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Chapter Text

The Yiga Clan acolyte did not shake as they prepared to depart.

Their hands were steady as they checked the painted sigils tucked into the interior of their suit again, making sure it aligned exactly with the diagrams they’d seen. The acolyte was tucked into a small enclave, making the last of their preparations in a distant corner where nobody was likely to see their small outline, covered in a stolen teleportation uniform. The dusty walls were barely lit by the torches along the walls, but the red ink stood out clearly against the fabric. There were no flaws in their script. They’d spent hours memorizing the necessary sigils. It would work.

It had to work.

They tugged the sleeve back down, pulling the too-large glove up so their fingers could grip the handle of their weapon properly, and pressed their wrists together. The activation spell, tailored to lock onto the blood location of their greatest enemy, burned through them, and red smoke obscured their vision.

A gut-wrenching tug, and the acolyte was airborne, ears popping painfully as their body adjusted to the teleportation. A flash of excitement passed through them at the sight of the bright blue of the champion’s tunic. It worked!

They landed on their toes, snow crunching under their feet as the red smoke dissipated, and rushed forwards, trying to press the advantage of surprise.

The hero turned with a look of vague alarm, and ducked out of the way of their strike, stepping back a few feet. At their next lunge, the hero skipped back, out of range entirely, pulling a large, spiked club off of his back. They bared their teeth in frustration before quickly pressing the bottom of their palms together to complete the circuit again, visualizing a spot behind the hero as he started towards them.

The familiar sound of fluttering paper filled their ears as they reappeared in the air again, and landed on the ground with a light thump, exhilaration thrumming through them at the successful teleportation. The acolyte squeezed the handle of their Demon Carver and charged again, teeth clenched tightly the way their instructor had tried to drill out of them for so long.

They swung sharply, and hit nothing but air as the hero flipped back, and then before they could even think about regaining their balance, he was there again, club drawn back in an almost picturesque pose before swinging forwards and slamming into their side once, twice, three times, the weapon cracking on the last hit. Maybe an older member could have remained solid against the blows, or one of the blademasters, but they were still growing into their skin, light and young (weak and fragile), and the momentum knocked them clear off their feet and into the nearby snow.

Inhaling shallowly as the pain in their ribs made itself known with every movement, they didn’t even bother rising before teleporting again, scrambling to visualize a target location, anywhere to get away from the footsteps approaching so quickly--

They landed behind the hero, close enough to reach out and touch the soft-looking tunic he wore, and their surprise (their hesitance) was what decided the fight. The hero twisted instinctively as soon as their feet touched the ground, blade in hand, and even as they tried to turn and run , get out of range (flee like a coward), a searing line of pain sliced down their back, tearing through cloth and skin alike. The acolyte crashed into the snow in front of them and scrambled forwards, biting their lip harshly to counter the burning pain. It was shallow. It didn’t hit anything vital. They deserved it for faltering.

They turned and swiped wildly with their Carver, the hero forced to scurry back in order to avoid the blow. The sharp pain from the movement made dark spots flash erratically before their eyes, and no matter how much they wanted to prove themself to everyone, to die for the greater good of those they loved and for their Lord -- the Yiga were a dying breed, and every member counted. They had to retreat.

Seizing the lull in the fight, the acolyte hopped further away from the hero, dropping everything in the process. Their weapon, their bananas, anything to make them lighter. The less they carried, the less energy it would take to get home. The less energy it took, the more likely they’d make it back alive. The words were so oft repeated to them in training that they nearly mouthed them as they made the escape sigil and connected their hands, waiting for the scent of thick red smoke to envelop them and take them back.

...

...

…

The hero stared at them from where he’d stepped forwards to collect their dropped items, looking vaguely interested as they felt surprise, realization, and then dread wash over them in rapid succession. The circuit wasn’t connected. Somewhere during the fight, the line had been broken, and now everything the clan’s magic blessed them with- teleportation, escape, protection- was gone. Only their mask runes remained untouched, allowing them to see the unchanging landscape around them. The harsh cold of the snow beneath them was already seeping into their bones.

The hero was going to kill them.

The acolyte’s gaze darted back down to where he’d already picked up their weapon and was still staring at them in that detached, disaffected way. At the clear acknowledgement, he raised the weapon up, and panic made them jerk backwards. Their foot slipped against an uneven patch of snow, and fear shot through them as they lost balance and slid a few feet down the incline on hands and knees. Terrified at losing sight of the enemy, they craned their neck back around to look at where the hero had been, sure he was now advancing to finish what he’d started--

But he was still in the same spot, weapon slightly raised up as though in offering. After another drawn-out moment of watching them watch him, he stood back up, ignoring their flinch to tuck his looted goods-- their stuff!-- into a pocket. He blinked once at them with that same distantly blank expression, and then turned his back-- the gall! the disrespect-- and walked further down the mountain.  

The acolyte sat, stunned, for a good few moments as the sound of snow crunching underboot faded away.

They’d lived. They weren’t dead.

A low, almost indiscernible huff of disbelief escaped them, teeth chattering. Why would he…

It didn’t matter. They would make sure he’d live long enough to regret it, but only just that long.

As their survival sunk in, and the adrenaline faded, they realized that they were shaking, half from relief and half from the overwhelming cold. It was a grim reminder of their situation. They slowly got back to their feet, hand pressed against their ribs, and did a careful 360 of their surroundings.

Snow. More snow. A stretch of sheer cliff-face. A steep drop.

They were on a mountain. What the fuck was the hero doing climbing a mountain for? Shouldn’t he have been trying to destroy the natural order of things, or something?

A sharp, cutting wind kicked up, and they glanced overhead, at the heavy storm clouds rolling in. They rubbed their hands together and shoved them under their armpits, a feeling of foreboding settling heavily upon them at the sight.

They weren’t dead yet .

---

The acolyte almost missed the smoke trail against the washed out grey sky and white-coated cliff walls, only catching it after a few minutes of careful watch. Flexing numb fingers, they hurried through the snow, the chill biting through their suit and clashing with the hot pain in their ribs. They were glad that at least their mask shielded their face from the worst of the wind, though they’d lost feeling in their dry lips some time ago.

The source of the smoke was indeed a fire, a small, crackling thing tucked against the opening of a cave to shelter it from the wind. As they got closer, they could see the arranged firewood, the non-edible parts of meals tucked into one corner, all signs that someone had been camping here in the past. The Lord of Malice only knew what kind of lunatic would camp out in this weather for fun. Hopefully whoever it was had wandered off and died in the snow or something. The acolyte crouched by the fire, close enough that the heat seared against their skin painfully, making them flinch.

Still, it was better than feeling nothing, they were pretty sure, and they’d dealt with worse pain before. What was important now was making sure they wouldn’t end up frozen to death in the near future. If they could find something to make a torch with, they could probably make it down the mountain after the storm died down. Then, it was just a matter of avoiding travelers until they could get home… probably. They’d never heard tell of any of the Blademasters getting their circuit disrupted and travelling back on foot, but--

Thmp!

The acolyte choked and nearly toppled over into the fire as they jumped away from the sound, chest still bruised and battered, limbs still too cold to carry them properly. They turned the fall into a roll and managed to shakily regain their feet, obtaining some distance and balance as they jerked their head up to see their ambusher--

The legendary hero, freshly and neatly seated about a meter from the fire, holding an armful of what looked to be assorted plants and mushrooms.

The acolyte instinctively tried to hop back, reaching for the weapon they didn’t have anymore, but any notion of fighting was quickly halted when their head connected with the low roof of the cave, sending them back down to their knees as they clutched at it. They shoved themself backwards, gritting their teeth through the pain and hoping that they had managed to make it out of range.

Squinting past their dizziness, they glanced around frantically to see where the hero was, wondering if he was using some sort of stealth elixir, since they couldn’t hear his footsteps. After a moment of fruitlessly turning their head back and forth, their vision focused enough to properly see the hero, who… was in the process of holding a skewer of meat and vegetables over the fire. He hadn’t even shifted from where he originally sat.

The acolyte looked between the hero and the skewer, lips pressed tightly together in confusion (The hero…was cooking? He ate? He ate food? What? Wh--). The hero glanced over at them, unreadable as ever, and then returned to roasting food by the fire. They bristled at the implicit dismissal, and picked up a rock threateningly. They knew how to throw things.

The hero pulled out a flamesword.

They put down the rock.

The hero flicked one of the activation runes on the blade, lighting it up and causing a surge of warm air to fill the cavern.

They put down the rock! What more did he want from them!!!

They tensed in preparation to move, but the hero didn’t even glance at the acolyte, setting the activated flamesword on the cave floor, flames occasionally flickering up from the edges. They could feel the heat thawing their frozen fingers, and they clenched and unclenched their hands angrily (nervously).

What… was this? A warning? (A promise?) Was he trying to show how confident he was that the acolyte was no threat to him? Some kind of Hylian power play…? They’d been told about how prideful and arrogant the royal family and those who served them were. This must be part of that folly. Well, the acolyte thought, lip curling up in a snarl behind their mask, it would be his downfall.

They would regain their strength, and the hero would taste the steel of his own blade at their hands. They’d show him who was weak. The acolyte shifted to pull their limbs in closer, the heat making them feel heavy and slow. It wouldn’t be long before the hero dropped his guard. They’d only need one lapse, and then…

They dropped into sleep without even realizing it had happened.

---

Link noticed the Yiga Footsoldier droop from where they sat tucked against the wall, and looked over properly from where he’d been keeping half an eye on them while roasting apples by the fire. Sure enough, they appeared to be unconscious at the very least, possibly dead. He hoped not dead. It was the first time he’d ever seen one of the Yiga stick around after being soundly beaten, and he was a little curious.

Not curious enough to try and initiate a conversation, of course, because so far all interactions with the Yiga were headache-inducing at best, but still. Curious enough to try and make the cave warmer as a sign of goodwill, seeing as the assassin had been shaking, clearly suffering from Mount Lanaryu’s below-freezing temperatures.

...Now that he thought about it, that was unusual too, since in his experience, no matter where the Yiga pursued him, they were never affected by the climate. He distinctly remembered thinking about how unfair it was while running away from one near the Rito’s Flight Range. This footsoldier provided no end of questions.

And no answers, it seemed. They were out of it now, not shifting an inch when Link gently prodded them with a fish skewer. Looks like his warm-’em-up tactic had backfired.

‘You’re lucky that move didn’t make them jump for your throat, fool.’

Link blinked, absentmindedly nudging an apple closer to the fire to roast. ‘ Oh, you were watching?’

Revali gave him pretty good approximation of a scoff, for a ghost hitchhiking in his brain. ‘ Yes, I was watching. Watching you sabotage your own efforts. I thought it’d be more amusing than this.’

‘?’ Link simply sent a mild sense of inquiry back, knowing that it would be the quickest way to get to the point. He was too tired for banter.

‘You pulled out a weapon, Hero.’ Revali responded, voice dripping with disdain. ‘ They clearly assumed you were going to use it for its intended purpose, rather than a makeshift heater.’

‘Ah.’ Link thought about that for a moment. That did explain the jumpiness. ‘ Well, all’s well that ends well.’

There was a dry pause. ‘ There is an assassin from a clan fixated on killing you sleeping three feet away.’

Link checked a healing blister on his palm. ‘ And?’

The sense of impatience in the back of his mind thickened at his amusement. ‘And if you aren’t going to kill them, you must at least remove their mask. The more often you recognize the assassin before they shirk their disguise, the better.’

He rolled his eyes, but ultimately figured that was as good a reason as any to go snooping. He crouched and crept forwards, eyeing the slumped over figure for any signs of waking. They remained motionless, hands tucked in tightly but fingers uncurled, like they were trying to compact themself into the smallest space possible before falling asleep. He reached out and tugged the mask up from the bottom, noting the red band around the sides.

The strap came loose with a sharp snap and a crackle of red smoke, and Link jerked back, recognizing a magic reaction when he saw one. After a moment where no further explosions or lights appeared, he relaxed, figuring the now-deactivated spell was probably related to how they saw through the thick white porcelain of the mask in the the first place.

The assassin was definitely knocked out, he noted as he went back to pulling off the mask. It wasn’t really surprising, considering their fight, and then however long they had endured the snowy mountainside for. His own body would probably shut down to recover from the damage too. Not that he liked the idea of doing that again, ever.

He finally worked the thick mask off completely, and stopped short.

Their face was covered up to the nose by a cloth mask, the same blood red as the rest of their bodysuit, but what could be seen was… unmistakably young.  

Link sat back on his heels, looking over the lax form with new eyes. He hadn’t cared to notice before, but upon looking again, their frame was small, and their limbs thin. What previously had been just another somewhat short footsoldier now looked to be a gangly kid, barely into their growing years.

He felt a strange twist in his gut, thinking about the fact that he hadn’t realized till now, what he could’ve done in his ignorance, but--

‘What were those Yiga thinking , sending a mere child after the Legendary Hero?’ Revali hissed, his familiar combination of indignance and disgust washing over Link, grounding him. He pushed aside any particularly troubling thoughts aside for later (or never), and returned to the task at hand. He had hit them in... the ribs, right? The… the general torso area? His club had been pretty large.

As gently as possible, he shifted the kid onto their back. Their hands twitched and the small furrow between their eyebrows deepened, but they didn’t wake, thankfully. Link turned his attention inwards to Revali’s presence.

‘Can you find Mipha? I don’t really-’ He gestured to the situation as a whole. Revali snorted.

‘Yes, I’m aware of your inability to do anything resembling healing.’

‘Hey. I can cook.’

‘Ah, yes, hail the conquering hero and his roasted apples.’ Snappy retort delivered, he vanished, presumably heading back to Vah Medoh to pass on the message.

Link rolled his eyes and settled back to sit cross-legged, one knee bouncing with excess energy. After a moment, his wandering eyes landed on the mask he’d set down a bit away from the kid. He leaned over to pick it up and flipped it over, studying the inside.

Like he’d expected, the curved interior was plastered with magic-laden runes from top to bottom. They were distinctly different from the glowing blue runes on Sheikah tech. The old language was written in sharp, blocky symbols that pulsed with activation. The runes on this mask were smooth-edged and clearly handwritten in bright red ink. The curving characters overlapped and crossed like knotted hair, similar to the written language of this time.

He guessed that it made sense that runes and magic would evolve with the written language, especially since the Sheikah magic was ancient. The mask’s magic felt different too, reeking of acrid smoke and lightly scorching his fingertips. It was a sharp contrast to the glowing magic of the shrine runes, liquid and muffled.

His thoughts were diverted by the sensation of Mipha arriving. She never bothered hiding her mental presence the way Revali did, a temporary wave of curiosity-fondness-worry washing over him like cool water as he set the mask back down.

‘ Revali said you needed my help?’ She asked, her voice soft and steady as always. He nodded, looking up at the unconscious kid so she could see the problem through his eyes.

‘One of the assassins…’ A familiar thread of anger winded itself through her voice. It was always there when talking about the Yiga Clan. Link got the feeling that she took the threat against himself and Zelda personally.

Still, he shook his head. ‘A child.’ He thought, focusing on the parts of their bodysuit where the fabric was bunched up. It was obvious up close that the black and red uniform was too large, and oddly enough, Link felt a little relieved at the sight. There was something more unnerving about the idea of the kid in an assassin’s outfit that was tailored for them, like giving a toddler a miniature knife. Kids shouldn’t wear killers’ clothing.

‘Why would those monsters send out a child?’   Mipha responded, trickles of her upset spilling over and making Link’s eyes sting. He shrugged, not keen on trying to guess the motivations behind this attack.

‘We fought earlier. I hit them in the ribs. Do you know what to do for… that?’ He thought, a bit awkwardly. He was careful to keep his thoughts objective, already mentally distancing himself from the stress of the situation.

‘Link…’ Mipha paused, likely catching wind of his feelings despite his efforts, before purposefully lightening her tone.

‘Calling me here for healing advice, hmm? I should’ve known.’ He could feel Mipha’s amusement, and the ribbing made a good-natured smile twitch at his lips.

‘Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t heal someone if my life depended on it, I know.’ He thought in mock-annoyance, before grinning. ‘That’s why I’m lucky to have your expertise to count on!’

‘You say that like you’ve ever used any of my medical knowledge, rather than depending on my healing magic.’ She responded in kind. Link felt his lips curl into a wry smile to go with her words. He threw his hands up in an exaggerated motion, conceding defeat, and her quiet laugh resounded in his mind.

After a moment, it faded away. ‘Link… you do know… this could be a trick?’ His grin faded, attention drawn back to the situation at hand. After a pause, she continued. ‘Your kindness and bravery were well-known before the Calamity… It’s not unthinkable that they would try to use that against you.’

Link sighed inaudibly, shoving down the automatic exhaustion that always came with mentions of his pre-Resurrection self. He was aware it might be a trap. A few times before, he’d saved a traveler from a monster only to turn around and find they were bearing down on him with a familiar sickle.

Still…

‘Let’s see how it turns out first. They might not even be here once I get back from the Spring of Wisdom.’

Mipha hummed a low note, but didn’t push the issue. ‘For bruised ribs, you’ll want to pack some snow into extra cloth and put it on their torso to reduce swelling,’ she instructed, and Link rolled to his feet  and pushed his sleeves up. Time to get to work.

---

The acolyte was dredged from unconsciousness by a dull pain in their back and a chill in their bones.

For a moment, they stared at the flickering light against the rock ceiling above them, trying to remember where they were through the thick haze of sleep. They inhaled deeply, but stuttered halfway through, muffling a surprised cough at the sharp pain in their ribs. When--?

The hero.

The acolyte tried to jerk up into a sitting position, cursing their stupidity (how could they have fallen asleep? idiot! ), and their badly bruised torso immediately and painfully reminded them how bad of an idea it was to use core muscles. They choked on another breath and twisted to slowly roll to their hands and knees instead. As soon as they were upright, they scanned their immediate surroundings, bewildered and on edge.

The small cave had barely changed, apart from the conspicuous absence of a Goddess-tainted hero. The fire was starting to die into embers, but the flamesword was still active where it lay on the ground, emitting waves of heat and slowly but steadily scorching the rock beneath it. They leaned forwards and grasped the ornate hilt of it, already feeling a bit more secure with weapon in hand. Or maybe that was just the warmth.

Either way, they felt a little better. They reached up to rub at the sleep in their eyes, trying to figure out why they were still--

Their eyes?

The acolyte dropped the sword with a clang as they realized their mask was gone, the light in the cave diminishing as the flaming blade went out. They reached up with both hands, fingers prodding at the delicate (vulnerable) skin around their eyes as though to make certain that yes, that was their face. Their cloth mask was still securely in place, but from the cheeks up they were exposed. The heated air in the cave felt harsher, suddenly. Hotter.

The acolyte shifted away from the embers of the fire and turned their head from side to side, frantically searching. Their eyes caught on a pile of fabric tucked into the corner. Pulling themself forwards and carefully avoiding the still-hot sword on the ground, they pulled the neatly folded cloth apart and found their mask swaddled within it.

They quickly shoved it on, fumbling at the straps in the back with fingers numb from cold (fear?). All the acolyte could see for a few panicked moments was overwhelming darkness, and then they finally managed to reconnect the proper sigils. With a small pop and the smell of burning, the spell welded back together and they could see the dim cave through their mask again. They let out a choked sigh of relief, ignoring the ache in their chest to press their palms against the mask for a moment.

Who had taken their mask off? The hero? Why? For that matter, what had happened between now and when they’d fallen asleep?

They pulled their hands from the mask to look around again. The only sign that the hero had even been here at all was the abandoned sword and the fabric the mask had been wrapped in. They picked up a corner of the fabric and lifted it, shaking it a little just in case there was something else caught in the folds.

It was… a tunic?

They rubbed the downy material between their fingers, bewildered. The hero had left behind… clothes? For what reason? Had he forgotten the outfit? Why even take it out in the first place? Why had the hero even left them alive in the first place? If the acolyte had found one of their mortal enemies asleep and weaponless in a cave, they certainly wouldn’t have let the opportunity pass them by.

They had no idea what the hero was playing at, but he kept making the same dumb mistakes.

However…. They felt at the scrape along their back, wincing. The suit had taken the brunt of the blow, but it had been rendered useless in the process, which was really bad. They weren't even supposed to have this teleportation suit in the first place.

Right now, the clan sent initiated members out in disguises, in order to take the hero off guard and also scout out the area they were gonna fight in. If the attackers teleported to the hero's location, they would be at a disadvantage if he was with allies. Or, for example, on top of a huge freezing mountain. They frowned. Maybe their instructor had had a point after all.

Shaking their head to dismiss the thought, the acolyte squinted at the tunic and grudgingly pulled it over their head, deciding that it was the hero’s fault for leaving it behind. It was theirs now, and that meant they were allowed to like it. So there.

They picked up the flamesword and ran a finger along the rune, brows furrowed in concentration. After a few moments of repeating the motion, the blade sparked and then lit up, and they struggled not to flinch and drop it again. Knuckles white around the hilt, the acolyte stepped out of the cave, fresh snow crunching under their feet. The wind was sharp against the tunic, and they took a deep breath of the freezing air.

They were still alive. They would keep going.

Releasing the breath they’d been holding and firming their shoulders with resolve, they turned and started walking, following the sole set of footprints left behind in the snow.

---

They made it about halfway up one of the steep slopes before the earth seemed to fall apart around them.

They struggled to keep balance as the ground shook, the mountain around them practically vibrating. After a moment, their surroundings stilled again, apart from the massive amounts of displaced snow. What--?

The answer to their unspoken question became clear enough after a moment, as the acolyte caught sight of a huge, ethereal being ribboning across the sky above. It had a long, serpentine body, small clawed feet, and a long muzzle. They’d never seen anything like it, but the atmosphere around it was unmistakably powerful.

Even from this distance, they could see the malice permeating the air around the being, dark and thick in the air. The acolyte fell to their knees and clutched the hilt of the flameblade tightly, uncertain what this construct of their master’s influence was doing in a place like this, but sure that not showing the proper amount of deference would get them (rightfully) destroyed.

Before they could fully bow their head, more movement in the sky drew their eye. What…?

Far above, miniscule in comparison to the malignant being, a small figure with an unfortunately familiar head of blonde hair. The acolyte stared up at the sky blankly. There was no way.

The faraway visage of the hero continued to soar through the air, mocking them with his impossibility. He was riding updrafts with some kind of glider and keeping pace with the impossibly large creature, somehow. Was he… fighting it? Should they help it win? They… they should, right?

...Yeah, there was no way they could get up there. Maybe if they got high enough and then threw the flameblade? That probably wouldn’t work.

The acolyte got back to their feet with some strain, and watched, entranced, as the two moved further down the mountain, much closer, in a strange sort of dance. The hero was drawing back a bowstring and firing as he plummeted through the air, and even the thought of being that high up made their stomach drop unpleasantly.

After a few moments of back and forth, the hero landed a final hit on the being’s back, causing it to twist. For a moment, it wailed and thrashed midair, the sound reverberating through the acolyte’s bones. Then, it spiralled upwards sharply, shedding the effects of the malice like a thick coat and revealing bright, luminescent scales.

The acolyte gaped up at the sight before lowering their gaze slightly and realizing that the hero had peeled away and was gliding downwards, heading straight for them. They scrambled backwards, flameblade dragging through the snow and melting it instantly.

The hero touched down lightly on the snow, running forwards a few steps before tucking away his strange glider. He turned to face the acolyte, and waved. They hefted the flameblade up in threat. He blinked at them, frustratingly unreadable, and then turned and started up the slope without a sound.

They faltered, blade dipping down as they stared after him, perplexed. After a moment, they rallied again, holding the blade by their side and striding quickly after him. He wouldn’t get away from them by being confusing! The acolyte was gonna kill him whether he acted weird or not, so there!

The path was strangely clear, but there were occasionally signs that monsters had been there in the past. The acolyte had a sneaking suspicion that the hero had cleared the area earlier, maybe even before their fight. They kept their narrowed eyes focused on the Hylian as they tramped after him. He kept stopping to pick up the few plants and mushrooms that grew here and tuck them away, but they never managed to close the distance even a little, and they started to feel distinctly toyed with.

Soon enough, the acolyte could see the peak of the mountain ahead, and the creature that was now wrapped around it, otherworldly and untouchable. The hero headed straight for it, casual as anything. They slowed slightly, wondering if the hero was going to fight both of them at once. What kind of plan was that?

Maybe the creature had retreated because it was too wounded? The hero could be finishing it off. The acolyte bit at the inside of their cheek in thought. All creatures were at their most distracted when focused on their own prey. Maybe they could try to surprise attack him when he moved to kill it?

The acolyte glanced ahead and suddenly realized they had trailed behind, the hero out of sight. Hopping a bit to keep balanced with the sword, they picked up their pace to finally reach the peak, and instantly stopped cold.

Below the sharp crown of rock the creature had twisted itself around, there was a glimmering pool of impossible water, liquid rippling even in the face of the freezing temperatures. The hero stood on a pedestal with the water lapping at his feet, and he faced a large stone statue. The acolyte recognized it instantly as a portrayal of the accursed goddess, and their face twisted in disgust, hidden behind the mask. They looked up to the massive being again, and felt like their blood had frozen in their veins at the realization.

This was a Goddess -creature. The hero was bringing them here to get smited .

The acolyte hissed through their teeth and tripped backwards, hunching their shoulders up, automatically trying to make themself seem bigger. The hero glanced back for a moment, before turning back to the statue intently. It wasn’t doing anything they could see, but the hero seemed to be listening with ears perked.

They clung to the handle of the flamesword, eyes locked on the Goddess-creature as it drifted slightly from side to side, unbothered by the harsh winds. It looked big enough to kill them with barely a thought, and it wasn’t like there was anyone to say otherwise. They glanced down at the hero, sure that he was smug at having so easily baited them.

As they watched, he tilted his head at the statue, nodded, and then pulled his bow off his back again, stringing up an arrow with the ease of long practice. Even as the acolyte tensed in preparation to dodge, they felt a little insulted. What, was death-by-undefeatable-deity-creature too good for them?

To the acolyte’s surprise, however, the hero didn’t turn to them. Instead, he aimed up, at the Goddess-creature, which didn’t respond at all. After a moment of tense silence, he let the arrow fly, and it met its mark in the being’s scaled muzzle. It let out a low, reverberating noise, and pulled away from the peak, travelling further and further up into the sky in lazy spirals.

Something bright and small fell from it, landing with a glint at the hero’s feet. He picked it up and strode waist-deep into the water, before setting it on the surface. A glow emanated from the water, and the sound of stone grinding against stone rang through the clearing as a passageway in the mountain opened.

The acolyte had no idea what was going on.

The hero leaned to the side to take a look past the Goddess statue, and then turned around, apparently satisfied with what he saw in the passage. He waved at the statue and then turned around and walked back towards them, disarmingly relaxed.

They wouldn’t be fooled. They straightened up aggressively and held the sword up again, cursing the fact that it was so difficult to move quickly. The hero visibly sighed, and then pulled a scimitar from his back. How many weapons did he even have?

The acolyte held the sword up and steeled their arms, just in time to catch the first strike. They clenched their jaw and pushed back against the steel, brow furrowed behind their mask. Finally, they would fight the hero properly. This would be what it came down to, their perseverance against his. If they could just last long enough to get a hit in somewhere vital, they could flip the odds and--

The hero grabbed their wrist with his free hand and twisted their arm down, forcing their fingers to loosen and stealing the flameblade in one smooth motion. They recoiled and stared at their empty hand, and then at the hero, who now held two swords. He had scooped it right out of their hand. They’d been scooped!!

The hero slung the flameblade back over his shoulder, and the movement made them flinch back, hands raising up as though they could stop a sword. They remembered quite clearly the sharp pain of getting their back sliced open in their previous fight. The wound still hurt now, pulsing in time with their rapid heartbeat.  

The acolyte inhaled shakily, furiously trying to keep their breathing steady. They were a proud Yiga Soldier, and they wouldn’t show fear in the face of death, they told themself, clenching and unclenching their fists. They held their breath until they felt fit to burst, and then charged forwards blindly with a shout.

---

Link squatted and received the full impact of a twelve year old sprinting at him. Ouch. Before the kid could rebalance, he looped an arm around their torso and hauled them over one shoulder with ease. They were limp with shock for a moment, before coming to life and immediately trying to maul him. Good thing he’d stored all his weapons while the kid was getting ready to charge him like some kind of enraged goat.

It was like carrying a satchel of wiggly apples, if the apples were hollow and pointy. The kid was all skin and bones, jabbing sharp elbows anywhere they could reach. Link winced slightly as they thumped their fists against his back angrily, but didn’t adjust his hold. They might be too cold to feel it right now, but Mipha would kill him if he accidentally jostled their bruised ribs again. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t there at the moment. She’d Know. Instead, he picked up his pace, trotting through the Spring of Wisdom.

As expected, the shrine awaited him in the passageway, casting an orange glow on the cave walls. He pulled his slate out with his non-child-wrangling hand and clicked it into the port, humming as the shrine shifted to mostly-blue and popped up on the screen of the slate. The entrance of the shrine folded open, but he ignored it, choosing instead to open the slate’s map. He could come back and go inside later. The ancient soul within was patient, he knew.

He navigated the digital map a bit clumsily with one hand, before finding the right mark on the map and tapping it twice. He made sure to hold tight to the Yiga kid as his body numbed and sliced apart into glowing blue energy.

For a moment, all he could perceive was cool, dark static, before he snapped back into awareness on the platform of another shrine. He took a deep breath, waiting to settle back into his own skin properly. The teleportation magic was never painful, if always a bit unsettling.

“Grrkt--!” The kid on his shoulder made a sound ominously close to retching, right in his ear. At least they weren’t trying to debone him anymore. He crouched and set them back on their feet, and they bolted away from him, which he expected.

What he didn’t expect was that they only made it about four feet before falling over on hands and knees. They shoved their mask up, pointedly turned away from him, and then presumably managed to pull their face mask down, because half a second later they were vomiting all over the dirt. Link frowned mildly in concern. That probably wasn’t good.

He started towards them, uncertain of how to help but willing to try, and stopped at what was probably supposed to be a snarl but came out instead as a mildly threatening gurgle.

Alright then. Well, food would probably help this situation! He turned around and made his way over to the top of the hill, gliding down to the stable below. A couple of locals waved at him as he touched down, and he waved back before wandering over to the cooking pot and studying the assortment of ingredients he had stored. They liked… bananas, right? Would it be bad to use the bananas he looted from them earlier?

He thought on this for a hot moment.

Well, what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt ‘em. He could always find more bananas later. He pulled out the ingredients and got cooking, humming as he fried the halved bananas until they were toasty, dipped them in courser bee honey, and then portioned out some of his sugar and sprinkled it over the dish.* Kids liked sweet stuff, right?

He warmed up some milk too, just in case. That seemed like the kind of thing that would settle a sore stomach, and besides, milk was great. Everybody loved milk.**

After tucking away the fresh meals, he meandered over to Beedle, who was sitting against the inn wall, wearing his characteristic oversized backpack.

“Link! Welcome back! It’s nice to see you again!” Beedle waved excitedly, lighting up at his appearance like a Photuris lucicrescens of the family Lampyridae, from the superfamily Elateroidea, from the infraorder Elateriformia, from the suborder Polyphaga, from the order Coleoptera, from the class Insecta, from the phylum Arthropoda, of the kingdom Animalia.

Link had spent a while around Beedle.

“Did you want to buy something?” He reached for his seller’s table, but Link shook his head.

“I need help,” He signed, a bit sheepish.

Beedle looked him up and down instantly. “Are you injured? Did you have a run-in with a Lynel again?”

Link shook his head again, face a bit softer. “No, I mean help with translation. I picked up a--” His hands stalled for a second. “--traveling companion who doesn’t sign.”

“Oh! Of course Beedle will help!” The shopkeep nodded with understanding, and started to struggle to his feet. Link offered a hand, easing the strain a bit. That pack really was large.

He led the way back over to the shrine. Beedle didn’t move very fast, so he took the time to bask a bit in the sunlight. That mountain was always so cold, it left his bones feeling achy for a bit after every time. Probably a side effect of being technically over a century old.

The kid was struggling to balance against a tree when they reached the shrine, their shakiness visible from a distance. As soon as they heard footsteps, they glanced over their shoulder-- mask firmly back in place, Link noted-- and tried to bolt. They barely made it a meter before their legs gave out on them and they lost balance again, catching themself roughly on gloved hands. Link hummed consideringly; that had never happened to anyone else when he’d taken them through the shrine system.

“L-- Link!” Beedle whispered, and he turned, eyebrows raised slightly. “That’s a Yiga Clan member!”

Oh, right.

“It’s okay,” he signed, trying to look reassuring. “Just a kid. Teleport-sick, too.”

Beedle didn’t look particularly reassured, so Link walked alone to the kid’s side and helped them sit up against a tree. They tried a vicious swipe at his face in the process, but were now upright, which Link counted as a success.

“You okay?” Link tried, moving his hands slowly as to not startle them, but they pressed back into the bark of the tree anyways, watching his hands move with badly-hidden fear written in every line of their body. He leaned back a bit. Maybe the proximity was making them nervous?

“He said… ‘Are you okay?’” Beedle’s cautious voice came from over his shoulder, and the kid’s head wavered a bit, like it wasn’t sure which one of them to focus on. It didn’t seem like they were going to answer.

“What’s your name?” Link signed, and the kid’s mask was definitely angled at his hands with an unerring focus. Beedle echoed the question, and their shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the dirt at their sides. To add to the effect, they turned their face away and tucked their chin in defensively, refusing to even look at them. The implications were clear: they didn’t want to talk.

Link could understand and relate to that. He stood up and turned to walk back to Beedle.

“In my expert opinion, what they’re trying to say is... ‘I’d rather die.’” Link signed, shooting a mildly exasperated look at his friend. Beedle glanced over Link’s shoulder at the kid, and then signed back.

“Aren’t they part of the Yiga Clan?” he asked with somewhat clumsy motions, expression still considerably worried. “...Maybe another member will find them and take them home?”

Link chewed on the inside of his cheek, and then shook his head. “Doubt it.” He turned back to the kid, who was watching them still. Or at least, that’s what Link assumed they were doing. The mask made things difficult. And creepy.

“Hey,” He waved and started again, Beedle speaking a beat later, “You warm again yet, kid? That doublet helping any?” At their confused expression, he elaborated. “The tunic.”

They looked down at the warm doublet as though they’d forgotten they were wearing it, and then back up sharply. “You left it. It’s mine,” they said, and if Link hadn’t realized their age before, their voice would have given it away now. It was childishly high, and wavered slightly despite the stubborn tone. They gripped the front of the doublet tightly, fingers twisting the fabric.

“I’m not gonna take it from you,” Link responded, and, after Beedle translated, the kid raised their chin mulishly.

“Good,” they said, and he couldn’t help but exhale in amusement a bit at their show of bravado.

He turned back to Beedle, posture relaxed. “I’ll just set up camp here for tonight. Thanks for helping.”

Beedle nodded slowly, glancing between the two of them. “You’ll be alright?”

Link nodded. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

He saw Beedle off, and returned to the small clearing, where the kid had found a hollowed out tree stump and was huddling inside of it, white mask barely visible in the fading light. Link supposed that was as good a place to sleep as any.

He went about setting up camp, swiping through the storage of his slate and retrieving firewood and flint to set a fire, placing a few dishes and raw ingredients around the fire to roast, and then circling around the camp area to check the perimeter for monsters. He easily dispatched an Octorok and a couple of persistent Stalkoblins, but nothing else. Being so close to a stable meant that monsters tended to keep their distance.

By the time he returned, dusk had set in, and the small fire was casting flickering shadows around the camp. He pulled out a travel-worn blanket, and then paused, glancing over at the tree stump and just barely catching the kid jerk back. He stood up, tucking the blanket under his arm, and walked over to the kid’s makeshift hideout.

This close, he could see them pressing back against the rotting wood, shoulders and head drawn up in some measure of defense. He tilted his head at them, and they hissed through their teeth at him. Hilarious. The hiss stuttered and turned into a choked noise as Link promptly dropped the blanket through the stump, landing on top of them.

He turned on his heel and walked the meter back to the fire as the kid wrestled with cloth in alarm. After a moment, the panicked shifting stopped, and Link crouched in his customary sleeping position by the fire. He edged away from the food he had set out earlier, making sure it was placed carefully far enough from him that a hungry kid might feel brave enough to snatch some. The night sky was clear, and Link fell asleep to the sound of crickets softly chirping.

---

The next morning brought with it a heavy fog, and the conspicuous absence of one prickly child.

Link slowly blinked into wakefulness, noting that sometime during the night, a familiar face had decided to visit. Directly across from him, a large wolf sat calmly, eyes keen. Link waved groggily, still enjoying the feeling of waking up at his own pace. The wolf huffed back an almost-bark.

Despite scaring the living daylights out of Link the first time he had appeared and bit the head off a Hinox for him, the eerily intelligent wolf had quickly become his one and only travelling companion, appearing out of the blue whenever he pleased and vanishing again just as quick. Link had dubbed him ‘Loaf’ after one afternoon where he’d left a freshly baked loaf of wheat bread out to cool, and returned to find three quarters of the bread gone, and a crumb trail leading to the wolf laying a few feet away, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Seen the kid?” Link signed at the wolf, who huffed again, giving Link a baleful look.

Link ignored it as expertly as he had ignored Revali’s similar feelings on the topic. He leaned back slowly on his hands, and tilted his head back curiously at the faint sound of shouting in the distance. He hummed. Now they were getting somewhere.

He shoved himself up out of his sitting position and shook his limbs out to loosen them up before setting off down the path at a jog, Loaf trotting easily at his side. The fog kept them from seeing the Wetland Stable down the hill as anything but a silhouette, but the closer they got, the more Link could make out the shrieks and crashing coming from inside. Loaf split off as soon as Link got close enough, knowing better than to get near the townsfolk or livestock, and Link ambled up to the entrance of the inn, which looked to be in chaos.

Several of the travelers were crouching by tables or beds, and the innkeeper was both yelling and swinging a broom at none other than the Yiga kid, who was currently in the process of trying to scale the canopy of the bed with limited success. The fact that they were wearing Link’s generously donated blanket as a makeshift cloak wasn’t helping them climb, evidently. Quinn, a local hunter, was fumbling with a bow, and his dog was barking and turning excited circles, only adding to the shouts and general noise in the room.

Beedle was hovering uncertainly by the door, and jumped as Link settled in place next to him, eyeing the mess. “Link! That’s your… uh, child, right?”

Link made a face at him, but, yeah, he really did need to take responsibility. As he made his way over, the kid finally managed to balance delicately on top of the bed posts, and immediately spat vicious threats about “heathenry” and “the great calamity obliterating their souls” at the innkeeper. They proceeded to then immediately overbalance while avoiding a swipe from the broom, and they toppled backwards with a yelp, falling off the bedpost.

He caught them by the scruff of the blanket they were half-wrapped in, preventing their impact with the ground and then holding them off the ground with one hand as they flailed about. The innkeeper lowered his broom, relieved. “That one yours?”

Link nodded, and used his free hand to sign a quick circle over his heart in apology. The kid finally managed to get their bearings, and froze at the sight of him, before seeming to remember themself and trying to kick him in the solar plexus. He dropped them on the floor before they could wriggle out of the makeshift cloak, and then proceeded to wrap the loose edges of the blanket around them, pinning their arms and then picking them back up like a freshly swaddled infant.

“A TRAP.” They yelled right in his ear, outraged, and then they made threatening teeth snapping sounds at his jugular. The clicking noises were slightly muffled by the thick white mask they still wore, making their intent to tear his throat out hilariously ineffective. It almost made up for the hassle of all these people staring at him. Link nodded somewhat awkwardly at the rest of the inn’s patrons. The innkeeper waved him off with good-natured amusement.

Beedle waved as they started off, seeming apprehensive of the kid’s angry murder noises. He had Link’s horse all saddled up, and Link nodded at him in thanks, making a note to bring back a good beetle for next time he saw the peddler.

Sugar, the horse, followed sedately as Link carried the wriggly blanket full of child back to the campsite, occasionally pausing to graze. Link set the kid back in their tree hollow, where they took a while to shimmy free of the blanket and kick it away from their hideout like it had personally wronged them. In the meantime, Link sat down to pat out the smouldering remains of the campfire, and frowned as he noticed that while most of the food from the previous night had mysteriously vanished, the cup of warm milk he’d left out was practically untouched. What a waste.

The kid seemed to have regained their bearings, hunkered down and peering menacingly over the top of the tree stump at him. They spat at him, their shoulders hunched like the fur on a prickly cat. “Even if you kill all of us, you’ll never be strong enough to defeat the Great King.”

They were talky today. Link tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Who?” He mouthed.

The kid was generally difficult to read with the mask obscuring their features, but their body stilled at his response. “Don’t pretend! The Master of Thieves! The Dark Lord, restorer of balance and natural order!” He blinked at them blankly. They dug their fingers into the ground in agitation. “The Manipulator of Malice? The All-Consuming Calamity! ”  

Oh, Link knew that one. He pointed at the castle just barely visible on the horizon, and the looming mass of shadows and smoke that surrounded it, just to confirm.

The kid nodded, slow and exaggerated, an excellent translation of body language into an eyeroll. Link thought about that for a moment, and then stretched and yawned lackadaisically back at them.

The threat was kind of ineffective, honestly. Either he beat Ganon or he died the way he had 100 years ago. It meant he failed everyone and was single handedly responsible for Hyrule’s destruction, but also he’d be dead, so.

Since he had no way or desire to properly communicate this, he shrugged and blew a raspberry. The kid bristled, inordinately offended by his nonchalance, and lunged at him. It was a pretty sloppy attack, since they hadn’t bothered to stand up beforehand. He scooted back a bit, and then tossed an acorn at them. They batted it away with a yell, distracted from their assault. Speaking of communication, he should probably figure that out.

“Do you know--” Link paused his sentence mid-sign, half because he hadn’t really expected any of the signs to register, and half because the kid had immediately scrambled back at his signing, hands thrown up in front of their face and body rigid with tension. He raised an eyebrow in question. After a moment, they lowered their hands a bit, presumably staring at him through that mask.

“You okay?” Link signed, slower and with more widely known symbols. They flinched again, this time with the mask pointed at his hands. When nothing else happened, the kid tilted their head the slightest amount, before glancing up and seeming to remember Link was watching. They straightened up and puffed their chest out.

“Hah, as if you could replicate our clan’s magic!” They crowed. “It takes more than hand movements to activate the sigils, idiot!”

“I’m signing.” Link signed, a little bit lost. He repeated ‘sign’ a couple of times, for emphasis.

“Quit it already. Those ones don’t even make sense as an attack.” They grouched at him, pointedly looking away from his hand motions, shoulders tense.

They’d been alarmed by his signing earlier too, he remembered. Did they hold a different meaning to them? He snapped a few times, getting their grudging attention.

“Can you understand these?” He formed the signs slowly, and then repeated the sentence a few times while staring meaningfully at the kid. They were silent for a while, and then, in a tone that meant their face was probably all wrinkled up in confusion, they asked, “Are you-- are you using the ancient sigils to talk? How? Is that why you won’t say anything?”

Link’s lip twitched. Some of the tension had dropped from the kid, their voice lighter with a child’s curiosity for the first time.

“I talk with my hands,” he signed, “but my words are from a long time ago.”

He’d found that while some folks like Beedle were familiar with the older version of nonverbal signs he used, many others knew different versions, and some didn’t know any at all. He was slowly but surely learning the more modern sign language, and even without that, he’d gotten enough experience with body language for most folks to understand him. This was the first time his signing had been compared to a magic system, however. An offense-based one at that. No wonder the kid had been so nervous.

“Oh, yeah… Hey!” Speaking of, the kid went back to bristling like an offended kitten. “Don’t think just ‘cause you’re the immortal hero of the goddess, that I won’t kill you!”

Man, was that what they were calling him these days?

He stretched slowly, ignoring the kid’s expectant silence to roll his shoulders and then get to his feet. They scrambled back, clearly on the defense, but Link simply turned away and made his way over to where Sugar was grazing. He hopped up and swung a leg over the saddle, nudging her sides gently to get her moving. He got about ten paces down the trail before the silence behind him was broken.

“H-- Hey! Where are you going?”

Link didn’t respond, ears twitching back to catch the sound of the kid’s light footsteps. They were following at a distance, wary of getting too close to Sugar. Or Link. Either way, they were following, probably with the intent of killing him. Great.

The issue of the kid running off was solved, which meant now he had to think about other issues.

Like what he was going to do with a kid.

The original plan was to head to Death Mountain and take on the next Divine Beast, now that he’d found the recipe for a Fireproof Elixir and made enough that he wouldn’t die from heat stroke or just plain old fire anytime soon. But taking a ten year old to a place called ‘Death Mountain’ seemed like maybe a bad idea. He pondered on this for a few minutes, before pausing at a familiar sign along a fork in the road.

Zora’s Domain. Huh. Well, it had been a while since he’d seen Sidon.

Chapter Text

The acolyte was furious.

It had been days now, that they’d been forced to tail the hero or lose track of their bearings entirely. Every other gathering area was to be avoided, as the people there would either cower or attack them on sight. They had been warned about the people’s ignorance, of how they were blinded by the false light of the goddess and her vessels, but seeing the fear and anger that travelers expressed at their appearance was unsettling. The fools truly had no idea that the Yiga Clan was acting for the greater good, so focused on the things they had to do to get there. No king could come to rule without silencing dissenters, they remembered from their lessons, not even the god-king of old.

Regardless, it meant that the acolyte had to look out for themself (as always). The hero was unwittingly helpful, leaving his belongings carelessly strewn about his camp. The acolyte often managed to steal food from the fireside, with the hero none the wiser. Not even the knowledge that the legendary hero was actually a very good cook could dampen their pride at having pulled off such a maneuver.

Still, they were feeling more and more frustrated as time passed. The hero was following a long, winding path uphill, and despite the constant stops for the Hylian to rest (shouldn’t his stamina be better? He was the hero, after all.), everything about the surroundings was unfamiliar, and it made them unsteady (nervous). The hero didn’t help, occasionally vanishing from sight completely, only to return hours later with arms full of harvested plants, meaning the acolyte would steal a particularly filling meal that night. His motives were as vague and indecipherable as ever.

(One time, he had returned with a bleeding scrape along his side and a blade stained dark with blood, and proceeded to make elixirs by the fire with only insects and the scavenged remains of monsters. They hadn’t risked approaching the campfire that night, vividly reminded of the scabbing scar along their back, and the eerie lack of emotion on the hero’s face as he inflicted it.)

The only upside was The Wolf.

The Wolf was a wolf like the ones that ran along the cliffs by their home and claimed the bones of those they left for the sands, but different. It was very large, and very smart, and it liked the acolyte very much. They were sure of this, because the first time it had approached, they had thrown a tree branch at it out of wariness, and it had not been mad at all.

In fact, it had even brought the tree branch back to them, like a very loyal and useful underling. They decided that this warranted sharing rations, and ever since, the acolyte and The Wolf had been stalwart allies. It had even stolen the hero’s cloth blanket and brought it back to them, free of the hero’s malicious tampering. They worked as the perfect team. It would help keep the acolyte from stumbling into enemies in the unfamiliar territory, and in return, they split stolen meals and shared their warmth with it during the night.

Meeting The Wolf was advantageous, but they’d been trailing this accursed hero for long enough. They sat cross legged on the ground, carefully drawing the layout of the nearby camp in the dirt while The Wolf watched attentively.

“This one is the hero,” they instructed, tapping the very small twig they’d set in the circle representing the clearing. They pointed to the rock next. “This one is the large, quiet animal.” They weren’t sure what it was called, but they were careful to always give it a wide berth.

“It’s very big. Do you think you can handle it?” They asked, seriously.

The Wolf snuffled and touched its nose to the acolyte’s forehead. They nodded, and adjusted their mask where it was shoved on top of their head. “Take strength.”

They’d curled up with The Wolf for the evening, planning their attack for the following day, but it seems the hero had other plans. Only a few hours later, the acolyte startled awake to the heavy cloven steps of the large animal the hero rode. They rolled to their feet, fully awake as the sounds drew nearer. Beside them, The Wolf opened one eye, surveying them. They made sharp gesturing motions indicating that they should both hide, but The Wolf simply flicked its ears back to hear the commotion properly, and then closed its eye once more.

The acolyte hesitated, uncertain, before their first instinct took over and they quickly darted away to hide in a thick cluster of trees nearby. They knew the teachings. The acolyte wasn’t supposed to care for anything but their mission, but looking at The Wolf laying vulnerable while a foe approached made something twist uncomfortably in their guts. They crouched, watching as the large mount of the hero trotted into the small clearing, drawing to a stop as the hero atop it dismounted.

He looked around, surveying the area, before walking over to The Wolf, just as the acolyte had feared. He didn’t appear to be armed, but who knew what arcane curses he could lay with just sigils? The hero leaned over slightly, and even stretched a hand out to where The Wolf’s head lay before the acolyte’s restraint broke.

Before they could think twice, they stood and hurled a tree branch at the hero, feeling viciously satisfied when it connected solidly with his head and even made him stumble back. Cover blown, they ran forwards with a second branch, planting themself firmly in front of The Wolf and holding the tree branch up in threat.

The hero was holding a hand to his head, more bemused than hurt. They bristled as he stepped forwards, and surprisingly enough, he stopped, hands raised placatingly. After a tense moment of silence, he started to make sigils, and the acolyte had to stifle their knee-jerk impulse to dodge, reminding themself that he wasn’t a Blademaster and only used these signs to speak. They squinted, slowly making out the meaning of the words.

“You want… to make a pact with me?” They tried, uncertain, and the hero nodded, giving them a thumbs up. “For what?”

“Peace.” He signed again. “During travel. No fighting.”

The acolyte wrinkled their face in distaste, their clan’s teachings on the tip of their tongue. “Peace is just another word for convenient imprisonment to you, Goddess-scum! I won’t be fooled!”

The hero tilted his head back consideringly, and then pulled out his odd square device and fiddled with it for a moment, before plunging his hand into it and retrieving a very familiar weapon. The acolyte tensed, raising the tree branch again. But the hero just flipped the weapon deftly in his hand so that the handle was facing the acolyte, and then held it out to them.

They stared at him, gaze dropping down to the Demon Carver and then flitting back up. They reached out slowly, half-expecting the proffered weapon to be jerked away as soon as they touched it. But their fingers curled around it unimpeded, and the hero’s face betrayed nothing as they reclaimed their weapon. Their grip was white-knuckled around the hilt. Didn’t he know he was giving a potential enemy a weapon? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why wasn’t he merciless ? They watched intently, brows furrowed, as he holstered his storage device and began to sign again.

“Deal?” He asked with his hands, head tilted again in question. His face was blank, giving away less than nothing, less than even their mask.

The acolyte looked at the weapon, and then the hero. Why was he doing this? It was probably some sort of trick, but they couldn’t figure it out. The hero had to know that they were more dangerous armed, bound by a pact or not. It had to be a front. But without the hero’s knowledge of the land and its people, they might never figure out the way home. If they remained on guard they wouldn’t be fooled, no matter what the hero was planning. ...Surely it would be better to come home with information on the hero than to remain stubborn and lost?

They hesitantly nodded, and then tugged their oversized glove off easily. They angled their Carver properly and sliced open their palm, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from wincing. The acolyte glanced up at the hero’s odd, full-body twitch and boldly stuck their hand out, meeting his eyes with a steely gaze. Behind them, The Wolf made a huffing sound, placing its head on the ground wearily. For a moment, the hero just blinked at them, before shaking his head and pulling out a curved boomerang blade to do the same.

They clasped hands. “The oath is sealed,” the acolyte intoned.

The hero nodded absentmindedly, wiping his hand off on his pants. He fished around in his device again, eventually finding an old shirt and tearing it into strips. He held out his hand. Mildly confused, the acolyte clasped hands again, and then almost jerked it back as the hero flipped their hand palm-up and began sedately wrapping their cut in the makeshift bandages. It didn’t take long, and they studied their hand with curious suspicion once he finished. It didn’t look like the hero had done anything out of the ordinary to the cloth… Odd. It was just a cut.

The hero moved to where The Wolf was laying, and the acolyte watched, whole body tense, as he scratched at the thick fur behind The Wolf’s ears. After a few moments with no harm done, they relaxed slightly. The Wolf itself seemed pleased, butting its nose into the hero’s hand. The acolyte refused to feel trivial things such as envy, but quietly made note of how to do the same. They clipped their Demon Carver against their back harness and watched as the hero led the way out of camp, uncertain. What did this alliance signify for their travels?

After a moment, the hero glanced back at them and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

You coming?

The acolyte huffed and strode after, raising their chin the show that they weren’t daunted by the hero’s challenges. They did make sure that they were a respectable distance from the mount and that The Wolf was still by their side, however. No sense in being senseless.

Before long, they reached an incline that was too steep for the large, quiet animal to climb. The acolyte hauled themself up the rock face with ease, and then peered over at the hero smugly. He ignored them, infuriatingly, and instead turned to remove the mounting gear from the animal. It allowed this, and once done, the hero gave it a gentle pat on the snout before continuing on, leaving the beast where it grazed. The acolyte watched it warily as the hero climbed up the incline, but it made no move to follow. They supposed it made sense that the creature didn’t need any puny Hylian to look after it. The hero probably wasn’t even showing it proper reverence.

They travelled in silence for a while, only the chirping of insects to accompany them in the darkness of early hours. They watched the hero carefully, their attention only being drawn away by the appearance of small lights dancing in the night. They stopped and stared, watching as the lights pulsed and faded to an invisible rhythm, and the hero paused to look back at them. They stiffened as he walked back to them, but his attention was on the lights as well.

After a moment, he reached out and clapped his hands around one, making the acolyte inhale sharply. He turned to them, and they watched his hands warily as he opened them. At first, it seemed as though the light had vanished, and they wondered if he’d killed it in front of them as a show of power. Only a moment later, the light appeared again, and now they were close enough to see the small insect crawling on the hero’s hands. It began to fly again after a moment, returning to light the air with its glow. They both watched it rise for a moment, before the hero turned and continued walking, prompting the acolyte to scramble after.

At the very least, they’d certainly have stories to tell when they got back.

Based on the past few weeks, the hero normally made camp after only a few hours of travel, but it seemed as though he had other ideas, continuing to jog up the rocky path as the sun began to rise in earnest. The acolyte trailed behind him, curious and wary in equal measurements.

Before long, the hero’s destination became clear. The rocky mountain trail opened up to reveal a long bridge, with a bright, twisting structure at the end. The whole thing was built over a deep, wide basin of water, and it was the most insensible thing the acolyte had ever seen.

Naturally, this meant that it was exactly where the hero was headed. The acolyte griped internally as they got closer. What had they gotten into, exactly?

Just before they reached the ornate bridge, the hero paused, dropping his fist on his open palm in a gesture of just having recalled something. He turned to the acolyte, who had buried a hand in The Wolf’s thick mane for reassurance.

“What are you called?” He signed slowly for them, watching as they pieced the words together. They frowned for a moment, wary of interrogation, but there was no way the hero could use it against the clan.

“Acolyte.” They said succinctly, before returning to trying to scratch The Wolf’s ears properly. If they did it correctly, The Wolf would lean into it, and its leg would twitch in place amusingly. They paused mid-scratch at the mild look on the hero’s face. “What?”

“N-A-M-E,” he spelled out.

They frowned at him. “I just told you. I’m the acolyte.” They tried to make the letters for it, just to be sure, but gave up after accidentally mixing up the order in their mind. Couldn’t the hero hear?

The hero’s fingers tapped against each other in an inconsistent pattern, and his face twisted in an odd way they couldn’t identify. After a moment, he spelled something different. M-I-L-K, they tapped out the letters on each finger, trying to sound out the letters mentally.

“Mi…. milk?” They finally said, tentatively. The hero nodded, and their face pinched in confusion. “What does that mean?”

He shook his head, pointing at the acolyte with one hand and then spelling ‘milk’ again, and making an unfamiliar sign. When the acolyte only stared at him, irritated, he waved a hand to dismiss the matter, snorting lightly.

He then reached forwards and tapped their mask, backing off easily when they recoiled.

“Can’t wear that mask in town,” the hero signed, and they frowned, touching the thick mask on their face.

“Why not?” The acolyte demanded, eyeing the mysterious apparent town ahead with due suspicion.

“They’ll chase you out. Don’t want Yiga Clan in their home.”

They paused, chewing the inside of their cheek. The hero was right, as loathe as they were to admit it. Their uniform was disguised by the ragged blanket draped around them as a cloak, but the mask would be a dead giveaway. The common folk didn’t want to see or hear the knowledge the Yiga symbol represented. Being part of the Yiga meant being rejected, being spurned for understanding the truth that others turned their eyes away from. Their hand drifted over the bottom of the mask, over their mouth. It hurt, to be one of them. They’d learnt that lesson long before now.

They carefully hooked the mask off, ignoring the burning scent of the vision magic disconnecting, and opened their eyes slowly, adjusting to the morning light. It was strange. They didn’t normally need their eyes open behind the mask to see with the mask’s vision script, and having to keep their eyes open now felt unnatural. They tucked the Yiga mask into their makeshift cloak, narrowing their eyes against the faint breeze. They wrinkled their nose in distaste behind the cloth mask.

“There.”

The cloth mask would stay. Taking that off would be counterproductive anyhow.

The hero nodded, and led the way across the bridge. It was long, and they could hear the echoes of the water’s movement below, unsettling and everywhere. The whole place put their nerves on edge, but they couldn’t help but gape as the huge structure before them came into focus. The dawn’s light was barely formed, but the ornate pillars were lit with an otherworldly glow, lighting up the blue stone path and twisting stairs. They paused before the first archway, the hero turning to look at them.

“Peace. No fighting. Understand?” He signed slowly, as if emphasizing the significance of the words. They exaggerated their nod, wondering if the hero thought they were some kind of fool. Who would pick a fight while undercover in enemy territory? It was a sure way to get themself killed. They knew better.

When the hero didn’t seem satisfied, they huffed and twisted their fingers into the sign for peace, clumsily making it back at him a few times. “Peace. I get it.”

Something in his expression settled, and he nodded before passing through the archway and heading up the stairs.

Despite their better judgement, the acolyte followed.

---

“Link, my friend!”

Sidon offered a large smile, excited to greet his companion at the entry gate of Zora’s Domain. His people knew that he liked to be there to greet the hero as soon as possible, and had taken to sending for him whenever Link appeared at the end of the bridge.

The Hylian in question waved lightly at him in greeting, face as impassive as ever. He was accompanied, as he occasionally was, by his large but gentle wolf companion, but that addition was not what caught Sidon’s attention.

Beside Link, a much smaller person was taking everything in with wide eyes. Their face was mostly covered by a soft cloth mask, but everything about their posture suggested that they were panicked, clearly unfamiliar with the Zora by the way they were frozen in surprise and terror. It was to be expected, Sidon thought. Not every Hylian could be as unflappable as Link, and most that he had encountered while seeking a champion to fight Vah Ruta were wary of him at best. He made a conscious effort to lower any frills and fins that had flared out in excitement before speaking again.

“Welcome back to Zora’s Domain! I see you’ve brought a companion along, is this another Hylian traveler?”

He offered the small stranger one of his typical smiles to put them at ease, but it only seemed to exacerbate their nerves, as their eyebrows drew in and they reached behind their back, shoulders hunched. Link dropped a hand on top of their head lightly, making them startle like a frightened bird, and then responded.

“This is Milk. They are… a Sheikah. I picked them up on my way to Death Mountain, and thought Zora’s Domain would be good for them. They are… sheltered.”

Sidon picked up instantly on Link’s mild pauses between signs, as though he was choosing his words carefully rather than his normal short and casual manner of signing. His hands were tilted a bit away from the newly introduced Milk, but they seemed too busy being frightened to pay much attention anyhow, clutching the fur of Link’s wolf like a safety blanket.

“I see! Well, it’s a pleasure to have you both here! I’ve managed to arrange quarters for you since your last visit, if you plan on staying the night?” At Link’s nod, he continued, turning to lead the way into the Domain. “Fantastic! Everyone will be overjoyed to see you again.”

Link followed without missing a beat, and Milk trailed behind him, clearly out of their depth. They continued to skirt around anyone who wasn’t Link, watching distrustfully as other Zora approached briefly to greet or converse with the hero. It was rather endearing, if Sidon was honest. Like a faun ducking behind its mother. Despite not glancing away from those speaking with him, Link was clearly peripherally aware of Milk, and cut his conversations short, promising that he’d be back to hear all the latest going-ons once he’d gotten settled.

Before long, they arrived, and Sidon hovered in the doorway as Link looked over the room. There was a deep pool for sleeping built into the ground of one corner, a staple of all the personal quarters of Zora’s domain, but since Hylians used beds, Sidon had constructed a waterbed in the room as well, covered in masses of blankets and pillows. He wasn’t sure how much was needed to maintain warmth for Hylians, since they ran so warm, and had decided it was better safe than sorry. Besides the bed, there was also a firepit and pot out on the iron-wrought terrace, so Link could cook his own meals if he so desired.

“It’s great.” Link signed at him, eyes warm. Sidon beamed at him. Milk stepped indiscreetly away, hesitantly following Link’s wolf when it easily loped forwards and made itself at home in the blankets. As soon as their attention was diverted, Link turned to fully face Sidon, hands angled out of Milk’s line of sight.

“They’re a Yiga kid.” He signed, looking at Sidon unflinchingly. When Sidon failed to process that statement quickly enough, he elaborated in curt, sharp signs. “They teleported. Tried to kill me, all dressed up in Yiga gear. Can’t be more than twelve. They don’t know how to get back.” A pause. “Not sure I want them to get back.”

Sidon took a moment to respond, deep in thought. Link certainly didn’t hold back.

Normally, anyone with Yiga clan affiliations wouldn’t be let near the domain. They were widely known to be dangerous, as well as solidly against the royal family & all who aided them. Mipha herself had engaged with them as enemies before, automatically making them enemies to her people. However, it was a somewhat different matter when it was Link bringing this stranger in. Despite his frequent alarming and unusual behavior, he had good judgement when it came to others’ safety, and wouldn’t have brought the child here if he couldn’t handle them. Sidon was sure his father would agree.

Even besides that… Sidon glanced over to the bed, where Milk seemed to be trying to form a cocoon of blankets around Link’s wolf. Every once in a while, the wolf would tug at their torn up cloak, making them trip and tumble down onto the bed. They were clearly young, but there were already signs of hardship lining their face. It was hard to imagine what kind of people would send a child of this age to fight a champion renowned for battle. It was little wonder that Link was uncertain about returning them.

“I understand.” Sidon signed slowly. When Link’s response was simply to gaze at him blankly, he continued. “I know you would not bring harm to Zora’s Domain, indirectly or otherwise. You are both welcome here.” He paused. “Though, it would be best to keep their affiliation quiet. You know better than any how the elders can be.”

Link huffed, as good as a laugh coming from him, and something in him, previously drawn bow-string tight, relaxed. “Thank you.”  

Sidon smiled, but before he could respond, his attention was drawn away by Milk sputtering from where they were crouched by the pool. Now that he was looking, Sidon could see that they had scooped up a handful of the water, presumably to drink. “It’s salty!” they said accusingly, turning to face them after quickly tugging their cloth mask back up on their face.

“Well, yes.” Sidon answered, mildly bemused. “It’s for sleeping.”

“Very sheltered.” Link signed unhelpfully, the corners of his eyes pulling up in amusement. He paused, consideringly. “I’ll be right back. Will you two be okay?”

Sidon nodded exuberantly without hesitation. “Of course!” Milk looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes, like they wanted to object, but Link slipped out of the room between one heartbeat and the next, so they hunkered down behind Link’s wolf instead.

For a moment, they were both silent, Sidon maintaining his friendly expression while Milk peered at him from across the room. Fortunately, as one of the tallest in the Domain, he had plenty of experience behaving unthreatening in front of skittish folk, Hylian or otherwise. When a minute or two had passed with little movement on Sidon’s part, their curiosity evidently overcame their wariness, and they picked up the tail of their previous conversation.

“You... sleep in water ? Why don’t you die?” They blinked at him, owlishly.

Sidon blinked back. “We have gills, so we can stay underwater and swim long distances if we’d like.” He gestured to the gill slits along the side of his chest. “Do they not have swimming where you’re from?”

They scrunched up their nose in confusion. “Swimming?”

---

“You will suffer my vengeance for this.”

“Oh, come on now. The water is lovely this time of year.”

Sidon did another lazy loop in the water, ignoring the way Milk’s hands were digging into his shoulders. It had taken a trick and a half for him to get them down to the basin, but on the bright side, they were no longer afraid to get within a five foot radius of him.

Rather, now they were too busy trying to stay as dry as possible while surrounded by water. Sidon’s fins twitched as Milk scaled him like a tree, clinging firmly to the back of his head with their feet on his shoulders. They would probably be more stable if they would sit and allow Sidon to hold on to their ankles, the way he had with the young children in years past, but Milk recoiled at the barest touch. Sidon held carefully still as they peered down at the surface of the water with trepidation, and hissed at him vehemently.

“The water is everywhere , and I’m going to die !”

“I won’t let you drown!” Sidon said, reassuringly. He craned his head back. Milk didn’t look particularly reassured. “I carried Link the same way when we took on Vah Ruta’s sorrow.”

“The hero? Can he ‘swim’?”

“Certainly. He may not be a Zora, but he spent a lot of time here in the Domain. My elder sister was good friends with him.”

“Really?” They sounded dubious about the concept of Link having friends. Sidon chuckled.

“Indeed! Though…” He grew somber. “He would not remember those days now, I suppose.”

“He wouldn’t?” Milk’s death grip eased slightly; it certainly seemed that they were the curious type. Probably best to keep distracting them, as he suspected they’d make little progress in the water otherwise. “Why not?”

“He lost his memories, while recovering from his mortal wounds in the Shrine of Resurrection. According to those who knew him before, he’s changed since his days at the Princess’ side.”

“The Princess of Hyrule… the Goddess-vessel?”

“I… suppose? The Princess of Hyrule was said to be the chosen priest of the goddess-”

“A human vessel to channel the Hylian Goddess’s powers against The All-Consuming Calamity.”

Sidon paused, treading water. The words themselves weren’t incorrect, but the emphasis was strange. They’d practically spat at the concept of the Goddess’s power, and there was unspoken reverence in the way they referred to the Calamity. This reversal of the norm had to be the methodology of the Yiga Clan.

He realized he’d paused too long when the fingers along the top of his head grew tense, Milk shifting as though they were going to fling themselves for shore at Sidon’s first move, water or no water. He felt a sudden bout of shame; this child was already surrounded by unfamiliar terrain at his urging, and now everything around them felt unsafe, liable to turn against them in their mind. He pushed off again, winding towards one of the waterfalls to return to solid ground.

Milk didn’t relax, but they did end up yelping and clinging harder when he ascended the waterfall, landing softly on the higher level terrace. He crouched, allowing them to scramble off his back and regain their space. They eyed him warily, shoulders drawn in and hands tucked under their cloak.  

“My apologies, Milk. I didn’t consider that starting out in the basin would be overwhelming for someone’s first time in the water.”

“You-- what?” They drew up short. Sidon was still crouched, more or less eye-level with them, so he could see the genuine confusion and surprise in their eyes.

“I apologize. I’m sorry for startling you.”

They narrowed their eyes, like they still didn’t quite understand. “I wasn’t... startled. I just thought--” They cut themself off, gaze darting away, but Sidon could hear the unspoken sentence. They thought he’d discerned their origins, and had been preparing to be attacked. They didn’t know that Link had already informed him. Did Link want him to keep quiet about it? This would be much easier to handle if Link had explained himself, but in Sidon’s experience, he did that as a last resort only. When the silence dragged on, he cleared his throat and decided to continue.

“We should start with something easier. Follow me, Milk, I’ll show you how to float on your back so that you won’t drown if you’re ever stuck in the water.”

“Wait.” They demanded, brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Sidon blinked at them, mentally reviewing his sentence. “What does what mean?”

“Milk,” they said impatiently, “what does Milk mean? You keep calling me it.”

Sidon continued to blink at them. “... I was under the impression that it was your name?”

They wrinkled their nose. “What? Why?”

“That’s how Link introduced you. Is that not what you go by?”

“Link… The hero…” Their eyes widened, as though suddenly realizing something. “ That’s what he was spelling earlier! That’s not-” They stopped abruptly, averting their eyes, and Sidon wondered if their original name was some kind of giveaway to being a Yiga. Either way, he picked up the conversation, since it seemed that Link’s habit of never giving context seemed to be striking here as well.

“I see! Link must have bestowed a nickname upon you.”

They squinted at him. “A what?”

“A nickname. It is another name that one gives to an acquaintance or companion. I believe Koda, one of Link’s friends here, calls him Linny as a nickname.” They didn’t seem to understand, so he elaborated further. “Link often nicknames those around him with special signs used to indicate their name. Mine is this, for example.”

Sidon moved his hands in a small arc on either side of him, wiggling his fingers to make the sign for friendly, and then ended the movement by forming the letter ‘S’ with both hands.

They watched carefully. For a moment, they practiced the sign Link had used for them, brow creased in thought. After a long moment, they nodded slowly. “Acceptable.”

“Excellent! Let’s be off, then!”

Sidon breathed a silent sigh of relief as he stood, leading the way up the stairs. He greeted those who called out to him with a smile, and Milk followed hesitantly, like a small and wary shadow. They watched any Zora who passed with a keen eye, but the few glances sent their way were missed completely. They weren’t watching faces; they were waiting for any sort of sign that somebody would get too close for comfort.

Sidon made his way to the communal sleeping pools, glad to see that one of them was unoccupied at the moment. He stepped into the empty pool, the steps making for an easy descent.

“These are much easier for beginners! The steps let one get used to being surrounded by water, and they aren’t deep enough for any drowning.”

Milk grumbled something that sounded like “ anything can be deep enough for drowning if you try hard enough,” but approached the water nonetheless. They hesitantly felt their way down the steps, face pinching at the coolness of the water. As soon as they reached the fourth step, they were submerged almost to their neck, and they refused to step further. They glared at him. “This is perfectly deep enough for drowning!”

Sidon looked down at where he was standing in the middle of the pool. The water was barely to his navel. “Hm.”

Milk made a guttural noise of displeasure, and Sidon offered them a hand. “You have to be deep enough to not touch the ground if you want to learn how to float!”

They eyed the proffered hand like it was a Lynel’s. “Float?”

“Float. Most beings have natural buoyancy that will keep them from sinking if they situate themselves a certain way. Except Gorons. But that’s because they are very heavy!”

“Buoyancy…” Milk muttered to themself, and then grabbed onto Sidon’s hand with both of theirs and stepped into deeper water.

Almost immediately, they began to sink, and used Sidon’s hand as leverage to keep their head above water. “How do I float?” they demanded, trying fruitlessly to get leverage by pedaling their legs.

“Well, first, you’ll need to go completely motionless!”

“No! That’s how you sink !”

---

Link waved at Ledo, pocketing the diamond the Zora had traded him for more construction materials. Luminous stones were easy enough to find if you knew where to look, especially at night. He figured he might as well build up some funds while he was here, particularly since he spent quite a bit stocking up at the market earlier.

A part of his mind had still been lingering on if it was alright to leave the kid there for even this short period, and he began to jog back to the room. There was no overt panic and discord, at least, which meant that Milk probably hadn’t assassinated the crown prince while he wasn’t looking. That was promising. He’d hate to be responsible for the deaths of both of the Zora’s treasured royal heirs.

A hum of disapproval buzzed through his mind, and he winced internally. He’d forgotten Mipha was with him. She always tagged along when he was in the domain, soaking in every detail through his eyes.

‘My death 100 years ago was not your fault, Link.’

He resisted the urge to start running, regretting that he couldn’t avoid the ghosts hanging out in his own body. He hated talking about this. ‘Right.’

‘You cannot hold all the responsibility for those you care for.’ She rebuffed his lackluster response gently. ‘I know better than many how that burden can destroy even the kindest soul.’

Good thing his soul was pretty resilient, even after taking a few hard knocks.

‘Similar to your thick skull.’ Mipha said, exasperated. ‘Return to your task, Link. We can speak of these matters later.’

Sure they would. He stepped forwards before stopping again, glancing around. What… had he been doing?

‘I believe you were going to find my dear brother and ‘Milk’, before anything catastrophic occured.’ She was making fun of him.

‘Oh, yeah.’ He sped up his pace again.

...Really though, there wasn’t that much risk involved. The kid was nervous, but they wanted to kill Link , not a bunch of shark people twice the size of them. Prince Sidon may not have been as renowned as his sister in battle, but Link knew he could handle himself, at least. Plus, he was one of the friendliest people Link knew. It would do Milk some good to have a cheerful presence around. Kid was gonna get frown lines at this rate.

He ran up the first-level stairs on near autopilot, and then paused before he could cross over to the residences, catching a few words in a familiar voice. He backtracked, slowing his pace, and ended up at the pools under the throne room, where many of the Zora slept.

He leaned against the staircase and watched from a distance as Sidon guided Milk through the basics of treading water and floating on their back, crouched down in the water next to them. They didn’t seem terrified of him anymore, possibly forgetting to be afraid when they were busy crowing in victory whenever they managed to stay afloat. Mipha’s contentment flowed through him, making something in his chest ease slightly.

Sidon was good with kids, as expected. Maybe bringing Milk here had been a good idea, after all.

“Prince Sidon! The elders and your father request your presence!”

Link glanced up as Torfeau waved at the Prince, passing the summons along. Sidon nodded at her, and then said something vaguely-cheerful sounding to an alarmed Milk before climbing from the pool.

“Don’t leave me here!” They yowled, and Sidon gave them a thumbs up and a “you can do it!” before promptly heading off, presumably upstairs. Mipha sighed.

Hm. Maybe just average with kids, after all.

Milk continued to float in the pool discontentedly, and Link ambled over, eyes narrowed with amusement.

They were splayed out in the starfish pose, extremely tense, with their face scrunched up as the water lapped at their ears. Even as Link approached, they were mumbling to themself.

“Ah. I see... So this is what advanced torture techniques look like...”  

Link leaned over the side of the pool, making upside down eye contact. Milk yelped, performed a full-body spasm, and then flailed and coughed as their mouth dipped underwater for a moment.

Link sat on the side of the pool. “You’re doing great,” he signed at them. Mipha sent him the mental impression of an elbow to the ribs. ‘You’re terrible.’

“I’ll kill y--” Milk managed, jerking forwards, before sputtering as they began to sink again. Link stuck a leg out, and they managed to catch themself on it, pulling their head well above the water. With their hair plastered to their face and their cloak waterlogged, they looked a bit like a half-drowned cat.

Link waved at them.

They gave him a very menacing dirty look, and then used Link’s leg as a springboard to launch themself to the edge of the pool. They dragged themself out of the water, now looking even more like a half-drowned cat. Link leaned away from their half hearted swipe, and they frowned down at their arms. “It’s wet.”

“Should’ve taken the blanket off before getting in the water. Now it’ll be a while till you dry.”

They frowned at him. “Can’t. The... Zora will see my garb.”

Oh. Right. “He already knows. I told him earlier.”

Their head whipped around, red eyes narrowed. “ What? You told him?”

Link nodded. They didn’t look satisfied by his response.

“How did you know he wouldn’t k-- try to hurt me?” they demanded. Link ignored Mipha’s urge to reach out and ruffle their soggy hair.

“Well, did he?”

Milk opened their mouth, and then closed it, face sour. “...No, but--”

“Link! You’ve returned!”

Link watched as they jumped about a foot in the air, narrowly avoiding slipping on the smooth floor. He turned to Sidon and waved. The prince smiled in return.

“I was just helping Milk learn how to float! It’s one of the first thing newborn Zora learn, mostly instinctual really.” Sidon paused, taking in Milk’s embarrassment and completely misreading it. “Not that you’re a newborn, of course! Zora children grow up in the water, so it’s only natural that they have an easier time of it. Link himself can’t go underwater without diving, because of his natural buoyancy. It makes it difficult to visit the underwater sectors of the domain, though of course he can’t breathe underwater either way!”

Link resisted a sigh. Milk locked onto the perceived weakness in a heartbeat. “He can’t swim?”

“He can’t swim underwater, no. He is very light for a Hylian.”

‘Link, I doubt that is healthy.’ Mipha told him, not for the first time. Link became very interested in cracking his joints. ‘That either.’

He got to his feet, noting Milk’s expression of smug superiority. It was possible that he had missed whatever it was they were saying in favor of blatantly avoiding Mipha’s concern. Whoops. Well, it had probably been gloating anyhow.

“Let’s go back to the room.”

Sidon was nodding before he even finished signing. “Of course! I’m only a call away if you need anything--”

Link waved him off before he could say any farewells. “You’re coming,” he signed. “I’m cooking as thanks for the room.”

He led the way back to their room, Milk slinking behind him and Sidon switching between protesting the payment and waxing enthusiastic about the entire affair. It wasn’t until they got inside that the kid stopped sulking, distracted by the new setup.

The mass of blankets that had been piled on an around the bed had been arranged into an elaborate fort, with the help of some extra vases and crates borrowed from around the domain. Perfect for the type who enjoyed small spaces, like say, a hollowed out tree trunk.

Milk eyed the amalgam of blankets and pillows with the urge to burrow written plainly across their face. Still, they looked pointedly away to make reluctant eye contact with Link. “Did you make this?” They asked, looking like they knew the answer and deeply resented it.

“Nah. Loaf is a big fan of pillow forts. He built it.” Link answered, without a single twitch in his signs. When Milk looked confused, he pointed at the wolf, who was indeed already tucked into the fort, barely visible from the outside.

They squinted at him for a moment, before looking at Loaf again and seeming to decide that building an elaborate fort was within the reaches of the quadruped. Hesitation gone, they bolted for the opening, vanishing inside in an instant. Loaf’s tail thumped. Cute. Plan success. Hopefully they would change into the clothes Link left inside before the blankets got wet.

Link gave Sidon a thumbs up, and promptly headed straight for the cooking pot to avoid any unnecessary conversation. Sidon followed, as undeterred by social conventions as always.

“You’re very good with them.” He observed. Link pulled some rice out of his slate, shaking out the extra grains. Sidon watched as he dropped butter into the pot, not put off by his silence. “Are they going to be accompanying you to the next Divine Beast?”

He sighed, separating the rice from their hulls. ‘I wish your brother was less perceptive. It’s a pain.’

‘It comes with being responsible for the wellbeing of an entire people. He’s learned well, to be able to read your motives.’

‘Don’t sound so happy about it.’

He stirred the rice for a moment, before looking at Sidon. “Does it seem like a good idea to bring a child on a fool’s quest to you?” he signed, sharper than he intended.

Sidon didn’t look away. “You don’t seem like the type to stall your tasks, so I assumed that you would pick the alternative! I have no doubt that a skilled warrior like you could keep them safe no matter where you traversed!”

Not the type to stall. He’d been stalling for 100 long years. “If that was the case, I wouldn’t have stopped here before Death Mountain.” He moved to start preparing the crab on automatic, hands steady as they always were.

“Not that I begrudge your presence, but why stop here, then?” Sidon asked with the sort of gentle tone that meant he was asking a question he already knew the answer to. Link was familiar with it, having heard it before from Sidon’s older sister. The thought made something in him ache, and even Mipha’s cool presence in the back of his mind couldn’t soothe it. He began grinding salt into the dish, distracting himself with the intricacies of making sure every ingredient melded just right.

“Link.” Sidon’s voice was even softer this time. “You can’t leave them here.”

He stilled despite himself, but didn’t allow anything resembling an emotion to cross his face. After a slow blink and a muted exhale, he turned away from the finished seafood to meet Sidon’s patient gaze.

“I know.” He signed tiredly. “Call the kid for food, will you?”

Sidon gave him a look that meant they were absolutely not done talking about this, but Link had to deal with the mental version of that from Mipha. Unlike Sidon, her looks weren’t tempered by any sort of respect. She had seen him set himself on fire by accident a few times, after all. He scooped the crab risotto into a large dish as Sidon announced dinner to the pillow fort as a whole.

He settled himself on the smooth floor and set the dish down, along with smaller dishes for them to spoon their own portions into. Sidon followed suit, and Link heard the sound of rustling as Milk presumably emerged from the amalgam of blankets. He glanced over, and then stopped short. He inhaled sharply, feeling both Mipha’s and his own shock.

They were wearing the slightly oversized tunic and shorts Link had set out for them, but what had caught his attention was the fact that they had peeled off the cloth facemask that had covered two-thirds of their face until now. Their age showed clearly in the youth of their face, but his attention was focused on something else entirely.

It was as though someone had taken the reversed symbol on every Yiga mask, shrunken it, and seared it into the kid’s nose and mouth, leaving an angry red brand. It took him a moment to process the scar for what it was, and Milk, as vigilant as ever, noticed his attention and scowled defensively.

“My mask was still wet.” Their eyes skittered over to where Sidon sat, apprehensive. “You… you said he knew.”

Link nodded, forcing himself to remain calm. “Surprised.” He signed, in lieu of explanation. “By the scar.”

Their hand ghosted over it, as though they’d forgotten it was there, regardless of how painful it looked. They tilted their chin up, arrogantly.

“It’s a mark of my heritage. Strong Sheikah blood runs through my veins, evidence that my bloodline choose the right side and stayed on it, generations ago.”

Link bit into his tongue, hard. Sidon shifted next to him.

“They… they burned that into you?” Sidon asked, his normal cheer absent from his voice. His hand made an aborted upwards movement, like he wished to reach out and wipe the mark away. Link had seen the gesture before, when he himself was hurt, and wondered how often Sidon wished he could heal others the way Mipha had.

Milk tilted their head at Sidon, slightly wary but mostly confused. “It’s an honor, to bear the mark of the Yiga.” The words held no emphasis of their own, recited as though from memory. “It represents my devotion to our cause.”

Well. Any more of that and he’d lose his appetite. Link clapped once, drawing everyone’s attention.

“The food will get cold,” he signed, and started to scoop food into his bowl. Sidon gave him a strange sideways look, but when Link gave no response, he hesitantly began to eat as well. The defensive tilt to Milk’s shoulders began to fade from their posture as they sat down, reaching out to grab their own portion only after Sidon had clearly finished. The tension slipped away entirely when Loaf trotted out and began trying to steal from Milk’s bowl, nearly causing them to topple over as they attempted to hold it out of the wolf’s reach.

“This is fantastic, Link!” Sidon enthused, looking a bit funny with the comparatively tiny spoon in his hand. “Your cooking abilities are astonishing!”

Link touched his free hand to his chin in thanks, and shoveled in another mouthful. He set his spoon down and began signing again. “I was out grabbing ingredients earlier. Ran out during the trip.”

He paused for a moment, glancing at Milk out of the corner of his eye. They were balancing a piece of crab on a tolerant Loaf’s nose. “For some reason, meals kept disappearing from my fireside while I wasn’t looking,” he signed, casually.

Sidon frowned in concern. “Food disappearing?” Link saw Milk still, suddenly tuned into the conversation. “Might it have been scavenging animals?”

“I wonder,” Link signed back, as Milk glanced between them frantically. Mipha giggled lightly, all too aware of his exploits in reverse-pickpocketing them food.

Milk slammed their bowl down on the floor, ignoring Loaf as he promptly stuck his muzzle in it. “I bet the large hooved creature did it!” They accused, face drawn into a severe frown.

“The… large, hooved creature?” Sidon asked. “Are you referring to a ‘horse’?”

Milk nodded furiously. “Exactly, yes, a-- a horse ! He had one with him, that must have been it.”

Link pretended to consider this, struggling not to let his lips twitch at Mipha’s peals of laughter. “That explains it,” he signed, watching as Milk subtly deflated in relief.

He didn’t say much for the rest of the evening, basking in Sidon’s constant stream of conversation and Mipha’s occasional commentary. Milk didn’t speak much either, riveted by Sidon’s words and gestures as he told a variety of tales. Thankfully, the Zora Prince had the enthusiasm to speak as much as needed, used to one-sided conversations after having spent a significant amount of time with Link on his quieter days.

Eventually, Link noticed the kid drooping from where they were leaned against Loaf. He yawned, patting Sidon on the arm and interrupting his latest tangent. “Think it’s time to sleep,” he signed, and got to his feet to stretch. Loaf rose to his feet as well, making Milk slide down to the floor with a yelp. Link tilted his head towards the pillow fort, and Loaf trotted over to it without even looking at him. Milk followed after, bundling in next to Loaf and watching Link pick up the dishes.

Sidon bid them goodnight, and Link fell into the waterbed with a grunt. It was nice to have a meal among friends like that. Well. Among friends and a child trying to kill him, he guessed. Either way, it had been a while since he’d last had a good meal and then slept in an actual bed, and he was ready to rest. He was asleep between one heartbeat and the next.  

---

The acolyte stared up at the blanket that made up the ceiling of their sleeping place, the faint sound of water echoing around the room as it did in the entirety of the domain. Next to them, ‘Loaf’ slept, half-burrowed into the blankets.

Across the room, the hero was silent apart from rhythmic, slow breathing. Sleeping.

Why?

Had their food been drugged? It couldn’t have been, since they’d all eaten from the same dish, and they certainly weren’t sleeping now. They sat up and fumbled around in the dark for a moment, eliciting a small, sleepy grumble from Loaf, before crawling out of the ‘pillow fort’. The room was quiet, illuminated mildly by the blue stones it was built from. They could make out the figure of the hero’s bed across the room, and slowly walked towards it on the balls of their feet.

They stopped by the side of the bed, watching the hero’s sprawled out form for any signs of waking. There was nothing. They raised their arm into the air, hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of their Demon Carver. The hero didn’t twitch. It would be simple to stab down now. With all their weight behind it, it would certainly sever the hero’s arteries. They could do it. It would be easy.

They swung down.

The blade halted a hand’s breadth from the hero’s neck, and to their shame, it started to tremble. They looked at the hero, waiting for a reaction. He couldn’t be asleep. It didn’t make any sense. They stumbled back from the bed, rubbing at their face with their free hand. The only noise in the room was still just the echoes of water, and the hero’s steady breaths. They felt tired, but-- there was no way to sleep here.

They stumbled out of the room, the edge of panic in their mind keeping them on their toes as they paced through empty passages. It was quiet. Everything looked different at night.

The hall opened up into a pathway with a railing looking out over the lower levels of the domain, and they encountered the first person they’d seen awake so far.

“Hello, Milk!” Sidon said, watching them curiously. He took in their bedraggled appearance, the blade in their hand, and lowered himself to sit, as though they were no threat. The acolyte hated it.

“Why are you out here?” they asked, and the words come out harsh like broken glass. Was he waiting for them to try and leave? Were they trapped here?

“I was trying to make sure Link doesn’t run off in the night,” Sidon admitted, wryly. They blinked, thrown off-balance.

“Why?” They asked again.

Sidon looked out over the domain. “Because I worry that he would try to isolate himself in the name of his quest. Link has many skills and positive qualities! He shouldn’t take everything on his shoulders alone.”

They stared at him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. The faith he held for the hero was incomprehensible. The Zora Prince was large, and strong, and powerful in many ways. The acolyte had learned as much just from being there a day. They had been gathering information, learning , and yet they didn’t understand why he was so gentle, so eager to help. Why he looked at the hero with kindness. Why he looked at them with kindness. They didn’t get it, and it made them rash.

“He doesn't believe anything you tell him, you know. About being good and stuff. I bet he doesn't even consider you a friend.” They spat the words, having seen enough to know what to say and spiteful enough to know how to hurt. They braced themself for retaliation immediately, feeling their blood boil for a fight no matter how foolish, no matter the promises of peace.

“I know,” Sidon said, looking back at them. His eyes had changed in the night, eclipsed by black with the thinnest ring of gold around them. It was terrifying, but the only thing Milk could read in them was melancholy. “I simply don’t know what else to say.”

They stayed silent with tension knotted in every muscle, still ready to fight or flee, and he continued without prompting.

“My sister spoke of him often, you know? His loyalty to his friends was deep, and he was always good to have at your back in a fight, she would say. But he could never stray from the destiny chosen for him. His duty weighed him down above all, and it made him distant.”

Sidon sighed, closing his eyes. “I see what she meant, now. He may have changed, but in some ways he remains the same. He doesn’t want to get attached. He doesn’t want others attached to him. He thinks his duty will end in death, and knows the pain of a lost loved one. In his own, confusing way, I believe he is trying to protect the people of Hyrule from this sort of pain as well.”

“Maybe it will,” Milk said without meaning to, because nothing in this wretched place made sense and it kept throwing them off. What did this Zora mean to do, trying to understand the mind of a hero who remembered little and felt even less, the hero that couldn't be protecting anyone when he was destroying everything they knew. “Maybe it will end in death. He’d deserve it.”

Sidon sighed, gills fluttering. “I fear that he’d agree. I hope that you will eventually be able to find an ally, rather than an enemy in him.” While they tried to comprehend the meaning of that, he rose to his feet again.

“I have to return to my duties. Goodnight, Milk,” he offered with a more solemn version of his previous smiles, and left.

They sat down themself, mind overwhelmed with thought after thought. They couldn't ally with the hero. He sought to undo everything their clan had worked for. He was a monster in the guise of a savior that would bring utter destruction to Hyrule.

They paused, remembering what Sidon had said about the Hero’s memory.

He was still a tool of the Goddess…. but… maybe not on purpose.

Maybe… they could enlighten him of the truth of the situation. And then he would stop being a heathen, and they could return home having defeated their worst enemy, if in an unorthodox way.

They stayed there, deep in thought. After some time, Loaf found them, curling up around them and promptly falling back asleep. He was warm, and after days of sleeping in this exact manner in the woods, Milk finally managed to drift into slumber.  

---

Link woke to the morning’s light, feeling better rested than he had in… awhile. Naturally, he was once again alone in the room, the pillow fort abandoned. He stood back up, stretched, and headed out the door to find his missing companions.

They turned out to not be far away, as he nearly tripped over them at the end of the hall. Loaf huffed at him and Milk began to stir where they were curled up and probably covered in wolf hair. “Breakfast,” Link signed at Loaf, and then turned on his heel to head back to the cooking pot, enjoying the early morning air.

He went through the motions of making omelets on automatic, humming, and by the time Milk trudged back into the room, he had a hefty pile stacked up.

They ate in relative silence, with Link thinking about how to broach the topic of his next problem, and Milk still half-asleep enough that they didn’t notice a couple of their omelets go missing via giant wolf.

By the time they finished, the kid was finally awake enough to make a face at Link, which was awake enough for Link to spring his hastily constructed plan on them.

“Milk.” He snapped, getting their attention. “Happy with peace?”

They stared at him for a moment, processing, and then looked down at their hands consideringly. He hoped that wasn’t the murder-attempt type of considering. After a moment, they nodded.

“Peace… was… adequate.”

Link would take what he could get. “Want to travel peacefully for a while longer?” He signed, tilting his head to signify the question.

They stared at him more, contemplatively. He waited for them to think it through patiently, and eventually they nodded, slowly. Link blinked. He had honestly expected that to be more difficult.

“Until I can find home,” they clarified, giving him a deeply suspicious side-eye. Ah. That was more like it. Link nodded easily.

Well! That worked out better than expected. Nice.

He packed up everything relatively quickly, shoving leftovers into his Slate and leaving a night at the inn’s worth of rupees on the waterbed. He turned to find the kid trying to untangle their stiff cloth mask, and remembered that he’d been meaning to give them an alternative. He whistled at them and reached into his Sheikah Slate, flipping through until he found it.

“Here.” He held the scarf out with one hand. “It’s warmer than a mask.”

They eyed it. “No traps?”

He shook his head. “No traps. Promise.”

Their hand twitched towards their blade, and Link raised a hand to forestall the blood pact.

“Let’s try a Zora swear instead.” He offered.

They nodded, hesitantly, and Link held out his little finger. They mirrored him, and Link locked their pinkies together with the utmost solemnity. With his free hand, he drew an X over his heart, and Milk did the same.

“There.” He signed, and set the scarf on top of their head. “Let’s go, then.”

“Mm. Where are we going?” they asked, attempting to wrap the scarf around their face as they walked.

“Death Mountain.”

“ What? ” 

Chapter Text

“I refuse.”

The hero continued to stare mildly at them, detangling the mane of the ‘horse’ with practiced ease. Milk stayed resolutely still, planted a safe seven strides away.

“I’ll just walk,” they said, incredibly reasonably. It had worked so far.

“Too slow,” Link signed.

Then he gestured for them to come over to the horse, again. They glared, resisting the urge to try and stab him only because that would mean coming closer to the horse. They didn’t even have Loaf as their stalwart ally, since he had loped off into the woods and vanished. Link had told them that it was normal and Loaf would return, but they still wished for (missed) the large wolf’s comforting presence.

Especially now, when faced with the hero’s insensible decision to acquaint them with the horse.

“Walking is too slow. Horse or teleport,” Link signed again, waving his cursed magic slate at them. Milk eyed the slate warily, thinking very hard. Teleporting was bad, tainted magic, as evidenced by the fact that it made them throw up and feel all cold and sweaty. The horse had not yet displayed any signs of being cursed by the goddess’s magic at all, despite close contact with the hero. Maybe it was immune?

They took a few cautious steps forwards, eyeing the horse with trepidation. It didn’t acknowledge them, so they continued closer until they were almost within arms reach. The horse continued to mildly graze, pretending it was not a large creature that could undoubtedly kill them in a variety of ways. They stared at it unblinkingly, not willing to let it get the jump on them.

Link pulled a round, red fruit from his slate, and offered it to the horse, palm flat. Milk watched as the horse lowered its head and took the fruit with a strange gentleness, not even scraping the hero’s palm with its large teeth. After a moment, Link handed them another one of the red fruits. They took it without looking away from the horse, not willing to be distracted by the hero’s strange antics. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw the hero gesturing to the horse, indicating that they should present the horse with an offering as well.

They held the fruit up so that they were looking the horse directly in the eyes, and took a bite out of it.

Link made a noise of exasperation, and Milk was abruptly distracted by the unfamiliar flavor of the fruit, and also the juice that was getting on their scarf. So much so that they almost missed it as the horse stretched its neck out, undaunted by their show of force. They froze, eyes squinching shut as they braced for retaliation.

There was a light whuffling sound, the feeling of air blown on their hair, and then a whisper of a touch on their fingers, which were still wrapped tightly around the fruit. They opened their eyes to see the horse lipping at their hand, probably intent on obtaining a pound of their flesh.

Before they could jump away, Link was suddenly right next to them, one hand on their wrist and the other peeling Milk’s fingers from around the fruit so that it sat on top of their outstretched hand. They hissed through their teeth at him, and then tensed as the horse dipped its head down. To their surprise, the horse only bit down on the fruit, taking it from them as gently as it had from Link before.

Link released his grip on them, and they watched as the horse finished crunching the apple and then checked their hand again for more. Once it had determined that it was only a hand, it leaned down further and bumped Milk lightly with its large head, pressing into their side.

“Sugar likes you,” Link signed, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement at Milk’s wide-eyed expression as the horse continued to headbutt them softly, demanding more treats.

Milk tilted their head back to look down their nose at Link, which was hard because they were small. “Of course it does! I am obviously far superior to the company Sugar has had up to this point!”

Link didn’t even blink. “Then get on.”

Milk stiffened.

One vicious argument later, they were digging their nails into Link’s shoulder blades with a vengeance, demanding over the wind in their ears that he go slower. He showed no sign of noticing their protests or their attempts to poke holes into his back, only occasionally nodding as they passed another traveler. Despite their wariness of travelers’ curious gazes, the fact that a few other Hylians had rode past on horses as well did reassure them somewhat that it wasn’t just an inadvisable thing the hero did.

Still, even if Sugar was clearly more pleasant to interact with than the hero, the ride on her back was jarring, full of too many sights and sounds passing by too quickly, and Milk felt as though they might fall off at any moment. They eventually shifted to clutch at the hero’s rib cage and pressed their face into Link’s back, blocking out as many of the overwhelming sensations as possible and willing the trip to be over.

When the rhythmic movements under them did finally stop, it took them a moment to realize it, still caught up in the lurching sensation. Their whole body was tense and locked up, but when they tried to move, they realized rather abruptly that what felt like every muscle in them was sore. If they attempted to get off, they were sure that it would hurt, and also that their legs would fold under them and possibly even stop working altogether.

In front of them, Link swung his leg up and hopped off Sugar’s back with appalling ease. He showed not a sign of even the slightest discomfort... Was this the power of being a heathen? They shuddered at the thought, still planted firmly in the saddle. Link glanced back at them, and Milk attempted to look like they were remaining there on purpose, rather than because every movement sent shocks of soreness through their system.

Link blinked at them, judgmentally.

“What are you looking at?” they said, resolutely keeping up the facade.

“You,” Link signed, and then raised his hands up a bit. Milk realized with startling keenness that they would rather die than be picked up like an infant by the hero. Link, unaware of their sudden epiphany, kept signing. “Do you want help--”

“No!” Milk closed their eyes so they couldn’t see the rest of the sentence being signed. “I’m up here on purpose. I… I like to be tall! Leave me alone!”

There was silence, and they remembered belatedly that they had to be looking at him to see his response. They opened one eye, only to see the tail end of Link already vanishing into the nearby stable. Great. Good. They had maintained cover.

Now they just had to figure out how to get off the horse.

They wasted several minutes trying to shift themself enough to get down, only resulting in jolts of pain every time. Eventually, they turned to ask for mercy from the being in question.

“Sugar?” They asked. Sugar’s ears flicked back. “How do I get off?”

They waited patiently as Sugar continued to graze, but it became evident rather quickly that an answer was not forthcoming. They tried again. “Can I get down?” At the end of their query, Sugar shifted promisingly. “Down? Get down?”

Just when they thought that they would have to resort to putting their pain tolerance training to use, Sugar moved, folding one leg and then the other underneath her, lowering until she was laying down with Milk’s feet bumping the ground. They made a sign of blessing and protection over her, and then took on the momentous task of getting ground back under their feet.

After a couple of failed attempts to raise their legs, they eventually settled for just sliding slowly off the side of the horse, before promptly overbalancing and falling onto the ground.

“Ow,” they said, plainly. They took a moment to appreciate the solid ground under their feet, and then rolled onto their back. They had to get up properly before the hero--

Link was standing right next to them. A noise of alarm caught in their throat, and they coughed and then groaned as their sore abdomen protested.

The hero looked down at them, silently and imperceptibly laughing at them as always. Before Milk could attempt to launch an attack on his ankles, he held out a glass bottle of bright red liquid. They paused, curiosity piqued, and grabbed the bottle to inspect it. It was a thick, viscous liquid, too bright of a red to be blood.

“Drink it.”

They made a face at the liquid, hiding their apprehension. The hero wouldn’t poison them fatally after going to all the trouble of not killing them for so long, right?

Link rolled his eyes and crouched so he was level with their flopped out form, taking the bottle back and uncorking it before taking a sip. After a few minutes passed and he didn’t start sweating uncontrollably or throwing up, they decided that if there was poison in it, the effects weren’t bad enough that they were still going to refuse and risk losing the hero’s trust.

Milk braced themself and chugged the whole thing, nearly gagging at the acrid taste. They almost immediately felt the essence of magic twist around them, smoother than the sigil magic they were used to, and braced themself.

It didn’t hurt.

Not just the magic of what had to be an elixir, slowly settling into their skin, but also their previously aching muscles. They lifted their legs up in test. Nothing. Just normal legs. Even their back felt better than it had for days. They looked up at Link.

“What was that? An elixir, right? What was in it?”

“Lizards,” Link signed.

Milk stared at him. “I think you used the wrong sign.”

“Lizards,” he signed again, and then reached into his slate and pulled out an actual, live lizard.

Milk threw the empty bottle at Link’s head with all the effort they could muster, scowling when he simply stepped to the side to avoid it. “You fed me lizards? ” They flipped to their feet, fully intent on enacting some sort of violence.

The hero dropped the lizard on them. They howled, batting the creature off and watching as it scurried away. The book they had read on reptiles hadn’t been very expansive, but it had mentioned that many were poisonous.

“Good for your health,” Link signed. He’d still shown no signs of being poisoned. Milk very graciously didn’t try and stab him, admitting to themself that he probably knew what was safe to eat, given that the Hylian thrived in the woods as well as any forest creature. They hadn’t heard of any poisons that made your muscles feel better, either. And they knew a lot of poisons.

Once it became clear that they weren’t going to launch another attack, the hero turned back towards the stable and gestured for them to follow. They waited a few moments before trailing after, just so the hero knew they were following him because they wanted to.

Now that they weren’t overwhelmed by muscle pain, they noticed that there was a strange noise carrying on the breeze. It was a tune that rose and fell easily and reminded them of some of the older spells they’d witnessed. Someone was playing music?

It took them a moment to pinpoint the source, which was… a large bird. A very large bird. Holding an accordion. They stared for a moment as Link paused to chat, the music fading. They knew, of course, what a Rito was intellectually. They’d studied the other species and their weaknesses as thoroughly as their peers, but none of the diagrams had prepared them for how big they were. It was like Sidon all over again.

Ah. The Rito and the hero were both looking at them expectantly now. They hesitantly slunk forward, stopping just short of Link so they could duck behind him if the stranger decided to attack.

“Oh, hello. You must be Milk. I’m known as Kass, it’s nice to meet you.” The Rito nodded at them, cordial. They nodded back very seriously, trying not to stare at his cool-looking instrument, which was also bigger than they’d imagined from the book descriptions.

“Link!” A familiar voice called, tinged with surprise. Milk took a step back from Kass just to be safe, and peered around Link, spotting the man with the large backpack easily. He spotted them as well, pausing in his approach. Milk didn’t blame him. They had been very upset when they’d first met him. Very nauseous, too.

Link waved, ignoring the man’s apprehension entirely, and swiped through his slate before pulling a tiny bug out of it. The man-- his name was Beedle, going by their discussion-- lit up at the sight, and promptly forgot about his hesitance in favor of gushing about the bug. Kass smiled politely at the interaction, clearly used to such happenings, and returned to his accordion. The crooning of the instrument melded smoothly with the peaceful atmosphere of the stable.

It was… pleasant, and Milk left them to their weird bug discussion, slowly making their way over to the other horses in the stable stalls. By the time they got brave enough to try and pat one, they felt almost relaxed.

Naturally, Link ruined it. He whistled to catch their attention, and they shot him a sour look before reluctantly making his way back to the trio.

“I’ve gotta grab some elixir ingredients to prepare for when we head to Goron City.” Link signed, fingerspelling the unfamiliar words for Milk’s benefit. “Mind keeping an eye on them while I’m out?”

All three of them stared at him.

“Uh.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not a baby ?”

“Great. I’ll be back soon.” Link turned on his heel, heading out.

“Link,” Beedle said, uncertain. “Are you sure--?”

Link gave them all a jaunty little wave without turning around. Milk made a face at him through their scarf. There was a stretch of silence as they all watched him jog away, occasionally stopping to crouch and catch what Milk could only assume were more lizards.

“So,” Kass spoke, doing a good job of pretending like this was normal, “would you like to hear a song?”

Milk took a moment to consider. “Play me the one with the most curses in it.”

---

By the time Link returned, Milk had cunningly lowered the guard of both of Link’s friends through the power of their charisma alone. Kass had answered their many questions about the Rito with a sort of confused tolerance, and now they were very carefully holding a beetle, which was Beedle’s favorite type of bug.

They couldn’t stop their surprised jerk when Link appeared next to them, and the insect flew off their hands, causing Beedle to let out a worried cry. Luckily, Link seemed to have anticipated this, and easily recaptured the beetle and returned it. Milk looked away from him pointedly, showing him how good they were at being independent and luring his friends into a sense of security. They could have stabbed both of them and gotten away clean at least four different times so far, and they hadn’t even stabbed anyone once.

Link just nodded in greeting, not acknowledging Milk’s very remarkable show of restraint, and pulled out more glass bottles. He handed one off to them. It was warm, and the liquid inside was black and thick. They made a face. “What’s this one for?”

“Fireproof. Keeps you safe in the heat.” Link popped the cork out of his own bottle.

“Does this one have lizards in it, too?”

Link tipped his own bottle back to drink in lieu of an answer. That meant yes, they were pretty sure. They made a face, but before they could try to follow suit, there was a splutter from beside them.

“Link,” Beedle said, with a concerned look on his face, “did you just drink that?”

The hero in question looked down at the empty bottle in his hand and then back at Beedle. He tilted his head, as close to confused as Milk had seen him.

“Drinking hearty elixirs and the like, I understand, but… Fireproof elixir is supposed to be applied on your skin.”

Link shook his head, tucking the empty bottle away. “Stronger effect if you drink it.”

“Yes, but ingesting it isn’t good for your long-term health…”

Link stared at Beedle, as if to say, “Yes, and…?”

Beedle sighed forlornly at him and distinctly tipped his head at Milk. Link looked at them blankly for a moment before seeming to understand. Milk frowned at them both.

“Milk, don’t drink this. Cover your skin with it,” He signed.

Normally, they would argue or maybe just drink it right there on principle, but… the last one had tasted really gross, and their face pinched just thinking about drinking more lizards. So, they uncorked it and attempted to pour the liquid onto their hand instead, frowning when it remained stubbornly in the bottle no matter how hard they shook it.

Back home, elixirs were smoke-based, the liquid converting into a gas as soon as it was unsealed, and then locking onto the signature of the one whose blood was in the mixture. They had read of them in passing, but they were pretty rare. Brewing them took a lot of time, and they had to be customized for proper effect, so they were mostly reserved for higher ranking Yiga heading into battle, like blademasters. The lesser ranks would heal naturally, or through… other methods.

Link gestured for the bottle, and removed the tag seal from it. Now that they were looking, they could see the script on the tag. Ah, so it was sigil-based enchantment. They had no idea how to work with the liquid forms of that. They were going to have to ply the hero for information soon.

“Turn around and I’ll apply it,” Link signed best he could with his hands full. They frowned behind the scarf, before forcing themself to slowly turn so their back was facing the hero.

They waited, shoulders hunched, as Link lifted up the back of their scarf in order to place the channeling tag properly. They knew intellectually that if the hero wanted them dead, he would have killed them back on the mountainside when they were at their weakest. They knew that, but the sensation of hands ghosting over their neck was still enough to make their back stiffen and their legs lock in place. They focused very hard on not flinching. They couldn’t show weakness if they wanted to gain the hero’s trust.

They were so tense that they almost missed it when he placed the seal on the knob of their spine, making sure it was secure enough to spread the enchantment evenly. He poured the elixir onto the tag, the substance like a cool breeze along the back of their neck. Like most elixirs, it didn’t behave the way a liquid should, flowing along their skin in even waves instead of dripping off.

After a few moments, they were completely covered by the lightweight liquid, and then the bulk of it rapidly evaporated with a hiss, leaving only the slightest spiderweb patterns on their skin to indicate the potion was working as it should. They hopped a step away from him, glad to have their own space back.

“Let’s set off.” Link signed, and promptly set off. Milk nodded firmly at Kass and Beedle before setting off after him.

They lengthened their strides to catch up, peering at the path ahead. As disheartening as it was to leave Sugar behind, they could see the logic in not subjecting the horse to the steep path ahead.

They had to crane their neck to look at the towering arches of rock that stretched out over the path. There were huge pools of water to both sides as well, these ones steaming like water on hot sand. In the distance, there was a huge mountain, a sharp silhouette against the skyline. Everything smelled vaguely like burning. It was almost homey. Except at home the smoke was magic and smelled better.

“Why are we going towards the big fire death rock?”

Link followed their gaze. “Gotta fight a lizard.”

They stopped short. “Wh-- you just fought like 8 lizards and won! Why are you fighting more lizards? ”

He made an expansive gesture with his hands. “Big lizard.”

They made an incoherent noise of protest, but he ignored it in favor of pausing to survey the path ahead. He turned to face a smaller, rockier side path. “This way.”

Milk craned their neck to look up at the steep incline of their new route. They almost asked the hero why they weren’t taking the clearly easier path, but bit their tongue before they could. Link was probably testing them. They could figure it out on their own. They were smart.

They followed him up the trail, grateful for the hearty elixir after the first few vertical stretches they had to climb over. Link stayed a few feet ahead of them throughout, wielding a considerably sized hammer against any of the small flame monsters that didn’t take well to their intrusion.

They had just managed to haul themself over another large outcropping of rock when Link grabbed their arms and pulled them sharply to the side. There was a moment of disorientation as the sound of crashing echoed around them, and they opened their eyes to see a boulder speed past, careening down the cliffs to the pools below.

There was a moment of silence as they contemplated the undiginifiedness of being smushed to death by a boulder. The hero released his grip, and continued on without hesitation, as though he frequently dealt with huge rocks being dropped on him. His unbothered attitude only increased Milk’s determination not to fall behind, and they shook off the near-death encounter and hurried after.

Unfortunately, their body didn’t seem to be as enthused about the challenge, protesting sharply at every incline. Milk steadfastly ignored the painful sensation of tearing muscle. They’d gotten soft, eating so much of the hero’s strange food and travelling at a snail's pace for the past weeks. The more they pushed themself, the more pain they could endure, the stronger they’d get. They couldn’t go too far, since they weren’t sure what the hero would do if they blacked out, and it was dangerous to be that vulnerable in unknown territory anyhow.

Still, they refused to show any signs of tiring, not pausing to breathe between climbs. The quicker they moved, the quicker they’d finish. They got so immersed in the movements that they almost stumbled and fell when the path finally leveled out. Link caught them briefly by the scarf, steadying them.

“Stay here,” He signed shortly, and then turned to a small camp of bokoblins. They gratefully took the moment of reprieve to regain their breath and shake out their aching limbs, ignoring the sounds of battle a few meters away. By the time Link got back, tucking an entirely new and probably-plundered weapon into his slate, they had composed themself. He lead the way up a much less steep path, and for a moment, they thought the hard part was over.

That was until they reached the top of the trail and found themself faced with the base of a tower that stretched into the sky. They glanced at the hero, and sure enough, he was looking up to the top, sizing up the climb. There didn’t seem to be any stairs. Their stance wavered traitorously, and they dug their fingers into the flesh of their legs in protest.

The hero started climbing, easily hauling himself up the knotted wall despite having gone through the exact same climb as Milk only moments ago. They were starting to feel suspicious about the authenticity of his slow pace during the earlier weeks.

After a moment, he looked back at them and raised a hand to sign. They stepped forward before he could say anything, stubbornly facing the wall ahead. They gritted their teeth and reached up to start climbing, wishing they’d stolen and stashed away some of those elixirs. They’d take even lizard juice so long as they could stop feeling so weak .

If they looked up, they could make out the shape of resting platforms above, but they seemed impossibly far away. Despite feeling like they’d climbed a mountain (again), the top looked no closer than it had at the start. Looking down, however, had the adverse effects of making their grip sweaty and their vision blur. Their limbs locked in place, stiff yet still shaking, and they pressed their face against the tangled pattern of the tower wall, trying to find the will to keep moving. If they fell from this height, would they feel it before they died? They hoped not.

Their whole body was vibrating with the strain by now, Milk desperately trying to hold on with sweat-slicked hands. When they looked up, desperate not to see the fall below, they saw Link looking at them, unreadable as always, only a foot away. He must have climbed back down when he’d seen them stop. They wouldn’t ever be able to prove their strength if they kept this up.

Bolstered by the thought, Milk reached up to climb further, ignoring the way their arm was almost spasming with the effort. Now, one leg, and then the other arm--

Their hand slipped.

There was a gut-lurching drop, adrenaline surging through them, and then they were still again, their tunic pulled taut against their arms. Link had them by the collar, straining to lift them up. They scrambled to grab the wall once more, but Link swung them away from it, held out over the open air. They kicked ineptly, breathing coming out in gasps, and grasped tightly at the arm holding them up, though they knew it would make no difference. They hadn’t been good enough. The hero didn’t want to deal with a burden. He was going to drop them --

“His back.” A voice hoarse from disuse rasped, barely audible and strangely lilting. They looked up, seeing the hero’s face tight with the strain of holding them. He spoke again through gritted teeth. “His back, get on his back, Milk!”  

They wasted precious seconds trying to understand, before reaching out and finding the cloth of Link’s blue tunic under their hands. After a few moments of fumbling, they latched on, locking their shaking limbs around him. As soon as their grip was secure, Link let go of their tunic and grasped the wall again, taking a long moment to breathe deeply before starting the climb again.

It was slow going, with none of the hopping around the hero had been doing earlier. Milk couldn’t help but be grateful; they already felt as though if they loosened their grip even slightly, they’d slip and plummet to the ground. They buried their face into his back for the second time that day, knowing they shouldn’t but unable to handle the sight of the ground far below.

Senses muffled, they only knew when Link finally made it to the first resting platform by the shift in his center of gravity as he paused to stretch his legs and shake his arms out. Milk braced themself for more climbing, and started to try and detangle their tense legs from around him. Before they could do more than twitch a bit, Link adjusted their legs back into place and began climbing again. They stared in confusion at the back of his shirt, which gave them no answers as to why the hero was still carrying them.

The rest of the climb went about as smoothly as it could, considering they’d almost died at the beginning of it. They tumbled off Link’s back as soon as he’d hauled himself onto the top level of the tower, splaying themself out on the ground to enjoy the feeling of solid floor beneath them. If they were also gasping like a landed fish to lower their panicked heartbeat, that was their business.

They pressed their face against the cool floor until the last fragments of panic faded, and they felt embarrassment creeping up in its place. Their behavior had been nothing short of pathetic. They told themself to not be surprised if the hero had already (abandoned them) left the tower, and pushed themself up abruptly by the elbows.

This meant that they very narrowly avoided smashing their skull into Link’s jaw, since he was crouching right next to them, a hand half-outstretched. They made an undignified yelping noise, because the damn hero didn’t make any damn sound and how long had he been sitting there—

“You almost fell,” Link signed. Their indignation died on their lips, staring up at him. Milk couldn’t read his expression, not even a little bit. He might as well have been wearing the same mask as their teacher, for all the emotion his stone-carved face gave away. They averted their eyes. It wasn’t their place to try and know the thoughts of their betters. They’d learn how severe their transgression was at their teacher’s discretion, and no sooner. It was likely the same with the hero.

“Yes,” They said, and couldn’t help but press themself closer to the ground, though they knew they shouldn’t shy away from punishment. Truly, they’d grown soft in these sparse weeks. Their teacher would be ashamed. The pride of their generation, reduced to grovelling by one measly climb.

The hero was watching them with an indiscernible look, before signing, slowly. “Be more careful.” He paused, but didn’t seem to have more to say, standing and offering a hand instead. Milk took it with confused blankness, and was pulled to their feet. It took them a moment to understand.

If they weren’t facing the repercussions now, they would surely in the future. The only question was when they would Repent, but they kept their mouth shut. They’d know when it started and no sooner, as always.

The hero was more like their teacher than they’d imagined.

Still, thinking about it never helped. Better to pretend things were normal. They forcefully put it out of their mind and turned away, careful to keep Link in their peripheral vision.

Link took this as a sign to trot over to the platform in the center of the tower and do weird magic things with his weird magic square. Milk rolled their eyes despite themself. There was only so many times they could be affronted and confused by his heathen magic before it got boring.

They tenuously peered out over the tower’s edge and looked out at the many, many things they could see from such a height. The view was so much that they had to close their eyes for a moment, just because the scale was so large . If they’d had their mask on, it would’ve looked like an empty void, too far away to be picked up by the vision sigil. It was too much to take in at all at once, so they looked at small parts instead, like the distant silhouette of the stable, and the path they’d taken up. If they squinted, they could make out the tiny figures of people on the ground, small like beetles.

There was a strange beeping from behind them, and they turned to find Link fiddling with his slate. “What’s that?”

“A map,” Link signed as he walked over, orienting himself and looking between his square and the landscape below.

“You can talk,” Milk said, jumping straight to the next pressing issue, since that seemed to be the hero's favored mode of conversation. Link shook his head, not even glancing up. “I heard you, though. With my ears.”

“Not me,” Link signed, oddly distracted. “A friend.”  

Milk scrunched up their face in confusion. Did the hero have some kind of tiny being hiding in his shirt collar? Link only waved dismissively, signing, “Later.”

Before they could question him further, he turned around and crouched. He tapped his shoulders, indicating that they should climb back on, probably for the climb down. Any idea of protesting fled their mind as soon as they thought of their almost-fall. There was no need to risk failing again and doubling their shame. Or dying. They got on his back with grudging obedience, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t complain.

“I can’t believe you climbed all the way up here just for a map . And now you have to climb all the way back down, too!”

Link huffed one of his strange, almost-laughs, and then walked right off the edge of the tower.

---

Milk spent a solid minute panicking right in Link’s ear before they realized that they weren’t about to die from the most bizarre murder-suicide of all time, since the hero was keeping them aloft with his glider. They spent the rest of the flight down weighing the merits of biting Link’s ear versus the probability it would cause him to lose his grip on the glider and fall for real. The threat of death by splattering won out by a slim margin.

The two of them then travelled along a beaten path for a while, encountering a variety of monsters along the way. Milk was more preoccupied with the way the air thickened, like a distant burning in their lungs. The temperature would be a lot more fatal without the elixir’s effects, but they still felt some measure of the heat. They’d done endurance training in the desert for both the dizzying heat and nighttime cold, but it was more of a formality than anything, since the seals on the Yiga gear were supposed to insulate the wearer from the environment. That hadn’t exactly worked out for them.

They wondered if part of the hero’s sworn duty was dragging them through Ganon-forsaken terrains like freezing mountains and blistering cliffs. The goddess herself was probably laughing at them. Well, they’d see who got the last laugh when they brought Link to the right side of the battle.

They were dragged out of their vengeful thoughts by bumping into Link, who had suddenly stopped moving. They looked around. They had entered a valley full of white-hot patches of rock on the ground. There were some fire chuchu in one corner, but for the most part, there didn’t seem to be any threats.

Link took a few slow steps forward, eyes keen. The ground ahead immediately began to tremble, and he jumped back to haul Milk right off the ground in one fluid movement. They couldn’t even make a fuss about being scooped when there was a very big distraction in the form of molten rock pushing itself out of the earth.

The hero set them onto the hot ground, nestled almost out of sight under an outcropping of the wall. “Stay here.” He signed sharply, before sprinting off to fight what had to be a Talus. It was much, much bigger than they’d read about.

They pulled their carver from their belt loops, staring as Link rolled out of the way of one of the huge, blazing arms. He made it look impossibly easy, skirting around the edges of the monster’s range with practiced ease, and firing arrows between its attacks to test out weaknesses. As soon as he managed to stun it, he was atop it in a heartbeat, hacking away at its core, and then gliding off right before it could shake him.   

There was no way Milk could move that fast, fast enough to even land a hit. Their hands curled tighter around the weapon’s hilt. That couldn’t stop them from trying.

In the end, it wasn’t necessary. Link landed the last hit and hopped off the faltering Talus, watching as it dissolved into cooling slag. He picked the ores out of the mess and dropped them into his slate, before turning to Milk and waving them over. Exactly how often did the hero fight one of the most dangerous kinds of natural monsters? Even a Blademaster would have trouble taking one of those on.

They got to their feet and followed Link to the northmost end of the valley, where the ground rose sharply up, into a wall that made them sweat just looking at it. Or maybe that was the boiling heat. They stretched out their arms, intending to fully make up for their previous failure, even though their legs felt fairly wobbly still.

Link crouched. They tilted their head in question, before noticing the wind kicking up around them, spiraling around Link in a pillar. He wrapped one arm around their torso, and then sprung into the air, carried upwards by an unnaturally powerful draft. They clung to his arm, hurled unwittingly into the air for the second time this trip.

Was this some sort of curse? Were they to be eternally scooped by their clan’s eternal enemy? Just how many kinds of magic did Link have at his disposal, anyhow? They supposed that having so many lifetimes packed into one person would lead to plenty of free time to learn all sorts of things. Milk frowned severely at Link as they touched down on the rock ahead, envious despite themself.

Well, they’d just have to wring any and all information possible out of him. But… later. Right now they were too preoccupied with catching their breath.

The heat seemed to be growing stronger, although Link didn’t show any sign of noticing. They were tempted to pull their scarf down; after all, nobody was around to see.

Unfortunately, exposing their mark of honor to the heat only seared the scar tissue painfully, making them hiss silently through their teeth. They pressed the cloth against it, hoping for some measure of relief from the burning air. It hadn’t felt like this earlier. Was it getting hotter as they moved closer to Death Mountain?

They caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of their eye and paused, curious. They held their hand out and inspected it with narrow eyes.

Ah. That explained the heat.

The fragmented pattern on their skin was slowly beginning to flake off, the thin black lines gradually turning a fire-bright orange and then dissolving like ash. The elixir’s effects must have been wearing off. The air around them felt sweltering, and the few patches of skin that were already exposed felt painfully hot.

They glanced up at Link. He showed no signs of feeling the same, no discomfort or pain crossing his face. This was a trial, then. It looked like the time for their Repentance was now. As far as burdens went, this was much less… creative than some their teacher thought up, though certainly just as subtle.

They straightened their sore shoulders, keeping pace just a step behind Link. They’d had worse trials before, had already endured the desert’s unforgiving heat and survived. This pain was a stepping stone to greater heights.

They wouldn’t falter here. They were strong. They could handle it.

They repeated these words in their mind like a mantra, a barrier in their head to keep the blistering pain at bay.

They could handle it. They could handle it. They could handle it.

---

Link led the way across the bridge to the square marked on his map as ‘Southern Mine’, Milk silent behind him. There were a fair amount of Gorons working hard, as well as a Hylian who looked like he could use a hand, but Link resolved to visit in-depth later, glancing past them to continue on the path ahead.

Milk’s near-fall had rattled him. He’d been ready to tell the kid to stay on the ground while he activated the tower, but they’d firmed their jaw and followed after him. He’d figured it was a ‘don’t let your assassination target out of your sight’ thing or something.

He hadn’t figured they were completely drained of stamina, not until he’d glanced down and seen them frozen in place, clinging to the tangled wall and near-vibrating with strain. He’d come down to be level with them, intending to hand over an elixir that would help them either get the rest of the way up or safely climb down, but Milk seemed to take it as a challenge. They took most everything as a challenge, now that he was thinking about it.

He had seen the fall happen with the same intense focus as in the middle of a fight, and it was this sensation of everything around him slowing that let him reach out and snag them by their clothing. For a moment, he had been swamped by panic. He couldn’t sign for them to get on his back with both hands full, and they couldn’t get back on the wall or they’d just be back where they started. Milk hadn’t picked up on what Link was trying to do, either, clinging to his arm desperately.  

Luckily, Mipha caught his distress immediately, which wasn’t that surprising considering he generally sat at a baseline of mild resignation. She took one look at the situation and surged into him to give the instructions he was too frazzled to even form. They’d gotten up the tower without further incident, and Link had been prepared to apologize for endangering them, but Milk had seemed more interested in anything except discussing how they had almost died because of Link. They’d only asked about why he’d spoken aloud, which was a can of dead-ghost-borrowing-my-body worms that he was not prepared to open with this twelve year old.

Since then, Milk had behaved as if everything was more or less normal. It was like they weren’t angry about the fact that Link’s inability to see what was right in front of him almost lead them to an early grave. If anything, they seemed oddly wary of Link’s anger, nonexistent as it was.

It made an uncomfortable sense of wrongness twist in him, though he didn’t really understand why or even what to do about it. The feeling was too close to how reliving memories left him, and trying to figure that out always left him more confused and aching than when he started, so he turned to his default response: pretending nothing was wrong.

It had been working so far, and Milk had stayed safe during his encounter with the Igneo Talus, but he still hadn’t been able to smooth out the unease from the tower. So, no stops for running errands for strangers or clearing out roadside monster camps today. The quicker they got to Goron City, the better.

He easily dispatched the octoroks in the way, summoning remote bombs with a flick of the Sheikah Slate. He waited for Milk’s customary interrogation, but they stayed quiet. He glanced behind him. They were staring at the ground with furrowed brows, looking deep in thought. They might not have even seen him use the bombs. That was probably concerning. Was something wrong?

Before he could try and ask, an ominous tremble carried through the ground, and his head snapped up to find the source. He didn’t have to search for long, as only a moment later, he caught sight of white-hot boulders streaking down from the sky. Of course. Because the air being hot enough to light someone aflame wasn’t enough of a hurdle.

He turned and hauled Milk off their feet, sprinting to the nearest rock outcropping that could provide shelter from the fire already crashing down around them. It was just indented enough that they could fit, so Link gave Milk a boost to climb clumsily into the back of it, and pulled himself in after.

The air was full of whistling descents and dull impacts of rock against ground, still too close for comfort. Link backed up so that he was using his admittedly small stature to prevent anything from reaching Milk without getting through him first, his slate in hand with the stasis rune shining.

When the eruption finally ended, the hazy quiet settling back in place around them, the first thing Link heard was Milk’s quick breathing behind him. He turned to face them, concerned, and instantly realized something was wrong.

Their cheeks were a blistered red, skin dry to the touch despite the heat. He grabbed for their wrist, studying the scaly outlines that were supposed to be solidly etched there. There was only the faintest scraps of the spell still holding, the effects mostly worn away. Milk didn’t speak, only looking at him with a sort of bleary confusion, face tight with pain.

A sort of mindless urgency spread through him, and without another thought, he gathered them into his arms, jumping down from the perch and sprinting. Their body was burning hot against his skin, as though they had fire instead of flesh. They were dazed, their form light and bony, so he had no trouble carrying them off the path and up the rocky hill that, according to his map, led to a healing springs area.

He was lucky. The only monsters he ran into on the way were fire chuchus, which moved so slowly that he could run right past, even with Milk in his arms. Beyond that, there were no others in sight, which was good, because his fingers felt near locked in place and he wasn’t sure he would be able to set the kid down, even to fight.

Really, setting them down at all was a bad idea, going by the blackened and burnt soles of their feet. What had they been thinking, walking silently as the very ground scorched their skin from their feet? As the heat bit into their bones? Did they not know the signs of elixirs ending?

It didn’t matter why, not really. In the end, it was his fault for not realizing that they had been in pain, and acting accordingly. He shouldn’t have expected them to tell him when the elixir wore off. For all that they seemed to have a thorough understanding of some forms of magic and signs, Milk was still a child. They hadn’t known what a horse was, for Hylia’s sake. He only had his own incompetence to blame.

Link found himself at his destination, and knelt at the side of the closest spring, lowering Milk into the shallow, steaming water. The effects of the hot spring worked exactly as advertised, washing away the injuries in light waves that reminded him of Mipha’s Grace. He could still feel her, hovering in the back of his mind. She might have been speaking before now, but his head had been full of buzzing, drowning out near everything else during his trek. He sent a wordless note of apology to her.

‘ Link. ’ She spoke, relief sweeping through her at his acknowledgement. He must have been really out of it. That hadn’t happened in a while. ‘ They’ll be okay. I have witnessed these springs restorative properties myself, and they are no illusion. ’

He nodded, slightly. There was the sensation of a cold breeze along his spine, the most warning he ever got of Revali’s arrival.

‘ And precisely what is going on here? I attempt to tend to Vah Medoh for merely a day and suddenly our esteemed hero is quailing with panic. Your feathers weren’t this ruffled when I saw you woke naked in the middle of a moblin camp on a Blood Moon, so what could possibly-- Ah.’

Link sent Revali a mild greeting. Mipha sent him a much sharper one. He spluttered something in response, sending the two of them into a muted argument that Link heard perfectly since they were arguing in the back of his skull. He didn’t take much notice, instead reaching out to steady Milk as they came out of their half-conscious state.

“Mmbhhlug?” They said, and then immediately recognized the feeling of being in water and tried ineffectively to float on their back. Link drew them back against the wall of the spring where it was shallow enough that they could sit without being overwhelmed by water. They took a moment to gain their bearings before turning to face Link, submerged up to their nose, expression oddly wary.

“How do you feel?” Link signed, scanning them for any traces of the previous burns. They peered at him with confusion furrowing their brow, and then poked their face up to speak properly. With their scarf floating in the water around them, Link could see the brand on their face was an angry red. The pain of it must have flared up in the heat as soon as the elixir began to wear off, and Link wondered again how Milk hadn’t thought to say anything.

“I could have gone longer.” They suddenly insisted, interrupting Link’s trail of thought with a completely nonsensical string of words. They continued to avoid Link’s gaze, eyes angled down but flickering up every so often to Link’s hands. He was still, attempting to understand, and Milk took it as an indication to continue.

“You don’t know this ‘cause you’re the hero and you’re bad at knowing things, but I was the top of my class in endurance. I’m no weakling who’ll keel over at a little heat.”

‘They were showing preliminary signs of a heat stroke.’ Mipha informed him blankly, and Link was reassured by her tone that it wasn’t just him that didn’t seem to understand what was happening.

Milk squinted at him, apparently not satisfied by whatever they were reading in his expression. “I’m not weak. You shouldn’t pity me. My burdens are supposed to be heavier.”

Link stared at them. What? What?

“Why didn’t you tell me the elixir was wearing off?” He signed slowly, trying to return to the basics of the situation.

Milk returned his blank stare full force, as though that wasn’t a perfectly reasonable question to ask. “Why would I? The methods through which I Repent aren’t for me to question.”

They were doing that thing again, Link noticed. The one where the words were shaped differently from Milk’s normal childish drawl, pronounced perfectly, recited from memory. They were speaking what they had heard repeated a hundred times, ingrained in their memory.

“Repent?” Link signed, his insides cold with the beginnings of realization.

“For my weakness.” Milk explained, disconcerted. “At the tower. You really don’t know anything, huh?”

Link didn’t answer. In the back of his mind, Mipha’s horror rose like a tide and did nothing to quell the blood rushing in his ears.

They explained the idea of him punishing their weakness as though it was fact. As though they knew nothing else. To them, it was obvious that they should silently endure their skin blistering in temperatures that could light them on fire. And for what? Misjudging their endurance? More accurately, Link misjudging their endurance?

They thought he had let them walk on coals for miles because of his own mistake. Worse, they thought they deserved it. Because of Link’s decisions.

‘Oh, quit plucking out feathers that don’t even exist.’ Revali huffed, loud enough to shake him from his spiral.

Link realized abruptly that he had been pulled from his senses and to the part of mind that was devoid of sight and touch and hearing. If he focused, he could feel the forefront of his mind just out of reach, but Revali was a steady presence between him and it, making sure that his body didn’t collapse.

That was okay. He didn’t particularly feel like having the controls to his body right now. Not when he felt like sticking his head into the nearest lava flow.

‘Link.’ The word wasn’t spoken, and he couldn’t hear, but when you were a bunch of souls shoved into one body, it wasn’t particularly difficult to communicate. Mipha tried to soothe him, but even her calmness was shaky, upset by the fundamental wrongness that this child had been subjected to. Still, she continued.

‘It’s not your fault, Link. Milk has been taught that they cannot depend on those around them for help, that they should… should always expect harm. None of us knew the extent of it, or realized how they would misinterpret your actions. But now we do.’

Link found himself loosening, taking the words at face value. It was hard to feel doubt when the other person’s conviction was relayed straight into your consciousness.

‘You can make sure they don’t hurt themself like this again. Okay? Focus on that, Link. Ground yourself. Things you can do.’

Right. Doing things. He was good at that. He reached out, senses returning to him in a heartbeat, and forced down the white-hot pit of guilt in his stomach in favor of doing things.

Milk was halfway out of the water, leaning against the side of the spring and looking at Link with concern. When he turned his head to look at them, they sagged in relief. “You went all empty.”

“Sorry.” He signed, having heard from Beedle that it was incredibly unnerving when he vacated his body. Technically, one of the others could step in, but they didn’t like to take control. Something about his spiritual presence being concerningly faint and the bond between soul and flesh weakening. It was probably fine.

He flicked through his slate, dumping three fireproof elixirs into his hands. He immediately handed them to Milk, who blinked at him but tucked the small bottles away in their pockets anyhow.

“When you start to feel too hot, or see the pattern fading, take another one.” He signed, slowly and with emphasis.

Milk looked at their hands with an expression that meant they were thinking hard. After a moment, they met his eyes again, and something they saw made them bold enough to ask their question.

“Keeping myself unharmed through communication… Is this... a judgement test...?”

Link bit down on the impulse to go along with it, to ignore the sickening feeling in his gut and allow them to work his intentions into something that made sense to them. He crushed the desire. He wasn’t going to take the easy route out, couldn’t pretend there was nothing wrong the way he so often did. Not with Milk.

Milk was a kid, with their prying questions and dramatic reactions, and they deserved better than what the Yiga gave them. Better than what Link had been doing, avoiding the signs of their trauma as thoroughly as he did his own.

There was no doubt in his mind that the kid would do better with someone who wasn’t an empty-headed relic of an age past, barely even existing on his worse days, but he was the one that was responsible for them now, and that meant he was going to have to be better.

He shook his head. “Not a test. Or a punishment. I don’t do those.”

Milk scrunched their face up in silent question. Link reached out slowly to take their hands, flipping them palm up to show the burn scars that were slowly fading.

“If you hurt, tell me. I’ll show you how to fix it.” He signed, making sure to maintain eye contact.

“Why? Hurting is what makes you stronger. Like…” They fumbled for the metaphor. “Like, putting a sword in fire to make it strong and sharp.”

Link shook his head again, measuring his words carefully. “You aren’t a sword. Hurting may help you survive, but it won’t make you strong. Only scared.”

They looked like they wanted to argue, but paused, taking time to turn the words over in their head. After a moment, they spoke, hesitantly. “That’s not… I don’t think you’re right. But… I’ll tell you when I hurt.”

Link nodded. That was a good start. In the back of his mind, the Champions radiated relief. A sense of calm finally began to settle back into him.

He helped them out of the spring, checking them over for any lingering burns, and then gave them a hand applying the seal of the elixir before turning to lead the way, making sure that Milk was in his peripheral.

This would be enough for now.

—-

The rest of the trek up to Goron City was fairly quiet, but as Link defended against a lizalfo’s attack, he caught Milk clumsily applying another elixir seal to their own neck. The kid picked up on things quick. He’d seen the intensely inquisitive look in their eyes fairly often, especially when he was working with his slate or other enchantments.

He didn’t know much about the slate, seeing as it was created millenia before he was born and the potent Sheikah magic had been all but lost in this age, but it wouldn’t be too much trouble to show Milk how to make proper elixirs. He could likely teach them the few other enchantments he’d picked up on his travels, see if they knew any magic beyond the ink-based script of their clan.

He might even be able to teach them something about natural magic, if his tag alongs cooperated. Most magic he himself performed was entirely instinctive and time-based, but the Champions had been selected based on their magical and physical prowess. All four of them were apparently reputed for near-mastery of their respective elements.

He sent a light feeling of inquiry back to the two that were still a lingering presence in the back of his mind. Generally, they only left their Divine Beasts when he was sending strong emotions through their link, or they felt like checking in. Something about ‘developing a sixth sense for when he was doing stupid shit,’ according to Revali. They worried too much.

‘Hm. The child shows promise. Their single minded intensity reminds me of my own attitude towards training as a flockling. Perhaps I could impart some of my bountiful wisdom upon them.’ Link’s hands twitched as he suppressed Revali’s tendency to gesture while speaking.

‘If they show aptitude with water, I would be happy to have another healing hand in looking after the both of you.’ Mipha added, a bit wry.

Link felt satisfied for a moment.

‘Don’t forget that this means you have to explain your connection with us before we can teach them properly.’ Mipha reminded him, cheerfully.

He sagged the slightest amount, making the mental equivalent of a sour face at her. Nothing like explaining that he was slowly collecting a multitude of his dead friends’ souls that could use his body as a vessel at any given moment. The brainwashed kid who already thought he was a heathen would take that well, no doubt.

Well. He’d burn that bridge when he got to it.

It ended up being near evening when they got to Goron City, which was probably why the first time Milk had seen one of the Gorons, they’d assumed them to be an oddly-shaped rock formation. When they witnessed the aforementioned “rock” start walking around, they’d hurled their demon carver at it and scrambled to climb up the nearest cliff face in a panic.

Luckily, the Goron had only turned around curiously and then offered the weapon back to Link, assuming he’d accidentally dropped it. He’d given Milk a Mipha Look when he returned it to them, and they tucked it back away with a sheepish expression.

From there, Link had immediately blasted through a fair amount of his rupees buying Milk the entire Flamebreaker set. They complained about it being clunky, but Link could see the way they walked a bit more upright instead of slinking around and edging away from anyone who got too close. Good.

They paused in the middle of town, looking up at the Divine Beast stalking across the mountain.

“That is a pretty big lizard.” Milk admitted, and Link nodded sagely.

He frowned as they muffled a yawn, not for the first time this evening, and checked the time on his slate. It had been a while since the kid had gotten any rest, and the hike up here had to have taken it out of them. Not to mention the near-death experiences.

He lead them up to the local inn after a bit of searching, and politely turned down the offer of a Goron-style massage, seeing as Milk had made a very alarmed face at the concept of these large rock people touching them in any way, shape, or form.

Milk pulled off the helmet and curled up on the literal rock mattress with a surprising lack of complaints, and then lifted their head when Link only paid for one bed.

“You aren’t sleepin’?”

“Nah. I’ll be back in a bit. Got some errands to run.” That and he’d already gotten way over his normal four hours at the domain. Trying to rest now would just leave him laying in bed itching to move with too much time to think. Maybe after another day had passed.

“Lizard stuff?” They mumbled, only barely keeping their eyes open. He signed affirmatively, and then ambled out of the inn. There was Lizard Stuff to do.

---

Several errands and one missing Goron search later, Link had his path to the Divine Beast more or less mapped out. The Goron Boss, Bludo, had given him sufficient information, including drawing his attention to the monument of Daruk.

Naturally, this triggered another one of his flashbacks, and he’d barely regained his senses in time to avoid Bludo attempting to perform some kind of medical maneuver on him.

At least Daruk seemed pretty easygoing, going by that memory. Talked about eating rocks a lot. Link could respect that.

Even more so, he was letting himself feel slightly anticipatory about the Goron’s apparent shielding ability. He’d seen it in action with Yunobo as well. If something like that was available to him, it’d be that much easier to make sure Milk didn’t manage to get themself hurt. As long as they were within a two foot radius. Hm.

That was something he could deal with later.

It was more or less morning, so he ambled his way over to the inn to wake the kid up. The giant lizard had waited 100 years, it could wait a few more minutes.

The inn was conspicuously noisy, and Link poked his head through the doorway to the sight of four Gorons seated on the floor around Milk’s bed. Milk themself was sitting crosslegged atop the bed, deep in conversation with one of them. It seemed they’d been busy making friends while he was out.

“--doesn’t make sense, right?”

“No, your tiny companion is correct,” The Goron disagreed. Milk’s face twitched, seemingly torn between disgruntlement at the dispute and smug amusement at Link being called short.

“ Real strength comes from endurance!” He continued, pounding a rocky palm into his chest in emphasis. Milk made a face, confused.

“That’s what I’ve been saying! My training makes me endure the worst so that I can get used to it!”

The innkeeper chimed in. “If you’re in pain from training, that means you aren’t doing it right. Endurance is about pushing your limits to greater heights, not breaking them.”

“No, if you break your limits, they’ll grow back stronger! Like bones,” Milk said with the certainty of a twelve year old who had looked at an anatomy book one time.

As the resident expert in getting injured, Link was pretty sure that was not how broken bones worked.

The innkeeper shook his head. “We have limits so we don’t go too far and break ourselves. Getting hurt can make you weaker, too. It only takes one accident for important bits to be broken forever.” The Gorons next to him nodded solemnly in agreement. “Especially for little pipsqueaks like you who haven’t even finished growing.”

“Hey--!” They protested, standing up on the bed and putting their hands on their hips in indignation. They seemed pretty emboldened by the fact that they had two full inches on the sitting Gorons like this. Link decided to make his presence known before they got themself hurt or banned from town or something. He strode inside, giving the assembled Gorons an easy wave.

Milk pointed at him accusingly. “You! Where have you been!”

“Lizard,” Link signed. They hopped off the bed and stormed over to the entrance. They looked outside, and then back at Link.

“It’s still there!”

“Not for long.”

And with that, he turned to head out the door as well. “Don’t forget your helmet.”

They scuttled back inside, picking up their belongings and nodding solemnly at the Gorons, who were watching with amusement.

“See you around, little one. Don’t forget to eat whatever you tiny Hylians have instead of gravel.”

The Goron held his fist out for a parting bump, and Milk leaned away from it, warily. They were delayed for a while longer as the Gorons taught them the Very Important Cultural Gesture of fist bumps, and then insisted they practice the gesture with every Goron in the inn. By the end of it, Milk’s knuckles had to be aching, but they seemed pleased by the new knowledge, waving them all a hesitant goodbye before following Link outside.

Milk filled the silence with rambling as they hiked up to Great Eldin Bridge, about whether hurting is good or bad and if it can be controlled to be good. They seemed to be mostly bouncing ideas off of him, so he spent more time fighting than answering, but was always careful with his words when he did respond. The more harmful ideas he could get them to reconsider or ditch entirely, the better.

Unfortunately, the chatter attracted more than Link’s attention, and when they got to the bridge, the two Moblins there were alerted to their presence and immediately launched an attack. Link dragged Milk back by the shirt and then sprinted to meet the monsters head-on, using his shortsword to slash irritating cuts and draw them away.

The fight was more difficult without the element of surprise, but he managed to get out of it with only a few scrapes. The Moblins weren’t so lucky. He returned to the clearing, a knot in his stomach relaxing upon seeing Milk standing unharmed by the cannon. They slouched in relief at the sight of him.

Well. First thing first. Link picked Milk up by the armpits and promptly lifted them directly onto Yunobo’s shoulders. Both of them made noises of surprise and alarm, but after a moment of scrambling, they got settled. Of course, Milk complained, but now anything with ill intent would have to go through him and an impenetrable defensive shield orb.

“You get to be tall.” He signed, and they huffed at him but notably didn’t try to get down, so Link deemed the matter settled and led the way across the bridge.

Naturally, because climbing a hazardous lava-covered mountain wasn’t enough, the Divine Beast sent out a bunch of odd, flying drones that were all too reminiscent of the nightmares that were the flying guardian machines.

Luckily, they seemed much less autonomous than the guardians, patrolling in a set area. Link managed to guide Yunobo past them with relative ease, destroying the ones that were impassable.  

Unfortunately for Link’s foolproof protection plot, Milk had to clamber off Yunobo whenever they were using him as a living cannonball against the giant lizard. They watched intently as Link detonated the cannon to slowly but surely herd the Divine Beast away from the base of the mountain.

“Alright,” they conceded on the third repetition of this pattern, “this lizard does kind of suck. I guess I can see how you’d want it to stop blowing up the mountain and stuff.”

Yunobo hummed from where he was sitting out the dizziness that came with being a projectile hurled at a giant mechanical lizard. “We don’t really mind the eruptions, goro. It’s the riled-up monsters and the fact that it’s started blocking us off from some of the vital ores we need to stay healthy that make it so dangerous. The magma bombs do scare off most of the tourists, though...”

Milk’s face pinched in concern. “Are you healthy?”

Yunobo blinked.

“Apart from the kids, we’ve been rationing, so we’re all a bit low on stamina, goro. That’s probably why Boss has had such a hard time chasing off Rudania lately.”

Link paused in surveying the route ahead, turning at Milk’s tugging of his tunic. They grabbed the Sheikah Slate out of his hands and carefully mimicked the way Link normally swiped through the storage. He watched, impressed, as they managed to pull their prize out of the slate despite having never navigated it before. They really did learn quick.

Milk held a diamond out to Yunobo, brows set in determination.

“You eat rocks, right? These are the really fancy rocks that people like to buy. Are they the right kind?”

Yunobo looked at Link, who gave him a vague shrug at the blatant theft, before turning back to Milk and politely shaking his head. “No, gems are pretty nutrient-deficient. We look for rock deposits surrounding strong metals.” Milk lowered their gaze in disappointment, and he hurried to reassure them. “Don’t worry, I feel fine! And I’m sure Link will be able to scare off Vah Rudania, so then it won’t be a problem!”

Milk nodded slowly, and that was that, up until they finally reached the peak of the mountain and the Divine Beast’s defenses were lowered enough to enter.

“I’ll be back once I finish inside. It shouldn’t take too long, but you should both head back to town, just in case.” He signed, preparing his glider.

“I want to come with.” Milk said, carefully hopping down from Yunobo’s shoulders with a stubborn tilt to their posture.

Link paused. People didn’t generally try to enter the Divine Beasts. Even Sidon had remained a respectful distance away after Link entered Vah Ruta. He figured it was probably because they were ancient, otherworldly creations, even tainted by Malice as they now were. The fact that they were permeated with the spirit energy of the fallen champions likely played a part as well.

“No.” He shook his head.

“I want to help!” They insisted, making a grab for the paraglider. Link held it above his head. Finally, this maneuver would work on someone shorter than him.

Milk attempted to scale him like a tree. Link supposed that was a fair response, really.

He shook his head with stronger emphasis, using one hand to pry them off. “This is my trial. It’s my responsibility to handle it. Not yours.” He signed.

“But what if you can’t?”

The world would fall to darkness and chaos and he’d have failed everyone in Hyrule. He’d be dead though, so it really wouldn’t be his problem at that point.

“I will.” He signed instead, seeing as telling them that wouldn't exactly instill a sense of confidence. Something in his expression must have convinced Milk that he wasn’t going to let them come no matter what they said, because they stopped jumping at the glider. Before he could move away, they stuck out their hand, pinky extended.

“Promise.” They demanded, eyebrows still furrowed.

Link knelt and locked their little fingers together. “Promise.” He signed with the other hand.

They stared at him intently, and then lowered their gaze and stepped back. Link got back to his feet, and waved at the both of them. “See you soon.”

He turned, took a running jump off the cliff, and plummeted towards the Divine Beast below.

---

“...He takes pride in being kind of strange, doesn’t he?”

“You have no idea.”

---

Link figured this was going to be a difficult one from the moment he stepped into the Divine Beast and found it pitch black, completely sealed & cloyingly hot.

Sure enough, as he opened chests and beat off Guardian Scouts, his vision would waver and supplant reality with memories. They weren’t meaningful, like most of his conscious flashbacks, but rather half-remembered fragments from when he was sealed in the Shrine of Resurrection.

During those hundred years, there were periods where he had regained some form of awareness, consumed by pain of mortal injuries barely healed and the sense-numbing void surrounding him. They sucked.

Thankfully, he managed to gain the map and open the beast up to let light in once more. From there, it was easy to navigate the Beast’s puzzles and unlock the main terminal with Daruk’s encouraging voice urging him on.

Link found it strange to hear Daruk, but not feel his presence in the back of his mind. It was always that way before the Champions passed on their magical essences, though. He’d have another soul smushed into his body before long. Kind of funny that he was more or less inured to that sort of thing by now.

With that thought in mind, he stepped up to the main terminal and tapped the slate to it’s keypad, freeing the Blight waiting within.

---

The battle was heated, but he found it wasn’t as difficult as his previous ones. He was agile enough to dodge most of its attacks with room to spare, meaning that it was just a matter of outlasting it’s rigorous defense. He could see how Daruk would have fallen, matching the Fireblight’s blows instead of dodging them, not recognizing that it was unnaturally durable until it was too late.

Still, he managed to bring it down a final time, watching carefully as it let out a dying scream and dissolved. The malice surrounding the main terminal burned away, weak without a source to maintain it, and Link tapped the slate to the control panel again.   

This time, the terminal lit up a familiar blue, and he turned at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Great work, little guy!”

Link listened to Daruk say his piece, not willing to interrupt and explain that actually they could discuss all this later, since he’d be connected to Link for the foreseeable future. It was easier to have him experience it for himself.  

“I want to give you something. It’s a special power of mine called Daruk’s Protection. It’s no good to me now that I’m a spirit… but it might be useful to you.” Daruk pulled his hands apart, condensing his energy into a sphere. “Here it comes!”  

The essence orb sunk into his chest, and he had only a moment to brace himself before the spiritual impact hit him.

Larger, tougher, untouched by the heat. Bright, cheerful, and determined to lead well. He felt the sensation of being someone else flicker against him, envelop him for a few moments. He let it happen, used to the process, and watched detachedly as his hands were guided by an instinct that wasn’t his own. The new presence in his mind pulled heat in from the air around them, and condensed it with a single motion. As Link slammed his knuckles together, the by-now familiar shield flared into existence around him, fire-based magic honed into a perfect defense.

As soon as the feelings died down, he pulled himself back into control and flexed his hands, checking for responsiveness. Across from him, Daruk seemed proud.

“Well done! You got the hang of that--” Link watched him pause, probably because his voice was now being projected into Link’s mind as well as out loud, creating an odd overlap. “What’s going on?”

Link sent him a little nudge of mixed greeting and reassurance, and then stretched out to gently tug at the links between him and the other two. They were much better at explaining all of this than him. His explanations generally boiled down to ‘It’s Just Like This Now, I Guess.’ and most folks preferred more than vague acceptance.

He listened with half an ear as Mipha and Revali explained exactly what giving Link their magical abilities entailed. Apparently, spiritual energy manifested heavily based on emotions and will lingering after death, and since they had put so much effort and dedication into training their natural magic, passing it on to someone had the side effect of leaving enough of their essence that they forged a connection to that person, and so could effectively pop into that body to see what they were up to.

Theoretically, this person would be completely unaware of their presence, only sensing them when following their influence to use the magical abilities. Link, however, had been marinating in an ancient magical restoration chamber for 100 years, absorbing the spirit energy of shrine keepers, and now had a multitude of ghosts pushing their magical signatures into him. He was probably more essence than flesh at this point, and had no trouble picking up on their presences in his mind.

In fact, he was so attuned with their presences that it was simple for them to overstep and end up in control of his body if they weren’t careful. It had happened a few times before, and they had always seemed apologetic about it for some reason. Link didn’t really get it. It wasn’t like he was trying to get his body back whenever they took it.

Anyhow, that was most of what Mipha and Revali were explaining to Daruk, albeit with more precise terms. Once they had finished, Daruk nodded slowly.

“It’s just like this now, then,” He said firmly, and Link got the feeling they were going to get along just fine. “Well then, there’s no need to say any goodbyes! I’ll see you on the ground, Link!”

Link looked down and found himself dissolving into the familiar teleportation light the Champions always seemed to use to eject him from their Divine Beasts. He wondered why they didn’t just let him leave the normal way, but in the end, it saved him travel time, so.

He flashed back into existence at the entrance to Goron City, and walked right into the middle of a panicked argument.

“Let me go! I’m gonna go--”

“You’re a kid, and you’re tiny, and you’re made of squishy flesh bits! I can’t just let you run into a volcano to fight an ancient legendary machine?”

Milk let out a howl of frustration from where they were attempting to get out of Yunobo’s hold, one leg pushing against the Goron’s side. Yunobo was completely unharmed, being made of rock and all, but kept looking between Vah Rudania’s new perch and Milk’s furious struggling with the expression of someone who had no idea what they were supposed to do in this situation.

Link realized, a bit belatedly, that the Divine Beast’s climb to the top of the mountain to aim at Hyrule Castle properly was probably pretty alarming to someone below who had no idea what was going on. Whoops.

He stepped closer, drawing Yunobo’s attention, and the Goron practically sagged with relief. He let go of Milk, who overbalanced and had to stagger a few steps to keep from falling. They whipped around, indignant, and then stopped short at the sight of Link. He waved at them.

“Lizard!” They barked furiously, pointing at it for emphasis.

“Peace. We’re allies now.” Link signed. Milk stared at him. Yunobo also stared at him. Link stared back, unfazed.

“Is this how you deal with all your problems?” Milk asked, with an unnecessarily judging tone.

Link made to protest, because he was practically the patron saint of killing or avoiding his problems, and then paused. Really, from their perspective, they had a point. He shrugged.

They huffed a sigh. “Whatever. At least you didn’t die.”

“I promised, didn't I?” He gave in and ruffled their hair. They scowled, and then attempted to jab him in the kidneys. He sidestepped to avoid the jab, turning his attention to Yunobo, who was watching them with bemusement.   

“Lizard is fixed.”

They took the news to Bludo, where Yunobo told the story and made it sound more impressive than it was. After Bludo complained about not getting in on the action, he directed Link to the Boulder Breaker. Apparently it was his right as the one who avenged Daruk? Link wasn’t going to complain. The more he could save of the Champions, the better.

More interesting was Bludo’s revelation that the sword that sealed the darkness was somewhere nearby. The Goron Boss seemed to think that Link was the second coming of the Hylian Champion, which was kind of funny, in a distantly depressing way.

Still, it was something to remember. Link marked the location he mentioned on his map, and then waved farewell. He’d have to return to visit soon, since Daruk still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of fully moving from Vah Rudania to Link, seeing as the connection was still so fresh. He’d get it eventually.

Milk followed a step behind him, still sizing up the huge sword on Link’s back with poorly-disguised envy. After a moment, they pulled themself away.

“Where to now?”

Link hummed low in his throat, checking the map for inspiration. There was no way he was going to use the Boulder Breaker and risk breaking it, so he would have to head home to hang it and clear up that inventory space. There were some quests to wrap up there as well. If he was going to head to Hateno without teleporting, it was probably a good idea to stop on the way and talk with Impa.

“Kakariko Town.” He spelled out for Milk, who nodded, face set.

“We get to take Sugar, right?”

Link resisted a smile.

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

Milk had only seen a few horses so far in their life, having grown up in the middle of a desert where such creatures couldn’t thrive. However, even with such limited input, they were certain that Sugar outstripped all horses as the most patient and smart.

It was probably because of Sugar that Link even managed to survive this long, seeing as so far, he’d shown an appalling lack of common sense for a figure reputed as the evil to end all evils.

Still, Milk admitted to themself as Link guided their hand to the right place on the reins again, he did seem to know a lot about horses. It was worth it to accept lessons when they had no alternative. Plus, horses were surprisingly acceptable, for such large creatures with many scary attributes. They leaned forwards and tentatively made a soothing noise at Sugar, who flicked her ears back for a moment and continued trotting at an amicable pace.

Milk grinned behind their scarf, triumphant. They pointedly ignored Link’s thumbs up of approval from where he sat behind them on the horse, focusing instead on every traveller that approached with intense scrutiny. Every time they crossed paths with someone, Link greeted them with the same easy wave, often returned.

They had quickly picked up on the cultural custom, and mimicked Link’s gesture at the passerby. They blinked at a stranger at the side of the road, who called out and waved for Link to approach. As soon as he saw Milk, however, he went silent, eyes narrowing.

Milk raised a hand, automatically, but Link pulled their wrist down, not even glancing at the stranger. They made a vague noise of confusion, but reluctantly lowered their hand. The stranger stared at the two of them as they passed by, and his piercing gaze made Milk slouch down into their scarf.

“Why did we ignore him?” they asked, turning to look at Link’s hands.

“Some strangers on the road aren’t friendly. I know the type.” Link’s face was impassive, but Milk was learning other things from him too, and they could see the tightness in the corner of his eyes. Had strangers attacked him? Before Milk themself, of course. They didn’t count. Probably.

They looked over their shoulder, but the stranger had vanished.

Twice more during the first half of their journey, Link refused to acknowledge a stranger on the side of the road. He wasn’t so blatant as to reach for the short sword strapped to his back, but Milk could feel him grow tenser during these encounters. They tried to focus on steering Sugar, deep in thought.

It looked like the people in Hyrule weren’t as soft as they’d thought. Well, not all of them, anyhow.

They stopped a few times, when Link forcefully ejected himself from the saddle and sprinted away to get involved in a fight between some travelers and monsters. Milk didn’t really get it, but going by Sugar’s nonchalance, it was a common occurrence. Or maybe Sugar was just a very good horse.

By the time night began to fall, they had reached another stable, and Link showed them the little glowing dot on his map that was where they were. They were more or less halfway to the little glowing dot they wanted to be to, and while getting to pet the ‘dog’ here at the stable was nice, Milk didn’t understand why they were stopped at all.

“You need rest,” Link signed when asked.

“But I’m not tired,” they told him, matter of factly. They could sleep at any old place, so there was really no reason to waste a whole night here.

Link stretched and performed an exaggerated yawn before letting his head rest back against the wall where he sat. He closed his eyes, his breathing deepening. Milk stared at him.

After a few moments, he opened one eye to look at them, very obviously still awake.

“You’re not tired either! You probably don’t even need to sleep.” Milk had seen Link sleep like, twice throughout their entire journey.

Link sighed, amused, and began to sign. “It’s about your health. It’s better to sleep regularly.”

Something about the statement made his cheek twitch involuntarily, and Milk eyed him, curious.

“I’ll go to sleep if you answer one question properly,” they bargained, stressing the last word. Sometimes the hero just refused to make any sense when he spoke. Most of the time, really.

Link just looked at them for a moment, assessing, before nodding. “Go on.”

They had a lot of questions, about a lot of things, but one seemed the most important and the most likely to be elaborated on by the hero. “Why’d you talk at the tower? Who’s your friend?”

They’d been thinking about it for a while, but between the lingering shame about their near-fall and the distraction of getting to ride a horse, they hadn’t brought it up. Link didn’t look surprised, unsurprisingly.

He hummed a low note for a minute, thinking. “Friends,” he finally signed, before closing his eyes.

For a moment, it seemed that was all he would say, and Milk frowned severely. “ Properly!” they said, lifting a hand in threat. “You’ve gotta explain it.”

After a second, Link opened his eyes, and his face did something strange, expression softening.

“Hello, Milk,” Not-Link said, voice raspy but light in tone.

Milk shifted from sitting to the balls of their feet in one movement, eyes wide and body tense at the sudden change from known to uncertainty. What? What?

Not-Link raised its hands, placatingly. “Easy, little one. Link is simply allowing me to introduce myself, since you were so curious.”

They settled slowly, but only after adjusting themself so they could run if they needed to. Something about the voice was familiar. “You are… the one who instructed me. At the tower.”

Not-Link nodded, smiling gently. The expression looked entirely unlike Link. It was weird on his face. “My name is Mipha, and I’m one of Link’s friends.”

Milk took a moment to process all the things confusing about that statement. “Why are you in his skin?” they finally settled on asking first.

Mipha seemed to gather its thoughts for a moment. “We have a connection to his mind. He can allow us to speak through him like this.”

That made sense, probably. They nodded, satisfied. Next issue. “Friends? How many of you are in there?”

“Three, at the moment.”

“That’s so many friends,” Milk muttered to themself. “All of you are in the hero’s body? He’s very small, you know.”

Mipha laughed, and it was a soft, high thing, eerily different from Link’s huffs of amusement. They wondered abruptly where the hero went, when he was full of other people.

“Would you like to meet the others? I can retrieve them,” Mipha offered.

Milk’s face pinched. “No, I want Link back. He might get lost, or die, because he’s dumb. He’s not allowed to do that,” they paused, before adding a clarification. “Unless I’m killing him. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Mipha echoed with a knowing expression Milk wasn’t sure they liked. Before they could respond, Link’s posture changed, back stiffening and face falling slack. For a second, his eyes were blank and lifeless, the way they’d gone at the healing water before he’d instructed Milk on how to deal with hurting. They didn’t like it. Something about it made their skin prickle with unease.

After a moment, Link inhaled deeply, and when he looked up, it was with his customary stone-like expression. “That was her. Got what you wanted?” he signed, raising his eyebrows slightly in question.

Milk scoffed. As if they were going to pass up on the opportunity to get information on him. “Why are there people in you? Shouldn’t they be in their own selves? Are they all you ?”

“They don’t have their bodies anymore. They’re spirits, and they’ve left a bit of themselves in my soul to help me. They’re all their own people, though,” Link told them, his signs more specific than usual.

“Your soul is full of dead people? ” Milk asked, horrified.

Link knocked on his skull. “Lots of ‘em. Most are pretty quiet, though.”

He leaned his head back against the wall just slightly, and Milk frowned severely at him. They wanted to keep drilling him for answers on exactly what kind of dark goddess magic he’d been subjected to, but they had been learning how to read the hero’s dumb body language for a reason. It was obvious to someone with keen powers of observation like theirs that he was tired, even if he wouldn’t say anything about it because he was dumb.

“Tch,” Milk made an irritated noise in the back of their throat and shuffled away on their knees, finding a corner between the tent walls and the bedframe and curling themself into it. “I’m tired now.”

They ignored the feeling of Link’s eyes on them, and had almost lulled themself into a light doze when he started moving. He was terrifyingly silent on his feet, as always, but his shadow passed over Milk and drew their half-asleep attention.

“Where’re you goin’?” they demanded, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Lizard stuff?” Link tried, face impassive. Milk scowled at him.

“You said we were sleeping. If you don’t sleep that means I don’t have to sleep, either.”

Link heaved a long-suffering sigh, and walked back over to his spot on the floor before tucking his hands behind his head and flopping back against the ground. Milk watched him suspiciously for a while longer through mostly-closed eyes, and then sat up, huffing silently when the hero didn’t even twitch. It was like he was asking to get stabbed in his sleep. How infuriating.

They shuffled over to the median point between the two of them, and cut their thumb open with the edge of their Demon Carver, unflinching at the pain like they’d been taught. From there, they carefully drew a mostly perfect circle on the stable floor and then scrawled the proper script around it, making sure that all the characters ended up connected with the circle. It had been a while since they’d made one of these from scratch, since the one they’d put over their resting place in the hideout was carved into the ground and easy to activate. Still, this was the most basic of basic runes, and they hadn’t spent ages memorizing how to properly inscribe them for nothing.

They finished it off by smearing the clan’s symbol in the center, and pushed their magic into it, making it glow a muted orange. The perimeter of the protective spell was marked for a moment by the same faint light, before sinking into the floorboards, safely out of sight. Since Link and them were both in the surrounded area when it activated, they were the only ones who wouldn’t feel sudden, uncontrollable fear when they were in the circle. Anyone else who tried to enter without permission would find themselves growing more and more terrified the closer they got to the center.

Milk nodded, satisfied. The books generally recommended a more fatal, death-by-flames consequence for those who crossed the protective field, but they’d substituted a few sigils. After all, if someone caught on fire it would be awfully hard to sleep. Plus, the smell of burning flesh and hair was gross.

Shaking away the memories of burnt skin, they crawled back to their corner, now truly tired by the magic they’d shoved into the spell. Working with undiluted blood as ink made for strong casting, but if they overshot their limits, it would just pull the life right out of their body, so it was better to only use it for minor charms like this. Even if those left them a bit sapped.

Barely able to spare a thought for the altogether strange events of the day, they dropped off to sleep in a heartbeat.

---

The next day, after receiving a series of concerned looks from other occupants and a charm to ward off curses from Beedle, they continued on their way. Link took the reins this time, claiming that a faster pace would be necessary in order to get there before nightfall. Milk would have protested, but they’d recently found that if they pulled on the hero’s ponytail when it was too fast for them, he’d slow down a bit. It was almost like they were second-hand steering.

The hero had a surprising amount of similarities to a horse, they noted, watching him bite into the seed-filled core of an apple, devouring the whole thing in record time. They added ‘bribery with apples’ to their mental list of potential information that could help their clan.

Link seemed fairly nonchalant, but the trip never got any less interesting for Milk, staring around at the scenery with every step. Things were so different from their corner of the desert, where the landmarks were mostly canyon rock formations. Here, the plants and trees and water all seemed to change the further they went. So long as Sugar didn’t go too fast, they could just barely handle taking it all in, making mental notes on stuff to ask Link about later.

When they eventually veered off the path, Milk noticed almost immediately. The well-trodden dirt gave way to hillsides covered with thick fields of grass, and Sugar continued to make her way up. They scanned the area. There weren’t any other travelers around here.

“We left the path,” they informed Link. He nodded, eyes sharp.

“On track,” he signed, before drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. Milk frowned.

“How does anyone know where to go?”

On their right, a bokoblin on a horse burst into view, and Link sunk an arrow into it with deadly precision, knocking it right off the horse. “Hidden from most,” he signed, before nocking the next arrow.

Milk considered that, ignoring the sharp sound of arrows being launched and bokoblin howls. If the hero was returning to this place for shelter, it would make sense that it was a secure location, only known to a select few. How strange, that he would take them there.

The infiltration part of their infiltrate-and-convert-the-hero plan seemed to be going great, at least.

The hero returned his bow to its place on his back, all the horses now bokoblin-free. He snapped to get Milk’s attention, and continued signing.

“Kakariko Village has multiple entrances, but most of them are known only to the residents, in order to keep them safe from attack. Speaking of,” he held back a pinky, “knowing about it means you’re sworn to secrecy.”

That tricksy fiend . Milk grumbled but ultimately made the oath, figuring that knowing the location of a measly village wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things.

With that, Link guided Sugar into a narrowing path between two walls of sheer rock. The shade was a relief after travelling under the sun for so long, especially with their scarf. They didn’t have to travel far before reaching an entrance, decorated with lanterns and runes. Milk squinted at them.

For such a secretive place, they didn’t seem to have much security. Link trotted right through, and waved at a man practicing swordwork nearby. Something about him struck a chord, though Milk wasn’t sure why.

“Link! Link!” A chorus of voices chimed, tiny feet running alongside Sugar. The two children were small, and utterly bold, welcoming the hero with bright grins. They were very… noisy, and reached out to tug at Link’s tunic, talking over each other as they both tried to get his attention. Milk shifted, watching Link carefully from behind.

Oddly, or maybe… not so oddly, he didn’t show any signs of anger, or even irritation. Instead, he pulled his slate out and retrieved two food items. One was a small honey candy, which Milk had verified was very good despite its crunchiness. The other was a handful of small, deep purple berries. He handed the items over to the delight of the children.

“I’ll make something really good with these, just wait!” the older kid told him, before turning and running back inside. The younger decided to sit down right there and enjoy their treat.

“What did you bring her this time?” someone asked with a gently amused tone.

Milk twisted around to look at where an older teen, dressed in more formal wear, was standing, one hand half-covering her smile. Link signed something back, moving to dismount, but Milk was focused solely on the tattoo decorating the girl’s forehead. It was very familiar, except that it was also completely all wrong. They realized, rather belatedly, why so many things here seemed almost recognizable to them.

They were in the blood traitors’ headquarters.

They processed that for a long moment, while Link and the Sheikah-emblazoned stranger held a friendly discussion. Sugar nickered at them, and they obligingly slid down from the saddle as well, not as gracefully as they’d like. Their other mortal enemy turned to them with a shy smile.

“Hello, Milk. It’s n… nice to meet you, I’m Paya. I hope you enjoy your visit here,” she told them, pausing in certain places as though remembering how to form the words.

Milk tucked their face further into their scarf, until they could only barely see out of the top of it. What were they supposed to do? Fight her? Even dismissing the fact that they were sworn enemies, weren’t there any protocols about what to say to people?

The silence stretched on. Paya’s smile faltered, and Milk felt a bead of sweat run down their neck. There was nothing else for it. They had to kill her. It was the only way.

They reached behind their back for the Carver holstered on their belt, and then jumped as Link dropped a hand on their head. They were beginning to recognize the startling gesture as Link’s sign for ‘there are alternatives to murder.’

“They’re shy,” he signed, and Paya’s worried expression eased.

“Oh, me too…! D… don’t worry about it, I understand. Are you coming up to speak with Grandmother?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. She seemed averse to making eye contact with either of them, but Link didn’t seem bothered.   

“Soon,” he signed back, and then began to give Sugar her post-ride treats and care. Paya returned to her previous task, which appeared to be kneeling and offering prayer at the familiar patron statues. She was getting it wrong, though. The offerings were supposed to be bananas, not apples. Apples were for horses, and Link. The Sheikah did everything wrong.

Milk briefly distracted themself with giving Sugar extra apples, because she was the best horse, and by the time they began to head towards the ominous staircase that Paya had ascended a few minutes back, they had formulated an argument that wasn’t just wordless screaming at the hero.

They pulled on Link’s sleeve, drawing him away from the earshot of other people for a moment.

“I am going to be killed, and it is all your fault,” they told him, very calmly.

Link stared at them for a moment, before blinking with realization. “That’s right. You guys have that blood feud thing going on. I forgot about that.”

“You-- the blood feud is with you, first of all. They’re just tack-ons, since they’re blood traitors. ”

“Hm. Well, that’s not so bad then,” Link told them, completely unconcerned. Milk stared at him in disbelief.

“Blood feuds spanning over generations don’t just go away! ” they whisper-yelled, furious with his attitude.

Link tilted a hand from side to side in a ‘so-so’ motion. “Eh. Blood is temporary.”

Milk considered the benefits of blowing their cover by using their scarf to strangle the hero to death. The cons of immediately being captured and killed by the Sheikah outweighed the immense satisfaction they would undoubtedly feel, but only by the tiniest amount.

Link huffed a laugh, seemingly guessing their thoughts from expression alone, and ruffled their hair. “Nobody here will hurt you,” he signed. They gave him a deeply pitying look, showing exactly how much they believed that. Who did he think they were, some kind of gullible fool like him?

He sighed, raising his hands again. “They’d have to get through me first, and I have an impenetrable orb shield built into my soul now.”

Milk paused. That was a pretty good point. The hero had shown that he didn’t want to kill them for some inexplicable reason, and he was also very good at not getting killed. He even seemed to not want them to die, which was going above and beyond for a heathen like him. It made something in the pit of their stomach twist with nerves.

“Besides,” Link signed, pulling away from the little huddle they’d formed, “we’re not going to tell them about you, so it’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” they hissed at him, and attempted to jab him in the soft spot under the ribs. He twisted to avoid it, and then headed back towards the staircase. Milk followed, their irritation almost dwarfing their fear as they passed through the archway, a Sheikah guard on either side. Almost.

By the time they made it up the stairs, Milk had assessed the best escape routes and abruptly wished that Sidon had taught them more than floating. The whole building was built high over a pool of water, encircled by waterfalls. It was almost comical how different it was from the architecture of the hideout. Milk looked over their shoulder. In order to get away, they would have to fight their way down the stairs against two adults, unless…

They reached down to their carver, finding the sharp edge of one of the spikes and pricking their pointer finger with it. If they could paint a minor teleportation seal, it could get them past the guards quick enough for them to run. If they hid in the long grass of the fields outside, they could lose them.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Link pushing the doors open with a rather dramatic gesture, and they followed, tucking their arms behind their back in a submissive posture to hide the wrist they were beginning to draw out the seal on.

Paya was in the room, sat by an empty pedestal. Front and center, there was a very old woman in a very large hat, presumably Paya’s grandmother, sitting in front of an intricate tapestry. Milk took in the tapestry’s details with a scowl, realizing what tale it must be describing.

“Link! I did not expect you to return so soon.” Milk quickly schooled their expression as the elder spoke, face creasing into a smile. “I sense within you the energy of Daruk’s gift… you have claimed two of the Beasts then, yes?”

Link nodded, completely unsurprised by her discerning words. Milk increased their focus on trying to paint the seal, which was harder than expected, since they were doing it backwards.

“I heard rumor of the sword while I was there. I was wondering what you knew about it.”

Though his signs became a bit sharper and his back straighter, Link didn’t kneel or lower his head in deference towards the elder, which was already throwing them off. They had nearly dropped into the customary bow of respect when she first spoke, barely managing to overcome the automatic impulse. They knew that she didn’t deserve it, but the show of submission had been ingrained in them by years of training and being judged in front of the elders, as one of the most promising of their generation.

“Zelda carried it with her when I last laid eyes upon her, before she set out for the castle. I am certain she did not risk bringing it into the Calamity’s reach, but beyond that I cannot help you.”

Link nodded, eyes thoughtful. “I believe I can find it on my own. I don’t know if I can wield it.”

Impa narrowed her eyes at his signing, as though she thought she had seen incorrectly. “You are the hero of the goddess.” She pointed at his slate. “The fact that you are able to use that device and reclaim the Divine Beasts should be evidence enough.”

“I am not the same as I was 100 years ago,” Link signed, careful and slow as though trying to get a more delicate point across.

“You have been recovering your memory as I instructed, have you not? You do not need knowledge of your past to have courage, Link.” Impa leaned forwards, scrutinizing him.

Milk bit down on the thought that courage without knowledge sounded more like foolishness than bravery. Link was a fool, so it probably didn’t matter either way.

Link’s hands twitched in irritation. “Those memories aren’t my --”

He cut himself off, hands closing into loose fists. “Never mind,” he continued after a moment, “I will follow my hunch and retrieve it, then.”

Impa settled back once more. “Do not let your will falter, or you will fail. All of Hyrule depends on you, Link.”

“Yes, yes,” Link nodded.

“Good. Now then,” her unreadable gaze turned to Milk, who swallowed and just barely managed not to twitch, “who is this? They blend right in here.”

“Milk,” Link signed, casual as anything, “I picked them up on my travels. They want to learn about magic.” At Milk’s scandalized look, he amended, “Learn more about magic.”

“Your journey is no place for a child,” she admonished, gently.

Link set a warm hand on top of Milk’s head, reminding them not to show offense at the slight. “They’re tougher than they look.”

Impa watched them both for a long moment, eyes keen, before waving to Paya. “Well, so long as it does not impede your quest, that is up to your judgement. I will speak with you of my knowledge from working on Vah Naboris. Paya, will you keep Milk company upstairs? I would not want them to grow bored standing around listening to strategy.”

Listening to the Sheikah elder and the hero of the goddess talk strategy would actually be incredibly useful information gathering, but they were supposed to be playing the role of a normal child, and so they trailed slowly after Paya. They cast one last mournful look at the hero, who gave them a hearty thumbs up, before ascending the stairs.

---

Talking to Paya got progressively easier the more irritated and confused they got. Luckily, Paya was very good at being confusing and irritating. Within moments of them entering the small upstairs room, they were distracted from trying to figure out the best way to eavesdrop by Paya’s immediate musing on their appearance.

“Our hair... it’s so close in color!” she enthused, holding a lock up to compare. “It’s too bad you don’t take very good care of yours, I’m sure it would look nice all cleaned up.”

Milk bristled, offended. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t have any palm oil here to keep their hair soft. The hero generally settled for dunking his head in a river and then shaking the excess water off and calling it a day. They touched the sloppy bun they’d left their hair in over the past few days, suddenly self conscious.

“I can fix it up for you… if you’d like?” Paya offered, eyes hopeful. Milk bit the inside of their cheek. They wanted to say no, because the very thought of someone else touching them was alarming, but they were supposed to be getting along and not acting like they thought Paya was going to stab them in the neck. Plus, her hair did look very nice and soft, if not as shiny as they were used to.

“Okay,” they muttered, pulling their tie free and letting their hair flop down to their shoulders. They were careful to keep the wrist with the seal on it pressed lightly against their side, wary of being found out.

Paya bounced excitedly as she searched around for her hairbrush, before holding it up in triumph. The brush was carved from wood, with bendy bristles they’d never seen before. The biggest difference, however, was in the way she went about grooming them.

They’d always just yanked the brush through any knots, having learned early on that if their hair got matted enough to be in the way, the Caretakers would simply shear it off. They had straightened their spine in preparation, bracing themself so they wouldn’t grimace or show any discomfort, but the sensation had been entirely different.

Paya started from the bottom up, working the brush and her fingers through tangles so gently that they barely even felt it. Every once in a while, she would dip the brush in something that smelled good and apparently removed dirt. It… wasn’t so bad. After a few tense moments, they even started to enjoy it, though of course they couldn’t let themself relax with an enemy so close at their back. It was easy to get lost in the repetitive motions, and by the time she finished pulling it back, Milk felt nearly dazed.   

“There!” she proclaimed, and they jolted and tugged their scarf up before turning around to face her.

“It looks very nice,” she told them. They reached back and touched it very softly, like it might fall apart if too much pressure was applied. Paya waved them over to the water basin on her bedside table. How odd, to have enough excess water around for that. They peered at their reflection in it.

Their hair was cleaner, and pulled into an even bun on the top of their head. Paya had even put her little red sticks in it. It looked nice, even with half their face covered by the scarf. It was neat and even in a way they couldn’t accomplish on their own.

“So? What… do you think?” Paya asked, looking over their shoulder. They opened their mouth, mind racing as they tried to figure out how to respond, but Impa’s call from below cut them off.

They trekked down the stairs, Paya a step behind. Link didn’t blink an eye at the change in appearance, which Milk felt incredibly grateful for, and they quickly returned to the safety of being halfway hidden behind him. Link signed a quick goodbye, evidently as antsy to get out of there as Milk, but before they could even fully turn around, Impa’s voice rang out.

“Halt, child. What do you have there, on your hip?”

They turned back, feeling cold. They kept their eyes respectfully lowered as they answered, not daring to lie. “It’s a Demon Carver. For fighting monsters.”  

The clarification didn’t seem to put her at ease. “Link, are you aware of what you’ve brought upon us?” She raised a hand before he could respond, gaze still locked on Milk.

“Remove your scarf.” There was no question in her voice.

Next to them, Link began to sign, hands moving quickly. Milk reached up to their scarf with tremors in their hands anyways, knowing that the elder’s words were absolute. There was no way she didn’t already know, and if they disobeyed, the punishment would undoubtedly be more severe. They pulled the scarf down to their neck, and their mark twinged as if in protest at all the eyes upon it.

They heard a sharp inhale, and looked up without thinking to meet Paya’s wide eyes. They stared at each other in odd parallel for a moment, both marked by that red symbol, two vastly different heirs to the same bloodline.

“So, you did know.”

Milk tore their eyes away to see Impa looking at Link, eyes hard.

“You’ve put everyone here at risk, bringing this Yiga child here,” she told him, any trace of ease wiped from her posture. “I cannot let them return to that Clan with such vital information as that which they have already seen.”

They closed their eyes, overwhelmed by what they knew all along would come. The elder had spoken, and they would be imprisoned or killed on her command. They wound a shaky hand around their wrist, feeling the completed circuit there. Their heart was racing, as though in preparation for flight.

Nobody would question her command for a second. It just wasn’t done.

Someone stepped in front of them, and Milk opened their eyes to see the back of a familiar blue tunic.

Except, apparently, Link didn’t care what just wasn’t done.

A laugh caught in their throat. Of course the hero wouldn’t listen to anything resembling sense. Still, some tension in them eased without their conscious thought. It’d be hard now, if they wanted to kill both of them. Link was very hard to kill.  

Link shook his head. He was signing something, movements sharp, but Milk couldn’t see from behind him. That was okay. They felt a little too dizzy with panic to parse signs right now anyways. They were still clutching the seal like a lifeline, unwilling to use it and leave Link’s side, but desperately wanting to be out of this strange, backwards place.

The discussion between the two continued over their head, one party’s voice sharp and the other’s silent. Milk only forced themself to pay attention when Link turned pointedly, so that everyone in the room could see his words.

“Milk is under my watch and protection. No harm will come to them or this village.” The signs were slow and measured, brooking no arguments.

While Milk tried to process that, Impa spoke, face impassive. “So be it. Let us all hope that your foolhardiness will not come back to haunt you. Paya, the door.”

Paya hurried over to the double doors, pulling them open in a clear sign that they’d been dismissed. They followed a step after Link, but paused as they reached her. Her eyes were averted, staring fixedly at the floorboards. Was that their fault? They blurted out the first thing they thought of.

“I like it. The hair. A lot. Thank you.”  

She lifted her head, and they just barely caught her surprised expression before tucking their face back into their scarf and rushing after Link.

The hero was as close to irritated as they’d ever seen him, stalking down the stairs in fluid movements that made their skin prickle with wariness. Was he mad at them?

They followed him down and to the side, head lowered to avoid meeting the sharp gaze of the gate guard. They passed under another craggy outcropping of rock, which opened up to a wide cliff, the ground decorated with odd grey stones and a large tree. Link spent a moment standing at the cliff, staring off at the distant hills.

He finally turned to Milk. “I’m sorry,” he signed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought that would go better. Didn’t mean to give you a scare.”

Milk shifted their weight, discomfited by the apology. Their confusion already added to the steadily growing frustration with the hero, bubbling to the surface.

“Why did you do that?” they asked, clenching their hands tightly. “Why would you defend me?”

Link tilted his head, gaze curious. “Why wouldn’t I?” he signed, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. Milk curled their face into a snarl.

“Don’t pretend. I watched you fight and kill all those who served Our Lord. Why stop the elder from sentencing me? Why not kill me, when all I’ve been on this journey is a burden?” They fisted their agitated hands in their scarf, the words spilling from them without thought. “You keep… doing things for me, when you know I have nothing to repay it with. Worse, you don’t even ask for anything. I don’t get it. What are you waiting for? I don’t get it-! ”

To their horror, their eyes were stinging, and they shoved their hands over them, trying to rub the wetness away.

“Milk,” a voice said, softly, and they looked up, breathing erratic. Mipha was there, which was frustrating but also enviable. Milk wished they had ghosts to deal with their problems for them.

“Link is painfully bad at this, so I stepped in. Would you like a hug?” Mipha offered, spreading Link’s arms in a gesture they didn’t recognize.

“A hug?”

Mipha made a pitying expression with Link’s face, and they sniffled, embarrassed. “Stop that. Why would I want a… a hug.”

“It’s like… an incantation,” she told them. “It, uh, stabilizes your emotions, and reduces stress.”

Milk shifted, consideringly, and then shuffled forwards, allowing Mipha to wrap Link’s arms around them gently. After a moment, they let the tenseness of their body drop, hesitantly burying their face in the by-now familiar fabric of Link’s tunic. It was strange, but not in a bad way. They let their breathing align with Link’s and took a deep, steadying breath.

Ugh. “You’re smelly.”

There was a muffled snort, and they knew that it was Link. They disentangled themself once they were sure that all signs of crying had vanished, and frowned at him.

“I didn’t want a hug.” Even if the effects had been unexpectedly potent. “I want answers.”

Link nodded and ambled over to the tree, sitting so he could lay against the base of the trunk. They followed, and after a moment, his hands lifted to sign, slowly.

“I don’t fight and kill because it’s what I enjoy. It’s just… all I can do. Ever since I woke up, it’s all I’ve been doing. Everyone wants me to do it, expects it of me. It’s all I’m good for.”

Milk stared at him, blankly. The words themselves were bad enough, but worse was the way he delivered them. There was resignation in his movements, as though he wasn’t the most inexplicable person alive, as though he didn’t have the power to do whatever he wanted. Link continued, oblivious to their thoughts.

“You don’t want me to kill anything. Hell, you’d rather I die than go off to fight Ganon. It’s… reassuring.” Link pulled his lips up in a mockery of a smile, acknowledging how odd he sounded.

“You’re good company. That’s what repays my actions, all on it’s own. So, quit worrying about it.”

Milk spent a moment mulling that over. He was wrong, obviously, which was becoming a trend with him, but they didn’t have the proper words to refute it. Saying that they didn’t want him dead was too close to admitting weakness, and it would give away their plot to convert him. They didn’t even understand why they wanted to tell him he was being dumb, beyond the unhappy pit in their stomach and the fact that it was always a good time to tell the hero he was being dumb. They settled for saying the words they did have.

“That’s dumb. And besides, your earlier statement was untrue and also dumb. You clearly show unusual aptitude with horses and cooking.” They told him graciously, ignoring the way the tension in his face eased, eyes creasing with the barest hints of fondness.

“In that case, I should put my skills to use. Wait here, I’m going to go make supper,” he signed, shifting to his feet in one fluid motion. “Back soon.”

Good to see he was still as oddly capricious as ever. They still didn’t really know why he was protecting them. Milk flopped over onto the grass as his light footsteps faded away, watching a beetle slowly crawl up the tree instead of thinking about anything, ever.

An unfamiliar hand patted their shoulder, in a very light, Not-Link way. They yelped, scrambling for their Carver and propping themself up on one elbow to heft it in threat.

Paya waved, crouched in a squat next to them. They lowered their Carver immediately but clung to the handle with white knuckles, automatically nervous. They had no idea how likely Paya was to kill them. They hadn’t assessed her, too busy getting their hair brushed. What masterful tactics.

“You’re welcome! For… the hair,” she told them, knocking them even further off balance. They sat up properly, eyeing her the way one might eye an aggressive snake. “Sorry, it took me... a while to sneak out away from Grandmother.”

“How long have you been here?” they blurted, face already hot at the concept of anyone witnessing their lapse in emotional control. Other than Link, obviously. He didn’t count.

“I… just got here? Anyhow, are you really from the Yiga Clan?” Paya asked.

Milk tilted their chin up in defiance. “Yes. Why do you care?”

Paya watched them for a long moment. “Um… Mostly, because it was Yiga Clan assassins that… killed my parents.”

They didn’t flinch, watching her for any sudden movements. It was no surprise. Everyone knew that part of being a servant of the All-Consuming Calamity meant ridding the world of those that were in His way. It was merciful, really. Their Lord would not be so lenient as to grant His enemies a simple death.

There was no way this Sheikah girl would understand that, though.

“Your parents are blood traitors,” they told her, matter-of-factly. “It was the Clan’s sworn oath to kill them.”

“What… about me, then?” she said, leaning forwards. “I’m the heir to the ‘blood traitors.’’. Grandmother… Grandmother says I’m their legacy. Are you going to try and kill me?”

Milk fumbled with words, suddenly out of their depth. Their cover was blown, they were surrounded by enemies, they really should be trying to cause as many losses as they could, escape or survival be damned. What was their life worth, if they didn’t use it to serve the Clan and their Lord?

Their hand drifted to their hair, still soft and neat in its bun. Even if they now had a fairly strong chance of killing her and getting away, they didn’t… want to. Why?

They needed more information.

“No. I… I still have a debt to repay,” they told her, figuring that would suffice as an explanation for now. Paya leaned back, eyes still curious.

“Oh… well, then…” She clasped her hands together with Milk’s, making them jump. “Tell me about traveling with Master Link!”

“Wha-huh?” Milk said, eloquently.

“I’ve been wanting to… go out and see the world since I was young. Grandmother won’t let me. What is it… like?”

They leaned away from her, pulling their hands back to themself, before answering. “Annoying. And frustrating, and full of hard-to-understand things.” They paused at her expectant expression. “But, some things… are fun and interesting. Only some!”

Paya smiled, soft and bright, and they grumbled. She stood abruptly, and they crab walked backwards a few feet before also hurrying to stand. They had to tilt their head back to look her in the eyes. She was even taller than Link, damn her.

“T… tea… teach me how to fight!” she implored.

Milk blinked. “You don’t know how to fight?” She was already nearing the age of initiation in their Clan. What were the Sheikah teaching their young here?

“Only stealth-based tactics. Nobody will teach me how to use full-on attacks, probably… on Grandmother’s orders.”

Milk felt the impulse to agree just to spite that elder. Still, they hesitated. “Uh…”

“C’mon, please? I’ll teach you how to… to be stealthy, sneak up on people!” Paya said, hands clasped together hopefully.

Milk thought about the many, many times the hero had suddenly appeared next to them, most often scaring the life out of them in the process.

“I’ll do it,” they said, immediately after that thought. Link would suffer for his sneaky crimes.

Paya smiled, pulling a pair of wooden daggers from the folds of her bulky outer coat. “Great! Then, I’ll show you… what I know. Let’s try sparring!”

Milk hesitantly took one of the daggers, looking between the strange wooden weapon and Paya.

Sparring...?

---

Link steadfastly ignored the curious gazes on him, figuring that if anyone had something to ask, he would worry about it when they came up and asked him. Wasn’t his business if they thought unflattering things about him recently acquiring a child.

Instead, he stirred the curry he was making, adding in some poultry on a whim. Could never hurt to give Milk more protein. Kid was skin and bones, tiny even for their age.

He hummed as he waited for the meat to cook through, keeping an eye on the entrance to the alcove where Milk and Paya were. He’d just barely caught her sneaking into the area, but he was fairly certain that she meant no harm, and Milk was wary enough of her to not get taken off guard. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t have left the kid’s side. Not after what had just happened.

Deeming the meal finished, he separated it into three portions, and headed back, just barely managing to carry all three dishes in his hands. Hero, schmero. He’d like to see Ganon balance three steaming plates on two hands.

As soon as he got within earshot, he could tell something was off. He quickened his pace, listening to the sound of wooden impacts and grunts ahead.

When he reached the entrance to the clearing, he saw the two of them circling each other, training weapons in hand. Paya was settled in a defensive crouch, a sheen of sweat clear on her face, and Milk…

Milk hadn’t noticed him, too busy making frenetic, sharp attacks, face twisted into a snarl but eyes eerily blank. It was clear that to Milk, this wasn’t a friendly match. Brutality laced their every move, and even as Link watched, they feinted and drove the dull edge of the dagger into Paya’s side with enough force to make her yell in pain. An attempted killing blow.

He moved forwards as Milk stared at the wooden tool in their hand, as though wondering why it hadn’t worked properly. They dropped it, and their hand darted back to the Demon Carver at their side, drawing it with a single movement. Paya stumbled back as they advanced, raising her training dagger in a basic block. For a child who had been trained to kill from an exceedingly young age, Paya’s beginner tactics were easily bypassed.

Luckily, Link closed the distance just in time to step in front of her, grunting as the top side of the circular weapon buried itself in his stomach. He only shuddered a bit, careful not to drop any of the food. From behind him, Paya choked out a sob, and the odd haze finally cleared from Milk’s eyes. They stared, uncomprehending, at their white-knuckled hands wrapped around the weapon’s hilt.

Link cleared his throat, forcing himself not to wince. Right. No using recently-stabbed stomach muscles. Milk looked up at him, eyes wide, breathing shuddery. Link handed them their plate of curry. They stared at it until he nudged their hands, forcing them to release their hold on the weapon and take the food instead. He knew the Carver’s spikes were too shallow to stuck in there like a knife or anything, and so was prepared to very carefully not make any pained sounds when it fell to the ground, blood welling up in the wounds.

“M… Master Link…!” Paya said tearfully from behind him.

Link turned around and handed her a plate too.  

Once that was done, he carefully maneuvered Milk into sitting, plate on their lap, before easing himself down between them, ignoring the blood that was slowly staining his tunic. The Great Fairy could help him with that later. “Just Link is fine,” he signed, before shoving a spoonful of curry rice into his mouth.

“Ma-- Muh, uh… Link, you’re injured…!”

Link looked down at his stomach and flexed experimentally. No punctured organs, which was great because those took forever to bleed out enough for Mipha to use her resurrection technique. “Not that bad.”

Next to Link, Milk began to shake, still unable to speak. He patted them on the head, absentmindedly.

“Are you okay? What got them so worked up?” he asked Paya, who still hadn’t touched her curry. She pressed a hand against her side where Milk’s strike had landed.

“I don’t know, I just… I asked them to help me get better… um, at fighting and when we started sparring… they were confused and then stopped responding…. I’m okay, I’m just... sorry ….”

Link patted her head also. “Eat your curry,” he signed. He got stabbed for that curry, she shouldn’t let it get cold.

He leaned forwards to be in Milk’s peripheral vision, and waited until their eyes trailed up to meet his gaze. “What happened, kid?”

They stared at him, blankly, but Link understood the feeling and waited the pause out.

“I… She… Back home, it’s not…. You don’t do. Sparring. If there’s a fight, you have to win. You can’t lose. I can’t lose. That’s how it works. I forgot, I-- I didn’t want to--” Milk desperately cut off the end of the sentence, digging their nails into their palms viciously. A bit of rice fell off of the plate in their lap.  

Link hummed soothingly in the back of his throat, ruffling their hair. “It’s okay. Paya is okay, and I’ve had much worse than a little scrape like this.”

Milk stared at the patch of red on his tunic for a moment before reaching over and grabbing the Sheikah Slate from his hip. Link and Paya both watched as they fiddled with it before pulling out a swath of bandages, grimacing at the feeling of the magic.

Link kept himself still as they pulled up the bottom of his tunic, allowing them to press the gauze onto the gash and start gracelessly wrapping bandages around his whole torso. After a moment, Paya leaned forwards and started helping, the two of them passing the roll of bandages around until his torso was completely covered.

Milk nodded as Paya tied off the end of the bandage. “There.”

Link blinked at the both of them, nonplussed. Milk ignored his confusion, turning to Paya instead. “Are you bleeding, too?”

“No… I’m just a little bruised, right here.” Paya kneaded her fingers lightly into her side just below the ribs. Milk frowned deeper, ducking their head.

“I don’t know how to fix bruises…”  

“Don’t… worry about it!” Paya told them, earnestly. “I’ll get some salve from Grandmother.”

Link nodded and picked up the plate Milk had put aside, setting it back in their lap. They made a sour face at him, but their eyes trailed down to his freshly-tended wound and they started eating without any further complaints.

Huh. Maybe he should get stabbed more often.

“Once we finish eating, we can go up to the woods by the Fairy Fountain, and I’ll do some slow weapons practice with Paya. Then you’ll know what to expect, next time.”

Milk and Paya’s heads snapped up at the same time, and Link nearly snorted. They clearly were alike in more than just appearance.

“Uhm, Mas… I mean... Link, does… that mean… you’ll be helping me….?” Paya’s voice was hopeful, and Link nodded.

“You’re the heir to this village. You should know how to defend yourself, no matter how many able warriors there are,” he signed. Impa probably had her own reasons for not teaching Paya, like making sure she didn’t get too adventurous and get hurt, but Link didn’t care, so whatever.

“Yes! Ouch.” Paya paused in her celebration to cradle her hurt side again, hissing. Milk looked like they were experiencing guilt and hated it, so Link nudged them with his elbow to get their attention, and tilted his head meaningfully at Paya.

They hesitated for a moment, and then shuffled forwards a little bit to make proper eye contact.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” they said, clumsy as though they weren’t sure how to fit the words in their mouth. Link tried not to look too smug. He was a great influence, actually.

Paya smiled, a small but surprised thing. “It’s… okay. After all, we’re training partners now… right?”

Milk blinked at her, and then nodded quickly, almost spilling their food in the movement. “Yeah!”

---

That evening, they parted from Paya with a friendly farewell. Link led a wrung out Milk to the Shuteye Inn to get some rest after a long afternoon of running through half-remembered sword forms and basic maneuvers. Not everyone had the uncanny ability to slow down time at the perfect moment to strike, after all. These two had to go at fighting the normal way, which didn’t involve being thrust into the wide world with a tree branch and some apples.

Well. Maybe it would involve that at some point, when Link found the right place and was there supervising, obviously.

Milk had done more individual practices than anything else, since they still scrambled back and tried to sloppily counterattack in panic whenever Link ran them through the most basic sparring movements. It had gotten to the point where they were more embarrassed than anything when it happened, but Link understood how being hurt could haunt someone, and so hadn’t made a big deal of it.

In any case, the exercise and stress of the day left them wiped. So, after drawing a seal on the door while they thought Link wasn’t watching, Milk collapsed face down onto a bed and fell right asleep, limbs tucked under them.

Link wished that physical activity was enough to tire him out. He hadn’t caught much sleep in the stable the night before, though Revali was… gracious enough to engage him in a very intense (and one-sided) discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of different archery techniques, which provided a good distraction from his own thoughts.

That all culminated in him knowing he needed to rest or risk being a beat behind in mind and body tomorrow. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but while Milk was depending on him…..

He sighed and tucked the blanket from his bed over Milk, before laying down and letting himself rest as well.

It was dark.

It was dark, because he’d been sealed away, and the only thing that he could make out was the faintest of orange lights, in odd, twisting patterns above him. They were the reason he couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t exist. He wasn’t ready to exist again.

He had to wait until the light shone blue, bright enough to sear black spots into his vision. That meant he was ready. It couldn’t take that long.

Between one blink and the next, he found himself dragged down, further from those lights and into the numbing water. He breathed it in, and his insides faded away, too.

Link. A voice he knew said, faintly. He listened. He always listened.

I’m fading. I… I can’t remember my mother’s face. Please, I need… I need you to hurry. Time is fleeting here, but it is so hard to exist.

It was. He remembered that much from both his life and the Hero’s.

She sent him an image, of woods twisted to protect her and the weapon she carried. The path was vaguely familiar. They have kept it hidden, all these years. Please, Link… I know you can do this.

She knew the mind that wasn’t his, the person filled with recollections of friends and family that Link couldn’t touch. Weren’t his to remember. That was what she wanted.

He was always good at pretending to be him, though. Of course, Zel--

He woke up with sweat along his spine and nausea in the back of his throat. The more shrines and souls he reclaimed, the more clearly he perceived the dreams where Zelda contacted him. This was a far cry from the hazy and terrifying fever dreams he used to have, back on the plateau, before he knew who he was supposed to be and just who was speaking into his mind.

Still, being lucid during the dream didn’t make it any better to be reminded that he wasn’t the same Link from 100 years ago. He was more of a lingering will, a shade of that boy who had died before ever reaching the tomb-like walls of the Shrine of Resurrection. Remembering drew him out of his normal, amiable state, and his mind automatically distanced itself from the thoughts, pulling him away from the sharp intensity that came with feeling more than mild, toned-down versions of emotions.

He stared at the ceiling till sunrise, which felt like minutes.

By then, his mind had finally settled on a course of action that soothed the guilt and the itch to move. Milk was making friends with Paya, and they’d be okay to stay in the safety of Kakariko Village for a while. Impa was the only one who knew their origins, and she’d told him in no uncertain terms that the Yiga kid was Link’s responsibility. Including what might happen if the village came under attack because of their knowledge.

Milk would be fine for a couple of days. He had to keep going, couldn’t stop for the luxury of going home or seeing old friends. Everyone was depending on his strength, and so he couldn’t falter under the pressure. He would reclaim the Master Sword, and the burden that came with it.

He’d been carrying that burden all along, anyways.

---

Dorian watched from his position by the gate as the hero of the goddess locked pinkies with the Yiga acolyte, who looked highly disgruntled. Likely upset that their quarry would be out of their sight, which would make information gathering much harder. He wasn’t sure why or how the hero had been convinced to trust one of the Yiga Clan, the very same Clan that had taken someone from almost everyone in this village. It didn’t matter.

They would still be in the company of the young heir, though, and she was trusting despite her parents’ fates. She could leak vital secrets unintentionally, and he was sure the child would go to any lengths to procure and secret away as much knowledge as they could. They had been traveling to the forests above the village daily, the ones he warned his daughters about. With the hero there, Paya was undoubtedly safe, but now that it was just the two of them… There was no telling what kind of methods the acolyte would employ to pry the information from her.  

He would know. The Yiga Clan had no patience for those who would not use every tactic available to them. The child wouldn’t have lasted long, wouldn’t have all the signs of an assassin in the making if they weren’t thriving in the Clan’s teachings.

Ironic that he would turn those very teachings against it.

He would not fail Impa and Paya again. He wouldn’t sit back until it was too late, not this time. The village would be safe, his daughters would be safe, and even the hero would be safe, once he’d exposed this sleeper agent for what it was.

It was best for all, that he act before they could hurt anyone.

He was sure of it.

Chapter Text

Link wiped the rain off his face, flicking his hand to get the worst of it off before returning to the task at hand. He slowly drew back the bowstring and aimed, making sure to tilt his bow a bit higher. He only wanted to get the attention of the bokoblin on top, after all. He released the string and the arrow whistled right to its mark.

The bokoblin jumped as it spotted him, grunting in alarm. Link waved. It hefted a barrel of explosive material over its head and hurled it.

It landed right on top of the sleeping moblin below, knocking it right off the bridge into the electrified waters below. Link, safely out of range, only had to knock two more arrows before the first unfortunate bokoblin joined it. He picked up a roasted apple left behind, and bit down on it as he waited out the last of the rain.

He felt… moderately more clear-headed, now that he had methodically made his way through the entire former training camp and killed every monster there. That probably didn’t say anything good about him, but the haze of dissociative fog had finally lifted from his mind, so he would take what he could get. His fraying excuse of an identity didn’t need any more strain.

The rain finally settled, leaving the structure damp but climbable. One activated tower later, he was forced to finally take a moment to think about his actions for the past twenty-four hours.

He probably shouldn’t have left Milk. It wasn’t like this journey to find the Master Sword was going to be easy, but it likely wouldn’t have been more dangerous than the city on top of an active volcano, and he’d already taken Milk there .

‘I think you made the right decision,’ Mipha told him, peering at the landscape through his eyes with longing. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to look after them properly, not in your current state.’

Yeah. Considering he barely remembered the trip here, she was right. He’d be no good at protecting them from harm when he was losing time like he was fresh out of the Resurrection Shrine again. Paya was a trustworthy friend. She would keep them from harm, even though it shouldn’t have been her responsibility. He ran a hand through his hair, exhausted.

‘Can’t avoid that forever, little buddy. Better get that sword fast.’ Daruk chimed in. He was also right. The ghosts in his brain spent a lot of time being right for people who had died.

Well, the quicker he got this done, the quicker he would be able to get back to Kakariko.

...Maybe he should stop by to see Beedle before he ran into this cursed forest.

---

Milk’s brow itched, sweat beading irritatingly at the edge of their hairline. They swiped a hand up to brush away a stray damp hair, and immediately lost the delicate balance of movement that the kata required. They groaned, and flopped back against the cool grass, ignoring the dew soaking their clothes.

A few feet away, Paya laughed. She was still holding her own position perfectly, moving through the exercises Link had shown them with something almost like grace. Milk curled their lip up to show their teeth, proceeding to stick their tongue out at her. Stupid tall well-balanced Sheikah.

Even with all their training, they were outmatched in performing these dumb, repetitive movements. Try to knock them down in a fight and they’d be rolling back and on their feet again in a heartbeat, but keeping focused for a whole set of slow, useless exercises? Paya clearly had more experience with boring stuff like that.

They gritted their teeth and flipped to their stomach, intending to get up and start from the beginning. As if they’d be defeated by something as dumb as this.

Before they could, Paya sat heavily next to them, making them jump and lock their elbow joints, toppling right back over. They gave her a very serious glare from being half-obscured by grass, and she laughed at them again.

“I think we should be good for today. I’m getting all shaky, and Link told us to stop before it started hurting, remember?”

Milk did remember, since they’d thought it was obviously less efficient to stop before complete exhaustion, just like all of Link’s dumb rules about hurting. The reminder of the errant hero made them frown petulantly and roll over, facing away from Paya. Strange how they could do that without their heart rate jumping too much, these days.

“Milk? Are you... still mad at him?” Paya asked, extending a foot to kick at their shoulder blade. They grumbled at her halfheartedly. “He always comes back, y’know. Grandmother says he should really be focusing on his… task, but he seems more relaxed here, so she doesn’t bother him about it.”

He hadn’t looked relaxed the previous morning. In fact, he had seemed so out of it that Milk had wondered if it was another of Link’s ghosts using his body. He’d certainly acted like a ghost, looking through his surroundings with a blanker-than-usual gaze and signing only the barest of explanations. They’d watched his hands spasm at his sides, and when they’d demanded an pinky oath, there were tremors in his hand. He hadn’t responded to Milk’s inquisitive gaze. Maybe hadn’t even noticed it.

Link had never been anything less than steady before.

They huffed, rolling further to press their face into the damp grass. Plants were steady. There should be more of them, in the desert. They wondered why there weren’t.

“It’s not… so bad here, right?” Paya shifted to bump her heel into their side, persisting in making them think about feelings. “It’s… nice, to have someone to practice with. You could stay here. It’s very safe.”

Milk had been shoving down the unnerving feeling of being watched since they’d gotten to Kakariko, in fact, and their nerves were burning out because of it, but... When they lifted their head to tell her so, they saw her expression. She was trying to be.... nice. People here were weird like that. If they retorted un-nicely, she would get unhappy and not laugh or talk with or kick them. They sighed.

“I… think it would be okay. But if I don’t stay with the hero, he will go gallivanting off and die, because he is dumb and forgets to sleep. You’ve seen how he is. Very stupid,” they informed her, with the knowledge of someone who had watched Link cut down a tree and then get knocked out cold by it.  

“Well… I wouldn’t say… stupid…,” Paya protested weakly, having also seen her fair share of Link doing unwise and life-threatening things for seemingly no reason. “I guess I get it,” she conceded. “I wish I could go along, too.”

“You could,” Milk said, not for the first time. Obeying authority figures who couldn’t beat the spit out of you was for fools. Paya should simply ignore her grandmother, and do whatever she wanted. They weren’t still upset at Impa, or anything, at all. Ever. It was just logic. Obviously.

Paya shook her head at them, and then got to her feet, offering them a hand. They turned their head away dramatically, and did a very cool roll to pop to their feet instead. She made a face.

“I ought to dump you in the river,” she threatened. Milk narrowed their eyes, thinking about how long it took their cloak to dry. Also, they were pretty sure there was a waterfall, and they weren’t sure how well floating worked on those.

“You wouldn’t dare. ”

Paya shifted one foot forwards ominously, and that was enough to send Milk sprinting through the trees like a startled squirrel, snatching their scarf from the ground as they fled. Paya’s laughter echoed behind them as they half-tumbled down the side of the hill. Her footsteps were near-silent as always, which meant that they had to use her wheezing giggles to measure how much they were winning by.

Nobody blinked twice as they breezed through the soft paths of the village, having quickly noticed and accepted Milk as Paya’s new daily exercise partner.

They only stopped once they got to the front of the small pond across from the main temple, their unofficial end goal for races. Paya arrives only a moment behind them, her long legs giving her an unfair and highly criminal advantage. They tried to put on at admonishing scowl in order to convey this, but the sight of her struggling to regain her breath through laughter sent them into a fit of humor as well.

“I win,” they insisted through rough, unpracticed chuckles.

“Maybe this time,” Paya said, “but just you wait. I'll... figure out how Link does that flying thing with the chickens, and then we'll see who's laughing.”

Milk stuck their tongue out at Paya, which was the best response for when she said ridiculous things. She made a face back at them and then dusted off her training pants. “I'm going to go get cleaned up, but I'll meet you at... uh, the inn. We can cook and have another sleepover!”

Sleepovers, they had found, were exceedingly good in all situations, even if they were with your technical blood enemy. Once they'd agreed, Paya split off from them, heading back up the stairs to her room in the temple. Milk headed for the inn, and found that there was already a bed set up and ready for them. Link hadn’t left any special instructions, simply left them with enough money to pay for… a lot of nights, going by how much how many rupees they received.

That meant that it was probably Paya who had spoken to the innkeeper about Milk staying longer than just the one customary night. She was so strange. She did things that they didn't understand all the time, like making sure that they didn’t sleep outside on the ground in order to hoard their newly-acquired money since they didn’t like beds anyways. Instead, she just spread blankets out on the inn floor and insisted that was better. They'd have to ask Link about it if-- when he came back.

Without wasting any further time, Milk quickly pried their sweaty training clothes off and changed into their customary outfit, bolting back outside to crouch by the firepit. After that was done, all that was left was to wait for Paya to finish her own cleaning up. Unfortunately, she seemed to take at least thrice as long as Milk always did, which maybe was part of the reason she always smelled better than them. They vaguely wished that they had their own good-smelling skin oils.

Yesterday evening, they had simply waited at this cooking pot for ages, too nervous to go anywhere without Paya at their side, but today would be different. They weren't going to waste any time sitting around being bored out of their skull, not when there were other things they could be doing. Nobody had told them that they weren't allowed to wander around on their own, and so that was exactly what they would do.  

Mind made up, they immediately headed up the path to the small forest up above the town. It was up past the shine, which was glowing blue to indicate that Link had already gone in it and done his funky hero stuff. There was another one up where they and Paya normally trained, too.

Rather than head up that way, Milk proceeded down the path, ignoring the fork in the road. They stepped into the wide grove and found a nice tree, crouching at the base of it to wait. They didn't have to wait long before the glow of a firefly caught their eye trailing lightly along in the air in front of them.

They moved slowly like Paya had taught them, quietly creeping up on it until they were within reach. After a moment’s hesitation, they tried to very carefully close their hands around it. In a blink, it seemed to see them and buzzed higher, out of reach. They frowned in disappointment.

“You’ll never catch one like that,” someone said from behind them.

They spun around, hand falling to their hip and faltering when there was no familiar handle. They’d left their Carver in the inn during training. How could they have forgotten to bring it along now?

“Woah, easy kid,” the person said, raising their hands placatingly, shrouded in silhouette by the low dusk lighting. After a moment, they strolled forwards, revealing themself to be the girl from the clothing shop that stared at Link from behind frequently. She hadn’t attacked him, so they hadn’t worried about it too much. They also didn’t know her name.

“Who are you?” they asked, still tense.

“I’m Lasli. Seen you around town, kid.”

“Milk. I’m Milk,” they told her, face pinched.

“Must have strong bones,” she said nonsensically, and then ambled forwards to look at the trees around them. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

Milk followed her gaze, and was instantly excited by the sight of more fireflies glowing faintly throughout the woods. “Do you know how to catch them?”

“Yup! Love these little bugs, I’ve been coming out here after sunset to watch ‘em for a few nights now. Technically, I’m not supposed to be out here after dark, but I’m pretty sure Paya is breaking the rules, and she’s younger than me, so like, whatever, y’know?”

“Teach me how to catch them,” they demand, having locked onto her admission of knowledge immediately. She laughed, and waved for them to follow her, moving smoothly through the grove.

There was a strange, flowery pedestal in the middle of the woods that glowed with ethereal light and power, but they ignored it in favor of the many, many glowing lights hovering in the air. Lasli was very helpful in her instruction, and before long, they had managed to carefully clap their hands around one of the fireflies. They stared at it and then Lasli with wide eyes, and then cracked open their hands just a little to look inside.

The glow of the firefly hadn’t faded at all, and it simply bumped lightly against their palms, creating light, tickly sensations. They tried to see the little bulb of light and tiny legs that Link said they had, but the firefly was indiscernible, form seeming to shift and pulse with the soft pink light. The only thing that remained constant was its small, gossamer wings.

“What do I do now?” Milk whispered, mindful of the potential tiny ears they were holding. Lasli tried to hide a smile behind a hand, rather ineffectively.

“You let ‘em go! Can’t hold on to them forever.”

They thought about that for a moment, and decided that while they would very much like to continue looking at the soothing light, they absolutely couldn’t. The longer they held onto the small firefly, the more chance there was that they would accidentally hurt it. It was very delicate, and they had killing hands.

With that decided, they turned their hands palm up, freeing the little light to float in the air above them. The firefly pulsed softly and drifted upwards, out of their sight, but the glow didn’t fade away. They froze, shoulders hunched, as it sedately landed atop their head.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend!” Lasli grinned at their astonished expression. “My ma always said fireflies would only flock to good kids.”

Milk tried not to move at all, afraid they would spook away the misguided firefly on accident. Surely it would realize the error soon enough, but until then, it was very nice to have chosen them as a place to perch.

“What are you doing out here?” A low voice broke the easy silence of the clearing, and Milk jumped. The fireflies scattered, the one atop their head leaving last, as though reluctant. The clearing suddenly seemed much darker.

“D-- Dorian!” Lasli said, stiffening out of her relaxed slouch. “Uh, we were just--”

“Out after dark, the way your grandmother explicitly warned told you not be?” The newcomer stepped forward, nearer than Milk expected. Everyone in this village moved like they were walking on air instead of the ground, but the fact that this person had so easily snuck up on them made their skin prickle with unease. They resisted the urge to step behind Lasli, afraid the movement would draw attention.

“Lasli, I know you’re missing the fireflies, but it’s dangerous out here. If you don’t head home immediately, I’ll have to tell your grandmother about this.”

The girl was moving almost before he’d finished speaking. “No need, no need, I completely get it.” She paused, looking at Milk. “Kid, you wanna--?”

They leapt on the opportunity to follow, but before they could get more than two steps in, a large hand clamped down on their upper arm like a vice. They resisted the urge to sink their teeth into the hand. They had to be good, because Link wasn’t there to help them. Even if they managed to escape, how would Link find them again? Everything would be ruined.

“I’ll escort them back to the inn. Paya is waiting on their return, no doubt. Hurry home before your grandmother realizes you’re missing.” Dorian said, in the sort of tone that brooked no argument.

Lasli gave them an apologetic glance, and then broke into a run back the way they’d come. They tried not to breathe too fast, hoping that their sudden panic wasn’t noticeable despite their sudden stiffness.

The hand restraining them dropped, and without any more conversation, Dorian stepped in front of them, leading the way back to Kakariko. They follow without any protest or meandering, watching him carefully out of the corner of their eye. They wouldn’t want to get caught staring and risk retribution.

“Nervous?”

They looked up, startled by the sudden break in the silence. Dorian hadn’t turned to look at them as his pace slowed to a halt, but they felt scrutinized nonetheless. They stopped as well, trying to keep distance between them.

“No,” they lied, because nerves were weakness, and being weak wasn’t safe. Link had said Kakariko was safe, but. They didn’t feel safe, not in this darkening forest, not isolated with this strange man.

“Oh?” Dorian said, an underlying edge to his voice that Milk didn’t understand. “Bold of you. I’d be nervous, if I were you.”

They took a single step back, and it sounded loud in the quiet around them.

The man turned, and there was a long blade in his hand. Milk thought it was a windcleaver for a moment, and their muscles locked up as he pointed it at them in accusation. What was going on? It was supposed to be safe.

“If I were a Yiga Clan infiltrator like you,” Dorian said, face cold with hatred, “I’d be a little more worried.”

The blade glinted, and Milk jumped back, ice in their veins. Their hand hovered over where their Demon Carver should have been, for just a moment, and Dorian’s icy glare only sharpened with something like certainty.  

They turned on their heel and sprinted, up to the clearing where they’d been training with Paya only a little earlier. They couldn’t hear any footsteps behind them, but that didn’t mean much of anything. The forest was dark now, enough that they could probably hide from Dorian there. They could stay awake there all night, and then Paya would find them in the morning, and they could find Link and it would be safe again. Right?

They sank into the brush, crouching and trying to move silently, the way Paya had taught them. Everything seemed too loud, even the rustle of their clothes and their measured breathing.

For a few agonizing moments, it was quiet, and they wondered if they would stay in this hunched position, frozen with terrified anticipation, all night.

Approaching footsteps rang out, casual as anything. “Come out.”

They wished they could feel indignant at the disrespect, the way the man didn’t even bother hiding his presence, but there was only relief at the fact that they knew where he was, now. They crept along the ground as he walked, distancing themself the best they could.

“Hiding like a coward? I wouldn’t expect that from someone like you. Wouldn’t the elders be ashamed, to see you now.” The steps continued at that meandering pace, the sound of undergrowth being disturbed hurrying Milk’s movements. Dorian was mistaken if he thought he could goad them out so blatantly. The elders would have been furious a long time before now, anyways.

Wait…?

“Is this what you planned to do to Paya?” Dorian said, closer. They tried to move faster, thrown off. “Wait until she let her guard down, and then strike like the snake you are?”

They held their breath until they were sure it wouldn’t come out shaky, and continued to slowly circle the tree. If they could just get him to walk past, they could get back to the bridge, and then the village. Paya would help, wouldn’t she? She couldn’t have known about this.

Dorian snarled in irritation, terrifyingly close. They didn’t twitch, didn’t even breathe, still as stone even as the sword blade drifted precariously close to the patch of greenery they sheltered in.

“You won’t be bringing anything back to that cursed clan, least of all knowledge that will cost us our lives. I’ll make sure of it. ”

The silence was stifling, and Milk felt lightheaded as they stared unerringly ahead, entire body strained with tension.

The footsteps moved, Dorian right in their field of vision as he passed over them completely.

They shoved aside the urge to sob in relief, instead slowly beginning to shove themself back towards where they’d come. Where they thought they’d come from, at least. Trees looked very similar to each other.

Midway through trying to find the glow of the shrine through the woods, Dorian spoke again.

“Link defeated a Yiga blademaster here, not too long ago. I wonder if that’s why you keep up this facade? Because you know you’d never beat him in a head-on fight?”

They went still, struck by the mental image of Link’s short, apathetic form facing a Blademaster. Link was strong, but Blademasters had clawed their way up to the top through their own power alone. They were terrifying. And Link was stupid, and didn’t care when they stabbed him, didn’t care about himself much at all.

“He’s a good soul. The type that doesn’t hold things against you,” Dorian continued, having stopped moving as well. “You might have him fooled, but I know what kind of person you are. You can pretend to be his friend all you want, but he’ll die because of you. Whether it’s your superiors in the Clan or by your own bloodstained hands.”

“No!” The word tore out of their throat without conscious thought, a reflexive flinch away from thoughts of them ruining everything. The memory of holding a weapon over Link’s sleeping form flickered against the back of their eyelids, and they shook their head sharply. Approaching footsteps made them scramble back, and then break into a run as they bolted.

Their lapse had cost them. Dorian was close behind, cutting them off, too close for them to run for the bridge. They caught a familiar glow from the corner of their eyes, and pivoted to run to the shrine instead. They slammed into the back wall of the shrine, sliding down and pressing their hands against the floor desperately.

‘Please ,’ Milk prayed, pressing themself against the cold interior. ‘ Take me to Link. Paya, Beedle. Anywhere but here. Please!’

The glow of the shrine didn’t change, and the floor remained unmovable under their feet. There was nothing it could do for them.

They could hear the footsteps growing closer. They gave into the urge to call for help, but instead of a shout, Link’s name came out as a sob, soft and shameful and barely even audible to themself.

Link wasn’t there.

They didn’t have anyone.

Just them. Like always. They’d almost forgotten.

Slowly, they pulled the scarf from their shoulders, the evening air brushing against their scar. They left it in a folded heap in the corner of the shrine, nearly invisible in the darkness.

They turned to face the entrance of the shrine and shuttered their weakness away, pushing down the fear until they felt blank. They were motionless when they saw Dorian block off the opening, unflinching as he reached for them. The people here were soft, after all, despite their evils. The acolyte had been through training that was for these moments, preparations for the brutality of being hated by so many. This blood traitor’s interrogation wouldn’t compare to what they’d endured.

And if they started feeling weak again, well. There was an answer for that, too. They let their eyes trail down to the blade belted to the man, and knew that there would be no failing.

The acolyte was a prodigy, and they would die for the good of their clan.

---

Link blinked awake, pushing past a moment of disorientation before recognizing the Deku Tree’s interior around him. That’s right, he’d made it to the center of the Great Hyrule Forest after a long while of winding through the forest with a torch in hand to show the way. At least there hadn’t been any monsters popping up, which he suspected was more due to the magical nature of the fog than his own luck.

He’d honestly expected something… more intense, coming all this way. Some trials that would make him prove his valor, or something. Then again, the Deku Tree had said they were only safekeeping it. The hero from a century ago had undoubtedly already proved himself, so what need was there to set up a new test?

He supposed that made things easier for him, anyhow. All he’d had to do in the end was endure the pain as he drew the blade out. It felt vaguely like having his blood start to boil inside of him, but it wasn’t like he had to talk about his motivations or willpower anything like that with some panel of Past Heroes, so it was more or less a breeze. The Tree had told him he would die if he failed, so. Good on him for succeeding. He got to take a nap for free, even, thanks to this funky little Korok.

He stretched his spine out lethargically, and then got to his feet, ready to go through these ‘trials’ the koroks had mentioned. They’d been really good about not putting him in mortal danger so far, and he was hoping that the trend would continue. It was relaxing.

"Mister Hero! Mister Hero! There's trouble!" A korok came flying in, nearly colliding with his head.

Ah. Of course. "What is it?" 

"There's big trouble, you have to go back!" 

“What do you mean?” Link signed, dread settling into the curve of his spine.

“I heard Miss Paya praying at the guardian statues for your swift return! She seemed really worried and tired… So, I popped over here right away!”

He was moving before the Korok even finished relaying their message, gathering his things and pulling the Sheikah Slate from his hip. “Be back,” he signed shortly, and the forest warped away from his consciousness.

A few heartbeats later, he was at the Ta’loh Naeg shrine, heart hammering at the rushed teleportation. He strode forwards, but at first glance, there was no signs that anything was blatantly wrong. No overt attack had been launched, anyhow.

He glided down to the roof of a nearby house, landing neatly on the ground from there, and jogged to the small altars Paya attended. She wasn’t there.

“Link!”

He twisted around, sighing in relief at the sight of Paya hurrying down the trail. His relief didn’t last long, seeing as Paya was sniffling in a way that preceded downright sobbing. Milk was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m… I’m so sorry… Link, I…,” Paya struggled to speak between stilted breaths, and Link patted her back comfortingly.

“Don’t panic. Tell me what’s wrong?” Link signed, looking at her in question.

“It’s Milk! I… They… went missing, last night… and I’ve been searching… but I can’t find them… anywhere! What if… they got hurt? ”

The sinking feeling in his chest turned into a sinkhole, as he paused for a moment to compress his instinctive reactions-- panic, worry, fear, anger-- into a blank calm. He straightened.

“We’ll find them,” he signed, and Paya nodded, face lined with stress. “Have you asked around for who last saw them?”

“Kind… kind of. I asked whoever was awake, but nobody knew. The… Link, they left their weapon at the inn. I don’t… I’m worried.”

Me too, he wanted to say.

“We’ll find them,” he said instead, as though the words were the only thing keeping him grounded.

He whistled sharply for Sugar, nodding in apology at Paya when she flinched. “I will go search the nearby areas. Will you talk to those who weren’t awake before?”

She nodded, setting her shoulders in a wobbly sort of determination, and Link wheeled Sugar around and set off, making his way out of the village and to the rolling hills surrounding it.

A few horses shook their heads and whinnied in alarm as he passed, but they weren’t what he was looking for. He’d marked the spot on his map with a skull, since he’d nearly stumbled into it and died right then and there, back when he’d first come to Kakariko Village.

The Guardian Stalker was right where he remembered it, surveying its surroundings as it trooped around in the small valley it inhabited. He stared through the scope of his slate, scanning every inch of grass for any sign of Milk or… recent battle.

He felt a little weight slide off his shoulders. There was nothing, he was sure. Rumors went around about these ancient machines vaporizing people on the spot, but he knew better. He’d had too many vague memories-turned-nightmares to forget the way a body looked after a Guardian Stalker was through with it. The Goddess only knew how many charred corpses his past self had witnessed, during that final stand, but it was enough to make the knowledge linger at the edges of his mind in slumber.

He went to the woods up above the village next, whistling lightly in hopes that Milk would respond, loud and brash and complaining about being lost.

After he discovered their scarf tucked loosely into the corner of the shrine they normally refused to go near, he found that he couldn’t whistle any more. His throat had closed up.

In the end, answers came from an unexpected place.

“Why yes, I saw a child out here not too long ago! I don’t pay much attention to the passage of your ephemeral days and nights, but one of my fairies took quite a liking to them!” The Great Fairy smiled at him, pleased with the fact. Link ignored the slightly off placement of the fae’s limbs, and the unnatural sharpness of her smile.  

“Did you see what happened to them?” Link signed, urgently. There weren’t generally many monsters this close to the village, but…

“Happened? Nothing much happened, one of the larger humans from the town below came and collected them. Have they not returned by now?”   

Link shook his head, already turning away to head back down to the village. If someone there had come for Milk, then Paya would have likely unearthed something by now.

Sure enough, she called out for him as soon as he got back, followed closely by a taller girl. It was the shop assistant who made frequent passes at him, Lasli if he remembered right.

“Link,” Paya said urgently, “Lasli just told me she saw Milk last night! She said… said…”

Lasli cut in, perhaps sensing the severity of the situation.

“Last I saw, Dorian was escorting them home, so surely he would know best. I just saw him a while ago, once he got off patrol. Cado said he went to go check the state of the old tool shed.”

---

When the acolyte woke up, their head aching from a solid blow to the back it, it was still mostly dark. Not out for too long, then.

Their chest hitched once before they smoothed the fear away, like patting down Loaf’s fur when he got ruffled. The thought hurt, but only distantly, like it was struggling to get through a wall of fog. That was good. Things hurt less when they were foggy like this.

Their arms seemed to be locked behind them, around the back of the chair they were sitting in. They lifted their head and could only make out vague shapes of the mess around them. Farming tools, possibly. How strange. Potentially useful. They twisted their wrists, testing the ropes around them.

The man who’d brought them here sat, stiff backed, across from them. They stared at him, unblinking. If this was a jail, it was a poor excuse for one. If it wasn’t, then why were they here? Had the man told the village leader about this yet?

“You’re awake.”

The man stood, and the acolyte brushed the useless wondering aside. They would deal with the current situation, before anything else. They let the silence stretch, stamping down the desire to have their mask again. Their face was already a mask, still and featureless as stone. They weren’t afraid, or if they were, it was ignorable through the fog. There was only the knowledge that they would win, now.

“I see that you’ve shown your true colors,” Dorian said, staring at them raptly. “Good. There’s no point in keeping up a facade, because you won’t fool me. I know how you sleeper agents operate. Impa will be informed and hero’s favor or not, you’ll be imprisoned for everyone’s safety.”

Hm.

“Is that what happened to you?” they asked, with all the inflection of-- of nothing.

What they could see of the man’s skin took on a sickly pallor. “Don’t try and--”

“The Elders use you as an example of what happens to those who betray the Clan,” the acolyte told him, fairly certain in their conclusion. “‘Life will be suffering for those who are shown the truth and reject it.’”

The man was quiet for a long moment, which they didn’t like. They strained their wrists against the ropes again, painful on their raw skin, hands clenched into fists. Dawn’s soft light began to filter in through the slats of the building.

Finally, he shook his head. “Good. I’d be disgusted to be remembered as anything but a traitor to that treacherous place.”

The acolyte frowned. Something warm began dripping from their wrist. To be so brazen in the face of his wrongdoing… “You’ll die for your disrespect when our Lord is resurrected.”

The man had the audacity to laugh hoarsely. “I’m not like you. I don’t live in fear of that monster. I won’t hurt people in its name anymore. I won’t hurt myself in its name anymore.”   

The acolyte tilted their head the slightest bit. They only hurt to get stronger. If they were weak, they would lose, and that wasn’t allowed. The man looked at them with resentment in his gaze.

“You’re the embodiment of that filth’s mindset. You try to act harmless to gain the hero’s trust, but I see the violence behind your every movement. You’re mired in it. It’s all you can do. You think I didn’t see Miss Paya return home hunched over bruises your first day?”  

Something in them twinged, like they’d banged a bone into something the exactly wrong way. Their face fell into a frown for a heartbeat, and the man caught it, looking something between vicious and victorious. They could see the gauntness of his face in the light now, the deep shadows beneath his eyes.  

“It’s for the best that you stay far away from good people like them, if you really wanted them safe. Of course, the whole reason you’re so close to the hero in the first place is to kill him, isn’t it? You’re planning on lowering his guard and then slitting his throat in his sleep.”

It was as though his words were a torch dissipating their mind’s fog, drawing close and burning them. They shook their head without thinking, shoulders hunched and hands twisting oddly. They wouldn’t kill Link. They wouldn’t.

“No?” the man asked, eyes intent. “Well, won’t the Elders be happy about another traitor in their ranks.”

Milk’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “I’m not a traitor! I-- The Clan will understand, once they see that he’s more valuable alive, I’ll show him the truth and they won’t hurt him--!”

They realized too late that this was the wrong thing to say. They bit down on their tongue hard enough to draw blood, breathing heavy as they stared at Dorian’s face, which had settled into a hard, determined expression.  

“It’s exactly as Impa expected. You won’t be allowed to try and poison the hero’s mind against us, not when he’s the only hope for so many.” He stood. “I have everything I need to bring the truth to Impa. I’m sure she’ll have more questions for you.”

The acolyte understood the implications behind the words. They would be betraying the clan simply by allowing themself being interrogated.

They looked at the man’s weapon as he began to head for the door, inhaling deeply. There were only two options, now.

They activated the blood seal they’d scrawled onto the back of their hand, gritting their teeth as the teleportation magic sunk its teeth into their bones. With such an imprecise circle, the magic drain was more severe, but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was not losing.

They appeared behind the man, and drove their full momentum into his back, kicking out at the soft backs of his knees for good measure. He fell forwards with a cut-off yell, and twisted, trying to pin them between his back and the ground. They kicked off of him to land a foot away, ignoring the dirt that kicked up as the man’s back hit the ground.

There was no time to pause, and in the next heartbeat they were back on him, driving their knees into his chest and wrapping their hands around his throat, knuckles white.

Hands tried to pry at their grip, the body beneath them trying to buck them off, but they clung to their attack desperately. This was important. Familiar. They pressed their thumbs against his carotids more firmly, ignoring the black spots dotting their vision. It wouldn’t take long, and then it would be over. They couldn’t let go before that, or they would lose.

It was then that the door was shoved open with a resounding bang, spilling early morning light into the room.

“Milk?”

They jerked, staring at the two familiar figures in the doorway, but their fingers seemed locked in place. That was right, they couldn’t stop. They would get hurt.

They turned back to the man, and when footsteps got closer they shifted their weight forwards, increasing the pressure on the man’s throat. The footsteps stopped.

There was a soft snap nearby, and they turned their head automatically to the sound. Link looked back at them, crouched a few feet away to be level with them.

He extended a hand to sign, slowly, as though not to startle them. “Don’t kill him, now.”

Milk frowned, lips barely pulled back to show their teeth. They realized absently that their ribcage was swelling with stuttering, panicked breaths. They didn’t let up on the pressure around Dorian’s neck. “Why?” They asked, voice cracking painfully. “He’s bad. You said- You said-”

“I said that I fight bad people. I remember.” Link’s gestures were too light, too soft after the rough, distant syllables that came from Milk. “He’s done bad things. But that doesn’t mean you have to kill him. That’s not your responsibility.”

Milk looked at him searchingly, then over at the village heir, who had her hands pressed over her mouth. She watched, worry bright in her eyes. Worry for who? They switched their gaze back to Link. “I know him. I’ve heard of him! He’s from my- He’s spying on you!” They spat, trying to get them both to understand. “He’s bad!”

“He left though, didn’t he?” Link offered, still quiet, still slow in the way he moved his hands. “He didn’t want to spy. He left. Like you.”

Milk nodded quickly, ignoring their dizziness, eyebrows still drawn tightly together. “ Yes. Exactly. Like me.” Still not the response they're looking for. They gritted their teeth at Link’s lack of realization, feeling anger and shame prickle up their spine. “ Bad.”

—-

A heartbeat after they had spoken, Milk swayed and seemed to finally lose the near-manic energy driving them. Link slid forwards and caught them as they toppled. Paya rushed past him, kneeling by Dorian to check the man’s vitals. He ignored them both to draw Milk close and check them over for injury.

Their wrists were bleeding sluggishly, rubbed raw by the restraints put on them. There was a concerning amount of blood staining their teeth, but there was no heavy bruising anywhere, so was likely because of a bitten tongue, rather than any internal bleeding. They had a small bump on the back of their head. Beyond that, there was nothing, but that didn’t tell him anything about what had been said to them, what kind of damage Dorian could have done by treating them like an enemy. They were a child.

“He’s... breathing, barely,” Paya said, and Link only felt relieved that Milk wouldn’t have to deal with the trauma of killing someone. He scooped them into his arms and stood up, pausing over Dorian’s prone form.

The man looked terrible, as though he hadn’t slept or eaten much for days. He’d talked to Link before about the paranoia that crept up on him sometimes, about how he would stay awake to watch over his daughters and make sure they didn’t stop breathing in the middle of the night. He knew he shouldn’t have left, should’ve known better than to try to get some space for himself when things were so delicate.

Despite this certainty, he could not dredge up any pity for the man. He could not dredge up much of anything at all, now that he thought about it.

He looked to Paya, who had been watching him nervously. She stood up, looking at Milk. “Are they okay?”

“Mostly. I’m leaving,” he signed somewhat clumsily around them. She didn’t stop looking nervous. “Are you coming with?”

Paya hesitated for a moment, before averting her gaze. “I’ll stay… and handle things here.”

Link didn’t push, only nodding as he made his way out of the small shed.

Any clarity he’d regained during his trip to the Great Deku Tree seemed to fall away as he whistled for Sugar, hoisting Milk and then himself onto her back and setting off. Sugar stayed on the path even as his hands went limp on the reigns and time seemed to pass strangely and without him realizing.

He didn’t realize he had reached his destination until he was pulled from his daze by a mental nudge from one of the Champions. They had settled solidly in the back of his mind, occasionally murmuring comments that slid off Link’s comprehension like water off a duck’s back.

The sounds of Hateno Village helped draw him back into awareness as well, people chatting, children shouting and ducking around Sugar as they ran past. The active and peaceful surroundings was part of the reason he had settled here. Or, as close to settled as he got, he supposed.

In no time, he reached the house he’d demolished quite a few trees for. A while back, at Mipha’s encouragements, he’d stopped by here to finish upgrading it so it wouldn’t feel quite so… empty.

He bypassed the weapons mounted along the walls, carrying Milk up the stairs and peeling back the blankets of his bed to set them against the sheets. Sometime along the ride here, Mipha had guided his hands through the motions of bandaging their wrists, though their hand was still covered in dry, flaking blood. They could wash it when they woke up. They would wake up.

After pulling the lighter blanket over them and tucking the sides in, Link stepped back. He leaned stiffly against the nearby wall, slowly sliding down until he was crouched there on the ground, making sure Milk was still in his peripheral.

He settled down to wait.

---

The first nightmare was quiet.

He was awake the moment Milk began breathing oddly, and the rapid movement behind their eyelids confirmed that at some point, they had shifted from unconsciousness to genuine sleep.

He paused for a moment, wondering if it would be better to give them space or stay close, but his decision was made for them when they wheezed out a breath suspiciously close to a sob. He drew close just in time for them to bolt upright as though they’d been electrocuted, drenched in sweat.

It took a long moment for their eyes to focus, and when they did, the recognition was automatic.

“Link!” they said, reaching a hand out and stopping just before they could touch him.

He hovered close, wordless. He didn’t know what they were thinking, and like hell he would ask them what had happened when they’d just woke up. He settled for shifting closer, so that his arm bumped their palm, making the contact they had hesitated in. He ignored the Revali-shaped voice in the back of his mind muttering about horse comparisons.

Milk stared at him for a long moment, patting his arm as though they were afraid he would shatter into glass bits. He stared back at them, willing them with his mind to do something that he could help with. There was a sigh in the back of his mind.

‘ Link, for the love of Hylia. Offer them a damned hug, ’ Mipha instructed him, helpfully. He immediately opened his arms in the gesture for a hug, watching Milk carefully for any indication of discomfort.

They blinked at him for a moment, registering, and then their face crumpled like soggy parchment. Before Link could work himself into a panic about crying Milk , they launched themself at his chest, giving him the headbutt of a lifetime, and started wailing into his shirt. He wrapped his arms around them, completing the kind-of hug, and let them squeeze the shit out of his recently-stabbed ribs as they snotted all over him, completely understandably.

All three of the champions seemed to have some sort of instinctual child-calming instincts ingrained in them, and they immediately attempted to take control of his hand and execute three different soothing maneuvers simultaneously, resulting in a stilted dragging motion, as though he was trying to pet a horse. Badly.

Eventually, the sobs turned into muffled hiccups, and the hiccups became uneven breaths, and then they were pulling away to lean back on the bed and wipe their nose with their sleeve in embarrassment. Link didn’t look at or mention the considerable wet spot staining his entire tunic, because he was a very considerate and polite person.

He ignored the laughter in his brain as he got out a handkerchief, deemed necessary when he’d been travelling the freezing Hebra mountains and Revali had gotten fed up with him finding more and more creative clothing pieces to wipe his nose with. It was useful, even if it took up space in his inventory. He offered it to Milk, and waited for them to finish cleaning up before offering them a different pile of folded fabric.

They looked down at their scarf with the same nearly-frightened expression they had touched Link’s arm with. Link tilted his head at them in a silent query. It took them a long moment to respond.

“I… shouldn’t wear it. I don’t want to forget again.”  

“Forget?” Link asked.

“Forget…,” they trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves of the scar burnt into their skin. “Forget what I am.”

Link felt the familiar foreboding that came every time Milk was about to say something that made him want to learn how to time travel and prevent the Yiga Clan from ever interacting with them. He continued to look at them questioningly anyways. “What do you mean?”

They frowned at him, but without their usual severity. “You’re dumb. You don’t remind me, and I can’t forget.” He tilted his head the other way, continuing to not comprehend what he was failing to remind them of, and they sighed, put-upon and with the slightest underlying tremble to it.

“If a sword forgets how to kill, it’s useless isn’t it? It can’t be… a torch or a shield or a friend. It’s made for killing. ... I’m made for killing.”

“Milk,” Link started immediately, but they’d averted their gaze from his signs completely.

“So I can’t forget. Because you’re dumb, and you forget obvious stuff like that all the time. And you’ll… you’ll get killed. ‘Cause of me,” they said, voice reverting back to that near-sob tone.

“I’m unkillable,” Link signed, automatically. “And you’re the one who’s forgetting obvious things.”

“Huh?” Milk frowned, immediately distracted from their distress by being accused of not knowing something. “No.”

Link nodded. “Yes.”

A few minutes later, he had them seated at his small dining table, their brow scrunched up in concentration as they very carefully cut a potato into cubes, knuckles folded the way he had showed them. They were very enthusiastic about cutting, adding, and stirring things, leaving Link to peel and portion.  

Naturally, he’d picked something simple for the first attempt, and the resulting stew turned out… edible, if more mushy than he preferred, due to Milk somehow managing to sneak bananas into it. They seemed to enjoy it, at least.

“That wasn’t so hard!” they declared afterwards. “It’s like magic. With less blood.”

They’d been thoroughly distracted. Perfect. Okay, what other hobbies did he have that weren’t murder-related. Weapons maintenance, archery, taking selfies in front of enemies… oh! Of course! Horses!

‘ Alright, that’s it. One of you is too much for Hyrule, let alone a mini-version. Step aside and let someone with actual talents guide them, ’ Revali chimed in, before Link could take Milk horse-seeking. Maybe for the best. Horses could kick really good when one spooked them.

“Greetings, fledgling--,” Revali said with Link’s mouth, and then immediately ducked as Milk hurled a spoon at him. “Hey!”

“Which Not-Link are you?” Milk asked, squinting at him suspiciously. “Not-Mipha either.”

“As I was about to say, I am Revali, Champion of the Rito and their best archer-mage,” Revalii persisted, gesturing extravagantly to the Great Eagle Bow that was lovingly maintained and mounted on the wall. Link distantly noted that he was being more patient than usual.

Milk perked up, abandoning their unsubtle movements to aim their empty bowl at him as well. “You’re a mage? Can you teach me magic?”

Revali preened under the sudden attention, but Mipha didn’t hesitate to level the mental equivalent of a knife at him. ‘ Non-murder activities.’

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled out loud, and then turned his attention back to Milk. “We will have time to work on magecraft in the future. For now, I have something more important to teach you.”

‘ Huh,’ Link thought, ‘ that wasn’t even an outright no.’

‘Silence,’ Revali responded, internally this time. As Milk watched on curiously, he immediately started rifling through the slate’s inventory for torn clothes and fabric. Link had a lot of the former.

“If you’re going to go anywhere, it’s always important to be able to provide for yourself, and to do it with style.” Revali set the fabric out, as well as a needle Link had carved for mending a while ago. “Follow my instruction, and before long, you’ll be a skilled wing-- ah, hand, at the art of sewing.”

An hour and no less than fifteen times pricking themself in the finger, Milk had repaired a tear in one of Link’s extra pairs of pants. He remembered getting that tear. Thigh wounds were a bitch. Revali felt the seam left behind, tugging on it experimentally. It was clumsy, but they’d used so much string and had been so intensely thorough that it wasn’t likely to come undone any time soon. Which was good, since Link tended to be a little rowdy with his clothes.

‘Still don’t really see the appeal of pants,’ Mipha interjected, as someone who had gone pantsless for a majority of her life. Zora had different standards.

‘I feel you there, brother,’ Daruk agreed, proving that Gorons also had different standards.

‘They’re okay sometimes,’ Link contributed. Apparently his exhibitionist tendencies weren’t a Hylian thing at all, just a Link thing. Saddening.

“Passable work, Milk. Particularly for a first attempt by a novice,” Revali praised them, ignoring them all completely. Revali’s praise was always vaguely backhanded, but Milk seemed to be happy, displaying a grin that was mostly teeth.

“Well, I have important things to attend to,” Revali once again disdainfully ignored the trio of snorts in their shared mindspace, “so you will have to practice on your lonesome! I expect a skilled backstitch by the time I next check in.”

Milk nodded absently as they started trying to sew a square pillow out of Link’s extra pants. Revali rolled Link’s eyes and then hopped back, buffeting Link back into physicality. Link blinked dazedly for a moment, readjusting to his senses, and then promptly gave Milk a thumbs up.

They pointed the needle at him in threat. “Are these ghosts a Goddess-taint thing, or will I get more people in me also.”

Link opened his hands to sign that it was neither, but upon second thought, the Champions had theorized that his hundred-year dip in ancient magic that was supposed to re-tether a departed soul to the body could have possibly-maybe made him a little fucked up. As in, the ‘had half a foot in the ether’ kind of fucked up.

Eh. He shrugged at them. “Maybe.”

Milk looked down their nose at him. “This is what talking to magic Goddess statues does to people. I tried to warn you.”

Link thought back for a moment skeptically before signing again.

“No, you just spat on the ground and made a rude gesture. Every time.”

Milk shook their head at him, clumsily clicking their tongue in pity. Who taught them how to do that.

Rather than dwell on the bad habits that Paya was undoubtedly bestowing upon them, Link shifted to sit down as well. He took a deep breath, before sliding some of the extra fabric scraps aside to gently place their scarf down next to them. Milk looked at it and paused, slowly setting down their half-finished pillow.

“What is this?” Link signed.

“A scarf?” Milk said, eyebrows furrowing as though they thought it might be a trick question.

Link nodded, and then stabbed a forked dagger into the table a few inches to the left of the scarf. “What is this, then?”

Milk looked between Link and the knife with wide, intensely-confused eyes. “I am very sure that you know that’s a knife. You are proficient in the use of knives. I saw you fight a very, very big rock with a knife. ”

“Right. And knives, like swords, can be used for fighting. For killing, right?” Link waited till Milk had nodded slowly to continue. “Can a scarf be used for killing?”

He can see them bite down their knee-jerk response, and mull the question over a second longer. “...Yes. If you try really hard. But they aren’t made for killing. They’re made for being warm.”  

Link nodded again, hovering a hand back over the knife. “Can this be used for killing?”

Milk gave him a long look. “ Duh .” Who taught them that.

Link smothered the twitch in his hands and pushed on. “It’s made for killing. But, I can cut potatoes with it. I can use it in the process of making food, which helps people live.”

He pulled out a leftover potato and proceeded to do just that as Milk processed. He was fantastic at this visual demonstration thing, actually. Thank the Goddess for the three responsible adults occasionally dropping advice in his brain.

“So, you mean… things aren’t just for one thing. Like needles. They’re for sewing, but I could use them to puncture vital arteries in someone’s neck.” Link nodded as the champions sent him various exasperated feelings. “Then… they can do other things, too, even if that wasn’t the intention they were made with?” Milk tried, peering at him with an intense desire to know the answer.

Link set aside the half-cubed potato, taking his time so he could formulate the signs he wanted to use. “Yes. Things can be used in different ways. But,” he turned to face them, “that’s not all I mean.”

Milk squinted at him in confusion, mind clearly racing to understand. Link took another deep breath, and pushed their scarf into their hands.  

“Milk. You are a person, not a thing. People are not made for things like killing, or cooking. You decide what you can do. You make yourself. ”       

Milk stared at him with wide eyes, sensing the emphasis in his sentences. They were a good kid. Link felt something desperate bubble up in him, the urge to make sure they didn’t turn out like him. He leaned forwards as the words spilled from his hands in shaky signs.

“Don’t ever let anyone convince you that you’ll only ever have one reason to be alive.”

He reached forwards, gently gripping their shoulders to convey his urgency. “Don’t ever.”

They nodded jerkily, slowly at first and then faster, near uncontrollable. “I… I want to keep being Milk,” they said, and their voice breaking was the only warning he got before he had an armful of crying child for the second time that day.

He felt less tense and awkward comforting them, this time. Slowly, he leaned forwards and bumped his forehead into their shoulder, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths of his own. Surprising. Milk’s belief that they were a weapon seemed to have touched something sore in the bottomless pit where he cast all troublesome thoughts or feelings.

Those few shaky inhales were the closest he’d gotten to expressing an emotional release in… a long time. It felt… exhausting and relieving at the same time.

Huh.

Maybe he should do that more often.

---

Later, once Milk had finished sobbing (again), wrapped their scarf loosely around them, and even complained about how dumb it was that people could cry, they figured out what it was they were going to do.

Link was all for the idea of him returning to town for whatever needed to be done, leaving Milk in the relative security and safety of his home, but they felt otherwise.

It was because of that insistence that they were here now, walking stiffly a pace behind Link as Paya guided them to Dorian’s house. She hadn’t informed Impa yet, but she had put a blood oath on him while they were gone, ensuring that he would stay in the village and wait for Link’s return. It was a good decision, and she beamed weakly when he told her so.

Mostly, she fretted over Milk, who seemed slightly touched but mostly irritated after they’d assured her that everything was fine for the seventh time.

She was silent as she made her leave, still watching Dorian with a careful expression that wouldn’t have been out of place on her grandmother. Link didn’t shift his expression an inch, as always, but he did pointedly keep himself between Dorian and Milk at all times. Milk themself were half-nerves, half-thoughtful, and their eyes followed all of Dorian’s movements.

The man in question broke the silence first.

“I want to apologize. I saw what I wanted to see, and blinded myself to the truth of things. Even if the worst was true, I should have offered aid instead of behaving as though you had personally wronged me. I have shamed myself and my village with my actions, but more importantly, I have hurt you, in the name of my own selfish reasoning. I’m sorry.”

He knelt, slow and careful in his movements, and lowered his head.

“I have failed you, and so I have forfeit myself. I accept and am thankful for any penance you deem fit to Atone,” he said, in that familiar, recited cadence. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, gaze lowered and neck bared.

Milk stiffened, staring at him with wide eyes. Link was definitely missing the exact significance, but he recognized a gesture like that when he saw it.

Still, he didn’t move to interfere when Milk stepped forwards, only a foot taller than Dorian’s kneeling form. They slowly ghosted their hand over his neck, following the bruising there. It was a clear mark of their attempted strangulation. Dorian closed his eyes completely, body forced lax.

“It’s not my… my place....,” they trailed off after a moment, deep in thought.

They then pulled their scarf from around their neck, and haphazardly draped it onto Dorian, as though to soothe the bruises they had caused. Dorian stared up at them, confused.

“No punishments. No Penance,” they told him, voice firmer than before. “We…,” they glanced at him, “we don’t do those.”

Link felt like someone had inflated an octo balloon of warmth under his ribcage. When they turned to look at him again, he gave them a proud double thumbs up. They made a face back, but the edges of their mouth couldn’t stay downturned.

“...Milk,” Dorian started, and then stopped, holding one end of the scarf in his hand. “I don’t--”

“I am not made for killing,” Milk recited, and then swallowed thickly. “I’m not going to be bad. You either. It’s okay if you forgot.”

Dorian seemed smaller, hunched in on himself, shoulders barely shaking. After a moment of silence beyond his harsh breathing, Milk very carefully patted the top of his head.

“You are a person. I’ll help you remember.”

With that, they stepped back, making a break for the exit when Dorian continued to be unresponsive. Link stepped forwards, looking down at him. There was a long stretch of silence.

“It could’ve been your kids,” he eventually settled on signing. “If you hadn’t left.”

“I know that, now,” Dorian responded, voice strained. “It’s just… fathers will do a lot for their children.”

Link’s gaze didn’t falter. “I know.” I will do the same, goes unspoken.

Dorian lowered his head again, holding his face in his hands. Link left him there, bruised and draped in a scarf too small for him.

Milk was crouched on the porch. When Link closed the door behind him, they let out a long exhale, hands shaky. “That was hard.”

“You did good,” Link told them. “What do you want to do now?”

Milk considered for a long moment. “Do you... have another scarf?” they asked, scar half-hidden behind their hand.

Link fiddled around with his slate to find his latest impulse buy. “Nope. Got something better.”

He presented them with a small, artisan-crafted facemask, the kind they could hook behind their ears. It was made of soft black cloth, and the pattern was made up of small white flowers.

They put it on, delighted. “...Acceptable. I want a nap.”

Link huffed. “A nap it is.”

They followed easily as he led them through the village. “Where do we go next?”

He hummed, remembering Impa’s urging. “How about Gerudo Town?” he asked, spelling the location out for them.

Milk paused. “Oh, I know that place.”

“Good,” Link signed, “because I don’t know anything.”

“What else is new?”

Chapter Text

---

They departed the next day, at Impa’s urging.

Normally, Milk wouldn’t want to do anything the Sheikah elder demanded, just on principle, but she’d mentioned a fear of someone not being able to hold out against the Calamity for much longer, and Link had gotten that little furrow in his brow that meant he was feeling some kind of bad feelings, so. Off they went.

Link and them were already planning to leave anyhow, so it was fine. The further they got from Hyrulian towns and their strange, unpredictable people, the better. Paya, a prime example of the aforementioned people, had continued to be stubbornly insistent on remaining even though she clearly wanted to go, making truly pitiable faces when she thought they weren’t looking. Taking this into account, they valiantly didn’t protest or wriggle away when she gathered them into a rib-squeezing hug. Only for her sake, clearly.

Once they’d gotten done with all the goodbyes, they found Sugar grazing near the town entrance, steadfast as always, and within an hour of the early dawn light breaking, they were on the road.

Not for long, however, since Link was a strange little man who valued breakfast over efficient travel. They had groaned initially when he had reigned Sugar in as they approached the stable along the mountain’s side, but it was turning out to be a surprisingly functional stop.

Functional in that, halfway through their meal of fried bananas, two young kids pranced over to pet Sugar’s nose and make fun of Link.

Milk watched them carefully while pretending not to, banana turning to mush in their clenched jaw. After a few moments passed with no infractions committed against Sugar, they allowed themself to relax slightly. Link was still eating mildly even as the two children talked over each other about how the legendary hero only cared about horses and food. They seemed to be telling Milk specifically, having somehow latched onto them as an ally in bullying Link.

Well. They weren’t wrong!

Soon enough they had revealed a detailed account of Link’s first visit to this particular stable, and the week he spent there trying to tame every wild horse in a one kilometer radius. Milk wasn’t exactly sure what they were expected to offer in return for this invaluable information, but Hylian children turned out to be as resilient and full of chatter as Paya on a good day, so they really only needed to look interested (not difficult; Link stories were a veritable treasure) and nod at the appropriate times.

This inevitably lead to the two dragging Milk over to the first horse Link ever caught, a pink and white stallion who had apparently kicked the hero so hard he passed out for two days. His name was Salt. They immediately took a liking to him.

Link clicked his tongue at them. “Watch out, he likes fingers.”

Milk immediately took a step back. They would take a liking to him from a safe distance. Unsurprisingly, Sugar was still the superior horse.

As thanks for introducing them to an ally in kicking Link around, they graciously shared half of their meal with the two. Once they finished, it was finally time to get moving again. They waved to the kids and bid Salt goodbye with a solemn nod, heading towards the shadow of the nearby big mountain range, apparently called Dual Peaks.

The steady and trustworthy gait of Sugar gently lulled them into a daze, clinging to the back of Link’s shirt as he set a solid pace. He’d said that it would be another day before they drew near, so they felt fairly secure in power napping.

An indeterminate amount of time later, though, they drooped forwards and suddenly found that Link’s smelly tunic had vanished, along with the rest of him. They jolted upright, wondering if Sugar had finally had enough and catapulted the ridiculous Hylian right off her back. For a moment they couldn’t make out any particularly Link-shaped objects, and then the clash of metal on metal up ahead drew their eyes.

As it turned out, he was meters ahead, partially hidden by some crumbling ruins, and easily dispatching a bokoblin. They struggled their way off of Sugar (having resolved to not make her sit down when they were super sure they could get down by themself), and led her over to where Link was, rubbing their eyes and grumbling.

Link was patting a wheezing Hylian on the back lightly, looking concerned but in the most indecipherable way possible. “Ok?” he signed. The Hylian nodded emphatically.

“Yeah, thanks to you. Here, for saving our skins.” The stranger handed him something, and Link nodded blankly in thanks. He turned, apparently done with whatever he was doing over here, and blinked at Milk. He waved, and promptly handed them a meat skewer.

Milk looked at the meat skewer and back to Link, very patiently not bringing up their interrupted nap. “What were you doing over there?”

“Couple of scavengers got caught in a bokoblin ambush,” he signed, looking around at the reminder. “They normally hunt in larger groups. Let’s get out of here.”

They clambered back onto Sugar, but Milk had already lost their nice sleepy feeling. They decided to bother Link to make up for it, speaking between bites of their newly obtained meal.

“Why do you stop to help people on the road? Won’t that just make them weak for when you’re not there?”

There was a long pause. “It’s good to help people in trouble.”

That didn’t answer anything. “Because you’re the hero?”

Link shook his head. “Because I want to.”

“Why?”

Another long pause. The hero’s brain was working slower than normal today.

“It feels nice to help people. That’s all,” he signed, and then spurred Sugar into a canter. Milk mulled the words over thoughtfully. Link was strange, and very different from all the other adults they’d seen. But not always in a bad way.

They blinked, drawn from their thoughts by the sudden absence of sunlight. A huge shadow had been cast over them, and when they looked to the side, they could see a sheer cliff face that went up and up and up. “Whoa,” they breathed, craning their head back. “Link, Link, look! That’s not a mountain, is it?”

He looked over his shoulder at them, expression wry. “That’s the Great Plateau,” he informed them, showing them the little landmark on his map. They couldn’t seem to stop peering up to check that it was still there, standing tall like a giant tree trunk.

“Can we go up there?” they asked, eyes wide. Link looked up at the plateau’s walls with a complicated expression for a long moment, long enough that they almost thought he hadn’t heard their question. Then, he shook his head.

“Not unless you want to teleport,” he added, before they could protest. They closed their mouth. Teleporting sucked.

Link did his odd huff of laughter, but the longer they rode along the dirt path next to the wall, the more the humor faded from his expression. It seemed more like his expression was fading from his expression, really, leaving him as stone-faced and unreadable as when they’d first met him, before they knew how to read the little crinkles in his brow and the corners of his eyes. They quieted down, watching him carefully. Every so often, his gaze would flick up to the crumbling walls at the top of the plateau, and his shoulders would tense further into knots.

They stared at the walls for a long time to investigate, but the most they ever caught was a glimmer of blue light, and the feeling of heavy eyes watching them. It was uncomfortable, even if they had no idea who or what was really causing it. They bared their teeth at the walls anyways.

It was a relief when the road split away and they finally managed to get out of the eerie shade. Bit by bit, the tension vibrating in Link’s frame reduced, until it had returned to a normal level (for Link, anyways). At that point, they’d made it to the next stable and settled in for the night.

From the corner that they had claimed, Milk watched a child tug on her parent’s shirt for a while, whining until he set her in his lap and began to do something to her hair that looked very similar to Paya’s ministrations. They reached up to feel their own hair, and were dismayed to find that it felt disheveled from the nights on the road. They picked up their Carver, using it to reflect the top of their head so they could see the damage. They were still at it when Link appeared next to them, a bowl of curry in each hand.

Reluctantly, they set the weapon down and reached for food instead. They sulked through their meal, and Link watched them unerringly for a long period of time.

“What?” they bit out.      

“Thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” they said, not knowing precisely what it meant but having heard Lasli use it on Link before. They avoided Link’s flick, smug.

“Want me to braid your hair?”

They perked up immediately, the picture of innocence. “Braid? Is that what Paya does? You can do that?”

Link shrugged. “Kind of?”

Milk squinted at him for a long moment, but their hair was already in shambles. The hero probably couldn’t mess it up worse. And if he did, they would just beat him up.

---

Link was quietly grateful for Paya once again, as a brush was one of the things she had packed while fretting over their departure. It came in useful now, as he slowly worked through the few knots that had accumulated in Milk’s hair. They flinched every so often when his fingers or the brush made contact with the back of their neck, but seemed determined not to acknowledge it.

As a master of ignoring his own trauma, Link could work with that. After a while, they were both more relaxed. Brushing hair was surprisingly soothing, and the repetitive pattern of it made him want to just sit and brush instead of actually putting it up. Milk was peering curiously at him out of the corner of their eyes, though, and shifting around in the way that meant they’d gotten impatient, so he started to separate their hair into segments. Maybe he’d brush his own hair some time.

Probably not.

He set the brush down, considering the hair he’d partitioned. Now he had to rearrange them in a pattern… He reached out and began to slowly overlap-

the top layer first, separate, cross over, combine and add a new strand-   

He blinked away the odd haze over his vision, shaking his head lightly. For a moment, Milk’s hair had looked almost blonde.

“Are you done?” Milk tried to jab an elbow into his kidney, pulling his attention back to reality.

It appeared that he was done, actually. That was fast. Though a bit messy, a perfectly functional braid sat before him, the ends fraying in his fingers. He tied it off with Paya’s loaned ribbon, and then leaned back, waving his hands in celebration. “Ta-da.”

Milk’s hands immediately flew to the back of their head, inspecting the new hairstyle curiously. They tried to look at it over their shoulder, a tiny grin slowly growing on their face. “It’s so neat!”

They looked down their nose at him and grinned. “I guess it’s passable. You’re no Paya, though.”

Link shrugged, tucking away the last vestiges of unease from the distortion. “Fair.”

“Did Paya teach you how to do that?” they asked, still fiddling with the end of their new braid. She hadn’t, and Revali certainly hadn’t, so where had he learned this from? Link thought on that for a moment, and then decided that actually he didn’t like thinking about that. Instead, he pulled his default maneuver: pretending to have instantly fallen asleep.

“Ugh! Again?” they said, only looking away from their hair after a moment passed and no response had come. They groused under their breath for a few moments, shifting around, and then Link heard clothing rustle and settle nearby. He should probably talk to them about the blood magic casting at some point. It wasn’t really proper inn etiquette.

He sat there, listening to the ambient sounds of Milk snoring softly, and between one moment and the next, he fell asleep.

He woke in a cold sweat, a full body twitch spasming through him as though he’d just been doused in ice water. He’d dreamt -- he hadn’t slept deeply for a while, but this time he’d been awake for days after the incident with Dorian, and the stable was safe, Milk was snoring, and he’d dreamt of--

A childish face, small hands tugging at his tunic. A grin with a gap tooth. Her pleading for him to braid her familiar golden hair, sitting cross legged in front of him and telling him about how her cuccos were doing, which ones were healthy and which needed extra care.

The dream had a hazy quality, soft and calm. He awoke as though it was one of his worst nightmares.

His mind was blank for a long moment, the way it always was after he found a memory, and he registered a wetness on his cheeks. That didn’t normally happen. Some part of him was crying. That was his sister, he thought, and found he couldn’t remember her name. Suddenly, all of him was crying.

He was quiet, the way he always was, as he shook with grief. Not just for his sister, but for the Link of a century past. He’d had a home, a family, a life, a century ago. All of that was gone now. He was all that remained.

He was certain he was having a breakdown silently, but at some point between when he woke and the breaking of dawn, Milk shuffled over to Link’s still form. They mumbled something about not being able to sleep, and then flopped down in his space, quiet and steady against the light tremors that occasionally wracked through his body.  

That was familiar-not-familiar too, in a way that he was sure meant that his sister had done the same for her own bad dreams a hundred years ago. His chest ached with the feeling of losing something he’d never really had, but...  the solid presence next to him wasn’t a memory. Milk was there. He wasn’t alone.

He was still all that remained of that life, the scraps of a hero haunted by the wishes he could never fulfill, but he wasn’t alone anymore. That was what mattered.

Dawn arrived, and the only sign that anything at all had happened was Milk scraping some of their fried rice onto his plate during breakfast. Link allowed it, mostly because he’d been discreetly adding more to Milk’s portions every day when they weren’t paying attention. Revali called him a mother hen, but Link had lifted Milk up repeatedly in the past, and he wasn’t going to forget the feeling of skin stretched over ribs anytime soon.

They got back on the road as the air around them began to warm with the sun’s rising, and made good time. After a night like that, he generally preferred to trek along and kill any monster that crossed him until the adrenaline had washed away anything distracting, but for some reason, today he was reluctant to leave the saddle. Milk’s hands were fisted in his tunic, tugging whenever they noticed something and wanted an explanation, which was frequently.  

He spurred Sugar past any ambushes, trusting her agility and loosing an arrow at passing monsters that got too close. It was faster to ignore the monsters while traveling, anyhow.    

After slowly skirting around a sleeping Hinox and demolishing the scouts of a nearby Bokoblin camp, Link safely assumed that this region was monster-ridden. No wonder the King had sent him in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it fresh out of the shrine, no matter how fast his growth curve was. He wondered if the next Champion would linger with him as well.

“Link,” another tug on his tunic, “I… I think I’m hurt?”

Link resisted the urge to stop short, loosening the reins a bit so Sugar could navigate on her own properly before turning around to check them over. “Where?”

“…My head,” they said, avoiding eye contact petulantly. They still weren’t used to admitting when they felt bad. “I don’t get it… I’m all shaky too, but I’m not hungry at all?”

Link nodded, and promptly handed them a hearty elixir, which they made a face at but grudgingly accepted. They had just passed a temporary campsite a few moments ago. He led Sugar into a tight circle, and then headed back the way they’d come.

Soon enough, they hit a simple shelter, with an abandoned fire pit. He dismounted, offered a hand to Milk, received a withering glare for his trouble, and then went to shake some firewood out of his slate. Moments later, a fire was slowly growing, and Milk had managed to get down from Sugar in record time. He was so proud.

“Did the elixir help?” he asked, settling into a crouch to tend the flames. Milk stepped closer, and then seemed to wince at the fire’s brightness. They squatted a little distance away.

“Not really… I just want to… mm.” They leaned over further until they were laying on their side, and then curled themself into a ball, their default sleeping position. Link frowned in concern. They’d only left a little bit ago… had he kept them from sleeping with his weird completely unexplainable breakdown?

‘Check their temperature,’ chimed Mipha, and Link’s cheek twitched a bit in surprise. The champions had been a bit sparse lately, and Mipha was sometimes so content to sit and watch without commentary that he would become used to the salt-iron-waves presence and forget she was there.

He moved to do as she said, and Milk swatted halfheartedly at his hand. “No murder right now,” they mumbled, curling up tighter. “‘m tired. Too bright.”

‘No fever,’ Mipha hummed, ‘but going by that alone… maybe a migraine?’

She paused, and Link gave her a mental poke, a bit impatient. How could he fix it.

A curl of amusement warmed him briefly, and she continued. ‘There’s no easy fix, though ice would help. You won’t find much of that in this heat, though. Darkness and sleep will serve them best.’

Link immediately attempted to shave some ice off of the ice block tool on his slate, and then grimaced when it dissipated. It made sense, seeing as there was no water for it to stem from in the first place, but still. He couldn’t exactly use an ice arrow. Could he?

...No.

Instead, he draped his most lightweight hooded cloak over them, providing them shelter from the ambient sunlight, and settled by the fire to keep an eye on them.

‘Link,’ Mipha said, after the third time he had stood to pace around and check that Milk was still breathing under the hood. ‘I think you should go scout ahead. This area is as safe as it gets, and they need quiet rest.’

Well. He couldn’t really argue with that.

He left Sugar to settle nearby, and walked ahead on foot, occasionally climbing to get a better viewpoint in the winding canyons. Eventually, he came upon a traveler stuck between the canyon’s wall and a small horde of angry bokoblins, and from there it was easy to fall into a help-rinse-repeat pattern, answering any needs of the people by the nearby stable. Between tasks, he would check in on Milk's sleeping form.

He hadn’t originally set out from the Plateau expecting to do these sort of things, but it did make everything a lot… nicer. It was like he’d told Milk. It was no skin off his back to clear out a beach or catch some insects for a stranger, and then suddenly people were less wary, more likely to grant him a smile or a pat on the shoulder. Half the time, people’s requests led him to his own desires as well, like fairy fountains or shrines. By now, it was just habit to approach anyone who had a worried crease in their brow and ask what he could do.  

By the time he’d finished collecting a truly stupendous amount of rushrooms for a jittery old man, the sun was already sinking in the sky. Mipha had departed earlier, saying something about tonight being one she had to stay in Vah Ruta for, so he was alone in his head at the moment. He jogged back to their makeshift camp and saw that they were still soundly asleep, a lump under the cloak fabric. The tight, uneasy feeling in his chest faded a bit.

He wasted some more time cooking, putting together a creamy meat soup that would be easy enough to eat but also have protein, just in case they really were a bit anemic and didn’t realize it. Throughout it all, they remained sound asleep, not stirring even at the smell of the gourmet meat he had used. He waited until he’d gotten everything dished out before sitting next to them, and leaning over to wake them up. He jostled their shoulder lightly, pulling the cloak back now that the sun was setting.

They jumped, and nearly got tangled in the cloak as their eyes darted around, taking in their surroundings. Link waited for the panic in their gaze to fade, and then offered up a bowl. They sat up slowly, not grumbling or complaining like normal, and when they reached for the dish, their hand was shaking so obviously that Link could’ve seen it from ten paces away.

They snatched their hand back, avoiding Link’s eyes and frowning at their own jittery behavior. Taking a deep breath, they raised their hand and then slammed it into the ground, gritting their teeth when the shaking didn’t stop. They lifted it again with the same intent, and Link caught their wrist carefully in his free hand. They stared at him as though they’d forgotten he was there. He pressed the warm bowl into their hand, ignoring the tremble.

“Eating helps,” he signed once they’d taken it. He sipped from his own soup in example.

Milk didn’t say anything, which was unusual and put something in him on edge, but their shoulders relaxed a little bit as they took a deep breath of the steam wafting from the soup. They ate slowly, silent, and crickets began to chirp as night really set in.

“Daruk told me he wanted to show you some Goron channeling techniques later,” he signed, slowly.

They blinked at him for a long moment, and then bobbed their head in a lackluster nod. They weren’t baited by even an offer of magic tutoring? Link felt his concern levels rise from ‘maybe just tired/mad and needs to talk it out’ to ‘possibly very sick’. He frowned at the campfire for a moment, trying to think of a solution. He couldn’t physically fight illness, he was relatively sure…

Clunk.

Link looked up to see the remnants of Milk’s soup spilling onto the dirt, their whole body wracked with tension and visibly vibrating. He hurriedly asked them what was wrong, but it was like they didn’t even register the signs. Their eyes were unseeing, pupils blown wide and staring beyond him.

He started to move forward, already running through his options. Before he could get far, though, his body stilled of its own accord, his lungs filled with a heavy miasma. The moonlight above began to warp, casting the campsite in a ghoulish light, and he only had time to register the truth of what was happening before everything went white.

---

Sweat rolled down their back, their muscles seizing and relaxing with every passing moment. They’d been preparing for this day for ages, had excelled in class and beaten every trial with cunning and skill. They were the best. This trial was the last. Was a privilege. They would not hesitate.

They stared down at the young face below them. The child wasn’t trained, evident by the way he struggled and cried out in fright. Disgraceful behavior for a Yiga. They felt oddly sick to their stomach, but they could see the silhouette of their teacher, standing silent among the rest of the Blademasters overseeing.

He’d told them this was a trial of resolve. That sometimes the hero would be in a form that was designed to shake the instincts of even the strongest of Ganon’s servants. They really only had to bring the kid to unconsciousness, to simulate death. There wouldn’t be any permanent damage. They’d been through the same at this age, though they barely remembered it. They had to prove that they wouldn’t hesitate.

They had the child by the front of the tunic. He didn’t understand what was going on, probably wasn’t even in training yet. They were already small compared to even most basic footsoldiers, but this child was smaller yet. He was struggling to pull their fingers away, uncertain, afraid. He was one of their own… wasn’t it natural to not want to hurt him?

They hesitated.

“I-- I can’t--,” they loosened their grip, and felt wetness on their cheeks. Why were they crying? This wasn’t a physical pain.

The child twisted free, scrambled away from them, fled. They lowered their head as a low brass tone resonated throughout the chamber. Failure. It wasn’t one they heard often, but it struck dread into their heart as sure as any other acolyte.

The Blademasters left them there, exiting with the same measured steps they’d entered with. Teacher stood there the longest, lingering a moment to ensure that they knew that they would Repent for their actions. They’d failed; it was only natural.

--they coughed repeatedly, uncontrollably, entire body shaking with the strain. They tried to remember where they were, when they were. The moon above was red, deep and familiar, and they could feel the Malice thick in the air around them, choking them, just like that night--

That night, they hadn’t noticed the odd tension in the air until it was too late. They’d dared to believe that the strong sense of shame and the harsh, nonstop training they’d been exposed to was punishment enough. It wasn’t until their teacher had roused them from the barracks and brought them here, to a wide, open room with a deep, cavernous hole in the center, that they realized the truth.

In front of them, several Blademasters stood, each with a broken scythe in one hand and a person kneeling before them. Those kneeling were all donned in Yiga garb, but unmasked. Unlike the acolyte, they were all adults, so their false, mortal faces shouldn’t have been exposed like this in front of them. There was even an elder they recognized by the tassels of his robe. What was going on?

Their teacher guided them to another side of the room, thankfully far from the gaping hole in  the floor. They dutifully followed, resisting the urge to breathe too quickly. Teacher noticed things like that.

The room was mostly quiet, full of anticipation for… something. The acolyte couldn’t figure it out, but they didn’t need to wait long. Soon enough, the moonlight above began to stream into the cavern, and this seemed to be an invisible signal for the Blademasters.

The one leading the line dragged his charge to her feet, and then to the edge of the pit, where she was forced to kneel again. Her head was forced up, exposing her neck. “Pay for your infractions,” the Blademaster intoned, cold, and dragged the broken blade across her jugular in one sharp motion.

The acolyte flinched, wanted to turn away from the sight, but Teacher’s gloved hands settled onto their shoulders, and they forced themself to keep facing forward. The woman made a thick gurgling noise, and then the Blademaster released her, letting her body topple forward into the pit. There was a long stretch of silence before the sickening thud finally sounded, and the Blademaster stepped away. The acolyte swallowed.

The procession continued, and the heavy hands on their shoulders kept them watching every moment of it, as some begged and struggled and yelled, and others sat lifelessly. No matter what they did, the ritual was methodical and identical: bring them to the edge of the hole, force their face towards the moonlight, cut their throat and drop them before they stopped breathing. They swallowed back bile as the procession finally finished, unable to hide their trembling. Why would Teacher show them this?

As though summoned by their thoughts, the hands on their shoulders pushed them forwards. They stumbled but let themself be guided until they realize where exactly they were headed. They dug their heels into the loose dry dirt, unable to restrain their panic. “Teacher, please--”

“Quiet, now. This is for your own good.”

They couldn’t stand against his strength, and they wailed as the edge of the pit came nearer and nearer. At the very edge, they stopped, their teacher holding them in place. They couldn’t help looking down at the depths of the hole. It was dark, too deep for even the moonlight to penetrate, but they could smell iron and rot. They gagged, tears beginning to form as they tried to turn their head away, and their teacher applied further pressure to their shoulders.  

“Enough. Pay attention now, or this will be for nothing.”

They struggled to obey, sniffling pathetically, and found that the atmosphere was heavier now, similar to the heat haze of the desert. They slowly looked up at the moon, and saw that the air had warped with Malice, the sky itself dyed red. The moon shone directly into the cavern, upon the pit, and the acolyte heard the sound of a drowning person taking their first breath. And then another. And another.

The sounds came from the pit. The breathing was ragged, but alive.

They stared in awe at the moon, drenched in the feeling of malice coating their skin. Abruptly, they were pushed from behind, and only Teacher’s grip on their shirt kept them from toppling over the edge. They waved their arms, called for their teacher, and only quieted when he shook them roughly, almost making them lose their footing.

“It’s easy to do this,” he told them, “because you are still weak. But our Lord’s power will save you. Strengthen you. It will hurt, but you will remember, Acolyte, that all things worth having hurt.”

His grip on them loosened, and they--

--jerked up, taking in a deep breath of their own, entire body cold with shock. They were-- they were Milk, and they were with the hero, and they could still feel the pressure of the Malice in the air, the elder had been different, hadn’t recognized them after that night, and they were wordlessly terrified of the same befalling them--

They forced their attention back to the present and looked around, seeking Link out automatically. They found him a few feet away, motionless as a statue, eyes open but entirely obscured by glowing, ethereal light. It all reeked of Goddess magic.

They crawled over to sit next to him anyways.

Monster cries echoed through the night, and when Link blinked the remnant of holy energy out of his eyes and found himself back in his mortal body, Milk was curled up against his side, sniffling. He carefully patted their head, making them rub their face with their palm and look up at him. “You’re back.”

Link nodded, not mentioning their puffy eyes or running nose. “I get a little sick, sometimes, on the blood moon,” he signed. “It can make nights bad.”

Bad was a good word for it. They looked away from him, but refused to unlatch themself from his side. He didn’t seem to mind. “Sometimes, it helps just not to be alone,” he inhaled deeply, “like when you kept me company while I was having a bad night.”

Milk blinked, craning their head to look up at him. He never talked about stuff that made him act weird. “You… have bad nights?”

Link huffed wryly. “A lot of them. It’s been better, though. Lately.”

They mulled that over for a long moment, before speaking haltingly. “I remember things when I don’t want to. Things I forgot on purpose. Something reminds me, and--”

They quieted. Link kept his hand on their head, which was oddly comforting.

“Me too,” he signed, and ruffled their hair gently. They ducked out from under his hand, grumbling halfheartedly. “But it’s okay. It can get better.”

They thought about that for a long while, waiting for their hands to stop shaking and their breaths to come easier. Link sat next to them, breathing slowly, looking up at the stars above, a picture of calmness.

“Good,” they eventually decided. “Then, I will get better. And so will you.”

“We sure will,” he signed, “but not without sleep. Let’s rest for the journey tomorrow, yeah?”

Milk nodded, but stayed put. They didn’t want to sleep, to remember.

Link flopped back onto the ground, upsetting their balance and making them fall as well. They complained at him, and he ignored them, signing a quick good night before putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

He fell asleep irritatingly fast, but… Milk found sleep coming easier as they curled up with his steady breathing nearby.

Maybe they could get better.

---    

The next morning marked a much brighter and more productive day, with them making it through the nearby stable and breakfast in record time. They had to leave Sugar at the stable, since she wasn’t suited for the sand, and after that tearful goodbye, they headed out.

Just as the inn owner had told Link, the closest spot to stop and rest before making his way to Gerudo Town was the Kara Kara Bazaar. By the time they made it to the large market, both of them were sweating heavily, and Link had what he felt was a ludicrous amount of sand in his shoes. Still, it was near impossible not to perk up once they reached it properly.

The Kara Kara Bazaar was bright and colorful, full of stalls and shops forming cluttered and crowded alleys. It was a tailored hotspot for tourism, and when the sun began to beat down in earnest, it became clear that it was also tailored to keep tourists from getting sunstroke.

There were many shaded areas around the buildings, and even a few charms etched into the walls to keep the passage of cool air flowing. Link paused by them a few times just to hear the pleasant hum of the magic, a constant soothing undertone to the lively chatter of the marketplace.

At first, Milk had seemed thoroughly overwhelmed, clinging to the back of his tunic and closing their eyes against the sensory overload. Link guided them to a less crowded area, and a small shop with plants in pots and vases of various sizes caught their attention. He watched as they curiously studied each and every individual desert flower with rapt attention, a few times waving Link over and showing him the ones they recognized from their books.

The shopkeep came over, an older Gerudo woman with crow’s feet and a wide-brimmed sun hat. She seemed amused by Milk’s enthusiasm, and gathered her robes to squat next to them, causing them to almost topple over in surprise. Link was absentmindedly glad that Milk’s first interaction in the Bazaar was with a Gerudo that wasn’t over seven feet, seeing how their response to Sidon went.

“See any you don’t know, vevhi? ”

Milk eyed her warily. “I’m... Milk?”

“Nice to meet you, Milk. I’m Lemati.” She looked up at Link, not too much shorter than him even in a squat. “You’re with this kid, yeah? Tourists?”

Link shook his head, latching his slate back onto his belt to sign. “Mostly here on business.”

Lemati waved a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, I only know the spoken form of Hylian. Our sign languages are different, I didn’t understand most of that.”  

It was a common enough situation. He’d had some difficulties in Rito Village too, since the very nature of their different limb structures meant that their sign language was exceedingly different. He’d played a lot of charades until Revali conceded to teach him Rito sign, mostly out of embarrassment.

He was trying to figure out how to properly express ‘business’ in gestures when Milk interrupted. “He said we’re here on business. Important hero stuff, he never explains any of it.”

Link held a hand up as if to protest, and then lowered it. They had a point, really.

Lemati laughed, straightening up and dusting off her skirts. “Well, if you need to speak with the Chief of Gerudo Town, you’re going to want to get a letter of passage from the officiary. My daughter Maike knows where her workroom is; her girlfriend works nearby. Ah, and get yourself some new clothes, if you don’t want to end up passing out halfway to town.” She gestured at his tunic, clicking her tongue. “This fabric... you’ve too many compact layers out here in the heat. My daughter knows Rhondson, she’s a talented seamstress, go see her too.”

Link nodded, immediately forgetting both names. Well, he was going to talk to most of the people here anyhow, so he was sure he’d find them eventually. He made an aborted sign of thanks, and then gave her a thumbs up, making Milk groan.

“Ah, here,” she walked over to where some dried flowers were hanging, and rummaged around for a moment. When she returned, she held the tiniest pot Link had ever seen, with a single succulent leaf sticking out of it.

“For my fellow botany enthusiast,” she said with a wink, and handed the plant to Milk. They stared at the tiny leaf with awe. “Make sure to give it a name, and water it often.”

Milk nodded firmly, eyes still locked on the plant. Link had a feeling that they would now risk life and limb for it. He guided them through the market, occasionally pausing to check out some wares or another. By the time they reached the center area, he’d stopped and bought them slices of hydromelon on a stick, which Milk had taken to with aplomb.

The center of the oasis was a clear, fresh aquifer, and there were people nearby carefully scooping up water with thick metal containers. Others simply sat near the large pool on woven blankets, enjoying the sun or scenery. Link began to feel a familiar dizziness as he stared at the water’s clear surface, and managed to get them both settled nearby before his vision spotted and he succumbed to the memory.  

It was one of Zelda, as always, but this one was much more frantic than before. She was sprinting through the Bazaar, the sounds of battle clear behind her, and many stalls abandoned or destroyed. Link watched, incorporeal, as the surroundings rushed past. It was an attack. Where was he?

Zelda reached the edge of the oasis, and began to skirt around it, before stopping dead. A Yiga footsoldier stood before her, advancing silently. She turned to run, but another had been chasing her, so her route of escape was already cut off. She drew a dagger from her waist, but her hands were shaking, and she was still looking for an escape. It reminded Link of his first time being attacked, fresh out of the shrine and still unknowing of what fate wished of him.

One of the footsoldiers moved in to attack, and Link watched as his past self finally arrived at the scene, deflecting the descending blade and--

Link felt himself tense up, the memory rippling slightly as he watched the Link of a century ago drive his sword through the Yiga soldier’s gut and tear it out just as quick, without any hesitation. He turned before his opponent even hit the ground, and attacked the other Yiga with just as much vicious relentlessness.

Link turned away, focusing on where Zelda had fallen back. She was watching the other Link with relief and a sort of appreciation, a new development going by the previous memories he’d found. Even so, he could see the way her hands still shook. The way her body flinched back when a blow was struck.

She was a princess, wasn’t she? Far from her kingdom, now. Hadn’t the king given her any practical experience in battle?

He focused on this line of thought until the memory fizzled away, blinking back to consciousness with a sick feeling in his stomach. Now, he simply fought with Yiga footsoldiers until they were exhausted and then watched them teleport away, taking whatever they left behind as a fee for harassing him, but -- he’d killed those Yiga a hundred years ago, remorselessly and without hesitation.

If that past Link’s memories had survived the Shrine of Resurrection, would he have killed Milk on that mountain, when they couldn't teleport away? Was that the kind of person he had been?

“Link? Are you awake?” A small hand waved in front of his face. “You went all empty again.”

...No. If the hero of a hundred years past had awoken properly, he wouldn’t have stalled and wandered and avoided in fear. He would have gone through the quickest route to free Zelda, as was his duty, and he likely wouldn’t have run into Milk in the first place.

He had to believe that.

“I’m fine,” he signed, going cross eyed as they snapped their fingers right next to his nose. They sat back on their haunches, biting into their hydromelon.

“Good. I need to name my plant. It’s very important and you have to witness it.”

Link looked at the tiny pot balanced on their lap. “How about…” He thought hard. “Kiwi?”

Milk gave him a hideously offended look, which he felt was a little harsh.

“I am not naming it that. It will be named… Gunteric the Vicious Protector.”

Link became immediately and immensely grateful that he’d spent so long without using his facial muscles that they now didn’t even twitch. “Good choice,” he signed, in an immense show of willpower. Milk preened.

He spent a little while wandering around and speaking to the people nearby, making sure Milk was in his peripheral the entire time… just because. By the time they’d finished their snack and then watered GVP properly, he’d managed to get directions to the officiary from Maike, who had seen Milk sitting with their tiny potted plant and immediately realized what they wanted. She muttered something about her mother always sending tourists her way, so he bought some more hydromelon from her as thanks.

The largest building in the Bazaar was a local inn, surrounded by booths and with an arrow shop inside, presumably run by Maike’s girlfriend. They spoke to the owner, Kachoo, and were pointed towards the officiary’s office, a small side room off the main hall.

The Gerudo woman inside was short, her hair bundled up into a large bun, and surrounded by filing cabinets. She looked at them curiously when they entered. “Here on business?”

Link nodded. Milk also nodded. She pulled out a file and quill, and proceeded to quiz him on why he wanted to enter Gerudo Town. Luckily, she had no trouble with Hylian sign, so he didn’t have to depend on Milk’s… slightly over-exuberant translations. Less luckily, he didn’t really have much business beyond ‘defeat Divine Beast,’ so he was at a bit of a loss.

“You’re going to stop Vah Naboris’s rampaging? How?” she asked, brow furrowing.

“I will figure that out when I get there,” Link signed. It was how he generally operated.

She scrutinized him for a long moment, and then looked at the paperwork on her desk. She sighed. “Y’know what, you seem harmless enough. Here, just sign saying you won’t violate any of our laws.”

Link did so. She signed a sheaf of paper and then handed it to him.

“Great. Now, you are Gerudo Town’s problem. Here’s your letter of passage, and if you betray my trust I will see you in jail. Goodbye.”

Link nodded. That seemed fair, though expecting any jail to contain him was a lost cause. Well, he wasn’t planning on breaking any laws so it would probably be fine.  

Next, new clothes. Their progress through the market was still slow, seeing as Milk really took their time inspecting everything that caught their eye. It was all a lot to take in, though, and at some point his three ghost tagalongs showed up to sightsee, more out of nostalgia than anything since they’d naturally been there before in their journeys. Still, it was a pleasant atmosphere, and Link found himself relaxing.

A stranger waved for Link’s attention, and, casting a glance at Milk nearby, he ambled over, finding a small stand set up in the shadow of another shop.

“You’re new here right?” the Hylian man running the stand asked, putting his hands on his hips. “You’ll never get into Gerudo Town looking like that. Take a look at what I’ve got.”

Link did just that. There were piles of fabric sitting along the makeshift stand, but... He stared at the thin, gauzy fabric for a long moment, and held it up. It seemed like less material altogether than his climbing bandana. This was supposed to protect him from the sun? Did it come with an enchantment or something?

He looked at the man again. He seemed to be sweating profusely, and offered Link a weak smile.  

“C’mon, don’t give me that look. Don’t you know? You won’t be able to get into town without wearing clothes like these. They don’t let men in there.”

Link tilted his head, curious. That… wasn’t what he’d been told.

‘Ah, Link..,’ Mipha trailed off as the shopkeep continued to talk rapidly.

“Trust me, you’ll never get into that forbidden paradise unless you don these bad boys. And they’re only 300 rupees a piece, a bargain for rich fabric like this!”

Link looked down at the outfit, and then over at the rest of the market. Most of the Gerudo there were wearing long, breathable cotton garments in light and festive colors. Those outfits looked nothing like the near-bathing suit he had in his hands, and it seemed like many of these vendors would make the trip home to Gerudo Town every so often. That, along with the fact that Lemati and Maike both had explicitly mentioned that those who needed to visit could obtain a letter of passage...

‘Ah… Could this be a scam?’

Daruk burst into laughter, and slightly embarrassed amusement radiated from Mipha.

‘Sorry, Link. They wanted to see if you’d take the bait.’

‘Damn, I thought for sure he’d bite,’ Revali said, disappointed.

Link eyed the garment. ‘You guys think I’m that unobservant?’

‘Well…’ Mipha said, in a tone that meant yes .

‘Little guy, you’ve already fallen for it once!’ Daruk informed him cheerfully. ‘Back when the princess wasn’t all that fond of you, you were always in a snit trying to keep up with her.’

‘Hard to imagine Link being in a snit about much of anything,’ Revali mumbled.

‘She slipped your watch the first time you two were here at the Bazaar and you were in a panic about it. You ended up believing the first guy who told you that no men were allowed in Gerudo Town, donning one of those outfits, and nearly dying of heatstroke halfway there.’ The Goron chortled. ‘Urbosa gave the princess quite the scolding about it.’

‘Huh.’ Link set the clothing down, ignoring the man’s slightly uncomfortable expression. His face had probably been doing weird things again.

Finding Milk investigating stained glass sculptures nearby, they asked around to find Rhondson, rather than risk any more shady sellers.

They spotted her in one of the biggests tents in the area, full of displays with vibrant clothing and bustling with Gerudo and tourists alike. The seamstress in question seemed caught up with tailoring a veiled woman’s long skirt, so they stood by the side until she waved the patron goodbye. By then, Milk had already found a bright green hood and gotten incredibly attached to it.

“Here for proper clothing, I’m guessing?” Rhondson asked, glancing down at Milk, who was caught halfway through the process of trying on the hood. She laughed, and led them to a back corner of the tent where the displays were. “I’ve got Hylian and Gerudo style outfits, so take your time and ask me if you can’t find what you’re looking for.”  

Milk looked at the Gerudo outfits, many which were dyed in lavish, intricate patterns, and then back up at Link. He waved them off. “Go wild.”

As they began to bury themself in fabric, Link turned to the more neutral-colored Hylian wear. He had a feeling he’d need to get something undyed and less expensive if he wanted to make it out of this place with any Rupees left. Revali had a lot to say about his fashion choices regardless, while Mipha and Daruk both encouraged him to forgo pants.

A short time later, they’d both managed to find clothes that worked and change into them, though Link had to veto the nine scarves Milk had somehow accumulated during their search. He paid for the outfits and convinced Milk that Gunteric the Plant was safer in his slate, and then they headed out, ready to face the trip to Gerudo Town.

Once they reached the edge of town, however, Link accidentally eavesdropped on the very loud conversation happening nearby. One of the guards -- Ripp, he thought her name was? -- was shaking her head, looking apologetic but firm, while the other party, a Gerudo woman, seemed to be pleading with her.

“Malena, you know I can’t leave my post. Those cockroaches have been getting bolder and bolder in their raids, and there are vulnerable citizens here.”

“I know, I know! That’s what the others said as well, but please, Ripp, you’re my last hope.”

“Your husband isn’t even in the critical stage yet, yes? I assure you that Captain will send out a party as soon as we can afford it--”

Malena cut her off. “He could enter the critical stage at any moment! By then, it could be too late for a mission to be sent out at all!”

Link paused at a tug at his sleeve. “We could help, right?” Milk asked, uncertainly. “It’s not what we came here for, but…”

He felt his face soften a little, probably because all three of the Champions radiating support and affection for the kid. “We sure can. You wanna?”

“Yes!” Milk grinned, and he followed them up to the pair, interrupting their discussion. “Hey, what’s wrong? We can help!”

Malena blinked down at them. “Um… Well, my… my husband is sick. I’ve been keeping the illness at bay, but... I need the innards of the Molduga for medicine that will cure him. It lives out in the desert, sensing the movements in the sand, and it takes a skilled Gerudo warrior to handle the intense battle. I am a doctor, not a warrior. I cannot do it, and I fear that his condition is growing worse every day.”  

Milk nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry. Link is very good at fighting, and not dying, so he can fight it, no problem.”

---

Three near-death experiences later, Link was beginning to think that it was a bit of a problem. He sprinted to the nearest column, hyper aware of the sound of shifting sand behind him. Milk yelled encouragement from on top of the tallest rock outcropping there, though whether it was to him or the Molduga, he wasn’t sure.

He gritted his teeth and tossed another bomb out onto the sand, waiting until the monster took the bait to activate it. If he aimed at the right points, he should be able to… There!

He sighed heavily as the Molduga finally stopped thrashing on top of the sand, exhausted. Getting swatted around by a giant sand creature was no joke. Milk clapped twice for him, and then started climbing down. He busied himself with recovering the salvageable parts of the remains, storing them in the slate as always.

Milk carefully stepped over, as though worried about a second one. “Did we get the guts?”

Link gave them a weary thumbs up. “Now, we just meet her at the Gerudo Town entrance.”

They set off back the way they’d come, and for a while, Link believed it would be an uneventful trip.  

He should have known better.

Halfway back, wind began to kick up around them, heavy clouds gathering in the distance. Link was unfamiliar with the hazards of this area, but the hairs on the back of his neck were rising in anticipation of danger. He silently picked up the pace.

“Link…?” Milk asked, moments later. “There’s something over there.”

He turned to look, and saw a solid wall of debris and dust moving in the distance. Ah, fuck.

‘That’s a sandstorm, Link. You need to get to shelter,’ Mipha said, urgently.

“Hang on tight to me, okay?” Link signed to Milk. “We have to keep moving until we find a place to sit out the storm.” They nodded, grabbing onto the back of his shirt firmly.

Seemingly only moments later, the storm hit. Link was reminded of the sight of strong blizzards in the Hebra mountains, but the sand stung harshly and the dust made it hard to breathe. He struggled on.

He heard an odd throaty chirp, but everything was muted and warped by the storm, so he simply checked that Milk was still holding onto them and continued. A heartbeat later, he was nearly skewered as a Lizalfos exploded out of a nearby sandbank. He twisted, drawing his sword, and then was forced to duck as another charged from the side. He slammed into them, using the offensive to try and drive them off.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose again, and he looked up to see the other Lizalfos standing upright, horn crackling with electricity. His mind blanked, and he turned, grabbed Milk by the back of the hood, and tossed them just before the electric current exploded.

His whole body seized, weapons dropping, and he forced himself into a roll as soon as his limbs were under his control again, still managing to get nicked by the Lizalfos’ spear. He felt fury and panic wash over him in equal measures, and attacked again with a vengeance, ducking beneath blows and dealing punishing returns until the two had both fallen.

He turned away immediately, stepping forward and searching the scenery around him. His heart sank as he saw that the storm had only thickened, anything further than a foot hidden by the harsh winds, confirming his fears. Milk was nowhere in sight.

---  

Hours later and miles away, Milk stumbled through the sand, head throbbing. Their hands felt oddly cold, but they were sweating heavily, and their vision was unreliable even now that they were out of the sandstorm. They were looking for someone. Something? It was important, they remembered. They just had to retrace their steps, find something familiar. They just needed to pass this trial. The desert could be both bountiful and harsh, just like life outside, so they needed to face it with just their own wits and strength to pass.

They shook their head. That was a memory. Wasn’t it?

They forced themself to keep moving even as their body shook with the strain of illness and fever. It was important. Things seemed more familiar now, they thought. They could be getting closer. They kept moving. The heat and the cold alike would mean nothing to them. They would endure both with the resilience their clan demanded. They would be rewarded when they returned.

Tall canyon walls stretched out ahead of them, light peering in through the gaps at the top, illuminating small stone statues. They couldn’t think past the pain in their head. This was familiar, they were certain. They had to be going the right way. They’d find him soon. They’d…

Their legs fumbled beneath them, and they tripped, registering the fact that they had fallen over belatedly. They stay still for a long moment. They had to keep moving, but it was alright to rest, wasn’t it…? It never had been before.

A noise nearby caught their ear, and the smell of fire filled the air. Familiar. A pair of gloved hands pulled them up roughly, shoved their mask down and stilled. That was bad, wasn’t it? They blinked blearily, unable to do more than mumble as they were lifted and the world swayed around them.

Like blinking, they opened their eyes again and found themself somewhere else. Slumped over on cold stone, in front of a familiar presence.

“Teacher…?” they asked, voice small and hoarse. Had they passed? A hand came to rest upon their shoulder, in an odd mockery of comfort.

“It’s been long, my child. You’ve made a mess of yourself.”

They were silent, struggling to figure out if they should lean into or away from the touch. Teacher laughed at their lack of response.

“It is good to see you haven’t forgotten all your lessons in your absence. I congratulate you on making it back.” He turned, summoning a pair of acolytes standing nearby. Milk -- the Acolyte? -- Milk hadn’t noticed them before. The two hurried to carefully lift them up, one supporting each side.

“Take them to the barracks,” Teacher instructed. Milk lifted their heavy head with effort. There was something important, something they were forgetting.  

“Teacher,” they called before he could fully turn away. “I hurt. I’m -- it hurts. I’m sick.”

The chamber was still for a moment. The two acolytes were tense beside them, frozen. Teacher turned to look back at them with a strange expression. They lowered their gaze in deference.

“...Such is the cost of forfeiting your runes’ protections,” he told them, frowning. “Consider yourself blessed that I have not the time to punish you for your thievery, Acolyte.”

He turned away again. “Look after them until the next Blood Moon, the both of you. Their education can continue once they’re physically fit once more.”

The acolytes lowered their heads as he left, and then carefully began to carry them through the winding tunnels of the Yiga hideout. They spoke softly to each other, but the words rolled over Milk’s ears. They felt a strange sense of hopelessness, imagining the pain in their lungs and the fever in their head lasting the weeks until the next blood moon.

Deliriously, they thought that Link would help them. Link wouldn’t let them hurt.

Where was he?

Chapter Text

“The elder was very clear in his orders, Acolyte.” 

Tenth kept her eyes carefully averted, head bowed as the Caretaker spoke. She knew what the Elder had said, would never dream of thinking she knew better, but… 

“I’m sorry, Caretaker. We just worry that the Acolyte will not… survive long enough to attend the next moon ceremony.”

The woman turned from her, arranging something with light clinking, but didn’t tell her to cease. 

“They show signs of fever and inner purging, and have difficulty recognizing where they are whenever they wake…,” she watched the Caretaker’s shoulders rise an inch, and dared to push a little more. “They don’t need much, just… something like the medicine you made after their naming ceremony—“ 

“Stop.”  

Tenth felt her mouth shut with a painful click of teeth, angling her eyes down again. She overstepped. 

“You will not speak of that again. The Elder’s words are absolute, and the Acolyte will have to depend on the grace of our Lord until they can be... fixed.” 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, failure bitter in her mouth. “Yes, Caretaker.” 

Tenth was waved off, a clear dismissal without words. She carefully made her way to the carved doorway and pushed past the curtain to the hall outside. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, her pace increased, steps heavier as she ran through the twisted maze of tunnels without a hitch. This was a path she knew by heart.

Moments later, she made it into their quarters, a small, tucked away room. The Acolyte’s wards created a tangible tang of iron in the air as she passed the runes carved into the doorway. It was lucky that the two of them had been keyed in as exceptions to the spell before the Acolyte had vanished, or else they’d lose the benefit of privacy granted by the Acolyte’s single room.

Fourth looked up as she entered, eyes immediately darting to her empty hands. She grimaced. “Nothing, huh?” 

Tenth nodded, jaw clenched with frustration. “I thought she was coming around, but I mentioned… last time, and she got mad.”

Fourth exhaled, brow pinched with stress. “You shouldn’t have done that. We swore not to speak about it, remember?” 

“I know! I know, but…” They both looked down at the Acolyte, tucked into their ledge and thoroughly wrapped in all the blankets owned between the three of them. 

They looked smaller while unconscious, and the bright clothes they’d somehow obtained made their sickly pallor stand out all the more. There was nothing she could do to stop this malady. The last time she’d felt so helpless had been after their mark of honor had been infected, and though the Elder said it would help the scarring set, they’d been in so much pain that their former Caretaker gave them unauthorized numbing medicine. It had been too much to hope that such a mercy would be granted twice. 

“Now, now.” A weight on her head snapped her out of her thoughts, and she shook off Fourth’s hand with an irritated glare. Fourth pretended not to notice, instead pulling a book out from behind her back with a smug expression. “Don’t forsake our rival just yet, Tenth.”

She felt an astonished smile pull at her lips. “You got it?” 

“Don’t ever doubt me again,” Fourth decreed, cracking open the tome. “It wasn’t easy, though. I had to trade tasks with Ven to get enough time to sneak me in and this thing out.”

Tenth immediately scrambled over to peer over her shoulder, staring at the diagrams and tiny lettering laid out on the pages. “Will it help?” 

“It will definitely help,” Fourth told her, and they looked up as one at a low mumble. The Acolyte had a hand flung out of the blanket mound, shifting restlessly. She grinned, relief staining her features briefly. “Looks like they’re interested in what it has to say, too.” 

Tenth scoffed, “Of course they are. All they ever want to do is read all the restricted books.” 

Belying her biting tone, she hurried next to the ledge and grabbed at the Acolyte’s hand. They stirred again, eyes opening slowly. They squinted at her, even though the light was dim, and she held her breath. 

“.... Tenny?” they finally mumbled, hand twitching in hers. She exhaled shakily. 

“Hey, short-stack.” She laughed as their face pinched up in displeasure. “You’ve been sleeping for a while.”

“Mmh. Where…?” 

“You’re here at the hideout. We’re safe,” Fourth chimed in, squatting to be level with them both. 

The Acolyte frowned briefly, as though there was something wrong, and then their eyes pinched shut again. “‘M dizzy…”

Fourth put her hand on their forehead, ignoring their weak hiss. “Still feverish…” 

“Don’t worry,” Tenth informed them seriously, “we’re going to fix you right up. You won’t even need the ceremony by the time we finish, so just… be stubborn, okay? It’d be stupid to lose my best rival to some measly sickness.” 

The Acolyte squeezed her hand lightly, eyes still closed, and then their grip loosened. Asleep again. Tenth carefully tucked their hand back into the blankets, and turned to Fourth. She already had the book open, carefully searching for what they could do. 

It was time to get to work.

--- 

Hours passed, and they settled into shifts. One would sleep, curled up in the small corner of the room, and the other would tend to the Acolyte, carefully replacing some wet cloth on them to “draw the fever out.” Tenth talked to them throughout her shift, occasionally getting a muttered response when they were close to lucid, or a whimper about hurting when they weren’t. Fourth was quieter, reading in the gaps between treatment like the book would vanish from her hands if she took her eyes off it.

It was the early hours of the evening when the first whistles echoed through the tunnel system. 

Tenth bolted awake automatically, the sound as strong a wake up call as any. She locked eyes with Fourth, and they both pushed their way past the curtain to check the hall outside. It was utterly empty, and Tenth forced a whistle past her lips, echoing the call the way they’d been taught. Two long calls, and then a short blast.

“That’s… another intruder?” 

Fourth nodded, eyes sharp as she raised her fingers to her lips and followed suit. They’d had an honorless Gerudo mage try to steal from the hideout only a few days prior, and after they caught her, she’d been locked up to wait until the next moon ceremony.

“Maybe it’s another raid--” Fourth cut herself off sharply as another whistle resounded in the distance, a pattern of three short bursts, and then a long call. It was one they’d never heard outside of training exercises, the one whistled quietly behind a fellow acolyte’s back to make them jump, now overlapping as more and more Yiga repeated the alarm. They locked eyes, not bothering to repeat the whistle before they ducked back into the Acolyte’s room.

The hero was invading. 

“What are we going to do,” Tenth moaned, familiar nerves making her stomach turn unpleasantly. “We can’t go fight, they’re sick and if the hero finds them it’ll kill them, and they’re the best warrior of our generation, it’ll kill all of us--!” 

“Calm… calm down,” Fourth said, grabbing onto her shoulders tightly to stop her pacing. “There’s no reason the hero would come after us. This place is well hidden and we’re just acolytes. Not worth the time. It’d be better if it went after the Blademasters, strategically.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got The Acolyte. What if it wants to kill them before they can get any stronger and defeat it? They’re all weak and sick now, maybe the hero can smell weakness…” 

“Hero?” A sleep-rough voice chimed in.

Tenth looked at the Acolyte, who was frowning at the two of them with bleary eyes. “We-- we gotta get them to a better stronghold. Even with our weapons, if we get cornered in here…” She shuddered.

Fourth nodded, and picked the Acolyte up, shaking their blankets loose. She carefully handed them off to Tenth, who grunted slightly. Had the Acolyte gotten heavier? They mumbled something nonsensical about ink into her shoulder, and she muttered reassurances as they pushed past the curtain outside. 

“Where do we go? There’s gotta be a place th--”

“Tenth.”

She looked up from the Acolyte at Fourth’s sharp tone, following her gaze to the end of the hall. There was nobody there. It was just a hall. “What? What is it?”

“Was… was that barrel there before?”

Tenth stared at the barrel with a dawning sense of horror. It hadn’t been there before. It was huge, of course she would have noticed if it had. The hallway had been barren, and who in their right mind would decide to move a barrel while the clan was in the middle of a crisis?    

Before she could fully comprehend the implications of this, the barrel rose into the air, revealing a pair of legs beneath. It would have been comical if it wasn’t already too busy being absolutely terrifying.

A huge wolf trotted around the corner to stand next to the barrel with legs. 

“Oh, yes, perfect,” Fourth said, in a tone that meant she wanted to say a swear but didn’t think it would help.

The hero— for who else could it be— hefted the barrel over it’s head, setting it down on the ground next to it.

“Huh,” Tenth said, dumbly. The hero was shorter than she had expected.

It had piercing blue eyes, eerily similar to the wolf next to it, and they passed over the two of them before settling on the Acolyte bundled in her arms.

She felt ice trickle down her spine, and stumbled back a step. In her arms, the Acolyte stirred at the clumsy movement, face scrunching against the light as they stared back at the hero with slitted eyes. 

A piercing moment of silence, during which the hero seemed to be content to remain still, and then the Acolyte’s brow furrowed, a sour look of recognition crossing their face.

“You…,” they mumbled, and then their eyelids drooped and they fell into sleep again, unaware of the impact they’d had.

Tenth looked at Fourth with wide eyes, knowing that she’d come to the same realization. There was no way that had been a coincidence. The facts were all laid out, and there was no other possible answer. 

The hero was the scariest creature they’d ever faced.

The hero had done this to the Acolyte. 

The hero was going to die. 

Fourth stepped forward as Tenth stepped back, her normal calm demeanor shattered as she flipped her vicious sickle in her hands expertly. 

“We won’t let you finish the job!” she shouted, voice vicious and echoing in the torch-lit halls. Tenth could hear her charging forwards, towards the hero, towards death. It felt as though something in her had shattered like desert glass underfoot, but she was already turning, sprinting as fast as she could manage with an entire deathly-ill acolyte in her arms. The sound of clashing metal echoed behind her, Fourth letting out a scream of fury, and she clutched the Acolyte closer.

The path she took through the halls was winding, Tenth barely even conscious of the turns she made beyond being sure that they were taking her further from the clamor of the fight. 

Until she abruptly realized that she couldn’t hear it anymore. Her stomach dropped unpleasantly, and she strained her ears for a sound, any sound that would prove Fourth wasn’t—

A crevice in one of the more worn tunnels. Disgraceful for an acolyte to miss, no matter their number. She didn’t realize she had tripped until she was already halfway to the ground. 

She twisted so that the Acolyte landed on top of her, rather than the hard stone floor, but the impact still jostled them back into consciousness. They groaned, blinking slowly and looking around as though missing something. She sat up, and they weakly tried to pry her arm away, an odd sort of desperation in their face. 

“Lemme… go,” they urged. 

Her heart twisted. How valiant, that even half-wild with fever, surely more than terrified of the hero that had put them in this state, they still wanted her to save herself.

She climbed back to her feet, tightening her grip as they wiggled slightly before going limp again. The dumb kid was always like this, saying they weren’t worth getting into scraps for. As if she’d abandon her rival like some common scum! 

“Fourth bought us time, stupid! Even you can’t handle a whole hero by yourself. We’re going together, and we are going to make it out, no matter—!” 

She broke her sentence off with a screech, tripping backwards yet again as the wolf bounded into the hall she’d come from, huge and ferocious and… sitting down docilely? 

She stared in confusion for a heartbeat, and then the hero rounded the corner after the wolf, a single scratch across its face and— and—

And Fourth— unmoving, so very still— dangling from under one arm. 

Her throat closed up, and she bit into her bottom lip hard enough to split it. It was an honorable death, managing to strike an injury on their greatest enemy as a mere acolyte, not even The Acolyte. Fourth should be proud to have— to have sacrificed herself for the good of the clan.

So why did Tenth still feel so hollow ? 

She set the feverish Acolyte down, leaning them against the wall carefully before drawing her weapon, teeth bared.

“If you want them…,” she ignored the telltale crack in her voice, firming her stance. “You’re gonna have to go through me.” 

Mirroring her, the hero released Fourth, propping her up against the same wall with mocking gentleness. She watched Fourth’s head bob forward limply, knew in her gut that she was no match and that she was going to fight anyways. 

The hero turned to her, face blank, and she braced herself to charge. It made a circling of a fist over its chest at her, a handsign that she didn’t recognize, and in the next second it surged forward, faster than she could have imagined. 

She flinched back— stupid, STUPID— and pain blossomed from her stomach, driving the air from her lungs. She struggled to blink through the black spots, but was unconscious before she could feel herself hit the ground. 

-

When the two woke, surprised to be alive, the Acolyte was gone, no trace of bones or gore in their wake. It seemed there was no sign that the hero had ever been there at all. 

Well. Almost no sign. 

Tenth stared down at the bloody letters scrawled in the dirt, left between their unconscious bodies. Trying to ignore the hot pressure behind her eyes, she stared down the slanted message.

“What’s’it say?” she asked, her grit-rough voice unbearably loud in the silence.

Fourth took a shaky breath, and then read it aloud. 

“Don’t worry. You’re next .”

They shared a look, fury and fear and determination weighing heavy on both of them. There wasn’t a body, but the Acolyte was almost certainly dead, for the tools of the Goddess were not known for mercy. 

That wouldn’t stop them from avenging their loss. 

They didn’t speak, silent while they sealed bloodied hands in an oath between only them, while they kicked dirt over the message until that too was vanished, while they returned side by side to report to their Elder.

There was no need for words.

The hero would pay for what he’d done. 

—- 

Link reconvened with the rest of his makeshift infiltration force at the nearby tower. Loaf had split off after carefully bumping his nose against Milk’s forehead and whuffing softly over them.

As soon as he arrived, he was counting heads; the Gerudo who had come with him may have been skilled warriors, but they were also teens eager to prove themselves, and he wasn’t leaving any of them behind. 

Thankfully, all were accounted for, with one extra. He glanced to Rilari, the leader of the group.

“Your captured friend?” He gestured with a tilt of his head.

Rilari nodded, something warm and relieved in her gaze as the rescued Gerudo slung an arm around her shoulders and bumped their foreheads together. “Thanks to your ruckus, we managed to get Lassana out without any trouble.” 

“I don’t know about that,” one of her friends scowled at her, prodding her side, and Rilari let out a pained gasp. “Those archers you insisted on taking on alone seemed like trouble.” 

Link took another look, now catching the way some of the Gerudo were moving stiffly, their hands pressed to bruised sides or sluggishly-bleeding wounds. He wasted no time in shaking some healing elixirs from his slate and passing them around. He had plenty to spare.

The group broke into their own low conversations, and Lassana made her way over to Link, head tilted curiously.

“So, why’d you guys bring a Hylian voe along?” 

“He had someone to rescue, too.” Rilari answered, and her eyes dropped to Milk.

As though hearing someone talk about them, they shifted slightly against Link’s shoulder, taking a deep breath that came out with an underlying wheeze. Their face was lax with sleep but he could see the way their hand fisted in his tunic like they were afraid he’d disappear without warning. Again.

Lassana leaned forwards, peeking over at them, and her eyes widened slightly at the brand on their skin. Link stared at her, unblinking, and she must have managed to read something in his face, because she held her hands up and leaned away.

“Ooh, scary,” she grinned sharply at him, something like sympathy in her eyes. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, I won’t mess with your kid. You have somewhere to get the little one healed? Those potions won’t do shit for certain kinds of illnesses. Could even make them worse.” 

He nodded. Mipha’s lectures and his own experiences had made him well aware of the limits of healing elixirs. Lassana hummed thoughtfully.

“Alright, then let’s not keep the kid waiting, huh?” She turned to Rilari, brushing a hand over her cheek in a gesture that made some of the others mime gagging. “Got my seal, Rilly?”

“A whole pod. We came ready for a quick retreat, in case of pursuers, but…,” she glanced at Link, “With such an... effective decoy, they probably don’t even know which exit we took out of the place.”

She was right. All Link had to do was set a few plantains on fire and suddenly the whole place was in an uproar. It had been easy to slip away in the ensuing chaos.

Link accepted the reins Rilari handed him in one hand, stepping onto his most durable shield and trusting the pod to guide his seal. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Milk long enough to steer, too focused on whether or not they were still breathing after each raspy cough that rattled their lungs. 

Luckily, the ragtag group was perfectly capable of leading his seal, and before long, Gerudo Town appeared on the horizon.

To Link, it felt as though they approached the city at a crawl. As soon as the seal began to slow, he was off, sprinting towards the gates as fast as he could while keeping a steady hold on Milk. 

The gate guards on shift seemed a bit unnerved by his rapid approach, but their expressions cleared up with understanding the moment they noticed the ill child in his arms. One of them had been there when Milk had offered to help Malena, and she was the one to offer to direct him to her home. 

“If she’s willing to endanger other people for her medicine, she should be prepared to heal them as well,” the guard, who had introduced herself as Babi, told him. 

He knew the fault lay solely at his feet, but seeing as his hands were occupied, he didn’t bother trying to convey as much. There were more important things to worry about anyhow. 

Babi rapped sharply on the door three times, and there was the sound of clattering inside before Malena quickly threw the door open. Her breath caught at the sight of Link, spine straightening with hope, and then her gaze fell to the rasping child in his arms. 

Horror flashed over her features for a moment, and then she was moving, ushering him into her home and shoving books aside to pull out various medical instruments. Link carefully set Milk down on a couch, wincing as their breath caught in their throat and they coughed harshly. 

“What happened out there? How long have they been like this?” Malena asked rapidfire, looping a stethoscope around her neck. 

“Sandstorm,” Link signed without looking away from Milk’s scrunched up expression. They were much worse at hiding their pain when mostly-unconscious. “Less than two full days.” 

He would know. He hadn’t slept since they’d been separated.

Malena only spent a few moments checking their lungs and heart, her hand barely making contact with their forehead before deeming them feverish. 

“This is beyond my abilities here at home,” she told him, hands wringing the cord of her stethoscope. “You need to take them to the med bay, where they can be treated with proper equipment by medical specialists.” 

Link was gently lifting Milk up before she had even finished speaking, ready to follow any directions she gave. In his hold, Milk turned their too-hot face to press against his arm, some of the creases in their brow relaxing. 

“I’ll take you there. It’s the least I can do, after all this,” the doctor nodded firmly to herself and led the way out the door, guiding him through the colorful stalls and clearing a path through the bustling crowd with shouted commands. As always, people knew not to get in the way of a medic on a mission. 

The med bay was a wide building sectioned into many small rooms, and the staff inside were Gerudo dressed in light greys, a sharp contrast to the bright colors of the rest of the town. Link followed Malena to one of the sectioned off areas, stepping to the side to avoid colliding with a younger doctor who seemed completely immersed in the detailed charts in her hands. 

“Here,” Malena said, pulling a netted curtain back from an elevated cot and patting the surface of it. 

Milk began to frown and cling in their sleep as he tried to detach them, and they only allowed themself to be eased onto the bed when Link relented and kept a cool hand against their temple. 

“Hey! Who’s barging in and taking up my cots— Mal?” A doctor appeared from one of the nearby rooms, stopping short at the sight of the other woman.

Malena pulled her into a brief hug, during which Link could see the doctor notice she was drawn tight as a bowstring, and then pulled back. “I’m sorry for not checking in, Sav, but this is important. This vevhi got caught in one of the storms yesterday.”

“Oh, if I get my hands on that stupid camel…” The doctor swore loudly and began to run vital checks, batting Link’s hand away to take their temperature, and murmuring lowly to Milk when they made a halfhearted sound of protest.

“Vah Naboris has been interfering with our scientists’ weather prediction system, so there've been more accidents where journies that should have been safe suddenly became very dangerous,” Malena explained, despite the fact that Link hadn’t so much as glanced away from Milk, let alone expressed confusion. “That is my sister, Savisa. She acts rough but she’ll never give up on a patient. Your kid is in good hands, I… I promise.” 

The raw guilt in her voice was enough to jar Link’s mind out of its haze, and he turned to her. 

“Not your fault,” he signed, mouthing the words as well. She began to shake her head, and Link shook his right back, stubbornly. “If you still feel guilty, you can help me by making sure nothing happens. I won’t be gone long.” 

Malena set her jaw, nodding firmly. “I won’t let anything happen to your vehvi. I swear it on the Heroines.” 

He believed her. “While you’re watching them, why don’t you work on this?” 

Digging around for a moment in his slate, he quickly found the wrapped Molduga guts, transferring them to her hands. She stared at them blankly for a long moment, and then looked up to Link, eyes wet.

“You got them? You’re... giving them to me?” 

Link glanced back over at Milk, watching Savisa press the stethoscope against their chest in quick, efficient motions. “They’d be happy to see you on your way to making that cure when they wake up.”

They would wake up. They had to.

Malena clutched the wrapped guts tightly, nodding. “Yes, yes, I… I will. Thank you for saving my husband.”

“Not the one to thank,” Link signed, and reached out to brush strands of Milk’s fever-damp hair back from their face once more. The crinkles in their face eased slightly, making them look younger than ever. “I’ll be back.” 

Their eyes weren’t open to see his reassurances, but that was okay. It was more an oath to himself, anyways. 

Quick, confident strides took him to the ornate building at the center of town. There were two guards posted outside, and he offered them a Shiekah-style bow, the only formal gesture Impa had managed to drill into him before he left Kakariko Village. He summoned the pass from his slate, holding it out and signing with his free hand. 

“I’m requesting an audience with the Chief, in regards to the…” Link paused, watching one of the guards signing back in a dialect he wasn’t familiar with. 

Well. Charades it was. He pointed to the entry pass and then up at the dust cloud surrounding the Divine Beast.

“Are you here about Naboris?” the other guard asked, and Link nodded. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you… sure? Forgive my bluntness, voe, but you seem… what is the Hylian word?”

“Sand-scraped?” the first guard offered. “Clearly exhausted?” 

Link shook his head, pointing at Vah Naboris again. 

“If you’re sure.” The other guard hesitantly waved him through. “Go right ahead, though you’ll want to watch your mouth— or hands, I suppose. Bularia isn’t too happy at the moment.” 

Link nodded as he passed them, and strode into the throne room, where a surprising amount of familiar faces waited. 

The group of vigilante warriors that had accompanied him to the Hideout were now in the middle of receiving a furious dressing-down from the head of the guard. At the head of the group, Rilari was bearing the brunt of the lecture with arms crossed defensively. 

“You have flaunted your blatant disrespect for me for the last time,” Bularia was saying, voice low and severe. “Putting yourself at risk, putting all of your ill-advised delinquent companions at risk, behavior like this would be enough to get you indicted were you in the Guard—“ 

“But I’m not in the Guard, am I?” Rilari shot back, tone biting. “You made well sure of that, adila. And this is my answer. For as long as you refuse to value our people over our reputation, it will be my answer.” 

Link stepped forwards, figuring that this was as good a time as any to intervene in a mother-daughter argument. He waved. “Hey, Link here.” 

“Pretty boy?” Lassana asked, head tilting. “Shouldn’t you be with your vehvi? ”

He shook his head once, and Lassana looked at him with dark keen eyes and didn’t press.

Bularia shot Rilari a look that promised the conversation was not over, and turned to him with a harsh slant to her features. “State your business, tourist.” 

“An audience with the Chieftain,” he signed shortly. “Regarding your Divine Beast.” 

“Another glory seeker, come to fight?” she asked, unmoved. “Not worth my Lady’s time. Go face the lightning of Naboris and see if you come back to claim titles or prizes.” 

“I’m here to calm the Divine Beast, not destroy it,” Link replied, glad that this hadn’t been the first stop on his journey. In Rito Village, he honestly hadn’t known if he was stopping Vah Medoh or taking it apart until the battle was done. He hadn’t really cared, with lives on the line.

Bularia looked at him more intently, now. “Not a foolhardy task, then, but an impossible one. It took all of Lady Urbosa’s power to face such strength, and any of the Champions who could replicate such a feat perished a century ago.” 

Well, yeah. But he got better. Kind of.

“Besides,” Bularia continued, “without the Thunder Helm, diverting Naboris’s wrath isn’t—“

Lassana cleared her throat lightly, cutting the guardswoman off. “ About that… Turns out even an ‘ill-advised delinquent’ like me can be good for something.” 

With a flourish, she presented a piece of ornate headwear, gold and jeweled with ornate designs and a dull, rubbery grey interior. “Ta-da!” 

There was a shocked pause. Link clapped politely. 

“I will go relay the good news to Lady Riju,” Buliara finally said, looking as though she was chewing on a fermented wildberry. “Let us hope that you are up to the task, voe. ” 

His audience with Lady Riju was set up quickly, and Rilari and Lassana offered him advice on seal maneuvering to distract him, which he was grateful for in some distant part of his mind. 

The rest of him was on autopilot, waiting to finally be useful again.  

When he was shuffled into the throne room, a young girl sat on a throne decorated with colorful, rich fabrics. Bularia swiftly took up position at her back, leaving Link standing at the entrance.

What was the procedure for royal leaders? A flash-memory of kneeling, face downturned and body stiff, hit him, along with a sense of helplessness. Yeah, he didn’t want to do that.

Guys? 

An impression of an impatient huff. Oh, are you finally deigning to speak to us, High and Mighty Hero? 

Whoops. Had they been trying to talk to him? Sorry. I forgot.

You forgot to think?  

… 

… You know what? Forget I asked. Now, stop embarrassing us, the proper etiquette for meeting with a Gerudo Chieftain is a quarter bow to them and their current entourage. Maintain a distance of ten strides out of respect. State your business and introduce yourself clearly and watch your manner of address. 

Link followed Revali’s continuous directions to the letter, since a spoken ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go over well. When he had finally ‘not made a fool out of himself’ to the Rito’s satisfaction, he returned to his standing position. 

“Welcome, traveler. I am Chieftain Riju.” Despite her formal tone, the girl's lips twitched up briefly, like she couldn’t quite keep the smile down. “What an… antiquated style of greeting.” 

Revali’s indignant embarrassment was almost tangible; Link ignored it with the same aplomb as always, meeting her eyes squarely and shrugging. “I’m antiquated,” he signed, and then hesitated, remembering that Gerudo sign was different.

“Don’t worry yourself with a translator,” Riju assured, gaze intent, “My mother made sure I was fairly fluent in multiple sign dialects, though I haven’t had the opportunity to practice, so you’ll have to excuse any slowness. According to Bularia, you’re here to meet about Vah Naboris?” 

Link nodded. 

“And what makes you think you can calm her wrath where others more knowledgeable have failed?” Riju asked, more curiosity than challenge in her voice.

“Not about my knowledge,” Link tapped the slate at his hip between signs, “it’s the tools I have. This will help free the Divine Beast from the malice within.” 

Unsurprisingly, Riju’s eyes lit up at the sight of the slate. “The Sheikah relic. So, the rumors about the hero of legend walking among us again are true! Have you obtained the blade of legend?” 

He figured it would be a bit rude to unsheath weapons indoors, so he simply turned around, showing the master sword belted to his back, and nodded. “Yup.” 

“Between you and the reclaimed Thunder Helm, we may finally be able to end the sandstorms plaguing our home,” Riju enthused, moving to stand. She stepped forwards. “What do you require, in exchange for your aid?” 

Link hadn’t asked for anything before. It was just his job. However… 

“Safety for my ward, while we reside here,” he signed, slow and firm. 

Riju looked at him, picking apart the meaning behind the words. “Gerudo Town is a peaceful place. Your ward’s safety is assured, along with any others who are given entrance to the city.”

“My ward is a child of the Yiga Clan,” Link signed, and didn’t miss the way Bularia’s hands tightened around the handle of her scimitar. “I want your word that they won't come to harm for being born into an inherited grudge.” 

Bularia shifted, like there were words resting on the tip of her tongue, but Riju just looked at him with that same discerning, dissecting gaze. Link could see how her people trusted her to lead them, with such composure and careful consideration. 

Eventually, she nodded. “They're your responsibility, but unless we are attacked first, we will not in any way move against…?” 

“Milk.” 

“Milk?” Riju asked, as though she thought she’d misinterpreted a sign.

“Milk,” Link confirmed. 

Riju’s face did that ‘trying-not-to-smile’ expression again. “We will not in any way move against... Milk.” 

Link nodded, some of the tension easing from him. All that was left to do was fulfill his role. 

He followed the directions to the lookout post mindlessly, waited patiently for Riju to gear up and lead their seals to the open sands. 

In the back of his mind, he admired her determination to be the one to face this trial, rather than risk one of her people. He suspected she would get along well with Sidon. They were both determined, powerful royals, living in the shadow of loss. Maybe he could introduce them? Sidon needed more penpals.

In front of him, Riju slid the Thunder Helm on, sighing when it slipped a little too far over her eyes. “I suppose it would be too much to ask ancient heirlooms to fit perfectly.” 

The sight made him dizzy with recollection, but for the first time, he rejected the memory’s call. If it was important, he could see it later. For now, all he wanted to do was fall into the mind numbing release of battle. 

And if it wasn’t important, if it was another memory of leveling his blade against people without mercy or kneeling to a cold king or failing time and time again-- well, he had enough of those already, didn’t he?

Riju explained the functions of the Helm to him, warning him to stay close and be wary of the lightning that would be called down as they approached. Lastly, she gestured to the structure they stood atop. 

“Listen, Link. If you’re too injured to keep fighting, promise me you’ll retreat here, to the lookout post.”

He felt a bit strange at the idea; when was the last time he’d been allowed to retreat from anything? What injury could qualify as ‘too much’ when the alternative was failing and everything that came with it?

Still, he nodded, because it seemed that was what Riju wanted to see.

It apparently wasn’t very reassuring. “ Don’t do anything reckless, under any circumstances.” 

Link felt a bit offended at the emphasis. He wasn’t that bad. 

There was a very meaningful silence in his mind. He ignored it and nodded again.

Riju wrinkled her nose at him slightly, but seemed to accept it was as good as she was going to get. 

“Then, let’s depart.”

--- 

Getting access to the Divine Beast went smoothly. 

With the power of her heirloom, Riju seemed to almost sense her surroundings through the electric field, often warning Link to stay in range when there was no way for her to see that he’d fallen behind. It was impressive how quickly she’d attuned to the nature of the heirloom. 

Though he was still keeping any resurfacing memories firmly at bay, he got the feeling that Urbosa would have been proud of her skill.

Once they’d finally downed Vah Naboris, he’d been entrusted with the final step: venturing within the Divine Beast. He’d managed to get aboard before it had regained its footing, and watched Riju retreat to a safe distance with the seals. 

Inside, Vah Naboris held the manner of an approaching thunderstorm about to break. There was a static in the air, making the hair on the back of his neck rise up and warping his vision as thoroughly as the heat. Urbosa’s smooth voice, guiding him through the circular paths, only added to the effect. 

The puzzle took time, as it always did. Being made up of several layers of rotating rings, it also made him feel vaguely nauseated at some moments. He forced the feeling away. Urbosa definitely wouldn’t appreciate him getting sick all over the divine vessel that now housed her soul.

Once he’d finally activated all the terminals, it was time. The corruption poured out of the main terminal body, a shifting mass of black and red and flashes of eyes and teeth. 

The Thunderblight formed rapidly, body twisting and weapons snapping into existence as it screamed. It had knotted scarlet hair pouring down over its hunched shoulders, and the moment it was solid, its head snapped around frantically. Searching.

He shifted, and its eye landed on him, blue and glowing with the same manic gleam as its blade. It seemed… unhinged. Desperate. Exhausted, though it had just come into being. 

Despite the fact that this was a piece of his fated enemy, Link felt for a moment as though he was looking in a mirror. As though the blight was more like him than the Link in any of those century-old memories.

It needed a fight as badly as he did.

He shifted his heel back, and something resembling a smile crossed his face. 

“Come and get it,” he signed, and the beast charged. 

---

Afterwards, he only remembered the battle in flashes of paralyzing pain and Urbosa’s yelled instructions, all overshadowed by the haze of adrenaline and the ever-present knowledge that he could not fail. 

He’d taken more hits than usual, though. It had been difficult to push through the shock-induced convulsions that came with every landed strike. There were still some dropped weapons scattered in the far corners of the Beast.

Honestly, it probably hadn’t been a good idea to go directly into battle after forgoing sleep for days in order to comb the desert and then orchestrate a high-stakes heist. 

In his mind, Revali produced a wordless shriek of indignation. 

Little buddy, we’ve been trying to tell you that all along, Daruk rumbled, rare exasperation in his tone. You can’t go dying. You’re the only you we’ve got. 

That was true. As far as he knew, there weren’t any other convenient Hylians who could see trapped souls and forest spirits for them to stick bits of their souls in. Too bad.

He lay out on the cool stone floor of the beast, waiting for the numb pulses of pain in his arms to settle as Urbosa gave the speech she’d been mentally preparing for the last hundred years. It focused a lot on his responsibility as a Champion to defeat Ganon and the fact that Zelda had been waiting alone for all those decades for him to get his shit together. 

Like most speeches to this effect, it made his brain feel as though it was slowly sliding out of place. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Urbosa’s sun-warmed soul sphere sunk into his chest, letting the others take over explaining. 

He pushed himself to his feet and let Urbosa run his body through the motions required to perform her elemental attack. He was pleasantly surprised to find that channelling the attack drew all of the residual burning static from his injured body. That was certainly helpful for not dying when working with lightning magic. 

Once he was ready, Urbosa sent him back to Gerudo Town’s nearest shrine with a flick of her transparent hand. She seemed almost surprised when the mental bond remained just as strong outside of Vah Naboris. 

What a strange connection Link has forged with us all, Urbosa’s voice in his mind was firm and kind, joined by a phantom sensation like ozone in the air. I’m gratified to learn that I will be able to see my people and my home once again, even if through another’s eyes. 

Link wondered how it might have felt, to have a home to return to after a century of loneliness. He was glad he could give the other Champions that, at least. 

He stepped back through the front entrance of Gerudo Town, listening to the conversations around him as people took notice of the Divine Beast’s change in demeanor. 

Many of them were thanking Urbosa for watching over them. 

In the front of his mind, the Gerudo in question radiated longing for a life lost. Link wondered absently what kind of expression he was making. It didn’t feel familiar.

A sense of contemplation from Urbosa.

There is so much that is different, and so much the same… I wonder, would it be possible to temporarily inhabit you as I did to transfer my attack? 

Yeah, go for it, Link replied.

NO, the other three Champions immediately chimed in, sea-breeze-grit voices overlapping. 

Link’s spiritual tether to his body is incredibly delicate . Possessing him should be reserved for dire situations only, Mipha elaborated, her tone pointed. 

Whoops. Link shrugged, still steadily making his way across the inner market. 

I see… Urbosa seemed troubled about the information for some reason. Any other new developments I should be aware of?

Well… 

Malena was standing at the entrance to the medical bay, head on a swivel. A moment after he spotted her, they made eye contact, and her face twisted with guilt. Link felt a pit open up in his stomach, deep and nauseating. 

He was before her in a few strides, hands flying up to sign, mind already racing to the worst possible conclusion. “What happened.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she started, a frantic edge to her voice. “They-- They were asleep, I only left for a moment to retrieve some fresh water for the fever, but the bed was empty when I returned-- I’ve been searching the entire bay, I swear--” 

“They vanished?” Link asked, feeling some of that bottomless dread drop away from him. Milk was only hiding. Hiding was so much better than dead. 

“I didn’t mean to lose them,” Malena replied desperately, and he felt a considerable amount of empathy for the tumultuous day she must be having. 

He reached up and clasped her shoulder solidly, the way Sidon always did when he was trying to encourage Link, and gestured to the sickbay. “Keep looking here. I’ll check around town.” A pause. “They like small spaces,” he added, stressing the sign for small. 

Malena nodded, and Link turned to survey the sprawling town before him. 

… There were a lot of nooks and crannies small enough for a malnourished kid to hole up in. 

Loaf could track them down, the way he’d sniffed them out back in the Yiga Hideout, but the wolf appeared and vanished at will, and wasn’t keen on entering populated places anyhow. 

No, he’d be on his own for this one. Where would he go if he was the barely-conscious child assassin waking up alone in enemy territory? 

Seek high ground, and a defensible position. 

His gaze slowly traveled up to the highest point of town. 

Well. That was as good a place as any to start, he supposed. 

—-

In the highest room of the tallest building of town, Chief Riju was taking a moment to herself. 

She’d seen the dust fade from Vah Nabooris, witnessed the otherworldly blue lights that illuminated her stone form, and felt the shift in the air when that oppressive before-the-storm feeling finally faded.

Her guards were jubilant, but she was careful to remain calm and composed; an early celebration could easily become a desolate failure. She had to be prepared for the worst. 

She almost wished for the easy composure of the hero, who hadn’t let himself falter once as they undertook one of the most dangerous magical channeling experiences of her life, even as she’d had to send him on alone. 

He was older than her, by at least a fair number of years if not an entire century, but he hadn’t once attempted to undermine her authority or look down on her with smothering condescension the way some Hylian dignitaries had. He’d felt similar to the older warriors, the ones who had loved and lived and lost and were now unperturbed by what life threw at them. 

If only he hadn’t seemed so bewildered by the idea of stopping to rest. If only he hadn’t seemed so alone, standing there in the entrance to Vah Nabooris. 

She crushed one of her stuffed sand seals to her chest, allowing herself the childishness here, where there were no eyes on her. 

When she’d been younger, her mother had told her stories of the hero and the heir, the Hylian beacons of hope. Some of the stories were fantastical and full of fairy-tale convenience, but others were true accounts of the Champions, passed down from Urbosa and her family. 

She felt like she was listening to one of them now, waiting with bated breath to see how the hero would face the twists and turns and make it out alive. He certainly seemed like the same legend from a hundred years past, with the old grammatical structures and out-of-date formalities he used. It was as if he’d walked right out of a storybook, but without any of the accompanying characters that he strove so hard to protect.

No, until the hero returned safe, having carried the burden of protecting her people, she could not celebrate. 

She released the stuffie, letting the crinkle of squashed fabric and fur go quiet, and then paused. 

There was still the slightest noise, raspy and irregular. A chill went down her spine, and she slowly followed the noise to its source: under her bed. 

Ruji fumbled around under her pillows quietly for a moment, and then managed to find the sheathed dagger beneath them. She’d rolled her eyes when Bularia had stowed it there, but she felt more than a bit grateful for it now. 

Would the guards come fast enough if she called, or would that prompt the source of the noise to finally attack? What if it was just her mind playing tricks on her, and she called hard-working warriors away from their duties for an imaginary monster under the bed? 

There was a faint sniffle from under the bed, like a smaller version of Patricia’s noises when she’d caught sick last summer and Kohm had banned Riju from the stables. Riju’s white-knuckled grip on the dagger faltered slightly. 

Perhaps it was actually just a frightened animal that had sought shelter in the closest small dark place. She certainly couldn’t imagine anyone would send an assassin with the sniffles. 

Emboldened, she dropped down into a crouch next to her bed and peered under it. 

A Yiga Clan assassin stared back at her.

Riju scrambled back on top of the bed with a muted ‘eep!’ that she would never, ever admit to. She grabbed for her dagger and waited for the assassin to cackle menacingly, or teleport directly above her, or dramatically reveal the presence of a bunch of other assassins hiding in her room. 

Under the bed, there was only stiff silence, as though the assassin was also holding their breath. After a few tense moments, she heard the rasping breaths start back up, rougher, with the beginning edge of a cough in them. 

Riju glanced to the doorway of her room, and slowly crawled back to the edge of the bed. Buliara would scold her for not calling for aid, but the Gerudo were a strong people. How could she attempt to lead them while being too cowardly to face a literal monster under the bed? 

She poked her head back down, peering at the stranger upside down with her firmest expression. Her braid flopped down and thumped against the floor, somewhat ruining the effect of her implacable demeanor.   

The figure under her bed flinched back at the sound, lifting their hands to cover their face. 

And it was their face, rather than one of those chilling bone-white masks. She’d seen that bright crimson symbol and panicked, memories of raid after raid flickering into her mind, but after allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, she saw an entirely different scene.

They held no weapons. Instead of the blood-magic bodysuits the Yiga typically favored, they were adorned in sand-scraped desert clothes. Most notably, they were small, smaller than even her, especially all scrunched up in a ball like they were. 

Could this be the hero’s Yiga-born child? They certainly shared his propensity for wandering into restricted areas. 

To engage with this new element, Riju called on all her finely-honed diplomatic skills. “Hello. Are you here to kill me?” 

Their face crinkled up in offense, some of that frightened tension dropping from their shoulders. “I’m only supposed to kill the hero,” they corrected impetuously.

Riju’s stomach dropped.

“You can’t kill the hero!” she protested, rather un-diplomatically. “We just got him back!” 

The assassin nodded sagely. “Nobody can kill the hero. He’s unkillable.”

Riju tilted her head, and then slid off her bed entirely, instead laying flat on her stomach to see them better.

“I guess that would explain how he’s returned after a century’s time.” She’d really wanted to ask  about that, but it wasn’t proper etiquette, and calming Vah Nabooris had been more important.

The assassin hurriedly shushed her, ignoring both her status as chief and their own resulting mild coughing fit. “Don’t mention that, he gets sad!” 

“He’s not even here!” Riju said, instead of the less tactful ‘You want to kill him, why do you care if he’s sad?’

“As far as you know,” they replied sourly, and cast a suspicious glance at a nearby vase as though the hero might suddenly pop out of it. “He sneaks. He’s sneaky.” 

Riju thought that was high praise coming from someone who had snuck all the way through the palace undetected to hide under her bed. While sick.

“I think you’re ill,” she told them, abruptly reminded of their harsh breathing and pallid skin. 

“I know. I can’t get better until the moon, though,” they said miserably, explaining absolutely nothing. 

“We have many skilled healers who could treat you,” Riju offered politely. “The hero has done us a great service, we would be remiss to neglect his family.” 

“His what,” they asked, switching their suspicious squint back to Riju. 

She paused, wondering if there was somehow more than one child assassin wandering Gerudo Town. “You are Milk, are you not?”

“I’m--,” they paused, eyes flicking up as though struggling to recall. “Yes. I’m Milk. Not the acolyte. Not evil.”

“You’ve done very well at not being evil,” Riju offered, because the uncertain waver in their voice was rather sad to listen to. Besides, it was true; so far Milk had acted more like a cornered seal pup than a murderous assassin. “The hero must think so, too. He requested we guarantee your safety in return for his aid.” 

“What? Nuh uh,” Milk protested, pausing to muffle a few harsh coughs into their shirt. “He doesn’t work in return for stuff. He just likes helping people because he’s soft.” 

The hero, unkillable and soft. What an interesting tale their words told, Riju thought, hiding a smile. “Even so, your safety was the only thing he asked for,” she repeated. 

She’d thought it a somewhat nonsensical request at the time, since the odds that a single sick child would happen to attract the ire of her guards were miniscule, but with the current situation, she was forced to revise her opinion. Milk was a formidable child to look after, indeed. 

Right now, however, they looked alarmingly teary-eyed. Riju floundered for a moment, unsure of how to fix her error, and in the quiet, they both heard the distinct tap-tap-tap of feet on the roof above. 

There was a moment where they both sat frozen, exchanging panicked looks, and then Milk was lunging forward, grabbing her by the elbow and yanking her back under the safety of her own bed. Though startled at first, she quickly assisted the process by crawling under until they were side-by-side, Milk’s hand still fever-hot against the crook of her elbow. 

Strategically, the bed was as good a hiding place as any in her room if intruders were approaching and she didn’t wish to call the guards. She did wish that she’d been able to grab her knife first. 

Also strategically, it wasn’t the best decision to ally with a feverish child assassin she’d met mere moments ago when the footsteps above very well could be more assassins, but the choice was made. 

She doubted it was a ploy on Milk’s part, for they were stockstill like cornered prey and had muffled their rough breathing to nothing more than a whisper. 

Time stretched on, made longer by the tension, and then there was a gentle thump as two booted feet landed on the floor in front of her room with easy grace. Riju squinted. Those didn't look like the feet of an assassin. They looked an awful lot like the sandstep boots tourists often bought from the Bazaar, really. 

After only a short pause, the intruder walked right up to the bed and knelt beside it, tilting over sideways to see underneath. 

Tucked away under her bed, Riju made mortifying eye contact with the Hero of Legend for a heartbeat before his gaze flicked over to Milk, who went bowstring-taut. 

From even a short time spent with him, any could tell that the hero wasn't what one would call expressive. Watching him set eyes on his vehvi , however, Riju could see clearly the way the tension in his frame eased away, relief sweeping across him like wind clearing away the last of a sandstorm’s dust. 

He glanced between the two of them, and then used a Hylian sign that she didn’t recognize, ending it with a curious eyebrow raised just a hair. Milk, however, responded almost immediately.

“She’s not a hostage! ” they rasped indignantly, voice crackly with the effort. “It’s not safe, so we’re hiding!”

The hero softened further, and this time Riju understood every word when he signed, “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.” 

“You should be! ” Milk yelled hoarsely, but when Link reached out for them, they latched onto his hand without hesitation. 

Riju took the opportunity to crawl out herself, dusting herself off as Link pulled Milk out from under the bed and up to their feet. They stared at each other for a moment, Milk’s red-rimmed eyes visible in the light of day, and then Link set a careful hand against the back of their head and gathered them into a hug, curling over them like he could protect them from the entire world. 

Milk hugged back as though they were attempting to squeeze the breath right out of the hero, burying their face against him, and Riju turned away to give them some privacy when their tiny, muffled sobs became audible. 

Perhaps the hero wasn’t as alone as he appeared after all. 

---

Despite their best efforts, everything was still a little hazy around the edges. While returning to the healer’s den they’d woken up in, Milk found themself stumbling more often than was appropriate for someone of their prowess.  

Each time, Link reached out to steady them, and each time Milk half-expected him to dissolve into desert dust, another hallucination brought on by the burning illness in them. Instead, his hand was cool and solid against their shoulders, grounding them in the present. 

It was real. He had come back for them. 

They didn’t remember exactly how , their memory of the past day blurry and undefined, but the evidence was standing right in front of them, his face twitching oddly while ghosts talked in his brain. 

The healer and the stranger-in-need returned to the cot that Milk had been consigned to, and Milk hurriedly jabbed their elbow into Link’s kidney, snapping him out of his inner dialogue so he could pay proper attention. They were the only thing keeping this Hylian from making a complete disgrace of himself, honestly.   

“Your little disappearing act may have put you back a day or two in recovery, but that’s all,” the healer reported, reaching over to tousle their hair. 

Milk allowed the offense, preoccupied with trying to decide whether or not to eat the honey candy they’d been rewarded with for good behavior during their ‘medical exam’. 

She turned to Link next, and Milk ended up tuning out the conversation after she started speaking about ‘malnutrition’ and ‘long-term recovery’. They weren’t sure how much the hero needed to eat, but surely the healer was informing him. It was good that someone was making sure the hero was taking care of himself. 

Next to their cot, the stranger-in-need-- Malena?-- sat down, catching their attention. Milk blinked at her for a moment, before remembering. 

“Did Link give you the Molduga guts?” they asked, wrinkling their nose slightly at the clumsiness of their lips. Whatever the healer had given them was much more potent than normal numbing ointment. 

“He did,” she replied, smiling sadly. “But I actually wanted to apologize. I may have been desperate, but you are a child, and my request put you in serious danger.” 

Milk scrunched and unscrunched their face a few times as they thought about this, before shaking their head, unintentionally increasing their dizziness. “No, that’s okay. You wanted to save someone, and I wanted to help.”

Malena’s brow furrowed in some sort of unhappy emotion, and Milk continued on before she could argue. “Besides, Link came and got me. He fixed it.” They added in a whisper. “He’s really good at that.”    

There was a beat of silence, and Milk realized that at some point, the healer and Link had finished speaking, because the hero was looking right at them with an expression they couldn’t even begin to parse. 

“ Eavesdropper, ” they hissed, their face growing hot with embarrassment. 

Link’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and he stepped closer to ruffle their hair as well, ignoring their glare. 

“Even so,” Malena piped up again, “it is you that I have to thank for my husband’s recovery. May I know the name of my champion? I would like to name my firstborn after you.” 

For some reason, being called a ‘champion’ made their face heat up more, a strange fluttering in their chest. They pulled their knees up to their chest as though to ward off the sensation. “I’m Milk.” 

Malena paused, visibly thrown-off. “Milk?” 

“Milk,” they repeated, making the sign for it as well. 

There was an even longer stretch of silence this time, and Milk nodded decisively. 

“It’s okay,” they consoled her, “I already know the hero is very bad at names.”

Malena looked up at Link, who was studiously staring into the distance. “... I see.” 

“You should just let me name your baby,” Milk continued, feeling quite confident that they could handle this task where the hero had failed. 

“What is your suggestion, vehvi? ” Malena asked, a tinge of relief in her voice. 

“Gunteric the Vicious Protector the Second,” they replied without hesitation. “It is a title of great dignity and honor.” 

In the corner, Link was doing that laughing-without-laughing thing, not moving a single facial muscle but still somehow conveying an air of immense amusement at Milk’s expense. They barely resisted the urge to throw something at him. 

Malena nodded, looking oddly despondent for someone who had just secured such a powerful title for her child. “I’m sure my husband will want to meet you. Do you plan to stay in the city long?”

Link didn't tend to stay in big cities for very long at all, and this time seemed to be no exception as he shook his head, his amusement dropping away. 

“Next time you visit, then, please come find us,” she said, reaching out and patting Milk’s hand before standing to take her leave. “May your travels be smooth and swift.” 

Milk nodded seriously, and then leaned back as a wave of exhaustion rolled through them. They may have pushed it too far by climbing up so many walls earlier. Their head still kind of felt like it was full of wool. 

“Where are we goin’ next?” they asked.

A soothing hand settled on their forehead, scars and calluses tangible against their skin, and they found themself asleep before they ever heard the answer.