Chapter Text
It was nature's will that the clouds would darken by the time the Hyrulean forces were ready to depart. They left through the front gate in a long line of wagons and foot-soldiers, with Captain Link and General Impa leading the front as expected. It was a quiet affair, the clop of hooves and march of boots muffled by a veil of fog that lay low to the muddied earth.
Their stay in the village, a mere two days, had been enough to replenish rations and supplies while lifting the morale of their troops. But as they left behind the reprieve from travel and battle, they were all promptly reminded of the trials that awaited them.
Link had explained the situation to Mask as best he could, with only a few omitted details. They'd meant to stay another day, but the large congregation of soldiers had inadvertently placed a target on the town. Monsters that'd never bothered the townsfolk before had become more aggressive, destroying crops and coming closer to the gates than ever. The townsfolk had been fearful of the little town coming under siege. After all, it was them that drew the monsters’ attention – the knights blessed by the crown and bloodstained by the foes they'd conquered already.
Link couldn't blame them for wanting to distance themselves from a bitter war. In the end, they'd made good use of the town's resources, and that was all they'd really needed.
Behind a thick layer of cloud, the sun must've already passed its zenith by now. It took a lot to mobilize so many people at once, and with the day already halfway over, they might be expected to march into darkness to cover enough ground away from civilization. They weren't here to cause trouble, and they couldn't afford to have neighboring areas be impacted by this crusade.
Link ran his hand anxiously down the side of Epona's neck, pausing only to fiddle with the little tangles found in her mane. Lagging just a bit behind them, Mask rode atop his own Epona, swaying ever so slightly.
He had asked the boy if he'd be more comfortable riding in a wagon for the day. Mask had responded rudely, and yet it'd lacked his usual bite. That, too, concerned him. For what point was there to exhaust himself so, before they'd even stepped foot out of safety? As a hero, it might've felt like a meaningful sacrifice, if he truly believed his antsy behavior was within reason. As a casualty caught up in the tidings of war, it was an admission of fault on his part. Every time the boy slips from his sight, he returns with heavier bags around his eyes and heavier burdens on his shoulders, the source of which he hasn't yet ascertained.
Link considered small talk, of which neither of them enjoy, and swiftly rejected the idea within the same brevity.
But Mask was nodding off not two miles into their journey, and he'd be in a fouler mood still were he to slip from the filly's recently fitted saddle.
“I don't suppose you have any songs for staying awake?” Link tried, going with what was easiest. The subject of music was common between them, as it seemed to be the one thing Mask could always carry with him no matter what losses befell him. Link himself couldn't play, but the small hero's ocarina was a beautiful instrument, and his songs ranged from delightfully upbeat to soul-wrenchingly serene.
“I think I'd rather play a lullaby,” Mask bemoaned, slouching over the little Epona's neck. “I used to have a mask for staying awake. Dreadful thing. Probably belonged to the royal torture dungeon.”
Link creased his brow in concern, but turned the corners of his mouth into a smile all the same. “I don't think we have those,” he patiently explained. “Our fight is just with monsters, and they don't have much to say.”
Mask's face soured. “Says you. You just haven't seen Hyrule’s bloody secrets. Doesn't mean they're not there.”
Link pursed his lips, failing to come up with a proper response. The young hero always had something unnerving to say, and all it did was worsen the worries instilled within him.
An iciness crept its way along his spine, and when the captain turned to look ahead of him, it was to find Impa glaring back at them disapprovingly. He wasn't certain what'd drawn her ire, but perhaps talk of dungeons and secrets was inappropriate travel banter.
“Right…” Link mumbled, resigning himself to silence once more. Perhaps… another time, then. There was so much he wished to talk to Mask about, but the subject matter might be more fitting in private. And it seemed he could hardly find Mask in a good state for the sorts of things he wished to discuss. Last night had been… eye-opening, for lack of a better word. He'd asked and been answered forthright; he couldn't regret what he'd learned.
There were times when he wanted to inquire for the other hero's insight, so that he might better understand what trials awaited them. But that would serve to further distance Mask from his youth, and he couldn't ask that of him.
Link wanted to see Mask acting his age… whatever that might be. No matter how much he strove to take on the role of an adult, Link wished only to see more of his childish ways. Those little moments when he kicked his feet when sitting on seats too big, or how he lit up when presented with something sweet. Watching how he pet every horse and paraded with every dog in the streets of town. The way he snuggled up in bed and tried to steal his blankets and Link just couldn't help but brush the bangs from his sleeping face the way his grandmother used to when he'd been a child so young himself. It was the only time where Mask couldn't fully hide the truth of his youth from the world, there in the private of the nighttime bedroom, away from prying eyes.
It was probably too late now, with the village far behind them, but maybe Link could find him a gift. Not a bow or knife or shield, but something that's usefulness wasn't integral to its worth on the battlefield. It could just be something small that children enjoyed, like a toy or a flute or a mask.
Link's thoughts began to drift. No. Not a mask. But he likes soft things. Perhaps he'd enjoy a stuffed animal…? He muffled a chuckle into his hand at the thought of Mask running around with a plush toy.
“What's so funny?” Mask grumbled, peering his way with slitted eyes.
“Nothing,” Link assured easily. “I suppose you could say I'm just being optimistic.”
“What for? Can't say I'm excited much for riding the rest of the day.”
“But there'll still be a warm bed in store for us by the time we call for a stop,” Link reminded, straightening in his saddle. “And soft blankets and peaceful sleep…”
“I get it,” Mask snipped irritably, stifling a yawn. “‘M not sleepin’ in the wagon. You need me out here, up front with you.”
Link felt his light teasing die on his tongue. By now, he knew better than to brush aside the young hero's words. Too often, he knew so much more than he let on.
“And why would that be? All is calm right now.”
Mask looked away from him, a crease forming in his brow, and stared ahead with a stony gaze. “There's a fell wind blowing our way. It carries with it the stench of rot.”
Unease crawled its way up Link's throat, and his mouth dropped open at how casually such distressing news could be delivered without warning. He should've known, but still it was an upsetting revelation. And yet, when asked why he thought this and how he knew this, Mask had no answer to give. He merely shook his head and declined to speak.
He did, however, eventually pull his ocarina free from his pouch. Link hoped it would bring a liveliness that was sorely missing from their march.
Instead he played a requiem, and Link couldn't be entirely sure who it was for. But it fit the sullen mood around them, and ensured all within its range that they were being watched and judged by bygone spirits for their actions. To push onward no matter what befell them, that was the task at hand.
The cool shadows of night were beginning to darken as they entered a dense forest cramped at the bottom of a valley. The hills to either side were too steep to climb, and going around would cost them dearly in travel time. Though the trees too closely knit for wagons save for a single narrow path, it was their best option in continuing south. But the best didn't make it feel more secure, and ripples of unease spread swiftly through the ranks on whispered prayers and fearful curses.
A wail split the air, far to the back, and Link knew it to be the death throes of man. Soldiers and horses alike pulled to a collective stop, eyes wide and beseeching a veil of darkness they could not penetrate while clouds concealed the moon.
Mutterings of fear reached the captain, and he could not be phased. He had to remain resolute.
“Enemies.”
“Monsters!”
“Oh gods, he's dead.”
Ripples turned to waves, and panic surged forth.
Impa's call went out over the heads of the troops. “It's an ambush! Shields raised, stick together!”
Link pressed his leg into Epona's side and guided the reins into a sharp turn. Soldiers scrambled to part as her hooves pounded the earth, and he dismounted with a curse. “I'll handle it at the source!” he hastily promised, hand ready on his pommel as he charged into the turbulent crowds. An inkling of fear prickled along his spine, and he smothered it down for not mattering so much. He would sooner maintain his perseverance instead, and act fast to mitigate casualties. He could do it – for the people who relied on him.
Mask watched the end of his blue scarf vanish into the ranks while dread pooled in the bottom of his gut. Above him, Impa continued barking orders to regroup, calling for carts and wagons to stay in the center while soldiers formed defensive walls.
With the moon still struggling to peer out from he clouds, there wasn't much to discern. Ashen faces and sweaty animal flanks were briefly illuminated by waving lanterns. Further out, Impa's orders could be heard being carried down on the tongue of her men.
A haunting chill crept up Mask's arm to remind him of the enemies he had, and he looked up at Impa with wide eyes.
“He can't do it alone,” Mask rasped, words heavy and certain.
Impa spared him a glance, lowering her voice and leaning over the side of her ebony steed to address him. “He won't have to. His allies are many; his courage is true.”
“You don't know that,” Mask said with just as much conviction. He raised an arm, pointing out over the heads of the soldiers. “You sense a shadow of death, don't you? It comes for us all.” He was no prophet. And yet there were some things he was certain of.
The general bit down on her lip, weighing her options and his ability. “Your arrows won't be much good in a forest this crowded.”
He slowly dipped his head. “Yes. I understand that.”
Impa's eyes narrowed at him, as if to calculate his innate potential. She must've deduced something, for she argued the point no further. “Very well. Proceed with caution, little hero.”
Mask pressed his heels into Epona's sides and spurred her forward with a shout. Letting out a winny, the young mare bolted into the tangled grove of trees and hylians. She dodged each obstacle with precision, her smaller stature and experienced rider aiding their advancement.
While the captain had seen fit to struggle through his throngs of men, Mask was eager to break free of the clutter. He dashed into deeper woods, leaving the firelight of lanterns behind in favor of the forests he was more familiar with. The ranks of the hylian army fell away quickly, soldiers pushing together through the underbrush to hold a solid line. On its fringes, he met their ambushers: legions of stalchildren, with fresh dirt clinging to their bones. They'd been waiting just beneath the earth's surface for the tremors of the army. With night upon them, their disturbance was to be expected. And a path so narrow meant less ground for the army to stand on, protected as they would've otherwise been on a road where the undead were forbidden from walking.
What mask wouldn't have given to have his captain mask right now. Commanding the legions of undead… now, that would've been a sight.
As it stood, Mask had to work diligently. Where he went, a path of bones followed. Stalchildren fell to a swing of his sword or shot of his bow. And yet he restrained himself, lest the felled children summon a larger enemy to fight on their behalf. Foes tangled with fellow soldiers met a swift end, but many more he let slip between the trees as he thinned their numbers.
Nevertheless, despite his best intentions, the monsters did become larger – more formidable. Stalchildren turned to stalfos, the glint of their swords faint in the low, near impenetrable night. Throaty growls and skeletal grunts followed him, and his progress slowed. His sword proved too short to reach them, even as theirs drew dangerously close to slashing Epona's sides.
Mask made an easy decision, there in the darkness of the forest. He tugged sharply on the reins, spinning Epona around, and leapt from her back in a swift dismount. A slap of his hand on her flank spurred her back the way they came, and he promised to find her again as she bolted into the brush.
Mocking laughter belittled his decision, and three stalfos armed with heavy swords and thick leather armor edged towards the lone hero.
In the distance, an otherworldly wail of the condemned pierced the night, loud enough to chill his blood, and he recognized that the worst was yet to come. The undead were such tortured souls, and it was his responsibility to put them to rest.
But… he needed to find the captain. Those foes – they stalled his feet like no other, as if he didn't yet know how to look death in the face. He had to find Captain before they did.
And so he reached for the mask.
Link gasped greedily for each breath as he hacked and spun his way through an onslaught of skeletal foes. Soldiers cried out over his head, demanding order, and the captain barked back just as loudly.
“Hold the line and retreat! Do not press into the woods – they have an advantage there!”
The dirt ruptured at his feet, mud clumps coming undone as a large stalchild dragged itself from an unmarked grave. Its jaw dropped open, a wordless rasp slipping from cracked molars, and Link lunged forward. His sword slotted its way between the calcifying teeth, and he felt the blade pierce through the roof of its mouth. The red lights in its eyesockets went dim, and he pulled his sword back to his side before throwing himself at the next target.
“Captain! Their numbers are thinning, but reports say there's many more waiting under the forest cover!” A soldier chipped in, falling into place at Link's side to fell another skeletal foe. “We think they're regrouping. Do we press back?”
Link dealt with his immediate target and took a step back to let his fellow soldiers finish the last of this wave. In the light cast by torches and lanterns, he was perceptive to the woes of his allies. The sting of surprise had left many grievous marks, and the presence of so many undead in this congregation invited wanton despair. Pig-headed beasts and gelatinous blobs were one thing, but any rational man or woman might hesitate when faced with the wrath of undead. Too many stories and folklore warned of the departed and their plight in the afterlife. Too close to human was the promise of death and the corruption thereafter, as if to say that any lost soul could become that which was loathed most. A monster.
Even now, he could see the way his soldiers hesitated, their attacks shallow and tinged with fear. While their position here was a reassurance, he didn't have the heart to march them blindly into the dark. He would rather fight harder on their behalf and spare them an ugly outcome. If it was him, he could make it through.
“Stick together – don't push back!” Link roared, inciting relief amongst his ranks. He turned to the soldier, lowering his voice and grabbing a lantern from him. “I'll scout the woods, see how many more there are while there's a lull in their forces. If there's more waves, I'll come right back to alert everyone. But we must keep the line moving to get out of the woods. Understood?”
A nod was all he needed, and then he was off.
Bushes rustled and patches of earth quivered as he raced through the forest, but they weren't so many that his men couldn't handle them. Foes this numbered… they usually had a source, or a larger opponent that needed to be felled before the enemies could truly back off, and he intended to find it.
Link carved a path of his own through the dense forest, stamping down brambles and cutting down foes. The lantern hanging at his waist swung wildly with his sporadic movements, bringing the closely knit trees alive with dancing shadows and light. The sounds of his warriors engaging in combat grew fainter the deeper he got, following the diminished trail of monsters that spawned in his vicinity.
It was strange, then, that they'd yet to prove a harder fight, when only the undead footsoldiers were engaging him thus far. While the slog of fighting wore down on his stamina, it wasn't much challenge to strike a stalchild down in one swing. And he wondered, just briefly, if perhaps this was all the forces of darkness had to throw at him.
Link tumbled out of the forest, surprised to find that the dense thicket had suddenly opened up into a sizable clearing of grass and stones. He hadn't thought there could be an open space like this, so close to the wooded mountains that surrounded them on all sides. At the very least, it offered him a chance to catch his breath and disentangle himself from the snares of ivy and thorn.
He sauntered forward, sword at the ready, as he cast his gaze about him. His brow his beaded with sweat, his limbs scraped where briars and skeletal claws had dug into him during his traipse through the woods. A cut on his brow stung, but only as a minor nuisance, and he wiped the blood from his eye as he turned in a circle, surveying the area.
Empty and quiet.
The sounds of battle had dwindled to a murmur behind him, his men hard at work picking off stray foes. The clatter of bones and tree branches had gone still, where both monsters and the wind had died. In its absence was an unnerving sense of peace, like he was walking along the icy surface of a lake, and the anticipation kept his adrenaline fueled.
The lantern guttered at his side, its flame weakened and tired. He was lucky, then, that the clouds above were beginning to thin, allowing muted moonlight to bathe the clearing floor.
Still no sign of greater foes.
He ought to turn back, if that was all the danger that'd been prepared for them.
Link lowered his sword with a sigh, taking a moment to swipe languidly at the hair sticking to the back of his neck. Proxi stirred beneath his cap, peeking her little head out from golden locks.
“Is the coast clear?” she whispered in a voice so small that it seemed unlike her.
“I think we'll be alright,” he said, only a bit louder.
His words bounced off the rocks in the clearing, meeting back with him, and he went to retrace his path back to his men.
The innocuous stones unraveled themselves before his eyes, coming undone under the light of the moon, and what he once thought was stone surface wrinkled and spasmed into tanned flesh pulled taut over jagged bones. Faces hidden behind wooden masks stared through him, their eye sockets empty and void of life. Spindly legs pushed up neglected torsos that appeared both too limp and too stiff.
Link felt his heart climb up his chest and stay there, clogging his ability to breath. His hands shook against his will as he forced himself to raise his sword, while his innermost thoughts screamed at him.
Be brave! Just fight! You have to!
The dirt beneath his boots began to twitch, and he was slow to notice until it was erupting at his feet. Undead abominations crawled from the earth, a conglomerate of gnashing teeth and writhing bodies. Things that must've once been canines dragged themselves free from shallow graves, rotten flesh and fur sloughing off their monstrous frames.
Link's mind went blank. His vision narrowed. He raised his sword with a shout and, throwing caution to the wind, swung madly in a massive spin.
Snarls of beasts and groans of damned rose up in a haunting chorus all around him, and he resigned himself to fighting tooth and nail to scrape out an escape from this newly realized hell.
A paralyzing scream froze him in place, and his life was measured in seconds.