The bell plays a final hour nocturne.


The putrid eyes set in craggy rock

Glare down at the lamenting clock.

The great bell splits and crashes, broken,

The twelfth call never heard, unspoken.


Then…nothing; just shadowed void

The bell’s last toll was disturbed, destroyed.

And how it rang - strong yet forlorn,

In the final hour before the dawn.

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