There are the ordinary ones, of course, the calluses of his hands and feet, from walking, climbing, or wielding a blade, the scars that come along with them, the burns at his arms from a cooking fire gone wrong, or a bit of exposed skin when he was caught in a burning patch of grass.

Then, there are those that few others could match; the thick scar at his stomach that would have killed him without the shrine of resurrection, the network of silver from a thousand skirmishes, the spreading, branching redness where lightning struck him, the patches of white where a guardian, turned from its purpose, grazed him close enough to carve away his skin, and a dozen or so scars marking injuries that, but for the blessing of the lady Mipha herself, would have certainly killed him.

There may once have been a chance that, free of the pressures of his duties as champion, he might have been willing to speak again, but now, even as Ganon is quelled again for a time, it becomes clear that there is no healing that can free him from the memories.