and how the spirits sing

by orphan_account

Summary:

When he comes to, he’s kneeling atop the Calamity’s head, with the Master Sword still embedded into its skull as it twitches and smokes on the ground. The golden rays are gone, replaced only by dark, stinking mist and dust drifting through the air.

The Calamity is still alive.

It must remain sealed.

He cannot let go of the Master Sword.

-

Deep within the belly of Hyrule Castle’s ruin, as the Princess dredges up the last wisps of her fraying power and siphons it into her Knight’s body, she prays to Hylia to send someone to save them all.

Deep within the wet, tangling forests of Faron, a group of eight–soon to be nine–heeds her call.

Link is trapped within Hyrule Castle, keeping the Calamity sealed by the skin of his teeth as he casts his soul across the province in search of someone, anyone who can help.

The Chain lands in a new Hyrule and finds themselves chasing behind the ghosts of a missing hero's footsteps--all the while there’s a strange, blond-haired boy following them, who never speaks, and who always seems to turn his face in the direction of the empty ruins of Hyrule Castle.

Chapter 1: landing

Summary:

Nature wraps herself around his body and clings to his skin like the humid air, like dragging his hand across the grass still dewy with morning light, stepping over bubbling streams, warmth of the sun carding its fingers through his hair, nocking an arrow, bowstring pulled taut, and letting loose.

Notes:

whoop! started a new fic, ended up making this first chapter EXCESSIVELY LONG. i was planning on writing ahead some more but i got too excited and now here we are! enjoy 6k of hopeless banter and needlessly flowery language

(thank you so much to everybird4hundo for beta reading this fic for me!! they helped me out a lot with being confident in my writing and i think without their input this fic would be very very different.

edit: went through and fixed some things i realized were kinda sucky in this chapter. most of them should be good now :)

 

 Malice is thick in the air as he stumbles backward, grasping one shoulder and panting heavily. 

 It stares him down hungrily, animalistic in the strange, stuttering way it seems to move its many limbs–bone-thin, frail arms made of pure darkness jutting out randomly from its torso. There’s this sort of aura to it, the way the very air sings of its presence even as it shies away from the slavering thing; a mixture of technology and thick, glowing malice convalescing into a being of burning evil.

 Orange, lamplike eyes fix him intensely.

 He doesn’t fail to notice how there’s nothing sentient behind them, even while the beast is hefting its blade. 

 Link clambers back to his feet despite the scalding wave of pain that follows, like needles being pushed into the tender flesh of his shoulder. He’s fortunate enough that he manages to stagger out of the way of its swing in time, that the axe barely misses his chest, instead cleaving through empty air. But the shudder of his heart is less than pleasant–it beats in his chest uncomfortably, sucking the heat out of his body until his limbs are nothing more than a set of cold bricks attached to his joints.

 Link is losing.

 It’s clear as his legs sag with the weight of his body, it’s clear as he’s smacked into the walls by those gnarled hands, and it’s clearer still as he’s wheezing through punched-out lungs, so lightheaded and weak. Link won’t win this fight, and the realization is crushing.

 He doesn’t notice the way the sword in his hands begins to vibrate, a gentle hum of power flowing through his fingers where they wrap around its grip. He almost doesn’t notice how it takes on a strange glow, how its ancient blade trembles with bright, blinding energy.

 Then, the Master Sword begins to sing. 

 Perhaps singing isn’t the right word, but there’s no other way to describe the chime reverberating in his skull, the slow, building thrum making its way through his flesh. It sings of gods-given power, of its own ancient beginnings, it shares with him its story through brief, fleeting images and yet still they tell so much, ‘Hello, Master, my name is Fi, it is good to finally be able to speak with you after all of these years,’ and ‘Master, I am sorry.’

 She has been watching him all this time. A mother raising her brood.

 And suddenly, leaning his weight against the shining blade, Link understands what he has to do. 

 It’s not easy, in more ways than one.

 His lungs and muscles burn agonizingly as if set on fire. Each and every movement sends that pain searing up Link’s limbs until he’s nothing but a glorified piece of tinder, like he’d gone and swallowed a glob of malice just for the fun of it.

 He raises Fi with his one good arm, battered lungs squeezing too-tight and too-large against his ribs, and manages to rush forward, landing a quick slice along the Calamity’s flank. He’s rewarded with a spurt of dark, inky blood (or just pure malevolence, maybe?) and a deafening rumble.

 The Calamity screams . Ear-piercing and many-voiced, filled with all the maddening rage of a wild beast held captive and starved for ten thousand years. It opens its wide, slavering jaw and howls in exquisite agony as the sword’s holy light bites into its ugly body and tears something away. Link can’t suppress the way his heart gives a terrified little shudder.

 Still, he presses on, swiveling around, spider-crawling up onto its back as it flails around and aiming the point of Fi’s blade straight down toward the center of its forehead.

 There is no hesitation when he plunges her down to the hilt into its skull with a sickening crunch, bright golden light shining from the swelling wound. So blinding that even when Link squeezes his eyes shut he can still see it. 

 Jerking upward in pain, the Calamity’s clawed hands scrabble around the smooth floors for purchase, joints snapping and popping as it attempts to reach up and rip him from its back. He can feel the brush of its fingers just barely snagging his tunic as the stench of burning hair and rot invades his nostrils. Smoke, dark purple and black, rises in thick plumes from the place where Fi is shoved down into its crown.

 The light begins to build, the cacophony of the Calamity’s screams and Fi’s slow thrumming power cresting in his ears, deafening, incredible, until the only thing he can hear now is Zelda’s voice, Link, you came, Link, I’m here, Link, let me lend you my power, Link–

 And then it’s as if something in the Calamity’s body pops out of place, a shift, and the world goes white.

 When he comes to, he’s kneeling atop the Calamity’s head, with the Master Sword still embedded into its skull as it twitches and smokes on the ground. The golden rays are gone, replaced only by dark, stinking mist and dust drifting through the air.

 The Calamity is still alive.

 It must remain sealed.

 He cannot let go of the Master Sword.

༻༺

 Deep within the belly of Hyrule Castle’s ruin, as Zelda dredges up the last wisps of her fraying power and siphons it into her knight’s body, she prays to Hylia to send someone to save them all.

 Deep within the wet, tangling forests of Faron, a group of eight–soon to be nine–heeds her call.

༻༺

 When the Chain finds that they’ve landed in another Hyrule, they do not express the chagrin of a group forced to move on too soon, but relief. 

 Shifts are always nauseating, much worse than just stepping through a portal. The world stretches under their feet like pulled candy, every individual detail–the rocks, the grass, the trees–all blending together into a strange, warped mess. There’s always a churning in Four’s stomach that makes him wonder, through the sickness, are his guts stretching out, too?

 Then, just when the unnatural becomes just too much so, the world snaps back into place with a crack. More often than not, Four will find that his ears have popped with the change in air pressure. Another reason to hate time-travel, he deigns. 

 This time, however, when his feet come into contact with the rich soil of a new Hyrule, Four does not groan or murmur annoyed little curses. Instead, he’s fighting the urge to thank Hylia, to kneel down on the ground, duck his head beneath the thick, emerald-green undergrowth and kiss the very earth itself. 

 Internally, Blue’s familiar indignance flares up –really, are you the Old Man, kicking your feet up and whining about pain in your joints?– less like a voice and more like a feeling, a rapid flash of images that glitter a distinct shade of sapphire. Four ignores him.

 Because, For once, he doesn’t mind the Shift. They’d been caught in a particularly nasty battle with a large group of ‘blins, one that had them floundering, so forgive him, Blue, for being a little grateful that Hylia saved their asses before someone died, okay?

 Around him, the rest of the world outside of the tiny patch Four stands on begins to bleed into vision. Muddled grunts become clearer, no longer a mess of sound knotted up by the Shift. Four takes a moment to reorient himself, examining the environment they’ve landed in this time as the others begin to stir. 

 They’re standing amongst a collection of strange ruins. Tall pillars tower like spires over their heads, crumbling rocks swaddled in vines that creep across the stone paths and crawl up the trees. A canopy of large, fan-like leaves blocks out most of the sky, with tiny pinholes in their coverage casting dim light in shafts across the forest floor. 

 Everything is slick with rainwater–in fact, now that Four’s paying attention to whatever parts of the sky that he can see, it looks like it’s about to pour down by the gallon; angry grey clouds blanket the heavens like shadows, and already he can feel wet smatterings of water droplets landing on his cheeks.

 Most peculiar of all, however, is the sheer potence of magic infusing the land. Four is definitely not the most magically inclined of the group (leave that to Legend and Hyrule), but he’s never sensed something this clearly before. It’s a different type of atmosphere than what he’s used to. 

 A new aura, one of the earth and the wild. 

 Nature wraps herself around his body and clings to his skin like the humid air, like dragging his hand across the grass still dewy with morning light, stepping over bubbling streams, warmth of the sun carding its fingers through his hair, nocking an arrow, bowstring pulled taut, and letting loose. 

 There’s something else, too. A hint of malevolence, maybe, intertwined so tightly with the wilder magic that he almost doesn’t realize it’s there. So carefully disguised, so easily tucked into the corners of his awareness. But now that he can feel it, it’s as if he’s pulled back the curtains and peered out of a window, and he can see how it’s imbued into everything. Four can smell the sickening burn of it, so similar to ‘Roolie’s Hyrule, but–

 –different.

 “Fuck, Hylia, give us a warning before you do that shit, next time?” Legend curses, looking toward the sky. Still, there’s no heat in it, nor in the begrudging relief that thrums across his end of the thin twine bonding all eight of their souls together. Has Legend realized how easy they can pick out each other’s emotions, yet?

 Someone else might’ve replied to Legend’s remark, but Four is focused entirely on what Vio is telling him, now– amethyst warning bells blaring loud in his ears. Something is not right. 

 “Okay,” The Old Man’s voice cuts cleanly through the prismatic disarray of Four’s thoughts, “Is everyone here? Any injuries?”

 As if any of them would be willing to admit to injuries so easily. The group, hypocritical as ever, turns to examine each other suspiciously, as if to say, ‘I know I’m fine, but someone here is hiding something.’ Aside from a few cuts and some nasty bruises–nothing a sip of red potion can’t fix–no-one is injured. Four is grateful for Hylia’s small mercies. 

 Unfortunately, this is the moment the Goddess finally decides to repay Legend’s curses by sending down rain onto their heads.

 It starts with one fat, cool droplet on Four’s scalp, then another on his shoulder, a slow, building tap of water hitting the smooth stones and dirt of the forest. 

 Then the sky roars with it, buckets of rainwater pouring from the clouds, and thoroughly soaking each and every one of them until their hair is plastered dark against their foreheads. Ice-cold rain mixes with the hot, humid air of the forest, creating an all-around uncomfortable, sticky feeling as they stand and look at each other. The rain washes away the blood and dirt on their skin, thin, pink streaks running down their faces and dripping from their chins ceaselessly.

 “So,” Warriors says in a dry tone, “I’m assuming no one here recognizes this Hyrule?”

 He’s answered only by a deep, earthshaking rumble of thunder from overhead (Four glances over at Legend and sees how the vet tenses, gripping his staff with white knuckles), and a far-off crack of lightning. The scent of ozone, a sweet, pungent zing, fills his nostrils and intermingles with the muddy smells of the forest, and there’s an odd, erratic buzz making its way into Four’s ears.

 Four tilts his head and listens to the quiet buzzing pick up speed, then glances over toward where Time and Warriors stand, the most metallic of the bunch. His eyes find the slightest, barely visible dance of static across Time’s armor. Shit.

 “Everyone,” Four says quickly, “Drop anything metal.”

 Inquisitive looks– “What?” 

 “ Just do it.”

 –then dawning realization. 

 Most of them do so efficiently, Wind only having a few belts, his sword, and other smaller objects that he quickly drops and kicks across the ground. But Time, Time is wearing a full suit of armor and carrying a giant metal sword. This is not good. Not good at all.

 There isn’t enough time, Four thinks as he watches the Old Man fumble with the straps on his shoulder plate. They don’t have time to take off that much clothing and toss out that many weapons. He needs to figure something else out, and he needs to do it fast, before the lightning strikes and turns them into a group of fried Hylians. Scanning his surroundings, Four eventually spots a shallow cave on the side of the cliff nearby, hidden away by thick undergrowth and shadowed by the trees.

 Fuck it, he thinks, and doesn’t realize that he’d muttered it aloud until he hears Time huff, “Language.” It’s ridiculous, really, that even on the verge of being struck dead by lightning, the Old Man’s still chiding people for cursing. 

 Bending down frantically to grab dropped objects and juggle them precariously in his arms, Four yells over the thunderstorm above, “I saw a cave! Pick up your stuff and run, come on! ”

༻༺

 The Chain finds themselves huddled inside the tiny cavern amongst little scuttering beetles and lizards, wet moss and the echoing spatter of a tiny leak in the ceiling hitting the ground. 

 The space is too small to light a fire; most of them are sidled up uncomfortably close beside each other to avoid being caught out in the rain and thunder, barely able to stretch out their legs without brushing someone else’s foot. Four had dangerously miscalculated its size, unfortunately, and now that he’s seen it up close he decides that it’s less a cave and more of a crevice carved into the cliff’s rocky surface. 

 Drenched in cold water, Four can only shiver like a wet cat and breathe warmth into his palms, smart enough– careful enough to keep his fingers from numbing into useless icicles.

 Legend, Time, and Warriors have all tucked their bodies furthest away from the entrance, ashamedly afraid of being struck by lightning. Personally, Four doesn’t see this as a fault, but they seem to be extremely embarrassed by themselves, save the Old Man, maybe, ducking their heads and fidgeting with the same armor that’d been sparking with electricity so recently.

 The veteran, especially, trembles wide-eyed and almost nervous as he watches the rain falling outside. Every rumble of lightning shakes the cave’s delicate walls, and Legend is a dying leaf shuddering along with them, clenching his jaw tight like it’ll somehow stop him from moving, and shrinking away from the thunderous tremors of the ground beneath him.

 Four pretends he doesn’t hear it when Wars softly asks Time if they can switch places. He pretends he doesn’t see it when the captain seats himself carefully beside Legend–who certainly doesn’t seem to appreciate it, what with how he’s glaring–and whispers something inaudible into the other hero’s ear. He pretends not to notice when the veteran shakes his head, eyes only somewhat on the side of red-rimmed, and there’s a moment of eye contact before Warriors gives a gentle smile and elbows Legend right in the ribs.

 Somehow, Legend’s mood improves drastically after that.

 With the silence of their voices comes the trickle of water running down the walls, and peeping of tree frogs huddled beneath the underbrush, and the beating of eight hearts as one.

༻༺

 It’s hours before the dull thudding of the rain outside (nothing but a constant drone in their ears, by now) finally tapers off into a light mist that collects within the hollows of the earth. Of course, the group is overjoyed by the prospect of finally stepping out of the cave and stretching their old, weary joints. Scars tend to stiffen and ache with phantom pains during the cold weather, after all, and Four knows that his brothers weren’t wincing all those long hours for naught.

 Rosy light filters warmly through the large, fan-shaped leaves overhead as they all creep out of the cave like a cloud of keese. For the first time since arriving in this new Hyrule, the sun is actually visible, illuminating eight heads amongst the lush, wild vegetation of the forest. 

 Time’s back pops and cracks as he stretches out his groaning spine. The tallest of the bunch, he’d practically folded himself into thirds to give the others some illusion of space in the tiny, cramped cubbyhole of a cave they sat in. “If we never have to do that again, I might just die happy.”

 “Ya know we will, Old Man,” With a vague wave of his hand, Twilight replies easily, “‘S how it always is.”

 Time grunts. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

 “Hey,” Sky interrupts the mentor/mentee duo as he trots down the path and points to a worn wooden sign plunged into the damp dirt. “Come here and look at this.”

 Moving closer to get a good view of the sign says, Four realizes that there’s words carved into it, and although they’ve been rendered nearly impossible to read by countless years of weathering, he manages to make out a shallow, ‘LAKESIDE STABLE’ scratched onto the surface of the arrow pointing to their right.

 Twilight squints at the sign for about five seconds before he finally brightens up, losing the shadowy-eyed look of a man who’s spent four hours freezing in a cave. “A stable? D’you think they’ll maybe have some horses we can rent?” 

 A high voice chimes in before anyone else can respond. 

 “What’s a horse?” 

 The entire group turns toward Wind with varying levels of shock and horror on their faces (except for Sky, who just looks confused), a reaction so visceral that for a moment Wind looks worried too. Four can see the gears beneath that bright blonde mop turning slowly, thinking, ‘Did I offend them?’ 

 Twilight and Time especially look almost insulted, and, well, of course they’d be; Twilight is a rancher, and the Old Man supposedly lives on a ranch with his mysterious “wife” that may or may not actually be real (Four hasn’t decided if he wants to believe that story or not, yet).

 The former’s demeanor is grim as he rests his palms on the younger boy’s shoulders. “One day, you an’ I are goin’ta go out an’ I’ll teach ya how to ride a horse, alright?”

 Cracking a smile as bright as the sun, Wind nods and immediately begins to pepper Twilight with questions while they walk: What’s a horse? What do they look like? Are they heavy? How tall are they? Wow, Four, yer short ass can reach one? Okay, okay, Time, I won’t cuss, sorry–

 

 The white plumes of smoke billowing over a building in the distance are Hylia’s saving grace, a holy calling that has them breaking into a jog, tripping over the roots that drape across the road like newborn calves. There hadn’t been much hope for civilization amongst the eight, what with all the ruins and the terrifying size of this Hyrule that’s becoming increasingly apparent, so the sight is akin to a breath of fresh air swelling in their lungs. 

 They slow, however, when the dense trees part to reveal a tent with a strange structure made of painted wood that looks suspiciously like a horse. It towers over the ground, balanced haphazardly atop the tent’s roof with an unsettling grimace, casting its silhouette across the ground. 

 “That is terrifying,” Four says, to no one in particular.

 Fortunately, as if in spite of the creepy horse statue, the rest of the stable appears to be somewhat welcoming. There’s a sort of warmth, a gentle twang in the hum of music from inside, the saccharine scent of apples and honey cooking over a fire, and oh, how the well-trodden path leading up to the counter feels so much like coming home. 

 Most exciting is the paddock with two horses attached to one side of the stable. It’s small, really, built with wooden boards worn thin by age, something that the horses seem to have exploited on more than one occasion–Four can see a few places where the wood appears newer, as if it’d been broken and replaced several times.

 The horses themselves are beautiful. One is red, with a white speckled rump and a white mane, and the other an odd shade of solid blue. Muscles ripple beneath their hides, much larger than any horse from Four’s Hyrule, and Four can’t help but stare in clear awe at their majesty. They look powerful, Red hums, in a flash of reverent crimson.

 From the corner of his eye, he can see how Sky and Wind rock on the balls of their feet, craning their necks to keep looking and lagging behind the others as they pass. It’s surprising at first, that Sky has horses on the surface of his Hyrule and yet still he hasn’t really seen many up close, but then Four really considers it, and, yeah, it makes sense. From what stories he’s told, Sky spent most of his life up until he became a hero in Skyloft with his Loftwing.

 After he’s finished ogling the horses, Wind turns to his brothers with a deceivingly nonchalant expression. “They’re… uh, not what I expected.” 

 “What were you expecting?” Hyrule asks.

 “Dunno. Something less... hand-shaped?”

 A baffled snort from Legend. “How the fuck is it shaped like a hand?” 

 “I dunno, how the fuck does your hair look like a wet rag?”

 “Language,” Comes a hiss from the front of the Chain, and the two promptly close their mouths, though they do resort to ribbing each other as they walk.

 When they reach the front of the stable, Time steps toward the counter, where a middle-aged man with grey stubble on his chin and salt-and-pepper braids that frame his cheeks stands. The man sees their leader first, then his eyes blow wide as he glances toward the others. Four supposes that’s fair; he’d be shocked by eight sopping wet, heavily-armed travelers walking right up to him, too.

 The stable master regains his composure quickly, schooling his expression into something a bit more welcoming. “Well, hullo there, sir,” He says to Time, “I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before.” Four doesn’t miss how the man’s eyes flicker to Time’s sword strapped to his back.

 “No,” Comes Time’s easy reply, “We’re travelers, got attacked and ended up lost in the forest.” Only a half-truth, really.

 “I don’t believe you’re registered in the network. You come lookin’ for directions, or a place to stay?”

 “You have beds?” Someone says, no small amount of excitement in their voice.

 “Sure we do. Twenty rupees each. Not enough for eight, so some of you’ll have to double up or take a cot.”

 Time holds up a hand to the others in a gesture he uses often, meaning shut up so I can do this. “We’ll get to that in a moment. I’d actually like to ask if you’ve heard of any disturbances regarding monsters lately?”

 “Fancy yourself a bunch of heroes, eh?” Resting his hands on the smooth surface of the counter, the man thinks. “Let’s see...” 

 “I’ve heard word from the other stables that there’s been some problems cropping up with strange monsters. We haven’t had trouble fending them off before, but these ones are especially strong, black blood an’ all.”

 They’re here, too? Four thinks, and tries not to sigh at the prospect of fighting more.

 “We’ve had some blocking up the roads here to the east, but if you’re planning to go take care of them, then don’t bother. I’ve already sent out a request for Link to come and handle it.”

 With a simple statement, the stable master has somehow managed to capture all of their ears in one fell swoop. If the Chain wasn’t paying him any mind before, the sound of that name now has them listening with rapt attention. 

 However, the gears in Four’s mind are beginning to turn. Just how famous is he, this hero, to be mentioned so casually? Or –Four catches how the stable master searches each of their expressions with hawklike intensity– is it a trap?

 Four’s realization comes too late. Before he can tell anyone to stop talking, Wind is on a roll, completely ignoring Time’s warning glare like an overexcited puppy. “You know Link? That’s great, we’re actually looking for him!”

 Alas, this blunder seems to be all the confirmation that the man needs, because suddenly he’s fixing them with an openly hostile, almost protective glare. One hand rests on the hilt of a dagger strapped to his thigh; a caveat.

 Four wants to put his head in his hands and cry.

 “And who’re you, to be asking after Link?” Distrust emanates from the man in waves that crash against each other in a spray of sea salt. It’s laughable, that he believes that wee little wedge could deal any substantial damage against them in a real fight, but still a few of them tense and look over at the Old Man nervously. 

 “We’re from outside the province.” Time says, taking on that smooth, placating tone he uses when he’s trying to calm a wild animal, “We’d gotten word that one of our family members with the same name might be living way out here, so we came to see him.”

 Then, the strangest thing happens. The stable master straightens up, leans over the counter–and while Time is so utterly shocked that he doesn’t even move to push him away– sniffs the Old Man, a deep inhale that lasts for several seconds. After he’s done, he seems to be inexplicably mollified, no longer bristling with belligerence. 

 Before Four can even process what just happened, there’s a dagger being dropped onto the counter and he’s raising his hands, both palms outstretched, with a long-suffering sigh. Like this isn’t the first time he’s done so. A sign of peace, Four realizes. “All right, all right, put yer weapons away, I was just makin’ sure you weren’t Yiga. Link’s been in enough trouble as is.”

 What.

 What?

 “What?” Four mutters aloud, but Legend shakes his head, the universal sign for it’s best not to ask.

 Remarkably, the man answers. “You really aren’t from around here, are you? The Yiga are a band of assassins that terrorize travelers. It’s stable protocol to check to make sure suspicious individuals don’t smell like bananas.”

 “Why would you need to...” Hyrule wonders, his face a mask of horror.

 “Yiga like bananas.” And this explains absolutely nothing.  “Anyhow, you boys do share a resemblance to ‘im. Link, I mean. With your blond hair and blue eyes, I can believe you being related,” the stable master continues after shifting uncomfortably under their gazes.

 He ducks his head. “My deepest apologies for being so inhospitable. The Yiga have an obsession with chasing Link around everywhere he goes, an’ I just wanted to look out for him like he does for us common folk.”

 Hyrule smiles weakly. “No, no, it’s all right, sir, we completely understa–”

 “Would you like a discount on those beds, as a recompense? I can do half price.” 

 Quick to respond, Sky almost stumbles over his words in his attempt to keep Hyrule from refusing. “ Yes. Yes, we would like that. Please.” 

༻༺

 The bed is so soft that for a moment Four worries that he’s died and gone to heaven, floating away atop feathery cumulus clouds as the voices of his friends grow dimmer and dimmer. The sheets call to him, the blanket embraces his body, and when he splays his hair across the pillow, he can hear how it whispers sweet nothings into his ear. Is this bed enchanted, or has it been so long since his last time laying somewhere comfortable that he’s completely forgotten how it feels? Either way, Four is perfectly fine with sinking into the mattress and shriveling away–

 –until another large, solid body crushes him with a punched-out groan of relief. 

 Warriors, noble knight and military captain, has determined that Four’s bed is a good place to sleep, sitting right on top of his spine. The smithy yelps, kicking his legs up to knee Warriors in the side, but the asshole doesn’t move (are you kidding me, what did I do to deserve this, Hylia, please just let me rest, just this once, I’m begging you) and simply stretches out across Four’s back like there isn’t a person beneath him.

 “Wow, this bed is comfortable,” Warriors says, in that excessively posh accent that Four is beginning to loathe right now, in his dying moments. “But I think there’s something wrong with it. Is there a lump in the mattress, maybe?”

 The prick makes a show of standing up as Four gasps and wheezes for the air that’d been cruelly squeezed out of his lungs, peeling back the blanket to examine the corpse he’d just created.

 “Oh, I’m sorry, Four, I didn’t see you there, you were buried so deep in the blankets. Do you mind if I sit here for a little while, until the stable master brings out a spare cot I can use? Unless you’d like to share.” And the worst part is that he looks genuine, like he’d actually squished Four by accident.

 “ No .” Four chokes, before smacking him in the face with a pillow.

༻༺

 Morning rolls across the land in slow, sluggish steps, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon in a wash of saffron light, illuminating the dewy grass. Four hears it before he sees it, the yipping of the Hylian Retriever outside, the clatter of someone using the cooking pot, and the groaning of his too-comfortable brothers who want nothing but to lie in bed forever. 

 Four had ended up sharing with Wind–yet another one of Hylia’s small mercies. Time had looked miserable with Twilight snoring next to him so loudly, and Sky wrapped himself so tightly around Hyrule that Four worried he was breaking the poor traveler’s bones. At least with Wind, the both of them were small enough to have some extra space (even though Wind tends to kick people in his sleep, and even though Four definitely has some bruises developing on his shins).

 The scent of cooking meat is what finally does it, distinct and mouth-watering and everything Four needs as he sits up and stretches out his aching back, stomach clenching with hunger. He glances around the stable’s interior and finds that he’s one of few that slept in, the only other person still laying in bed being Sky–judging by the fluffy tuft of dirty blond hair sticking out from beneath the covers.

 Blearily, Four rubs the sleep out of his eyes and crawls out of bed like a half-dead monster, the cold wooden floorboards biting his bare feet. The sunrise decorates the room in a lazy coat of rosé that lights up the dust in the air and turns his hair copper. Four attempts fruitlessly to jostle Sky awake and drag him outside, but the other gives a little moan and turns away. If he wants to sleep, then let him, Green says, glimmering emerald, so he finally shrugs and pads outside.

 Turns out, as Four makes his way to their little group near the paddock, the others have already begun eating. Some sit around the cooking pot atop stubby little stools and tear through meaty skewers like a pack of ravenous beasts. Time is roasting food over a fire and handing off each skewer as he finishes, while the others mill around aimlessly, kicking rocks or petting the dog or running over to the bridge to ogle at the falls. 

 The Old Man doesn’t look up from the skewer he’s holding as he speaks. “Finally decided to join us?”

 “Sleeping in is nice. We should listen to Sky more often.” Four says, then in the same breath, “Give me that skewer before you burn it.”

 “You couldn’t get him to wake up? No, you can’t have it yet, it’s not done.”

 “It’s supposed to be roasted, not charred. You’re overcooking it.”

 “What do you know about cooking? You’re just as bad as the rest of us,” Legend calls from where he sits with Warriors, Twilight, and the fluffy black hound who’s getting an intense belly rub from the rancher. “I can still taste it from the last time you tried.”

 Four snorts. “I don’t have to be a good cook to know when something’s burning.”

 “Really? Because you didn’t seem to realize it when you were the one holding the ladle.”

 He can’t refute that.

 But the Old Man hands him a skewer and he takes it eagerly despite his earlier complaints. Four is hungry, and as he chews on the tough meat that’s just a little bit burnt around the edges, he feels the acidic blaze in his stomach settling. 

 Suddenly, there’s a yell from where Wind stands on the bridge, and they look over to see him pointing furiously at something high up above the falls. His eyes are blown wide and his jaw is hanging open. 

 Four jogs over to his side, and at first he can’t tell what exactly Wind is seeing that has him so frantic. The smell of ozone fills his nostrils, followed by the taste of thunder fizzling out in his mouth and the rise of the little hairs on the back of his neck.

 Then, as his eyes pass over the top of the waterfall, he sees it. For a moment, he’s not sure what he’s looking at–the sheer size of the creature is astonishing as its massive body breaks through the surface of the falls in a magnificent explosion of water. So he starts off slow, picking out parts of its body one-by-one until he’s able to put them all together. 

 One massive green horn that protrudes from its forehead, with long, sloping curves that roll like grassy hills. Snow white scales hiding glimmering power just beneath their surface. Talons, each the length of Four’s own body, cleave through the air in gentle sweeps. A long, serpentine body curls in loops as electricity crackles and dances along its extravagant crystal spikes jutting out along its spine.

 Incredible. Ancient. Stunning. 

 “Her name is Farosh,” comes a voice from beside them, and Four snaps his head over to look at who’d spoken. 

 One of the people that works at the stable, an elderly man with a kind face and a hunched form, is staring up at the creature with a worshipful gaze, like it– she– is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Four agrees. 

 The elder’s voice rasps as he speaks. “One of three primordial spirits that take the form of dragons. She’s peaceful. Just don’t get too close, else you'll be electrocuted.”

 Wind gasps. “There’s more like her?”

 “Indeed. Naydra, of ice, and Dinraal, of fire. Great horned creatures named after tales of ancient goddesses passed down for generations.” The elder chuckles at Wind’s starstruck expression. “You’re welcome to climb up there to get a better look at her, if you’d like.” 

 He points up toward a tall platform near the stable’s left entrance with a long, rickety ladder leaning against it. Immediately, Four cringes at the image of Wind toppling down from such a height, but the sailor in question whoops and darts over to the ladder. Everyone else except for Time, Four, and Sky–who’s only just now stumbling out of bed to see what’s causing all the commotion–are hot on his heels, and the ladder shakes as they climb.

 Eventually, Four gives in and follows them up, and each jerk of the round wooden steps beneath his feet takes his heart along with it.

 The view is worth it.

༻༺

 “All right, does everyone have all of their things?” Time’s voice amongst the others is a monotone rumble in the background of Four’s thoughts, just a bit of white noise as he gathers up his stuff. Farosh. Farore? Peaceful dragons? They’re so beautiful, say the Colors in a whirling kaleidoscope of emotion. 

 Legend hefts his satchel and glances over at Sky. “Still can’t believe you almost missed seeing the dragon.”

 “I can’t, either, but I’m so glad I didn’t. For some reason, she makes me miss my Loftwing.” Sky says, with a longing sigh. 

 As the others engage in banter, Time makes his way back over to the counter where the stable master stands. The man offers him a warm smile and ducks his head in question.

 “Before we set off, I’d like to ask. Do you have any idea where we’d be able to find Link?” Time says, lingering just a few feet further away from the stable master as if he’s afraid he’ll get sniffed again. 

 The stable master notices this and chuckles. “As far as I know, he’s got a house in Hateno that he stops by often. Don’t quote me on that, though. You can get to Hateno by heading down that road and veering off down the hill, where Lurelin Village sits along the shore. Then take a raft and follow along the rocks ‘till you see a path ‘tween the mountains. It’s about a day and a half of walking, unless you stop to rest at Lurelin.”

 “Thank you.” 

 As the Old Man is getting ready to return to the group, the stable master adds. “Just don’t let me find out that you went off and tried to hurt ‘im, all right?”

 Time offers him a short, curt nod, while Four laughs at the idea that any of them would ever attempt such a thing.

Notes:

THANK YOU for taking the time to read this, i promise i am churning out chapters as we speak and *yes,* wild will show up eventually, but not for a little bit. i did have some parts of this chapter that i hated (the stable scene) but i literally could not find a workaround and gave up on trying. (sorry!)

any constructive criticism is very much appreciated, just don't be an ass about it. ESPECIALLY regarding characterization! this is my first time writing anything for LU that isn't a oneshot so if you see me messing up on a character please please tell me

edit 6/27/23: uh, just found out adults can't see the dragons? sorry about that inaccuracy. oops! well uh. oh well? im doing my best out here man 3

Chapter 2: earth, wind and sky

Summary:

Wind gets a taste of home, Sky gets a surprise

Notes:

many thanks to everybird4hundo for beta reading my fic and answering my many, many questions! if you get the chance, you should also read their current ongoing work, never break the Chain. it's such a good piece of writing and i've immensely enjoyed reading it thus far

as always, criticism is much appreciated and i'm always happy to hear your thoughts on my writing! the response from the last chapter was AMAZING, i hadn't expected all of you to like it so much, especially when i wasn't much of a fan of it myself. this fandom is so so kind and welcoming and every comment inspires me to write and improve more <3

this chapter is NOT completely beta read (will be updated when/if it is), multi-pov, and there are some descriptions of injury toward the end, so be mindful of that! i will add specific cws at the end of this note.

edit 7/4/23: now fully beta read!!

cw: descriptions of burn injuries on/around the face

 He thinks he hears Zelda weeping softly in his ears, a mournful, quiet sound. (He remembers how he’s always hated it when she cries, hated her father and her duty and yet still he was so powerless, so unable to fulfill his oath and save the princess from living a life she can’t stand.) 

 He thinks she might be holding him, dragging her tremorous fingers through his matted hair, but then realizes that it’s only the dust and grime that cradles his face in a facsimile of her touch. (He remembers how she brushed hers so often when they were on the road, and when he would ask why, she’d reply, voice thick and heavy with something he didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand, ‘A princess's hair should be free of knots, for she must appear presentable at all times.’)

 Then, he suddenly hears the voices of others in blaring, lagging echoes that ring faraway in his skull like bells. (But that doesn’t make sense. He’s alone in this place, with Fi and the malice and Zelda’s dim soul that flickers out too much for his own comfort. There shouldn’t be anyone else here.)

 His arms burn with the weight of the sword.

 He cannot let go.

 Link searches.

༻༺

 When he’s traveling with the Chain, Wind isn’t often met with scenery that makes him homesick. Some of the Links have beaches, yes, but they rarely ever face the need to travel to one, so it’s been months since his last contact with any seawater. And Wind is miserable.

 But Lurelin Village feels like home. 

 As they trek down the hill, Wind can see cerulean waves crash against pristine white sand, can hear the distant lullaby of seagulls high up in the sky. It’s close to evening now, the entire land awash in a sea of pink and yellow, the sun just a blip against the edge of the sky. A collection of wooden huts litters the shore, surrounded by tall, curving palm trees ripe with green fruits that hang tantalizingly out of reach. 

 There are people working and little specks that must be children, running and playing and scream-laughing along the shore like he and Aryll used to do.

 He can feel the ghost of Grandma’s withered fingers running through his hair, Aryll’s pudgy little hand holding his tight as they race each other through the sand. (He doesn’t tell her that that isn’t how a race works, that you have to let go and run as fast as you can and hope the other person doesn’t reach the finish first. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to disappoint her, but he knows that’s not true.) 

 Wind sees this village and a spark of true joy ignites in his gut, like the static hiss of Farosh’s power tingling over his skin. Wind sees this village and misses Outset Island.

“It’s so pretty,” Hyrule murmurs, Four nodding his assent.

 As soon as they’ve drawn close enough, he’s breaking into a dead run, kicking off his shoes and skittering through the sand like a crab. There’s so much to see, and he knows that they won’t be staying for longer than a night, if at all. He thinks he can hear Twilight yelling at him to slow down, wait up, but he keeps moving, stumbling over the wooden path lined with torches that warm his face and color his skin gold. 

  People stand at stalls waving their hands at him to come try delicacies only found in Lurelin, a once in a lifetime opportunity, they say. To his left, there’s a massive building with a palm tree growing through the top that has some sort of game to play. Far out on the dock are a woman and her vessel, saddled with an innumerable amount of goods laid out across the tables and spilling over the edges of the boat.  

This village is so alive, even though it’s small, engulfed by the aromas of salt and seafood and the melodic clamor of people going about their days. The sizzle of fresh-caught fish cooking in a pot is the best sound he’s heard in months , and now he’s yearning for Grandma’s cooking again.

Wind wants to see everything, he wants to buy everything, and alas, he feels beyond regret as he palms his pockets and finds only a single sad, blue rupee. 

 He turns his attention to the calm, shallow ripples of water crawling up the beach. It whispers to him of islands floating above a sunken Hyrule in an era long past, a gentle song that has him feeling so, so nostalgic.  Peeling off his socks, now damp from walking so close to the wet sand, Wind tosses them onto the ground behind him and steps into the waves. Daylight glints off of the water and casts bright, distorted ripples across his cheeks as he kneels down. 

 There are fish in the water, he sees, and they remind him of the ones he used to see back home. Large round porgies weaving in and out of the bright coral, strange colored crabs that click their pincers threateningly at him as they scuttle past, and shells embedded into the seabed shimmering vivid vermillion and plum. Wind drags his hands through the crystalline, foamy waves that lap at his ankles, falling to his knees and letting them sink into the grit. 

 His pants might be getting soaked, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make, if it means he'll be able to feel the ocean rush around his legs for just a little longer. 

 Soon, however, the others catch up to him, trudging deep tracks into the sand with expressions ranging from mildly amused (Hyrule) to exasperated (Time). The Old Man had gone and picked up his shoes for him, and they dangle off of his fingers now, smacking each other with each step he takes. 

  They drag their feet too much, Wind thinks, no wonder Sky looks exhausted as he jogs toward him. “How…” He pauses, huffing and leaning on Time to catch his breath, “...did you run away so fast?” 

 “Your pants are wet,” Legend adds, as helpful as ever. Wind splashes him with water. 

༻༺

 The group manages to find an inn near the center of the village, run by a nice lady named Chessica who smiles kindly and offers salt spas for all who enter. She allows them to hang their soaked clothes to dry with an unconcerned wave of her hand, because you’re not taking up space, we’re a tiny village, no one else is going to come in and rent a bed at this time of day . There’s a comforting sort of feeling to the beds turned sticky by humidity, something that the others complain about, but Wind doesn’t mind.

 Why would he? This–grains of sand in the covers that can’t seem to be brushed away, the incessant shrieking of gulls above, fishermen yelling much too loudly at such a late hour–is home.

 Legend sighs, voice muffled as he stuffs his face into his pillow. “Goddesses, ‘m so tired.” His hair is still dripping with water.

 Wind can agree with that. This Hyrule seems to be much bigger than any of theirs, and traversing even that short distance from the stable to the village took hours. What sort of other places are here , he wonders, and what sort of person is this era’s Hero? 

 He imagines how Link might look, how he might behave. Tall, maybe. Long strides fit for roving across far-flung lands. Hands rough and calloused from climbing towering mountains and trees. Deep blue eyes that mirror those of his eight other counterparts. An easy smile. Most of this Hyrule's landscape is covered in overgrown wilderness, so he probably spends plenty of time out in nature, right? Would he be younger than Wind, or older? 

 The sailor wouldn’t mind having a little brother. Being the youngest of the Chain is getting old.

 ༻༺

 In the morning Chessica directs them to a fisherman named Armes who agrees to take them over to the beach near Ebon Mountain, stating, I’ll be heading over there to sell my goods soon, anyhow. Armes is kind, though a bit rough around the edges, with most of his talking points relating to his place of work one way or another. He’s either ranting about roasting porgies or the intricacies of controlling a raft or his favorite places to fish. It’s nothing new to Wind, who’d been hearing the same sort of things from people back home for years and years.

 He will miss Lurelin Village, though, he thinks as they all pile into Armes’ tiny boat. Each person that steps on rocks it just slightly, eliciting a stressed hiss from Legend and a few winces from the others. It’s clearly not meant to carry nine people, but Wind knows that as long as they avoid any octoroks (are those a thing, in this Hyrule?) or other water monsters, they won’t run the risk of capsizing. 

 Most of the others look too ill to engage in banter–Legend is clenching his jaw shut, staring off toward a faraway island, and Four has turned a pale shade of green–so instead Wind converses with Armes while the man drives a long pole into the water and pushes them away from the dock.

 “So,” Wind says, taking on that glossy-eyed look he gets every time he talks about seafaring, “How long have you been fishing?”

 Armes shrugs. “My entire life, ever since I was old enough to wrap my fingers ‘round an oar.”

 “So this has always been your job?”

 “Yep. Never known anything else, and I’m perfectly happy with it.”

As they talk, they drift further from the dock, and Lurelin Village becomes a tiny collection of huts once more, shrinking into nothing but a sweet memory. Yeah, Wind thinks, feeling that familiar pit of boredom rearing up in his belly, he’s definitely going to miss it. 

 At least he gets to be afloat again, even if it’s different from what he’s used to.

༻༺ 

 Sky likes Lurelin Village. He likes seeing Wind so happy, grinning and supplying stories about his home. He likes the shells and the water and eating fish for dinner, even though crabs are terrifying with their gross, wriggly little legs. He likes seeing Wind light up when they get on the boat like he’s finally back in his element, while the others can only sit back and watch.

 However, Sky cannot say that he isn’t glad to be back on land again. It’s not that he can’t handle being on the water (and Hylia forbid, the sailor would tease him for the rest of his life if he couldn’t), but each pitch of the boat sends his stomach dropping to his feet with a nauseating tremble. He’s not the only one–almost half of the others look like they’re ready to puke their guts out at a moment’s notice, save for Time. Of course the Old Man’s face doesn’t even twitch.

 When they step onto the shore, the ground rocks like he’s still afloat, rolling in waves beneath his feet. Sky worries that he might have to sit down, but eventually the sickness ebbs, carried away by the salty wind beating at his back. There’s an unnatural quiet to this part of the beach–no seagulls, no chatter, only the static buzz of the ocean in his ears–something so unlike Lurelin that it’s jarring. The sail cloth wrapped around Sky’s waist flutters alongside the breeze; he can almost close his eyes and imagine he’s up in Skyloft again. It’s peaceful. 

 Jagged stones break the waves with ease, littered about the sand like rupees from a dropped purse. Up the hill, there’s a dirt path cutting through verdant grass, framed by rocks on all sides. Sky realizes that they’ve finally reached normal terrain. No thunderous rainforests, no sandy beaches. Just clear skies and green grass. He’s relieved. For a little while, he’d been worried that all of Hyrule was like that. 

 Turning to look at the others, Sky sees Twilight speaking with Armes, gesturing down the path.

 “Just turn right every time the road forks.” Armes says. “There are some bokoblins that make their camp up there every blood moon, though. Nothing difficult, mostly reds and a couple blues, but if you’re unlucky enough, there might be a black one. Usually there’s someone that comes and clears up the route for us, but he hasn’t done it yet.” Armes glances down toward their swords. “I’m sure you folks are capable enough to handle them, though.”

 Already this raises so many questions. Someone who fights bokoblins for the safety of the people? The eight heroes share a glance but do not inquire further, remembering the events at Lakeside Stable.

“Thank you.” Twilight ducks his head, and Sky doesn’t miss how his accent disappears almost entirely. “Are you sure you don’t want to walk with us? We’re goin’ in the same direction, after all.”

 “It’s fine.” Armes laughs. “I usually take the path further down the beach to avoid that camp, anyway. Besides, what kind of Hylian would I be if I couldn’t fight off a few monsters?”

 The man couldn’t have declined more firmly. So, though reluctantly, they all take turns thanking him and saying their goodbyes. Wind especially looks like he isn’t quite ready to leave yet, gazing longingly at the fisherman’s boat with a faraway look in his eye, but Sky supposes that makes sense. The entire time they were on the water, Wind was chatting eagerly with Armes about his own home (omitting the fact that it was just another version of Hyrule, of course) and how he’d grown up on an island. Coming to Lurelin must have been nice for him.

 If Sky weren’t so prone to homesickness, he might wish that there was a place like Skyloft here, too.

 Finally, though, Armes waves them goodbye and pushes his boat back into the water, and they all just stand around awkwardly as they watch him go. The silence is stifling.

 Warriors is the first one to speak up. “So, does anyone here know what a blood moon is?”

 Six of them answer with a wavering chorus of “no”s. 

The smithy, however, looks to be deep in thought. “It couldn’t be anything we need to worry about, could it?” Four says, glancing up curiously at the clear blue sky where the moon hangs, nothing but a faded silhouette, now. “I mean, if he mentions it so easily…”

 Worrying at his lip, Hyrule adds, “And what about what he said about that person? You guys think it might be Link?”

 “Likely.” Time says. “He lives near here. We’ll just have to find out when we reach Hateno.” Then he’s gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, we don’t have all day, and if our recent experiences have been anything to go by, we’ll be walking for a while.”

 And so begins their long, strenuous trek through the sand and up the hill. 

 This Hyrule seems to appreciate making them walk. It’s a steep climb, with natural stone arches that hang over the passage and cast shadows over their faces as they pass. The mountains are still glazed over from the recent rain, and the dirt path is still soaked with water. Mud collects on their shoes and Time’s armor glimmers like platinum under the harsh sunlight. The Old Man hasn’t even broken a sweat. Does he never get hot, wearing that hunk of metal all the time? 

 Eventually, the ground flattens out beneath their feet into something easier to walk on, blue fog parting to reveal one of Armes’ aforementioned “forks in the road.” It’s simple, a brown dirt path split two ways through the greenery dotted with white flowers, footprints embedded into its surface. The only trees in sight are far enough that he can barely make out their features, little blobs of green and brown. Something about the area gives Sky a strange feeling. 

 Wind and Hyrule, at the front of the Chain alongside Time, give an abrupt gasp, and the grass crunches under their feet as they jog past the path to examine something Sky can’t see. Staring downward, even the Old Man sucks in an awed breath when he joins them, losing the tense bunch of his shoulders in favor of going completely slack.

 “Oh, what is it now?” Sky can hear Legend mutter under his breath. The veteran’s eyeroll is earthshaking.

 Sky finds out what has the three so shocked when he trudges up the hill and looks down.

 An incomprehensible stretch of land sprawls itself out before them, extending as far as the eye can see. The ground they stand on slopes downward, cutting off into a sheer cliff raised high above trees and rivers masked by azure mist. Twin mountain peaks in the distance reach toward thin, feathery clouds as if they were split down the middle, and to his right he can see the flickering lights of a village surrounded by woods. There are waterfalls and ruins and massive mountain ranges capped with snow, roads curving around rocky terrain, and horses grazing in herds atop smooth hills.

 The landscape is lush with wilderness, nothing like the barren wastes of Hyrule’s Hyrule but just as untamed, just as infused with magic. It makes Sky feel insignificant, about as crucial as a speck on the feathers of a Loftwing, and yet still he can tell that there is more to see past those twin peaks. There is more beyond what's in front of his eyes. The amount of life crammed into this one fraction of land is enough to make Sky feel overwhelmed.

 He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep inhale. 

 “Are those wild horses?” Twilight says. Of course that’s the first thing he notices. “Suddenly the whole registerin’ thing that stable master mentioned makes more sense.”

 “What,” Legend snorts, “You think people here just go out and catch a horse when they need a ride?”

 “Yes, actually, I do.”

 The overpowering scent of burning fire after a lightning strike and the taste of rust fills his senses, sticking to his throat harshly as he inhales. Pressure buzzes in the air, hovering inches away from his skin, and Sky realizes that this is the source of that strange feeling from earlier. 

 Unaware, Four points toward the rising smoke and lights to their left. “I hate to interrupt this moment, but the village is over there, and we should probably get moving before a certain group of bokoblins turns up.”

 “No, hold on.” Sky raises a hand. “Do you smell that?”

 The others turn toward him. 

 Warriors is about to shake his head, but freezes. “Wait, yeah, I do. What is that?”

 On his back, Sky feels Fi abruptly begin to shudder in place. At first it’s hardly noticeable, how she trembles in her sheath with a building thrum of power, but the tremors gradually progress until it’s impossible for him not to detect. Sky can almost taste the distress radiating from the blade in waves, and he’s shocked . Ever since they’d arrived in this era, she’d been unnaturally quiet, almost concerningly so. What’s causing this sudden change?

 The others notice it too. Their eyes are blown wide as he unsheathes the Master Sword with a clean shing and examines her quietly pulsating blade. Even during the day, she casts an eerie glow over their features, turning their skin ghostly and pale.

 “What… What is she doing?” Wind says quietly. He’s leaning in close with a concerned expression and a furrowed brow. Sometimes Sky forgets that these people have wielded the blade before, too, that although they aren’t as closely bonded to her as he is, they still care.

 Alas, their attention is torn away by an ear-piercing creak ripping through the clearing, reminiscent of door hinges that need to be oiled or metal grinding on metal, at such an uncomfortable volume that Sky has to force down the urge to press his palms to his temples and scream. What is that?

His ears twitch as the squeaking sound gets louder–no, closer, Sky corrects himself, as if it’s coming from the base of the cliff.

 It is. Crouching down and leaning over the edge, the eight spot an odd spider-like creature clinging precariously to the cliff’s surface. 

 It looks like it’s made of stone, with pear-shaped body and a head that twists and spins, and shining metal-plated appendages that stretch out to grip the cliffside with clawed ends. They dig into the stone and pull out crumbling chunks that ding off of its head and plummet to the ground. Moss creeps up its body and dangles off its limbs, mud-encrusted and rusty, as if it’d just crawled out of the ground. A single, artificial sapphire eye glimmers unsettlingly from behind the mist.

 As it scrabbles for purchase on the sheer rock face, it suddenly stills. Its eye is fixed on them, and the erratic swiveling of its head calms completely.

 “That doesn’t look friendly.” Warriors mutters. There’s a glowing red dot flickering in the center of his forehead.

 Sky isn’t the only one that sees it. “Get back.” Time says abruptly, his voice stretched into a thin, quiet hiss. “Get away from the edge!”

 He shoves them all into the grass with one massive sweep of his arms, just in time; a white-hot beam of light cleaves through the air where Warriors’ face had been a moment ago, singeing Sky’s eyebrows and crashing into the hill behind them. There’s only a charred, smoking valley of blackened grass where the beam struck, now. 

 Warriors wouldn’t have survived being hit by something like that, Sky realizes, and the thought makes his stomach flip.

 A few choice words spring from their lips as they rush to get away from the edge, digging their fingers into dark soil, tripping over their feet, but it’s too late. The spider-thing moves its shrieking legs with renewed vigor, scaling up the rest of the cliff in mere seconds until it manages to drag itself onto the ground behind them. Now that it’s closer, Sky can hear muffled clicks and whirrs beneath the thing’s surface, how it rumbles with the presence of something darker and beeps when it fixes its little red dot on his back.

 He hardly cares anymore, though, because Fi is screaming at him. Or, at least, speaking as loud as she can without saying actual words . Her familiar chime fills his skull with cotton, rattles his brittle bones and crushes his floundering, disordered thoughts with all the force of a rolling boulder, but he can't understand a word she’s saying. It’s all a tangled tapestry of garbled noise, carrying bits and pieces of things that could be speech but don’t seem to be arranged into any coherent thought process. In fact, they don’t even sound like Fi’s voice , to be frank, and now he’s worried that she might not be the one speaking at all.

 Sky is so distracted that he forgets to move, staring at the sword blankly until Hyrule yanks him out of the way of the creature’s next blast.

 Intense warmth blazes past his ear, but this time instead of just singeing his hair, it burns. He feels bubbling pain flare across the side of his face and down his neck as agony rears its ugly head. Spots dance in his vision like fairies, glittering brightly with all the colors of the rainbow no matter how much he tries to blink them away. Sky can’t keep himself from stumbling, can’t keep his knees from buckling or his fingers from going slack around Fi’s grip. 

 Sorry, he wants to say to his friend, I didn’t mean to drop you. But that doesn’t feel like it carries enough weight for this circumstance, for some reason. His heart pounds in his chest as he swallows back the spit collecting in his mouth, sweat beads across his brow and fingers twist their white-knuckled grip around scorched grass. Never before has he hated the smell of burning flesh more.

 Everything is blurry–he thinks his eyes are tearing up from the smoke, perhaps. There might be people yelling, gripping his arm and tugging like they need him to move. Sky isn’t sure. He’s too focused on his face and how it hurts . All of it hurts, he corrects himself, his head is throbbing and his ears can’t take any more of that thing’s incessant creaking and for the love of Hylia, could his brothers stop screaming for a minute so he can close his eyes?

 Rocks scrape his knees through the fabric of his pants. Is the pain hot, or is it cold? Sky feels himself being dragged away from a blackened crater where the spider’s third beam shakes the earth, someone’s relieved sigh when they finally manage to lean him up against a rock outside of the line of fire. He hears the familiar pop of a red potion being uncorked, the twang of Twilight releasing an arrow that clatters uselessly off of the thing’s stone surface–

 –Fi’s voice, above the smeared mix of sound attacking his eardrums, he’s here, he’s here, look behind you, or something like that. Sky doesn’t know. He can’t differentiate real sounds from his own thoughts fogged over by the pulsing throb of the right side of his face. 

 The last thing he sees as someone presses the rim of a glass bottle to his lips– fuck, Sky, you need to drink this, please– is a flavescent glow of light and the stone spider’s sudden collapse. Oh, he’s so grateful for that, for the way it lies unmoving in a pile of wiry limbs on the ground, for the way it quite literally falls apart. At least they won’t have to worry about lugging him around while they’re trying to run from that thing , Sky thinks, and it takes all of his remaining energy to keep from bursting into hysterical peals of laughter.

 Then, the darkness finally passes its fingers over his eyelids, and he allows himself to fall into blissful, oblivious rest.

Notes:

oops! sorry. didn't mean to hurt my boy there, that was completely unplanned

Chapter 3: cooking pot

Summary:

 Hyrule’s heart breaks as he cradles the other hero’s neck in his hands and presses the potion bottle to his cracked lips. Goddesses, Sky is a mess. It’s second-degree, at most, he says to himself, if I can get him to drink this, there won’t even be a scar. But it’s hard for him to remember that fact when his eyes pass over the swelling, blistering red marks that crawl up his friend’s neck and along his cheek. 

Notes:

sorry it took so long to drop this update! life has been hectic recently and i'd started a ton of other projects (more on that in end notes). 3 completely forgot about this fic for a couple of weeks, but every comment made me get up and put in a couple hundred words at a time if i could! then, today, i finally sucked it up and churned out the last 2k, making this chapter the longest in the fic (nearly 8k words!) as of now! (7/26/23)

as always, thank you to my beta everybird4hundo for helping out with this fic. though this chapter is not completely beta read yet, they have helped motivate me so, so much ever since i started off writing and it means the world to me. if you can, you should check out their fic, never break the Chain. it's a wonderful piece of writing and it's been my pleasure to have the chance to see it in the making.

and thank you guys! the response on the first two chapters was baffling, and i mean that in a good way. i had never expected to see an analysis of my writing or such high praise, and it inflates my ego like crazy /j

i just want you all to know that even if your comments do not recieve a reply, i see them, and i love and appreciate every single word you type. i notice all your kudos, all your bookmarks, and all your subscriptions. it makes me feel like a celebrity, especially after i'd been worried about the quality of my chapters being too low. i've tried to minimize typos because i know they've been a big thing in my work since i started to post here, but if you see any errors, don't feel afraid to point them out to me so i can run and fix them up! this doesn't just apply to typos, either; if you see me messing up characterization, YELL AT ME. (/j be gentle haha.)

chapter-specific warnings: minor suicidal ideation if you squint, semi-graphic depictions of injury, self-loathing and illness. we got some sky and hyrule hurt, this time :(

 Hyrule’s heart breaks as he cradles the other hero’s neck in his hands and presses the potion bottle to his cracked lips. Goddesses, Sky is a mess. It’s second-degree, at most, he says to himself, if I can get him to drink this, there won’t even be a scar. But it’s hard for him to remember that fact when his eyes pass over the swelling, blistering red marks that crawl up his friend’s neck and along his cheek. 

 The lower half of Sky’s face is a ruined plane of burns that glisten with clear, shining liquid, his jaw clenched tight, sweat beading in large droplets on his forehead. His eyelids have almost completely fluttered shut, and a chunk of his hair is nothing but a charred, brittle mess, filling Hyrule’s nostrils with a stench so pungent it’s all he can do to keep from gagging. Seeing all of it up close, the traveler can understand how Sky had just fallen over with no regard for his own safety. It looks painful. 

  That thing’s beam barely even grazed him, Hyrule thinks, and it did that kind of damage? His gut gives a panicked little clench at the thought. There’s no way they can go up against something like that. 

 “Fuck, Sky, you need to drink this, please,” Hyrule begs, tipping the potion into his mouth. He’s relieved to see Sky swallow it, however weakly, but they don’t have time to carry him around. They have to run, and they have to do so now, or–another blast shakes the ground–they’ll end up as nothing but scorch marks burned into the grass. How are you going to get him away from here? murmurs a tiny, itching voice in the back of his mind. What will you do if you have to leave him?

 He shoves it down. Wasting his energy on worrying about possibilities isn’t going to get them out of this mess. (Twilight nocks an arrow and fires. It does about as much damage as a paper sword.) He needs to be rational . Could he draw the spider’s attention from the others so they can escape? Would they even let him do that?

 Hyrule swallows, prepared to waste precious seconds by telling the others to start running when he hears a long, drawn-out creak from the spider’s metal limbs. It shudders with all the weakness of an ancient machine, sparking, shorting electricity sending chills down his spine. Even with his back turned, he can see the strange golden glow it emanates so brightly, blindingly, from its body, flooding the surrounding area with white light. 

 Then everything goes dead, and they stand in a lifeless, noiseless plain.

 “What–” Hyrule begins, twisting his neck around to look at the spider. He falters.

 It lies in a twisted heap of limbs, completely unmoving. The static hum of energy buzzing just beneath its surface–alongside the glow of its ultramarine eye–has gone completely dead, not a single twitch rippling through its ancient, rusted legs. What with how the moss clothes its body, Hyrule can almost imagine that it’d never been alive in the first place. 

 Sky’s face and the smoking crater a short distance away remind him of otherwise.

 Legend is the first to speak. “What?” His voice rings clear through the plateau.

 “Is it… alive?” Wind whispers, hushed and quick, as though he fears too much noise will wake it up again.

 But no. Hyrule knows from the moment he feels the spider’s stifling malevolence dissipate entirely that it’s done. That sudden shift from overwhelming, uncomfortably oppressive power shoving itself down his throat to stagnant air is jarring, and it takes him more than a moment to reorient himself before he can take a deep inhale and get back to work.

 Carefully (ignoring the whispering of the others, because they don’t matter right now), he takes the empty potion bottle away from Sky’s lips and pockets it. He’s extremely lucky he managed to get Sky to swallow any of it before he passed out–already, he can see the slick blisters beginning to subside, supported by his friend’s tight grimace loosening up into something less agonized and more uncomfortable. 

 Lifting the burned bits of Sky’s hair and curling them between his fingers, Hyrule briefly considers just cutting off the damage. He then decides against it. It’s doubtful that Sky will appreciate waking up with missing hair, especially if it was sheared off using a sword.

 He pushes himself to his feet and looks around. Everything smells like ash. Crackling embers flicker through the air and tiny, dying flames lap at the remains of what was once a beautiful clearing with steadily growing vegetation. His brothers are still staring suspiciously at the giant hunk of metal that’d been chasing them not even a moment ago. They don’t seem to have realized that it’s nothing but a husk, now.

 He sometimes forgets that they don’t always sense magic like he does. But can’t they feel this? Sure, this Hyrule is overflowing with life, but it can’t hold a candle to the malice roiling beneath the earth, the thick stench of evil that curls around his neck and coats his tongue, permeating every inch of the soil they walk on. Even the grass is infused with the stuff, and each minute he spends here is crushing. It reminds Hyrule, disturbingly, of his own home.

 Twilight, who is still right beside him, turns his attention to Sky. “Is he all right?”

 “Um,” Gingerly, Hyrule wipes the sweat from Sky’s forehead with the end of his sleeve and digs through his satchel for a patch to cover the rapidly fading burns. “The potion is, uh, working. He passed out, but I think that was just from the shock. He’ll wake up soon.”

 The group’s audible sighs of relief ring across the otherwise silent plateau. 

 “What was–?” Four begins, but the Old Man stops him.

 “We can talk about this when we’re somewhere safer. I don’t want to be here when that thing wakes back up.” Time says. His single blue eye is fixed on the spider’s empty one.

 Hyrule agrees. As sure as he is that the creature is dead, he’s less than certain that it’ll stay that way. The thought of it coming to life while their backs are turned, putting a burning hole through one of their bodies–Goddesses, he can’t imagine losing any of his brothers like that. He can hardly comprehend just how close of a call they’d had with Sky. 

 Aloud, he says, “Yeah. Twi, do you think you can carry him while we walk?” 

 Twilight shrugs as he kneels down. “No probl’m. Here, let me pick ‘im up.” 

 Soon, Sky is latched precariously onto Twilight’s back, arms dangling over his shoulders and face buried into the dark fur of his pelt. His eyes, still shut, are barely visible amongst the silky fluff and his hair bounces with each movement. Twilight doesn’t even look like he’s bothered by the weight. Hyrule would be more shocked if he was. Goddesses, the rancher wrestles Gorons for fun. 

 ༻༺

 Once the corpse is out of sight, replaced by a dense forest canopy that grows thicker the further they walk along the path, they finally begin to lose the tension bunched up in their shoulders. At least if it wakes back up, they’ll have a head start.

 Hyrule busies himself by examining their surroundings. These woods are different from the ones they’d first landed in. For one, there’s a startling lack of rain or humidity, and the trees are much smaller, less chaotic. The path they walk on is well-traveled, wider, footprints and thin lines from wagon wheels ingrained into the dirt. 

 However, these aspects don’t keep this woodland from being wild in its own right. As much as the group tries to keep to the road and the cliffside it wraps around, the forest bleeds into their environment with ease. Birdsong echoes from atop rattling branches packed with viridescent leaves, and Hyrule can see deer– deer– weaving through the underbrush gracefully. At one point, he’d nearly stepped on a thin red lizard that’d been skittering too close underfoot.

 Although he enjoys the change in scenery, his brothers seem to disagree, if their lack of conversation is any indicator. Warriors and Legend, too exhausted to argue anymore, have devolved into grunting and shoving each other halfheartedly. Four looks like he’s about to topple over with the next strong breeze, and Wind had somehow managed to force his way onto Time’s back half an hour ago. Even Twilight has perspiration gathering around his neck and forehead, still carrying a slumbering Sky. Hyrule can’t imagine that wearing such a thick pelt is helpful for staving off the heat.

 Wind groans. “Do you think we could maybe stop and sit for a little while?”

 “Why are you acting like you’re tired?” Legend retorts, brushing his sweat-damp fringe out of his eyes.  “You haven’t even been walking.” 

 “Uh, just watching you guys is exhausting enough.” The sailor punctuates his sentence with a dramatic yawn, stretching out over Time’s shoulders.

 Four raises an eyebrow thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’d kill us if we sat down for a little while.” 

 “An’ we should probably go over the plan, too. Ya know, make sure we’re all on th’ right track an’ all,” Twilight adds, feigning consideration. 

 Pinching the bridge of his nose and doing his best to ignore them, the Old Man sighs.

 “I agree with Twilight. We do need to go over what we know about the attack,” Warriors mutters, glancing behind them–almost nervously. He’s the only one out of the group that actually sounds completely serious, but it does make sense. Warriors had barely missed being turned into a smoking crater by that laser. Hyrule would be paranoid, too. 

(He is paranoid. Though he can keep making excuses for himself, Hyrule knows the truth.The maples taunt him where their branches hang over the road, each bleat of elk ducked beneath the underbrush sounding too much like the spider’s creaking legs for his own comfort. Glancing wildly at their surroundings, he waits for its beam to gouge a valley through the path they walk, but it never comes.)

 The Old Man grumbles as he stops in his tracks and gestures toward a fallen tree trunk a few feet from the path. “Fine, fine, come on. We can sit down for a bit.” He gives a few of them a sharp sideways glare. “ A bit. Do you hear me?”

 They respond with only obedient nods.

 Hyrule doesn’t realize how exhausted he is until he leans on the log and feels his entire being melt into a puddle. Suddenly, every muscle in his body is crying out in exquisite agony, needling his insides as if he’d been walking constantly for several hours. Which, yes, he did do that, for multiple days in a row, so he shouldn’t be surprised. Still, Hyrule can’t keep a tired exhale from escaping his dry, cracked lips. 

 (For a split second, he’s about to ask Wind to let him drink out of his flask, but then he remembers that its contents are most certainly not water. Legend had made that mistake once, and Hyrule refuses to follow in his predecessor’s footsteps.)

 The others respond similarly, giving a chorus of relieved groans as they push twigs and leaves out of the way until they’ve got enough space to put down their things. Legend drops to his knees almost immediately and begins to rifle through his pouch, while Warriors and Four lean their backs against the largest of the trees. Time takes a seat atop a fallen log near Hyrule, and Wind entertains himself by picking strange glowing mushrooms poking out of the dark, damp soil (despite the Old Man’s terse insistence that he “stay away from those, we don’t know if they’re poisonous”).

 With care, Twilight shifts Sky to the ground, peels off his pelt, and stuffs it under their brother’s neck, gentle enough not to jostle him awake. Sky’s face pinches regardless as he shrinks in on himself, curling into a tight ball on his side. 

 The burns have subsided almost completely by now, Hyrule notices, nothing but a shell-pink scar marring his otherwise unblemished complexion. Perhaps it will fade over time, or maybe it’ll stick around for years to come. Either way, the result is far better than it could’ve been had Hyrule not administered that red potion sooner.

 The rancher’s voice jolts him out of his tumultuous thoughts. “D’you think we’re good’ta wake ‘im up yet? He should be ‘round fer this conversation.” 

 Warriors’ voice sounds from nearby. “He should be fine. I’m pretty sure he’s only been out this long because he’s a heavy sleeper.” 

 Nodding, Twilight brushes a knuckle across Sky’s brow. 

“Hey, Sky? Giddup.”

 Sky moans and twists away from the touch as if it were acid, throwing an arm over his eyes. If Hyrule strains his ears enough, he can hear faint, incoherent mutterings drifting from his mouth. Something about waking up late? 

 Fortunately, it only takes another little nudge from Twilight before he’s shooting upward, flinging a hand violently to touch his cheek. Hair a bird’s nest and eyes still heavy with sleep, his face gives a minute twitch like he’d been expecting the contact to be painful, then flattens out when it isn’t. Slowly, Sky’s eyes pass between their faces uncomprehendingly.

 “What–How did we–?”

 “You passed out,” Warriors says placatingly, “And we managed to get away, set up here to rest a bit.”

 “But the–” Sky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “The–The weird metal thing. I saw it die. Did it?”

 Hyrule glances toward the rest of the group. The others have all turned toward Sky with varying expressions of relief and felicity, already pushing to their feet with growing grins. “Actually, that’s why we woke you up. You should be present while we go over what we know. Do you think you’re able to do that? How does the burn feel?”

 Sky frowns, passing a delicate hand over his jaw again.

 “Um. No, it doesn’t hurt now, thank you. I think I’m fine.”

Hyrule isn’t sure how much he believes him. Judging by the look on the captain’s face, it seems he’s not the only one.

 “Well, c’mon now, sit up an’ join us.” 

༻༺

 “So,” Warriors says through his mouthful of jerky stolen from Legend’s pouch, “Let me get this straight. We all saw how the spider glowed before it died, right?” 

 They’d been at it for nearly twenty minutes, each recounting their own version of recent events and putting together a detailed description of the machine; neatly cataloging what they knew of its abilities basically. Eventually they settled on simply calling it “the spider,” for lack of a better term. (Four had cruelly vetoed Wind’s suggestions of “laser thing” and “stupid hunk o’ junk.”)

 Now, the conversation had finally centered around the mystery of the thing’s sudden collapse. Hyrule thinks that this has been long overdue. He doesn’t say that out loud.

 “Yah, it was all, like, yellowy an’ stuff.” Wind says with an indifferent wave of his own piece of jerky. In the corner, Legend is staring down the pair of thieves with all the ferocity of an enraged Daira, lips pursed into a thin line. They don’t seem to notice.

 With his pelt draped over his lap, Twilight drags one of the vet’s hair brushes through its scraggly, matted fur.  “So, what, d’we think it shut down or somethin’?” 

 Hyrule swallows. His throat rumbles like falling rocks.

 “I don’t think it was alive to begin with.” 

 “Whaddaya mean?”

 “You didn’t feel it? There was this weird presence inside of it that completely disappeared when it collapsed. It was possessed.”

 A grunt sounds from behind, and when Hyrule turns, he sees that Legend is sitting up straight. Four has shifted too, losing the bland set to his mouth as his brows disappear under his headband.

 “So I’m not the only one?” Legend says. “Ever since we got here, that shit has been suffocating me.”

 Four nods grimly. “Yeah. Took me a minute to notice, but once I did, I couldn’t stop feeling it. It’s like it’s everywhere.” 

 He can agree with that. Even now, where they sit within this harmless wood, it’s wrapped tight around his skin, a harsh throb of wicked impurity roaring in his ears and ripping its talons down his back. The sensation is sharp, sickening, and wildly uncomfortable; Hyrule is getting tired of it.

 There’s a baffled scoff from Warriors, who squints at the smithy suspiciously. He looks between the three and jabs a finger toward Four. “Wait, wait. I can understand ‘Roolie and Legend, but you? How are you any different from the rest of us?”

 Does the ability to perceive the malice truly depend entirely on one’s own magical affinity, or are there other factors at play? It would certainly explain how Four can grasp it, to an extent. 

 “I don’t know.”

 While Four shrugs, Hyrule’s eyes snag on the minute tear in his image, how he wrenches his tight grip around a clump of weeds he’d been fiddling with, face darkening with an emotion that disappears too fast for Hyrule to register. Four does know, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it aloud.

 “Magic stuff aside,” Twilight interrupts, “I’d like to know what that glow was. It seems to me that it’s the reas’n whatever was possessing it decided to clear out.” He sets the brush down on his pelt, essentially burying it in fur, and tilts his head toward Time.  “Any ideas, Old Man? You’ve been awfully quiet since we got here.” 

 The Old Man in question clears his throat. His voice is gravelly from disuse, yet still it rings clear. “It may have been the work of Hylia.”

 Sky brightens. He’s been sitting quietly since he woke up. “Yes, I…” A long pause, during which he rubs his palm against his forehead. “There’s this brand of energy that Hylia has. I don’t think she’s involved directly–it’s more likely that it came from this era’s Zelda, somehow.”

Hyrule takes a sideways glance at him. Even from the corner of his eye, it’s obvious that his complexion has paled significantly. The patchy remains of his burns are vivid against the wanness of his cheek, contrasting so sharply that for a minute Hyrule thinks they might be glowing. His fingers, too, look bone-white and clammy as he intertwines them with judicious care.

 “Or,” He adds, “that it’d originated from her at some—”

 Sky’s train of thought is shattered by a fervent tremor that seems to shred its way up and down his body. He rocks in place, muscles spasming violently as his face twists into a mask of uncertainty. Shouts erupt from all around as the others jump to their feet, shocked. It’s too apparent now, how his eyes are just on the worse side of hollow, how his face is coated in a dull pallor. 

 A single, breathless moment passes where Hyrule thinks he might faint, swaying haphazardly against the slowing of time, before he falls backward onto Twilight’s steady forearm. 

 Hyrule’s heart lurches painfully at the sight, and again at the gasps of his brothers already rushing to Sky’s side. How had he not noticed sooner? Sky has been sitting right beside him like this for how long, while they all were so wrapped up in their own discussion that they didn’t even notice? The idiot is already grimacing and waving them off like nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, he says, just a little tired. 

 None of the others listen to his excuses, thankfully. If anything, the little crowd around Sky grows more frantic, until Warriors–Hylia bless him–finally forces them out of the way. He’s on his knees next to Sky in an instant, pressing a palm against the other’s slick forehead despite his (many, many) weak assurances. Normally, Hyrule might feel a blaze of frustration at his friend’s blatant denial of his poor health, but his own illogical guilt staves off that emotion easily. 

 Warriors’ face is serious as his eyes meet Sky’s unfocused ones. “I need you to be honest with me, okay, Sky?”

 “I–”

 “ Okay?”

 Sky purses his lips and nods feebly. 

 “What are your symptoms right now?”

 He blinks, like he hadn’t been expecting that question. Laughs, quavering and brittle and Hyrule tries his best not to succumb to the tiny, growing panic threatening to eat him from the inside out.

 “Ahm. ‘M sort of dizzy? Burn hurts.”

 His burn hurts? That doesn’t make sense, he drank a potion. Hyrule saw it heal. He saw it heal . Gesturing for Sky to turn his head, Warriors’ fingers hover inches away from the mark that’d previously covered Sky’s entire cheek.

 It’s not pretty, Hyrule sees, craning his neck over the captain’s shoulder.

 The muscles of his friend’s face are rigid and strained, creating an ugly patchwork of pink and white that stains his skin indelibly. At some point the burn had begun to swell again. It throbs an angry, nightmarish crimson as it edges torturously slow across Sky’s jaw.

 ( “Is he okay?” Wind says. The stress coloring the sailor’s voice is painful to hear.)

 Most bizarre are the magenta wisps of something he can see hammering periodically beneath his flesh like some sort of parasite. They reek of the spider’s familiar venom, of its feral malignance that howls within the core of all it touches. They pulse in the same way the rest of this era’s hatred does; staring down a wild animal with eyes too human, too intelligent to be natural. An unsettled feeling begins to meld in Hyrule’s gut.

(The captain rifles through his medical bag and comes up empty. “I’m out of red potions.”)

 Mesmerized, he doesn’t even realize that Warriors is speaking to him until a heavy hand collides with his shoulder. Hyrule jolts at the touch, stammering incoherently until he’s dragged down to earth with a snap before his eyes.

 “‘Roolie, you still know that Life Spell, right?”

  What?

 It takes too long for his stuttering brain to catch up with Warriors’ train of thought, and longer still for him to truly process the captain’s request. Oh, he thinks absently, he wants me to use it on Sky.

 “Yeah–um, sorry, yes I do.” 

  Warriors nods, and they trade places. The voices of the others have faded into the background by now, nothing but an annoying drone that Hyrule can’t seem to block out as he presses a finger on the wound. A thousand apologies spill from his lips when it elicits a hiss and a pained grimace from Sky, but he doesn’t remove his hand. 

 The worst part of trying to use his magic is the unknown–the thought that maybe this is the injury he won’t be able to heal, maybe this one is the one that’ll take too much and fix too little. He’d considered it a million times before on his own adventures, but back then it had been just a brief, fleeting idea, vanishing as fast as it came. Never once had he run the risk of failing another person, letting anyone else other than himself die .

 Of course, he’d never really tried to cast it on other people until now.

 Hyrule closes his eyes and allows the sensation of magic leaving his body to overtake him. It’s as natural as breathing , comes the quiet thought, as easy as moving . Casting spells is always exhausting for him, some more than others, and although this is no exception, it’s a different sort of tiring. Nothing like the usual bone-deep ache of battle, it’s like lying in bed after a long day, feeling the tightness in his muscles ebb like ocean waves and pool in the soles of his feet. 

 A cool, thin stream of energy gathers in his palm and begins to trickle through the point where his finger meets Sky’s cheek. If one were to look close, they might see the slightest luminescence steadily emanating from the contact, washing their skin in magic. There’s no push from Sky’s end, fortunately, just an indignant flare of foreign evil rearing up only to be torn to shreds and purged entirely within a second. Hyrule can’t keep himself from exhaling through his nose, relieved.

 And then suddenly it ceases. The steady hum of magic vanishes, and the spell is incomplete, crashing back into his body forcefully while he can only sit frozen in place. What? That can’t be right. Hyrule tries again, and another time when that doesn’t work, but it’s as if he’s hit a brick wall extending miles across; no loopholes, no way over or around it, with the only option being attempting to force his way through. It’s almost like something had gone and put up a barrier to keep him out.

 But that doesn’t make sense. 

 Brows drawn high, Hyrule pulls back and examines the burn. It certainly looks improved, much of the evil latched onto it having dissipated. The swelling has also gone down quite a bit, too, returning much needed color to Sky’s deathly pale complexion. Hyrule might’ve assumed that he’d done the job properly, if not for the lingering shreds of malevolence that gather in tatters beneath his wound. (There’s a pang of disappointment at the fact that he couldn’t even manage to do this.)

 It’s not completely gone, and it takes everything he has not to feel helpless at the fact. Something like fear gnaws at his gut, because this isn’t normal. He’s only messed up the Life Spell once. It doesn’t make sense. 

Hyrule will save his frustrated screaming for later, though, because what matters right now is making sure his friend isn’t in any pain. “Does it feel any better?” He asks aloud, taking his hand away from Sky’s cheek.

Sky thinks for a moment. Hyrule can see how his fingers twitch where they lie folded in his lap, like he wants to touch it. “A bit.” He says, but when Warriors shoots him a look, he turns sheepish and adds, “It still stings, but it’s much better than before. Thank you.”

༻༺

 Despite Sky’s adamance, he isn’t allowed to walk again for the remainder of their journey, once again latched onto Twilight’s back in fear of any movement too strenuous worsening his condition. Whatever is wrong with him–there’s nothing they can do but relieve his pain temporarily, and they’d attempted everything. A red potion from Legend’s secret stash, some sort of strange soup from Wind– it’s from my grandma! I only have one use left, so make it count– and even a fairy, but nothing could stave off the parasitic enmity for long. 

 It had been agreed upon that they needed to get to the village quickly, in hopes that maybe it’s just an affliction common to this era. Perhaps there might be some sort of antidote, a person who can just snap their fingers and make it go away. Something in Hyrule’s mind whispers that it’s an unrealistic wish, that Hylia would never let them off that easily, but he can’t afford to do anything but hope. (But what will you do if he can’t be fixed? Your spell didn’t work. Are you just incompetent, or is he in danger?) 

 Their mood as they continue has significantly darkened. The Chain treks through the twisted, turning woods in silence, thinking, thinking, thinking, and Hyrule is almost hyper-aware of his brothers’ motions–Twilight, shifting Sky’s weight in his arms uneasily, the minute twitch of Four’s fingers. Something about this Hyrule before had seemed… artificial, like a lazy paint job splattered across a wall to cover up childish vandalism. Now, the paint is peeling, and it's like the world has been leached of all its color. Faux dyes drain from his vision in real time as they’re replaced by stifling, unnatural silence pushing in on his body from all sides. In a land Hyrule once saw as beautiful, sprawling and wild, he can now feel only the startling wrongness increase tenfold within each breath he takes, how there’s something creeping down his throat and settling in his gut.

 He tries not to think about what that might mean, that Ganon’s influence had not been completely banished from this land. Is this what has become of their future, he wonders, and the rusted weapons littering the ground they walk contrast stark against the dirt.

 When the trees part to reveal billowing smoke rising above chimneys and familiar, homely buildings, they exhale a collective sigh of relief. The overarching fear of being caught by one of the spider’s beams is sucked away in an instant, because finally, finally, they’re somewhere protected. Hyrule doesn’t care how the village looks smaller up close, how, even from down the hill, there don’t seem to be many people present. The stable and Lurelin are nothing compared to this, he thinks (and yet still there’s a perpetual feeling of emptiness wherever they walk). They’re safe now.

As they approach, the details of the village become clearer. The entrance has a bland arch with a red roof hanging over it, and standing in the center of the road is a man wearing a beige tunic and a broad hat. He carries a pitchfork in one hand, which, upon catching sight of the group, is pointed directly toward them.

“Who’re ya?” His accent is so thick that Hyrule can hardly distinguish what he’s saying, similar to Twilight’s. (Though, the rancher doesn’t slur his words nearly as much.)

 There’s a brief exchange between the man and Time–one that Hyrule regrettably can’t quite hear from where he stands–before the man passes his eyes over the rest of them and gives a gruff nod. Hyrule wishes he could hear what the Old Man had said, because the “guard” had allowed them to pass almost too easily. 

 No matter, though, as the others have already crossed the entrance and are walking down the path a few feet ahead.

 Inside, he’s surprised to see that there’s people milling about, standing outside of shops with massive statues (?) hanging overhead. There’s one with a ceramic pot, another with a tunic, and Hyrule has to blink twice at the place with giant, colorful vials before he registers the “Kochi Dye Shop” etched into wood underneath. Stepping down the path and past the apple trees, he spots what must be the inn, if the sign adorned with a moon and stars is any indicator. Soft music rings from inside, and he can taste warm meals sizzling on the breeze. Across the path, there’s a couple of cooking pots lined up beneath a shoddy roof. He takes note of these for later.

 They waste no time rushing to enter the inn. If they had to make Sky wait any longer, Hyrule worries that he might’ve dropped dead–which is irrational, since he’s managed to hold a conversation this entire time, but Hyrule’s poor heart doesn’t know that. He can see how Twilight’s knuckles have started to turn white with the strain of carrying Sky for so long, and decides it’s a miracle that they managed to find somewhere to stay before the rancher outright dropped him.

 At the sight of them, the innkeeper, a soft, brown-haired woman, opens her mouth to speak. Hyrule can already see the growing apprehension on her face, as if to say “I can’t let you boys stay here.” Apparently Warriors has seen it, too, because before she can say anything, the captain is dropping a massive pouch of rupees on the counter and giving her a sleazy wink. Deep down, Hyrule knows that he’s just messing around, but the empty flirting never fails to make him grimace.

 It’s fine, though; when the woman peers into the pouch and examines its contents thoroughly, the hard look on her face vanishes entirely. (The Old Man will surely get onto him about spending money so carelessly, in the future.) She nods and gestures toward the beds Warriors had just purchased.

 “Your beds are in there. They’re yours for a day,” she says, not offering up a single scrap of hospitality. Hyrule has begun to notice a pattern with the people of this era, and the thought of what caused this has him worrying at his lip until the flavor of copper blooms in his mouth.

 There’s some jostling when they make their way over to the beds, the shuffle of Twilight laying a grey-skinned Sky across a bed and the gentle thuds of knapsacks and pouches being tossed carelessly on the wooden floorboards. Kicking off his shoes, Wind nearly catches Legend in the back of the head and earns a sharp glare that has him withering on the spot. The woman eyes them suspiciously the entire time, but eventually decides they’re not worth it and returns to flipping through the ledger on the counter. 

 Hyrule doesn’t stop to admire the cozy candlelight or the softness of the sheets he’s sitting atop, no. Instead–just like all the others–his vision is focused entirely on Sky’s face. It’s paper-white and beaded with sweat, and his lips are almost blue as he purses them and gives an exhausted huff.

 “You don’ have t’ worry ‘bout me, y’know,” the center of their attention slurs weakly, scratching at his burn until Legend peels his hand away from his cheek. “‘M gonna be fine, swear.”

 He is, decidedly, not fine. Hylia, the knight can’t even sit up straight and he thinks anyone will listen to him? Hyrule suppresses a derisive snort.

 Twilight, who’d been laying out his heavy pelt on the bed, knocks Sky on the head lightly. “Not a chance. Yer gon’ lay here in bed while we go find Link an’ make ‘im fix ya.”

 “Bit oversimplified, but that’s the plan,” the Old Man agrees, and turns to Hyrule. “We’ll have to leave a few people behind to watch him. It seems you’re the only one who can make a dent in whatever that is, so you’re staying here. Is that all right?”

 Hyrule blinks. What? He’d failed twice, and they still want to entrust him with the responsibility of taking care of Sky? Do they not understand that? I’m not a healer, he wants to tell them, I can’t help you like you think I can. Hyrule doesn’t realize he’s said some variation of that out loud until Warriors is clasping a gloved hand on his shoulder.

 “It’s okay, ‘Roolie,” he says, “I know you can’t–” (And the confirmation stings more than it should.) “–that’s why I’m going to stay and help out. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. In fact, I’ll be handling almost everything.” 

 The silence in the room is deafening. Hyrule’s pretty sure the woman at the counter has stopped reading her ledger to eavesdrop on their conversation. Swallowing thickly, he glances at Sky’s face. He’s barely lucid, sprawled atop the bed with a weird, loopy smile on his face as he stares up at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. 

 Finally, Hyrule nods. 

༻༺

 The others had split up to search the village almost immediately after, leaving Hyrule, Warriors, and Sky alone in the inn. With nothing much to talk about and the mood so dire, the only sound in Hyrule’s ears is the captain’s small movements, like the shift of his clothing or as he tears off a piece of an old shirt to make a washcloth. It’s almost amazing how easily Warriors falls into his work, covering Sky’s feverish forehead with a wet rag provided by the innkeeper. Occasionally, Warriors will ask him to heal Sky, but otherwise Hyrule is left to his own devices.

 It’s suffocating.

 He fiddles with his belongings, laces his fingers together and sits uneasily in his place at Sky’s bedside, but he’s everything but useful as he watches Warriors put in the work. He wants to help, but he has no idea what to do, and Hylia forbid he just ask the captain for directions. 

 Turning off his mind, Hyrule allows his eyes to wander. His brothers have left their things haphazardly scattered all over the floor. Legend’s bag is laying on its side, top flap opened and stuff spilling out of its entrance. An odd empty bottle with saffron residue lies untouched beside one of Wind’s stray shoes.

 Hyrule recalls the sailor’s rant about his grandmother’s cooking. What was it, something about soup? There’s a moment of careful consideration before the image of the strange, bottled liquid being dumped into the knight’s mouth comes to mind. He remembers it having a healing effect, though it didn’t alleviate much of Sky’s pains. Had Wind shared the recipe, when he was talking earlier? 

 There’s a cooking pot outside. Even if he can’t get the recipe right, and even if it doesn’t have magic healing properties, he can do something nice for his brothers, no? It’d make up nicely for his mistakes earlier.

 “Hey, Wars?” Hyrule says, searching around for his money pouch. “Do you mind if I head out to the general store and buy stuff to cook?”

 The captain, so lost in thought, probably doesn’t even register what he said. Not even lifting his head away from Sky’s face, he jerks a shoulder in reply. “Sure, sure. I’ll come outside when I need you.” 

༻༺

 Hyrule stands before the cooking pot with an armful of ingredients and no idea what he’s doing. The cast-iron utensil seems to taunt him where it sits static over the unlit fireplace, a giant black maw threatening to swallow him whole. He’s heard the things some of the others have said about his cooking, how it tastes like it’s made out of monster parts, and he agrees. Hyrule is a terrible cook. Belatedly, he wonders why he decided to be a nice person. The thought of failure isn’t usually something that he takes seriously, but now even this task is daunting, anxiety crawling up and sticking in his throat like tar.  

  It’s now or never, he thinks, and begins to line up his ingredients on the stone counter beside the pot. Fresh milk, rock salt, raw meat, butter, potatoes, and something called a “swift carrot,” all purchased from the general store. He’d honestly been worried he wouldn’t be able to afford it all, especially after the owner mentioned that the meat was a “limited time offer.” (It all ended up being around two hundred rupees total, which is technically a lot, but he’s cooking for nine people.)

 He kneels down on the ground and raises his palm toward the charred logs below the pot. This spell is something he’s confident in. Uncomfortable heat builds in his palm and spreads outward, supported by a framework of his own magic as he casts Fire Spell on the wood. Soon, there’s a warm, crackling flame flickering in his eyes, and he can finally begin. 

 Only… He doesn’t know where to start. Hyrule’s gaze drifts over to the wooden ladle and lid leaning against the counter. They don’t appear very sanitary. He turns back to the pot, and the bottled milk beside it. Should I start with this? He thinks, turning the glass in one shaking hand. 

 Hyrule is about to uncork it and pour it into the pot when he hears a shuffle beside him and jerks away, almost dropping the milk on the ground and causing a disaster, because what is this feeling? An almost tangible energy suddenly floods his senses, tasting like earth and smelling like trees and sounding like birdsong. He’s so surprised that a stilted moment passes where his heart leaps out of his chest and he feels his body go cold, and really, there’s no reason for you to be this jumpy right now, ‘Roolie, calm down. By the time Hyrule stops fumbling with the bottle in his hands and looks up, the person he’d heard has moved to stand in front of the cooking pot where he can see them.

 The first thing he notices is how, although they’re incredibly short, they’re thin. Lanky. It gives the effect of being tall while not actually being tall, and he’s reminded of a stag picking its way through the woods on too-long, wobbly legs. 

 The second thing he notices is the dark cowl obscuring half of their face. It extends down their back and casts a shadow over the few parts that he can see, but Hyrule manages to make out some of their features regardless. A long, pointed nose and thin pink lips, framed by blond hair that falls down their shoulders like melted gold. If not for the massive scar on their cheek twisting their mouth into a grimace, Hyrule would probably forget their face within minutes of meeting them. It looks extremely painful, a plain of seared, almost melted flesh creeping across their jaw and down their neck. Hyrule can’t see any of their skin past the collar of their tunic, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it spread to their torso, as well. 

 Sky’s injury comes to mind.

 Righting himself, Hyrule returns to his cooking, and as he opens the bottle and brings it over to the pot, he speaks softly. “Ahm, hello? What can I do for you?”

 They don’t say anything back.

 He moves to tilt the bottle, and the person abruptly shuffles. Hyrule stops, pulls it away, and looks at them. “Excuse me?” Still, they say nothing.

 But he doesn’t move his eyes away from them. Once they realize they have his attention, they gesture toward the bottle chaotically, their hands making broad movements like they’re trying to tell him something. Hyrule raises one eyebrow and lifts the milk. “This? What about the milk?”

 The person thinks for a moment, then mimes an “X” with their forearms. 

 “You don’t want me to pour the milk?”

 They nod.

 “You do want me to pour the milk?”

 They frown, shaking their head furiously. 

 “So, uh, why can’t I pour the milk?”

 The person crosses their arms and stamps their foot in frustration, jabbing a finger toward the ladle and cooking pot right next to him. It takes much too long for Hyrule’s slow, stuttering brain to catch up, and when it finally does, he’s more than a little bit confused. Are they… trying to help me? He thinks, and his face lights up with mute joy at the idea. 

 It’s hard not to stumble over his words as he rushes to fill the silence. “You want to help me cook?” He needs someone to help him feel useful right now.

 His response elicits a careless shrug, and Hyrule can imagine them saying something along the lines of ‘well, not really, I’m actually just trying to keep you from accidentally poisoning yourself, but we can call it that.’

 “Okay, okay,” he says. “So what do I do?”

 Thus begins the most exasperating game of charades he’s ever played.

 It’s a constant, vicious cycle of misinterpreted movements producing angry, flying hands in his face. While the stranger had initially been patient with him, Hyrule is beginning to notice the way their lips press together and their cheeks puff up each time he makes a mistake. He wonders why they’re acting like they can’t touch the supplies and do it themselves, if it bothers them that much, but maybe it’s some method of teaching he hasn’t yet heard of.

  No, cut the carrots first.

 That’s not in the recipe.

 Don’t add the potatoes yet.

 The entire time, that eerie, ethereal ambiance pulses in his ears like the beating of his own heart, but he pays it no mind. There’s no explanation that he can give to make his lack of suspicion make sense. Quite frankly, it’s completely irrational and unintelligent. He can, however, say that it’s nothing like the rest of this era’s malice. It’s comforting. Agreeable. Perhaps it’s merely a trick of the mind, but the aura nudges Hyrule’s core, makes him want for the wilderness like nothing before. (Later, he’ll realize that he was feeling the bond between their souls. Now, he only knows giddy, illogical delight.)

 Eventually, they do start to get somewhere. The smell of burning food changes into something warm and tantalizing, and the creamy soup in the pot takes on a rich, golden color as he stirs it leisurely. Bits of potato, carrot and meat float in the broth. Hyrule finds his mouth watering, stomach roaring with acidic hunger at the sight of the meal they’ve cooked. When the stranger catches him staring at it like a starved wolf, they wave a hand toward the food. Go on, they seem to say, try it. See what you think. (Later, he’ll realize that their hands had been trembling the entire time.)

 He lifts the ladle to his lips and is immediately sucker-punched in the gut by the most amazing food he’s ever tasted in all his years of living. His throat is warmed as he swallows. It’s hot, and it burns his tongue, but Hyrule is too stunned to even register the pain. "The food must be magic," he mutters ungraciously, because he feels energized, like he could sprint a mile and keep running for twice as far. All he can think about is the flavors flooding his senses, the way the meat breaks apart against his teeth perfectly and the broth is just the right amount of creamy and, and, and…

 A well of pride rises bubbles up bright in his chest. This is his creation, isn’t it? So what if he had someone helping him out? He still made this, with his own two hands–the thought has his heart jumping and skipping beats beneath his ribs, a jubilant pound against his bones. It’s the first thing he’s been proud of in a long, long time. He drops the ladle back into the pot and smiles like he’d just won a million rupees, turning to look back at the stranger, to thank them. Even though he's pretty sure they thought him a nuisance and were just trying to get him out of the way.

 But when his eyes graze the place where they should be, he’s met with only empty air, and unnatural quietude, and the feeling that he’s just lost something so, so important. They've disappeared entirely.

 (Later, he might remember this moment and notice so many things he’d missed. Like the sudden disappearance of that stifling aura, the inherent inhumanity of the stranger he’d been too distracted to notice, and how, for a brief moment, the ruins of Hyrule Castle flashed with golden light.)

Notes:

tbh i Dislike the concept of healer hyrule because it's pure fanon and i've tried to minimize that as much as possible in favor of medic warriors (because he carries fr) but the life spell exists and you'd be damn wrong if you think i'm not abusing that for angst later. [evil laughter]

so, i know this sounds unbelievable but sky getting injured and sick was genuinely unplanned. i'd mapped out the previous chapter to go completely smooth for everyone, but then i actually started to write the scene and the ideas just came to me. because i'm evil. i know 3 you can burn me at the stake later!! for now, relish in the fact that i finally got over myself and wrote hyrule's pov!! hopefully i characterized him right, he's the one i'm least familiar with and one of the reasons i've been nervous about writing this fic (alongside warriors and four and sky, love them all but can't get a grip on their personalities to save my life) but i'm praying i've portrayed him nicely. i want to clarify that i am in no way attempting to make him out as a weak character, also. to me, he's just skittish and tries to stay out of things as much as he can (but he can pack a punch when it comes to slinging spells, and there's no way i won't make an attempt to add that if i can)

the cooking pot scene was the scene that'd sparked the concept of this fic, and i feel bad it wasn't longer. in the future, i may attempt to extend it some (when i learn how to cook botw's creamy meat whatever soup), but don't get your hopes up. we've got our first wild appearance, though! i'm always open to hearing your theories (and using them as plotpoints, lol). i'd planned to write some more of his pov and how he'd gotten there in the first place but ended up not liking it so i'm saving that part for later.

if you have any comments regarding the pacing and flow of certain scenes in my fic, especially regarding dialogue-heavy scenes, do not be afraid to bring them up and i will try to imrpove my faults as i continue! but, please, be nice. <3 i am very fragile.

and finally, on my "other projects"! i've grown the seed of a concept for a time fic, one that i am unsure as to where it is going but am extremely excited to write. if you want to dm me about it or anything relating to THIS fic, you can add me on discord! my tag is vanderbacon

edit: hi, sorry this is so short but i'm not sure how else to explain this. it's very unlikely that this fic is to be continued. we (the author) are a system and the specific alter that wrote it went dormant. our interest in the LU vanished alongside them. i'm willing to pass on this fic to someone else, put it up for adoption (my discord is listed in the previous paragraph if you're interest) but otherwise it will probably remain unfinished without update. i'm sorry, much love to you all.