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Chapter Text

Crossover One Shots

1.  Another Year Your Heart Keeps Beating — Fluff, light hurt/comfort

Summary: Wind’s birthday is coming up, and Hyrule and Drifter have no idea when theirs are. Clearly this must be remedied. 

Time frame: Set between “Establishing Competence” and the first chapter of “What Doesn’t Kill You (You Learn to Live With)”

2. To Think, To Be, To Dream — Angst

Summary: Sky has a strange relationship with dreams; so does Drifter. Sometimes things line up that aren’t supposed to.

Time frame: Could be set anywhere before “Give Up Your Faith for a Fleeting Relief”

3. The Fickle Will of Gods — Extra scene

Summary: Twilight walked through the portal with Wild, and emerged alone. But is he really? 

Time frame: Set during the first half of chapter 4 of “What Doesn’t Kill You (You Learn to Live With)” 

4. Drink and Be Merry — Crack, mild hurt/comfort

Summary: Blu have a very low alcohol tolerance, and Hyrulean beer is potent. The Chain finds this out the hard way. 

Time Frame: Set between “Throwing Goats” and “The Festival of Colors”

5. Great Minds, Greater Powers — Extra Scene

Summary: Dark Link attempts a deal with Judgement.

Time Frame: Set between “Hyper Light Heroes” and “What Doesn’t Kill You (You Learn to Live With)” 

6. I Know Things I Shouldn’t, I See Things Not Meant to be Seen (Part One) — Angst, some hurt/comfort

Summary: Wind sees ghosts; he wishes he didn’t. 

Time Frame: NOT CANON TO AU, set between "A Dragon is a Goddess to the Lizards Below" and "The Person Who I Used to be Wouldn’t Recognize Me Now"

7. Hydrophobic — Fluff

Summary: Blu don’t swim, and Drifter is no different. Legend doesn’t swim for completely unrelated reasons, and Wind just wants to have fun with all his brothers.  

Time Frame: Set between “Hell on Earth, and the Demons Who Live There” and “A Dragon is a Goddess to the Lizards Below”

8. Dance Around the Kitchen Like it’s the Only Place on Earth — Fluff

Summary: Time really needs to stop bringing home skittish stray cats; Malon is running out of room in the house (maybe just one more is okay though).

Time Frame: Set between “A Dragon is a Goddess to the Lizards Below” and “The Person Who I Used to be Wouldn’t Recognize Me Now”

9. Walk a Mile With Someone Else’s Feet — Angst

Summary: At the bidding of a very inconvenient wizzrobe, someone else gets to learn what it’s like to be Drifter. 

Time Frame: NOT CANON TO AU, set between “Dear Fellow Traveler” and “Give Up Your Faith for a Fleeting Relief”

11. A Sniffle or a Cough — Light whump

Summary: Judgment’s isn’t the only illness out there (and only Drifter wears a mask). 

Time Frame: Set any time before “The Festival of Colors”

12. Species Extirpation — Angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Twilight needs to take better care of his laundry; Drifter is not amused. Warriors has no idea what's happening until it's far too late.

Time Frame: NOT CANON TO AU, set between “Dear Fellow Traveler” and “Give Up Your Faith for a Fleeting Relief”

13. Higher Beings, These Words are for You Alone — Extra Scene

Summary: A discussion between a goddess and an extrapersonal force.

Time Frame: Set immediately after the final chapter of “Give Up Your Faith for a Fleeting Relief”

14. Song of Solace — Fluff

Summary: Time and Drifter want to do something together for bonding’s sake. Neither of them are great at communicating, nor planning, but it works out.  

Time Frame: Set immediately after "Dance Around the Kitchen Like it’s the Only Place on Earth"

16. Hope of the Hopeless, God of the Lost — Extra Scene

Summary: Time has a god in his pocket, kept as a last resort. He’s more than just that, though, and might be just who Drifter needs at the moment.

Time Frame: Set between “Give Up Your Faith for a Fleeting Relief” and “Bury My Grief and My Friends Along With It”

17. Primary Sources — Extra Scene

Summary: Wild seeks out Khavel once more; he has a few questions for her. 

Time Frame: Set during the beginning of chapter 4 of “The Start of Apoptosis”

26: Forces and the Divine — Coming Soon!

Summary: The Jackal communes with three goddesses golden, and a world-altering bargain is struck. 

Time Frame: Set just before “Hyper Light Heroes”

HLD Only One Shots

10: In the Meantime — Extra Scene

Summary: Kial hasn’t seen Drifter for a while, he hopes they’re okay. 

Time Frame: Set anywhere between “Hyper Light Heroes” and “I Walk The Halls of this Once-Loved Place (And See You in Every Shadow)”

18. Titanfall — Backstory, worldbuilding, angst

Summary: When the Titans touched shore, everyone thought the world was ending. For Dazarel, it might as well have.

Time Frame: Set long before "Hyper Light Heroes."

21. Armistice Indefinite — Coming Soon!

Summary: Three souls meet in the midst of battle, two on one side, one on the other. Somehow, they all make it out alright. 

Time Frame: Set long before "Hyper Light Heroes."

22. Untouched by a Word, but Tangibly There — Coming Soon!

Summary: Moments of care between two broken people, finding solace in each other as their blood flows pink in tandem.

Time Frame: Set shortly before "Hyper Light Heroes"

25: Victim of Success — Coming Soon!

Summary: Running from the army and racing against time, Khavel becomes The Librarian.

Time Frame: Set long before “Hyper Light Heroes”  

LoZ Only One Shots

15. Sword Without a Spirit — Backstory, worldbuilding, Angst

Summary: Link pulls the Four Sword a total of three times; the third, he does not survive it. 

Time Frame: Set long before “Hyper Light Heroes,” during and after the events of Minish Cap, Four Swords, and Four Swords Adventures

19. I Knew You, Long Ago — Coming Soon!

Summary: Wind becomes Tune, and has to live with the consequences. 

Time Frame: Set long after the events of the series, during and after the events of Hyrule Warriors

20. The Calm Before Calamity — Coming Soon!

Summary: Snippets from a life, cut short and unremembered.

Time Frame: Set long before "Hyper Light Heroes," before the events of Breath of the Wild. 

23. Hot and Oh So Cold — Coming Soon!

Summary: Life is tough in the Era of Decline, and opinions of the hero are as varied as they are strong. Some see him as their last hope and reason for living, others…not so much. 
Time Frame: Set long before “Hyper Light Heroes,” during and after the events of LOZ1 and LOZ: Adventure of Link

24. The Hands of the Clock Turn Backwards; My Heart Beats in Time With the Ticks — Coming Soon!

Summary: Three days, four years, and a war.

Time Frame: Set long before "Hyper Light Heroes," during and after the events of Majora's Mask and Hyrule Warriors.

27. Ocarina, Origin — Coming Soon!

Summary: Dark Link stumbles across an item that will change the course of history.

Time Frame: Set about a year before “Hyper Light Heroes” shortly before all the Links met up

28. Wake Up Little Dreamer, You’ve Fallen Asleep Again — Coming Soon!

Summary: Link falls asleep, wakes, and learns to love the world again somewhere between.

Time Frame: Set long before "Hyper Light Heroes" during and after the events of Link's Awakening.

Chapter Text

***Drifter***

It had been just under a month since Drifter had joined the group, and not much had happened. The day after their sparring sessions, Four had shoved a seed into their hand and claimed it was a “jabber nut,” insisting that it was the only reason they could all speak Drifter’s language and “if you want to be able to understand anyone from our world, you’re gonna have to eat it too.” 

They got Wild to boil it first to soften it up, but it didn’t taste half bad. 

Then, a portal had dropped them into Labrynna for two weeks. While they were there they took on their first monster camp as a group, and all things considered it went fairly smoothly for their first fight together. The few smaller camps after that had gone much the same. When their apparent time in this world was up, another portal dropped them into another horde of monsters, and after the third wave of bokoblins and electric chuchu’s (which Drifter had a newfound loathing for), Twilight had claimed the time period as his. 

Now, they’d all set out across Hyrule Field to hopefully reach Castle Town before sunset. 

Everybody chatted and joked along the way about whatever came to mind. Drifter couldn’t contribute for most of the conversation, as they often had no idea what people were talking about, but sometimes chimed in with comparisons, questions, or small anecdotes when they seemed relevant. 

The tall grass swayed gently in the breeze from either side of the worn dirt road they were traveling on. For someone like Drifter who was used to dashing everywhere, the pace was almost painfully slow, so they compromised by walking near the front of the group alongside Time, Twilight, Warriors, and Wild. 

Somehow, by the time the sun rested right overhead, they got on the topic of birthdays.

”Mine passed just a few days before the start of this quest,” Twilight shrugged, “so I don’t have another for a while yet.” 

Time nodded from beside him. “Malon and I,” Drifter had only just learned he was married a few days ago, and every single time the knowledge still blindsided them, “celebrated around that time as well.” 

“And what age did you turn again?” Wild shot him an innocent expression, but Time merely smirked in reply. Apparently the group had a betting pool going, and while Drifter didn’t have any Rupees, they did put down one full Gear on the age of thirty-two. Not too young, but Time didn't strike them as late or even mid-thirties material. Surprisingly, theirs was the youngest guess by far. Most of the others were in the forties, which Drifter found wild. Then again, maybe he was in his forties and Drifter just didn't know how Hylian's aged.

“Fine then,” Warriors punched Time in the armored arm, then shook out his hand. “Keep your secrets, Sprite. We’ll find out eventually, mark my words.” He grinned, “in the meantime, mine was in March.”

“That’s all old news!” Legend snarked, jogging up from where he’d been walking with the smithy, “Who’s birthday is closest? Mine’s in August.” 

“That’s still two whole months away,” Four ran up close behind the veteran, blue eyes sparkling with challenge. “I’d say July fourteenth is closer, don’t you think Drifter?” 

[I think we need more data to determine if it’s closest, but it’s certainly closer than August is.] They smiled beneath the mask, lending a playful air to their text. They had no stakes in this argument, but it was interesting to learn more about the others.

“You’re right, my waking-day is still a few months away, but I’m sure someone has a closer one.” Wild snapped his fingers, then turned and held his hands to his mouth. Drifter had just enough foresight to pin their ears back before the champion yelled “Hey guys!”

Sky, Hyrule, and Wind had been trailing a little ways behind the rest of them, since Sky’s lungs had been irritated by the dusty trail. Drifter’s probably would have been too, but their mask was good protection. “What?” The sailor yelled back. 

“When’s your birthday!”

A beat, as the distant forms of their friends conversed. Then, “We can’t hear you!” 

Wild groaned, and Twilight snickered. “Oh for the love of—“ Legend cut himself off, whirling around. “Just get over here!” 

They waited patiently for the rest of the group to converge. Sky was wheezing slightly, but seemed otherwise fine, and Hyrule didn’t look too worried about him. Drifter shot the chosen a questioning look, but Sky waved them off and they nodded with a shrug. He didn’t want help.

”So, what was so important that you had to scream at us about it?” Wind’s face was curious, and he picked some blades of tall grass from the side of the road and began to tear them lengthwise, focusing intently on how the veins of the leaf separated. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth.

“We need more data so we can settle something.” Wild grinned as they began moving again, at an even slower pace than before so Sky could keep up. The lack of speed was kind of driving Drifter mad, but they of all people understood the need to be accommodated. “When’s your guys’ birthdays?” 

“Just had it.” The chosen hero chuckled through a wheeze. “Last month.” 

Wild nodded solemnly, and Legend elbowed the healer, who looked pensive. “Hyrule?” 

“I, uh,” Hyrule winced. “I don’t really know.” Several jaws dropped. “Never really kept track, and no one else was around to do it for me so…” 

Drifter nodded, they didn’t know their birthday either. They’d woken up two years ago fully grown and coughing, without a memory to their name (or even a memory of their name; they’d had to choose a new one). They hadn’t paid attention to what day that was, either, since they were a little preoccupied with trying not to die, and once they’d become a drifter it’d just seemed irrelevant. 

It wasn’t like they had anyone to celebrate with, and most cultures in the Northern Realms didn’t celebrate birthdays like those in the Land of Light did. Most of the time they would hold a coming of age party around the time when someone reached adulthood, but that only happened once in someone’s life and seemed to be a much lesser affair than birthdays. They didn’t remember theirs.

Hell, Drifter hadn’t known what a birthday was until they met Guardian and he’d roped them into celebrating his. They’d only gotten to do so with him once, and they’d avoided thinking about the concept ever since.

Apparently though, people in Hyrule celebrated birthdays to the point where not knowing your own was abnormal. 

Hyrule looked uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny, so Drifter pulled out the touchpad to rescue him. [I don’t know mine either.] Eyes shifted to them, and Hyrule’s shoulders dropped. [My species’ culture does not celebrate them, and neither do many of the other peoples I’ve interacted with.] They shrugged. [If I ever knew the original date, which is unlikely, I no longer remember it. It never became relevant.]

The members of the group who did remember their birthdays all shared an indecipherable look. Drifter and Hyrule shared one of their own. 

[It is okay,] Drifter assured, [I am fine without a birthday; big celebrations don’t usually agree with me anyways, I’d prefer to just forgo them completely. Besides,] They needed to shift everyone’s attention before they all made themselves even sadder for no reason. [Wind still hasn’t told us his yet.]

Smirking with foux nonchalance, the sailor went back to tearing blades of grass. “Oh, you know, it’s not that big a deal, just June twenty-first. I’ll be fourteen.” 

An uproar. 

“What?” Sky shouted, then hacked a cough. Drifter patted him on the back. Been there, buddy.

Wild’s face was more panicked than Drifter had ever seen him. “That’s in like two weeks! I need to start planning!” 

“I told you in, like, our first week together!” The sailor cackled, grabbing another blade of grass from the side of the road. “Not my fault you all forgot!”

Pale as ghosts, Warriors and Time huddled off to the side, whispering. Drifter’s ears flicked. It sounded suspiciously like the captain was chanting “oh god, oh god,” over and over, while Time mumbled, “How the hell did we forget this, he was always so adamant that we knew...” 

Blinking, Drifter tuned out that conversation. They had no clue what was going on there anyways, and it seemed private. 

As Legend, Wild, and Four fell into feverish planning and Wind pretended not to be listening, Drifter frowned as a new dilemma was presented to them.

They had no idea how birthdays worked in this world. 

Did they give gifts here? The conversations happening around them pointed to yes, but they couldn’t be completely sure.

Again, nearly no one in their world celebrated. 

Personally, they’d only ever been to two. One was Guardian’s, and the other was when they’d bought passage on a pirate ship to take them over the Rusted Sea to the Land of Light; one of the young swabbies had just happened to come of age during the journey, and the crew had thrown a small celebration on the deck for them. 

Wait. 

Wind was a pirate. 

Their eyes narrowed at the back of the sailor’s head, contemplating. In pirate tradition, they’d learned, a sailor would receive their first real weapon at their coming-of-age. Then, afterwards, the crew would get appropriately shitfaced and the ship would dock at the nearest port for some… unscrupulous activities. 

Drifter wasn’t going to touch that tradition with a ten foot pole, but a weapon should be more than doable. 

Wind already had a sword, but Drifter’s travels had brought them upon many a semantic for the creation of various other blades and accoutrements. The only problem was, Drifter had no idea what other weapons Wind might have access to, and they didn’t want to gift him a duplicate.

They frowned, gaze turning contemplative as a sudden thought struck them.

Unless…

Their hand drifted absentmindedly to their belt.

They did have one weapon that Wind wouldn’t have had access to…

***

They’d made it to Castle Town before sunset, shuffling into the inn on aching feet and crashing into rented rooms to sleep. Drifter shared a room with Legend and Sky, who whispered their plan to, after Wind’s birthday, throw another, much smaller party for Hyrule. They agreed immediately, and before they went to bed made sure to tuck their cloak extra tight around them so that when Judgement inevitably woke them up, they wouldn’t thrash. 

It worked, and the next morning, everybody scattered. 

Drifter spent the morning sitting in the lobby with their Companion Sprite on their lap, munching on some bacon that Wild provided, scouring through all of the ancient blueprints that they’d collected over the years, and glaring at anyone who dared to interrupt. They had two gifts, now, to come up with.

They needed to be perfect. 

Wind’s gift had to be powerful, but it couldn’t be too advanced; Drifter didn’t know how a soft-light weapon would last across the ages, and they didn’t want to cause any issues with the timeline down the road. So that meant it needed to be conceivably able to be invented in Wind’s native time, which meant it had to predate the discovery of soft-light technology, and likely hard-light as well. 

Unfortunately, the surviving records from that time period were pitifully few. 

After hours of searching (and eventually locking themselves in their empty room so they could shed their cloak and helmet and let their cramping tail free), they found it. 

It was one of the most ancient records they had, merely a digital scan of a physical document that had crumbled years ago, but in remarkably good condition considering the time period. 

A blueprint.

A gun. 

Grinning, Drifter slammed their helmet back over their pure white hair and tucked their tail back out of sight. They needed to find Four. 

***

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Drifter had a few pieces on-hand from having to repair their own guns (some things really never needed to change much between models), but had to scavenge other needed parts from what little technology this era had. Four made them anything that they couldn't substitute with scrap. After explaining what they were doing to Sky, the skyloftian had offered to carve them a handle for their project, and soon enough they were finished. 

It was primitive, compared to their own, but it was done.

A curved wooden handle attached to a steel barrel, and a small pouch of metal-gunpowder bullets. One of the oldest models of gun their world had on record.

A flintlock.

***

Hyrule’s gift stumped them. With Wind, they could go off their previous experiences with piracy, but with the healer they had nothing. They knew considerably less about Hyrule than most of the others, since while he hadn’t been one of the more cagey ones when they’d asked for his saving-the-world-story, he also hadn’t been forthcoming on the details. 

After a few hours, they eventually settled on a couple water-purification tablets, and the recipe for how to make more of them from foraged materials (which they’d received from a very nice, elderly otter-folk in the East). From the sound of Legend’s occasional hushed grumbling, Hyrule’s world didn’t have a whole lot in the way of safe streams to drink from. 

It took about an hour for them to write down the recipe by hand, triple checking with their sprite to make sure the unknown words were correct. There were probably still mistakes, but Drifter couldn’t read it to tell. Their hands cramped painfully by the end, but this would hopefully be worth it.

They slipped the slightly crumpled paper and the six tablets into a small, burlap, drawstring pouch and hid it away. 

Done. Finally.

***

Afternoon rolled around and no portal came to take them all away, so they were still in Castle Town. Twilight had taken a smirking Wind with him to the castle with the excuse of asking Dusk about any black-blooded monster sightings while the rest of the group put up some homemade decorations in one of their rooms at the inn. Not knowing how Hyrulean birthdays were supposed to be set up, Drifter sat off to the side with Hyrule, ‘supervising.’

The two of them sat in amicable silence, watching the others bustle about the room and snickering as Warriors and Legend started going at it about the correct way to curl a ribbon. 

Hyrule turned to them, smiling softly. “Did you get him anything?” 

They nodded, smirking. [Traditional pirate’s present from my world. Did you?] 

Wild climbed the bookshelf to hang up a paper chain, and Warriors shouted for him to get down. He did not. 

Hyrule huffed a small laugh, pulling his legs up onto the chair and wrapping his arms around them. “Looks like we had a similar idea. I found a fairy gift; Legend helped.”

Time doodled a stick figure with a mustache on the colored paper card that Sky had made everyone sign, which rested next to two other envelopes, stamped by the postman. Both bore colorful doodles that looked like something a child would draw across the fronts, with the stick-figure caricatures of Wind, a young girl in a blue dress, and a short woman with grey squiggle hair. Beside the mail sat a ludicrously sized cake that Wild had only just finished twenty minutes ago.

[Four and Sky helped me make mine.]

”Nice.” Hyrule turned back to the chaos. “Are you as lost here as I am?”

Drifter snorted and stifled a cough. Absolutely.

“Thought so.” 

“Everyone shut up!” Legend screeched from the window, “They’re back!” 

Everyone scrambled to hide, for some reason, and Time turned out the lights. Hyrule and Drifter shared a wide eyed look. What the hell?

After a second of contemplation, Drifter grabbed the healer’s hand and dashed behind the couch with Time, ignoring Hyrule’s choked gasp at the sudden speed. They had no idea what was going on, but if everyone else was hiding, they would too. 

The door opened, light spilled into the room. 

A beat, then—

“Happy Birthday Wind!” 

Drifter hissed painfully at the noise, coughing a few times into their mask, and flinched back as everyone jumped out from their hiding spots. Vaguely, they could sense Hyrule cringing away as well. A little warning would have been nice. 

“I fucking knew it!” Wind cheered, punching the rancher in the arm. “Twilight, you are so not slick.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Twilight chuckled, and Drifter poked their head above the couch. Everyone had gathered around the two, and were giving Wind various congratulations on surviving another year. Or something. 

They shared an incredulous look with Hyrule. This was weird. 

“Come on back already, I made cake!” Wild chirped, dragging the sailor further into the room. Everyone else began to take seats while the champion ushered Wind to the couch and hurried back to start sticking thin candles into the cake and lighting them. 

A horribly off-pitched song later, and Drifter had a plate in their hand. This whole situation felt surreal. If they didn’t double check to make sure their vision lacked any sort of pink tinge, they might’ve thought they were delirious. 

At least Hyrule looked as overwhelmed as they felt. 

Reeling, Drifter stared down at their slice of cake, the whipped frosting just as blue as their skin, and blinked. They couldn’t eat it without pulling down their mask, and the thought of eating something that sweet at the moment sent their stomach into knots. Huffing quietly, they set it aside; maybe they’d feel more up to eating it later. 

After what felt like only a few seconds, everyone was pulling out colorfully wrapped presents. Drifter’s heart sank. They hadn’t wrapped theirs; they didn’t know they had to. 

Even Hyrule’s present was concealed by a simple wooden box. 

Their own, unwrapped gift felt heavy in the pocket of their skirt. 

Legend gave Wind a magic ring with a blue gemstone —for protection, supposedly— while Sky handed over a beautifully carved depiction of a boat with a lions’ face —apparently recreated from stories the sailor had previously told around the campfire— and Twilight blushed as he gave the sailor a small, hand-knitted pair of mittens for cold weather (“just until we can get ya’ some proper winter clothes”). Time, Four, and Warriors had all worked together to find their present, offering a complicated navigation device that Drifter had seen a few times used by sailors in their own world. Wild had baked the cake, so he was seemingly exempt, but he dropped a small bag of homemade candies into the sailor’s hand regardless. 

Hyrule’s turn. 

The traveler fidgeted as he walked over to where Wind was seated on the couch and held out the little wood box. The sailor took it with a curious glint in his eye, and the healer shuffled on his feet as Wind opened it and gasped. 

“It’s a hag stone.” Hyrule rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “It helps to find hidden fairies if you look through the hole. Legend helped me find it.”

”Oh shush and take the credit, I already gave him my gift,” Legend’s smile was fond, “this was all your idea.” 

Wind held the little ovular stone up to his eye, closing the other one and peering through the little eroded hole. Upon looking at the healer, he gave a small double-take, but recovered quickly with a fond smile. “Thanks ‘Rulie, I love it.”

Blushing, the traveler rushed back to his seat and pulled a blanket round his shoulders to hide. 

All eyes turned to Drifter. 

Okay. [I didn’t wrap it, sorry.] This was fine. [Sky and Four helped me get the pieces,] They could do this. [and I can teach you how to use it once we’re out of town if you want, but I might need to make some adjustments since the blueprint I had was really old and—] They winced. Just rip off the bandage already. [Just. Here.] They reached into the pocket of their skirt and pulled out the flintlock, averting their eyes as they held it out with the barrel pointed downwards. Their cheeks burned, and they were sure that the blue skin around their eyes was a few shades darker than usual. 

A gasp, but not from Wind. Warriors and Time had paled for some reason.

Gentle, reverent hands shook as the sailor took the firearm from Drifter. [Don’t look straight down the barrel,] They warned, [That’s how you get dead.] 

“Duly noted,” Wind’s voice was smaller than usual, his eyes wide. Did he not like it? Did they do something wrong? “Drifter, did you make this?”

They nodded; their heartbeat thundered in their ears. [Guns are a hobby of mine. Four and Sky helped.] 

“Again,” Legend snarked, “take the fucking credit, Din’s tits it’s like you two are allergic to compliments.” 

Drifter didn’t dignify that with a response, their eyes glued to Wind, who inspected the gun with some sort of awe. Fidgeting in their seat, they snapped their fingers for attention. Some context was needed. [Back in my world, in order to get to the Land of Light, I had to buy passage on a pirate’s vessel.] Wind’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock; Drifter very rarely talked about their life. [During the trip, one of the swabbies, an otter-folk, came of age. I was aboard for the celebration, and I learned that in North-Sea-pirate culture, you receive your first real weapon as a coming-of-age present to signify your official joining of the crew.] They looked away, sheepish. [Usually it’s a sword, but seeing as you already have one of those, I figured this was the next best thing.]

”Drifter,” Wind’s voice was choked as he set the gun lightly down on the couch cushion beside him; they’d definitely done something wrong. They didn’t know how to fix this. “Drifter this is amazing!” The sailor sobbed, lunging forwards to wrap his arms around their torso. 

They froze. What. 

Wind’s arms squeezed tighter, and slowly, Drifter brought their hands up to reciprocate. Their arms snaked around the sailor’s back, nervous to apply too much pressure.

They hadn’t been hugged in a long time. Not even Guardian had held them like this.

It was nice.

After a few minutes of this (resolutely ignoring both the sappy gazes of the others and the clicks of Wild’s slate-camera), Wind pulled back, sniffling. “Thank you for the gun,” He gave a watery smile, but his eyes betrayed mischief. “I definitely want you to teach me how to shoot it later.” 

They nodded, shell shocked, body still tingling from the hug. [Later.]

And the world moved on. 

More cake was passed out. Mittens were tried on. Instruments were played; bad karaoke was sung. Drifter stayed on the peripheral, sitting on the floor against the wall, utterly drained. Their muscles ached from both the illness and the week spent bent over a desk filling tiny metal capsules with gunpowder. The past few hours of anxiety were catching up to them. They needed to go to bed, but the others were still celebrating and they didn’t know how to leave. 

Their ears flicked as someone sat to their left. “Phew!” The birthday boy himself sighed heavily as he watched Warriors struggle against Time in a karaoke battle. “I’m beat. This is awesome, but exhausting, you know?” 

Drifter looked up, sure their eyes conveyed their tiredness. They did know. 

“Yeah, me too.” Wind chuckled, as Legend dragged Hyrule into the fray for the next song, while Sky and Four played accompaniment with the harp and ocarina. “Hey,” the sailor continued, “I was wondering if you’d be willing to share the rest of that pirate story. I’m sure there was some hijinx on the high seas while you were there, us pirates tend to attract that kind of stuff.” He paused, cringing. “Only if you want to, though. I don’t want to pry.” 

Huffing a laugh and wincing as it grated on their throat, Drifter pulled up the touchpad. Their time with the pirates was far from the worst of their life; they didn’t mind talking about it, even if it wasn’t super exciting. [Not much happened, really. The swabbie came of age and the ship docked for a few days to resupply,] and do some other things, [then went on its way again towards the Land of Light. Though…] They paused, a memory striking. They always forgot about this next part; it wasn't something they were super proud of. [I did end up staging a mutiny near the end of the trip.] They winced at Wind’s gaping face. Not their finest moment. [In my defense, the captain called me a slur.] 

A choked laugh. “The only reasonable response, really.” The sailor elbowed their arm with a wry grin. “Still though, ‘not much happened’ my ass.” 

They snorted, stifling a cough in their fist. They really needed to go to bed. 

“Hey,” Wind’s face was sincere. “Thanks for the gift, really. It’s super cool.”

They blushed. [It was nothing.] 

The sharp stabbing in their back said otherwise, but they weren’t about to admit that.

Wind hummed, disbelieving. “Sure.” He glanced back towards the group, then back at Drifter’s drooping eyelids, a pensive look on his face. “Say, if you need to head back to your room for the night, you can totally do that. I’ll even cover for you, and no one argues with the birthday boy.” 

[Are you sure?] They asked, though they couldn’t quite keep the hopeful look from their eyes. 

Wind nodded. “Positive. Go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.” He wrapped his arm around their shoulders again briefly, sending warm tingles down their spine, before hopping to his feet and running back into the fray. 

Drifter blinked, then smiled and staggered to a standing position. Wind had given them an out, and they weren’t one to turn that offer down while it still stood. 

The door softly clicked closed behind them. 

***

When Drifter jolted awake the next morning, hands scrabbling at their stomach where Judgement had wrenched them in two, they knew it was going to be a bad day. Their throat hurt. Their head pounded. Their limbs felt like lead and sent stabbing pains up their spine with every movement. Their vision swam as they sat up in bed, and they swayed. 

Groaning, Drifter turned their head towards the wall and coughed wetly into their mask. 

Today was going to be terrible. 

Someone shifted from across the room, alerted by their noise. They flickered their eyes over, but didn’t dare move their head. Sky. “Drifter? You okay?” 

No. 

A beat of silence. Sky shifted again; a blanket fell to the floor. The Companion Sprite beeped. 

They should probably respond. 

Their hands jerked upon the keys of the touchpad. [Hurtsd.] A finger twitched involuntarily, hitting the wrong key. They didn’t care enough to delete it. [Bad dqy.]

Sky hummed, “Bad day, huh.” They’d just said that. The foot of their bed dipped as the skyloftian sat upon it and Drifter’s head jerked up to meet his gaze, then immediately flinched at the invoked agony. “I get that. Is there something that helps? I can get things for you if you want, and I’ll tell the others to postpone the Hyrule thing.”

Right, today was supposed to be Hyrule’s turn for a birthday celebration. 

[no] They shook their head, and their vision swam. [dont kniw when portl. Ill be fine.] They coughed into their mask, wetness on their lips. [Cant help set up, but cqn distract?] They’d be functionally useless to the preparation efforts, but if this situation was good for anything, it was an excuse for Hyrule to stay out of everyone else’s way. 

Drifter might have their own misgivings for how the healer treated them like glass most of the time, but they weren’t above using that tendency for their own purposes. They could deal with an overbearing healer for a few hours for the greater good. Plus, their aching muscles could probably use a bit of fretting over. 

Sky hummed, clearly not happy, but acquiesced. “Okay, that would work, only if you’re sure though.” They didn’t dare nod, so they grabbed his wrist and squeezed.  “I’ll go get him then, is there anything you’d like me to grab while I’m out?” 

Something caught in their throat, but they swallowed it. It tasted like iron. 

[Brkfst. Smthn with meat.] They weren’t hungry, but they were about to lose a lot of blood today. Probably incredibly soon, in fact. Best to get ahead of the iron-deficiency. [Soft.]

“Got it.” He left. 

Drifter’s breath bubbled in their chest as they slowly, agonizingly, laid themself back onto the bed. It wasn’t often that the muscle pains hit like this, but whenever it did they were always forced to camp wherever they were until it passed lest the symptoms get worse for longer. Once, they hadn’t been safe enough to stop, and the only reason they made it out of the East that day was due to adrenaline and the warp system. Guardian had found them vomiting on his front doorstep, and they hadn’t been able to leave the house for a week. 

It was best to just sit, rest, and wait it out. Even if it drove them absolutely batty.

With any luck, the symptoms would lessen as they day progressed. They did that sometimes, but Drifter didn’t dare get their hopes up.

Black eyes squeezed tightly shut. Maybe they should have asked Sky to turn the lights off. 

Their tail twitched painfully. They should really unwrap it until this passed. 

Glancing at the still empty doorway, they tugged the blankets up with a grating grunt and slowly unwound the appendage from around their waist. It lay limp against the mattress, still out of sight thankfully, but it was no longer actively hurting to sit on so they called it a win. The little tuft of white hair at the end tickled their calves. 

Wincing, Drifter cleared their throat (a line of pink ran down their chin) and reached up to pull down their mask. They were going to be coughing a lot today, and it wouldn’t do to stain the fabric too badly. Their orange cloak was gone; they’d thrown it at the foot of their bed last night, but it seemed to be missing now. Anxiety pinched their aching chest tighter at the thought of having their face bare, but they squashed it down. It was just Hyrule; he already knew they were Blu. 

A knock at the doorframe. Speak of Judgement, and it shall appear. “Drifter?” Hyrule held a bowl of something steaming. He blinked at their exposed mouth, but didn’t comment. “Sky said you weren’t doing too well, so Wild reheated some of that beef soup you liked from a few days ago.”

That sounded nice actually. Their head jerked upwards in a nod, and they whimpered at the motion. Lesson learned: don’t do that again. 

“Um,” Hyrule stood at their head level now, still holding the bowl. “You’re gonna have to sit up if you’re going to eat this.”

Shit. 

Bracing their arms below them to get it over with, Drifter gritted their teeth and heaved themselves upwards…only to end up heaving for a completely different reason as coughs wracked through their frame. 

“Woah!” A hand steadied them upright as they hacked pink onto the pillow. White hot bolts of agony shot down their spine, and their tail curled instinctively around their leg under the blankets, tingling. They whimpered softly, and Hyrule gave a sharp inhale at the rare noise. “You could have waited a minute for me to put the bowl down and help, you know.” 

After making sure Drifter wasn’t about to keel over again, Hyrule set the bowl in their lap and they arched and nearly screeched at the sudden overstimulation. They didn’t, though a strangled whine and a glob of blood escaped their lips instead.

Had this been any other day, that bowl would have been pleasantly warm, but as it was, it felt like lava through the blanket. The healer quickly pulled it away again, frowning, and Drifter squeezed their eyes shut, waiting for the tingles to fade.

The touchpad reappeared, and their fingers jerked. [Too hogt.]

“Okay, Okay. Too hot. Got it.” Hyrule grabbed a pillow from a different bed and put it on their lap, before setting the bowl on top. It no longer felt like magma. “That better?” 

They really didn’t want to nod again. Instead, they grabbed the healer’s wrist with shaky fingers and squeezed like they had done earlier with Sky. 

Opening their eyes and gazing down at the innocent bowl of red soup, their heart clenched in dread. Now they just had to eat it. 

This was shaping up to be a Bad Day with capitol letters, as opposed to just the regular sort. 

They hadn’t had one of those in a while. 

[I dint think I csn et this.] Their ears burned. [My fingrrs wont cooperagtr] Their grammar was getting worse the more their hands spasmed. Definitely unable to hold a spoon.

“That’s okay, I can feed you.” Hyrule’s tone left no room for argument as he pulled the bowl into his own lap and picked up a spoonful. Drifter’s ego cringed, but something told them arguing with Hyrule on this point would be a waste of precious energy. 

Plus, they really needed the food. 

The first spoonful raised up to their lips, and Drifter swallowed more than just their pride. 

***

The rest of the day passed in much the same fashion, with Hyrule making idle chatter, wiping blood off Drifter’s face, and ordering them around as they lay immobilized. He’d insisted they stop typing by the end of the second hour —“It clearly hurts you, and I can’t read it anyways the spelling is so bad.”— so their conversation was decidedly one-sided. 

By the third hour, they could adjust positions without feeling like they were being stabbed, so they curled their tail back up under their skirt while the healer helped them out of bed to sit on a nearby chair instead. They’d coughed up a few ounces of blood afterwards, but it was worth it to be off of that mattress. 

The fourth hour passed, and so did the dizziness. They could reliably nod and shake their head now, so conversation got a little more participatory. 

By the time the fifth hour had finally rolled around, Drifter was itching under Hyrule’s scrutinizing gaze. When Legend had warned them not to cross the healer, he was not kidding. 

Six hours. Drifter had to purposefully induce a coughing fit to keep Hyrule in the room. 

Seven. The only things left were weakness and the occasional cough. Hyrule was still fretting.

…

Surely they were done setting up by now? 

Finally, at the eight hour mark, Legend came up to fetch them for dinner. “Come on, it’s probably good for Drifter to move around a bit anyways. Loosen up.” His fingers were covered in small bandages that hadn’t been there last night, though Drifter couldn’t imagine what had caused the injuries. “Come on, I’ll even help.” 

Pulling their mask up for the first time since that morning, Drifter set an arm around Hyrule and Legend’s shoulders and let the two drag them upwards from either side. Their legs shook, but stayed sturdy. The ghosts of earlier pain wafted up their spine, but no new agony sparked itself, so they took a step. Then another.

”Wild took dinner into the other room,” Legend’s eyes stayed fixed ahead, slouching a bit so Drifter could lean on him. “So you don’t have to try going downstairs.”

They winced. That was probably for the best. 

Getting out the door and down the hall to the other rented room was…an adventure. They made it eventually, even if Drifter’s face burned with shame by the end of it. 

They knew this was inevitable, they knew they couldn’t do anything about it, but being this visibly and obviously weak still sucked. Badly. 

Hyrule reached out to open the door with the arm that wasn’t supporting Drifter, and the inside was dark. Remembering the night before, Drifter pinned their ears back, but there was no yelling as they stepped inside. Odd, Drifter had thought that was a requirement for Hyrulean Birthdays.

Legend lit the lantern mounted on the wall with the arm not holding up their weight, revealing everybody sitting around the small inn table. There was a plate of sweet buns and leftover cake at the center, surrounded by boxes of carefully wrapped gifts. Much more than yesterday, curiously. 

“Well don’t just sit around like melted chuchus,” the veteran shifted Drifter’s arm, “Come help us sit them down already!” 

Their legs shook without their permission or consent. Sitting sounded nice. 

Four stood up and helped lower Drifter to the couch, but they waved everyone else off before the hovering could start. They’d reached their quota for well-meaning fretting hours ago; their patience was far past shot. 

Their hands had stopped shaking, so they pulled up the touchpad. The Companion Sprite beeped, floating dutifully at their side. [So. Dinner?] 

Wild had really outdone himself. Again. 

Everyone had a different dish, supposedly their favorite, and Wild smiled sheepishly as he approached Drifter with some sort of meat-and-spinach-stuffed peppers. “I didn’t know your favorite, but I made something simple with a lot of iron since you had a bad day.” 

[Thank you,] they smiled, taking the plate and setting it on their lap (it didn’t feel like lava). [I don’t have a favorite food to my knowledge, so feel free to try and find one for me.] 

Wild grinned, eyes sparkling at the offered challenge. “I will.” 

Drifter hesitated a moment, before pulling their mask down. No one commented. Emboldened, they folded the pepper and took a bite, dripping filling onto the plate and pointedly ignoring Hyrule’s occasional glancing looks. They could eat on their own now, thank you. 

The room devolved into the normal dinnertime chatter for a while, until Wind slapped his hand on the table to grab everyone’s attention. “So are we gonna do this or what?” He spoke between mouthfuls of crab and tomato soup, waving his spoon for emphasis. “Because last I checked, two people here still haven’t had a birthday of their own yet, and I spent a lot of thought on my gifts!” 

Wait. 

Two people?

“Two?” Hyrule’s face probably matched their own. “I thought we were just doing one for Drifter!” 

What? They coughed into their pepper, needing to set it down before they choked. [I thought it was for Hyrule!]

Legend broke out into guffaws, sending bits of braised pork into a disgusted Warriors scarf, who shoved him away. Twilight’s smile was sheepish, and he held his hands out in a tah dah motion. “Surprise?”

Both shocked, Drifter and Hyrule shared a wide-eyed look.

“We were worried about you this morning, Drifter,” Sky’s face matched Twilights, and he wrung his sailcloth nervously. “If you’d been too sick, we would’ve rescheduled the whole thing.” 

They didn’t have to do this at all, but they really wouldn’t have had to do that. 

Something must have shown on their uncovered face, since Time hummed from his plate of fried cuccoo. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re glad that wasn’t necessary.” 

Wild nodded frantically, mouth full of roasted mushrooms. 

“Well we’re here now,” Warriors shifted further from Legend, who was now obnoxiously chewing in the captain’s full view. “So I say we get started: I’m rather excited for my gifts.” 

[Hyrule can go first.] Drifter could type faster than the healer could chew, and they ignored the dirty look shot their way in response. 

They weren’t about to open presents when their mask was still down, with their emotions in full view. Until now, very few people had ever seen their face uncovered, and none of them were still living. 

Blinking back to the present before their thoughts got too dark, Drifter watched as Wild collected dishes while Legend and Wind meticulously separated the presents on the table into two piles before pushing one of them towards Hyrule. “Go for it,” The veteran grinned.

Handing the half-empty plate of honeyed fruits over to Wild for storage, Hyrule hesitated before grabbing the closest gift: a blue wrapped rectangle that Wind quickly claimed as his. The sailor had gotten Hyrule a hand-bound book with a brown cover and sea-green pages. “It’s a notebook! I made it with traditional Great Sea seaweed binding! We don’t have a lot of trees on Outset, so we make all our paper from kelp like that!” A small slip of the same green paper fluttered from between the pages. “And that’s an IOU for swimming lessons,” The sailor’s grin was sharp, “no friend of mine can’t hold their own in the water; you have no choice in this.” 

Twilight got Hyrule a pair of warm, hand-knitted socks from the same yellow yarn as Wind’s mittens, and Legend left the room for a second to retrieve a new pair of leather traveling boots “enchanted to last.” Warriors offered a small bag of what looked to Drifter like glitter, but was explained to be fairy food, and Wild added another bag of honey candies to the mix. Sky and Four both gave bags of little tokens, but Sky’s were wooden and carved with strange symbols (“runes,” Hyrule had clarified) while Four’s were little colored rocks all broken in half (“Kinstones, each one with a match. Your world could use a bit of minish magic, I think”). 

Soon enough, only one gift remained on the table: a bundle of nine, small, burlap, drawstring pouches all tied together with a blue ribbon. Time smirked. 

Untying the ribbon with a tentative expression, Hyrule pulled one of the bags open and gasped. “Seeds!” With frantic hands, he pulled open the others, his wild grin growing with every one. “Wildflower seeds!” 

“I’ve been collecting them in every era we’ve been to.” Time’s voice rumbled in satisfaction. “It should be more than enough to jumpstart a garden, or even a field, and the flowers should multiply by themselves given time.” 

“This is amazing, Time, thank you.” Hyrule gave Time a grateful look, but then his smile fell. “But flowers need water to grow, and in my world it’s mostly poison.” 

Well.

If that wasn’t a convenient segway…

Smiling, Drifter cleared their throat, suppressed a cough, and reached into one of their skirt pockets to pull out their own gift. [Not for long it’s not.] 

A stunned silence; Drifter’s face heated and their ears drooped slightly beneath the helmet as they dropped the little bag into Hyrule’s lap, suddenly sheepish. [They’re water purification tablets from the East. The otter-folk have to deal with a lot of contaminants from the submerged Titan’s corpse, so they developed these to make it safe.] They ducked their head, [Each one can purify up to fifty gallons, and can neutralize just about anything. I usually just break a piece off whenever I need it instead of using the whole thing.] 

Stunned, Hyrule opened the bag to inspect the tablets, pulling out the accompanying folded piece of paper with a confused look. [That’s the recipe.] They winced, rubbing the back of their neck. [It took forever to write, since I still can’t read the language.] It might’ve also been one of the reasons their hands hurt so bad earlier, but they weren’t about to tell Hyrule that. [Sorry if the handwriting’s not the greatest.] 

“Drifter…Time…” Hyrule’s eyes were filled with tears, and Legend moved over to wrap him in a hug as he dropped the recipe to his lap and broke. “Thank you so much.”

That…wasn’t the reaction they were going for, exactly, but it worked. Awkward, they patted the healer on the back as he sniffled. 

“My turn.” Hyrule’s voice was wet but determined as he held the drawstring bags to his chest. 

Drifter’s face burned even hotter. They’d forgotten this was for them, too. 

Surprisingly, Hyrule reached up to pluck the Companion Sprite from the air, fiddling around with the antenna on top. Drifter, confused, kept a close eye on what he was doing, just in case something broke. “Wild?” Hyrule sheepishly asked after the Sprite beeped unhappily at his meddling, “Can you help me again? I don’t know how this works.” 

Laughing, Wild reached out to take the beeping robot, and surprisingly managed to open the internal log where Drifter kept all the digital records of their travels. The champion selected a file that they had never seen before, and allowed the little robot to hover once more. 

Information projected across the floating screen, and at Hyrule’s eager prompting, Drifter gave it a look. Their jaw dropped. 

It was a scan. 

Multiple scans, in fact, of faded parchment covered in Hyrule’s scrawling handwriting and intricate ink drawings. 

The companion Sprite’s internal translation allowed for Drifter to read what’d been written, and their eyes widened as they took in a gold mine for the Hyrulean forager. Plants. Animals. Footprints. Flowers. Diagrams. What is and is not edible. Which parts make for what medicines and which parts make for poison. The effects of all those medicines and poisons. 

It was amazing. 

Drifter’s wide black eyes met Hyrule’s; the healer’s face was beet red. “You mentioned that drifters in your world compile knowledge, so I figured you would like my notes. Plus, if one of these portals ever separates you from us, this should help you find food until we can meet up again.” He wrung his hands, “Sorry for stealing your Sprite, but I only have the one book and I didn’t think you’d be able to read it otherwise.” He winced, sheepish, “Wind helped me snatch it before you went to bed last night, and Wild helped me scan everything since I’m kind of useless with technology.” 

How hadn’t they noticed?

“And that’s not the only thing I stole last night!” Wind chirped, and Drifter’s eyes snapped towards him. There was more? “Legend,” The sailor’s face was smug against the veteran’s scowl, “why don’t you go next!”

“Fuckin’ snitch,” Legend grunted as he got to his feet and headed towards the room’s small closet, smacking Wind on the back of his head as he passed. He opened the door partway and leaned in, hiding what he was doing from Drifter’s view. When he pulled back, they didn’t have any time to see what he’d grabbed before something soft smacked them straight in the face. 

Four cackled from the other side of the room as Drifter struggled against the entrapping fabric, throwing it from their head and to the floor and shooting Legend a glare. The veteran only grinned triumphantly and returned to his seat. 

They looked down at the crumpled heap of projectile to see—Oh.

So that’s where that went. 

A smirk broke across their face, and Legend looked away with a blush. “Oh shut up.” 

Their cloak. 

Their clean, repaired cloak. 

Bending down (ignoring the protests of their spine), Drifter pulled the sentimental fabric into their lap. All the hastily patched tears were gone over, reinforced. Stubborn stains had been lifted. An extra hem was added to the ends to prevent fraying, and any already frayed edges were sewn up and like-new. They ran their hands down the length; it was softer than they ever remembered it being. 

Tears jumped to the corners of their eyes unbidden.

A drifter’s life was their cloak. It was a symbol of both the profession, and the drifter’s survival. Each cloak was different, with different holobytes sewn into the fabric for different purposes. Drifter’s own was enhanced for speed, temperature-control, stain-resistance, self-repair, and protection. 

Every cloak had the name of a town sewn into a patch at the back of the neck. Every drifter knew that, should they find another drifter’s corpse in the wilderness, it was their duty to take the cloak, travel to that town, and find next of kin to deliver it to as proof of death. Drifter themself had done that for many a fallen stranger. They had even delivered Guardian’s cloak back to Central (despite their emotionally compromised state) after his passing, though the townspeople hadn’t taken too kindly to it having not known the significance of the act. Having no hometown to speak of, the back of Drifter’s own cloak remained bare. 

They swallowed thickly, rubbing a thumb over a small border of embroidery along the bottom hem of the fabric: a looping pattern of almost invisible golden thread matching the embroidery that everyone else in the chain wore proudly. 

To a drifter, the cloak was sacred, and as Drifter’s hands ran down the fabric, they knew Legend had treated it as such. 

“I spent all day on that thing, you know.” Legend held up a bandaged hand, “poked myself way too many times in the rush, but I got it done.”

Slowly, reverently, they stood up from the chair —swaying slightly— and swung the cloak around their shoulders. They sat back down and clasped it beneath their capelet. Their hands shook on the keyboard, but not from pain. [Thank you.] 

“You’re welcome.” Legend shrunk back in his chair, embarrassed. “Now someone else go. Anyone.” 

“What?” Warriors snatched an immaculately blue-wrapped gift from the table, and plopped it into Drifter’s lap, “Scared of having an emotion other than angst, veteran?” 

Drifter tuned out the veteran’s response in favor of picking at the wrapping paper. A small box unveiled itself, filled with little rectangular bags. Hyrule perked up next to them. “Smells like peppermint.” 

Intrigued, they pulled out a bag. It had a string attached to it. 

“It’s peppermint tea, mixed with a little bit of fairy dust.” Warriors’ face was smug. “It’s for throat pain and inflammation.” 

Huh, they’d never had tea before.

“Here,” Wild interrupted, tossing them another bag from the table. “That ties pretty nicely into my gift.” Something clicked together as they caught it, and they opened the little bag to see it full of little yellow sweets. “They’re my special honey candies, but I added ginger to this batch to help with throat pain as well.” The champion smiled, “Just let me know when you run out and I’ll make more.” 

Nodding thankfully, they popped one in their mouth. The taste of sweet honey with a slightly spicy ginger aftertaste bloomed upon their tongue, and they hummed appreciatively. Surprisingly, their throat didn’t hurt as much as usual from the noise. They hummed again, testing, then reached out and squeezed Wild’s wrist in thanks. 

With the tea and the candies combined, they might get a few hours of relief, maybe even be able to talk for a minute or so. 

Wouldn’t that be something…

This was starting to get overwhelming. They didn’t know what to do with these kind gestures.

“My turn!” Wind bounded over, shoving past Sky in his haste to deposit a small jar on Drifter’s lap. It had a screw-on lid, and was filled with some sort of off-white, almost teal-ish cream. There was a label on the jar, but they couldn’t read it. “It’s a special cream I made from chuchu jelly and aloe vera for my grandma’s muscle pain! I figured it could probably help here, too.” 

They raised an eyebrow. That would have been incredibly helpful about eight hours ago.

Wincing, Wind had the self-awareness to look cowed. “Yeah, look, I really was going to give it to you early, but I got a bit distracted. Blame Legend.”

”Excuse me? I will take no blame you—“

“Do you want to put some of it on?” Sky interrupted, leaning forward in his chair. “I can help if you’d like.” 

Tempting, but no. Their heart was still pumping from their decision to go maskless; they were nowhere near ready to shed any more layers today. They’ll apply some of it later, away from curious eyes. 

Plus, if they tried it on and it worked, then Drifter didn’t think they’d be able to stop themself from crying.

“Okay, then here’s mine next. It’s not as thought out as the others, but I hope you like it.” The skyloftian handed over a small, poorly wrapped present with green paper and a crooked bow. 

The paper fell away easily, revealing a carved wooden figurine just big enough to sit comfortably in Drifter’s palm. It had a little helmet and cloak and—Wait a second. 

Eyes narrowing, they pulled it closer to their face for inspection. 

That was them! 

That was their cloak, capelet, sword, and helmet, carved painstakingly from walnut. It stood with its cloak pulled tight around it, the sword held blade-down in front.

Sky laughed at their amazed expression. “I take it you like it, then.” 

Setting it down on the table —it stood— they grinned and nodded. They poked it. It wobbled, but kept upright. This was so cool! 

They’d never had a trinket before!

“Yeah yeah,” Twilight’s tone was teasing, but his face held only glee. In his arms, a bundle of knitted yellow fabric. “We all know Sky’s amazing, but he’s not the only one with a hobby ‘round these parts!” He tossed the bundle across the table into Drifter’s lap, having the kindness not to aim for the face like Legend had. Small mercies, though the little wooden drifter did fall over when the edge of the garment clipped it.

Sad. 

Moving on, their fingers sunk between the stitches of the chunky yellow…thing. It was long. And soft. Frowning slightly, they worked at unwinding the long strip of knitted fabric until the full yellow scarf was revealed. It was thick, just about as long as Warriors’ own scarf, and would work wonders keeping them warm in the North when even their thick fur proved inadequate protection. They would have to figure out how to carry it around, but it would definitely come in handy. 

“I made it extra wide so you can wear it as a mask if your capelet ever gets dirty.” Twilight smirked smugly, and Drifter blinked, surprised. That was unexpectedly thoughtful. “And that’s not all!” The rancher pulled a much smaller yellow thing from his pocket. “I got this too!” 

It was a hat. A tiny hat, much too small for Drifter’s hand, let alone their head. It had a little hole at the top, hidden behind an orange puffball.  

The Companion Sprite beeped, and Twilight’s grin turned predatory. 

Oh. 

Slowly, Drifter’s smile grew to match. 

Oh.

A few seconds —and a room-wide frantic scuffle— later, the Sprite hovered around the room with a new accessory, antennae threaded through the hole and hidden by the puffball. Everyone gathered closely around it, cooing, and Drifter leaned back into the couch. It was cute, for sure. They’ll probably keep it on for a while. 

A heavy hand settled on their shoulder amidst the distraction of the rest of the group, and they looked up to see Time smirking with an envelope in his hand. “Don’t open it until you’re alone, then burn it afterwards. Tell no one.” He whispered, and Drifter tucked it into their cloak with a nod. It must be serious, if Time needed it destroyed so badly, and they were honored he was trusting them with it as opposed to literally anyone else. 

Four broke away from the rest of the group, still cooing and poking at the frantically beeping Sprite, and swiped the last gift from the table. It was another jar with a little cloth tied around it, this one short and squat with a silver screw-on lid. It had a label but, again, Drifter couldn’t read it. “Here,” The smithy sat next to them, passing the jar. Their eyes were a kaleidoscope of colors, ever shifting. “I-we-“ They cleared their throat, blushing. “I tried to find something that would work on both your armor and your guns. I think I succeeded, but considering guns don’t exist here I couldn’t test it out.” Intrigued, they unscrewed the lid, revealing a thick grey paste. “It’s metal polish.”

They hadn’t used polish on their armor in…ever, really. Let alone on their guns.

Wearing a fond smile, they screwed the lid back on and retrieved the beeping Sprite from Sky’s affectionate arms. Its hat had been knocked askew, and they straightened it before typing. [You will have to teach me how to apply it later;] They rubbed the back of their neck sheepishly. [I have never used polish before.] 

“Never?” Four gaped at them, eyes crimson. “How? Your helmet is so shiny!”

They shrugged, and Legend burst out laughing. “Not everyone is as anal about armor maintenance as you, smithy.” 

“Maybe not, but I at least thought—“ 

The room broke out into chatter, lighthearted arguments sparking amidst brothers, and Drifter allowed themself to sink back into the couch with a sigh. Their finger rubbed back and forth on the yellow yarn of Twilight’s scarf, and their newly-embroidered cloak provided comforting pressure on their shoulders. This had been nice. Incredibly unexpected, but nice. 

Maybe it wasn’t such a Bad Day after all.

Four slapped the table in faux outrage, and knocked the little drifter to the floor; Wind bent down to retrieve it. The sailor sat down beside them, placing the wooden figurine into their lap with all the other presents. “Happy birthday, Drifter.” His voice was quiet and sincere. 

The sprite had been captured by Hyrule, who fiddled with its hat affectionately, so they squeezed the sailor’s hand. Thank you. They hoped their point communicated. 

At the sailor’s smile, they thought it did.

***

Much later, Drifter was the first to retire for the night, the residual aching in their bones making itself known once more. Moonlight shone in through the open curtains as they hobbled back to the bed, sitting upon it with a sharp exhale. As they removed their cloak, a slightly crumpled envelope fluttered to the floor. 

Their eyes widened. Time’s message. 

Suddenly incredibly curious, Drifter bent down to pick it up, using their claws to break the red wax seal with an emblazoned cow on it. 

A single piece of paper. 

Two symbols written upon it.

“32”

***

They fucking knew it.

Chapter Text

***Sky***

Sky had a weird relationship with dreaming. Most of the time, it was normal. Harmless. Weird manifestations of imagination coupled with the day’s events and whatever he’d had for dinner. He never remembered them in the mornings, but that too was normal. Expected. Welcomed, even. There were the occasional nightmares, of course (that came with the territory of being a hero), but even those were par for the course.

Sometimes, though, the dreams were more vivid. More real. More magical. Sometimes they showed him past events he’d never been present for. Those were informative, sometimes unnerving, but usually unremarkable. Sometimes he witnessed things happening concurrent to when he slept, just on opposite ends of the continent. Those made him uncomfortable at the breach of privacy, but were overall useful. Sometimes, he saw things that hadn’t happened yet, that might never come to pass but were well on their way to occurring.

Those terrified him. 

And the worst part? Sky never knew what kind of dreams they were —past, present, or future— until things were far too late. 

***

Sky opened his eyes to a barren, red landscape. 

Crimson water lapped at his ankles and stained the sailcloth wherever the fabric touched. The floor was unnaturally smooth, covered by the red liquid too thin to be solely blood. 

He looked around, confused. He’d never been here before. 

In the distance, crumbling monoliths rose from carmine fog, reaching into the cloudless, fuschia sky. A massive being with four glowing eyes, akin to the body upon the mountain in Drifter’s world, lumbered ominously across the horizon. 

He blinked, and there were corpses. 

Mountains of corpses, none of them Hylian. Some had dog-like faces, some were more frog-adjacent. Sky spotted otters, crows and vultures in the pile and had to hold back a gasp as his eyes met the empty gaze of a blue-skinned person with a soldier's helmet. Pink swirled into the red of the water. Whoever these people were, they had the same disease as Drifter. 

He took a step back, horrified. 

His foot stumbled over a pink, horned helmet and he fell into the water with a splash. 

The floor vanished beneath him, and Sky sank into the red.

***

Sky opened his eyes to a pathway lined with trees. 

Pink leaves drifted down onto the mossy cobbled road, and blue crystals sprouted from the earth at random intervals. Two massive, snarling, cat-like statues carved from crystal framed the end of the pathway, sending dread unbidden through his heart. Leaves crunched under footsteps, and Sky’s sailcloth fluttered in the breeze as he turned to the newcomer. 

It was Drifter, breathing hard and discarding a spent injection to the side. They leaned against a tree for a moment, coughing blood into their mask. 

Sky ran to their aid, but his hands passed through his friend like a ghost. After a moment, Drifter steeled themself and moved forward. With no other options, he followed. 

They both paused at the threshold of the statues, peering into the clearing up ahead. The circle of tamped down earth was completely surrounded in massive crystal growths, and—

Sky gasped, there were people in there.

One per crystal. The smaller ones immediately surrounding the clearing held raccoon-like soldiers, each carrying either a gun or a deactivated sword, frozen in silent vigil as if waiting to be called back to life. These crystals, and the people within, remained unscathed. 

As the crystalline prisons went further back, more hidden from view and more damaged, they were inhabited by the same blue-skinned species that Drifter was a part of. Each of these crystal prisons had a hole punched straight through the heart of its inhabitant. 

“Hmm.” A raspy, grating voice drew Sky’s attention to the center of the clearing, where a large, hulking raccoon person with a long beard and a crown stood hunched over. Crystals sprouted from his back and arm, ripping through the fabric of his armor, but they didn’t seem to impede any movement as the man straightened and met Drifter’s gaze with nothing but pure contempt. “Another blue-skin has come back to the forest.” 

Drifter stiffened at the term, their grip tightening on the handle of their sword. Sky’s own hand hovered at his hip, but the Master Sword was missing.

“Come to finish the job, have you?” The adversary straightened, crystals broke and sloughed off at the movement. His tone was hateful and taunting. “Or do you seek the pillar that marked your people’s defeat?”

Drifter said nothing, but drew their weapon with a flourish. 

The man snarled. An orange saber sprouted from the crystals of his arm. “I will gut you just like the rest of your pathetic kind!”

With that, he leapt into the air and Drifter’s form blurred into streaks of red. Sky couldn’t move fast enough to dodge. 

***

Sky opened his eyes to a crumbling world. 

Rocks fell around him as he ran. Bloody pink footsteps continued onwards beyond his view. 

A black dog blocked his path, and his vision faded. 

***

Sky opened his eyes to a black void.

There was nothing in sight. 

Then, there was Drifter. They were barely standing, hands on their knees and blood dripping from between blue lips.

Concerned for his friend, Sky approached. His footsteps were the only noise in this place, and Drifter’s head snapped up to meet his gaze. Surprised at being acknowledged but not unhappy about it, he waved. 

They looked horrified. 

“Hey, I’m a bit lost.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m also pretty sure I’m asleep. Do you know how to get out of here?” 

They began to shake, eyes wide with absolute terror. Sky frowned. Were they scared of him? 

They brought up the touchpad to communicate, but their hands shook too much to type anything legible. The puddle of blood on the ground leeched into the black of everything else, sending ominous fuschia streaks through the void. Sky frowned at the sight. That couldn’t be good. 

If it were possible, Drifter’s eyes grew even wider, locking onto something just out of Sky’s sight. 

A dash, a blur, a shove, a screech, and Sky was sent sprawling across the void. 

Startled, he rolled to his feet, disentangling his sailcloth with the benefit of years of practice, and whirled around to see the second most horrifying thing he’d ever seen in his life —right behind Demise himself. 

A writhing mass of black tendrils, humanoid only in the loosest sense of the word. Long arms ending in wicked claws and a cape of pink energy. An eye, pink and diamond shaped with two antler-like protrusions, staring into his soul as if to mock it is useless, I will win. 

This must be Judgement.

And in front of it?

Drifter strung up like a ragdoll, black tendrils wrapping around their neck like a noose. They struggled, flailing their legs and desperately clawing at the magic ropes that crushed their windpipe. 

Sky ran forward, he didn’t have any weapons, but he had to do something. He couldn’t just watch them die. 

That evil eye latched onto him, and though it didn’t have a mouth, it seemed to smile.

An unholy screeching filled the void; something pushed him to the ground. 

The tendrils that held Drifter aloft wrenched them upwards, then down again. 

Sky screamed as their skull split from the impact.

***

Sky’s eyes flew open to a peaceful night at camp. 

He wrenched himself to a sitting position, eyes wild and breathing thick. His lungs couldn’t get enough air as he frantically searched the little clearing for his friend. 

Drifter was nowhere to be found. 

His breathing grew faster. 

“Woah there Sky!” A hand pushed him back from his hunched position, and Sky looked up to meet Four’s eyes. Red like the water full of corpses. “Breathe with me, come on.” The smithy took exaggerated breaths that Sky had no hope of mimicking with his current condition. He tried anyways.

After a few minutes of this, his throat had loosened a little, but panic still gripped his beating heart. “Drifter?” He choked out between gasps, eyes wild. 

The smithy frowned, sitting back on their heels. Their eyes as blue as crystal. “They woke up shortly before you did and dashed into the forest. ” A flicker of purple. Not pink. Not fuschia. “Why?” 

Sky only shook his head. While the others knew of his occasional bouts of prophesy, he had no way of knowing what parts of his dream were prophetic, if any.

He hoped none of it was. 

***

The next day, Drifter avoided him. 

Sky’s heart clenched at the implication. 

Chapter Text

Twilight’s boots hit solid ground sooner than expected. The usual squashing sensation of the portal was lessened, shortened, and sped up. One second, he’d been hand-in-hand with his cub, stepping into the swirling vortex just like many a time before, the next, he was alone. There was no lingering sense of displacement that the gateways normally wrought, no few seconds of sensory deprivation before the world came back to focus. 

He was there, and now he was here, like stepping through a doorway.

That was different.

Twilight didn’t like it. 

The hand that Wild had just been holding felt cold in the cub’s absence. 

He straightened, head on a swivel. The portals had occasionally separated the designated pairs, but only on incredibly rare occasions and it’d never felt like that. There had to be a reason for this new oddity. 

Instincts on high alert, Twilight looked around. There was something off. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, sensing something. 

Something was watching him, but he couldn’t see what.

Nothing but flat plains and swaying grassland, as far as the eye could see. Mostly dead, but still standing up to his stomach. The sky was clear, partly cloudy, and the sun was high overhead. No animals rustled the grass, no birds filled the silence. Nothing around that should be making him feel this way. 

And yet…

There had to be something.

To the north, the jagged peaks of mountains cut into the skyline, tops obscured with clouds. East and west revealed only more grass with the occasional barren tree to break monotony, but smoke rose from chimneys in the southern distance; a town. 

Assuming the others were nearby, that’s where they’d be headed. 

Now he just had to get there before whatever was watching decided to make a move.

***

Twilight felt like he was going crazy. 

Grass rustled from the right for the third time in ten minutes; his head swung towards it, but there was nothing there. No monster sounds met his ears, nor animal ones either. A path through the foliage marked where he’d come from, trampled flat under his boots. No bugs flew up from his footsteps. 

More rustling. 

It was probably nothing. It’d been nothing the last four times he’d checked. 

But what if this time…

Gritting his teeth, he went to investigate once more.

There was nothing there.

***

There was something there. 

There had to be. 

Movement out the corner of his eyes, vanished by the time he looked around. 

Eyes on the back of his head, following his every move, almost disapproving. 

Gritting his teeth, Twilight searched the nearby area for the fifth time in five minutes. Nothing.

The town remained just as far as when he’d started, as if he hadn’t moved at all.

He was getting nowhere. 

***

The wolf was a last resort.

It was vastly inferior in combat against most enemies, low in both durability and offensive power compared to his Hylian form, even if it’s mobility remained unmatched by non-enhanced means. Twilight didn’t often transform unless he had no other, better options. Especially when he didn’t know what he was dealing with. 

But he didn’t know what he was dealing with; that was the problem. 

His Hylian senses weren’t enough. 

His ears could only pick up so much, and his nose was woefully inept compared to the Blue Eyed Beast’s. What use was holding a sword if he didn’t know what to point it at? 

Mind made up, Twilight scowled in frustration as his hand grasped the pendant around his neck and the magic within enveloped him in turn. Four paws hit the dirt, and he raised his wet nose to the wind. 

He would find whoever was stalking him. 

The air smelt of grass, leaves, and the fungus that decayed them. The wind chilled his nose; colder than it should’ve been considering the blazing sun overhead. His sensitive ears flicked, but he heard no more than earlier. 

Still, there was a presence.

Not magic, at least, not any magic that Twilight had encountered before. All-encompassing and oppressive, it almost felt reminiscent of the Light Spirits of his era, though the source’s intentions felt distinctly less benevolent. Not malevolent, but not necessarily on his side, either. The force pulled at him like gravity, back the way he came. 

If Twilight hadn’t already been intimately aware of what a goddess’ presence felt like, he would have considered it such. 

He looked back to the village in the distance, and the very ground at his feet seemed to urge not there, not yet. 

Growling, he took a pointed step away from the mountains. His paw crunched defiantly into the grass.

He was no slave to unknown feelings. 

***

The very air around him grew heavier, the forces of the universe pulling Twilight downwards with every step towards the village. Something didn’t want him going there. 

He grit his teeth. 

Something clearly never had to out-stubborn a goat. 

***

Gravity bore down upon him, but he trudged forward. 

He could do this.

***

It took more and more energy to get his legs to move. The sun seemed dimmer than before.

He could do this.

***

He couldn’t do this.

Twilight’s paws folded unbidden under the crushing weight of the atmosphere, pressing his belly flat to the ground. His claws scrambled for purchase on the grass, but it was as if he lay on ice —like friction itself had abandoned him. 

The world darkened all at once.

It blinked out of existence leaving only his body behind; no light from his surroundings met his eyes. Twilight could still feel the grass brushing against his fur, but couldn’t actually see any of it. He stood in a black void, as far as the eye could see.

His heart quickened.

Whoever this was, they didn’t play fair. 

Growling to mask the fear that had been seeded, his hackles raised as he tried to push himself back to his paws and failed. Failed again. If he didn’t get upright soon, he’d be easy pickings for whatever monster decided to wander his way, considering they weren’t also flattened by the force.

He tried to stand again. Failed. His paws just couldn’t find purchase.

Movement out the corner of his eye.

A dog, short fur black as midnight, emerged from the darkness. No sound emitted from its footsteps.

No sound emitted at all. 

The silence and the darkness were just as oppressive as the presence of the dog; only his own breaths and heartbeat proved he hadn’t gone suddenly deaf. His heart sped up again at the sudden lack of two of his senses.

The dog took a seat in front of him, and the presence that’d crushed him for the better part of twenty minutes ceased all at once. Twilight —paws finally finding purchase— scrambled to his feet, teeth snapping in warning as he jumped into a ready stance. The world stayed black. Stayed silent.

Slowly, it blinked. Unfazed.

Thin body and thinner legs, both alike and completely alien to any canine Twilight had seen before, with ears pointed perfectly, unnaturally straight upwards. It stared at him with an impassive, blank gaze, its pupil-less eyes a bright pink. A diamond halo framed it’s face with light, though none reflected from its fur. It almost blended into the void itself, only the glow of its halo differentiated it.

He got the sense it was displeased with him, though it’s face remained fixed. 

“Who are you?” He growled in the language of beasts and creatures. Wind ruffled his fur as it blew across the void (though no sound marked its passing), but the dog’s coat remained unchanged.

It said nothing. Its tail swished lazily behind it, side to side, barely visible in the darkness of the void.

His ice blue eyes locked onto their pink ones, but he couldn’t stare at it for long. That gaze felt almost unnatural in its emptiness. His eyes watered as he blinked away, but its face remained unchanged. Impassive. Infuriating.

Twilight snarled, patience wearing thin, though that kernel of fear that’d seeded itself in his gut had begun to grow. Clearly it was some sort of deity, though exactly what sphere it ruled over was impossible to tell. He’d never heard of a deity that’d taken the form of a black dog, not even in any of the other Links’ stories. The only divine canines came in the form of hyperbolic references to him in the eras that followed. 

He was, both literally and physically, in the dark about this. 

Could it be from Drifter’s world? No, he dismissed the thought, so far only Drifter had proven themself able to traverse the portals. There was no reason for anything else of their world to be here. 

Its tail continued swaying methodically, the halo around its head pulsed faintly in time with Twilight’s heartbeat. The only light visible in this place. 

“What do you want?” He growled, barring his teeth. He did not trust this strange dog nor its ambiguous intentions, but clearly defying it wasn’t an option. Whatever strange magic it wielded, it would let him go no further.

It blinked, finally. It’s tail came to a stop. 

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

He was fully clueless about its goals, abilities, or what it could possibly need from him, let alone what he could do should it prove itself hostile. After the force he’d just experienced, he didn’t know if he could do anything. 

No light nor sound still met his senses. His ears began to ring in his brain’s desperate attempt to banish the silence, and colorful, imaginary splotches appeared in his vision to fill the void.

Slowly, creepily, the black dog’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side. 

After a second where its blank eyes seemed to search his very soul, it rose to its paws and started leisurely towards him. 

Suddenly, the world came back into focus. Twilight whimpered at the instant overstimulation as light flooded his eyes. Grass and foliage became visible once more, and his claws tore clumps from the dirt as he lunged out of the dog’s way. The soft rustling of the wind sounded like a roaring cacophony compared to the complete silence of a few seconds ago. 

The dog paid no mind to his turmoil, merely continuing onwards down the trampled trail from whence he’d come at a slow, measured pace. 

Overwhelmed, he didn’t move.

When it was halfway down the path and he showed no signs of following, it turned its head to look back at him. Its impassive stance provided nothing of context, but its unnatural blank gaze held a command. 

She wanted him to follow her. 

With no other available options, Twilight did. 

Frustration joined the fear in his gut. 

It felt a little like failure.

Chapter Text

***Warriors***

Warriors was getting rather tired of this wishy-washy, indecisive portal nonsense. This was the sixth one in two days. 

The first one had shown up the day after everyone’s sidequest-spree in Nabooru Town, and they hadn’t been allowed to rest since. Monster camp after monster camp, no sooner had anyone recognized the era before another gateway whisked them all away. Not to mention, the portals had picked up a nasty habit of separating everyone and shuffling them around regardless of the pairs they’d entered with. 

He was sick of it. 

The last era had lasted about four and a half hours according to Time, just enough for the group to reconvene after fighting their way through what Legend called the Eastern Palace. It sucked. 

Give him a good old fashioned battlefield any day, if Warriors ever had to solve another Din-damned rolling boulder puzzle it would be far too soon.

With the erratic schedule of the portals, the group had very little time for sleep or rest these past few days, and the constant fighting was taking a toll. Sky’s arm was still in a sling, since he’d been forced to irritate it again during battle, and Wind sported a newly twisted ankle from the last boulder-puzzle. Everyone had shallow scrapes and bruises that weren’t bad enough to use their limited potions on, but still hurt enough to be annoying. Both Drifter and Sky’s breath had turned to wheezing by the time the portal swept them off and away, Four had a migraine from all the era-jumping, and Legend (and Time too, to a lesser, much quieter extent) complained about stiff joints.

Needless to say, morale was low. 

Warriors’ bloodstained boots met well-worn cobbles, and a sudden wall of overlapping voices —people going about their business— met his ears. They’d appeared in the middle of the street; large crowds simply weaved around the massive swirling gateway as if it wasn’t there. A paper boy yelled above the street noise, advertising the latest tabloids for three rupees apiece. The smell of horse-drawn carts and greasy streetside food vendors filled the air. 

A grin broke out across Warriors’ face; he’d recognize that odor and none-of-my-business attitude anywhere.

Home sweet home.

The rest of the group emerged behind him, taking stock of their surroundings. And they weren’t separated? Someone was feeling generous today. 

Hopefully things would stay that way. 

***

Warriors wasn’t above using his minor-celebrity reputation to secure a spot at a nicer inn. This side of town wasn’t bad, but it was dirtier than most other neighborhoods. The single room he’d rented wasn’t fancy, but it was leagues better than anything else in the area. After the days they’d just had, the group could use a little treat. Besides, where they’d ended up it was still a day’s walk from the castle, and none of them were able or willing to make that trek at the moment. 

The room had two queen sized beds and a recliner, all of which everyone immediately collapsed upon. Time shed his armor in record time, flopping onto the mattress in the same way he used to back in the war. Wind curled up beside him, rubbing at the blisters on his feet with a wince. Warriors smiled. Cute. 

Wild, Four, and Hyrule all took the cushy recliner by the window, curling up so tightly beneath the blanket they’d stolen that they looked like eggs in a bird’s nest. Twilight sprawled out on the other bed, unbothered by Legend elbowing him to scoot over. Drifter lay on the foot of the bed, perpendicular to the other occupants and seemingly unbothered by the rancher and veteran’s feet near their face. Unfortunately, Sky excused himself to take a shower before Warriors could.

The only chair remaining was the wooden one by the desk, so he slumped down into it. Rubbing at his eyes, Warriors leaned forward; his elbow rested on his knee, propping up his chin so his neck didn’t have to. 

Goddess, he needed a drink. 

***

No portal came to pick them up the next morning, nor the next afternoon. It seemed they were staying here for a while, thank Hylia. 

The chain hadn’t left the inn since they’d arrived the day before, instead passing the time with naps, dice games, and various hobbies. Twilight brought out the knitting needles, while Legend huddled in the corner with his embroidery hoop and Sky’s knife filled the air with the soft sounds of shaving wood. Wind and Hyrule intently played a reflex-game with cards and spoons while the champion typed notes and equations into his slate for his latest project. Four and Drifter huddled on one of the beds, the smithy trying their best to teach their newest member to read Hyrulean Common. So far, they weren’t having much luck. 

Warriors tapped a pencil against his chin, staring down at the open sketchbook and the messy figure drawing of Time snoring like a hinox on the other bed. The urge for a nice, mixed drink hadn’t faded from last night, but had transformed from an exhausted please-let-me-forget-the-past-few-days to a contemplative huh-that-would-be-nice. A vast improvement, overall. 

He eyed the clock on the wall. Almost five in the evening. 

Warriors snapped the sketchbook shut and tucked his art supplies back into his bag. He was in the right headspace, could spare the rupees, and the group needed a pick-me-up. 

“I’m going out for a drink,” He pulled his scarf from a hook on the wall and wound it around his neck, but left the pauldron where it was. He probably wouldn’t need it. “Does anyone want to come with?” 

Surprisingly, Drifter was the first to excuse themself from Four and join them at the door. They grabbed their cloak and capelet from the hook beside his own. [I’m curious as to what you have, here.] 

“A drink sounds heavenly.” Legend stood next, bracing his hands on his popping knees as he did so. “Come on rancher, I’ll beat you this time.” 

Twilight snorted, but put the knitting away. “I’ve drunk you under the table the last three times you tried it, are you sure you wanna go again?” 

“I’d be willing to try,” Sky smiled as he interrupted Legend’s sputtering response, tucking away his own materials and sweeping the loose shavings from his lap into the trash, “I probably won’t go past one, though.” 

That was a decent sized group. If Time were awake, he’d probably want to come too, but he wasn’t. 

Snooze you lose, old man. 

Wind stood. 

“No.” 

“Oh come on! I didn’t even say anything!” 

“You don’t have to, you little cretin.” 

“I’m a fucking pirate! I can hold my booze!” 

“That’s not the issue. I’d rather not get arrested by my own men for trying to buy alcohol for a preteen.” 

“You were literally there for my birthday you know I’m a full teenager—“ 

“Oh because that’s so much better.”

Wild looked up from his slate, a suspiciously mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Come on Wind, he’s not budging, and if you’re here then you can help me prank Time when he wakes up.” 

Pouting yet visibly tempted, Wind turned to the champion’s direction. Wild waved the slate in the air playfully, wiggling his eyebrows. The sailor slumped, “Fine.” 

Oh thank Hylia. Warriors didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder all night. If Wind was causing chaos here, at least he wasn’t sneaking out to bars alone at night. 

“Alright then,” Warriors turned back to where the pub-going group all looked at him with smug, teasing expressions. He scowled. “I don’t want to hear a single word from any of you.” 

“Whatever you say…” Sky snickered, “Dad.” His sailcloth swished, already out the door. The rest followed with muffled chuckles; Legend elbowed him as he passed. 

Warriors sighed, resigned. He was going to hear about this ‘till the end of time.

***

This wasn’t the side of town that Warriors frequented, but he knew his way around nonetheless. He led them to a less-popular but no less quality bar, so to avoid the crowds. This was Drifter’s first official introduction to Hyrulean society, after all. Usually they stayed back at the inn. 

Warriors slid into the booth, flashing a charming smile at the young waitress who seated them. He sat on the end of the plush bench, facing the door out of habit. Between him and the wall, Sky and Twilight elbowed each other for space. Legend and Drifter sat on the other side of the table, laughing at them. 

On instinct, his gaze swept across the establishment. Two exits, one in front one probably through the kitchens. Their booth was against the west wall, just out of sight from the massive window that took up most of the streetfront. The bar jutted out from the bottle-covered south wall, and three hylian men leaned against it. One looked blissfully shitfaced, one depressed, and the last one chatted with the bartender with a fruity drink in his hand. The lights were dim, but not overly so. The whole establishment was classy without being pretentious, clean enough that it didn’t feel gross but also grimy enough that you didn’t forget you were in a Castle Town bar. 

Their waitress cleared her throat nervously, passing out menus. This was clearly her first job, but she wasn’t doing half bad at it. Especially since she definitely recognized who he was; she was doing a good job of pushing through the nerves. “Okay everybody, my name is Andrea and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you guys started with anything today?” 

Legend ordered an appetizer so they wouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach, and Sky asked for a round of waters to drink while they decided. Twilight picked the menu up with more drama than strictly necessary, and Drifter slid theirs across the table to Warriors while the waitress left. [I don’t know what any of these are.] 

Right, they wouldn’t. 

That did beg the question of how things compared between dimensions, though. Did the drinks even have the same names? Ingredients? This was going to be hard. “Let’s find you something then, what have you tried?” 

Depending on what they liked, there were a lot of options, especially if they wanted to mix things up. 

[I’ve mostly had different types of beer, since that’s what was easily available.] They shrugged, ears flicking as another table across the pub gave a loud whoop. [I know Subtherma on the Southern Continent specializes in various mixed drinks, but I’ve never had any. Too many Gears.] 

Okay, he could work with this.

“Do you want to stick with beer, then?” Warriors drummed his fingers on the table, “or branch out a bit?” 

“Better question,” Legend interrupted, slapping his hand on the table with a grin; Drifter’s attention snapped towards him, “Can you hold your booze?”

Twilight snorted into his water, choking and coughing into his arm.

”Give up, Legend.” Sky laughed, patting the rancher’s shoulder as he shook, “You’re not beating Twilight no matter who you recruit.” 

“I can damn well try,” the veteran snapped, before focusing back on Drifter, “So?”

Smirking beneath the mask, Drifter unwound the napkin from around their silverware, twirling the butter knife between their fingers. [I have a stronger tolerance than most other Blu I know of,] they shrugged again, [but that’s back in my world. I don’t know how these drinks compare.] 

That was the million rupee question, wasn’t it?

Humming, Warriors took a closer look at the menu. This place had a wide selection, thankfully. A lot of the fruitier stuff was significantly higher in alcohol content, and that was more to Warriors taste anyways. If Drifter had only ever had beer, they’d probably prefer something with a little less burn. “Are we feeling refreshing or more bitter?” 

[Alcohol can be refreshing?]

Well that answers that then. Refreshing it was.

The waitress returned with their waters, and everyone save Warriors and Drifter made their orders. Twilight got a Mint Jabu (a popular whisky drink originating from Zora’s Domain), and Legend got the same in order to fuel his foolhardy competition. Sky spent a little longer with the menu, and changed his mind twice, but eventually settled on a classic Majora’s Mule. 

Drifter leaned across the table to read the menu with Warriors, occasionally inquiring on the name of an ingredient or about how something tasted. Warriors couldn’t speak on the quality of this specific establishment, but he’d tried just about every type of drink on this menu before so he didn’t have a hard time answering. 

He took a sip of the water. He’d come a long way since the War. 

Humming, Warriors eye caught on something with a little leaf symbol next to it. “You might like this one, the Hyrule Spritz,” he inclined the menu towards them and pointed. It was an older drink, whose recipe hailed (ironically) from Holodrum, and it wasn’t as strong as most of the other drinks on here so it would be a good start. “It’s lighter, with more of a floral taste.” 

[I didn’t know alcohol could be floral.] Their eyebrows raised, but they didn’t look opposed. [Is it good?]

Legend looked over from where he’d been folding his napkin into a bird (much to Sky’s delight) with a raised eyebrow. “Oh yeah, the Spritz is great. Definitely my go-to whenever I visit Horon Village, so we’ll see how this one compares.” 

“I might ask to steal a sip, if you don’t mind.” Twilight waved the fork in Drifter’s general direction as the Andrea returned with their mozzarella sticks. “I’m trying to broaden my palate, Ordon doesn’t have much in the way of variety.” 

Warriors snorted, of course it wouldn’t. 

“It should be good to test your tolerance, too.” He mused, “Since we don’t know how things here compare to in your world.” They could be made of completely different plants, after all. He pulled the menu back to look again; he still had to decide on his own drink. 

Drifter put in their order with Andrea, and the bell above the doorway rang as a small group of cheering young adults entered the premises. The shortest of the group, a green Zora woman, wore a sash with ‘happy birthday’ emblazoned on the front. It looked like this wasn’t the first bar they’d attended tonight, and Warriors could already tell they were going to be annoying. 

Hm. A Piña Cotera sounded really good right about now.

“I mean, alcohol is alcohol. It can’t be that different,” Sky poked the napkin-bird, disbalancing it and flopping it over. Legend righted it with a scowl, moving it out of reach. “Can it?”

***

It most definitely could. 

***

“Who’s idea was this again?” Legend snarked, walking ahead of where Twilight and Warriors each supported a giggling Drifter under one arm. They hadn’t even finished their drink, and they were already too shitfaced to type and communicate. 

What kind of weak-ass alcohol did Hyperlight have, for this to be a higher-than-average tolerance?

“They’re an adult,” Warriors grunted, hoisting them up higher as they tripped over their feet. “They make their own decisions.” 

It was around seven now, and most people were either back at home or still in the bars, definitely not anywhere close to stumbling home like this. A few people gave them disapproving glances, and not for the first time Warriors cursed his semi-celebrity status. 

“They need to drink some water,” Sky looked worried, keeping pace with them instead of walking ahead, “otherwise they’re going to have a killer headache tomorrow.” 

And with their illness, who knew how a hangover would feel. Hell, who knew how they felt now.

Drifter giggled again. Evidently not that bad. 

“Come on, pick it up,” Clapping in time with his footsteps, the veteran walked backwards up ahead. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can put them to bed and tease them in the morning.” 

Luckily, the street wasn’t nearly as populated as earlier, and they weren’t that far from the inn. If everything went well, they’d be back within the next ten minutes (accounting for the slowed pace and the break that Drifter was likely to need). 

A rainbow pigeon pecked at the ground ten steps ahead and Drifter stared at it with wide, wonderstruck eyes. Cute.

Twilight coughed into his shoulder, and the bird burst into flight with a flurry of feathers. 

An awed gasp, a blur of movement, and Drifter’s arm wrenched from his. Twilight gave a startled shout as hazy red streaks vanished around the corner and out of sight. 

Everyone made horrified eye contact. 

Shit.

***

The four of them immediately searched around the immediate area, but Drifter was nowhere to be found. With how fast they could go, Drifter could be halfway across the city by now, and even with Legend’s Pegasus Boots they had no hope of catching up. Warriors wasn’t about to bring out the spinner in the middle of the road, so their options were rather limited. 

They needed more manpower.

Calling the guard wasn’t an option, since there was no telling how the alcohol would mess with their illness, and the last thing Warriors needed was for Drifter to disembowel the entire royal guard because the soldiers didn’t know the signs of a delirium episode. 

Plus, even if the illness didn’t flare up, Drifter was still extremely drunk and heavily armed in an unfamiliar environment. It was best not to spook them.

 “What’s the play, captain.” Legend’s lips were pursed, badly masking his worry. He’d just finished his third lap around the block. No luck. 

Turning back towards the inn, Warriors let out a deep, long-suffering sigh. All his years as a tactician culminated in this moment. “Now, we call in the cavalry.” 

***

Legend flung open the door to their room at the inn with a crazed expression, and Warriors followed him in. His clothes were disheveled from running, his voice hoarse from calling Drifter’s name. Twilight and Sky had opted to continue looking for now, so they hadn’t accompanied them in. 

Time, Wild, Wind, Four, and Hyrule all jumped to their feet from the circle they’d arranged themselves in, looking like kids caught with the cookie jar. An empty bottle rested on its side in the center of the floor; five half-empty martini glasses were delicately arranged in a circle around it. 

Were they playing spin the bottle? 

No, of course they were, that was on him. Warriors left both Time and Wind without supervision and with easy access to Wild’s slate; he really couldn’t have expected anything else. He pinched the bridge of his nose anyways. “Guys…” 

”It was Wild’s idea.” Time’s face was stoic, his voice deadpan as he made direct eye contact in that specific way that meant whatever he was about to say was total bullshit. Warriors didn’t spend all that time in the war babysitting him for nothing; he knew all the old man’s tells. 

It was definitely his idea, if only indirectly. He knew the Sprite was too smart to make himself anything but a convenient bystander. 

“No. Shut up.” Legend elbowed Warriors in the ribs before he could enact his goddess-given-right to lecture cretinous little brothers, “We don’t have time for you to be papa bird right now, we have a situation.” 

It was like a switch had been flipped.

Everybody in the circle sobered up immediately, catching on to the urgency in the veteran’s voice. The booze and bottle vanished into Wild’s slate. 

Lips pursed, Hyrule stepped forward, his gaze narrowing as he gave them both a once over. “What happened?”

Four’s blue eyes narrowed dangerously. ”And where is everybody else?” 

Warriors sighed, flipping the end of his scarf back over his shoulder from where it’d fallen in the run over. “So funny story, that.“ 

***Wind***

This was hilarious. 

Terrifying, since none of them knew where Drifter went, but still objectively funny. Wind had laughed for a solid minute or so after the captain finished the story, until Four had elbowed him in the side to shut him up. 

Jokes on him, Wind only laughed harder. 

Sure, some of that hilariocrity (was that a word? Whatever, it was now) was probably the Noble Pursuits, but who’s to tell?

Levity aside though, this was rather serious. Drifter didn’t know this city. Or any city, really, this was their first true trip into any town. 

What a way to start things off, huh?

Wind and Wild ran across the blue-tiled roofs signature to Castle Town, surveying the area from above. His grappling hook held loosely in his off-hand just in case, his boots clomped across the uneven, angled surface. So far, Wild only had to rescue him twice. 

Was this smart on a twisted ankle after two Noble Pursuits? 

Absolutely not. 

Did they care? 

Also no.

Everyone had split into groups of two to canvas the city, with strict instructions to, should Drifter be found, split up so one person kept an eye on them while the other went to get everyone else. They were not to engage unless necessary until the rest of the chain could converge. 

That plan went out the window almost immediately though, when Wild skidded to a stop near the middle of a seemingly random roof, ear twitching. Wind nearly ran into his back, but twisted out of the way just in time. “What—“ Wild held up a finger, shushing him. 

Scowling, Wind turned his attention to his namesake. The champion clearly heard something. 

The breeze swirled gently around them, caressing his face and bringing with it the soft sounds of beeping and crying from an alleyway. He thanked it, and made his was to the edge of the rooftop with a frown. The champion followed close behind. 

They were partially hidden behind the trash cans (which did not smell great), but the bright orange of their cloak stood out against the dirty stone. Drifter curled up near the back of the alley with their knees up to their chest, crying heavily into their arms. The Companion Sprite hovered around them worriedly, beeping at uneven intervals. 

Wind shared a look with Wild. Fuck the plan; like hell were they leaving them like this. 

In seconds, both of them had leapt off the roof. Paraglider and Korok Leaf caught the air, slowing their falls to a gentle descent.

“Hey buddy,” Wild’s glider folded with a soft thwip as Drifter visibly startled at his entrance. Their eyes were blown wide open, their visible face more purple than blue from both the crying and the alcohol; they stared at him with a startled, confused expression. The champion bent down, face soft and open, slowly approaching them as one might a nervous animal, “What are you doing all the way back here?” 

No answer. A tear ran down their cheek and soaked into their mask..

Wind’s boots hit the floor and he put the Korok Leaf away, and Drifter’s gaze snapped to him instead, and he raised his hands. “It’s just me, you’re okay.” He took a slow step forward, then when Drifter didn’t seem to react negatively, another. “You seem pretty sad right now, can you tell us what’s wrong? Maybe we can help.” Wind used the same tone of voice that he used with Linebeck when he overestimated his pitiful grog-tolerance; it’d never failed him before. 

Nodding shakily, Drifter pulled up the touchpad, but the message they typed was unreadable. Seems they knew that, too, since their eyes scrunched and they tried to type it out again. And again. The fourth time, they swiped it away with a face purple with anger and dropped their head into their knees with a frustrated huff and a whine. Their fist thumped against the floor.

“Thats okay Drifter,” Wind’s smile felt forced, this was going to be so much harder now. “Can we come a little closer?” 

A black eye peeked out over their elbow, suspicious yet curious. A slow nod. 

“Can you tell us how you’re feeling?” Wild kneeled at their side, arms stopping just shy of touching them. Wind crouched on his toes in front of them, hands on his knees. “Just a thumbs up or down?”

Drifter took a second to think, then another, then held out both hands with thumbs pointing opposite directions. Helpful. 

“Do you need a fairy tonic? I made some after that last hinox just in case.” Wild took out his slate, tapping on it a few times to summon the pink potion. “It works wonders on hangovers; I’m sure it’ll help while you’re still drunk too.” 

Predictably, Drifter didn’t answer that either; their gaze fixed on the slate. 

Wind waved a hand in front of their face, snapping his fingers a few times. Nada. “Drifter? You okay? You seem kind of—“ 

A red blur, a yelp from Wild, and Drifter was gone. Vanished around the corner and into the aether with nary a warning. 

“Shit!” Wind ran to the edge of the alleyway, hoping to get a glimpse of which direction they’d headed, but by the time he made it the afterimages had already faded. 

“Fuck!” The champion cursed from behind him, a rarity in and of itself. “Fucking shit balls dragging across Din’s tits!” That was a good one! Maybe a little much though, this wasn’t that big of a deal. Irritating, but not the end of the world. 

The champion’s heavy footsteps approached, and he ran past Wind into the sparsely populated road. His hair flew around him as his head whipped side to side, and he turned back to Wind with crazy in his eyes. “They took my fucking slate!” 

Oh. His eyes widened. Shit.

***Hyrule***

This was bad. This was really bad. 

Anxiety gripped Hyrule’s heart as people weaved around him, Time, and Four utterly unbothered by their presence. A few of them shot annoyed looks when Four started yelling Drifter’s name, but no one said anything or tried to stop them. These civilians hadn’t batted an eye at the dark portal appearing in the middle of the street the other day either; Hyrule was shocked at their ultimate indifference.

Auras of every color filled his vision, sparking a small headache behind his eyes. Between the plethora of people, Four’s worryingly shattered magic signature, and Time’s weird bag full of auras (on top of the half-a-noble-pursuit from earlier), there was a lot for his mind to keep track of. Hopefully he wouldn’t miss Drifter if he saw them.

Who was he kidding, Drifter’s aura was unmissable. 

Time used his superior height to search above the townspeople’s heads, holding Hyrule’s hand as they weaved through the thinning crowd. Hyrule was thankful for it. He’d never done well in large groups.  

“Any luck?” Four looked back from just up ahead, giving their voice a rest from shouting. Their silver, fractured aura was hard to read. Most of it was uniform, but occasionally it would spike, change colors, or melt with no warning or provocation. Sometimes all at once, usually right after a portal.

Giving the other auras around them another once-over, Hyrule shook his head. No sign of the writhing mass of affliction so far. 

A sharp grunt from Time, and the old man suddenly turned off the main road onto a smaller one, dragging Hyrule along with. Four squawked at being left behind, and almost ran into somebody trying to follow them. The zora sent a dirty look at their back, but the smithy was already gone.

This street had significantly less people, allowing the auras to separate more instead of being one homogenous mass of colors. It seemed to be a residential area, with quaint houses, wrought iron benches, and sculpted bushes along the sides. Time made a beeline for one of the benches, on which sat a familiar figure fiddling with something in their hands. 

Hyrule blinked, surprised at what he was seeing. Surely he hadn’t drank that much, right?

The normally large, imposing, and active aura of the illness was now small, almost sluggish. It draped over their left shoulder and nothing else, occasionally twitching a tendril. Drifter shifted, and it flailed as it almost slipped off their shoulder completely.

It almost looked…

Hyrule choked on his spit. Holy crap, was Judgement drunk? 

“There you are, Drifter,” The smithy jogged up to them, their aura simultaneously misty and spiked. “You scared the shit out of us!” 

Apparently Four also scared the shit out of them, since they violently jumped in surprise. The thing they were messing with flew from their hands, the rose-like flower smacking the smithy directly in the face and exploding with a puff of purple powder. 

Everybody froze as the little cloud faded, eyes wide. 

Four’s aura went completely still for a single, blessed second. Then it exploded into mesmerizing swirls and spikes and colors. “Oooohhhh,” the smithy swayed, and Time rushed forward to steady them. “We feel weird.” 

Hyrule ran up to assess their condition: their pupils were blown wide, irises swirling with all the colors of the rainbow. Their aura bloomed and swirled, growing then shrinking then breaking apart and merging again, all the while shifting between colors just as fast. Their head lolled to the side to look at him, loopy, but not hurt or poisoned as he’d feared. “Rulie did you know you’ve got ears? Like, twenty of ‘em.” 

By the goddess, they were high. 

Four giggled, and Drifter giggled too from their spot on the bench. They clutched Wild’s slate —where had they gotten that— to their chest protectively, as if worried it’d be taken away. 

“Oooh Drifter you’re blue!” Four’s grin beamed, “I’m Blue too! Sometimes. Not always. Not now. But you’re like, actually blue. He’s jealous.” 

Hyrule and Time shared a look. Not even going to try and attempt to parse what that meant. 

“Okay,” Time’s face scrunched in a way that meant he was desperately trying not to bust out laughing. He removed his hand from Four’s shoulder, only to have to replace it as the smithy swayed dangerously. “Why don’t we all head back to the inn? We have a bunch of fun games back there, we just have to go get them.” 

Drifter’s ears perked up at the mention of games, and they uncurled a bit from the bench. Yes, that’s it. 

Smiling encouragingly, Hyrule stepped towards them with his hand out for the Slate. Drifter was usually pretty responsible with it, but they were not in the right headspace right now. “Could I borrow that for a bit, Drifter?” Their arms tightened around it, dark eyes narrowing. “I’ll give it back.” He wouldn’t, but they didn’t have to know. 

They shook their head, turning away from Hyrule with a suspicious look. Darn it, Hyrule thought, drunk people were supposed to be more easily influenced, but of course Drifter was the exception when techy toys were involved.

Pale green aura settling in resignation, Time gave up on keeping Four standing and picked them up to ride on his shoulders instead. If the smithy was lucid, they would have murdered the old man for such an offense, but as it was they merely kicked their feet happily with a soft “wheeeee!” 

Drifter could not be allowed to keep that slate. 

Their dark eyes flicked towards Four’s little commotion, a lapse in concentration, and Hyrule lunged. 

A startled yelp, and a mushroom exploded in his face, filling the air with thick powder that obscured his vision and choked up his lungs. Coughing up spores, Hyrule fell to his knees below the cloud just in time to see the red afterimages fade.

“Noooo,” Four whined, flopping over Time’s head, “Not the butterflies! Now we can’t make lasagna!” 

***Sky***

Sky knew he was far from the Link with the most stamina. He knew that even if he and Twilight actually did manage to find Drifter, he wasn’t going to be the one to catch them should they choose to run. Granted, Twilight wouldn’t catch them either, but he’d get closer than Sky would at least. 

Sky wasn’t good at running, but he was good at diffusing situations, shrugging things off, and dealing with stubborn people. If he found Drifter sitting still, he was somewhat confident in his ability to convince them to return. So long as they stayed put, at least. 

His tired feet stumbled over the curb, and Twilight reached out a hand to catch him before he fell into the road. Sky smiled at him in thanks, and they continued on through the thin crowd. He and Twilight hadn’t seen anybody familiar since Warriors and Legend left to get the others, and they’d walked so far they could see the outer city wall a few blocks away. 

A horse-drawn carriage clattered down the street, the horses’ hooves splashed in a puddle as they went. Dirty water splattered on the cobbled sidewalk just in front of them. 

Twilight’s ears flicked, and he stopped in his tracks with a small frown. A couple with a leashed dog swerved out of his way. “I hear something.” 

“Yeah?” Twilight’s hearing was more sensitive than Sky’s, so he’d take him at his word. “What is it?”

The rancher’s nose scrunched as he strained his ears, eyes narrowing. “Someone’s whistling.” 

“Is that odd?” People whistled all the time on Skyloft, both calling their loftwings and singing with them. 

“Here, at this time of evening?” Twilight started off towards where presumably the noise was coming from, “yeah it is.” 

The rancher led him around several corners, until the city wall loomed high above them. They were nowhere near the front gate, so the guard presence was minimal. Good thing too, since Drifter’s legs dangled from the blue roof of a residential building. They whistled a tune Sky hadn’t heard before, slow-paced and melancholic, leaning back against the wall. 

Three stories in the air.  

Honestly, not too bad. Sky had fallen from further. 

Though the choked noise Twilight gave made him think this wasn’t as normal here as it was in the clouds. Pity. You really couldn’t beat a good fall. 

“Drifter!” Sky called up to them with a grin, waving his arms for attention. Some passers by gave him confused glances, but continued onwards without a second thought. “Hey!” 

The whistling stopped, and Drifter leaned further over the edge to give a small wave back. Twilight let out another strangled sound. 

“How did you get up there!” Sky cupped his hands over his mouth for extra volume. It’d be much easier to catch them if they were regulated to the one roof, so it’d be best if he came to them. 

A beat, then they pointed over to the side of the building. Sky went to investigate, and found a ladder leaning against the wall. It only went halfway, but the ivy that clung to the bricks got him the rest of the way up. 

When he finally hauled himself over the edge of the building with a wheeze, Drifter was still in the same spot. They stared out over the city, illuminated by the rapidly setting sun, as deep in thought as a drunk person could be. A half-eaten chillshroom rested loosely in their hand.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” Sky took a seat next to them, dangling his legs over the side. Faint cursing sounded out from behind as Twilight hauled himself up. 

A soft hum, then to Sky’s surprise, “Miss him.”

Sky had no idea who they were talking about. “I’m sorry.” Always a safe bet. 

Another hum. “Miss them.” 

He frowned, eyes flickering to the perfectly functional Companion Sprite at their shoulder. They really shouldn’t be talking like this. “I’m sorry,” He repeated instead, “homesickness is never fun.” 

They shifted to rub a hand at their misty eyes, their cheeks flushed purple with alchohol. The rapidly vanishing sun cast long shadows over their face, making them look incredibly old and worn. 

They shouldn’t look like that. 

“I told you about Skyloft, right?” Sky smiled softly at the reminder of his home; Drifter wasn’t the only homesick one on this roof. “Well the first time I dropped below the clouds, I was a mess.” For more than one reason. “Every second I was below the cloud barrier, I just wanted to be back home. I got so wrapped up in what I didn’t have, that it took a long time for me to notice all the beautiful things down here that I never would have seen otherwise.” He chuckled at Drifter’s expression: clearly trying to pay attention, but too inebriated to truly focus. 

“I had the same problem when I left Ordon,” Twilight sat on Drifter’s other side, kicking his legs against the wall with a soft laugh. “Midna said I was insufferable those first few weeks.” 

“The point is, that you’re here now. There’s all sorts of things you can see and do here that you couldn’t back in Hyperlight, so you might as well enjoy them all while your here!” Sky laughed, gently nudging their shoulder. “If you can, at least. There’s a lot to get through.” 

A determined spark ignited in Drifter’s eyes, and Twilight paled. “Drifter no that wasn’t a challen—“ 

Too late, they’d had already flung themself from the ledge. 

Sky scrambled for his sailcloth, but they’d vanished by the time his boots hit the ground. 

***Warriors***

After hours of searching, Drifter ran into him. Literally. 

They crashed into Warriors at mach-speed, sending both of them tumbling across the nearly-deserted street. His scarf tangled their arms, and their cloak blinded him as it wrapped around his head. 

Legend cackled from the background as limbs and fabric flailed. Leaping to his feet and away, Warriors too the scarf from his neck to rewrap it properly. Drifter got to their feet, a little wobblier than usual. “There you are!” Warriors huffed, reaching out for their shoulder to stabilize them. “Come on, let’s get back to the inn and let everyone else know we found you.” 

They leaned away, almost overbalancing. “No.” Legend inhaled sharply at the sound of their scratchy voice, “wanna do stuff.” 

“What kind of stuff?” Legend crept forward slowly, circling to their other side to cut off escape options. 

“All of it.” They shrugged reaching under their cloak for something unseen. “Sky said I couldn’t. I’m gonna.” 

Warriors nodded minutely at Legend. They weren’t losing Drifter again. “You ran into Sky, then?” 

“Mhm.” They hummed, pulling their hand back out to reveal —holy shit that’s the Sheikah Slate. “Wild too.” They waved the slate up and down like a misbehaving toy, scowling at it. “His thing doesn’t work.” 

Well of course it didn’t, they were on the map screen. 

“That’s too bad,” Legend crept closer, “We should tell him that so he can fix it.” 

Another shrug. They pulled the slate close again, swiping across its surface to the materials, and gave a little pleased noise. 

Warriors had been around Wind long enough to know an I’m-about-to-cause-chaos squeak when he heard one. “You said you wanted to do stuff, right?” 

A nod, though their eyes didn’t leave the display. They were scrolling now, stacks of apples and monster parts whizzing across the screen. A chillfin trout appeared in their hand, and they pulled down their mask to bite into it. Raw. 

“Okay,” Warriors closed his eyes for a second to wipe that image from his mind, then tried for a confident smile. He didn’t think he succeeded; his capacity for today had been far exceeded. “Well lets go find the others, then we can do all that stuff together. It’ll be more fun if we’re all there.” 

A pause and a suspicious look. A frog fell from the slate and hopped into the gutter. “You just want me back at the inn.” 

Damn. Even drunk, they were perceptive. 

Legend was right behind them now, ready to pounce on his signal. Drifter shifted their weight, ready to dash, and Warriors nodded. 

Legend’s arms wrapped around their back, pinning their arms in place while Warriors went for the legs. Drifter shouted and kicked, dropping the slate and nailing him in the jaw with their fortified boot. Warriors fell back with a groan, and Drifter planted their feet, stepped behind the veteran’s legs, and flipped Legend over to slam into the cobblestones. The veteran wheezed, the breath knocked out of him, and Warriors got to his feet with what was sure to be a nasty bruise on his chin. 

Drifter’s back pressed against the nearest wall, hands shaking. Shit. He hadn’t meant to scare them. 

“Drifter—“ 

“Chaaaarrrggge!” Warriors whirled around to see—yeah. No.

Not his problem. He was done with today.

In fact, he might need another drink once this was all over and done with. 

Time barreled down the street with a shit-eating grin and an absolutely giddy looking Four on his shoulders. The smithy wielded what looked like a golden shepherd’s crook, and they waved it above their head like a halberd with yellow energy charging at the end. Hyrule ran after them, looking about as haggard as Warriors felt. 

“What the fuck—“ Legend’s jaw dropped as Four pointed the staff out in front of them, the energy releasing, flying out, and slamming straight into Drifter’s chest. 

Nothing happened for a second; Drifter stared at the newcomers with wide eyes. Then, something magical. Literally. 

Drifter flipped, head over heels, and landed with a heavy thump and a yelp on the sidewalk. They groaned. Then, just as they were about to get back up, they flipped again. This time they didn’t try to move afterwards, probably trying not to vomit. 

“Victory!” The smithy raised their staff high with a screech, then slumped over Time’s head, suddenly snoring. The shepherd’s crook slipped from their fingers, and Time caught it before it could fall. 

Hyrule hurried to Drifter’s side, who was still sprawled out on their stomach trying not to heave. Another shout, and a red-faced Wild sprinted from around the corner. “Where the fuck is my goddamn slate!” 

This was officially no longer Warriors’ problem. Things had gotten too complicated, too fast, and he wanted to go to bed now please and thank you. 

Wind rounded the corner next, wheezing laughing, with Twilight and Sky hot on his heels. “Oh thank fuck you found them, I think any longer without his slate and Wild was gonna commit a felony!” 

“I still fucking might!” The champion snapped, voice two octaves higher than normal. Though, his eyes were more frustrated than truly angry as he swiped across the screen to take stock of his lost inventory. “Din-damned Drifter and their weak-ass tolerance, too fast to react and—“ He paused, then whirled around with eyes as wild as his namesake, “—who touched the Muddle Buds!” 

“That would be them,” Time’s lips pursed in a way that said he was trying not to smile, nodding up to where the smithy sat passed out on his shoulders, “Though it was not by choice.” His eye twitched, “The past hour or so has been…interesting.” 

Yeah, he’d bet. 

“Please tell me you got a video, or at least a pictograph,” Legend wheezed, still winded from being flipped earlier. “Wait, fuck, none of you have cameras. Shit.” He groaned, “That would have made such good blackmail.” 

Drifter gave up the fight and threw up onto the sidewalk, that fish from earlier made a reappearance. Hyrule rubbed their shoulders with a slightly queasy expression, and Warriors made his way over with a sigh. It seemed he and the healer were the only responsible ones here currently. 

“Come on,” Warriors knelt at their side as they finished up, gently helping them back to their feet. “Let’s get you back and in bed.” 

Undoubtedly still nauseous, Drifter didn’t complain this time. 

***Drifter***

Drifter woke the next morning with a pounding headache, a really sore throat, and no memory of the night before.

No matter how much they pestered, no one would tell them what’d occurred. Everyone gave different answers, just vague enough that they couldn’t piece anything together. Something had clearly happened though, since everyone was acting weird. 

Warriors slept in till noon, an oddity in and of itself. Legend rubbed at his back and winced whenever he crossed paths with them. Twilight and Sky were simultaneously super sweet —telling them lots of funny and wholesome stories about life in Hyrule, Skyloft, and Ordon— and super shifty —avoiding language that could be taken in any way as challenge and frantically clarifying when they’d pose one accidentally. Wind gave them approving looks and pats on the back for being a “true pirate,” but never explained what that meant. Hyrule’s eyes flickered over the magic that they couldn’t see (as per usual), but this time he would stifle laughs at uneven intervals and wouldn’t tell them why. 

Both Wild and Four avoided them. 

What had happened last night?

Chapter Text

***Dark Link***

Dark Link would consider himself a patient demon. He had remarkable self control, especially compared to some of the other imbeciles he shared a species with. He made plans, stuck to the plans, and was able to pivot when the heroes inevitably threw a wrench into them. 

Sure, the pivot was always accompanied by a plethora of creative curses to lay upon the goddess and her brood, but that was unimportant. The point was that he could.

Now, it was a popular misconception that Dark Link abhorred everything the goddesses stood for, which was a fair assumption, but untrue. He knew the Golden Goddesses at least embodied useful things when they weren’t creating the universe, even if they didn’t use their domains how they should. 

He knew how vital Power was to get anything done, and how to admit weakness to your enemy was to fail before you begun. He wasn’t stupid; he learned from his predecessors' mistakes. All the power in the world —the literal triforce at their fingertips so many times— and time and time again, all that Ganon or Ganondorf or Vaati could think of to destroy a single sword wielding child was to meet him in single combat (and they couldn’t even do that right).

He knew Courage was needed to think bigger than that. To use all that power in different ways than what was obvious, to enact a plan knowing it had a chance to fail because if it succeeded the payoff would be glorious. To have Power, but no Courage to use it properly, was to admit defeat before you even picked up the sword.

Lastly, and almost most importantly, he knew the importance of Wisdom, of knowledge, and how integral it was to control. All the Courage and Power in the world meant nothing if there was no Wisdom to guide one’s hand. To know things was to have authority over them, and to know something that your opponent didn’t, well…

Watching your opponents slowly come to the realization that they’d already lost was one of the greatest pleasures life had to offer.

So no, Dark Link didn’t hate everything all the Goddesses stood for; he just hated the one. 

Hylia’s Kindness had no place in his plans. 

Out of all of them though —Power, Courage, and Wisdom— Dark Link found he appreciated Wisdom the most. Sue him, he liked knowing things. 

Which was why when all nine of the heroes vanished without a trace for two days then reappeared with an entire new member, Dark Link was pretty peeved. This was a new variable, someone he didn’t know. Someone he couldn’t plan for. 

Someone powerful, according to their spar with the Hero of the Wild, but also someone sickly. 

Someone that he didn’t have nearly enough information about. 

For instance: where the fuck they’d come from. 

Someone had clearly had enough Power to hijack Dark Link’s portals. Someone had taken the heroes for two days, and sent this new player with them upon their return. Someone had opened the door to an entire alternate dimension previously unknown about, and it sure as hell wasn’t this Drifter.  

But doors opened both ways, and Dark Link had never been one to let opportunities like this slip on by. Who knows? Maybe there’d be something there he could use.

***

Hyperlight was…not what he’d expected, to be completely honest. 

Dark Link lowered the cracked blue ocarina from his lips, looking out over the rooftops of a moderately sized city. What he assumed to be people, though they didn’t look like any races he’d seen before, went about their business in the streets below, unaware of the danger floating above them. 

He hummed, curious.

The magic was weird, here. 

It was present in immense quantities, but only from two directions. One from above, one below. 

Dark Link looked up. 

Holy fuck that’s some strong sealing magic right there. 

A delicately entwined lattice of light, vaguely in the shape of a crown, hovered hundreds of feet in the air above the city —so powerful he bet it could be seen by the average layperson, if in not as much detail. It floated there, ethereal to the untrained eye but powerful to the trained one, as a visual symbol of the magical chains it bound with. Invisible to most, twisted threads of holy light spread out towards the four cardinal directions at each corner of the crown, all winding together and combining at the center to shoot a strong, continuous beam of light down into the center of town. Most people would only see the soft glow of the Crown itself, but Dark Link could see everything.

It was blinding. 

He needed more information.

Rubbing the spots from his eyes and cursing at what he was about to do, Dark Link transformed into a guay and started flying towards where the beam met the ground. There was another magic signature here somewhere, suppressed by all the light. If it was anywhere, it’d be there, at the center of the sealing. 

As he traveled, he took note of the people. None of them had any magical signature of their own, which was strange, but about one in every five had something else clinging to them instead. A pulsing blob of malice — sometimes bigger, sometimes small— that encircled parts of their bodies in pinkish-blackish tendrils. 

Promising. 

If this world had no magic of their own, they’d be more susceptible to his. Or his minions’, if it came down to it. He didn’t mind killing them all to make a point.

That was, if this other signature didn’t mind sharing. 

If this world had a ‘great evil’ of its own, then Dark Link might be able to strike a deal with it; find out what it wanted and use it to his advantage. If it was anything like his predecessors, it’d be laughably easy to manipulate. 

He could already tell this world had no reincarnation cycle like Hyrule was bound to, so worst case scenario he’d just have to wait a few years and he’d have the place to himself. He was patient, he could do that. Still though, best case scenario, betrayal was always an option.

Then he could rule two worlds. 

Dark Link’s bird feet met the ground near but not at the center of town. The beam of light was still as blinding as ever as it got higher up towards the Crown, but as it met the ground it faded to a dim glow around what looked like a diamond-shaped lift of some sort. Three pillars raised from the ground in every corner of the diamond except south. Malice oozed from the outline of the center of the lift, reaching out towards the edges only to hiss and smoke as they reached the sides of the sealing beam. Three black, pink-eyed birds pecked at the ground around the malice, unbothered by the magic that they too were made of. 

Dark Link smirked as much as he could with a beak. And there would be that ‘great evil.’ They really made things too easy, sometimes. 

***

His portal snapped shut with a quick minor chord, and Dark Link slipped the ocarina back onto his belt. He’d decided against trying to brute force the lift, opting instead for the easier option. Call it a shortcut. 

He stood in the middle of a vast chamber. The floor was a gigantic arena of sorts, fenced in and floating above the yawning abyss. Occasionally a light would blink from some technological device along the walls, but otherwise the sides, ceiling, and floor below the platform were too dark to see (even for him). A thin walkway, retractable, led to a massive door on the south wall —the only one visible.

Clearly a boss arena. 

Dark Link turned around to face the rest of the room. More of the same, except the gigantic, glowing, diamond-shaped prism suspended by grime-coated tubes. The tunnels twisted around it and into it like veins, and pink liquid pumped through them like blood. The prism itself pulsed with a harsh white light, the same rhythm as a heartbeat. 

It was beautiful.

It was disturbing. 

It was… watching him. 

At least, something was. 

A heavy, powerful gaze rested upon Dark Link’s shoulders, waiting for him to make a move. He couldn’t see anyone in the darkness, but he knew something was there. 

Well, here goes nothing. 

“Why hello there!” Dark Link smiled to the empty room with the Hero of Warriors’ face, turning in a wide circle to inspect and properly outwardly appreciate the empty void. “Sorry to drop in on you so suddenly, it’s just I was in the area and I figured I’d come down for a chat!” He swept into a bow, facing the prism, his dark facsimile of a scarf brushed the floor. “And an offer, if you’d be willing.” 

The darkness didn’t respond. 

“You see, it seems someone thought it best to throw one of your problems into my world,” He’d seen the malice that crept around the drifter’s shoulders; he could fill in the blanks, “and I don’t doubt some of my problems are about to try and become yours as well.” 

The chances of those meddling heroes leaving things be were nonexistant, “So I thought, why not reach out to lend a helping hand! A partnership, even!”

Still no answer, though the pulsing of the prism had slowed. 

His grin grew wider, arms waving for emphasis as he gave his sales pitch. “If they can work together, why can’t we? With my knowledge of my world and your power in yours, they would stand no chance against us!” 

The prism’s heartbeat stopped completely, stuck in it’s brighter state. 

A few seconds passed, then more. Dark Links’ smile began to falter as time went on with no answer. 

A soft hum rang out through the air, almost startling him. An ongoing, continuous drone; not much of an answer.

”Is that a yes or a no that I’m hearing?” He hummed, “I do need to get going fairly soon, am a very busy demon, after all.” 

No change.

The noise continued unencumbered, growing louder and louder until it shrieked in his ears and, suddenly and all at once, the void closed in around him. 

The screeching cut off. His ears rang at the silence.

Dark Link’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned. His gaze darted around the vast expanse —the only thing visible was the prism in the distance. 

“Well that’s rather rude, isn’t it?” 

Then, like a physical force, there was something there. A presence. So overwhelming in size and intensity that it almost knocked Dark Link to the ground

A magical aura, so big it compared only to the goddesses themselves, tugged on his soul like gravity, depriving him of his senses and locking his own magic out of reach. He took a step backwards, but slipped as friction abandoned his boots and left him sprawled out on his back. 

He turned over, tried to stand. Failed. 

A kernel of fear planted itself deep within Dark Link’s soul. 

This Greater Evil wasn’t anything like Ganondorf. Or Vaati. Or even Ganon. 

No.

This felt like Demise. 

Pink streaks shot out from the prism —which now pulsed wildly and rapidly, pumping liquid through the tubes. They flew through the void at Mach speed, slamming into the ground in front of him with an explosion of diamond-shaped sparks. 

Dark Link whimpered.

It was huge. 

One second it was a writhing, scuttling centipede, the next a screeching bird. A fish. A snake. A wolf. A deer. Its form convulsed and shifted constantly, glitching and twitching with hundreds of tendrils that reached out towards him with purpose. 

He began to shake. Oh fuck no.

It settled and shrunk into an eldritch, somewhat humanoid form, and a diamond-shaped eye blazed into existence. Fuchsia as the liquid within the prism, two horns jutted out from the sideways corners and twisted upwards in sharp, intimidating points. The pinprick of a pupil settled upon Dark Link’s comparatively minuscule form, and his hands scrambled at the frictionless ground in a futile attempt to get away.

There was a reason he never opened portals to times where the God of Hatred still lived. 

A cloak of magenta tentacles draped down from its back, slithering towards him greedily. Clawed hands bigger than his entire body slammed into the ground on either side. Sharp spines erupted from its back and from the floor, stabbing into the invisible ceiling and forming a cage to keep him trapped. 

Dark Link’s hands found the Ocarina of Time before his brain could keep up with what he was doing. His fingers shook over the holes, faster than he’d ever done before as he played the first song he could think of to get the fuck out of there. 

As the song whisked him away, the evil pink eye bored further into his soul. 

It looked pleased.

***

Dark Link’s boots hit the same flat rooftop as earlier, and his legs crumpled beneath him. His breaths came quickly, hyperventilating as the ocarina slipped from his shaking hands and clattered to the ground at his knees.

What the fuck was that.

How could these people walk around knowing that was just below their feet! They had to know, they couldn’t not know that they had a fucking god trapped underneath their town and the only thing standing between them was a fucking lift.  

No. 

Fuck that. 

Fuck this world and everything in it.

This was not his problem. 

The heroes could try and fight it if they wanted, the Chosen Hero might even succeed, but that was their prerogative. Dark Link would have no part of it. 

This dimension was fucked.

His breathing slowed to something manageable, his shaking hands began to still. 

Still though…

That still left the problem of the drifter. Clearly, this god had its claws sunk deep into their soul —which might just serve to take care of them before Dark Link even had to do anything— but as long as they still traveled with the heroes, they were still a threat.

However.

Surely that thing wasn’t the only danger of this world. Surely there’d be something he could use. Someone he could manipulate, even if it wasn’t that. 

He picked the ocarina back up, clipping it to his belt with a final shaky breath. This town clearly didn’t have anything he could use, but it wasn’t a total waste. He had knowledge, now, even if it was that this world and everything in it was fucked six ways to the demon realm and back. 

For example: he knew not to ever go down there again. The immense amount of sealing magic made sense, now. Next time, he’d take the warning. 

Dark Link got to his feet, swaying slightly. He was fine. 

He cleared his throat, then coughed into his arm. 

Time to go sightseeing, then. 

He was sure he’d find someone to join his cause —and if not? Well, there were always the monsters. 

Chapter Text

***Wind***

Wind hadn’t always been able to see the spirits of the dead. This was a relatively new development. 

His last adventure —his second, before this one— rode the lines between life and death, dreams and waking, soul and body. The Ocean King granted him this usually-cumbersome ability, both as a tool and as a sort-of apology. 

Some apology it was. 

Wind didn’t want to see ghosts. 

He didn’t want to have undue insight to things his brothers would rather keep hidden, to griefs they weren’t ready to share. He didn’t want to bear witness to Mipha or Marin gently caressing their chosen heroes’ hair, or the ghostly skeleton in armor upsettingly similar to Time’s that copied Twilight’s moves perfectly in battle. He didn’t want to have to consciously ignore the veritable army that followed the captain around, or the ever-rotating host of starving townsfolk who trailed behind Hyrule as if in worship. The blue woman who sang along whenever Sky pulled out the harp. The hyperactive blue fairy that flitted around Time’s hair like a concerned mother. The flickering, shattered form of a dark-haired doppelgänger who hovered around the smithy’s shoulder whenever their eyes went purple. 

He didn’t want to see any of that. 

Because now when his brothers would stare off into the middle distance or bring up friends in past tense, Wind knew who they referred to. 

He also knew they didn’t want him to know. 

So he pretended not to. 

His eyes grew used to sliding over spectral forms, turning his back on tender moments no one else knew were happening. He never brought any of it up, never told anyone that he could see their dearly departed. The ghosts would sometimes come to him, when their respective hero was struggling, but he made it clear that it was not to be a regular thing. He didn’t want to talk with them.

He didn’t want to violate his brothers’ privacy like that. 

It was better this way. 

So when the group of nine became ten, and a new ghost joined the roster alongside the new player, Wind was ready to do what he always did and let sleeping phantoms lie. 

Too bad this new spirit didn’t seem to get the memo. 

***

The Desert Collossus was dead. It was a desert, in the worst sense of the world. While they had just come from Wild’s Gerudo Desert, the two places could not be more different. 

Wild’s desert was alive. There were little critters running around, side-winding snakes and bugs that buried themselves, patches of hydromelons and towering voltfruit cacti every few dozen feet. Sure, there were plenty of old ruins half-buried in the sand, but you could see Gerudo Town from almost anywhere in the desert. It was inhabited. 

The Desert Collossus was dead. 

A sandstorm blew across the barren plains, dry, dead bushes uprooted and pushed about by the wind. Chunks of fallen debris dotted what little of the landscape he could see, and the sun was fuzzy and dim through the clouds of raging dust. 

The group huddled in the entryway to what Time called the (aptly named) Spirit Temple, waiting for the sand to recede. Wind stayed near the door, watching the hosts of Gerudo spirits long-passed wander the barren wastes as if they still had homes to return to. His eyes stung from the sand, but he didn’t dare look away. 

A pinkish-teal set of armor, turned purple from the blue spirit-flames that wreathed it, filled his vision. Wind glanced up with an annoyed expression. The helmet that obscured the knight’s face stared down at him silently, as all ghosts were. 

Wind scowled, moving through the spirit’s cold body to sit at the edge of the carved cave entrance. He wasn’t in the mood for this pushy unnamed ghost. “Fuck off.” He hissed as the spirit got in his face again, batting his hand through the incorporeal armor. 

An argument broke out from the group behind him, shouts echoing down the corridor. The spirit bent down until he was at the sailor’s eye-level, glowing blue irises glinting beneath the helmet. He wasn’t letting up. 

Wind didn’t even know this guy’s name, and yet he was always bugging him. Ever since Drifter joined, and this spirit discovered Wind’s ability, he would try for the sailor’s attention nigh-constantly. It was annoying.

“What do you want?” Wind whispered, voice harsh and eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to talk to you, so go away.” 

The spirit took a step back, into the sandstorm, and pointed upwards into the blurry brown sky. Unhelpful.

“My Wind Waker can’t do shit about the storm,” he scowled, “it’d take too much magic. We have to wait it out.” 

The ghost shook his head, pointing upwards once again. His salmon cloak blowing in the harsh, gritty breeze. 

“Is there something up there?” That would suck, Wind really wasn’t dressed for this kind of weather. 

The spirit nodded, just his luck. 

Eyes narrowed and lips pursed, Wind took a glance behind him. Everyone else was already in the main entrance room, no one would notice if he vanished for a bit. “Fine. If I die, you’re explaining this shit to the others.” 

The spirit nodded like he’d even be able to, and Wind stepped into the storm. 

***

He was never trusting an Oshus-damned ghost again. 

Especially that one. 

Wind dangled from his grappling hook, every exposed bit of skin red and raw as the rope billowed in the storm —and him along with it. Sand got in his teeth as he grit them tight, and his eyes were so squinted they might as well be closed. The sand pushed him to and fro as he desperately climbed higher, only his power bracelets keeping him attached to the lifeline. The rope hooked far above to one of the massive statue’s hands; he’d already climbed up what felt like half the mountain just to get to this point.

If this turned out to be nothing, Wind was going to figure out necromancy just to kill this guy again. 

***

Wind pulled himself up to the statue’s hand with shaking, jelly-like arms, winding up the grappling hook to attach it back to his belt. His mouth tasted like sand as he breathed heavily through it, the grains sticking to his teeth and clumping in saliva. 

That was awful. 

A soft noise, barely audible above the rushing sand. Wind whirled around. 

Drifter stood at the crook of the Colossus’ elbow, staring at him with a confused expression beneath the mask. Their arm was still bound in a sling from Wild’s world, and their tail twitched behind them anxiously. The Companion Sprite beeped, [What are you doing up here?]

”What am I doing here?” He spluttered, moving closer to the statue to get out of the sand. The armored spirit stood at Drifter’s side, his hand set gently on their shoulder. “What are you doing here? Did you climb up here with one arm?” In a sandstorm no less, were they trying to get blown away?

[Did you climb up here dangling from a rope?]

Touche. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Wind’s eyes narrowed, moving to the side where the armored ghost wasn’t. 

[You didn’t answer mine, and I asked first.] Drifter sat against the bent elbow with a sigh and a dry cough, tugging their mask up higher as they stared out into the sandstorm. They looked sad. 

Wind’s eyes flickered to the spirit, hoping his gaze conveyed that I see what you’re doing you deceased piece of shit.

Whatever. Time for a change of subject. “Can’t really see much with all this sand. Way too much of it, in my opinion, and not nearly enough ocean to balance it out.” 

A soft, raspy hum. The tail twitched. [It looks like the Wastes.] 

Zephos-damn it.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” His sideways-gaze landed on the spirit, but the ghost only had eyes for Drifter. Not like Marin or Mipha, but close. 

[I guess not.] Drifter sighed, ears drooping beneath the helmet. [It’s the last place I have to go before fighting Judgement, back in Hyperlight. I’ve been procrastinating.] 

“Been there,” He chuckled, turning his gaze back to the desert. The sandy gales were lessening, now. He could kind of see the tops of ragged flagpoles embedded in the dunes. “Any particular reason?”

Drifter didn’t answer, but the ghost’s grip tightening on their shoulder told Wind all he needed to know. 

Shit. 

He wasn’t supposed to know that. 

He didn’t want to know that, not until Drifter told him themself.

This was exactly why he never got involved with his friends’ ghosts. 

“Well,” Wind tried to keep his tone light, but he was unsure if he succeeded. “Whenever you have to go back there, we’ll all be right behind you.” His smile felt strained, and he spared a death-promising glance to the spirit that got him in this situation. The helmet merely tilted slightly, amused. “You won’t have to face whatever-it-is down there alone.” 

Or see whoever-it-is, or what’s left of him. 

Not if Wind had anything to do with it. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Drifter stood, offering him their remaining hand to pull him up. The sandstorm was quickly dying, he could see most of the desert now. It still looked as barren as before. [Come on, before everyone else notices we’re gone and freaks out.] 

Laughing, Wind took the offered hand, making a point to walk through the spirit as they both retreated to the statue’s hand. “Bold of you to assume they aren’t already panicking.” 

***

“Look,” Hours later, after everyone else had gone to bed, Wind stood across from the pink-cloaked ghost with his arms crossed and glaring. Torchlight flickered across the temple’s interior; all the other spirits had retreated to give Wind and the new guy some privacy. “I’m glad you want to help Drifter. Ecstatic, even. But it can’t work like this.” 

He stalked towards him with a snarl and pressed a finger into the taller man’s breastplate, sinking into the cold, transparent metal. “I will not betray their privacy like this. I don’t want to know who you are, where you’re from, how you died, or what your connection is to Drifter unless they’re the one to tell me.” 

The ghost held his hands up placatingly, and Wind snarled. “I didn’t fucking ask for this ability. I am not your fucking medium for whatever unfinished business you may have. You can come to me with small stuff, comforting them after a nightmare or something, but big revelations have to come from their mouth or not at all.” He pressed harder into the breastplate, finger pushing deeper into the taller ghost’s torso. “I don’t want your context clues.” 

“Wind?” Hyrule groaned from his bedroll, bleary eyes blinking open tiredly. Torchlight cast flickering shadows across his face, and his eyes squinted at the firelight. “Who’re y’talking to?” 

“Nobody ‘Rulie,” Wind spun away from the frozen spirit with an easy smile, heading over to tuck his flighty brother back into bed, “just ranting at myself again, did something stupid earlier.” 

A soft hum as Wind tucked the thin blanket around the traveler’s body, Hyrule’s eyes were barely open. “Get th’captain?” 

“No, no captain required, I knew it was stupid from the start.” Chuckling, Wind gently flicked the traveler’s ear with a soft expression. It twitched, and the healer smiled as his eyes closed again completely. “G’night Hyrule.” 

The traveler’s mumbled response trailed off halfway through. Hyrule had always been easy to wake, but luckily fell asleep easy too when no danger was around. 

Smile fading, Wind turned back to the armor-clad phantom. He hadn’t moved since Wind had snapped at him, still standing frozen next to Drifter’s sleeping form. “I get you want to help them, but your altruism doesn’t make you special,” Wind whispered over his shoulder as he made his way to wake Time, “all the other ghosts know the rules too. Talk with them if you want a better explanation, my watch is over.” 

***

A few days later, Wind lay on his stomach on the roof of Twilight’s treehouse, kicking his feet and enjoying the sun. The sounds of various forms of roughhousing echoed out from the grass below, but for once he felt content to let the others duke it out themselves. 

Drifter and Wild cheered from the sidelines with Urbosa, Mipha, Marin, and the blue fairy’s spirits at their sides, placing bets as Time and Twilight (and Daruk, Revali, and the skeleton’s ghosts) wrestled in a circle of stones. Warriors, Sky, Four’s doppelgänger, and Legend provided dramatic commentary with wild gestures and increasingly ridiculous voices as the two ranchers went at it. Shouting almost louder than the commentators, Hyrule and Four sat at the top of the ladder, taking pictures of the matchup with Wild’s borrowed slate and shoving each other for the best angles. 

A cold hand brushed against Wind’s hair, and his face flattened as he turned to the armored spirit. “You better have a damn good reason for this.” 

He had the decency to look sheepish, at least, holding a hand out in a ‘pause’ motion as the other reached up to —to Wind’s shock— remove his helmet. 

A rounded face with pale, pink skin and tiny, nubby horns growing from the forehead met his gaze (the left one was broken, cut cleanly in half). Frizzy, dust-grey hair fell in front of soft, almost Hylian blue eyes, connecting to a short but not unimpressive matching beard. Folded, leathery ears twitched at the helmet’s absence.

Holding a fist to his chest plate and the helmet to his side, the man fell into a deep bow. An apology. 

“Okay,” Wind sucked in a suprised breath, he hadn’t expected that. “Uh, you’re forgiven I guess. Thanks for looking out for Drifter, you know,” He glanced away, slightly uncomfortable, “when you were alive.” 

The spirit’s cloaked shoulders shook in a laugh as he lowered himself to sit next to Wind, dangling his legs over the side of the roof. Laughter rang out over the clearing as Drifter fled from Time, the old man’s blue ocarina grasped tightly in their hand. Hyrule chased after the both of them, screaming threats should Time re-injure Drifter’s still-healing arm. Neither seemed to care for the healer’s warnings as they charged around the clearing. 

Wind’s eyes flickered to the ghost. He looked happy, watching them play. 

“You really care for them, don’t you?” He sighed, another thing he wasn’t supposed to know. The spirit nodded, a soft smile tugging the edges of his beard. He never took his gaze off Drifter. 

“That’s good,” Wind coughed awkwardly, flushing. “I didn’t think they had any friends.” 

A silent snort, the spirit threw his head back in a noiseless laugh, shoulders shaking. Wind didn’t think it was that funny, but he’d take the win. Bringing his fingers until they were barely apart, the ghost gave a single, meaningful nod. 

“They don’t have friends? Or they have very few of them?” That was kind of sad. Wind liked Drifter. 

A shrug, and the spirit held up two fingers. The second option, then. At least they weren’t completely alone in Hyperlight. 

“Wait a second…” Wind’s eyes narrowed, he wasn’t supposed to know that. “No!” He stood with a flourish, pointing an accusing finger at the smug ghost’s face. “Stop letting me break my own rules!” 

More quiet laughter, the spirit’s cool hand brushed against his in a futile attempt to pull him back down. He sat anyways, pouting. “No more questions. I’m being a good friend damnit!” 

A cold pat to his shoulder, a knowing smirk. 

“Oh shush, you. I can be plenty self-controlled.” 

Far below, Time finally managed to tackle Drifter to the floor. Everyone cheered as the two of them rolled around for a bit, less violently than they would’ve without the broken arm, until the old man shouted in victory and tore away with his prize raised high. Drifter lay flat on their back, defeated but laughing. 

Wind’s face softened as he looked at them. They’d come so far, from that first week. 

A chilly breeze blew through the clearing, pushing his bangs from his eyes. The ghost dissolved into motes of spirit-fire as it passed. 

Wind sighed, he wouldn’t be gone forever. 

As much as this new ghost was frustrating…He couldn’t say they didn’t care for Drifter. Deeply. Enough to stick around. 

His fists tightened on the fabric of his pants. Chances were, Drifter cared for him the same way. Whenever it came time for them to return to the Wastes, to this loved ghost’s grave, Wind would be there too. 

He may not be supposed to know half the things he did, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew them. 

He’d be damned if he let Drifter go through this alone. 

Chapter Text

***Wind***

It’d been about a week since Drifter and Wild had been reunited with the rest of them, and there was still no portal in sight. Not that Wind was complaining, mind you, but it was weird. 

Riju reported no signs of increased monster activity, and she said her sting operation on the new Yiga base went well. The Blood Moon wasn’t due for another few weeks yet, so the area around the Bazaar was largely deserted (pun absolutely intended) of monsters. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like they were really just supposed to sit around. 

Everybody kind of ran out of things to do by day five. 

Every game had been played and replayed and bet upon and cheated at until they were all broke and sick of it. Wild was somewhat up and about now, with a whole weeks-worth of elixirs and Hyrule’s magic under his belt, though he wasn’t allowed to do any of the fun stunts that he’d usually teach Wind to pass the time. Time, Warriors, and Twilight had even established a morning routine like the boring adults they were. 

Wind could only jump off the inn’s roof so many times until even Legend’s screeches of alarm became commonplace. 

They needed something fun to do. Desperately.

Preferably as a group. 

Thankfully, Wind had just the thing. 

***

“Avast ye scallywags!” Wind burst into the inn where his brothers were lounging, wielding a thick pirate’s accent and two frying pans ‘borrowed’ from the inn. He clashed them together, grinning as his brothers all jumped at the noise. “Ge’rroff yer lazy arses and weigh anchor! We got shit to do!” 

Four startled so badly they fell from their chair, their book flying up to land smack dab in the middle of Sky’s face, who woke from his nap with a snort and flailing limbs. Drifter’s tail went ramrod straight, puffing up like a moldera larva as their grip tightened on the short, one-handed, beginner braids they were weaving into Flora’s hair at Legend instruction. Time merely sighed, folding the letter he’d been writing and tucking it away as Wolfie leapt to his paws from where he’d been curled up on the floor. Hyrule and Wild, having both been leaned up against the wolf, fell back and hit the floor with twin yelps. Warriors’ head jolted in Wind’s direction from where he’d been staring at the door. 

They all glared at him. 

Wind’s grin only grew wider. 

Closing one eye, he brandished one of the pans towards Hyrule like a saber, “I owe one of ye a swimmin’ lesson,” His accent grew thicker, a purposeful bastardization of Linebeck’s, “and I’ve come to pay me dues!” 

The traveler gulped, rightfully intimidated, but Wild’s eyes lit up. “Swim day!” He cheered, leaping to his feet (and only stumbling a little). 

Flora clapped from the bed, her purple-blue eyes literally twinkling. “The oasis is heavenly this time of year, we can make a day of it!” 

Yes, yes, all according to plan. 

Today was going to be perfect, he wasn’t going to let anything ruin it like the last few attempts. The first time everyone tried to go swimming together at Outset, a few weeks after the majority of them (minus Drifter) had gathered, a massive storm blew in. The second, at Time’s Lake Hylia, Dark Link revived the boss of the Water Temple and forced them all to fight it instead of having fun. Wind didn’t even want to think about the third time, some things were better left forgotten. 

Nothing was going to fuck it up this time, he made sure of it. 

He’d asked around to make sure the weather was going to be good, sent an extra letter to Riju to make double sure there were no monsters around, and —most importantly— made sure the thing could never happen again. 

Operation finally-have-a-din-damned-swim-day (title subject to change) was a go. 

An approving hum, and Time rose to his feet to retrieve his bag. “I wouldn’t mind getting in the water, just give me a moment to get changed and I’ll be out.” 

Sky got up next, stifling a yawn. “It’s been a while since I went swimming,” he stretched, checking that the dragon scale charm was still tied firmly to his belt, “It’ll be fun.” 

Twilight —still a wolf— merely ran in circles a few times, tail wagging so hard he could’ve taken flight, before bolting from the room. A distant splash told his destination. 

One by one, everyone else began to shift and move as well, though some were more enthusiastic than others. Four shoved the bookmark between the pages with more force than strictly necessary, shooting Wind one last heatless glare before making their exit with the others. 

Legend and Drifter were the only ones left, looking rather awkward. 

Wind lowered the pans, tilting his head slightly. They didn’t look very excited. “Are you landlubbers coming or not?” He spun on his heel, hoisting his pan-saber outwards again with a flourish to point the way. “The fun’s thataway!

The two shared an uneasy look, then finally stood and made to follow him outside. 

Hopefully they’d be more amenable in the water. 

 ***

“Yeah, I think I’m good here.” Legend’s voice was snarky as he plopped down on the east side of the oasis, on a small hill between a triangle of palms. “No water for me, thanks.” 

Everyone else save him and Drifter were in the water already. Hyrule sat in the shallows, waiting for his teacher as Wind bobbed up and down in front of the veteran. 

He’d go do the promised lessons in a minute, two of his brothers still weren’t having fun.

[Me neither,] Drifter’s masked face was apologetic, sitting at the veteran’s side with more dignity than Legend’d had. [I’m okay just watching; Sorry Wind.] 

His smile felt strained, disappointed. He’d really wanted to swim with everyone. “That’s okay guys,” He had to be mature here. Not everything was going to go his way. He still had all his other brothers plus a bonus Flora to swim with. 

It was fine.

“Are you sure?” Wild swam up behind him, in nothing but his boxers. “There’s a more secluded pool in the oasis source down the well, if this is too open for you.” 

Yes! That must be the reason, Drifter had only just gotten somewhat used to showing more of themself, this must be too big a jump in public. The bazaar wasn’t empty, by any means, and the meandering travelers must’ve made them nervous. 

If they could move to this new area, they’ll be more comfortable and want to swim! 

“No!” Time bellowed from clear across the pond, hands around his mouth to make the noise travel. His hair was plastered to his face, dripping, though his blue tunic remained dry; Warriors was laughing at him. “We are not going down any wells today!” 

Wind felt that tiny scrap of hope in his chest cough, wither, and die dramatically.

“Alrighty then,” Wild’s eyebrows raised so high they nearly vanished beneath his hairline, and he floated on his back to backstroke away. “Nevermind I guess, forget I offered.” 

[Go teach the traveler, Wind,] Drifter gestured to their splinted arm —oh right, they were still injured— with a soft smile. [I can’t swim anyways right now; we’ll hang out over here until you’re done.]

Wind frowned, still not happy with it. They could still float with that arm, couldn’t they?

”We’ll make sure to keep the gossip to a maximum, don’t worry.” The veteran snickered, leaning forwards till his chin was on his hands. “Now shoo.” 

His face scrunched at the blasé dismissal and turned to swim back to the traveler. Fine. If they wanted to be stupid, sand-hugging landlubbers, that was fine by him. 

He didn’t care.

He didn’t. 

“And sailor?” He turned back at Legend’s words, a glimmer of hope resurrecting in his chest. The veteran’s grin was sharp, eyes steely. “If you splash us, they’ll never find your body.” 

Wind didn’t honor that with a response, turning back to continue paddling with a huff and a disappointed scowl.

Point made, geez. 

***Legend***

[Poor kid.] Drifter’s ears drooped as they watched the sailor swam back to shore, meeting up with Hyrule to commence the long-awaited swimming lessons. [I feel bad letting him down.] 

“Don’t feel bad for sticking up for yourself,” Legend snorted, shaking his head as he looked out over the oasis. “Lolia knows you don’t do it enough.” 

He did know what they meant, though. 

Four emerged from the water with an enraged roar and a water-spitting splutter, having just been picked up and launched halfway across the pond by Time. Wild cackled and demanded to be next, Wolfie doggie-paddling at his heels. 

It was hard saying no to something like this.

They didn’t get this kind of break often.

[I’m assuming you're not swimming because of the…] They trailed off, gesturing desperately towards Legend’s legs as the words to describe things fled them, [thing. The fish thing.] 

Snorting, Legend brought his legs up to cross them. “Yeah, while swimming with everyone would be nice,” Really nice. The water was so clear, so pure, that just the thought of it flowing through his gills was incredibly tempting. “I don’t really want to subject anyone to witnessing that transformation. In either direction.” He sighed, looking longingly over the calm water. The sun was high in the sky now, and the oasis glittered in the light. “What about you? What’s got you grounded to the shore? Besides the splint, of course.” 

Drifter had a lot of reasons for doing the things they did. He had no expectations that this decision wasn’t just as layered as the rest of them. 

They shrugged, tail twitching. A cool breeze blew over the water, and their ears flicked beneath the helmet. [Blu don’t swim. Fur is heavy, we sink.] A huffed laugh, [I also don’t want to have to spend hours drying off afterwards.] 

“So you can’t swim at all then?” He’d already known that, kind of, from the incident in the Great Sea, but it was still jarring to have it confirmed. Drifter was extremely competent in the ways of wilderness survival, it was surprising they couldn’t swim —fur or no fur. 

[That’s what you got out of that?] Drifter snorted, then coughed into their arm. No blood. [No, I can’t swim. It’s much harder to keep yourself afloat when you suddenly weigh, like, twenty pounds heavier than normal.] 

Yeah, that would be an issue, wouldn’t it. 

Wind cheered from the opposite shore as Hyrule tread water unassisted for the first time. The traveler grinned ear to ear, and Warriors erupted from the oasis to grab him and spin him around in celebration. 

Legend whistled loudly through his teeth, clapping. His successor beamed. 

“Do you want to swim?” He leaned back and hummed, curious. “Like, to learn how?”

[I never have before,] Drifter shrugged, eyes wandering to where Four leapt onto Time’s back for revenge; Wolfie —the smithy’s partner in crime— latched onto the old man’s tunic and pulled. Time fell forwards with a cry and a loud splash, pushing the mutt underwater as he fell and dragging Four down with him. 

[I think I would like to, now. Not like, right now, but at some point.] A huff, and Drifter removed their helmet, setting it off to the side with an anxious look at the pedestrians. When nobody spared them a glance, they kept it off. Their silvery hair glistened in the sunlight. [What about you? What’s being a fish like? Surely it’s not all bad.] 

“You’re right,” He laughed, removing his boots to let the sand squish between his toes. This wasn’t island sand, the grains were different. “When I can actually breathe the water, it’s actually kind of fun once the transformation’s done. I’m super fast, and there’s all sorts of cool shit to find underwater if you know where to look.” 

Half the awesome things he’d brought home to Ravio were found at the bottom of lakes and rivers. He didn’t swim in the ocean much anymore, but there were always shells and critters to find beneath the waves. 

Honestly, if the curse’s transformation wasn’t so goddamn painful, he’d probably do it more often. 

Now it was Wind’s turn to be flung across the pond, Warriors cackled as Hyrule cheered from his shoulders. Wild scrambled onto Time’s, and a game of chicken commenced. Wolfie barked as he swam around the combatants, chasing Four around the oasis as a sort of soggy, wet mop of a shark. Wet fur covered the wolf’s eyes, and the smithy hid behind Sky and Flora to lose him. 

The sailor sent occasional glances towards Legend and Drifter as he joined the game of chase, his smile slightly strained. He was really worried they were missing out, wasn’t he?

[They’re having a lot of fun.] Drifter wore a contemplative frown, ears flicking. Their cloak hid the sling from sight. [Wind is distracted, though.]

”He’s disappointed we’re not out there, and worried we’re not enjoying ourselves.” For all the sailor’s bravado, he was laughably easy to read. 

A hum. Drifter’s tail flicked side to side, deep in thought. [He really wanted us out there.] 

Legend let out a deep sigh, watching the sailor. He swam circles around the still-blind Wolfie, splashing water on him from every direction. Every few seconds though, he’d pause and glance their way. 

A lump formed in his throat. “Yeah, yeah he did.” 

***Wind***

They kept swimming until the sun began to set, and everybody was laughing and shoving each other on the way out. Wild went to get started on dinner while everyone else dried off and got dressed. The front desk ladies passed out towels, and Drifter and Legend helped everyone wipe off all the sand. They were both completely clean, completely dry, already. 

Wind’s gut twisted. He hoped they had fun, even if it wasn’t with the rest of them. 

This swim-day was supposed to be for everyone; he’d feel really bad if they didn’t have a good time because Wind didn’t think ahead. 

Wild passed out seafood fried rice, delicious as per usual, and soon enough everyone crashed into bed. Wind was going to stay up a bit later, but lost the battle for consciousness almost immediately after lying down. 

Dead to the world, he didn’t notice two of his brothers hadn’t gone to bed yet.

***

“Psst. Psst.” Someone hissed in his ear, shaking his shoulder. Gently at first, then with more force. “Sailor, sailor come on.” Whoever it was was clearly trying to whisper, but was doing a piss poor job at it. Groaning, Wind rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow. “Goddamn it, don’t make me bring out the ice rod again, you know I will.” 

“Mmghmmgoaway.” He slurred, turning over to his stomach and pulling the blanket over his ears, so only his nose stuck out. It was way too late/early for this. 

“Well, I tried.” The person had backed off, badly-whispered voice further away than earlier. There was a pause, where blessed silence reigned, then, “be my guest.” 

A few more seconds of beautiful quiet. Wind was just about to drift off again when something tickled his nose. He wrinkled it, and the thing went away. Then it came back again, more forcefully shoving his nose into incredibly soft, incredibly ticklish fluff. 

Oh Zephos. He was gonna—

“HACHOO!” Wind flung himself back at the force of his sneeze, blanket flying off to land on Warriors’ pile. His eyes peeled open blearily, taking stock of his dim surroundings. 

“For fuck’s sake sailor,” Legend hissed, “Wake up the whole inn why don’t you!” 

Drifter snickered at his side, tail flicking. Wind’s eyes narrowed at them, displeased. So that was the fluffy thing that’d so rudely ripped him out of sleepytown. 

The three of them were the only ones awake. Everyone else lay around the room in various positions of slumber. The moonlight shone through the window, the only light to see by. Strangely, Four’s weird blue and white ceramic pot (that no one was allowed to smash) stood at Drifter’s side. 

Whatever. 

He didn’t have the brainpower for this. 

“You guys better have a damn good reason,” His voice was heavy with sleep, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly, “for waking me up at ass o’clock in the Din-damned morning.” 

Was it even morning yet? He couldn’t see the moon outside the tiny window. 

Regardless, dick move. 

“Yeah,” Legend tugged him to his feet, pinching his cheek to wake him. “You’ve got more work to do, pirate.” 

What?

Drifter clicked their tongue for attention, reaching into their pocket and tossing something at him. [Stole this from Sky when I dried him off; don’t lose it.]

He nearly dropped it, sluggish as he was, but barely managed to catch hold of the string. It was the dragonscale charm. 

“Huh?” 

Neither Legend nor Drifter felt the need to update Wind on the situation. They moved around the room quietly but quickly, pulling things from bags and getting ready for…something. 

[Alright, I think we’re ready. Legend, help me lug this thing outside; I only have one hand to work with.] Drifter gestured towards the pot, and the veteran moved to hoist it onto his hip. 

Both of them were acting weird. They had something planned, but everything was moving too fast and he was too tired to even attempt to figure it out. “What is going on?” 

Neither of them responded, already halfway out the door, and Wind had no choice but to follow them out. 

The moon was high in the sky by now, and the stars —so similar to the ones that guided him on the Great Sea, but all in the wrong positions— twinkled behind what little cloud cover there was. The desert was cold with the absence of sun, and Wind shivered a little as his bare feet squished the sand. 

Drifter led him back out to the oasis’ shore, and Legend set the jar upon the rocks with a grunt. Wind tied the scale’s string to his belt, still confused. 

The bazaar was empty, this late at night. Everyone was cooped up in their tents asleep. Just like Wind had been, not five minutes ago. 

It wasn’t until Legend plopped down on the sand and started shedding his tunic that the pieces began to click into place. 

“Are we going swimming?” Suddenly wide awake, his jaw dropped as Legend formed a pile of jewelry, keeping only a single green ring upon his finger from the veritable dragon’s hoard he’d placed upon the sand. Drifter, too, began removing their helmet, cloak, and layers (though much slower and more cautiously than the veteran), folding them carefully into a pile at the base of the stone outcropping above the water. They had a slightly more difficult time of it, with the splint, but managed to finish undressing just as Wind’s brain caught up with what was happening. 

“No, we’re going flying.” Legend rolled his eyes, sitting on the sand in only his undershorts. “Try not to talk too loudly, there’s still people sleeping.” His eyes flickered to the tents and back, fingers fiddling with the edge of his shorts. “Now. I’m going to get in. Drifter, if you would…”

Wind was suddenly swept into his friend’s arms, his face buried into their chest and holy hell Wild was not kidding they were so incredibly soft what the fuck— 

A small splash in the background, and a pained grunt, but Wind was too busy having his mind blown by the silky, cloud-like fluff to register it. 

“All good!” The veteran hissed in the background, still clearly trying his best to whisper. “You can let him loose now.” 

The arm and splint keeping him pinned vanished, and Wind stumbled back (almost falling into the water as he did so). He barely managed to regain his balance, shooting Drifter a glare before turning back to the water.

Legend lounged against the shore, a long, delicate fish tail slipping back into the oasis behind him, perfectly visible in the crystal clear water. The pink scales glistened in the moonlight like mother of pearl. The veteran smirked, resting his chin on clawed, webbed hands. “What’s wrong? Zirros got your tongue?” 

Wind didn’t respond, too busy staring at the opalescent scales. 

Well that was one reason not to go swimming in the daytime. 

Breathy snickers from behind, and Drifter set a padded hand on his shoulder. Wind met their eyes with a shellshocked expression. “You’re not a fish too, are you?” 

Laughing, Drifter pushed him in. 

***

“Come on, Drifter, I’m not the only one of us getting wet tonight.” Legend circled in the water like a gyorg, looking up at Drifter who sat on the edge of the rocky, almost diving-board-esque outcropping. They eyed the water with unease, tail twitching even as their feet brushed the surface. 

Wind paddled closer, still fully-clothed from when they’d pushed him in, with revenge in his eyes. 

Drifter was too busy typing out a response to the veteran to notice Wind at their feet, not until it was already too late and his hands gripped their ankles and pulled as Legend cheered.

***

Wind stood, waist-deep in the cold water, holding Drifter’s shoulders as they struggled to float on their back. Their fur swayed in the water, weighing them down, and their splinted arm pressed tight against their chest. 

There wasn’t much Wind could teach Drifter, with their arm injured as it was, but he thought at least floating would be easy enough. Apparently not. 

“Do you have fucking weights in the pockets of your shorts?” He hissed as Drifter began to sink once again. Their tail thrashed in the water as they got their feet beneath them once again, and they shot him a sheepish smile. Their gloves —the only clothes they wore except their shorts— dripped through the holo-screen as they typed, and the Companion Sprite hovered just far enough above the water to avoid being splashed. [Sorry, fur is heavy.] 

“No shit!” He laughed astonishedly, splashing a little wave into Drifter’s chest. “You couldn’t have told me that before I spent twenty minutes trying to teach you to float?” 

Legend swam laps around the oasis, occasionally vanishing beneath the gentle waves to explore a bit and return with a cool rock or a small fish cupped in webbed hands. He was not paying any sort of attention. 

Drifter shrugged, grinning. [You were having fun. It was cute.] 

 Laughing in mock-offence, he tackled them into the shallows with a splash. “I’ll show you cute!”

***

“You cheated, I swear.” Wind wheezed, doggy paddling back to shore as Legend’s tail flicked lazily at his side. 

Drifter sat on the rocks on shore, clapping as best they could with the splint. Four’s pot sat overturned on its side, blowing a steady jet of air into their side like one of Warriors’ hair dryers. The fur flattened and spread around the air, and they turned to change the angle of the blast. 

The veteran smirked, swimming on his back with his hands behind his head. “Naw, that’s just what you get for challenging a literal merman to a swimming race. You get what you pay for.” He spun around to his front, voice taking a sing-song tilt. “Speaking of which, you owe me five rupees.” 

“I never agreed to that you overgrown guppy!” Wind hissed, trying in vain to swim faster than the fish-man could follow. 

“Yes you diiiiiiiiiddddd!”

***

The sun barely peeked out over the horizon, turning the sky red and orange at its emergence. Drifter, Legend, and Wind all lay on the oasis bank in front of Four’s magic pot, drying off. 

Wind was pretty much dry now, even his clothes were only slightly damp after just a few minutes in front of the eternal jar of wind. That was a pretty cool item, he’d have to steal it later. 

Not as cool as the wind waker, though. He definitely could’ve used it to dry off in a fraction of the time, but he’d left it in the inn. 

“Drifter,” Legend grunted, teeth grit. Was he hurt? “There’s a red potion by my clothes.” Wind’s eyes widened. Was he hurt? 

Drifter nodded like this was expected, retrieved the bottle and Legend’s tunic, and set it next to the veteran (whose hands gripped fistfuls of sand with white knuckles). They moved to Wind’s side, tail flicking. Another grunt from Legend and a pleading look, and Drifter pulled Wind into their damp chest again without warning. Whatever was happening, Drifter didn’t want Wind to see it. 

Fuck that.

He flailed, twisting and bucking against Drifter’s hold. Their splint pinned him against their fur, which limited his options if he didn’t want to hurt them. Which he didn’t.

A horrible cracking sound filled the air, coupled by the veteran’s pained whimpers. 

Fuck it. Wind bit Drifter’s good hand, and they released him with a yelp. He fell backwards onto his butt, scrambling to turn around.

Legend sat with his tunic across his lap, sweat on his brow as he sipped from the potion with a grimace. He had legs again. He met Wind’s worried gaze with a shaky smirk, “You okay sailor?” 

He spluttered, confused and concerned. “Are you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” the veteran shrugged, finishing off his potion and reaching for the rest of his clothes with a snicker. “I’d be more worried about Drifter’s hand, honestly. You got them good.” 

Turning back around, Wind came face to face with Drifter’s scowling face. They held their hand against their chest, ears flat. 

Oops. 

[I only have one of these, I can’t go hurting it now.] They complained, waving their hand in Wind’s face between lines of text. Teeth-marks indented the thick skin on their padded palm, not deep enough to bleed, thankfully. [I can’t believe my own friend would betray me like this.] 

Glancing back and forth between the two, Wind decided to file away those last few minutes for later. He wasn’t about to forget them, not in the slightest, but neither of his brothers seemed too concerned about it so he figured it was at least expected, if unpleasant. Still though, he’d have to slip another potion into the veteran’s bag when he got back to the inn.

“You had it coming,” He shrugged, getting back into the playful mood, “Next time just don’t be so biteable.” 

“You hear that?” Legend laughed as he replaced all his jewelry, “You’re biteable.” 

[You’re both so mean to me.] Drifter’s ears and tail drooped dramatically as they pulled their pants and skirt back up. [I’m telling Time.] 

“Oh please do!” Legend held his hand out, and Wind helped him to his feet. His legs shook a bit before stabilizing, and the veteran leaned against a tree to pull his boots on. “I’m sure he’ll love being woken up so early for this.” 

“He usually wakes up about now anyways,” Wind smirked, handing Drifter their cloak before hoisting Four’s magic jar onto his hip. How did the smithy carry this thing? It was huge! “He probably wouldn’t be that mad.” 

Time and Twilight were freaks of nature, honestly. Farmhands or no, no one should be up this early every day. 

“You’re right! You should go test it!” The veteran slapped Drifter on the back as they stood on one leg to put their boots back on, causing them to fall forward onto their face. 

[So mean.] Drifter pouted, picking themself up again and sticking out their tongue. [I’m going inside. Where people appreciate me.]

Drifter dashed away and, laughing, Wind ran after them. “Careful!” He grinned as the pot bounced against his hip. “Wolfie’s still in there, you might get bit!” 

A middle finger was their only response as they vanished through the doorway. 

Legend’s Pegasus boots skidded to a stop at his side, the veteran snatching Four’s pot from his grasp. “Come on, I’ll take this, you sneak the scale back into Sky’s bag. If he wakes up, it’s on your head.” 

Wind gave an indignant scoff as Legend disappeared into the inn, but paused before following. 

They’d really just been up all night swimming. 

Legend had revealed one of his many tight-kept secrets. Drifter had purposefully endured the long process of drying out their fur again so soon after doing it last time. 

All because they noticed Wind was a bit sad. 

Something warm ignited itself in his chest. 

Operation finally-have-a-din-damned-swim-day was a resounding success, in his opinion, even if he’d had to sacrifice a night of sleep and a set of dry clothes to finish it.

Chapter Text

Dearest Malon, 

A lot has happened since my last letter, but I guess I’ll start with this: the portals seem to have stabilized again. They are no longer flinging us across the time stream like Talon with the laundry, and we’ve been in Wild’s era for a few weeks now —just in time for the Festival of Colors, actually, I wish you could’ve been there. There’s so much I want to tell you from our time here, but I will hold off until we can speak in person, and I can hear your laughter when I explain all the hijinx we got up to. 

Unfortunately, we did run into some issues after our time at the festival came to a close. Chief Riju tasked us with investigating the increase in Yiga activity, and it seemed that somehow the cultists had gotten hold of weapons from Drifter’s world. On our way there, we were ambushed, and both Wild and Drifter were kidnapped. Don’t worry too much, we did get them back (ask Wind to describe the fight with Sum-0n-R, he’s very entertaining), but something came up. 

Remember how I told you how Drifter covers up all the time? Well that’s not the case anymore, and while I am elated that they trust us enough to reveal more of themself to the group…

Malon. Malon I’m so sorry. 

You were right, I’m so sorry, I’ll never doubt you again, please don’t do what Ganon couldn’t and finish me off. You’re the love of my life my lily my rose I’m sorry for ever arguing with you. I’ll buy you the good chocolate. Please. 

Malon.

Malon they’re a cat. 

Please forgive me,

Link

Link,

You have got to be kidding me

***Malon***

The first time Link brought home a stray, they were both twelve years old and Malon hadn’t seen him in days. 

He’d just vanished into the Lost Woods after haggling for hours to buy Epona off of her father, returning a few days later with an aged look in his eye, a bag full of masks he wouldn’t let her touch, and a tiny, wet, sickly tabby kitten he’d picked up at the edge of the forest. His face had been a snotty, wet mess as he nearly busted their door down, begging Talon to please let me stay I can’t lose someone else I have to save her please— 

The kitten didn’t survive the night; Link was inconsolable. They’d buried it in the backyard by the haybales, and after learning that he had no where else to go, Talon offered him a job. 

***

The second time he brought a cat home, they were twenty-one and newly married. 

Link had gone into Castletown for a standard milk delivery, only to come back hours later than he was supposed to with scratches all up his arms, a wide grin, and a feisty, one-eyed tuxedo. He’d held her up by her armpits as she squirmed and writhed and hissed, met Malon’s eyes with his own recently-singular one, and beamed, “Look Mal’, she’s like me!” 

They kept the cat. 

Malon didn’t even like cats, but Monocle (MonMon, for short) made a damn good mouser so she couldn’t even complain. 

Talon had only laughed and handed her a glass of milk when she complained anyways, bringing up how her mother had done the same thing with cuccoos once upon a time. It didn’t help. 

She didn’t dare try and remove the cat though, not with how her husband’s gaze lit up whenever the smarmy kit sacheted into the barn, or bumped her head against his leg, or did literally anything in his vicinity. She wouldn’t dare do anything to jeopardize that look, so MonMon stayed. 

Life went on, foaling seasons came and went, and Malon and MonMon entered into a kind of mutual understanding. Monocle didn’t try and enter the main house, and Malon wouldn’t chase her out with a broom. Win win. 

That worked well, for a few years. 

Until MonMon multiplied. 

Six kittens. 

Link named most of them after glassware (Lens, Bottle, Mirror, Pane, and Marble) and asked Malon to name the runt. She’d called him Stain, both to stick with the theme, and because the first thing he did when taken out of the box was vomit all over her skirt. 

Unsure of how to care for them, Link went into town for proper kitten-rearing supplies, and someone there told him to bring them inside so now their nice guest room was a cat room and Monocle wouldn’t stay there. 

Her days turned into a never-ending game of keep the cat in the goddamn guest room, not helped in the slightest when Link would deliberately sneak her outside for ‘enrichment’. Enrichment her ass, Malon swore the demon just enjoyed screaming at the window. 

When the kittens got old enough to walk on their own, Malon gave up. It was their house now, she didn’t get paid for this. 

Link, the good husband he was, tried his best to keep the cats out of their bedroom since he knew she didn’t like them, but occasionally one would slip in through a forgotten window and she’d have to clean hairballs off the bedspread. 

That was when Malon finally sat her husband down and laid out a rule: no more strays. 

They were going to keep MonMon and exactly one kitten, but would need to find homes for all the others. Any new cats he somehow attracted (of which there were many, Link was a goddamn cat magnet apparently) had to go straight to the Kakariko shelter or she was going to lose it. 

Link decided to keep Stain, because that was the one Malon had named. She couldn’t even find it in herself to be frustrated, even if the kitten did still ruin all her nice dresses. 

They went to Kakariko to get MonMon and Stain fixed the following week. Malon was a smart woman, she could learn from her mistakes. 

And that was that. 

MonMon and Stain returned to their mousing duties, with only brief forays into the house when the weather got bad, and Malon went back to pretending they didn’t exist except to feed them. 

If she occasionally left scratches behind their ears while they ate, no she didn’t. 

***

Malon’s morning started off like any other: get up at the morning light, feed the cuccoos and collect the eggs, harvest any ripe veggies from the garden, make breakfast, feed the cats so they’d leave her alone, sit out on the porch for half an hour or so to enjoy the birdsong, wash the dishes, feed and milk the cows, let the cows out to pasture, make sure everyone has fresh hay, feed the horses, and check which stalls were due for cleaning today. 

She’d been cleaning out the stables more often, lately, since Link had mentioned in his letters that the group had a new member. If the pattern held, the portals really liked dumping new heroes into her barn for some reason, and there was no reason to let her newest adoptive-son fall into a pile of horse shit. It’d been a few months now, since the first mention of this ‘Drifter’, and no new person had shown, so she was sure it was only a matter of time. 

Malon hummed a nonsensical song to herself as she lugged the pails of milk back to the house to let them separate. Prince Shiek’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks, and with him thoroughly busy preparing for war with the Gerudo, Malon figured a few bottles of award-winning LonLon Milk (and maybe a sneak peek of her husband’s Chateau Romani recipe, yet to be released to the public) would be a good pick-me-up. In order to make it in time, though, she’d need more milk to cover the normal deliveries plus this royal present. 

She’d just finished putting the pails away and washing her hands when there was a loud crash followed by a frantic commotion in the direction of the stables. Stain ran from the barn screaming, tail poofed. 

Ah, so today was the day, then. 

Wiping her hands on her apron and grinning in eager anticipation, Malon grabbed a couple fresh carrots for the horses and hurried out. 

She had a new kid to make welcome.

***Drifter***

They were falling, then they weren’t. 

Flailing head over heels, Drifter landed on their face in a carpet of ground-up wood shavings, flinging some into the air as their limbs thrashed and their splinted arm ached at the sudden jolt. Their tail hit something metal on the way down, resulting in a loud clang that must have scared something since an unholy screeching erupted and grew fainter as whatever-it-was ran away. Luckily, their mask kept any shavings from getting in their mouth, but it stuck to the outside of the fabric as they pushed themself up onto their knees and looked around. 

They were in a small, walled-off box of sorts with a tall gate on one side, split in half horizontally so the top and bottom could open independently. A small pile of hay sat in the far corner, and two pails of water and what they assumed to be some type of food protruded from the leftmost wall. 

Something nudged their back. 

A blur of light and color, and Drifter slammed into the wall with their tail puffed up and ears flattened. Their hand gripped the handle of their gun as they looked up and up and what the hell was that—

The largest animal they’d ever seen stared down at them in interest, its head tilted slightly so the side-facing eyes could peer at them properly. Short, coarse reddish-brown hair coated its long face and muscled body, with a strip of white on the forehead that led upwards to a startlingly white mane framed by two long, twitching ears pointed forwards. The muzzle darkened at the mouth, and it chewed absentmindedly on a few stalks of hay. More white hair coated the bottom of its long legs, nearly obscuring the dangerous-looking hooves it stood on. A long, similarly hairy tail flicked behind it. 

It seemed to be judging them. 

A staring contest commenced. Drifter, pressed as far back against the wall as they could possibly get, versus this huge, intimidating thing. 

They didn’t dare move, trapped in here as they were, lest this thing decide they made for a better snack than the hay it seemed so fond of. 

Both Drifter’s and the thing’s ears flicked, the sound of an opening door from outside signaling the entrance of another potential adversary. The giant animal blinked and looked away, turning to the gate. Locks rattled from the outside, and the top half of the doorway swung outward. 

A red-headed, middle-aged woman met their gaze with a wide-eyed, excited expression. Her hair was tied back under a yellow patterned bandanna, messy, windswept bangs peeking out in front of it.  She laughed, almost disbelieving, “Well I’ll be damned, you are another cat, aren’t ya’.” 

Drifter didn’t even know what to say to that; they’d never seen this woman before, and —despite Twilight’s best efforts to explain— they still only had a vague understanding of what exactly a ‘cat’ was. 

Their eyes flickered from the woman to the thing, anxious. The animal nudged at the woman’s hair, its lips moving as if to grasp pieces of it. She batted it away with a fondly annoyed expression, and it reared it’s head back indignantly at the gentle swat. “Oh be patient, you know the drill. Gotta make sure tha newcomer’s got all settled first, then you’ll get yer carrots.” 

The thing snorted, shifting it’s weight and trying to eat her hair again, only to be batted away once more. Drifter calmed somewhat, it didn’t seem like the woman was scared of it, so it was unlikely to be much of a danger to them. They released the handle of their gun, but remained ready, just in case. They still didn’t know this woman. 

She pushed the animal further inside the stall, opening the door and slipping in before the massive thing could make a break for it (and it did try). As she admonished the massive animal like a mother would her child, Drifter took in the rest of her modest outfit. A long purple skirt with a tan apron fell to the middle of her calves, revealing well-worn work boots underneath it. Tucked into the skirt, her loose, short-sleeved shirt was a dirty off-white, stained and mended from hard labor.

She turned away from the indignant animal, facing Drifter and offering a calloused hand up. “Nice of ya to drop on in,” She smiled —a bright, cheerful thing— as they took her hand and got to their feet. “I’ve heard so much about ya from Time, he’s ma husband, ya see. I’m Malon, I hope ya didn’t have too hard a fall, the portals like dumpin’ heroes into ma barns for some reason. When Warriors first got here, he got dropped straight into the compost!” 

So this was the famous Malon they’d heard so much about. 

[I’m Drifter, it’s nice to finally put a such a beautiful face to Time’s spouse.] They smiled at her beneath the mask, reaching up to flick away the few pieces of wood-shavings that still stuck there. 

“Oh you flatterer!” Laughing, Malon brushed off her skirt, reaching into the pocket of her apron to retrieve a carrot which she offered to the thing. It took the vegetable with a nicker and a bob of the head, its mane swishing as it moved. She gave it a pat on the neck. “I see ya met Epona already, prob’ly fer the best you ended up in her stall. With all’a crazy shit Link’s put her through she’s basically unflappable; any other horse woulda’ startled the second you arrived!” 

Lucky indeed, they eyed the ‘horse’ suspiciously. Twilight and Time both spoke highly of this species, but so far, they didn’t see the appeal. Epona met their gaze unflinchingly, reaching her neck out to mouth at Malon’s apron for more snacks only to snort at the rebuttal. 

“Come on,” Malon turned towards the gate, “I’ll let ya out. Yer gotta be fast though, or Epona’ll make a break for the pasture. I gotta put the cows back, first, and they’ve still got a few hours yet.” 

If there was one thing they were, it was fast, and Drifter’d rather not be cooped up with the horse any longer. 

She unlatched the lock, and they dashed past her, skidding to a stop in the center of a long hallway with dozens of identical gates down the row. Some had the top doors opened, and more horses in various colors and patterns peered out to see what all the fuss was about. Drifter’s ears flattened at the host of sudden stares, only barely registering the click of the latch as Malon re-locked the door. 

“That’s a handy trick ya got there,” They startled as Malon rested a gentle hand on their shoulder with an appreciative whistle, tearing their eyes away from the horses. “Be nice to move so fast, get all the chores done right quick.” 

[It’s useful sometimes,] their tail flicked behind them, and they almost put it away in the unfamiliar environment, but thought better of it as Malon gave their shoulder a pat and moved up ahead. 

“Oh I’m sure,” She laughed, leading them to the entrance, “I bet Legend wasn’t happy, not being the fastest anymore. He always was such a snob about his fancy boots; won’t even wear ‘em for cleanin’, and at that point what’s the use!” 

Laughing again —she really was quite a giggly person, they’d thought Four was exaggerating— Malon unlocked the stable door and pushed it open, revealing a wide dirt road that led to the right towards a fenced-in pasture-turned-racetrack, and the front of a modest, cozy-looking house just on the other side of the path. Raised boxes of vegetables lined the exterior walls, a mix of tomato, pea, and bean vines climbing a trellis around the windows. The garden wrapped around the side of the house and out of sight, large squash leaves spilling from the boxes and trailing out across the grass. 

“Come on, yer the first one here so you get yer pick of the guest room, them’s the rules.” Grabbing their only available hand, she tugged them towards the house. “The others are never too far behind once the first one eh’ya gets here, so I’ll get started on lunch. Any recommendations? Do ya cook at all, or is that still a Wild-only profession?” 

Drifter couldn’t really respond with their hand held hostage like this, so they merely hummed. Not much of an answer, but they didn’t really have an opinion anyways. Plus, they were pretty sure Wild would actually murder them if they got anywhere near his cooking pot. 

“Well regardless, today yer cooking with me. It’s tradition; I gotta get to know my newest adoptee.” Her green eyes glittered as she all but shoved them through the door before they had the chance to process her words, ushering them past the living room to a small door beside the stairs. “Now, you go get all washed up, and I’ll figure out what we’re makin’. If there’s a cat in the bathroom, just kick it outside, it knows it’s not s’posed to be there.” 

She vanished around the corner in a swirl of purple skirts, and Drifter could only blink at the door in the wake of all the information. 

Get to know her newest what?

***

Something was scratching at the door. They were washing their hands (as best they could with the splint, at least) and something was scratching at the door. 

Something small, from the sound of it. 

A black and white paw poked underneath the door, scratching at the floorboards before retreating. Drifter stared at the space it vanished from. 

Another paw appeared, this one completely black, scratching more frantically. A pitiful yet demanding yowl called from the other side.

They dried their hands on the nearby towel, running their gloves under the water for a second before wringing them out and turning to face the door. The scratching continued. 

They didn’t want to open it. Whatever it was sounded angry. 

…But Malon was out there…

Time probably wouldn’t be happy if they let his wife be killed by some sort of tiny feral beast. 

Drifter swung the door open before they could convince themself otherwise, the knob knocking against the wood with a loud, unintentional slam. 

Two wide-eyed creatures startled back, their fur puffing upwards to make them look bigger before smoothing back down again. The larger of the two (roughly the size of Kial’s soccer ball) only had one eye, the other one scarred shut by nasty looking claw marks. It was mostly black, with white patches on the ends of its paws, tail, ears, and a big spot on its chest. An almost perfect white circle framed its remaining green eye, the pupil narrowed into a slit as it surveyed them. 

The smaller creature was completely black all around, with only a little white spot on the bridge of its nose. Its wide blue eyes never blinked as it stared into their soul, unflinching. 

Drifter stared back. The creature’s tails swayed back and forth behind them, and their own tail moved to match. 

“Drifter? Are you done ye—“ Malon cut herself off with a snort from the end of the hallway, but Drifter didn’t dare take their eyes off their tiny adversaries. Their clawed hand flexed, the fur on the back of their neck stood on end unbidden, and the little creatures began to puff up as well. All of their ears folded backwards, just waiting for the other party to make a move. 

“Okay, that’s enough’a that!” The tense staring contest was abruptly ended as Malon came in with a broom, gently batting the little creatures away and herding them towards an open window. The tiny animals hissed and spat, swiping at the broom even as they fled from it. Drifter only barely withheld themself from hissing back at them. “Yer not even supposed to be in here, ya flea-ridden bastards! Stop squaring up with my guests!” She yelled out the window before slamming it closed, muttering expletives under her breath. “Sorry about that hon, they’re little menaces, but ma husband likes ‘em too much to toss and they do make good mousers so…” A long-suffering sigh finished her sentence adequately where words could not. 

Slipping their still-damp glove back on over their good hand, Drifter’s narrowed eyes traced the tiny black streaks as they ran across the path and disappeared into the barn. Hopefully they wouldn’t be back. [What were those?] 

“Oh honey…” Malon looked like she was about to laugh, “Did none of my boys teach ya what a cat was? I would’a thought at least one of those lovely idiots would’a tried it by now, with how you look.” 

Those were cats? 

Those were what everyone said the blu resembled? 

…They couldn’t see it. 

Something must’ve shown on their face despite the mask, since Malon merely laughed again and tugged them towards the kitchen. “Come on, hun, let’s get lunch started up. I’ve already set out the ingredients, just try not ta push them off the counter if you can help it.” 

***

Drifter diligently stirred the frying pan full of veggies as Malon worked on battering the cuccoo breasts they’d prepared together. They were making some sort of pan-fried cuccoo strips, and it was times like these that they mourned their species’ lack of smell. 

Their cloak and capelet had been shirked, hanging on a hook near the door, and Drifter was this close to hanging up their helmet as well if it slipped down one more time. Their sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, and the only reason they hadn’t taken off their glove again was the fact that they’d need it to communicate. 

It was cozy. 

Malon hummed a tune that they vaguely recognized Time singing before, making sure both sides of the meat were slathered with the flour, corn meal, and spice batter they’d mixed together earlier. A second, cast-iron pan heat up on the other stove burner. 

Her hips swayed side to side as she danced to her own song, hands held aloft so as to not touch anything else with the raw cuccoo juices. Drifter’s tail flicked in time with the beat her feet created, and she turned around with a smile, letting her skirt swirl around her at the movement. 

She swayed to the sink, washing her hands quickly, and pulled Drifter away from the stove. Her voice was joyful as she sang, twirling them around despite the fact they had no idea how to dance. The imaginary beat picked up tempo as she stomped her feet, spinning around the kitchen herself to pluck the salt from the low shelf and spin back. “Come on, sweetheart, dancin’s more fun with friends!” She sprinkled some onto the pan of vegetables, and slid the salt across the counter. It fell over, but she didn’t seem to mind. “It don’t gotta be good, just have fun with it.” She grabbed their hand again, twirling them. They went along with it this time, completing the rotation with a nervous smile and a small flourish with their tail. 

Malon beamed, “There we go!” 

Her voice filled the otherwise quiet room with song, both their feet providing tempo. The battered cuccoo breasts were added to the pan, sizzling and popping and adding to the music. Malon’s skirts billowed out majestically, and Drifter retrieved their cloak so they could have a similar effect. 

Laughing at each others’ lack of moves, they both danced around the kitchen, cleaning up. Drifter took the cuccoo’s temperature and moved them to a separate plate so the next breast could cook, and Malon took the veggies off the burner. She held out a fork with a piece of pepper on it, a matching one already sticking from her mouth. They took it; it was delicious.

Drifter tapped their empty fork against the counter, a soft click click click adding to the music of the afternoon. “Ooh good idea!” Malon pulled open a cabinet, turning a pot upside down to smack with a wooden spoon. “Who needs a fancy ocarina when you have this!” 

And just like that, their song gained an orchestra. 

Pots and pans and bowls of various materials, anything that could make noise was brought out for the playing. Drifter switched out the cuccoo breasts for the last time as Malon clicked two pairs of tongs, their tail swaying side to side as she sang. 

They grabbed a pair of metal skewers, using them as drumsticks on the line of overturned pots. They hummed along to Malon’s song, smiling brightly as she spun. 

Of course, it was about time for something to go wrong

A black streak rocketed into the room, darting between Drifter’s legs and tripping them as Malon’s song cut off abruptly. Shouting, they fell back, arm scratching at the cabinets, and their claws caught on the bag of flour they hadn’t yet put away. 

Thwoomp.

Drifter coughed and coughed and coughed again as Malon chased the cat from the room, rubbing white from their eyes and only serving to push it deeper. The fur on their forearms was absolutely coated, the white grains burrowing deep into the dense fur. Flour filled the air in a cloud of fine particulates, settling on every surface within reach in a thin layer of powder. 

This was going to take forever to clean up. 

Cursing under her breath, Malon re-entered the room and knelt by their side. “Are ya okay Drifter hun? That was quite the fall, and Time said you had issues with yer lungs sometimes.” 

Coughing up powder for the final time, Drifter shook their head. It was nice of her to think of them like that, but they were fine. No blood mixed with the flour; it was a good day. 

Frowning, Malon helped them up, looking around at the mess with thinned lips and gingerly plucking the empty bag of flour from the ground. Five long gashes gouged through the cotton fibers, leaking more powder to the floor.

Their ears drooped. They both had a lot of cleaning to do, now. [Sorry.] 

Malon took the cuccoo off the heat, testing it with the thermometer before adding it to the pile of already done (and slightly dusty) strips. “Don’t you dare apologize for the actions of that mangy stray, that was no fault o’ yours. Besides,” She turned to them with a smile, “this just means we get more time for dancin’ while we clean.” 

Huffing a laugh, Drifter tried to brush off their forearms over the sink. It didn’t work, but they didn’t dare try washing it with water yet, lest the powder turn to glue. [I don’t think I like cats, much.] 

Malon threw her head back in a loud guffaw, “that makes two of us!” 

***

After the kitchen was deemed clean enough, Malon sent Drifter upstairs to shower while she put the finishing touches on dinner (sparing just enough time to show them how the unfamiliar knobs worked and instruct them to leave their clothes outside the door so she could take it all to wash before vanishing back downstairs).

It wasn’t how they typically preferred to bathe, but since volcanic ash was somewhat scarce on this adventure, they’d make do. It wasn’t like this was all bad, anyways. 

The warm water felt good on their fur, washing all the flour off their arms, even though they knew they’d have to spend hours drying off afterwards. This was worth it. 

Malon was nice. 

Really nice. 

They liked her. 

***

Drifter lay on the couch in their shorts with their arm over their eyes, sprawled out and dozing in a patch of blessed sun. Their fur was still damp, as expected, and it would still take a while to dry yet. 

They were going to try and brute force it with towels, but Malon had shut that down fast, insisting that they let their fur dry the natural way to avoid future discomfort with their clothes (“besides hon, I’ve still gotta wash ‘em, so there’d be no use to rushin’”). There wasn’t much room to argue, and Drifter felt strangely okay with letting her see their fur despite the fact they’d really only just met. Something about the cozy atmosphere just put them at ease, and Drifter would not be surprised if Time later told them his wife was somehow magic.  

A loud, rumbling purr built in their chest unbidden, and their ears flicked as someone knocked at the door. They didn’t move, barely conscious as Malon went to get it. 

“Why hello dearest,” Time’s voice sounded out, followed by the sound of a wet kiss and a chorous of disgusted noises. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen our tenth, would you?” 

“Why yes, actually, they fell into Epona’s stall.” Malon laughed, and rupees clicked as they changed hands. There must have been a betting pool going. “Please do keep it quiet though, I believe they’re still sleeping after yer little hellbeasts covered ‘em in flour.” 

The voices grew steadily louder as the people approached, only to hush suddenly as, presumably, they all saw Drifter lying on the couch. A moment passed in silence, but they didn’t move, too comfortable. 

“They’re—“ Time’s voice was choked, surprised, and Malon shushed him. 

“They’re doggone tired is what they are,” She whispered, “an’ if any’a you wake ‘em before it’s time to eat, that’s as good as volunteering for cuccoo duty tomorrow. Unless yer Sky, in which case it’s cow duty. They spent a lot of time an’ energy helping me make dinner today, since y’all didn’t hurry enough to make it fer lunch.” Quiet shuffling, as brothers bickered. “Now git on upstairs and wash up. Quietly.” 

A chorus of whispered “Yes Malon”’s and “yes ma’am”’s rang out as the majority of the heroes filed upstairs to do as they were told. 

Quiet reigned, for a few minutes. Long enough for Drifter to almost fall asleep completely before Time’s voice cut through the silence, “How were they?” 

“Overwhelmed a’ first, I think.” Malon hummed, fond, “but they opened up after while. They’re a good’un. I like ‘em.”

Time’s voice held a smirk. “A good cat you mean?” 

“They are not a cat,” She sniffed, repulsed, “Infact, they said they don’t even like cats, so yer argument is less than null.” 

“But Malon,” His voice held a whining tilt now, “Just look at them!” 

Silence. Their tail twitched, purring ramping up to a whole new level at being acknowledged. 

“Irrelevant.” 

“I’ve seen you petting MonMon in the mornings, don’t even pretend like you don’t—“ 

“You’ve seen no such thing!” 

“Just admit it! You love the kitties!” 

“Lies and slander!” The voices grew quieter as the couple retreated, probably to set the table for dinner. 

Drifter’s chest rumbled unbidden as the sun warmed their fur, almost to the point of uncomfortability but not quite. A series of thumps sounded from upstairs, followed by frantic shushing. 

Soft paws alighted on the couch beside them, something fuzzy nuzzling up against their side. Another pair approached from their head, carefully stepping onto their chest to curl up in the sunlight and join the chorus of purrs. 

They fell asleep like that. 

Maybe there was something to these ‘cats’ after all. 

Chapter Text

***Drifter***

Drifter’s sword cut through a swarm of slimes, splattering their gooey insides across the clearing. A bokoblin’s club came at them from behind, but hit only a hazy afterimage as they dashed out of harm’s way just in time to reflect an arrow before it could hit Warriors’ shoulder. 

The rest of the group fought nearby, forced into close quarters by the dense trees that surrounded them. Bokoblins and chuchus fought beside dirk and slime as allies, adversaries from both worlds banding together to make their life hell. A small, floating cloaked thing with a pointy hat and a staff danced around the outskirts of the battle, something Legend called a “wizzrobe” (but bore no resemblance to the bird-like enemy Drifter had encountered before by the same name). It faded in and out of visibility, just blinking into existance long enough to shoot blasts of magic into the fray before vanishing again. 

Everything was infected, black blood stained the grass. Even the Hyperlight enemies had tar mixed with the pink sign of affliction.

Legend’s mirror shield caught a stray blast before it would’ve clipped Drifter in the arm, and they nodded in thanks before dashing away with a wheeze. Their muscles burned, only exemplifying the various knicks and scrapes they’d accumulated over the course of the battle. Today was not a good day for their illness; they didn’t know how much more of this they could take. 

“Look alive!” Wind called across the field, drawing attention to where the wizzrobe hovered far above the battle. It twirled it’s staff, energy building at the top as it charged something big. 

Drifter couldn’t really do much about that, at the moment. Their blade was locked with that of a moblin, with more coming up from behind. No time to pull out the railgun or even the revolver from their belt. Four darted behind their cloak, sword flashing as it cut the monster in two and left Drifter available to cleave into the next one. 

Wild ran forward with a shout from where he’d been fighting near Sky, and Warriors fell to his knee to raise his shield. The champion’s foot planted onto the metal, leaping into the air to pull out his bow. His body blurred midair, and he let three arrows fly in short succession. 

It wasn’t fast enough. 

The wizzrobe flung its staff downwards, releasing a blast that hit the dirt and exploded outwards in a wave of unidentified magic. The shockwave washed over the whole field and all it’s inhabitants; it felt cold, but not painful. 

Drifter swallowed a lump of blood and dread. 

Wild’s arrow struck the monster in the eye just seconds too late, and it fell with a screech to be impaled on Twilight’s sword. Its corpse vanished with a puff of smoke, leaving nothing but a pile of empty robes. 

With the ringleader dead, the rest of the battle wrapped up soon after. 

***

Drifter leaned one arm against a nearby tree, hacking blood onto the grass. Their throat burned, their head pounded, and they took out their canteen to wash the taste from their mouth. Wild patted their back solemnly as Twilight held their helmet and hair out of the way. 

“Anyone have any idea what that last attack was?” Warriors adressed the group, sliding his sword from a bokoblin’s corpse with a wet schlick. “Better question: anyone noticing any effects so far?” 

“Could’ve been a delayed action spell,” The veteran hummed, leaning up against a tree and wiping black blood from his blade. “A bit of an advanced tactic for a wizzrobe though.”

“It was infected,” Wind kicked some leftover chu jelly, sending it splatting against a bush. “But the magic didn’t hurt at all; maybe it didn’t work?” 

“Oh, it worked.” Hyrule’s narrowed eyes swept over them all, lips pursed. “Everyone’s auras have a sort of…cloak to it, now. Like a second skin. Even you, Drifter, though it seems to be adhering more to you than the illness.” 

Great, they hacked again and choked on the water, now they had that to worry about. 

“Does it look to be doing anything?” Sky’s brows were furrowed as he finished cleaning off the Master Sword and slid it back into it’s sheath. 

Hyrule shook his head in response, lips pursed and eyes narrowed at something no one else could see. “It seems to be fading slowly, with its caster dead. It should wear off on its own eventually.” 

“Keep an eye on it,” Time’s voice was stern, but worried. “Update us if anything changes. In the meantime, Twilight, could you please go find us a spot to camp?” His eye met Drifter’s tired gaze, “I think we could all use a bit of a rest.” 

***

Drifter woke rested, which was the first red flag. 

They weren’t jolted awake by the phantom pain of dying, nor did their mouth taste like iron. Hell, their muscles felt loose and —while slightly pinched from sleeping on their neck wrong— their throat didn’t hurt at all. 

They turned over to their stomach and pushed themselves upwards; something was amiss. Their eyes peeled open, blinking away the last remnants of sleep.

Confused, they blinked again. 

And again.

Their hands weren’t theirs. 

Pale, peach skin and blunt nails met their gaze, gripping the soft grass with sudden alarm. Breaths heaving (but not hurting), Drifter flung themself away, scrambling backwards until their back hit the tree and they stared at not-their-hands in sheer and utter panic.  

What happened? 

“Hey, hey breathe with me, come on.” They looked up to meet the face of whomever was speaking, only to have their gaze immediately stolen by the cloud of misty color that should not be there. 

Time’s face peered down at them in obvious concern (both eyes open though one was a blazing, probably-magical white). A hazy cloud of golden yellow swirled around his head, bits and pieces flaking off and vanishing into the air, and he pantomimed breathing for them to copy. “Come on, ‘Rulie, you have to breathe with me.” 

Who? 

Still hyperventilating, Drifter frantically looked down again, taking in their own appearance for the first time. Pale skin, thin frame, threadbare green tunic. Holy hell they were Hyrule.

“Time?” Titan’s balls that was Hyrule’s voice from their mouth. “Time what’s going on?” 

The golden yellow around Time’s face spiked up like a crystal seed, sharp spines emerging and breaking off and fading into obscurity and forming again—

“You gotta calm the fuck down traveler,” Four’s voice cut through their thoughts, and strong hands shook their shoulders. A fluffy cloud of pink enveloped their face, spiking up slightly as they froze suddenly. “Actually, what the hell, why the fuck am I so short all the sudden?” 

“I, uh,” Warriors sounded more timid than normal, and Drifter’s eyes snapped towards him. A pale, lime-green mist swirled around the captain’s chest, and he stared at Drifter with a haunted expression. “I think something is wrong.” He swallowed, tugging at the scarf around his neck. Time’s face went sheet-white, and his golden aura froze stiffly in place. 

“Indeed,” Wind sat up in his bedroll, touching gently at his eye with a frown. Forest green hugged his shoulders like a blanket, gently swirling in contrast to everyone else’s harsh spikes. “I appear to be a child again, somehow. This is not ideal.” 

***

Drifter stared down at their own body, sleeping fitfully against a tree. Ears twitched beneath the helmet, and black eyes screwed tightly shut. 

It looked bad. 

Globs of black, pink-streaked miasma clung to their chest like a leech, smothering the navy-blue mist that tried seeping out through cracks in the coverage. Evil tendrils extended outwards and upwards to wrap around their neck. It pulsed like a heartbeat, moving across their clothes and leaving trails of tinted mucus in its wake. 

It looked really bad. 

If this was what Hyrule saw on them every day, Drifter could understand their initial misgivings. 

It looked really really bad. 

They felt great, in Hyrule’s unafflicted body, but it was sour knowing exactly what one of their friends was experiencing in their stead. 

“Okay,” Wind clapped, green aura spiking for the first time, “It appears the magic from last night has…mixed us up a bit, so we need to establish who is who.” He blinked hard, rubbing at his eye again. “To start, I am Time.” 

They went around the clearing, stating names like they’d just met. Hyrule was in Warriors’ body, lime green swirled around him nervously, flicking out in anxiety whenever someone adressed him. 

That was another new thing: the colors. Everyone’s ’auras’ —as Hyrule called them— were different, but they did all share one key similarity. A thin blue film of sorts, shimmering just above the surface of the ever-changing fog and occasionally letting slivers of magic evaporate into the air. Probably what the healer had referred to last night, fading slowly with time. Hopefully it would be over with quickly, but with the rate things were going Drifter found it unlikely. They’d be stuck for a full day at least.

Wild was Sky, neon-blue wrapping around him protectively even around the sailcloth as the champion groaned and complained of exhaustion. Sky —as Wild, funnily enough— merely laughed at him, brilliant crimson mist settling around his shoulders and almost bubbling in mirth. Warriors turned out to be in Time’s body, which made a lot of sense, and had to spend a few minutes in front of the mirror shield learning to keep his eye shut so as not to freak everybody out. Legend was Four, enraged at being so short, and Four was Twilight, constantly underestimating their own strength (the smithy’s silvery shroud spiked every time they broke another practice-stick). Twilight —in Legend’s body— hadn’t moved from his bedroll (apparently it was a bad joint day, and the rancher wasn’t keen to get moving any time soon). 

That only left one hero remaining. 

Drifter absentmindedly bit at Hyrule’s lip, forgetting for a second that they had no fangs to do so with. Their own body still lay quiet on the ground, twitching occasionally. 

Definitely a nightmare. 

Ignoring the arguments that started up behind them. Drifter bent down at their own side, reaching out to pull down the mask for when Wind eventually, inevitably jerked awake to cough. Warmth spread outwards from their core, light erupted from their fingertips unbidden, and the back of their left hand heat up beneath the traveler’s fingerless glove. 

The miasma moved, thrashing and lashing out to strike at them. It burned their hands at the touch, and Drifter fell backwards with a startled yelp. They shook their still-glowing hands, trying to turn off the magic they didn’t mean to use. 

Drifter’s original body whined and curled up tighter around itself, tail wrapping around protectively. Tears sprung to their eyes, they knew what that felt like but didn’t know how to stop it. 

Warriors’ —no, Hyrule’s— hands gripped their own, extinguishing the magic. Drifter met his gaze with glassy eyes, “I didn’t mean to do that,” they whispered, still unused to speaking without pain. 

“I know,” His green aura was thick, enveloping them both, “but it might be best if you stayed away from yourself for now, until you learn to control it.” 

Their eyes slid past him to land on their own face —Wind’s face, now— pained and shaking. The mask was still in place. “I just wanted to help.” 

“I know,” Hyrule led them away, waving Warriors over take care of Wind when he woke up, “So was I.” 

Drifter spared one last glance back at their body and the miasma that coated it, hoping beyond hope that Judgement would take it easy just this once.

***Wind***

Waking up ankle-deep in a shallow sea of red.

Looking around: nowhere familiar. 

Blinking. Corpses in the water, no one he knew.

Taking a step, nudging a pink helmet to the side. Looking down and seeing hands not his own for the first time. 

What? 

Pressure in his chest, growing until it burst. 

Doubling over, coughing blood into the water. 

More.

More. 

More. 

How much blood does he have to lose? 

Something grabs him by the ankle, pulling him back. 

Hitting the floor with a splash, sitting up, spluttering. 

What the hell? 

A screech, a slam, and something stands before him. 

Something huge. 

An ever-shifting black mass of tentacles, bone, and magic all condensed into a vaguely humanoid form. Clawed hands slamming down on either side of him; pink, diamond-shaped eye staring into his soul. 

Staring back, defiant. He will not be cowed by a posturing bitch. 

Pinprick pupil shrinking, head tilting, then the monster melts away. Black ooze mixing with red water, swirling, sinking, fading. 

He is alone once more. 

***

Walking through the red water; it isn’t getting any deeper no matter how far he goes. An ocean that makes no sense. No waves, no tides, no airflow. 

Corpses littering the landscape: still no one familiar. 

A woman with a wolf’s face staring lifeless into the pinkened sky. Walking past her without a glance. 

Tail swishing in the water behind him, staring back at it, confused. 

Someone in the distance; a familiar sillouette. 

Long cloak, spiked helmet. Drifter.

Running. 

Calling out, coughing as his throat rebels. 

Running more.

Drifter doesn’t get any closer. They’re facing away, towards the distant islands. Their backlit cloak rustles in a nonexistant breeze. 

Running still, footsteps splashing in the red. 

Tendrils shooting from the water, entangling their legs. 

A gentle ghost of a hand at their shoulder, followed quickly by a burst of gold and burning pain.

Crying out again, falling to the ground as his muscles lock.

The tendrils pull harder. 

The water is deeper than he remembers. 

***

Landing on his back in a black featureless void. A diamond prism pulsing rythmically in the distance. 

Coughing pink blood on the abyss, standing with his hand on his —Drifter’s?— sword. 

Drifter in the distance again, between him and the prism. 

Walking. Wary. 

Ears flick, no noises. 

Reaching Drifter’s side, being ignored. 

Setting a hand on their shoulder to turn them around.

A single, diamond eye stares at him between helmet and mask. 

Spikes erupting from the doppelgänger’s body, piercing his own straight through. 

Agony. 

Hanging from the skewers, trying to pull them off to no avail. 

The monster sheds its friend-like form, towering above him in the same way as earlier. 

Bleeding.

Staring up at the eye of evil.

Struggling.

Gasping with every movement spent impaled on the barbs, screaming as tendrils wrap his legs and they’re brutally torn from him.

Lying limp on the void, trying to put pressure on the massive, gaping wounds; feeling himself grow weaker.

Breaths coming in shallower and shallower gasps until they cease completely; all under the watchful eye of Judgement

***

Wind startled awake with a sob that he immediately regretted. His mouth tasted of copper, his limbs felt heavy and they hurt. A dull but constant pain shot through every neuron, pulsing as he convulsed into a fit of wet coughs. 

Strong hands gripped his wrists, pulling them away from the hair he didn’t even know he was grabbing. They gently uncurled his pained fists, and wiped the blood from the gloves from where his claws —he had claws?— poked through fabric and flesh. 

“I know it hurts I know I’m sorry,” Time’s tone tried to soothe, but other voices argued in the background and it only made Wind cry harder. Everything was loud and it hurt. 

“Cover his ears,” Hyrule’s voice was a better volume, even though it was barely a whisper. “It’s too loud, doesn’t help the headache. And take the helmet off, it pinches and he’s already overstimulated.” 

Four’s voice shushed all the others with words the smithy didn’t often use, and things got a little quieter. His head still hurt, and so did literally everything else, but the lack of noise made things a little easier. 

“Wha—“ He tried to speak but was cut off by a stabbing sensation in his throat and a hacking cough, something wet spilled over his lips, it tasted like iron. 

“Don’t talk.” Hyrule urged, “Warriors, please give me one of his gloves. I’ll change the language for the Sprite so he can type it.” 

Time tugged at the glove on his right hand, pulling one off to reveal blue fur, claws, and pads. 

Every thought came to a screeching halt. 

Jaw agape, Wind stared down at his hand. At Drifter’s hand. 

He thought that’d been a dream. 

“I know,” Time rumbled as Hyrule slipped on the too-big gloves and waved over the hovering Sprite, “the wizzrobe from yesterday mixed us all up. I’m Warriors.” 

Hyrule —was it really Hyrule, or someone else?— hummed as he tapped commands into the touchscreen. The rest of the heroes huddled in the clearing beyond, whispering and sparing Wind the occasional worried glance. 

Normally he’d bristle at the concern, but he felt this time it was warranted. 

Wind felt like shit. 

“Here,” Hyrule gave the gloves back to Warriors, who held them out for him to take, “put these on and flick your wrist like so,” he —they, this was definitely Drifter, Hyrule was shit with technology— demonstrated, then backed off so Wind could try it himself. He did, wincing as his joints and muscles all protested, and the floating keyboard hovered at his fingertips. Instead of the unreadable symbols that normally adorned the keys, Hyrulean characters stared up at him. “Tap the character you want to use, and it will display them.” 

He tapped one with his pointer, and another, making it one whole word before needing to stop and cough blood into their elbow.

[W-h-o]

This was going to take forever. 

***Drifter***

Drifter sat apart from the rest of the group, their hands pinned under their armpits to keep from reaching out. Their eyes trailed over their own Wind’s body on the other side of camp, watching the insidious infection pulse, smothering the brilliant navy blue of Wind’s aura as the sailor grimaced with his back against a tree. 

Hyrule had asked them a while ago if the auras had changed, and Drifter’d explained about the slow rate of decline the spell’s aura still exhibited. After that, everyone decided it would be best to remain camped until whatever spell this was wore off. 

Probably for the best.

Sky had somehow managed to detach Wild’s prosthetic, and the champion was too busy sleeping like the dead to tell him how to put it back on. Twilight still lay motionless on Legend’s bedroll, the veteran’s arthritis proving too much for the rancher to handle. Warriors was in a similar situation, though his adversary was merely the aches and pains of Time’s aged body. Four’s eyes swirled with blue and green annoyance as Twilight’s longer stride caused them to trip over their own feet for the fifth time, and Legend trailed after them with a similar problem, loudly admonishing the smithy’s small stature with every stumble. 

Wind…Drifter didn’t want to look at Wind any longer than they had to, but their eyes wouldn’t let them look away. He sat slumped against a tree, mask down, face twisted into a bloody, sharp-toothed grimace as he stared absently into the sky. No pink tinted his eyes, thank the Jackal, but that didn’t provide much comfort. Drifter knew exactly how much pain he was in regardless. 

It seemed only Time, Hyrule, and themself were relatively unharmed by the swap. Hyrule flitted around the campsite, trying his best to make everyone else comfortable while simultaneiously trying to avoid tripping on his scarf. Meanwhile, Time was taking full advantage of the sailor’s young, spry body by leaping and flipping all over the place all while teasing the suddenly-aged captain. 

Drifter was…managing. They felt great, but they didn’t feel like they deserved to enjoy it, not while their health came at the expense of someone else. They sat on a fallen log, knees to their chest, careful not to think too hard about anything in particular lest they accidentally set off another spell. So far, after the fiasco of their first healing attempt, they’d unintentionally used Jump, Fire, and Shield in situations that did not call for it. The log that they sat on bore the scorch marks of previous mistakes. 

They rubbed at their eyes. Everyone’s auras were starting to give them a headache. 

A cough across camp. Wind turned over to spit blood into the grass and groaned. He’d tried to type a bit more after that first word a few hours ago, but eventually decided his chopstick-ing took too long and resorted to charades instead. Not the best method of communication when your muscles hated you, Drifter would know. 

More blood on the grass. A rumbling purr rose from the sailor’s chest. 

They couldn’t handle it anymore. 

Dispite their better judgement, Drifter stood and made their way over, meeting Hyrule’s worried gaze as they went. Wind barely glanced up at their approach. 

“Pocket on the left has Wild’s ginger candies.” Still unused to talking, their voice was barely a whisper as they sat a few feet away against another tree, sitting on their hand to avoid any more accidental magic. Judgement’s magic twisted a little at their proximity. “Might help a little, even if it’ll taste gross with the blood, just make sure to spit it out when you cough.” 

Side-eyeing them so he wouldn’t have to move his neck, Wind slowly reached for the indicated pocket, placing the retrieved candy on his tongue and grimacing at the taste.

They both sat in silence for a while. The Companion Sprite hovered dutifully at Wind’s shoulder. 

Across camp, Legend loudly complained of Four’s height for the sixteenth time, and the smithy lunged to tackle him. However, Four misjudged Twilight’s strength and both of them went sprawling across the dirt. Warriors tried helplessly to help Sky reattach his arm while Wild snored obnoxiously and Twilight still lay motionless at their side. Time had dug through his bag and tied a pair of yellow bunny ears over the sailor’s hair, zipping around the clearing and cackling as Hyrule desperately tried to separate the smithy and veteran (to little effect). 

Auras swirled and spiked around the clearing, responding to any and every emotion. Drifter looked away, headache building. 

The sound of slow, hesitant typing met their ears, and they turned back to Wind. His pointer fingers tapped keys one by one, despite how his hands shook. [i-s i-t a-l-w-a-y-s t-h-i-s b-a—] coughing cut him off, spitting out the candy before he could choke and burying his mouth in his elbow. His tail spasmed behind him against the tree. 

Their heart broke a little. 

“That depends.” They wanted so badly to reach out and stabilize him as he coughed, but didn’t dare. They couldn’t risk the magic. “It’s probably worse for you, since you’re not used to it like I am” thank the jackal “but yesterday was a pretty bad day so I have no way to tell.” 

Wind flicked the much smaller candy into the underbrush, ears pinned. The sailor hadn’t yet figured out how to hide any of his emotions quite yet. [u-s-e-d t-o i-t?]

They shrugged, turning back to the quickly finishing fight to avoid having to look at Judgement’s putrid magic any longer. Four was underestimating Twilight’s strength again, and seemed to have forgotten that it was their body they were wrestling with. When the spell eventually wore off, the smithy was going to regret bickering with Legend so hard. 

“It’s not so bad, usually.” They hummed after a moment, watching Hyrule finally manage to get between the two, only for Legend to step on his scarf and accidentally choke him. “Most of the time it’s manageable, as long as I don’t think too hard on it.” 

If they let themself ruminate for too long on the illness…it didn’t matter. They knew they were dying already; best not to dwell. 

[I-m t-h-i-n-k-i-n-g t-o-o h-a-r-d.] Wind’s face was pale, and not just from the blood loss. The purring ramped up, anxious. 

Drifter nudged his tail with their foot, and again when the sailor’s thoughts didn’t seem to break. “Well stop it. It doesn’t help. Look, I’ll bet you a gear that Time’s about to make everything worse.” 

Wind’s face scrunched in pain, but his ears flicked up in interest. He didn’t answer.

Hyrule struggled to restrain the smithy, no match for Twilight’s physique. Legend jeered at both of them from the sidelines as Time sneaked up behind him with Wind’s Korok Leaf in hand. The veteran went sprawling from the sudden gust, and switched targets to the not-so-old man. Time sprinted away, bunny ears bobbing, as Legend gave chase with Four’s Pegasus boots. The two heroes spat half-assed insults at each other, auras flaring. 

“See,” Drifter nudged Wind again with their foot, grinning as the distraction took. “Told you so. Next, I bet Warriors is going to give up on Sky and join Legend in the chase.” 

[Y-o-u-r-e o-n] 

***

Dinner was an eventful affair, since they had to somehow wake Wild beforehand. The rest of the group took great pleasure watching Sky try and wake his own body to little avail, eventually Twilight managed to sit up enough to grab Legend’s ice rod and finally wake the tired champion. 

They had leftovers from the slate, since no one trusted Wild in front of a cooking pot with the way his eyelids drooped. 

By the time everyone finished and dishes were put away, the sun was setting and the blue magic of the curse was just barely hanging on. Drifter estimated they’d be back to normal by morning, so everyone went to bed to speed that along. 

Guiding Wind on the correct way to sleep on their cloak, Drifter directed him to the bottle of sundelion medicine that Flora had given them. They took it before bed sometimes, as with repeated use they’d discovered drowsiness as a side-effect, and with Wind in as much pain as he was it’d be useful to take the edge off a bit.

Plus, it might help them in the morning, too. 

One by one, everyone drifted off to sleep in their bedrolls, but Drifter lay awake on their back, staring up at the stars and enjoying their last few pain-free hours before Judgement came to reclaim them. 

***Wind***

Wind woke up surprisingly rested, though his mind still registered quickly-fading aches that were never there. Rubbing at his eyes, he sat up, looking down at his body. 

He was him again. 

Thank fuck. 

Being Drifter hurt. 

His eyes flickered across the clearing, to where he’d fallen into a fitful sleep the night before. Drifter lay on their back, looking deceivingly peaceful for the agony Wind now knew lay deep inside their bones. Only the slight backturn of their ears and pinching around their eyes betrayed the nightmare he was sure they were having. 

His heart clenched unbidden, and his hands grasped swatches of his bedroll tight.

Those were not enough pain signals for what Wind now knew they were experiencing. 

“—Since you’re not used to it like I am.” 

He knew consciously that they were sick. He knew that. He’d seen them cough and spit blood and hallucinate and lie bedridden from pain. He knew. 

But it was so different to experience it himself. 

“It’s not so bad, usually.”

That made it worse. 

Because if that ‘wasn’t so bad,’ if that was Drifter’s resting state while they ran and dashed and fought and played with everyone, and it still brought Wind to his knees, then what was it like when it was bad? When his friend lay motionless from pain in the mornings? When they had to be carried from place to place because their legs wouldn’t cooperate? When they hallucinated? 

Wind’s mind flashed back to that first day, when Drifter’d come rocketing from the portal and coughing blood into the grass. Was that a bad one? Was that out of the ordinary? If it was, and it was worse than what Wind had just experienced…

He didn’t know. He didn’t like it. 

His grip tightened as Drifter’s tail spasmed in their sleep. 

Judgement was dead. Wind was going to teach Drifter his signature Ganondorf-killing move and watch with glee as his friend plunged their sword into that stupid fucking diamond eye and laugh as the demon disintegrated. 

Wild began to stir across camp, sitting up to inspect his hand (Sky never did figure out how to reattach the prosthetic) and standing to start breakfast. One by one, his brothers all woke up with sighs of relief as they realized the spell wore off. The morning began like the previous day didn’t happen; Wind didn’t take his eyes off his sleeping friend. 

Drifter was the last to wake, jolting up with a pained gasp and a cough and hand flying to their forehead. Wind’s heart sank, but his determination hardened. 

Judgement was going to be fucking fishbait by the end of this, he’d make damn well sure of it.

Chapter Text

***Kial***

It felt like forever since the last time Drifter came to town; Kial hoped they were okay. Not because he cared about them or anything —Dad said Tanu weren’t supposed to care about blueskins (sorry, blu, Daz said blueskin was a mean name)— he just wanted to play soccer again with a halfway decent opponent. That’s it. 

None of the other kids ever wanted to play with him, either too young or too prissy to even attempt to match against Kial’s vastly superior skills. Dad tried to play sometimes, but didn’t often follow through with his promises. That was okay though, he was very busy with his gun shop since Mom died, and Kial knew the illness made things more difficult. He did try, but oftentimes he’d only manage halfway to the field before the coughing made him turn back.

So most of the time Kial entertained himself. This was fine. He was freshly nine years old and very good at finding fun things to do. 

Sometimes he would kick his ball against the wall of Kealen’s dojo and see how many hits it took for the otter-folk to come out and shoo him away. Sometimes he’d visit Ward and let the bird-folk chat his ear off about his ongoing search for the elusive Librarian that supposedly haunted the land. Most times he ended up with Thakkar, helping the old wolf mix herbs into medicine that maybe this time Dad would actually take. 

Recently, he’d even made a habit of visiting Daz in the alleyway near the edge of town, packing extra sandwiches for the blusk—sorry— for the blu since he never seemed to have any lunch of his own. Dad didn’t know about that so far; Kial didn’t think he’d like it if he found out. 

Whatever. 

Dad didn’t like him playing with Drifter, either, but allowed it as long as Kial kept kicking their butt in soccer. He didn’t want to know what would happen if Drifter eventually won one of their games, so he just wouldn’t lose. Easy. As long as he kept winning, he could keep playing soccer with Drifter and everything would be fine. 

It’d be fine.

If only Drifter were around to beat, then it’d be really fine. 

Things had been weird though, since they’d returned from the Southern Wastes with Guardian’s cloak. They’d been spending more and more time cooped up in Guardian’s old house or away from town entirely, and a lot of the adults talked about them with anger in their voices. 

Kial didn’t see what the big deal was. He’d asked Drifter what happened, and they’d told him, and that was it. He was sad Guardian wasn’t around to play with him anymore or tell him stories about his adventures, but he understood better than most how quickly the illness could devolve. 

If none of the adults wanted to ask, then that was their problem. 

…

Maybe that was why Drifter wasn’t back yet? The adults were being mean and that made them nervous? 

That was dumb. He’d seen them on the soccer field, they weren’t quite on his skill level but they weren’t bad (not that he’d ever tell them that). Kial was sure at least some soccer skills would transfer to fighting if things got rough. 

He hoped soccer transferred to fighting, at least. Then maybe he could hope Drifter was okay. They’d vanished up the Divine Path after one of the other kids told them a scary story about almost getting kidnapped by a bird-folk, and hadn’t returned since. 

They better get back soon; Kial still owed them a butt-kicking or five.

***

Kial woke up later than usual, giving a wide yawn as sunlight peeked through the blinds. His round, brown ears (that he had yet to grow into) could pick up his Dad tinkering in the workshop downstairs, so he swung his legs over the mattress to get ready for the day. 

Today was gonna be a good one, he could tell. He’d found some herbs that he recognized from some of Thakkar’s books growing by the soccer field yesterday, and they sat in a bunch on his desk waiting to be delivered. Ward had said he had a surprise for him, so he was going to probably swing by the tech shop after lunch with Daz to see what that was all about. Then, he was going to hang out at the soccer field again, on the off chance Drifter returned or someone else wanted to play with him. He had it all planned out. 

Tucking his loose pants into his boots with one hand, Kial reached for the discarded izar on the floor to wrap around his waist and hide the fluffy tail that wiggled behind him. Dad said he had to be careful not to let people know he was Tanu, since apparently people didn’t like them very much after some war. He didn’t really get it, but the izar was comfy and his hood helped make the world quieter so he wasn’t too upset about it. He tucked the dark fabric in place and tied it with a corded belt just to make sure it didn’t fall with all the soccer, reaching next for the purple, hooded capelet and pulling it down over his head. The hood sat comfortably over his ears, leaving his face masked in shadow. 

Standing up, Kial hopped a few times before snatching the herbs from the desk, shoving them in his special adventure pouch (a gift/prize from Drifter after he’d beat them 25 times in a row), and heading downstairs. He had lunches to pack. 

The creaky floorboard moved under his feet as he hopped down the stairs one by one, fluffy tail flicking beneath the izar. Dad sat in the workshop beside the kitchen, his massive hat discarded on the dining table as he fiddled with one gun or another. The black fur-mask around his eyes had streaks of grey in it, and the trash can at his side was full of bloody tissues.

Kial’s heart sank a little at the sight. It was a bad day. 

His Dad looked up as his feet hit the floor for the final time, a small smile ghosting across his face even as his eyes were pinched. “Sure took you a while, little brat.” 

He grinned, bounding into the kitchen to retrieve sandwich materials. “Sorry old hag, your Titan-worthy snoring kept me up all night.” It hadn’t, but this kind of banter was his Dad’s favorite pastime when things got bad. 

“Oh what a coincidence! Your Jackal-darned tossing kept me up the night before, so I guess we’re even.” An amused snort, then a wet cough. Another tissue hit the pile. Kial grabbed a butter knife from the drawer and pretended not to notice; Dad didn’t like it when anyone noticed he was sick. 

Next he spoke, Dad’s voice was considerably softer as he tightened a fastening on what looked to be a massive revolver with like eight bajilion barrels. “Any big plans for today?” 

Yeah, though some he couldn’t tell him. 

Kial spread peanut butter on two slices of bread, keeping it thin on one of them since Daz didn’t like a whole lot. “Uh huh, Ward said he had a surprise for me, so I’m gonna go see what he’s got.” 

A gravely hum, and another cough. “Just make sure to thank him afterwards, and remind him about the holobytes I ordered last week. You going to the soccer field afterwards?” 

Shrugging, he set the peanut butter aside and grabbed the strawberry jelly and honey. He liked jelly better, but Daz wouldn’t eat it. The only other sandwich thing he had was honey though, so he hoped the blu liked that better. “Probably. Gonna wait for Drifter to get back.” He debated telling his dad about the rest of his plans for a second, deciding to test the waters with the less-egregious of the sins. “I found some herbs there yesterday; I’m going to drop them off with Thakkar to see if he can make any medicine out of them.” 

The mood soured nigh-instantly as expected, his dad’s knuckles abruptly tightening on his tools. “That so?” 

“Yeah,” Ears perked and listening for reactions, Kial put the tops on both the sandwiches and went looking for some bags to put them in. “He said the other day he was close to finishing a new treatment…” He paused, glancing up, hopeful despite himself, “if you want me to grab some for you.” 

Dad didn’t answer for a few seconds, taking deep, centering breaths and forcibly relaxing his hands. “You don’t have to do that, Kial. I won’t be taking any medicine prepared by the wolf-folk, especially not until I hear back from my own, lizard-folk doctor.” 

Kial’s face scrunched. He always said that, and it was stupid. “Your doctor lives in Subtherma; it takes a month just for your letter to get there.” Unbidden tears pricked at his eyes. He didn’t know if Dad could wait that long.  

His father didn’t answer; he wasn’t getting another response. 

Scowling as water soaked into his fur, Kial threw the bag of sandwiches over his shoulder and stomped to the door, pausing for a second to look back at where his Dad was studiously keeping his eyes firmly on his work. Anger and fear alike boiled in his gut at the sight of the growing tissue pile. 

 “Mom would’ve taken the medicine.” He snapped, running out the door and slamming it behind him, descending the staircase to the storefront and wiping traitorous tears from his shadowed face. 

No response called after him. 

***

Thakkar’s doorstep was cluttered, as it always was. Little raised beds of flowers mixed with food lined the pathway on the right side, bordering the garden that Mx. Nive the otter-folk tended. Potted herbs framed the doorway on the other side, and moss climbed up the old stone walls. One of the windows on the second floor was broken, and two projectors above the doorway showed a floating sign advertising the apothecary’s services. Gardening tools of varying sizes littered the path, and Kial kicked a trowel out of the way so no one else would step on it. 

He dribbled his soccer ball up to the door before kicking it into the air and catching it, setting it on the windowsill and going inside. Thakkar didn’t like it when he took the ball in with him, not after the last time he’d accidentally broken a pot of hard-to-grow herbs. 

Kial thought he should invest in better plant pots, rather than punishing him about it. He had to keep up his awesome skills somehow! 

Inside, more raised boxes of herbs (and some fungus) lined the leftmost wall, with shelves upon shelves of pots and drying plants filling in the gaps between them. The right held terrariums of varying sizes, multicolored moss and bugs and mushrooms and even a snake making the shelving their home. The apothecary desk was straight ahead, with many boxes of medicine, cure-alls, and healing tonics framing where Thakkar hunched over his fancy chemistry set and a book. 

The old, greying wolf had his cap set to the side, his beard tied up and out of the way of his experiments. His ears flicked as Kial approached, adding one last drop of something to something else before setting both bottles aside and turning to greet him. “Well hello Kial, what brings you to my shop this fine day? Would you like to borrow the plant book again? I’ve set it aside for you just in case.”

He did like the plant book. It had cool pictures and Thakkar was always willing to explain what the big words meant. Plus, if he could learn this stuff himself, maybe his dad would be more willing to take the medicine.

But that wasn’t what he was here for right now. 

“I got you something!” Bounding up to the counter, Kial shoved his hands into his bag and retrieved the slightly wilted herbs. “I found them growing by the soccer field and I collected them just like you said so the plant can grow back and we can get more later!” 

Humming in pleased surprise, Thakkar retrieved a pair of tiny glasses from his desk and put them on, reaching out to take the offered plants and inspecting them. “My my! Looks like someone has been taking that herbalist’s guide to heart!” Kial preened under the praise; he was pretty awesome, “This is indeed a very nice bunch of meadowsweet, I’ll hang it up with the others to dry, and we can make something of them together once they’re ready. Just in time too, I was getting a bit low.” Thakkar stood up from his stool, grabbing his cane and leaning on it as he walked slowly across the shop to the drying stand. “Does your father want any of the feverfew tincture I just finished? I just restocked everything so I have quite a bit.” The old wolf shakily reached up to tie the meadowsweet to the drying rack one-handed. He fumbled the knot, and Kial ran over with the step stool to take over as Thakkar winked at him. “For your help, I might even give you a discount.”

“That’s okay,” His ears drooped slightly as he finished tying the stems, “Dad won’t take it anyways, so you’d better save it for people it’d actually help.” 

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t. He was just…frustrated. And disappointed. And maybe a little bit scared. 

Humming sadly like he expected that answer, Thakkar tugged Kial into a side-hug, the cane pinning him in place. He struggled (he wasn’t a baby) until the old wolf released him. He was fine. 

Thakkar shuffled back to his desk, bending to retrieve a box from a low shelf. “Here lad, at least take a few cure-alls.” He held out three of the capped syringes, “I’ve been stocking up for when Drifter returns, and I accidentally made too many. These are common enough you can pass it off like you found them, Jackal knows how many drifters just go leaving them around.” 

That he could do. He didn’t like lying to his dad like this, but there wasn’t any other way to make him take the medicine from Thakkar, and he needed to take the medicine. 

Mumbling a thank you, Kial slipped the syringes into the same pocket of the pouch the meadowsweet had just come from and turned to go. He still had to bring lunch to Daz, and Ward was expecting him soon too. 

A sudden thought struck him just before he grabbed his soccer ball, turning back to peek through the doorway and get the old wolf’s attention. “Thakkar?” 

“Yes Kial?” 

“You said you were stocking up for when Drifter get’s back. Do you know when that’ll be? Or where they went?” 

A sad look sparked in the greying-wolf’s pink eyes, and Kial smothered what little hope had bloomed. “I don’t, I’m sorry. Drifter is a wanderer at heart, and they rarely tell anyone their whereabouts. Don’t worry though, they are stronger than most.” A mischievous twinkle, and sharp teeth flashed in a smile. “I’ll be sure to tell them how much you missed them, next they stop by.”  

Face burning beneath their hood, Kial spluttered and scrambled back out the door. “I don’t miss them! I’m not worried! I’m just wondering when I’ll get to beat their butt in soccer next, is all!”

He grabbed his ball and ran before Thakkar could respond, the fading echoes of laughter following him all the way. 

***

Daz had set up in his usual spot, in an alleyway near Ward’s tech shop. A makeshift tent leaned up against one of many dilapidated buildings on the more wrecked side of town, moss growing up and over every wall. Glass bottles of something Daz wouldn’t let him have scattered the alley, some still half-full, most empty. 

Daz himself leaned up against the back wall, sipping occasionally from one of the bottles and staring up at the crown in the pinkened sky. His tan, tattered hat covered his ears, and a thick brown scarf coupled with what looked to be some sort of old, ratty, tight black clothing covered the rest. He wore grey shorts (with his tail poking out the top to lie limp on the cobblestone), and his boots had been discarded leaving blue padded feet open to the air. Another helmet, nearly identical to the one Drifter wore, sat at his side, and Daz occasionally used it as an armrest. He blinked at Kial blearily as he approached, setting the bottle to the side with a heavy sigh. 

“Yous reeally dunno how to take no feran answer, doya?” He slurred, glaring with no heat behind it. “You really can’t be seen here with me, kid, or yer dad will come an’ finish the job.” 

Kial didn’t know what that meant, but he wasn’t one to be bossed around so he shrugged and sat down across from Daz, setting the soccer ball to the side and pulling the sandwiches from his bag. “I know you don’t like jelly, so I tried honey this time with less peanut butter.” He held the slightly soggy honey sandwich out expectantly, “No oranges today, dad ate the last one yesterday.” 

Staring at the sandwich like it’d bite him, Daz waited a few seconds, letting Kial hold the sandwich out in front for longer than he though was necessary, before reaching out to snatch the food from his hand. “Persistant little brat, aren’tya.” 

Kial shrugged and bit into his own sandwich, smiling under the hood. “I get that a lot.” 

They ate in silence for a while, until both Daz and Kial had finished their food and they sat across from each other just staring. Kial was just curious, but Daz looked unnerved. 

Kial didn’t even know this guy was here until Drifter mentioned him after a soccer match, and he’d gone on a city-wide manhunt looking for the new person the next day. He’d been hoping he’d be willing to play with him, but Daz had really bad coordination and was strangely resistant to going anywhere near the southeast part of town where Dad lived (and by extension, anywhere near the soccer field too). That was okay though, Kial was used to playing alone. 

Daz was only the second blu he’d ever met, after Drifter, so even just hanging out here was super interesting. He’d heard all about blu from Dad, of course, but Drifter kind of proved everything his dad said wrong within the first two weeks of knowing them so Kial was eager to figure out more about the elusive species. So far, Daz had taught him that blu had tails (why didn’t Drifter?), that blueskin was a mean name, that blu got hot really easily, and that he really shouldn’t ask any questions relating to the helmet at his side (though that might just be a Daz thing). 

Tilting his head slightly, Kial held out his hand for the empty sandwich wrapper, which Daz handed over with a wary look.

“Why’re you here anyways,” He took a swig from the green bottle, face scrunching as the taste of whatever-it-was mixed with the sandwich. “Never asked last time. Why’re you sneakin’ around with a no-good blu like me when there’s plenty of ‘great races’ y’could play with?” 

He shrugged again, slowly spinning an empty bottle with his finger. “Drifter said you were cool, and no one else will play with me so I have nothing better to do.” 

Shoving the trash back into his bag to throw away later, Kial missed the blu’s complicated, slightly sad expression. “That’s too bad…” Another sip from the bottle as Daz kept looking at him, something conflicted in his pitch-black eyes, “…You seem like‘n okay kid. Their loss.” 

“Thanks, I know.” Kial was awesome, not just okay; especially at soccer. He kicked a bottle away, watching the remaining liquid slosh around as it rolled across the floor. 

Daz stopped it with his tail, and rolled it back with a hum and a dry cough. Was he sick too? Kial hoped not. Maybe next time he went to Thakkar’s he could pick up some of that medicine for him.

At least Daz would probably take it. 

They went back and forth in silence for a while, rolling the bottle across the ground and watching the liquid coat the inside. “As much’s I ‘ppreciate the company,” Daz set down his half-full bottle and grabbed the empty one, stopping its roll. “‘Msure y’have other thingsta do today.” 

Oh shoot! 

Kial leapt to his feet, he’d forgotten about Ward! 

“Tha’s what I thought.” Huffing a laugh, Daz set the empty bottle upright and grabbed the full one again, shooing him away. “Go’on then, git, leave this ol’ blu to his beers already.” 

Kial was already halfway down the alley, dribbling his soccer ball and calling a goodbye over his shoulder. He’d be back tomorrow, hopefully with more than just a sandwich.

***

Luckily, Daz’s alley was only a few building’s away from Ward’s tech shop, and Kial skidded to a stop just outside the open door. He could hear things from inside, the buzzing of electricity, the humming of both hard and soft-light, and the faint cursing of Ward using words Dad wouldn’t approve of him repeating. 

Ward’s shop was less arboreal than Thakkar’s, which was to be expected with the merchandise. A similar sign projection hovered just to the left of the door, this time advertising the techmaster’s expertise. An empty space covered in slowly spreading moss above the door marked where a physical sign used to hang, long before Ward had moved in and way before Kial could remember. A package rested on the doorstep, and Kial tried to pick it up and bring it inside but it was too heavy. 

“Kial?” The bird-folk’s tinny voice rang out from inside, “That you little dude?” 

“Yeah!” He called, trying again in vain to lift the heavy box. “You have a package!” 

“Ooohhh the sensors are here!” A couple quick thumps in short succession as Ward leapt up from whatever project he’d been working on and ran outside. The plume of black feathers on his head (that Kial had thought was hair, at first) stuck up at strange angles, held back by a headband and goggles. His face was blue, and so were his wings, but a stripe of grey framed his sides and back running down to his tail. His clawed feet clacked on the cobbles as he ran out. His black leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him only in his stained off-white shirt and loose, knee-length pants that had elastic around the bottoms. 

“This is great!” He cheered, letting out a series of high-pitched chirps from his beak in delight. ”Come on in Kial, I’ll put these away and we can get started. And bring your ball!”

Interest peaked, Kial kicked the ball inside. Usually Ward was pretty stringent with the no-ball rule, since there was a lot of delicate things in here, so if he wanted him to bring it inside there must be something cool in store. 

The inside of the shop was even more cluttered than Thakkar’s, and that was saying something. Almost every square inch of flooring had some sort of wire or holobyte or metal scrap or box of all-of-the-above strewn across it, with only a small path cleared so customers could get to the desk at the back-left of the room. Cabinets and shelves of things Kial couldn’t understand lined the walls, with blinking lights from all sorts of doodads drawing his attention every-which way. It was kind of overwhelming, so he kept his eyes towards the left side where the blinking lights were lesser. 

Ward set the box down near a deconstructed robot spider, under the cork board that covered most of the left wall. That was the ‘Librarian board’, as Ward called it, where he’d pin up any scrap of info regarding the urban legend that the bird was obsessed with. A map hung on the wall next to it, with thumbtacks and string marking places where ‘monoliths’ were supposedly: blue tacks stood for ones that’d been found and orange meant ones that should be there (according to some journal) but hadn’t been discovered yet. Green tacks marked potential places that something called the ‘gallery’ might be, sometimes with little notes with question marks or possible entrance points underneath the pins. Kial didn’t really understand his fervor about this, but Ward explained that this Librarian search was just as important to him as soccer was to Kial, so he tried not to let his skepticism show too much. 

Pushing a half-deconstructed robot (that looked kind of like the one that hung around Drifter) off to the side of the desk, Ward sat down and spun the chair around, resting his feet up on the table with a wide smile. “There we go! Thanks for letting me know that was out there, little dude, I’ve been waiting for weeks for these sensors to come in from Honnet, and if they’d gotten rained on that would’ve sucked.” He laughed, and Kial kicked his ball up and caught it. He didn’t want to risk breaking anything. 

“Anyways,” Ward took his feet off the table and braced his wings on his knees, leaning forward. “That’s not why you’re here, is it little man?” 

Shaking his head, Kial barely held himself back from bouncing on the balls of his feet. He grinned regardless, even though Ward couldn’t see it below the hood. “You said you had a surprise for me?” 

“Hell yeah! —Wait, oops, don’t repeat that Kial— Heck yeah!” Pumping his fist in the air, Ward leapt to his feet and bounded over a mounain of tangled wires to a seemingly innocuous box. “I just finished it the other day,” Ward chattered as he opened it up, elbow deep as he sifted through its contents. “Started just after…” A pause, his plumage drooped. “Just after Guardian died.” He shook his head, resuming. “I figured with him no longer around to keep the dirk and wolves away, things might start to get a little busier for the guards, and there’s not much of a presence near the soccer field anyways —aha!” He rose with a flourish, lifting what looked to be a small metal plate above his head. “Here we go. Anyways, I figured you should have something to keep you safe out there, and it can double as entertainment!” 

Grinning, Ward hopped back over the wires to approach Kial and his ball, holding his hand out. “May I?” 

Looking at it warily, Kial considered his options. 

This was his ball. 

His only ball, even. 

He didn’t know what Ward was planning on doing, but if it popped, Kial was stuck until either he could blackmail Olfek the merchant into fixing it for him or he saved up enough gears to buy a new one from the Northern Realms (and even then he’d have to wait for it to ship across the ocean). 

But still…

Whatever it was might be really cool.

The decision was a tough one.

Ward’s wing still held itself out expectantly, and Kial slowly placed the ball in the palm. The bird-folk had never proven himself untrustworthy before, and he was the best at what he did. Not as cool as Kial, obviously, but still cool and good with tech. 

“Great!” Chirping, Ward turned back to the desk, setting the ball atop it and bracing it so it wouldn’t roll.  “Let me just—“ 

Kial hopped over and leaned in close, watching. Ward pulled his goggles down, grabbing a smaller pair from beneath the desk and handing it to him to wear. “Safety first, little dude, this might be bright.” 

Pulling a black transmission-glove from a drawer so he could interract with the holobytes, Ward tapped the surface of the ball. The holobytes on the surface lit up in colors to dictate their purpose, in this case, just durability. “Yeesh, I gotta upgrade these.” He muttered, taking the slightly curved metal plate and pressing it against the ball’s side. Holobytes on its surface —the purpose of which Kial didn’t know— flashed brightly across the surface, spreading to the existing ones across the ball. A purple shimmer flickered around it, before solidifying into a hard-light shell that coated the entire ball for a second before fading. The holobytes on the metal plate went dim, and Ward removed it. “There we go, could I see your boots next?” 

Incredibly curious as to what had just happened and what the bird was about to do, Kial dropped to the floor and wrestled his shoes off. His socks felt cold against the stone flooring. ”What was that?” 

“Updating the holobytes,” Ward flipped the metal plate over and applied it to his boots, a similar process occurring though without the purple shield. “And adding a little extra. Here, put these on and tap your heels together twice.” He threw the boots back, and Kial put them on. 

“Like this?” He tried it, and the purple shield sprung to life around the ball again. 

“Exactly like that, little man!” Ward clapped, “Now try it again to deactivate it, and follow me. We don’t have enough room here to test it.” 

***

To his delight, Ward led them both to the soccer field after taking back his spare goggles. He was super tight-beaked about what exactly the new holobytes did, no matter how much Kial nagged him, so by the time they finally arrived on the well-worn field he was pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Are we gonna play?” 

“Not today, sorry squirt, I’ve got a meeting with Dief after this that I can’t miss.” Ward smiled sadly, patting him on the head and almost accidentally pulling down the hood if Kial hadn’t been fast enough to catch it. “We are going to talk through your new upgrades though, so don’t be too disappointed!” 

He was a little sad that Ward wouldn’t be playing with him, but he was also interested in whatever he’d had just done to his ball so he could deal with it. Dad said big kids had to deal with disappointments sometimes. 

“First you gotta activate them like I showed you, then we’ll get started!” Clapping, Ward fished something out of his pocket and threw it on the grass. 

Kial tapped his heels twice again as the thrown thing expanded, metal plates folding out until it took the form of one of those metal spiders that’d been deconstructed on the floor of his shop. A red eye blinked on, and it skittered across the grass. “Kick the ball at it!” Ward urged. 

Purple shell shimmering around the ball’s exterior, Kial hesitated only a second before his boot slammed into its side. It rocketed forward, faster than it ever would’ve in-game, and slammed into the little robot with a crunch. The hard-light spiked outward, piercing its carapace as the ball plowed through the spider and left it shattered on the grass. 

Kial’s jaw dropped; Ward cheered. 

The ball wasn’t done though, it careened forward, changing course into a wide curve until it’d turned around completely, slowly losing speed until Kial’s foot made it stop. The purple shell dissipated, and the ball sat inert. 

Mouth still slack, Kial stared down at his ball with wide eyes. “What was that?” 

It was awesome!

Ward stopped celebrating just long enough to clap him on the shoulder. “That was weeks worth of work, baby! You got a weapon now, woo!” He spun Kial around, voice suddenly firm as he grasped both shoulders firmly and bent down to eye-level, “Just for self-defense though, capiche? No hurting anyone not trying to hurt you, especially not in your soccer games.” 

Pushing the wings off his shoulders, he spluttered, offended. Of course not! That’d be cheating! 

“Great!” Ward was back to being cheerful, standing up and clapping animatedly. “Now tap your heels just once, that’ll deactivate the weapon part but keep the return-protocol active, so even if no one’s here you can still play!” 

Grinning, excited, Kial did so, and the purple shimmer faded. He gave the ball a kick, and it reacted just as it always had, rolling away towards the opposite goal. This time though, it curved around and returned to his foot, ready to be kicked again. “This is awesome!” He couldn’t wait to experiment with it. How tight could it turn? Would it still work after ricocheting off a wall? How fast could it go now? 

“Only the best for my little dude!” Ward laughed, yanking him into a short, tight hug, letting go before Kial could protest. “Now you keep playing around with it, let me know if there’s any bugs I need to fix. I gotta clean up the remains of that little robot so no one steps on it, then run to my meeting. Have fun!” He shooed Kial off to play, bending down to collect the shattered pieces of spider. Kial didn’t have to be told twice, dribbling the ball away to play with his newest toy. 

This was so cool! 

He could fight things now!

He couldn’t wait to show Drifter!

***

Ward left shortly after cleaning up the robot, leaving Kial alone in the field to play around with his newly upgraded ball. There wasn’t much he could do to test the weaponized form, without anything to aim at, so he settled for kicking it full force at the wall and seeing how many times it could ricochet before turning around to come back. The walls sported quite a few new cracks, now, and the gate had a new dent. 

It was awesome. 

He did some experimenting with just the return-function, too, and figured out that the ball would continue to roll until it hit his boots. So if he ran away, the ball would chase him. That made for a fun new game, trying to see how long he could outrun his own soccer ball until it caught up with him. 

It got boring eventually though, as day turned into evening. There was only so many times he could trip over the ball before his hands started to hurt from catching himself. The pink sky turned red with the setting sun, and Kial’s stomach decided it was time to go home for dinner. 

Luckily, home wasn’t very far from the soccer field at all, so Kial clicked his heels to deactivate the ball and kicked it up into his arms. Dad wasn’t at the storefront, so he walked past the rows of intricately organized rifle stands and ammo displays to the door at the far right wall (next to the massive deactivated mech). He took the stairs two at a time, carefully creeping open the door to the living room so as to not interrupt his dad in the middle of a project. 

He needn’t have bothered. 

Dad sat slumped over at his desk, the floor littered in bloody tissues. The gun he’d been working on was mostly assembled now, pushed off to the side to make room for his dad’s unconscious body. Kial krept closer, a lump of dread in his gut; Dad’s normally brown eyes were wide open and bright pink. 

Not good. 

Setting his ball off to the side by the door, Kial dragged a blanket from the couch to try and cover what little of his Dad he could reach. He didn’t tuck the blanket at all, since last time he’d done that his dad had woken up with a flail, tangled himself up, and nearly hit his head when he fell over. 

His eyes burned. He blinked them. Hard. 

He was fine. 

Turning to the kitchen and throwing glances over his shoulder, Kial climbed up onto the countertop to open one of the high cupboards. Dad kept his medicine on the high shelf, so toddler-Kial couldn’t get to it easily and hurt himself on the needles. But Kial wasn’t a kit anymore, and now the high shelf made it difficult to get the medicine when he needed to (or, more often, to sneak additional ones in there when Dad wasn’t looking). 

His fingers barely brushed the medicine box, inching it off the shelf until he had it completely. Sitting on the counter, Kial set the box on his lap and rummaged through his bag for the cure-alls Thakkar gave him. Two syringes already sat at the bottom of the box (also placed there by him), and the three new ones clinked gently against them. 

Kial glanced over, his dad didn’t move. 

It was significantly harder to put the box back than it was to get it down, but Kial had been doing this for weeks. He was basically a pro at it by now, and his dad didn’t even know. 

Another glance. Still comatose. 

His boots hit the cracked tile floor lightly, and he grabbed an apple and some cold leftovers for dinner before retreating further upstairs to his bedroom with the food. Dad would probably wake up soon, and he didn’t like people seeing him right after a hallucination. Especially Kial. 

A light thump from below, right on time. 

No longer hungry, Kial set the food on his desk and buried his face in his pillow, the hood riding up around his ears. 

He hated this sickness. 

Almost everyone he loved liked was sick. His dad, Drifter, even Daz probably. 

Guardian.

His mom.

He hated it. 

Drifter said there was a way to cure it, that the Jackal that Thakkar worshipped was real and she was leading them to panacea and that’s why they were traveling all over the place despite the illness. Dad said Drifter was crazy. 

Kial didn’t want Drifter to be crazy. 

Tears wet the pillow. 

He wanted them to be right. 

Because if they were right, then that meant Drifter and Dad and Daz (and almost everyone else he knew) might not have to die like Mom and Guardian did. 

It meant Kial wouldn’t have to say goodbye, or live with not being able to. 

…

He hoped Drifter was okay. 

It felt like forever since they’d been back in town.

Kial was worried about them. 

Chapter Text

***Drifter***

It started as most things seemed to nowadays, with a cough. 

The group was whole, for once, having just met back up after the last portal separated them. No one knew where they were for sure, the forest as innocuous as the coughs that followed. Everyone turned to look at Drifter, but it wasn’t them. At the confirmation that their friend wasn’t dying any more than usual, the usual banter resumed. 

A few more, short and raw. Wind muffled it in his fist, shooting Drifter a glare when he caught them staring. They tore their eyes away, swallowing dread that went down thick as blood. 

He probably had something caught in his throat. 

It was fine. 

***

Two days and a portal later, Wind was bedridden, much warmer than he was supposed to be, and throwing up any food Wild would give him. Drifter stayed as far from him as they could, their own illness making itself known in their chest in a twisted sort of empathy. They did not know what the little sailor had caught, but they wanted no part in it. 

The group didn’t need their help anyways. Warriors was taking care of the sailor, it was fine, Drifter wouldn’t have to prove how little they knew about any illness other than their own. 

The portals had dropped in yet another seemingly featureless forest, and none of the Links had claimed it home. They’d set up camp in a small clearing regardless, unwilling to move around when Wind was this ill unless a town was nearby. 

They sent Wolfie out to find one. No luck. 

Wind coughed again, a hacking, hoarse fit that mirrored Drifter’s frequent ones a little too closely. They triple checked that their mask was in place, shifting slightly further from their sick companion. Four shot them a questioning look, but they shook their head and stood to go get firewood. They could feel themself growing more and more paranoid as the night went on and the sailor’s coughing continued. 

They didn’t get much sleep that night. 

***

Warriors went next, expectedly. Wild made the two sick members soup, but Drifter refused to bring it to them. Time did instead, then got sick the next day. Wild followed soon after.

Twilight took over the cooking, but Drifter didn’t trust anything he made. Who knows when the rancher would succumb to sickness next? What if he already had? 

Barely lowering their mask enough to expose their mouth, Drifter popped another wildberry into their mouth and immediately pulled it back up again as they chewed. This was fine. They could feed themselves on wildberries and whatever fish they could catch in a stream nearby, and make sure to wash everything thoroughly over the running water. 

If they were careful, hopefully whatever bug had stricken the rest of the group might pass them by. 

Wild groaned across camp, his voice almost as raw as Drifter’s own.

They had no idea what this was, or what it did. 

They really hoped it wasn’t fatal. 

***

 Twilight sniffled, and Sky kicked him to bed. Then Sky coughed, and Legend dragged him away too. Then the veteran threw up his dinner, and Hyrule banished him to the sick side of camp. 

Drifter looked around the clearing and picked at their claws anxiously, most of their number were down for the count. 

Four handed them another fresh rag to fold into rectangles, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows as they dunked the next one in the stream. “We gotta get their fevers down, nothing’s gonna get better until we do.” They muttered, their eyes a blazing red. 

Drifter nodded like they knew what the smithy was talking about and put another rag atop the pile. 

***

Four went next. Their eyes swirled with all the colors of the rainbow as they stared blankly at the sky and murmured intelligible nothings at the air. Hyrule carried them to bed, checking on all the others and washing his hands in the stream afterwards. 

“It’s times like these I wish my magic worked on infections.” The Healer sighed as Drifter —the only one left healthy enough to cook that wouldn’t poison anybody further— stirred the pot with a ladle. Wild’s slate (cleaned and decontaminated best they could) sat propped up against the stone circle of the fire pit, displaying the recipe for some sort of noodle soup. 

“At this rate,” Hyrule grunted in frustration, picking up the slate and summoning another round of blankets as Warriors threw up over his, “we’re going to run out of fresh sheets for them.” 

[What—] Drifter’s fingers faltered, the first time they’d typed since people started getting sick. [If you go down, what do I do?] 

They’d only ever encountered one illness before, and it was theirs. They had no idea what to do in this situation; what would be helpful and what would only prolonged their companions’ pain. By this point they were fairly certain that this wasn’t a fatal disease (and what a relief that was), but that didn’t mean it wasn’t serious. 

Hyrule blinked at them, then his face softened. “Right, you’ve probably never encountered this before.” 

They shook their head, keeping their gaze firmly on the carrots swirling throughout the semi-transparent broth. 

“Keep your mask up when around them, and make sure to wash your hands a lot.” Hyrule started, though they didn’t look up. “Blankets help, and so does putting a damp rag on their forehead. The rags help lower their temperature, and the blankets make sure it doesn’t get too low. Soup is good, or other bland, easy to digest foods, but keeping everybody hydrated is key. If they can’t keep any of it down, give them a teaspoon of water at a time with long breaks in between, then move up from there.” 

Drifter’s head spun from all the new information, but they tried to file it away best they could. Their hands shook on the ladle. Their chest burned, and they couldn’t tell if it was the normal type of burning or if they’d caught it too. Their ears flicked with paranoia at the thought.

“I’ll try to stay healthy best I can, so I can help.” The healer smiled at them reassuringly, setting a comforting hand on their shoulder. They shrugged him off, ladling soup into bowls in hopes someone could eat it.

No one could.

***

Hyrule got sick. 

Drifter was panicking. 

They dashed around the clearing, ears flattened under the helmet as they took warm rags from foreheads and replaced them with fresh ones. Sky threw up on his blanket, they replaced it and spent ten minutes washing their arms and wringing the water from their fur afterwards. They felt Four’s head with the back of their hand like Hyrule’d shown them, only to rear back with a hiss as it was still way too hot.

Wind was recovering at least somewhat, able to stomach half a bowl of soup before regurgitating it all back into the trees, but everyone else was still awful. 

Nothing they were doing was working. 

Everyone just seemed to get worse.

Several harsh coughs broke past their lips, smearing blood across their mask, but they didn’t dare lower it to wipe the pink away. Tears pricked at their eyes as Time hacked up a lung, sparking Twilight and Wild to follow suit soon after. Their ears rang with the sound of coughing not their own, dredging up memories they’d rather keep buried of a pink helmet and soft eyes. 

“I’m okay, my friend, it’s no worse than normal.”

Warriors groaned, hacking blood phlegm into the grass.

They grabbed the rag from Legend’s forehead and ran to the stream to re-wet it. Saltwater droplets hit the edges of their mask, but again they dared not move it. 

Hyrule started wretching, and Drifter dashed back to the group, placing Legend’s rag back in place and leaning the healer forward to empty his stomach on the grass. They didn’t know what to do with the puke, the puddle of bacteria sitting innocent on the grass, so they lifted Hyrule into their arms and moved him to a different spot. They placed him down beside Sky, who latched onto him in his drowsiness. 

Drifter took a few steps back, until they stood near the fire pit. Their hands shook. If their tail had been loose, it would be quivering. 

“It’ll be alright, Drifter, I promise.” 

Hyrule said these things rarely lasted more than a week. Wind was already recovering. 

They just had to hold out until then. 

***

The sailor’s fever broke on day five; Drifter almost cried in relief. 

Chapter Text

***Drifter***

One of the few bad things that came out of Drifter becoming more comfortable showing themself with the group, was that they no longer had a handy excuse to get out of doing laundry. Once every other week, at Time’s insistence, everybody stripped down to their underclothes and shoved all the fabric onto whichever unlucky trio grabbed the short straw. 

Before, Drifter could merely sneak off and do their own clothes in peace, maybe find a nice patch of dust to bathe in too, if they were lucky. Now…

”Pass me the captain’s stupid soap?” Four held out their hand from where they stood shirtless and waist-deep in the stream, dunking Warriors’ scarf under the flowing water and watching as two weeks worth of grime all washed away. Drifter, clad only in their black underclothes, tossed them the bottle and went back to glaring at the traveler’s tunic, threadbare but somehow dirtier than all the other clothes they’ve washed so far. Twilight cursed a few feet away, wringing the water from Sky’s massive sailcloth and accidentally dipping one end back into the waves. 

“How does he walk with this thing!” The rancher lamented, dunking it once more just to try and wring it again. “It’s too unwieldy!” 

Drifter deemed Hyrule’s tunic a lost cause and tossed it over the overhanging branch that the trio were using to dry things off. Their gloves were wet and slippery with soap, and they were sure the pads on their fingers were well past pruny. After this, they might as well throw themself over that branch, for how long it was going to take to dry their fur. 

“To be fair,” The smithy dunked the scarf once more, eyes a blazing green, “it’s usually not absolutely sodden when he wears it. It’s probably way heavier now than it is around his shoulders.” 

Sighing with a flick of their ears, Drifter turned back and sloshed towards the water to the remaining clothes on shore. Time’s sweat-stained tunic lay on the bank, right next to Wind’s boots caked in mud, and the pair of simple pants that Wild had worn last time he tried working on his potion experiments were stained a deep purple. Twilight’s wolf pelt sat next to all of them, fur slightly matted from constant wear.

“It’s so long though!” Twilight groaned as one corner hit the water once more, “He’s shorter than me! How does it not drag!” 

Drifter didn’t really want to touch Time’s sweaty clothing, the man’s armor always made him perspirate more, and while they didn’t have a nose to smell it with, his BO made the air taste foul. Wind’s boots were similarly disgusting, and they weren’t even going to try with Wild’s. 

That left only the pelt. They were fine with that; they had a lot of practice dealing with fur. 

“Pretty sure it does drag sometimes,” Four hopped to hang Warriors’ scarf over the branch, walking past Drifter to grab Wind’s boots. “That’s why we’re washing it.” 

Drifter bent down, tail swishing behind them, and grabbed the pelt from the stream bank. Something fell from between the folds and landed in the mud. They blinked as the banter continued behind them, it was the weird, spiky necklace that Twilight always wore; it must have accidentally caught on the pelt when he shirked it. He’d probably be sad if it got lost, so they should hold on to it so it wouldn’t get swept away. 

They reached for it.

“Yeah, but this isn’t enough just to—Wait Drifter don’t touch that!” 

Agony. 

***

Drifter woke slowly to Judgement thrumming in their chest and panicked voices at their ears. They tried to groan, but only a low hiss escaped them. An unknown sensation tickled their face.

“—the second time you’ve dropped this thing somewhere, you’d think you’d learn your lesson after Legend chewed you out for the first one—“ 

“—It got caught on the pelt! How was I supposed to know that they—“

”—it’s a necklace! You can feel it around your neck! Now we gotta—“

Drifter opened their eyes blearily, wishing the speakers would stop. They lay on the bank, their chin in the mud, but something felt off. Their neck didn’t hurt from lying in this position.

”—least we know what we gotta do this time, and everyone should be pretty cool about this situation, even if there will be teasing—“ 

They tried to stand, but failed miserably, their chin splashing back into the mud. For some reason, their back legs just wouldn’t keep them upright. 

“—and if they— Sweet Ordona they’re awake!” Twilight appeared in their field of vision suddenly, and they flinched back. Their paws slipped in the slick mud and they fell backwards as— 

Wait a second. 

Paws?

”Heyyyyyy Drifter,” Twilight held his hands out sheepishly as Drifter stared down at where their hands should be, but saw only blue-furred, spotted paws. “I bet you’re a little confused.” 

They have to have been dreaming. 

“Probably a lot confused, actually.” 

Spots trailed up their arms —no, legs— and grew more numerous, the patches arranged in a sort of striped pattern as they trailed upwards. Drifter looked over their back, long and feline. More spots dotted the azure fur, trailing downwards into a tail much thicker and fluffier than the one they were used to. The blue fur faded to white near the end, with a stark black tip. 

“So that necklace you touched was actually how I turn into Wolfie, fun fact, and it doesn’t tend to be too choosy about who it works on. So.” Twilight grimaced, “Here we are.” 

Drifter looked back at him, eyes wide and ears flat. Something tickled at their face again, somehow inside their mouth but not.

“You should look at yourself,” Four set a hand atop their head, they could feel the fur there —not hair— shifting at the contact. “Come on, the stream is slower down the bank.” 

Drifter followed the small smithy to the streamside, realization breaking through their shock that, on four legs, they were only tall enough to reach the smithy’s chest. Eyes swirling with colors, Four mutely gestured to the water, and they looked over the bank. 

They had no idea what they were. 

They looked tangentially similar to the cats back at Malon’s farm, they guessed, but way bigger and with a much different face. Their eyes, still pitch black, were ringed with a thin stripe of similarly blackened fur, stretching upwards into little points on their forehead and down to frame their muzzle and wrap around their chin. When they opened their white-furred and whiskered mouth, their teeth were the long canines of a predator, and while their ears were relatively the same, they were more taken with a new feature of their anatomy. 

They had a nose. 

It was slightly pinkish, wide but thin. Their lips cleft upwards slightly to meet it. 

Testing something, Drifter closed their mouth.

They could still breathe. 

The air smelled —actually smelled— of mud, reeds, and soap. The scent of dinner drifted downwind from camp, and Drifter’s haunches hit the bank as their back legs gave out on them. Their head spun from all these new sensations, and their chest still burned from Judgement’s wrath. 

“You, uh, you okay there?” Twilight’s hand hovered over their head, and they lurched forward suddenly as the promised coughing from earlier finally took effect, hacking blood into the stream. The hand found its way between their ears, and Drifter hissed, hackles raising as pink dripped from their teeth. Whatever his necklace had done to them, neither Drifter nor Judgement were happy with it. “Right, sorry.” The rancher removed his hand, taking a sheepish step back. “Do you…have any idea what you are?”

Drifter glanced back at the water. They’d never seen this thing before in their life. 

”Um,” The smithy looked uncharacteristically nervous, face pale as their eyes blazed with horrified purple. “I might.” 

Drifter turned from the water and sat, tilting their head. Well?

”I might not be correct,” The smithy started to ramble, face growing paler by the second, “and I’ll admit I’m really only going off of second hand information, but I just thought that—“ 

“Smithy.” Twilight interrupted, “What are they?” 

Yes, they’d very much like to know that as well. 

Four swallowed thickly, boots squishing in the mud. “You said this ‘Twilit Shard’ of yours changes whoever touches it into an animal that reflects their true self, right?”

Well now they were even more curious, but the smithy’s hesitance gave them pause. 

“Yes,” Twilight’s brow furrowed, “Why?” 

Another deep breath from Four, their eyes still violently purple. 

“What is Drifter, Four.”

“They’re—“ The smithy looked away, refusing to meet Drifter’s gaze any longer. “Miracinonyx hyruli. Also known as the Hylian Cheetah.” 

Well, that didn’t sound too bad.

”They’ve been extinct for hundreds of years.”

***

Drifter followed Twilight and Four through the underbrush as they walked back to camp. Their companions’ arms were piled high with recently-cleaned clothing, more than they would have had to carry should Drifter had been Blu. Four said they had a moon pearl that might be able to change them back, but Twilight insisted only the Master Sword would work. Since both items were back with the others, that meant they had to return.

During the walk, Drifter discovered pretty quickly that they bore retractable claws, tripping multiple times as they caught on roots and tree branches by accident. That wasn’t the only reason for their clumsiness, however; they had a lot to think about. Their head still rang loud with Four’s explanation, even as the illness in their chest roiled and made their throat constrict. 

“When Hylians descended to the surface, they needed to eat, and the cheetahs weren’t able to adapt to the competition in time. That, plus the dissolving of the cloud barrier leading to much warmer summers and more temperate winters, as well as new diseases introduced by invasive remlits, are what led to their eventual extinction.” 

It was a throw away comment at the end of a long lecture about the species they now inhabited, but Drifter couldn’t help but feel bitter that the animal that reflected their true self was driven extinct at least partially by illness. 

***

When the laundry-team made it back to camp, Drifter remained in the shadows of the trees. Twilight and Four had both decided that it would be safer if they explained the situation before Drifter made themself known, so they sat just past the treeline waiting for their cue as everybody present got changed once more. The air smelled of dinner, and it was giving them a headache.

Everyone but Warriors was there; he was probably off gathering firewood. The heroes listened intently to Twilight’s explanation, and at Four’s prompting, Drifter skulked into the clearing with their ears flattened.

For a second, no one said anything. 

Then, “Of course you’re still blue.” Legend snorted.

Smirking, Time shook his head. “Not even magic can water down that fur.” 

“You’re just jealous because your hair’s still pink!” Hyrule cackled, shoving the veteran away as he lunged forward to slap a hand over the healer’s mouth. The clearing erupted in laughter, and Drifter felt the knot in their stomach unravel a little. 

They knew that the heroes were okay with Wolfie, and Blu, and almost everything else, but still. They worried. 

“I’m guessing you need the Master Sword then?” Sky giggled as Time pulled the veteran away, unsheathing the glowing sword from his back. “That’s how we fixed this last time, at least.” 

“I still say we should go with a moon pearl.” Four’s eyes shifted blue and green, “There’s no telling how the spirit in the blade will react to Judgement.” 

That…was a good point. 

“Well Drifter’s right there, we could just ask them!” Wind piped up from where he sat beside them, running a hand down their back with a pleasant sensation 

Drifter’s ears flicked, thinking. 

On one hand, Judgement had been particularly sadistic as of late, and whatever magic was in that necklace was certainly not making things better. The Master Sword was, they’d been told, a powerful magical artifact made for sealing evil, and likely would not react kindly to touching something as tainted as they were. 

On the other hand, it was the only method that had been tested to work, and they’d rather not be stuck as an extinct species forever. 

All eyes fell upon them, and they nodded. 

Four threw their hands up as Sky drew his sword, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” 

Wind’s hand on their back was a comfort as the skyloftian approached, crouching and setting the glowing weapon across his knees. “All you should have to do is touch it, and you’ll be back to normal. That’s what happened last time, at least.” 

The weapon pulsed softly as Drifter stared at it, ears flat. Slowly, hesitantly, they reached out a single paw and pressed it against the blade. 

Judgement roared in their ears, agony exploded across their chest, the ground gave out beneath them, and they knew no more. 

***

Drifter woke slowly. 

Again. 

Their throat was on fire, their chest too. They tried to groan, but again only a low hiss escaped them. Their eyes opened to the sight of paws in front, and Drifter really wished they could sigh. It seemed it didn’t work. 

Their ears flicked, catching nothing the sound of wind rustling through tall grass. The ground smelt moist and earthy under their nose; they still weren’t used to this. 

…

Where was everybody? 

Drifter sat up, looking around to take stock of their surroundings. They were in an absolutely gigantic field. The occasional hill broke the flat expanse, as well as sparse groves of trees and ruins. A broken-down castle loomed in the distance, and in front of it, a smaller settlement with a tall, thin tower rising from within its walls. They turned in a circle; nobody around. 

Portals always did have the best timing. 

Drifter sat back down where they’d lain, ears flicking as they took deep, hitching breaths to calm themself enough to think. They were stranded in an unknown era. Alone. In a body they were not used to nor knew the capabilities of. The Companion Sprite was missing, back with the rest of their clothes, and even if it was here they didn’t have the gloves to use it. Nor the fingers. 

They had no idea where they were. 

They had no idea where anyone else was either. 

They did know that any predator, even an oddly colored one, walking into a settlement would not be taken well. So that option was out. 

Their eyes wandered across the plains, picking out the rustling of small mammals within the grass, and even a few larger ones. 

Well.

They didn’t have to find the others.

They just had to survive long enough for the others to find them.

***Four***

The second Drifter’s paw touched the blade of the Master Sword, everything went to shit. 

Just as they knew it would. 

Drifter howled as the Master Sword chimed, yanking their paw back and falling backwards into the dirt, shaking. Concerned voices rose in a cacophony, and just to make matters worse, the ground gave out beneath their feet as a portal swallowed them whole. 

RedBlueVioGreen’s boots hit the dirt, and they swayed dangerously. 

WhereareweisDrifterokayifonlyanybodyhadlistenedwewouldn’tbehereyeswewouldDriftermadetheirdecision—

Vio’s Indignation and Blue’s rage alike boiled within their shared stomach, causing the body to seethe. Someone grabbed their shoulders, keeping them upright before they could fall, and Blue shoved them away. They fell back onto their ass, holding their pounding head. 

Whydidyoudothatnowwe’reonthefloortheywerejusttryingtohelpwhowasthatanyways—

Tears sprung to their eyes as Red desperately wanted to cry but Green held the water back valiantly. Someone was talking outside their head but they couldn’t hear it too busy paying attention to westilldon’tknowwherewearewho’sthereisDrifterhereIhopesothere’sonlyonewaytofindout—

They opened their shared eyes and immediately flinched back at the bright sunlight. They were standing atop a tall, grassy cliff, and Vio could recognize Tarrey Town from Wild’s era off far below in the distance. Red could hear a horse neighing in the background, and Blue shuffled the body around to face backwards. A two story, boxy house stood in front of them. Wild himself stood between them and the building, looking concerned.

I-still-don’t-know-where-we-are-are-you-dumb-we’ve-been-down-there-before-the-house-is-new—

“Are you okay?” The champion held his hands out in front, a worried frown pressing his lips together. 

We really shouldn’t be the one he’s worried about maybe so but Drifter isn’t here we’ve waited too long somebody respond already before he gets more concerned—

“W-I’m fine.” 

Nailed it. Almost slipped up there. Could you be more obvious?

Shut up.

Four clicked back into place with a small gasp. “We need to find Drifter.” They still had their moon pearl, they could still fix this. Drifter wouldn’t have to spend any longer as a species gone extinct. 

Cool, green calm settled over their psyche before they could break again. Drifter needed them, and they would be no use fractured. 

“They could be anywhere,” Wild frowned, offering a hand to help them up (which they took) and swiping through the Slate with the other. “For once, I wish we would have ended up in literally any other era.” 

Four took a deep breath. Calm. Don’t break. 

What do we know? 

Their eyes flooded violet as they thought back to the various biology books Vio had read last time he was bored. “Their current species wasn’t super well studied before the extinction,” They resolutely ignored Wild as he choked at the sudden grim information, “but I know they preferred plains biomes with sparse cover. Lot of space to run, but also enough trees to be able to leap down on prey from above.” They mused, Wild listening intently, “I can’t say for certain that’s where they’ll be, but if Drifter has their animal’s instincts like Twilight seems to have with Wolfie, then they’d likely head towards that kind of area.” Deep breath. Calm. They turned to the champion. “Sound familiar?” 

“Believe it or not,” the champion’s eyes narrowed at his map, lips pursed, “‘grassland with trees’ doesn’t narrow it down much. That could be all of Hyrule Field, much of Akkala, any of the fields bordering Tanagar Canyon, almost all of Hyrule Ridge, or any number of other places, and that’s assuming they weren’t dropped in the Depths or on a Sky Island.” 

Not for the first time, Four cursed the size of Wild’s era. “Where do you think we should head first, then?” 

The two of them lapsed into silence as Wild zoomed in and out of the map, muttering to himself and placing pins in various places. The sound of migrating geese made good background noise, flying south to Faron to escape the colder months. Their V-shaped pattern stood out starkly against the reddening sunset sky, steadily losing altitude as they navigated towards the nearest pond for the night. 

“We could try and search Akkala on our way down to Hyrule Field,” Wild mused, eyes narrowed as he walked towards the boxy-looking house. “We wouldn’t hit the northern part, but I can teleport back up here to search myself if it comes down to it. Plus, we might run into some of the others on the road.” 

“Or other travelers,” Four paused in front of the door as Wild procured a key from his Slate and unlocked it, “a Blue Cheetah is not something people would commonly see, if someone’s spotted them then there’s bound to be rumors.” 

“Okay then,” the champion pushed the door open, leading the smith into a modest looking home. “I’ll lead you to the spare bedroom and whip something quick up for dinner, and we can head out in the morning.”

***

They found Time and Twilight two days later, near the fork in the road at the South Akkala Plains. It’d been a long couple of days of searching, for the two of them, and at certain points Four had almost considered biting the bullet and Splitting just for the extra pairs of eyes. They didn’t though, and the duo found the rancher and old man near sunset. 

Neither Time nor Twilight had seen anything either, having been dropped in the middle of Cephla Lake and spending most of their time in this era thus far recuperating at the Foothill Stable. 

“The Stablehand did say something odd though,” Time mentioned as Wild took out wood for that night’s fire, “Said that the Wetland Stable’s been spreading rumors about a new beast in the plains. It’s ruining all of their hunts, apparently, chasing off all the game faster than a horse can run.” 

“Think that could be them?” Wild looked hopeful as he struck the tinder alight.

”Maybe,” Four stared over the waving grasslands illuminated by the rising moon, “the cheetahs were said to be quite fast, though for obvious reasons none of my books ever gave an exact estimate on how fast.” 

“It’s something to look into though,” Twilight hummed, spreading out his bedroll for the night, “our first lead.” 

“Indeed.” Nodding, Time stared up at the full moon. “I’ll take first watch tonight.” 

With that abrupt end to the conversation, Four laid down, rolled over, and despite themself began to think. Their eyes shifted red as tears built in their eyes, and they shoved their face into their pillow. 

They really hoped they’d find Drifter soon.

***

Getting to Wetland Stable took almost a week, with all the off-trail wandering they did in the name of the search. No new clues made themselves known, though they did meet another traveler that confirmed the rumors of the new beast. 

This lead was looking more and more promising.

As the group of four approached the horse-shaped tent, Four’s gaze immediately snapped to the small gathering out front. Beedle was there, as well as Sky and Hyrule, all talking to a tall Rito wearing aviators who looked like a pelican. He had a notepad, jotting down notes as the merchant spoke. 

“Penn!” Wild called, running down the path and grabbing the group’s attention.

”Ah! If it isn’t my best reporter buddy!” The pelican threw his arms out as Wild barreled into him, hugging the big bird tightly, “I’m real glad to see you, I’ve stumbled on quite the scoop!” 

”Really?” Wild pulled back, grin wide but calculating as Four, Time, and Twilight finally joined him, “Got any hints for an old coworker, or do I gotta wait for the article to print?” 

“Well, a reporter is never supposed to share his scoops; it’s a competitive field out here…” He winked, “But for my old junior reporter and his friends, I think I can make an exception!” 

Four settled in next to Hyrule, who shot him a slightly confused look. They shrugged helplessly. 

“See,” the pelican held up a wing to block his beak from prying eyes, and all of the Link’s leaned in. “The chirps and warbles around the street say there’s a new beastie around here. Nobody’s seen anything like it, with fur as blue as the ocean depths and speed faster than an arrow! It’s been spotted around Hyrule field a few times now, and a couple hunters have had their prey scared off or even killed before they can even line up a single shot!” Four, Sky, and Wild all shared a wide-eyed look. Hope bloomed in their chest; that had to be Drifter. “Not sure what I’m gonna call it, but I gotta think of something catchy or it’ll never stick. Is ‘the Blue Shadow’ too pretentious, or just right? Oh! Or maybe something like, ‘blue lightning’ due to it’s speed!” 

Four could think of a couple different names for it, all of which they were going to tease Drifter for later. They tuned back into the conversation just as Wild was mid-sentence, “—help you find more information; do you have a record of when it was last seen?” 

The Rito hummed, thumbing through his notebook for a few pages before tapping harshly at a specific line. “Aha! Last the birds were chirping, it was last spotted around Lookout Landing! Oh boy, I hope the people down there are okay, this thing seems dangerous.” 

Oh, Four shared a look with the other Links, he had no idea. 

***

They picked up Legend and Wind two days later on the way to Lookout Landing, both of whom wore anxious expressions that Four was pretty sure they were mirroring. It had been officially nine days since Drifter was transformed and missing. With every day that passed by, they were finding it harder and harder to stay whole.

“There’s no monsters left alive around here,” Wind whispered as if something was going to jump at him, “they’ve all been killed, and there’s very few animals either.”

”Looks like something ripped their fucking throats out,” Legend grunted, “and all the game’s been spooked. I did find this though.” He held out what looked like a branch from a thorn bush, tufts of blue fur caught on the barbs. “So we’re on the right track at least. I’d bet Ravio’s wallet that Drifter’s the one that’s been menacing the monsters, too.” 

“We still haven’t seen the captain though,” the sailor frowned, “and it looks like he’s not with you guys either.” 

“I still have most of his clothing,” Wild flicked through his slate, brows furrowed, “Including the scarf.” 

Time hummed, turning back towards the road to Lookout Landing, “Warriors is a smart man, I trust that he’ll be able to fend for himself until we find him. He took his sword when he went to chop firewood, so he’s not unarmed.” 

While Four was relieved that the captain was probably okay, they couldn’t help but feel Vio’s insight niggling at the back of their mind. Something was about to go wrong, they could feel it. 

***

“Yeah, you just missed him.” Purah pushed her goggles up over her head, pushing her rolly chair away from her desk and letting herself spin across the room, “one of your portals dropped your captain friend half-naked on my work bench —which was very rude, by the way— a little over a week ago. We got him some clothes and he’s been helping Hoz train up the Monster-Control-Crew while you’re away, Link, and he just left to guide them on their first mission since the new training.” 

“Oh?” Wild perked up, confused, “have the monsters set up a new camp nearby?” 

“Nah, nothing difficult like that.” She waved her pencil towards the window, “there’s this new animal in Hyrule Field that’s been causing trouble for the hunters. A few guards have spotted it roaming a bit too close to the walls for comfort, so we figured it might be a nice easy target for Hoz’s crew to test out their new skills.” 

All the blood drained from Four’s face at once. A look around the room showed they weren’t the only one. 

Purah paused, eyes narrowing as she took in the suddenly cold atmosphere. “Did I say something wrong?” 

***Drifter***

Drifter was…managing. They’ve tried to stay away from towns or roads best they could, but since they don’t know where the towns or roads are, that’s been kind of difficult. They’ve messed up a few times.

On the bright side, they’ve discovered that they’re fast. 

Not as fast as a dash, unfortunately, but still really fast. 

It was clear that no prey animals were adapted to flee such a quick predator, so food was not an issue. The monsters were slow and stupid, and so far only one’d had black blood, so those weren’t really a problem either. 

Honestly, their biggest adversaries were the illness (as always) and the people. Judgement was really not happy with the Twilit Shard, and was responding by giving them an attack about every few hours regardless of whether or not they did anything to trigger one. A few times, they’d opened their eyes to a scene very different than the last one they remembered, with pink blood on their teeth and dead monsters at their paws. 

One of many reasons they tried to steer clear of populated areas. 

They weren’t always successful though, especially when the population kept coming to them. Several of their hunts were spoiled as Hylian hunters targeted the same creature, often ending in failure for both parties. Travelers traversed the roads in droves, driving them further into the grassland (in which they did not camoflage whatsoever). They slept in trees, using their retractable claws to climb them, but Hylians liked to sleep under trees, so often they were stuck in the branches until whatever traveler either decided to leave or they happened to look up, see Drifter, and freak out. 

It’d been days since they last saw their friends. With Judgment’s attacks growing more frequent the longer they spent in this body, they were rather ashamed to admit they were beginning to lose some of that hope they’d held so strongly at first. 

What if something had happened? 

What if someone had died, and they weren’t there to stop it? 

Drifter hissed to dispel those thoughts, spitting pink blood into the grass. They’d been on the brink of another attack for almost half an hour now, their vision wavering and coughing steadily growing more frequent over time. It was weird, coughing as an animal, but no less painful. 

Black encroached on their vision once more, then retreated just as fast. They started walking once again, a low purr in their aching chest. 

Drifter wasn’t quite sure where they were, exactly, but it had a lot of cover, so this was where they set up shop for the most part. There were ample amounts of ruins, around here, with tall flagpoles flying tattered flags. A couple of crude wooden camps were built to the south and east, which they’d already cleared of monsters, and the crumbling buildings and dilapidated horse-carts all surrounded what looked to have once been a small fountain. They walked up to it, bracing their paws on the lip of the basin to lap up some of the water trapped within the bowl. Probably not the most sanitary, but they hadn’t had many other options this past week. 

Black and pink particles swirled in their vision once again, and Drifter dropped back to four legs again as they swayed dangerously. They had no idea which symptoms this next attack was going to have, it seemed to be giving the signs for all of them. 

They really hoped it wasn’t all of them. 

Their ears flicked, a new scent blew in on the breeze. The smell they’d recently come to recognize as that of Hylians, and the tangy, iron scent of blood. Was someone hurt?

Their ears flicked again, hearing metal plates clinking on weapon shafts. No, not hurt. Hunting. They’d seen some deer around here, earlier; it was probably best that they made themself scarce. 

They took a single step, and as shouting erupted in the distance, the pink took over. 

***Warriors***

This animal was being incredibly easy to track; Warriors almost couldn’t believe his luck. 

When Purah had told him about this strange beast, how it’d shown up out of nowhere about a week ago and been creeping steadily closer to the town’s walls ever since, he’d agreed with her that it was dangerous. Now that he’s been out here, seen the monster corpses with claw marks down their chest and chunks bitten from their necks, he was even more sure of his decision.

He bent down, dipping his finger into a small puddle of pink blood. There’d been trails of this left all over, at irregularly spaced intervals, but all leading southward to where Captain Hoz said the old garrison used to be. 

Hoz leaned over his shoulder (damn, he missed his scarf) with interest, “Another one? At this rate, the beast isn’t going to have any blood left by the time we find it. And such an odd color, too.” 

Warriors only hummed, wiping the sticky liquid off on his borrowed tunic. The pink blood was a surprise, but not an unexplainable one. Infected monsters from Hyperlight had been brought through portals before; there was no rule saying animals couldn’t also cross over. Even more reason to get rid of it, honestly, lest it destroy the ecosystem of Hyrule Field. 

“How far are we from the garrison?” He asked, straightening again to address his fellow captain. The small group of hastily trained soldiers shuffled in their formations behind them. “Do you think we’ll be there by nightfall?” From what he’d observed and learned from rumors, the beast was diurnal. If they could catch it while it slept, that would be ideal. 

“Most likely. I’d say about an hour’s more travel and we’re at the gates, assuming the monster camps are cleared like you predicted.” 

If the beast had taken up camp within the ruins, any nearby monsters would be dead. It likely didn’t want the competition in its territory. 

Clearing his throat, Warriors turned to address the twelve-person battalion. “Alright men, we’re about an hour out from our target, and there’s no telling when it will notice our presence. Stay vigilant, and remember how I trained you.” 

A loud cheer rang out across the plains, and the group began to march once more. Warriors smirked.

These men were amateurish, but genuine, and learned fast. They caught onto Warrior’s teachings far quicker than any of his own men did, back in his era, and he honestly couldn’t tell if that was because these men had more passion for their jobs, or if they really were just smarter. He honestly could see both being true. 

The fields were quiet around them as they marched along the road, and Warriors let the familiar rhythm guide his thoughts. From the rumors, this beast was smart, so he would just have to be smarter. 

***

Warriors caught his first glimpse when they were still a little ways away from the garrison. A flash of blue, vanishing behind a crumbling stone wall. He signaled the troops to stop, and listened to the breeze. 

No monster noises graced his ears, proving his theory that they’d been slaughtered, but the sound of haggard, animalistic wheezing filled the air instead. Pity blossomed in the captain’s heart. Putting this thing down was probably a mercy.

He crept forward. 

Beyond the broken carts that lined the road, the cobbled path widened into a moss-covered courtyard with an old fountain in the middle of it. The strange, feline, blue animal (which was much smaller than he expected, only slightly bigger than a hylian retriever) paced around it with a jerky sort of gait. Every few seconds it would jolt its head up and look around, ears flicking. 

Warriors waved his hand in the signal he’d taught the men yesterday, and they split, hiding behind crumbling walls and creeping from ruin to ruin to grow closer to the target. Warriors himself pressed his back up against what was probably once a wall to a jail cell, judging by the bars on the floor-level window. He peered around the corner.

Bright pink eyes met his gaze. 

Blue ears flattened, and the animal lowered itself, hissing. 

He let out a short whistle, and the men in hiding all burst out from the ruins. The beast yowled, a painful noise, and tried to flee, but the appointed archers did their jobs and arrows thunked into the dirt to cut off escape. The soldiers converged, but to Warriors’ surprise, the cat was doing an admirable job dodging all of the attacks. Teeth sunk into one of his men’s calf, and the captain decided it was time to join the fight himself. 

Immediately, the tide of battle turned. 

Warriors’ sword cut a line across the animal’s side, and it dropped the soldier’s leg with a shriek, scrambling back. Pink blood stained the cobblestone, and Warriors let out another short whistle. The soldiers converged; they had it surrounded. 

That was, until it jumped. 

It leapt onto Captain Hoz despite being injured, claws raking against his armor as it used him like a springboard to leap over the circle of soldiers and begin to sprint towards the southeast. Jaw clenched, Warriors watched it go. There was no way any of them would be fast enough to catch it, and it was leaving a trail of blood anyways. They could always track it again. 

He sighed. “Good work men, we have it injured, and our next encounter we will be both ready and victorious.” 

The soldier’s cheer was slightly halfhearted, but they seemed emboldened by Warriors’ confidence nonetheless. As he released the men to make camp for dinner, the sound of rushing footsteps met his ears. Eight pairs of very familiar footsteps. 

He smiled, turning around just as Wild and Four bounded around the corner. Their breaths were heaving, like they’d just run all the way from Lookout Landing, and they both stared at Warrior’s sword in abject horror. The others all followed soon after, with similar responses. 

Warriors glanced down at the pink on his blade in confusion. What had them all so worked up?

And —he did a quick headcount— where the hell was Drifter?

***

Wild sent Hoz and his soldiers home, after explaining that this was hero business and that he’d take care of it. Warriors sat on a crumbling foundation, head in his hands. 

That animal was Drifter. 

That animal was Drifter. 

That animal, who’s blood stained his sword, was his friend. 

He looked between his fingers at his weapon on the ground. Pink puddled in the cracks of the cobbles, and his hid his eyes once more.

He’d betrayed them. 

***

Drifter had run southeast towards Whistling Hill, so that’s where everybody headed the next day. Warriors adjusted his scarf on his shoulders anxiously, letting Four and Wild take the lead as he lagged behind, ashamed. 

He still hadn’t cleaned his sword.

***

They found Drifter at the top of Whistling Hill, crouched in a circle of trees as their tail swished side to side. Blood still trickled from the wound on their side, and Warriors winced at the sight. His heart twisted in guilt.

Their eyes were still a blazing pink, and their ears swiveled around to hear things that weren’t there. 

Fuschia smeared across the grass, and some on the bark of the trees as well. Their fur was stained and slightly matted with the sticky, drying fluid. 

“Okay,” Legend whispered as they all crouched behind bushes, turning to address Warriors himself, “What’s the plan.”

His mouth felt dry. For once, he couldn’t come up with anything. 

“The Master Sword made things worse, earlier, so we shouldn’t try that again.” Four took charge when Warriors couldn’t, “Sky, switch to another weapon if you have one, otherwise borrow one of Wild’s swords. I have a moon pearl, if we could get them to touch it somehow it should work to turn them back.” 

Time hummed, squeezing Warriors’ shoulder in silent support. “I have a slingshot.” 

“Perfect,” The smithy tossed him the pearl, eyes a burning blue with a violet ring around each iris. “The rest of us need to give Time a clear shot by any means necessary. Currently, Drifter is very fast and very agile, and can jump very high. If we can keep them grounded, that’d be best, since they’re already injured and will be unlikely to try and fight us unless there’s no other option. Any questions?” 

Warriors swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth still as dry as a desert. 

“Great.” Four’s gaze swept over him, leveling each member of the group with a grim look and a cobalt gaze. “Don’t forget though, they may be our friend, but at the moment they’re an injured, cornered animal, and they’re going to act as such. Don’t kill them, obviously, but don’t hold back either.” 

They turned towards the cheetah on the hill, clenching their fists a few times before taking a deep breath. “Let’s get our blu back.”

***

Drifter fought like an animal. 

Drifter fought like a feral animal. With rabies. And potentially mange. 

Their claws raked across Wind’s sheild as they twisted out of Twilight’s grappling reach, yowling and screeching and spitting blood between their teeth. Nobody had really dared to hit them, not with the amount of blood they were losing, but that meant nothing had really been done to restrain them either. Sky had swapped the sword for the whip, but Drifter was again doing an admirable job of avoiding the entangling weapon. 

Drifter’s jaws clamped down on Hyrule’s arm, and the moon pearl went sailing overhead, barely missing the edge of their ear. 

Legend cursed, tossing another one to Time. “Last one, don’t miss!” 

Drifter hissed, spitting more blood into the dirt as they leapt over Twilight’s second attempt at grappling and tried to run. 

Time needed a clear shot; Drifter needed to stop. 

“A blast to the chest while already in the middle of delirium will definitely get me coughing long enough to subdue by other means”

Guilt eating at his insides at what he was about to do again, Warriors pulled the pistol from his belt and fired.

***Drifter***

Drifter felt like shit. 

Their throat burned. Their chest burned. Both of their sides burned. Their limbs felt like lead and their head pounded. 

They tried to groan, but blood blocked their vocal cords and they turned over to dispel it from their lungs. Eyelids fluttered open, seeing newly-soiled sheets on a bed in a dark room. They had hands again.

What happened?

Last they remembered, they were still an animal, and were about to flee an area because they heart hunters approach. Now, they were blu once more, indoors, and felt like they’d just gone six rounds with Judgement.

Blood dripped from their teeth; it didn’t all taste like theirs. 

“Drifter?” A soft voice from the other side of the room, and Drifter’s head snapped upwards. Warriors sat in a chair against the wall, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes flooded in relief at seeing them up, his voice reverent and hopeful. “You’re awake.”

They nodded, headache pulsing with pain, and grimaced. Warriors grabbed something from the table and measured it out into a spoon, kneeling beside the bed at their side. “Here, it’s the medicine Flora made you.” 

Drifter allowed Wars to feed them the spoonful, letting themself flop back into the bloodstained sheets with a pained wheeze. Their ears flicked, Warriors was still standing there. 

“I, uh, wanted to apologize.” It sounded like speaking was physically hurting him; Drifter turned their head to look at him properly. “I didn’t know it was you.” 

They frowned, confused. What was he talking about?

”The first time, at least. The second time I did, but you needed to be stopped and you did give me the pistol for that exact purpose so—“ 

Drifter hissed sharply, falling into coughs, and Warriors shut up. They still had no idea what he was referring to. 

“You were delirious,” He still looked haunted, hands drifting towards their side. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Frowning, Drifter pulled the blankets down, looking at their bare, bandaged chest for the first time. 

Oh. 

So that’s why they hurt so much. 

On their left, a patch of gauze covered what was obviously a sword wound. Their right bore a burn consistent with gunfire. Blood yet to be cleaned off stuck to the spaces between dense hair follicles, sticky and slightly matted. 

Warriors hands shook, hovering over them like he was afraid to touch. Drifter grabbed his fingers, and he broke. “I’m sorry.” 

They shook their head firmly, bringing his hand to their chest. Their heartbeat was still strong, despite the pain Judgement put them through. 

Warriors couldn’t have known. He hadn’t known. 

“I betrayed you.” He sobbed.

They shook their head again, voice a hoarse, painful whisper as more blood spurted past their lips. “This was no betrayal.” 

Neither said anything else. The captain sobbed at Drifter’s bedside, and they held him tight for as long as both of them could stay awake for. 

The next morning, Four found them asleep together, curled over each other in brotherly embrace. 

***

[Twilight.] Drifter leveled the rancher with as fierce a glare as they could muster. [Keep better track of your jewelry, or I swear to Jackal—]

Chapter Text

***

Sun stood alone on the Academy Lawn, watching the dark doorway snap shut behind her lover. Her lips were pursed, eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. 

“You have a lot of nerve,” she let out a long, hissed breath through her teeth, opening blazing gold eyes and turning around. “Showing up now of all times.”

The Jackal sat under the arched entryway that would lead to Skyloft proper, halo pulsing like a heartbeat as her tail swished side to side. 

She did not understand why Hylia was so hostile, seeing as she was the one to desire this meeting in the first place.

The goddess stomped past her completely, holding the door to the Academy open. The Jackal wandered her way inside, and the great oak door shut behind her.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

***Sun/Hylia***

Hylia seethed as she led the Jackal through the halls of the academy, her hair beginning to float around her as the black dog followed leisurely up the stairs. Karane passed them, shooting Sun a concerned and confused look, and she merely shook her head and pushed onwards. The Jackal didn’t spare the girl a glance. 

Rage boiled within her. 

She stopped in front of the door to her father’s office, taking a deep breath and letting her hair return to its normal resting state. She reigned her magic back in. She had to control herself.

The Jackal watched her do this with blank eyes, merely waiting. This routine was unnecessary of the goddess, as she posed no threat regardless. 

Sun’s father was out of the Academy today, helping Groose discuss plans for the move to the surface. That meant the room was empty until further notice. She pushed the heavy door open; it creaked.

The Jackal followed her inside, moving to the center of the room and sitting on the patterned rug. Hylia began to pace the room, magic building once more in her frustration. She didn’t speak. 

This was fine, the Jackal didn’t need her to. She could wait.

Sunlight streamed in from the stained glass windows, though none reflected from the Jackal’s fur. The sound of Sun’s pacing footsteps filled the room, as well as the soft swishing of a tail over carpet fibers. 

Sun stopped dead. Hands pressed together in an almost praying motion next to her mouth, she exhaled sharply from her mouth with eyes pinched shut. “You know, if you cannot bother to help your chosen, you’re going to lose them.” 

Yes. She knew. 

“Do you want that to happen?” 

No, but if it did then her plans would still continue. 

“How can you say that!” Power rippled through the air, distorting the atmosphere around Hylia’s head as she hissed. Her eyes were fully golden, no sclera in sight, and her hair swirled through the air like it was water. 

The Jackal merely blinked at the display, unbothered. The drifter was not the first, and if they weren’t the last then there would be another. They had made great progress, much greater than any she’d led before, but they were far from the only suffering soul amidst the masses. If all else failed, they were replaceable. 

“They’re dying and you do nothing!”

Many people were dying. They were not special in that regard. Life was an accident, an experiment she and her brother had allowed to continue out of intrigue and nothing more. Sapient life was much the same; she held no needless fondness for it, but no malice either, despite what it had taken from her. 

Hylia growled, slamming her hands into the desk and looming over the almost-deific dog, who held no reaction. “They’re dying by your magic.”

The air dropped several degrees, quite literally. Hylia’s eyes widened as frost crept across the desk. Gravity increased, books breaking the shelves they sat on as the Jackal’s tail stopped swaying and blank eyes bored into hers. 

No.

They were not. 

Hylia stared into soulless pink eyes with mouth agape, speechless. At first, when she’d spoken with Drifter, the Jackal had seemed like a powerful figure but one on par with herself. Able to do incredible feats, but conditionally.

Her hands began to shake, watching as that black dog seemed to unspool the space around it. Tendrils of nothing —and Hylia meant that literal, her body was a vacuum that nature could not defile— swayed through the air as aimlessly as her tail used to, the diamond halo that once surrounded her head now blazed within the writhing mass, with dual pink eyes staring blankly from the center of the shape. 

Gone was the form of the black dog, here was something else entirely. 

When Hylia had spoken with Drifter, the Jackal had seemed like her. Powerful, but limited.

This was not that. 

This was far stronger.

This was not the magic of a guide.

This was the magic of a creator, and it mimicked far more her mothers’ magic than her own.

No. The Jackal blinked, a dog once more. Not a creator. Not a goddess. She could not be conceptualized through anything like that lens. 

“Then,” Sun swallowed thickly, “What are you?” 

Nothing. Not everything, that had been someone else. 

Silence, for a few seconds. Another trinket fell from a broken shelf. Sun’s mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips to wet them anxiously. There was still far too much she didn’t know. Chief among them—

“Why did you bring them here?” 

The Jackal blinked, disinterested. Sun had said it herself: if they had kept going as they were, she was going to lose them. While they were replaceable, she had put far too much effort into them to let them fall so needlessly. 

“But—“ 

No.

Hylia had no right nor ability to question the Jackal’s actions. Her heroes would not be affected by their quest, nor would her world once it was over with, and so the goddess had no need to intervene with matters of worlds that did not concern her. 

The Jackal stood, turning away from the gaping goddess and towards the dark oak door. Sun reached out, voice sticking in her throat as she tried to call for her to wait—

The door opened soundlessly, the dog padded down the hall. Hylia ran to catch up with her, but the end of the corridor was empty. Dread sunk deep into the goddess’ gut. 

She had no need to worry, though, the Jackal would make sure her chosens were alright at the end. She had an agreement, after all. 

The Heroes of Hyrule would never set eyes on the Immortal Cell. 

Chapter Text

***Time***

“Would you like to do something together at some point? Like, just the two of us? I realized earlier that I don’t know you as well as some of the others do, and I’d like to remedy that if you’re willing.” 

{I’d love that; what do you have in mind?}

He had no idea. 

***

Time paced back in forth in the bedroom he shared with Malon, wracking his brain for answers. He didn’t know Drifter half as well as some of the others did; he had no idea what they liked to do. He had no idea what they might like to do with him. But he had to think of something, he’d promised he would bond with them and he meant it. 

…

Being an adult sucked. 

Making friends was so much harder, now, than when he was young and spry and cute. Sure, Malon might still say he was all three of those things, but he knew those were only empty placations from an equally middle-aged wife (not that he’d ever call her that to her face). It didn’t really mean anything, not when it came to things like this. 

What did they even do, when they weren’t fighting things? They’d said they’d had a hobby in guns, but that wasn’t really something Time could participate in.  

Plus, if that was their only hobby…

They needed to get out more. Find something to do that didn’t result in violence. 

Sky had his woodworking, Legend and Twilight had their respective textiles, even Warriors broke out the sketchbook every once in a while when there was downtime. Time himself wrote poetry, and occasionally song lyrics when he was feeling particularly wistful. 

What did Drifter have?

***

“—And I don’t know what to do.” Time lay in bed, his wife beside him. It was rather late, and the two of them lay in their night-clothes side by side, facing each other. Their fingers wound together as Malon looked at him with an incredibly fond expression. “I just…I want to do something special with them, but I don’t know what they’d like.” 

“Well hon,” Malon’s fiery hair splayed across her pillow, tangling as she shifted position slightly. “I think you’re thinking too narrowly here; remember who we’re workin’ with.” She unwound her fingers from his, holding up her hand to count down the list. “They’ve been sick as long’s they can remember, their world is not a kind one, and they’ve been wand’rin’ for a long time. I doubt that lifestyle lends itself to a lotta hobbies.” 

“Yes, that’s the problem.” Time ran a hand down his face, rubbing at his scarred eye. 

“They’ve never had the time before, hon, but they sure’s hell do now.” Malon smirked, poking him in the nose. “They got all the Time in the world now, don’t they?”

He grinned, eyes glittering, “Malon! Was that a pun I just heard!” 

“I would never!” 

“Oh, but you did!” 

The two of them broke down into giggles, careful to not be so loud as to be heard from the guest room down the hall. As they calmed, Malon pulled him closer, tucking her head in the crook of his neck. “If they don’t have a hobby you can work with just yet, then you’ll just have to find one for them. They really enjoyed dancin’ with me today, though I think they wished they coulda’ sang too.” She pulled his arm up and over her shoulder, resting it against her back. “Now shush that brain o’ yours for the night, love, they’re still gonna be here in the mornin’” 

He pressed a kiss to her temple as she slowly fell asleep, though rest refused to take him. He stared out the window on the other side of the room, thinking. 

By the time sleep finally claimed him hours later, he had a plan. 

***Drifter***

Drifter sat next to the window in the guest room Malon had lent them, bouncing their leg absentmindedly. Warriors hung up his scarf on a hook near the door, already changed into his underrtunic as he approached one of the beds. 

They didn’t know Time half as well as any of the others did; they had no idea what he liked to do. They had no idea what he’d like to do with them. But they had to think of something, they’d promised they would bond with him and they meant it. 

…

What did Time like to do? The man had so many random hobbies it was hard to pick one that would work. Or rather, one that wasn’t work. Many of the old man’s activities involved labor in some way or another. 

They couldn’t do the weird stretches or poses he liked, not with their broken arm, and their illness probably wouldn’t be happy if they joined him in his workout routine either. They weren’t getting anywhere near a horse if they could help it, and while fishing might be possible, they were nowhere near a body of water and Drifter had no idea how to use a pole. While teasing Warriors was an art form, it wasn’t much of a hobby, and Drifter wanted something a little more substantial to spend time with him doing. 

Speaking of Warriors…

[Captain,] The sprite beeped, drawing Warriors’ attention just as he was about to lay down. [I have a problem.] 

“Okay,” He frowned, concerned, “what is it? Anything I can help with?”

[What does Time like to do? I want to spend time with him but do not know how.] Their splint thunked against the wooden windowsill accidentally, and they pulled it close once more. [You’ve known him for a while, right?] 

An amused snort was his answer; this probably wasn’t the sort of problem the captain was anticipating. “Yeah, you could say that. I knew the old man when he was just a little terror, let me tell you, time travel is weird.” 

Drifter blinked, surprised. Yes, they supposed that would be weird. This was going better than they hoped for, though. Maybe the captain would have some insight. 

“As for hobbies…” Warriors frowned in concentration, bringing his hand up to his mouth. “Farore, does being a little shit count? He was always tearing across camp causing trouble with those magic bunny ears of his; I think he liked the extra speed it gave him. Haven’t seen him bring them out since this adventure though, not sure why, though I guess running around all willy-nilly is harder with old man knees.” He sighed, shaking his head to banish thoughts of the war and shooting them an apologetic look. “Sorry I can’t be more help, I only knew him during the war, and at the time I had other things to worry about than what my little brother got up to when he wasn’t on the front lines or driving me crazy.” 

That….There was a lot to unpack, there, and Drifter was in no way qualified for it. That did give them an idea, though, so they thanked the captain and hung their cloak on the wall to begin getting ready for bed. 

Sleep came difficult that night, mind whirring. They stared out the window, lying on their unsplinted side as the captain softly snored on the other end of the room. 

They hoped this went well; they hoped Time would have fun during it. 

***Time***

Luckily, it seemed he didn’t need to come up with an excuse to nab Drifter for the day, since as soon as the morning chores were done they grabbed his arm, nodded to a smirking Malon, and dragged him out the door. He stumbled a bit at first, but caught up quick, and by the time they were leaving Lonlon Ranch property he was walking beside them of his own volition. 

“Might I ask where we’re headed?” Time spoke as soon as Drifter dropped his wrist, not slowing their pace but trusting him to keep up. They were walking eastward towards Zora River and the Lost Woods, not that Drifter would have any way of knowing either of those places. 

Drifter stopped about halfway to the forest, looking around and seemingly dubbing this a good spot for their purposes. The Companion Sprite chimed. [Right here.]

He looked around. No notable landmarks in sight, not even a peahat or a hidden grotto. “And you pulled me out here because…Why?” 

[Warriors said you liked going fast.] They shrugged, dismissing the keyboard to struggle one-handed with the clasp of their cloak. Their splint made removing it difficult, but they managed it eventually.

He blinked. It had been a long time since he’d been able to use speed-enhancers reliably; the strain on his knees was too severe. “It’s been a long time since the war.” He settled on, unsure of how to explain his reasoning adequately. 

Drifter froze, ears drooping. [We don’t have to. I just thought—Since my—] their fingers stuttered between half formed sentences, embarrassed. [We can go back. Sorry.]

“No!” They looked startled at the volume, and Time dialed it back. “Sorry, no, that won’t be necessary. I just meant that I’m not as young as I used to be.” 

The tension melted from Drifter’s shoulders, a breeze blowing across the plains. [That’s okay, I promise this is different than what you’ve used before.] They walked up to him and slung the cloak around his shoulders, struggling again with the clasp until Time bent down so their splinted hand could help clip it together. They took a step back, grinning beneath the mask. [Wild had some difficulties with it, so if you do better, you’ll have bragging rights.]

”You’ve sold me.” He matched their expression, eye twinkling. “So how does this work?” 

***

Soon enough, after a steep learning curve, Time was zooming across Hyrule Field faster than the bunny hood could ever hope to allow him. Drifter followed at a slightly slower pace, their boots only allowing them one dash at a time whereas Time had the cloak with the chain-dash upgrade. 

The two of them laughed freely as they ran laps around the field’s outskirts, turning what once was a full day’s journey for his younger self into only a few hours. Time misjudged where he was aiming, and crashed into Drifter, sending them both sprawling across the ground in a fit of laughter (and a few hacking coughs). He sat up, stomach aching with mirth, and looked around. They were near where they started now, the Lost Woods were barely a twenty minute walk away. 

He looked back to Drifter, who let out small giggles between wheezing breaths. Yeah, they were done for now. Time (pardon the pun!) for plan B. 

“Come on, Drifter, there’s a spot not far from here where we can rest up a bit.” He wouldn’t bring them inside, not without a fairy or Saria to lead them, but the edges of the forest were safe and had plenty of fallen logs to rest upon.

When they arrived, Time led Drifter to a stump and helped them down. The coughing had gotten slightly worse; they’d overdone the dashing. Humming Saria’s Song under his breath, Time removed Drifter’s cloak from his shoulders and slung it around its owner’s as they shook. A conveniently placed rock sat across from where Drifter sat, so Time settled himself upon it and pulled out the Ocarina of Time. 

His fingers hovered over the holes, deciding. 

What to play, what to play…

His eyes flicked to his friend, still coughing, and he decided. 

The Song of Healing filled the air, all other noises fading as the magic took effect. He closed his remaining eye as he played it, like he always did, and as the music faded and his eyelid fluttered open it was to see Drifter staring at him.

[That was beautiful.] They typed, awe written across their face. 

He smiled, pulling the second, older ocarina from his belt. “Would you like to learn?”

***

Drifter had to adjust the way they held the Fairy Ocarina a little bit, to accommodate the splint, but after they’d figured it out they wanted him to teach them more and more. By the time the sun began to set, they had a pretty good handle on the Song of Healing, a passing understanding of Saria’s Song, and even picked up on a few notes of the Oath to Order as well. They had to take a few breaks to rest their throat, but Time kept the music going so the atmosphere wouldn’t fade.

He was careful not to pour any more magic into his instrument, allowing the songs to be music and nothing more. Drifter, with no magic to speak of, had no such problem. 

Rolling tunes rose from the edge of the forest, carried on the wind. Drifter took the melody, while Time improvised a little to provide harmony and cover for any missed notes. The two of them cycled through songs, basking in each others’ presence as the music gradually rose in both volume and tempo. Fairies emerged from the forest at the concert, none of them blue, and danced around Drifter’s head as they stared at the audience in awe. 

The last fading sunbeams cast the world in golden light, and Time lowered his instrument with a smile. Drifter did the same, reaching out to let a fairy alight upon their finger with pure joy in their eyes. 

Time chuckled, at the little fae’s antics. “You’re a fast learner; it always took me days to master a new song, yet here you are a few hours later with three of them.” 

Drifter didn’t dare move their hand to type; the fairies were still sitting on it, so they merely nodded.

”Thank you for taking me dashing earlier,” he chuckled, “I haven’t felt that young in years, truthfully. I hope you had as much fun with the music as I did running around.” 

Another nod, a grateful one, this time. 

“I’m glad.” Time smiled softly, tucking the blue ocarina back into his bag. Drifter’s splinted arm held the Fairy Ocarina out for him to take, but he shook his head. “You keep it.”

His hands were far too big for the little ocarina now, and he could think of no better use for his sister’s gift than to pass it on to someone who could use it like he couldn’t. 

Drifter looked confliced, glancing between Time and the instrument, and he chuckled as he walked over and closed their fingers around it. “I mean it.” He smiled, shooing the little fairies away, “Practice the songs we learned today, and I’ll teach you some new ones next time.” 

And there would be a next time. 

He’d make sure of it.

Chapter Text

“Magical items, especially swords, are an interesting and controversial focus in the field of Arcane Archaeology. This is, in part, because of the simultaneous overabundance and complete lack of any information regarding them and their creation. 

Any determined blacksmith can learn to enchant a blade with standard durability sigils, and an exceptionally skilled one might even be able to cast flame enchantments on the steel (Esen & Ono). Temporary duplication spells are common for royal armories in order to procure many swords in a short period, and the means to create these spells, sigils, and enchantments are incredibly well understood (Esen & Ono). 

There are, however, two notable outliers to consider in our analysis of this topic, the likes of which have branched off into a separate field of study all their own: The Master Sword and The Demon Blade (Sannin et al.). These two weapons of unimaginable power are hotly debated in academic circles today, mostly due to the fact that we are unsure of whether or not they actually exist. References to them have been recorded in dozens upon hundreds of ancient texts —some of which have been dated to before the Era of the Sky— and carvings that have been attributed towards them have been found in every corner of Hyrule, but whether or not they were physical artifacts or mere figments of mythology remains to be proven (Sannin et al.). If the ancient texts are to be believed, these two weapons should be more than powerful enough to stand the test of time for millenia, however, Arcane Archaeologists have not been able to locate where either of them may be kept (Sannin et al.). Furthermore, even with modern blacksmithing techniques, we have been unable to recreate even a fraction of the power these weapons were said to have, casting more doubt on their existence.

While we have copious accounts referencing their use and abilities, we have pitifully few that detail their creation. The Demon Blade, especially, has its creation referenced only once in all the texts that feature it, describing it as “a blighted thing forged from the heat of Demise’s hatred” (Sealed Temple tablet 34E, line 8). We have no other records of its forging, and scholars are still debating whether or not the tablet was speaking in literal or figurative terms. 

The Master Sword, however, we have a little more data about. It is said that it was originally called the Goddess Longsword, created by the Goddess Hylia as a weapon against Demise (Sealed Temple tablet 26C, line 5). Centuries after the Imprisoning War and the Great Rising, our next primary source details its reforging by the Hero of the Skies, using the three Goddess Flames to temper the blade into the Goddess White Sword, the Master Sword, and eventually the True Master Sword —which is the version we find described and depicted at most other sites, and thus likely the final iteration (Diary of Queen Zelda I, fragments 13C, 35C, 67E, 432F, & 548A). No further elaboration was given for how Hylia may have first fashioned the blade, nor how specifically the Hero of the Skies went about improving it. 

With both of the stories of these powerful weapons’ creations, a deity is credited with the initial forging. This is important, because —as well as being described as the most powerful weapons ever wielded by mortal hands— these blades were also always, without fail, mentioned alongside the names of their “Spirits” (Firdew, Sannin et al.). Named “Fi” for the Master Sword and “Ghirahim” for the Demon Blade, these “Sword Spirits” were sometimes referenced in place of their respective weapon’s titles, further placing them in positions of importance and tying them inseparably to their swords (Firdew). Sources are unreliable as to whether or not these Spirits were actual people, or simply extensions of the swords (Firdew). 

Notably, these two weapons are the only ones ever credited with having Spirits of their own, and scholars are still debating why. Some denounce the existence of the Spirits as their own beings, attributing the names as only extra titles for the swords (Vuris, Sannin et al.). Others draw conclusions based on fragments of text and oral history, inferring that the Spirits were separate, and furthermore that they were the reason for the swords’ incredible power (Leiso). I, however, put forth a differing conclusion. 

Through my studies of the ancient texts and artifacts, magic theory, oral history, and both modern and ancient blacksmithing techniques, I have come to the conclusion that the “Sword Spirits” were just that: Spirits belonging to the swords. These Spirits would serve much the same purpose as a Magic Focus does for any sufficiently powerful mage, redirecting the bulk of the swords’ power so as to not damage the wielder during use. With such incredible magic as described in countless texts, such refocusing would be incredibly necessary to preserve the soul of the wielder, lest the untempered power shred it beyond saving. 

This explanation both works to explain why these two swords in particular required Spirits, as well as cast light on why no modern blacksmith has been able to recreate such power. No mortal has the ability to create life from nothing as the goddesses do —excluding the use of the Triforce or Light Force— and thus, no mortal has the ability to create a Spirit for such a powerful sword. If such a weapon were forged, with no Spirit to focus it, I shudder to think of what would happen to the poor soul who had the misfortune to draw its blade."

Excerpt from “Magical Weaponry from the Era of the Skies: The Lost Art of Forging a Sword Spirit” by High Mage Miralen III, published during the reign of Queen Zelda XXIV, at the dawn of the Era of the Four Sword. 

***Link***

Link’s hands shook on the hilt of the newly reforged White Sword as he walked down the hallway towards the Elemental Sanctuary for the very first time. The Earth and Fire elements sat heavy in his pocket, and his mind buzzed with anxiety. 

He was eight years old, his best friend was a statue, and the weight of the world rested upon his small shoulders. 

Intricate statues carved from crystal marked his passage as he walked towards that tall, imposing archway, and as soon as he passed through it the door slammed shut behind him. Startled, Link whirled around, but the way back was already blocked. 

Tears sprung to his eyes unbidden; he really hoped he didn’t have to fight anything big this time. Gleerok was bad enough. 

If he did though, he’d do it. He had to, if he was gonna defeat Vaati and turn Dot back to normal. 

Four glowing tiles stood in a row before him, and further into the room past the sword-bearing statues, the floor rose upwards towards a raised dais. Four short pillars surrounded the platform, and each looked like they should hold something but none had anything on top just yet. The symbols of the elements marked the floor before each one, indicating their proper placement. In the center, a sword pedestal stood empty. 

Ezlo hummed from his place atop Link’s head, awe in his voice. “So this is the elemental sanctuary, then.” The old hat looked around, basking in the presence of this holy place, “This is where we can infuse your blade with the power of the elements…” He trailed off, beak chittering. “Yes, there seems to be a pedestal for your sword right in the middle there.” 

Yeah, Link rolled his eyes, it was kind of obvious. 

Ezlo pecked him on the forehead, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, boy!” He scolded, “now get up there and start infusing! There’s no time to waste!” 

Rubbing at his sore head with a scowl, he cleared the shallow staircase two steps at at time and rushed to place the Earth and Fire elements on their indicated platforms. He had to jump to get them on top, but once the gems had been deposited he turned to approach the empty pedestal. 

Dread seeded itself in his heart. He had to do this. Dot would never get better if he didn’t. 

He couldn’t afford to hesitate any longer.

Unsheathing his weapon, he pushed it into the pedestal before he could waste any more time. The two elements rose into the air atop their pillars, shimmering as they gathered their power and shot twin beams of concentrated energy towards the sword and child at the center.

As the White Sword gained power, Link broke for the first time. 

***

The copies were weird, but kind of funny. At least, Link thought so. 

He waved a hand, watching his transparent purple doppelgänger mirror the action perfectly. The red one at its side did the same, and he giggled. He reached out, letting his fingers touch the cool, purple magic. 

It felt tingly, right in his chest. 

Ezlo pecked him on the ear. “Come now, Link! Stop messing about! We still have two more elements to find!” 

Right! Dot! 

Link hopped down the steps, slightly disappointed as his two new companions dissolved into thin air as he went. Oh well, he could always summon them again later. 

For now, he needed to find the next element. Was the Water one next? Or Wind? 

***Link, Hero of Minish***

Link and Dot, both twelve years old, hurried down the path to the Four Sword Sanctuary, outrunning the guards that’d been sent to escort them. “Come on slow poke!” Dot giggled, dragging Link forward by the arm.

“Dooooottttt!” he whined, his legs aching at the continued sprint, “slow dooowwwnnnn!” 

“Never!” 

The two of them tripped into the main sanctuary, moss-covered and illuminated by the rising sun. They fell to the grassy cobbles with a chorus of giggles, playfully shoving each other back and forth on their way back up to their feet. They looked over the peaceful glade, and Link bit his lip anxiously as he stared at the sword he’d helped forge at eight years old. ”So why are we here again?”

Dot’s face sobered with a similar expression of unease. “I’ve been sensing weakness in the seal. It worries me.” 

Weakness?

That wasn’t good, but as Link’s eyes remained locked on the jeweled hilt of his (and it would always be his) sword, he couldn’t help but think it felt different than it had four years prior. Stronger, if anything. Definitely not weaker. 

”Are you sure?” 

She nodded, stepping forward. “Positive. I’m going to check the seal now, step back a moment.” 

He did so, but as Dot approached, the Four Sword tilted askew in its pedestal. Laughing filled the air. Familiar laughing, and a dark tendril of magic snatched Dot from her feet. She cried out in fear, and the cackles grew louder. 

Frozen, Link could only watch as Vaati broke free of the seal that he’d sacrificed his childhood to bind him in. 

“So,” The Wind Mage taunted, “you noticed that the seal was weakening, didn’t you? Well you won’t defeat me so easily this time! Meet me in the Palace of Winds, Hero, if you dare!” 

Three pairs of giant bat wings flapped once, twice, and Vaati rocketed into the sky —taking Dot with him. 

Again.

Link hesitated only a second longer before running to the pedestal where the Four Sword still stood crooked. He made this sword to fight Vaati before, he could use it again. 

He wrapped his fingers around the handle, pulled, and broke for the second time. 

***

Link didn’t know why these copies were different than the ones before, but he wasn’t complaining. They were more solid, now, having actual bodies that could be touched, but they still didn’t really do much on their own. He could give them orders, though. They’d follow his commands to the best of their abilities, which was especially helpful for dungeon puzzles. They could fight on their own, too, which did wonders when the monsters started getting tougher. Overall useful, even if he didn’t understand how the magic could’ve changed so much since the last time he pulled it. 

One thing he could do without, however, was the fact that every time one of the copies got injured, Link was the one to feel the sting. 

***Link, Hero of the Four Sword***

Link was sixteen when, swiftly and suddenly, dark clouds covered all of Hyrule. Ominous clouds that filled all who saw them with fear. 

A sense of dread swept across his body, and Link hurried to Hyrule castle. 

Dot met him there, frantic, practically dragging him to the sanctuary where the six Maidens were all gathered. The portal to the Four Sword’s resting place opened quickly, but was just as quickly corrupted by the shadows. 

No, not the shadows. 

His Shadow. 

The shadow at his feet stretched long, laughing ominously and separating from him, rising to take physical form as the portal’s soft glow pitched black. His dark doppelgänger (and only the dark part was surprising, Link having long since grown used to looking at his own face) cackled, snapping his fingers and whisking all the Maidens away.

Whisking Dot away.

Again.

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Shadow Link floated in the air, giggling, “It was so easy!” 

Fury boiled in Link’s gut and he stepped forward with a snarl, “Give her back you asshole!” 

Shooting him a cheeky, infuriating smirk, Shadow tilted his head and flipped upside down midair. His long, wispy hat nearly touched the floor. “Hmmmmmmmm Nah. Don’t feel like it.” He righted himself gracefully, floating over to stand before the darkened portal and kicking his heels with a cheeky wave, a blown kiss, and a wink. “Feel free to try and make me though!” 

He vanished, and Link screamed with rage, leaping up the steps to the top of the dais and lunging for the portal before it closed. He tumbled to his knees on the other side, standing back up swiftly. He would not allow this to happen for a third fucking time. 

“Well shit!” Shadow laughed, hovering a few feet away by the hilt of the Four Sword, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it! Damn Link, you got balls!” He drew closer with a sly purr, running a clawed finger down the pommel. The gem inladen in the gold shimmered, the magic feeling somehow different, somehow even stronger than before. “Do you got balls enough though, is the question.” 

Before Shadow could say anything else, Link ran forward with a snarl and yanked the sword from its resting place. 

Only to fall to his knees and scream as the untempered magic tore his soul asunder for the third and final time. 

***Green***

“Green?” Red sat in front of the campfire that Green had just spent half an hour lighting, lips pursed as his Four Sword sat across his lap. The red gem in the pommel glinted in the firelight. “What do you think happened to Link, when we split? Did he die? Are we gonna die? When we put the sword back?” 

Green sighed, turning the end of his stick so the impaled mushroom (that he was pretty sure wasn’t poisonous) could roast on the other side. He didn’t know why Red was asking him this, of all people. Vio was the self-proclaimed smart one.

But Vio wasn’t here. 

Vio had betrayed them. 

Vio was working with Shadow, so Green was all that Red had. And Blue, kind of, but he’d be no help here at all. 

Sighing, Green took the mushroom off the fire and handed it over to Red to bring to Blue (who was buried under all three of their blankets after his recent freezing and subsequent thawing). He shoved another one onto the end of a second stick, and stuck it in to cook. 

What had happened to Link? What would happen to them? 

“I don’t know.” Was his answer, the only one he could give honestly.

***LinkVioRedGreenBlue, Hero of the Four Sword***

RedBlueVioGreen fell to his their knees in front of the Four Sword’s pedestal, clutching at his their throbbing head with a sob as he they screwed his their eyes tightly shut. His their soul felt raw and jagged, like the broken pieces of a stained glass window or a mirror. 

WhatthefuckhappenedwhyarewestillhereI’mgladwe’renotdeadI’mnotwe’resupposedtobeLinkwe’renotLinkwhathappenedtoLinkwhyaren’tweLink—

“—ink! Link!” Dot’s voice shesoundsworriedwonderwhywhatnoIhavenoideaitcouldn’tbebecauseherbestfriendisfuckingdead cut through the piercing pain in his their head, her hands gripping his their shoulders tightly. “Link you’re scaring me, what’s wrong!” 

Whatisn’twrongeverything’swrongnothing’swrongwe’refinenowe’renotwhatthefuckVioIexpectedthistohappenandyoudidn’ttelluswhyIthoughtyou’dknownoviouslynotguysDotisstillwaitingforaresponseweneedtorespondhowdowerespond

”W—I—it—“ they tried to speak, but only single syllables escaped them. Their eyes remained tightly closed. Whycantwetalkwe’realltryingtotalkatoncewellstopitthennoyoustopitnoyoustopitItriedfirstnoIdid 

“Link you’re really freaking me out right now!” Dot’s voice had raised to a truly shrill octave, and all parts of them cringed at the noise. One of them tried to cover their ears but another one tried to lean away and another wanted to stand so the body fell back with a jerk and an uncontrollable spasm in their arm. 

StopcallingusLinkwe’renotLinkwe’llneverbeLinkagainwaityoudon’tknowthatyesIdowhatthefuckViowhydoyoukeepwithholdingimportantinformationfromuswekindofneedtoknowthisitwasn’trelaventwellitsureisnowwhatelsewereyouandShadowhidingupinyourlittletowerBluelet’snotbringShadowintothishewasalreadyinthisstopBluethewoundisstilltoofreshforhimohyoumeanlikethewoundhegaveGreenwhenhebetrayeduswaitguyswhycan’twemoveweneedtomove—

“Answer me, Link!” She sounded like she was crying, and RedVioGreenBlue’s eyes flew open. She gasped as her gaze met theirs. “Link…” She whispered, a heartbroken sound, “Your eyes…”

NotLinknotLinknotLinknotLink—

“We—we-re no-ot Link.” 

They never would be again. 

Chapter Text

***Drifter***

The latest portal was not a kind one, especially not with the way they’d been devolving. Ever since Skyloft, things had been… Difficult. Harder. Requiring more energy. Attacks came quick and often, and usually at the worst times possible. 

Like now, for example. 

The portal’s magic spat them onto their knees, their lungs convulsing to expel the blood that had collected. Their throat tore at the force, and their vision went white as something hit them over the head hard in their moment of weakness. Drifter dashed backwards out of the way of another strike, and, still coughing, they looked up to take in their surroundings. 

That was a lot of monsters. 

Bokoblins from almost every era and chuchus that left frost where they stood. Fat moblins with spears and shields and lizalfos with wings and skeletal versions of all of the above. 

Drifter’s throat burned, still heaving, and their ears flattened as they dashed further away. There was no way they could fight these on their own. 

“Drifter!” Someone shouted above the clamor, and their head snapped towards the noise. Blood dripped from their sodden mask, and their head pounded from the earlier blow. 

Time’s claymore swung in a deadly arc, keeping a bubble of clear land around him as he slashed monsters in twain. His teeth were grit, his scarred eye open and blazing a fierce magic white. Red seeped from a wound in his side, spreading across his tunic and dripping down the armor plates. Bokoblins screeched as his sword cut a chuchu and it exploded into fractals of ice, freezing all around it. Time’s blade coated in frost, but he was moving too much for the magic to take to his armor. 

Railgun in hand, Drifter dashed over, pulling their mask down to leave a trail of pink across the dirt as they went. They reached Time’s side quickly, shooting a flying lizalfos through the shoulder and sending it careening atop a moblin’s head. [Too many.] They coughed, sniping two more lizards as Time’s sword kept the other monsters away. [Alone?]

“I didn’t see anyone else.” The old man grunted as a lizard’s arrow buried itself firmly in the space between his pauldron and chestplate. “Unfortunately.”

Hissing between coughs as their head sent spears through their brain, Drifter tossed a grenade into the fray, quickly clipping the railgun to their belt in favor of their sword. The explosive went off with a screech of dying monsters, and Drifter dashed into the gap left behind. 

They needed to thin the numbers. 

Fast.

***

The battle was not ending; Drifter was getting tired. The coughing had stopped a few minutes prior, replaced with a stabbing pain in their chest that wouldn’t fade. Their limbs felt heavy, but they didn’t dare slow. To slow was to die and they were not dying today. 

Pink seeped from various wounds across their body, an arrow snapped off at the shaft dug painfully into their side. Their head still pounded, and as their foot came down to crush a skeletal moblin’s skull, their vision spotted. 

No.

Not now. 

Time roared as Din’s Fire unleashed around him a little ways away, setting monsters ablaze and clearing the area for a short time. Drifter dashed through the inferno, stopping at the old man’s side as they both stabbed the same moblin through. [Hallucination.] 

“Shit.” Drifter almost did a double take at the swear, but Time pressed on regardless. His lips were pursed, face apprehensive and full of dread. The monsters kept coming. “How long?” 

Drifter only shook their head. Their vision was steadily darkening even as the two of them spoke. 

“Shit.” Time repeated, then Nayru’s Love enveloped them both. Monsters clamored on the crystalline, domed shield, but Time grabbed Drifter by the shoulders and spun them to face him. “Drifter, I’m going to do something I promised Warriors I’d never do again. If I don’t come back from this, tell everyone I love them dearly.” 

What?

The old man smiled, but there was grief in his eyes. The scarred one blazed with unknown magic. He stepped back and away, giving Drifter no time to type before he reached into his bag to retrieve something and immediately pressed it to his face. 

The last thing Drifter heard before the darkness pulled them under was Time’s elongated scream: excruciated at first, but gradually turning to one of pure untempered rage. 

***

Judgement baring down on them. 

Screeching.

Tearing at their throat.

Ripped away.

Blazing white eyes filling their vision. Red slashes on cheeks and blue on the forehead. 

Judgement shrieking. 

Falling.

***

Drifter startled awake, dashing backwards in panic and falling to stare at the sky. Blood bubbled up their windpipe, and they brought a shaky hand to their neck to feel a wound that was never there. 

“If I don’t come back from this, tell everyone I love them dearly.”

Their breath shuddered; their eyes flew open. 

Time. 

Staggering to their feet, Drifter looked around frantically, desperate for any sign of their friend. Monster corpses piled up all around them, layered atop each other in mounds. Each bore slashing wounds cauterized on contact, most were cut completely in half in one direction or another. Pained screeches from far-away battle met their ears, and —still shaky from the hallucination— Drifter dashed away from the grisly scene and towards the distant noise.

The bodies only grew more frequent as they went. 

“I’m going to do something I promised Warriors I’d never do again.”

Dread seeded itself in their gut even further. 

What did he do?

They ran faster, pushed forwards by their own desperation and nothing more, but when Drifter finally caught sight of the reason for the carnage, they froze solid in their tracks. That wasn’t Time. 

At least, not anymore. 

The being wearing Time’s face was huge, easily ten feet, with a double-helix sword as long as Drifter was tall. The final bokoblin was skewered on it, leaving a smear of red across the blue celestial steel as it slowly slid off to the dirt. 

His armor was reminiscent of Time’s usual, but practically dripping with magic and much more ornate. His hair was as white as theirs was and flickered like flames atop his head, and when he turned his face towards them Drifter gasped at the ferocity in his blank, white, pupil-less stare. Lines of wood-grain crossed his skin, and the left eye still had a nasty scar through it (though now it looked more like someone had freshly taken a knife to a log, rather than long-healed flesh). The tattoos that marred the left side of Time’s face were now mirrored on the right, each colored line blazing with more magic than Drifter could ever hope to fight against. 

White eyes met black, then narrowed. 

A moment passed.

Drifter should go. Should run. Should flee for the hills. 

The presence would not let them. 

It was similar to the Jackal’s in weight, though not in power, but left them rooted to the dirt all the same. Their hands shook, but they activated their sword anyways and held it out in front of them with a glare.

That was their friend in there. Somewhere. Buried beneath divinity. 

Another tense moment. Drifter’s throat felt like razors. 

“Come.” The being turned his broad back to them, unbothered. His massive sword vanished into thin air. His voice was both physical and not, like Hylia’s had been back in Skyloft. “The threats are gone for now. I will handle any others.”

They really did not want to go with him. Their track record with the divine did not inspire confidence. 

The deity paused after only a few long strides, white eyes blazing as he looked back at them. He said nothing, but his displeasure was clear. 

The bodies surrounding them leaked blood onto the dirt, and Drifter swallowed their own. This… Thing was clearly more powerful than they could handle. Best not test how long his mercy would remain. 

As the being turned back to keep walking, Drifter followed, but did not sheathe their sword. 

***

The armored god led them away from the sea of bleeding bodies, to a small copse of trees on the plains. The setting sun bathed the world in gold as it dipped beneath distant hills. Drifter had no idea which era this was; there were no landmarks nearby with which to tell. 

The massive blade appeared once more, and with a mighty swing, two trees were felled in the name of seating arrangements. The deity broke off some branches from the fallen trunks, setting them up between the makeshift benches into an approximation of a firepit. It lit without tinder, and was soon crackling away. White eyes met black once more, and he gestured towards one of the logs. “Sit, rest your body before it fails, and treat your wounds. I will catch something for sustenance.” 

With that, the massive man set off through the trees. Somehow, he moved completely silent even with the heavy armor.

Drifter didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what was happening. 

They wanted to sit down so badly but… Should they? This being was clearly very dangerous, and Time had seemed so scared of him before. 

“Tell everyone I love them dearly.” 

What had he done?

What should they do? 

Was there anything they could do, even, against something such as this?

Judgement writhed in Drifter’s chest; their head swam with dizziness, and they swayed.

They sat down despite their better judgement, bringing their hands to the arrow in their side to start the process of patching-up. Their head pounded; they ignored it.

It didn’t take very long for the deity to return, holding a duck by the neck in one hand and a bundle of herbs in the other. He sat wordlessly on the opposite log to Drifter, setting a flat rock over the fire to heat as he plucked and cleaned his catch. They watched him warily, still-activated sword held loosely out in front. Their various wounds were bandaged, now, but the piercing in their chest still felt as if stabbed.

“You may do away with your weapon.” His voice rumbled, never looking up from his task. “If I were going to kill you, you’d have not woken from that other god’s grasp.”  

That much they believed, at least, though they did not deactivate the weapon.

They didn’t trust him, whoever he was. Not with how Time’s voice had shaken, before, and not when he piloted Time’s body as his own. 

Speaking of which…[Who are you.] The sentence was short, curt. They had no patience for politeness at the moment.

The deity hummed, placing the first cleaned duck breast upon the heated stone. It sizzled at the contact, and he crushed some of the herbal leaves onto its surface. “Fierce Deity, is what the mortals call me, though my original name was Hope. I am a guiding god, same as Kindness and her enemy Hatred.” The second breast hit the stone. The Fierce Deity didn’t bother using a tool to flip the first one, simply grabbing it with his fingers. Drifter hoped Time couldn’t feel it, wherever he was. “I was trapped long ago, by one of Hatred’s generals. The demon has since been slain, though it has been many years since the Hero of Time last called upon me.” His blank eyes took on a slightly remorseful tinge, the scar on his left eye pulsing once with saddened magic. “I fear my last impression was a sour one.” 

That was… Way more information than Drifter knew what to do with. Their head pounded, their chest squeezed, and they winced. 

The first duck leg joined the breasts, then the second, and more herbs sprinkled upon them for flavor. Pieces of bird stuck to the stone as he flipped it, with no oil to stop it from doing so. Crackling and popping filled the air, and the Fierce Deity began to hum a song they vaguely recognized Sky playing a few times on his harp late at night. 

He said nothing more for a while. Drifter only grew more anxious as the minutes ticked on. The last rays of sun vanished over the horizon, replaced by twinkling stars and a full moon.

“The magic that drapes you is twisted, and as strong as my own.” His voice rumbled, quiet yet secure. “Stronger, even. Malicious and apathetic in equal measure, fighting against itself within your soul.” Drifter flinched as the stillness was broken with so ominous a statement. White eyes bored into theirs, contemplative and firm. “You wonder why I have not killed you for it, do you not?” 

They were very much wondering that, after the cold first-impression that Hylia and Faron had given them. With the violence in the field behind them, they’d been expecting a much more deadly introduction, not…this. Whatever this was. 

The deity chuckled, removing the first breast from the fire and wrapping it in a large leaf from one of the trees (Wild had called it a Korok frond, once, did that mean this was his era?) and holding it out for them to take. “I am the manifestation of every hope a mortal has ever had, and I fight to protect that. The Hero of Time has always hoped fiercely for many many different things.” 

Slowly, Drifter reached out to take the offered food. Their stomach cramped in hunger. 

“Currently, however,” The Fierce Deity did not release it to their grasp immediately, holding fast as his eyes blazed with magic for emphasis, “he hopes only for one outcome: your survival.” 

They…didn’t even know what to say about that. What to feel about that, even. 

They wanted to ask Time about it, but Time wasn’t here. 

[Can I talk to him?]

The deity hummed, releasing the food and turning back to the fire. “Eventually.” 

Their grip tightened on their weapon’s handle. They did not like that answer.

***

Drifter didn’t sleep. Didn’t dare. If they closed their eyes, not only would they be surrendering to Judgement in their dreams, but they’d also be turning their back on the dangerous god sitting a mere few feet away. His massive sword lay across his lap as he stared up at the full moon; his eyes were blank, but his shoulders held tension that Drifter didn’t like the look of.

Best not let down their guard. 

They didn’t want to test how far Time’s hope would get them. 

***

Around midnight, the moon flared red. 

Drifter’s eyes snapped up to meet it, dread building in their gut, but the Fierce Deity merely grinned with an uncanny, unsettling expression. “Lunar magic builds once more: similar yet different yet always the same.” He stood, the tip of his helix sword scraping on the dirt. “All prior enemies have been revived.” Drifter’s limbs went cold at the statement. “Follow if you wish, though I have no need of aid. The Hero of Time hopes you safe and still living by the end of this, and I aim to make it so.” 

Drifter stood, never one to be left on the sidelines when there was danger about. Their bandaged side twinged, and their chest constricted. 

The deity gazed down at them with an unreadable expression, then nodded and turned away. “Be mindful of your limits. As we fight, I advise you to stay far from my blade, lest you mistakenly end up on the wrong end of it.” 

They weren’t planning on being anywhere near that sword regardless, since they still didn’t trust its wielder, but they nodded in agreement all the same. The Fierce Deity turned away from the trees as the first snarls of revived monsters screeched towards the reddened sky. His face twisted into a terrifying, bloodthirsty grin as in the distance, dead bodies stood up. “Then let us begin.”

***

Drifter’s sword cut through a bokoblin’s throat, sending it spinning to the side to crash into a Stalfos. The Zeliska fired blast after explosive blast, it’s ammo quickly recharging with every swing of their weapon. A trail of bodies was left in their wake, even as their bandaged side protested and their breath wheezed through a shredded throat. 

If they were a force to be reckoned with, however, the Fierce Deity was a force to be avoided at all costs. 

He laughed above the battlefield, a dark mockery of Time’s own hearty chuckles, and his helix-sword sent arcs of magic across the field with every monster it cut down. Thrice Drifter’s kill-count lay slain in his wake, black blood coating his armor and leaving dark spots throughout the glow. The markings on his face dripped red and blue, running trails down the wood-grained skin, and the scar on his left blazed as brightly as the eye it bisected.

Drifter felt sick, and not from the illness. 

Their chain-dash ended in a slip as their foot caught on spilled intestines. Their vision went white once more as their head impacted the dirt, and a Moblin raised it’s spear high to skewer them. It never got the chance; run through by a helix as the deity held out a hand to help them up. “Rise and be vigilant; this battle will not be your last.” 

Breath heaving, they took the offered hand. Getting back to their feet to keep fighting. 

***

By the time anyone else showed up, the battle was already finished. 

Drifter bent over, hands on their knees as they hacked blood onto the grass. The Fierce Deity stood vigil above them, watching small approaching figures with blank eyes. “Ah.” If Drifter didn’t know better, they’d almost call his expression aprehensive. “The Hero of Warriors approaches; a good ally, though one who does not like me much.” 

Drifter didn’t have any time to contemplate what exactly that might’ve implied before the captain was upon them. 

“YOU!” Warriors stormed up to the Deity with fire in his eyes and a foolhardy desperation, sword drawn and ready and pointed straight up at the god’s chin. Four followed close behind, looking utterly confused but absolutely willing to back the captain up if needed. “You give him back you enigmatic, verbose, wood-faced bitch!” He nearly screeched that last syllable, face red and enraged in a way Drifter had never seen him, though his eyes held bone-deep terror. “I’ll take your other eye if I have to you have no right to keep him this way!” 

What?

“Your protectiveness is admirable, but misplaced.” The Fierce Diety’s voice and face were stone, taking the point of the sword on his finger and deftly moving it aside. Red and blue dripped from his markings, mixing with the blood across his chestplate. “Both of us know that by following through on your threat, you would hurt him far more than you would me.” 

This was a very concerning interaction. One that shed a lot of light and also sparked a lot of confusion as to Time and Warriors’ prior(?) relationship. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Four’s eyes shifted purple, calculating yet confused. “I don’t understand what is going on.” Their eyes flickered to Drifter, a silent question, though they had no answers either. “Who are you?”

Seething, Warriors tried to move his sword back to position but the god’s finger held it fast. “This bastard is the Fierce Deity, currently possessing Time’s body, and last time he refused to give him back.”

“You brought Hope to a hopeless battlefield,” The god’s voice was flat, unimpressed, “then expected me to leave before my job was done. Forced me to leave, even, and permanently injured your brother in the process.” Blank eyes narrowed as he brought his thumb to pinch the tip of Warriors’ blade and bent it sharply upwards. “I advise you not to try the same tactic; it will not work again.” 

Drifter was missing so much context, here. 

[When is your job done?] The faster they could get Time back —without injuring him— the better. 

“When the moon sets, and the magic fades, I shall leave you.” He shot a glare at Warriors and turned away towards the makeshift campsite they’d formed earlier. His strides were long and purposeful; Drifter had to dash to catch up. “Voluntarily. Not a moment sooner.” 

***

The rest of the night was tense, as expected. Drifter spent most of it with Four, since Warriors was busy sitting on the opposite end of camp and glaring daggers into Fierce Deity’s chestplate (who couldn’t seem to care less, sword across his lap as he stared up at the reddened moon once more). 

Four’s bright blue gaze flickered between the two, lips pursed as they whispered. “This is really fucking awkward.” 

Nodding numbly, Drifter muffled a cough into their hand. Really awkward. And it didn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. 

***

The moon was just a sliver on the horizon when the Fierce Deity finally stood, turning to Drifter with purpose. “Afflicted one, I wish to speak with you.” 

”Not happening.” Warriors immediately snapped, rising to meet him with a snarl. 

“You have no authority to command me, Hero of Warriors.” The god’s lips turned down into a dangerous scowl. “I will not depart until my job is done, and as of now it is not yet.” 

The captain’s face reddened, and he looked about ready to retort, but Drifter grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down to sit. They turned to the deity and nodded. 

They may not trust him, but they did want Time back.

If this was how that happened, then so be it. 

The god didn’t lead them too far away, thankfully —just enough to be out of earshot. Drifter’s breath came in heavy wheezes, limbs heavy from fatigue. The god kept them stable as they walked, then stopped just beyond the treeline. The mountains of monster bodies —killed twice over— were a grisly frame for the conversation.

[What did you want to tell me?]

Drifter couldn’t tell where the god was looking, but they got the distinct impression he was seeing something they couldn’t. His face softened into something almost kind, reaching out to grasp them by the shoulder as he kneeled to meet their eyes. 

A moment passed in silence. Drifter was unsure what to do. 

“Your journey is a perilous one, and your victory infeasible.” Their heart sunk, chest suddenly cold as their throat burned at the reminder. It sounded so final, spoken by a divine tongue.

“And yet,” the god’s grip tightened before Drifter’s thoughts could spiral any further; his magic blazed, “you must keep hope. Fight for it. Claw for it. Grip it in your teeth if you have to and never let go. Impossible battles are only won by people who have hope, and attainable goals lost by those who lose it.” 

Drifter didn’t answer. Couldn’t. 

What were they supposed to say to that?

The Fierce Deity’s white eyes bored into theirs, deadly serious. They barely dared to breathe under the weight of his presence. “The Hero of Time was willing to secede control to me forever, so long as you survived this night. I cannot stay to fight your battles for you, but my domain holds magic all its own. Fight, Drifter,” He shook their shoulder lightly for emphasis, then released it. “Hope beyond hopelessness and my power resides in you.” 

The god stood. Bringing his hand to his face with a sad yet encouraging smile, one Drifter had seen in Time’s expression many many times before. “Go with my blessing, Drifter. Sieze it and win.” 

With that, the Fierce Deity lifted the mask, and Time crumpled to the ground. 

***

Drifter remained by Time’s bedroll for the duration of the day. His wounds from before the mask were still present, so his side and shoulder were covered in bandages until he could wake and drink a potion. Other heroes showed up eventually, attracted by the bloodshed in the field, but Four and Warriors took on the work of filling them all in and keeping them away. 

Drifter’s fingers pressed on Time’s wrist. The pulse was strong. 

An unassuming wooden mask lay on the ground at their feet, a deep gouge in the wood across the left eye.

They coughed. Their head ached.

They had a lot to think about. 

***

When Time finally awoke, the sun was setting once again. The other heroes were gathered around Wild and the cookpot, but Drifter themself took their soup to the old man’s side. They gently blew on their spoonful of broth, watching a bean spin around from the airflow. A gentle breeze fluttered through the leaves above their head, as if to mimic them. 

Their ear flicked. Something shifted. 

“Mmnh…” Drifter’s eyes snapped downwards; Time was stirring. His face scrunched in pain, shifting sideways as his good eye fluttered open. His voice was low with sleep. “Drifter?” 

Oh thank the Jackal.

Quickly setting their bowl aside, Drifter kneeled down near Time’s chest and grabbed his hand, squeezing softly. Their aching limbs protested the position, but they ignored it. 

Time squeezed their hand back, huffing with a smile of pure relief. “You’re okay.” 

“If I don’t come back from this, tell everyone I love them dearly.” 

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Their voice was quiet and painful, but they couldn’t spare the time to type. Their dark eyes met his with a glare, though their own relief was poorly hidden. “Don’t scare me like that.” 

The old man let out a breathy, tired chuckle (music to Drifter’s ears). “No promises; he is a powerful last resort.” 

“Be sure to keep him that way.” They knew Time well enough to realize that was the best they were getting. They squeezed his hand again as someone across camp noticed his waking and cried out in surprise; pretty soon, the hoard would be upon them.

***

Hours later, after Time had been thoroughly checked over and given a potion, Drifter finally lay down to rest. They stared upwards at the moon —no longer full— with a mind too cluttered to dream of sleeping. The events of the past day replayed themselves on a loop unending. 

“Hope beyond hopelessness, and my power resides in you.” 

They really, really hoped that was true.

Chapter Text

***Wild***

The lift ride back up to the surface was…tense. 

Hyrule was quietly seething, Warriors was carefully neutral, and Time’s eye twitched every so often as he carried their blank-eyed friend. Twilight was unusually fidgety, and Legend was frighteningly quiet. Four’s eyes swirled with colors as their lips pursed in what could be displeasure, pain, conflict, or disappointment, and Wind sat next to him holding back tears. 

Wild…Wild didn’t know what to think. 

Did he like that Drifter was most definitely absolutely no doubt about it lying to them? No, absolutely not, not in the slightest. 

Did he understand it?

Yeah. 

He thought so, at least. 

Out of everybody here, Wild was the only one who knew how frightening death was when you were face to face with it. While the others had certainly feared death, he was the only one to experience it. Feeling his body grow weaker and his mind slow down, choking on painful breaths as the realization that he’d failed washed over him like an ice bath despite the burning across his body. Watching the world get darker despite Zelda’s sealing light, looking up at her anguished, panicked face and knowing there was nothing left to save him.   

It was the clearest memory he had.

Drifter wasn’t quite that far yet, thank Hylia, but from the signs Wild could pick up (since, as established, they were not forthcoming) they were quickly heading that direction. They were on the worst sort of time limit and their body was failing and the only way out was to kill the equivalent of a god. 

Wild could understand how all this could feel hopeless. Wild could understand not wanting to make things any harder. Wild could understand not wanting to admit to the harsh reality they found themself in, lest their last fragile sense of sanity vanish in favor of witless terror.

So he did get it, kind of, why Drifter felt they had to lie. Didn’t condone it obviously —he wanted to help— but he did get it.

Unfortunately, it seemed he was the only one. 

This left Wild in the rare position of being the only Link who still had his head on straight in the midst of this dismal situation.

The lift clicked into place, and everyone spread out to process their thoughts and survey their surroundings. Time carefully lay Drifter in the shade, and Four sat at their side with their back against one of the twisted trees. Their fingers pressed into their temples as their eyes squeezed shut, and Wild winced in sympathy; now was a terrible time for a migraine.

Straightening back to his feet, Time began to pace at Twilight’s side (the family resemblance was uncanny). Hyrule sat with his legs dangling from the cliffside, knuckles white as his fists lay in his lap, and Legend sat next to him staring out over the desert with an unreadable expression. Sky leaned against the rough stone wall, eyes closed as he did slow, steady breathing exercises. Warriors stood beside him, face blank but eyes darting between each of them in a series of consecutive headcounts. Wind curled up by the smithy’s side, face red and eyes misty. 

They all needed to do something. Focus on something. Anything.

… 

Sweet Satori, why was Wild of all people in the position to lead? 

He wasn’t a leader. He was probably tied with Hyrule for the least suited to teamwork in the group. He was reckless, immature, and couldn’t plan to save his life. He often acted without thinking, and he caused collateral damage wherever he went. He didn’t have Warriors’ eloquence, or Time’s cool head, or Legend’s experience, or even Twilight’s casual charm. 

Wild was…

Sniffling from near the trees as the sailor finally lost his battle against emotion.

Wild was not a leader, but he was all they had at the moment. 

His breath came deep and slow, failing to calm him. 

Nayru, give me strength. Let me borrow the Triforce of Wisdom for just these next few moments, just enough to not make things worse. 

“Time,” His voice sounded far more confident than he felt, stepping into the role he’d never played before like putting on a well-worn coat, “Take Twilight and Hyrule to sweep the northeast side of the desert as best you can aboveground. Warriors, take Wind to the southeast.” The captain startled from his headcount at being addressed, but nodded quickly and moved to collect the sniffly sailor. Time said nothing, face stormy, but tugged Hyrule to his feet as Twilight followed. “Legend, you and Sky see if we missed anything southwest, and Four…” The smithy’s head jerked up to meet his gaze; they really didn’t look good. “You stay here with Drifter, just in case. I’ll sweep the area around where we are.” 

”Should we really be splitting up right now?” Legend’s voice was sharp in that way it always was when he was scared but trying not to show it, “Drifter—“

“—Isn’t waking up for a while, and we’re going to go crazy if we don’t do something.” Wild raised his prosthetic to cut him off, using a tone he couldn’t remember ever using before but somehow already had perfected. “None of us are doing any good just sitting here panicking or seething or whatever, and we might’ve missed something on our first go-around.”  

For a minute, no one responded. He really hoped he didn’t do it wrong. 

Then—

“Wild’s right.” Warriors seemed to have shaken himself out of whatever funk he’d been in, plastering a bright smile on his face that everyone could see through. “We’re doing no good moping around, we need a change of scenery. And besides! Maybe we’ll find our next destination along the way.” 

At the captain’s prompting, everyone slowly began to move. The groups he’d had indicated earlier formed and left one by one, until it was only Wild, Four, and the unconscious Drifter left. 

Thank you, golden goddess.

After a second’s deliberation, Wild approached the duo and plucked the Companion Sprite from the air (Four shifted at his approach, but the movement was jerky and aborted —unsurprising with the probable-migraine). He had a specific search objective in mind, and he didn’t know if his Slate would work to activate it. 

“I’ll be back in a bit, smithy.” He called over his shoulder, “Promise.” 

He needed to talk to Khavel.

***

Turns out, he didn’t have to go very far at all —not even down the staircase. A small pathway broke off the main path just before the stairs, partially hidden by rocks and orange leaves. Traversing it led to a break in the cliffs, grimly overlooking the canyon where Guardian still lay. A tall Monolith stood still and cold at the edge of the pathway, just before the cutoff. 

Wild’s breath stuttered in anxiety, his knuckles went white around the little bot in his hand. 

He may understand why Drifter felt they had to lie, but that didn’t mean he was willing to let them keep suffering alone. He didn’t like resorting to this, using information that not even Drifter knew about themself, but if they refused to be forthcoming then he’d consult his other sources. 

“I probably could have fixed it and kept myself if I’d had more time…but I didn’t. It was a last resort.”

Steeling himself, Wild stepped up to the Monolith. The little robot beeped and trilled when put in proximity to it, and he released it from his grasp to let it float upwards and scan the Monolith into its databank. 

Just like the other two times before, Khavel flickered into existence at its side. She didn’t even look at him as her fingers flew over yellow screens, words fuzzing and sputtering as they blinked onto the flat, cold surface. Her form blurred as the unreadable text snapped into focus, and Wild crushed a Large Zonai Charge before she could vanish from sight. He didn’t think he’d be able to find her again if she did. 

“Oh!” She gasped as her body glitched and she snapped back to sapience, turning to him with a staticy, wide-eyed expression, “You have got to show me how those work. I need to recreate them; they do wonders.” 

“Later.” His voice hadn’t changed from the firm tone from earlier, “I have questions for you, if you don’t mind.” 

The hot desert air felt suddenly frigid. Her gaze turned sharp, lips pursed as she looked him up and down.

“Okay,” She must have found what she was looking for in his expression, “Business talk. Got it, I’m great with those.” She flickered and vanished, reappearing sitting at the cliff’s edge. “What did you need?” 

Wild let a slow breath hiss between his teeth as he approached her to sit down as well. Guardian’s body lay still and cold at the end of the canyon, ominous and grim. ”What does it feel like to die of infection, and how can I help? Drifter isn’t telling anyone, but this isn’t sustainable.” 

The question clearly took Khavel by surprise, choking on surprised static. “Jackal, you really don’t mess around huh?” A heavy sigh, “Yeah, my hyrbid immune system was crap even before the illness started going around; how’d you figure that out?” 

“Just a hunch.” 

Answer the question.

Picking up on his impatience, she shrugged as her form slowly stabilized once more. Her face was pained, eyes unfocused as she remembered. “What…Exactly do you want to know? Because a lot of what I can tell you is only relavent when there’s no hope of survival.” A big glitch rocked her frame out of nowhere, expression suddenly panicked, “Please tell me they’re not that far gone; I can’t lose them again so soon after learning about the first time.” 

Right, because she wasn’t aware most of the time. For her, it must’ve been like he’d just told her of the amnesia a few hours ago. 

“They’re not that far, I don’t think.” Wild’s hair hit his face as his head shook side to side, “I don’t actually know though. Again, they’re not telling us anything.” 

Another second of silence, gauging his truthfulness. 

The wind blew orange leaves from their branches, falling through her projected form and into Wild’s hair.

“Of course they are, the idiot. It’s…Everything hurts.” The soft humming of the Monolith behind them filled the air. “Moving, breathing, even thinking hurts. And that’s when it’s still chronic; the acute phase is a whole other level of hell.” Wild’s heart sunk further with every syllable; Khavel’s unnecessary, simulated breath stuttered, “Not to mention the dread…You know you’re dying but can’t do anything to stop it. It’s terrifying. I was lucky, I had a plan in place already even if it didn’t end up working, and I threw myself into it with reckless abandon to avoid having to think about the reality of the situation. It wasn’t healthy, but I wasn’t healthy so it didn’t really matter.” 

Wild didn’t really have anything to say to any of that. He’d asked the question, and got his answer, but it still wasn’t pleasant to hear. 

His heart stuttered; he had no idea it could be this bad, but he supposed that was the point of Drifter’s silence. Even knowing partially what was happening now, he didn’t know how to help. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“I’d expect that’s what Aire—what Drifter’s doing too, with this quest of theirs. Speaking of which…” Looking around as if for the first time, Khavel seemed to just notice their surroundings, “what are we doing in the South of all places?”  

As if summoned, a warm arid breeze blew in from the desert. Loose particles stuck themselves to Wild’s tunic and hair, but flew through Khavel seamlessly. A small pile of dust built up against Guardian’s legs down below. 

“The last Pillar is here, isn’t it?” Wouldn’t she know this? “We gotta get to it somehow, even if the labs are really annoying to traverse—“ 

“They’re going back into the labs!?” She nearly shrieked, vanishing from sight and reappearing back at the Monolith’s side in a frantic burst of static. Her body language was horrified, jaw agape and pupils shaky.

That was not a good omen.

“They don’t remember anything that happened there beforehand.” Wild reasserted firmly, mind reeling, “If you know anything, I’d love to hear it so we can deal with it better, but they have no idea.” 

She didn’t seem to hear him, glitching almost beyond recognizability. After a few seconds of this with no response, he almost took out another Zonai Charge on the off-chance she’d disconnected again, but Khavel’s crackly projected voice made him pause. 

“I never actually saw any of the horrific shit down there. When I went to place the Monoliths I took the quickest routes I could find and got the hell out of there without exploring, and back during the war, I was the woman on comms while Airen and Alt did the actual stealth mission. What they told me was—“ Her voice cut off in a burst of white noise, as if malfunctioning. Wild could only catch a few words within the static. “—bad———uilding a weapon strong enough to—————mmortal soldiers from—bodies of———————-somehow they managed to captu——horrific————Do not let them explore alone.” 

The longer she spoke, the higher octaves her voice reached (when he could hear it) and the worse the glitching got. Holographic skin zapped him upon contact when he tried to reach out and touch her. He crushed another Charge, slightly panicking, but it had no effect. 

How bad was it down there, for this to be her response? 

“Do not let them——xplore alone. —o matter what—ey say—under—ny circumstances—ou hear me Wild? ————ot to be allowed out of—our sight for a single Titan-dam—cond! Promise me!” 

“I promise!” He nearly yelped. 

Please please please go back to normal. 

This was not filling him with much confidence for the future, and coupled with Drifter’s prior state with the illness it was really starting to scare him. He wouldn’t be leaving their side for anything, for his own peace of mind even if he hadn’tjust promised Khavel.

Letting out a breath she didn’t need, the glitches calmed. Not completely, not even moderately, but Wild could make out her face now. “Good. Good. If they’re as bad as you say——ey’re gonna need all the help you guys can offer.” 

And he would offer it all. 

Noise from the background; Legend’s voice on the breeze. The others were returning. 

Khavel shifted at the sound, blurry skin sparking and sputtering with excess electricity. “You need to go now, don’t you.” 

Probably. 

Actually, yeah. Definitely. 

Drifter was probably awake by now, and he’d promised not to leave their side.

He didn’t just want to walk away without saying anything though; she seemed really upset —and while he really should backpedal clarify what exactly she’d said when her voice glitched out, he didn’t want to cause any more distress. Chances were, they’d see what she meant once they’re down there.

“We’re going to make sure they get out of there intact.” Wild swallowed spit, “Promise. You were super helpful.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep for sure,” Khavel smiled bitterly, waving him off towards the pathway as he stood, “but thanks. Call me up if you need anything else.” 

Wild really didn’t want to leave her there alone, but she shooed him again so he hesitantly turned his back.

”And Wild?” 

He looked over his shoulder; Khavel had a sharp, angry smile. Her body looked more solid than it’d been in minutes. “Just…be careful down there. And when you eventually run into 4rch-R, make it hurt.” 

She vanished with a shower of sparks, leaving only the silent, activated Monolith humming at the end of the cliffside. More voices echoed from back at camp, and Wild turned towards the pathway with a newfound lump in his throat.

He forced himself to walk, turning and leaving both the Monolith and the sight of Guardian’s dusty corpse to disappear from view behind the cliffs.

Chapter Text

***Dazarel***

Daz hated it here. It was hot and muggy in the Midnight Woods, both things that his blu fur could not handle. Cooling holobytes were in short supply, and while the Commander certainly had some, he certainly didn’t find it necessary to outfit lowly footsoldiers when they were probably all gonna die to Tanu anyways. The unofficial armor suppliers from Subtherma weren’t too keen on adding extra stuff to the uniforms either.

So it was hot. 

And it was wet. 

And Daz hated it. 

The moon raised high in the dark blue, almost blackened sky, not quite at its peak yet but getting there. The trees loomed tall and twisted above their little hidden outpost, fellow soldiers chatting in quiet voices as they meandered about to get their food from the communal mush-pot. There was no fire; the food was only as warm as the hot muggy air around them. The Commander’s tent —the only one in the camp— loomed over all the soldiers’ scattered bedrolls, hushed whispers coming from inside. Probably his niece and her friends, the poor kids. 

“Here.” Deran scooted over to try and pour the remainder of her bowl of mush into Daz’s. Her helmet gleamed in the moonlight, the red V-shaped indentation on the visor a crude imitation of the familial markings on both her own and Daz’s foreheads. “I’m full.” 

“Oh no you’re not,” Baenel smacked her hand with her spoon before the first drops could fall. Her long tail twitched and fluffed up in irritation, with two stripes near the base and a third just barely forming. “We’re not so desperate as to have to go hungry just yet, Love. Eat your food before I force you.” 

Scowling at his twin sister, Daz moved his food away and hunched over it. She wasn’t giving up her portion, and that’s final. “And I’ll help. Don’t be stupid, Den.” 

“You’re both so mean to me.” As Deran’s face scrunched with displeasure, both Daz and Baenel leveled her with matching fiery glares. Other soldiers chattered in the background, hushed so as to not alert any Tanu scouts that may be searching nearby. 

“Eat the food, Deran.” He took a bite of his own flavorless mush, barely shuddering at the unpleasant, slimy-gritty texture. He couldn’t even begin to guess what this was made of. “Commander has us staging an ambush tomorrow, and we love you too much to lose you due to hunger pains.” 

Daz hated it here in the Midnight Woods. Had hated it since the three of them had their house in Central burned down by otter-folk and subsequently been ‘voluntarily’ recruited for this stupid fucking army. The War had been raging for years before then, and had raged on for years since. A few weeks from now would be his third anniversary in this hellhole. 

Yipp-fucking-ee. 

Deran and her lover Baenel were the only bright spots in this entire fucking place. The only things that made this worth it. He was lucky to have them; a lot of people didn’t.

***

“You stupid fucking idiot.” Deran whisper-choked out between muffled sobs as she pinched the skin and fur of Baenel’s side together for Daz to suture. They were hiding behind a copse of twisted trees; the battle still raged in the clearing beyond. It was all they could do to drag the injured blu away without being seen, any louder and their hiding spot would be blown and all three of them would be as good as dead. “Why’d you do that?” 

“You didn’t see the knight,” she grunted, muffling her noises with a padded hand over her mouth. Crimson stained her fur through the poorly-armored uniform, which was already beginning to mend itself up faster than Daz could stitch the wound beneath it. “I’m the only one of us who can—ngh—who can dash.” 

His hands shook. The needle wouldn’t hold steady, so he passed the thread to Den to switch places. The sounds of death and blood and dying assaulted his sensitive ears, followed very quickly by a loud explosion and a scream of wild rage. 

The Hanged Man had arrived. 

The blu did not win that battle, but the three of them survived. 

***

“Come on, come on, this way, everybody play the quiet game!” Daz’s voice toed the line between light but slightly urgent, ushering a line of little refugees to the boats that would take them elsewhere. Baenel stood guard near the front of the hidden docks, hand on her sword as she scanned the darkness for threats. Tearful parents bid hushed goodbyes nearby her —dozens of them. Blu mostly, but also some wolf-folk, a few Pinklings, and even a couple scattered hybrids. 

He felt sick. 

Deran gently took a kit swaddled in cloth from a sobbing young blu couple, murmuring apologies and reassurances as she gently injected the babe with the sedative that would keep him quiet for the journey. The kit’s cries fell quiet, and she handed him off to his older sister and ushered her off to Daz. 

Little feet hit the makeshift boardwalk; Daz wound his tail around hers in a brief attempt at comfort. “Just this way, little snowflake.” She clutched the little bundle closer as she approached the boat. Other kids were still boarding, all ranging from kits to one-stripes. Not a single one had two. An elderly Blu-wolf hybrid manned the bow, hushedly directing the scared children to sit and duck and hold the tarp above their head. “My friend Captain Nanarel will get you someplace safe. He used to be a pirate, so he’s very good at this stuff.” 

“Mé and Mát said he was going to take us somewhere colder.” Her wide black eyes stuck a dagger through his soul, dry tear-marks down her youthful cheeks. “Is that true?” 

“Yes,” He choked, fighting valiantly to keep the sorrow from his voice. Across the dock, his sister passed another sedated babe to its sibling and ushered them along. He’d need to wrap this up soon, there were a lot more kids to board. “It’ll take a little bit though. The Shroud is a long way from here.” 

A long way. Three month’s journey. This little boat was going to stop in Anchorvat of the Shattered Kingdom to meet up with the other smugglers, then board a more sturdy vessel to cross the Broken and Rusted Seas. The Shattered Kingdom didn’t have the means to offer anything more than safe passage, and the Northern Realms were just as caught up in this war as this Jackal-forsaken continent so that wasn’t an option either. Subtherma had to keep up its neutral facade, and the Dreadiron Empire was firmly on the enemy side. The Shroud was far enough away to be safe, small enough for no one to care about it, and had enough of a Lesser Race population to offer sanctuary should anyone reach its shores. 

Should anyone reach its shores being the key words there. 

“Go on then, go sit next to that friendly little wolf-pup. He looks about your age, and he’s got a sibling too; you can tell each other stories on the way as long as you’re quiet.” 

Heartbreakingly, the little blu looked back towards her parents. Her mé sobbed into her mát’s shoulder as Baenel gently consoled both them and the dozens of other grieving couples, directing them back towards other volunteers so the line could keep moving. They only had one night to move all these kids; they couldn’t afford to stall. 

“Are they going to meet me there?” Her question was so quiet he almost missed it. 

His tail tightened around hers. “Maybe someday, but us adults need to do some things first.” He bent down, face soft as he wiped the tears quickly forming in her eyes. “You be brave though, and take care of your brother. As soon as we beat up the bad guys, we’ll come get you.” 

The boat bobbed gently on the waves as the brave little girl stepped onto it, padding across the wood on bare feet to sit next to the little wolf boy with the matching bundle. Daz turned away just as introductions were given, ushering the next group of children onboard. 

He never did find out what happened to those kids after the boat left port. 

***

Daz sat on his bedroll, looking down at the hastily scrawled message with dread. The paper sat innocently on his lap, taunting him. 

He was getting reassigned. 

The Commander’s niece had discovered word of a big project in the Southern Wastes, so the Commander, her, her two friends, and a small subdivision of the Midnight Woods Guerilla Faction were leaving tomorrow to go aid the forces in the Wastes’. Daz had been chosen as one of the lucky soldiers. 

Deran and Baenel had not. 

The gun felt heavy on his belt.

“Hey Daz,” His sister’s lover sat beside him, her tail curling with his. She took her helmet off and untied her low bun, letting long silvery hair fall around her shoulders “How are you doing?” 

“Obviously shitty,” Deran carried a bundle of fabric close to her chest, glancing around suspiciously to check for any prying eyes. “Here, I got something. Swiped it right from the Commander’s supply.” 

The bundle of slightly damp fabric unwound, revealing a whole, raw, salt-cured fish. 

His mouth watered at the sight of it; his sister grinned. “Figured we’d better make tonight a good one; I’ll steal another one when you get back and we can swap stories.” 

“Yeah, don’t get up to too much hijinx without us.” An elbow that was way bonier than it had any right to be jabbed him in the stomach, soundtracked by Baenel’s soft chuckles. “That said, holy shit Den you’re Jackal-sent.” 

“Am I?” Deran looked mighty proud of herself, tail flicking side to side. “I don’t know,” She leaned forward with a grin and a slightly sultry look, “I think I deserve a little more of a thank you.” Baenal laughed, reaching out to grab her lover’s arm and yank her into a long, slightly too-passionate kiss. 

Daz stole the fish while they were snogging. If they wanted the first bite, they should’ve thought of that before they got their mouths busy. The salty white flesh and scales tasted amazing, but weren’t enough to fully dissolve the twisted feeling in his gut.

***

Well, it was drier here, at least. 

Still fucking hot though. 

Their new encampment was high within the cliffs of the Southern Mountains, secluded enough to not be seen but far enough upwards to spot any approaching army. The Commander’s hybrid niece and her two friends —a blu and a wolf-folk— bickered as they set up his tent, and the Commander himself spoke with one of the southern captains in quiet tones. Daz didn’t care enough to eavesdrop. 

His makeshift charcoal pencil scraped messy lines across the soiled paper from his rations he was repurposing for a letter. Once the next supply line got here, he’d send it out West. 

***

Dear Deran and Baenal, 

We survived the journey to the Wastes, though I’m not sure how long we’ll make it out here in this dreadful heat. Commander has a spot picked out, hidden somewhere down below, for us to start digging another well since the one that the Platoon was using’s almost dry. I’m not looking forward to it, but at least the air isn’t sopping fucking wet anymore. 

I’m interacting with the little tykes more often though, now that there’s less people. The hybrid barely leaves the Commander’s tent so I haven’t seen her a whole bunch, but the blu one doesn’t have two stripes. No idea how wolf-folk age, but I’m guessing she’s similar. I don’t like this. Why werent they sent to The Shroud? 

Let me know how you guys are doing. I need to know you’re alive.

Love you,

Dazarel

Dear Daz, 

It’s Baenal, though you could probably tell by the handwriting. Deran tried to write to you but it was unreadable so I took over. We’re glad you made it safe, and I really don’t envy you with the well. Here’s hoping it rains, though you’d probably hate that too. Den wants me to tell you to stop being ‘so fucking grumpy about everything.’ 

I don’t know why they didn’t go with the others. Neither of us have any idea why the Commander wouldn’t want at least his niece as far from the fight as possible, but we hope that they all make it through alright. Keep an eye on them. You can’t be caught talking with them, but look out nonetheless. 

We’re doing alright, not much has changed besides your absence. Deran wants me to gross you out with hot and sexy and false details of what we’re doing without you, but I’m not writing that. You’re welcome. 

We both miss you a lot. 

Keep writing to us, and we’ll do the same. It’ll let us keep somewhat in contact at least; you’re not the only one anxious. 

Love you more,

Baenal and Deran

***

It was midday when the Titan touched shores. 

No one saw it coming. 

One second, Daz had his backup-dagger locked with a lizard-folk’s saber, twisting it aside as a second one jabbed for his torso and he nearly tripped over the corpse of a soldier he hadn’t known long enough to name. The next, everyone on both sides had frozen.

A shadow blanketed the entire desert out of nowhere.

He had to be dreaming. 

He had to. 

He—

He had to be dehydrated. Hallucinating.

There was no way this thing actually existed. 

It was massive, easily towering over the mountains. The tip of its head scraped the atmosphere and its every breath formed cirrus clouds. It’s body was an amalgamation of flesh and skin and metal and rock and ice and plant and crystal and bone, all twisted together in an ever-shifting composition. Four horrifying, blazing pink eyes stared down at them. Glared down at them. 

He was looking for his sister. 

Nobody moved. Not the blu, not the lizards, not the few Tanu that dotted the sands, and certainly not the thing either. 

He was not a thing, he was all things. He was Titan, and he was looking for his sister. 

Daz’s mouth felt dry. His heart sped to unhealthy levels as Titan’s gaze swept across the battlefield. The air felt heavy, thicker, harder to breathe. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, and he swayed, suddenly faint. 

Final warning. Tell him, or he would find her himself. 

Nobody moved. Daz had no idea what he was talking about. 

Very well. 

The Titan held out a massive hand, and Daz watched in horror as it grew. Flesh and metal and ice twisted tighter and sharpened and changed until it wasn’t an arm it was a gigantic fuck-off sword and it was cutting the fucking mountains in half. 

Chaos. 

What remained of the mountain range crumbled into sharp-cut plateaus, stones crumbling to the sands and crushing all beneath it as every single mortal weapon turned towards Titan —but none made a fucking scratch. Daz was too busy getting the fuck out of dodge to pay much attention to anything, but even he had to listen when a booming voice rang above the carnage. 

“Keep your weapons on the enemy! This is an opportunity —we fight with him!” 

Daz kept running, looking for a place to hide. The Commander had officially lost his fucking mind. 

***

Dear Deran and Baenal, 

I don’t know what fucking happened but there’s a fucking giant and it cut the mountains in half and so many of us are dead now and I don’t know what to do please be okay please write me back I need to know you’re okay please please please—

***

Dear Deran and Baenal,

I really hope my last message just got lost before it reached you, and there isn’t any meaning to your lack of reply. 

The Titan is still out there, still fighting. It’s tearing the Wastes apart. I haven’t seen the Commander or the kids in a while; I’ve been kind of sticking it out on my own since he ordered us to fight on that fucking thing’s side (been sneaking back to hide my letters in the supply shipments, but that’s as close as I ever risk getting lest I’m spotted and dragged back). My dagger got lost on the battlefield when I escaped, but I still have my gun. Found a few hidey holes I’ve been camping out in, I’ve attached a map just in case. Only reason I haven’t fucked back off to the West yet is because I don’t know where you guys are, so please send a map of your own so I can get there. 

These cacti don’t have much water in them. It’s really, really hot. 

Love you a lot,

Dazarel

***

Dear Deran, 

Are you okay? 

Daz

***

Please write back. Please be okay. 

I don’t know if I can take this much longer. 

***

A noise at the opening of his little cave startled Daz awake. This was unusual, since there were always noises outside his little cave. Explosions and screams and the sound of gigantic booming footsteps. 

His ears flicked. That sound again: a soft knock on stone and heavy breathing. 

His padded bare feet crept soundlessly across the blown-in sand, grip so tight on the handle of his gun that his claws poked holes into the base of his palm. It’d broken weeks ago, but it could still make a good blunt-force weapon if the need arose. 

Precious spit wet his mouth best it could, quickly swallowed. It was far too hot and he was far too dehydrated to lose any drop he produced. 

The opening of the cave was in view, now. Someone slumped against the entrance wall. Their chest rose and fell in an unhealthy staggered motion, limbs tightly clutching something to their chest. 

They looked blu, so it was likely heatstroke. Traveling in the daytime was not wise with such thick fur. 

Black eyes met his. Familiar black eyes, quickly filled with tears she couldn’t afford to let fall, and his heart froze. “Daz…” 

“Baenal!” 

He ran forward, casting his useless gun to the side to drag her further into the cave and thus the shade. “Daz there was a Titan in the West too and it was huge and there were so many crystals—“ She sobbed and he shushed her; she should not be wasting air on talking quite yet. Her breath came in haggard gasps, and he quickly dug his claws into one of his only remaining cacti, uncaring for the spines. Juice dripped into her mouth, and she drank greedily. 

“Daz—“ She choked on the liquid, still trying to speak. 

“Shut all the way the fuck up.” His claws sliced another one open. “Don’t even try until you can breathe again.” 

Like the stubborn bitch she was, Baenal turned her head away from the precious liquid. It dribbled down her cheeks and stuck to her fur. “Daz no—“ She choked and coughed on the cactus juice, invaluable tears falling down her face as she sobbed. Her arms moved jerkily, loosening the bundle held at her chest. “Daz I’m the only one who can dash.” 

The fabric fell away. The handle of a sword clattered to the sand as a helmet with a V on the visor rested damningly across her legs. 

And just like that, his whole world shattered.