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“I guess this is the end.”
“I don’t want to leave!”
“This is our duty as heroes.”
“Hylia brought us together only to rip us apart.”
“I’ll miss you, but at least we got to meet each other!”
“I’m going to miss you all!”
“I had a lot of fun with y’all.”
“Maybe we’ll see each other again.”
“I hope we see each other again someday.”
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It had been many decades since the fated day he had lost his brothers. It had been even longer since the day he cursed them for forever.
He has grown since then, worked for a future he had seen. He took the first steps into making this kingdom and he trusted his descendants to care for it.
But he had grown old. He no longer could leave the comforts of his home. He now stayed contentedly with his wonderful goddess. The two spent days in each other’s company. Somedays his children would visit; sometimes they brought his grandchildren.
He was at peace with his life.
(He only regretted the burden he had put onto his brothers.)
(She regretted it too, but Hylia always had to choose the lesser evil.)
He could not recall the date it happened; it did not really matter. It was a day like any other. He woke up to a breakfast a wonderful neighbor had made them. He chatted with the goddess and the two sat down on their bed. They hugged and his face leaned into her white hair. They whispered to each other. His daughter and her husband visited for lunch. His oldest grandchild showed him their painting. He and the goddess went and saw their Loftwings. His other half nuzzled him, his plumage still as bright as the day they met. He assured his other half he loved him. They then all ate dinner together. The goddess smiled at him and his heart still fluttered the way it did when they were young.
They went to bed, hand in hand. The goddess whispered “I love you” and he said it back.
He slept.
He dreamed.
He dreamed of his brothers. He saw them when they were young. He saw them grow up. He saw them fight his battle.
He never woke up.
Soon.
Soon they would join.
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They say that Link was never the same after his adventures. He never grew after the first, and talked to voices after his second. The townsfolk never recovered from the third.
Many called him a lunatic, others feared him. All thought they were crazy to sympathize with the one who destroyed the castle. (They all thought the same of their queen although no one said it out loud.)
The boy was no longer Link.
They called themself Four.
Yet they were still their hero and at the passing of their Grandfather, the best smith out there. So they remained. The townsfolk talked to them; Learned more. Discovered the four people Four consisted of.
So naturally everyone heard when it happened. It was a normal day. The baker woke up early to prepare for his customers and the fisherman caught more fish than usual.
There was a party that night. Queen Zelda had invited delegates from all over the world to celebrate her tenth year since being crowned. So of course the famous heroes of Hyrule were invited. (They were friends after all; everyone knew that.)
But that night a disastrous deed occurred.
An assassin. One clothed in black and hidden by shadows.
The Queen and one of her friends (“The purple one,” the guards would whisper) had taken a stroll in the gardens, free from the watchful eye of armed guardians.
They say that the assassin had planned to kill the Queen that day. They would have. But the apathetic hero stepped forward.
The hero died that day.
Their brothers ran to them, too late.
They say the hero did not care about dying.
(“Always reading on magic, never sleeping,” whispered a maid.)
(I saw the Queen force them to eat once,” a guard muttered to his comrade.)
Four died that day.
The heroes changed again that day. They could no longer be one; cursed to forever be three.
They grew weak. Their work became sloppier and sloppier until finally it just stopped.
The townsfolk didn’t see them for days on end.
The funeral was small. The brothers said that they would not have wanted a grand event. The Queen made sure it was dutiful anyways.
They say that when you approached the blacksmith you typically heard sobbing or yelling. Four was destroying themself from inside out.
The blue one was the second to go.
The anger and despair from the violet hero’s death left them broken. Their new found weakness did not stop them from fighting.
They fell to a monster deep in the forest.
The remaining brothers claimed the Piccori found the body.
There was no body at the funeral.
The heroes grew weaker. The Queen visited often. She had the head physician come to their home. Nothing could help them.
(“They were doomed to die from the beginning,” a noblewoman told her tea circle.)
A plague hit the town. The townsfolk had to stay home. Children moaned about not seeing their friends.
One day heart wrenching sobs rang from the blacksmith. The doctor didn’t make it in time.
The green hero was dead.
Only the burning emotional hero remained.
And burn they did. The last brother lost control of their flames in their grief. Townsfolk watched in horror as the blacksmith went up in flames, the hero never having escaped.
The Queen spoke of the heroes the next day. Prayers to Hylia were sent.
They say that the violet hero lived in despair until they contentedly died.
They say that the blue hero let their anger consume them until they were mutilated in death.
They say that the green hero tried to keep them together until their body ultimately failed them.
They say that the red hero was hopeful until their emotions scorched their flesh.
The Queen says that they will reunite in death and be happy once more.
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The forest was quiet. Birds and crickets alike halted their chirping.
A warrior stumbled through the brush. He leaned on a tree, panting heavily. Slick blood leaked out from underneath the warrior’s large helmet.
The warrior stared aimlessly out at the woods. Blood dripped onto the foliage below.
Leisurely he lowered himself onto the ground, damp with blood and water from the recent rainfall. The warrior chuckled as he looked at his chest. He lifted up his shirt to see the gaping wound below.
The warrior gazed upwards.
His eyes focused sadly on beings only he could see.
Two fairies fluttered by. One glowed yellow and the other blue. The lights were dim, dead.
The boy lifted his land. The fairy only he could see landed on his finger. She chimed sadly, quietly. A sound that barely reached the only person who could hear it. She was no longer lively.
(Neither was the boy.)
A horse only he could see emerged from the trees. Sleek brown hair and a white main in contrast to the dark woods. Yet she appeared different, almost sickly. She lowered her head and nuzzled the boy.
The boy ran his other hand through her coat. She huffed softly. He smiled sorrowfully, wows not forgotten.
“I guess I’ll be joining you soon, old friends.”
Slowly, agonizingly so, the warrior’s breaths slowed. The warrior’s heart stopped its painful beating. The boy’s skin rotted away, a smile still apparent; bones gleamed under the filtered sun. Leaves fell, and seasons changed. Dust collected.
A wolf looked over the bones and armor of the regretful boy. It turned away its golden tail swishing, two fairies and a horse only it could see following.
One day—far into the future—the wolf would meet another.
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“You have at last mastered all of the hidden skills. Although I accepted life as the hero, I could not convey the lessons of that life to those who came after. At last, I have eased my regrets. You who have marched through countless foes, each mightier than the last… You, who now gaze to the future with vision unclouded. Surely you can restore Hyrule to its stature of yore as the chosen land of the gods… Farewell!”
Mist grew heavy.
“Go and do not falter, my child!”
His child disappeared into the mist, prepared to cleanse Hyrule of evil.
The spirit stared out at the glassy surface. He had done his duty, quelled his regrets. He could rest now. The spirit lowered his sword and his red eyed twinkled. It was time to fade. But there was one last thing he would watch.
A wolf, a ghostly gold, sat on the top of a hill. It watched as its child and crowned one walked sullenly from the ruins. The otherworldly one had disappeared. The wolf knew what happened, knew what would happen eons before it happened. It’s child had vanquished the hatred from the land though and in the end it was what mattered. That was the way of things.
The wolf’s tail swished and its fur remained untouched from the wind. It had seen its child to the end. Seen him become a true wolf. There was nothing more.
He would join the others now.
The wolf would meet him soon.
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Somewhere in a time that shouldn’t exist a man grew strong. He was King of the Gerudo! Nothing could stop him!
But they did try.
It was a pitiful attempt really.
A child stood before him. A little boy clothed in the green of the Koiri. The powerful man sneered at him. This was what the kingdom of Hyrule had to offer? Such a small boy could not stop him.
He smiled down at the child. He would make his death quick, perhaps not painful, but quick nonetheless.
The powerful man stepped forward. His fists clenched up. He prepared for a punch, drawing power into his hands.
The child struck first. A slash at his legs, because that was the only area he could truly reach. The powerful man’s smile slipped off his face. He studied the child closer.
The child quivered. He held his sword sloppily. Fear was rampant, yes, but the powerful man could see the courage in his eyes. The child would put up a fight.
The powerful man summoned power into his fists and blasted at the child. The child attempted to deflect but his shield falters under the power. Cracks appear along it. The powerful man smiles slyly once again.
The child has courage, true, but his strength is just not enough.
He sends another blast. This time the shield gives. The child lets out a cry as the magic hits him. The powerful man begins to feel delighted at the sound. Another hit. And then a punch. The child gets in a few slashes and stabs but nothing he can’t heal later. The battle changes from a face off to abuse.
The child—for all his courage—does not win.
With one final blast the child crumples on the ground. His eyes look out at nothing and everything at the same time. They are glossy; dead.
The powerful man has won. He reaches over the child. He calls on the blessing of the gods. It is his now.
The triangle floats out, energy and power flow from it. He calls it to his hand. For a moment his hand glows brightly. On it now rests two filled triangles.
He possesses courage now.
(The same courage that could not save the child.)
As the powerful man walked away a child not like the others joined ones that almost knew him.
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The sun shone brightly in the sky. Not a single cloud dotted the clear canopy of blue. The birds sung wonderful songs and butterflies fluttered through the air, flashing beautiful colors for all to see.
It wasn’t fair.
The coward ripped his eye from the sky. He could not afford to get lost now.
Not when a life, the life, was at risk.
The coward walked faster. Surely the doctor would know what to do. He just had to get there.
Townsfolk gave him strange looks. A girl tugged at her mother’s robes and whispered something. The coward didn’t notice. He had a mission.
He arrived at the doctor’s. The doctor was with a patient. No, no, no. He needed the doctor now.
The coward begged. The doctor looked at him sadly. He shook his head.
The coward ran off. He would find another. He arrived at the gates of the castle. The guards stopped him. He shoved past them. He ran to the throne room. The sympathetic leader sat on the throne. She startled as he burst in.
“What’s wrong?”
The coward explained, begged, pleaded.
“Let’s go,” she said swiftly. She called for the royal physician.
They ran back, coward and leader hand in hand. He trembled. She kept her mouth tight.
The coward fumbled to open the door. He cursed himself.
She steadily opened it. She laid her hands on his.
“Breath. Take a deep breath and then let it out.”
He shook his head frantically. He shrugged her off and went inside. He looked past the discarded potions and glass bottles. Looked past the healing magical items. They had failed. He had failed.
They entered the bedroom. Under the mountain of blankets a groan was heard. Mister Hero. Oh, Mister Hero, he was here now! The coward had made it.
The coward rushed forward, the leader hot on his tail. He took Mister Hero’s hand. He told him that he had got help. That everything would be all right.
(The hand was too cold.)
The leader beckoned the healer forward. The physician opened their bag and pulled out some devices. They carefully measured Mister Hero. They asked some questions. Mister Hero could barely respond.
The coward started to cry. Or had he already been crying?
The physician gave Mister Hero some medicine. They tried to advise Mister Hero on how to keep himself healthy. A sage arrived at some point. Magic was performed.
But Mister Hero got weaker and weaker by the second. He groaned in pain. The same pain he’d told the coward and leader were minor spasms. He had refused to go to a doctor for it.
(“They’re pretty much nothing. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you would overreact.”)
Mister Hero looked the coward in the eyes, the leader hovering behind him. Mister Hero smiled softy. He reached out and brushed a strand of the coward’s messy dark hair out of his watery eyes. He weakly squeezed his hand.
(It was so so cold.)
Mister Hero looked at the leader. His lips parted into a toothy smile. She tried to smile reassuringly but her eyes betrayed her.
“Everything is going to be okay,” she told everyone. (Even herself.)
Mister Hero’s eyes flickered over to his bedside. A hibiscus flower sat there. One he had insisted on since before the coward had known him. (The coward had asked one day, long into their lives, and Mister Hero had told him, tearing up.) Tears started to swell in his eyes. Sad tears, ones not from the pain.
The coward tried to make him happy.
It didn’t work.
Mister Hero looked at the coward and the leader and his lips moved.
“I love you.”
His hand was cold. It stucked the warmth from the coward’s hand. A shudder went down the coward’s spine.
The coward burst out sobbing. The leader joined.
Mister Hero had joined his ancestors.
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It had started in a small village, one of the few remaining. None of the rumors agreed on which one. Before anyone knew it had spread, as easily as gossip between townsfolk.
It caused high fevers, head and body aches, extreme weakness and fatigue, blue skin, lips and nails, chills, and sore throats. Many of the already small population of Hyrule fell to it.
(“A hundred dead already,” some whispered.
“No, two hundred,” declared another.
“I heard a whole town got wiped out.”
“I’ve heard that there’s a town that burns down the house with the family inside if they catch it.”)
The royal family was locked inside the castle at all times. The guards could not be close and the servants wore face masks at all times. Rumors about the inner workings of the palace spiraled. Even the servants did not know what was true or not.
Towns called for sages. Medics were in high demand. Some called for the hero to save them from the curse of the gods. Others blamed him.
A deeper hatred for the hero started to weed its way into the hearts of the people. The hero, already strange and shunned, was ridiculed and reviled. Ideas about the hero spread along with the plague.
So no one noticed when the hero started to grow weak. When the hero curled up both hot and cold at the same time. When the hero’s fingers changed and became blue. No one noticed the dry coughs from the cave nor the groans from sudden pain.
After a while rumors about where the hero had disappeared started to pick up.
No one checked the cave where a dead campfire lay. No one checked the cave where the hero lay, as cold as the stone underneath him.
Eventually the royals would send out a search but they would never find him. He had reunited with the ones before him.
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The old man looked over the ocean. Seagulls flew overhead and the water lapped at the shore. He used to sail those waves but no longer could. His health had deteriorated and he had been forced to settle in New Hyrule. It made him gloomy. Nothing was the same as riding a ship through the water. Not even those ‘trains’ that the younglin’s were talking about.
He was glad his daughter had them go to the shoreside so often. The castle was close but not close enough. Which was kinda his own fault, being one of the people to build it.
Thankfully his daughter knew him well. He hadn’t been the same since her mother had died. She was quite the wise young lady.
He rocked on his chair, imagining the rocking feeling to come from the sea and the creaks of the wood to come from a ship. He smiled at the person sitting next to him. She dropped her bright blonde braids and smiled brightly back.
He had outlived most of his old friends. The last person from his old life left was her; his sister. They would never grow apart.
His daughter ran up to them. “Papa! Look what I found!” She brandished a sparkling brown and pink shell. “Wouldn’t it look lovely in auntie’s room?”
His sister beamed. “I think so!”
The old man smiled dearly at his daughter. “Ya always loved yer beautiful objects. I’m starting to think ya should have been a designer not Queen.”
She blushed. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you’re my dad.”
The old man put a hand to his heart, offented. “How dare ye accuse me of such a thing! I never lie!”
She rolled her eyes. A younger boy sunk up from behind her. “Ha!” he yelled, grabbed her shoulders.
She yelped and spun around. “How dar’ you! I shall have you executed for such an act!”
He ran off and she chased.
His sister laughed brightly at her nephew and niece’s antics. She looked over the bright blue water.
The old man joined in. They reminded him of his sister and him. He was pretty sure they would still be doing so if it would not kill him. Suddenly he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t breathe. He started to huff and cough.’
His sister got up worriedly and came to his side. “Take a deep breath in and then out,” she said. He tried to follow her advice.
His children stopped and ran over.
”Are you alright papa?”
”Don’t die!”
He finally stopped gasping but his lungs still screamed for air. He smiled weakly. “I think my time is up,” he told them.
Their eyes instantly watered and they frowned, crestfallen. His children went to hug him. He hugged back.
”I love you papa.”
”Me too, I love you so much.”
”I’ll love you forever,” whispered his sister into his ear.
The old man carefully pulled out an item from a bag on his chair. He took his sister’s hands and looked her in the eyes, chest pain growing. He wrapped her hands around a gift from a long time ago.
Tears splattered on the telescope in her hands.
She threw herself onto him. A tight hug.
His chest constricted. With his final breath he whispered, “I have people to join.”
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“I’m making sure to keep watch extra carefully now,” said the swordsman.
”My sister and I made you some soup!” the braveheart trying to be cheerful.
”If you get better I’ll give you a discount on Malo Mart goods,” said the entrepreneur.
“Colin has been really worried about you lately,” said the individualist strongly before whispering, “I’m worried as well.”
The children of Orion Village—although they were very much not children anymore—grew more worried by the day. Their mentor had not left his house in days.
Others assured them that it was just old age paired with the sickness their mentor had gotten. They knew better. Their mentor did not let his old age stop him. He still walked about the village helping out where he could. He was still strong from all his goat herding days. He was still their mentor.
When they’d heard that he’d gotten sick they stopped everything to help the one who rescued them all those years ago. The swordsman stopped by daily to give reports on his patrols. The braveheart halted his vacation with his sister to stay by their mentor. The entrepreneur traveled back to his home village to check up on their mentor. The individualist spent half her time continuing the family business and the other half with their mentor.
He said he was okay, that it was just a little stomach bug, but they all knew better. The swordsman made sure there was nothing their mentor could do but rest. The braveheart made sure their mentor was always taken care of. The entrepreneur used his money to purchase medicine to help their mentor. The individualist made sure their mentor always had someone to talk to.
They witnessed their mentor throw up. They heard the creaking of his bones, however fit he was. They were all there when the ‘little stomach’ became more than that.
Their mentor held their hands as he looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling. He could no longer live in his house. His gray hair, almost as white as his wolf form adorning the pillow. His lips moved but no coherent words came out. Slowly his eyes became heavy and they shut.
The swordsman, braveheart, entrepreneur, and individualist eyes all watered.
The wolf, usually so strong, finally fell to the weaknesses of the hylian body.
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The wolf watched as the gloom dissipated from around the old castle along with the beast. He pawed at the ground and padded over to where his cub stood with their princess. He made sure to watch from afar. He had been waiting for this moment for eons, so long he had lost track of time.
Once he made sure his cub was safe he trotted away. He had no last parting gift for his cub. The next time they tried to call for him they would at least have something to remember him by.
He crouched in the woods and waited for prey. Soon he had built up a sufficient amount of food for his hungry cub.
Lastly he tugged at a piece of bark in front of him. Like an artist with hands he carefully clawed at it in order to carve out a wolf into the wood.
His cub would survive without him.
He put all his gifts in a pile and howled. His mission had finished.
He faded away in the same black particles that summoned.
His cub would see him again soon.
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A horde of monsters was the final straw they will say. He fought strongly until the very end they will say. It was a betrayal others will say. He put his trust in them only to be stabbed in the back they will say.
The truth is it was a mix of the two.
Not that anyone will know. His body will be recovered but no clues will reveal themselves.
He was only trying to do the right thing in the end.
They’d been on a journey. The warrior Queen had wanted a special package delivered by her wonderful knights. He had been there to speak to the receiver. He had brought along one other soldier. One he trusted.
He had not expected an attack. The War was over.
But he had been surprised.
A rush of monsters had swarmed him, right as he had woken up. He had called out for help to his ally, his friend. But when he had turned his friend had only looked him in the eyes and declared his death.
The monsters swiftly ended him.
The funeral will not be able to say what rightfully ended him. The people will mourn without properly knowing his killer.
His friend—his betrayer—will escape and return to the castle to give the devastating news.
Nothing more happens. The people mourn and the world moves on.
At least he will meet his real friends.
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They were covered in liquid.
Everything was muffled.
They were dead.
”You’ll be alright,” whispered a voice, clear like the bright sky.
”One day you will wake up,” said another, sparkling like a startling purple jewel.
”Don’t give up now!” encouraged one, a swish of clear blue water accompanying it.
”Hyrule still needs you,” said a swirl of green leaves.
”Don’t worry, you’ll win in the end!” cheered the warmth of a campfire.
”This is just the beginning,” a confident elderly voice assured, clock ticking beneath the words.
“Are you really going to let Ganon win?” asked another legendary voice, no hints on malice.
”This isn’t the end, you’ll get to live again,” said a voice, embodying everything they loved about their land.
”I believe in you!“ was carried in a gust of wind.
”You won’t be alone,” a howl of a wolf somehow said, dark like the end of twilight.
”One day you’ll meet us,” promised the last, sounding like everything they liked about warriors.
A light glowed through everything.
”..Open your eyes…”
They were alive.
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The untamed hylian huddled behind a rock. They clutched at their abdomen, red painting their clothes. They let out a groan of pain and reach out for their Purah Pad. It was the last they had of the inventors. They had said goodbye to the age altered inventor and royal scholar far too long ago.
It didn’t work. The pad sizzled as they tried to summon a healing meal. They looked down at the increasing amount of blood they were losing. The crimson red mixed with the dirty brown of the mud.
If only they had Mipha’s Grace. The Zora princess’ blessing could have helped now. Just like it had the countless of other times they had died. But it was gone now. They were old now. They kept fighting but until when?
Apparently until now.
Their eyes were watering from the pain and the vision was slowly darkening.
They chuckled to themself. Here they were stuck in the rain bleeding out after an attack from a monster. It had not even been a difficult one to defeat. They’d probably defeated it before.
There were no travelers to help them. No one would find them even once they were dead. This is really was the end.
A sight caught their eye. Water droplets sprinkled on a silent princess. They smiled and delicately grasped the flower. The royal scholar had spent a long time breeding them back into plenty.
Gazing at the beautiful flower they bleed out in the rain. Watery drops of red tainted the pure white of the flower. The untamed hylian’s eyes clouded. Their eyes closed, still holding the impure silent princess.
The ones before them greeted them.
The first hero’s smile was melancholy. “It’s nice to see you again, Wild.”
The violet hero looked at them sadly; a rare moment of clear emotion. “It is good to see you after all these centuries. I just wished we could meet in better circumstances.”
The blue hero slung an arm around them. “You’re finally here; I’ve waited forever!”
The green hero gave them a toothy smile. “Nice to have the full chain together; all linked back together.”
The red hero hugged them tight. “I missed you so much!”
The warrior chuckled and ruffled their hair. “Good to see you after all this time.”
A child peered out from behind the warrior. “It’s nice to meet you Wild. I’ve heard lots about you.”
Mister Hero threw himself at them, ignoring his dignity after all the years. “Hylia sent you on another adventure, huh. We never get to rest.”
The hero smiled brightly, tears welding in his eyes, and hugged them. “I’m so glad we get to see each other again.”
The old man chuckled and hugged them faster than his appearance should have allowed for. “Look at you! Such an old man, just like me!”
The wolf smiled and hugged them. “I’ve missed you; sorry I left without warning. Hope you liked my gift.”
The Captain put his hands on their shoulders before hugging them. “You’ve done so well soldier. Rest easy now. We’re back together again.”
The untamed hylian grinned. “We’re together again at last.”