Chapter Text
Gerudo Desert was unforgiving to the weak.
It left little room for those of frailty. Between the grating sands that felt like shards of glass and heat that was like walking on the sun's surface, there was no chance for creatures who lacked ample resilience. It was intolerant of fickle beings, only fit for those of the greatest willpower.
Lloyd, only a mere child, learned this lesson the hard way.
He had been traveling for hours on foot, the rubber soles of his shoes melting with every scrape against the rugged elements beneath him. The sun beat him down with a vengeance, intent on letting him meet Hylia out in this barren wasteland.
Even with all the odds stacked against him, Lloyd pushed on.
He refused to let himself be taken from this world, not when he had come so far. He, just a mere twelve-year-old boy, had journeyed across Hyrule in search of his new haven, a place that would worship and revere him like the prince he was.
You see, Lloyd was no mere mortal; he was the son of darkness itself, the child of the calamity incarnate. He knew should be feared and held on a pedestal by every citizen of Hyrule. Yet the prince was always stuck in the shadows, ignored by everyone but that annoying old man.
They didn’t fear him, nor praise him, they didn’t even hate him.
They just didn’t see him.
T he entire world chose to ignore his very existence, opting to let the child grow as if he didn’t exist in the first place.
So of course he felt compelled to leave his home.
He heard rumors of people, warriors that were exiled long ago, that idolized the Calamity. They would surely cherish him, and finally see him for who he was.
Lloyd Garmadon, son of Lord Garmadon, Harbinger of The Overlord .
—
“Prince Garmadon, what a pleasure it has been.”
The words dripped with venom, a calloused hand holding Lloyd’s chin in a bruising grip.
Lloyd had been wrong.
They didn’t worship him, or see him as their savior. The masked warriors, whose symbol was nothing but a mockery of where they once came from, held no adoration for the prince. He was nothing more than a laughing stock to them, a tool for them to get closer to the true idol of their heretics.
Lloyd Garmadon, son of Lord Garmadon, was worse than nonexistent to them. He was a failure, the defective byproduct of perfection.
But they still found their uses for him. It was entertaining to make the boy fight, putting him in the arena with men almost four times his size. They would laugh as he was beaten and tossed around mercilessly, escaping the matches with only a few broken bones on a good day. Lloyd wasn’t sure how he managed to win those fights, but something pushed him to live.
He would bite and scratch and tear at whatever he could get his teeth and fingers on. He was just a child, but he was a child with a will to live, and that was enough to make it happen.
In the last fight he would ever be in, he had ripped a man's eyes out.
The warrior had him pinned on the ground, sickle in one hand, the other wrapped around Lloyd’s throat. He had never been deprived of oxygen for so long, It was making his head spin, and his lungs burn. It felt like he was melting from the inside out, worse than the blistering heat of the desert around them. Lloyd didn’t want to die though.
Just like the desert, this hideout held no room for the frail. And Lloyd had to prove he was worthy. With what should have been his dying breath, Lloyd flung his arm towards his assailant, using strength that shouldn’t have been possible for him to have. He broke through the mask with terrifying ease and forced his fingers into the warm socket of his right eye.
It was disgusting, but Lloyd didn’t want to die. He tugged on the squishy ball between his fingers and made the man scream. It was foul, and the blood coating his hand was sticky and morbid in a way no child should ever understand.
Lloyd was quickly escorted away, and that was how he ended up here, chained and forced to his knees, eyes so swollen he could barely see Pythor’s ugly mask.
The Yiga Clan held no love for Lloyd. They were nothing but conniving, backstabbing traitors who only served one purpose; to serve the Calamity till their dying breath. And Lloyd, for all his flesh and blood, was no son of the Calamity. Not in their backward eyes.
“My father will make you pay!” Lloyd spat, blood dripping from his cracked and cut lips.
Pythor’s laugh would come to haunt his nightmares. It was sharp and arrogant, ridiculing Lloyd’s fearless words. The boy held every faith in his father, that Garmadon would come and make the Yiga pay for what they did to his precious boy .
The traitors knew better though. Pythor knew better. “Foolish Prince, let it be known that your last words were a pathetic cry for justice!”
Lloyd felt his head swim like the man's hand was around his throat again. He didn’t want to die here. He couldn’t die here. He was the son of Lord Garmadon. The child of Calamity. This was not his fate.
A strangled cry tore its way up his throat, belting out of his bloodied mouth. Even with his eyes almost swollen shut, Lloyd could clearly see the way the world lit up. A bright, golden glow overtook everything, bathing the inner chambers of the hideout in a glorious burst of radiance.
He would not die here.
—
Lloyd couldn’t remember what happened after that. His head still swam, his body alight with something, a feeling he couldn’t name. There was the faint remembrance of shouting, and his hand burned, but not like before. It was as if he were the fire, his skin and bone the kindling of a bonfire of power that coursed through his veins, becoming a wildfire with each second it raged on.
He remembered gentle hands bracing his shoulders, and a soft, “I’m sorry.” It was jarring, the stark contrast between Pythor’s harsh grasp and the soothing touch of whoever had found him. It wasn’t any of the Yiga, that Lloyd was sure of. They had all forgotten the tenderness of love, only knowing the bite of hatred.
Later, after he was taken away and allowed to rest, Lloyd would open his eyes and see his uncle, Wu.
The man he had run away from. The leader that he had cursed. The brother to his father. The Sheikah he told himself he hated.
And now, the relative whose shoulder he cried on.
It would take months before Lloyd would fully recover, which was astounding after the injuries he suffered. His young body was able to spring back from the abuse sooner than anyone had thought. Some had feared he would never fully return to normal, and to a degree, he didn’t.
A few of his fingers were crooked. He had scars that would never fade. Part of his left ear was missing. There was a small little extra bone in his arm from where it never healed properly.
Lloyd would never really be normal again, forever harbored with reminders of his mistake. He should have never trusted the heretics he thought he would find comfort in. He should have stayed at home, and fallen in line with what everyone around him wanted. So what if he was ignored? At least he was safe, and no longer forced to endure things no child should even think of.
Despite all of his depressing thoughts and realizations, Wu was the one who had asked for forgiveness. As if Lloyd wasn’t the one who had ruined everything, or so he thought.
“My precious nephew, I’m sorry I didn’t see your pain sooner,” Wu had whispered to him when Lloyd had first woken up after being brought home.
Lloyd never knew what to say to that, opting to hug his uncle instead of trying to find the right words. The action said enough, telling an unspoken, “I know. I’m sorry too.”
—
Once he fully healed, Wu brought Lloyd to the leader’s hut and told him a story.
He told Lloyd of a Knight, one who wielded a blade with the power to seal the darkness. He recounted a Princess, whose ancient light could outshine the night itself. He spoke of Champions, who piloted beasts beyond anyone’s comprehension. He described an evil so great, it had tormented Hyrule since its very creation.
Lloyd spent the entire day listening to his uncle tell him these stories. Later, he would learn that these tales were history, legends and myths becoming fact and truth before his very eyes.
The next morning, after he dreamed of fighting beasts and technological monstrosities alike, Wu told him they were going on an adventure, one that would take them across all of Hyrule and back.
They were going to turn stories into reality, and Lloyd could never be ready for what was to come.