Lost Gorondia Rediscovered
November, 2024 to February, 2026
“We all know Gorons lived underground way back when, but the particulars are still a total mystery. A great one, even!”
— Douma, Tears of the Kingdom
“They are dark caves. Even when they open toward the sun, very little light penetrates down the entrance tunnel into the circular chamber. There is little to see, and no eye to see it, until the visitor arrives for his five minutes, and strikes a match. Immediately another flame rises in the depths of the rock and moves towards the surface like an imprisoned spirit: the walls of the circular chamber have been most marvelously polished. The two flames approach and strive to unite, but cannot, because one of them breathes air, the other stone. A mirror inlaid with lovely colors divides the lovers, delicate stars of pink and grey interpose, exquisite nebulae, shadings fainter than the tail of a comet or the midday moon, all the evanescent life of the granite, only here visible. Fists and fingers thrust above the advancing soil—here at last is their skin, finer than any covering acquired by the animals, smoother than windless water, more voluptuous than love. The radiance increases, the flames touch one another, kiss, expire. The cave is dark again, like all the caves.”
— E. M. Forster, A Passage to India
“We all know Gorons lived underground way back when, but the particulars are still a total mystery. A great one, even!”
— Douma, Tears of the Kingdom
“They are dark caves. Even when they open toward the sun, very little light penetrates down the entrance tunnel into the circular chamber. There is little to see, and no eye to see it, until the visitor arrives for his five minutes, and strikes a match. Immediately another flame rises in the depths of the rock and moves towards the surface like an imprisoned spirit: the walls of the circular chamber have been most marvelously polished. The two flames approach and strive to unite, but cannot, because one of them breathes air, the other stone. A mirror inlaid with lovely colors divides the lovers, delicate stars of pink and grey interpose, exquisite nebulae, shadings fainter than the tail of a comet or the midday moon, all the evanescent life of the granite, only here visible. Fists and fingers thrust above the advancing soil—here at last is their skin, finer than any covering acquired by the animals, smoother than windless water, more voluptuous than love. The radiance increases, the flames touch one another, kiss, expire. The cave is dark again, like all the caves.”
— E. M. Forster, A Passage to India
Above: Shiwu Cave with Jin Dynasty (~950 CE) carvings, in Hangzhou, China. Photo taken by the author.
My mind has been on caves. Not just in thinking so much about Lost Gorondia, but ever since my love of caverns was rekindled by some recent travels. As a child, I had mixed emotions about caves. One of the first caves I delved into required me to crawl through a very tight passage, and I didn’t get more than halfway in before I was shuffling backwards toward the light in tears. But visions of Tolkien’s Aglarond and later experiences in Buddhist grottoes in China made me realize that caverns aren’t solely harrowing: They are also hallowing. More recently, I have been bumping up against caves in several novels, from E. M. Forster’s A Passage to India to Yasushi Inoue’s Tun-Huang. Whether in words or on foot, I am simply in awe of these underground halls—totally struck mute—by space and form, yes, but mostly by time. There is artistry to a cave, but it is a fragile, inhuman artistry that goes beyond understanding: a drip-by-drip accumulation of tracery, lines, spires, all shimmering in the meager light of a lamp, almost lambent, patiently waiting for a sudden return to darkness. I am fairly certain time doesn’t exist in a cave in any human sense, and this is probably why caves the world over represent strange spiritual planes of existence—locations marked off by a natural threshold where the light loses its force. A grotto is a sacred thing, and it is something that plays on my mind and soul in a way that few other things do. This is likely why architecture is so meaningful to me: It is the reconceptualizing and revitalizing of the primordial cave, a thing beyond imagining and beyond history. It is with this sort of reverence that I approach Lost Gorondia.
A Bit About Gorons and Their Recent History
Gorons have grown on me over the years. I used to find them merely strange, then annoying, and now I consider them somewhat endearing. They have appeared in a full two-thirds of the Zelda games, which says something about their tenacity. They are also one of the oldest races in Hyrule, having “a longer history than just about any race in the known world.” [1] They exist in strange connection to the earth, and were once known as “rock people,” signifying their close relationship with stone, soil, and mountains. [2] Not only are Gorons “born of the land,” but the earth provides them sustenance as food and heat. [3] It isn’t perhaps too surprising, then, that existential threats to the Gorons often seem to involve food or weather. In Majora’s Mask and Breath of the Wild, weather cuts them off from the wider world, threatening their health and economy, respectively. In Ocarina of Time and Tears of the Kingdom, food is the issue—famine in Ocarina, and superabundance in Tears. In Ocarina, Dodongo’s Cavern was blocked off by a giant boulder, preventing the Gorons from accessing their preferred source of food. [4] I say “preferred,” as Gorons can be quite picky; not satisfied by the ordinary rocks around them, the Hero of Time had to endure dinosauric terrors merely to satisfy the Goron appetite for Rock Sirloin. [5][6] In Tears, an influx of Marbled Rock Roast has caused widespread addiction, threatening the general peace and stability of Goron culture. Yunobo, a young entrepreneur (who is himself somewhat out of his mind at the moment), has unwittingly been using his upstart company to mine for and distribute the very rock infecting his people.
A Bit About Gorons and Their Recent History
Gorons have grown on me over the years. I used to find them merely strange, then annoying, and now I consider them somewhat endearing. They have appeared in a full two-thirds of the Zelda games, which says something about their tenacity. They are also one of the oldest races in Hyrule, having “a longer history than just about any race in the known world.” [1] They exist in strange connection to the earth, and were once known as “rock people,” signifying their close relationship with stone, soil, and mountains. [2] Not only are Gorons “born of the land,” but the earth provides them sustenance as food and heat. [3] It isn’t perhaps too surprising, then, that existential threats to the Gorons often seem to involve food or weather. In Majora’s Mask and Breath of the Wild, weather cuts them off from the wider world, threatening their health and economy, respectively. In Ocarina of Time and Tears of the Kingdom, food is the issue—famine in Ocarina, and superabundance in Tears. In Ocarina, Dodongo’s Cavern was blocked off by a giant boulder, preventing the Gorons from accessing their preferred source of food. [4] I say “preferred,” as Gorons can be quite picky; not satisfied by the ordinary rocks around them, the Hero of Time had to endure dinosauric terrors merely to satisfy the Goron appetite for Rock Sirloin. [5][6] In Tears, an influx of Marbled Rock Roast has caused widespread addiction, threatening the general peace and stability of Goron culture. Yunobo, a young entrepreneur (who is himself somewhat out of his mind at the moment), has unwittingly been using his upstart company to mine for and distribute the very rock infecting his people.
Grandchild of Daruk, Yunobo has overcome some of his trepidations from Breath of the Wild and is now at the helm of a Goron venture called YunoboCo. This company, which seems to have replaced Bludo’s Goron Group Mining Company, is headquartered in Eldin Canyon’s once-abandoned North Mine. Connected by a series of railways to Goron City, YunoboCo was founded to revitalize the Goron economy and keep the listless Gorons from infighting. The Gorons, after all, have an economy driven by exports. [7] After the eruptions of Death Mountain ceased, the lava flows receded and the land got colder; and even though this made some Gorons ill, it also paved the way for enterprising Gorons to reach new areas loaded with ore. At first, Yunobo worked solo, but soon afterwards other Gorons pitched in, leading to the creation of YunoboCo. Collectively, a new road to the mountain was constructed, allowing for greater trade and tourism. [8] With the brightening of Goron City’s future, its citizens were no longer merely counting the days until salvation but forging new hopes of their own. And lest we forget the Goron love of food, a new restaurant called the Bedrock Bistro can be located in the now lavaless Goronbi Lake; gathering everything meat-shaped to itself, the Bistro sits beside a freshly formed hotspring in the shape of Rock Roast. Cooke, who owns the shop, is crazy about getting his hands on Rock Roast, and several side quests into the nearby West and East Restaurant Caves begin here.
Above: The Bedrock Bistro at Goronbi Lake
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Above: As if the rock-roast recreation weren't enough . . .
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There are other Goron dreams to be realized. Aside from mercantile pursuits, some Gorons plan to return to their places of birth, while still others search for the birthplace of all Gorons. This archaeological bent is a curious and rare attribute among Gorons (who are normally production- and material-minded) that was perhaps once more widely spread. It calls to mind the intrepid Goron explorers of old in Skyward Sword. [9] With all these improvements and ambitions after the events of Breath of the Wild, Goron City was on the up and up. That is . . . until recently.
After the Upheaval, a strange substance began to emanate from the top of Death Mountain—Gloom. Concerned for his people, Yunobo hiked to the summit to investigate, where he met “Zelda,” who gave him a strange mask. Donning it, his mind was consumed. Working with Zelda’s doppelgänger, Yunobo and his company began distributing Marbled Rock Roast, which served as a potent hypnotic for many Gorons. When Link arrives at the Goron settlement, he is met with a widespread epidemic, a scene familiar to those of us who have seen the effects of certain drugs on society. Thankfully, both older and younger Gorons are somehow unaffected by the Roast and are able to point Link toward Yunobo as chief among the mischief-makers. After a bit of a spar, Yunobo is liberated from the pull of the mask, and the pair pursue “Zelda” to the peak of Death Mountain, finding instead a stone hydra called Moragia. As if that were not surprising enough, after Moragia’s defeat, Yunobo and Link reach Death Mountain Crater itself, finding an entrance not full of lava, but full of interminable darkness. Diving into the chasm, hazy pools of light in the distance welcome them with muted fanfare to the Depths. This dull orange glow—so reminiscent of the first chamber of the Fire Temple from Ocarina of Time—is quickly illuminated by an activated Lightroot, allowing the pair to skirt around irregular lakes of lava and eventually unearth dirt paths that reveal signs of erstwhile civilization. As they walk, Yunobo hears the voice of the Ancient Sage, and the two are beckoned toward a massive structure in the distance.
After the Upheaval, a strange substance began to emanate from the top of Death Mountain—Gloom. Concerned for his people, Yunobo hiked to the summit to investigate, where he met “Zelda,” who gave him a strange mask. Donning it, his mind was consumed. Working with Zelda’s doppelgänger, Yunobo and his company began distributing Marbled Rock Roast, which served as a potent hypnotic for many Gorons. When Link arrives at the Goron settlement, he is met with a widespread epidemic, a scene familiar to those of us who have seen the effects of certain drugs on society. Thankfully, both older and younger Gorons are somehow unaffected by the Roast and are able to point Link toward Yunobo as chief among the mischief-makers. After a bit of a spar, Yunobo is liberated from the pull of the mask, and the pair pursue “Zelda” to the peak of Death Mountain, finding instead a stone hydra called Moragia. As if that were not surprising enough, after Moragia’s defeat, Yunobo and Link reach Death Mountain Crater itself, finding an entrance not full of lava, but full of interminable darkness. Diving into the chasm, hazy pools of light in the distance welcome them with muted fanfare to the Depths. This dull orange glow—so reminiscent of the first chamber of the Fire Temple from Ocarina of Time—is quickly illuminated by an activated Lightroot, allowing the pair to skirt around irregular lakes of lava and eventually unearth dirt paths that reveal signs of erstwhile civilization. As they walk, Yunobo hears the voice of the Ancient Sage, and the two are beckoned toward a massive structure in the distance.
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Some Thoughts on Rediscovery
What does it mean to rediscover something? When Hiram Bingham rediscovered Machu Picchu in 1911, when Henri Mouhout reported on Angkor Wat in the 1860s, or when R. D. Banerji first found a flint scraper at Mohenjo-daro, what happened in the finding? What did it mean to rediscover such places, if it was rediscovery at all? Is rediscovery different from discovery? Does it matter who does the discovering? Who gets the credit—the explorer or the local guide that led them to the stone platforms in the jungle or the antique dais? In the cases of Machu Picchu and Angkor Wat, these sites were well-known to locals, and the rediscovery was simply Europeans broadcasting these sites to the wider world. Should we care that the discoverer is from another place, another time? Heinrich Schliemann, a German, is generally considered the finder of ancient Troy. Ciudad Perdida was constructed in the ninth century CE and was rediscovered in 1972 by a group of Colombian treasure-hunters. Mohenjo-daro, in modern-day Pakistan, was uncovered by Banerji, an Indian archaeologist. Almost certainly are discoverers removed from these places by centuries—often by millennia. So, what is the significance of unearthing the timeworn cities of civilizations past? Does it matter who does it, if it allows some portion of humanity to reconnect to its heritage? Is Mohenjo-daro more appropriately rediscovered given the fact that its discoverer came from nearby? Ultimately, there are no clear answers to these questions, but they haunt one, though not as much as the raw experience of discovery itself. These questions—and those of future contextualization, representation, authenticity, narrative, patrimony, and identity—are far removed from the initial frisson of looking upon something unseen for untold spans of time. The primary experience, the raw sensation, the unconceptualized, undiscriminated, unformed power of space and time is what really concerns us here. And Gorondia has the scale and age to crowd out all thought.
First Forays in the Lost City of the Gorons
When I think of Gorondia, I think of faintness: dim light, distant sound, barely-remembered time. Everything becomes somewhat shadowy and indistinct. Indeed, shadows play a large role in old Goron architecture, largely due to the subterranean setting. Light comes from lava, torch, and the occasional glow of machinery. Part of the beauty and mystery of this place stems from its separation from the sun. It is because shadows are present that there is such ineffable age and weight. Tanizaki Jun'ichirō writes movingly of this perhaps uniquely Japanese appreciation in his In Praise of Shadows: “. . . our ancestors, forced to live in dark rooms, presently came to discover beauty in shadows, ultimately to guide shadows towards beauty’s ends. And so it has come to be that the beauty of a Japanese room depends on a variation of shadows, heavy shadows against light shadows . . . We never tire of the sight, for to us [a] pale glow and these dim shadows far surpass any ornament.” [10] In my mind, Gorondia is a colossal backdrop for this play of light and shade, where the ancient Gorons guided shadow towards beauty’s ends. Most of the structure lacks architectural ornamentation, but the slow umbral shifts—like staring into the embers of a dying fire—give an embellishment both vague and primordial. This lack of clarity, far from disturbing us, seems natural. Calming, even.
What does it mean to rediscover something? When Hiram Bingham rediscovered Machu Picchu in 1911, when Henri Mouhout reported on Angkor Wat in the 1860s, or when R. D. Banerji first found a flint scraper at Mohenjo-daro, what happened in the finding? What did it mean to rediscover such places, if it was rediscovery at all? Is rediscovery different from discovery? Does it matter who does the discovering? Who gets the credit—the explorer or the local guide that led them to the stone platforms in the jungle or the antique dais? In the cases of Machu Picchu and Angkor Wat, these sites were well-known to locals, and the rediscovery was simply Europeans broadcasting these sites to the wider world. Should we care that the discoverer is from another place, another time? Heinrich Schliemann, a German, is generally considered the finder of ancient Troy. Ciudad Perdida was constructed in the ninth century CE and was rediscovered in 1972 by a group of Colombian treasure-hunters. Mohenjo-daro, in modern-day Pakistan, was uncovered by Banerji, an Indian archaeologist. Almost certainly are discoverers removed from these places by centuries—often by millennia. So, what is the significance of unearthing the timeworn cities of civilizations past? Does it matter who does it, if it allows some portion of humanity to reconnect to its heritage? Is Mohenjo-daro more appropriately rediscovered given the fact that its discoverer came from nearby? Ultimately, there are no clear answers to these questions, but they haunt one, though not as much as the raw experience of discovery itself. These questions—and those of future contextualization, representation, authenticity, narrative, patrimony, and identity—are far removed from the initial frisson of looking upon something unseen for untold spans of time. The primary experience, the raw sensation, the unconceptualized, undiscriminated, unformed power of space and time is what really concerns us here. And Gorondia has the scale and age to crowd out all thought.
First Forays in the Lost City of the Gorons
When I think of Gorondia, I think of faintness: dim light, distant sound, barely-remembered time. Everything becomes somewhat shadowy and indistinct. Indeed, shadows play a large role in old Goron architecture, largely due to the subterranean setting. Light comes from lava, torch, and the occasional glow of machinery. Part of the beauty and mystery of this place stems from its separation from the sun. It is because shadows are present that there is such ineffable age and weight. Tanizaki Jun'ichirō writes movingly of this perhaps uniquely Japanese appreciation in his In Praise of Shadows: “. . . our ancestors, forced to live in dark rooms, presently came to discover beauty in shadows, ultimately to guide shadows towards beauty’s ends. And so it has come to be that the beauty of a Japanese room depends on a variation of shadows, heavy shadows against light shadows . . . We never tire of the sight, for to us [a] pale glow and these dim shadows far surpass any ornament.” [10] In my mind, Gorondia is a colossal backdrop for this play of light and shade, where the ancient Gorons guided shadow towards beauty’s ends. Most of the structure lacks architectural ornamentation, but the slow umbral shifts—like staring into the embers of a dying fire—give an embellishment both vague and primordial. This lack of clarity, far from disturbing us, seems natural. Calming, even.
Standing against the darkness, but giving life to the shadows, are large braziers lit continuously from an unknown age. These braziers, while simple, are nonetheless exquisite. A solid base supports four arms that in turn carry the fire-basin, which is perfectly hemispherical but for a deep gouge and delicate relief—incidentally the major motif of all of Gorondia: a line-and-drip pattern. This drip pattern, painted or gilded gold, gives a certain amount of dignity, even regality, to this temple of the Depths, where it is found upon many surfaces. Gold, too, benefits from the presence of shadows: “[The use of gold] came of understanding how it gleams forth from out of the darkness and reflects the lamplight,” how shadows conjure “an inexpressible aura of depth and mystery, of overtones but partly suggested.” [11] These lines of gold echo throughout Gorondia, glinting from afar and drawing us inward. These braziers are the initial call. The final element of note is the presence of the fitted grill within the basin. The grill is the first clear sign that the Zonai were somehow involved in the construction of this place, for the grill is clearly of Zonai make. These braziers also present us with the main question of ancient Goron architecture: To what extent have these structures been built, and to what extent have they been carved? This question is one that continues to raise itself in my explorations of Gorondia. It is not immediately obvious where living stone ends and quarried rock begins.
Above: A brazier in profile
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Above: A brazier from above, showcasing the Zonai metalwork
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Above: A close-up of the line-and-drip pattern upon the sconce. This pattern, which will be discussed at more length later, is one of two major motifs found in Gorondia, the other being the Goron Ruby.
Farther along, remnants of uncoursed stone walls appear, each block cut into exacting shapes to fit adjacent blocks—as with Incan stonework, especially at Cusco and Sacsayhuamán. The term for this precise cutting and fitting is ashlar masonry, and these outbuildings exhibit both quadrilateral and polygonal forms. The original purpose of these structures is unknown. Nearby, decorative post-and-lintel gateways can be found, which are unique for their red, marbled stone. Their posts are thick and of two different stones, the interior red stone housing niches for sconces. Above the posts, two-tiered lintels rest, the smaller of red stone and the upper, larger lintel of the same brown stone found throughout the temple. They are most prominent around a pool of steaming water near the main bridge to the temple. A half-ring of these gateways two levels high marks off several ramps that descend into the water, almost like a stepwell. The water is shallow, except for an area where the floor seems to have given way. Fresh water pours continually from underground channels blocked off by Zonai screens. Zonai devices can be found in this pool, and though it is unknown as to why this pool exists, we might imagine it as an ancient hot-spring, given the Goron taste for heated baths.
Two other objects litter this outer landscape. Minecarts of stone and metal lay discarded nearby, though the mine tracks are in working order and have come down largely untouched through the years. On these carts are found the first instance of the Goron Ruby—primeval symbol of their people. A small pocket of glowing lava rests beneath each Ruby, indicating something of the source of power for these minecarts. Also present are ancient statues of the Gorons’ predecessors. Like statues for the other races of Hyrule, these sit atop plinths, all facing key locations in the Depths. The ancient Gorons bear spiral designs and riveted body armor, at least below the chest, in addition to the bracelets on their wrists—a clear call to the strength bracelets seen in many iterations of the Zelda franchise. The overall posture is one of inner strength, with the shoulders pulling back large arms, exposing a sturdy chest and prominent gut; the hands are clenched in fists, and the face is pulled back in a wide grimace. These far-flung Goron ancestors evince the same power and stability as their modern descendants.
I am a person that loves bridges, and the Fire Temple of the Depths does not disappoint in this regard. Leading to Gorondia are a number of sturdy, arching bridges, many collapsed partially into pools of magma. The bridges are themselves made of large, rough stones, and many of them are double and triple spanning, over which paths of lava appear to have been channeled and cooled. How the ancestors of the ancient Gorons managed this is a marvel to wonder at, and there can be no doubt that these venerable people were masters of their environment. It is no small thing to channel lava to one’s ends, and the Gorons knew that not all lava is made equal: Only certain types are smooth enough to walk upon. The lava river channeled by the ancient Gorons seems to be a Pahoehoe flow, characterized by gently undulating, smooth surfaces. The smooth surface is created by liquid lava flowing beneath a thin, partly solidified layer. [12] The end result is a truly striking blend of the natural and constructed. And were all this not enough, the balustrades of these bridges interest me greatly, not only for their grace but for their obvious Zonai influence. The pattern of the floating balusters comes directly from Zonai architecture, a clear example being the roof ornament upon the tea-pavilion in one of the memories discovered by Link throughout his journeys. The pattern is here inverted, and though it provides no structural support, it displays homage to the Zonai, who helped construct this sacred place. There are several of these bridges branching to various places. One bridge goes off in the direction of the Abandoned Eldin Mine, though the path looks to have long since been buried by a landslide. The other bridge leads to the temple proper, and the lava flow here has been embedded with paving stones, likely to place it above other bridges in importance. It is this bridge we will take.
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Above Left: Here we can see the layered lava flow and the depth of work that went into constructing the temple's bridges.
The Musical Setting
The music here, from the opening second, is a resonant tribute to Ocarina of Time’s Fire Temple: a low sweep of wind and distant male voices sifting through the earth. It is this movement that really sets the scene for what Lost Gorondia is to me: a low chant set in stone. This first section, largely ambient, is also marked by the intermittent, surging pulses of The Depths. When the first gong of the temple is struck, the music takes a turn almost electronic, with a synth and staggered bass line, all overlaid with synth horns and muted bells giving voice to a dissonant Vah Rudania motif. The next sections continue this, adding in more complexity, heating up the synth organ and adding in some jazz-piano runs—here the more solemn Fire Temple theme meets both Zonai tech and spunky Goron percussion. After the third gong is hit, flowing orchestral chords are introduced atop the percussion and bass, and we also first detect the Zonai “voice” making itself known. Timpani come in powerfully, and the beat becomes more driving, moving us to the apex. Growing ever more atonal and erratic, the music is then heroically interrupted by the repeating fifth jump that is a hallmark of Daruk’s Theme. Finally, Yunobo’s Theme bursts triumphantly in, both jazzy and stalwart. Here the Champion and Sage are working together against the darkness of Ganon in forms both ancient and modern. Like the music of the Stormwind Ark, this theme is a confluence of timelines, characters, and motifs; it brings multiple themes and instrumentations into conversation with one another, brilliantly underpinning Link and Yunobo’s progression throughout Gorondia.
The music here, from the opening second, is a resonant tribute to Ocarina of Time’s Fire Temple: a low sweep of wind and distant male voices sifting through the earth. It is this movement that really sets the scene for what Lost Gorondia is to me: a low chant set in stone. This first section, largely ambient, is also marked by the intermittent, surging pulses of The Depths. When the first gong of the temple is struck, the music takes a turn almost electronic, with a synth and staggered bass line, all overlaid with synth horns and muted bells giving voice to a dissonant Vah Rudania motif. The next sections continue this, adding in more complexity, heating up the synth organ and adding in some jazz-piano runs—here the more solemn Fire Temple theme meets both Zonai tech and spunky Goron percussion. After the third gong is hit, flowing orchestral chords are introduced atop the percussion and bass, and we also first detect the Zonai “voice” making itself known. Timpani come in powerfully, and the beat becomes more driving, moving us to the apex. Growing ever more atonal and erratic, the music is then heroically interrupted by the repeating fifth jump that is a hallmark of Daruk’s Theme. Finally, Yunobo’s Theme bursts triumphantly in, both jazzy and stalwart. Here the Champion and Sage are working together against the darkness of Ganon in forms both ancient and modern. Like the music of the Stormwind Ark, this theme is a confluence of timelines, characters, and motifs; it brings multiple themes and instrumentations into conversation with one another, brilliantly underpinning Link and Yunobo’s progression throughout Gorondia.
Placing Gorondia in a Rightside-Up World
To my knowledge, the workings of physics preclude anything in the real world looking like Gorondia. A totally suspended architecture, especially of heavy stone, is not something that can exist. The closest image that comes to mind is that of the Western Air Temple from Avatar: The Last Airbender. And while that temple took inspiration from cliffside Bhutanese temples [13], it is much less obvious where Gorondia has its real-world origins. This hanging architecture, which drips from the cavernous ceiling much like the line-and-drip pattern upon many of its walls, seems modeled after a group of stalactites: tiered, tapering structures of different sizes and dimensions, shaped by forces beyond the human timescale.
To my knowledge, the workings of physics preclude anything in the real world looking like Gorondia. A totally suspended architecture, especially of heavy stone, is not something that can exist. The closest image that comes to mind is that of the Western Air Temple from Avatar: The Last Airbender. And while that temple took inspiration from cliffside Bhutanese temples [13], it is much less obvious where Gorondia has its real-world origins. This hanging architecture, which drips from the cavernous ceiling much like the line-and-drip pattern upon many of its walls, seems modeled after a group of stalactites: tiered, tapering structures of different sizes and dimensions, shaped by forces beyond the human timescale.
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I’ve spent a great deal of time simply looking at Gorondia—from afar, from up close, from this angle and that, and it is difficult to make sense of its architecture, for a host of reasons. Yet, I want to present the case that the closest we get in the real world to such architectural splendor is in rock-cut architecture. Even more specifically, I’d like to discuss the rock-cut architectures of Ethiopia and India. These get—on an intuitive, resonating level appropriate to poetics—as similar as Gorondia gets to anything for me. Because that is primarily a subjective reason, I will also provide architectural evidence for such a claim. I would also like to add the very Tolkienian description “living rock” into this discussion, as well, referring to rock that has not been separated from the earth—a rock that is still in contact with the rest of itself. All this, combined with the discussion of shadows and seeming above, lends itself to a very inchoate architectural reverie. I am at home in such reveries, and I invite you into my own. I cannot say definitively that Gorondia is rock-cut architecture in its purest sense: It is not carved whole from stone, and it does not appear even mostly monolithic. Much of it, though how much I can never tell, appears to have been quarried and somehow built downward from the cave-ceiling above. (Or, perhaps these buildings were constructed upward and, at the end, had their supports knocked out.) Yet, rock-cut architecture can combine monolithic structure with traditional masonry, such as at the Buddhist caves of Bojjannakonda in India, Naqsh-e Rostam in Iran, Rabban Hormizd Monastery in Iraq, Geghard monastery in Armenia, or the Church of Aubeterre-sur-Dronne in France. While less impressive than carving a single edifice from the living rock, it is perhaps more practical, as the stone quarried on site can then be used to build additional structures or supports. In the end, though not rock-cut architecture in the strictest sense, Gorondia puts us in such a frame of mind, and that is ultimately more important to me. It is monumental, embedded in and springing forth from natural stone, and located in a massive underground cave (whereas most rock-cut architecture imitates caves). It is this cavelike dream that we shall cultivate.
Rock-Cut Architecture in the Real World
In this section of the article, I want to trace two paths that will perhaps lead us to the same place; one path traces a discussion of rock-cut architecture, and the other flows through an exploration of cave temples. Treading each should lead us deep into the dream of Lost Gorondia.
Most stone structures are built of quarried rock—rock that has been dug up in one location and dragged to another for construction. Yet there are other ways to build. Some of the most stirring structures are those not made of rock separated from its place of origin but those built in situ—indeed, built from the living rock. As discussed, some of these edifices are partially quarried and partially carved, whereas others are entirely hewn from the living rock. As is sometimes archly put, “In rock-cut architecture, the material didn’t come to the building site, but the building went to the site.” [14] These buildings, formed from the precise stone beneath them, have a certain purity and connectedness that other architecture cannot claim. Because they arise from the only materials on hand, they harmonize with their surroundings in a unique way, much like a person effortlessly interacting with their own culture. Although rock-cut architecture exists around the world in many countries, from the Churches of Ivanovo in Bulgaria to the Yungang Grottoes of China, I want to focus primarily on the two regions mentioned above: Ethiopia and India. An analysis of certain architectural traditions within those countries will illuminate certain elements unique to Gorondia, thus equipping us to better understand and appreciate the lost city itself.
Rock-Cut Architecture in the Real World
In this section of the article, I want to trace two paths that will perhaps lead us to the same place; one path traces a discussion of rock-cut architecture, and the other flows through an exploration of cave temples. Treading each should lead us deep into the dream of Lost Gorondia.
Most stone structures are built of quarried rock—rock that has been dug up in one location and dragged to another for construction. Yet there are other ways to build. Some of the most stirring structures are those not made of rock separated from its place of origin but those built in situ—indeed, built from the living rock. As discussed, some of these edifices are partially quarried and partially carved, whereas others are entirely hewn from the living rock. As is sometimes archly put, “In rock-cut architecture, the material didn’t come to the building site, but the building went to the site.” [14] These buildings, formed from the precise stone beneath them, have a certain purity and connectedness that other architecture cannot claim. Because they arise from the only materials on hand, they harmonize with their surroundings in a unique way, much like a person effortlessly interacting with their own culture. Although rock-cut architecture exists around the world in many countries, from the Churches of Ivanovo in Bulgaria to the Yungang Grottoes of China, I want to focus primarily on the two regions mentioned above: Ethiopia and India. An analysis of certain architectural traditions within those countries will illuminate certain elements unique to Gorondia, thus equipping us to better understand and appreciate the lost city itself.
Above: The Church of St. George at Lalibela in Ethiopia. I encourage you to imagine this hanging upside down. Image Credit: Hervé Doulat, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The rock-cut churches of Lalibela are perhaps the most famous hewn churches in the world. Built in the Ethiopian highlands in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, these churches were shaped during a time when the Christian monarchy was under Islamic threat from the north. Indeed, their inspiration was to be a “New Jerusalem,” as King Lalibela wanted to create a new pilgrimage site for Christians after the closing off of the Holy Land by Muslim invaders. [15] There are eleven rock-hewn churches in total, fittingly (for our purposes) cut out of solid red volcanic rock. [16] Four of these are truly monolithic, being carved from the living rock with no quarried stone. Starting at ground level, workers delved slowly into the surface, removing load after load of rubble, over time revealing the broad contours of each church. Once the shape was uncovered, design could begin. Although these buildings are not beholden to the same physics as applies to quarried-stone structures, it is curious that these temples attempt to replicate traditional architectural designs. Though these houses of worship could have been fancifully carved to showcase their originality and uniqueness, they were made to faithfully represent traditional church architectural style. And though each church is distinct from the others, the structures are all united by material and symbolism, with frequent depictions of oxen, the cross, and the sun. [17] Further tying the churches to one another is “an extensive system of drainage ditches, trenches, and ceremonial passages, some with openings to hermit caves and catacombs.” [18] Lalibela is a revelation of human ingenuity, and it remains one of the greatest architectural settings humanity has formed. Predating architectural discussions about contextualism—the debate over how design should correspond to landscape, climate, and culture—the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela put forth a strong argument for a place-based architecture, wherein buildings seem (and indeed are) inseparable from their setting. Much like Gorondia, whose architecture seems the inevitable residue of minerals deposited throughout untold eras, these sanctuaries greet the eye almost as naturally as a hill or ridge. We cannot picture things any other way.
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Left: The base of Bet Giorgis, Lalibela. Image Credit: A. Davey from Where I Live Now: Pacific Northwest, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>
Above: Like Gorondia, these places yawn at one—basking in light yet holding only dim, furtive shadows. They cannot be said to be inviting, marking them clearly as sacred, not profane, structures. Image Credit: Bete Abba Libanos: Bernard Gagnon, BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0> |
The other road, parallel in my mind to the one leading through our exploration of rock-cut architecture, leads us through a series of ever more complex cave temples. Traveling eastward from Ethiopia, we come to an equally stunning though more ancient tradition. Like the Christian inspiration for the Lalibela churches, India’s rock-cut architecture is deeply religious, rooted in Jain, Buddhist, and Ajivika spiritualities. To say that India has a vast tradition of rock-cut architecture would be a severe understatement. There are estimated to be over 1,500 such structures in the country. [19] And not only is the tradition vast, it is ancient, with the first rock-cut structure carved in the mid-3rd century BCE in the Barabar Hills of Bihar. These caves, on which E. M. Forster modeled his Marabar Caves in A Passage to India, and which fill the quote at the beginning of this essay, were used by mendicants and itinerant monks during the monsoon season. [20] The caves are full of inscriptions and contain some of the earliest wellsprings of Indian architectural heritage. Among the caves, the Grotto of Lomas Rishi is most famous. In this part of the world, “[it] represents the first attempt to make a cave into a permanent dwelling. In the centuries to come this simple beginning was to flower into a tradition of rock-cut buildings that spread throughout South Asia and China.” [21] The cave, which yawns open at us, has an entrance in the style of a thatched hut, whose entrance mimics the outline of a curved structure and supporting columns. With its basis in vernacular architecture, this simple cave-dwelling birthed countless other cave sanctuaries and monolithic temples across India.
Above: Lomas Rishi Cave in the Barabar Hills of India. Image Credit: Thomas Fraser Peppé (1870). Image in the public domain.
From Lomar Rishi, the flow of rock-hewn cavern architecture is channeled through the development of the chaitya hall (a shrine with stupa and rounded apse) in the Mahakali and Bhaja Caves, where it reaches its apogee in the Karla Caves in Maharashtra state. We then jump centuries to the majesty of the later Ajanta Caves. Masterpieces of Indian architecture, these thirty caves once formed a large monastery, accommodating up to several hundred priests and pupils. While the first caves in this complex, built beginning in the second century CE, were relatively simple, the older and larger halls are more dramatic: rich in sculpture, carvings, and still-vibrant paintings. In truth, the whole complex is itself dramatic, embedded into the wall of a canyon carved out by the Waghora River. The caves, which from afar look like little grins with their pillared entrances, trace the low-lying brown river fastidiously and seem to form the very foundation of the green sloping hills above them. A few caves would themselves be striking, but the number and scale of the halls are almost staggering. The scope, depth, and detailing of these Buddhist grottoes suggests something far beyond mere inspiration—it suggests devotion.
Above: Overlooking the Ajanta Caves. Image Credit: Freakyyash, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>
The last location I want to highlight is a place with both rock-cut architecture and cave temples: Ellora, near the Ajanta Caves. One of the largest rock-cut complexes in the world, the thirty-four caves at this site were carved from the basalt of the Western Ghats, a chain of mountains stretching roughly 1,000 miles along India’s west coast. Whereas Ajanta is a dense grouping of caves, the caves at Ellora stretch far along a vertical face of the low-lying mountains.
Above: The Mountain of Ellora, by Thomas Daniell (1749-1840). Image in the Public Domain.
As if the size of the complex were not captivating enough, the Ellora caves also give testament to some amount of religious pluralism, with seventeen Hindu, twelve Buddhist, and five Jain caves found throughout. [22] However, the crowning achievement at Ellora is the Hindu Kailasnath, which was built to mirror the mythical abode of Shiva at Mount Kailash. Massive and monolithic, Kailasnath dominates. Unlike the Buddhist constructions here, “which were essentially elaborations of a cave, Kailasnath is an independent entity, a free standing colossal sculpture revealed from the matrix. Since it is still surrounded by the rock from which it was hewn, there is a palpable sense of excavation to Kailasnath, as if it were still a work in progress." [23] The temple itself cannot be accessed at the ground floor, as the carvers sought to combat the inherent defect of creating a temple in a deep, shadowy pit [Rowland], and therefore the temple hovers above the ground, seeming to float in a canyon of its own creation. Five subsidiary shrines crouch beneath the surrounding cliffs, all lending pilgrims monumental views of the Kailasnath. We can also picture the Kailasnath painted white, as would have been the case, stressing its “symbolic relationship to the sacred snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas.” [24] It is all too easy for me to imagine this structure inverted and affixed to the ceiling of a cave—suspended, tapering, with layers and lines and haunted with firelight, I am again brought back to Gorondia.
Above: Ellora’s Kailasnath. Image Credit: Arian Zwegers, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>
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Above: Arcades of the Kailasnath. Image Credit: Akshay Prakash, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>
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Return to Gorondia
“Gorondia is the legendary place where the Gorons of old used to live. I heard there's an amazing treasure stored there too. They had even more advanced technology than we do now! And I heard they used to ride in strange vehicles."
— Dugby, Tears of the Kingdom
Let us return to the dim and the strange. Back in the Depths, dusky structures fill the space with riddles. The temple consists of a number of downward-tapering structures redolent of the far-off ceiling of the Depths above, where stalactites grow in perpetual darkness, heedless of time. Framed by strong pillars at each corner, the five spires have heavy string-courses, lending a blocky regularity to the architecture. These horizontal courses differentiate the downward thrust of these towers while at the same time adding a small degree of lightness to the otherwise dense stonework; like brackets or enlarged dentils, the alternating stone and space somehow lessens the otherwise crushing nature of these masses. They also mirror the line-and-drip pattern at greater scale, adding unity to the temple’s embellishments. Augmenting their defensive guise, the towers are huddled together and ringed by firefalls of lava. The same rough-cut stones seen outside the temple make up most of the walls, and the corner pillars house sconces that look like so many eyes peering out from within. Tying everything together are bright, untarnished minecart tracks. But why build things in such a way? Was the design sacred, aesthetic, or defensive in origin? Given the Zonai influence throughout, might the Gorons have been attempting to get as close as possible to the homeland of their Zonai benefactors, clambering up to the highest place in the Depths? Was this simply a mine and processing center for the Zonai? Or, more likely, was it a true city of the ancient Gorons with spaces both sacred and profane? Approaching the front gate from the east, the structure seems far from the merely worldly. The temple overtowers the pilgrim, bearing down on those who enter. The first cinematic of the approach, when Yunobo and Link are at the foot of the bridge looking up at the main gate, is a downward pan, seeming to emphasize the directionality of the stalactite construction.The verticality distorted by heat and smoke, all oranges and blacks and browns, the stone and fire, all things blending into a dreamlike beauty beset by danger—like a campfire in the forest ringed with shadow.
“Gorondia is the legendary place where the Gorons of old used to live. I heard there's an amazing treasure stored there too. They had even more advanced technology than we do now! And I heard they used to ride in strange vehicles."
— Dugby, Tears of the Kingdom
Let us return to the dim and the strange. Back in the Depths, dusky structures fill the space with riddles. The temple consists of a number of downward-tapering structures redolent of the far-off ceiling of the Depths above, where stalactites grow in perpetual darkness, heedless of time. Framed by strong pillars at each corner, the five spires have heavy string-courses, lending a blocky regularity to the architecture. These horizontal courses differentiate the downward thrust of these towers while at the same time adding a small degree of lightness to the otherwise dense stonework; like brackets or enlarged dentils, the alternating stone and space somehow lessens the otherwise crushing nature of these masses. They also mirror the line-and-drip pattern at greater scale, adding unity to the temple’s embellishments. Augmenting their defensive guise, the towers are huddled together and ringed by firefalls of lava. The same rough-cut stones seen outside the temple make up most of the walls, and the corner pillars house sconces that look like so many eyes peering out from within. Tying everything together are bright, untarnished minecart tracks. But why build things in such a way? Was the design sacred, aesthetic, or defensive in origin? Given the Zonai influence throughout, might the Gorons have been attempting to get as close as possible to the homeland of their Zonai benefactors, clambering up to the highest place in the Depths? Was this simply a mine and processing center for the Zonai? Or, more likely, was it a true city of the ancient Gorons with spaces both sacred and profane? Approaching the front gate from the east, the structure seems far from the merely worldly. The temple overtowers the pilgrim, bearing down on those who enter. The first cinematic of the approach, when Yunobo and Link are at the foot of the bridge looking up at the main gate, is a downward pan, seeming to emphasize the directionality of the stalactite construction.The verticality distorted by heat and smoke, all oranges and blacks and browns, the stone and fire, all things blending into a dreamlike beauty beset by danger—like a campfire in the forest ringed with shadow.
Crossing the bridge to the entrance, Link and Yunobo are confronted by a strange set of lines: a holy symbol of Zonai tracery—that of the mask of the Ancient Sage of Fire. Highly abstracted, as upon the Fire Sage’s stole or scarf, we can still trace the four eyes of the Divine Beast, Vah Rudania, its snaggled teeth, and its glowering watchfulness. Going through the gate, we find that the complex rests on an east-west axis, with the main entrance on the east-facing Death Mountain Chasm, with the sanctum on the west. A central hall flanked by small bays housing elevators and what was once likely a guard-room leads directly toward the gate of the sanctum. Of the five floors, the first is the most enticing. While we certainly see the signs of industry throughout this level of the temple (as in all others), the presence of a sanctuary here seems to point to some sort of spiritual tradition. Another sign of veneration presents itself in the five locks upon the sanctuary gate: five grimacing masks, similar to the divine helm of the Fire Sage. All in all, the entirety of the entrance to this temple is exactly befitting a temple.
Most chambers in this complex are dedicated to mining, stonecraft, processing, and transportation. Rivulets of magma flow here and there, cart tracks lead this way and that, controlled by small switches that Link can activate with arrows (or Yunobo), and many parts of the walls and floors lie in a partial ruin.
In the rooms with the gongs, grey Zonai stonework is integrated with Goron masonry throughout the pilasters and along the base of the walls. The lighting in these rooms is also a blend of the Zonai lightbud lamps and Goron flames. As befitting a complicated infrastructure, in which ore and processed minerals likely had to be transported across the facility at multiple points, the tracks and their controls are convoluted, allowing for changes of direction on the same floor and also changes between levels. The scattered nature of this place does lead to a few questions that go without answer: Why not concentrate the mining functions of this place in a single building? Where are the quarters of the Goron ancestors? How did the average proto-Goron navigate this space, with its finicky layout and transportation system? It may be that the Goron quarters were made of some material easily lost to time, as with ancient civilizations the world over; because most homes were made of readily degradable materials (straw, wood, thatch, mud), they simply did not last in the way that monumental architecture did. We have the pyramids but not the slaves’ quarters, Nan Madol without its bustling markets. The Gorondia we see might simply be the enduring shell of what was once a vast, living city.
In the rooms with the gongs, grey Zonai stonework is integrated with Goron masonry throughout the pilasters and along the base of the walls. The lighting in these rooms is also a blend of the Zonai lightbud lamps and Goron flames. As befitting a complicated infrastructure, in which ore and processed minerals likely had to be transported across the facility at multiple points, the tracks and their controls are convoluted, allowing for changes of direction on the same floor and also changes between levels. The scattered nature of this place does lead to a few questions that go without answer: Why not concentrate the mining functions of this place in a single building? Where are the quarters of the Goron ancestors? How did the average proto-Goron navigate this space, with its finicky layout and transportation system? It may be that the Goron quarters were made of some material easily lost to time, as with ancient civilizations the world over; because most homes were made of readily degradable materials (straw, wood, thatch, mud), they simply did not last in the way that monumental architecture did. We have the pyramids but not the slaves’ quarters, Nan Madol without its bustling markets. The Gorondia we see might simply be the enduring shell of what was once a vast, living city.
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Reminders of the Zonai are in most rooms, from fans and hydrants to the sacred gongs that disenchant the sanctuary locks, and to the switches, chests, constructors, and lamps. Unlike the Stormwind Ark, the Zonai influence here is more subtle, taking a background role against the dense and looming architecture of the ancient Gorons.
One of the only breaks from the oppressive stone are the occasional small window slits. These small, rectangular windows with a slight head at the top were likely created with airflow in mind, as fumes, heat, and smoke would have been common throughout the complex. The tracery of the red stone provides a geometric embellishment to the otherwise simple walls, drawing us in and through to new spaces. Although these screens are reminiscent of the Zonai tracery found throughout, the angularity sets them apart from the smoother lines of the other screens here. Whereas these windows were likely shaped by the ancestors of the Gorons, the rest of the temple’s screens are likely of Zonai make. These screens tie another connection to our Indian take on Gorondia, resembling jali (meaning “net”), which are architectural features common in Indian—and especially in Indo-Islamic—architecture. Jali allow for light and air to flow into buildings, while at the same time providing a truly stunning play of moving light. These screens are commonplace in Gorondia.
One of the only breaks from the oppressive stone are the occasional small window slits. These small, rectangular windows with a slight head at the top were likely created with airflow in mind, as fumes, heat, and smoke would have been common throughout the complex. The tracery of the red stone provides a geometric embellishment to the otherwise simple walls, drawing us in and through to new spaces. Although these screens are reminiscent of the Zonai tracery found throughout, the angularity sets them apart from the smoother lines of the other screens here. Whereas these windows were likely shaped by the ancestors of the Gorons, the rest of the temple’s screens are likely of Zonai make. These screens tie another connection to our Indian take on Gorondia, resembling jali (meaning “net”), which are architectural features common in Indian—and especially in Indo-Islamic—architecture. Jali allow for light and air to flow into buildings, while at the same time providing a truly stunning play of moving light. These screens are commonplace in Gorondia.
Above: Here is a jali from the 7th-century Sangameshwara Temple in Alampur, India. Image Credit: Ms Sarah Welch, CC0
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Above: Interconnected swastikas on the ceiling of Cave 2 at Badami, India. Image Credit: P4psk, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>; Right: Tracery from Biete Medhane Alem in Lalibela, Ethiopia (here we seeing the tying together of our three strands). Image: Sailko, CC BY 3.0
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The screens grant Gorondia bits of angular interest, but the most stunning motif is the line-and-drip design found throughout the temple. To me, it resembles molten iron flowing through a mold, or lava flowing and feathering out through a landscape. It also mirrors the architecture itself, dripping down from a ceiling above, represented by the line. This design, simple and primordial, has inspired me to ponder quite a bit. It is perfectly at home here in Gorondia, for the reasons above. Yet it is also used extensively in Zonai art and architecture. With whom did it originate? While uniquity would suggest the Zonai, setting would suggest the Gorons. It is a pity we do not see this design elsewhere in Goron City—aside from a few dangling chains and hanging plate metal, this repeated drip design is nowhere to be found.
Though my aesthetic sensibilities strongly indicate that the motif is Goron in origin, maybe in-game provenance does not ultimately matter. But perhaps we can find similar designs in the real world. The first thing that I recalled when analyzing this design is my trip to Costa Rica in 2023. While at the National Museum in San José, I entered an exhibition called Memories in Stone and was floored by some of the things I saw—specifically the metates, a variety of quern from the first millennium CE used for crushing grains. [25] Fittingly, the most famous metates from Costa Rica, which come largely from Nicoya in Guanacaste Province, are carved from volcanic stone. Some are incredibly ornate, carved as jaguars, lizards, or birds; others are rather simple, looking more a contemporary chair than anything else. Yet, not all metates were commonplace; some had ceremonial function and were buried alongside deceased chieftains and religious officials. [26] A few have a very specific embellishment, which I will present to you in three pictures. I would point out that, in the third photo, the “drips,” as I am calling them, are human heads—indicative of a head-taking culture present in this area of Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica. [27] To a certain extent, as well, this patterning is redolent of something much closer to me in Western architecture. Though likely unrelated to them, this line-and-drip pattern resembles dentils, being elements of decorative trim featuring a series of small, rectangular bricks that resemble teeth (dentil comes from the Latin for tooth, fittingly). Dentils are incredibly common in Western architecture, from ancient Greek and Roman temples to Beaux-Arts architecture. This pattern is also present in other world architectures, though it is not historically related to the dentil in the West. Whatever its real-world inspiration, to me this pattern makes more sense on Goronic architecture than anywhere else on earth; there is a thematic and environmental inspiration behind it, and so well does it fit its architectural setting that another motif is unthinkable.
Though my aesthetic sensibilities strongly indicate that the motif is Goron in origin, maybe in-game provenance does not ultimately matter. But perhaps we can find similar designs in the real world. The first thing that I recalled when analyzing this design is my trip to Costa Rica in 2023. While at the National Museum in San José, I entered an exhibition called Memories in Stone and was floored by some of the things I saw—specifically the metates, a variety of quern from the first millennium CE used for crushing grains. [25] Fittingly, the most famous metates from Costa Rica, which come largely from Nicoya in Guanacaste Province, are carved from volcanic stone. Some are incredibly ornate, carved as jaguars, lizards, or birds; others are rather simple, looking more a contemporary chair than anything else. Yet, not all metates were commonplace; some had ceremonial function and were buried alongside deceased chieftains and religious officials. [26] A few have a very specific embellishment, which I will present to you in three pictures. I would point out that, in the third photo, the “drips,” as I am calling them, are human heads—indicative of a head-taking culture present in this area of Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica. [27] To a certain extent, as well, this patterning is redolent of something much closer to me in Western architecture. Though likely unrelated to them, this line-and-drip pattern resembles dentils, being elements of decorative trim featuring a series of small, rectangular bricks that resemble teeth (dentil comes from the Latin for tooth, fittingly). Dentils are incredibly common in Western architecture, from ancient Greek and Roman temples to Beaux-Arts architecture. This pattern is also present in other world architectures, though it is not historically related to the dentil in the West. Whatever its real-world inspiration, to me this pattern makes more sense on Goronic architecture than anywhere else on earth; there is a thematic and environmental inspiration behind it, and so well does it fit its architectural setting that another motif is unthinkable.
Finally, we arrive at the sanctum. At first glance, its design is very curious. Alone among all the various chambers of the temple is this space circular and domed. In fact, the only other circles throughout this complex are those found in Zonai architecture. We are then presented another riddle: Why is this the only circle made by the Gorons’ ancestors? The circle is omnipresent among contemporary Gorons on the surface: The circle-in-circle (or dot-within-circle) symbol is found upon structures and furniture in every pocket of Goron City, the City is a system of concentric circles ringing a round lake of lava, and Gorons themselves form spheres when traveling quickly. In a previous article [28], I mused upon this symbol quite a bit, in addition to the chevron, which is another common Goron symbol. Back then, without knowledge from Tears of the Kingdom, I had no idea what these shapes represented, if they could be said to represent anything at all. I now think they can. At some point when considering the strange presence of the circular, mountainous sanctuary of Old Gorondia and the sacred Mount Kailash represented by the Kailasnath at Ellora, it suddenly dawned upon me: These are all representations of Death Mountain, sacred peak of the Gorons. (While this is not an insight of historical proportions, these realizations are rare for me, and I can truthfully count this among five or so in my life.) Just as spiritual Indians once shaped temple-mountains, so too did the ancient Gorons build a holy space resembling their most sacred landmark. The circular design of the sanctuary from above, ringed in lava and with its concentric design, explains the circle-in-circle device found upon the surface, as, on a larger scale, does Death Mountain Chasm itself. How the Gorons themselves came to descry this shape from the air is mysterious, but we can imagine the ancient ancestors escaping to the surface from beneath Death Mountain, and, looking into its crater, seeing a lake of fire bound by stone and lava.
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Above: Looking closely, we see the Chasm’s perfect mirror in Gorondia’s sanctuary. Even the promontory jutting out into the lake of fire is cut away in the footprint of the sanctuary. This morphing of geography (the volcano’s chasm) into architecture (the sanctuary) into symbol (the dot-in-circle) wraps each element in a complementary beauty born of analysis and abstraction. In my mind, these three things are almost superimposed upon one another: The lake of fire is the temple is the symbol is the temple is the lake of fire.
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Left: The doubled lava moat, as at the root of Death Mountain.
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This explains the dot-in-circle motif, but what of the chevron? If the former is the aerial view of Death Mountain, then the chevron is the Mountain in profile. These are the two fundamental ways of seeing Death Mountain, and both have been abstracted into the simplest possible designs. In fact, you cannot simplify them further.
As has been discovered, the sanctuary is Death Mountain in miniature—sloping upward, filled with a lake of lava, surrounded at the base by a moat of fire and ring of stone, and lava flowing perpetually from a cauldron atop, which from below looks like an anvil. And like Kailasnath at Ellora, this Goron sanctuary seems to have been carved of a single rock. Rough in make, there are a few features on the exterior that require either explanation or speculation. Foremost is the ring of protruding stones around the crown of the dome. These may be non-representative, but they may also stand in for the massive upthrusts of rock circling the base of Death Mountain, or perhaps the teeth ringing the caldera at the summit. They also resemble some of the jewelry worn by Goron heroes, as the necklace of Darmani in the Goron Stone Memorial overlooking Goron City, or in the case of the Sage of Fire’s belt. Both of these appear as rough stones fitted to a string. Below these nodes are rough-cut windows with red-stone screens, as found elsewhere throughout the city. They are at eye level above several viewing platforms, which seems to imply that the central chamber revolved in some way around sport, spectacle, or ceremony. The strongest case can be made for this space being some sort of stadium or arena, as Gorons have always been a physical and competitive people. In previous iterations of Zelda, such as Twilight Princess, the Gorons engaged in Sumo Wrestling. They were notorious race-fiends in Majora’s Mask, Phantom Hourglass, and Echoes of Wisdom, avid dancers in Oracle of Ages, climbers in Breath of the Wild, and marksmen (marks-Gorons?) in Spirit Tracks, Oracle of Ages, and Tears of the Kingdom, where several enterprising Gorons have set up a minecart game in the Southern Mine. Games and activities are general across most cultures in the world, the most common being “foot races, wrestling, tests of strength, contests of accuracy with projectiles, and demonstrations of dexterity with a ball.” [29] If we count the Goron body as a ball, we find that the Gorons partake in just such a list of physical activities. And lest some accuse me of taking an entirely secular view of sports, there is a long history of divine and consecrated competition—indeed, “sporting competitions in almost all societies before our own were integral parts of or adjuncts of religious observations,” [30] though the Greeks took sport to its most spiritual levels, infusing it with mythology, religious rites, and divine intervention. [31] In my estimation, this chamber, set apart from the rest of the temple in style and importance, was just as much arena as altar. While we cannot be sure as to the nature of the competition, we can view proto-Gorons within and without, packed around the outer edges, cheering on and crying out for physical prowess. And, when at last the victor stood forth, the compartment overhead at last would open to crown the champion.
As has been discovered, the sanctuary is Death Mountain in miniature—sloping upward, filled with a lake of lava, surrounded at the base by a moat of fire and ring of stone, and lava flowing perpetually from a cauldron atop, which from below looks like an anvil. And like Kailasnath at Ellora, this Goron sanctuary seems to have been carved of a single rock. Rough in make, there are a few features on the exterior that require either explanation or speculation. Foremost is the ring of protruding stones around the crown of the dome. These may be non-representative, but they may also stand in for the massive upthrusts of rock circling the base of Death Mountain, or perhaps the teeth ringing the caldera at the summit. They also resemble some of the jewelry worn by Goron heroes, as the necklace of Darmani in the Goron Stone Memorial overlooking Goron City, or in the case of the Sage of Fire’s belt. Both of these appear as rough stones fitted to a string. Below these nodes are rough-cut windows with red-stone screens, as found elsewhere throughout the city. They are at eye level above several viewing platforms, which seems to imply that the central chamber revolved in some way around sport, spectacle, or ceremony. The strongest case can be made for this space being some sort of stadium or arena, as Gorons have always been a physical and competitive people. In previous iterations of Zelda, such as Twilight Princess, the Gorons engaged in Sumo Wrestling. They were notorious race-fiends in Majora’s Mask, Phantom Hourglass, and Echoes of Wisdom, avid dancers in Oracle of Ages, climbers in Breath of the Wild, and marksmen (marks-Gorons?) in Spirit Tracks, Oracle of Ages, and Tears of the Kingdom, where several enterprising Gorons have set up a minecart game in the Southern Mine. Games and activities are general across most cultures in the world, the most common being “foot races, wrestling, tests of strength, contests of accuracy with projectiles, and demonstrations of dexterity with a ball.” [29] If we count the Goron body as a ball, we find that the Gorons partake in just such a list of physical activities. And lest some accuse me of taking an entirely secular view of sports, there is a long history of divine and consecrated competition—indeed, “sporting competitions in almost all societies before our own were integral parts of or adjuncts of religious observations,” [30] though the Greeks took sport to its most spiritual levels, infusing it with mythology, religious rites, and divine intervention. [31] In my estimation, this chamber, set apart from the rest of the temple in style and importance, was just as much arena as altar. While we cannot be sure as to the nature of the competition, we can view proto-Gorons within and without, packed around the outer edges, cheering on and crying out for physical prowess. And, when at last the victor stood forth, the compartment overhead at last would open to crown the champion.
Immediately Above: The arena, with curved outer limits, has a natural form of seating, separated from the sacred competition space by a ring of lava. Torches cast furtive light toward the ceiling. There is a degree of decoration here found nowhere else in Gorondia.
Whither Gorondia?
When the last gong is struck and the last lock released, the heavy door swings forward to grant passage into the shrine. Yunobo shatters the Marbled Rock upon the ceiling and awakens Marbled Gohma, Scourge of the Fire Temple. Through battle—another form of sacred competition—Yunobo and Link purge the temple of its evil and are bestowed the Secret Stone of the Sage of Fire. The stone represents an oath sworn by Agraston, the ancient Sage, to protect Hyrule against those who would emperil it. Though Yunobo at first questions his courage, he ultimately decides to take up his role and protect the Kingdom as his ancestor did of old. Link has raised up another defender of the kingdom, saving Goron society in the process. Returning to the surface, Link and Yunobo find that the Gorons have woken up from their phantasmagoric languor and have begun to ask questions. Yunobo finds himself once again in a position of leadership, but this time prepared.
At the end of all my sojourns, I am left puzzled by the ancestral Gorons’ fall from grace. They possessed technology and artistry far beyond what we see in Goron City above and were capable of colossal feats of architecture unknown upon the Surface. Although some of this mastery is perhaps explained by the assistance of the Zonai, something tells me that not all artistry originated with them—that the Gorons of old had some skill and elegance of their own. But what happened to this homeland of the Gorons? It is hard to imagine why a people would abandon such a mighty fastness, as it is impossible to determine just how much was lost during their transition above ground. It might be said that modern Gorons compare to their ancestors just as Dark Age Europeans compared to their fallen Roman rulers. In some important ways, though not in all, technology, artistry, and grandeur were to an extent diminished in both cases. But I remind myself that such things are never truly lost, only overlooked; and while we can never regain that which memory has dispossessed, there are fragments we can carry forward into the marvels of a new civilization. And just as antiquity was given new life in the Renaissance, so too might a Goron rebirth be just around the corner in the hands and mind of a young Goron discoverer.
When the last gong is struck and the last lock released, the heavy door swings forward to grant passage into the shrine. Yunobo shatters the Marbled Rock upon the ceiling and awakens Marbled Gohma, Scourge of the Fire Temple. Through battle—another form of sacred competition—Yunobo and Link purge the temple of its evil and are bestowed the Secret Stone of the Sage of Fire. The stone represents an oath sworn by Agraston, the ancient Sage, to protect Hyrule against those who would emperil it. Though Yunobo at first questions his courage, he ultimately decides to take up his role and protect the Kingdom as his ancestor did of old. Link has raised up another defender of the kingdom, saving Goron society in the process. Returning to the surface, Link and Yunobo find that the Gorons have woken up from their phantasmagoric languor and have begun to ask questions. Yunobo finds himself once again in a position of leadership, but this time prepared.
At the end of all my sojourns, I am left puzzled by the ancestral Gorons’ fall from grace. They possessed technology and artistry far beyond what we see in Goron City above and were capable of colossal feats of architecture unknown upon the Surface. Although some of this mastery is perhaps explained by the assistance of the Zonai, something tells me that not all artistry originated with them—that the Gorons of old had some skill and elegance of their own. But what happened to this homeland of the Gorons? It is hard to imagine why a people would abandon such a mighty fastness, as it is impossible to determine just how much was lost during their transition above ground. It might be said that modern Gorons compare to their ancestors just as Dark Age Europeans compared to their fallen Roman rulers. In some important ways, though not in all, technology, artistry, and grandeur were to an extent diminished in both cases. But I remind myself that such things are never truly lost, only overlooked; and while we can never regain that which memory has dispossessed, there are fragments we can carry forward into the marvels of a new civilization. And just as antiquity was given new life in the Renaissance, so too might a Goron rebirth be just around the corner in the hands and mind of a young Goron discoverer.
Notes and References:
[1] Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[2] Ibid.
[3] “Gorons are born of the land, ya see. Volcon and I were born from the same place, so you could say we’re rock brothers.”
— Tray, Tears of the Kingdom
[4] Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[5] "Ancient creatures have infested the Dodongo's Cavern! We've had a poor harvest of our special crop, Bomb Flowers! Starvation and hunger because of the rock shortage!" — Darunia, Ocarina of Time
"We Gorons live on a diet of rocks . . . And the most delicious and nutritious rocks around are found in the Dodongo's Cavern!"
— Goron, Ocarina of Time
[6] “Though Gorons eat rocks, they tend to be somewhat selective about the quality. Rock Sirloin extracted from Dodongo’s Cavern is especially appetizing to Gorons.”
Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[7] Nintendo. (2018). The Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild: Creating a champion. Dark Horse Books, p. 123.
[8] Yunobo’s Diary, Tears of the Kingdom
[9] “In Skyward Sword, the Gorons act as Link’s guides. Their curiosity has led them to explore the surface world, and that explains their being located all over it.”
Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[10] Tanizaki, J. (1977). In praise of shadows. Leete’s Island Books, p. 18.
[11] Ibid., p. 14.
[12] The Editors of the Encyclopedia Britannica. (2025, April 2). Lava. Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc. https://www.britannica.com/science/lava-volcanic-ejecta#ref11633
[13] Konietzko, B., & DiMartino, M. D. (2010). Avatar: The Last Airbender: The art of the animated series. Dark Horse Books, p. 154.
[14] Suryanarayanan, A. (2024, September 7). What is rock-cut architecture? The Hindu.
https://www.thehindu.com/children/what-is-rock-cut-architecture/article68557836.ece
[15] UNESCO World Heritage Convention. (n.d.). Rock-hewn churches, Lalibela. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/18/
[16] Ching, F. D. K., Jarzombek, M. M., & Prakash, Vikramaditya. (2007). A global history of architecture. John Wiley & Sons, Inc., p. 396.
[17] Ibid.
[18] UNESCO World Heritage Convention. (n.d.). Rock-hewn churches, Lalibela. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/18/
[19] Marial, P. M. (2024). Rock-cut architecture in India. Journal of Emerging Technologies and Innovative Research, 11(5), 457–462. https://www.jetir.org/papers/JETIR2405C63.pdf
[20] Ching, F. D. K., Jarzombek, M. M., & Prakash, Vikramaditya. (2007). A global history of architecture. John Wiley & Sons, Inc., p. 396.
[21] Ibid.
[22] Ibid., p. 292.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Rowland, B. (1959). The art and architecture of india. Penguin Books, p. 157.
[25] Museo Nacional de Costa Rica. (n.d.) Memorias en Piedra.
https://www.museocostarica.go.cr/exhibiciones/memorias-en-piedra/
[26] Art Institute of Chicago. Ceremonial grinding table (Metate) in the form of a feline. https://www.artic.edu/artworks/146939/ceremonial-grinding-table-metate-in-the-form-of-a-feline
[27] Hoopes, J. W. (2007). Sorcery and the taking of trophy heads in ancient Costa Rica. In Chacon, R. J., & Dye, D. H. (Eds.), The taking and displaying of human body parts as rrophies by Amerindians. Interdisciplinary contributions to archaeology. Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-0-387-48303-0_17
[28] Hook, T. S. (2020, July). Goron City and Death Mountain. The architecture of the Legend of Zelda. https://www.architectureofzelda.com/goron-city-and-death-mountain.html
[29] Mandell, R. D. (1999). Sport: A cultural history. Columbia University Press, p. Xiii.
[30] Ibid., p. 5.
[31] Delaney, T., & Madigan, T. (2021). The sociology of sports: An introduction. McFarland & Company, Inc.
[1] Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[2] Ibid.
[3] “Gorons are born of the land, ya see. Volcon and I were born from the same place, so you could say we’re rock brothers.”
— Tray, Tears of the Kingdom
[4] Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[5] "Ancient creatures have infested the Dodongo's Cavern! We've had a poor harvest of our special crop, Bomb Flowers! Starvation and hunger because of the rock shortage!" — Darunia, Ocarina of Time
"We Gorons live on a diet of rocks . . . And the most delicious and nutritious rocks around are found in the Dodongo's Cavern!"
— Goron, Ocarina of Time
[6] “Though Gorons eat rocks, they tend to be somewhat selective about the quality. Rock Sirloin extracted from Dodongo’s Cavern is especially appetizing to Gorons.”
Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[7] Nintendo. (2018). The Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild: Creating a champion. Dark Horse Books, p. 123.
[8] Yunobo’s Diary, Tears of the Kingdom
[9] “In Skyward Sword, the Gorons act as Link’s guides. Their curiosity has led them to explore the surface world, and that explains their being located all over it.”
Nintendo. (2017). The Legend of Zelda encyclopedia. Dark Horse Books, p. 46.
[10] Tanizaki, J. (1977). In praise of shadows. Leete’s Island Books, p. 18.
[11] Ibid., p. 14.
[12] The Editors of the Encyclopedia Britannica. (2025, April 2). Lava. Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc. https://www.britannica.com/science/lava-volcanic-ejecta#ref11633
[13] Konietzko, B., & DiMartino, M. D. (2010). Avatar: The Last Airbender: The art of the animated series. Dark Horse Books, p. 154.
[14] Suryanarayanan, A. (2024, September 7). What is rock-cut architecture? The Hindu.
https://www.thehindu.com/children/what-is-rock-cut-architecture/article68557836.ece
[15] UNESCO World Heritage Convention. (n.d.). Rock-hewn churches, Lalibela. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/18/
[16] Ching, F. D. K., Jarzombek, M. M., & Prakash, Vikramaditya. (2007). A global history of architecture. John Wiley & Sons, Inc., p. 396.
[17] Ibid.
[18] UNESCO World Heritage Convention. (n.d.). Rock-hewn churches, Lalibela. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/18/
[19] Marial, P. M. (2024). Rock-cut architecture in India. Journal of Emerging Technologies and Innovative Research, 11(5), 457–462. https://www.jetir.org/papers/JETIR2405C63.pdf
[20] Ching, F. D. K., Jarzombek, M. M., & Prakash, Vikramaditya. (2007). A global history of architecture. John Wiley & Sons, Inc., p. 396.
[21] Ibid.
[22] Ibid., p. 292.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Rowland, B. (1959). The art and architecture of india. Penguin Books, p. 157.
[25] Museo Nacional de Costa Rica. (n.d.) Memorias en Piedra.
https://www.museocostarica.go.cr/exhibiciones/memorias-en-piedra/
[26] Art Institute of Chicago. Ceremonial grinding table (Metate) in the form of a feline. https://www.artic.edu/artworks/146939/ceremonial-grinding-table-metate-in-the-form-of-a-feline
[27] Hoopes, J. W. (2007). Sorcery and the taking of trophy heads in ancient Costa Rica. In Chacon, R. J., & Dye, D. H. (Eds.), The taking and displaying of human body parts as rrophies by Amerindians. Interdisciplinary contributions to archaeology. Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-0-387-48303-0_17
[28] Hook, T. S. (2020, July). Goron City and Death Mountain. The architecture of the Legend of Zelda. https://www.architectureofzelda.com/goron-city-and-death-mountain.html
[29] Mandell, R. D. (1999). Sport: A cultural history. Columbia University Press, p. Xiii.
[30] Ibid., p. 5.
[31] Delaney, T., & Madigan, T. (2021). The sociology of sports: An introduction. McFarland & Company, Inc.