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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

And then he woke up, feeling the gelatinous substance escape from his throat in fervent breaths that Adler didn’t take. 

The woman tugging at his pants paused and crawled up the bed. She moved the dark curl off of his sweaty forehead. The sleeve of her red dress spilled down her shoulder and he could do no more than absently stare at the presented breast. 

“What’s wrong? We haven’t even started yet,” she whispered.

She kissed the side of his lips and Adler jerked, feeling the tub confining his movements as the water as cold as winter’s death lapped around his body. The kiss died with his hand still in her hair.

“Link, babe what’s wrong?”

He held a hand to his mouth as though he could still feel the prophetic vision.

“It’s Adler,” he said but it sounded far away.

Sitting up on the cheap bed soon became a search for his cloak and tunic by candlelight. The smell of Joelenne’s rosy perfume lingered on his skin. The smell taunted him with the knowledge that it wasn’t Zelda’s lavender scent.

“Did I do something wrong, “she pleaded. He stopped tieing his belts to nose her forehead. 

"No. No I'm sorry. It's just...something I remembered. From my travels. Bad memories. I promise It's not you. I just can't. Not tonight."

She hugged herself, eyeing him as if a poe about to leave. She looked away and brushed her hair back. She looked both regretful and irritated. He wondered if words could salvage the tarnished mood, but he didn't know the right ones, so he turned his back and left the same way he came.

Foolish as it was to traverse Hyrule after dark, Adler couldn't see himself waking up with Joelenne the next morning while his mind still raced with half finished visions. He let the glow of the town lamps fade behind him as he lit his own flare in the palm of his hand and readjusted his traveling pack.

Like the flickering flame, his thoughts were unsure, yet they settled in him with a foreboding weight. Dreams had come to Adler before. They had led him to Impa in Hyrule's time of need. And often he believed it to be the Gods watching over him, perhaps a bit too vigorously these days, but this had felt different. Not by way of subject, but he hadn't felt like himself in the dream.

It had been many years since he'd had the gangly body of a child.

And the potential for something strange intrigued him more than he cared to admit. He knew, deep down that he shouldn't allow himself to be distracted so easily. Ganon's forces were always lingering in the shadows, attempting to thwart his Quest. This could very well be the Gods' way of warning him of a future unknown.

But surely they could not fault him for mortal sins? Despite the real threat of danger this dream posed, he felt drawn to the mystery in a way he hadn't felt since he was a child exploring the world.

He felt a connection between him and some unknown future. He took his next step and walked past the guilt edging in his chest.

Adler removed his eyes from the flickering flame. In the grand scheme of things, what was one detour?

The winter had come and passed and now an array of colorful flowers lined his path to Castle Town. Following the advice of Rusl, Link rode Epona to the castle, its towering glory a nostalgic sight. Even months past, Link still looked on through its shadow as though he were once again going towards the final battle.  He may have been to Castle Town many times since, to visit friends or partake in the festivities, but the majestic ambiance never quite disappeared. Even if today was perhaps more deserving of his anxiety. 

The guards posted at the Southern gate paid him little notice, but Link nodded their way in good spirit. His mare slowed her steps through the cobblestone street as children burst past with laughter. Link wove his mare through the market place, intent on arriving in the Eastern district without trampling the goose-like cuccos.

He paid the stable hand a pretty gem and approached the two men in chainmail armor guarding the front entrance to the castle. 

“Hello, Sirs,” he greeted. 

They nodded, proceeding to explain that the Day of Council was on the first of every month and that otherwise, the castle was unopen to the public. Link tried to explain that the Queen would know of his name if it were brought to her attention, but they kept up the skeptical frowns. 

He gave in, unwrapping the golden pin he normally stashed in his lockbox. People tended to act strangely when he showed the object, but he wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a tad bit funny to watch them fluster. 

“Holy fucking shiiit.”

The man’s coworker slapped his ribs, “Watch what you say, man!”

“Right! Right ahead, sir. If you wait in the foyer one of the servants will be with you shortly.”

Link grinned. They might not recognize his face, but no one could deny the royal emblem. 

He didn’t actually have a position at the Queen’s side, but Queen Zelda had insisted he be recognized for his efforts. The “Hero of Hyrule” had made his debut appearance at her coronation, but since then, Link had spent time resting in Ordon, out of the public eye. Link even went through the extra effort of perusing Hyrule’s fashion district to find a pair of decent trousers and wine red tailcoat that didn’t linger with the stench of dried sweat, but it seemed people couldn’t believe their “Hero” was out on the streets like a civilian.

Link waited uncomfortably while the massive double doors were opened for him. While still under construction, the Castle’s towers and beautiful manicured gardens were a sight to behold. 

He didn’t have to wait long for the chain of servants to pass word up to the Queen’s ears and by the end of an hour, he was greeted by her presence and an ensemble of curious onlookers.

The beautiful woman waltzed down the central staircase with grace he had only ever seen achieved by the statuesque chilfos. Closely behind her, a dark-skinned woman with golden pauldrons trailed after.

Link offered the most polite bow he knew, and while he felt it inadequate, the Queen bid him rise.

“It has been a while. What brings you here, Sir Link?”

He fiddled with his fancy cuff link, “Ah… actually, I wanted ta’ talk with you ‘bout the offer you made a while back.”

Her eyebrow raised and she pointed with an open hand, “Of course. Perhaps somewhere farther from prying eyes?”

The peeking servants immediately ducked their heads.

“Have you eaten yet, good Sir?”

“Not yet, no. Was plannin’ dinner with Telma later tonight.” 

“A good choice. Though I have on good opinion her cooking is not nearly as delightful as her spirits.” After nearly half a year their eyes were almost on the same level, but it didn’t subtract from her regal image. 

Link snorted, “I’m sure anything’s better than mine.”

“Come now, the Hero of Hyrule can not cook? My handmaids will have broken hearts before sunset.”

“I mean it’s edible, but I’ve tasted a lot better.” 

Link reentered the Royal Gardens with squinting eyes. A short walk away an elaborately dressed table was awaiting them. Queen Zelda waved to her personal guard and both women took a careless seat at the prepared table. When he sat himself down in the chair adjacent, her guard raised an eyebrow. 

Catching onto his slight, he quickly tried to apologize with a red-faced smile.

“Please, stay,” the Queen said. “No one is asking you to enchant me with your political decorum. I wish to believe we are above the games of court.”  The Queen nodded to the woman with a tight bun pulling back her brows, “I don’t believe you’ve met my new guard, Triton?”

Triton’s grin was fleeting, but a servant cut across them with plates of shredded cucco and steamed vegetables. A silver tower of macaroons centered the table. Despite the obstacles, he reached over to shake a strong hand. 

“No, I don’t think we have.”

Queen Zelda approached the meat with a light hold on her fork, “You’ve come to me about the spot I offered you on the Royal Guard, have you not?

“Yeah. I...Rusl was actually the one who convinced me, but I think I agree. I still wanna help and do good and after havin’ left Ordon, it feels strange ta jus’ go back ta farmin’.

“If I may?” Queen Zelda approved Triton’s comment, “You were the one who instigated and led the small scale strike on the enemy forces occupying the castle, were you not?”

He chuckled, “You make it sound like I knew what I was doin’, but yeah. I guess that was me. Though I had friends helpin’ me at the time.”

“Of course. One man does not an army make, but Sir, and forgive me, Your Highness, I heard you were nearly killed battling the enemy leader. Why return to duty after that. Surely you’ve done enough? I’ve seen lesser men take leave after stubbing their toe on their own horse tack.”

Link nearly choked on the poultry, “I feel personally attacked by that one. I thought no one was looking.” 

Both women shook their heads, one in mirth and the other disbelief. 

“I dunno. I jus’ feel like I’m supposed ta be doin’ somethin’. I love workin’ with the animals, but…”

“Of course,” the Queen said, “The burden of expectation rests heavy on those who entertain its presence. But please know that by offering you a position I never meant to encourage something you did not want. I only meant that you deserved more than a few words of thanks.”

“No, no. Honestly, you didn’t need to do anything Zelda. I’m happy with jus’ thanks. I never really expected more.” 

“Then if you must, consider it the actions of a silly woman trying to keep up appearances. Because I dare say my people might have me hanged if they found out I offered you something as low as head stableboy. Oh, the outcry.”

Triton admonished her but the Queen continued to laugh, “I mean nothing by it.”

Link figured he should break the news to her before further assumptions were made, “Well, actually…”

“Oh dear, I’ve gone an jinxed it, haven’t I. I understand you possess your own mare so I suppose it was wrong of me to assume.”

He hoped he wouldn’t bring her trouble with his next request. He hadn’t considered her side, but the thought of shooting through the ranks into Royal Guard without training curled his insides. A sword he could swing, but he knew there was more to the position than combat abilities. Even with his title as “Hero”, Link would be treading on countless toes. “I wanted ta ask if I can start from the bottom. I’m thankful for your offer, but it’d be way too rude to jump in out of nowhere an’ act like I know what I’m doin’. 

Queen Zelda’s smile was as kind as ever but held a twinkle of mirth, “Of course. What say you Triton? Is there a place in the stables for the most important man in my country?”

“I could clear out a stall.”

“Could I have Epona with me? The barns can get pretty cold at night.” 

The two looked at him like he’d swallowed a fish whole. Queen Zelda’s voice was sincere, “I apologize, Link. I jest. Please, if you’ll allow anything from me as your Queen, allow me to save you the efforts of a child’s job.”

Link’s mouth tilted upwards, “So should I keep her in the kitchens? I think she’d like that. Your food’s really good.” 

Triton couldn’t hold back her laughter, “Yes, I think I see why your handmaids are so chatty.”

Queen Zelda was resigned to her seat, “I’ve been had. Yes, you may keep your horse at our stables. But please do not let me catch you sleeping with her.”

“Nah. Not into that sort of thing. Met a guy though.”

Her face was bright red like a medicine bottle and she squeaked, “Dear me. I’ve dug my own grave. Take him away! No more.”

Triton said, “It is good to see the Queen in good spirits. I will bring it up with Captain Oland. See if we can’t get you out of night shift.”

“That’d be great.”

“I look forward to serving Hyrule with you. Don’t disappoint me, Hero.”

Chapter Text

Sheik stood with his brothers and sisters overlooking the Gerudo Desert. Despite the oncomings of Spring, the Highlands’ snowy peaks blew frosty air through the thin mesh of their uniform. And with the moon a blazing red, the white snow tops appeared as pools of blood waiting to spill down onto the Gerudo Capital.

Sheik blinked. The sight before him seemed so small and unreal. The whole event was washed out by distance. Fields of crops and walls of fantastic architecture were nothing more than a distortion of the night. Glowing like a purple Chu chu, the Great Beast Calamity Ganon looked lackluster.

The Great Beast entered the desert and brought with him a trail of burning maize that hazed the horizon with smoke. His blue lasers cut through the scene, and like falling stars, they crashed into the ground and erupted into red balls of flame. It could have been his imagination, but Sheik thought he could hear the howls of dying women in the winds.

And they stood there watching with grins on their face and mild laughter filling the space between Sheik and them.

This was the penultimate. 

He spent years scrubbing the grounds of traitors. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth while their words slid off of him.

Watching the Beast bring down a wall of adobe, Sheik could only think of the last time he saw his aunt. Without speaking, the tiny woman’s eyes had said more than he cared to hear.

This was what he had wanted.

And it was only now, that Sheik was forced to consider the consequences of his actions. 

He had killed for this. He had fought to right the wrongs forced upon the Sheikah. Thinking back on that day in the entrance hall where he stood with the other recruits, he never actually believed his efforts would come to fruition. 

Sheik saw their God before him and all he could see was the skin of a Monster. 

His arms limp, Sheik considered the future. Like a spider eating its young, would the Beast come for them next? And would he stand there and watch as the jaws of death swallowed him whole?

His siblings were in a trance, wearing disgustingly white smiles. Even Master Kohga had ceased his yammering to admire their dreams. The Master caught him staring and with a finger, he pulled at the cheek of his smile. The command was clear.

On Sheik’s face, the gesture was a contraction of his lips that allowed the saliva on his teeth to be dried by the screaming winds. 

“What happens now?” Sheik said.

Master Kogha’s smile grew even brighter, “Now is when the Yiga come out of the shadows.”

In the short time that had passed, Gerudo City had become a blazing ball of light as bright as the high noon sun. Come morning not even ashes would remain.

It was too late to take back the past.

Each step left soft indentations in the grass, and step by step his mud addled appendages carried him higher up lush hills. Their subtle movements stopped and he looked through the haze that wrapped its way around his mind. He centered his thoughts around each tiny blade of grass. 

With barely maintained clarity, the boy brought his eyes onto the scenery of unrecognizable trees and hills. The Plateau was still an omnipotent figure in his slow travels, but it had moved itself further into the distance. Tar no longer hung from the branches, and bright trees breathed new life into the landscape.

He found his head swiveling, seeking familiarity but finding none and feeling the anxiety crawl up his back. The soft breeze of an approaching night set his skin ablaze in goosebumps.

His hands were shaking, and he brought them to his face, feeling the weight of the tablet holding them down. The smooth glass stared at him with his own face and his hands came away sticky and flaking red. The color crusted over his body and layered itself onto the corner of the tablet.

The blood spilled down his chest and onto his thighs, at the epicenter were two tender patches of skin camouflaged with older scars.

Shaking palms swept across the stain until he had painted himself red.

The boy teetered between the disgusting memory of death and his current, impossible state of being. Where the last thing he had known was a jumbled mess of hopeless betrayal, and pain as he lied on the floor where he expected to stay, he now stood with renewed vigor. 

The bile couldn’t expel itself faster from his body.

He stayed there, cupping his shoulders as though he could protect himself from the lingering fear. 

He breathed and mollified himself with thoughts of the present. While his feet could still bring him to stand, he would move, he decided. And keep his eyes open as the images of a moving spear threatened to keep them closed. 

It wasn’t here and it wasn’t now; he repeated to himself as he slept on rotting floorboards,  distracting himself with the yellow mark that found its way into the skin of his hand, and wishing he weren’t so alone.

The sun peaked its way over the horizon the next day. The shadows of mountains crept over the plains and trees grew their shadows long. He ignored the stinging of puffy eyes and swung his feet through frosty dew. The quiet air was oppressive with its solitude.

He heard a shrill cry above him, and cutting through the dense smog, a black bird fled.

The castle ruins in the Northwest, so close now, became a looming mountain in their own right that seeped purple smoke. The color mingled with the gray in a dark dance.

He pushed on. The hope of finding people like him would rest deeper in the blushing red forests and mountains. The tar that poisoned the land emanated from that cesspool behind him, and he inherently knew he would not find life in its remnants. 

The only life in these hills were the red and blue pigmen.

His breath caught at just the sight of their waving sticks. The boy tried to fight down the fear of death by creating distance, but at every cornerstone they jumped and yipped in a mocking display of ownership of the land.

And by his fourth encounter, the boy planted his back against a bare tree and stole glances at the two creatures. Jealously he eyed their clothes and pointed tools. Something burning over the spit summoned drool from his mouth. 

He quickly killed the naive part of him that wanted to ask for help. Thinking like that, he wouldn’t live long enough to make the same mistake. By the blessing of a brain that could name the grass as green and the sky blue, he knew that death should be permanent. His fluke, he decided, was better off not being tempted again. 

Looking at the pigmen, a terrible little thought sunk its teeth into his mind. 

Furry critters had darted between his feet, too fast to catch, and he needed to eat. 

So he waited until the pale moon’s light made him all but invisible and the creatures confidently showed their vulnerable bellies to the sky as they slept. Braided grass held the tablet to his waist and freed his hands. 

His plan revolved around exploiting that confidence. With the quietest of footsteps through dried leaves, he would arrive inside their camp with none the wiser.  

In the moonlight, their red skin almost appeared to glow. A massive ear twitched and he responded similarly, freezing his toes a hand’s breadth from the ground. It scratched it’s stomach and rolled over. 

The next step came down slowly and he grabbed the metal blade laying by the campfire’s embers. The dyeing wood cracked and his breath caught.

There wasn’t much to pilfer from the two creatures. The meat from earlier was all but bones in the ashes. Two cloth sacks held contents hidden by the shadows, but it didn’t matter because he-

-found himself locking eyes with red spheres that reflected the firelight. Then, like a kindled fire, they grew wide with recognition. Moments later it squealed and its companion threw itself awake. 

He watched it all happened with fear tying his limbs down. If one more second passed he would lose his advantageous ground. He saw a future where the two creatures took their next steps towards him, and with their superior size, weapon or not, fear or not, struggle or not, he would die. 

The weight of the sword and the sticky leather in his hand called to him and he gave the fantasies no further time to develop, ramming his lead foot into the ground, bursting forward with explosive speed and impaled the rusty blade directly into the heart of the beast before he pulled it out and the squelching liquid scattered into the air, and before it could touch down his arms were already twisting into an array that brought the blade down in a diagonal motion that split the next creature’s chest into a bloody diagram. 

He breathed and two thuds coincided with his exhale. The boy met their eyes one last time as he swallowed down the rising guilt. 

The smell of sweat and blood and confusion was exacerbated by the smoking coals, but the bile never came, and he repositioned the two bags of belongings and bloody weapon in his arms. 

With every second he lingered, he felt like the shadows were growing eyes with which to stare. Something, maybe a sound, maybe the shiver that passed over him, but he turned around and regretted giving into his paranoia. 

Behind him, the two corpses were staring at him with moving limbs and glowing red eyes. He took off into the bushes before they could pull their dead bodies off of the ground and drag him into their graves.

Morning for the boy couldn’t come fast enough. He waited in the hollow of a tree until the light guaranteed that the moving shadows were only blades of grass.

Numbly he chewed on puffy plants and hard shells he found on the ground. They tasted like ash and mud but kept his stomach abated. Inside the stolen bag, he had found a red and bulbous fruit that dripped sweet liquid onto his chin. He left nothing but the stems of the three fruit on the ground. 

He consolidated the goods, devouring whatever was edible and tossing the needles, pointed rocks, strings, and his own tablet into a modified shoulder bag constructed from pilfered rope.

The sword he held in a loose grip while he swung it through waist high grass.

Out of curiosity he gripped the handle with two hands and sliced downwards. His arms flowed into a balanced stance with the tip of the blade hovering above the grass. He pulled it up and back out, his feet following along with minimal hesitance. The biggest hurdle was how it’s heavy weight drug his arms down, and with just a few swings sweat mingled with his long hair.

Last night flashed by. The way his body had moved effortlessly through the motions, in daylight, appeared unnatural. Seeing the metal he could only discern it was possibly iron, but his body had said more. 

He threw his arm out in a chaotic motion and his feet immediately wanted to self correct.

If this were something else he knew then his fear of the open wilds could ease slightly. But it also filled him with varied speculations and absurd answers. At the forefront was: why. Yet without more information, he was shooting in the dark.

The boy tried to not let the unknown factors bother him, telling himself it was just another log in the building process and that one day he would have all of the pieces. 

If only repeating it would reassure him more. 

He walked towards the jagged rocks in the distance, keeping his mind away from the freezing weather and cloudy sky that matched his sullen mood. His body was weary and he finally collapsed against a boulder. 

No matter how far he walked, nothing ever seemed to change. He closed his eyes, hoping for a terrible situation to resolve itself. Be secretly he knew he was the only one who could move past it. At this point though, traveling just made him terribly, terribly lonely.

Chapter Text

From so high up the world around him looked worse than a cesspool. In what used to be Hyrule Field to the West, Kass could see the Devil’s Bladder drowned in poisoned waters and tarred trees that rotted to an abysmal black. Hyrule always boasted beautiful fields of grass that alit with daffodils in early Spring.

He flapped his wings and slipped into a lower thermal, circling back to his walking companions.

Used to the generous winds of the ocean, Medli struggled to maintain altitude. The rolling foothills had their own rolling thermals but he saw how her wings sagged. Kass hoped she would persist until nightfall. They had perhaps three more days before they reached Mount Satori, but if Medli were forced to walk, it would slow their pace considerably.

The wind rushed over his feathers as a draft carried him over wilting evergreens. Kass kept one eye on the four Hylians, and the other on the horizon. Within the hour they would reach a small pond where they could refill their canteens, but Kass remained diligent, scanning the trees for hidden enemies. So far Medli and he had steered their party away from bokoblin and moblin camps but not everything could be seen from the sky.

“Kass!” Medli called. She beat her long white wings and fell into his slipstream, “I think I saw tektites farther north.

“In the Breach?”

“Not sure. I only saw things moving on the rocks.” 

Kass clacked his beak. The spider-like creatures shouldn’t be able to survive in the Tabantha’s frosty air. “Those damn blood moons,” he hissed. “They must have migrated out of their territory just because they could. I’ll bring it up with the Hylians; keep watching.”

Hyrule used to have an adequate amount of travelers that kept the monsters’ populations at manageable numbers, but ever since the Calamity awoke, its dark magic seeped into the very fabric of the world, tainting the air and breathing new life into its minions every. Single. Night. He knew stories that spoke of catacombs and their redead occupants, but those should have remained a bard’s tale.

“Watch the skies,” he called to the four Hylians. Sybil broke from the quiet conversation between Kyler and Anne first. Maylin, the poor soul, still hugged the stump of her arm in a pain no potion could cure. 

Sybil frowned, watching Kass land with a flurry of feathers, “What do the skies bring, Rito?”

“Tektites if we’re not mistaken. Medli thought she spotted some in the cliffs.” 

“We’re headed towards cliffs, Kass.”

Kyler spoke up before the woman could begin another tirade, “Should we avoid the Breach and take a detour through the Thundra?”

Anne made a subtle gesture to Maylin’s sweaty grimace, “If we get caught in one of the Thundra’s storms, It wouldn’t be good for any of us. The Breach has a well-traveled path running through it. I think it will be easier terrain for all of us, and the rocky overhangs will be better vantage points for you two.”

Kass nodded. With Maylin unable, Anne was their best and most well-traveled fighter after Kass’s own explorations. Sybil looked like she had her own opinions on the matter, but Medli’s shrill cry of alarm cut her off. 

Medli held her spear in her talons like a lance and was descending in a steep dive towards the basin of a hill. Kass heard whispers of concern as those able drew their weapons, but he only hurried to sprint back into the air and chase after the fool-hearted girl.  

Kass interpreted her response as danger and positioned his own spear, determined to meet her at her destination. With three short cries, he told the Hylians to follow as he beat his broad wings harder.

He heard the clattering thuds of combat before he saw the young Hylian man exchanging blows with a green lizalfos. Not seconds later came Medli’s contribution in the form of her metal-tipped spear ramming through the beast. The rusty tip came out the other side dripping red. However, Medli’s hold on the staff lasted a moment too long and the lizalfos’s jerking body caused her to nosedive into a rolling heap in the grass. 

The blond man took advantage of her sacrifice and doubled up on the injuries with a well-placed iron blade through its ribs.

Kass kept an open ear towards the stranger but prioritized Medli who was struggling to stand. The beast behind him breathed one final, shuddering breath and collapsed on the spear propping its body up.

Medli was wheezing with her beak open and more than a few flight feathers were bent, but she responded well to Kass’s administrations. The twine she used to tie her auburn crest feathers back had broke and the appendages were left to rise with her scared and pained demeanor. Kass tucked his wing under her shoulder and helped her stand. For reassurance, he nuzzled her head.

Kass eyed the stranger watching them with calculating eyes. Like most survivors these days, his wool clothes and leather chest piece had seen better days. The man kept his sword loose and allowed them to approach. 

On closer inspection, the man may actually belong to the Sheikah. His red eyes were a piercing indicator. It had been a while since Kass had last spoken with a Sheikah, but he remembered their greeting well enough, “The moon’s light allows our meeting. Are you well, sir?”

The man frowned, “Yeah, it’s bright in shit. I’m fine.” He chucked his chin in their direction, “Her?”

“I’m fine,” Medli groaned. “Is it dead?”

The man checked over his shoulder and unnecessarily stabbed the corpse once more, “Dead enough.” 

Kass approached and offered a bow the man didn’t bother to acknowledge, “My name is Kass. And though it’s a distant relation, this is my niece, Medli. What can we call you, sir?”

“Aaahh...Ren. Ren’s fine. Are you two alone?” The question sounded greedy.

“No. We are traveling with four other Hylians.”

“Where are you going?”

“A number of survivors have gathered on a small mountain not too far from here.”

As the man took an armed step closer Anne and Kyler arrived with sword and spear drawn, looking anxious and prepared for unwanted combat. Kass moved quickly to dissuade their immediate concerns and introduce the situation to them, and again, once more, when Maylin and Sybil peeked over the hill.

“If you’ve nowhere else to go, young man, will you travel with us?” Kass said, only to be immediately undermined by Sybil.

“Put the reigns on your horses! We don’t know him.” She jogged down the slope, her short bob swaying with every step.

“Sybil, we are all strangers here. I could say the very same about you.” 

“I don’t have fucking monster eyes. What if he’s infected?”

Ren’s head snapped, “Watch your mouth woman. You’re the only one big enough here to be a monster.”

Kass could see steam building and hurried to dissuade the tension, “Please. We mean not to fight. Times are trying and we should be working towards the same goal, not against each other.”

Anne approached with her tone low, “Kass, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I don’t think we even have the means to feed him.”

“I have my own food,” Ren said, eyeing Anne directly. “I’ve been looking for survivors, and I think this is likely the best opportunity I’ve been presented. ‘Course it all depends on if your party can hold itself together.”

“No!” Sybil cut in, “I’m sorry, but we have enough trouble supporting ourselves.”

Kass’s wing flared and blocked Sybil from further comments. He glared down at her, “Please remember that it is through my and Medli’s assistance that you even know of Mount Satori. I came here with the intention to assist those in need of aid and residence, and it will be my decision to help anyone that we can.”

He gestured to the fallen lizalfos, “If it will help my cause then please consider that without Maylin in fighting condition we are left with one trained fighter in our party. I apologize Kyler.”

She at least considered the corpse before grunting and walking off with nothing further to say. He didn’t like the smirk on Ren’s face, but Kass welcomed him to their party none the less.  And with her own strength, Medli offered a flaring bow in greeting.

That night he and Medli stayed awake for first watch with Ren. Kass tried to urge Medli to sleep through the pain of her bruises, but she stubbornly shook her head and fluffed her feathers in defiance. He could have been influenced by Maylin’s struggling moans, but he could not blame her for feeling the red night watching their every move.

“So,” Ren breathed, “Haven’t seen white feathers before. Where you from, pretty lady?”

She squeaked, “What? Oh. I’m from the islands.”

“That so. Why are you so far inland? I thought all you Rito would have flown the coop a long time ago.” 

“I was training to take over my mother’s position as high priestess and decided to take my maiden flight to the mainland and visit some distant relatives, but...I got caught up in everything here.”

She grew silent and Kass filled in the rest of the answer, “The Rito of Hyrule have wings unfit for ocean travel. It would be suicide for us to escape into the sea.”

“Think your family’s still alive? Anyone else?” The question was honest, but in the firelight, Ren looked eager.

“I don’t know,” she said. “They might have flown farther East.”

“I doubt the Beast will stop at Hyrule.”

Medli hid her legs behind feathers. Kass felt like doing the same but resisted the childish urge. Talk of the Calamity had been in the undertone of every conversation, and every day felt like a clock counting down. How long before their illusion of safety was destroyed by another fall of the hour hand?

“What do you think it’s doing?” Medli muttered.

Ren stared at the burning twigs and squinted, “Dunno. Taking a dump?”

“That’s certainly an image,” Kass admitted. 

Ren’s smile was deceptively charming. 

The next morning Sybil fell to the back while Ren chatted with the members in the front. He kept the pack occupied with raucous laughter and tales of his travels. More than once Kass saw Medli soar overhead and listen in. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Ren had apparently been wandering for some time after a hoard of moblins ransacked his village. From the look of their current actions, Kyler was explaining his late wife’s necklace.

Kass would have enjoyed a good conversation, but he needed to focus on scanning the cliff face. He held his spear in his beak and dropped onto an overhang. 

The Breach was a small canyon in North West Hyrule composed of spongy rock that stacked itself high into the sky. Each hole held potential points of ambush and he hated how they all blurred together. 

It was times like these Kass wished he had a keener eye for detail. Had he, he might have spent his time in the ranges instead of with his quill. It certainly would have been a better choice for the current times. He didn’t have the body for diving strikes and it was starting to show in the way his feet hopped from one foot to the other, avoiding their pain. It saddened him to know that his niece was going through similar issues. Medli had taken to a spear like a fledgling to gravity, but he knew both of them were doing little more than closing their eyes and hoping they hit. 

He wondered briefly if with the loss of the Rito’s numbers the art of Rito archery had been lost to time as well. Much of Hyrule history must be lost, he imagined. The Sheikah and their secrets. The Gerudo’s illustrious crafts and agricultural advancements. The Zora’s architecture was sure to be rubble under a poison lake, and with the Goron’s supplies at a standstill, the remains of Hyrule were left picking at scraps.

Was this the same hopelessness his mentor felt in the very first days of the origonal Calamity? Hyrule had only begun to rebuild due to the Last Princess’s sacrifice. With her will defeated, and the Beast unleashed once more, would the hearty folk of Hyrule persist?

“One can only wait and see. Perhaps one day your dreams will become a reality, Master.

Kass jumped off the crag and pulled up into the air. Medli mirrored his flight, hovering just shy of his left wing as they circled above and watched the walls for movement.

“You keep staring. Is something wrong, Ren?”

“They’re rather creepy. I feel like we're being watched by vultures.”

Kyler looked up, expecting something ominous, “What, the Rito?” 

“Yeah. Never actually seen one of them hunt before,” Ren said. Sheik couldn’t believe that was the name he came up with. It made him sound like some prancing filly. 

“I guess. I’ve never actually met any of them before Kass and Medli. Me and my wife used to run a local butchery so we weren’t really a big tourist attraction.” Kyler fondled that worn necklace he kept attached to his neck. The thing looked like it used to be some quality silver at some point.

“I would see a lot of them at the stables, back when I was traveling,” Anne said.

Sheik eyed the tall woman from farther North. She was likely an old employee of Serenne Stable, and if she was traveling with these fools, Sheik doubted anyone still lived there. However, he wanted to know if anyone was still in the Rito Roost. 

“I don’t think so. Kass mentioned something about Vah Medoh. But I thought it insensitive to ask more.”

Kyler added to the conversation, “That thing is terrifying. I saw it fly by once, and you don’t even know it’s there until it’s right over your head.”

Anne agreed, “Sometimes I see it in the distance and I can only hope it can not see as well as an actual Rito.”

The rising sun cast long shadows over the canyon. The dark only broken by the sky peeking out overhead. Small pockets of black tar weaved between the crevices. One such pocket had grown so large it hung between the upper walls like an orb weaver’s web. It stared down at Sheik with glowing, tumor-like eyes. Even as he passed, it felt like they were watching his back. 

Sheik’s long ears twitched and he reacted by drawing his bastard sword and bracing for the tektite that slid onto the metal with minimal effort.  The impact felt like a horse’s buck and he could feel its claws trying to tear through his gambeson, but he threw the carapace to the ground and tore his boot knife into its blinking eye.

The movement must have drawn Anne’s attention because she cried for combat and within moments the Ritos’ wings could be heard over the scraggly claws of three tektites preparing to pounce. 

Sheik hissed and slapped Sybil with the broadside of his sword, “Get that spear up if you want to live. And Maylin, honey, suck it up.”

“She can’t fight!”

“Then she’ll die.” Sheik retorted. At least Maylin listened to him. A hunting pack of tektites wasn’t something to scoff at. There were no doubt more waiting in the shallow caves.

The moment one creature caught sight of Kass’s blue feathers, it sprung from the wall with its two forelegs stretched out. Kass twisted and the tektite fell towards Sheik. He braced, but Anne reached out with her shield and deflected its trajectory. He saw her intention, but he couldn’t care for it. The spider only flipped itself and made for a second attempt. This time Sheik caught it off guard with a palm length iron needle through its eye.

Anne was focused on a gray tektite, and Maylin, with only one arm, was surprisingly more effective than Sybil who cowered behind Maylin and Kyler. The two of them were tag-teaming one spider, making up for their individual deficiencies.

Sheik tucked his shoulder and twisted the blade into the body of one tektite daring enough to catch him off guard. The bird bitch wasted her time clawing at it with her talons and beating her wings. He waved her off, noticing one behind her, “Cliffs! Cliffs!”

She was too slow and Sheik sucked in his pride and threw another needle past her head and towards the tektite. He wasn’t vain enough to think he could handle losing a capable fighter in the middle of an uncontrolled battle.

A shadow of wings circled on the ground, bouncing off the terracotta bodies of tektites. Sheik watched the walls for the eyes staring back. At least six more waited in the rocks.

Then Kass went down with a hawk’s cry. One brown, four-legged mass had latched itself to his wing and Sheik threw another needle into its rolling eye. He took a step forward to deliver a finishing blow, but Medli arrived first. He cursed; with both Rito grounded and Sybil’s blubbering cowardice, that made three useless fighters on the ground.

Perhaps it was time to abandon these fools as a distraction. He already had a general idea of where their destination was. 

But Anne must have realized their vulnerable position because she yanked Maylin off the ground. The woman’s wound had reopened sometime in the fight, and a gash raked across her upper thigh.

“Run!” Anne screamed. “We have to move! Kyler, Ren! Go! GO!”

Sybil got her fat ass moving before even Sheik could react. Anne positioned herself as rearguard and when one dove for her she bucked it with her shield and pierced its carapace. Kyler worked with Medli to bring Kass to his feet. The tektite off to the side still twitched. 

As they distanced themselves from the collection of corpses, the tektites crawled down from the walls and dragged their brethren away. Likely to devour them.

“Kyler give me a hand, Can you fly? You two need to get back in the air,” Sheik interlocked his hands, preparing to boost the two Rito up.

Kass was the first to swallow his pride, and with two people assisting, the launch was almost effortless.

“You’re next. “Sheik ignored Medli’s gap-mouthed, distracted expression and shoved her closer.

Anne followed Medli’s line of sight and proceeded to grow pale, “Forget the spiders! There’s a guardian stalker coming up the path.”

Sheik groaned, “Then fucking run before it sees us!”

Medli slipped her wing out of his grip and took off in a sprint with her wings flapping, “It’s chasing someone!”

Dumb bitch. What the fuck are you doing, “Don’t!”

“Medli!” Kass cried and dove after her.

Medli ran straight for the idiot freeballing it with death on his naked heels, but Sheik had enough self-preservation to shove Kyler and Sybil into a run.

“What is she doing?!”

He put a hand on Kyler’s back, “Doesn’t fucking matter. Unless you think you can win against that thing then we need to MOVE.”

An explosion erupted in the canyon but Sheik didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

His bare feet brushed against the rocky terrain. What started out as small outgrowths of rock, now rose above him and blocked out the pale blue of the sky. The shadows that fell down covered the canyon in an ominous darkness. Bruise-like tar stained the rocks, and tiny, tumorous red eyes stared back. He urged his feet to scramble faster over the dirt, and he held the makeshift bag as though it could protect him.

The tiny noise of pebbles descended the canyon walls, and in the quiet, their noise echoed like warnings. He twisted around once. Twice, before he caught an inhuman shape disappearing into one of the wall's crevices. He shot forward before the thud that landed behind him had the chance to grab him with its spidery claws.

But the creeping creatures were smarter than he. They did not pursue because they sensed a larger predator coming around the corner, one with thicker legs and a carapace like molded stone. Its pink eye swiveled, and the boy saw that first night up on the plateau. He stared at that mechanical, bulbous beast, and knew immediately that spending the next few seconds in inaction would spell his demise.

So he ran. Not thinking of its explosive laser or the burning wheeze that forced air down his throat. He ran like he was pulling his fears behind him. They tumbled and bounced against the rough ground. Their screaming concerns were strangled and clamped shut while he focused on survival.

The ground behind him exploded but he flew free, not stopping even when his thighs threatened to give out on a brutal incline. Not even the familiar sight of humanoid shapes rising in the distance could shake the trembling of his heart nor the concussive blasts dogging his heels.

When one of the humanoids turned away from their crowd, the boy didn't expect a massive pair of white and brown wings to unfurl and send the person into the air. The giant, white bird swooped overhead and dove between him and the beast, luring away its focus. The explosion that followed veered to the boy's left. His eyes followed the bird as they rode the explosion's tumultuous air currents and struggled to maintain a proper flight.

The next ray clipped through the bird's narrow wing. They went down in a spiraling flurry of feathers. The boy had seconds to assess his options. His heart raced up his throat, but he saw the good deed for what it was. He felt his gut curdling at the thought of leaving the bird as a struggling lump on the ground. One foot may have been facing forward to flee, but he leaned on his backfoot and turned around.

He could hear the cries of another bird echoing shrilly in the canyon, but the boy arrived at the scene first. Gentle could not be used to describe his actions. He latched beneath their armpits and dragged the bird. One winged arm fumbled for purchase while the other wrapped around his shoulder using three finger-like appendages. They escaped just in time for a large, blue and yellow bird to swoop in and distract the mechanical creature.

He heard the explosions but was busy swallowing air. The person next to him blew a keening noise from their beak and swatted their wing against the ground, smothering lingering flames. A Nearly perfect hole had been erased from the broad end of their wing. Despite their noises of protest, they compressed the wing into a folded state.

Unsaid words of thanks and understanding passed between the two before they refocused on the blue bird. The blue bird weaved around the giant beast and led it back downhill. He and the white bird dared not move until the blue and feathered person climbed back up the trail and landed nearby.

"Medli," they said, "are you ok?" Medli stepped away from the boy and nodded shyly.

In the surreal quiet of the reunion, the boy felt as if he should say something. Despite their foreign appearance, his mind was urging him to attempt communication. However, his fears of a previous failed attempt held him back. A part of him felt cornered, but they didn't make a move to wield their spears.

He caught their attention with a step forward.

The towering, blue bird saw him, and softly ushered the boy to follow, "Come, before there are more problems." Compelled to listen, he trailed after their hurried pace. He was sure to maintain a tentative distance.

Medli and their friend eyed the walls with trepidation. In between their surveillance, they would swivel their heads and watch him with dark eyes. As though the walls would overhear, the three of them kept silent until they felt like an appropriate distance had been placed between them and any potential predators.

The grip on Medli's spear finally loosened, and they turned around. "Hylian boy, what's your name?"

He wasted air relearning how his voice worked, but the sound caught on his tongue. He did not know the answer. The boy spent those days in the poisoned fields hoping beyond hope that the first friendly faces he found would provide him with safety and answers. But these two people did not know him. Just like him, they were running from the monsters that lurked.

"I don't know," he said with a voice barely restraining tears.

"You don't know your name? How-"

Medli's friend quieted them and in a more masculine voice said, "I'm sure there is a story to be told. But for now, what should we call you?"

"I don't know."

"How about you tell us when you've thought of a name? For now, let us be proud of our meager victory." Kass went on to introduce himself, his niece Medli, and soon after, the Hylian companions the boy saw earlier. They ranged from a quiet girl with black hair searching for a place to vomit and groan in pain, to a tall young man urging the group to flee. Ren's tirade only broke when Kass approached and offered his apologies for leaving and putting his companions in danger.

Ren narrowed his eyes and breathed out a count of ten. "Let's just fucking go already." He did a once over of Medli and settled on her blackened feathers, "Can you even fly?" She shook her head. "Great. And who's this? Dick?"

Kass spoke for the boy, "He says he can't remember his name."

"You're shitting me, right? It's his name."

Kass shrugged, "I don't claim to know the will of the Gods." Sybil attempted to speak, but Kass cut her off, "No Sybil. My warning still stands. I will not be quiet where I can help. It was unfortunate that Medli was injured, but we must make do with what we can." Sybil continued to hiss her grievances, but Kass ended the discussion by flying away.

Without Kass, the boy faced the full intensity of the travelers' stares. Some briefly glanced at him in pity while others had their eyes on the road and were impatiently waiting to leave. One by one, like they were leaving him behind, the group turned and began walking away. It took Ren's complaining before the boy accepted the reluctant invitation.

He remained at their backs until Ren broke the monotony and chose to walk alongside him. The young man stared at him pointedly. "So," he began, "where'd your clothes go?"

"I couldn't find any."

"You couldn't..." Ren maintained eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time. "You know what, fuck it. I don't need to look at your shit all day." He untied the strings around his neck and pulled the cloak off his shoulders, revealing a thick travel pack.

The boy took the dark fabric. A thin layer of dirt stained the cloth, and he could feel every stray, scratchy thread. But it was warm.

"I want that back when you find a pair of pants."

He and the other travelers continued through the canyon at a slow pace that accommodated Medli and Maylin. Kass kept watch from above. From time to time, the travelers looked back with a strange face that made him want to squirm away. Ren's idle conversation, and a subtle obligation to Kass and Medli, were likely the only reasons the boy stayed.

Ren attempted to explore the boy's backstory but all he could answer with were shrugs and unknowns. "No friends or family? Nothing? What'd you do, live under a rock?

"I walked here from that big plateau," the boy tried to explain.

Ren's brows furrowed. "You came through the Devil's Bladder? Hyrule Field? How are you alive?"

His honest response was, "I don't know."

Ren burst out laughing, the noise catching the attention of the other travelers. The boy's face pricked with heat, but Ren continued to wheeze, "Wow you really don't know anything. I'll let you in on a well-known secret. It's the end of the world, friend. And we should all be dead." Ren wiped his eyes and continued, "Do you seriously not know what the Calamity did?"

The boy gave an educated guess, "It's why the moon is red…?"

"You could say that. You could also say he's the reason the fields are rotting and our weapons are rusting. Why we run to shelter like a spooked horse. The Great Beast Calamity Ganon woke from the Princess's magic and we're just waiting for him to finish us off." Medli warned Ren not to speak in such a manner but it didn't stop him. "It's not like I'm lying. And if this kid seriously doesn't know anything, he's just going to end up in a ditch somewhere.

"It's not hopeless!" Medli argued. "We just have to persevere."

"Perseverance alone won't kill a monster."

Her beak clacked shut. "But-"

"Hun, you don't even know how to use that spear."

The boy remembered hugging his knees in the dark, the only light being from the little broken slate that glowed dimly if he slapped it. During his time of solitude, he ran through all the wonderful scenarios where he'd meet people like him. They would call him by his name and hold him tight. Then they'd take him somewhere far away. The air wouldn't have an acrid aftertaste and the tarnished water wouldn't burn as it went down his throat.

"Then I'll get better. I'll learn to fight. I can't just do nothing."

"Medli, you can't just learn to fight and expect to be ready the next day. People train for years and they still die every day."

Every word painted over his idyllic dreams, and when the last spray of spittle landed, the boy held a canvas of bleak black.

Complacently, he followed the group out of the Breach's high walls. The somber mood bled into each of their postures and quiet words that spoke of nonsense and distraction. Of the group, Ren was the only one to acknowledge their horrible situation. The boy desperately wanted to ask more questions, but the fear of being laughed at silenced him.

So he kept to himself and drifted from the pack, reverting to his normal traveling patterns and searched the base of trees for acorns and mushrooms. When they gave him a side-eye as he cracked into the raw nut, he pocketed the rest into his canvas bag. That night, over the campfire, they politely offered him a share of dried meat which he tore into.

Medli patted his arm and told stories of her time on the Eastern Isles. Her homeland was surrounded by an endless expanse of blue water that smelled of the salt clinging to the jerky. She even brought out her mother's heirloom, a bright blue crystal necklace whittled smooth by the hands of time. It had been passed down between Earth Temple Priestesses since long ago.

Having no concept of other Rito, the boy couldn't picture her mother's face, but he saw the way her eyes rested on the fire in longing. He mimicked her, but the face of his own mother would not come to him.

They spent the night in relative safety, expecting to reach Mt. Satori in three days' time.

Luciel tried to explain that he was fine with drinking on the ship, but he was shot down within seconds.

Thus, calloused hands led Luciel into the pub. Six other men and one young woman followed Luciel in. The place was filthy, with stools that would likely stain his pants and a mangy dog that eyed the new customers like food. But Tetra weaved through the empty tables with an assured confidence that was unaided by Senza and Gonzo looming behind her.

She leaned over the counter, attempting to flirt in a manner no one was bold enough to tell her wasn't working. "Hello, sir. Please, drop the frown. We're only looking to buy you out of your stock of alcohol."

If the server had an issue with her young age, he didn't mention it, "You got enough gems for that kind of purchase?

"Do you even sell that much booze? Of course we have that much money," she threw down a purple rupee and asked for a round. "What kind of good, upstandnig people would we be if we didn't pay?"

Luciel took a seat next to her with a smile covering his face. Gonzo leaned over Tetra's shoulder conspiratorially, "The kind who don't want to get their asses handed to them when Luciel finds out you didn't pay."

"Hey!" Luciel complained and used his foot to shove Gonzo toward a seat, "I've never done that."

"I don't know, Niko swears otherwise."

"He was about to swindle six grand! That poor woman would have gone broke!"

Senza covered Luciel's face with his hand, "Shh. Drink the beer Luke; It's too soon to give away the fact we're pirates."

"Blegh! Why do your hands smell?"

Senza shook them mockingly close, "Who do you think took over your cleaning shift today?

"Ah. Left it nice and dirty for you did I?"

"You shit."

Their laughter crowed and could be heard rolling over the other patrons. Surely they would be hated by the end of the night, but that didn't stop Luciel's enthusiasm.

Tetra patted his head, "Now now, we're here for Luke tonight. I want to hear cheering." She took an offered beer and put one foot on the countertop.

"Get down," the bartender growled.

"Let me hear a call to raise the seas! You too, you fucks in the back. None of this gloomy black market business. Loudest one gets this man's cheapest drink!" On the count of three, her crew erupted with a raucous call. Even a few cups in the back raised.

"Booo! What was that supposed to be? I've heard half of you scream louder through the door! I think you all need more incentive," her other foot sullied the bar.

"Get the fuck down or you're not getting anything."

"Bartender! I need a round of drinks for the weirdos in the back and the slightly less weird blokes in front of them. Now. Let me hear you shout! Birthday boy here needs a PARTY!"

They acted quickly, pulling Tetra off the bar before the owner could kick them out. But Luciel's cheeks were rosy red and high on adrenaline before the first drink set in. They passed Luciel one after another, rubbed his shoulders, and threw him into every bawdy pirate shanty they could pull from the loo. Luciel's voice cracked on the high notes and he soothed it with the black and bitter shitty liquid that kept refilling itself. He didn't know what he was smiling for, but thinking about it only made him grin harder.

"Join the songs!" he pulled on the sleeve of a man wearing a dark cloak, "I'll tell you a verse-"

The man pushed back with some awful words.

Luciel stumbled for an apology.

"LUCIEL! Why are you leaving your friends?!" Niko tugged him back into the huddle.

When the doors shut behind him he sped through the swaying streetlights with a gusto befitting of mighty pirates. His friends hung off of him in equal amounts of debilitation. He smiled at the red-eyed pedestrian and woke up with his pants caught around his ankles.

Chapter Text

Ren said he didn’t hear the stalkoblins until it was too late. They had broken through the ground, latching onto Maylin’s sickly body. She screamed. It was her cries of anguish the boy awoke to. He caught the tail end of the action. The whites of her eyes matched the pale sheen of the skeletal creature. It had its jaw clamped around her face. And all too soon it bit down. Her eyes filled with blood. Ren reacted first, bashing the stalkoblin’s skull with his sword. When its teeth loosened, Kyler pulled Maylin’s limp body away.

They scrambled to grab their belongings and escape into the darkness. It was useless to kill monsters with the light of the blood moon still staining the sky; they would only rise from their graves, stronger than before.

When the dawn rose on that third day of traveling, Kass explained to the boy that Maylin’s soul ascended to the Sacred Realm, the light of the golden sun gracing her departure. The boy couldn’t see her soul, just a woman, nay, a corpse with half its face missing.

Talk began of what to do with her body. With guilty and furtive looks, they passed the boy Maylin’s belongings, saying they were better used than wasted. Now he stood in her spare clothes, watching with dry eyes as they prepared a meager bonfire. They hoped that by burning the flesh, the Calamity’s malice would not corrupt her remains.

Maylin’s back used to be a constant, and when they resumed travel, he still expected to see her walking in front. But now he walked in her place, in her clothes, and he felt like an imposter. It would have been better to burn the clothes, not repurpose them in such a slimy way.

His feelings went unnoticed for much of the morning. He didn’t properly look up until they were crossing a narrow bridge overlooking an overflowing and polluted river. Kass explained that on the other side was Mount Satori, a small foothill topped with red leaves that fell like petals.

Kass spoke to a towering woman manning a makeshift barricade of sharpened logs. Her eyes tiredly ran over the group of travelers before she allowed entry. The red haired woman caught the boy gawking and waved hello. He was too shy to return the greeting.

An array of harvested crops grew at the base of the mountain and around a smooth stone figure that overlooked the ravine. Farther back, people moved between huts built from thatch and dried clay. The small structures extended up to the forest line and ran along Mount Satori’s slopes. Looming behind it all was a sharp, red cliff that touched the sky.

Most people greeted Kass with a generous wave, and he responded in kind. He asked each of them for the location of Madas: a man who took it upon himself to build this settlement from scratch. They found him sitting beneath a young tree with his head in his hands.  Madas quickly tried to restore his image when he realized he had an audience, but the pink fringe of his hair still stood up. He greeted each of them with a firm handshake but paused when he reached Ren, his face showing surprise, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a Sheikah. Are you from Kakariko? Were there survivors?”

Ren’s smile was tight, “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.”

Madas immediately backtracked and apologized for his assumptions. He moved the subject over to Medli and her wings, but she easily explained that the singed feathers were already plucked and would grow back soon. Quicker if they had potions to spare. Kass informed Madas of a number of small family units still living in the mountains, refusing to move. One of the Divine Beasts he called Vah Medoh was still hovering over the Hebra Mountains, and many of the day-ride stables were either destroyed or occupied by bokoblins. He painted a grim reality of just how few people were still alive in Hyrule.

Madas broke from the discussion to assign each traveler a position in camp. He took into account their skillsets and redirected each of them. The boy found himself in the care of an olive skinned woman named Karla. She cooked breakfast and dinner for camp members either too busy or unable to put together their own food. She corralled the boy and three other assistants into her “kitchen”, a small hut with a clay oven in the back and tree stump tables occupying a semicircle around an exterior campfire. An arsenal of kitchen weapons decorated one of the shelves. A chatty young man informed him that Karla regularly sharpened the knives. To keep the rust away he had said. But the girl next to him swore otherwise.

The boy liked the rhythmic feel of chopping vegetables. Each clack of the knife’s edge on wood was just as satisfying as the last. He might have even enjoyed this job if Karla didn’t berrate his efforts at every hour of the sun.

When the soup finished, people trickled over. They took a bowl, sometimes offering their own, before returning it to a pile for reuse. The red haired woman from earlier came up to him and said hello in a distantly familiar language. He saw more Rito whose feathers were colored like the rainbow. But the majority of people passing through were Hylians like him, all his age or older.

The strangest sight, by far, was a rotund creature that waddled through camp with a tree over their shoulder and what looked like a rock in their other hand. Yuutan the Goron, as he had been told, was instrumental in building many of the camp's more complex structures: such as the food storage shed. It was one of the only buildings with polished planks, and it sat above the ground on thick wooden legs. When Karla unlocked the shed later that day, she explained where to find each food product, then left the boy to lug a sack of potatoes back to the kitchen.

During one of his meager breaks, he sat in the trampled grass and sipped at the watery soup. He toyed with the carrots and onions that held his clumsy cuts and swallowed each mushy lump alone. Sitting in the open had him finishing the stew in quick bites before reluctantly returning to Karla's scowl. 

He watched the sun sink into the horizon, cutting the same carrots as before. When the last vegetable left his hand and he brought the knife down on the tip of his finger, he left the kitchen feeling sorer than having walked through an endless field of dirt and stone. And yet he had gone nowhere. Karla said he should return tomorrow at dawn, starting the day in the exact same way he ended it.

People milled along the trodden path, heading for their huts in a daze that bespoke of absent minded repetition. He followed along.

He peered inside the mud huts. Some people gathered around small fires beneath simple holes for smoke to escape, while others chatted or toyed with personal projects. All, however, shifted when he approached. Small patches of open space were filled with an extended leg or a tipped over bag. They refused to make eye contact as they declined him entry. So he kept walking.

Seeing a familiar face produced a happy little feeling of security. He approached quietly and Ren turned away from examining the food storage shed. Ren's hello came out smooth but broke into surprise when he saw the boy. "What is it?" he asked.

Knowing that Ren was also looking for a place to sleep eased some of the boy’s anxieties and he asked if Ren knew anything more. Ren looked at the boy as though he were just asked to pull the moon from the sky. "Weren't you looking for something?" the boy clarified.

Ren glanced at the shed. "I was," he confirmed. "I thought they'd have some sort of communal lodging for newcomers in one of the larger buildings. But this is not it." The boy explained that most of the sleeping huts ran along the base or the slopes of the foothill. "That so? Well," Ren said, and slapped the boy's shoulder, "best be off to bed then." He dragged the boy toward the huts with a firm hand.

Ren peeked inside each hut, teetering between one that held a scrappy allotment of middle aged men or one that held a sickly lump hiding beneath a blanket. He settled on the first, and kicked the woman sleeping by the entrance, "Make some room, we're sleeping here." She tried to argue, but Ren threw his bag between two people sitting and then threw the boy in after. "Watch my shit," he said by way of goodbye.

The boy called after Ren's retreating back but Ren only gave a backward wave, "The woods over there are a good spot to find mushrooms. If I'm lucky, there'll still be some left."

"But it's going to be dark soon," the boy said.

"The mushrooms glow in the dark. I'll be fine."

He couldn't recall at what time Ren returned, but it wasn't until the boy woke with his toes chilled inside Maylin's leather boots, that he noticed the body sleeping next to him. He quickly returned to his dreams of strange men, and when he woke up for the last time, the heat against his back was gone.

Unable to return to sleep, he stepped out into the predawn, grabbing Maylin's sleeping blanket and throwing it over his shoulders. His first steps outside were met with frosty dew that seeped through a hole in his boot.

This early, only a few individuals were awake and moving. Strangely enough, in the scarcity of people, he felt less alone. The choice to run his hands along the red tree at the top of the mountain was his own. It was a choice not hindered by the expectation to know the name of such a beautiful plant.

The morning fog lit the shallow pond with an ethereal, green light. He breathed in the misty air. It smelled fresher than anywhere else, and despite the purple haze covering Central Hyrule, the yellow sun blended with the red of the moon to create a vibrant pink sunrise.

So far away, he almost didn't recognize the Devil's Bladder as a place he walked through. But he remembered the bokoblin's spear and its mysteriously healed scar. He frowned. He had many scars lacing his body, the most notable being an extensive burn on his left shoulder. Did each scar have its own missing memory? Thinking past the company of camp and his warm clothes, he was still running through life blind and ignorant of himself and the world around him. This Calamity that people whispered in the undertow…was it really all they could do to just survive in its wake?

A deep array of bird noises broke his thoughts. He didn't know the song, but he recognized the voice. On a high rock behind him, Kass sang a wordless tune that put the morning birds to shame, and like curious squirrels, the Hylians poked their heads out of their huts.

The boy approached Kass by climbing on a few stable rocks. He did not expect to startle Kass into producing a loud squawk that turned more than a few heads. He apologized until Kass assured him all was well. Apparently singing at dawn was something the Rito offered to do. Their natural inclination toward music was a much better alternative to a cucco's morning racket. "I do hope the music wasn't too dreadful. I'm not much for vocals," Kass said. "Normally I might have played a song on my accordion...but I lost it recently." 

The boy thought the song sounded rather sweet. Like an extended version of the hollow hoots that sounded around dusk and dawn, but he couldn't think of a way to explain that without first knowing the name of the bird. Before he could figure out a response, Kass shifted the topic. He asked how the boy was doing and he managed to answer that question with a hesitant lie. He felt anxious here. Thankfully Kass moved on. Medli was doing fine. With the aid of potions, her feathers would likely grow back in a month.

They talked about other inane topics and when Kass looked about ready to leave he halted, "Are you sure you don't remember your name?" His face was as stoic as ever, but his voice held hesitance, "Because I feel as though you and I may have met at some point. I've given it a long thought, but I haven't been able to fathom where or when. I do apologize."

The boy nodded. His heart had leapt at the thought of hearing about himself, but it fell just as fast. If Kass couldn't remember him then it must have been a fleeting encounter.

They parted ways and the boy began his day with Karla's voice ringing in his ears for being late. He tuned her out as best he could and followed the directions of the other assistants. The sun rose high and he began to cut the beets in thin tight lines. He poured the water in the pot and watched the meat fall off its bone. The rabbit stewed and turned. He moved the spoon to pull the waste. Karla spoke, “Don’t take the bone out the soup!”

He diced the beets and took some water from the nearby pond. He filtered the liquid through a length of sand and layered rocks. Then he reached for, "The other one you dolt!" With the larger knife, the boy removed the small back leg of a squirrel.

He minced the, "Why didn't you bring more water?!" beets. Then he stabbed, by mistake, the knife into the wood table. Coincidentally, by the rabbit.

He ran out of beets to decimate and slipped outside for a break.

He walked between farmers digging in the mud and a pair of men slathering wet clay onto the beginnings of another hut. He spooned the rabbit stew into his mouth and walked until he could examine the stone statue from a comfortable proximity. He noticed it yesterday but only now found the time to marvel at its craftsmanship. Its delicate and smooth features reminded him of the stone wall surrounding the Plateau. Except this creation resembled a larger variation of some of the four legged creatures that ran around trees. It loomed large, standing on its back legs, clawing the air with its blunt toes in an immortalized show of strength. Its surface was icy to the touch.

A hand clamped his shoulder and the wooden spoon fell from his mouth. "I keep seeing you around," Ren said, "and every time, I think to myself, 'Ah yes. It's Dick'. But no-no. That'd be impolite of me. So I thought of an alternative: Roan." Ren stepped away, the distant mountains as his backdrop. "It's the color of a horse. You know. 'Cause you're blo--n-d- an-- ------" Ren’s voice faded away and in that moment the boy recalled the face of a young woman looking back at him.

The sunset glossed her hair and the golden strands waved softly in the wind. She spoke to him like her words were pointless, "I've prayed at the Spring of Courage and at the Spring of Power." In the mountains behind her, he knew rested the third and final Spring: The Spring of Wisdom. Her lips pulled in a frown, "So then I shall go, and make my way up the mountain."

"They sort of go hand in hand," Ren finished. When Ren realized the boy wasn't paying attention, he made a show of trying to regain it, "Hello?"

The ability to speak returned slowly. He knew that despite the tiny rat tail of a braid Ren wore, the man didn't have long hair. His gambeson might have been a similar shade of blue to the woman's blouse, but Ren wasn't her. But the light hair, his position against the distant mountains, it stirred up a fleeting memory.

He remembered feeling like he should have said something to comfort the woman, but he couldn't remember if he followed up on it. Still, she felt important, and the memory of that young woman tugged at his heart to know more. He asked Ren, "Do you know of any girls with long blonde hair?"

The stare Ren level could ignite a brush fire, "No. I know absolutely zero women with long blonde hair." The boy tried to expand the description, but Ren stopped him short. "You've just described a quarter of all Hylian women. I have no idea who you're talking about."

"Then what about the Springs of...of Courage and-and Power and-"

"They used to be popular pilgrimage locations. Most of them are in Eastern Hyrule. Look, Roan. I don't know who your girlfriend is, and I want no part of whatever bard's tale you're trying to spin. I just wanted to ask you a quick question." Ren waited until the boy stopped pleading before continuing, "Do you know where Karla's hut is? I need to ask her something, but she's busy during the day."

The question caught him off guard, but he answered with, "Somewhere by the woods. Should I…? I could ask her for you?" he tried.

"You actually want to ask her yourself? I saw that knife." Ren shook his head, "It's fine. I'll catch her when she's too tired to bitch." He winked and walked away with a cheerful wave. "Bye, Roan ."

He thought on it and decided Ren must have grabbed food while he was watching the oven.

The boy returned to work and sure enough, Karla's wrath left no room for questions. He ducked his head, ignoring her as best he could, being sure to pay careful attention to the names of objects and techniques. But his thoughts drifted beyond cooking. The image of that fair faced woman still lingered. The tantalizing thought of meeting someone who knew him drove the boy to cut vegetables with new urgency. She might be out there somewhere. On that mountain. And she might know what he should do next.

However, that meant leaving this fragile sanctuary. The boy was grateful that Kass and Medli found him when they had. Knowing he wasn't wandering aimlessly in an empty world relieved him greatly. But he wanted to leave.

The scars on his body reminded him of the dangers of exploration. Since reuniting with people, he had come face to face with the reality that he knew and remembered so little. If he left alone, who's to say he wouldn't be making a stupid and avoidable blunder?

He stored those fears in the back of his mind. Ren knew the location of the Spring of Wisdom. And while Ren might ignore the request outright, the boy had it in his resolve to ask Ren to guide him to the mountain.

He went to sleep hoping Ren would return soon, but he instead woke to the sound of footsteps running down the mountain slope. The people sleeping next to him were roused by the shrill cry of a Rito and they all clambered to look outside. At the base of the mountain, the orange light of flames contrasted with the night. People sprinted towards the fire, their dark forms passing over the light like flickering insects. There was screaming. He heard shouting. Someone ordered the boy to grab something, anything, and haul water to the fire. He obliged, carrying the mountain's pond water in a leaking reed basket. He nearly dropped it when the voice of Madas whipped past, shouting for someone in particular.

The boy arrived at the scene to see the food storage shed with bright flames licking through the cracks in its foundation. The flames were still low, and yet its heat breathed over his face like a perverted version of the sun's warmth. He emptied the basket of water onto the shed and it did nothing but turn a patch of wood a deep brown. People repeated his actions. The fire grew. He saw Karla by the door, hissing in pain as she fumbled for the lock. Dark bodies bumped him closer. He heard the wings of Rito overhead.

None of it made a difference in the face of the starving fire.

A wheezing cough fell from the boy's throat. Too focused on breathing, the massive hand that fell on his shoulder ended up shoving him aside. The body of Yuutan took his place. Yuutan yelled at the crowd, "Get away from the door. Move!" He redirected several more people and broke down the locked door with a single punch. A roiling puff of smoke clogged the boy's lungs further, and he was nearly smacked in the head by a flaming bag of potatoes. It flew over his head and spilled onto the grass. More baskets and containers followed. It took a moment, but those nearest the items quickly caught on to Yuutan's efforts and began extinguishing the flames on the salvaged food.

At least fifteen containers were pulled before they started to look like blackened firewood and balls of coal. When Yuutan came out of the shed with a guilty frown, the building was being devoured by flames.

They redirected their efforts to limit its spread.

In the light of the raging fire, he could see people hovering over the salvaged food. Madas was the first to crouch down and examine the supplies. Concerned whispers soon began. They traveled on the wind in tones of confusion and devastation. Anger. No one knew how this had happened and they turned on one another. Questions and assumed answers fell from their mouths until their poisonous words brought Karla to the forefront of their accusations. As the keeper of the shed key, she must have answers.

Her eyes flew between the members of her audience, "Why would it be me?! Why would I burn our food when I cook for you people every day?"

Madas attempted to quell the crowd's anger and regain control, but the heat of their argument only grew into chaos. The boy heard their panic and insecurities and took a step back. Near him, Medli watched as Kass entered the circle of fire. Her feathers were ruffled and she looked just as frantic as the people around her. On his left, he saw Ren with a fleeting smile. It lasted a brief moment before dieing.

Then Ren turned his back on the pandemonium.

The boy's arm reached out in disbelief and a single dredge of fear. He grabbed Ren's arm. "What are you doing?" he breathed.

Ren shook himself free. "Getting out of here before they decide to turn on me as well. Hylians are about as loyal as a dungeon rat." Karla was still fighting to be heard. She was cruel, but the boy's stomach churned just watching her face turn red as she proclaimed her innocence. "If you've got a brain in there, you'd be better off leaving too."

Ren started walking. He had his travel pack slung over his shoulder and his sword on his waist. With no effort on the boy's part, Ren slipped into the darkness along with the boy's chance to leave. 

Regret made him stare into empty space. Did Ren speak the truth? Would they turn on him? The heat of the crowd’s argument swelled. Should he leave? He still didn’t know if he could make it on his own. He hadn’t decided yet. The fear of indecision. The detriment of wrong actions. The allure of knowledge. Knowledge of his past. Of his future.

The crowd's rising voices acted as a backdrop to his internal debate.

Finally, he shook himself into moving. Ren couldn't have gotten far, and the worst thing he could do now was to not try and ask. He spent no longer than the amount of time it took to grab his repurposed supplies; then he sprinted in the direction he last saw Ren. He told himself he didn't need to say goodbye because Ren would refuse to guide the boy, and it would be like he never left.

As much as he felt like one of Ren's rats, he wanted this for himself.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Now days, monster dens spotted Hyrule more frequently than roads. But of the three main pests: moblins, bokoblins, and lizalfos, lynels were not one of them. Lynels watched the world from mountain peaks and desolate plains. Most people lived their whole lives knowing nothing more than bedtime tales of the towering beasts. The day those stories became reality, and the great beasts climbed down from their perches, was the day people scrambled; they fled while their best warriors prepared claws of their own. 

Even in Sheik’s line of work, going up against a lynel with anything less than a ten-man team was stupid. Roan fighting solo was stupid. But Sheik was laughing at the foot of a dead lynel, his gaze drawn to the pathetic boy who cut out its throat and slept in his own sweat. 

When Sheik presented Roan with the ultimatum of kill the lynel or leave, killing the lynel was never meant to be an option. Only the dumbest of fools flirted with death. Any sane man would have left.  But the fool had triumphed.

Mirth crept onto his lips. Who was the boy who fought lynels when he couldn’t remember his own name? Sheik cackled at the thought and accepted Roan’s dumb proposition. The Eastern mountains were far, but he was fascinated to meet this yeti-woman and figure out Roan’s specific breed of bizarre.

Sheik left the scene to store his shiny new lynel horn between his recently acquired silent shrooms and a box of dried insects. Such a valuable ingredient would go a long way, and he eagerly awaited an opportunity to restock his potion supply.

With his travel pack and cloak secured, he toed Roan in the ribs, “Your thirty minutes are up. Time to go.” Roan blinked and woke up. Maybe. The red potion that stained his cheek looked indistinguishable from crusted blood. Sheik understood death was a messy affair but, “Clean yourself up, will you?” With the way Roan looked, he gave the term fighter a bad reputation. 

If he could even be called that. Roan fought a hair’s breadth from death, his win a lucky window of opportunity. However, that assessment didn’t speak the whole truth. Despite his blunders, Roan persisted like someone confident in victory. While his legs kept a stable base, his left arm had moved like it wanted a shield.

Master swordsmen didn’t think about their actions. In the heat of battle, their skill stemmed from years of ingrained training. Roan was barely on the cusp of adulthood, and sheik wondered how he knew anything at all. 

The answer evaded him throughout the day. Until finally, the curiosity became too much. He asked, “Where’d you learn to fight?”

Roan stopped pulling apart a branch and looked up. A solitary leaf stuck to his hair.

He joked, “You some sort of secret Gerudo soldier?” When Roan’s response wasn’t immediate, Sheik quickly skimmed through the last five years of Gossip surrounding Gerudo Town. He felt more comfortable once he reaffirmed how unlikely it was to find a Hylian man in the City of Women.

Roan answered, "No, I don't think so. A lot of the women at… They were using curved swords. I don't think what I—remember? What I remember wouldn't be very compatible with that type of weapon.”

"True," but an oddly specific thing to know. "The school of scimitars is rarely taught outside of the Gerudo’s military." 

Roan’s answer left Sheik pondering. Each of the six People practiced their own techniques, but since the fall of Castle Town, Hylian sword and shield was a masterless art. The Yiga still possessed transcripts of the practice. Stolen books written about every sharp object lined the archive’s walls. Yiga members learned the basics of various weapons in the hopes of never being caught off guard. But outside those desert walls, the average person swung a sword and lost their fingers for trying.

Roan’s exclusion from either category frustrated him.

Sheik stared at the relic of Old Hyrule that hugged their travels. The deteriorating walls of the Great Plateau mirrored the modern landscape. In his introduction, Roan mentioned the Plateau. While not impossible, the idea that some hermit group crawled their way up and started a new sword school was ridiculous. Were it to exist, the Yiga would know.

He pushed the enigma out of his mind and focused on the road. With the Zora's dam burst, the Eastern pass through the Dueling Peaks was flooded and otherwise inaccessible. Before meeting Roan, Sheik intended to search Faron's Grasslands for survivors, so an extended detour through the jungle wasn't too out of his way. At least, he hoped it would be an easy sell to Sister Tane. That woman kept a tight watch on active field agents’ locations, and nitpicked minor deviations.

Whether or not he cut back North and finished Roan's delivery to Mount Lanayru was another matter altogether. It depended on Roan's ability to keep his nose where it belonged.

For now, Roan served as a suitable distraction. He continuously fish mouthed at beetles and their disgruntled murderers: the birds. On occasion, Roan asked for their names and the inane questions brought up childhood memories where crows go caw, ravens said croak, and guays would bite your finger off its ring. It was relaxing to have company that didn't require the constant upkeep of lies and half-truths. 

Even if such company pecked at the ground like a cucco scavenging for food. He chuckled at the missed opportunity to name Roan something more fowl. But at least "Roan" had its nuance.

The humor of a lynel-slaying-cucco lasted until Sheik called an end to their day's travels. They stopped in the remains of an old village. The scattered stones of homes and newly built fox dens told the history of the Calamity's first awakening some hundred years ago. He selected a structure still supporting three walls and fed a fire with dried leaves and a strike of flint. Roan's blind faith in Sheik's survival skills was a flattering departure from the typical people he traveled with.

But of course, Roan's silence was inevitably broken. The question that came was, quite frankly, one Sheik expected hours ago. "Why did you tell me your name was Ren?"

While he let Roan's question stew, Sheik chose what he hoped was one of his thicker threads. It was hard to see in the low light of the fire. He busied his hands with a tear in his travel pack. 

Not willing to fully explain his reason behind the name, Sheik redirected the conversation, "I don't like giving out my real name to people I barely know. I travel alone most of the time, and I'd rather avoid someone tracking my movements because I used the same name twice."

Ren nodded sagely, "Is that something I should do, too?"

"Only if you don't want to be known for your hair. I'm pretty sure Kass is already writing songs about it. Men and women but dogs in the hour, cower before the might of his hair-er. " He snickered the botched lyrics of “The Calamity’s Rising”.

Roan's hands flew to the rat's nest on his head. In his grip was the same shriveled leaf from earlier.

In his enjoyment, Sheik pricked his thumb with the sewing needle. He shook his hand until he felt that sickly magic start to pulse and the wound disappear.

When Roan began to nod off, Sheik offered to take first watch. While there weren't any bokoblin camps in the area, he didn't trust the night's quiet. By tomorrow evening they will have reached Highland Stable, and if Anne wasn't lying, they could look forward to a bed.

"Go to sleep. I'll wake you when I'm bored," Sheik said. Even with the blood moon waning, its red glow would keep him awake for a while. Any sleep now would be fitful and unproductive.

Roan passed out in minutes while Sheik spent the night with needle and thread in his lap. When the stretch of torn canvas ended, he looked for another, but the bag was whole. He pulled out his journal in resignation. His quill caught on the paper more than once. The doodle of Sister Tane’s boar tooth became a splotch of glossy black. The portrait of Roan sleeping was a hairy lump. 

He gave up drawing and woke the hairy blanket for his shift. 

Roan came into the world drooling, while Sheik struggled to sleep. Forced to keep his own thoughts company, the people at Mount Satori came to mind. They were accompanied by the strangers in the Highlands and the women in the desert. He ran from those thoughts and fell asleep before their screaming. 

Sheik awoke to a midafternoon sun. Pale rain clouds drifted by as a bird mocked him with its upbeat tune. A few feet away, a crow investigated Roan. Sheik took in his folded body. A blanket lay draped over his shoulders, but it couldn't hide the face pressed into the dirt. Roan was sleeping.

The crow was right to spook when Sheik sent Roan's blanket flying. The selfish little twat didn't even wake up until Sheik gave him a sharp kick in his ribs.

"Why are you sleeping?" Sheik accused.

Roan looked around in confusion, "Wha-? I...I don't kn—"

"Stop giving me that answer. You fell asleep on watch. You know." Sheik stood up and checked his belongings for signs of pesky thieves. His brewing supplies were where he left them, his knives and talismans still hidden. But that didn't quell his ire. "If you couldn't stay awake then you should have told me. Instead, I have to wonder how close I came to dying in my sleep."

"I'm sorry. I don't...I was awake and then—"

"No. Your excuses don't matter. Because if you're going to wear her clothes, then you can't sit there and tell me you "don't remember" how Maylin died. And I was awake at the time. Imagine if I hadn't been? Both of us would be sleeping with our faces in the dirt." Sheik brushed past the rest of Roan's apologies.

He rushed through his morning routine and kicked the embers dead as he waited for the aspar on his shoulder to dry. He threw his armor on, tightened the buckled before Roan could properly get to his feet. Of course, Roan chased after. If a lynel didn't stop him, strong words were child's play. Maybe Roan didn't remember the word restraint. If this was going to be a repeat occurrence, then forget Mount Lanayru, he'd get rid of Roan physically if that's what it took.

The hours passed. Sheik attempted to put the matter behind him, but Roan's moping face never left his peripheral. When his feet grew tired trying to make up lost daylight, he thought of Roan’s negligence and his motivation became outpacing the boy. Tolerance, he told himself. Not everyone has to die.

Sheik would have kept walking with his head down, but Lake Hylia appeared in front. Its expansive body of water surrounded by damp cliffs and a poisoned river meant the only way across was its bridge. On its crumbling stones, a sleeping lizalfos lay draped over the center fountain. Even from a distance, its camouflage was poor, the green of its scales bleeding through the gray in multiple patches. It lacked the typical harem, but with their speed, even a single lizalfos posed a threat. If possible, Sheik wanted to avoid confrontation. With that lynel horn in his bag, he stood to gain nothing from a kill.

Seeing no alternative, Sheik put aside some of his irritation and approached Roan. He couldn’t withhold his mocking comment, “We’re going to sneak past. Can I trust you to stay awake?

Roan grumbled, “I said I was sorry,” 

“Uh-huh,” Sheik didn’t particularly care what Roan had to say. The deed was done and Sheik’s life would be better when he stopped assuming anyone was competent. “Just shut the fuck up and keep your eyes open this time.”

He led the way across the bridge, hugging the waist-high barrier. He grew irritated when Roan emulated his rolling footsteps, but at least Sheik wouldn't have to suffer from any missteps.

As they passed by the sleeping lizalfos, Sheik forwent removing its weapon. Considering how well they were progressing, the action was an unnecessary risk. Within moments they would be past earshot.

Nearing the end of the bridge, an entrance arch loomed tall. 

A stone lump broke formation. Its coloring morphed into green scales, and a lizalfos leapt down with a repurposed Hylian spear in its hand. It hissed and let out three short alarm barks.

Sheik knew he had to finish this fight before it started. The sleeping lizalfos would arrive in seconds. With no way to squeeze past or outrun the one in front, Sheik reluctantly put faith in Roan's inability to die. "Get the other one," he ordered and charged the lizalfos before him.

He brushed aside its hasty defense and cut into its wrist. So close, its scream was deafening, but the creature still had enough strength for a pitiful retreat. He followed, adjusting for the weight of his travel pack. He caught the lizalfos on its back foot. Its counter thrust was amateur and predictable. Sheik slid his sword down the spear shaft and struck the lizalfos in its overhanging chest. 

Commotion came from behind. Roan's warning sounded too late. The second lizalfos ran at him with a shrill cry. Its tail whipped faster than its sprint, and Sheik flew over the guard wall. His fingers clawed for purchase, but the bridge flew away from him, out of reach. 

He swallowed back his rising fear and fumbled for one of the talismans along his belt. He lost one to the wind, but he didn't have time to mourn. Attached to the silk roll was a small spike. He jabbed his thumb and directed what little magic he could into the talisman. It felt like breathing beyond the point of air, his tongue dry, but the spell activated. The more he fed it, the more he could feel sickly tendrils of dark magic spreading from the wound. 

Sheik reappeared in a disorienting pop. He nearly missed the edge of the bridge for a second time, but his hands caught stone. The swell of that searing magic gave him the strength to haul himself to his feet.

The lizalfos hovered over its dead friend, posturing at Roan. With Sheik’s bastard sword thrown across the bridge, he withdrew his boot knife instead. He took action against its unguarded back, tearing through leathery scales. He cut once behind the knee and again inside the bicep. The knife didn't leave until he was absolutely certain he destroyed the artery.

Sheik’s efforts resulted in an elbow to his shoulders, but he twisted away. As he watched the lizalfos die, the lingering magic resonated with its bleeding pain.

"Are you alright?" Roan asked.

"Piss off," he snapped.

His stomach felt like a screaming child, and as the bloodlust waned, it revealed an overexerted body. His gut had choice words to say about it. They came out of his mouth in colorful, vomiting expletives seasoned with breakfast. Sheik had just enough time to save face and throw up over the side of the bridge. He watched the airy content's descent into the polluted lake.

"Sheik."

He spat into the water; the acrid taste lingered, but not as pervasively as the magic's violent residue.

Roan stood awkwardly, teetering between him and the moaning lizard. Sheik relented, "Put that thing out of its misery already. Stab it or something."

The shuffling ceased.

In a clearer state of mind, Sheik finally shrugged off his pack and cloak. His hands were still shaking and sweat adhered to his undershirt. Dirty fingers rubbed at his eyes before Sheik left his slump.

"Are you okay? I saw you fall," Roan said.

"I'm fine. I grabbed the ledge last minute."

Sheik took in the corpses and the blood dotting the stone. None of it looked to be Roan’s, but his bag had bled out a number of possessions. It would cost another hour to clean the mess and patch the bag. By then the sun would be taunting them with low-light. Sheik tried not to let his mood sour further, but his breathing exercises weren't helping.

One by one he tossed the items Roan's way, not minding if they clipped his ankles. With the last object in hand, Sheik stood over the offending pack. Should he do a quick ladder stitch, or reinforce his repair with a back stitch? 

A flash caught his eye and he pulled a black object from the bag. It was a hard shell protecting a broken, glass panel. Decorative lines led to the back design.

"What is this?" Sheik accused. "Why do you have this?" His brain couldn't escape his taunting fears. The crying eye design on the slate was unmistakable in its Sheikah origin.

Roan looked up, holding a dismantled plate of lizalfos armor. His reply was frustratingly nonchalant. "Oh that? I found it in a cave on the Plateau. It was dark and it lit up, so... I kept it. I don't know what it is though."

As far as Sheik knew, all Sheikah tech was excavated from the Highlands. The Plateau had no reason to house such an object. Unless someone purposefully left it there. 

He recalled Impa’s soft voice. She sat in her spot beneath the apple tree, and in her usual lie, spoke of the Champion of Hyrule. The hero, as chosen by Sheikah prophesy, would return bearing their mark.

Sheik rushed towards alternate explanations. He knew of two researchers who experimented with Sheikah tech. This tablet must be theirs. Because Hylians can’t live for a century. Roan’s sword skills were a lucky coincidence. The Goddess Farore did not care enough about mortals to challenge her favorite toy with amnesia.

Sheik put the slate back in the bag, resisting the violent urge to pursue his first line of thought.

 A bokoblin had cracked Roan's head and went on to kill his hermit family. That's what made sense. Impa's soft words as she waited patiently were delusional. The Champion of Hyrule would not return. He did not return when Princess Zelda's seal broke, and the Calamity escaped once more. He was not here now. 

Roan looked far too happy holding his newly acquired armor.

Chapter Text

The sprinkling rain felt like ice on his skin and the acrid smell of Death Mountain’s smog had been washed away by the damp night. The only thing keeping him warm was chasing after Sheik’s brisk pace. 

Ever since that morning, a thick tension had stood between them. Sheik maintained it with his refusal to speak. He kept his head facing forward and only slowed to glance at faded signposts.

At one point, Sheik’s posture relaxed and the air lifted, but the boy lost whatever forgiveness he earned when that second lizalfos slipped past. It rammed Sheik off the bridge. His own heart nearly flew away when he considered the possibility of Sheik’s death. 

Sheik was right to have his ire be felt. 

Curse the boy’s mind for taunting him with dreams of drunken pirates and endless oceans. In the waking day, he could barely even recall what an ocean was. Had he not fallen asleep on watch— had he stayed at Mount Satori, Sheik would be well on his way to...somewhere, a place that surely existed in the recess of his absent memories.

If Sheik left him at the stable they were headed to, it would not be unexpected.

And yet, he didn’t want his foray into the world to end just because of his inadequacies. He didn’t want to be some nameless ignorant. 

He placed a hand on his scabbard and resolved to keep watch on the walls lining their path. With the moon hiding behind clouds, he strained to see anything beyond Sheik’s lantern and the dirt beneath their feet. 

He jolted when hollow laughter echoed above the walls. It came from his right, and he drew his sword before Sheik could shine a light on the rocky cliffs. Nothing moved except the shadows of raindrops. 

Sheik’s red eyes were locked in a death glare with a nondescript stone. He accented his annoyance with a click of his tongue. “Cuccoburr monkeys,” Sheik explained. “They’re native to the deeper parts of the jungle.” His lantern fell back on the overgrown road. 

Based on Sheik’s previous information, the jungle was at least a day away. But the boy supposed being frightened by a rogue monkey must seem silly. He sheathed his sword, it’s weight pulling as heavy as his shame. 

Despite this, his apprehension never fully disappeared. The clouds grew thicker and the rain fell like repeating sheets of water. In the undertow, he heard whispering clatters. Sheik heard it too. The sound of bones wading through mud. 

The walls surrounding them opened into a vast field of nothing. The grey of the sky was only distinguishable by the black of the land. Peeking out of the horizon like a rising sun was a small light. 

They had foregone building shelter for the prospect of Highland Stable still being operational. Sheik said it was worth the risk. But with the stalkoblins dogging their heels, the boy hoped the stable was welcoming. 

They increased their speed, fighting the ground that suctioned their feet. Wasting stamina by running away was pointless. The biggest threat of a stalkoblin was merely their unexpected presence. No one anticipates old bones rising from their graves. But as long as they stayed alert, stalkoblins were easy to deter. 

That didn’t lessen the fear that swelled in his chest when one came for the boy. The stench of rotting meat burned his nose before his sword could connect with bone. He felt like its skull had struck back. A reverberating wave of pain traveled through his fingers and up his arm. 

Its head went flying, landing in the ground with a splash. For a solitary moment, it didn’t move. Then the vestige of an eye rolled in its socket and stared back with the red of the blood moon. Its jaw swung open and its head launched itself back onto a blind stack of vertebrae. 

Sheik struck the next one; the stalkoblin fumbled after its head. It clutched the bulbous thing like it didn’t want to lose it again.  

When they weren’t swooping in with open claws and maws, the stalkoblins skirted the lantern light. The cycle repeated. The boy felt his strength waning. His breathing became panting. They couldn’t leave this fight, nor could they end it. But he kept knocking their skulls to the floor because the alternative was suffocating in a puddle of mud. 

The more they struggled, the closer the yellow haze grew. So relieved to see their destination, he thought his legs would give out right there. They almost did when Sheik’s sword swung by his head. Its hollow crack against a stalkoblin’s head made him flinch. 

“Keep moving,” Sheik warned.

Their perseverance was rewarded with the sight of haphazard walls decorated with spikes. It’s defenses looked to be built from the split edges of boards and broken boughs. What little the boy could see told the story of a fortress that didn’t want them.

Sheik approached the structure, keeping a side-eye on the circling stalkoblins. He took a moment to peek through a narrow gap before shouting obscenities at whoever was inside. Then he kicked the wall for good luck.

Condensation fell from the boy’s mouth as he watched their pursuers. The stalkoblins moved just out of sight. Their creaking footsteps provided the only trail to follow. Of the ones that dared enter the light, they furtively glanced at the wall before chasing after their newly severed heads. 

He checked to see what they saw, only to realize a new light was creeping through the cracks of the wall. He heard murmurs through the sound of rain.

Sheik roared, “Let us in!”

There was silence before a masculine voice responded, “What’s your business here?”

“Not dying! Look, there’s stalkoblins out here right now. If you want to talk I’ll do it inside,” Sheik said. 

If these strangers didn’t let them in, then they would have to run through the night. Would either of them last that long? The boy’s arms were nothing more than heavy weights. 

No response came. He gave in and asked Shiek, “Should we go?”

“Fuck that. We stand better odds against people that can actually die.” Sheik approached the wall with the intent to climb it. 

The boy stumbled over Sheik’s implications, “...Wait,” his words fell as Sheik already had a hand around one of the spikes, “We can’t—”

“O’er here!” a man waved. “Quickly!” He stuck out of an opening in the wall. His eyes locked on to the alerted stalkoblins and he held his spear tightly. 

While the creatures dithered between different targets, Sheik took off running, hauling the boy by his arm so fast the edge of the opening clipped his shoulder. 

A crate sealed off their exit just as quickly and he and Sheik were met with a cold welcome. He counted five people standing in a semi-circle: the straight-backed man behind them, a scowling Gerudo woman, two men who held their shields like lifelines, and a distrusting, older man. 

“Drop your weapons,” the old man commanded.

The boy heard the heavy beating of his heart and felt a drop of rain flick off his eyelash. Then he realized Sheik might not disarm. Quickly, he offered his own sword first. Sheik was the one who wanted to be here. There was no reason to escalate the situation prematurely.

“You too,” the old man nodded to Sheik.

Laboriously Sheik relented and handed his sword to a man with dark hair. “Going to take my wallet as well?” Sheik growled.

“Shiny rocks are hardly useful in the current economy. Now if you will, what is your business here?”

“You’re an inn,” Sheik said. “What do you think?”

Rain filled the space between the old man’s pause. Their armed guards continued to uphold a sloppy threat, the Gerudo woman being one of the few to stand with confidence.

 The old man spoke slowly, “We are an inn no longer.” There must be a reason they feared outsiders when Mount Satori welcomed them.

 If they wanted to stay here, Sheik’s snappy mood would only be a detriment. The boy wanted to help but an eloquent response failed him. When he opened his mouth and their eyes turned to him, he could only say a simple plea, “Could we stay. Please?” he added in addendum.

 The old man sighed and gestured for the crowd to relax. “Why don’t we speak inside.”

Padok, as he introduced, gestured towards the cloth swaddled building. He lifted a sheet of heavy, wax-coated canvas and invited them inside. A waft of smoke immediately blinded the boy. It tasted as ashy as it smelled and lingered in the air despite the ceiling vents. The center firepit wasn’t even bright.

He followed Padok through the arrangement of straw pallets and misplaced belongings. While he walked, his attention was drawn to a moaning lump of a man drowning in more furs than seemed reasonable. At the other end of the room was a feminine creature with fins flaring out from her elbows. Her wave was gentle but her teeth were sharp.

Padok interrupted his thoughts and offered a seat by the flickering coals. A square of elevated logs separated the hardwood floor from a pit of dirt and flames. 

“What are your names?” Padok asked.

Sheik’s response was a smooth lie, “I’m Grante.”

When the boy’s turn came, he faltered. Sheik stole his answer and filled it with more lies, “He’s Roan.”

He knew Roan wasn’t his name, yet he had no other to give. At one point the word Roan had been meaningless. He saw no point in refusing the moniker. But for the first time, he was realizing “Roan” had become an inescapable adjective. 

What of his real name hidden beneath layers of forgotten memories? That person knew the names of wildlife, the faces of his parents, his hobbies, skills, and the taste of truffles before it fell on their tongue. Roan only knew of the third blister that plagued his foot and the lulling flame in front of him. 

Maybe there was truth in Sheik’s words. 

He nodded to Padok, confirming the name Roan. If he ever reached Mount Lanayru and remembered his real name, maybe he could be someone else.

Roughly a dozen men and women observed their exchange. The four who came in from the rain were passing rags over the water staining their weapons. Before speaking, Sheik allowed his cloak to dry by the fire while two heavy travel packs soaked the floor.

Padok began, “Well, Grante, Roan, I want you to understand that we no longer accept travelers like we did before. Not only has it lost its profitability, but as a group, we’ve agreed to prioritize our own safety. That said, we are not cruel. We will allow you to stay the night. But come morning we ask that you leave.”

It sounded like a reasonable offer. Roan felt the comforting warmth of the fire and was about ready to collapse anyway. Tomorrow would be another day of endless walking, but at least then he would be going somewhere. 

“So what do you want in exchange for three days of food and lodging?” Sheik said and Roan jolted awake. “That rain’s not going to stop anytime soon, and I’d rather not get caught outside with lightning.” They hadn’t discussed an extended stay. “What do you want? Information?” In fact, it was something Roan wanted to avoid. Twiddling his thumbs at Mount Satori had felt like watching the world move without him. Even Sheik left it behind. “Labor?” Was rain so bad it was worth living in the company of people who resented their intrusion? 

“How about medicine?” Sheik asked. “That man over there looks like a cross between a redead and— actually that’s it.” At the mention of medicine, a few heads looked to each other. The man in question released a rasping cough. 

Padok frowned, “We’ve already tried everything from red potion made from chu jelly to the extract of silent princess.”

Sheik’s curiosity peaked, “He’s been poisoned?”

“So we assume. It’s the only thing that explains why our normal remedies aren’t working.”

Sheik had the decency to wait for Padok to finish speaking before stepping over a young woman and making his way to the sick man. His movement caused a stir in the crowd, and the woman gave an affronted cry. 

“Where’s the wound?” Sheik asked.

Padok relented. “His right arm.”

Roan and Padok approached at a much more polite pace. Roan caught sight of purple veins creeping up the man’s arm. They emanated from a sweat soak bandage straining to contain a swollen mass. Sheik prodded the site and the man scrunched his eyes tighter. 

Padok said, “Hino’s been like that for over a week now.”

Someone corrected him, “He’s been like that since fucking Exberht stabbed him.”

“Egbert?” Sheik confirmed.

“No. There’s an ‘X’.” 

“The fuck type of name is Exberht?”

“That’s what I said!” The brunette woman swung her arms out, “And you guys all told me to shove it.” With two braids hugging her head, she looked like an animal ready to charge.

Her insult stirred up a flurry of denials and accusations from people too invested in their own pride. A few even rose to their feet. Every comment about Exberht and her “family” painted a different picture. From their clothes, their names, to even their table manners, each person claimed they saw the signs of betrayal and knew it all along. 

“No one wears their hair that high up their own ass!”

The same Gerudo woman from outside interrupted, “You all are stupid! You see nothin but your noses,” her sharp bob shook with her delivery. “You can not tell a Yiga thieve from something as simple as their toothbrush. That is how we were betrayed. And that is why you voe will not stay.” The finger she pointed at Sheik and Roan brought with it the expectations of the room. 

Roan squirmed and whispered, “Maybe we should just accept their offer as is. Leave in the morning. I’m sure we’ll be fine?” They didn’t have to stay where they weren’t wanted.

But Sheik pressed on. “You guys done talking to yourselves? Because I wasn’t talking to you. Padok,” he said over the woman’s indignance, “this man’s going to die if he doesn’t get help. You still haven’t tried baba seeds, right? Three days. I’ll make you a batch.” 

Roan didn’t understand Sheik’s persistence. They were only supposed to be here to spend the night. Yet Sheik continued to offer ridiculous-sounding ingredients like pickled stardust fermented in the sacs of octorocks! Roan ran his hands through his hair and grew frustrated when they snagged on knots. 

This shouldn’t matter. “Just give him the lynel horn or something,” he complained. If Sheik was going to list bokoblin toenails as an option, then he was dancing around a glaring omission.

Roan’s hands fell from his hair to watch the silence fall. 

The woman with braids spoke eagerly, “Where did you get lynel parts?” Her tone of disbelief was echoed in the crowd’s murmurs. It planted a seed of doubt in Roan’s chest.

For the first time in this conversation, Padok sounded interested, “You could have said this sooner.” He spoke to Sheik, but Roan heard him. Realization sunk in.

Sheik backtracked, “Because I refuse to believe your shoddy services are worth more than your wedding band.”

“Did you have something better in mind?” 

Anything Sheik could offer would be comparatively worse. Roan bid too high. 

He kept his head down and mouth shut while Sheik attempted to correct his mistake. He got as far as keeping a majority of the brew, but even Roan knew Padok got more than he deserved. 

At the price of Roan’s blunder, Sheik got what he wanted: three days and a spot against the wall. It held none of the fire’s warmth and all of the smell of rotting wood. 

They didn’t speak.

The sleep Roan fought for felt sleazy, and his mind was determined to remind him of exactly what type of person “Roan” was. 

He woke up only for his self-doubt to be justified. Sheik left. 

Chapter Text

Luciel stared at the cobblestone street. His tongue weighed heavy in his mouth, as the cart’s wheels hobbled behind him. When the wooden construct stumbled over a stray rock, so did he. His hands flew to his mouth, the pull bars left abandoned. It took slow and deliberate breaths but eventually, the wave of nausea slid back down to where it belonged. 

Niko called. His words were distant, and Luciel didn’t realize his presence until a hand was patting his back. 

He moaned helplessly, “I think I’m still drunk.”

It was something like six in the morning, not five hours since yesterday’s mistakes. The sun was still shooing away the fog, and the gulls had yet to find their daily targets. Alcohol sloshed in his stomach like an afternoon tide. 

Niko mocked his inability but struggled just as much. Still, a pail of water sloshed in his face and Luciel drank sluggishly. Where it came from, he didn’t know, but he set it on the side of the road and hoped the owner *ould find it. 

Clumsy hands pushed Luciel away, and he gladly allowed Niko to pull the cart while he relaxed his head against their cargo.

Luciel wholly and selfishly blamed Zuko for his horrible, terrible morning. He had arranged this job, and he was also the one who kept refilling Luciel’s mug as if it were only polite. Zuko had plenty of time before the party to warn Luciel that he wasn’t going to be waking up in the morning. 

The little brass hand on his pocket watch already read fifteen past. Tetra would throw a fit if he came back with docked pay. While the earnings weren’t his full intention here, Tetra didn’t distinguish between a green spent and a green lost.

At their current speed, they wouldn’t make it to Mr Decker’s auction house before half-past.

He frowned, and once his stomach settled, he crawled atop the crates to limply gesture at Niko. “Gimme,” he said. Luciel knew full well he’d have to stand to take the pull bars, but he wasn’t quite ready to function.

Niko glanced over his shoulder. “Weren’t you dying just now?”

“Yes. Now move over or I’ll puke on you.”

“What? No! You already ruined my favorite shirt.”

Luciel sloughed off the cart. “We’re not going to make it if we don’t hurry up.” He took the pull bars, flashing one of his power bracelets as an explanation.

Niko’s face lit up, and he ran back to double-check the ropes securing thier cargo. 

It wouldn’t be pleasant to use magic while the dregs of intoxication ate at him, but it would certainly be a new experience. After all, magical relics weren't meant to tarnish at the bottom of the ocean. But they also weren’t designed to be worn by dumb asses. 

He pushed a little magic into them and set off with an explosive step. Niko hollered from on top of the crates. As he climbed the hill, the dress of morning workers grew increasingly vibrant. Their fancy lace and stuffy suits looked impractical for a day of work. He sped past the day-boss and two more carts headed towards the same painted mansion. 

Luciel managed to pull in front of a hedge of flowers before he gave in to his body’s demands. He had enough self-control to aim the contents of his stomach towards the roots instead of Niko’s helping hand. He felt bad for the plants, but with any luck, the flowers would wilt by autumn and the owner would sow their plot of land with more useful seeds. Like food.

He heard wheels scraping on stone, and not soon after, Niko yanked his arm away from his mess. He checked his shirt for stains, hoping he passed for presentable. 

The other working lads looked mighty disturbed by his and Niko’s flying jaunt through Raylee. Even the day-boss was quite baffled. Mr Jenns spared a glance at their cart, inspecting it for any damage. “Everything alright there, lads?” he asked slowly. 

Luciel barely resisted laughing in response; Mr Jenns’ mustache wiggled as he spoke. “Just rearing to go like a pig on coals, sir.”

Mr Jenns’ magnificently marvelous mustache crept towards Luciel. The man eyed his sweaty face and nervous smile. “I could have sworn you were a drowned man earlier. Did you sober up?”

“Yes, sir,” he lied.

“Good. Good.” Mr Jenns made to leave but immediately flipped back around, “But I want you to know I’m watching you boy-o.”

Luciel slapped away Niko’s mock salute, but a spurt of laughter escaped his own lips. He couldn’t resist, “Right-o, sir.” It wasn’t like Mr Jenns needed to know about the giggles behind his back.

Their day-boss approached the house. Standing next to the blaring white in his dirty overalls, he looked like a street urchin asking for handouts. And it was only three solid raps later that he was all but begging a pretty lady for her attention.

In his explanations, Zuko had briefly mentioned the lady of the house. She was Mr Deckers’ new wife of two seasons. And ever since her arrival, the family had been raking in gems by the thousands, courtesy of their night auctions. 

Understandably, the local fence was not pleased to find his merchandise being bought up and immediately resold at higher prices. So, the pirates of New Hyrule struck a deal: one night of organized robbing, a twenty-eighty split in their favor, and hopefully a family too scared to attempt another auction.

However, Zuko had glossed over the lady’s appearance. Her grey hair was loosely tied in a bun and the free strands shone white in the morning glow. He had expected an elaborate design of wrinkles to cover her face, but the lady couldn’t have been out of her thirties.

In his time on the Great Sea, Luciel had met many different Peoples. The northern Yook and Anouki were particularly interesting species. And yet he had never happened upon someone with an equally shallow nose and low cheekbones. Her red eyes were particularly noticeable against her pale skin. The longer he stared, the more he felt they were familiar. His brain connected it to the fever dream that was last night, but he couldn't remember any specifics.

Despite the way she scanned her hired help like they were a salty cup of tea, Luciel was eager to ask about her origins. The prospect of new lands and people had him excited.

Mr Jenns broke away from the conversation with poorly hidden disappointment. “Alright, lads. Mrs Sakuji said to unload the crates in the backroom and leave the paintings in the reception area. Once that’s done, arrange the contents alphabetically.” 

Mrs Sakuji gave one more scowl before retreating inside with a swoop of her skirt.

They took that as their permission to enter and one by one they hauled heavy crates through propped doors. Until Luciel could find an opportunity to sneak off and investigate the house, he had to do the job he was assigned. But he may have assisted himself with magic when no one was watching.

From the outside, he had expected the mansion to be darker than the storeroom in New Hyrule . It had windows, but a majority of them were blocked by dense plants and thick curtains. But to his surprise, a few windows had been cleared. The angular rays of light lit elaborate carpets and highlighted the indents where furniture used to sit. Everything on the first floor had been cleared to make room for tomorrow night’s guests, and were it not for the crates they dragged in, the place would look abandoned.

“Definitely a... shady , place of business if you ask me,” Niko said. “You got your PictoBox in your bag, right?” 

Luciel subtly tapped the bag strung across his shoulders. The PictoBox was, in his biased opinion, one of the best inventions this turn of the century. Unfortunately, they were far outside the average person’s wallet. 

He untied a piece of twine wrapped around a large pictograph and shook his head. Clearly, if the auction could get away with selling this, the population knew nothing about pictography. Not only was it out of focus and overexposed, but Mr Lenzo never did naked portraiture. 

It wasn’t until Mrs Sakuji resurfaced with a platter of bread and ham, did Luciel take the opportunity to slip away. He was primarily looking for their lockbox, but any information about the house’s layout would streamline tomorrow’s heist. Should time allow they would nab both the lockbox and auction profits in one go. 

Luciel pulled open a desk drawer and stole a neat fountain pen before perusing the rest of the master bedroom he’d stumbled into. One crawl underneath the bed revealed an iron box fitted with an easy lock. He pulled out his PictoBox and recorded its appearance and location. 

The rest of the rooms were searched as a precaution in case he missed something of notice. He only had a few more minutes before someone might notice his absence, so he tried to make the best of them by memorizing the halls that extended up three floors.

He turned a brass doorknob. Just an empty kid’s room, the blankets unmade. Another room held a porcelain tub. And there was enough space in the attic to house at least three live-in apprentices. 

Then his feet carried him into the last empty hallway and his breath was stolen by the faint presence of magic. His eyes locked on the nondescript, palm wood door. It was locked and the space beneath the door revealed nothing, but his chest still swelled with anticipation. 

Not many could use magic; that art was lost to the waves. But it meant that behind this door was more than likely an enchanted relic. They resurfaced every now and then and always sold for exorbitant prices. He wondered if they intended to display it tomorrow night.

Luciel pressed the PictoBox against his face. Through the lens, the door looked peacefully still, but he snapped a shot for his own curiosity. Maybe Niko could pick the lock at a later point.

Then a vibration erupted in his pants’ pocket and he nearly pissed himself. He pulled out the blue communication stone and sent a wave of magic back to Niko, message received. That was the early warning system they devised, and it meant someone had noticed him gone. 

Sure enough, a white head of hair was racing up the steps faster than a miniblin. He ducked his head, heart racing just a bit.

Luciel took two seconds to decide upon a window before throwing open the curtains and stepping on the exterior lip. The ground waved at him from a staggering distance, and the Great Sea looked even wider from this height. But he didn’t have time to admire the island town of Raylee. 

He did his best to reposition the curtains but was unable to relock the window from the outside. Then he jumped from the third floor. It was always better to make an exit than wait for someone to find his hiding spot. 

The thrill of falling rushed up his chest, and not a second later, he activated the magic gem he wore around his neck. He hit the ground in a pink, bouncy bubble of magic. 

He missed being small enough to glide with his Deku leaf, but he made due. 

Luciel waited for the giggles to recede before reentering the house. He couldn’t fully wipe the grin away. 

Some faces turned his way. Mrs Sakuji’s in particular wore her disbelief like a pungent perfume. 

He grabbed the last slice of bread and gestured genially, “Thank you so much for the lunch, Ma’am.”

Niko approached, “How’d it go? You find the loo?”

“Yup,” he said, responding to the underlying question. “But I found something else as well.”

“And what might that be?” Mrs Sakuji cut in.

He tried to reassure himself that she had nothing on him, but her presence was still nervewracking. “The flowers. In the back. They’re really pretty. What kind are they?”

“Hydrangea.” She murmured something else he didn’t catch, but by Niko’s reaction, it must have been condescending. 

She turned around, and Luciel felt he might not have any future opportunity to talk with her. He wasn’t supposed to make himself memorable, but he found himself calling out, “Wait, Ma’am. I actually had a question I wanted to ask you. Are you from somewhere outside of the archipelagos? I’ve only ever seen old people with grey hair before.” 

Her scowl consumed the bottom half of her face. Then she scoffed, “I suppose it’s only telling that your pointed ears haven’t heard of us.”

He touched his ears. She wasn’t talking about his hearing, but their shape. He’d been told before that he and his sister had particularly striking ears, a vestige from the People of Hyrule. Mr King once said they were shaped to hear the voices of the gods. 

He didn’t understand her implications but felt like he had slighted her. 

Mrs Sakuji retreated further into the house while Luciel and the other lads unpacked the remaining merchandise. Everything from stained vases to golden cages were arranged in neat piles. Luciel managed to wipe the sweat from his brow but not the growing headache. With their services done, Mrs Sakuji shooed the lot of them out the door faster than she could click the lock. 

He and Niko left the house and it’s sour keeper to her lonesome and headed towards the docks. Supper would be waiting, but Luciel had one last detour to make. He told Niko to go ahead without him while he searched for the red postbox. 

The letter had been sitting at the bottom of his bag for far too long, and it could be another few weeks before they docked again. It contained nothing more than cursory words, something Mako had helped him write. But the simple, familiar address of “A-49|G-2: Outset Island” made his hands slow to slip the paper through the deposit slot. 

He could imagine Grandma’s happy face when the Rito postman arrived. She’d read his letter only to realize he wasn’t coming home. 

He gave into his sighs and listened to the letter thud at the bottom of the postbox.

When he looked up from his musings, his eyes went wide at the building he failed to notice earlier. Chipping green paint glued together splintering wood, but he didn’t need to read the sign to recognize the clover like insignia.

“Tingle?” he breathed in disbelief.

Tingle was one of the last faces he expected to see again. The man and his brothers ran some sort of lighthouse back in A-49. The last time they spoke the Triforce was still in pieces at the bottom of the ocean. Luciel wasn’t sure if he had the mental capacity to fathom what brought Tingle leagues away from home. The man had alwaysbeen a bit...strange.

His hands pushed into the door anyway, curious to remember his childhood. The disturbed visitor bell welcomed him into a dark shop that reeked of oldness. There were nothing but maps, charts, and diagrams plastered on the walls and covering the tables. Paperweights tamed the curliest of sheets while others looked like they would disintegrate at a gentle breeze.

He found one with inked writing that reminded him of the triforce charts he salvaged from the ocean floor. Pencil marks marred the surface. Tingle looked like he was translating this one as well, but the landmass looked too big to be an island. The illegible handwriting didn’t help. Luciel could only make out something like, “Gol--n Ch-k-n,” written in the key. “What’s a Chkn...?”

“Mr Fairy! You’ve come to visit dear old Tingle?” An excited voice exploded from the backroom, followed by a strange man dancing around chairs to arrive with a flourish. He still wore his green onesie and stuffed hood.

Luciel felt incredibly invaded by Tingle’s proximity, but he laughed it off. “What are you doing here?” He was so wrapped up in seeing a familiar face that he didn’t realise he had triggered a monologue.

“Well you see, kind sir. It happened not three months after we last saw each other. A storm appeared; the sea was in turmoil. Gyorgs flew through the air wanting a taste of old Tingle here. That nasty octo you killed even rose up from the depth with five more of its brethren. My brothers and I dared not dream of survival. 

“But then I saw it!” He shook Luciel, “It came to me. My very own fairy! It stayed for but an instant before fleeing into the clouds. Tingle knew then and there that this was his chance! We unfurled the sails of our ship and chased after the fairy.”

Luciel struggled to keep up, “A-and then what happened?”

“We crashed not but a league from here. Had it not been for the man next door, Tingle surely would have perished. I have been saving up for a new ship ever since.”

“Oh. D—. What—. Of course. Absolutely. I’m...so sorry that happened to you.” That must have been around the time the Hyrule Castle fully submerged underwater. He never expected his triumph to have such a devastating effect on the world above. Gonzo never mentioned anything about that. But then again, Luciel glanced at Tingle’s outrageous outfit and thought twice about the truthfulness of his words. 

Luciel tried to keep the conversation going, “Are your brothers here now?” He couldn’t see anyone else, but that wasn't to say they weren’t still in town.

Tingle answered the question with a vague gesture to the backroom. “Come now, Mr Fairy. I’m sure you didn’t come here to ask about those chums. How can Tingle help you? More sea charts that need translating?”

Remember why he seldom interacted with Tingle and wanting to avoid a lengthier engagement, he tried to leave, “No, not today sorry. I have to get back soon anyway. I had some pictos I wanted to develop before it got dark.” He pushed his bag farther up his shoulder, self conscious of its contents. 

Tingle rubbed his goatee. “It’s not something I normally do, but I do think Tingle can be of assistance to you.”

Luciel was hoping his body language read as “leaving soon”, but Tingle’s “gimme” gestures said otherwise. “It’s fine. I don’t want to bother you. I can just do it myself.”

“Nonsense! Nothing’s a bother when money’s involved.” Tingle reached into Luciel’s bag and pilfered his red PictoBox. Tears began to well in his eyes while Luciel was seconds behind what had just happened. “You still use the gift Tingle gave you? We really are the best of friends, Mr Fairy. Just for you, I’ll give you a discount. Two hundred rupees.”

“What was the original price! Wait, where are you going?”

Tingle made a bee-line for the back room, holding the PictoBox lovingly. Luciel couldn’t catch the tiny man before a wooden door slammed in his face. 

“I didn’t agree to pay for this!” he tried. The door was locked, his PictoBox lost to the manic grips of a delusional man. 

The clock seemed to tick at an incredibly slow and frustrating pace. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the moment to pass.  

Just as he exhaled his dissatisfaction, the door swung open and there was Tingle with a stack of picto cards and a smile just waiting to say, “Kooloo Limpah!” Luciel was unable to block the colorful paint chips thrown in his face.

Tingle offered the stack of cards, and he immediately knew they were his. He took that picto of the baby gyorg eating a chu chu last week.

“—How?” Luciel asked. It took at least an hour just to do negatives, yet Tingle had already transferred them to card paper. He flipped through the contents, slowly realizing that Tingle would have seen all of them. He looked up, wondering if Tingle recognized the location. 

“Two hundred rupees.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. He still felt like Tingle’s smile held some knowing subtext, but Luciel swallowed down his frustrations and pulled out the only money he had on him: his birthday money.

Tingle made a show of counting all four purple rupees. He swore he heard something like, “Impure,” grumbled under Tingle’s breath, but Luciel was already attempting an early escape. He would rather not be confronted about his immoral habits. 

It was just his luck that Tingle had one more thing to say as his hand was already pulling on the door. “I’ll see you some other time, Luke.” The last word didn’t sound like his name, but that was the only thing that made sense. His blood still ran cold at Tingle’s generous wave that felt like it held a warning in it. 

He would let Tetra think he paid off some poor pictographer to print his negatives before ever mentioning the name Tingle. His kid self was right to purge previous interactions from his memory.

“Are you just going to stand there all day?” Tetra asked.

He set the wooden plates onto the bolted table. Two more and the table was set for eight. “I’m helping,” he retorted. “Or would you rather I pass out in my hammock like Niko? Because I can do that too.”

“You’re in the way. Move it,” Tetra pushed him aside and placed a bowl of whole and fresh fruit down on the table. After weeks of grog and soured vegetable, he was grateful to be docked by a market. He could hardly resist and found his fingers prematurely reaching for a curly slice of bacon. 

Tetra smacked his hand away, “Go get your pictos ready or something. We’re doing the debriefing after supper.”

He found his bag already slouching on a stool, the pictos set aside and organized by importance. Even the baby gyorg had been removed from the pile. He didn’t remember doing this, but clearly it must have happened before the bacon had addled his brain. 

Zuko joined him at the dining table, followed by three burly men and Niko and Mako chatting amiably. Nudge, ever the peacemaker stuck a hand between them when their conversation grew into an argument. Gonzo egged them on while Senza was busy scarfing down his fruit salad. 

Tetra intervened, “Mako, Niko, you will never get to ride a findol.” Mako tried to convince her otherwise but she shushed them. “Luke, why don’t you tell us about Decker’s auction house. That way I can be one step closer to sleeping instead of listening to these two try and coexist.”

He obligingly laid out the pictos, describing what he remembered of the layout and drawing when he thought it beneficial. Tetra was the first to examine the pictos. One of the lockbox, a couple of various rooms. 

 “What’s this one for?” She asked, waving around the nondescript door.

He had refrained from mentioning it just yet because he knew Tetra would be apprehensive. They already had their plans locked in place, and he knew how she felt about unknown magic. He wished she could be as curious as he was. “It was locked, so I’m not entirely sure, but...I’m pretty sure there was something with magic behind it.” In contrast to the way Tetra’s joking gestures stilled, he spoke far too eagerly. He tried to reassure her, “It’s probably just one of the auction items...It might even be worth a lot?” he tried.

She bit her lip. “Zuko, did your guy ever mention anything about this?”

“No.”

Silence fell as no one knew whether to touch on her fears or carry on. Niko was the first to decide. “Hey Luke, did you take that picture around the same time I buzzed you? Because I think the Missus must have sensed something. She was talking to the day-boss when she suddenly got this constipated look on her face and ran off.”

Zuko put his cup down and spoke with a quiet droll, “Maybe Deckers’ new wife has something to do with the magic?”

“How do you mean?” Tetra asked.

“The night auctions only started after Deckers remarried, and from what I can tell, the reception was rather small with the dating period being almost nonexistent. Maybe Sakuji was in it for something. Whatever’s behind that door?” 

Mako said, “Well the woman already has whatever it is, so why continue the facade?” 

“Money’s money,” Tetra explained.

Gonzo leaned over her shoulder, “That explanation doesn’t work for everything.”

“Bitch is raking in gems by the pounds, of course it fucking works.”

“I mean, maybe she’s got an ulterior motive?” Luciel agreed, unsure. “When I was looking around I got the feeling Deckers and his kids were out of town.”

Niko leaned in conspiratorially, “You think a gyorg ate them? Like while they were on the way to a cabana or something. And now the Missus is saving up money to make a getaway?”

Luciel made a face, “What? No. I—”

Tetra set the picture down, “Either way, I’d rather not fuck with magic.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Luciel promised. It was said with the same determination he used to drag his ass halfway around the ocean in search of a cure for petrification. “Besides, it’s not like I couldn’t take her if it came down to it. The lady would trip on her skirts before she could cast any sort of spell.”

“Well, you’d be on getaway anyway.”

He slumped in his seat disappointment, but at least she was smiling. 

“Gonzo, what do you think?” she asked.

“I think that, despite the magic, the plan is still unaffected. We know where the lockbox is and where the transactions are going to happen. Even if this thing gets brought out at the auction, it’ll just end up in someone's collection. It wouldn’t be our problem.”

Tetra looked contemplative but must have seen Luciel’s eager expression. “Fine, fine. Fucking hero boy wants an adventure. But I’m taking your butt ugly, magic jewelry as a precaution. 

“Me and Gonzo will pretend to be patrons, small talk with the champagne while we wait around for the money to exchange hands. Luke, like I said, you’ll be on getaway. Hide The King by the cliffs and we’ll call if we need back up. The rest of you are running a ghost ship out in deep water.” There were some groans, mainly Niko’s, but consent was obvious. “Auction starts at six tomorrow.”

The King was currently strapped to the side of New Hyrule , waiting to be deployed. He would have to rig the sail and pull out the Windwaker, but tomorrow it was raining so he would stay inside. The friendly mirth that followed him throughout the ship didn’t follow him to sleep as the hard floor boards were too cold to ignore.

Roan pried his eyes open. The dream of oceans and honking gulls was fading. His disjointed thoughts were reorganizing themselves. Soft, pattering footsteps sounded around him as people went about their morning routines. The sun was still hidden, and it was impossibly dark, but he made out Sheik’s bag beside him. The blanket was neatly rolled, prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.

He expected to find Sheik working on something with his hands or chatting with people. But when he realized Sheik wasn’t in the small building, it sent a jolt of dread that cut through his langid morning. It unearthed the sleeping guilt from yesterday’s blunder.

He got up, racing over sleeping bodies and the man watching the coals die. Roan pushed open the tent door but couldn’t see more than a shadowy wall and the downpour that slapped his face.

In this moment, the joyous haze of his dream was gone, replaced with the gut curdling fear that he’d been abandoned.

Roan urgently questioned the man by the fire.

“The Sheikah?” he responded. “He left not too long ago. Said he was going butterfly hunting or some bullshit.”

Roan knew enough to identify a butterfly; they flitted around on the wind like lame birds. The idea that Sheik woke before the sun to look for bugs sounded like a cruel joke. Staying here was his idea. Seeing him gone made his heart race.

Roan checked the door again, and again, and again once more just to see if Sheik was out there. All he got for trying were annoyed murmurs from those  awakened by the cold.

He bobbed his knees, restraining himself to staying seated as his fears ate at him. In Sheik’s mind, Roan must have been as expendable as material possessions. In the time it took for his legs to cycle through numbing and cramping, Sheik could have gone anywhere. And without Roan, Sheik walked fast enough to get there.

Roan didn’t want to go out there alone where the world wanted to kill him and the days passed purposslessly, one after the other. He wanted to be somewhere. And at the mountains in Lanyru province, he was supposed to find that. Sheik was supposed to help him. 

But the longer he rested his head in his hands, the more he realized he’d been too busy staring at his feet to see if Sheik had promised a lie. He had latched on to that sweet tone. No, not even sweet. Roan couldn’t even remember the exact wordage.

Roan couldn’t be sure he hadn’t just been given three days to figure his shit out alone. In a different situation, the backhanded generosity might have made him laugh. 

Now he just toyed with the sheet of metal he pilfered from the lizalfos and associated it with the rest of his pointless and ill-thought out plans. He couldn’t make armor out of it. 

He couldn’t do anything. 

Chapter Text

Sheik picked at one of his molars, wishing he had eaten breakfast earlier. Even the banana chips at the bottom of his bag would have been better than standing out in the rain, hungry. However, he miscalculated the time needed to find this spot. Thinking he’d be back sooner, Sheik had left his bag to be guarded by the world’s heaviest sleeper. And after last night’s fuss, Sheik wouldn’t be surprised if some handsy bastard misplaced his things. 

He gave one more look into the muddy slopes from last night, hoping that was all he would find. It would be a splendid turn of events if Sheik could return to Highland Stable and spend the next three days not racking his brain for ways to ruin lives.

Either way, he would still need to catch a few thunderwings on his way back. He had told the man on watch an inescapable urge to put butterflies in the potion had accosted him, and while they weren’t typical ingredients, Sheik had an alibi to uphold. 

And if he was going to submit to Padok’s weaseling, Sheik wasn’t putting his share of the potion to waste. Thunderwings added a certain kick, a bit of a wake-up call that could make all the difference in an exhausting fight. 

But Sheik was not a lucky person and knew, despite how hard he tried to delude himself, that yesterday’s noise hadn’t been some vagabond monkey. He cupped his hands and blew a hollow whistle that mimicked the cuccoburr’s call. Someone had seen his lantern last night and attempted to make contact.

He heard the response call echoing from a towering hilltop. It was a horrible, little laughing noise that only Yiga agents were taught. He sighed in defeat.

Too late to feign ignorance, he pulled his hood down further and followed the noise up a deep crag that cut the hill. Water streamed from the top and soaked his trousers with mud. Whoever this Exberht was, they better pray his socks were dry by the time they met. 

He pulled himself up the slope one sunken step at a time. And when the wall of the crag receded, he caught an unimpeded view of Highland Stable and its grassy valley. Hidden by a broken boulder and an overhanging tent was a small campsite that sat dry while its fire pit soaked in rain. 

And watching it all like birds of prey were three unfortunate faces. He recognized Byrne by the uneven bulk of his arms, and Deija by her bun’s stranglehold on her brow line. And he recognized Exberht by her presumptuous presence and resisted the immediate urge to slip and slide back down the hill.

He couldn’t say he knew her well. Sheik spent most of his days away from the hideout. But one way or another, everyone knew of her. And last he heard, Kayla had failed at khopesh so spectacularly that her instructor held a week-long memorial service for their severed toe.

It only took seeing Kayla’s sideways cloak to be taunted by the simple fact: that had he done his job properly and reported to Sister Tane sooner, he could have avoided this meeting entirely.

Instead, he had to watch Kayla swing her arms out and greet him with a flourish, “He hath appeared!” She deliberately flared her cloak; its edges flailed pitifully.

Deija murmured, “Kayla, girl. What did we just talk about.” Per usual a single hair tie was better at its job than Deija ever bothered to be.

Kayla’s hood had fallen off, unleashing unwieldy curls and a smug grin. Away from strangers, she had chosen to let her white roots grow out, clashing with the dark dye. Sheik noticed a compact cylinder hanging from her belt. It could have been an extendable bo staff, an easy “toy-like” weapon for a child to wear, but something about the design was off. 

Kayla noticed and was prepared to elaborate, but Sheik knew better than to entertain her tangents. He turned to Byrne with urgency, “What’s your mission here?”

“Conquest of the land!” Kayla said. “Sheik, my dearest friend—”

“Please don’t speak to me.”

“I have chosen thee to play a vital role in my Dastardly Plan. Take thee this vial and,” she fumbled through her many belt bags, thigh bags, shoulder bag and— “...well I’ll get that to you in a moment— But Sheik! I need thee to deliver its essence to the fat man at the stables.”

Sheik looked to Byrne for help.

“We arrived two weeks ago, pretending to be a family. When we attempted to burn down Highland Stable we were met with difficulties. The stablemaster’s wife revealed herself to be a master martial artist. She broke Penn’s neck as we were retreating.

He knew the stable master to be Padok, and his wife must have been the only older woman in that establishment. Hair greyed with age and narrow green eyes came to mind. And she had. To Penn. “Penn, he…?”

“Indeed!” Kayla said. “I admit, some of our members might have been...less than competent, but ‘tis I who has thought ahead! With my very own concoction of Moon’s Ichor, I poisoned the fat man, and once he awakens anew, he will spearhead phase two of my Dastardly Plan. With the support of my skeleton army, those roaches at Highland Stable shall be doomed.”

Sheik couldn’t process most of her absurd answer. Only her foul words made it through. They cycled in his head, snowballing until they crashed into his polite resolve. He wanted his words to claw that eager smile right off her face, “The only incompetent one here is you and whatever tiny figment of your brain thought that a child, who can’t even set up a campfire outside of the rain, should be leading field missions. One of your own died and you’re still playing at being princess.” He stuck his face near hers, “I don’t know what the fuck Penn did that got him killed, but I bet it starts with the name Exberht.”

He didn’t care who answered his next question, “What the fuck is the bastard child doing out here?” She should’ve had at least two more years before entering fieldwork. And that was so stupid fuckups like this could be avoided.

“She begged her father,” Deija droned. “‘Put Sister Tane in one awful bind. Penn and Byrne got chosen as the unlucky babysitters.”

Kayla looked mortified, but that piece of information didn’t come as a surprise. 

Sheik wiped the water from his face, not liking the way it intermingled with the rain. “And Penn? Did you retrieve his body?”

Byrne shook his head, “They’ve likely fed it to the cuccos by now.”

Sheik bit the inside of his cheek, holding back his internal screaming. He wanted to leave. Nothing good ever came from associating with his clan brothers and sisters. Byrne was leaning carelessly against a scraggly tree while Deija and Kayla spat back and forth. All they ever thought about was themselves. 

He pushed the death of Penn from his mind, replacing it with a smoking platter of tender breaded poultry.

“What else,” he all but begged. “What’s this fucking plan you guys have?”

Byrne picked up where he left off, “Unknown to Deija and I, Kayla did, in fact, poison a man with a modified version of Moon’s Ichor. But it’s been days with no sign of the poison taking hold.”

Sheik thought of the man lying face first in a bed of sweat. Considering that the stable hadn’t already become a bloodbath then they were right. The dose was too weak and Hino would die the same slow death they always did. Lynel potion be damned. 

“We gave up waiting and were going to perform a counter-attack when we came across you last night. Did Sister Tane not inform you of our position here?”

“...It’s been a long week. I haven’t had the opportunity to report in. I was going to resupply here first.”

“And the Hylian?”

“Just a body count,” Sheik dismissed quickly.  Bringing up Roan would unnecessarily complicate matters. His suspicions were held together by circumstantial evidence, and if he started rumors about the Champion’s revival, he would be stripped of his days of tentative peace. He could deal with the problem himself if it came down to it. Roan slept deep enough.

Byrne wasn’t overtly concerned with Sheik’s aversions, but the man kept his face hidden so well, he could have had a frown deeper than a grave. 

Sheik redirected the conversation before his fears could escalate, “And what about the skeletons? I assume you’re talking about the stalkoblins in the area?”

“They’re...an option. In theory.”

Kayla whipped away from her argument with Deija and threw up her arms, “Would you quit it with the fucking skepticism already? Both of you keep talking about it like it’s some silly filly’s play.”

Byrne shrugged in resignation, acting like he’d already heard everything Kayla was about to say.

Kayla screamed and struggled to put her frustration into words, “Stop it! All of you! If you took one fucking second to look past your pride, you’d realize it was a good plan because it’s a safe plan! Hino wipes them out from the inside and the stalkoblins kill anyone who flees. They do our job while we sit pretty.”

“Kayla, girl, you’re not the Calamity. You can’t control monsters. Stals don’t even have brains.”

“I can! I can too, and if you paid any attention to me at all you’d know that!”

Kayla ran to her baby blue travel pack and scrambled through the contents. She threw containers and clothes to the ground until she sprung up with something clutched in her small hands.

She offered it to Sheik. A dark liquid swam around the vial, coating the edges in a blood-like film. They’d said it wasn’t the same but it left his throat dry and wanting. “You weren’t joking about that thing.”

Kayla wrapped his fingers around the glass. Her eyes held a desperate glint. “Give it to Hino. It doesn’t matter how just get it in his system. Please. I just made a miscalculation in the proportions, but I know it works! I promise.” Her fingers tightened and the Ichor grew warm, pulsing with his rising heart rate. The memory of its bitter taste filled his mouth. 

“No.” He smacked her hands away. “No. How do you even know how to make that?” Master Kohga kept the recipe a secret.

But Kayla kept pleading, attempting to grab his hands. “Please! I’ll make sure you get credit for the hit. You can keep whatever you find. They even have a mule in one of their stalls.”

“No,” he decided. “This isn’t my mess to clean up. The hit’s yours,” he said to Byrne. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I’ll be gone in three days.”

Their camp overlooked his retreat so Sheik didn’t run. He couldn’t run. Not from the Yiga. But their farewell faded faster than he could walk. The last thing he heard before nearly slipping on slick grass was a belted, “You suck!”

Sheik walked until he saw the derelict walls of the stable and the water in his boots bubbled over with his irritation. It used to have a decorative horse head that watched over the fields but now decapitated and repurposed, the spiked walls looked more like a porcupine baring its butt in a defensive lie. They could scratch and bite all they wanted, but when the time came, they were prey like the rest of the world.

And mocking him as its first line of defense was Roan wearing a confused collection of worry and relief. Sheik didn’t know how to interpret it. He looked behind him, but the two of them were alone.

“What?” he said. He didn’t have the patience for Roan’s fish-facing right now. Sheik was hungry and Roan’s face only angered him with its contradictory existence. 

When the silence went on so long that he grew uncomfortable, he thought Roan might have the nerve to say something sappy while the sky pissed poetic tears. But Roan settled for, “Did you find any butterflies?” and a soft smile.

Sheik’s hand flew to the empty cloth wraps lining his belt pouch. “No,” he admitted, pale-faced. His focus had strayed to Penn’s secret peanut butter and jelly recipe. He’d said it was as old as the Yiga.

“They’re—” Sheik struggled to redirect the conversation, “thunderwings really only come out when there’s lightning. The scales on their wings have natural insulating properties so they take advantage of the lack of predators.” It was raining, but, “I guess it’s not raining hard enough,” he explained weakly. Then he quickly ducked his head and pushed past Roan and eventually the blond man waiting to reseal the wall.

Padok and his frown met Sheik inside. The smell of dying coals reminded him of the potion he had yet to make and the alibi he did not have.

“Couldn’t find any,” Sheik insisted when Padok’s lips started to bitch. He tried to mollify the building inquiries by reviving the fire and bringing out the ingredients he typically coveted for himself. Were they still staring because they were suspicious or was his scowl and deliberate chopping a cause for concern?

He looked up to confirm but caught the gaze of a woman working on a knit. She didn’t need to speak for Sheik to place those green eyes as the ones who had killed Penn. His skin itched with heat and he squeezed the wood spoon in his hand. But he couldn’t act on his intent. 

A pale arm reached into his space and distracted him. Roan picked up the vial of stardust and put it to his nose. There wasn’t any scent to smell but he still grimaced. Sheik stole back the glass, oddly amused. “It needs to be ground finer if you want to snort it.”

By the time Sheik cracked the lynel horn into sizable pieces, Roan had his hands tucked under his legs and was dedicatedly avoiding eye contact with the pot. Sheik plopped the shards into the boiling water in a curious experiment and Roan flinched. 

He sighed. Realizing what the awkward behavior meant. His irritation for Roan’s slip up seemed so trivial and far away. People’s lives were weighing on his mind; fuck the gemstones. The economy wasn’t making a revival.

“Here,” he handed back the stardust. “Mix that with some vinegar and pour it into the octorock bladder. 

Roan accepted the items with wide eyes and followed Sheik’s instructions exactly, only ever asking for clarification. He seemed content to listen and became far too absorbed in the process, but he still paid Sheik heed.

A disgusting reminder of Kayla’s pleas came to mind, and Sheik scrunched his face in consideration. Except Roan never spoke of himself. At times he had opinions to share, but more often than not he was content to listen. It seemed a simpler life in comparison. 

For Sheik there were days when the Yiga’s teachings never let him listen to anyone else. All he could focus on was who believed his lies.

Sheik spent a length of time being entertained by the gurgling noises of boiling water when he remembered what had been left unsaid. “Were you going to say something earlier?” Roan’s awkward silence returned, and Sheik was prepared to leave it at an unheard misspeak.

“I thought you left,” Roan said.

“...I did leave. I went outside.”

“No I,” Roan corrected quickly, “I thought you left. And that maybe you wouldn’t come back.”

Sheik gave pause, trying to figure out what Roan was getting at. “But I left my shit here…” He even gestured because the response felt so obvious. “Why the fuck would you think that?”

Roan shifted from quiet and shy to huffy anger. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Sheik’s response was more accusatory than he had intended, but he didn’t expect Roan to get up and sit by their designated corner. Sheik’s bag sat nearby like the sibling scolded for  something they didn’t do. He didn’t understand what Roan was grouching over. Leaving things behind was a standard cue for “I’ll be back”. This should have been a non-issue.

Chapter Text

Phanna reemerged from the elements with a wicker basket tucked under her vest and a gasp as though breaching for air. The two twin braids were still restraining her hair, but their strength was waning. Fly-aways clung to her skin in a mixture of sweat and rainwater. She greeted Padok and his wife with the obligatory woes of running a stable. Then she singled out Roan.

“Move over a bit?” she asked.

Beneath the floorboards was a crawlspace packed with clay jars, wax cloth, and just about every multi-faceted shape. When she resurfaced, her hands held a metal grill and pink slab that kicked up dirt as it fell by the fire.

Her fiddling with wooden bowls and spatulas, the beige rocks she called eggs, it reminded him of Karla’s kitchen, and upon her third request for, “That thing. Give me it would you?” he scooted closer with the intention of helping. 

But then she abandoned him with a dozen uncooked eggs and pointed to the one currently sizzling on the salt block, “Don’t let that burn okay? I’m going to run out and get Blynne and Straia.”

Roan’s protests went unheard. He scraped the egg off and cracked another. It nearly dripped into the fire as he fought to fish out a stray shard of shell. He tested that it was, in fact, edible, before ceding his loss and allowing the fiend its petty victory.

Four eggs later, both Blynne and Straia arrived with Phanna, looking drier than the puddle they dragged in. They left shoes by the entrance and stayed to chat with Padok and Perosa, their conversation obscured by low tones. 

“I haven’t seen Jini since he left with Tocks this morning,” Straia said.

Roan caught Laroba shifting her weight to get a word in, “Shall I go out looking for your man then?” the breathy nature of her words altered much of its nuance. The Gerudo woman didn’t waste time on their response, going down for another pushup. 

The three men went back and forth, debating, but ultimately Padok decided against a search party. “It’s too early to start worrying. Tocks is likely just throwing a fit.” Roan cocked his head, watching the quiet exchange between him and his wife.

“The man has a bow,” Perosa supported. “If he couldn’t defend himself then he shouldn’t have volunteered.” 

“Save the last one for Mei. She likes hers raw.”

Roan jerked back to the egg at hand, finding another two already plated and waiting to be eaten. But that was interesting, what Phanna said. He hadn’t realized the yolk could be eaten raw. He sniffed it curiously but didn’t see the appeal.

Phanna flipped around, looking for Roan’s distraction. When she found it, he asked after her slump and groan.

“They’re talking about the Yiga again,” she clarified. “They’re always talking about the fucking Yiga.” She threw up her arms and mocked Laroba’s nasally accent, “’Those thieves stole my People’s treasure’, or ‘poor Hino. If only I had acted quicker’.

“You get eight people stuck in the one room and the world quickly revolves around the same topics.” Judging her crass words were Hino’s panting moans and Laroba’s gaze which cut through her bangs. 

Phanna kept going, “Can’t we talk about something else, you know? You guys got here and I seriously considered thanking the gods: something new! So.” Her joy left room for Roan to share stories he didn’t have.

“Hi.”

“Seriously? There’s got to be more to you guys than that. What about that lynel horn? “There’s a story.”

The urge to respond was on his lips but a subtle fear held him back. One word said in ignorance had caused a great deal of trouble for Sheik, and a day later the guilt had yet to leave Roan. He settled for the most basic of facts, “We found it,” and quickly descended into a horribly woven lie, “already dead. In a-ah, a building. Thing. Really big building. Lots of blood.”

Something in his explanation caused Phanna’s mouth to go small and speak with unfathomable disbelief. “What the fuck hunts lynels.” 

He didn’t know, but his head sure nodded and sputtered like it did. 

In an attempt to justify this new reality, Phanna said, “You know my sister and I, we used to do a lot of traveling. And we actually saw one of those things up in Akkala. Big ass motherfucker, you know? Just standing there, sizing you up while you’re there clenching your butt thinking ‘when was the last time I saw my folks?’

“It never occurs to you that there could be something bigger out there.”

She stroked her jaw. “What do you think did it in? Maybe a hoard of moblins?”

His hands twitched with the visceral memory of tearing out the lynel’s jugular while his head bobbed up and down. 

“How old is your sister?” he jerked.

“Uh. I-what? Um. Same as me I guess. Twenty-eight. But I mean I haven’t seen her in a while. Last I heard she was working at Serene Stable.”

And he blinked, letting his twiddling thumbs relax as he unwrapped the bothersome puzzle that was Phanna’s wide face and the way her lips tweaked when she pronounced an “R”. His face grew a small, excited smile. “Your sister, is she tall, brunette, has sort of a-ah mouth...thing?”

“Cleft lip? Yeah—wait, you know Anne?”

“We met by the Breach! Right now she should still be at Mount Satori. They have a big camp set up there, and there are Rito going around looking for people.”

“On Farore’s Mountain? You’re sure? That’s what, a two-three day walk?” her voice was hopeful and far away, but soon fell in vibrancy. “You guys should have mentioned that sooner.

“There’s not been a whole lot of news coming our way. Postal system’s shot. Word of mouth is, well, untrustworthy. There was a while where we were starting to think we were the only ones left.”

Phanna had her eyes on the fire. The mood tensed. It felt like his responsibility to say something reassuring. “You could go there. Once the rain stops. Maybe once things have calmed down.”

She scoffed. “I seriously doubt that’s going to be anytime soon.”

“Why not?” From what he saw, people, while not thriving, were making do. Homes and lifestyles were being renewed with supplies at hand and a comradery that made him jealous. “Nothing is ever the same as yesterday.”

She wore the same face as Sheik whenever he overstepped the obvious. “Until the Calamity is dead, things are only going to get worse.” 

“Then...kill it?”

“Um, yeah. No. How are we supposed to fight the Calamity? If anything, it’s probably what killed that lynel. It’s not even around right now and we’re still getting fucked over.”

She jammed her finger into the black-spotted wood, “The rot. The tar. The malice. All this dark magic shit. Haven’t you noticed it yet?”

“No, I-I have, I just. It’s not as bad over here.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. Three months ago this wasn’t even a problem. It’s spreading ,” she summarized.

“Assuming that we somehow get rid of the Beast. And fat if. That doesn’t guarantee our crops are safe for the winter, that we’ll have arable land in the spring and hay come summer. Magic’s like an eight-year-old with a slingshot. Unpredictable and fucking terrifying. And we’re not monsters. We don’t come back from the dead. Not as people.”

Standing over Maylin’s funeral pyre, Kass had shared similar fears. That upon death, corpses would join the moon’s thrall, becoming a perversion of everything proper. The idea curled his insides and he understood her fear, “but if we don’t do anything, wouldn’t we still die?”

One shoulder lifted, “Do we have a choice?”

“Yes?” he insisted.

“That sounds nice. Was that your guys’s choice then? To wander around Hyrule pretending everything’s fine while you go off on ‘ big adventures ’?”

She took a nail to the dried egg staining her plate, “Or maybe it was your Sheikah friend’s choice. Off on a mission so clandestine only dead royalty knows the exact orders. They’re more secretive than the Zora, I swear.”

Sheik was too deep in sleep to defend himself. But even in a relaxed state with his bulky armor cast aside and narrow shoulders leaning against his bag, Sheik still managed to look pissed off. 

“That’s not—no. He’s,” how would Sheik want him to counter that,” we. Are traveling to Mount Lanayru. S-Grante said he knew the way.” 

She leaned back, “You religious?”

“I—no?” That woman had said she prayed to the gods, so maybe at one point he shared with her that belief. But his understanding of her feelings was vague at best. “Gods” was just a term betwixt swears.

“Your friend then?” Phanna said. “I thought the Sheikah worshiped the Goddess Hylia? Well I guess Nayru’s related. Is that why?”

“No. I don’t know. There’s just,” a waxing fear that everything he did was pointless and he was aimlessly heading towards a giant rock that likely wasn’t home to the blonde woman, and he was going to be devastated once he accepted that. “Reasons.”

Phanna was waiting for more, but he stubbornly stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

She hummed and spoke like she had a point to make, “You know there’s a lot of rumors surrounding the Sheikah. Some even say they caused the Calamity. Think about it. The Divine Beasts? The Guardians? All of it Sheikah tech. Pretty big coincidence that when the Calamity first attacked, those were the first to go.

“If you ask me, whoever had them buried in the first place was on to something. I mean,” she cut off Roan’s rebuttal, “do you know what the Sheikah do up on their mountain? Laroba says the Yiga used to be part of them. Who’s to say they aren’t still involved?”

A dark foot collided with her supporting arm, throwing Phanna off balance. 

“You slander my name, sister. Cease now with your speculations and let the past stay dead. The Yiga are not the Sheikah.” Laroba dropped her dirty plate in a bucket of water. The firelight danced across a thin layer of sweat and accented a build of muscles. Her stomach flexed, but what drew Roan’s attention more was Sheik flirting with trouble.

“You sure about that? If the Yiga were once part of the Sheikah, then doesn’t that mean it was the Sheikah who had the problem to begin with?”

“You’d insult your mother and hers like that?” Laroba said. 

Sheik held his hands up in a lazy surrender. “I’m just saying.” 

Phanna had enough humility to duck her head and stay quiet while Sheik and Laroba fought their wordless battle. Perosa had paused her conversation to watch like a guay in anticipation. Blynne just looked uncomfortable.

Laroba huffed and Sheik took that as his opportunity to scoot on his knees closer to the fire, nodding towards breakfast.

Phanna pulled herself together and shielded the last uncooked egg, “That one’s—”

“Mei’s, right?” Sheik’s smile was an ugly, deliberate thing that erased her resolve without even trying. He slid into place across from her, accepting a plate gone cold. One bite in and Sheik’s face soured, “Why is it burnt? How hard is it to cook a fucking egg?”

Roan suddenly wanted to join Phanna’s pitiful attempt at extracting herself, but she sat back down when Sheik’s tone turned deceptively sweet, “No, stay, stay. Why don’t you tell me about yourself. That’s only fair, right?”

He went through a familiar range of subjects Roan had yet to hear today. Normally Sheik operated like he had somewhere to be, flitting between conversations and trying towards some self-appointed goal. But now, forced to remain while the potion curdled blue, he had redirected that momentum. He constantly checked his bag with a meticulous level of boredom and glared at the rain like it was a personal affront. 

“We’re twins. Ph anna . Anne .” 

Roan took a peak in the hanging pot, regretting his actions as the potion’s vile aroma assaulted his face. It was still a ruddy brown, but he could see a deep purple in its undertones. That was supposed to be good, but it would be another day before Sheik could claim his share and leave.

“And you?” Phanna said. “Roan’s a pretty unique name.”

“Hm?”

“It’s not his real name,” Sheik replied. “We found him walking around butt-ass naked and nameless. I call him Roan because he’s got a dick like a stallion.” 

They laughed in hollowing tones. 

Phanna choked on a withheld snort and hid her mouth while they kept laughing. Sheik didn’t even bother to check with Roan. 

His skin pricked. 

The needlepoint concentration he had on Sheik was laced with betrayal and it tainted his words, “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? Sheik.” There was an immediate regret that clogged the back of his throat. It swelled and threatened to ruin his vindication.

“Sheik of the Sheikah?” Phanna asked.

But sheik spoke with a nonchalance so frustrating to hear, “It’s an old tradition. Means new beginnings. Bit too on the nose if you ask me. You can see why I don’t go by it.” 

It ignited a flare of jealousy amongst the pitiful relief that permanent harm hadn’t been done. But he didn’t want to feel that. He wanted to hate and shout but the moment to interject was fading. And the words for his defense were frighteningly absent.

He found himself with the rain hitting his face. The water a cold wash. Ten steps to nowhere were all he was allotted before Sheik tore past the tent flap and snatched his arm. “What the fuck was that?”

“You the fuck!” he whipped. “Why would you call me Roan?”

Sheik thought he was being ridiculous, didn’t he. “That? That’s what got you spitting under your breath? I told you what it meant actual fucking days ago.”

“What? No you didn’t. When?”

“Mount Satori. By the statue? You know. Really big horse. Lots of stone? Not my fault you were mid boner for your girlfriend.”

“But. But-but you just—just kept using it? On purpose?”

“I’m not your personal journal that reminds you to talk about your problems. You’ve had every chance between now and then to bitch to me in private, Roan . That doesn’t mean you get to get off with calling me out like that. Unless you also managed to forget that I told you not to?” 

The only thing he could whine in response was, “But it’s my name.”

“Then fix it.”

“But it’s my name. You called me it and I went by it because I had no other ‘it’ . How am I supposed to make or know a name when every-single-thing-I-know, holds about as much contextual value as-as-as, chicken fuck-majigers.

“You? Fuck your name. You get to have all the names you want because at the end of the day you’ve got the first one still.”

Roan took a step back, feeling the rain trickling down his neck. “So. I mean. I’m sorry?  For inside. And I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention back when you first told me. But. Still,” he insisted.

Sheik’s words were callous murmurs, “Sometimes I forget you’re a fucking weirdo. ‘Fuck my name’, yeah? Yes, I suppose. Fuck my name. It’s worth about as much as Roan is nowadays. But that’s because it’s the opinions I’ve made. Roan’s a color. Make of it what you will.”

“But that doesn’t change my point,” he raced. 

“And what the fuck is your point?”

“That I don’t know my name. That I don’t know this game— your plan—the subtext? The one where you, you go around and get to say things because I don’t know what they mean.

“My name’s not just supposed to be a word.”

The wait for a response was painful and filled with heavy breathing. Sheik’s head tilted, “And how is any of this my fault? If you’ve got a problem, don’t be going around expecting people to solve it for you.” He turned and made for the tent.

The petulant desire to repeat himself filled Roan, but he only screamed, “I don’t even like the color yellow,” to himself.

By now his toes were cold. Shoes and socks were sealed inside. His foot trailed across the blades of grass, ruining them. They glossed a pale, wet sheen in their submission. 

He sighed and considered the woman poking her head over her shoulder. Up and down. What was her name, Mei? Mei squeaked when she was caught looking. In the light, the pale patches of scars mottled her ocean blue skin. They tore at the bottom of her right cheek in a way similar to the burnt divot in his own shoulder. 

He sidestepped the rows of low stalks and approached. He was caught off guard by her smile and the fearful lilt in his chest. The jagged teeth juxtaposed with round features stirred up memories of rose red between pillars of glassy stone. Feelings of friendship came and went with flashes of yellow eyes. Another someone he had forgotten and allowed to slip away into meaningless fragments.

Resigned, he said, “Hi, Mei. What are you doing?”

“Weeding.” She held up the pitiful thing, bleached roots with veiny leaves eaten by black splotches. “It spreads slower if we’re proactive about removing them. But it’s like no matter how often I come out here, there’s always more. I’m starting to think It’s something in the soil?”

He hummed. It looked like every other rotted thing. “Isn’t it magic? Dark...evil...stuff or something.”

“I suppose it might be. But it’s best not to jump to conclusions. It could very well just be a variant of root rot. We had a lot of that back at the Domain. The soil there’s so damp, most crops won’t grow.”

He didn’t comment on her diversion, just knelt into the dirt when he spotted another sprig of wilted green.

“Pull it up from the roots,” Mei corrected. 

His hand slipped in deeper and out came a mushy slop overrun with wriggly fellows. The weed became another weight in an already heaving basket.

“Roan. Was it?” She tried the name out on her tongue and he hated that she said it at all, “Or did you want to go by something else?” because how was he supposed to respond? His argument felt trivial in hindsight, caught up in emotions no one else acknowledged. He thought that by having a name that mattered meant he mattered. When he inevitably left this place people would remember him; his existence in this world would be solidified. It wouldn’t have been built in stone but. Truly, did his fears not matter?

“I know you and your friend just had a fight, but are you okay being out here?” She tugged at the maroon fabric that clung to his arm. “While I appreciate the company, this can’t be comfortable.”

“You’re naked,” he countered. “Aren’t you colder?”

“I’m doing quite well actually. It’s nowhere near as cold as deep water, and the rain is preferable to indoors. All that smoke dries out my skin.” 

It made sense. The Rito had wings for flying, and the Gorons were explained to him as people born of earth. The thin protrusions lining Mei’s body and between her fingers must serve more purpose in the water. 

But, “Why are you here then? On land.”

She sat back on her heels. “I actually tried to go home once. I was out fishing in Lake Hylia when a sudden wave came and slammed me into the rocks. I broke my arm and crawled back here, waiting for the waters to calm down. But by then the rivers were already polluted.

“Never thought I’d be burned underwater.”

Her story coincided with what he’d heard. “It was one of the Divine Beasts that broke the dam, right?”

“Vah Rudania, yes. Our prince had been trying to calm it, but. I fear it’s too late now.”

All this destruction. And he knew there were more rogue Sheikah constructs wandering Hyrule. He pulled a ruined carrot from the ground. The orange bulb barely had a start at life. He could point fingers like Phanna. Claim to know the answers. But that didn’t matter either. It fixed nothing.

“The Zora who lived in the Domain, do you think they’re still there?” he asked.

“I don’t know. If the pollution stems from Vah Rudania, then they wouldn’t be able to stay. All the fisheries and houses would be ruined. If they had time they might have evacuated to the sea stacks. There’s some old tunnels that cut through the mountains. They could be there,” she said. 

“They could also not be there?” He said for her.* He knew that fear.

Mei was almost eager to leave the conversation when someone called across the field. From atop a tower of crates and tentative scaffolding, Straia cupped his mouth, “Hey Mei, could you grab the coop keys from Phanna?”

“Is Jini back?” 

After an affirmative, Mei held out her hand asking to follow her inside. Roan declined. He didn’t want to speak with Sheik right now.

Straia descended the watch tower’s assortment of steps and Roan caught a glimpse of sandy skin that blended into a similar hairline. He walked the route to the designated hole in the wall and Roan was surprised to see a barrel-bellied creature squeeze its way through. Despite not being as large as the statue, the steel-blue horse still had quite a bit of height on him and was larger than he was comfortable with. 

The canvas wrap on its back caught the edge of the wall and the horse’s long ears swiveled. It honked something offensive.

“Come on, Tocks. You’ve been through this before,” Jini said as he readjusted the package and bagged bow strapped to the front of a cloth saddle. The quiver on his hip jangled with arrows.

“Everything go okay?” Straia had his hands out, already reaching for the dropped reins. The horse went to nibble his hands but when it couldn’t reach settled for Roan’s head. 

Straia was amused by his plight. “You like mules, kid?” He found Roan’s answer even funnier.

“It’s got rabbit ears.” 

Mei arrived with key in hand and the two men led the mule to the other side of the property. A raised shed, just tall enough to walk in, was covered in a hastily woven net. It hung over the side and enclosed a small pen. Mei approached the side door while Straia and Jini heaved. The sack plummeted behind the dancing mule. 

“Do you want to go put Tocks away, I’ll take care of this?” Jini said to Straia, beginning to unwrap the corpse. Its flopping, red arm was the first to slap the grass. The sockets of its eyes stared back as deep and as empty as the carved void of its chest. From breast to pelvis, the cavern was awash with walls of blue meat and marbled fat.

“You didn’t leave the heart?” Straia commented.

“I thought we had enough already? I did take the eyes and horn. Make sure you get them out of the saddlebag.” 

“The coup’s unlocked whenever you're ready,” Mei called.

Roan thought he understood their intentions. Mutilating the bokoblin was a way to harvest ingredients. But Jini and Mei were slipping the corpse beneath the net and standing back as an opened door unleashed thwapping wings and bright bodies that climbed up to his knee. The cuccos descended on the corpse, ravaging its flesh. Ripped muscle dangled from their beaks, and what they couldn’t fit in their mouths was clenched in their talons. So tight was their hold that even cuccos wanting a share couldn’t pry them off.

The last member of their flock had different intentions though, sailing past the ramp and straight for the net with ferocious cawing.

“Shit,” Jini scowled. “it’s still doing that.” 

“Might have to put another one down,” Mei said.

“Let’s give it a bit, see if it calms. I’ll grab the net.” Jini went through the coup and back out wielding a pole-arm net and battle resolve. So determined in its flight, he struggled to pin the cucco and resorted to bagging it with his cloak. He slammed the door after it and locked the bird inside.

“Bloody bugger got my finger,” Jini complained.

Mei looked unconcerned with the loose flap of skin leaking down his hand. “That looks pretty bad. Do you need help getting a potion?”

He waved her off, already leaving, “It’s fine.”

“Wait,” disturbed, concerned, and utterly confused, Roan cried. “Wait, you’re just going to leave the body there? What about when the sun sets?”

Mei smiled, “Don’t worry. I’m going to be out here for a while, so I’ll make sure to throw out the carcass before it gets too late. The cuccos should be done well before then.”

He kept his finger pointed like he was still asking questions but his stance was wilting.

“Stalkoblins are easier to deal with anyway.”

His arm fell, defeated by the dread in his chest. “All of the ones out in the field.” All too scared to approach the wall. “That was you guys?” 

“Ah—well. I mean the cuccos have to eat, but. I’m sorry. Our intentions weren’t to cause you trouble, but we were hardly expecting visitors in the middle of the night.”

Oh, how he wanted to feel mad. It was so easy to overlook his shortcomings and satisfy himself with retribution. But the cuccos and their bloody feathers. They were far more worthy of his attention. 

If bokoblins turned stal in the absence of flesh. The absence of bone meant no oblin. And “no oblin” was a goal worth striving for.

Chapter Text

First his fingers had been pinched, then the twig he jammed inside had bent in half. Now he had a wooden spoon snapping in his face. He could see something just below the front of the tablet: veiny tubes that carried a blue, mucus-like substance. But in trying to reach them, all Roan had done was worry the crack wider. He frowned at his reflection, noting the decorative lines that ran across the object’s shell and trailed onto its back.

The emboss interweaved with golden accents to encircle a blue-eyed centerpiece. Its similarities had eluded him before, but having listened to Phanna, he could now see the eye of the guardian stalker in its design. That didn’t explain the device’s purpose, but at least now he knew it was one of those Sheikah technologies.

Perhaps that was why Sheik had been so interested in it back on the bridge. Roan could have unknowingly been carrying around a miniature explosion maker. The thought was terrifying and it cycled through his head once, twice, and then for good measure, he replayed it a third time, running through the pros and cons. 

Sheik found him bent over the glowing screen in intense concentration. 

When he wordlessly asked for clarification, Roan pointed the device eye first and said, “Boom.” Sheik didn’t get it. But he went on to stick his foot out and toe the edge of Roan’s mess like he wanted to sit. Cast aside leather boots, one of Maylin’s personal effects, and a flowery bowl, they all served as deterrents from Sheik’s unwanted attention. There was an attempt at small talk, but Roan kept quiet as Sheik struggled to uphold a one-sided conversation. 

Roan busied himself with the tablet’s screen. If he pressed his fingers against one of the exposed cords, he could get empty squares to appear on the glass. He was so distracted by this that he didn’t notice Sheik reaching for the cut of metal pockmarked with rust and grime. Seeing it in someone else’s hands, Roan felt too embarrassed to reclaim it. 

“You pulled this off that Lizalfos, right? I don’t usually see them in armor, and it doesn’t look too terribly made. Maybe an old breastplate?  Don’t see many of those these days.” Sheik was asking for eye contact, and when Roan stubbornly refused, he kept going. “You know, if you change up the straps, tighten the bend, you could probably still wear it.”

Roan was busy tapping squares when Sheik spoke next, “If you’re not going to do anything with it, mind if I?” It wasn’t a question because Sheik was already walking away with his plundered treasure.

Roan wanted to throw his hand out and stop him, but it was already too late. He knew turning scrap metal into proper armor was an outlandish goal. He wouldn’t even know where to start. But that didn’t mean he wanted to give it up so easily.

So he pouted and watched Sheik move about the tent. He grabbed buckets, rags, water, and even vinegar before braving the elements. When he returned smelling of mule, Blynne was being forced back inside while Sheik carried several tools and strips of leather that hung over his arms. The man showed Sheik how to use something called an awl while at the same time frantically trying to keep him from stabbing the floorboards.

Roan didn’t want to presume, but Sheik removing the metal from the soaking rags and running a coarse brush over the layers of rust looked an awful lot like a nice gesture. He couldn’t kill the growing blush of hope and so wound up hovering nearby. 

“You could just throw it out,” Roan said, testing the waters. “That looks like a lot of work.”

“You’ll shove acorns down your pants but throw away perfectly reusable armor? Just sit,” he gestured, “and quit being a dick about the whole thing. Your moping is pathetic.”

Roan tongued his teeth in annoyance. “I feel like it’s an appropriate response. Don’t you?” he sneered. But while the bitter words felt good to say, they had a sad aftertaste. The sudden realization sank lower and lower until it rested just behind his sternum, a little too deep and a little too consuming for Sheik’s apologetic words to sooth. 

“Do you want me to think of a different name?” 

“No,” he replied. After all, Roan was a grand and fitting name. It told the story of the annoying blond boy whose one talent was stabbing things. The stuff of legends, truly. “It’s fine. Yellow’s fine.”

There was a disturbed tilt to Sheik’s head. “Sure.” 

He nodded to the unobstructed floor around him, a clear offer to sit, and they shifted until they were in the same space, both distracted by something less important. The girlish laughter from the corner was particularly poignant.

Sheik was speaking. “—it was apparently my mom’s idea. They moved back home to have me, and I was supposed to be their new start or something. Pretty sure they didn’t know they were going to have a boy or else I might have been given a different name.”

“They could have had either, and they only planned for a girl? Your parents sound kind of weird.”

He listened curiously as Sheik’s mood lifted. “I think they had another one in mind, though I forget what it was. But I didn’t look much like a boy when I was born. I take something for it now, but the name just sort of stuck. It’s not like people outside of Kakariko even know it’s supposed to be a girl’s name.”

Wait...back at Mount Satori Sheik had said something. “I thought you’ve never been to Kakariko?’ It was meant as a casual question but Sheik stopped scrubbing. He stopped breathing.

“I haven't,” he reaffirmed. “But the name’s Sheikah and that’s where most of the Sheikah live. So.

“I lived in the South, around the Gerudo Desert —That’s actually where I got the aspar. They’re pretty underground, but quite a few guys like me live there.”

Last time Kakariko was brought up Sheik had dismissed the subject quite sharply. Roan liked to believe that if this were for a simple reason, he would have explained further. But the flighty way he spoke said he didn’t want to be pressed. A personal matter then. He could have that. Take the conversation where he wanted. Roan too, had things he didn’t want to say.

“I thought all the Gerudo were women?” Roan asked. That had been the case for every tall redhead he’d met.

Sheik’s shoulders relaxed. “Most of them are. But even they have boys on occasion. Doesn’t mean they’ve bothered to recognize a male heir in fuck-knows-how-long.” He went on to explain his irritation. “See, they’ve got this mentality: al’sei von, bel’sei ya mus’rettornil. From one life there must come a second. It’s why they say the Gerudo are all born as mothers. But since they still need men to reproduce, any guy that can’t can go fuck right off in their eyes.”

Sheik seemed nonchalant about the implications, and Roan wouldn’t bring up his home, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still curious if the subtle weight to Sheik’s words meant something more.

He took his questions elsewhere. “Is there a similar sentiment outside of the desert?”

“No?” Sheik said after a moment. “It’s more so people just don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I assume you’re the same?”

Roan couldn’t deny that. He only knew what Sheik had told him. “But at least now I know something that most people don’t!” he tried to joke.

Sheik snorted and said, “Sure,” like he didn’t mean it. “O’ bearer of Wisdom, please share with us your cast-off guidance so that we may move towards a brighter future.”

Amused, he replied, “I thought I was a terrible hair monster?”

“Ah yes. The bearer of hair-er. His silver comb, raised, shone gold and —wait,” he mumbled through several phrases before landing on, “ man of bestial needs and failed ...dair? Derriere! There’s a word. That’s you.”

“Seriously?”

There was a sly, bottom toothed grin on Sheik’s face.

“You’re an asshole,” Roan grumbled.

“Hey, the asshole still hasn’t finished your armor, so you might want to think about the next words that come out of your mouth.”

With new leather straps holding rounded “front” and “back” pieces together, the freshly cleaned and polished metal still didn’t look like armor. Sheik handed him the finished product sometime late in the evening and Roan bit his lip while looking at it. There was still an unsalvagable amount of rust staining old rivets, and the front had a suspiciously new dent Sheik didn’t comment on. The selfish part of him felt entitled to something better, but it had a heft made in part by Sheik’s intentions and memories of that near-death nightmare.

“Thank you,” Roan said.

Sheik had a bashful non sequitur to say to that but sat down in comfort next to Roan. “Yeah well. It’d be pretty lame if you were easy to kill. Insultingly lame,” he left unfinished. 

“Just pack your stuff. They’ll try the potion on Hino tonight and we can get the fuck out of here tomorrow morning.”

Chapter Text

The blue shingles of Sakuji’s and Decker’s mansion rose into view as he cruised along the waves. There was no need to rush and use the Wind Waker; Tetra and Gonzo still had another couple of hours of tea and small talk before they regrouped at the water’s edge, loot in hand. Until then Luciel intended to kick back and enjoy the coral sunset in a nearby cove.

He slapped the hull of his boat fondly. “Just like the good ol’ days ain’t it, Mr King.” As always the bearded dragon remained silent, lifelessly observing the horizon. Luciel squinted. There was some big, brown bitch resting her shallow ass in his spot. 

He whipped out his stone necklace and shoved it up to his ear. It didn’t take much to ignite the crystal with an unearthly blue glow, but it took a disgustingly long time for Nudge to finish his half of the connection. Luciel launched into the crux of the matter, “Someone stole my spot. I am too being serious. There’s some hybrid schooner-sloop thing anchored in that cove I told you about this morning.”

Luciel dug into the hull of his boat and fished out his telescope. This ship was an old beast, lovingly kept alive for far too long if the tasteless mermaid figurehead was anything to go by. He could spy neither personal belongings left on deck nor identifying flags or crests. He might have called it abandoned if he hadn’t already seen cove empty with nothing but the gulls to prove him wrong.

Nudge was concerned as well. “Does it look like one of the guests’? Friend of the family’s? Maybe even Deckers’ himself?”

“No way. This thing’s going to need at least ten, maybe fifteen people to sail. Too big for some rich man’s cabana yacht.” And not nearly enough rupees nailed to the trimming.

Maybe Niko had been on to something yesterday. Coupled with Sakuji’s suspiciousness, the unexpected arrival of this ship didn’t sit right.

Nudge was having his own externalized debate with some of the other boys. “Zuko says there’s been no word of other pirates operating near this archipelago.”

Luciel hummed in thought, unable to keep the growing smile from distorting his next musings. “And if they were a merchant’s ship they would’ve just docked at port.” 

Seeing the ship’s prow poking out of its cliffy confines brought forth a chilling memory. One where Hyrule’s secrets had manifested from the ocean’s mist as a sailor’s phantom, and he watched in anticipation and awe. This wasn’t a ghost ship about to whisk him and Tetra off to distant seas, not unless Sakuji kept a leviathan hidden in her mystery closet, but he grinned all the same. He held the mainsheet, ready to bring The King out of irons. 

“Want me to go check it out?” Luciel requested.

“No. Stay out of sight for now. Stick with the plan. I’ll get in touch with the princess, see if she’s noticed anything strange. 

Luciel pouted. “Fine. But I’m so telling Tetra what you just said. You know how she gets about nicknames.”

Reluctantly he found a new, inferior spot, in a less advantaged location. It was barely hidden and dangerously close to tidepool infested waters. The only plus was a nearby footpath weaving up the cliff face. He recognized the route as something worn down deliberately, likely by Decker’s children when they bumbled down to the beach in the early mornings. He remembered him and Aryll doing something similar in their youth.

His anchor cut into the water with a splash and solidified his arrival. Luciel looked down and contemplated the waves beating against the hull of his boat. With the tide shifting as it was, he considered double anchoring with a shore spike for extra security. Without Mr King watching his back, it was up to Luciel to keep his baby from scraping up against those mean black rocks.

He kept that stout rod tucked between his spare lines and salvaging arm and was closing the hull hatch when he heard an oh-no bad news type of pop coming from behind. Thinking the rigging had snapped, he turned into a sucker punch that beat the air from his chest. 

A man took his skull and slammed it into the deck. He mounted him, tied up his wrists with Luciel’s own lines and cut them to length with an infuriating audacity. But his head swam too fast to object, and the man managed to snake his leathered fingers around Luciel’s neck and tear away Tetra’s necklace.

The man hissed, “Where did you get this?” A blank harvest mask with slits for eyes obscured the man’s voice. Luciel could barely make out the words, but when a sickled sword slid into view, he jumped. 

“I found it! Honest. I was out diving one day and come on, I don’t even know what it is,” he said in partial truth. No one knew. At least not anymore. Tetra had called it an heirloom from her mother, so a royal relic no doubt, but Mr King had refused to elaborate. Thus the stone’s origins had died with Hyrule.

The man leaned forward, past Luciel’s lie. “Then who were you talking to just now?”

Had he heard him? He couldn’t have; Luciel had been hundreds of feet from shore. Maybe he had been seen through a telescope. However, far-speak magic wasn’t commonplace. There was no way this man could’ve guessed that without knowing about the crystal in advance. Luciel didn’t like that insinuation.

He wiggled the only free part of his body, his foot, in search of something comforting. He bumped against something long and metallic. 

There was a shift. The man was saying something, but not to him. “Instand at farsaede be amu, yeah.” Where there’s a, “mon tia posse, heialo schild,” like Luciel. The man held something small to his mouth. “Hand-in’s origo or kanbashatsu’s meeter yatte infornaesul;” however, Luciel shouldn’t have understood any of it. The man spoke in a language with deep vowels and a phantom familiarity to his own, but there was a foreign sensation in his brain that picked at the words, desperately trying to translate.

Another, “Mon tia?” a woman responded. Her voice rang like it had come through Tetra’s communication crystal. He glanced up. That necklace hung, unlit, from the man’s hand. This guy was working with someone else, most likely a larger group. Because what were the odds that an unidentified ship and an unidentified hostile man had all gathered at the auction for an unidentified magical artifact and weren’t related? 

But then where does that leave you, missus Sakuji, wife to an absent family and host to this entire mess? Was she anything more than an unfortunate coincidence or had he stumbled upon something more sinister?

“Honcho will deseri que nae que axshitte, yeah? ‘Nea’ dann at clossaese muekorossu,” the man murmured and suddenly Luciel felt the heavy hand on his back bear the weight of a coordinated effort. 

Tied up as he was, there was no way Luciel could take on multiple opponents if things escalated. So when the woman on the other end squeaked and her connection fizzled out, Luciel flailed like a fish and cracked the distracted man’s head against the boat’s boom. 

The two crystals clattered on the deck as Luciel rammed himself up and back. He and the man crashed against the knee-high barrier and with just a bit more oomph, Luciel could send this fight into shallow water. However, in the narrow space provided, the masked man had managed to slip his sickled sword down the tender flesh of Luciel’s arm.

It peeled like an apple, every exposed inch burned by the sea spray. The flooding, pink muscle sang with searing fire as all scars did, but Luciel knew he had potions waiting for him in the cool shade of the hull. He could allow this man’s blade to dig deeper into his wrist until it split open the ties binding him. He could heal as soon as he killed this man with a shore spike gouged into his hip.

They fell overboard where the man’s wails were snuffed out underwater. All that remained was a bubbling geyser as the ocean tugged at their bodies, burying their feet in tumbling shells. Luciel was slapped by white, foamy water but remained above the waves, reigning over the man with his fingers coiled around his squirming neck. His thoughts were single minded as he forced the man into a sailor’s grave. Weapons were long forgotten in their primal fight for air.

“Come on already.” Luciel spat salt from his lips.

When leather gloves fell limp, he nearly celebrated. His arms were shaking and his own fingers had begun to slip. Stuck in an awkward position, he wasn’t even sure how he had kept leverage, but like the first greedy slice of birthday cake, this win went to him. 

And then the water tried to suck him into a vortex of doom. “The shit—” he cried when his feet were pulled out from under him, and his face was brought into the whirlpool. He hadn’t had the chance to hold his breath. His arms flailed as though the surface wasn’t within reach. He didn’t even register that he was completely alone until the vortex reversed and spat him out like an unsatisfied bokobaba plant.

He smacked The King’s hull but sprung up in terrible unease. The pain in his arm wasn’t ignorable, but he needed to get in a defensible position, figure out where his opponent was and—there! Between the shrubs and the water’s edge his assailant was on his knees sputtering for air.

Seeing the man in such a pitiful state, Luciel could relax. He wasn’t in danger of another surprise attack. “Wizzrobe ass motherfucker just teleported away.” That must have been how he got the jump on him in the first place. “I can deal with that.”

It was a shame he had left his bow back with the boys because the sickle sword he pulled from the rocks was an unfamiliar weight in his hand. He toyed with it and then scoffed at its similarity to a boomerang. He chucked the thing through the air and it soared, clocking the man in the back of his head. Crash went the man as he fell to the sand.

“Fuck yeah,” Luciel fist bumped.

He allowed himself to slump against The Red Lion in exhaustion. While his pants were crustifying in the salt water, Luciel flinched at the sight of his desecrated arm. Blood fell from the lumpy, bumpy raw meat of his muscles so quickly he had to laugh. His arm had frozen itself stiff trying to avoid more pain, but he could feel it worsen the longer he ogled.

He didn’t want to have to stain his boat with guts and glory, but he really needed those potions hiding below deck. The box was a soft beige and cool against his sweaty touch. He opened the golden clasp with a squeak, revealing a padded interior with four desert glass bottles. Except only one had red liquid sloshing about. He reopened the box just to be sure, but its contents didn’t change. 

He moaned. Tetra had told him to visit the brewer this morning and thinking there were left over potions, he hadn’t.

He lifted his last hope up with a rush. How old was this anyway? A couple of weeks? Held up to the sky he could see a thick layer of curdling happening at the top. Its contents smelled like rank chuchu, but he threw it back and resisted his gag reflex as it sank down his throat in pieces. 

Whatever numbing properties potions typically had must have left and taken Luciel’s forethought with it because he was shuddering as the magic knit his skin together one stringy tendril at a time. It was like pulling hair from his throat or ants crawling inside his arm. The sensation called forth bile that sat unsatisfied at the back of his throat.

By the time he could breathe in full, the new divot of tissue was still concerningly raw to the touch. Seconds passed, then a minute, but nothing happened. The wriggling skin remained still. 

He supposed a nasty scar would be living on his arm after this. At least it wasn’t bleeding all over his boat. There was already a nasty stain that refused to soak into his hastily laid rag. His rigging was trashed. There was no vinegar below deck. He would have screamed if he didn’t have places to be. 

“Fear not,” he convinced himself. “I'll fix it later. Same way I fixed the exploded bench. No one will even know.”

Right now though he snatched up his sword and Grandma’s old shield like they weren’t conspiratorially absent not moments ago.

Tetra’s crystal was snuggled up with his ruined lines and the masked man’s pendant not far off.

The stones he and the boys used to talk were fragments of an original pair that had been broken apart to create more lines of communication. Jagged edges cut across thumb-worn grooves and grimmy food deposits, whereas the azure pendant rested in a pristine, silver backing. On its face was a faded insignia. 

He rubbed the eye-like design with a naughty sense of curiosity. If he activated its magic, who would answer? That lady? Or perhaps Gonzo. He’d never thought much about the inner workings of enchanted items. They did what they did and if they were cool he kept them. But this man and his cohorts knew enough to use and treasure the crystals. What else did they know? He thought as a blue glow lit up the palm of his hand.

“I was just about to contact you, Luke. I haven’t had any luck reaching Tetra or Gonzo, but I’ll try again in a few minutes. They might just be preoccupied.”

Luciel pressed Tetra’s gem to his ear so he could hear Nudge over the ocean’s drone. “Yeah, about that. Remember that ship I mentioned? I don’t think they’re friendlies. I just got jumped by some guy in a pigskin jacket and Autumn costume. Couldn’t even be bothered to decorate it. Yeah, I’m fine. I already took care of things,” he said vaguely.

The man’s body was where he left it: lying ass up while the crack in his skull bled itself dry. The waves that crawled up the bank shied away when they touched his blackened leathers, but they couldn’t outrun the trail of blood that chased after.

“That’s mine,” he murmured and retrieved his shore spike from a squelching hole. In doing so he shifted the body, causing his mask to slide off. With the sword still planted in his head, it was impossible for the ties to slip off fully, but it was enough to see Sakuji’s fair skin and silver hair defining this man’s features. Red eyes matched the clumps of blood ruining an otherwise pristine bun. 

“Some friend of the family,” Luciel mocked.

“What was that?”

“I think something weird’s going on with Sakuji and whoever these sailors are. They might not be entirely separate parties. Maybe they’re working together and are here because...” Why would they be working together? If they were, then they’d already have access to the auction items and its money. Bodyguards sounded like overkill for something already proven to be lucrative. “I’m not sure. But I’m not leaving Tetra and Gonzo to find out on their own. I’m going up there.”

“Hold on, didn’t you just say that ship’s a fifteen man crew? If you’re telling me they're not on board, then they’ll be holed up in that mansion.

Nudge wasn’t getting the hint fast enough. “That’s why I need to help.” Luciel wasn’t waiting for a “yes”, he was making his way up that cliff. 

“Tetra has your jewelry, right? Then she and Gonzo can handle themselves. You barging in there like an idiot is only going to aggravate their situation. These guys don’t know you’re there yet, right? It was just the one? So wait until some of the boys can get over there and we’ll bust the whole auction out at once.”

Luciel pursed his lips, “Actually...my cover might be blown. That guy had a communication stone just like Tetra’s, and look. I’ll see what the situation’s like beforehand, but I’m not waiting.” 

He didn’t listen to Nudge’s frustration; he climbed that footpath until his thighs were burning, his nails were dark with grit, and he could poke his head over the sandy wall. 

But there were no lookouts on the roof or patrols in the swaying rows of hydrangea. After his previous encounter, Luciel had expected something a bit more...noticeably evil? More organized? Maybe they were distracted by the happenings inside. He ducked his head and booked it through the bluebells, throwing his back up against the mansion wall just in case guards were lurking in unknown positions.

Still, no one was waiting for him around the corner. Just the earthly silence of nature and the cool breeze brushing the palm fronds.

Thick curtains blocked his view inside and a quick check confirmed that the windows were locked. He wouldn’t dare try the front door in case someone caught him in the act, but Luciel knew of at least one window on the third floor that might be open. So he pressed his toes onto the narrow trimming, and grunt by grunt pulled himself up. He pulled open yesterday’s escape route with a mischievous sneer.

Warm, muggy magic washed over him as though he were entering the mouth of a volcano. Blue light emanated from the first floor, squeezing through the banister and casting wavering shadows on the vacant hallways.

He looked to his right and found that one particular, nondescript door hovering ajar like an empty cupboard. Succumbing to greedy curiosity, he tiptoed over. There were clumps of mismatched chairs and sandwich crumbs on cold plates waiting for him inside, but only the empty chu jelly pots designated it as anything more than a waiting area. Whatever magical item Sakuji had kept in this room had been moved. 

Murmuring voices and the blue rays of magic and mystique drew his attention back to the overhanging stairs. He stalked towards something more powerful than he had previously thought.

The answers to Sakuji’s auction were waiting for him at the bottom, and it roared inside its glass confines. The azure flame sat atop the center-most table with a thick tube snaking around its bulb. At one end there was a deposit of an oily, red mixture while at the other three fresh pails of blood waited to be poured down a brass funnel. The contents of the machine whirled around at blazing speeds, moving gears, pulling levers, and fueling its internal flame. Every lick of the fire’s tongues deepened the heavy pinch in Luciel’s chest.

In uneven piles, the guests writhed on the floor in their silk vests and upturned petticoats, some weighing down their neighbors with corpse-like rigidity. 

Sakuji’s People circled them like gulls. There were those in bloodied smocks and those in pigskin armor and faceless masks, but he found Sakuji’s red lipstick frown at the spearhead of their arrangement. She looked down at Tetra and the poor sod she held hostage.

With both the power bracelets and the magic armor at her disposal, meat shields should have been unnecessary. But Tetra was standing stiff, her arms quaking, and a thick gloss of sweat coated her skin. Whatever supernatural will kept her standing looked like it would fail soon. And Nudge, the others, even the local militia would be too late to help. 

Luciel had to get down there. He didn’t wait before slithering down the stairs with his equipment held still in his hands. 

It would be him against maybe eight competent fighters, a good number of them with unfamiliar weaponry. If he positioned himself between the tables, he might be able to limit their range of attacks. 

As he slunk onto the second floor, the stairs began to rotate, revealing more of Sakuji’s men and one, two— five men and women strung up like keese with their feet to the ceiling and skirts folded over the remains of their dignity. Modified tree spiles had been carelessly speared through their necks. In some cases, they’d missed their mark entirely and tore through flabby tissue twice. Luciel couldn’t hear the metallic plunk of every droplet amassing in neat little buckets below, but a vivid sound rang in his imagination instead. 

It was like he was twelve again, barging into Ganondorf’s fortress in search of his sister while under the thrall of tummy turning anxiety.

It was with great effort he even heard Tetra speak. “I said turn it off.” She had her hand coiled around the nameless lad’s bicep and squeezed with the might of the power bracelets. He was brought to his knees, squealing and clawing at her fingers, but Tetra only showed mercy when Sakuji acquiesced. A waifish girl with a fishtail braid for hair was nodded forward. 

She scuttled towards the beating machine while her friends murmured their discontent. A large man had his hand on Sakuji’s shoulder and his head bent by hers. 

“Humor her,” Sakuji replied and Luciel tensed not only at the insult to Tetra, but the way Sakuji’s foreign words buzzed in his head, gaining meaning the longer he let them stew. “If we lose progress here then so be it. Time for him is unchanging. So as long as we don’t lose sight and support of our goals, it doesn’t matter when we finally succeed." 

She spoke to Tetra next, “Turning that machine off isn’t going to help you. Consider your resistance to the tea a blessing from your precious Goddesses and save yourself while the brewery’s still open.”

Having witnessed the Goddesses’ might as they sunk Hyrule, Tetra laughed at their inside joke with a twisted grin. “I don’t fuck with the gods anymore. Nor do they control me. Me standing here unaffected? Is because you’re unoriginal.” The corner of her lips collapsed as though remembering something that should have broken her into tears. She swallowed it down. “So I need you— “she kicked the table Sakuji’s device rested on,“—to stop wasting my time and turn it off already!” The skittish girl who had been stalling for time screeched and hugged the device still. 

Sakuji scoffed. “You intend to honor your ancestors with your acts of heroism then? I bet they’d be proud. You’ll have thwarted us once again, Hylian, Pushed us back into unknown waters.” She said it like they wouldn’t understand, but it gave a chilling new perspective to her previous comment about his ears and her strangely worded interest in time. Only the dead spoke of Hyrule. 

He could see Tetra thinking the same thing as she prodded for an explanation. “And who are you supposed to be, Red Eyes? One of Ganondorf’s monsters?”

Her head twisted. “Why do you say that. You know of him? From where? Who told you?” She floated forward with eager desperation, “What do you know, girly?” Each question tore through Tetra’s micro-expressions and got closer to an uncomfortable truth. “You know something. You should know nothing. Tell me what it is.”

The crowd’s interest swelled, and Sakuji chose not to hear her friend’s screams of pain; she just waved her hulking side man forward. Luciel took that as his call to action. 

He cleared the last bits of railing with a flare and somersaulted into the fray. His spectacular entrance stunned his opponents long enough to put himself in a defensible position with his heater shield out front. 

People were talking about the bar, his bloodied clothes, but Sakuji’s sputtering overshadowed them, “You! You’re from—How did you get in here?”

Luciel had a moment to watch as Tetra relaxed. A familiar frown found only in the early morning of a nightmare’s wake still plagued her face, but bravery was prominent in her jutted jaw and downward glare. In no way did she look surprised to see him. Knowing her she had likely anticipated his arrival and caused this distraction with perfect timing. Maybe that conversation on the pendant had tipped her off; he didn’t know, but he could take it from here.

He squared his shoulders and began a haughty interpretation of heroism, “As the savior of the Great Sea, Realm of the Ocean King and slayer of the Evil King, Ganondorf—”

“What did you just say.”

“—It would be wrong of me not to finish the job I started.”

“You killed him.”

“I...yeah. A couple of years ago.” He knew people tended to be pretty oblivious to the happenings outside of their islands, but it still stung that even Ganondorf’s goons hadn’t heard of him. “You guys seriously didn’t know? Wasn’t there a big storm afterward?”

“There was no storm, no notice that any of our attempts had worked. Just centuries of failure and waiting while the gods laughed. And you’re telling me a child younger than my nephew broke the seal on the Tower of the Gods? Your lies are cheaper than that wooden shield you mock me with.”

“Hey! Leave the shield out of this. You don’t know what I did. You weren’t there. That crazy man kidnapped my sister and tried to unsink the ocean. I traveled the whole compass trying to find the Triforce just so I could whoop his ass.”

“Luke,” Tetra warned, but the voices chattering in an unflattering mix of languages were louder. That foreign presence in Luciel’s brain allowed him to eavesdrop on their disbelief, and with every new word his indignant frown was replaced with uneasy confusion. 

“That shouldn’t be possible,” they said. “Didn’t we already kill the sages?” What shouldn’t be possible was the knowledge they had. The last two original sages had been killed long before the Rito took flight across the Great Sea. “There’s no way some kid would’ve been able to stand against Ganondorf without the Master Sword at full power.” And it would have remained that way if Luciel hadn’t located the sages’ great descendants. 

But Sakuji’s men went on to hiss the Triforce’s name, its real name, not some legendary cutlery’s like they knew about its wish granting capabilities personally. 

The new inheritor of Ganondorf’s plans spoke to Luciel in a language he knew by heart. “What else do you know, boy?” Blue fire cast Sakuji’s face in a sickening hue. Hungry was the murderer for the boy to open his big fat mouth and further fuel their bloody vocation. 

He sidestepped a stray limb and readjusted the grip on his sword. Surely knowing Ganondorf was dead wouldn’t change much, but their obscure knowledge and voracious interest in the man clamped his mouth shut. Things would be fine, he reassured. He just needed to kill their plans right then and there.

“Shit,” Tetra yelped, and Luciel whipped around.

That broad-nosed, lanky woman who had hovered by Sakuji’s machine had seen an opportunity to strike and dove with a dagger held between trembling hands. The metal tore through tender flesh more greedily than Tetra’s hostage clung to life. The woman’s face distorted with horror and disgust, unable to comprehend what she had done. She dropped her weapon and Tetra dropped her corpse.

The purple glow of magic armor faded from Tetra’s skin and left her breathless. As she swayed defenselessly, Luciel rushed and put his sword up the chest of Sakuji’s goon. 

She gurgled and someone swore by the name of their dead friend, but most shouted inconsequential nonsense. They skirted around the fallen woman like failure was a novel concept. Considering their intended prey were the lazy lot from distant villas, maybe it was. Sakuji herself hung her mouth open in shock.

These people came here with their funky weaponry and half-assed attempts at secret identities. Luciel had no reason to fear their plans. He pointed his sword in invitation, as though to say to Sakuji, “You next?”. 

Her eyes flickered to the corpse. Her scrunched brow suggested fear, but she whispered with vile intent. “Pushuretten ke.”

She wants you dealt with. He could’ve figured that out by the way her men readied their swords.

He called for Tetra and on cue she threw a golden band in the air. Just one power bracelet would leave him unbalanced, but it slipped easily onto his wrist and transformed the length of metal in his hand into a child’s toy. It would be enough for these fools. With one strong step, he tore after their leader.

Anyone who got in his way he cut in half. Their severed members bouncing and splattering on the floor while their friends jumped to the beat of collapsing bodies. Down they went. Every slice made his heartbeat with exuberance. It didn’t matter that with the bracelet, on his swings were artless in their act. He could proceed unhindered.

Until, that is, he was stopped by a one-sided blade. The man had materialized with a pop right where Luciel wanted to be. Unlike his untrained friends, this man chose to deflect the blow instead of absorbing it with a measly buckler.

And it was frustrating—the way this man materialized in and out of range like a taunting gyorg. Because all the while Luciel could see Sakuji just beyond, unhooking the valves of her precious machine. She was about to get away, her and her murderous friends. Their numbers had already halved. Those who could use magic were taking one another by their hands and evacuating in pairs. Everyone else pressed themselves against the walls. 

What type of hero would he be if he let them live? How many more people would they feed to their machinations? He had no choice but to run at Sakuji with a resolve that manifested itself in a guttural roar. But that giant man got between Luciel and his prey. He tucked a shoulder up into Luciel’s gut and launched him like a sack. 

For all the strength the power bracelets gave him, he could not fly. He lamented the fact that by the time the floorboards finished smacking him around, Sakuji would be gone, and the hero named Luke would be sung no praise. 

He cursed. There was nothing he could do but hold his sword arm out and hope he didn’t stab himself as he came to a fumbling stop. He felt the pain in his shoulder and the flexing wood beneath his feet with a numb hyper-awareness, but as he stood, Sakuji was already wrapped around the bulb like it was a vulnerable child—and Tetra! Coming in strong with an underhand swing! Oh shit!

Her paisley centerpiece crashed into the bulb. Glass shattered and blue fire exploded.

Cover his head, protect his ears—he knew the response well, but he wasn’t being burned. A wall of ancient and familiar magic swept past, crawling over furniture and wooden boards. Everything it touched disintegrated like a spray of dandelion seeds, leaving behind the smell of fresh pine and dewy grass that sprouted between his fingers. 

No longer was he in Sakuji’s mansion. An expanse of trees and mountainous peaks stretched across the horizon as the sun blared through morning fog. His mouth breathed the chill of winter. He knew this place. The trees were different and the hills much steeper, but it was like the tide had receded indefinitely and unearthed the world before the Great Flood. 

That should have been possible. He turned to Sakuji, wondering if her device had teleported them to some island wider than the Great Sea. She was standing there like a mad man speaking to an absent audience about the moon and old scriptures. 

“They weren’t using ‘life’ as a measurement of power or force. They meant it as a measurement of time.” Her face was in revelatory awe as the flames began to wither and shrink back to their source. Then an oppressive shadow filled the mansion as her eyes landed on her dead comrades. She had Tetra’s arm locked in a vicious twist as she murmured indignantly, vengefully, and mockingly, “Come in here and mess with my shit you little fucking dungeon rat. I don’t know what you hope to achieve by carving your name in my People’s blood, but I hope you sleep well knowing your friend had the stupidity to try something we were too cautious to test. ” She threw Tetra to the ground with little resistance then pulled something from her cleavage. Whatever it was, it bit into her thumb and poof! She vanished. Leaving behind a threat he didn’t have time to decipher.

“Tetra?” he cried. 

Untied blonde hair buried her in a miserable slump. He could see an attempt to sit up, but her twitching arms resisted. 

Was it her bobbing breaths he heard in the ill comfort of dim lighting, or was it the huffing moans that warmed his legs? He looked down. There were maybe a dozen guests still alive, all of them had grown stiff and immobile. Shadows filled their gaping maws as they struggled to breathe. “Ha. Ha. Ha,” a purpling man croaked.

He shifted and swallowed down the last dregs of his battle high. “Tetra? You good? Where’s Gonzo?” Now that he stood undistracted, he felt more than the wave of nausea in his gut and pins and needles writhing up his arm. The broken wood of his sword was clinging to his palm through the power of sweat alone and Luciel had become acutely aware of the haughty smirk Tetra didn’t wear.

What had Sakuji said about poisoned tea and breweries. She didn’t...

Luciel sunk to his knees by her side. “Can you stand?” He placed his hand on her elbow, the one place where mysterious bruises weren’t swelling. A squirming lump of guilt made him weak as he tried to lift her. She was fine. She didn’t need a potion. The effects of Sakuji’s potion would wear off before it got to that point. Never mind the bodies on the floor. There was still time.

“I’m fine,” she croaked and slapped his hand away with an incredible force. “Just go help Gonzo.”

He hissed through his teeth and wanted to bitch. She’d just hit him using the power bracelet and his wrist was ringing with pain. However, Tetra was the one who had folded in on herself, squeezing her arm like it would restrain the spasming muscle. 

She had barely moved. The bracelet wasn’t that taxing to use so why...Was she using it to brute force past her paralysis?

“What are you waiting for?” Tetra asked.

He wanted to argue but she threw up her arm and hung it in the direction of a pile of rotund bodies and white masks scattered like ashes. The five hanging corpses swayed in a phantom breeze.

“There’s nothing over there,” he said, but her pointing finger lingered, resolute. Thinking she knew something he didn’t, he did as he was told. Briefly, he double-checked, but saw no change.

He glanced down the halls and up the stairs, waiting for Gonzo’s ugly mug to pop up. Sweat was beginning to dry and it pulled at the back of his knees as though warning him not to take another step over severed chair legs or twitching arms. He skirted around the embarrassing mess by the front end of the foyer, but it didn’t stop him from spying a splotch of green wool buried beneath a sea of vibrant colors.

Gonzo always said he’d wear his father’s suit if he ever managed to nab a pretty lady for a date. But its earthy tone clashed terribly with his now paling skin. 

“Gonzo?” Luciel said. 

He shook his friend by the shoulders, but they moved as stiff as a lead-laden doll's. Glassy eyes watched the ceiling above, ignorant of his pained expression. A cold rush traveled down his arms. Why was it that when confronted with the impossible, Luciel thought of all the things he’d been too carefree to notice? Like how Gonzo was absent from the fight even though he was the type of man to chase Tetra through foul weather and unknown horrors. Or how he’d wasted his time dawdling along the rocking waves as the sunset in pretty hues. His stomach clenched in selfish guilt.

How Tetra could chime in with confidence felt disgustingly wrong to him. “He’s fine.” She could only say that because she didn’t yet have images of the future flashing in her head. Ones where they sat at a table set for seven telling three-pint tales of mourning and childhood memories. She still had hope because she thought he had potions.  

Generally speaking, they can heal most things: colds, ivy rashs, broken bones, cuts. But it’s not fairy magic. Chances are if your body couldn’t have healed on its own, then a potion’s not going to help much. You’re better off downing one before it gets to that point though.”

In the man’s current state, body like a frail stal, it was hard to imagine when “before” might have been. Had they found an antidote when symptoms first persisted,  could they have met under different circumstances? Would he have greeted the boy with an aloof nod or a more outgoing, culturally specific greeting? Hello from the sea of trees? He would likely never know. Like those auction guests, this man was just another faceless lump in the pile of things he didn’t understand. 

Why then, did he feel as though there was more he should have been doing to help? He patted his potionless pockets reflexively. The memory of Luciel’s anguish lingered in his chest. He too had been drowning in inadequacy.

Hino’s face was still a sweaty mess when Padok pulled the glass bottle from blue lips. He got the feeling everybody already knew the verdict; the sluggish shake of Padok’s head had only given them permission to walk away and feign remorse. They had done their job as friendly strangers, but now that there was nothing left to be done, they looked relieved. Some returned to their pallets to gossip in front of death while others turned in for the night. Roan couldn’t understand how they could remove themselves so thoroughly. 

Quiet crunching drew his attention to Sheik sitting like an outlier, dried fruit in his hand as he squirreled away his share of blue potion. When he caught Roan staring, he offered his food in confusion. How nice it would be to have the confidence not to care.