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In the forest, they are ambushed by a group of black-blooded monsters. Their foes outnumber them threefold, but that’s not out of the ordinary for the heroes. By no means is the battle easy, but Warriors would not rank it among their hardest, either. They have confronted, and conquered, much worse.
Yet this is when it happens.
Daybreak paints the cave a muted purple, and Warriors awakens.
An ache blooms in his shoulder where the joint is compressed between his weight and the rocky ground beneath his thin bedroll. The rest of his arm tingles from loss of circulation; in the night, Wild slid his head from his pillow to Warriors’ biceps.
It’s not a surprise. Every morning this week, Warriors has awoken to a similar arrangement.
Wild’s nose brushes the front of Warriors’ tunic, his gentle breaths creating nearly imperceptible ripples in the fabric. Warriors studies the scars that crawl across the younger hero’s cheek and neck, pinched skin strangely contoured by dawn’s light.
It’s not fair, Warriors thinks, and he’s not awake enough to compartmentalize the sorrow that wells in his heart.
His other arm is hooked around Wild, his hand tangled in the sheet of golden hair. He smooths the strands, and Wild doesn’t stir. The gesture is a comfort for Warriors alone.
On Wild’s other side, Wind sleeps, curled up and back-to-back with the Champion. One loose fist is pressed to his mouth, his body’s subconscious replication of thumb-sucking. The self-soothing gesture from infancy is built into his muscle memory, a mechanized movement that surfaces as naturally as swinging a sword.
Legend, Hyrule, and Sky still sleep, too, crowded around the campfire that has withered to smoldering ash. Warriors scrutinizes each of them in turn. Legend’s brow is creased, and his arms are crossed. Hyrule is burrowed into his blanket and pillow, swaddled in a protective cocoon. Sky frowns and clutches his sailcloth tightly.
Warriors’ heart clenches like a fist. Turmoil and trauma refuse to relinquish their holds on the heroes, even in sleep. He wishes he could take each of them in his arms and soothe away the nightmares, both imagined and real. He wishes he could absorb all their pain, if only for a day, if only for a moment, to grant them some reprieve.
He wishes he could do something.
This helplessness makes him feel ill.
Continuing his visual sweep, Warriors gazes to the small cavern’s egress. Four sits on one side of the opening, leaning against the cave wall, knees to his chest and arms folded. He looks out at the dewdrops twinkling like scattered stardust on the plains. Sensing eyes on him, he turns to glance at Warriors and gives a slight nod in acknowledgement. Warriors returns the gesture as best he can from his prone position, his hand still gliding over the Champion’s hair.
Four turns back to the plains, and Warriors takes stock of the final member of their party. Time sits on the opposite side of the cave’s opening. His back is to Warriors, so the Captain can’t see his face, but that doesn’t matter. The Old Man’s expression has scarcely changed in the last week. Sometimes he looks jaded, sometimes distracted, but most often, he looks detached, as if he isn’t feeling anything at all.
Warriors is familiar with the pattern. Time is trying to snuff out his emotions, to anesthetsize himself. It’s a strategy that will inevitably backfire. Like an untreated wound, the emotions will only fester and burgeon into gangrenous infection, corroding, consuming.
The thought ignites bitterness. Warriors has never felt personally wronged by the gods who write destiny, but Time has suffered enormously at their hands. He should be enjoying a peaceful life with his wife, retired from the hero business; instead, he is drowning in grief and regret. Warriors can only hope the despair doesn’t cripple him.
But it could, Warriors thinks. He’s seen it before.
He’s seen death, and he’s seen grief.
He’s seen grief that paralyzes and grief that kills.
So early in the morning, his heart is too raw. Hot tears sting his eyes. He swallows thickly and blinks them away. Later, he can cry. Later, he can break. But not right now.
Right now, his brothers need him.
As lavender sunshine fades to yellow, the other heroes awaken one by one, until only Wild still sleeps. Warriors’ arm has gone numb and the pang in his shoulder persistently sharpens, but aside from the occasional caress of the younger boy’s hair, he does not move.
The day that it happened, Wild laid down as soon as they made camp for the evening. He did not eat or cry or sleep or talk. He simply lay, ensconced in familiar furs, his back to everyone else.
Well into first watch, Wild finally roused.
At the time, Warriors was lying awake, counting stars to occupy his mind. He kept losing track of the numbers, forced to start over and count the same stars again and again. Wind was halfway sprawled across him, knees and elbows uncomfortably jabbing into various soft spots, but of course, that wasn’t what was keeping the Captain awake.
He wondered how many of the others lie sleepless, too, trapped in tortured thoughts.
Wild suddenly lurched up to a sitting position. Sky, on watch duty, sprang up and was kneeling next to him in an instant. Half the others sat up, too, prepared to assist.
“What is it, Wild?” Sky asked, his voice as wispy as the smoke above their campfire.
“I—” Wild looked lost as he glanced around. “I—” He tugged the pelt more snugly around his shoulders. “I want Twilight.”
The statement punched Warriors in the gut.
Sky hesitated before saying, “I know you do.” He draped a pacifying hand on Wild’s shoulder, edging closer. “I know, Wild. I’m so sorry.”
The scarred hero looked up at Sky, his dazed expression dissolving into distress.
“I want Twilight,” he repeated.
“I know. What can I do for you?”
Still half on top of Warriors, Wind grumbled sleepily and raised his head, whispering, “Wha’s goin’ on?”
“Can you scoot off me for a second, Sailor?” Warriors whispered in return.
The drowsy kid nodded and rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes. Warriors sat up, pushing his blanket off.
“I don’t want you,” Wild was saying, volume hitching up. “I want Twilight.”
“I know,” Sky said again. His tone remained calm and soothing, even as it crept into uncertainty. Warriors knelt in the dirt next to Sky.
“I know you miss Twilight,” he offered. “I miss him, too. We all do.”
Wild squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I want Twilight. I don’t want either of you. I want—” His voice trembled, and he trailed off, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. “I want Twilight...”
He managed to choke back the first sob, but the second pushed its way through, and soon he was wailing, his breaths coming in gasped sputters, tears streaming, nose dripping.
“I want Twilight!” he mewled. “I want Twilight!”
He buried his face in the pelt, which muted neither the violent sobs wracking his chest nor the desperate plea he continuously repeated.
With wet eyes, Sky embraced Wild and drew him close, stroking his hair and trying to shush him. Warriors reached out to rub circles on his back and gazed, forlorn, into the dark forest around them.
Though Wild did not resist them, these feeble attempts at consolation were ineffective. He cried with such intensity and for so long that Warriors worried he’d be sick.
Eventually, Legend appeared next to Warriors, extending a glass bottle. He was somber and did not look at Wild or Sky as he quietly said, “This’ll help calm him down. Give him half.”
Warriors nodded his thanks, accepting the potion, and watched Legend go to the log where Sky had been sitting for watch. Four was already there, attentively scanning the trees for threats attracted by the commotion.
Meanwhile, Hyrule sat in his bedroll, mournfully observing the scene. Wind was tucked into his side, fiddling with a thread on Hyrule’s tunic, not looking up. Time, too, hadn’t moved from his bedroll and stared into the fire with a vacant expression.
Turning back to Wild, Warriors gently grasped one of the younger boy’s hands. “Wild? I have something for you. Will you drink this for me?”
Coughing and gasping though he was, Wild took the potion in his shaky hands.
“A few gulps,” Warriors instructed. He watched Wild down half of the liquid before taking the bottle back.
Sky grabbed Wild’s nearby waterskin, proffering it, and Wild gratefully guzzled it down. His cries dwindled, and he melted into Sky, murmuring, “I want him. Please. I need Twilight…”
Soon after, he fell asleep, and Sky settled him back into his bedroll.
Neither Sky nor Warriors returned to their own bedrolls for a long while.
The second night, Warriors bedded down next to Wild and had Legend’s potion bottle handy, which was fortunate foresight. When Wild broke into hysterics again, Warriors calmed the situation much more swiftly. He let Wild fall asleep in his arms.
Night three, Warriors offered the potion preemptively and Wild accepted without hesitation. It became their nightly ritual, and Wild would invariably fall asleep pressed against Warriors, in the same way he used to fall asleep against Twilight on a difficult night.
Warriors always knows where the others are during fights, and he notices Twilight getting cowed by a gang of bloodthirsty lizalfos. He's holding his own, warding off their strikes with his brute force, landing blows with his Ordon Sword.
Warriors makes a mental note to check on the Rancher when he finishes his own skirmish against a particularly hostile moblin, but he isn’t that worried.
This morning, Sky has stoked the campfire and is cooking some meat for a simple breakfast. The smokey scent is not as enticing as it once would have been. Wind sits on the cave floor next to Sky, absently watching, toying with his joy pendant.
Time has not moved, has only afforded the most cursory of glances back at the boys. Four, therefore, has also not moved, offering his silent solidarity to Time.
It is as if the boys have an unspoken agreement that one of them will always remain with their mourning leader. Throughout the day, each of them cycles through, walking or sitting by his side. Rarely do they converse with him. Time has withdrawn, has hardly spoken a word since that day, and no one forces the issue.
In fact, Time has hardly done anything since that day. Last night, he volunteered for third watch, which is why he is sitting at the cave’s mouth to begin with, and Warriors was all-too-happy to let him have it. Usually, the Old Man assumes every burden he can, if it means the rest of them will be spared, but since it happened, he has not offered to take night watch at all.
No one minds, of course, but Warriors worries at the change. Perhaps he can strongarm a conversation from the Old Man today. It would do them both good.
Hyrule approaches, luring Warriors’ gaze. The Traveler offers a gentle smile, kindness bleeding through in spite of tragedy, his spirit resisting sorrow’s smothering.
For now.
“You must be stiff, lying like that,” Hyrule quietly says. “Let me help you.”
With unrivaled care, the Traveler lifts Wild’s head and slips his pillow beneath it, allowing Warriors to retract his arm at last. Pain lances through his shoulder, and as circulation resumes, his arm prickles uncomfortably.
He manages to extricate himself from Wild without disturbing the younger hero. Hyrule tugs the blanket over Wild’s shoulders as Warriors stands, bones popping and cracking.
“You’re worse than the Old Man,” Legend remarks.
His voice is low, both for Wild’s sake and, subconsciously, to respect the sanctity of early mornings, a time of day imbued with meditative quiet. Noticeably, his tone is like an imitation of its usual self. With a forced dryness and feigned vitality to it, the tone is a mere mimic of Legend’s normal spark.
It’s another stake in Warriors’ heart, but he understands. He, too, desires the refuge of normalcy. They all do. So he attempts to reproduce his own signature grin, but fails to scrounge up a clever comeback.
He situates himself between Legend and Wind, positioned so he can see everyone comfortably. Surreptitiously, he pores over each of his friend’s faces, noting their conditions, their moods, tabulating what they can accomplish today, what they might need.
Wind loops his arm with the Captain’s, scooting closer and maintaining the hushed tone. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay,” Warriors answers automatically, swiveling his attention to the Sailor. The kid’s usual vigor and brightness is dampened, replaced with a somber, responsible mien. Warriors imagines a ten-year-old Wind bearing this aura during his adventures, forced to behave and think like an adult, forced to grow up far too soon.
“Be honest,” Wind presses. Warriors doesn’t like the look in the kid’s eyes, the seriousness, the concern, the willingness to bear the burdens of people much older than himself.
It reminds him of Time as a child, and the thought solidifies a lump in his throat.
He couldn’t save one child from a lifetime of affliction and hardship; he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to salvage the innocence of this one.
Warriors smiles and hopes it’s convincing. “Don’t worry, little Sailor. I’m fine.”
“That doesn’t answer his question,” Legend points out, skeptical.
“I slept fine,” Warriors insists, looking toward Wild. It’s true enough. He’s sore, but his sleep was uninterrupted and dreamless. He thinks that’s more than some of them can claim.
Sky starts dishing out the meat he’s cooked, and Warriors directs his scrutiny to the unmistakable purplish smudges beneath his fellow knight’s cloudy eyes. When Sky hands him his plate, Warriors asks, “How did you sleep?”
“Oh?” Sky surfaces from his reverie, blinking. “Oh, uh… Fine. I slept fine.”
“You’re both bad liars,” Four mutters. He still sits at the opening to the cave, arms folded.
Sky gives a half-hearted grin and shrugs, doesn’t deny it. “You should come sit by the fire, Smithy.”
Four glances at Time, then back to Sky, who nods. The wordless communique is understood. Four parks himself next to the fire, taking his breakfast from Sky with a soft “thank you.” Sky carries a portion to their leader and sits next to him, neither speaking.
“How long have you been up?” Hyrule asks Four.
He shrugs, listlessly prodding a chunk of meat with his fork. “I don’t know. A while.”
Conversation lapses. Muffled scrapes of utensils coalesce into an elegy. No one eats much.
Warriors maps out their day in his head, strategizes, until Four stands to gather the dishes. Hyrule waves the Smithy down and collects the dishes instead.
It is then that Wild stirs, unbundling himself from blankets. The furs remain around his shoulders. He clings to them. Blearily, he sits up and regards the rest of the group.
“Morning,” Four greets. “Come get some breakfast, Champion.”
Compliantly, the scarred hero shuffles to his feet and plunks down next to the Smith, who serves him his portion.
As Warriors observes the interaction, guilt slithers through his chest.
Over the last week, Four has proven his maturity, retaining poise and level-headedness when the others falter. His calmness and stability serve as a much-needed anchor for all of them, including Warriors. The Captain knows he can rely on Four, perceptive as he is, to intervene wherever needed without prompting.
But Four is only Wind’s senior by a couple of years. He’s still a child. How hypocritical, how cruel to actively protect one child while taking advantage of another.
To get them all through this, Warriors needs people he can rely on, but he shouldn’t force that kind of burden onto a kid.
Warriors needs to do better.
Wild doesn’t eat much, ignores Four’s encouragement. When he is finished, he turns his blank gaze to Legend. “Can I have some potion?”
“Um…” Legend glances at the Captain, who frowns at Wild’s groggy countenance. The aftereffects of last night’s potion linger.
“Maybe later, Wild,” Warriors dictates.
He knows other captains who dispense sedating potions without a thought, willing to sacrifice what they must to make sure their troops get home alive. Some even view this as the compassionate route, enabling their soldiers to fall into emotionless stupor after battles, the day’s graphic horrors unable to permeate the mental fog.
Warriors is more discriminating. Such potions have their appropriate applications, but overmedication is not a judicious solution to any problem.
Hearing this answer, Wild blinks, frowns, returns to staring mutely at the fire. Untended, the flames shrivel. Wild likewise curls into himself, burying his nose in the pelt.
In Twilight’s pelt.
Twilight.
Warriors hardly allows himself to think the name.
Later, he reminds himself, looking away from Wild. Save it for later.
Warriors is still locked into his bout with the tenacious moblin when he hears it. The sound courses up his spine in a chilling jolt, dials his heart up to a frantic pace.
On the battlefield, Warriors has heard the screams of dying men and of those who witness death. He is intimately familiar with the primal sounds scraped from throats by fatal injury or by horrified grief.
So when Wild screams, Warriors knows what the sound signifies.
He knows who Wild is screaming for.
He knows.
The single moment it takes for him to pivot around, to locate Wild, seems to drag into minutes, into hours. He wishes the moment would stretch on forever, because he’s not ready to see what he knows he’ll see.
He’s not ready for his world to fall apart.
Within half an hour, camp is dismantled and the heroes are on the road.
Warriors is in the lead. Several paces behind him is Wild, sandwiched between Hyrule and Legend. Wind has taken up walking next to the Old Man, while Sky and Four walk together at the rear. It’s a solid formation. Keep the most vulnerable in the middle of the herd.
The forest is well behind them, and the plains, so far free of monsters, offer nearly unobscured visibility. Still, Warriors is alert, prepared for danger. Prepared for crisis.
Since it happened, they’ve only had a single encounter with danger. It was four days after it happened, and they were still navigating the labyrinthine forest. The fight was breakneck. Adrenaline dovetailed with pent-up pain and tension, anger and fear, and the heroes slaughtered the monsters in mere minutes.
Crisis arrived next.
Warriors led his companions from the battlefield as soon as possible, scouting for a pond or river where they could clean up, intent on scouring the traces of death from them all. There was a splatter of bokoblin blood on his cheek, dribbling down his neck, and he needed to rid himself of its unwavering repugnant stench so he wouldn’t think of their previous battle, wouldn’t think of him.
Four appeared by his side. Speckles of red monster blood marred his kaleidoscopic tunic. “Captain. You all right? You seem antsy.”
Antsy. He shouldn’t have let that slip through. It was careless.
Deliberately, Warriors notched down their pace, negating some of his urgency. “I’m fine. Thank you, Smithy. How is everyone faring…?”
He glanced back to count the others—one two three four five six seven—
Seven. Not eight, anymore.
“Wind is injured.”
Warriors startled. “What? Injured how? We checked back there, and everyone was fine.”
“He’s limping.”
Warriors halted, turning to see the bedraggled Sailor was, indeed, slightly favoring his left side. Slightly enough that a casual glance wouldn’t necessarily reveal it.
Still, I should have noticed.
“Thanks, Smithy. Everyone else okay?”
“As far as I can tell.”
Warriors nodded as the rest of the heroes caught up, curiously looking to him. He fumbled in his pouch, drew out a half-empty healing potion, and marched it up to the Sailor.
Wind recoiled. “What’s that for? I don’t need it.”
“You do. You said you weren’t hurt, but you’re limping.”
“I said I didn’t need any potions, and I don’t.”
“Sailor, we’ve been over this,” Warriors sighed. Half his mind still fixated on the coppery stench of spilled blood. “It’s no good for anybody to hide injuries, okay? Please, just take the potion.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” Wind said, crossing his arms. It wasn’t a mulish gesture, but a self-defensive one. “I just don’t need a potion. I’m not hurt bad enough.”
“But walking will aggravate the injury,” Four reasoned. “It would be best to take the potion now and nip it in the bud.”
Wind frowned, hunching into himself as if escaping into a protective shell. “No, I— I don’t need it. I promise, I’m okay. You should save it for when someone really needs it.”
Frustrated, Warriors huffed. This dallying was wasting time, and he could smell the blood; he could see the blood on his fallen brother— A chasmal wound—
Four hummed in understanding, moved closer to Wind, and cupped a comforting hand around the younger’s arm. “You’re not taking it away from anyone, Sailor. It’s okay. Our stock isn’t that low.”
“Not at all,” Warriors agreed, futilely shoving the bottle towards Wind. “We have enough. Take the potion.”
“The brat doesn’t want it,” Legend said, rolling his eyes. “Can we move on now?”
“I’m not a brat,” Wind snapped, expression darkening.
“Yeah, you really are. Quit holding us up with your dramatic self-sacrificing bullshit and drink the potion.”
“It’s not bullshit.” Wind advanced a threatening step. “I don’t need the stupid potion, and I want someone else to have it when they do need it.”
“Use your brain for a second, brat. Like Four said, you don’t take the potion now, you’ll be hurt worse later, and then you’ll just bog down the rest of us and put all of us at risk.”
“No, I won’t!”
“Yes, you will,” Legend snarled, glaring. “You want someone else to get ki—?”
“Legend,” Four interrupted. “Cool it.”
“So what, are we just never gonna talk about it?” Legend barked, turning his anger on the Smith. “We just gonna pretend it didn’t happen?”
“Of course not,” Four tried, but Wind cut in.
“Shut up, Legend! You’re upsetting Wild!”
The Champion was huddled against Hyrule, who had a comforting arm wrapped around him. Unwillingly dragged into the fray, Wild shrank into Hyrule’s side.
The Traveler tightened his hold on his friend. “Look, you both need to calm down. There’s nothing to yell about.”
“Are you kidding?” Legend said. “Wild’s on the verge of a mental breakdown, Time’s fucking catatonic, Twilight is—”
“Legend,” Four tried again.
“—dead.” The Veteran clenched his fists, dropped his gaze to the dirt, next words quavering. “He’s dead.”
Wild keened, and Hyrule secured his other arm around him, too, shielding him. Holding his unraveling pieces together. Time’s mouth twitched as his distant gaze drifted, unmoored.
“Okay, that’s enough!” Warriors finally barked. “Both of you, knock it off!”
Stubbornly, Legend crossed his arms, and Wind glared at the Vet, but both were silent.
Warriors heaved a sigh. “Please, let’s keep it together for now. We need to find somewhere to clean up and a place to rest for the evening, okay? So let’s keep going.”
No one argued.
They continued their trek until they found a pond, where Warriors gratefully scrubbed the stains from his skin, his clothing.
Time didn’t bother washing up, instead sitting away from the rest of them, huddled among the trees.
Warriors approached, frowning at the dried streaks of crimson across the other’s torso. “Old Man, don’t you want to wipe down your armor?”
Time didn’t look at him. Ignoring the question, he said, “Sailor should drink that potion.”
“Yeah, I agree. I’ll try—”
“I know what he’s thinking.” Time shook his head, closed his eye. “Potions couldn’t have saved him.”
Warriors stilled. He didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter. Time stood up and walked away from him, then didn’t speak for the rest of the day.
At the head of their pack now, Warriors frowns and glances back at the others again, at Four and Sky on rear guard. Warriors trusts Four to stay alert, to spring into battle should any monstrous threats arrive, but he is concerned that Sky is not up to the task. Typically, Sky’s ability to draw a weapon outpaces his own, but now the Skyloftian is completely exhausted. Even from this position, that’s clear.
Wild and Time are both breaking down, but Warriors thinks if there is anyone he’s failed most lately, it’s Sky.
They’ve had a single one-on-one conversation of any substance since it happened. Two nights ago, Warriors had volunteered for first watch, leaving Sky to sleep with Wild. Near the tail end of Warriors’ shift, Sky uncoiled himself from the Champion and sat on the log next to Warriors.
“Not your watch yet,” Warriors said. “Not for another hour.”
Sky leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face. “I know, but I can’t sleep. I can take over early.”
Warriors sighed. “You can sit here, but try to rest, okay? I’m staying until my watch is done.”
Sky didn’t protest, left his head to hang in his hands. Warriors examined their surroundings, listening for any disturbances, but there were no sounds aside from the low crackles of their campfire.
“How do you do it?” Sky mumbled into his palms. Warriors had to look over just to verify he’d heard the knight speak.
“Do what?”
Sky paused to collect his thoughts. “You’re responsible for…for thousands of soldiers. Thousands of lives. How do you bear that kind of weight?”
Warriors was not quite sure where this line of thought was headed. Grimly, he stated, “In a war, there’s going to be casualties. As cold as it sounds, it’s simply the reality you have to accept.”
Sky looked up at him, lowering his hands. He looked so defeated, so worn, much older than he was. “But how do you accept that? How do you let go? How can you feel like…” His face twisted in pain. “Like their blood isn’t on your hands?”
Warriors was quiet a moment. “I…accept the fact that, no matter what I do, some of my soldiers will die. Some will be grievously injured. All of them will suffer. All of them will see things no one should have to see.
“But acceptance isn’t the same as letting go. I don’t let go of that. I never lose sight of that. I do everything in my power to ensure their suffering is as minimal as possible, because that’s all I can do.”
He glanced down at his hands in his lap, curling them into fists. “The blood on my hands is just a fact, like anything else. Just part of reality. It can’t be denied. It can’t be changed. I have to persevere in spite of it.”
Mournfully, Sky said, “You’re stronger than I could ever be, Captain.”
It wasn’t said with malice, but the comment felt like the stinging lash of a whip all the same. Stronger because he pushed through his guilt, willing to trample the corpses of his own men to achieve his ends. Stronger because he was able to sacrifice his soldiers’ lives like pawns in a chess match, to box up his grief for the sake of a winning strategy.
Warriors felt a bit like a monster.
“I just can’t help thinking,” Sky continued, eyes back on his hands, “what’s the point? What’s the point, if this is where it ends up? I’m supposed to help establish Hyrule, aren’t I? I’m supposed to set in motion all the events that lead to all of your realities. How can I do that when I know this is how it ends?”
Tears brimmed in Sky’s eyes. “Everything I do—everything I’ve done—leads to all the suffering you’ve all been through. And in the end, it will lead…” His voice grew small, hardly audible. “It leads to the death of my friend.”
Warriors shook his head. “Sky. You can’t think like that. You can’t blame yourself for something so far out of your control. In no way is this your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It just…happened.”
Or maybe it was your fault, something sinister whispered in his head. If you had been faster, if you had been stronger…
No, he couldn’t blame himself, either. It had been so quick, so unexpected.
Sky closed his eyes, thinking, and murmured, “Maybe that’s the problem. There’s no one to blame. There’s no reason this happened. It just…is. That feels like the worst thing of all.”
Warriors said nothing as Sky re-buried his face in his hands. There was nothing to say in the face of bare truth or profound grief.
Yet now, Warriors feels there should have been something said, some solace offered.
The awful weight of helplessness sinks into his stomach, chaining him to all his self-doubt, all his shelved pain. It is only another obstacle to accept. He forces himself back into the present moment, checking the plains around them for anything amiss.
It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault, he reminds himself. It just happened.
For no reason at all.
The battle is over.
Wild is on all fours next to Twilight, who is lying prone and still, whose tunic is saturated with blood, He has had a large chunk violently torn from his abdomen, exposing the mangled remnants of intestines.
Warriors wonders where that missing chunk has gone. Down the throat of a lizalfos, perhaps.
Time stands nearby, sword still raised from battle, frozen and staring wide-eyed at his fallen protégé. He doesn’t sheathe his sword until a solemn Sky comes up next to him and clasps a hand over his shoulder. Sky doesn’t move his hand, and Time doesn’t look away from Twilight.
The heroes gather in a wide circle around the scene. Four has a hand over his mouth, and his head is bowed, eyes closed. Hyrule openly cries, silent tears that leak freely down his cheeks. Legend stands with fists at his sides and a grief-stricken grimace.
And Wind. Wind is looking between them all like he doesn’t understand. His eyes shine with tears as he steps to the Captain, grabs onto his forearm, and hoarsely whispers, “He’s not… He’s not… We can do something, can’t we?”
Warriors says nothing, only pulls the little Sailor close and presses him against his side.
“Shouldn’t we try…?” Wind whispers, curling his fingers into Warriors’ tunic. “Shouldn’t we…do something? Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Yes,” Wild agrees numbly, tracing the markings on Twilight’s forehead with a finger. “There’s something, isn’t there? There has to be.” He glances up, around the little circle of heroes, and pales as he takes in their reactions. “There has to be something. Can’t any of you do something?”
There’s an awful silence before Legend mumbles, “He’s gone, Wild.”
The tears come then, sudden and full down the Champion’s face, threading through his scars as he looks back down. “No, he can’t be. He can’t be.” He gently puts a hand beneath Twilight’s head and neck, cradling the Rancher close to his chest as tears splash uselessly onto dead skin.
“He can’t be. He can’t be gone,” Wild repeats, voice growing higher and more desperate with each iteration. “He can’t be gone. He’s not gone. He’s not— Oh, Hylia, please, please, he can’t be gone. Don’t let him be gone, don’t do this to me. Please.”
He presses his forehead against Twilight’s, and his sobs are punctuated by gasped prayers to goddesses who aren’t listening, to goddesses who have no mercy. “Please, please, don’t take him. Don’t take him from me. Don’t do this! Please! I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything, please, just don’t take him!”
Wild strokes Twilight’s hair, caresses his cheek, takes his hand, and cries and cries and cries. Hyrule and Legend go to either side of him, sit in the dirt with him and put their hands on his back and shoulders, but he doesn’t notice. There’s nothing else any of them can do.
Warriors holds Wind, who is sobbing into his side, and watches as Time finally unfreezes, finally moves forward to kneel on Twilight’s other side. Sky goes to Four, and the two put their arms around each other.
Cheeks blotchy and wet, Wild looks up at Time. Reluctantly, he uncurls from around Twilight, straightening, to allow Time to cradle Twilight to his own chest. Wild clings to Twilight's limp hand still, unwilling to break contact.
Time doesn’t cry, but he looks broken.
When they were first dropped into this era, they wandered through wilderness for several days, eventually finding a manmade trail that led them out. They are back on that trail now, hoping it leads to a town, for they have little other recourse.
The plains rise into rolling knolls. Warriors keeps their pace slow. He watches for signs of monsters. He listens to the conversation on magical artefacts between Hyrule and Legend; he can’t hear what Sky and Four say to each other, their words jumbled into the white noise of a rushing brook.
He hears Wind futilely speak to the Old Man, whose answers are monosyllabic at best.
He glances over his shoulder sometimes to count heads again. one two three four five six seven
Seven.
It’s not getting easier to only count to seven.
“Can I have the potion now?” Wild croaks to the Veteran.
Legend and Hyrule both look at Warriors uncertainly, waiting for direction. A few hours have passed now, so last night’s potion should be out of Wild’s system.
Warriors nods in affirmation.
“Sure,” Legend says, digging through his pouch until he pulls out the bottle in question. “Not too much.”
Wild gratefully takes a long draw from the vial, the ghost of a smile on his face when he hands it back.
Warriors looks away. He can’t watch Wild be happy over going numb.
But it’s the best option we have, he tells himself.
Warriors recollects the dawn of the fourth day after it happened, when Wild’s fit of crying suddenly swerved into more dangerous territory.
Wind had been sitting with him while he wept, rubbing between his shoulder blades and appearing on the verge of tears himself. By now, the Champion’s wailing was already a fixture of their group, and the others sluggishly carried on breaking camp, absorbed in their own tasks.
That is, until Warriors heard Wind say, “Hey, don’t do that. Wild. Don’t do that!”
Warriors whipped around to see Wild digging his fingernails into his bare arm, blood bubbling up from his skin, as Wind frantically tried to pry his arm back.
The Captain was there in an instant, forcibly wrenching Wild’s arms apart. The Champion now sported jagged, bleeding cuts on his arm, shallow but nasty, and his fingers were spotted with blood.
There was a flurry of activity as Four ushered away a now-crying Wind, Hyrule appeared with iodine and bandages, and Sky took up the post of trying to console the still-sobbing Champion. Time stood watching the whole affair with an agonized expression.
“You can’t do this, kid,” Warriors admonished gently, wiping away some of Wild’s tears with a thumb. “You can’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Wild rasped, hiding his face in Sky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t want to do that, I just— I don’t— It hurts too much—”
Legend pulled Warriors aside, leaving Wild in Hyrule and Sky’s care.
“That potion I have, the sedative?” Legend confided. “We could give him some now.”
Warriors dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’d rather not keep him medicated twenty-four-seven, but… We’re at the breaking point already, aren’t we, Vet?”
“Yes, I think we are. I really do, Cap. He—” Legend trailed off, sadly looking over at Wild. “He’s not coping.”
Stiffly, Warriors shook his head. “No. He isn’t.”
Four catches Warriors’ eye and quietly asks, “What do we do now?”
Sky, Legend, Hyrule, Wind—they all look to the Captain, expectant.
“We bury him.”
“Here?” Sky says.
“No,” Wind protests. “Not here. Not in the middle of all...this.”
Not in blood-spattered soil. Not surrounded by monster corpses. Not below the very creatures that killed him.
(Which one of these beasts swallowed a piece of Twilight? Warriors wonders. Which one made the killing move?)
He understands the reticence, but he's buried many soldiers in battlefields. His hands have bled from digging mass graves. But he prefers that to abandoning the bodies aboveground, where sunlight will rot them, where scavengers will open their skin and eat what's inside.
He’s seen it happen.
“It’s...” Hyrule looks down at his boots while he speaks. “It’s more practical...to bury him here.”
The haunted statement incites all manner of scenarios in Warriors’ mind. He imagines Hyrule coming upon villages devastated by poverty and by war, spending hours burying the dead who otherwise would decompose, forgotten and dishonored.
“We can't do that!” Wind yelps. He looks up at Warriors, entreating. “We can't do that, Captain.”
Warriors’ heart twinges, but this is how it has to be. “I’m sorry, Sailor, but Hyrule’s right. It’s the most practical thing to do.”
Wind's face contorts. He searches the endless rows of trees that enclose them, as if they hold a better solution. “I don't care about practical. It isn't right.”
“You want to leave him?”
A new voice, scratchy and thick. Curtained by golden hair, Wild is still hunched over Twilight. Congealed blood glistens around the gaping wound.
Guilt gnashes the Captain’s stomach, chews him to pieces, as he says, “We can't take him with us. I’m sorry.”
Wild shakes his head. “We can't leave him here.”
But in the end, they do.
The heroes stop for a break in the early afternoon. Four dutifully prepares a fire and Sky sets about making rice balls for lunch.
Warriors has lost track of how many meals in a row Sky has cooked, but it’s been too many.
Another failing, Warriors thinks. He shouldn’t allow the work to be so unevenly allocated.
But Sky has cooked every day, just like he has taken a watch shift every night.
The lost hours of sleep accumulate and promise to produce some harmful effect like impaired judgment on the battlefield. That’s a forthright flirtation with death. Sky knows this, of course, so Warriors does not belabor the point in his daily attempts to dissuade his fellow knight from taking watch. The conversation has become streamlined to the point that it’s nearly formality.
Warriors thinks of the previous night, when he put his hand on Sky’s shoulder and said, “You know you need to rest. It’s okay to rest, Sky.”
Sky took Warriors’ hand in his own and smiled softly, expression filled with so much kindness that it made Warriors’ eyes sting. “Yes, I know. It’s okay for you to rest, too.”
“I know.”
It was a fruitless effort on both their parts. All of the heroes are prone to playing martyr.
Ensuring his friends take care of themselves is a delicate balance for Warriors to negotiate. They need sleep, water, and food, but they also need the allowance to grieve in their own way.
In this particular grief, it seems, Sky pushes himself to exhaustion, while Time withdraws.
A creek flows past their resting spot, and Time sits on the bank, probing at stones stuck in the silt, his back once again to the rest of the group. Warriors draws in a preparatory breath, steeling himself for the interaction—or lack thereof. He can’t stand to see their leader like this, semi-comatose, strangled into silence by regret—and worse, he hates that there is nothing he can do to offer any real comfort to the man.
He sits carefully next to Time, who doesn’t look up as he pries a pebble from the muck. The eldest hero rubs the smooth stone between his thumb and forefinger as he says, “Hello, Captain.”
“Hey, Old Man. How— How are you feeling?”
Time flicks his wrist. The stone bounces once, twice across the glossy surface of the creek, sinks beneath the current.
He doesn’t answer. Warriors doesn’t expect him to.
“Sky’s making some rice balls for lunch,” Warriors continues, watching the Old Man work on digging another rock from the dirt. “I asked him to make a couple salmon ones for you. Those still your favorite?”
Like before, Time rubs the stone between his fingers. Something almost like a smile cracks across his lips. It’s a sad caricature of contentment. “I suppose so. Thank you.”
“You’re gonna eat some, right?”
“I will.”
There’s silence for a while. Warriors wraps his arms around his knees, watches a twig float by. He wonders if he should say anything else, and he successfully hides his surprise when Time speaks first.
“How are the others?”
He considers his answer. “Hanging in there. They’re resilient.”
“How’s Wild?”
Warriors doesn’t know how to respond.
Time nods. He skips another stone. This one manages four hops before sinking. “I’m sorry that I…”
He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish. Warriors shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, Sprite.”
Warriors can see the way the nickname induces a flicker of emotion across Time’s face, but he can’t tell what it is.
Time closes his eye for a moment, wipes the muck from his hand onto his trousers. He turns to Warriors.
It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact for days.
Once again, Warriors masks his shock as Time reaches out and cups a hand softly around his cheek. Seismic waves radiate from the spot. “I owe you so much, Captain.”
Swallowing painfully, Warriors brings his own hand up to curl over Time’s. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Time lowers his hand but leaves it in the Captain’s grip. He looks back out at the creek, solemn. “I do. I owe you a great deal. I’m sor—” He cuts himself off, reconsiders. “I’m thankful. For everything you’ve done. We couldn’t have come this far without you. I couldn’t have.”
He pauses, squeezes Warriors’ hand. His voice quivers. “You’ve done so well, Captain.”
The Captain blinks, a hard lump swelling in his throat. He squeezes Time hand’s back, whispers, “Thank you.”
They sit silently for a while more, their hands linked together.
Sky prays over the fresh mound of soil. Warriors does, too.
Most of his prayers are said at gravesites.
Most of his prayers are filled with regret.
Later that afternoon, they find a portal.
Oozing with ominous magic, the purple vortex looms at the crest of a tall hill.
By now, crossing between eras has become routine, yet the heroes regard the portal in tense silence.
They did not leave a gravemarker for Twilight. This portal feels like one. It signifies finality.
It signifies an end.
Nothing is permanent, Warriors thinks, except our choices. Once we step through, there’s no going back.
He glances at Wild. The potion-induced glaze in the Champion’s eyes is clearing as he begins to recognize the same fact.
“I— I can go first,” Hyrule hesitantly volunteers. He steps towards the magical gateway but stops, frowning. The heroes may be blessed with extraordinary courage, but that does not ease the virtue’s collateral pain.
“We can’t leave,” Wild states. Panic is already snaking through his words. “We can’t leave him here.”
Four’s tone is consolatory, though the tremble in his voice is unmistakable. “There’s nothing we can do, Champion. We don’t have a choice.”
“We do,” Wild insists. “We don’t have to go. No one’s making us go.”
“It’s our duty to go,” Hyrule murmurs.
“I can’t leave him here. We don’t know where we are. We don’t know when this is!”
“Champion—” Warriors begins.
“No, I’m not leaving him!” Wild exclaims. “I’m not abandoning him! He can’t just be lost in time and space forever. That’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve—”
Wild’s exhale shudders as he tries to corral calm. His voice still wavers like a white flag. “No one will know where he is. It’s like he’s just… erased. Like he didn’t even exist.”
He spins towards Warriors, painted with an unspoken plea for reprieve, and a painful sympathy writhes in the Captain’s chest. “It’s not fair. He deserves so much more than that. It’s not fair!”
“You’re right, Champion,” Warriors says softly. “It’s not.”
What else can be said? he wonders. What is there to say to that kind of blunt truth?
There’s movement, and Warriors stares as Time wrests himself from grief’s fetters long enough to enwrap Wild in his strong, solid embrace.
“I know,” Time says into Wild’s hair. “It’s not fair at all, is it?”
Surprise yields to grief and desperation, and Wild curls around Time, presses against his armored chest. His quiet sobs trip out in strangled little stutters, like the dots and dashes of an SOS signal.
“I don’t want to leave him alone,” Wild whispers.
“Neither do I, Cub,” Time agrees, and Wild makes a terrible moan at the nickname, tries to sink deeper into Time’s consoling hold.
The portal, impatient, strengthens its pull on the heroes, demanding they enter. They can’t tarry much longer.
Warriors motions to Hyrule, who grimly steps across the threshold. Sky ushers Wind through, then crosses through himself.
Reticent, Four looks to Warriors, who nods. He responds in kind and follows the others.
“I get it,” Legend whispers, so only the Captain can hear. “Of course I get it, but I just keep thinking, ‘Does it really matter?’ Whether he’s in this nameless place or in his home…what’s the difference? The end result is the same.”
Legend’s eyes shimmer as he folds his arms, hugging himself. “He’ll decay. Rot, in the dirt. Crumble to dust. It just ends the same, either way. Either way, he’ll be gone.”
He'll be gone, Warriors thinks. The words bounce around his skull, echoing persistently. Either way, he’ll be gone.
What is there to say? There is nothing to say.
Warriors drapes a hand on Legend’s shoulder, lightly squeezes. He hopes it’s enough. Mouth twisting as he struggles to hold his tears at bay, Legend averts his eyes.
“Go on through, Vet,” Warriors quietly says. After a moment, Legend obliges and disappears.
Three remain.
The portal’s compulsion grows more demanding by the second, its violet halo broadening and flickering devilishly. Time glances at it before he nudges the clinging Champion away, cups his hands around Wild’s shoulders and leans down to his eye level.
“Cub,” he says, “it’s…” He licks his lips, almost winces as he forces the words out. “It’s time to say goodbye.”
“I can’t,” Wild chokes, words cracked and jagged like shards of glass.
Time takes a deep breath, tucks some loose hair behind Wild’s scarred ear. “I want to say goodbye, Cub. Will you do it with me?”
Wild sniffles and swipes at his nonstop tears. Trying to compose himself, he allows Time to turn him until they’re facing the direction from which they came.
Spread below the hill, some miles away, an endless green sea of trees rises from the surrounding plains. Folded in the vast, lively expanse is a pocket of death. An unmarked tomb, where a legendary hero forever rests.
Time licks his lips again. “I… I’m sorry, Pup.”
Wild shakes his head. “N-no. That’s not— That’s not right. That’s not what he wants to hear. Regrets. Your l-last words shouldn’t be regrets.”
Trembling, the Champion clasps Time’s hand and gazes across the wilderness. “T-Twilight.” He swallows, allows himself a tiny sob. “Twilight, I… I miss you, and I love you. I’ll love you forever.”
Time closes his eye. Were he a different man, Warriors would think he was praying. When Time speaks, his voice quavers, but he enunciates clearly, authoritatively. “I love you, Pup.”
They stand in silence, save for breaths shaking with tears, until the portal’s siren song is too strong to resist.
Hand-in-hand, Wild and Time turn around. Wild’s gaze is downcast, but Time looks Warriors in the eye. The Captain can hardly bear the grief that roils there. He places his hand on Time’s shoulder, for a moment, and the older man nods in gratitude before leading Wild through the portal.
Now Warriors is the last Link left in this land.
He, too, gazes across the forest, pinpointing where he surmises the grave to be, crowned in beautiful jewels of leafy green. He thinks of the mound of soil, imagines the smell of newly upturned earth.
He thinks of the bloodless pallor of Twilight’s skin, the grey lines on his forehead and cheeks unnaturally prominent. Of the ache in his own arms, after hours of battle and digging, as he lowered his friend into the dirt.
He thinks of the bodies he’s interred across eras, of bones decaying to dust.
Of a nauseating hole torn through Twilight’s abdomen.
Of the void inside his own chest that will never fill.
The portal’s magic seeps into his veins, stings like poison as it pulls its puppet strings, and he must relent.
It’s time to go.
“Goodbye, brother,” Warriors whispers. He turns to the gateway and steps to the other side.
Sated, the portal seals itself shut and disappears, as if it were never there at all.