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Chapter Text

“Have I ever told you about the time I was sent on my first side quest by the Hero of Warriors himself?”

“Yes! But we want to hear it again!” The children yelled in unbridled excitement.

The old man chuckled. “So, this happened a long time ago when I was just a young, lowly knight. I was buried in paperwork, a commander without a battalion to command, a glorified scribe for the Sheikah research unit. Suddenly…”

The reports of unusual incidents kept coming from all over the kingdom for weeks—specifically, sightings of strange men.

Orville was called from his barracks in the middle of the night. He’d been assigned an espionage mission to a village on the southern borders. Impa, the Sheikah General, was there to give him a briefing herself.

“Not the strangest case to be reported to the Castle,” she said by way of greeting as Orville entered her war room, always straight to the point. Orville quickly read his assignment. It was a report of a man impersonating a Hyrulean knight. They had too many cases of scam artists claiming knighthood to bother capturing them. Why was this one different?

“We already have a pending investigation of a man who can summon storms—and a boy who can calm them.”

“It’s true, but this one has the potential for escalation.” She pointed at the map. “Remember this village.” Orville looked and frowned. “Outskirt Village.”

It had the most strained relationship with the Castle and its knights. He could sympathize with them, though. Located close to woodlands teeming with monsters and bandits, the village had endured years of increased taxes that went to the lords’ banquets but none toward their protection. The village could no longer cough up rupees and had gone into self-isolation. The lords were enraged and sought retaliation. From what he’d heard from the border guards, the village had been burned down countless times—sometimes by monsters, most often by bandits. Rogue knights and mercenaries boasted openly about how the lords granted them free reign to do as they pleased with the ungrateful villagers. No guards bothered them, no knights intervened. The Castle turned a blind eye. Orville had stopped praying to the Goddesses ages ago; there was no salvation for them in knighthood.

“A report from the border guards nearest to Outskirt Village says, ‘a band of forty bandits was carrying out its nightly raid on the village,’” Impa continued, her tone void of emotion. Orville’s head bowed in shame. “At dawn, they found a frantic man—one of the bandits—at the post gate, begging to be locked up. He was in such distress that they barely managed to get his confession before he collapsed on the floor. He was the sole survivor of the slaughter. The others were dead.”

Orville looked up at his general in disbelief. “Did the villagers kill them?”

“No, but there was an unknown knight in the village that night.”

“A knight took down what’s basically a whole troop of armed men by himself?”

“The guards doubted the bandit’s statement as well. They suspected it was a case of infighting-turned-murder. But that doesn’t explain what kind of terror made a deranged, violent man cower in such fear.”

“One lone knight being responsible for this makes even less sense.”

“The border guards couldn’t go to the village for inspection due to the tension. To be honest with you, even if they could, they wouldn’t. No one wants to get caught in the threads of conspiracy. It could be a rebellion in the making or something else entirely. Your mission is to find out whether it poses a threat to the crown. Be careful. This man, if he does exist, could be very dangerous.”

If asked why he was a knight, Orville would say it was for the money. But with how underpaid knighthood was and unless you were a noble son doing it for pomp and grandeur, even a child could see through his flimsy excuse. It was still less pathetic than admitting he wanted to do good like the heroes of old in Grandpa’s bedtime stories though.

They were living in an era of peace, or so the nobles claimed. There were no great evils, no divine princesses. No heroes. They existed only now in fairytales, fading away along with the people’s hope. Greed ran rampant in the king’s court. If his grandpa were alive, he’d say, “There are no Goddess-fearing people no more on this land. Keep your faith, Orville!”

He’d tried. Goddesses bear witness, he’d tried.

It took Orville three days on horseback to reach the southern borders. He decided to bypass the southern post and go straight to Outskirt Village—he couldn’t risk being spotted by the villagers and blowing his disguise. He was dressed as a traveling merchant. The woodlands looked eerie, and the road was worn out, with fallen yellow leaves covering the path, making it difficult for his horse to navigate the bumps and potholes. There was a faint smell of charred flesh in the air. Orville couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief when he finally saw the village gate, even though he doubted there would be a warm welcome awaiting him beyond it.

“I know who you are,” the village head, a man in his early fifties, said as soon as Orville climbed down from his horse. Almost the entire village had gathered, surrounding him. There were no pitchforks or hoes in sight, which was a better reception than he had expected.

“You’re a knight. Drop the act,” one woman ordered, her tone cold.

Orville instinctively raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I am. But I’m with the Sheikah. We’ve heard about the raid and tried to come as quickly as we could—”

“Drop the act,” another villager, an old man, repeated.

“The news travels slow in Castle Town, I reckon? This is not the first raid we’ve endured, and we’ve seen no sign of you until now.” The village head looked him in the eyes. Orville tried to meet his gaze as best he could despite the guilt clawing at his chest.

“You are here for him, are you not?” The same woman demanded angrily. The village suddenly erupted in voices of protest.

Orville seriously considered running when the village head raised his hand to calm everyone down. “Let him meet the captain.”

“But Gonzo!”

“It’s not like he could make the captain do anything he doesn’t want to,” Gonzo said, then addressed Orville. “He’s at the back of the village, by the broken bridge he’s still obsessed with. Hard to miss.”

For the first time since Orville had met him, Gonzo’s weathered face softened with a genuine, fond look. Everyone chuckled along with him.

“Thank you for your courtesy.”

“By the way, Sir Knight, he doesn’t like liars,” Gonzo warned. “You’ve heard the rumor. It’s all true.” It sounded very much like a threat. Orville swallowed hard before hurriedly leaving, mentally composing his resignation letter to General Impa. He really should have become a tailor like his parents wished.

“I’ve been expecting you,” grandly announced the man crouching by the broken wooden bridge. His back was turned on Orville, a long blue scarf carefully draped over his shoulder to avoid dragging on the dirty ground.

“Y... you have?” Orville stuttered nervously.

The man tilted his head. “You’re not Gonzo?”

“No. My name’s Orville. I’m…” Orville wet his lips, thought of the warning and decided to go with honesty. “I’m a commander under General Impa of the Hylian Army. I hope you can answer some questions for me, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

The man gasped and abruptly stood up. Orville took quick, strategic steps back as the man turned fully to face him, his scarf fluttering in the evening breeze. Quickly adjusting his posture and hair, the captain extended his hand to Orville. With a blinding smile, he said,

“My name’s Link of Garrison. I’m a captain of the Hyrulean Army.”

“There has been no captain by that name in the army for hundreds of years, sir,” Orville corrected before he could stop himself.

Captain Link’s smile brightened at Orville’s bold remark.

As the sky darkened, Orville suddenly noticed that despite the fading light, the sun seemed to still shine in his sapphire eyes.

One of the perks of working for the Sheikah Research Unit was access to the Temple of Heroes. It had been closed to the public for years. Commissioned five hundred years ago by Queen Zelda Bosphoramus in remembrance of the heroes who had saved Hyrule, the temple was intended to educate future generations about Hyrule's history. Unfortunately, the current king did not share the scholar queen’s vision and seemed to shun wisdom.

General Impa had fought tooth and nail, long before Orville was even born, to preserve the Research Unit. She was the reason the temple remained open to commoners during Orville’s youth and why it wasn’t demolished now. But with the disappearance of the crown princess and the Sheikah's self-imposed exile to Kakariko Village, Hyrule was once again forgetting its roots and its heroes.

Captain Link carried himself with a grace that was long gone from knighthood. His obsession with bridges, however, was on par with a sugar-high five-year-old.

Orville had been staying in Outskirt Village for two days. The villagers had reluctantly come to tolerate his presence after Captain Link had enthusiastically vouched for him for some reason.

The reason, it turned out, was that Captain Link needed a co-conspirator—a role no one in the village wanted to take on. “He absolutely has no talent in woodwork.” Gonzo confirmed.

So, neither did Orville. 

“Logistics and ordnance, Orville, my good man,” Captain Link groaned. “Don’t tell me the knight academy didn’t teach you how to fix bridges! Even my brother could do it, and I’m still not sure he knew all the letters!”

“Gonzo said the bridge was broken on purpose, to keep the monsters in the woods from entering the village,” Orville patiently reasoned. They were staying in a makeshift tent while the village recovered from the raid. They had spent the day helping to repair houses and the night working on the captain’s self-appointed project.

Captain Link huffed.

“I’ve cleared all the monster camps in the woods. I’ve already told Gonzo; he needs that bridge or everyone will be sitting cuccos if the village is attacked again. The road needs fixing too. But I understand his concern. Maybe some magical fortification? My hoarder of a brother might have something to ward off the monsters.” The captain nodded to himself and wrote something in his journal.

Orville wondered why he was still here; he had a report to make too.

“Why don’t you call your brother for help? He seemed to be, ugh, bridge-knowledgeable.”

“He wasn’t!” The captain flopped onto the floor, dramatically draping his scarf over his eyes. “He just slapped a chunk of missing bridge back in place and called it a day.”

“Okay, sir. My bad,” Orville said, trying to placate his petulant captain (since when was Link his captain?). But curiosity got the better of him. “Did you not get along with your brother, sir? You seem both fond and exasperated with him.”

The captain grumbled. Orville chuckled at his pouty face.

“Which one? I have eight. You’ll need to be specific.”

There were nine statues in the Temple of Heroes, towering over the mortal visitors and pilgrims.

The statue of the Hero of Warriors was the one Orville’s grandpa had insisted he pray to first.

“The patron hero of knights! If you want to be a knight, you have to pray to him,” Grandpa had said confidently. “Close your eyes and ask for the strength to endure the trials, the faith to uphold the knight’s oath,” he paused, looking somber, “And the courage to remain loyal and kind.”

Because Grandpa was never wrong, Orville did as he was told. Several other visitors were queuing behind them, waiting their turn to pray.

“Do these people want to be knights too?” Orville whispered to his grandpa. Grandpa cast a quick glance behind and laughed. “No, no. You see, the poets say the Hero of Warriors was very handsome, and somehow, people started asking him for beautiful lovers.”

Orville narrowed his eyes as he craned his neck up, looking at the worn-down statue. Time had eroded its features beyond recognition, as it had with the other eight statues. The hero of Warriors was as beautiful as a large piece of eroding rock, in five-year-old Orville’s opinion.

“I don’t see it.”

Grandpa had mirthfully reassured him while on their way out that the statues used to be lifelike when they were first carved, full of colors and personalities.  

It was on day three that Orville finally witnessed what he’d come to investigate: Captain Link’s fight.

A new horde of monsters had moved in to replace the old one that the captain had dealt with a week prior to the bandit incident. The village’s meeting was called and Captain Link volunteered to handle it.

Captain Link had been tight-lipped about the bandits. Gonzo had shown Orville the clearing in the woods where the bodies had been burned. It wasn’t a bright decision on Gonzo’s part but as the man once said, what could Orville possibly do.

Captain Link knew that Orville knew.

Now Orville needed to know how he did. He insisted on accompanying the captain, arguing that he could provide support with his traveler’s bow and sword. Captain Link was unimpressed.

“You don’t know how to deal with monsters. They’re tougher than Hylians, armed to the teeth, and they still have teeth and claws even if you manage to disarm them. I’ll let you come with me so you’ll learn, but you must do as I say.” He raised his finger. “You leave close combat to me. When we reach the monster camp, you are to find a tree, hide and provide long-range support. You’ll only climb down when I signal it’s safe. I want your word on it.”

“Yes, sir.” Orville resisted the urge to salute. He was a bit offended by Captain’s doubts of his combat skills but saw it as good opportunity to observe the man in action without getting in the way. He was getting closer to be back at his barracks and under his beloved paperwork.

When they found the monster camp—a group of ten or so moblins and bokoblins—Orville scrambled up the tallest tree he could find, his legs almost giving out from sheer horror at the sight of the monstrous creatures.

Captain Link leapt into the air and struck down the monsters with a flurry of attacks.

In the heat of battle, the captain was like a divine dancer—a whirlwind of metal slashes and deadly grace. Every spin and slice was fatal. Orville managed to shoot two bokoblin archers while Captain Link massacred the rest with brutal efficiency.  A soft golden light lingered around him, too pale for untrained eyes to see. Magic of the land itself, was lending its strength to him willingly as he mowed down the unrepentant beasts.

The oldest depictions of Goddess Hylia showed her wielding a sword. She no longer held it in her later art and sculptures. Yet Grandpa had taught him to be Goddess-fearing. Young Orville used to wonder what was to fear from a weaponless goddess?

It seemed Grandpa was right again.

Her sword was here, not the mythical blade slumbering deep somewhere in the Lost Woods. It was of flesh and blood – the captain was calling him down, sword bloody and hair ruffled, giving Orville a thump-up for his hard work – and golden smile.

On day seven, Gonzo invited Orville to lunch while Captain Link went to fix the goat’s pen, where he was undoubtedly be getting harassed by the animals that had been eyeing his prized scarf with gluttonous intent for a week. It was the first time the village head had invited him to his home without Captain Link present.

“You’re a good knight and a good man, Sir Orville.” Gonzo patted his shoulder, his unspoken apologies sincere and his smile warm.

Orville’s mind had stopped functioning.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had thanked him for being good. Not since Grandpa’s death. Not since his appointment as a knight. He’d forgotten how to feel about it.

Later, Captain Link found him sitting by the still-broken bridge and sat down beside him. They watched the sky change colors in silence—from blue to pink, then amber.

“Gonzo thanked me today for doing my job. I can’t remember the last time I was thanked for being good. Not since I became a knight,” Orville softly confessed. “I’ve been thinking about resigning before taking on this assignment.”

“Knighthood isn’t easy,” Captain Link agreed.

“Sometimes, I feel ashamed to be called a knight. My parents were disappointed, saying it was a dishonest career, but I was stubborn back then. I’ve regretted it for years. Now, I don’t know what to feel.”

“Why did you want to be a knight in the first place?” Captain Link asked, his voice curious and kind.

Orville had no idea why he felt compelled to pour his heart out to Captain Link. He was a private person, and yet there was something about Captain Link —his unexplainable allure— that uncannily resembled the towering silent statue and made Orville’s weary soul give.

“I wanted to be a hero like the ones my grandpa told me about. He was a knight, so I wanted to be one too.”

Captain Link hummed thoughtfully.

“My brothers have some choice words about the Hylian knights,” he began. “They were appalled that I’m what they’d have become,” he added with a fond snicker. “They’ve made some good observations that even I can’t refute, but so have I. You see, Commander, Hyrule needs a hero sometimes, but it needs a good knight all the time.”

“Not everyone is born with magic or great strength or Goddess-blessed gifts. But we can all become stronger with discipline and education. And the army, despite its many flaws, offers the means to better protect our loved ones.”

Orville shook his head.

“That’s not what I was taught. That’s not what I’ve been doing. It’s all about serving the king and his lords before all else.”

Captain Link scoffed. “Our first commitment is to the people, not the royal family. Did you know knighthood predates the royalty family? The crown exists to help us serve our peoples better.”

“That’s treason, what you’ve just said, sir.”

“My brother will grant me a pardon.” Captain Link waved his hand dismissively. “In fact, I think I’m immune to prosecution.”

“Your brother’s in high places?”

“Very high. He’s used to living at high altitudes. We thought that was why he was such a menace in the morning. We tried to be understanding, even having a rotating system just to wake him up, but we mostly sacrificed our smallest brothers to his death grip. Turned out, he was just lazy, not tired or sick. The bastard had played us like a harp to oversleep. So, now I’ve been forcing him to do drills with me and Wild at the crack of dawn. He’s been avoiding us ever since.” The captain concluded with a self-righteous nod.

Captain Link’s stories were absurd like this. Orville barely understood half of it, except how much Captain Link loved all of his brothers.

Orville knew what he was doing was no longer about his mission. He was chasing after years of quiet prayers for reassurance, seeking answers to the questions that had long plagued his heart.

“I still think Hyrule needs a hero,” Orville said. “It’s always the hero who vanquishes evil and restores peace.”

“What exactly is evil that has been vanquished?” Captain Link challenged. “The demon kings? The maddening mages? Great evil. What about the corrupted lords, the monster hordes, and the thieves? The Goddess-sent quest doesn’t concern itself with mortal affairs. But can you tell the farmer who got his goat pen burnt down that his grief is small? Evil is evil because suffering is suffering.  Evil is our inefficiency. Our reliance on the hero is but a weak excuse for not improving our military defense. Put the right man in the right job, pay them better, train them better. Get them to care for their own country.”

“Are you saying our military system can be better than the Goddess’s path?”

“Yes.” Captain Link’s answer was immediate, his tone fierce, challenging.

“You sound like you’re holding a grudge against something.”

“I’m against a system that forces a child onto the sword.”

Silence descended upon them again as Captain Link turned his face back to the twilight sky, his expression distant.

“My little brother. I raised him, forcing veggies down his throat and all. I carried him to bed every night. He was so light, Commander.” He raised both hands like he was trying to hold his child again. The light dimmed in Captain Link’s eyes “He weighed even less than the sword he was forced to wield,” the captain seethed, his face thunderous as if he wanted, more than anything, to march to the heavens and demand the Goddesses face his wrath.

“Commander, you have the free will to refuse responsibilities, yet you chose to carry them— that takes courage. People like you, who put their lives on the line, help keep some child safe even for a little longer. I, too, am thankful for your service.”

It was moments like this that Orville was forced to remember who the man in front of him was. Who Orville suspected he was despite how insane it sounded.

There was a reason why Orville was recruited to the Research Unit despite not being a Shikah; he had good instincts, and he trusted what he saw.

Orville was consumed with frustration. He felt the urgent need to scream, to confront. His mission was technically over but restless dissatisfaction had suddenly taken root, making it impossible for him to pack up and leave. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he left—would Captain Link leave too? The idea scared him.

The goats had refused to eat. The farmer claimed they were gripped by melancholia. He had no rupees left to buy new goats if this last lot died. The children would also be inconsolable – they adored the goats.

Captain Link was panicking.

“What am I going to do?” He muttered anxiously, wringing his hands beside a brooding Orville. “Animals in distress isn’t my strong suit. I wasn’t raised in a barn!”

“Where were you raised?”

“In orphanage,” the captain replied, distracted. “Oh no, do I really need to find him? He’s going to be so smug about it, grr.”

Orville chose to ignore the captain’s theatrics.

The old texts that the Research Unit had unearthed said the heroes would return whenever Hyrule needed them.

Where have you been all these years then? Letting your legends fading into myths, to fairytales.

Why did a fairytale suddenly become flesh when there was no hope left for this kingdom—when his people’s, when Grandpa’s, when his prayers had gone unanswered for years?

“Is it because of your dislike of the divine system? Of our reliance on the hero? That why you did not come until now when we have no hope left to pray for?” Orville blurted out, quickly realizing afterward how rude he sounded.

Captain Link paused mid-rant to look at him, head tiling in concern.

“We should be independent of you, I understand. But how? How do we keep the peace? How do we be heroic without the hero? No knight academy teaches that anymore if it ever did.”

“It never did,” the captain affirmed. “But it offered physics and language lessons though. Very useful.”

“What is a hero made of?” Orville pressed.

“Side quests.”

Orville buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly.

“Captain Link, could you please be serious while I’m pouring my heart out to you?”

“But I am!” protested the captain, clutching his chest as if Orville had wounded him with the unfound accusation of unseriousness. Orville gave him a deadpan stare.

“Okay, fine. I’ll pretend to think deeply for your peace of mind. So, you must listen carefully to a wisdom I’m about to impart.” Then, he put on a show of pretending to think for nine minutes, his sapphire eyes sparkling with mischievous mirth. Orville tried, but he couldn’t stay mad at his insufferable captain. It must be his magic, it had to be.

“Say, Commander, would you kindly go fetch my little brothers for me? They’ve scattered all over Hyrule —hopefully, that one’s still here and not wandering out of the border. Just follow the trails of mayhem.”

“Tell him that I sent you but not that I need him. It’s the village that needs his help,” Captain Link stressed, too busy fussing over Orville’s horse to notice how hard Orville rolled his eyes.

“How do I know it’s him when I find him, sir?”

“He smells like a wet dog. Oh! And he answers to ‘Rancher’ and ‘Warriors’ little brother.’”

“Pretty sure the last part’s a trap that’ll get me mauled to death by your brother,” Orville grumbled under his breath.

Captain Link let out a loud bark of laughter.

And he was as beautiful as the poets said.

So, Orville packed and left the village. He went to the post and instructed the guards to deliver his sealed report to General Impa. Then he set off his search for Captain Link’s goatherd of a brother.

When Orville found the goat-herding brother five days later, the man was lying in an abandoned field, sunbathing in the morning rays. A piece of straw stuck out from between his lips as he was surrounded by too many goats and shepherd dogs. Orville didn’t have time to announce his presence before the man slowly sat up, squinting at him with eyes the deepest shade of twilight blue.

Chapter Text

The old man settled into his rocking chair by the hearth, his grandchildren sitting on the floor around him, eagerly waiting for him to continue their favorite bedtime story. He cleared his throat, and the kids looked up in anticipation, their eyes sparkling.

“How about we continue our story today about how I was chased to the rooftop of an abandoned farmhouse by the Hero of Twilight’s divine beast?”

“Yes, please!”

“Puppy time!”

“He was far from a little puppy!” the old man laughed heartily. “He was a huge, majestic beast! I was shaken like a new leaf at the sight of him! But after the quest, I got my first reward from the Hero of Warriors for my troubles.” He pulled out a silver rupee from his pocket, proudly displaying it to the kids, who ooh-ed and aah-ed in delight, asking for their turn to touch it.

It had been sixty years, and yet the rupee never lost its shine.

The fire burned, charcoals radiating an amber glow, as Captain Link set a coffee kettle on to boil. It was the night before his departure in search of his goatherd brother, and the captain felt generous enough to give Orville some tips on how to find the man in the vast expanse of Hyrule.

“His name is Link of Ordon,” he said. “It’s either a divine prank or parents being unimaginative, but you learn quickly that you share things with your brothers—even your name. It got so confusing when we started traveling together that we decided to go by nicknames.”

“What’s your nickname, sir?” Orville asked curiously.

“My brothers call me Warriors,” Captain Link replied.

Like the Hero of Warriors—the towering statue and title etched in stone.

They hadn’t talked about what Orville had pieced together about Captain Link’s true identity. Part of Orville, that was more science than faith, still held onto the possibility that Captain Link could be a convincing impostor of the hero of old. But besides claiming to be a captain of an army that no longer existed, Captain Link hadn’t committed any fraud that left Orville no room for faith but to force the truth out.

The kettle whistled. Captain Link poured the coffee into a cup before handing it to Orville. It tasted like acidic smoked leather, as all coffee rations did. It seemed Captain Link was the only military personnel he had ever known who found comfort in its familiar, terrible taste. No officer in the Hyrulian army would drink it. Even General Impa found it repulsive and always offered her herbal tea to Orville during their meetings. The tea tasted nice, but there was something about the camaraderie forged through horrid ration food—a bond formed by gulping down terrible boot-washing water together.

The orange flames illuminated their camp. It was a quiet night; the village had gone to bed. Not far from their tent, the goats bleated sadly. The captain made a face, and Orville wasn’t sure if it was due to the coffee or the goats’ mournful noises that reminded him of their mission to find his rancher brother.

“He’s a pain to track down when his stubborn ass doesn’t want to be found,” Captain Link said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “The thing about the rancher is that he’s the one who finds you, not the other way around.”

“That’s quite ominous and also not helpful, sir,” Orville replied dryly. “I do have a post to return to. I can’t—and don’t want to—spend my whole life looking for your elusive brother.”

“Since when did you become this sassy, soldier?” the captain pouted.

Since I’ve known you, Orville thought, but wisely kept it to himself.

“Let us be silent and mourn the loss of Commander Orville’s innocence. You used to look up to me with wide-eyed wonderment.” Captain Link pretended to wipe fake tears from his eyes. “You’ve grown so fast, my good man.”

“I’m a full-grown man, sir.”

“Growth,” the captain seethed, “is nauseating. You blink, and they’re too grown up for goodnight kisses.” He pointed a finger at Orville, his tone accusatory. “You better not find me lame like my ungrateful brothers did.”

Sometimes, Orville wished Grandpa were here. Grandpa knew all the lores. Surely, he’d know how to attend to a whimsical legendary hero.

Again, he wisely changed the topic. They had gone off track. Orville hadn’t learned any useful information, and he had to leave early in the morning.

“What does the rancher look like?”

 “Like a bumpkin,” Captain Link answered absentmindedly before taking a sip of his coffee, likely never having given the question much thought at all.

Orville buried his face in his palms, refraining from groaning with frustration, so he missed the captain’s soft smile hiding behind the cup.

“But he likes watching sunsets. You’ll have a higher chance of finding him during that time of day.”

The problem was that Orville didn’t like sunsets, and what followed them: the hours of darkness. Old people in his neighborhood called it the hour of the meeting of phantoms. He didn’t understand why one of the nine heroes claimed the title of Hero of Twilight. He found the hero’s title… ominous, much like the eeriness of the twilight hours before nightfall. 

It could be dark in his neighborhood, especially when his parents were away on business and Orville was left alone in the house. Shadows would move across his windows while the howls of unknown beasts echoed beyond the city’s walls. Orville would hide under his blankets, remembering those stories that were told in the fall—of creatures born of darkness prowling the streets and stealing children away if they didn’t hide indoors.

If he lived up to his moniker, Orville believed a good place to start his search would be the farm communities. The closest village, Riverside, was a day’s ride by horse. If he remembered correctly, their area used to be great woodlands until settlements expanded and people began clearing the forest for more farmland. He also recalled that the village had exported their produce to Castle Town, so their relationship with the center couldn’t be as strained as that of Outskirt. The path to Riverside was in better condition than the one to Outskirt, too.

As he rode, Orville came across a farmer herding goats back to the village. In his hand was some sort of handmade weapon—a sharp rock roughly tied to a wooden stick.

“Where’re you heading, lad?” the farmer greeted, regarding him curiously.

“Riverside, uncle. I’m a merchant looking for a place to rest and restock.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Outskirt Village.”

“Goddesses, are they alright?” The farmer’s eyes widened. “Heard they were attacked by bandits. Good folks—they used to visit us before they went into isolation. The road’s too dangerous to travel. We’ve been worried sick about them.”

“They’re doing alright now. I heard the bandits got taken care of,” Orville reassured him.

“Bandits?” the farmer spat. “Good riddance. As if we ain’t struggling enough with monsters. Bet their dead corpses will do some good for the land for once.”

They arrived at Riverside in the late afternoon. Orville noticed the village had fewer houses than he expected, but they had stores and an inn. The villagers seemed to fare slightly better than those from Outskirt. They looked more curious than wary at the sight of a stranger in their midst. Orvile went to book a room at the inn before coming out and trying to find someone who could give him a lead on Link of Ordon.

He didn’t have to search for long because the villagers were eager to tell him about their “Link.”

“Do you have a bandit problem here too?” Orville asked the same farmer who stood outside the shop with his neighbors: a man and two women, all looking to be in their forties.

“Monsters,” answered the man. “They lurk in the forest and prey on our livestock. They used to sneak in and steal, but they’ve grown too bold, even attacking us in broad daylight.”

“It’s been a problem. We can’t go herding without a weapon now. First were the wolves, now the monsters. What’s next? These animals are our livelihood, and we don’t have enough money to hire mercenaries to take the monsters out,” the farmer grimaced.

“See those abandoned farmlands on the way here and over the hill? Folks just gave up and moved away. Some didn’t even take their animals with them. They were left to their own fate, and we’ve got our hands full,” one of the women sighed, looking troubled that they had to let the animals fend for themselves.

“Things have been looking up lately,” the other woman comforted her friend. “And Link said he’s going to find them a new home.”

“You mean Link of Ordon?” Orville asked urgently.

The villagers looked at each other and shrugged. “No idea. The kid never gave his last name. He keeps to himself. But he’s been helping us out a lot.”

“Where is he now?”

“He just comes and goes. We think he’s staying at the abandoned farmhouse over the hill, but no one’s been there when we went looking for him.”

“We were worried. It was a week ago. Link said he would take care of the monsters in the woods and then disappeared for days. We thought he was dead, but he came back, bloody from head to toe, said it wasn’t his blood, no worries, as if nothing had happened!” The worried woman placed her hand over her chest to emphasize how shocked she was. “I almost had a heart attack!”

Whatever was lurking in the woods must be deader than dead, thought Orville.

“He just appeared one day, like a goddess-sent,” the other woman told him, her face softening with a fondness that Orville would later come to associate with the phenomenon of people meeting a Link.

“If someone needs help herding goats, weeding, babysitting, even mucking out, there’s Link for you,” the farmer told him. “The children adore him. He’s all my son’s been talking about—‘I want to be like Link when I grow up, Papa.’ Goddesses bless that kid. I hope he stays with us—I can’t imagine a village without that boy.”

Grandpa had a farmer friend, a sturdy man named Bo, who visited every year when Orville was little. They grew up in a rural community to the northeast, but Grandpa decided to move to Castle Town to chase his dream of becoming a knight. Even in the end, Grandpa wasn’t cut out for knighthood, he chose to stay in Castle Town, raising Orville’s dad in his tailor shop. Dad grew up disliking knights. Sometimes, Orville overheard him telling Mom how rude and arrogant they were toward them, and he couldn’t believe Grandpa still held onto the fairytale of knighthood and wanted someone in their family to be clad in that disgrace of a uniform.

Grandpa Bo shared that sentiment with Dad and didn’t hesitate to call Grandpa out.

“If everyone chases shiny armor, who is going to feed the people?” Grandpa Bo taught Orville. Orville remembered that he was fun to be around, with unbelievably grand tales of farm life. Orville liked when he visited because he and Grandpa got to accompany Grandpa Bo to the temple.

Grandpa Bo tended to visit before the calving season to meet with his old friend and to visit the Temple of Heroes.

He came to pray to the Hero of Twilight.

So, Orville went to the abandoned farmhouse on the hill, now slowly overtaken by vines and tall grass. There were some goats and shepherd dogs scattered across the field, all looking well-fed and basking in the sunlight and soft breeze. One of the dogs spotted him and started barking. Orville braced himself to run when the dog began sniffing him. He had never been a favorite among dogs, but this one seemed to catch a scent it liked and soon started wagging its tail.

“Good boy,” Orville said, hesitantly reaching out to pet its head. “Do you know where Link is?”

The dog, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer his silly question. Instead, it turned its head toward the nearby forest and started barking. Orville stood awkwardly in the abandoned field even after the dog stopped and returned to its business.

He was preparing to head back to the inn, realizing that Link wasn’t there, when his eyes caught something moving in the nearby forest.

Emerging from the trees was a dark-grey wolf, with ominous white markings.

Orville’s breath hitched as the beast’s glowing blue eyes locked onto him.

The statue of the Hero of Twilight was one of the most damaged, with half of its head missing from an accident involving the roof collapsing three decades ago. Impa recalled with bitterness that the budget for restoration had been cut, so they couldn’t repair it to its previous condition. Ironically, the wolf statue at its feet was the most complete sculpture in the temple, the intricate patterns on the animal’s head and body still intact.

No one really knew what the wolf meant to the Hero of Twilight. No historical texts had survived from the era of legend. People simply believed it was the beast the hero had conquered and kept as a pet. What could boast power more than having a dangerous beast at your beck and call?

Grandpa Bo snorted at the city folks’ “boring myth.” As he admired the statue of the divine beast, the farmer said, “The hero was a good ol’ rancher. We don’t go around conquering nature.”

“Then how do you think the wolf came to help him?” Orville asked.

“He befriended it!”

Grandpa Bo had the wildest tales of his exploits. Orville had no idea farmers had such adventures, because Grandpa really hated farm life. He loved listening to the man tell stories about his unlikely friendships with wildlife around his ranch—squirrels and birds, but also foxes, wolves, even bears.

“Curious fellas. They do cause trouble sometimes, but most of the time, they’re just minding their business, and we gotta respect ’em. They think we’re on their land, too. I love watching them more than I love their fur. They’re like people, even better than those ponies in the castle!”

Orville wondered what Grandpa Bo was doing right now. He hadn’t visited since Grandpa’s funeral, and he could really use his wisdom at a moment like this, especially with the blue-eyed wolf circling him. How had Grandpa Bo befriended a bear and even gotten it to eat from his hand again?

Respect! Yelled imaginary Grandpa Bo in Orville’s head.

Orville had no idea how to show respect to animals, but he did know military manners.

“Hello, sir!” he shouted, executing the best salute of his life. Captain Link would be proud of him.

The wolf flinched, probably from his impromptu shout. Seizing the opportunity, Orville climbed onto the roof of the farmhouse. He let out a sigh, glancing down to find the pair of blue eyes still following him. Unfortunately for Orville, the wolf sat and began making a strange noise akin to a chortle, staring at him with what uncannily seemed like mirth in its intelligent blue eyes.

Captain Link would probably laugh himself to death if he knew—though he wouldn’t, because Orville was taking this secret to his grave.

The dogs and goats seemed to know the wolf well. Orville observed from the roof, curious but still listening to his self-preserving instincts to keep his distance.

 Maybe they are friends, he thought, as the other animals came to sit around the wolf, who lay down on the grass, watching the sun set below the horizon and basking in the amber glow of twilight. There was a strange sadness about the wolf that Orville couldn’t quite place.

The wolf stayed until the stars filled the sky before disappearing into the woods. Orville waited until he was certain it was gone before climbing down and running down the hill to the inn.

In the next few days, there was still no sign of Link, but the wolf returned every dusk to watch the sunset on the hill. Orville tried to offer it some salted meat that Captain Link had cured and insisted that Orville take as much as he needed for his trip. The wolf sniffed tentatively—did it just roll its eyes?—before accepting the offering and disappearing into the woods.

On day four, Orville was perched on the roof of the same abandoned farmhouse, questioning his life choices. Just as he was thinking that he should move on to the next village, the wolf barked at him from below. Orville’s heart almost jumped out of his throat. He looked down at the beast, who barked again, tilting its head toward the woods as if ordering him to follow.

Good soldiers followed orders; that’s what he’d been taught. But not just anyone's orders—that would make him a fool. Yet for the past week, he had dutifully followed a man who could still be a convincing imposter. Following a wolf’s orders seemed like another slippery slope of dignity that Orville was willing to take for his investigation.

He followed the wolf, hoping it might lead him to someone—hopefully, his master, the Hero of Twilight. Instead, it led him to a small pond where a boar was drinking. The wolf quietly nudged its snout at Orville’s quiver and huffed, looking expectant.

Goddesses, did a beast just order Orville to shoot the boar for it?

“It’s okay. This is for Captain Link,” Orville muttered to himself. The wolf looked at him as if it was slightly worried for his mental health.

With a deep breath, he let loose an arrow, and the boar fell. The wolf started howling. Instead of gobbling down the carcass like Orville expected, the blue-eyed beast waited, and the bush around them shook before three juvenile wolves appeared. Orville wisely stepped back, searching for the tallest tree he could scale, just like Captain Link had taught him. From his perch, he watched as the wolf supervised the young ones eating, snapping and growling whenever they misbehaved or got too close to Orville’s tree.

So, the beast was just an intelligent but normal wolf after all. It had a cute family though.

He watched as the young ones left, and the blue-eyed wolf turned to give a soft bork of approval. It felt nice to have a majestic beast trust you.

Perhaps this was what Grandpa Bo felt when he fed the bear.

But as nice as it felt, Orville needed to leave soon. He hadn’t found any trace of Link in the woods, and he might have better luck picking up Link’s trail down the road.

“I’ll probably be moving soon,” Orville told the wolf. “My captain’s been worried about the sick goats, and I really need to find his brother.”

The wolf blinked and let out a long, deep grumble, as if scolding Orville for not informing it earlier.

On day five, Orville finally found the rancher.

The man was lying in an abandoned field, sunbathing in the morning rays, with a piece of straw sticking out from between his lips, surrounded by goats and dogs. Orville didn’t have time to announce his presence before the man slowly sat up, squinting at him with eyes the deepest shade of twilight blue.

“Heard you’re looking for me,” he said, his voice ringing clear like a forest pond. “Link of Ordon.”

Everything about Link of Ordon seemed to be shrouded in the soft veil of gloam—from his darker eyes and hair to his mellow temperament—a stark contrast to his brother’s golden brightness, even though they literally shared the same face. Captain Link wasn’t joking when he said he shared many things with his brothers; it was uncanny. The rancher was reserved, his hawkish eyes piercing and observant. He was polite but offered little in the way of conversation. Orville found it hard to form an opinion about him.

Then Link cleared his throat. “Have I introduced you to the girls?”

“Where are the girls?” Orville asked as Link blinked owlishly and waved his hand around, indicating the goats and dogs loitering nearby.

“You mean the animals?” Orville asked hesitantly. “I already know them.”

“Did you, though?” Link drawled, his accent coming out thick.

Link apparently decided Orville didn’t know them and started introducing him to the animals individually. “Everyone, this is Orville. Orville, meet Midny, Zeldy, Ily, Bethie, Colie, Talie, Malie, Ulie, Ruslie…”

He was definitely the captain’s brother.

Link agreed that they should get moving to make the most of the sunlight. He also insisted on bringing his twelve goats and three dogs with them.

“Maybe someone in your village could use some goats and shepherd dogs,” Link said optimistically. He then began speaking to each animal, explaining the migration plan and the roles he expected them to perform while Orville watched, speechless and incredulous.

They must have looked like quite the scene: Link herding the goats down the hill to the village, the dogs skillfully guiding them, while Orville dragged his feet behind.

Most of the villagers came out to watch their peculiar march to the village. Orville went to check out of the inn while Link chatted with the villagers, saying his goodbyes—mostly to the children—who clearly didn’t want him to go.

“You’ve been gone forever! You must promise to come back and play with us!” one village boy shouted.

“Yes, how can we become strong like you if you don’t teach us, Link?” another chimed in.

Link listened to their demands that he promised to return soon, while Orville’s horse, who took one look at Link and fell in love, nuzzled against him.

Orville never liked camping in the wild. He didn’t feel much discomfort during training. Being with a troop made it easier, as there were too many of them, and they rarely ventured outside the walls of Castle Town. Whenever he received an assignment, he would plan ahead to find a rest stop in a village. But traveling with Link and his animals, he knew they wouldn’t make it to Outskirt before nightfall.

They found a clearing and a grassy area not far from the main road for the goats to graze and set up camp while the dogs kept watch. Link worked on building the campfire.

“So, how did you meet Wars?” Link asked.

“W... Wars?” Orville stuttered, surprised that Link would initiate a conversation. He didn’t seem like the type to chit-chat.

“Warriors.”

“Oh! It’s actually a long story.”

Link placed a pot over the fire and began chopping pumpkin and fish to add to it.

“The night’s young, and the soup isn’t ready yet. We could use some stories, unless you prefer silence. That’s fine, too.”

“No, this is fine.” Orville composed himself before giving a quick, watered-down version of how he came to know Captain Link, highlighting more of the captain’s latest schemes. He figured Link would rather hear more about his brother, and he was right. Link let out a loud howl of laughter when Orville complained about the captain’s obsession with bridges, his canine fangs glinting in the campfire’s glow.

Was a Hylian’s teeth supposed to be that sharp?

“He really doesn’t know how to quit, does he?” Link said, shaking his head.

“Everyone has told him that,” Orville smiled. “Maybe you could talk some sense into him and put us out of our misery.”

“I’m telling you, don’t be fooled by that pretty head of his. He’s as stubborn as a ram.”

Seeing Link relaxed, Orville decided to ask a question that had been on his mind since he found him. “So, um, where have you been? I tried to find you the past few days.”

“In the woods. I’ve been helping raise the orphan wolves,” Link answered, tilting his head as if confused by Orville’s question.

Orville blinked rapidly. He now had many questions, the foremost being, “Why did you do that?”

Link frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t I? They needed help.”

“Wouldn’t wolves attack the village?”

Link regarded him, and for a brief moment, Orville swore his eyes seemed to glow. “The wolves aren’t your enemies,” he said slowly, weighing his words. “Nor are they your friends. But if you understand them, they can do you some favors.”

“Oh.”

“Wolves compete with monsters for prey animals, helping keep their numbers in check,” Link explained while stirring the soup. “When the village cleared the woods for farmland, it tipped the balance. With fewer prey animals, the wolves ventured out of the forests, drawn to livestock, and were killed by the villagers. Without them, many monsters moved in and started attacking the village.”

“…I had no idea,” Orville admitted.

Link shrugged. “Not surprised. You look like a city boy.”

Orville blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Very obvious,” Link confirmed bluntly. “You looked anxious when I suggested we camp. Are you afraid of the dark?”

“In the city, there’s always light. Noises. People—at least I know it’s people. It’s—”

“Familiar.”

“Yes. It’s really childish of me.”

Link ladled the soup into a bowl and handed it to Orville.

“Colin, my little brother, used to feel that way too… Not that I’m saying you’re like a child or anything,” Link hurried to correct himself, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “I mean, it’s normal to be afraid of what you don’t know. What you need is—”

Orville watched as Link’s ears twitched at the sound of wolf howls in the distance. Link paused, then smiled. “That’s how wolves communicate.”

The statue of the Hero of Twilight was always adorned with flowers at the altar. He was known as the protector of children, and parents came to the temple bringing offerings and pleading for his protection.

“We pray for him to protect our kids, to keep them safe and healthy, and to inspire them with the courage to do good,” Grandpa Bo said as he offered his gifts—horse grass and pumpkin flowers, believed to be the hero's favorites.

“Your parents and I prayed to him when you were born, too,” Grandpa told young Orville. “You were quite the sickly baby. When you were six months old, you caught a bad cold. Your parents barely got a wink of sleep. We visited every doctor, prayed to every goddess — and prepared for the worst, fearing we might lose you.”

Orville listened with rapt attention as Grandpa turned to his friend, giving him a nod of gratitude. “Then I remembered what Grandpa Bo told me. I brought a pumpkin as an offering to the altar of the Hero of Twilight. That night, I made soup from the pumpkin and got you to drink some. You never got sick again.”

“Oh,” Orville said, craning his neck to look at the hero and his wolf. Somehow, he didn’t find them as intimidating as before.

“And that’s the sounds of crickets and frogs. Hmm, did you hear that hoot? There are owl families too. I love them. I have no idea why the old man hates them. All the animals are nice, but goats are the best. Did you know my goats back home…” Link rambled lively, brightness in his eyes like a never-dying lantern in the dark, as his ears tuned into sounds beyond Orville’s mediocre perception.

The soup in his hands was warm.

A long-forgotten conversation resurfaced in his mind, his last memory of speaking with Grandpa Bo before their families drifted apart.

“He’s watching over you, so you’ve got nothing to fear!”

“Even the dark?” Orville asked softly.

“Especially in the dark! Twilight is the time when daylight meets darkness. So, whenever you’re afraid of the dark, think of him, and the light will meet you.”

The night felt less daunting as he looked around at the myriad forms of night-dwelling life surrounding him. Darkness had never seemed gentler, with Link’s soft voice reciting true facts about goats.

They arrived at Outskirt Village in the late afternoon the next day. Gonzo, a level-headed chief he was, calmly looked at a dozen goats and three dogs, and took them in stride. He reassured the rancher that he would take care of the goats in the meantime but urged them to rescue Captain Link first. “He’s wrestling with a goat to get his scarf back but is clearly losing.”

In the goat pen, Captain Link was struggling, one hand pushing against the goat’s horns while the other tried to pry his soaking scarf from its mouth. His hair and tunic were caked in dried mud. He turned his head at the sound of their footsteps, desperation and annoyance flashing in his eyes as he spotted Orville and his brother. “Twilight, about time! Lend me your power!”

“Seriously, Wars? And you have the audacity to lecture Wild for getting into trouble!” the rancher guffawed at his brother’s plight, hands on his hips. He looked more like he wanted to watch than intervene.

“This is the last time I’ll come close to this foul beast unless it’s on my plate!” Captain Link shouted at the goat, who paused before resuming its aggressive chewing of the scarf.

The captain screeched, “I’m going to eat you tonight!”

“That’s enough. No one’s eating anyone tonight.”

Orville watched as the rancher climbed over the pen, using his bare hands to pull the scarf free before casually tossing the goat aside. The goat looked incredibly confused as the rancher crouched down beside it. “It’s okay, let’s talk like civilized folks, yeah? I’ll get the brute out of your pen.” Then he walked up to a distracted Captain Link, who was frantically inspecting his beloved scarf for tears, and tossed him out of the pen like a ragdoll.

Captain Link landed on his backside before getting back up and jumping back into the pen to throw hands with his brother. The rancher snarled, and the captain hissed as they wrestled on the muddy floor, uncaring that they had gathered a crowd of goats and villagers who watched their brawl with equal confusion and amusement.

And Orville? Orville needed self-evaluation.

And a drink.

Commander Orville was still in the village head’s house. The man looked quite traumatized by something Twilight was confident was Warriors’ fault. The captain was still busy mending his scarf when Twilight found him by the broken bridge.

“How long have you been here?” Twilight asked, dropping down beside his brother, and pulling out a brush to clean the dried mud from his wolf pelt.

“Here as in this village or this era?” Warriors replied, his eyes not leaving his task.

“Both, I suppose.”

“About two weeks for me. The portal dropped me midair above the village. Almost broke my neck from the fall, then nearly got stabbed by the village head—they hate knights, and rightly so.” The captain’s smile was grim. “I wanted to search for the others but couldn’t just leave the villagers to fend for themselves.”

Twilight’s ears drooped. “I’ve been here for about a week and a half— heard about the bandits in the woods. The animals whispered about them in disgust. Sorry I didn’t come to help. You shouldn’t have dealt with them alone.” The rancher’s tone was heavy with guilt.

“I didn’t want any of you near them,” the captain said calmly, but his tone was absolute, brooking no argument. “A small part of me wished the blood on my sword had been black instead of red. Because a curse or possession—anything would be more bearable than a man—a knight—choosing to prey on the people he swore to protect.”

Knights poisoned by their own greed? Where had he heard about that before? Twilight thought mirthlessly. Old whiskey in new bottles. Things never changed.

“Remember that goddess’s cryptic message from Sky’s dream? That Hyrule sometimes summons us to times of peace?”

“Peace, huh?” the captain scoffed.

“I don’t find this era peaceful,” Twilight agreed.

“Some say peace is merely the absence of war,” Warriors pondered, probably thinking about the books he read in military school. “There’s no great evil here. But it makes you wonder—if there is peace, why has Hyrule summoned us here?”

“The portal seems to send us to problems that need fixing,” Twilight observed before grinning. “I wonder who gets the fun of crashing the lords’ banquets. That seems like a source of evil to me.”

“I wish the vet upon them.”

 “Or maybe the sailor.”

They both cackled at the thought of Hyrule’s Castle reduced to debris at the hands of their fire-cracking brothers. Talking about their younger Links made Twilight miss them even more fiercely. “We should probably round up the others,” he suggested.

“I’ve delegated that task to Commander Orville,” Warriors said primly. Then, when Twilight gave him an incredulous look, he quickly defended his decision. “It’s nice to be the one giving a quest and waiting for progress.”

“That reminds me. Care to explain why you sent a soldier after me? Did you know how confused I was when I got your scent on a stranger who saluted me when I was Wolfie?”

“He didn’t tell you? I was after your mangy fur.”

Twilight flashed a feral grin, baring his sharp teeth at Warriors. “I’ll maul your pretty face.”

“Alright, alright. No need to be uncivilized. He wanted to know what a hero is made of.”

Twilight smirked. “Good to know I’m the exemplary hero of courage in the esteemed opinion of the Hero of Warriors.”

Warriors rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Stop wagging your tail, Rancher. It was either you or Sky, but the goats got sick. I’m not cruel enough to wish the spicy ones of our ragtag group on that poor knight.”

“That knight is attached to you,” Twilight noted, his tone carefully shifting from teasing to cautious. “He spoke about you like he wants to put you on an altar and worship you.”

They both had a people problem—whether it came from fear or adoration, the scars looked the same.

Warriors paused his mending work and deeply considered Twilight’s concern. 

“He just doesn’t have respectable military models in his life. He’s working for this era’s Impa—I think he’s a good man.”

“There’s an Impa?” Twilight arched his brow, subtly allowing Warriors to drop the subject with grace. “Shouldn’t we meet her? Maybe she could tell us where to find the Zelda of this era.”

“That’s usually how we discover our purpose for being summoned, yes.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence before Twilight recalled, “You know, Wild passed by my village about a week ago. He bought every produce he could find, cooked me dinner, and left, saying he was helping a village to the east with a food shortage.”

Warriors’ face wavered with pain at the mention of yet another village in trouble, though the captain tried to hide it with theatrics. “We all know you’re the champion’s favorite, Rancher. And here I am, lonely and laboring for my own meager meal.”

Twilight rolled his eyes at Warriors’ poor attempt at deflection. “You know there’s a temple dedicated to us in Castle Town?”

“I’ve heard. Apparently, we’re canonized now.”

“Wild woke up in there—in a tomb. His own tomb.”

Warriors poked himself with the needle, clutching his hand and swearing under his breath.

“How’s he handling it?” the captain gritted his teeth.

“You know him. He said, ‘Not the first time I woke up in my own tomb to find my time-skipped Hyrule a hundred years later!’” Twilight said, giving the best imitation of his protégé.

“Someone has to sit the kid down and talk to him about this self-deprecating joke of his, and it’s not going to be me. Smithy—I’m going to make Smithy handle it,” Warriors muttered.

Twilight didn’t think Wars had any leg to stand on when it came to self-deprecation—none of them did. But piling Wild-supervision duties on Four wasn’t a bad idea since Four had already assigned himself to teach Wild weapon care. He could probably teach self-care too. After all, didn’t their resident smith love to brag about his academic prowess just because he bested Dot at math when they were five?

“This era might be hundreds of years after the champion’s. He’s now a legend forgotten by those who came after.”

“And we’re but fading fairytales. No one escapes the obscurity of time.”

“Wild was upset that all of Flora’s efforts came undone in just a few hundred years. People are suffering again.” Twilight looked as frustrated as his cub. After all, he had traveled for a while with the champion as his wolf and had seen Hyrule slowly heal itself from the wounds of Calamity.

“It’s devastating to recognize a broken world as one you’ve loved and protected. To believe you left behind peace and prosperity for your descendants, hoping they wouldn’t have to fight the battles you did, only to see it in ruins.”

“He looked haunted, like the vet did. Like the old man did when we found out our placements in history.”

“A child must be forced onto a sword because Hyrule apparently loves its history written in young blood. But that’s sadly beyond our purview,” Warriors said, anger lacing his calm tone.

Twilight nodded. “I told Wild that he couldn’t control what people did after his death. But I know it’s hard for him to just leave a broken world for the next hero to fix.”

“A Link always internalizes guilt not of his doing,” Warriors sighed as he finished tying knots in his mending work. “Should we find him or sic Hyrule on him?”

Twilight chuckled, though bitterness still tinged his laugh. “Not yet. I say let him do his thing. Besides, the real question is: is Hyrule in Hyrule?”

Warriors groaned. “Well, at least I won’t be the one to find the traveler.”

Twilight’s eyes danced with mischief. “You know, you’re a terrible quest-giver. You didn’t even give your knight a reward for finding me.”

“Oh no,” Warriors said sarcastically, his tone as dry as a Gerudo’s desert. “Do you think he’ll just accept my gratitude as a non-tangible reward?”

Twilight gave him the most disapproving look. “I got 50 rupees from Agitha for a Golden Bug, Wars.”

“Well, you aren’t a Golden Bug or as rupee-worthy.”

“I’m going to let all the goats into your tent tonight.” Twilight gave the captain a sweet, saccharine smile full of fangs and malice. Warriors turned to look back at the village, where all the old and new goats were mingling happily—heart sickness cured. Twilight’s dogs even found new owners, and the rancher almost jumped for joy.

Then he realized that was a lot of goats.

The captain shuddered and folded like a house of cards. “Fine. 100 rupees. You’re more valuable than a Golden Bug now. Happy?”

Twilight nodded with the self-righteousness of a man recognizing his own worth.

“So, are you staying?” Warriors tried to keep hope hidden from his voice, but Twilight saw through his hidden agenda.

“Wars, I’m not helping you build a bridge,” Twilight deadpanned. “Beg Sky. Maybe if you grovel, he might consider forgiving you for forcing drills on him.”

“His name is Link of Skyloft. He likes to sleep.”

“We have no idea where he’d be sleeping. He can sleep anywhere.”

The rancher and the captain shrugged before returning to their conspiracy. Orville wanted to tell them how terrible they were at giving advice. He had made a grave mistake assuming their different temperaments would balance each other out. Instead, they only enabled each other’s schemes. They were on the all-season roads connecting Outskirt and Riverside now.

It took him two full weeks and three letters to General Impa, reporting to her that he was still on his mission and not dead, before he finally found Link of Skyloft at the Forgotten Temple, serenading the oldest goddess statue from time immemorial.

But if anyone could remember the ancient skies beyond memory, Orville suspected it would be a young man strumming an ancient tune on his harp before him.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was messy, but the fragrance of freshly made cheese filled the air nicely, and the children had a great time helping him stretch and sculpt the cheese into shape. Their parents likely wouldn’t be too happy with him for letting their clothes get stained, and he was probably going to get scolded along with his grandchildren, the old man thought with a chuckle.

“Now we shape them like a ring and let them stay in the room for two weeks.”

“Like this, Grandpa?” one of his bright girls showed him her perfect ring-shaped cheese.

“Exactly! You’re doing great.”

“Why does it have to have a hole in the middle?” his curious grandson asked.

“They make superb pumpkin soup!” the old man said, his eyes sparkling with fond memories. “I got this cheese recipe from the Hero of Twilight as a reward for finding the Chosen Hero!”

“Will you tell us how you found him?” the children asked, always excited to hear the stories of the heroes of old. He’d raised them right.

“Of course! But first, let us change into clean clothes before your parents scold me,” the old man negotiated. “Let me tell you, it was a great challenge. It’s like trying to capture the sky in a bottle.”

“How are they doing?” the village head asked when he saw the young knight return, looking pale.

“The captain’s wrestling a big wolf I’m pretty sure is the same one I saw near Riverside.”

“Everything seems possible nowadays,” Gonzo nodded.

“It’s almost like the law of the mundane doesn’t apply to them,” Sir Orville said, still looking miserable. “At this point, I’m not questioning what I see anymore.”

“Maybe you’d like a drink or two?”

“Please! Thank you.”

Exhaustion finally got the better of Sir Orville as he slumped down in a chair in Gonzo’s little kitchen. The knight was staying in Gonzo’s living room tonight to give the brothers time to catch up with each other. But Sir Orville liked to fret. The worried young knight couldn’t help but check if the brothers were alright by themselves. What could possibly be out there that could touch them?

Still, he could sympathize with Sir Orville’s struggle. It was hard—impossibly hard—not to care when they looked like that. Were the saviors supposed to look like the village kids next door, like someone’s loving sons? Why didn’t the blessings act any different from any rowdy youth?

Gonzo had once wondered but quickly gave up on finding out.

Perhaps, a layman had better not question the Goddesses’ mystique.

Gonzo opened his cupboard and cracked open a bottle of rotgut that he kept as his “digestive medicine.” After being married so long, his wife was too wise to fight a lost battle and reluctantly allowed him a small sip for special occasions. Tonight seemed like a special time to treat “his stomach”, so he poured generously for both of them. Orville gulped it down in one go, as if trying to burn his throat along with his lingering common sense.

Gonzo took a small sip (as he promised his wife he would), just to occupy himself while waiting for his conversation partner to collect his thoughts. “Are you leaving again soon?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a… a new quest. Twilight and Warriors—it’s so weird to call him without an honorific—they’ve forbidden me from calling it an assignment.”

“Then you better go to sleep earlier. You have a long day tomorrow.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” whined the knight. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“The Goddesses work in mysterious ways.”

“That’s why we have oracles, priests, even researchers—someone trained to read a deity’s manifestations without going mad from what they’ve witnessed.” Orville banged his head against the table. Gonzo regarded him with slight concern.

“I think you’re doing good work.”

Orville looked at him, surprise coloring his red, alcohol-flushed face. “...Thank you, Gonzo. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands.”

Orville rose with the sunrise, along with Gonzo, who had allowed him to sleep on the floor in his living room. When he reached the kitchen, Gonzo was already preparing for his day’s work and brewing a pot of tea for Orville. Their friendship had surely come a long way, a bond between two kindred spirits forged through their encounters with the enigma known as the Links. It made him almost believe he could face the day with optimistic determination.

Almost was the key.

Twilight was doing push-ups with Warriors sitting cross-legged on his back.

“1102, 1103, 1104—pathetic! Is this all you can do? Have you been slacking off, Rancher?”

“Shut up and count.”

“How could I count if I shut up? 1105, 1106, 1107—maybe we should exercise your brain instead.”

The rancher snarled, though he did nothing to shake the captain off his back yet. His patience must run deeper than it looked.

Orville thought it was too early in the morning to deal with their combined nonsense.

Gonzo seemed to share his sentiment. In a heartbreaking act of betrayal, the village head squeezed Orville’s shoulder and said, “They’re all yours, Sir Orville.”  Then he quickly excused himself to tend to his tomato farm.

“…What are you two doing?” Orville asked the brothers, sounding bone-deep exhausted despite having slept for seven hours.

“Training.”

“Providing constructive criticism.”

They both answered in unison.

Orville secretly wished he had a farm to excuse himself to as well.

“Are you leaving now?” Warriors gracefully slid off Twilight’s back as the rancher stood, dusting dirt from his hands.

Orville didn’t want to leave, but he wasn’t exactly sure if he wanted to stay and play the handler.

“Good luck finding Sky—wherever the Link Distribution System sent him,” Twilight said encouragingly, clapping Orville on the back and almost sending him to the ground.

“…What’s the Link Distribution System?” Orville wheezed, rubbing his back. He must thank his research unit’s training for ingraining in him the habit of asking questions despite not genuinely wanting to know the truth anymore.

“You know, it’s like how stray cats find their turf. That’s us,” Twilight explained, sporting a toothy grin. He seemed so proud of himself.

“Twi, you’re weirding him out. Be normal,” scolded the captain. “And we aren’t going around calling people stray, even if it’s one of us. There’s a word for it: ‘homeless,’ you mongrel.”

“Pretty sure ‘mongrel’ isn’t a proper courtly term to refer to a fellow Hylian, Captain Link Good Sir,” drawled the rancher as he delivered the sloppiest salute.

From the twitches in the captain’s eyes and his ears flattening against his head like an angry cat, Warriors looked ready to lunge at his smirking brother, so Orville hurriedly changed the topic. “So, where do I find your brother?”

And is he normal? was Orville’s unspoken question, one he personally, desperately wanted to know. But if Twilight and Warriors were any indication, the chance that the Link of Skyloft possessed any semblance of normalcy might be slim. Orville should cast his hopes aside and prepare for harsh reality.

Warriors looked at Twilight, and both shrugged, oblivious to Orville’s desperation to keep his sanity. Finding “Sky” should be relatively easy, they said—relatively easy compared to what, Orville dreaded to know.

“He loves sleeping so much. What did he say about sleep? It's on the tip of my tongue,” Warriors rubbed his chin, trying to remember the exact words. “When we started traveling, I remember thinking, ‘This dude says the weirdest things.’”

“Like this.” Twilight cleared his throat, adopting a deep yet soft voice, completing the act with droopy eyes and a dreamy smile. “‘Sleep is the best thing in the world besides Sun! You get the full experience of pure existence without responsibilities!’”

“Rancher, have I ever told you that your impersonation is too accurate? It’s unsettling,” Warriors shuddered, looking both scared and impressed.

Twilight preened. “It’s a piece of pumpkin—we have the same vocal cords. Animal mimicry is way harder.”

“That’s… informative,” Orville said diplomatically. “But where do I look?”

“You should look up. He has a habit of sleeping in trees sometimes,” the rancher advised.

“…Why does he do that?”

“He loves high places,” Warriors explained, which clarified nothing.

“And also because he thinks that if he climbs high enough, he can get away from our kid brothers—they can be annoying sometimes,” Twilight added helpfully.

“Understatement of the era,” the captain snorted. “They’re an all-time nuisance.”

Orville couldn’t get any further information from the brothers afterward because Twilight’s “rancher clock” announced it was time for goat care. On top of that, inspiration struck the rancher with the idea of making "Ordon goat cheese" in preparation for his brother’s return.

“Actually, it’s more for me. I’ve been craving a taste of home. Soup isn’t the same with just pumpkin and fish,” Twilight confessed shyly as he grabbed buckets and set off for the goat pen. Warriors followed him because the captain loved learning new things, especially those he was out of his depth and had no talent for.

“So, tell Sky that I’m making pumpkin soup for him,” Twilight said cheerily, his face bright with excitement at getting to do what he loved when they arrived at the goat pen.

Warriors, being a good brother, decided to dampen his mood with a reminder of their Sky’s food finickiness. “Not with fish. He’s picky about his pumpkin soup smelling fishy.” The captain waggled his fingers in front of the rancher’s face, and Twilight looked like he was considering biting them off, his expression darkening into a petulant scowl.

“Fine. Tell him I’m making fish-free, less-superb pumpkin soup, and he can have it warm while Warriors sings an apology song to him.”

Warriors tried to kick Twilight’s kneecap, but the rancher effortlessly evaded before whistling for the goats. The captain took this as a heavenly sign to put some distance between himself and the pen.

Orville took this cue to leave and say goodbye to Gonzo.

“Will you be alright?” Orville asked, clutching the village head’s hands tightly.

Gonzo, in solemn understanding, glanced at their local Links. Warriors was trying his hand at milking a goat under his brother’s taunting instruction.

“Ordona’s Udders, why are you so bad at this!? Just wrap your hand around her teat!”

“Because this feels yucky, and you’re a terrible teacher!”

“Don’t be a quitter. I’m going to make a farmer out of you yet!”

“I don’t want to be a farmer!”

“You’re breaking your ancestor’s heart, Cap!”

“Then why are you still alive? Perish!”

The children and dogs had gathered around them like faithful little followers, eager for free entertainment.

“I’m trying my best to keep the village standing until you return,” Gonzo promised, his face grim.

Where was the highest place in Hyrule? The answer: Hebra Mountains. All adventurers dreamed of braving the harshest weather in Hyrule and summiting Hebra Peak at least once in their lifetime—many for fame, some for fun, and a few for the chance to get closer to the heavens.

Mom once said people prayed differently, and some found their spiritual journey ended at the peak, not in a church.

The sky was most beautiful there, and in the solitude above the clouds, one could insist they saw the fabled city in the sky. Or perhaps it was simply the hallucinations that tended to visit those who ventured where the air was thin.

Orville wasn’t going to climb the Hebra Mountains, and he prayed to the Goddesses that the Link of Skyloft didn’t find the highest elevation in Hyrule as his perfect sleeping spot.

He arrived at Tabantha Village, the only Hylian settlement in the Tabantha Frontier before entering the territory of the Rito, dressed in clothes too thin for the weather. The village was founded on an old stable, flourishing through horse rentals for pilgrims to the Forgotten Temple in Tanagar Canyon, and later sheep herding for wool, as their fleece was the next best thing to Rito down feathers for fighting off the cold.

He found his lead on the Link of Skyloft immediately.

“Link? You mean the harper?” a local sheep herder scratched his head. Beside him, a woolly white sheep bleated impatiently, waiting to be sheared.

“Yes. Could you point me in the direction he went?” Orville asked, praying it wasn’t toward Hebra.

The good news was that Link hadn’t gone to Hebra Peak (yet), but the bad news was that Orville had missed him by three days.

“Wow, you must really want to see him play,” the sheep herder remarked, misunderstanding Orville’s devastation for musical enthusiasm. “Well, I’m not surprised. The kid’s good. He’s with our local musical troupe, the Hero Trotters. They just left three days ago for their seasonal tour.”

Orville sputtered, looking at the sky in disbelief. His luck really, really sucked.

The Hylians were once the children of the sky, his mother loved to tell Orville. He remembered when he was little, he often stayed by her side, watching her patiently pin and stitch intricate embroidery on a dressing gown for a noble lady by the window of their house, waiting for her stories.

His mother’s favorite ones tended to be about the mythical sky island.

“If you look closely into the sky, you might catch a glimpse of our once-great city on the clouds before the first queen and king of Hyrule descended upon the land.”

It blew Orville’s little mind, and he found himself staring into the sky from their window for hours. When he went to complain to his mother that he saw nothing but clouds, she always had a believable excuse to keep him sitting still longer or doing house chores. “Maybe the path to the sky will open if you study,” she would say, or “Help me with the laundry, and the spirit bird will take you to the sky island!”

Now that he was older, he could see how clever his mother had been in getting a kid to stay still and behave.

What Orville didn’t understand, even back then, was why they left the skies. Why not stay in the heavens? Orville thought Grandpa would love the place. There were no kings or queens, just people and knights who flew on birds. Why abandon the gift of flight to come to the land below?

His mother couldn’t explain it to young Orville either. She only patted his head, saying that an inquisitive kid like him would go far in academics. Perhaps she didn’t understand, either.

“Go ask the first king if you’re this curious. He’d be the only one with the answer,” his mother would say when she ran out of responses that could satisfy him, shooing him to play outdoors so she could work in peace. Orville would run to Grandpa’s house and beg to go to the Temple of Heroes, because conveniently, the first king happened to be the first hero too.

Link fell from the sky, the villagers of Tabantha Village told him. It was the most bizarre and exciting thing that had ever graced their little, remote village, and most of the eyewitnesses were eager to share the details with Orville.

“He fell onto Old Breezer’s beloved musical stage! The kid didn’t get hurt—lucky he landed on that raggy canopy—but that old thing collapsed in a heap of rubbish. Old Breezer threatened to call the guard on the kid,” one of the young farmhands recounted animatedly, pointing at a house not far from the stable that belonged to Breezer. Beside it was a pile of broken wood and tattered fabrics of a once-beautiful stage.

“No guard would come to get one delinquent in a bumfuck nowhere,” another teenage worker snorted, purposefully slacking off his work to loiter around while pretending to give Orville information.

“Yeah, but the old man loved that wooden stage. It’s what? His family’s heirloom?”

The teenagers didn’t know much about the history, so Orville went to the adults at the village’s stable, who told him that Breezer was from a long line of musicians. He’d inherited the musical stage, which dated back to the time when the legendary Rito musician would come and perform with his ancestors, and sometimes, the hero would come to watch.

“He’s struggling already to keep his troupe together. Money is hard to come by, and traveling is a gamble between monsters and bandits. Not to mention the weather can be rough,” a stable-hand woman said. Their village was part of the Ridgeland Region, infamously known as a lightning-prone area. “His troupe has brought us happiness for years. It’s disheartening to see them about to give up on music. With that stage gone, we thought the troupe would soon be gone too. Then they managed to get together and left for a tour!”

“Link should have fallen on them sooner!” someone in the stable shouted, and everyone cheered.

Link should have fallen onto something that let him stay in one place, Orville thought darkly. The wild cucco chase had continued for almost two weeks, sending him all over Hyrule, from Faron to Eldin. By the time he arrived, the musical troupe had already moved on to their next stop, leaving behind wild tales of their newest member.

“You mean the kid that punched a general’s son?” one of the merchants in Castle Town told him before pointing him in the direction of a bar in a little alley where the accident took place.

Apparently, the Hero Trotters had stopped by Castle Town, and yes, Orville had missed them.

So, he penned what he hoped would be his last frustration letter to General Impa and left it with the nearest guard for delivery before heading to the bar. He already missed them, but at least there were witnesses, and he could still do something productive and write his report—his actual, real assignment.

Link was clearly the most popular topic in town. As soon as he asked, the barmaids—whose names were Telma, Brenna, and Irene—abandoned their work to gather around him and gossip.

“I called in sick the wrong day. I missed all the fun!” Telma moaned.

“What a bashful sweetheart that one. I wanted to pinch his cheek,” Brenna sighed.

“Brenna, you did pinch that poor thing’s cheek! He looked so flustered!” Irene giggled.

“Well! A lot of things happened that night, and I’m not a spry chicken anymore! Give me a break,” Brenna huffed.

“So, what happened that night?” Orville asked, preparing to jot down notes in his journal.

“You know, Snottin, General Snubbin’s son? Nasty, nasty brat. Unfortunately, he fancied our bar. He came last night when the troupe was there—the maestro happens to be the bar owner’s old friend—and as soon as he stepped his dirty little foot inside, Snottin started harassing that poor singer,” Irene said, her tone furious.

“She tried to tell him she’s engaged, and her boyfriend was even right there,” said Brenna. “That poor guy! A willowy fellow who looked like the faintest sounds of his flute could blow him away, but he tried to defend her honor.”

“Snottin was pissed. He grabbed a bottle and tried to attack that poor man—and—”

“Link was there in a flash, pushed his bandmate away, and uppercut the brat across the room!”

Orville’s eyes widened. Telma squealed in delight.

“I called in sick on the day that spoiled brat got his ass handed to him!”

“It’s just the start, Telma,” Brenna told her friend. “He always came with his father’s goons, right? And Link sent them all flying! None of them had ever come close to touching even his shadow. He was magnificent!”

Brenna paused to sip her drink while Irene continued recounting eagerly. “By the time those goons took their naps on our floor, the general arrived. He shouted, ‘Do you know who I am?!’ like a senile old dog. You know what Link said to him?”

Telma shook her head, brimming with excitement. Barmaids were the best storytellers. Orville had to admit that even he couldn’t sit still in his chair.

“He said, ‘I don’t give a damn. Your son must apologize to my friends!’ and the general lost all the color in his face!”

“It must have been too long since someone who isn’t his spoiled brat talked back to him,” Telma commented.

“It isn’t just that,” Brenna continued, letting Irene take her turn to refresh her throat. “By then, the bar was so crowded, but I managed to squeeze my slender self to the front because I knew you all would want the juiciest details. Goddesses, who would have thought that the sweetest boy could make such a thunderous face? I never want that wrath directed at me! I think the general pissed himself.”

“I repeat, I called in sick the wrong day,” Telma sighed. “What happened to him afterward? I’m too old not to see how poorly this story could end. Going up against those thugs in uniform like that…”

“Oh, from the way he screamed, Snubbin definitely wanted Link thrown in jail. But I heard from the bar owner that they got out of town safely,” Brenna said. “The poor maestro must have pulled in lots of favors.”

“Or paid a huge fortune,” guessed Irene.

“Why wouldn’t he? That kid’s his golden cucco. What he did with the harp? I’ve never heard music like that before. That must be what music sounds like in the heavens,” Brenna said with a dreamy expression.

“I want to hear him play too,” Telma whined.

“Too bad they aren’t coming to visit us soon,” Irene pointed out. “You might have to wait a long, long time or go to their village. What’s its name again?”

There was an old saying: great kings endeavor; lesser kings envy.

A tradition sanctified by years of practice held that the monarch would pray to the Statue of the Chosen Hero each year, allowing their worth to be judged by the eyes of the first king of Hyrule.

But to stand before the very epitome of devotion and have their deeds measured against his, even the most foolish of kings would find themselves wanting. Despair would settle upon the lesser, for their silky robes and golden-winged crowns were meaningless if they couldn’t muster the courage to face the one who still presided over the kingdom—whose monumental presence was still felt even eons after he had passed.

The musical troupe’s carriage was parked close to Breezer’s house. Two men and a woman dressed in colorful uniforms—likely the musicians—were sitting on wooden chairs, chatting when Orville ambushed them with questions.

“Where’s Link?” Orville asked curtly. It had been almost two weeks since he last shaved. He knew he sounded rather rude and looked like a thug but couldn’t muster the effort to care anymore.

One of the musicians, a bearded old man with a round belly, looked taken aback by his approach. “What did he do this time?” The man asked carefully, and Orville could see the kindred spirit in him, the same tone of exasperation that Gonzo had when dealing with the Links at home. He sighed.

“No. I was asked by his brothers to look for him.”

The man let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Goddesses. He’s keeping himself out of trouble.”

“For now. Trouble always finds that kid,” a black-haired woman laughed. “My name’s Carene. This is Breezer, my father, and this—” She pointed at the lanky man with blond hair, who shyly waved. “—is Piper, my betrothed!”

“We’re getting married,” Piper said, sharing a smile with his fiancée. “Sorry, we didn’t catch your name.”

“Orville. Congratulations on your engagement.”

The couple beamed at him. Orville accepted their courtesy and sat with them as they passionately gushed about their wedding plans. Curiously, Link featured heavily in the conversation.

“He said he’d help the maestro rebuild the stage for our wedding,” Piper told him. “You can trust him on that. Link never breaks a promise.”

“I hope we have sunny weather on our wedding day,” Carene sighed, glancing at the cloudy sky.

“Of course, there’ll be a sunny day if Link’s there,” Breezer said confidently as he returned from the house with tea and biscuits. Piper handed the tea to Orville. “He’s like our weather doll. It was always sunny, even in Faron.”

“Where is he, by the way?” Orville asked. There was no sign of Link, and Orville’s heart filled with trepidation.

“Oh, we’re on break. Link’s accompanying the pilgrims to the Forgotten Temple. Why are you making such a sad face? Don’t worry, he’ll be back eventually!” Piper consoled Orville. “He still has some debt to pay to the maestro.”

“And he said he wouldn’t miss my wedding for anything in the world!” Carene exclaimed. “You’d think he was the one Piper proposed to, not me, from how loud he swooned.”

“He hates all of them. But this one the most. I don’t know why, but jealousy doesn’t need a reason,” his mother said as she mended his clothes, her tone mild, as if discussing the weather. She loved to maintain her little peace and was content to leave politics to Dad and Grandpa. She never liked confrontation. But sometimes, when he asked the right questions, she’d let him in on her inner world.

The current king had tried to take down the statue of the Chosen Hero once, even after he had succeeded in abolishing the long-held royal tradition of paying respect to it. But this time, the people fought back against the king’s decision. The protest wasn’t widely known, but General Impa often spoke of the young women who saved history that day with pride in her eyes.

And Mom had been one of the protesters.

“I didn’t do it for politics—none of that nonsense,” she insisted. “I wasn’t alone. There were many of us, maidens who happened to have the same idea. They said they were going to dismantle him in the night, so we went there in the evening. Some girl came up with the brilliant idea that we should hold hands around the statue, and we did. We didn’t leave—not even when they sent our parents to make us. We didn’t leave until they left him alone.”

The statue of the Chosen Hero meant more to the people than merely being a thorn in the side of the phony king. He was a symbol of marital love for all young hearts.

Of course, Orville didn’t wait for Link to come back on his own. He gambled his luck and rode his horse along the desolate canyon. He’d expected monster ambushes along the way, but clearly, someone had taken the time to pave the path for other travelers.

The Forgotten Temple looked as old and worn as anything time had touched. It made him wonder how long it had mourned its glorious days—how long it intended to resist crumbling into the oblivion of dust.

Are you waiting for the return of someone beloved? He wished to ask.

Orville felt a bit of comfort at the sight of rental horses resting under the makeshift shade near the temple gate. Some pilgrims were preparing their tents for the night when he entered the first chamber. They all greeted him amiably, thinking he was one of the worshippers.

Finally, he found Link of Skyloft at the Forgotten Temple, serenading the oldest goddess statue from time immemorial.

Orville’s knees felt like they were about to buckle. It could be from exhaustion, or it could be from how otherworldly the scene before him was.

Light shone through the cracks in the ceiling, embracing him in sacred delight. He didn’t look like the other worshippers. He seemed part of the sanctity that graced the mortal plane.

If anyone could remember the ancient skies beyond memory, Orville suspected it would be the young man strumming a forgotten tune on his harp before him.

“Link of Skyloft?”

The music halted.

“How did you know my name?” The young man slowly turned to look at him, and it felt like gazing into a cloudless sky.

“Your brothers—Twilight and Warriors—are looking—”

But then, like a flash of thunder, the man’s curious demeanor abruptly changed.

“Warriors!” Link hissed. The harp was gone from his hand, replaced by… a clawshot.

“I choose death over drills! You’ll not take me alive!”

Link of Skyloft shouted from the stone arch behind the giant statue. He had pulled himself up with his clawshot and perched there, squinting down at Orville with distrust.

“I knew it! I knew he’d send an army after me! Did Twilight betray me too? Did they bully you into capturing me? You don’t have to do this. I’ll... I’ll scold them for you!”

Orville felt an oncoming migraine. Next time—if there was a next time, he reminded himself—he would ask Captain Link how many brothers he’d managed to piss off.

“Sir, please come down. Warriors is sorry, and Twilight is making your favorite soup.”

Link went still for a moment before beaming down at him, like the sun peeking out from behind a storm cloud. “Oh! Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

Then he jumped off the arch, almost giving Orville a heart attack, but glided gracefully through the air with his white cape before landing beside him.

Link of Skyloft, when not riled up, was a soft-spoken man who had a lot to vent.

“This inflation is outrageous, Sir Orville!” Link whined. “And I thought Wild’s economy was the worst. In my hometown, there are fruits on the ground for you to pick. Now everything is owned. Materials are so expensive, and I still have a huge debt to pay to the maestro!”

They set up camp in the temple’s first chamber. As Orville warmed up some soup that Carene had given him for his travels, he listened to Link’s perspective on recent events. Link had almost paid off his debt because the musical troupe had performed well. They had even saved up for Carene and Piper’s wedding.

“Then I got into a fight, and they spent most of the money on my bail,” Link said, guilt heavy in his tone. “They should really have let me stay in jail. I’ve never been in a human one before. Legend says it’s pretty boring—nothing to do but sleep—so I’d definitely love it there.”

Orville wasn’t sure what to make of the knowledge that monsters had prison systems or that the Links developed prison preferences, so he just handed the soup to Link, who eagerly slurped it down, swinging his legs like a happy child.

“Have I ever told you that you have a nice name?” Link gave him a tiny, gentle smile. He looked so young and carefree.

“R… really?” Orville stuttered, his heart fluttering for some unknown reason.

“Yeah! It’s the name of the loyal companion of the First Hero in the era of myth!” Link’s eyes brightened at the chance to share his favorite story, his hands moving excitedly as he told it to Orville.

The absurdity of the situation was indescribable. Here was the embodiment of the myth himself, talking about distant days when the Goddess still roamed the sky. It suddenly made Orville see more clearly how much had been lost. And what an insignificant grain of sand he was—and would soon be—in the tide of time.

It took swearing on the Goddess Statue that he wasn’t sent to trick Link into the captain’s training for Link to agree to go to Outskirt Village with him. “I still have to find the money and a wedding gift, but I think Twilight and Warriors would love to come to the wedding too.”

So, Orville rode with Link sitting behind him. The journey back was uneventful, but after what Orville had endured over the past two weeks, plenty of things felt uneventful.

His peaceful silence was filled with Link’s soft snores. He could also feel the wetness of Link’s drool on his back—just another reminder of the differences between the brothers.

Sometimes, Link would wake up and ask about the trees and flowers, and Orville tried his best to answer. Even when Orville couldn’t see his face, he could feel Link’s fascination in his tone, how mesmerized he was by the land’s flora and fauna. It reminded Orville of his own childhood curiosity.

When Link begged him to stop so he could catch some cool bugs for Twilight, Orville seized the chance to ask, “How different is your home from Hyrule?”

What’s so special about the land when you already have the sky? It was what he truly wanted to know.

“Oh, very different,” Link said distractedly. He crouched down, a bug net in one hand while the other searched carefully through the grass. “Where I come from, we have far less land.”

“So, if you could choose, would you resettle here?”

Link tilted his head but went so still that Orville almost thought he had dozed off again. Then Link spoke, “There’s not much vegetation that can grow in my home. But pumpkins are sturdy, and we grow them on every available surface. Sometimes we get stunted pumpkins because of the soil—it always sends the elders into a panic.”

Link lifted a rock, and some insects scattered while worms wiggled, shying away from the sunlight. He pocketed a lost rupee in his pouch before gently putting the rock down and going for the next one. “I didn’t notice much until I left home. I met this guy…” Link’s face turned sour. “A real piece of work. He called me ‘Sky Child.’ I hated him, and I hated to admit that he was right. I was actually a child. Everyone in my home was.”

 “…What made you think that?”

“We’re coddled like one—stunted like those pumpkins. Same career choices, same meals. Same weather with no seasons. It’s a dreamy life,” Link said. “But I’d rather we wake up than live in a slumber. The vastness of the Surface is scary, but all dreams can breathe here. We can grow what we want, and there is enough land for new couples—look at him!”

Link turned to proudly present his prize, a big beetle in his hand, the widest smile on his face. “Isn’t Hyrule wonderful?”

In school, he was taught that great men fought for great things. The greater their feat, the grander their monument—like the first hero who bested a god himself. That was what devotion looked like and what they should strive to become for their kingdom.

When he got back from school and told his mother this, she nodded along with him as she always did. “Oh, your teachers know better than I do. I’m not one for great ambition.”

All Mom had ever wanted since she was a young woman was to have a family of her own. “Our love was frowned upon just because I was born a rich merchant’s daughter and he a lowly tailor’s son. But your dad promised me he’d work hard. He’d earn the money, and we’d do it right in the eyes of the Goddesses,” she said, her hands steady and calm as she mended his school uniforms.

“We only had letters to console our aching hearts. Others kept saying your dad would be unfaithful, that he’d give up on me. No one listened to me.” With her gentle voice, any heart-heavy story felt lighter. “In despair, I thought of our king. He fought hard for the queen, right? He’d understand. So, I prayed to him whenever I was allowed outside with a chaperone, and when I didn’t get permission, I turned my face toward the temple and begged him. I said, ‘Please lend my lover your strength. Let our love blossom. Let it be long-lasting.’”

She finished folding his uniforms and handed them back to him. “When I heard they’d take him away from us, I knew I had to do something. He’d lent me his ears for so long.”

When he asked if she was happy in her marriage, his mother just gave him her secretive smile, saying she would defend it just as fiercely as she had escaped her chaperone to join her compatriots in defending the statue of the Chosen Hero.

While Orville stood still, letting memories of his mother flood his mind, Link continued his monologue about his "evil plan".

“I’ll put them in the captain’s bed tonight,” Link snickered, brandishing a bottle full of worms. “So he learns his lesson not to mess wit—ah, you’re crying!”

Orville hadn’t realized tears were staining his cheeks. Perhaps it was the fatigue from the chase, or maybe he’d finally understood the true meanings of his mother’s actions that had eluded him for years—that gentleness wasn’t docility.

“Didn’t know you loved Wars that much. I’ll hold off on pulling a prank on him for now, for your sake.” Link tucked the worms away and wrapped Orville in a hug, letting him weep on his shoulder.

And a great fighter was one who endeavored for the small things that made life worthwhile.

“There, there.” In Link’s warm embrace, Orville felt light as a feather. When he looked up at the sky, it was blue and endless.

Sky wiggled into his bedroll, finally finding the right position to take a quick snooze, when Warriors kicked him awake, like the rude brother he was. The unrepentant captain crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Sky, what did you do to my good man? The kid looks like he’s seen war.”

 Sky debated whether to carry on with the prank, but he’d promised Orville he wouldn’t. Warriors should be grateful that Sky’s benevolence was boundless and bountiful. So, he sniffed, “I’m innocent.”

Twilight piped up from the campfire, where he was minding the soup pot. “Yeah, then why were you running around like a cucco on fire for two straight weeks?”

“Are you guys ganging up on me? I already told you I have a debt to pay!”

“Of all the places you could fall, you had to land on someone’s family heirloom.” Warriors shook his head as he handed wooden bowls to Twilight, who began filling them with pumpkin soup.

Reluctantly, Sky peeled himself out of his blanket to receive his bowl from the captain.

“The secret ingredient of this soup is Ordon-styled goat cheese,” Twilight announced from beside the campfire. “Aged for two weeks because we’ve been waiting for your lazy ass to show up.”

“Am I late?” Sky asked sarcastically, and earned eye rolls from both of his brothers.

Warriors took a spoonful of his portion, making an approving sound. “This is acceptable sustenance, Rancher.”

Twilight gasped, looking so affronted that Sky almost snorted into his soup. “He said ‘sustenance!’” the rancher repeated, thoroughly disgusted.

“What’s wrong with it? What did you want me to say?” Warriors had the audacity to look genuinely confused.

“Say it’s delicious soup? The most delicious soup you’ve ever tasted? You know, like a normal person you claim to be!” Twilight exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“The most delicious soup I’ve ever tasted is Lumpy Pumpkin’s because it’s a pure pumpkin experience,” Sky chimed in, offering his honest review. “Your pumpkin soup should stand on its own merit without cheese or fish, Twi.”

“You tell him, Sky!” Warriors cackled, as Twilight glared daggers at him.

“You still don’t have a functioning palate, Wars!” Sky said, playing a risky game of making two enemies at once. Sky might choose peace, but he did love a challenge.

“Hey, I hate Hyrule’s cooking!” Warriors shot back.

“And it takes Hyrule’s cooking for you to draw the line that some foods aren’t worth sacrificing your taste buds for,” Twilight muttered to himself, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I fed you, you little ingrates!” The captain pointed at his brothers. “It’s not Wild’s gourmet, but before we got him, it was my vast knowledge of nutrition that got us through tough times!”

“It was either the saltiest meat or the blandest hardtack,” Twilight nodded solemnly. “I must thank my high pain tolerance.”

Warriors glowered at the rancher.

“I’ll give you my gratitude crystal when I remember,” Sky said through a mouthful of soup, his face betraying no signs of gratitude. “So that explains why there are so many wheels of cheese in your tent. It’s smelly.” Not to mention the tent looked a bit cramped when Sky went inside to put his belongings away.

Twilight clutched his chest, looking pained at Sky’s blatant disrespect of cheese.

In a rare moment of solidarity, akin to finding a pink bunny in a field, Warriors jumped in to defend Twilight’s honor. “Hey! Don’t insult his cheese-making hobby. That was the only thing keeping him from sniffing and herding you back here by himself.”

Sky groaned. “Twilight, we talked about this. We don’t herd people. You and Wars—”

“Hey!” Warriors interjected.

“You and Wars are the worst! With you two fretting and nagging, it’s no wonder they call us the Boring Big Brothers. Even the name’s boring! So uncreative!” Sky vented.

“That’s rich coming from the mother cucco,” Warriors huffed.

“Do you think I want to be responsible?!” Twilight lamented. “I want to fuck things up too, but how can I find the time when I’m constantly living in fear that one of them is going to find a puddle and drown in it!”

“Hear, hear,” Warriors tipped his bowl in agreement like he did with a glass of wine.

Twilight got up and served everyone second bowls.

“This adventure’s changed me,” Sky conceded, accepting his soup. “As Sky, I’m different—I’m more, but also sometimes less than Link. It’s so weird.”

“We aren’t used to traveling with a group, maybe except for Wars,” Twilight said.

“I’m not used to traveling with a small group either,” Warriors corrected. “I traveled with squadrons—those men know their duties. You guys are a management nightmare.”

“This is why we have the rule that, once in a while, we’ll get alone time to be just a Link,” Sky reminded them. “You’re the one who came up with Link’s Code of Conduct, Cap.”

“Rule No. 86: If a Link makes a mess, no other Links but the Link should fix the Link’s mess,” Twilight recited dutifully.

Warriors groaned. “Who wrote this rule again? The writing style is horrendously unprofessional.”

Sky shrugged. “We aren’t professional scribes.”

“Also, we should add a new rule,” Twilight suggested, turning to Sky. “The cheese in Cap’s tent—one of those is going to be Commander Orville’s reward for chaperoning your ass back to us.”

“Oh, that’s nice!”

“I’m the one who came up with it,” Twilight quickly claimed, pointing his thumb at Warriors. “This guy wasn’t planning on giving that poor man anything. He’s breaking the tradition of side-questing.”

Sky gasped, looking scandalized. “Wars! That’s a primordial sin! As your progenitor, I’m stripping you of your name. You’re Lonk now, until you repent!”

“It was my mistake to recruit you for my bridge campaign,” Warriors grumbled to himself. “I can’t believe I thought you two were the most responsible ones I could find in this circus.”

“Never claimed to be one,” Sky shrugged. “By the way, I’m not working for you for free, Wars. I’m broke, but I need money to repay the maestro and find a nice wedding gift for my bandmates.”

 Twilight burst out laughing as Warriors gaped at Sky. “Where did your money go?!”

“Spent it all in one place in the last Hyrule!” Sky admitted proudly, with no guilt reflected in his blue eyes.

They managed to cram into Warriors’ tent without needing to remove the cheese, with Warriors and Sky snuggled closely, and Wolfie draped over them like a soft, warm blanket of fur.

Being a Link was nice, but being with his brothers was better, Sky thought drowsily. But before he drifted into oblivious bliss, he remembered something quite important.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Warriors grumbled, pulling the blanket over his face as Sky turned on Twilight’s lantern and started searching his pouch. His abrupt rummaging forced Wolfie to roll off him, the wolf letting out a low whine of displeasure as he got up and curled around the captain’s side.

“I just remembered a wanted poster I managed to snatch before getting out of jail. They were printing them out in a bunch. Look!”

Sky pulled Warriors up, who dragged Wolfie with him, almost slapping the wanted poster on his face.

With his pointy nose and shit-eating grin, described as the most wanted criminal for thievery across the kingdom, the face that stared back at him was none other than—

“Legend has a career change,” said Sky, pride evident in his voice.

Warriors took a deep inhale and exhale.

“Rule No. 86. We reconvene tomorrow. Goodnight.” The captain didn’t wait for a reply before falling back onto his pillow, accompanied by Wolfie’s “boof” of agreement. Sky shrugged and turned off the light.

Chapter Text

“Grandpa, can Mr. Bunny play with us today?”

The old man jolted awake as a small hand shook him. He looked down at the little culprit who had woken him from his afternoon nap—one of his granddaughters, currently giving him her best puppy-dog eyes. Her siblings peeked at him from the door, holding their breath in anticipation.

He hummed in his rocking chair. He had felt his age in his body for years, but napping by the fireplace really cemented the idea that he was indeed old. The little pink figurine on the shelf above the fireplace would agree with him.

“Pretty please,” his youngest girl begged again. They must really want him—that was why they had sent their youngest and best pursuer to get him.

“Grandpa, can Mr. Bunny play with us today?”

“Okay, but you have to tell me what you plan to play with him. He’s a busy Mr. Bunny!” the old man said, his tone amused. He was going to cave to their demands nonetheless. There was no point in being a grandparent if you couldn’t spoil your grandchildren.

“We’re inviting him to our tea party!” She pointed to the door leading to the living room, where her siblings tried to hide and where every doll surely sat at a little table and chair, ready for play.

“Alright then!” He got up, feeling all his bones pop, and picked up the little figurine that had watched over his house like a good sentinel for years. “Promise me he will have fun!”

“We promise!” the little girl squealed, caressing the old figurine in her hand like the most precious thing in the world before taking him to the other kids, who cheered. They always adored him, and the old man often wondered if it was because the Chosen Hero crafted him or because he was claimed to be an ‘immaculate’ rendering of the Hero of Legend.

Maybe both, he thought, before the warmth and rocking chair lured him back to sleep.

After successfully reuniting Link of Skyloft with his brothers, Orville thought he deserved a break. And if that was too much to ask, at least a day off—just one day to rest in bed and relax.

But fate deemed a day off too luxurious for him.

Orville was having lunch with Gonzo and his wife, Greta, in the kitchen when Gonzo’s little grandson rushed in excitedly to tell them that the Links who had gone fishing at the nearby river were “fighting” again. It was so loud that everyone in the village had heard, and he wanted to go watch, but his mother had said no.

“She said to go get Grandpa or Sir Orville, ‘cause someone needs to see what their fight is about,” the boy explained, his whining about missing the fun fading as his grandfather distracted him with snacks.

Orville stared sadly at his unfinished lunch. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Greta gave him a sympathetic smile. “We’ll keep it warm on the stove for you.”

Orville found them not far from the village, at the nearest riverbank. Twilight was the only one fishing, holding his rod with calm concentration, tranquil as the forest amidst the chaos that was his brothers. Sky sat on the captain’s back, with the captain’s legs tucked under his armpit. It looked painful, but Warriors seemed to treat being in a leg lock as a free massage. His face betrayed no signs of agony as he continued lecturing Sky.

“Spell it for me: p-r-i-o-r-i-t-y. Priority. You need to have it.”

“Twi, come get your evil twin off my back!” Sky wailed, even though he was the one literally sitting on the captain.

“He’s not my twin!” Twilight and Warriors yelled in indignation. Sky’s ears flicked amusingly before his gaze landed on Orville. “Good afternoon, Orville! Did you get a good rest?”

Sky had just arrived yesterday, yet he fit seamlessly into everyone’s lives, quickly becoming the children’s favorite Link, much to Twilight’s jealousy, as he made them all wooden toys. Maybe all the Links possessed the power to beguile.

Orville feared that despite the headaches they gave him, he’d still trust them with his life.

Then he spotted a wooden frame lying innocuously on the grass alongside the brothers’ belongings. It was a framed wanted poster with a face that looked similar yet foreign, grinning back at him menacingly.

Orville felt like fainting. “Sir, where did you get this?”

“Oh, I just made it this morning,” Sky told him brightly.

“I think he means the wanted poster, not the frame,” Warriors said, grunting as Sky twisted his legs.

Twilight kept staring at the bobber, bobbing up and down on the water’s surface, clearly uncaring of the chaos unfolding around him.

Orville was definitely going to get high blood pressure at the tender age of 29, and he knew, with great dismay, that it wouldn’t be enough to stop him from laying down his life for them.

By the time Orville finished reading the long list of crimes that the guard unit had tirelessly squeezed into the poster, his face had turned as white as chalk. Noble houses were being broken into, every porcelain pot shattered, and one of the king’s crowns had been stolen. No one knew who “Thief” was or how he managed to bypass all the security in the treasury chamber. They had only managed to get a sketch of him because he posed for them before disappearing into the night. If caught, he’d be hanged before even having a trial.

Orville’s concern was sadly shared by no one at the fishing hole. The local Links were busy grilling fish that Twilight had caught and arguing about their next course of action after fixing the bridge. Warriors wanted to map a road network for some reason. This road enthusiasm used to be shared with Twilight, but since he got into cheese-making, the rancher had developed a new obsession: carting his cheese back to Riverside and to some village in the east where one of their brothers was staying. Sky wanted to go to Eldin to tame wild ostriches but didn’t want to walk there, so he’d been trying to convince his brothers to let him use the cart first.

“No ostrich domestication,” Warriors shot down immediately.

“They have eggs and meat, and we can ride them,” Sky desperately reasoned. “They’d make a perfect wedding gift.”

“We already have cuccos and horses,” Twilight pointed out.

Over the fire pit, their fish skewers sizzled deliciously over the embers, and that was where the Links’ attention lay—undivided and yearning. Orville envied the fish. It was already dead, free from awareness and suffering.

“Sir, are you not worried about your brother being a wanted criminal?” Orville tried again, his voice pained.

Warriors blinked, as if he had just remembered that one of his brothers might be in danger. “The commander is right. Guys, you know what I’m worried about?”

“Everything,” said both Sky and Twilight, glancing at each other before bumping fists.

The captain rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. But no. This—” he waved the framed wanted poster in the air—“is a threat to my peace. No one wants to be one-upped by Legend. The others are going to want one.”

Twilight nodded as if this made sense. “Wild has his own wanted poster that the Yiga made of him hanging on his wall. The sailor was so jealous back then. He might want to have one.”

For a brief moment, panic seemed to register in the captain’s eyes.

“I also have one that Groose made of me,” Sky chirped.

Warriors dismissed his claim. “I don’t think that counts as a wanted poster, Sky. It just means your friend found your face punchable.”

Sky started cracking his knuckles so calmly that all the hair on Orville’s back stood up in fright.

“If he’s falsely accused, I can talk to my general, and we might be able to do somethi—”

“Oh, he’s absolutely guilty,” Warriors stated with full confidence in his brother’s lawbreaking habits.

“Sir, don’t say it lightly!”

“The jail is going to be so crowded since we’re all thieves here.” Sky looked a bit troubled, likely at the prospect of sleeping in a tiny cell and not about facing capital punishment.

“Not me. I’m a captain. I don’t steal. That’s a bad image,” Warriors boasted proudly.

Sky leered at Warriors. “Captain, spoils of war count as stealing.”

“No, they don’t!” The captain glared at him. “In times of war, it’s called reparation.”

“You still get them without consent, though.” Sky shrugged and gave his brother a cheeky grin. “I went to knight academy too, remember? I know what I’m talking about.”

Warriors looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel. The captain took a deep breath and, in his best patient tone, said, “We sometimes pick things from the ground that might or might not belong to other people who might or might not want them back. And that’s fine.”

Orville didn’t think any law in any kingdom would agree with this statement.

The captain continued, “But if you want something, you should pay for it. It helps support small businesses.”

“…” Twilight turned his gaze away from his brothers.

“Rancher, why are you avoiding our eyes?” Warriors asked.

“Nothing,” the rancher muttered, continuing to avoid everyone’s gaze like a guilty puppy that had broken his owner’s pot.

“Twi,” Sky breathed, slightly impressed.

Twilight cracked. “I already paid the bird, alright!?”

“Ha!” Warriors let out a triumphant shout. “You must have underpaid it. Bad dog,” the captain jeered, pointing a finger at the rancher’s flustered face, which Twilight slapped away before tackling him to the ground.

Sky unconcernedly picked up one of the grilled fish and handed it to a dumbfounded Orville before munching on one himself as they watched Twilight and Warriors roll off the bank and into the cold river.

“How’s it possible for people to go through life with a clean criminal record? Impossible, right?” Sky mused between mouthfuls of fish.

“He now goes by Link of Koholint. And he’s hard to catch, hard to kill.”

Late into the night, Orville and Warriors sat by the campfire when he finally learned about their thieving brother. Behind them, the captain’s tent shook violently as Twilight and Sky wrestled for the best sleeping spot.

The more Orville learned about Link of Koholint, the more his anxiety spiked, to the point that he barely noticed when the ruckus in the tent subsided and Twilight poked his head out to offer his two rupees. “He’s all bark but no bite.” The rancher paused, sheepishly scratching his cheek. “But be careful anyway. Even rabbit bites can be painful.”

“He’s a trigger-happy little guy,” Warriors agreed evenly before shouting for the missing brother. “Hey, Sky! Are you dead yet?”

From inside the tent, a muffled grumble answered the call. “What?”

“Sore loser,” Twilight whispered to Warriors, who snickered. It was clear from the rancher’s smug look and Sky’s sour tone who had won the match.

“Do you have anything that can calm your ward so he doesn’t send the commander to see the apple tree's roots six feet under?”

Was that a euphemism for death? Was Orville going to die?

Orville was too distracted, panicking, to notice the captain exchanging a secretive smile with the rancher. “Be not afraid, Commander. Once you get past his potty mouth, you’ll see he’s the kindest of us.”

“This is a protection charm,” Sky said magnanimously as he dropped a small wooden trinket into the befuddled Orville’s palms.

Orville stared at the charm, a figurine of a presumably ‘rabbit’ painted in pink. Aside from the intricate details of the red vest it wore, the rabbit was rather… ugly-looking, with its permanent lopsided scowl and comically bulging eyes. It reminded Orville of a poorly stuffed animal crafted by a taxidermist who had never seen a rabbit in his life.

To be fair, Orville had never seen one either, as the legendary animal was long extinct. But they had historical books, so he was quite confident that normal rabbits didn’t look like this.

Orville had no idea what to say that wouldn’t be taken as an offense. He still felt nervous speaking to Sky. It was unnerving to reconcile the titular statue of the mythical king with the young knight in front of him, who was trying to give him a dubious gift.

Fortunately for him, Warriors and Twilight were there, and had no qualms about voicing their blunt opinions.

“That’s one ugly-ass rabbit,” Warriors pointed out frankly as he squinted at the figurine over Sky’s shoulder.

Twilight suddenly had a flashback to the equally ugly fox figurine that Wild had found on his bedroll the morning after he ‘broke’ the Master Sword. That was how everyone learned about Sky’s infamous “mad whittling”—where the peace-loving hero poured his grudges into carving the most hideous trinkets before giving them to the object of his frustration as passive-aggressive gifts. Legend once said that Sky had a funny roundabout way of being mad. Four put his money on it being a culture thing from Skyloft, but Twilight knew it stemmed from Sky not being accustomed to siblinghood and its inevitable urge to strangle your brother.

Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, Sky’s cryptic warning was too much for Wild, whose brain had been operated on two years’ worth of social experience to comprehend —that Sky would gladly rearrange his face to match the ugly fox figurine if he ever used his beloved sword to mine ore again. The champion naively thought Sky was just bad at whittling land animals, and everyone, for their own peace of mind, let him live in his oblivious bliss.

So, Twilight took a deep breath and braced himself. “What did Legend do to you this time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sky straight-up lied, a venom-dripping smile on his face. “This is just my artistic impression of the animal that let his roommate scam his own brother.”

Twilight winced. So, Sky had been simmering in his wrath again.

“There are too many grudges beneath that sunny hide of yours. It’s concerning,” Twilight said, slowly taking a cautious step away from his brother. Who would console the traveler that he might not see his favorite brother again? Maybe Warriors, as the captain, would take one for the team.

Warriors clearly chose this precarious moment to not read the atmosphere. “So, you spent your rupees on trash because you weak-ass caved under pressure—” the captain reproached, but when Sky shot him a smile that promised great terror, Twilight’s instincts kicked in, and he elbowed Warriors hard in the ribs. Warriors choked on his spit, but they were allowed to keep their lives, so it was a win in Twilight’s book.

(Sometimes, the captain just opted to go blindly through life without tact or social cues, which was fine by Twilight, but they currently shared one tent, and Twilight refused to be collateral damage from Sky’s revenge for Warriors’ blabbermouth. Warriors was going to be the recipient of Sky’s mad whittling soon if it hadn’t already begun.

Twilight secretly wondered if he should make Sky mad at least once before this adventure was over. He wanted his own ugly figurine—hopefully, Sky would make an Ordonian goat out of him.)

Ignoring the captain’s deadly glare, Twilight held up a placating hand to Sky. “Ravio’s sales pitches are no joke. What did you buy, by the way?”

“Birdfeed. And before you pass your harsh judgment on me!” Sky raised his voice defensively at the flat looks from his brothers, the tips of his ears flushed pink from embarrassment. “I was just admiring Sheerow’s smooth feathers and missing my Crimson when Legend’s roommate took advantage of my vulnerability. Nobody was there to protect me—Legend was there, but he just laughed at me!”

“This,” Warriors said slowly, hands still rubbing his ribcage, “is why we never pair you up with the champion for a shopping trip.”

Orville absolutely had no idea what had transpired in front of him. He didn’t half understand the conversation. Maybe it was better that way. Mind healers’ services were expensive. He needed to know only what the Goddesses wanted him to know.

“…Thank you, um. Although it’d be nice to know why I got the honor of receiving this gift…” Orville muttered faintly. Sky turned his attention back to him with a beaming smile, as if he hadn’t just weaponized that same smile to threaten his own brothers a minute ago.

“Actually, this is supposed to be your reward for completing the quest, but I think I’ll let you rent it temporarily for 50 rupees. It’ll be yours when you find Legend!”

Oh, right—the quest. Orville thought gloomily while Warriors gave Sky a disbelieving look. “Is this allowed? I don’t think it’s allowed. This has to break the law of side-questing.”

Twilight rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It isn’t unusual to receive a reward in advance.”

“He isn’t receiving it in advance! Sky’s going to make him rent it!”

“Some quests need certain items to complete them,” Sky said sagely.

“Then why not let him borrow it for free?” Warriors narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like a good captain protecting his man from exploitation. Orville loved him. He would follow his captain to hell and back.

“Nobody gives items for free, even if the apocalypse is on the horizon, Cap,” Twilight said, educating his less-experienced brother while Sky nodded in agreement.

“I also want money.” The knight didn’t even bother to look ashamed. He wore the perfect image of innocence, which meant Sky wasn’t going to relent until he got what he wanted.

The captain rubbed his eyes but said nothing. His quiet admission of defeat signaled the fate of Orville’s wallet.

“May I at least know what it’s protecting me from?” Orville asked tiredly.

“Link of Koholint,” the brothers said in unison.

Twilight gave Orville an apologetic smile. “Take the ugly rabbit. If you see something suspicious, show it.”

“Okay, one last question. Do I really have to pay, sir?”

With Sky looking at him beseechingly, Orville let out a long-suffering sigh before pulling out his pouch. Was the first king of Hyrule extorting him for his money? Did the law count as treason if he spoke ill of someone who was likely the first monarch of the kingdom? His life was so unreal. It was a comedy at this point.

Orville’s gloomy face might trigger something in the rancher’s instinct to be helpful.

“You can have my cheese for free,” Twilight said charitably.

“No, sir. Thank you.”

Orville didn’t get to refuse the gift.

Twilight insisted, with his best puppy-dog eyes, that it would be seen as very rude from where he came from if Orville visited his elder empty-handed, despite Orville telling him that General Impa wasn’t his elder but his superior. The captain said Orville better not fight a futile war with a countryman over etiquette. So, Orville was 50 rupees lighter but 50 kilograms heavier with cheese (his horse wasn’t happy with him, even though it was Twilight’s idea) when he reached Castle Town to talk to General Impa about ‘Thief.’

When he was young, Orville didn’t understand what the problem was with the visitors to the Hero of Legend that enraged the palace and church so much. Even though these people often dressed oddly and spoke with funny accents, they were friendly.

There was this old adventurer lady who liked to call Orville “little adventurer,” and whenever she visited, Grandpa always lit up like a Goron firework at the chance to catch up on news from beyond Hyrule. She was Orville’s first friend from abroad—a fact he was very proud of back then.

The adventurer lady’s Hylian was a bit strange, but her messages were always kind. She would sit with him on the bench outside the temple and patiently answer all his questions.

“From a faraway land, I come. He’s our hero, too,” she once explained to Orville that her kingdom also had a statue of the Hero of Legend because he had saved her kingdom long ago. This confused him at the time. Why had she chosen to journey such a great distance to Hyrule to worship a statue her homeland already had? Wasn’t she scared of the dangers lurking in the unknown? Orville wasn’t brave enough to get out of bed past midnight because it was dark and scary. How brave must she be to travel so far by herself?

“No, little adventurer. Not alone!” The old lady chuckled. “He watches so I’m not scared. Along the way, I saw many new things. It was so much fun. I met you.  Made the destination worthwhile,” she told him with a gentle smile that made his heart flutter with warmth.

It was much later, when he was older, that he finally understood the controversies surrounding the most infamous of the nine heroes—that the statue of the Hero of Legend attracted all sorts of misfits.

His ties with peoples and magic beyond Hyrule were seen as sacrilegious by the palace and church, which had tried for years to suppress the outsider faiths. To them, great fairy worship and the cult of the ancient sages were just a disastrous breath away from religious revolts and public unrest.

One day, an order came from the palace: the king’s court had finally commanded that the temple be closed, barring all “unpleasant folks”—thieves and treasure hunters who turned the alleys into dangerous places, and those downtrodden peddlers with their foreign wares and blasphemous faiths—from tainting the pristine sight of Castle Town with their despicable presence.

“Castle Town is the symbol of Hyrule’s glory, not a melting pot of scum!” the nobles decried.

Orville remembered bawling his eyes out because they weren’t allowed to go to the temple anymore. Grandpa comforted him, saying that everyone had to move on with their lives, even if it was hard, because that’s how life was. But his eyes were always sad.

He’d never met the adventurer lady again.

“Where’s my report, Commander?” General Impa asked as Orville entered her headquarters. Her tone was stern, and for a brief moment, his heart dropped to his knees. Then he caught the glint of amusement in her red eyes. General Impa’s humor was always as scary as her seriousness.

“I can give you an oral report, sir, if that’d please you,” he replied.

The general hummed. “That’d please me verily, Commander. It’s always a delight to read your reports on these fine gentlemen.”

Orville suspected that General Impa treated his reports as her source of entertainment. He’d likely see his life the same way if he weren’t currently living it.

Her expression also lightened at the mention of her gift. “My niece in Kakariko is going to love them. Please give my warm regards to the rancher,” she said, looking genuinely happy for the first time since he’d known her. He never knew his cold general was capable of such an expression. Maybe Twilight did know better.

So, Orville helped General Impa store the cheese in her personal kitchen while she updated him on what had been happening in the castle during his absence. He couldn’t help but blame his single-mindedness for not noticing that, during the Sky chase in Castle Town, the guards were on the hunt for a different Link.

Rumors had spread through every corner of the town about the infamous criminal, each more incredulous than the last, but one stood out, more sinister than the rest: children in the underbelly of Castle Town had been disappearing—seven in total, their fates unknown.

“Some say Thief isn’t Hylian but a wraith resurrected by witchcraft to roam the night in search of the flesh and blood of innocent children,” General Impa recounted.

Orville looked appalled. “And no one reported this to the guards?” he asked. No criminal charges were mentioned on the poster. A shiny pot seemed worth more than a child’s life.

“Don’t speak like you don’t know how justice works here, Commander,” Impa reprimanded his naivety. “They’re all runaways. No one is going to miss them.” The light that had sparked a moment ago in Impa dimmed. She now looked every bit the General—guarded and distant. “People whispered that before the kids disappeared, they sang, ‘Follow the tweets of the weather vane bird.’”

Orville could only think of one place that still kept the bird-shaped weather vane.

Down southwest of Castle Town stood a humble settlement called Mabe Village. Built from the ruins and lore of a great thief from the past, it had become the last resting spot for hopeful fortune seekers journeying to Hyrule’s capital to chase their dreams. Many weary families—old, young, and ill—remained in Mabe, waiting for their loved ones to return and take them to the town. Unfortunately, many lived and died without ever seeing their family members come back.

A large cemetery marked the village, as Castle Town would never allow the poor to bury their dead on its sacred ground. Instead, the deceased were carted to Mabe for a proper funeral. Most buried here were the downtrodden, with no relatives to mourn them, but Mabe welcomed everyone indiscriminately.

Over time, the village began to wither, as people either aimed for Castle Town or sought kinder places elsewhere. Mabe Village was just a dream away from returning to ruins. There were no houses or shops—only one sanctuary by a lone apple tree and a cemetery tended by a solitary undertaker, Dampe.

“Have you seen anything suspicious around here lately?” Orville asked, shifting his attention to the undertaker.

“There is no thief here, Sir Knight. If that is what you seek, you may never find it.”

General Impa always said to never try to fool those who worked with death; they had seen too much to be deceived, whether by trickery or magic. Orville pondered his answer, recalling that he wasn’t here as a guard to interrogate people.

“There are kidnapping cases of children—seven of them. Do you know anything about it?”

“Hmm.” Dampe made a thoughtful sound. “Queer. You’re the first knight to ask about the children and not the pot-breaking thief. You sound too honorable to be a knight, sir. Ever thought about a career change?”

Orville chuckled at the jabs. “I did once. But I’ve met great people who showed me the way, so I think I’ll give it another try.”

“What do you plan to do with the children if you find them?” Dampe asked.

“Just make sure they are safe and happy.”

“Safe and happy.” Dampe repeated, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “That sounds too dreamy to be true. I’d say it’s impossible nowadays.”

“I know people who are capable of impossibilities,” Orville replied with a smile, thinking of all the Links he’d met, each one willing to go to great lengths to ensure the happiness of others.

“They sound like good people, sir.”

“They are. They’re looking for their own brother, too.” Orville pulled out the ugly rabbit charm, holding it high enough for Dampe and any wizard in the room to see.

“FUCK!”

They both jumped to their feet at the shout that echoed through the sanctuary. As Orville tried to search for the source of the outburst, Dampe snatched the figurine from his grasp and loudly proclaimed, “This is a magnificent piece of art!”

“Thank you,” said Orville, his smile pained as memories of how he’d acquired the item flashed through his mind.

Eventually, Dampe returned the rabbit charm to him, his lips turning upward. “If you have time, please come to the graveyard tonight.”

When Orville left the sanctuary, the graffiti had mysteriously vanished.

No one ever told the same story about the Hero of Legend, except that he arose from humble beginnings to vanquish all evil near and far. He had seen places beyond reach and far into time, more than any mortal ever dreamed. His triumphs were as numerous as the stars, and in every place—from the grandeur of the sanctum to a well-loved, dusty cottage—one always found traces of tales where he left behind his miracles. So, everyone had their own tale of the Hero of Legend—even thieves.

When Orville was a knight, freshly minted from the academy and rotated through the units, he worked as a prison guard. That was where he met Gulley, a man roughly his age who had been caught for theft and statue defacement. The frivolous man kept getting caught for breaking into the temple to place an apple on his favorite hero’s altar, and Orville, unfortunately, kept getting assigned to watch him. It was boring in the prison, so they sometimes talked. Gulley always instigated, carefree as a gull in his namesake.

 He proudly claimed the Hero of Legend was his protector to irritate Orville.

“No, he isn’t,” Orville remembered scolding Gulley, his tone harsher than it should have been as his mind briefly wandered to memories of the adventurer lady. “He’s a protector of adventurers, not of people causing trouble and throwing their lives away.”

Normally, Gulley would just smile at his reprimands, so Orville was caught off guard when the man challenged him back, “But, Sir Knight, what are thieves if not adventurers whose despair has seeped into their souls?”

Dampe led him with a lantern to an unsuspecting tomb and started pushing it until it clicked and moved, revealing a secret passage. “Follow me.”

Orville swallowed his trepidation, never imagining his line of work would lead him to intrude upon the resting place of the dead.

As they descended the stairs in silence, the air was less moldy than he had expected, though a feeling of foreboding lingered. Soon, they reached a chamber door. Orville didn’t have time to wonder who had decided to build something in the cemetery before Dampe pushed it open.

And there he was—a living mystique in flesh.

At the center of the chamber stood a young man, easily ten years younger than Orville, wearing a blue hat and red vest, inspecting a tunnel with his hands on his hips. At his feet laid hand-drawn scrolls—a blueprint of something. He turned his head to regard the newcomers, the shade of his violet eyes deep like old wells of secrets. Orville could only stand at the threshold, dumbfounded, as the air around them stirred from its forlorn rest, whispering of a thousand ages and seasons that had come and gone forever.

Then the young man gestured widely to the practically empty room, save for several shovels leaning against the wall, and greeted them in the driest tone, “I bid you fondest welcome to my humble abode, the graveyard.”

Link then picked up one of the shovels and practically threw it at Orville, who snapped out of his stupor just in time to catch it.

“Chop, chop! Get to work. We have a dungeon to build,” Link barked, before turning his attention to Dampe to discuss his ideas on labyrinths.

After an hour of ruthlessly critiquing Orville’s digging skills, Link finally deemed him trustworthy enough to converse, though a scowl still marred his youthful face.

“So, you’ve met the three stooges,” Link stated, arching an eyebrow at him.

“…Ugh, yes?” Orville stuttered.

“Of course, you have!” Link muttered to himself, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “Those broody mother cuccos. Every. Single. Damn. Time. It’s always them who sneak a stray in and force us to nurse it back to health.”

“…Okay,” Orville faintly agreed, his voice weary.

Link showed no signs of wanting to stop his whirlwind of rants. “Always walking fleabags with the rancher, and winged monstrosities with Sky. And you—” He pointed an accusing finger at Orville, his scowl deepening.

"A. Grown-ass. Burnout,” Link punctuated, “just the vain captain’s type of adoption.”

At that point, Orville’s mind was too numbed by confusion to feel offended at being called a burnout. He had no illusions about how terrifying they could be, but between Warriors’ sociability, Twilight’s openness, and Sky’s humility, he felt ill-prepared for the fierceness of Link of Koholint, whose violet eyes shone as sharply as a blinding light and whose tongue was more barbed than wire.

“It’s actually my dream,” Dampe revealed one afternoon as Orville helped him sweep the fallen leaves. Inside the sanctuary, Link was teaching the children to draw a map because that was the most important skill ever.

On that unforgettable night, Orville only had to dig until nine o’clock because Link had to get back to the sanctuary to tell the orphaned kids bedtime stories, though he forbade anyone from calling it that. “Regaling my adventures! I’m still fucking alive, unlike the deader-than-dust dumbasses in your bedtime stories!” That was how Orville discovered the secret door behind one of the tapestries, which led to a homely hall housing the seven missing kids, well-clothed and fed, shouting at Link to let them pick the story.

“What dream?” Orville asked. The children were still wary of him, and he was still wary of Link. It was Dampe who warmed up to him, and whom Orville wasn’t too scared to talk to.

“To build a dungeon.”

“…You have an ambitious dream.”

Dampe laughed. “You can call it a fool’s dream, sir. I don’t mind because it’s true!”

The undertaker paused his sweeping to gaze at the graveyard, his eyes shining like new stars. “Link is the only one who never doubts it. He just gets to work.”

“How did you meet him, if you don’t mind me asking?” Orville prodded.

“Oh, it’s a funny story, actually—one I’d still remember even at double the age and half a brain,” Dampe said. “You see, a few weeks ago, I dug a grave because there was a new body coming from town for burial, and the next morning, I found a young, angry man crawling out of my dug hole. Almost pissed my pants—would have lost my hair if I still had any. Goddesses, I thought he rose from the dead!”

Orville nodded sympathetically. The Links tended to be found in weird places—this was a sure pattern at this point.

“I like my job, sir. I love giving people peace they couldn’t find when alive, but it can be a bit lonely in this village with just me and the dead,” Dampe confessed. “Now he’s here, every day is so much fun.”

“How about the children? Why are they here?”

“Oh, that’s one sad story.” Dampe turned his gaze back to the sanctuary. “We had the layout of the dungeon figured out, and Link said we needed treasure chests because decent dungeons must have them. And then he went, ‘Like hell I’m donating my own money!’ and left for Castle Town to get something shiny to put in the chests.”

Orville suppressed a sigh. That explained all the thievery crimes.

“He kept returning with little rascals needing homes, each thinner than the last. We can’t send them back, and they don’t want to go back.”

The door to the sanctuary opened, and the children poured out, running to the shade under the big apple tree, their little hands carrying musical instruments, impatiently waiting for Link to drag his feet to them so their musical session could start.

“You see the little lass, Ceres?” Dampe said, nodding at the young teen in a blue dress who played the ocarina. “When she arrived, the girl could barely open her eyes—victim of a sleeping curse. Her parents left her for dead. I’ve heard this illness has spread among the children in town. No one knows why. They go to sleep one day and just refuse to wake up. Some still call them lazy—so heartless.”

Their little session was full of clumsy tunes and Link’s grumbles, but laughter danced around them.

“How did Link wake her up?” Orville wondered.

“Must be magic,” Dampe guessed with a shrug. “The man knows more about it than every grimoire in Hyrule combined.”

“It isn’t a curse. It’s worse than that,” Link said as he flipped the page of his book under the shade of the apple tree, still keeping his ears attuned to the children playing outside. Orville never mentioned his talk with Dampe to him, but it seemed secrets could never be kept from Link. “It’s hardship that has been forced upon them since birth. And when every day is a nightmare, they don’t want to wake up to it.”

“Then how did you wake her up?”

“I didn’t. I just told her about the one time my brothers sneaked out and got lost in the woods for a whole week. They got leashed and scolded by the local dog. I helped release them back into the wild just to see how fast the old man’s hair could turn gray.”

Link lifted his eyes from the book and smirked at Orville’s flabbergasted face. “The next day, I told her another story, and another, and another. The peak of having too many adventures is that you never run out of things to tell. One day, she decided to wake up to order me to tell more tales about that slimy squatter in my house. The audacity.”

Then Link let out a tiny smile, and Orville finally saw the resemblance between him and his older brothers —they had the same smile. Even though Link’s was faint and more guarded, it shone as brightly as sunbeams.

The children wanted to stay in Mabe Village with Dampe, so Link grumbled as he reshuffled his already 'busy schedule' to include fixing some abandoned houses. His carpentry skills clearly didn’t match his multitude of other talents, but when Orville compared him to the captain, Link threatened to bury his body in a sewer. So, Orville wisely kept his comments to himself and worked in silence.

Sometimes, the younger kids would approach Link during breaks from clearing out rotten or damaged parts of the old houses. They’d show him their drawings, offer him an apple—his favorite—or bombard him with questions.

“Link, do you think I can go on an adventure like you?”

“Of course, you can.”

“I want to be a treasure hunter!”

“Grow taller than me first, squirt. Eat your apple.”

“I wanna be a thief!”

“Cool, but don’t steal from a shopkeeper if you don’t want to get zapped to death.”

Seeing how generous Link had been with his answers, Orville decided to try his luck. “Why do you choose the life of an adventurer?”

Link wiped the apple on his vest and took a bite. “Because that line on the horizon won’t grace your mug if you just sit by the window.”

“How can you still keep going?” Orville wondered.

How could some people keep trying when the world seemed to work against them? When rainstorms and goodbyes loomed on the horizon? Why keep going?

The last time Orville saw Gulley, the man had just been released from his cell. Before leaving, he turned to give Orville a wide grin. “I’ve wised up this time and buried my treasure before your fellow men caught me. It’ll be enough to help me cross the sea.”

From the fire in his eyes, Orville knew it was a goodbye and the end of their unlikely friendship.

“Be a true adventurer this time. Don’t steal,” Orville remembered telling the youth, who gave him a thumbs-up but made no promise.

After Gulley left, no one attempted to break into the temple and place an apple on the Hero of Legend’s altar again.

“Funny thing is, if you don’t die, life will teach you how to live it,” Link said, tossing the apple core onto the soft soil. “When you’ve been on the road long enough, you’ll meet people and know immediately that your lives will touch only once. All you can keep is your memories of them—” Link’s eyes landed on the color-worn weather vane, and it wasn’t despair that reflected in his irises. “Memories are still better than living a life without knowing them.”

It was a resolution.

In Mabe Village, Orville learned that while nightmares might kill hope, fun could bring it back. Under Link’s grumpy guidance, everyone learned to draw both maps and dreams, plotting their futures as they helped him design labyrinths for the next hero. Link’s tongue remained sharp, and his hands calloused, but the children’s laughter rang sweeter than ever, echoing like the tweets of the freshly painted weather vane bird. Like resilient hibiscus blooming under the sun’s love, they began to emerge from their seeds, ready to grow. In a few years, Mabe Village might blossom with life again.

Finally, Orville understood that a new adventure could always begin for everyone, whether people or places.

And he hoped that, wherever they were in the world right now, Gulley and the adventurer lady were having fun with their lives.

It was three in the morning, a perfect time for Legend to kick the tent and wake the idiots up. Warriors and Wolfie poked their ruffled heads out, the veteran crossing his arms and arching his eyebrows challengingly.

“Where’s the cart that your knight said you had? The rascals at Mabe want to see the beach.”

“Dammit, Legend! Can’t you wait until morning or something?” Warriors groaned. “Have some common decency.”

Small black squares engulfed the wolf, and in his place stood an annoyed Twilight. “Why didn’t you just come back with the commander?”

 Legend scoffed at the ridiculous idea. “Oh, I’m so sorry that I didn’t want to ride a horse in broad daylight when my mugshot is everywhere and the knights are hunting me for crimes I didn’t commit!”

Warriors’ eyebrows rose above his hairline. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Let me in the tent,” Legend huffed.

Twilight shifted back to Wolfie and disappeared inside. There were some loud curses, and Sky’s murderous face popped out. “Wake me up like this again, and I’ll fix your arthritis by removing your joints.”

Warriors was on Legend’s case as soon as the veteran settled in, with Wolfie acting as a buffer against the angry cocoon that was the sleep-interrupted Sky.

“What the hell are you up to with this dungeon project? Are you planning to get the next Link killed?”

“I’m giving him a proper education. I can’t, in good conscience, let my reincarnation be illiterate in the art of dungeon crawling like you and the Champion. Only the Seven Sages know why Hylia didn’t even bother to give you two true dungeons. But I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

Warriors pouted. “Hey, we turned out fine, thank you very much.”

Wolfie and Sky shook their heads violently. The dungeon crawls in the last Hyrule had been such traumatic experiences that just thinking about them sent shudders down their spines. The captain scoffed at their lack of faith but dropped the subject. “And what do you mean you didn’t commit the crimes?”

“I mean I committed the crimes, obviously. What do you take me for?” Legend sassed back. “But not all of them. Just half. And what the hell is the use of a clown’s crown?” He spat at the mention of that disgraceful excuse for a king. “Even Ravio wouldn’t stoop that low to sell it.”

Silence descended upon the tent. Wolfie shifted back to Twilight.

“So, you stole credits for someone else’s hard labor.”

“Rancher, that’s not what you’re supposed to focus on—” Warriors began, then squinted at the veteran. “But why did you pose for your mugshot?”

Legend threw his hands up, exasperated by the stupidity of his brothers. They were a testament that wisdom didn’t grow with age, or grow at all. “Is it not obvious? I was smuggling the kids out of town, and I had to act friendly to avoid arousing the patrol guards’ suspicion. And you TOLD me to act normal around them in any Hyrule, Wars!”

Sky silently lifted the framed wanted poster for the Link council to see, while Warriors deadpanned, “This isn’t a friendly smile, Vet. It looks like you’re going to cannibalize someone. And I can’t believe you actually kidnapped people again.” Desperation seeped into the captain's voice as he buried his face in his palms. “Half the time we had to run from civilizations and functioning bathhouses was because of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Legend sniffed, lifting his nose with self-righteousness. “Baths are performative. You don’t need that many.”

Warriors listlessly flopped down on his bedroll, pulling the blanket over his head. “Get out of my tent, you filthy little rodent.”

Legend, secretly reveling in the captain’s suffering and hating being ordered around by the authority figure, threw himself onto Warriors and stuck his sticky fingers in the captain’s hair. “Is this how you’re treating your lovely brother, who traversed danger to see you?!”

Warriors screeched and thrashed like a gibdo on fire, trying to get Legend off him, but that was nothing Legend and his arsenal of experiences couldn’t handle.

“Guys, real quick,” Twilight tried patiently to get their attention, “before you kill each other and Sky murders you both—if Legend didn’t steal the crown—”

“But still committed half of the crimes,” the veteran emphasized.

“But still committed half of the crimes,” Twilight reluctantly conceded. “Then which one of us did it?”

No one in the tent could offer an answer to the rancher, nor did they even bother.

It took Twilight brandishing his shadow crystal and threatening to force-feed Legend’s shadow form to the iron grip of Sky’s cuddle for Legend to finally release Warriors’ hair.

Meanwhile, Sky buried his face in the corner of the tent where Twilight’s cheese was stacked, trying to distance himself from his noisy brothers—if he didn’t see them or smell them, they didn’t exist. But all of them were so going to get the most heinous, atrocious things that Sky's craftsmanship could conjure—and some beatings-up.

Chapter Text

The fall brought into his home the festive air of sweet apples. The grandchildren had been waiting for the fruit to ripen ever since the pink blossoms had dotted the old tree. The tree must have known how well-loved it was by the kids, for it loved them back with an abundant harvest. His neighbors often marveled at how it had never failed to yield fruit. People had come to him, asking for its prized seeds, and he gave them freely—just as they had been given to him sixty years ago.

“So, everyone can get the sweet taste of the apple beloved by the Hero of Legend!” He remembered the reward of a few seeds, cherished by the hero more than gold, for they were the seeds from his own garden—a lovely memento of home.

The children were picking fruit from the lower branches while he sat on a stool by the house, keeping a watchful eye on them. Old age, he discovered, stripped one of many joys. He couldn’t stand for too long these days. What use could an old man be but to entertain them with tales of times long past?

“Eat it fresh, simmer it into jam, or caramelize it. Apples will bring you a smile. But the best of it yet—”

“Let’s have an apple pie!” they chorused.

In that instant, it seemed to be decided what kind of dessert they wanted for dinner. No one ever said no to a pie.

“But there’s no apple pie without ice cream!” one of the older boys shouted.

The old man hummed thoughtfully. “You’re absolutely right! What do we do now?”

“Then we have to make it too, Grandpa!” the grandchildren exclaimed in unison.

He smiled at their enthusiasm.

“Have I ever told you why we always eat apple pie with ice cream?”

Their little ears perked up, eager for a story—even one they had heard many times before.

“A long time ago, no one had ever heard of ‘ice cream’ because no one had ever made it! That all changed when the Hero of Legend craved a peculiar dessert to pair with his perfect apple pie. But there was only one person in the whole of Hyrule who could make it, and he was—”

“The Hero of the Wild!” they cheered.

The champion was always one of their favorites. But this should have been obvious, shouldn't it? Children possessed the freest hearts. Of course, they would find kindred spirits in the wildest hero to ever grace Hyrule’s history.

Orville woke up to the sweet aroma of baked pastries. For a moment, he was tempted to stay in bed, basking in the cozy morning air and the warmth of his blanket—the closest comfort he had to home. Once he got up, he didn’t know when he’d be back in Outskirt again. Even if he did return, he wondered if it would feel the same. But he was a soldier, years of discipline ingrained in him. Even if he wanted to linger, he couldn’t just slack off. Orville sighed and got up.

As he wandered into the kitchen, the delicious smell became even more delightful—he’d bet not even the finest pastry shop in Castle Town could compare. The sounds of ruckus that slipped through the door were as chaotic as a busy morning marketplace, despite there being only three people in the room.

Sky stood at the counter, dutifully dicing apples for Legend, who was rolling pastry dough while regaling Greta—who sat at the table—with a story that made her giggle like a young maiden.

“Stop right there, young man. If you say one more word, I might just give you my best porcelain—and my daughter is going to be so mad at me!”

Legend laughed, looking boyish with flour dusting his cheeks and hair, which was mysteriously pink like rose petals— for reasons he refused to clarify, and Orville had no death wish to investigate.

“But I’m telling you the truth, ma’am! I’ve barked into so many houses, and none could keep the kitchen as pristine as yours. Not a speck of dust! The crockery is so shiny the vain captain could use it as a mirror. You’re the best homeowner I’ve had the pleasure of meeting!”

Every line on Greta’s face practically lit up with delight. Gonzo’s wife was fiercely protective of her kitchen—so much so that even the village head was only allowed to boil water for tea, lest her wrath fall upon him for making a stain on her stove. But three days ago, Link of Koholint had shown up unannounced at Gonzo’s house, demanding a fully-equipped oven to stress-bake his frustrations away. He’d breezily charmed his way into Greta’s sacred domain.

Everything seemed calm and peaceful as Orville sat down with Greta at the table. She got up to fetch him breakfast—soup and bread.

“The captain’s out with my husband. The rancher’s likely in the goat pen, saying his hundredth goodbye to the goats,” Greta said, as she poured him a cup of tea. Orville thanked her for the food.

He barely got a spoonful of soup in his mouth when Legend, without Greta to keep him in civil company, decided to instigate what he preferred to call a "combat of wits" with Sky.

(His brothers affectionately called it Legend’s ‘delusion of wisdom.’)

Because why should Orville get a peaceful breakfast when he could endure listening to the Links argue over the most trivial matters? Greta, on the other hand, looked thrilled at the prospect of a morning show.

“Apples are better than pumpkins,” Legend issued his challenge to the only victim within reach.

The captain had once complained that Legend was notorious among the Links for instigating fights when bored—fights that led into bans from various establishments, because things always escalated once the Links got competitive.

And by competitive, Warriors meant violent. Orville had long learned to read between the line despite the captain’s attempt to soften the truth.

“Make pumpkin pie and see who the real winner is.”

Sky continued calmly slicing apples, but everyone knew the challenge had been accepted as soon as Legend insulted his hometown crop—something the rancher claimed was the philosophical foundation of Sky’s patriotism. Sky was usually the laid-back Link, always napping to avoid drama, but if there was one thing people learned quickly, it was never to speak ill of pumpkins in front of the young knight.

Orville tried to munch his breakfast as quickly—and quietly—as possible.

“I’m not going to bake something inferior,” scoffed Legend as he brushed egg wash over the top of the pie crust. “Who eats pumpkin pie when they can have the delicacy of freshly baked apple pie?”

There was no warning when Sky sharply flung an apple core at Legend, who easily dodged it. The core missed his forehead and hit the floor. Greta took a sip of her tea, watching their bickering with great amusement. It was a testament to how much she adored them. If Orville did this with Gonzo, they’d likely get banished to the doghouse.

“Pumpkins can be made into many heartwarming dishes, like soup. Can you make apple soup? No. No fruit or vegetable can be as wholesome as pumpkin, which blesses one’s soul with both meals and desserts.”

“Tell me, is there pumpkin cider? No. Only apple cider.”

There were no apples left for Sky to dice, but he was still holding a knife, as though seriously considering whether Legend, in his red tunic, could be passed off as a ripe apple to cut.

“I ride a bird and live high above the clouds. I don’t miss a thing,” Sky grumbled, looking like an annoyed ruffled cucco.

“All great cultures have apple cider,” Legend pointed out, putting the last batch of pie into the oven.

“It seems some reincarnations have skipped my distinguished palate. Thank Hylia, the rancher inherited it,” Sky shot back.

“Yeah, the guy with a dog palate. Your tribe is outnumbered. We’re all apple majority here,” Legend claimed boldly.

The war had finally reached Orville and Greta’s table when Sky turned to give them his beseeching eyes. Orville took that as a divine sign to stuff the remaining bread into his mouth and then excused himself to go search for Gonzo and the captain.

“Oh, I was so scared they were going to destroy my kitchen,” Greta whispered to Orville when she got up to send him off. Her smile was playful. “I still need to go back and make sure the boys clean up their mess.”

Orville only coughed in agreement, still feeling the bread stuck in his throat as he hurriedly swallowed it down in a narrow escape from being turned into collateral damage in the Links’ heated, ridiculous debate.

“But honestly, I’m going to miss them dearly. Oh, why do they have to go?” Greta sighed.

As Orville walked toward the bridge, he passed a group of young men and women with crossbows slung across their backs, returning from the training field Twilight had set up. They waved, and he waved back. Among them was a young woman, laughing with her friends—the same one who had shyly asked during the village meeting if girls could learn to defend the village. The captain had immediately assured them they could, to their delight.

(Before the Links left Outskirt for Mabe, the captain had called a meeting. They didn’t offer any real reason for their sudden departure, other than to help Dampe rebuild the village for Legend’s orphans. Orville suspected there were other, more personal reasons they hadn’t shared. The captain mostly spent the meeting laying out his plans to strengthen the village’s defenses.

“Bows are preferable for the more experienced,” the captain said. “But crossbows are easier to learn, require less time, and can shoot from behind cover. And I’ve seen the mayhem they can wreak on hordes of enemies when they’re in the hands of someone brutal.”

Legend, standing beside him, elbowed the captain with a snicker. “Is that how you talk about your sister?”

From the dark look Warriors shot at him, Orville knew it took every ounce of the captain’s restraint not to launch himself at the veteran in the middle of the meeting.)

The villagers had taken the changes better than Orville had expected. The village handymen banded together, pooling their skills to strengthen weapons. Arrow supplies weren’t a problem either—Legend had borrowed a sizable stock from the noble houses of Castle Town. Even the children, who had once sobbed at the thought of the Links leaving, now wiped away their tears and promised to stay strong.

Orville doubted he would have handled the news as well as they had, had he been in their position.

From a distance, Orville watched as Warriors and Gonzo conversed by the fixed bridge. To his surprise, the goat that had once sworn nemesis to the captain was now standing by his side, letting him rub its head without bloodshed. Perhaps even the goat was saddened by the captain’s departure.

Warriors was saying something to Gonzo when the village head suddenly dropped to his knees and bowed. Shock flashed across the captain’s face as he rushed forward to pull the older man to his feet.

Feeling like an intruder on their private moment, Orville quietly tried to back away, hoping to give them privacy. But the goat spotted him and bleated loudly. Orville cringed.

“Hey, Commander. Is it time?” Warriors asked, still holding Gonzo’s hands. His expression was gentle.

Orville could only nod.

“You should go, Captain. You still need to fetch your rancher brother from the goat pen. That’ll take time,” Gonzo said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Alright. Come, Lamb Chop, let’s go fetch the bumpkin.” The goat immediately drove its horns into the captain’s kneecaps. Warriors stumbled back with a curse, but the goat only bleated smugly before following the captain to find Twilight. Warriors glanced back at Gonzo, his youthful face still marred with concern. “Come join us when you’re ready, okay?”

 Orville waited until the captain had disappeared into the village before turning back to Gonzo. “I never thought this bridge would be fixed.”

Gonzo’s smile was wistful. “Neither did I. I always thought my people’s lives would stay the same—never better. But now, there’s more hope than ever, especially among the young. Still, my selfish heart feels this strange sorrow. This old man should know better—free spirits come and go as they will. I shouldn’t burden him with my worries.”

Orville couldn’t bring himself to say that he understood the weight Gonzo had carried for his village, but he could feel the quiet unease that always accompanied change —the march of time toward the inevitable goodbye.

When they arrived back at Gonzo’s house, the Links had already loaded their belongings onto the cart hitched to Orville’s horse. One of Twilight’s dogs sat primly in the cart, with Sky curled up beside him, his white cape wrapped snugly around them.

Warriors, meanwhile, was absorbed in double-checking a list in his journal to ensure they hadn’t forgotten anything. By the way Legend tapped his foot irritably beside him, looking like he wanted to strangle the captain for wasting daylight, Orville knew the captain had probably gone over the list too many times already.

Twilight, for his part, didn’t seem in any hurry. He was proudly explaining to Greta and the tearful children bidding them farewell why one of the dogs would be traveling with them. “Radish has bravely taken on the task of guarding Mabe’s children, so he’ll be joining us. Bread and Butter will stay here in Outskirt to keep watch over the village. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

 At Orville’s side, Gonzo watched the scene as if trying to commit the moment to memory. Orville knew that one day, he’d find himself in the village head’s position, feeling the weight of sending their heroes off on a journey to a place beyond mortal reach.

“I’ll keep you updated on them,” Orville promised in a low voice.

“Orville, are you ready yet?” Legend’s impatient voice cut through the moment. “Or else this idiot’s going to start re-checking everything again, and I’m not planning on committing murder today. Favorite shovel at Mabe!”

Gonzo chuckled softly, giving Orville a gentle slap on the back. “You hear the boss. Go, before the captain meets an untimely death!”

Legend and Sky were heading for Mabe, with Orville driving the cart as their cartman, since Legend was a wanted criminal and Sky had been forbidden from driving land vehicles on his own. Orville never got all the details from the other Links, but it had something to do with Sky borrowing a "Master Cycle Zero" from the champion and turning into a speed demon.

Orville’s suspicion that the Links were plotting something grew stronger when Warriors and Twilight suddenly announced they would spend some time "sightseeing" around the western borders before joining the rest of the group in Mabe. But there was nothing he could do about it. After dropping the two Links off at Mabe, Orville would have to head straight to Hateno.

The night before the Links' departure was pure chaos. Orville had been roped into helping them organize their belongings for the cart, all while scrubbing down borrowed plates and cookware to return to Greta. Among the many tasks was the mountain of pies that Legend had stress-baked— and, of course, someone had to eat them.

Orville was entrusted with three whole pies because, as Legend put it, "Good things come in threes." No, scratch that—he was forced to eat three whole pies. And he did, feeling uncomfortably full, because the Links had asked him to do it, and he couldn’t bring himself to refuse their eager faces. He didn’t even have the heart to tell them that normal Hylians didn’t eat as much as they did.

Perhaps Orville no longer had free will.

As he mulled over his unsettling lack of agency, Legend was making his trademark, malevolent concentration face—a look Orville had learned to interpret as Legend being deep in thought, and not plotting violence (yet). "That thing," Legend muttered, spinning a spoon in his hand.

"What thing?" Sky asked, still licking pie crumbs off his fingers, while Warriors shot him a disgusted look.

"Have you not had enough things, Hoarder?" Twilight looked up from his own bowl to tease.

"Shut up, Rancher," Legend grumbled. "I’ve been thinking about that thing the champion accidentally made—it’d go perfectly with my apple pie."

Sky and Warriors both made intrigued noises. "Oh, that thing!"

“What thing?” Orville hesitantly asked, already dreading the answer. Things that got more than one Link excited always meant trouble.

Twilight turned to him. "One of our brothers, the champion. He’s our designated cook. Everything he makes is delicious—"

"Witchcraft," Legend interrupted. "How in the dark world has he never messed up cooking?"

The rancher winced. "Actually, he messed up a lot in the early days of his quest. My stomach never knew peace. But he wanted to impress you all, so he stuck to successful recipes after a while. He trusts us enough now to experiment with new ones."

"Aww, he’s always the sweetest Link," Sky cooed. Warriors threw a handkerchief at him, his disgusted expression saying, wipe your hands like an adult. Sky defiantly mouthed back, you’re not my mom, before sticking his fingers up the captain’s nose.

The rest of the brothers ignored the captain’s yelp as he ran off to wash his face.

"There was this one time the champion tried to make an elixir out of ice chu jellies," Twilight continued, cutting back into the story. "He probably mixed up some ingredients, but it turned into a new kind of dessert."

"His greatest culinary epiphany yet," Legend conceded reluctantly.

Sky sighed. "Too bad the old man has banned it."

"Can’t blame him," Twilight shrugged. "That thing put the traveler into a sugar coma, made the smithy high, and what happened to the sailor... let’s just say it should never happen again."

"I almost quit the quest after that," Legend shuddered. "How many trees did we chop down before that kid ran off to climb a new one and got stuck again?"

"Too many," Twilight said, his expression pained.

Whenever the Links shared their stories, Orville's mind was always flooded with too many questions to ask, so he usually went with the first dumb one that popped into his head. "Why did you chop trees?"

"Buddy, the kid was feral. He bit. Who in their right mind was gonna climb up to get him?" Legend gave Orville an incredulous look, as if the answer was painfully obvious.

"We thought at least we had enough wood stacked high enough to last months, so the trees hadn’t fallen in vain," Sky added, shaking his head. "But we made the mistake of taking our eyes off the smithy. He started a forge in the middle of the woods… in the middle of the night, because his tiny body couldn’t handle all the sugar rush."

"Too much sugar is bad for kids," The rancher concluded confidently.

"But we aren’t kids, are we?" Legend’s violet eyes suddenly gleamed with mischievous intent.

Twilight narrowed his eyes at the veteran. "That remains to be seen."

Legend ignored him and, to Orville's growing dread, turned his full attention to him. "I want Link of Hateno to be fletched to my place. And I’ll reward you with my greatest treasure."

Orville had definitely eaten too many pies. That was the only explanation he allowed himself to entertain for why he suddenly felt a wave of nausea rise within him. 

At the center of the Temple’s Hall, surrounded by statues of his previous reincarnations, stood the damaged statue of the Hero of the Wild. The roof collapse that occurred many years ago—one that had decapitated the statue of the Hero of Twilight—also fractured one side of the Hero of the Wild, creating a scar-like, intricate web of lines in the stone. It was quite marvelous that these grave cracks hadn’t caused it to crumble. His worshippers always called it a miracle, but the ‘scars’ weren’t the only thing about the statue that people marveled at. At his feet lay a replica of his tomb—and a legend that one day the hero would return from death to save Hyrule again.

Orville had heard stories—about the royal-funded excavations across Hyrule, where soldiers and treasure hunters alike sought the true site of the hero’s burial, hoping to return him to a resting place worthy of his noble station. But despite their best efforts, no one had ever found his tomb.

There were dark whispers that the Sheikah had hidden the knowledge of his resting place for themselves. Such rumors were just one of many that had marred the trust between the Sheikah and the Hylians.

By the time Orville joined the army, most of the Sheikah had retreated to their hidden village, with only a few remaining at the castle. When he was assigned to the Sheikah Research Unit, Orville was admittedly wary of the Sheikah. The words of his former captain’s warning still rang clear in his mind: “Watch your back, soldier. Beware of the Sheikah traitors. They betrayed us once—who knows when they’ll do it again?”

Even his academy instructors had advised him to transfer out as soon as possible. “Working under General Impa won’t do your career any favors,” they’d warned. “She’s practically the least favored general in the court.”

But Orville couldn’t help but admire General Impa. The Sheikah elder, cold as she seemed to Hylians, always carried herself with a sense of wisdom and unwavering loyalty, unshaken by the rumors and political whispers— strong and unmoving like the moss-covered hills of her beloved village.

Besides, Orville wasn’t of noble birth. Even if he had the ambition to climb the ranks, he knew he’d never get far, so he stayed.

After three years of working together, General Impa began speaking to him about matters outside of their work. Orville took this as a sign of trust and did his best to meet her expectations. In return, the General shared her knowledge with him—knowledge that Orville knew he had no business hearing.

“It wasn’t there when the temple was first constructed,” General Impa began. “But years after the reign of the Wise Queen, the royal family commissioned the tomb to be built within the temple—for the sake of public morale.” For a brief moment, her mask of composure slipped, her voice grew tired and forlorn. “Hyrule has changed, Commander. Truth is shamed, and lies are celebrated. His legend, which was meant to inspire, has been twisted and turned into a political tool—to distract, to divide. No one truly knows where he lies in his eternal rest—not even the Sheikah, for no one can tame the Hero of the Wild.”

Just as suddenly as she’d dropped this revelation, Impa moved on to the next topic, as though she hadn’t just shared a monumental secret that left Orville’s mind spinning. “Now, tell me more about yourself.”

Impa’s red eyes shimmered with emotions Orville couldn’t name as he told her about visiting his grandfather’s village as a child.

The memories of Orville’s time in Hateno were woven tightly into his childhood, much like the tapestry that always hung outside the village’s old dye shop. His family visited every winter, staying at Grandpa’s old ‘knight house,’ which Grandpa Bo kept clean in anticipation of their arrival. It was here that Orville was meant to learn about his heritage. Unfortunately, their attempts at educating him hadn’t been successful. He still disliked most of the countryside smells and had barely learned anything about his family’s history—aside from the tale of the ‘knight house’ his ancestor had bought at a bargain from its previous owner.

What Orville remembered most, however, were the days spent with his cousin Colin and the trouble they’d get into without the scolding of their parents and grandfathers.

Those were the best days of his childhood.

As he rode past Fort Hateno into the Cliffs of Quince, Orville felt like he could now understand his mother’s constant complaints about the treacherous terrain. Still, there was truth in the claim that Hateno was blessed. Nestled at the base of Mount Lanayru, the village was caressed by the mountain’s eternal winter breath. Yet, beyond Ebon Mountain, the call of seagulls kept beckoning adventurers to the sea’s embrace. This meeting of mountains and seas created such a gentle climate that nourished the land—anything that could be raised or grown flourished here in Hateno.

The slow trek past Ginner Woods led him to the village’s west gate, where the familiar smells and sounds greeted him like long-lost kin. In Castle Town, a year had seen shops open and close, people coming and going. But Hateno seemed untouched by the march of time. The windmills turned as they always had for hundreds of years. Hateno’s cows still wore colorful ribbons around their horns, and people were born, grew old, but rarely left.

As Orville dismounted his horse just past the gate, he soon spotted a familiar face in the curious crowd.

The last time he’d seen Colin was at Grandpa’s funeral. When Grandpa Bo passed away, the letter had been delayed in Faron, where Orville had been stationed, so he hadn’t been able to attend the funeral. After that, he’d simply let the distance between him and his family grow.

As Colin ran toward him and pulled him into a firm embrace—one only a sturdy farmer could offer—Orville was struck by the dreamlike memories of the quaint village and felt strangely at home again.

The knight house looked the same. The paintings and weapon mounts, arranged just as his mother liked, still hung on the walls. Fresh flowers sat in the vase on the dining table, and the room didn’t feel dusty at all—it looked well cared for.

“Beth always keeps the house clean,” Colin explained, his expression softening as he spoke of his childhood sweetheart-turned-wife. “Your parents still visit every winter. And sometimes, we bring the schoolchildren here to learn about history. It’s one of the oldest houses in Hateno.”

Orville nodded. Colin patted his shoulder, offering no comment on his silence at the mention of his parents. Instead, he added that he’d give Orville a tour once he finished unpacking. Despite Orville’s protest that he already knew the village, Colin insisted on the tour anyway—mostly because he’d rather not hear the end of it from the village elders if he didn’t show proper hospitality.

Orville could hardly believe that Colin, once the skittish kid, was now the respectable mayor of the town with a family of his own.

Colin was right about Orville needing a guide. While the village hadn’t changed much, there were new things that caught Orville’s eye—like the Hylian-sized cushions placed on the lawns outside every house.

He’d need to ask Colin about that later, as his cousin continued to talk about the village’s more serious issues. “We’re luckier than folks in other villages. You must’ve heard about the food shortages, yeah?”

“I’ve been told,” said Orville. Twilight had mentioned it, and he reminded himself to give Colin some of the cheese and pies the Links had packed in his bag.

“We can grow food for ourselves,” Colin continued, as they walked past farmers moving in and out of the golden rice fields and green bushes dotted with plump tomatoes. Some were carrying baskets of harvested carrots and pumpkins to the communal windmills to keep them fresh. “But there are things we can’t produce, like elixirs and arrows. Oh, and paper. The children need lots of it for their studies. I’m also worried we won’t have enough flints and oil for winter. Hateno is in Naydra’s Path, so winter’s always harsh—”

“I can’t believe you still believe in the spirit dragons, like when we were kids,” Orville teased, unable to resist.

Colin glared at him. “It’s a local idiom, get used to it, city boy. Now, where was I? Oh, right. I’m saying we can get by. We look out for each other, especially the children when their parents have to leave the village to trade for goods we can’t make ourselves. The traveling salesmen we’ve trusted can’t come anymore—they’d get into trouble with the lords’ merchant guild.”

Orville had heard about that. In the east, some lords had formed a guild and forced independent merchants to submit to their rules. The palace had seen it as a good way to tax the merchants while claiming to protect the people from exploitation. But prices had been rising, and it was becoming more difficult for villages to survive.

“The children whose parents are away are staying at the school,” Colin added, pointing toward a colorful building on the northern edge of town—one of Hateno’s proudest and oldest establishments that had survived from the golden era. “But full-time teachers are hard to find. Sometimes we have the Sheikah, but it’s harvest season, so they’ve gone back to Kakariko. Right now, we only have one home economics teacher.”

“He attacks people who like bananas.”

That was all Twilight offered when Orville asked about Link of Hateno. It was nearly midnight, and with only the two of them by the campfire, the rancher seemed more intent on sharpening his broadsword in preparation for tomorrow’s travel than on explaining his protégé to Orville. Normally, as a soldier, Orville would’ve jumped at the chance to talk about weapons. It was such a rare opportunity to observe the Links’ gear up close. Twilight’s sword appeared unlike anything from his own time—it looked antique.

But Orville had just been saddled with a quest to fetch the champion so the Links could have their fancy dessert, and experience had taught him that advice from the Links—cryptic as it could be—could save his life from their brothers.

“Does he dislike bananas?” Orville prodded.

Warriors poked his head out of the tent, raising an eyebrow at him. “Do you like bananas, Commander?”

“Ugh. Maybe? We don’t get them very often, sir. But I remember enjoying them when I was stationed in Faron.”

“Well, refrain from telling him that until he trusts you, if you want to live.”

Legend’s head emerged next, his chin resting on Warriors’ head as he spoke with the certainty of someone who knew the champion’s every quirk. “Let him throw a banana at you, or sniff you—whatever he does, don’t run. You’ll trigger his predator instincts. He’ll chase you down.”

Sky’s snores rumbled from inside the tent, explaining why Legend and Warriors had suddenly decided to be so helpful. It didn’t make Orville feel any more at ease.

Twilight chuckled, a rare glint of mischief in his glowing blue eyes. “Just go to sleep, Commander. Wild is an experience best explored without prior knowledge!”

Orville returned to his bed, staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling of Gonzo’s living room. He had fewer things to work with on this quest—except for the banana warning. This time, too, he was without a protecion charm. He would have to be his own last line of defense.

Orville knelt down to brush the moss-covered stone of Grandpa Bo’s tomb, grateful that the man finally rested in the place he loved most—beneath the tree by Lake Sumac, eternally watching the pine trees that lined snow-blanketed Madorna Mountain.

“Grandpa would have loved him,” Colin said quietly. “The village has come to know him as ‘Professor Link.’ He’s very knowledgeable. He knows every name in the wilds. It’s just his appearance that might… be quite a surprise to those who don’t know him.”

Orville thought back to the four Links who might be causing trouble right now. With a serious nod, he reassured his cousin, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve got considerable experience in this area.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “When he arrived, he was clad in only underwear and dropped a whole boar on my lawn.”

Well, that was… new. And won’t that be wonderful? Orville thought sarcastically. At least he got to learn new things every day.

“You see those cushions outside our houses, right?” Colin continued. “We tried getting him to sleep inside, but he refused. Said he wanted to try living on other people’s lawns, like some guy named Bolson—no one knows who that is. So, we let him. But we put cushions out for him to sleep on more comfortably. Sometimes, Beth manages to convince him to stay still long enough for her to brush his hair and get rid of the sticks and rotten leaves.”

“…”

“…”

 “Radish sees more civilization than this one does,” Orville muttered under his breath.

Colin knocked on the school’s door, and a black-haired girl opened it to greet them. She regarded her visitors with mild curiosity.

“Hello, Mayor Colin, and Mr. Stranger.”

“Hey, Prima,” Colin said with a smile. “Is Professor Link here?”

Prima immediately pointed toward Mount Lanayru. Orville bit back a groan when she explained that Professor Link had gone on an expedition to collect ingredients for their home economics class. He was supposed to return today, but clearly, he had gotten sidetracked again.

Orville gazed up at the snow-covered mountain—the sacred home of the Spring of Wisdom, eternally engulfed in ice. It was one of Hyrule’s most desolate places, where unpredictable blizzards and dangerous wildlife made travel nearly impassable—and made up his mind.

“There are no roads to the mountain from Hateno,” Colin tried again, his voice tinged with frustration, as Orville calmly donned his warm doublet. “It takes a week to get to Lanayru Road, and even then, the path to the summit can only be traversed on foot!”

“The hill behind Retsam Woods is part of Walnot Mountain—not too steep to climb. I can cut across from there to Mount Lanayru,” Orville reasoned.

 Colin gawked at him. His disbelieving look clearly conveyed his thoughts about Orville’s sanity—or lack thereof—but he still came to see him off like a good cousin.

“You’re really serious,” Colin said, while Orville surveyed the hill, trying to find the best spot to start his climb. “You’re actually serious!”

A sane person would have waited in Hateno, using this time to catch up with his cousin’s family. But Orville had already survived four Links and lived to tell the tale. He’d even committed grave desecration. Waiting however long for the Link of Hateno to return seemed less appealing than setting off along the perilous path to the Goddess’s sanctuary, curtained in snowstorms.

“You’re not as much of a stick in the mud as I remember,” Colin confessed quietly as he watched Orville begin his ascent. “We thought we’d lost you to the knight academy.”

Orville glanced back down at Colin before grunting, “I’m still not the same person you used to know.”

Colin’s faint voice carried up to him. “Don’t die. Find Professor Link and come back.”

Orville didn’t look down—as the air began to thin, he needed to conserve his energy as much as possible to finish this quest.

The biting cold winds of Lanayru Range whipped around him mercilessly as Orville trudged forward, regretting every foolish decision he had ever made that had led him to this point in life. He wanted to take back his words—he didn’t have it under control. Orville wanted to go home.

There was nothing in this eerie wasteland around him—no wildlife, no monsters—just him and the heavy drift of snow that had buried the path beneath layers of white. Maybe something dangerous lurked in the blizzard, but Orville’s senses, dulled by the cold, would never detect it until it was right in his face.

Orville had probably been hiking for half a day when something caught his eye—a shape in the distance, moving toward him through the storm at great speed.

“Honey Candy, halt!” shouted the silhouette in a raspy voice.

Up close, Orville could see it was a young man riding a bear, who was about to plow into him.

Orville barely dodged the charging beast, but in his panic, his foot caught on something, and he fell. His head struck a rock hidden beneath the snow with a faint crack, the sound quickly swallowed by the howling winds.

“Hey, traveler, are you alright? That’s a nasty crack. Wait, do you like bananas?”

If Orville’s blood hadn’t been clogging his concussed brain, he might have laughed at his luck. There was no other bizarre creature that could be wandering this goddess-forsaken place as fearlessly as—

Link of Hateno was severely underdressed for the weather, clad in scant garments and a headpiece made from a Lynel’s skull. One hand gripped a ladle, the other scratched the bear’s neck as if it were his loyal steed.

Orville fought to stay awake and answer him, but the absurdity of the moment—and the concussion—clouded his mind. He had a script prepared for this question, but the words never left his lips. Instead, he became lost in the strange shades of blue in Link’s eyes, the cold air between them swirling like whispers from the nether.

Before Orville collapsed into the snow, he remembered the blue hue of the otherworldly flame once harnessed by the Sheikah tribe—a flame that defied death itself.

Every year on Memorial Day, the nobles who had never set foot on a battlefield would throw a lavish feast to boast of their stolen deeds of glory—prattling on about the victories that founded Hyrule, but never mentioning the kinsmen who struggled on the streets, haunted by the ghosts of their fallen comrades.

General Impa had never attended the royal ceremony. She would claim old age as an excuse and wait until evening, when the nobles were clinking glasses and patting each other on the back in the palace hall, before asking Orville to accompany her to the Temple of Heroes.

To stand in the hall, once full of life but now empty and suffocating in deafening silence, was a harrowing experience.

General Impa would light every torch on the wall, and Orville would secretly breathe a sigh of relief as the light slowly began to fill the hall, dispelling the darkness.

“He liked flames—that’s what my elders said, and what their elders said, a long time ago,” Impa explained as she knelt before the statue of the Hero of the Wild. “As a servant of the Goddesses, I can’t pray to you. I’ve brought you no offerings but the prayers of the people beyond this hall, whose war-scarred souls need your guidance—"

Orville stood guard, keeping a respectful distance as General Impa made her selfless plea for the troubled veterans—those drunken in the bars, and on the streets—a shell of their former selves.

“Military life will chew you to pieces and spit you out.” Those were the words Dad had shouted at Orville during their worst fight, at Grandpa’s funeral, over Orville’s decision to pursue a military career—one his parents had begged him to abandon.

Dad had never been a knight. But there had been a time when every man was conscripted, sent to quell conflicts. Dad survived—he told Mom he spent most of his time using his tailoring skills to mend clothes and treat wounds rather than fight on the battlefields. A tailor with sewing skills was a good enough medic for the army, he said. “It helped me remember who I am.” Dad’s comrades weren’t so lucky. They couldn’t go back to their old lives.

Orville wondered how much of himself he had lost to be standing there in shining armor. He wondered if there was any point in remembering when the past was already out of reach—irretrievable.

“May you lead all lost souls to the path of healing,” General Impa whispered. The flames flickered in the windless hall. The temple, which had been a place of vibrant sounds and colors in his childhood memories, now felt more like a mortuary for the dead.

Orville’s head throbbed as he sluggishly fought to regain consciousness. The first thing he noticed was the warmth—and that he was lying on cold stone ground in some sort of cave, not far from a fire, the only source of light and heat in this place.

“Hey, Orville. You’re awake!”

Near the fire sat Link, casually slicing a frozen fish into thin pieces. The sound of the knife cutting through the ice was oddly reminiscent of wood carving. Link popped a piece of the fish into his mouth and chewed contentedly.

Orville struggled to sit up, his movements slow and uncoordinated, while Link watched with mild curiosity. His scarred face, unmasked by the Lynel skull headgear, was framed by long, tousled blond hair.

“Why are you eating it like that?” Orville blurted, wincing at his own bluntness. Honestly, there were plenty of questions Orville should ask, but his head hurt and his priorities were skewed.

Link slowly lowered his ‘food’ and pouted. “I know, this is weird, right?”

Orville winced, thinking he’d offended him, but before he could apologize, Link bit into the fish. “Why use a knife when you can just bite it? But the captain—he’s all about ‘we must conduct ourselves in public!’—forces me to use utensils!”

Orville opened and closed his mouth, debating whether to waste his energy on such a bizarre conversation. Then, he remembered Link’s earlier words. “How did you know my name?”

Orville was certain—much to his embarrassment—that he’d passed out before he could even introduce himself properly.

“I read your diary.”

Orville patted his warm doublet, desperately searching for his journal. To his absolute horror, Link pulled it out of his loincloth and handed it back to him. The man’s ears twitched curiously, looking so innocent—like a toddler—void of shame. Orville let out a loud groan, one that could’ve belonged to a wounded animal. Actually, come to think of it, he was wounded—especially, at a spiritual level.

“People don’t read other people’s journals. That’s very rude.”

“Hey, young man, reading people’s diaries is a crucial part of side-questing!” Link protested, wagging a finger at the grimacing Orville, who looked like he regretted waking up to this world of pain. “If you don’t want yours read, you’ve got to keep it well hidden—like putting it on top of tall shelves!” Link’s face twisted in annoyance at the idea that someone would try to keep their diary out of his reach. “Besides, snooping is fine! All my brothers said so. That’s why I know you’re not the Yiga!”

“How much did you read of my journal?” Orville’s voice trembled with dread. Link’s answer would determine whether Orville should throw himself off a cliff to avoid a lifetime of embarrassment.

“I skimmed. You wrote a lot,” Link said with a shrug. “The writing changed, and the students are still teaching me grammar, so I’m not sure if I understood all of it. But—” His face brightened. “I could read the parts where you met my brothers!”

“I was hiking to collect things to show the kids how to brew elixirs,” Link explained as they continued up the mountain path toward the Spring of Wisdom. He had changed into warmer clothes, resembling a Rito dress. Orville suspected that Link’s attempt at dressing decently wasn’t so much for warmth, but because he didn’t want Orville to snitch to his brothers that he was running around in inappropriate clothes again.

“But I got sidetracked by Honey Candy. She looked so friendly, and I thought this time I could get her registered at the stable.”

‘Honey Candy’ was a Honeyvore bear that Link had tried—and failed—to tame before nearly running over Orville with her. Link had reluctantly let her go to make sure Orville didn’t die.

The snowstorm had subsided, but as they climbed toward the mountaintop, Orville saw no signs of plants or animals for Link to collect—just endless white nothingness, save for a few distant pine trees.

Seeing Orville’s confused look, Link pointed toward the sky. “Naydra’s scales. But she’s too high to shoot right now.”

Orville looked up. Without the blizzard, he could see that it was night. The sky was beautifully filled with bright constellations, soft breezes swirling around them, but no sign of a dragon.

“The spirit dragon from the children’s fairytales… actually exists?” Orville asked, then, panicked, “Wait. Did you just say you’re going to shoot her?!”

Link tilted his head in confusion. “You can’t see her?”

Orville’s eyes continued to track the clouds drifting across the starry sky. He remembered the time when he and Colin had rushed to tell the adults that they’d seen Naydra glide past their village—and had been laughed at. The adults had claimed it was just their imagination, but some wise elders believed them, saying that only pure-hearted children could see the spirit dragons.

“I’m not pure of heart anymore,” Orville whispered.

Link frowned. “The rancher can see her, and I’m pretty sure his heart isn’t pure. He always scolds me, even when it’s Rulie’s fault.”

“I’ve changed, and I’m fine with it— most of the time,” Orville confessed with a wistful smile. “Though I wonder why do I sometimes miss who I used to be?”

Link gave him a pensive look, his ears twitching the same way his brothers did when they were scheming. “The recipe for the dessert my brothers mentioned—I’ve already perfected it. No monster parts involved, but it calls for ice. And aren’t we lucky? There are plenty of towering pillars of ice at the Goddess’s Spring.”

 Chill ran down Orville’s spine, and it wasn’t from the cold. His face shifted from nostalgia to panic. “That’s a sacred place!”

“I know.” Link gave him a mischievous grin. “It’s sacred, so it has to taste better than normal ice, right? Let’s go!”

Link thrust a hammer he had conjured out of nowhere toward Orville. Link’s plan was simple: hit the ice pillar until it cracked. Part of Orville still clung to the futile belief that Link was joking when he produced his royal claymore from a rectangular contraption and took a hard swing at the ice pillar standing before the serene smile of the Goddess Statue.

And Orville had thought digging graves was the most blasphemous thing he’d ever done.

Hours passed. Orville let out a pant, his face flushed red from the chilling cold and the exertion as he swung at the ice again. The pillar hadn’t cracked in the slightest. Maybe it was divinely protected, and they should have given up. Orville was about to suggest it when he heard the unmistakable sound of a claymore hitting the ground.

Link had started climbing one of the ice pillars, his eyes fixed intently on the sky. Then, without warning, he leaped into the vale below, chasing after a shooting star.

Orville collapsed onto the snow-covered field, gasping for air. He had sprinted down as soon as his legs could carry him, heading toward the snowfield where he had last seen Link’s falling form disappear. Then, exhausted, he simply flopped onto the ground, too tired to think clearly.

For however long Orville had let time pass him by, soft footsteps reached his ears. Link emerged from the pine trees, healthy and intact, holding a soft, glowing light of celestial origin—a star fragment.

“Please don’t do that again,” Orville begged.

Link let out a loud bark of laughter as he sat down beside Orville, who was still lying on the snow. “A wise someone once told me that sometimes things don’t need to be remembered because they’re never truly forgotten,” Link said softly. “I want you to know this— it doesn’t matter anyway whether you’re a memory of the old one or made anew. You’re alive! And the wilds don’t need your repentance. Listen!” In the distance, wild birds chirped, and the pines sang with the breeze, as if the land itself was awakening to life with Link’s call. “They’re excited that you live.”

There was a warm sympathy in Link’s unnatural blue eyes, a kindness that reminded Orville of the feeling of washing away weariness in a small pond, of rolling in soft grass fields, and of holding a frog gently in his palms.

 It wasn’t the nicest feeling in the world to cry and have his dried tears freeze to his cheeks.

Clearly not expecting his words to make Orville cry, Link nervously offered him the use of his flame sword to dry them. Orville had politely declined with a wet chuckle.

Orville followed Link back to the Goddess Spring, holding the star fragment for him as Link gestured wildly, describing his new plan to deal with the ice.

“Even if it takes me another hundred years, I swear we’ll get this ice,” Link promised.

“That’s a long time to try and get a block of ice.”

“You’re right.” Link rubbed his hand under his chin. “I don’t want to stay in one place for long, so we have no choice but to hurry and get the ice.”

“You like wandering?”

“There are so many secrets waiting to be discovered,” Link’s eyes sparkled. “Secret hot springs, Korok’s never-ending games...” He closed his eyes, deeply breathing in the crisp morning air, his smile widening, free and feral. “I always tell my friends to spread my ashes at the top of the hill and let the wilds take me on my last stroll, forever.”

In the end, with Link’s generous use of bombs, they finally got the ice—but was it worth the debris and slight damage to the historic and religious sanctuary? Orville tried not to think too hard about it. The Goddess seemed to still smile at Link’s antics. He supposed they had her divine assent.

The legend said the Hero of the Wild was a force of nature. He persisted, unchained by decorum that sought to make him a political device. He walked free among spirits—those of the departed and the mystified creatures of the sky and forest—and wildflowers bloomed in his wake.

Sitting by the rusty flagpole at the back of the village, Orville held a wooden bowl filled with the cold dessert, waiting for Colin to talk Link down from his latest stunt—trying to put a bridle on a stag.

How could simple ingredients like ice, cream, honey, and salt create something as delightful as this? Link, with all his eccentricities, might just have known what he was doing after all.

Orville’s eyes wandered over the green landscape of Hateno, where the village appeared peaceful, yet not untouched by change.

Change was a frightening thing, always accompanied by uncertainty. Perhaps that was why courage was needed to accept it, despite the fear of what it might bring—to allow the seeds of wildflowers to take root.

The wilderness was an unforgiving place, capable of turning steel brittle and breaking falling stars. Yet, it embraced the indomitable spirit of those who lived. No longer a part of the heavens, the star fragment still kept its light, and with time, would find its new beginning in the family of things.

“Why are you guys huddling in the graveyard underground?” Wild pulled down his cloak and raised an eyebrow at his brothers, who were caked in dirt and sweat, shovels in hand.

“Grab a shovel and be helpful,” Legend barked.

Wild crossed his arms and sniffed. “Helpful?! I’ve just arrived and cooked full meals and dessert for your children! That’s it—no ice cream for you.”

Sky immediately raised his hand. “Can I have the vet’s portion?”

Legend sputtered as Wild nodded, and Sky cheered.

“Hey, Champ,” Warriors greeted, his tone teasing, “how much trouble have you caused the poor man that I shouldn’t know about, for the sake of my sanity?”

The captain’s smile faded as Wild avoided his gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in the hole Legend was digging.

“Cub… what did you do?” Twilight’s voice was stern, full of the practiced patience of a baby-goat wrangler.

“I said something to him, and he cried. Also, I almost hit him with a bear, but I already apologized?” Wild scratched his cheek sheepishly.

“He cried on me too,” Sky chimed in, as Warriors buried his face in his palms, muttering something that sounded like, “A bear again!”

“Meeting Warriors can put a guy in emotional distress—of course, he’s prone to cry. Don’t worry about it.” Legend brushed it off, smirking as Warriors let out an indignant squawk.

“And what did I tell you about treating wild animals with respect?” the rancher began what sounded like a long, boring lecture, all while approaching the champion and cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Wild backpedaled, sweating. He urgently pointed at the hole in the wall. “So! Why are we digging a tunnel? Are we going to ambush that pretender to the throne?”

“We’re making a dungeon,” Sky corrected as Wild grabbed Legend’s spare shovel to fend himself off Twilight’s impending attack.

The champion’s ears immediately drooped in disappointment. “That’s boring. Why are we building a shrine?”

“DUNGEON!” Legend shouted, covering his ears as if the word "shrine" itself might tarnish his eardrums.

“Wait, have you not stormed the castle yet?” Twilight asked, suddenly forgetting his plan to beat some sense into his protégé.

“Why would I go to the castle? I told you I was busy feeding people.”

“Ha! You lost the bet, Rancher!” Warriors cried triumphantly before turning to explain to Wild. “One of us has stolen a crown, and Legend’s being hunted for that, along with the crimes he actually committed.”

Legend sniffed haughtily.

“Still doesn’t mean you win,” Twilight scowled.

“I might just be,” Warriors wiggled his eyebrows. “Kid’s good at reconnaissance.”

“Wait, wait!” Wild exclaimed, pointing accusingly at his mentor. “You bet on me?”

The rancher nodded grimly. “Seemed like a sound bet. You like jewelry, and I always believe in your ability to cause trouble, cub.”

Wild clutched his heart, touched, before turning to pout at the captain. “And you didn’t bet on me? Am I not your favorite knight brother?”

Warriors instinctively raised his hand in surrender. “Sorry, Champ. But my heart says the sailor.”

“Favoritism,” Legend scoffed.

“In Skyloft, when I was five, there were two discontented mothers who always fought at school meetings about whose kid was the best,” Sky mused. “Twi and Wars remind me of them. My money’s on Four, by the way. He’s natural. He never needs to try.”

“Yeah, he’s the size of my thumb. People will stomp him before they even see him,” Legend remarked skeptically. “Why doesn’t anyone trust Rulie? He can commit crimes too!”

“Wait, is stealing stuff good to go in your book now?” Wild pointed his shovel accusingly at Legend. “You said I wasn’t allowed in the last Hyrule, you hypocrite.”

“Because you were in my fucking Hyrule—in my fucking house! Of course, you weren’t allowed!” Legend shouted.

Wild glared back. “Tomorrow, there will be no dessert for you—”

Sky raised his hand as Wild continued, “—and you may have his serving, Sky.”

“Too much dessert—maybe you’re up for some morning exercise,” Warriors teased, before paling as Sky’s face darkened.

“This shovel is ready for blooding,” the Chosen Hero hissed, raising his weapon.

Twilight squeezed the captain’s shoulder consolingly. “You will be dearly missed. We’ll laugh at your grave.”

“So, how are the villagers faring?” Twilight clapped Wild on the back gently as he sat down next to the champion, who was tending the cooking pot. The sanctuary had already turned off the lights since the children were asleep. In the dark of Mabe, the only sources of light came from the campfire and the stars. Wild was sure they were the same constellations that had guided him in his own time.

“Hateno’s people are as strong as ever,” Wild said, his smile softening with a touch of relief. “They’re keeping my house. Can you believe it? And it now belongs to Orville’s family.”

“That house has seen the legacy of great knights,” Warriors remarked, looking up from peeling vegetables with Sky and Legend. Wild opened his mouth to argue, but before he could deny it, the captain interrupted. “And that includes you—you’re a great knight, Champ.”

The champion’s ears flushed pink. “Do you want a bigger serving of ice cream tomorrow?” Wild timidly asked, his cheeks still flushed from the compliment.

Warriors laughed. “I didn’t try to butter you up to get a bigger serving! But if you take it from Legend’s portion, I’m all in.”

Legend let out a growl, and so did Sky.

Warriors flashed them his trademark dazzling grin before turning to Twilight, who had been unusually quiet. “So, how’s the kids?”

Shadows moved across the rancher’s face. “Asleep. But little Addison woke up from a nightmare that he was back on the streets. I helped him calm down. He’s asleep now. Radish is staying with him.”

The cheer in the air seemed to drain away.

Legend turned his face away, clicking his tongue in frustration. Sky cast his gaze downward.

Wild put down his ladle, his hand clenching into a fist. “Hey, my memory’s a bit jagged, so can anyone tell me again why we can’t end all of this tonight? The castle’s just there.”

“Because we’re divine intervention that isn’t supposed to be here,” Sky answered, not looking up from his task. His tone was gentle but firm. “We can’t do anything drastic that might alter the trajectory of history, or we’ll get pulled from this era before we can help anyone.”

Legend resumed slicing radishes with a fiery glare. “If their Holy Highnesses don’t want me murdering assholes, they shouldn’t put them in my breathing space.”

Warriors stared intensely at the half-peeled carrot in his hand. Twilight glanced over at the captain.

“‘The liberty bestowed upon them by hands other than their own will have nothing real, nothing permanent,’” Warriors recited, his gaze distant. “Says the book that Zelda made me read. If the fighting spirit isn’t stirred from within, even if we overthrew the tyrants now, a worse institution would rise in its place.”

“Our work here is more limited than we wanted to believe,” Twilight said. “No usurping of any rule. Nothing drastic that could breach divine sanction.”

“If you ask me, this is more like work for the Zeldas,” Legend grumbled. “Force a Link to think too long, and he’ll blow up a town.”

Everyone sighed in silent agreement.

Wild raised his hand. “Does obliterating half of the town count as drastic?”

“Wild!” His brothers shouted at him, a mix of panic and pride (Twilight) in their voices.

Wild scoffed, crossing his arms. “Where did you get that misconception of my character? I didn’t say I did it! Well, I did consider it. There was a merchant guild driving up prices, causing food shortages throughout the east. They were staying at a resort on Eventide Island. I was going to confront them, but guess what?” He pulled out his Sheikah Slate and showed them a photo of the wreckage—once-luxurious buildings now leveled to the ground as if struck by a terrible storm. “Somebody already beat me to it.”

Legend whistled. “Who pissed off the Wind Waker?”

Orville could only stare at the lifelike painting from the champion’s contraption, depicting destruction on a scale he’d only heard about in great battle tales.

The captain still tried to pretend he didn’t approve of property damage, but everyone could see the pride in his eyes. “His name is Link of Outset —he’s the most fearsome of us.”

Chapter Text

Sadly, the common cold had claimed his days for itself. When you were old, illness ceased to be an intruder and became more like an old friend—albeit the unpleasant and persistent kind. He had come to make peace with it. His grown-up kids had come to anticipate it. What they forgot, however, was how stubborn the grandchildren could be.

“There isn’t much you can do here but let your grandfather rest,” their parents tried again, for the umpteenth time, to wrestle them out of his room. But they insisted on not leaving his side.

Fearing they might catch the flu, he tried, too, to get them to listen. “This is but a little inconvenience!”

 His attempt to cheer them up fell flat even in his own ears. His voice was hoarse from coughing, and his smile was strained. Then a cough erupted from his throat. As he hunched over, coughing his lungs out, he missed the determined look on the children’s faces—how they shared silent glances with each other. With little nods, they let their parents usher them out of the room. The last thing he heard before the door closed was their parents heaving a sigh of relief.

Once everyone had gone, his room fell into stillness, the curtains drawn tight. He drifted in and out of restless slumber, his eyelids heavy and his heart tired. He felt like a little boat in a raging sea, where waves of memories tried to pull him out and away from the reality of his frail body.

The only light in the room was the soft glow of a star fragment on his bedside—a guiding light in his darkest hours, a cherished gift from the past, the only anchor to his present. “Maybe it’s time to haul this old boat ashore.”

As soon as the whisper left his lips, the door creaked open, and the children burst into the room.

“We made you some soup, Grandpa!”

He slowly took a sip of the soup, lovingly made for him by the children, who were watching him with bated breath and eager eyes.

“Do you like it?”

He tried not to imagine what the state of the kitchen might be like to get the warm bowl of soup into his hands.

“I’m feeling better! But you really don’t have to… Young kids should be outside, enjoying life, not worrying about a sick old man.”

“Grandpa, don’t be silly!” his eldest granddaughter admonished. “We want to take care of you.” Her siblings and cousins chimed in with a chorus of “Yes!”

He took another spoonful, feeling the warmth spread through him. As joy filled his heart, clarity returned to his mind. His grandkids were right—he had been rather silly to think he knew what was best for them. As young as they were, they were their own people. He should have known this. He had learned this lesson long ago—when children wanted to be helpful, there was little one could do but accept their help.

He cleared his throat once more, gesturing to the little star fragment, which seemed to shine even brighter in the company of young hearts. This time, his words came more easily. “Have I ever told you how I came to possess this precious gift from the Hero of the Wild?”

The children’s faces lit up in delight, happily finding their comfortable places to sit around their grandpa’s bed.

“Your delicious soup has reminded this old man of a great lesson he learned years ago—never underestimate a child found all alone, for he may well be the mighty hero who commands the winds!"

Orville had overslept.

Months of stress and pushing his body to its limits during his ‘side-quests’ had finally caught up with him. He remembered crawling into bed—a small cot in the same room as Dampe—and the moment his head hit the pillow, the next thing he knew, Radish was licking his face, rousing him to the blazing noon sun glaring through the window.

Little Addison, who had just placed a tray of food on his bedside, brightened when he saw Orville groggily sit up. “Good afternoon, Mr. Knight! We thought you were dead! Glad you didn’t!” he cheerfully informed him, in the blunt way only a child could.

Orville rubbed his face, suppressing a groan. He had broken his streak of self-discipline, but after nearly being trampled by a charging bear, it seemed inevitable that his routine would slip. Orville figured he deserved a little break—even if only a small one. Dampe had said they would be working in the garden today. Maybe he could take it easy.

“…Thanks. Is everyone in the garden?” he asked the boy.

And that’s when things started to go downhill.

There was nothing scarier than waking up late and discovering the Links had gone to Castle Town, right under the nose of the palace. All of them—even Legend, who had a poster of himself plastered on every wall.

He buried his face in his pillow and let out a silent scream.

He found Dampe behind the sanctuary, tending to the vegetable patches with the children. Little Addison and Radish had joined the others in pulling weeds from the apple orchard—the orchard that had mysteriously appeared overnight.

(Orville remembered how they had only just planted Legend’s apple seeds when little Ceres had shyly tugged at the vet’s tunic, looking up at him with quiet hope in her eyes, and asked him to promise that he would pick apples with them once the trees had grown.

“Of course,” Legend had answered.

Orville, who had overheard, secretly thought it wasn’t like the veteran to make empty promises to kids, but he had no idea how Legend would keep the children’s request. It would take years for Mabe’s little apple orchard to mature enough for a harvest, and deep in Orville’s heart, he knew the Links would no longer be around when that time came.

That night, while the others were working in the graveyard’s dungeon—still little more than a room in progress—Legend had pulled out some sort of rod and slipped outside.

The next morning, all the sprouts had grown to full maturity, as if entire seasons had passed in the blink of an eye. The children had been overjoyed, and Orville had stood there, his jaw practically on the ground.

The other Links, however, had given Legend the stink-eye. The air had thickened with varying degrees of jealousy.

“Show-off,” Warriors spat.

“Overrated,” Wild muttered.

“Why haven’t you pointed that rod at our pumpkin patches too?” both Twilight and Sky whined.

“Bow to me, peasants,” Legend had said smugly, before a fight broke out, and challenges were issued to see who could get their hands on his mysterious staff.)

“They’ve gone to Castle Town for sightseeing.”

“Even Legend?”

Dampe scratched his forehead, forgetting that his hands were covered in dirt as he did his best to answer Orville’s frantic questions.

“Yeah. Are you about to faint? Did you get any food in you?”

“His wanted posters are everywhere!”

“Well, I hope he’s not causing too much trouble for the guards. Some of them are actually good lads, just stuck in poor, underpaid jobs,” the undertaker said diplomatically.

“Why do they always do whatever they want?” Orville groaned.

“Isn’t that the right thing to do?” Dampe mused. “I think it’s a fine virtue to have.”

Five Links in Castle Town? Gonzo was going to love hearing this, but Orville had to survive long enough to write him the letter… if he survived this.

The first thing travelers would notice as the city came into view was the castle. Hyrule Castle sat proudly atop the hill, surrounded by a moat—once a symbol of Hyrule’s pride, watching protectively over its people like a caring parent, offering comfort and stability. Now, it stood distant and aloof, its connection to the people limited to the Town Gate, which remained closed to all but the nobility.

Grandpa had once told him that, in ancient times, the Queen would allow young children into her court to learn how government affairs were conducted, even letting them ask questions. Orville could never imagine that. The door had been closed to the people long before he was born, and they were content with it that way, glad that the lords stayed out of their business.

“Good afternoon, Commander Orville!”

The young soldier on guard at the southern gate of Castle Town, whom Orville remembered as Hoz, greeted him as he dismounted from his horse and let her graze outside.

“Hey, Hoz. Town’s all right? Nothing’s getting burned down?” Orville asked, earning a bemused look from the soldier.

“That’s quite a specific question, sir,” Hoz replied cautiously. “Should we be worried? Do I need to inform Captain Alonso?”

“No, nothing to worry about,” Orville hastily assured him. Captain Alonso had been his former superior—a strict traditionalist whose glares could wither flowers and instill the fear of the goddesses in a soldier’s heart.

Hoz let out a relieved sigh. “Glad to hear that. Truth be told, he’s been all wound up with meetings this week. He made the recruits cry just this morning, and I really don’t want to end up with cleaning duty.”

“Understandable.”

“Have a good day in town!”

“I hope so too, Hoz,” Orville mumbled under his breath, casting a silent prayer to the heavens.

As he stepped into the town, the marketplace greeted him with its chaotic symphony of sounds, smells, and movement. People bustled about, eager to buy, sell, and haggle over goods. 

In the center of the square stood a large fountain, a landmark where all the streets converged. From there, one could see the entire town—shops and stalls surrounding the square, while rows of white buildings with blue-tiled roofs hiding even more shops and taverns in the winding alleys.

He didn’t have to wander far to find Warriors, serenely sitting by the fountain, cradling a baby in his arms, with a little girl rummaging through one of his bags.

The captain’s bright eyes immediately landed on him, and he flashed Orville a radiant smile. A flower wreath rested on his head, and with the soft rays of the sun crowning him like a divine halo, the scene looked almost ethereal. Orville could easily imagine poets swooning over his beauty. Sadly, Orville had witnessed far too many unhinged things Warriors had willingly done and said—things that had long since eclipsed his grace. Like—

“I didn’t kidnap a baby,” the captain whispered, as though sharing a great secret, while careful not to wake the baby from its dreamy slumber.

Orville rubbed his temple. “I wouldn’t have assumed you did until you said it.”

Warriors only gave him an amused smile.

“Sir, how did you acquire a baby and a toddler?”

Warriors gasped, and the little girl snapped her head up from the doll-sized dresses she was laying out on the fountain’s tiles to glare at him. “I’m not a toddler!”

“You shouldn’t call a lady that, Commander,” Warriors chided. “Koko here is a hardworking lady.”

“I sell flowers from my mother’s garden!” Koko, no older than ten, announced proudly. “They’re all sold out now because Link bought them. And Link, Link, Link, and Link let me dress their hair with my flowers.”

“…Sorry,” Orville muttered.

Koko accepted his apology with a self-righteous nod before turning her attention back to Warriors. “Can I have this fairy dress, please?” She held up a beautiful doll-sized dress, with such intricate embroidery that would earn his mother’s approval.

“You may, Koko.”

Koko hugged the dress to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “My mother told me a fairy comes out at night to bless our garden with beautiful flowers. I want to thank her!” she chattered happily, then frowned. “But if I take this dress, then you won’t have a dress to give your fairy?”

Warriors patted the girl’s head. “Don’t worry about that. I can always make more. My brother’s getting threads and fabric as we speak. My fairy will be fine. In fact, she’s quite spoiled,” the captain chuckled.

Fairy? Fairies are real? Orville thought, listening to their conversation in confusion.

“Thanks, Link! I’ll take Gigi and go back to my mom now,” Koko said, jumping up and holding out her hand for the captain to return her baby sister. “Tell your brothers I say thanks for letting me practice on their hair! And be careful, all the nobles are in the castle, so there’re royal knight pimps strutting around the city.”

Warriors watched Koko and her sister until they turned the corner and disappeared from view.

“Koko always wakes up before dawn to tend the garden with her frail mom. Does all the chores, and then comes to the market to sell flowers, with little Gigi on her back,” Warriors explained. Orville noticed the captain’s eyes soften with quiet fondness—and deep sorrow. “She wants to be a hairdresser when she grows up.”

“That’s very kind of you to help her,” Orville said quietly, recalling their earlier conversation about the disdain Warriors felt for a world that forced children to sacrifice their childhood.

Warriors snorted. “It’s the other way around. She helped me untangle all the disgusting mess in my brothers’ heads. Oh, and we saved some flowers for you too!”

He pulled out a small bouquet from his bag and handed it to Orville. The gesture was so nice that it almost melted away Orville’s perpetual anxiety.

“Sir, thank yo—”

“And may I borrow 100 rupees too?” the captain asked, a bit too quickly, “I just spent all mine on the flowers, but I need a good soak in the bathhouse. Really, really bad.”

Looking at the captain fluttering his lashes shamelessly, all Orville could think was that he must have done something terrible in a past life, and this was his punishment: having his money weaseled out of him by some ancient, childish figure.

Orville found Wild standing in the bustling street, flowers beautifully braided into his long hair, holding a large cauldron threateningly while shouting at a piece of graffiti on the wall beside him.

“You are the worst shopping buddy ever!” Wild yelled at the graffiti, which Orville swore was the same one from Dampe’s sanctuary. This version, however, had a pink flower tucked behind its ear and looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I’ll even take the smithy! He’d appreciate the cauldron as a solid investment for my apo—pot. Ugh, apothecary! Don’t give me that look. I’ve only lived for two years!”

A nearby shopkeeper, apparently the owner of the cauldron shop, looked both confused and amused. A small crowd of children had gathered around Wild, as though he were a famous street comedian.

Orville debated for a moment whether intervention was needed, but since neither the champion nor the mystical graffiti seemed to be drawing much attention, he decided to let it be. The advantage of a large city, he supposed—people were too preoccupied with their own affairs to care about a wild traveler shouting at a wall. So, Orville turned to move on, hoping to track down the other two Links still unaccounted for.

But before he could slip away unnoticed, Wild spotted him with hawk-like eyes.

“Orville! My hero! Can you buy me this cauldron? Vet’s stolen my money!”

With a suppressed groan, Orville pulled out his wallet.

He didn’t find Twilight, but he spotted ‘Wolfie’—the name the Links had affectionately (and sometimes mockingly) given to their companion wolf—in a back alley. A flower wreath sat atop the beast’s head like a crown, and a small gathering of street dogs and cats surrounded him as if he were conducting some kind of serious meeting. That was until Orville rudely walked in and interrupted their animal council.

This also explained Orville’s moment of puzzlement when he first arrived in town and wondered where all the strays had gone.

Wolfie shot him a sharp, irritated look.

Orville took a large step back. “Sorry for interrupting. Ugh, do you need any help?”

The wolf’s ears immediately perked up, and he pointed his paw toward a small box in the corner of the alley.

It was a donation box the townspeople had set up to fund food and water for stray animals. Orville sighed and dropped a red rupee into the box.

Wolfie growled, and Orville nervously dropped a few more rupees into the box until all the members of the animal council gave him a satisfied nod.

Orville really should have listened to Dampe and stayed in the garden.

Now, he was out of rupees, and the only thing he could do was pray that Sky didn’t need his financial assistance.

Having already searched all the other tailor shops in town for the last stray Link’s whereabouts and found nothing, Orville’s feet led him to a small tailor shop tucked away in an alley. It was exactly as he remembered it from a decade ago—a two-story building with a blue roof, just like the others, with a simple “Open” sign hanging on the door.

For a moment, he wondered if his mother still sat upstairs, doing embroidery by the window and gazing at the sky, while his father minded the counter with his polite smile.

Pushing aside the flicker of something in his chest, Orville braced himself and stepped inside.

As expected, Sky was sprawled out on the couch—the one his father had placed in the corner for customers to wait—fast asleep, a flower wreath from Koko still perched on his head.

“Let him sleep,” a stern voice called from behind the counter, interrupting Orville’s thoughts.

“Mom?” Orville breathed.

“Orville?” The tailor’s wife slowly walked toward him, her trembling hand rising to caress his face, as if she could scarcely believe her eyes—that he was really here. “Grace be the goddesses, are you already graying?”

“Mom!”

There were more lines on her face and more gray in her auburn hair than Orville remembered, but the light in her eyes still shone with deep wisdom, and her hands were as steady as ever as she placed a plate of soft-baked cookies in front of him. It was just the two of them in the kitchen; his father was out discussing commissions at the guardhouse, and Orville could never be more grateful for the timing.

As Orville nursed his childhood cup of tea, he noticed his mother’s best tea set in the washbasin—the one she reserved for “very special” guests—a used cup and plate with cookie crumbs still on them.

Sky had indeed been treated to the “special treatment.”

Sitting down next to him, his mother asked, “Do I know that boy, Orville?”

“What do you mean?” he laughed nervously.

Of all the conversations he’d imagined having with her when he finally mustered the courage to visit again, Sky wasn’t the topic he’d envisioned. Either he really lacked imagination, or the Links had a gift for making his life unnecessarily complicated.

His mother gave him a look. “Is he one of your childhood friends? It feels like I’ve known him before. Silly thought, I suppose—I’d never forget someone like him.”

“You said that tea set is for important customers,” Orville hastily changed the subject, pointing at the delicate porcelain set resting in the washbasin.

“Oh, my, I didn’t notice!” His mother laughed heartily. “Well, I haven’t used it in ages. And Link is such a nice boy. He came looking for threads and sewing kits before asking to use the toilet, then complimented me for not having a ghost hand in there!” She paused, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “There’s this… light around him that makes me feel strangely warm.”

You have known him, Orville desperately wanted to say, but his throat tightened. This wasn’t the right time. He didn’t want to lie to his mother—if anyone deserved to know who Sky really was, it should be her.

“What if I told you he fell from the sky?” Orville blurted out.

“Don’t jest, Orville,” his mother chided, but she continued refilling his tea. “You’ve become thin. Is the military not feeding you well?”

Orville took a quick bite of her cookies. They were just as delicious as he remembered. “When I finally come home, I’ll tell you everything.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” his mother smiled, her eyes full of understanding. “People are keeping too many secrets these days.”

“And how many have you known?” Orville asked, his curiosity piqued. His mother usually stayed at the shop, but all the rumors always seemed to find their way to her ears.

“So much has happened recently.” A frown crept across her gentle face. “I fear the day is fast approaching when His Majesty finally descends into madness,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she revealed her worry. “He and his lords are obsessed with immortality. Weeks ago, your father overheard the guards gossiping. They secretly sent hunters to the Lost Woods! They must have angered the spirits, because strange things have been happening in the castle—” His mother paused, giving Orville a disapproving look when she saw him pull out his journal to take note. “I hope you stay away from it, young man.”

“I’ll try,” Orville promised, trying to ease her mind.

His mother huffed, clearly not believing his word but gracefully letting the empty promise slide.

“Now, onto some good news.” A smile returned to her face as she took a sip of her tea. “Remember Master Rosso, who retired to Kakariko? He visited four days ago with his little grandson!”

Orville rummaged through his memories. “The blacksmith who claimed mice cleaned his workshop for him when I was little, right? I used to think he was stinky because he let mice play with his tools but wouldn’t let us touch them!”

“He was such a character. It’s good to know he has his little successor. What an inquisitive child. Reminds me of you when you were younger.”

They both laughed. His mother looked at him, her smile softening.

“We got Colin’s letter. You look well, Orville. Are you happy?”

The door burst open, and Sky—wide awake—walked in. “I smell fresh-baked cookies. Hi, Orville.” He greeted, then turned his sunny smile to Orville’s mother. “Mrs. Taylor, can I have some cookies for my brothers too?”

His mother immediately took Orville’s plate of cookies and handed them to Sky—her heartfelt moment with Orville, her own son, forgotten. “Are you leaving now, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Sky sighed, trying to stuff all the cookies into his bottle. “They’re going to scold me if I’m late.”

Orville watched as his mother fussed over the young knight with mixed relief and incredulity. On one hand, he was grateful that he didn’t have to answer her question. On the other—Sky’s presence seemed to make his mother forget that Orville existed at all…

Still, aside from the tragic fate of his whole month’s wages, today wasn’t going as terribly as he’d feared. Maybe Orville was just overreacting, panicking, and worrying too much about the Links in Castle Town.

“Ouch, I think the commander tried to break up the fight and took a hit from one of the royal knights.”

Twilight, eyes closed and with a stray calico the rancher lovingly called Purriko basking in the sunlight on his lap, described what his sharp senses told him about the brawl unfolding in the direction where they had last seen Wild and Legend—and where the commander had rushed to investigate.

Sky watched, mesmerized and a little envious, as the rancher’s ears flicked forward and back in ways no Hylian could ever manage.

“That must hurt,” Sky winced sympathetically, though neither he nor Twilight seemed in any hurry to offer help. They’d long since mastered the art of being unbothered.

“Commander Orville is such a fret, isn’t he? Is that a knight thing?” Twilight mused, still scratching the cat’s chin. “He’s nice, though, paying for things for us. Usually, it’s the other way around.”

Sky tilted his head. “I think it’s more of a soldier thing. Remember how Wars was like when we first met him?”

“You’re right,” Twilight agreed. “Wild’s body still wakes up at the crack of dawn for drills.”

“Military life is inhumane,” Sky shuddered.

Meanwhile, the world went on, and the brawl seemed to grow louder.

Twilight’s ears twitched. “Prepare to scram. The guards are coming.”

Sky groaned in protest. “I hate running.”

“Okay,” said Twilight, uninterested. Sky shot him a glare, offended by his brother’s apathy.

“You’ve carried Four,” Sky accused. “Why can’t you carry me? Am I not your little brother?”

“When we find a clear pond, I want you to take a good look at your reflection and connect the dots yourself.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I’m not saying anything. But if I have to carry someone, it’ll be Purriko.”

“Hey, Purriko, you’ve got four legs. Can you walk so Twilight can carry me?” Sky attempted to bribe the cat with scritches. Purriko let out a soft meow.

“She said no,” Twilight relayed the cat’s answer without missing a beat. “And so did I.”

“You’re a bad girl, Purriko. Just like the remlit.”

The rancher immediately covered Purriko’s ears with his hands and shot Sky a fierce glare. Sky simply shrugged, unapologetic.

“I feel like dying when I have to run,” Sky whined again, testing whether persistence could evoke some sympathy from the rancher’s callous heart.

“You could always stay behind and risk getting caught with the captain as ‘the bycatch of crime,’” Twilight suggested dryly. “Like the sailor loves to put it.”

Sky paused, thoughtful. “Come to think of it, the captain’s never been to jail, right?”

“Yeah, he once said, ‘I’m too pretty for jail.’” Twilight mimicked Warriors’ boast, exaggerating the words with a high-pitched, ‘snobby’ tone—one he exclusively reserved for mocking the captain’s accent.

The two exchanged a smirk and bumped fists.

“Let’s ditch him.”

It was late in the evening when Warriors finally returned to camp outside the sanctuary. Orville, still nursing his concussed head with a frozen slab of meat Wild had let him borrow, shrank to the side, trying to make himself as small as possible. Fortunately, Warriors only had his eyes set on his brothers, all of whom wore cheeky grins, none of them showing the slightest sign of guilt.

Orville wondered if this—wild beasts honing their instincts through violent play with their siblings—was a brother thing or a Link thing. Either way, he was secretly grateful that he was an only child.

The captain crossed his arms and leveled a glare that could burn battlefields to ash.

"Where did you get captured?" Legend asked, a sly grin on his face.

"In the bathhouse," Warriors replied, his voice unnervingly calm. "I didn’t even get to soak my ass."

"You said you wanted intel. We just gave you an easy entry to the guard’s unit, man," Twilight grinned, while Wild tried to hide a snicker behind the rancher’s shoulder.

(The champion always goofed around with his brothers, his expressive eyes and ears betraying no secrets he might keep. Anyone could read him—or so Orville naively thought—until just a few hours ago, when he saw Wild beat the royal knights to bloody pulps for mistreating children on the streets. The champion’s face—cold as a stone mask—was still fresh in his memory. It was the last thing he saw before one of the royal knights knocked him out, and Legend—in his own words—had to set a fire for distraction so they could flee to safety.)

“Here comes the infamous dressing down!” Sky whispered loudly, elbowing Legend as though they were about to watch their favorite play.

“Let it out, Wars,” Legend urged with mischievous glee. “Show the world just how vulgar you really are.”

Instead of the outburst they had been eagerly anticipating, Warriors' eyes twitched as he took an abnormally deep breath—probably using every ounce of his self-restraint to deny his cheeky brothers the satisfaction of being right.

The captain spoke again, calm but through gritted teeth, “I want every single one of you to recite Rule No. 14 until it engraves itself into your thick skulls. You don’t lose a rupee for behaving, so BEHAVE. Or, help me, Hylia, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Legend, with no self-preservation, kept pushing his luck.

“I’ll make the traveler cook for the rest of the quest,” Warriors snapped, raising a finger and silencing any protests. “That’s right, I’m willing to sacrifice all innocent lives—including my own—to teach you brats a lesson! Oh, and the champion? You’ll be reassigned to weapon maintenance duty. With the smithy.”

Eyes widening in true terror, as if he’d just received a death sentence, Wild let out a dramatic sob. “You monster!”

“Inhumane!” Sky gasped. “You deserve all the jail time!”

“What jail?” the captain asked, twirling a lock of his golden hair with exaggerated disinterest, his scowl swiftly melting into a grin of superiority. With a smug flourish, Warriors goaded, “Bitches, have I not already told you? I’m too pretty for jail.”

At that, the brothers exploded into a chorus of disappointed groans.

“How!?” Twilight demanded, half-annoyed, half-impressed.

“Trade secret.” Warriors winked before turning to Wild. “Hey, Champion.”

The champion tightened his grip on his ladle, a flicker of alarm crossing his face. “Please, tell me you aren’t about to bench me now. Think about the children, Wars.”

“Can you contact the sailor with your Sheikah Slate?"

With a slight shift in the captain’s demeanor, the other Links straightened, paying attention.

"Why?" Twilight asked, taking the ladle from Wild as the champion began tapping his slate.

“Well, I did get some info,” Warriors said, picking a carrot from the basket and settling between Sky and Legend to take a bite. “An urgent meeting. Military aid is required to capture the culprits causing trouble in places that are costing the lords a pretty rupee—and getting on their nerves. The recent destruction of Eventide’s merchant guild seems to have them riled up. Open act of hostility, they said.”

“Wow, did you get all of that from sitting prettily in a cell?” Legend teased.

The captain rolled his eyes. “Where do I need to beat it into your bunny brain that I didn’t get locked up? I had a good chat with the Captain of the Guard.”

(That revelation almost made Orville, still lying in the background, sit up in disbelief. Captain Alonso wasn’t exactly someone you could casually approach for a chat. How...?)

After that, the captain was too busy devouring Legend’s basket of chopped carrots— the ones the vet had diligently prepared for the children's breakfast the next morning—to be part of any conversation. Sky had to swat his grubby hands away and offer him his prized cookies just to get him to stop eating the ingredients.

“I think he’s too far for the slate’s sensor rune.” Wild’s words pulled everyone’s attention to him as he tapped his slate with a disappointed frown before shaking his head.

“Sucks to be the troop that finds him, then,” Legend concluded with a nonchalant shrug, going back to peeling carrots as though nothing had happened.

“We need to warn the sailor somehow,” Twilight sighed.

“Nothing drastic, remember,” Sky gently reminded them.

Orville couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as he watched the Links huddle together. A chill ran down his spine when their gazes landed on him, each one sporting an apologetic smile, as the champion rose and strolled toward him.

“Do you like seafood, Commander?” Wild asked coyly, tapping his slate and turning the screen toward Orville.

To many families in Castle Town, fresh seafood was a rare delicacy—something enjoyed only by the wealthy, as middlemen always charged extra. But there was one time of year that Orville secretly looked forward to the most when he was little: when a caravan of fishermen would come to pay their respects to the Hero of Winds at the temple.

“It’s not safe to take the boats out during the monsoon season, so the fishermen have free time to visit us,” Grandpa used to say.

The fishermen would set up their stalls in the market square, their lively cheers and charms drawing in crowds. Their homemade goods and crafts always sold out quickly. His mother had to wake up earlier than usual, because this was the only time of year they could get fresh porgies—not salted or dried. Orville tried to wake up early, too, so he could have more time to spend with Uncle Ivan.

Uncle Ivan was a young fisherman from an old seaside village in East Necluda, whose tales were as wild as Grandpa Bo’s farming adventures. Orville once told him that he had never seen the sea, and Uncle Ivan closed his stall for a while to share stories of his exploits and the sea shanties he had learned when he was just a small fry.

“Songs are very important to us sailors!” Uncle Ivan insisted. “With a tune on our lips, we can brave any storm!”

It was during this time that Uncle Ivan had become close friends with Grandpa Bo. They bonded quickly over their mutual disdain for city life, much to Grandpa’s exasperation.

“We’re the ones who feed these dainty folks. What can they even do without us?”

“Starve, brother. They’d starve!”

“People from Hateno and Lurelin are practically one family at this point,” Grandpa would joke, pretending to be offended just to get Orville to laugh.

Because Uncle Ivan visited every year, Orville thought he must be very faithful to his patron hero, just like Orville and Grandpa were. So, Orville was quite disappointed when Uncle Ivan admitted that he never actually went inside the temple. He only hitched a ride with his fellow fishermen to Castle Town to quickly sell his catches and then hit the taverns for the rest of the trip, because “booze ‘n boobs” were the only things the big city was good for.

Uncle Ivan once told Grandpa Bo—who nodded along—that he found the temple too small for his hero. Orville thought Uncle Ivan was being silly because he had visited the temple himself and knew that the statue of the Hero of Winds was one of the smallest.

Uncle Ivan laughed when Orville pointed out the flaw in his logic. “I’m not talking about the actual size, little minnow,” he said, ruffling Orville’s hair. “I’m talking about the roof, the walls, the enclosed space! Stuffy! Can you ever feel the winds in there?”

Days later, as Orville dismounted his horse just before the road gave way to sand, he was immediately greeted by the salty air and the sight of white sandy beaches. Small wooden huts nestled beneath the shade of swaying palm trees, their leaves rustling in the breeze. In the distance, the calls of seagulls echoed across the waves, stretching endlessly toward the horizon.

It was no wonder Lurelin was considered the dreamy seaside retreat for travelers.

But sadly, Orville wasn’t here for leisure. he had to find a ferry to Eventide Island.

“No sailor will take you there, Orville,” Bertha said as she booked him a room for the night. She ran a spa in Lurelin’s resort and was also Beth’s older cousin, as well as the wife of the village head.

Grandpa was right about the people of Lurelin and Hateno being practically one family—after all, the two villages had been intertwining through marriage for generations.

Orville sighed. As suspected, it would be difficult to find someone willing to ferry him to the center of chaos, and normally he would have preferred to heed the locals’ warnings. But the nature of his quest seemed to demand that he abandon common sense to see it through.

“It’s for your work, isn’t it? Beth wrote to me,” Bertha offered him a sympathetic smile, her eyes revealing that she knew more than she let on. “How about you wait with me for my husband and the men to return from the sea? You can talk to them, and in the meantime, we can catch up.”

It had been years since Orville had last seen Bertha. He had been just a kid when Beth’s older cousin married and moved to Lurelin. In his memories, she had always been carefree and caring. Now, she appeared calmer, her skin sun-kissed from constantly soaking in the warmth, though still lighter than the Lurelin-born villagers’ darker complexions. She seemed happy, though a bit weary.

 “I’m sorry for taking up your time,” Orville murmured, as Bertha led him through the shops and restaurants. “You look tired.”

“You’re as observant as ever,” Bertha said, “And you’re right. I’ve been worrying about the future. About my home. About my children.” A trace of her past concern lingered her tight smile. “But the dark storm has passed for Lurelin. I’ll be alright.”

Orville followed her gaze to the open sea, where new hope gleamed in Bertha’s eyes like sunlight dancing on the water.

In the final days before the temple closed to the public, Orville was inconsolable at the thought that he wouldn’t be able to enter again. Many of the friends he had made there would no longer come, now that the king’s court had become stricter about travelers.

Out of the blue, Uncle Ivan decided to visit and took Orville to the temple. He had a habit of making random appearances, and Grandpa Bo often called him "out-of-season rain" for his unpredictable ways.

Together, they stood before the statue of the Hero of Winds, whose mystical baton was raised in a gesture as though orchestrating a symphony for an audience beyond the mortal realm.

“Listen, little minnow!” Uncle Ivan boomed, his voice echoing through the somber hall. “Those petty lords might command this place to be closed, but they can’t command the winds!”

Despite his livelihood being upturned, there was only triumph in Uncle Ivan’s voice, as if he knew something the lords didn’t. “He’s in every gust and gale, in the sweet winds that blow from mountaintops to the vast, endless seas—everywhere is his temple.”

“Come to Lurelin,” he added with a grin. “Come see his true place of worship.”

Just before sunset, Bertha’s husband, Numar, rowed the boat ashore. The village head eyed Orville with open suspicion, but with a reassurance from his wife, he called over the senior villagers. They gathered around the campfire beside the goddess statue, grilling porgies and passing around moonshine made from palm fruits.

After a few drinks, the elders warmed up, ready to talk. The first to speak was Kounar, one of the elders who ran a treasure-gambling shop. He spat on the sand before he began.

“They wanted our land,” he said, glaring at the fire. “Have they no fucking homes of their own?”

“The lords have pressured us for years to leave so they can build their resorts here. But this is our home, so we've resisted,” Numar explained to Orville, his tone defiant. “Year after year, they’ve imposed their rules, claiming Eventide and the fishing areas in Necluda Sea as their property. We weren’t allowed to fish, or even pick fallen palm fruits, without buying their damn permits first.”

Garnini, the owner of the restaurant and the village’s local historian, continued, “The guild recruited the worst kinds of barrel-scraped scumbags. They gave them boats to patrol the sea day and night, fining us and the traveling merchants. They lured poor folk from the farm villages, promising them a handsome fortune to work on their ships.”

Kounar hissed. “They tried to destroy our livelihood! They fished day and night. Those were slave ships, I say! People went in, and no one came out. Not even news, until the bodies washed ashore with the island’s garbage.”

“Eventide has become a paradise for the wealthy, but hell for the people,” Bertha whispered, her voice barely audible even though she sat beside Orville, her eyes dimmed with sorrow. “But we can’t do much, Orville. We’ve struggled to make ends meet. Even in Lurelin, it wasn’t safe. The thugs came, drunk, and harassed us.”

Numar squeezed his wife’s shoulder as she closed her eyes, trying to regain her calm. He turned to Orville and continued, his voice steady but thick with pain. “Fishermen have had to travel farther and farther to find new fishing grounds the lords haven’t claimed. Some don’t even return. We’ve lost so many good men.”

Uncle Ivan was one of them.

Orville had already learned about his fate. Back when he was stationed in Faron, some of his soldier friends had suggested they visit Lurelin during their break. That was when Orville had first asked about the man he’d loved like an uncle.

Uncle Ivan had disappeared, along with other young sailors. They had promised their families they would find a new fishing ground, maybe even a new island where they could live in peace. His family never got his body to bury. Ivan’s widow—whom he had just married—said, before she moved back to her parents’ village, that his death was the most honorable a fisherman could have.

“He’s returned to the seas,” she had said, her eyes teary. “He must’ve felt like he was going home.”

“The winds had been cold and harsh, deaf to our prayers,” Rozel, the eldest villager, spoke at last. “The stormy sky had closed on us, yet no rain fell to relieve our sorrow.”

All the elders lowered their cups in silence, waiting for his rare words of wisdom. Rozel spoke only when he had messages of great importance to share. As a wind reader, the old sailor consulted the winds and waves to discern the fate of the village — a position reserved only for the most esteemed and skilled sailors.

“The winds hadn’t changed for years,” he began. “I’m not afraid of death, but to think that my village could die if this continued... How could I face my ancestors? This fear plagued me day and night. But a week ago, I woke up as usual, a basket of laundry on my hip. I went outside to hang the clothes, and that’s when I felt the winds—”

Orville sat frozen, watching with wide eyes as tears welled up in the old sailor’s gaze. Around the campfire, every elder, even the ever-gruff Kounar, began to weep.

 “The winds... what?” Orville asked gently, his voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, they were so... so gentle,” Rozel’s voice cracked with decades of unspoken emotion. “They were overjoyed!”

Bertha turned to Orville with a smile—a smile that, for the first time since he had seen her again, made her look like her younger self. The carefree, hopeful girl he remembered. “That afternoon, a boy flew down from the sky on a big leaf...”

“His name’s Link of Outset. And he’s the most fearsome of us.” Warriors had said this and refused to clarify anything before heading into the sanctuary for his turn at bedtime stories. Shortly after, Twilight followed the captain inside, no doubt to make sure that Warriors didn’t decide that war horrors made for good tales. After helping to put away vegetable scraps for compost, Sky also excused himself to check on Purriko, now their first chief mouser of Mabe.

Orville was left sitting outside with his growing dread.

Meanwhile, Wild was busy brewing something dubious in his new cauldron, with Legend breathing down his neck, ready to criticize his potion-brewing technique. Both had promised Orville that their reddish concoction would fix his swollen face nicely. Orville wasn’t entirely convinced of its potency, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

“Why do you say he’s the most fearsome of you?” Orville asked, trying to shake off the ominous feeling of doom. He needed to know, just in case he had to start writing goodbye letters to his mother and friends.

“The winds don’t care where they blow, and neither does he,” Legend replied cryptically.

“What does that even mean? What sort of crappy novels have you been reading?” Wild raised an eyebrow at Legend’s attempt at sounding profound, then shook his head before turning to Orville.

“Just don’t pick a fight with him,” the champion advised practically. “But if you do, you better finish it. He doesn’t hold back, and he expects others to do the same.”

“It almost sounds like you speak from experience,” Legend snickered. “Like someone who had a beef with a fourteen-year-old... and lost.”

Wild pointed his ladle at the vet threateningly. Legend lifted his hands in mock surrender. “By the way, I actually agreed with you on the king stuff.”

“What?! And you didn’t say anything?” Wild gaped.

“Sailor was being naïve,” Legend shrugged. “But you were the stupid one who picked a fight with him.”

“Are you talking about the sailor?” Sky asked, emerging from the sanctuary, strolling toward them with his sleeves rolled up. The long scratches on his arms were still fresh and red. “And is the potion ready?”

“Elixir,” Wild corrected with an indignant sniff.

Sky sighed. “I don’t get why you guys hate tiny birds but fawn over cats. They’re basically remlit reincarnates.”

“You’re not actively dying, so you’ll have to wait your turn,” Legend declared, though he made room for Sky to sit beside him. “Orville gets first dibs on our new creation, since he’s about to leave and chase after the sea rat.”

Orville quickly seized the opportunity.

“Is there anything I need to know about your brother?” he asked, hoping to catch Sky’s attention before the Links got sidetracked in yet another conversation.

Sky seemed to consider the question, his gaze shifting to the bubbling red concoction in Wild’s cauldron. “He hasn’t fully understood what fate has unfairly dealt him,” he said carefully, his voice laced with quiet lament.

“When you’ve been jaded, you become more moderate in your faith,” Sky continued. “You make compromises, hold back. But the sailor—despite his intelligence—hasn’t yet gone through the trials of time that teach you to see the nuances in life, like we have.” He gestured toward the other two ‘older’ Links, who were lost in their own thoughts, though to Orville, they still appeared heartbreakingly young.

“And there’s no warrior more terrifying than one whose childhood innocence remains unblemished.”

From the villagers’ accounts, Link of Outset was a bubbly kid who never took "no" for an answer. He had asked to borrow a boat to deliver a letter entrusted to him by a little girl from Lakeside Village, to her father who worked as a musician on Eventide. When every fisherman forbade him from going, urging him to turn back for his own safety, Link simply nodded in response. But as night fell, he stole Numar’s boat and vanished into the sea.

“Like I said, so many adults and children had disappeared on that island. We tried to warn everyone to seek their fortune elsewhere. It was all we could do to save lives,” Bertha explained as Orville helped her hang the clothes, her voice still thick with regret.

They didn’t hear from Link for two days. By the third day, the villagers had resigned themselves to the idea that they had failed the boy, just as they had failed so many before him.

Then, on the fourth day since Link had stolen the boat, a storm of unimaginable terror struck.

“The midday sky darkened like it was midnight—just like the old songs foretold… the wrath of the gods that sank our ancient kingdom to the bottom of the ocean,” Bertha recalled. “We fled to higher ground and could only watch as Eventide was swallowed by the storm. Buildings and ships were torn apart like palm leaves in the wind, a relentless downpour fell from the heavens. We thought the island would soon be buried beneath the waves.”

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the storm ceased. The sea grew calm, and the sun peeked through the clouds, shining as though every soul in Necluda hadn’t just witnessed the ocean’s pure, unbridled rage.

No one in Lurelin expected to find any survivors when Numar decided to gather a few men and investigate. But to their surprise, there were many—servants, merchants, and sailors who had been tricked into coming to the island. All had miraculously survived the storm that had sunk all the guild’s ships along with their lords and pirates.

Among them was Link. The boy was found sitting on a treasure chest with his legs swinging idly. When he saw the fishermen arrive, he simply grinned and innocently asked if they could help ferry the survivors back to shore.

“Where’s he now?” Orville asked.

Bertha hummed as she finished hanging the last garment, giving him a teasing smile. “How about you practice listening to the shift of the winds?”

Orville sputtered, “I can’t do it!”

“Oh, you can. And you will.” Bertha’s eyes twinkled as she pointed unhelpfully to Korne Beach. “Even my kids can do it. Just go take a walk over there.”

The people of the sea would never kneel before an altar. Their proud lineages hailed from fearless sea-folk who valued freedom above all else. Instead, they would sing to their patron hero, hoping he would carry their prayers to the ancient gods for the health and wealth of their loved ones.

It was said—sometimes by a drunken sailor himself—that a sailor would flirt with anything, whether it had legs or not, even with death itself. But even the most reckless among them knew better than to court the wind and its untamable temper.

Only those who knew the ancient songs of the winds could hope to command the divine’s attention. Yet there was only one hero so beloved by the spirits, that despite the eons that had passed, the winds still called him to play.

Orville had been walking along Korne Beach, as Bertha had suggested, trying to clear his mind. He felt as though he was running out of time more than ever before. While he was relieved not to have to venture to Eventide, the looming fear of the military troop’s arrival still hung over him. He needed to find the sailor and warn the villagers, so they could prepare.

The children had told him that Link sometimes came and went—dropping treasure chests, playing tag with them—but a few of the kids also mentioned that Link had said he was preparing for a long journey.

As Orville began to worry that Link might have already left, the wind abruptly shifted direction.

And then, he heard it—a soft, melodical laughter, inhuman and barely louder than the whispers of leaves.

He started scanning the area, though, in hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do—after all, he couldn’t exactly see the wind.

Orville lifted his head just in time to spot a small figure gliding down from Tuft Mountain.

A teenage boy landed lightly on the sand not far from him. As the boy turned and their eyes met, Orville felt as though he’d been transported back to his earliest memory of standing barefoot beneath the waves, awestruck by the vastness of the sea.

He was barely up to Orville’s chest, wearing a blue shirt and bright orange pants. His hands rested confidently on his hips, as he squinted at Orville, his eyes as blue as the young ocean.

"Hello, landlubber. Do you happen to know why there’s no fairy at Lover’s Pond anymore?"

“So, you’re the captain’s swabbie?” Link asked, his mouth full of paella that Garnini’s wife had made specially for them. As the village’s savior, Link ate free; Orville got a discount. But Link generously offered Orville a taste of his meal (“One bite only!”) as he grandly recounted his adventure from Lakeside to Lurelin.

“I hate walking!” Link complained loudly. “My feet swelled up so badly, I swear they were going to fall off! How does the postman do this all day? At least Quill has wings. Why aren’t there more moats around Hyrule? We could build a boat network so people don’t have to walk anymore!”

“We have horses,” Orville said hesitantly, trying to appease his young companion, but to no avail.

Link scowled, unimpressed. “Horses can’t carry many people or stuff at once!” he argued confidently. “Boats can. Boats are the best!”

“We have… carts?”

“Not fast enough!” Link grumbled petulantly.

And Orville thought, Oh, goddesses, he’s actually a kid! When the Links had first talked about the sailor and his age had come up, Orville had assumed Link was a bit older by now.

“Do your feet still hurt? I have... uh, this elixir-potion thing…” Orville trailed off as he handed the dubious vial to Link, who snatched it up, sniffed it, and instantly made a face.

“Blergh!” Link wrinkled his nose in disgust, quickly handing the potion back to Orville as though it had burned him. “Who brewed this? This smells like a bastard hate-child of Legend and Wild.”

“Yes. That’s about right.”

“Cyclos’ old balls,” the young sailor cursed. “I’d rather have my legs amputated than drink this gunk.”

Despite Link’s crassness, Orville couldn’t help but agree. He had never tasted anything so foul in his life—though, to be fair, it had fixed his face.

“My grandma’s soup is the best at healing my wounds,” Link boasted proudly. “I ran out of it, which is why I’m looking for fairies. In case this trip takes too long on foot and my feet fall off.”

“Where’re you heading?” Orville asked nervously. “The villagers said you’re leaving.”

“Yeah, I finished delivering stuff to everyone around here, so I’m heading to Castle Town.”

Orville’s smile immediately faltered. “May I ask why?”

Unaware of Orville’s inner turmoil, Link grabbed a nearby palm fruit, cracked it on a rock, and slurped the juice. Wiping his lips on his sleeve, Link spoke with such casual ease that it almost made Orville choke on his food.

“I’m going to talk to the king of Hyrule.”

“Please don’t do it,” Orville begged, his voice desperate. He wasn’t beyond groveling at this point—anything to change Link’s mind. Link cast him an exasperated glance, clearly annoyed at the interruption of his rematch with the local kids over a skipping game.

“Swabbie, you’re embarrassing me in front of my peers,” Link hissed, pink coloring his ears.

A boy next to him, clearly the leader of the group, piped up. “I think you should go talk to him, or he’ll keep interrupting our game!”

Link groaned and waved a miserable Orville over to the dock.

“Talk.”

“Please, don’t go talk to the king,” Orville repeated, his voice pleading.

Link crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

Orville froze, suddenly realizing he had to explain something so complicated to a kid—which he’d never done before in his line of work. Link’s blue eyes were filled with intensity, his expectant gaze piercing straight through Orville’s floundering mind. How could he explain politics and prophecies to someone so young?

“He isn’t who you think he is,” Orville began slowly, then faltered. “Your brothers know this. If you go to them, they might be able to explain it better than I can.”

Link saw right through his lame excuse. “Swabbie, you’re full of shit,” he said flatly. “If the captain asked you, you’d try to reason with him. Same with the rancher—and even the cook, whose self-restraint is worse than my baby sister’s, just because he looks passable for a grown adult.”

Orville swallowed hard. Link’s disappointed jab stung.

“Why don’t you try with me? See if I can understand your logic?” Link challenged, his voice unexpectedly calm, like coaxing someone into taking him seriously was something he’d done countless times before.

Orville chewed on his lip for a moment. “I overheard your brothers talking, though I didn’t understand all of it. They talked fast... and a lot…” He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “You seem to think highly of the kings of Hyrule, but... many people will tell you this one isn’t like the others. He’s... dangerous. I worry for your safety. I know you’re strong, but I don’t want the palace setting its sights on you—any of you.”

“He isn’t striving for the future of Hyrule, is he?”

Orville simply shook his head.

“Then he isn’t the king of Hyrule. You should throw him overboard,” Link said matter-of-factly, so brutally honest that Orville nearly lost his footing.

“That’s treason!” Orville gasped, horrified. “You can’t suggest something like that—especially not in public!”

“Why not?” Link whispered back as though he were merely indulging Orville’s shock.

Orville stared at him in disbelief. “He’s the king,” Orville said, his voice tinged with frustration. “Despite everything, his reign is sanctioned by the goddess.”

Link’s expression hardened.

“There’s no sanction too divine to change,” he said sharply, turning his gaze toward the distant sea. “No one should own the beaches, or the seas—they belong to everyone. Peoples, seagulls, Koroks, spirits sailing on the waves. If we’ve lost our way, someone has to steer the ship back to its right course. If no one does, someone has to rise up and fix it.”

“Even if that someone is just a child?” Orville asked quietly.

Link glanced at him, as if reading his thoughts. “If a child wants it, why not?” he challenged. “Why question a child’s will to protect the world? We love it as much as adults do—with all our hearts. We might not live as long, but love is instant. When I first met Aryll, I knew. I’d do anything for her. I loved the world before I even saw it. Now that I’ve seen more, I still feel the same. Don’t you feel it, too?”

Orville thought of the people he’d met and lost—the ones he had loved since childhood. He still loved them today, even those who had long since journeyed away. They hadn’t truly left his heart. And all the wonder and pain he had shared with them had unfolded here, on this land called Hyrule.

“I do,” he whispered.

Suddenly, Link threw his arms wide, as if declaring his love for the world itself. His grin stretched wide—his joy unsullied. “We must say it louder, so the wind can deliver our messages to them! Thank you, peoples of Hyrule!”

In an instant, a gust of wind swept them both into the water—rough but not unkind—like an overexcited child eager to play. Link reemerged from the surf with a whoop of cheer, while Orville scrambled to untangle the seaweed now stuck in his hair.

The legend spoke of the Hero of Winds, a child born of the young oceans. Like all children, he possessed an indomitable spirit to face hardships. His courage was immense, but, like the winds themselves, it could not be seen—it could only be felt, deep within the hearts of those who believed in a better future.

In the once vast and lifeless seas, where the beasts of the deep roamed unchecked, he defied the goddesses' decree to abandon the world. Instead, he harnessed the power of the winds—a force greatly coveted by ancient evils—and shared its joy with all.

For him, the sweet winds swept across the great seas, carrying seeds that would blossom into vast forests, and guiding ships safely home.

“You know, you really shouldn’t pay too much attention to those overprotective assholes,” Link grumbled, trailing behind him as they headed for Orville's horse, so they could depart for Mabe Village. “Especially the captain.”

Orville smiled with the practiced patience he’d quickly mastered from dealing with the Links. “I think he can’t help it. You’re his younger brother. When I first met him, he wouldn’t stop talking about his brothers—mostly you. He missed the time he fed you veggies and tucked you into bed.”

Link froze mid-step. Orville turned back just in time to see Link’s face twist into a dark scowl.

“Tucked into bed?! I wasn’t born yesterday! I can go to bed myself!” Link raged. Orville began sweating, sensing that he’d just opened a whole bottle of worms he should’ve left alone.

“And Grandma taught me better than to waste food—what are you talking about—” Link paused mid-sentence. “Oh.”

Link’s lips curled into a cat-like grin that instantly set all of Orville's instincts on high alert. Instead of cussing—which was something Link loved to do—the sailor picked up a nearby stick and spun back to him, his hand raised in a conductor’s grand gesture.

“I dedicate this Shitty Genealogy Song to Swabbie—”

“Please, don’t. We’re in the middle of the road—”

“Me and Smithy have long figured this out,

And I’ll share it with you, 

With this simple little tune, sing along!

Even cuccos can do!

Many, many moons ago, the gods came together.

They sprinkled some bullshit and made kids save the future!

Our eldest is the old man, though he isn’t as old as Smithy.

Sky doesn’t like being the big bro, but he’s the oldest—apparently?!

The knight is the third eldest after Wars and Twi.

Who’s older than who? You should’ve seen them fight!

Which is funny, because Twi is sort of Wars’ grandpa,

But Cap adopted a bitey baby and became Old Man’s dada!

Do you follow? This is kind of a mess.

But can you guess? Wars is his own granddad?!

Our fourth eldest is Wild, and he’s a hundred years old,

He overslept and brags about the fact ‘til Twi hops on his back.

Then Wild starts to wail, “I’m the youngest!”

To get Wolfie off his tail!

Legend is fifth, and also Twi’s distant cousin,

He’s also Traveler’s grandpa, but they look like twins!

As we sort this crazy through, he, too, is uncle to Wars.

But ask them about this mess, they’ll show you true horror!

Now me, I might look young, but that story’s a boo,

Expect the unexpected! I’m the cousin to vet and wolf,

Which made me mighty uncle to Wild and ‘Rule,

Though I still love to goof!

I’m still young at heart, but also Wars’ brother,

Which makes me the old man’s uncle—oh, this makes me happier!”

“So! I’m technically the third oldest, right after Sky and Smithy, and I’m also my own great uncle. Get it?”

Orville took a deep breath. “I get it.”

He didn’t get it.

Orville knew he was going to pay the price for not listening to Link’s Shitty Genealogy Song later, but for now, all he wanted was to crawl back to his cot and sleep for a hundred years—hoping to wake up in a world that made a little more sense.

“Bilge rats! You had an ice cream party without me, and what is THIS?!” Wind shouted, holding up a sad bowl of mushy porridge with overcooked chicken and carrots for the whole camp to see. “I didn’t come back to eat Captain’s shitty barrack food. Why doesn’t Wild cook?!”

“Wild wants to know that too,” Wild muttered, poking himself with a needle as he tried, for what felt like the hundredth time, to mend his torn hood. A depressingly high pile of his brothers’ ripped clothes sat beside him.

Sky, Legend, and Twilight were deep in debate about whether the captain’s food would be more bearable if one transformed into an animal. Even the vet—who despised his bunny form—was desperate enough to give it a try.

“It’s a punishment,” Warriors said flatly, chewing his bland meal like a man who didn’t know that salt existed.

“I didn’t do anything!” Wind wailed. “Are you really going to make an innocent child collateral damage in your path of revenge?!”

“Oh, pulling the kid card, are we?” the captain raised an unimpressed eyebrow, clearly not moved by Wind’s tantrum. “You still made me lose my bet, squirt.”

“And why did I hear Orville telling Dampe he wants to sleep for eternity?” Legend added with wicked delight. If he wasn’t getting out of the shitty food, neither was Wind.

“His ears couldn’t keep up with my masterpiece,” Wind huffed, stabbing violently at the chicken in his bowl.

“I thought wreckage on Eventide Island was your masterpiece,” Sky chirped, his voice teasing.

“I just played them my ballads,” Wind grumbled. “I swear, Wars, if I find a piece of boot in my soup again...”

And that was when everyone spit out their food.

“You eat boots?” Wild gasped in horror.

“As emergency food in times of war! They’re leather!” the captain retorted, his ears turning an embarrassed pink. “You eat rocks!”

“We all eat rocks! Salt is rock! Goron spice is rock!” Wild fired back.

“Wait, Goron spice is rock?!” Sky and Legend yelled in agonized unison.

“Cub, you’ve betrayed our trust,” Twilight said gravely.

“It’s powdered rock-roast,” Wild rolled his eyes. “Where do you think they get their spice from?”

“Trees!” Legend screeched. “Spice comes from trees, mostly!”

“Did you see trees on Death Mountain?!” Wild challenged.

“There will be,” Wind interrupted his brothers’ dispute. “The Koroks told me about their reforestation project. I’ve helped them deliver seeds and plant them along the beaches too.”

“Wait, they work?” Wild turned to the sailor, giving him an incredulous look. “In my era, they didn’t do anything—just dilly-dally and troll me.”

“They treat you as you deserve,” Wind smirked, chewing louder just to be extra obnoxious. Wild’s eye twitched.

“You little shit—” the champion growled.

“That reminds me,” the sailor continued. “I haven’t found any fairies since I got dropped here. The places that used to have fairies, back in the champion’s time... now they’re gone.”

“Maybe it’s time to consult the local expert,” Legend suggested while covertly pouring his food onto Sky’s bowl.

Warriors and Twilight both heaved a sigh. “Yeah, better now, while he’s still around, than later. Otherwise, he’ll start wandering off the map again.”

Chapter Text

The boy was still standing at the door, tightly clutching the butterfly pendant he wore, looking up at his grandfather for guidance. Knowing his impatient siblings were waiting outside and would soon shout at him to hurry, the old man smiled at his youngest grandson.

“Shouldn’t you be hurrying?” he asked gently. “Today is your first day at school, after all!”

“It is, Grandpa, but I don’t want to go to school anymore!”

The old man hummed, rubbing his white beard in pretend thought. “Then my eyes must be deceiving me, for I remember seeing a boy last night who could barely hold in his excitement to finally go to school with his brothers and sisters.”

The boy hesitated before sighing.

“Grandpa, what if school isn’t as fun as I thought?” he murmured.

The old man gave him a fond smile and lightly tapped the joy pendant the child was wearing. “This pendant is for the special child on their first day of school. It has never failed to bring anyone joy. Your parents and siblings can attest to that!”

That managed to coax a smile from the nervous boy, who took a deep breath, gathering his courage to leave the house.

As he was about to close the door, the boy gasped and turned back to his grandfather, as if he had forgotten something important.

“Wait, Grandpa! What—what if the other kids don’t like me?”

“Well, friendship takes time to grow, like trees.”

“…Okay, but what if they’re meanies?”

He patted the boy’s head, his eyes twinkling with mischievous mirth. “Then you must stand your ground. If someone’s being a bully, you should take a page from the Hero of Hyrule’s book—”

The boy’s eyes sparkled. “And punch them in the face!”

“And don’t let your parents know I told you this! Your poor grandpa will be in so much trouble!”

The boy snickered, his worries forgotten, and waved goodbye as he joined his siblings on their way to school.

As the old man sat down on his favorite couch for a nap, his hand unconsciously found its way to his jaw, where he swore he could still feel the sting of a punch made in good will—and a bit of simple misunderstanding—decades later.

Orville and Colin stared at the new bounty posters, freshly plastered on the communal board. Three familiar faces stared back at them with unbothered glee. The dawn was barely breaking, and with the summer’s sweet heat, the slumbering village looked as peaceful as ever. The sky betrayed no sign of the looming danger on the horizon.

The soldiers had just left the village, not before asking to put up the posters and instructing Colin to alert the nearest guard post if he saw the suspects wanted by the crown. The soldiers looked tired—undoubtedly, they had been marching through the region all night to distribute the posters and issue warnings to villages about the dangerous fugitives. They had no time to spare for searching every town they visited.

“If they had search warrants and decided to search, that’d be—” Colin began, looking in the direction of the school.

“Don’t think about it,” Orville cut him off, stopping the spiral Colin was about to fall into.

“The Goddesses did smile at them… at us today.”

Orville could only hope that divine benevolence extended into the near future because he was sure they would need it in abundance.

“I hope Dampe is alright by himself,” Colin said, concern evident in his voice.

“The only undertaker in Mabe leaving his post? That would only raise suspicion at the castle,” Dampe had said when it was just the two of them in the quiet sanctuary.

When Orville still looked troubled by the thought, Dampe grinned. “Don’t worry about old me. It’s not the first time I’ve seen the palace’s turmoil spilling over into the lives of commoners. Please, have fun in my stead.”

Orville wondered how he could possibly have fun when the walls seemed to close in on them. General Impa hadn’t answered his letters, nor had Gonzo, Blazer, or anyone from Riverside. What if this silence was a prelude to something ominous?

Yet, as he glanced outside the sanctuary, he could still hear the cheer from the Links’ campfire. The smallest silhouette, likely the sailor, was jumping up and down in excitement. He had been doing that ever since he got his hands on his ‘first wanted poster!’ Meanwhile, Legend and Wild grumbled about the guards not getting their handsome faces right. Orville was sure Sky must have been carving a wooden frame to display the posters, while Warriors and Twilight tried—and failed—to reprimand their younger brothers.

"Traitors to the crown," Orville muttered as he read the bounties, feeling anger rise within him—though he wasn’t quite sure at what.

Like Grandpa had said, there were no goddess-fearing people left at the castle.

Oblivious to the storm brewing around them, Legend and Wild slammed the sanctuary door open. Orville nearly fell out of his chair from the shock, his clouded mood instantly replaced by a creeping dread for whatever the Links’ next antic might be.

  “Okay, we’ve ironed out the plans,” Legend began, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Tomorrow is the kids’ first school trip—”

“To Hateno!” Wild yelled, barely able to contain his excitement.

Perhaps the reason they didn’t see the storm coming was that—they were the eyes of it.

“Let’s not worry too much about the storm ahead,” Dampe reassured Orville. “Maybe this time, the sun will shine brighter when it passes.”

“Dampe said this isn’t his first time witnessing political turmoil,” Orville finally answered in a whisper.

Colin firmly wrapped his arm around Orville’s shoulder as they began their walk back to school, where the race was about to begin.

What made moving to Hateno a bit more enjoyable for Orville was that, at least, he had someone to share his plight with. Colin looked as though his midlife crisis had arrived early when he realized his Professor Link had returned—with seven children and five more brothers in tow.

“He’s worried he won’t be able to show them proper hospitality,” Beth quietly snickered beside Orville as they watched a brawl break out between the Links over who would get to sleep on the biggest cushion on Colin’s lawn, with Colin desperately pleading for them to sleep at the knight’s house.

There was also a new face in Hateno.

Orville was surprised when they walked Mabe’s children to school and found a Sheikah man opening the door to greet them.

“Symon, you’re back!” Wild nearly threw himself at the poor man.

The Sheikah man wheezed but returned the hug.

“Hello, Professor Link. You’re back… with seven new students and five gentlemen,” Symon greeted, his tone bemused.

“Nothing about these men is gentle, Symon, and one hasn’t even cracked his voice yet,” the champion grinned.

“Asshole!” the sailor hollered at Wild.

“But meet Link, Link, Link, Link, and Link. I’m still missing three brothers, including my most favorite,” the champion proudly introduced with a cheeky grin, all while ignoring the rancher’s pout. “Say, Principal, didn’t you always want more teachers?”

“The more, the merrier,” Symon agreed, though his smile wasn’t quite as confident as his words.

And Orville knew famous last words when he heard them.

“Symon’s the school principal. You missed him last time. He’s just returned after business in Kakariko,” Colin explained to Orville as they sat on the bench outside, using the excuse that the classroom was too crowded to escape the chaos.

 Symon joined them shortly after, having surrendered his class to the eager Links. He still looked composed, not a single hair out of place. Orville couldn’t help but wonder what kind of secret training a Sheikah underwent to remain calm in the face of six armed men and boys hijacking his class.

“Nice to finally meet you, Sir Orville. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you,” Symon greeted politely as he sat beside Colin. “Apologies for my poor hospitality. I would’ve offered you tea, but as you can see, my room is upstairs, and I’m currently a bit afraid of going back in there.” He added the last part with a small, wry smile.

Orville snorted. “I completely understand.”

So, the three of them sat, appreciating the view of the golden, ripening rice fields and the sounds of croaking frogs near the small creek.

“Colin mentioned you had urgent business. I hope everything is alright back home now,” Orville broke the peaceful silence.

“Thank you, sir.” The Sheikah bowed his head slightly. “We’re a small community—long-lived, but rarely born. No couples want to start families, especially with the current political climate,” Symon said, his smile fading slightly. “So, we worry about the young ones. There’s this little one—she must be terribly lonely since she has no peers her age. One day, she went missing. We searched day and night. No one could sleep until she was found.”

“Young children do tend to frighten us like that. I’m glad you found her,” Colin nodded in understanding, and Orville did the same.

“We thank the Goddesses every day for it,” Symon said, his voice heavy with reverence.

“If she’s old enough, Hateno’s school will always welcome her,” Colin offered kindly.

Symon fell silent for a moment before responding, “She’s still quite young. We’re fortunate she’s finally found a playmate in the master smith’s visiting grandson.”

“What perfect timing! Nothing keeps a child happier than having a friend,” Colin said, his eyes full of genuine relief.

Meanwhile, Orville pondered.

It seemed General Impa’s village had experienced some disruptions to their peace as well—perhaps that was why she had gone silent on him. Orville made a mental note to file that information away for later. For now, though, there was a much more pressing matter to address.

Symon had hoped the Links would help fill the gaps in the curriculum he had planned. Of course, they had decided to scrap it entirely and invent their own version of sports day.

The goats needed to be involved, insisted Twilight.

“In my village, there’s a game called the goat-carrying contest, where farmers carry a goat on their shoulders and run across obstacles to the goal. It’s very popular—second only to sumo—and lots of fun!” the rancher eagerly explained, his voice rising with passion as he described what Orville would call an accident waiting to happen.

His brothers groaned with varying degrees of annoyance. Twilight, however, paid them no mind and continued droning on about how brilliant the goat-carrying game was.

“Kill me now,” Legend flopped down on Colin’s lawn, which they had been occupying since Symon begged them to give back the school so the students could study. The Link council still couldn’t decide what game the children should play for sports day.

“Why are we still discussing the rancher’s proposal?” Warriors wondered aloud, rubbing his face in exasperation. He had been looking longingly in the direction of the inn and its bathhouse for a while now.

“Because you keep shooting down my awesome ideas!” Wind grumbled beside him.

“Your games involve large bodies of water, and we aren’t digging bigger moats here,” Legend said dryly.

Sky shared his thoughts with a big yawn. Three hours ago, he had overpowered Wild, taken control of the biggest cushion, and elevated himself above the bickering. He had found his inner peace.

For once, Orville allowed himself to observe the absurdity from the sidelines. From here, he could see just how ridiculous the situation was, with far less stress than usual. He was grateful to have Symon and Colin acting as mediators between the brothers.

“We only have sheep and cows,” Colin began uncertainly. He, too, had been looking longingly at the door of his own house. “But I don’t think they’re used to being carried on someone’s shoulders…”

Twilight gave Colin a pleading look, which confirmed to Orville that, despite his maturity, the rancher wasn’t above using puppy-dog eyes as a dirty tactic. Colin swallowed and turned his face away, clearly trying to avoid caving to the rancher’s persuasion.

Wild threw an apple at Twilight’s head.

“Ouch!” Twilight cried, though everyone knew it was performative rather than genuine pain. Only a few things in this world could crack his thick farmhand skin.

“Have you no shame?” Wild chided. “You’re a full-grown man! Stop giving Colin your wet-dog eyes!”

“Why can’t we just stick to track and field?” the captain bemoaned for the umpteenth time. “It’s a tried-and-true game. It’s safe, fun, and good for building health and integrity.”

“It’s boring,” Wind shot back, still irritated after all of his suggestions had been shot down. “I’d know, ‘cause I’m not old and boring.”

“Not to mention, kids who don’t want to run will feel left out,” Sky finally woke up and contributed his two rupees to the discussion. If there was anything that could rouse him from his sweet slumber, it was the thought of protecting people from Warriors’ grueling regimen training.

Wild eyed his beloved cushion, now spotting a bit of drool, with distress.

Legend rolled his eyes. “Guys, your attention spans are shorter than a fly’s life. Don’t you remember what Symon said? The game should involve teamwork and creativity.”

“All right, game master, what’s the game you suggest?” Warriors challenged. Legend had been nothing but critical of everyone else’s ideas and hadn’t offered a proposal of his own.

Legend opened his mouth—and then closed it.

Everyone knew all the creative ‘games’ Legend had ever known since the tender age of ten were dungeon crawls, which, unfortunately, weren’t child-friendly sports.

They ended up tweaking Twilight’s proposal a bit, and the next morning, all the children were busy cutting colored paper and ribbons to prepare for Hateno’s first Brother-Carrying Contest.

The children quickly reached a unanimous decision: the race would begin at the school and end at the south gate. The winner would be the one who successfully navigated the obstacles the children had set up along the path, all while carrying their "brother" on their shoulders. Anyone who dropped their brother would be disqualified.

Since none of them had ever heard of—or played—the game before, the Links volunteered to demonstrate how it was done.

Orville watched as Colin and Symon slumped in their chairs in abject defeat. Colin looked like he was seriously considering submitting his resignation so someone else could take on this stress. Symon’s hair was already white, so it was hard to tell how physically affected he was by exposure to six Links at once. But Orville could swear he saw a few strands of Colin’s hair turn gray—something that had never happened before yesterday.

“Grandpa Bo would be disappointed in me if any of them die under my mayorship, Orville,” Colin muttered into his palms, watching Twilight squint at the straws in the gleeful sailor’s hand. He seemed to be seeking reassurance that Orville had learned to live without. “Is this what you’ve been doing all this time?”

“Yep,” Orville replied simply.

In front of him, the rancher loudly groaned. It was clear that none of the Links were thrilled with the partners they had been assigned.

“If I’d known I’d be carrying your heavy ass, I should’ve let the captain run you ragged to lose some of that fat,” Twilight grumbled, glaring at his partner. Sky flashed him a sweet, innocent smile.

“It’s unbecoming of you to say such cruel things to your brother,” Sky said with feigned innocence. “And I’m not fat. These are just extra layers of clothes.”

“Then take them off.”

“No. I’m cold.”

“Sky, you live above the clouds, and it’s summer.”

“And you’re our strongest!”

“Fine, but we’re NOT cheating,” the rancher emphasized, glaring sternly. “The children are looking up to us, and we have to set a good example.”

Sky just gave him a thumbs-up, one that promised he’d shamelessly and blatantly cheat.

Twilight sighed. He supposed the Skyloftian wasn’t the worst partner he could’ve gotten for the race—especially after hearing the quarrels behind his back.

Wild was huffing and stomping his feet, clearly mimicking the vet’s petulant gesture, and predictably failing to change the captain’s mind.

“Absolutely not,” Warriors declared, crossing his arms with a firm, unwavering stance. “Whenever you run, Champion, you forget you’re carrying something and always drop it. And I’m too precious a cargo to be dropped.”

“People always carry my weight in the fight—Sidon, Teba, that wild sand seal... It just makes me feel inadequate, you know?” Wild said, his ears drooping and his lips wobbling for dramatic effect.

The captain loosened his stance. There was a slight crack in Warriors’ mental armor, and Wild knew that if he kept playing the silent, sad boy, he’d get what he wanted.

But Wild had slept for a hundred years. He couldn’t stay silent anymore.

Unable to stop himself, Wild added, “I just want, for once, to do the heavy lifting.”

Warriors immediately squawked. “Did you just call me fat?!”

“You aren’t heavy, you’re my brother,” Wild sniffed, trying and failing to keep his act up.

“I’m not above strangling you and carrying your dead body on my shoulder,” Warriors threatened darkly.

It was Wild’s turn to cross his arms. “What do I get for playing a boring corpse?”

“How about a corpse that somehow gets a hold of your Sheikah Slate?”

The champion’s ears shot up. “Deal.”

The two knights exchanged handshakes, their expressions suddenly serious.

“Look, even that stupid knight team has stopped fighting. Why can’t you just do as I say?” Legend threw his hand up in frustration. He had been dealt a short hand—or, in this case, a short leg. The grumpy sailor giving him the stink eye seemed to think the same.

“You have Pegasus boots,” Wind pointed out, his tone accusing. “Why don’t you do the running?”

“Yeah, and I have plenty of gadgets and gizmos to help us win this stupid game, but I need my hands. So, you do the running,” Legend ordered, to which Wind scoffed.

“Why?”

“Rulie wouldn’t ask ‘why, why, why’ like a dumb kid. He’d just do what he’s told.”

“Hyrule would do the running like the good brother he is!”

The sailor crossed his arms and raised a single eyebrow challengingly.

“Fine!” Legend huffed. “Pegasus boots aren’t great on meandering landscapes, and this course is full of them. A short burst of speed won’t cut it.” He explained, his violet eyes sharp and calculating. The rancher would do the running, and so would the captain—Legend had seen how fast both were on the battlefield, still with enough stamina to ruthlessly butcher monsters left and right. Curse them and their long legs, and their bestial stamina.

Wind still looked unimpressed. “I know that. I’ve seen you run face-first into a boulder with those boots. Skill issue. And I know we gotta cheat. I just want to be the one who throws stuff at them.”

“You think you can do better than me, huh?”

“I know so.”

“How about I let you borrow my Pegasus boots for today?”

“A week,” Wind bargained.

“Three days. That’s final.”

“Fine,” Wind relented. “I’ve carried dirty pigs before. I can do it again.”

Legend sputtered, then screeched, “You little shit, what did you just imply?!”

Before the game began, Warriors had stood up and volunteered to give a speech—what Orville would describe as an objectively very inspirational speech, though no one particularly wanted it. The captain eloquently explained how sports would teach the students teamwork, perseverance, and grace in accepting defeat.

Ironically, but to no one's surprise, there was absolutely no sportsmanship among the Links.

The cheating started the moment little Ceres lowered her flag to begin the race. Wind kicked off his borrowed Pegasus boots, immediately gaining the lead and putting a considerable distance between his team and their opponents.

“That’s cheating!” Wild hollered from behind.

“The rules don’t say no items allowed, losers!” Legend cackled villainously, pulling out a rod with a blue crystal tip and freezing the puddles in front of the knight team. Warriors cursed loudly, nearly toppling, but he still managed to secure Wild on his shoulder with a grunt.

Twilight sprinted past the knight team without a glance or taunt. He summoned the strength of Epona, his focus as single-minded as that of a racing steed. Sky cracked his whip, aiming for the sailor’s ankles.

Wind spat out a string of curses as he tumbled, sending Legend flying off his shoulder and into the shrubs. Some nearby farmers had to look away, their faces flushed with embarrassment from the new profanities the vet had invented on the spot.

With Sky gleefully handling the dirty work, it seemed like an easy win for the pumpkin team—until the captain surged forward with the inhuman speed of a man fueled by spite. Balancing on his shoulder, the champion angrily waved his Sheikah Slate, and suddenly, a rake shot out of nowhere, smacking Sky square in the face.

Orville had once witnessed multiple wagons collide in a market square. Everyone knew what was going to happen, but no one could stop the disaster—and yet, they couldn’t look away. They could only watch.

“Don’t you think they’re taking it too seriously?” Colin whispered as the Hateno crowd went wild with cheers and bets, completely forgetting the rules of the game and the lessons it was supposed to teach the children.

“I stopped asking those questions a while ago,” Orville whispered back. There were man-hunting troops scattered across Hyrule, and here he was, watching what could be their saviors—whose powers could end the crisis in the blink of an eye—pouring their soul and magic into winning a silly game to impress little children.

In the end, there was no winner, because a vengeful duo of Legend and Wind decided that if they were going to lose, they’d rather sabotage the whole thing so no one could claim bragging rights as the first winner of Hateno’s inaugural “mini-game.”

“Mini-games?” Orville asked, sitting on a stool and watching the Links sprawled across Colin’s lawn. The air was thick with tension as the Links nursed their cuts and wounded egos, all clearly not on speaking terms with one another. Colin had wisely—and selfishly—made an excuse to tend to his pumpkin patch, leaving Orville stuck with Link-watching duty once again.

“It’s a short, whimsical game—like a shooting gallery or fishing. You play to earn rewards and hone your skills for the main quest,” explained a tired Twilight from beneath the shade of an apple tree. He had spent all his energy bellowing about how disappointed he was in his brothers’ actions, but no one cared about his wounded pride as the good big brother—everyone was too busy being mad at everyone else.

“And I want a rematch,” Wild muttered darkly to the apples he’d been roasting on the campfire, which he loudly declared were his and he wasn’t going to share with the "dirty cheaters."

To Orville’s dread, the champion’s demand was met with a chorus of reluctant agreement from his brothers.

“I’ve spent eternity skydiving through those stupid hoops just to land on a perfect roulette. I’m not going to start accepting defeat,” grumbled Sky, lying next to the cold stone of the Hylia statue—the only comforting presence he could tolerate amidst his annoying brothers.

“But I need a new partner, and I ain’t taking none of you losers,” Legend, the first to lose—and disastrously so—scrunched his nose, glaring at a singed hole in his favorite hat as he contemplated disowning his brethren.

Wild and Wind immediately pounced. “No way, I call dibs on the traveler!”

Warriors, who had been snoozing farther from the campfire because “he couldn’t stand seeing those ugly cheating mugs,” suddenly faceplanted into the ground with a gasp. “Shit, we still need to find him!”

Everyone gasped, as if they had just remembered something important for the quest.

Orville didn’t gasp. Orville went pale.

The feats of the Hero of Hyrule were, much like the hero himself, shrouded in mystery. Little was known about the young man with the mark of a king, who had appeared one day, turning darkness into daylight before fading into the uncharted world of gray ruins and lush green leaves.

Hyrule’s history was like an ancient, unraveling tapestry, with the threads of truth scattered across the land. Scholars had long puzzled over his place in history—whether he might be one of the few heroes who had been made king.

However, the palace was enraged by the growing academic interest in the hero. The king and his nobles never hid their disdain for this mystical figure—a foreigner who had wielded their power and been blessed by their Goddesses.

“Hyrule’s kingship has never been in the hands of a foreigner!” they decreed.

At the king's command, all studies into the Hero of Hyrule were brought to an abrupt halt. His statue, once proudly displayed beside the Hero of the Wild, was moved to a small, shadowed corner—far from his brothers of the sacred sword—to be forgotten.

Yet the people never forgot. Nor were they easily deceived by the king’s motives. It was never a question of the hero's loyalty, but rather a shameful reminder of the royal family's folly—a stain on their history. The greed of one princeling that had cast aside the wisdom and plunged the kingdom into ruin.

The nobles’ slander, however, never reached the hero’s altar. For in that small, dim corner—where they tried to hide him—he glowed brightly, honored by the hundreds of candles his faithful visitors lit to remember his victories.

“His name is Link of Calatia, and we have absolutely no idea where he is,” Wind brightly informed a crestfallen Orville. The sailor had been adamant about being the quest-giver to Orville, but, like everyone else, he wasn’t exactly helpful when it came to the whereabouts of their lost wanderer.

“He loves caves!” Wild suggested, before boasting, “He’s my exploring buddy. Also, a wanted-by-a-cult buddy.”

“He also loves towns,” Twilight added, to which Warriors nodded with a sigh. “Kid loves breaking into people’s houses.”

“Somewhere that has both caves and towns?” Sky compromised, giving Orville an apologetic smile. He knew their help wasn’t exactly helpful—Hyrule had plenty of towns and caves, and this particular Link was notorious for never staying in one place. Orville suddenly had a flashback to his cucco chasing after Sky’s trail for two weeks straight and felt like crying.

“Don’t you have anything to say, vet? Isn’t Rulie your favorite brother?” the captain teased his grumpy brother, who was busy mending his hat. Orville noticed that the vet had been unusually quiet for someone who loved making his opinions known.

Legend paused before resuming his mending without sparing them a single glance. “He’s nice.”

“That’s it?”

“He punched me once, thinking I was a thief. But yeah, he’s nice.”

“But you are a thief,” Wind pointed out cheekily. Legend’s eyes twitched dangerously. The sailor doubled down. “Also, compared to you, everyone’s nice.”

“Shut up!”

“See? Rude. I rest my case.”

“But Legend was onto something,” Sky said diplomatically, nudging Wind toward Wild. “Traveler’s nice.”

“He gives the best advice: If all else fails, use fire,” Wild praised while swatting Wind’s grubby hands away from his roasted apples.

Orville wanted to argue that wasn’t exactly the best advice, but he’d long since learned not to try changing their logic.

“Hyrule gets the fun aspect of being a Link,” Wind decided confidently.

“And Twilight gets the boring aspect of being a Link,” Wild said, before dodging an apple core that the rancher threw his way.

“I’m plenty fun—”

“Who thinks Twi’s boring, say aye!” Wind raised his hand.

“Aye!”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“…Aye.”

Twilight scowled, got up, and disappeared into the bushes just as an enraged Wolfie trotted back, and started digging dirt at Wind and Wild with vengeance.

There was a young cleric who came to Castle Town to study and stayed with them for a short while. His name was Wise, short for "Wise Man," though that wasn’t his actual name. Grandpa met him while the young man was setting up a small camp near the Temple and was impressed by his devotion to the priesthood.

“It’s hard to come by a young man these days who’s still goddess-fearing!” Grandpa often praised this wise man, who spoke profoundly about the gods, during their dinners, much to Dad’s exasperation and Mom’s amusement. That was how Orville mistakenly thought "Wise Man" was his actual name.

Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before Grandpa would insist the man join them for dinner.

The young cleric’s face flushed red when Orville first called him "Wise Man."

“I’m very flattered. Though, I can hardly claim I’m wise,” Wise humbly denied. “I’m just a curious man.”

“What are you curious about?” Orville asked.

Wise’s face lit up as he began telling Orville about the goddesses, the creation myths, the miracles, and other religious topics that Orville had already learned in school—topics, in his opinion, that were quite boring.

Orville frowned slightly in disappointment before pointing out that everyone already knew most of what Wise was talking about and asked why Wise bothered being curious about them.

At that point, both Dad and Mom had their faces in their palms, embarrassed by Orville’s rudeness. But Wise only laughed.

“It’s called religious studies. You have to collect and preserve all knowledge about the gods, not just the ones you like. The things you don’t like might be important too. You might not understand them, but others might. So, you keep the knowledge for them to read later, and it can help you understand things better, too.”

After that, Wise explained to Orville what Orville thought was more interesting than the goddesses: Wise’s spiritual journey. Wise had been traveling to many places to train to be a man of faith. Orville asked if that was why Wise wore a plain tunic with old stains, rather than fine silk robes like the castle’s priests, who dined with the lords and could only be seen from afar during royal ceremonies.

“I swear, we taught him manners. We’ll do better,” Dad apologized with a deep sigh.

Wise waved his hands with endless patience.

“Priests in big towns tend to live well,” he admitted. “Some of my brothers and I tend to be sent to rural communities because people there need help too.”

“Need help to see the truth you’re so graciously spreading?” Orville’s father raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with a bit of challenge, which earned him a frown from Grandpa. Dad wasn’t a religious man, and his time in the war hadn’t brought him closer to the goddesses—in fact, it had done the opposite.

Wise’s answer was full of gentle sympathy. “I’m not traveling to spread the truth because it can’t be spread any further,” the cleric shook his head with a humble smile. “The truth is already here, all around us, embracing us. My work is to help farmers carry bags of wheat flour, and dig wells for water, hoping that they will help me see the truth through their eyes.”

Orville was too young to fully understand what Wise meant, but it seemed to appease Dad, who told the cleric that their house would always be open to him whenever he was in town. Dad was a man reluctant to offer friendship, and that further confirmed Orville’s belief that Wise was truly, really, wise.

“Your family’s the only ones who think I’m wise. My mentors, my peers—they don’t think too highly of my intelligence,” Wise confessed to Orville as he helped him with his homework. Wise, too, had his nose buried in the books he’d borrowed from the temple’s library. Both of them let out a groan of exhaustion, the kind only those buried under mountains of homework could understand.

“I got a terrible mark on this essay.”

“What did you write about?” Orville asked, trying to distract himself from his math problems.

“We were supposed to write about miracles, which is basically about how to make people accept our approved interpretations and such—” Wise looked up from his rambling and saw the confusion on Orville’s face. His tight smile softened, though his eyes dimmed. “Sorry, I got sidetracked. It’s just that I didn’t do what was asked. They wanted me to write something boring—”

“Like math?” Orville offered.

“Yeah, so instead, I wrote about this elusive hero who roamed our ruined kingdom in the distant past.”

Orville’s eyes widened, his boredom instantly forgotten.

“You mean the Hero of Hyrule?” he asked excitedly. As Orville got older, fewer people were willing to have a conversation with him about the heroes, and some older kids even called him childish for believing in those old fables.

Wise’s eyes sparked with renewed light. “Can you believe he’s only got a few paragraphs written about him? My curiosity was piqued. I want to understand him better—how this traveler from nowhere ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity. He did the impossible, bringing a dying land back from its downfall! His work is nothing short of a miracle to me.”

Orville feared his time had come—soon, he'd be forced to crawl through dark, damp caves, filled with Keese droppings and other unspeakable filth, all in search of a new Link. With hundreds of caves scattered across Hyrule, his quest could easily drag on forever. Perhaps it was his fate to die in one of these forsaken places, his bones becoming a grim warning for naïve adventurers who ventured too far, his tragedy serving as a cautionary tale of mortal folly.

Then, Colin had to come and burst Orville's brooding. With a roll of his eyes, Orville’s cousin dryly pointed out a better option: Why not try a location that offered both caves and a town?

Orville peered at the map where Colin’s finger had landed—Rauru Hillside, just northeast of Castle Town. It was known for two things: Rauru Settlement and its hillside cave.

If there were any place to start, a place named after a great sage of light might just be the right one.

“Look,” Colin said, clapping him on the back with a teasing smile, “you might not have to crawl through a cave alone. I heard from the traveling merchants that some hermits live inside those caves.”

The day the Temple of Heroes was closed was marked by great bonfires across Hyrule. Orville could see the towering flames from his house, casting a fiery glow over the market square. The sky was painted red, and ashes rained down on the streets.

There were no sounds of laughter or cheers, unlike the small bonfires they used to make in winter from fallen leaves, where children huddled close for warmth.

It also didn’t smell of roasted sweet potatoes cooking under the flames. Instead, it smelled of burning books.

The town square was deathly silent. The only cries came from within raided houses, where people’s books, recipes, and cherished trinkets—deemed heretical—were seized and thrown into mountain piles to be "cleansed."

Wise was crying in his parents' kitchen.

It was the first time Orville had seen Wise—the man who always responded to every challenging question with an eloquent answer and a patient smile—break down into inconsolable sobs.

Grandpa had taken Orville to his room, but Orville couldn’t sleep. He kept quiet, hiding behind the door, listening to the adults.

“How could they—my mentors, my colleagues, my brothers—how could they abandon the people and support this foolish decision?” Wise’s voice cracked between sobs. “This isn’t just a halt to our studies. Local wisdom is being lost, along with the suppressed truth. They’ve betrayed the faith just to survive.”

“They only keep one faith,” Orville’s father replied, his voice cold. “Power.”

“That isn’t faith!” Wise's voice rose, furiously shaking his head. “There is no faith without freedom.”

“They’re going to thrive,” Dad continued, not unkindly, but the harshness of his truth cut through the air. “Fanatics will rise like a locust plague.”

“What are you going to do next?” his mother asked, her voice thick with worry.

Wise wiped away his tears. His gentle face hardened with resolve. “I’m not going to surrender my work to them.”

“Then you don’t have much of a choice,” his father said. “It’s either a cell or a cave.”

It was clear they all knew the decision Wise would make.

“This reign of ignorance shall pass,” Grandpa spoke to the quiet room.

Orville slowly retreated to his room, letting his tears fall in silence. He didn’t understand half of the conversation, but he was old enough to recognize the look of a goodbye.

There went another person—someone like the older brother he had always wanted—forced out of his life by the political turmoil bred from malice.

There was a familiar face in Rauru Settlement who tackled Orville’s torso as soon as he stepped into the small square.

“Sir Knight!”

“Koko!” Orville exclaimed, surprised to see the young flower girl to whom the captain had once given all of his rupees. “You live here? Don’t tell me you travel every morning from here to Castle Town?”

Koko beamed up at him with a wide, proud smile, revealing a newly missing tooth. “Of course! Every morning, I hitch a ride with the merchant’s wagon to Castle Town. I’ve been doing it forever! Easy as pie.”

Orville’s smile faltered.

Koko, oblivious to his heartbreak, gently tugged at his hand to get his attention. “Do you want me to give you a tour of my town?”

“Please lead the way, future mayor of Rauru Town,” he said, playing along.

Koko rolled her eyes. “I want to be a hairdresser, silly.”

There wasn’t much to see in Rauru Settlement. Rebuilt from old ruins by travelers as a temporary stop for weary feet, it sat halfway between Woodland Village and Castle Town, with the great and mystic Hyrule Forest looming behind it. Whispers spoke of this mysterious forest with both reverence and fear. Even those with less inclination for superstition believed it was unsafe to settle too close to the world of spirits, as malevolent entities could lure weak-minded souls astray, lost forever in the eternal mist.

Perhaps that was why Rauru remained a small settlement, consisting of a few cottages surrounding a market square, with a little fountain at its center.

Koko, however, was particularly proud of the benches that surrounded the fountain, which her mother had decorated with pots of flowers from her own garden.

“And that’s my mom!” Koko shouted, pointing excitedly at a young woman in a beautiful red dress, talking to another vendor, with Gigi peacefully sleeping in her arms. Without hesitation, Koko all but dragged Orville over to her mother.

The last time Orville had heard about Koko’s mother, she had been sick. But standing before him now, the young mother appeared glowing with health. Her face was warm with a smile as she wrapped her arms around Koko.

She introduced herself as Erra, and her eyes danced with amusement when Orville told her his name.

“You are the character in my daughter’s latest tale of Captain Link!” she said, delight tinging her voice. “I’m happy to know you’re real and not just a fictional creation. This little story-weaver loves making up her own characters, so it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“I’m telling you, the fairy’s real, Mom,” Koko reprimanded, puffing her cheeks out with petulance.

Orville rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Hello, ma’am. I’m glad to see you’re healthy. I’d heard that you were sick.”

“Oh, it’s all thanks to Koko’s fairy,” Erra said with a light chuckle, ruffling her daughter’s hair affectionately. “Now, what brings you here to our little town?”

“I’m searching for someone,” Orville replied. “Do you happen to know someone named Link? Umm, a different one from your daughter’s tales. He might… be in a cave nearby?”

At the mention of a cave, Erra’s breath hitched. Orville saw a flicker of concern pass through her eyes before she gave him a calm smile, her composure quickly restored.

“It isn’t safe to go alone, especially at this hour,” she said, gesturing toward the darkening sky.

Orville nodded. “I’ll find somewhere to stay. Just point me to an inn, and I’d appreciate it.”

Koko’s mother shook her head, a firm resolve settling over her soft features. “None of that nonsense. You’ve helped my daughter, and I won’t let you pay a single rupee here.” She reached into her pocket, producing a small key. “Take this. Go south, and you’ll find a cottage surrounded by flower patches—that’s my house. Please, rest there while I finish my shopping. We’ll have dinner together afterward.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You really don’t have to go through all this trouble for me. You don’t even know me. I could be dangerous,” Orville said, both touched and a bit confused by how trusting Koko’s mother was.

Koko’s mother smiled softly. “This is a haven for travelers,” she replied. “I’ve seen every kind there is—yes, even the troublemakers. The town accepts them all. We help each other because we know what it’s like to be shunned. A rest and a warm meal can make all the difference in whether someone sees their journey through or not.”

Orville found it impossible to argue with her point, though his mind still wandered back to her strange expression when he mentioned exploring the cave.

And how she hadn’t answered him about Link.

No townspeople did.

After leaving Erra and Koko to their shopping, Orville had tried to ask around. All the townspeople were friendly and tried to sell him things, but when he asked about Link of Calatia, they all gave him the same look of puzzlement and a wide berth.

Orville decided to take Koko’s mother’s advice and call it a day. Perhaps, with a good rest, he could do better tomorrow at puzzling out the townspeople’s strange reactions.

It didn’t take long to reach the cottage he was directed to, but just as Orville stepped inside the house and was about to light the lantern, he heard a shuffle in the corner near the fireplace. Glowing green eyes stared back at him.

Orville jumped as a young man with unkempt brown hair lunged forward, shouting, “Thief!”

And punched him squarely on the jaw.

“You know, I’ve changed my mind,” Legend whispered after the campfire had dwindled to a faint amber glow. He had volunteered for the first watch while the others slept soundly around him.

Orville, about to head back to Colin’s house, paused, staying still to give Legend time to collect his thoughts.

“He’s done a lot of nice things—selfless things—but you’d better not stand between him and what he believes is right. He’s nice. But not in the soft, naïve way.”

“Brave, then,” suggested the rancher, still lying with his eyes closed. “To do what’s right, even when the world says otherwise. To keep giving, regardless of rejection, without a desire for recognition—that takes real courage.”

“He’s the reason my fears finally rest, you know,” Legend admitted, his voice low like a prayer. “Because I know that with him around, everything I’ve lov—cared for—will be safe. It’ll all be alright in the end.”

Orville watched as the others, still pretending to sleep, slowly crept closer to their veteran brother. They formed a quiet, protective circle around him.

Legend shot a glance at his brothers, who were still pretending to be asleep, and scoffed, but did nothing to shoo them away.

Twilight, rubbing his ribs with a grin, added softly, “The bravest among us in this never-ending, cursed cycle.”

“Wait, hold on!” Orville shouted, wincing at the sharp pain blossoming across his face where the punch had landed. “I’m not a thief! Is this not Koko’s house?”

“It is!” came the young voice from the shadows. Orville could feel the man’s eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And you’re breaking into her house, why?”

Orville ran through his memories, certain that Erra would have mentioned if there was another resident in the house—especially one who was this protective.

“You broke in here too, didn’t you?” Orville shot back, slowly retreating toward the door, careful to keep some distance from the man.

The young man tilted his head, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I’m not! Or am I? I’m just a friendly neighborhood traveler.”

“Who appears to be… living under someone’s fireplace?”

“There’s an entire cozy chamber in there,” protested the young man, as if that somehow made illegally occupying someone’s house acceptable.

This distinct lack of self-awareness and decorum—familiar telltale signs Orville had seen too many times.

Orville slumped to the floor with a groan. Link of Calatia hesitantly shuffled toward him, eyes widening in shock when he saw Orville’s swollen face. The sunset light filtered through the open door, casting a warm glow over his young face and unkempt brown hair.

“Ugh, you need help?” Link awkwardly asked, his voice surprisingly timid for someone who’d thrown the first punch.

“Right now? I’d love it.”

As Link crouched down to inspect Orville’s injury, his hands glowing with a faint green light, Orville noticed the freckles dotting his boyish face. There was a warm, earthy brown hue within the leafy green shade of his eyes, a beautiful verdant color that reminded Orville of life itself.

“You’re a knight? That’s so cool,” Link chirped excitedly from behind his makeshift stall, which consisted of a few oddly-shaped rocks laid out on a rug placed on the stone floor of a hidden chamber. If Orville hadn’t followed Link, who had scurried back to the fireplace after healing him, he wouldn’t have believed such a secret basement could exist in this otherwise quaint town.

Orville continued to look around, mesmerized by the hidden passage in Erra’s house. The only way into this chamber appeared to be a ladder connected to the fireplace. He couldn’t help but wonder who had created this basement—and why. Did Erra’s family even know about it?

Link, unsurprisingly, wasn’t a reliable source of explanation. When Orville asked how he knew about the secret passage, Link merely shrugged.

“All houses always have these,” Link offered with a confident smile, clearly giving it no further thought.

Once the misunderstanding was cleared up, Orville began to see that Link of Calatia was a polite but expressive young man, whose face seemed to light up with whatever emotion passed through him. Right now, it was amusement. Link had guffawed until his stomach hurt when Orville shared the story of his brothers’ disastrous mini-game. But when Orville asked him to return with him to Hateno, Link had whined loudly.

“You’re basically asking me to go back to captivity with the rancher on my tail!”

He’d wailed until Orville, nursing his fast-approaching headache, dropped the subject.

Seeing that Orville no longer bothered him with such ‘disturbing’ requests, Link started whistling as he melted wax over a small fire.

“…What are you doing?” Orville asked slowly.

“Making candles,” Link answered casually.

“…Why?”

Link gestured to his makeshift stall. “For business?”

“Who’s going to climb down here to buy your goods?” Orville wondered aloud, beginning to feel light-headed. Perhaps it was the humidity in the chamber, not just the sheer absurdity of the situation, that was getting to him.

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Link pointed out with a grin. “The candles sold out, but maybe you’ll want a cool rock. Can you buy something? Please, I’m broke.”

What was it with these heroes and their irresponsible spending?

“Have you been here the whole time?” Orville asked again, still trying to wrap his head around the absurdity of the situation he found himself in.

Link’s ears twitched. “Not really. Oh, hey, do you want to take a stroll with me after midnight?”

Orville’s last memory of Wise—the last happy memory before his disappearance—was of him reading his draft essay to Orville. Dad and Mom had asked Wise to tutor Orville, hoping the scholar’s influence would change his mind about becoming a knight.

Of course, their scheme didn’t work. Little did they know, Orville wasn’t Wise’s pupil; he was the cleric’s “editor.”

Orville didn’t know what an editor was, but it sounded like a cool job for smart people, and Wise said there was no one more qualified to be his “editor” than Orville, who never ran out of questions to ask.

“The faint, fading marks the Hero of Hyrule left on this world aren’t because his deeds weren’t great, but because he did them in secret. You’re reading the story of a hero who wore humility as a crown,” Wise read aloud, his voice clear and soothing.

“His stories weren’t told in high halls or etched by great chamberlains, but echoed in the fresh cup of clean water he gave, the lost child he returned to their family, and the sick he anointed. In the roads he kept safe, the monsters he slew in secret, and the lost wisdom he restored. That’s why he’s seen as a protector of the little townsfolk, and why we pray to him with candlelight.”

“Why candles?” Orville asked.

Wise hummed thoughtfully as he made a short note on his draft. “That’s a really good question. I’ll research that and weave it into my work. Thanks, Orville! You’ll be the first to read it when I finish. I’ll credit you in my work too.”

Orville beamed, pride radiating from his smile.

Orville never got to read Wise’s masterpiece. He had no idea if Wise ever finished the essay or if he was still out there, working on it.

If Colin knew, he’d surely scold Orville for his terrible manners for not showing up for dinner, and Orville planned to apologize to Erra’s family later. But he couldn’t help being intrigued by what Link had planned. Link had mentioned he had a few things to wrap up before leaving Rauru Settlement, so Orville decided to wait with him until he finished preparing his candles. After pulling the candles from their molds and allowing them to firm up, Link stood, looking satisfied and ready.

Link’s feet were light as a feather, while Orville struggled to tiptoe behind him as they silently climbed out of the fireplace and slipped through the door, careful not to wake the sleeping family inside.

The moonlit night cast a soft glow over Link’s figure as he walked, his fingers brushing gently over the petals of the flowers in Koko’s beloved garden. His face softened, unearthly serene as he spoke to Orville. “When we come back, we need to collect the pollen so the flowers will have stronger seeds.”

Orville nodded, watching Link take long strides. Despite not being particularly tall, Link’s steps were confident and sure of where he was going. He led Orville out of town, and for hours, they journeyed north. The landscape gradually shifted from lush greenery to rocky hills and valleys as they reached the edge of the Eldin region. They hiked high enough that Orville began to pant, regretting not having dinner earlier, until Link stopped at the top of a ridge and glanced down at a clearing below.

Orville’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and he quickly covered his mouth with both hands. Below them, hordes and hordes of monsters were gathered around a campfire.

It would take more than one squadron—perhaps even a battalion—to take on such a massive monstrous camp.

“Even after great evils are gone, when the powers of light wane, they spawn—often in the same places, with the same malicious intent, trampling innocent lives,” Link said, his voice devoid of emotion, as he stepped closer to the cliff’s edge. He raised his hand, and the brown hue in his eyes swirled with a golden glow. “So, they must go—”

“Thunder.”

With a snap of his fingers, thunder boomed across the valley, and thousands of bolts of lightning rained down from the heavens, striking the monsters below in a single, devastating assault.

Orville’s knees buckled from the overwhelming display of divine power. All he could do was speechlessly watch as the one-sided slaughter subsided, leaving the smoldering clearing devoid of any trace of the monsters.

Beside him, Link turned with a triumphant smile and extended his hand to pull Orville up. “Now, let’s get back to pollinating the flowers. We’ll need to use our big hands now, though—I’m running low on magic.”

Orville wanted to ask, Are you really a Hylian?

When they arrived back at Erra’s house, Koko’s mother was waiting anxiously in front of her home, and the moment she spotted them, she rushed forward and pulled Link into a tight hug.

“We heard the lightning,” she said, her voice trembling. “I was worried sick, Link!”

Link smiled sheepishly. “Good morning, Erra! What’s for breakfast?”

Erra let out a wet chuckle, releasing him from her embrace. Her relieved smile quickly shifted into a more apologetic one when her eyes met Orville’s.

“Please, join me for breakfast, and I’ll explain everything.”

“We’ve been living in worry ever since the hordes of monsters started marching from Eldin to Rauru Hillside,” Erra began, pouring tea into both Orville’s and her own cups. The two of them sat in the small kitchen, the large window offering a view of the garden so Erra could keep an eye on her children while speaking with Orville.

“Then, some monsters moved into the cave near our town. We thought the Hylian troops would clear them out when they passed by. We begged them to clear the cave—it meant so much to us—but they just left. It seemed they were only after something in the Great Forest.” She let out a bitter chuckle. “After that, things got worse. Everyone thought the town had been cursed by the wrath of the spirits they disturbed.”

Koko’s mother paused, her gaze drifting out the window. “Then one day, that young man walked out of the cave,” Erra continued, her smile returning, though brighter this time. “Our miracle. All the monsters were gone. Since then, we’ve all slept soundly at night, knowing we are safe again.”

Orville followed her line of sight. He saw Link in the garden with Koko, listening intently as she taught him how to weave a flower crown. His face was alight with awe, clearly fascinated by her talent. The townspeople had stopped by to greet him, clapping him on the shoulder. It was clear to Orville that the townspeople didn’t just know Link—they adored him.

Orville raised an eyebrow. “Then why did everyone pretend not to know him?”

Erra looked both apologetic and defiant. “A few weeks ago, soldiers started coming around, asking if we’d seen anyone suspicious. And you’ve seen him,” she sighed, her voice barely a whisper. “We begged him to go into hiding. He didn’t think it was a big deal, but I guess we looked desperate enough that he did it—just to give us some peace of mind. I still don’t think that kid understands the danger he’s in.”

Orville thought back to the great lightning storm that had struck the monsters. He wondered if it wasn’t just him but everyone who didn’t understand them—because no Hylian battalion—no matter how great or shining—could have survived the wrath he’d witnessed.

Instead, Orville asked, “And the chamber?”

“This town was built by travelers who couldn’t return home—those with something the kingdom deemed traitorous,” explained Erra. “It’s a refuge. Here, we don’t judge what’s held valuable and what’s not. I grow flowers and endangered medicinal herbs. Some old women still practice brewing potions from long-lost traditions. We’ve adopted a tradition of ‘see nothing, say nothing.’”

Orville nodded. It did make sense.

“And the cave? Why does it mean so much to the townspeople?”

“The cave was once home to a scholar who used it as his study,” Erra answered, her eyes growing distant, though her smile remained fond. “He was the wisest of us all. He encouraged us to stay true to ourselves and to pass on what we could to future generations.”

Her voice faltered slightly, but Erra continued. “He passed away a few years ago. We’ve kept the cave in the same condition as when he was alive. That’s why we were devastated when the monsters moved in. But then Link arrived. I think the Wiseman would have loved him.”

Deep in the Rauru Hillside’s cave sat a weathered table and a lonely chair. On the floor, a large pool of melted candle wax had collected, a clear sign of the countless lonely nights the previous dweller had spent working by candlelight. The table was cluttered with heavy tomes and scattered papers, each surface scrawled with notes and scribbles in a handwriting Orville had long known—and painfully missed. 

A once bright future had been reduced to this.

Orville’s legs carried him deeper into the cave, and he sank to his knees, staring emptily into the darkness. He found he'd no longer minded the keese droppings or the slimy mold beneath him.

His abrupt action startled Link, who had been flipping through Wise’s notes and happily chatting about borrowing a few books from the table. Link looked at Orville, his large green eyes filled with concern. His head tilted, like a lost child's, silently asking what troubled him.

Orville suddenly felt really, really tired.

Hyrule had lost far too many brilliant, kind souls. Was this the fate of those who dared to believe in the future? Wise had died waiting for his miracle. So had Grandpa. So had so many others. Was Hyrule even worth saving when so much pain had already been suffered?

“My brother died here. Alone.” Orville’s voice cracked, and he angrily willed his tears to stay hidden. “Why are we even fighting for this?”

Link didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer and knelt down in front of him. He offered Orville a faint smile before running his fingers over the hardened candle wax on the cold cave floor.

“Candles are marvelous,” Link said, his voice steady and endlessly kind. “They lend people more hours in the light—to mend torn clothes, to finish reading, to finish the chores for tomorrow’s work. Your brother worked admirably until the end.”

“None of us can bring miracles with the snap of our fingers, no matter how hard we work for them.”

Link shook his head vehemently, his uncombed hair becoming even wilder. “That’s never far from the truth!” he said, his eyes wide with conviction. “I came to Hyrule with nothing. All my weapons, all my spells—I learned them here.”

He reached into his satchel, pulling out a small journal so old it was falling apart.

Link clutched it to his chest like it was his most treasured possession.

“I learned my skills from the people of Hyrule—people who tirelessly worked and held onto their knowledge, even when the world seemed to be falling apart. You speak of miracles, but to me, the true miracle is the hard work of those selfless people who pass on their knowledge to us.” Link snapped his fingers, and a spark of fire illuminated the dark cave for a fleeting moment. “My spells, my achievements—they’re the result of their labor. I’ve had it easy because of everyone’s love for their kingdom.”

Link gently squeezed Orville’s hands with his—the same hands that summoned terrifying thunder and bloomed flowers. The hands that were slightly smaller for a seasoned fighter, but twice as warm.

“You’re bruised in places magic can’t heal,” Link said softly. “But you’re not without a blessing. Your brother—he fought so no one would fear tomorrow.”

Orville glanced up to see the young man’s eyes glistening, not with the glow of magic, but with the tears only humble mortals could shed —for only a mortal’s heart could be moved for his fellow man’s plight.

“His work—is his love reaching you from the past. So, you must not give up.”

"Because it’s truly frightening to wait for dawn in the darkest hours of a long, lightless night. There will be nights when the moon doesn’t rise, and the stars shy away behind heavy old clouds. In those moments, only the flickering light of a candle, lit by humble hands, keeps the faint glow of hope alive. In a world where wisdom has been lost, and darkness stretches through both day and night, the Hero of Hyrule was much like that lone candle—a reminder that there is still work to be done, that nothing is lost, nothing is truly dead. Not forever. Never permanently. We must take a page from our hero’s book and—bloom our faith.

W & O."

Wind thought it was a testament to Hyrule’s rock-hard skull that the traveler still smiled guiltlessly after being whacked in the head by both Warriors and Legend. The captain’s punishment was for Hyrule forcing his poor swabbie to walk all the way back from Rauru to Hateno with him because Traveler claimed he would practically perish if his feet didn’t touch grass for even a second—which turned a short trip, a few days at most, into nearly a week of exhausting travel.

As for Legend? Well, Hyrule had made him lose a bet. Simple as that.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Hyrule,” Twilight scolded, crossing his arms as he tried to deliver a stern glare, one he had practiced by emulating Time’s parental disapproval.

Wind knew it was futile. Hyrule didn’t have parents, so he had no clue what shame even was.

Hyrule was excitedly showing Wild a recipe he had found while rummaging through Wise Man's cave in Rauru Hillside, no trace of guilt or thought could be found.

Alarm spread across the camp when Wild, their iron-stomach cook, turned ashen pale.

“That crazy lady’s recipe survived, but not mine!” Wild cursed angrily, looking like he was about to lose his faith in his kingdom and had some bones to pick with the goddesses.

“This is a recipe for rock-hard food,” Hyrule proudly announced to the camp, grinning ear-to-ear. “I know you guys don’t like my cooking because I don’t follow recipes, but I found one! Let’s try it tonight!”

The captain immediately rushed to stop him, pleading for Hyrule to give up on the idea and burn the damn thing. Meanwhile, Legend crawled over like a cowardly runaway soldier on a battlefield, frantically hissing at Wind in a low voice.

“Gimme back my Pegasus boots!”

Legend had yet to successfully retrieve his boot from Wind, because as a great pirate, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

Wind tapped his ‘borrowed’ boots, waved off the losers, and set his course toward Lurelin, where a free, warm, and delicious paella awaited him.

 “Oh no, you don’t!” Sky yelled, pulling Wind back with his damn whip and dropping him rudely into Twilight’s lap, who was clutching his crystal tightly. This man was so going to abandon them all in a flash of Twili magic if Warriors failed his diplomatic skills, which, at the rate Hyrule was shrieking about never giving up, seemed likely.

They decided to share the joy of Hyrule’s cooking with everyone in Hateno.

Orville looked as though he had seriously considered walking into the water and never coming out.

The council of Links briefly entertained the idea of using Hyrule’s creation as a sort of ward to repel monsters from entering the village, but Twilight immediately voiced concerns about the possibility of poor animals accidentally eating it, which also led to the unanimous decision to store the abomination in Wild’s slate and chuck it at monsters instead.

Hyrule didn’t know where the fairies had gone, but he had a theory.

“They are deities of light, but their powers can be altered—shattered and diminished by the kingdom’s negligence. I met a few back in Calatia, fleeing Ganon’s dark reign, but many chose to stay and went into hiding.”

The captain nodded in agreement, as it seemed to align with his suspicions.

Wild snapped his fingers. “Oh! Like how the great fairies can lose their protection powers when people forget to show respect.”

“That also explains the increase in monster activity. They’re powered by malice—not necessarily by great evils, but by spite and hatred seeping into the land,” Twilight observed with a grim expression.

“Hyrule Castle is supposed to act as a support center, maintaining rituals to preserve and strengthen the light deities, and sending help to support towns in doing the same,” Sky explained. His face darkened as he realized that his Zelda’s original plan for the castle had been corrupted.

“What can we do?” Wind flopped down in frustration. “You all said we can’t just go punch someone in the castle, take the throne back, and give it to the rightful ruler.”

“There’s only one rightful ruler to the throne,” Sky reminded the sailor. “And she’s been missing for decades.”

Twilight stared at the sky where a lone hawk flew by.

“Maybe we can help restore the light deities’ power in the meantime,” Hyrule suggested. “So, people are better protected when we’re no longer around.”

They all looked down, gripped with worry, as they could feel it in their shared spirit.

Time was almost running out.

“I know a good musical troupe,” Sky broke the silence with his suggestion, trying to distract his brother from the powerlessness they were all feeling.

“Who you still owe a huge debt,” Legend reminded him with a smirk.

“We also need lots of rupees for the great fairies when we find them,” Wild added dryly.

Everyone winced as they all patted their empty rupee bags. Wild repeatedly tapped his slate, showing them that nothing came out.

“It seems we’ve been too generous with our spending,” Twilight concluded lamely.

“No kidding,” Wind muttered.

“Well, we don’t have time to fork over rupees. Rebuilding always requires more than funding a quest to beat demon kings,” the captain huffed. “Not all of us can magic up a chest of fortune by putting together pieces of a kinstone.”

Chapter Text

The children flinched as yet another thunderclap exploded, its lightning flashes casting fearsome shadows against the walls and glass. Outside, heavy rain pounded mercilessly against the window.

Sleep was impossible. All his grandchildren had gathered in his room, huddled together with tear-streaked faces, whimpering about strange, shadowy creatures lurking in the storm-dark world outside. No word of comfort could reach them—only the steady candlelight, a gift from long ago, offered a faint promise of morning.

He knew no sweet dream would find them while they trembled, too frightened to realize that the ominous shapes on their windows were the same beautiful trees they played under by day. The storm, now raging, had once been a gentle breeze that helped them sleigh down the hill. And the mirror-clear pond was full only because of the nightly rainstorms. Nature, after all, is a thing of duality.

There wasn’t much an old man could do—but as a grandfather, he had to try.

So, he cleared his throat.

“A long time ago, when Crenel Hill was a mighty mountain stretching into the heavens,” he began—and as if by magic, the candle flickered, amused. The children’s hiccups faltered. Their fearful eyes sparked as they leaned in, still holding one another’s hands.

“The kingdom was young, and life was pleasant, for the people lived in harmony with nature—until one day, dark clouds of tyranny appeared on the horizon,” he whispered.

The children held their breath.

“Gentle breezes became roaring thunderstorms. Quakes erupted from the once-steady earth. Rivers froze into icy prisons. The flames that once warmed hearths and fueled forges now spat molten fury. Shadows spread terror across the land, and the disappearance of the sacred maidens stole all hope. Do you think all was lost?”

“No!” the children cried.

“That’s right,” he said with a smile. “Amidst the chaos, one humble smith—quite small in size but strong as four men—rose in light!”

It was the worst case of food poisoning Orville had experienced in all his 29 years of life—so bad, he could’ve sworn he saw Grandpa waiting for him on the other side of the river—right up until Beth shook him awake and forced water down his throat. Only then did Orville galumph back to the land of the living, exhausted and horribly parched.

He made his misery known with a pathetic groan.

“Your self-preservation instincts are terrible,” Beth told him as she gently wiped his forehead with a damp washcloth.

“He was too persuasive,” Orville whined, his excuse sounding lame even to his own ears.

Beth shook her head, exasperated but fond. “You should know better than to eat questionable food—especially from mythical figures of legend. They might survive their own creations, but you won’t.”

“How come Colin didn’t get sick?” Orville wondered aloud, glancing at the empty bed that should’ve held another victim. “He accepted Hyrule’s dish too.”

“There’s a difference between accepting a gift just to be polite and eating it like a fool,” Beth said, brutally honest as ever. “He offered the food at Grandpa Bo’s tomb, just like I told him to. You can’t poison the dead twice.”

“…That’s smart,” Orville muttered begrudgingly.

“Well, that’s your lesson for the day—always listen to your wife. Remember that when you have a family of your own.”

Orville groaned again and pulled the blanket over his head, determined to go back to sleep and search for that river. Beth really had no right to look that smug. It was downright impolite to kick a man when he was already down.

Beth, cruel as she was, yanked the blanket off and folded it neatly at the foot of the bed.

“Nope. No more sleeping. Go get some fresh air,” she ordered firmly, like the proper farm girl who believed fresh air cured all ailments. “And while you’re at it, let the boys know the village council has granted them permission—again—to use the communal kitchen. On the condition they don’t burn it down or cook up any unholy abominations.”

Orville decided he wasn’t going to ask what exactly had happened to the communal kitchen during his two-day coma. There was a reason people said ignorance was bliss, and Orville intended to live in blissful oblivion for as long as possible.

“I should’ve crossed the river when I had the chance,” Orville groaned.

“You’re as dramatic as my husband,” Beth laughed. “They’ve been perfectly well-behaved today. All they’ve done is cut grass for us.”

“They’re plotting,” Orville said flatly—because the Links never did something as ordinary as cutting grass without some hidden agenda.

Beth gave him a noncommittal hum, mop in hand, silently ordering him out of the room so she could clean it. Orville gave his bed one last, longing glance and sighed before dragging himself to his feet.

The two Links Orville found—after Beth literally kicked him out of her house—were Wild and Hyrule, crouched beside the knight house’s well… with a frog perched atop the champion’s head.

The two feral Links (fondly dubbed so by their brothers) beamed up at him as he approached.

Orville took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was certainly bound to be the weirdest conversation of his day.

“This is Hopson,” Wild announced proudly. “I caught him this morning. He’s my emotional support frog for the day.”

“What’ll happen to him after the day’s over?” Orville asked, already wearing a tired smile that had little to do with physical fatigue.

“The council will decide his fate—whether we eat him or not,” Hyrule replied with a sweet, innocent smile. “I vote we eat him.”

The frog croaked, blissfully unaware that its life was now dangling by a thread—and the traveler’s nonexistent mercy.

Wild squawked, shielding Hopson’s froggy ears from the blasphemy. “But I named him Hopson! See, it ends with ‘-son.’ I’m thinking of getting him a plot in Tarrey Town. Not sure if they still follow the naming tradition—”

“You’re getting off track,” Hyrule reminded him blithely.

“My point is,” Wild huffed, “his name’s too cool. We can’t eat him.”

“You shouldn’t have given him a cool name,” Hyrule chided. “You get attached too easily.”

“I know, I know! But I can’t help it,” Wild groaned. “He’s a Hopson now.”

“He must support us,” Hyrule said solemnly. “That’s the cycle of life, brother.”

Orville looked between them, increasingly worried for Hopson’s life. “How many people are voting on this?”

“The others,” Wild said with a deep sigh. “That’s why I hate voting. It takes foreeeever for the boring ones to bicker about it.”

“Because of that demo-crazy thingy Smithy’s always going on about?” Hyrule scratched his head. “Still no idea what that even is.”

“Four thinks he’s smarter than us just because he knows all the big words,” Wild grumbled. “But I know he suggested it because it gives him an advantage in numbers.”

At this point, Orville was completely lost. He opened his mouth to make a polite excuse to leave—but was interrupted by Legend, sword in hand, looking sweaty and thoroughly annoyed.

“It’s called democracy, you slackers.”

Orville secretly sighed in relief. At least someone relatively sane had arrived—

Until the veteran kept talking, and Orville was reminded to never underestimate a Link’s ability to spew utter nonsense with confidence.

“Democracy means all the crazy people get one vote each,” Legend lectured. “Because they’re equal in madness. And if these crazies didn’t get one, they would riot—and that’s bad for society.”

Hyrule lit up like a lantern had flicked on in his head. “Oh! That’s why there’s ‘crazy’ in the word!”

“Just like ‘aristocrazy,’” Wild added sagely. “That’s when a few rich crazy people decide everything for everyone else. And that’s also bad for society.”

Orville had never heard anything so wildly wrong that scholars—both living and dead—were probably weeping in their study halls and graves right now… yet somehow, it almost made a strange kind of sense. Maybe he wasn’t fully healed—Beth really should have let him stay in bed.

“Now get your lazy asses back to cutting grass before I kick you there myself,” Legend barked.

Legend’s definition of “lazy asses,” apparently—and unfortunately—included Orville. The veteran herded all of them to the hills north of the village, where the rest of the Links had been since dawn.

Certain patches of grass were cut clean—though not a single Link was currently cutting grass.

The rancher was diligently bundling hay, babbling about its virtues and how beneficial it was for farm animals. He was trying to explain all this to the sailor, who seemed far more interested in asking outrageous questions (“Why not just give them candy?”) and riling Twilight into a rant (“Because it’s bad for their health… and yours too!”) than actually listening to any ranch wisdom.

Warriors, in a rare act of generosity, had stretched his long scarf out on a cleared patch of field and was napping on it. Sky sat beside him—surprisingly not asleep—but quietly whittling something instead.

Legend’s eye twitched dangerously.

That was all the sign Orville needed to know that his day was going to be delightful.

“Do you idiots remember why we’re cutting grass?” Legend hissed.

Twilight opened his mouth, but Legend raised a warning finger. “No, Rancher. We’re not drying hay for cows.”

A nearby Hateno cow let out a mournful moo. Twilight glared at the vet, who ignored him and immediately turned his ire toward Sky.

“And what are you doing?”

“Commission,” Sky said brightly, unfazed by the veteran’s thunderous expression.

Unable to help his own curiosity, Orville leaned in. Sky’s carving looked like a strange contraption of connected carts. He had never seen anything like it before.

“From who?” Legend pressed.

“From me!”

Wind bounced over just as Hyrule took his place pestering Twilight with ridiculous questions (“Can we eat hay?” “No!”).

“How’s my model coming, Sky?”

“I’m trying my best,” Sky said, handing the carving over. “But I’m not sure it fits your description.”

Wind studied the wooden model critically, tongue sticking out in deep thought. The rest of the Links gathered around.

“What is it?” Wild asked.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wind explained. “Moats are too complicated for you losers. So, what if we had rails everywhere? Then long carts—connected together—with a helm, or maybe a steering wheel, at the front. That way it moves fast and carries stuff. Like cannons. Then sore feet would be a tale of the past!”

Orville could barely picture the contraption. The idea of life without wagons or horses felt… far-fetched.

Still, he could see why the brothers liked to whisper proudly behind the sailor’s back (so his head didn’t get even bigger, they claimed) that Wind had the most engineering mind among them.

“So do you like it?” Sky asked with an amused smile.

“Yeah. I’ll show it to Tetra later,” Wind said with a nod, tucking the model into his bag.

“Great! That’ll be 100 rupees,” Sky said brightly.

“Put it on the captain’s tab!” Wind chirped without missing a beat.

Warriors chose that moment to stir. He groggily blinked up at the group, ignoring Legend’s murderous glare, and turned to Wild.

“I dreamed of pizza,” the captain mumbled. “And you trying to stab me.”

Wild blinked. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“I asked you to put banana on it.” Warriors yawned. “You started screaming and called me a Yiga.”

“…That does sound like something I’d do,” Wild nodded seriously.

“Stab the captain, or put banana on pizza?” Twilight asked curiously.

“Both.”

Legend spun on the captain. “You were supposed to supervise! Why were you napping like some geezer who needs a power nap every two minutes?”

“He claimed he could have a prophetic dream,” Twilight said with a snort. “Despite not having the right magical constitution—”

“It’s theoretically possible,” Warriors interrupted.

Twilight rolled his eyes. “Since only Sky and the old man are known to have that ability, Wars here thought his own powers might awaken if he started staying close to Sky.”

“That sounds lazy,” Hyrule pointed out frankly. “Usually, you have to dig up old tombs and crawl into someone’s secret chamber to study a new spell from the wise men.”

“The dish came to me like divine insight,” the captain breathed, eyes glossy with absolute conviction. “I think it’s meant to happen.”

“Banana pizza.” Twilight deadpanned, as the others started snickering.

“Are we sure Hyrule’s the only one with dubious taste?” Legend wondered aloud.

Hyrule pouted, furiously grumbling something about betrayal to Wind, who seemed wholly captivated by his new not-toy model to pay attention.

“Banana pizza isn’t dubious. It’s packed with energy and rich in nutrients,” Warriors argued. He fought valiantly—like a lone soldier against the world—just to stand by his belief, despite it sounding like complete keese droppings.

Orville silently wondered where the Links got their bottomless confidence from.

“Are we sure you’re not a Yiga?” Wild asked, narrowing his eyes with growing suspicion. “Look, I’m not against the idea, but the village just forgave us for our ‘happy accidents.’ I don’t think they’ll be thrilled if we ruin their pizza with fruit.”

“But tomato’s a fruit,” Wind piped in, eyes gleaming with mischief and every intention of being unhelpful. He was one of the rare few who could consistently make Wild pop a blood vessel.

“I have no problem with banana pizza.” Hyrule grinned devilishly. “But can we put frog on it—specifically a frog named Hopson—for extra protein?”

The captain tilted his head. He seemed to be seriously considering Hyrule’s request, much to Orville’s alarm.

Wild glared at them. On his head, Hopson still sat, watching the bizarre conversation with more calm than Orville could muster.

“Since none of you fools remember our mission—” Legend snarled, voice rising like a one-man army striving to wrangle his brothers into sense. He was the only Link here still clinging to the original goal—though Orville doubted that goal was any less absurd than his brethren’s.

“It’s rupees! We’re looking for rupees!”

“We didn’t forget,” Sky scoffed, though he showed no sign of planning to get up and cut grass anytime soon. “But this is a complete waste of energy. There aren’t any rupees in Wild’s grass.”

“Wild, why is there no rupee in your grass?” Wind asked, far too innocently for it to be genuine curiosity.

“This isn’t my grass,” Wild said defensively.

“Your era started it.”

“This isn’t fair,” wailed the champion. “I’m not responsible for putting rupees in the grass!”

Orville blinked.

Wait—was all of this grass-cutting nonsense… for rupees?

The researchers found rupees sometimes.

They were tucked away quietly—almost playfully—most often beneath the statue of the Hero of the Four Sword. That in itself wasn’t unusual—visitors often left offerings at the altars of their patron heroes for good fortune—if the temple were still open to the public.

But it hadn’t been for a long time.

The Sheikah Research Unit had puzzled over it for years, trying to uncover the prankster behind the mysterious rupees.

They searched every nook and cranny for signs of a break-in, just as they had during the case of Gully, who was caught leaving apples at the Hero of Legend’s altar.

Gully, sneaky thief that he was, always left something behind.

But in this case, there were no signs.

No human signs, that is.

In the end, because Legend’s entire existence was made of pure stubbornness, he insisted they cut the grass on one more hill—just to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

The Links held a vote, and Orville was chosen (against his will) as their representative to do the deed.

With his broadsword in hand, Orville was sent into the field while the rest of the Links watched and offered extremely unhelpful advice on how to cut grass with a single swipe.

Orville would admit he was terrible at it—but, to be fair, no knight academy had ever taught him how to mow a field with a broadsword.

He winced as his blade struck yet another stray rock hidden in the tall grass. Now, more than ever, the weapon was in dire need of maintenance. His former instructors would definitely have his head if they knew he was abusing a sword like this, Orville thought gloomily.

Twilight, at least, was pleased with his sacrifice.

After Orville collapsed beside the traveler to catch his breath, the rancher happily announced that they had gathered enough grass to dry into good-quality hay for the cows and sheep.

Wild had also somehow sifted through the cuttings and collected—several bundles of rice?

Orville wasn’t about to question how the champion had managed to harvest rice from a field of weeds. At the very least, it was good to know his efforts hadn’t been entirely in vain, because there were no rupees in the freshly cut field—much to Legend’s irritated disappointment, and Sky’s smug I-told-you-so look.

“We’re searching for rupees so we can donate to the Great Fairies,” Hyrule explained, as if that clarified anything.

“I feel like I need more of an explanation after hearing that,” Orville panted, sweat dripping down his face.

“My Great Fairies might like music,” Wild muttered with a grimace, “but they definitely love money more.”

Orville wasn’t entirely sure what the proper response to that statement was—because that sort of conversation never came up in normal people’s dialogues—but politeness never hurt.

So, he said, “Oh… I’m sorry I can’t be of help.”

“We know,” Sky and Hyrule said in perfect unison.

“We searched your bag while you were in a coma from Hyrule’s cooking,” Legend added casually, like he was commenting on the weather—completely ignoring the fact that he had just confessed to a crime.

Hyrule, standing beside him, offered a sheepish wave. Orville had long since known better than to interpret his awkwardness as a sign of shame. None of them had—or seemed to possess—that ability.

“You really need to be more careful with your spending,” Twilight said, his voice full of genuine concern.

Sky nodded in earnest agreement.

Orville sputtered.

“I understand you’re a hot-blooded young man, and life is full of fun distractions,” Warriors said in the tone of a patient captain counseling a wayward recruit. “I’ve advised plenty of soldiers who blew their savings the same way—but you’ve got to start thinking about your future.”

“Maybe you need a piggy bank,” Wind suggested helpfully. “My little sister loves putting rupees in hers.”

Orville opened and closed his mouth several times before deciding—for the sake of his remaining sanity—to pretend he hadn’t heard a single one of those utterly unbelievable sentences.

Wild and Hyrule shared a look before the champion gently placed Hopson into Orville’s hand.

Orville stared, dumbfounded, at the calm, croaking frog.

“You need his support more than us,” Wild said stoically. “Let him be your financial conscience. Think of him before you spend anything.”

Orville released Hopson at the well, where the frog eagerly rejoined his companions. He immediately began croaking excitedly—no doubt recounting the wildest day of his life to the other frogs.

Colin, who had just returned from the farm, was doubled over with laughter, clutching his stomach like the terrible cousin he was—completely unsympathetic to Orville’s wounded dignity.

Never in his life had Orville received such slander—from the Links, of all people—about his financial responsibility.

“Unbelievable,” he grumbled, brooding. “And what is it with them and their obsession with eating a frog?”

“Well, my kids—when they were littler—used to put dirt and poor little critters in their mouths,” Colin said between laughs. “You’re definitely ready to have a family.”

Orville frowned. “Why do you and your wife keep saying that?”

“You’re going to breeze through parenthood,” Colin said, still grinning. “Because no matter how much of a handful your kids might be, they’ll never be as bad as them.”

There was, unfortunately, some truth to Colin’s annoying statement—not about the whole family nonsense Orville had no intention of entertaining, but about the Links basically being worse than toddlers.

Still, his cousin’s smug face was deeply irritating which made revenge feel like a moral obligation.

“They’re making pizza tonight. With banana as a topping. And I’m going to make you eat it with me,” threatened Orville.

That finally wiped the grin off Colin’s face.

Out of respect for Koyin—the owner of Hateno’s cheese and pizza house, who had abruptly shown up at the communal kitchen just to give the Links a withering glare—the brothers had sensibly relocated. They were now cooking the captain’s prophesied abomination outside of civilization.

Colin was a lucky bastard. Orville couldn’t help but wonder why fortune never seemed to favor him.

Wild cleared his throat with theatrical flair. “Let us not get distracted from our main quest,” he declared grandly to his unimpressed audience, all gathered around a campfire deep in Retsam Forest, waiting for banana pizza to bake in a makeshift oven.

“If we want bags of rupees, I say we ambush Smithy, grab him by the ankles, and shake him until rupees fall out.”

Wild’s suggestion caused immediate uproar—some cheering, others gasping in scandalized horror.

“He’s right. Four’s loaded,” Wind said, eyes gleaming like a scheming cat’s. “One time a monster hit him and actual gems fell out. He’s practically a walking treasure chest.”

“Have you seen the monster after the little guy was done with it?” Warriors shuddered.

“He said they’re Force Gems, though,” Hyrule mused. “Not for sale.”

“I think any Beedle would pay good rupees for his collection,” Wild said conspiratorially. “If he were ever willing to part with it. But he’s as bad as the vet.”

Orville wasn’t entirely sure that was how one was supposed to talk about their own brother. He decided to ignore the rupee conspiracy and instead focused on preparing his mind for the nightmare dinner looming menacingly in the oven.

He was staring into the darkening sky, brooding over what had become of his life, when Legend nudged him with a foot—and handed over the broadsword Orville had left behind at the knight house, assuming he’d find time later to take it to a blacksmith.

Orville looked down at the weapon in surprise. It had been cleaned, sharpened—felt almost like a new sword.

“For the trouble this morning,” Legend said gruffly. “I was a blacksmith’s apprentice once.”

“Never finished the training, though,” his brothers chimed in—noisily, and in perfect unison.

“Shut up!”

“Thank you, sir,” Orville said sincerely.

“Don’t ‘sir’ me,” Legend huffed, ears faintly pink. Then, planting his hands on his hips, the veteran ordered, “Now let me see your form.”

“What?” Orville blinked, bewildered.

“Do as he says, Commander,” Twilight called from near the oven with an amused smile. “He’s trying to be nice.”

“No, I’m not!” Legend snapped. “This is just so he can cut grass better next time.”

Hesitantly, Orville stood and let muscle memory carry him through the familiar routine—the same maneuver taught to hundreds of soldiers across the kingdom. Each movement was standard. Nothing flashy.

Legend stood back with arms crossed, humming thoughtfully as he watched.

Soon, the other Links—sensing something marginally more exciting than watching dough rise—drifted over to observe. Orville couldn’t help but grow self-conscious beneath the weight of their collective gaze, painfully aware that his plain technique was nothing compared to these legendary swordsmen.

“It’s basic,” he admitted quietly, voice tinged with embarrassment. There was no way he could meet their expectations.

Legend raised a brow. “I was about to say your form’s slightly off—but overall, you’ve got a solid foundation.”

“I think there’s nothing wrong with basic,” Hyrule offered gently. “I learned that form too. From a knight.”

“Me too, me too!” Wind raised his hand eagerly. “From Orca!”

“Basic is good,” Wild murmured. “Your body never forgets. So, you don’t have to remember.”

“There are many sword styles that have been invented—and lost—over time,” Twilight added, voice softened by quiet melancholy. “Some were too complex, too demanding to survive without the right mentor.”

Sharing a soft glance with Warriors, Sky added, “But others—just as brilliant—branched out like great trees, maturing through generations, saving countless lives.”

“What you now call ordinary swordplay,” Legend said, eyes sharp and bright as shooting stars, “was once a visionary breakthrough. It took generations of trial and theory to shape it into something anyone could learn.” He nodded toward Orville’s stance—his expression solemn, but not unkind. “I first saw this form in its purest state during the hardest dungeon trial of my life—

“This basic form? It was once called the Four Sword style.”

Scholars often said that all great advancements in magic and craft could be traced back to Hyrule’s first golden age.

He hailed from the Era of Prosperity—a hero of many titles, though the reasons he earned them had long since been lost to time. And yet, his legacies endured, tucked away in the quiet corners of Hyrule’s vast history, waiting patiently to be rediscovered.

While the proud statues of his brothers towered nearly to the ceiling, his stood the smallest—no taller than a Hylian. In comparison to his colossal kin, he appeared a mere dot—grounded, yet no less noble.

Legends said he was different from the rest—not a warrior who wielded the divine sword that sealed the darkness, but a hero who forged a legendary blade of his own. Yet his statue did not depict him with that beloved sword.

Instead, he held a mirror.

A mirror that, curiously, had never lost its shine. From the day it was placed, it remained impeccably spotless, as if invisible little helpers kept it polished through the ages, working diligently in the shadows.

It was said that anyone who caught their reflection in the Hero of the Four Sword’s mirror would be blessed. The belief sparked a long-standing tradition: people leaping to glimpse themselves in it, and parents lifting their children high—hoping they might be touched by ancient light.

On sunny days, visitors often spoke of how beautifully the mirror caught the sun’s rays, casting shimmering rainbows across the temple floor. And strangely, only four colors ever appeared in vivid clarity—violet, blue, red, and green—dancing like magic on the stone.

“His name is Link of Picori—”

“I thought he was a Smith?” Legend raised a brow.

“That’s his grandpa’s name,” Hyrule said, his eye twitching slightly. “He wants to go by this name to honor his talking hat.”

Legend shrugged and returned to feeding wood into the makeshift oven with the rest of his brethren.

“Don’t forget to mention his atrocious hair!” Warriors hollered.

“Oh, and cats tried to eat him. Multiple times,” Sky added airily.

“Deservingly so,” Wild muttered. “He threatened to break my bones more than once for breaking a sword.”

“Also deservingly so,” Twilight agreed without hesitation.

“Smithy and I are a child-discount duo,” Wind boasted, rubbing his nose proudly. “I’m growing out of the role soon, but he isn’t. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I can give a quest on my own!” Hyrule huffed, waving his brothers off with a sharp shooing motion as they snickered and returned to their increasingly heated pizza debate.

(“The real question is—is banana supposed to be a topping or a sauce?”

“It isn’t supposed to be anywhere near a pizza.”

“Fruit becomes sauce, right? Like tomato sauce.”

“Saucy fruit is jam, not sauce.”

“Saucy? How old are you?”

“Tomato isn’t a fruit!”)

“Now, where were we before they stole my thunder?” Hyrule sniffed. “Oh, right. His name is Link of Picori. He loves green peppers.”

Silence fell upon the camp like a boulder, crushing the conversation in a swift and brutal death. The only sounds that remained were the crackling fire, the chirp of crickets, and the loudest stares aimed at a smiling Hyrule.

“…Is that it?” Orville asked warily. He’d never seen the Links go quiet voluntarily before.

The traveler nodded—far too earnestly. His smile was saccharine. Unnaturally sweet.

The hairs on Orville’s arms stood on end.

“That’s right,” Legend said, coughing into his hand like a man trying way too hard to sound casual. “That’s his favorite veggie. He gets shy about it. Might act like he doesn’t want them near his plate, but deep down? He loves them.”

Orville blinked. “Why would he get defensive about liking a vegetable?”

“It’s our fault,” Sky confessed remorsefully, dabbing his dry eyes with Warriors’ handkerchief. “We teased him too much.”

“Four wants to get tall,” Wind added solemnly. “He’ll be secretly happy if you give him green peppers. Lots of them.”

“You’re all going to get him k—!”

Twilight didn’t finish. Everyone turned just in time to see Warriors pull the rancher into a side headlock.

“Don’t mind us!” the captain grinned, tightening his grip. “Told you, Rancher—slow down when you eat. Look at you, choking. Let me help!”

“That’s not how you help someone who’s choking,” Orville said carefully. “And… he doesn’t even have food in his mouth.”

The captain’s hand shot up to cover Twilight’s mouth—and immediately recoiled with a yelp.

“Did you just lick me?! You stupid mutt—Wild, help!”

“Pizza’s ready!” Wild announced far too cheerfully, and shoved a steaming slice straight into Twilight’s mouth.

The rest of the camp turned back to Orville with calm, perfectly pleasant smiles.

And Orville broke into a nervous sweat. He had never felt more like a foolish fawn who’d unfortunately wandered into a den of feral beasts.

“Good evening, Commander.”

Orville jolted from his thoughts and turned to see Symon offering an apologetic smile.

The Sheikah gave a small bow and sat beside him.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just thinking.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as they gazed out over the vegetable patches and ripening rice fields behind Hateno’s school. Then, Symon spoke—his smile just a little too knowing.

“Thinking about the Four Sword style?”

“How did you know?” Orville turned to stare at him in surprise.

“Well, yesterday I happened to take a walk and… accidentally overheard. Pardon my rudeness.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Orville sighed. “They were loud enough for anyone in East Necluda to hear.”

Symon chuckled.

“Quite different from what you'd expect, right?” Orville said, shaking his head in exasperation. “You’d think they’d be… I don’t know. Silent? Like in the legends.”

“There’s never any doubt in my mind that they can hold silence,” Symon replied lightly, though his tone turned thoughtful. “But personally, I much prefer them rambunctious,” he added with a smile.

And Orville found himself smiling in agreement.

“So, do you know anything about the Four Sword style?”

Symon hummed thoughtfully.

“We Sheikah warriors have studied ancient sword techniques. The Four Sword style, if I remember correctly, dates back to the Era of Prosperity—”

Orville listened raptly as Symon spoke of the great inventions born from that same era, when their ancestors first learned to harness elemental magic—from medallions that could summon quakes and lightning, to enchanted boots, and even miraculous spells once used by shrine maidens that allowed one to transform into a fairy.

“Some sword styles were excellent for duels but didn’t translate well into army formations,” Symon continued. “The Four Sword style, however—with its balance of offense and defense, and its emphasis on teamwork—became the foundation of ancient military systems.”

The Sheikah paused, thoughtful.

“Though there are differences between the original style and the one practiced today. I suppose our attempts to standardize the form for widespread instruction have caused the light to lose its individual colors.”

Symon turned to him with a polite smile.

“Sadly, that’s all I know.”

“This… is eye-opening,” Orville whispered. “Thank you, Symon. That’s more useful than anything I’ve gotten so far.”

“There’s a master smith currently residing in Kakariko,” Symon recalled, his smile starting to turn a touch mirthful. “I believe he could tell you more about the Four Sword style and its true potential.”

Orville’s mother used to say—with a sadness in her smile—that Master Rosso wasn’t always like that.

Master Rosso was a temperamental blacksmith who hadn’t forged anything in as long as Orville could remember. He was a short man, about Grandpa’s age, but built like a boulder, with a white beard and a tongue as sharp as his tools. Time seemed to barely touch him. Mom once remarked he looked exactly the same as she remembered when she was a young maiden.

Master Rosso was notorious for scaring off neighborhood children if they so much as played too close to his fence, brandishing a hammer with a growl akin to Death Mountain’s fury.

But most of the time, Master Rosso kept to himself.

He brooded and drank in his cluttered home, which Mom would visit to clean—and, occasionally, to coax him into eating a proper meal. Perhaps because of her kindness, Master Rosso tolerated Orville’s presence more than he did any other child.

It didn’t make Orville any less afraid of him.

Whenever Orville asked what Master Rosso had been like before, Mom would only say, “Your father knew him best. They were very close. Master Rosso was like his mentor.”

Dad was a tight-lipped man when it came to emotions, but he always spoke of Master Rosso with quiet fondness.

Dad’s Master Rosso was nothing like the angry man Orville knew. He was a hardworking man who opened his shop at the crack of dawn, proud of his blacksmith lineage. In his younger years, he’d journeyed far and wide to study metals, gemstones, and the art of the forge. He was even a skilled swordsman, once offering to apprentice Dad in the way of the blade.

“Then why is he different now?” Orville had once asked. “What changed?”

Dad went quiet and turned back to wiping the counter. Orville had learned to live with his father’s silence streaks when it came—he usually gave up trying to get a response out of him and went to find his mother.

But that time, after a long pause, Dad finally spoke.

“The war.”

Long before Orville was born—when his parents were still young—Master Rosso had a wife and a son.

His father, an only child, spent much of his youth at Master Rosso’s home, playing with the smith’s boy, who would later become a knight. Though Orville’s father never pursued knighthood himself, he remained close to Master Rosso’s family well into adulthood.

Time passed. The world moved on.

Dad and Mom married and had Orville.

Then, the war broke out.

The palace declared war on its former allies—though no one truly knew why. All anyone understood was that every man was called to fight.

Orville was only a few months old when his father left for war. His grandfather came to stay to help his mother raise him.

Master Rosso’s wife left around that time, too—for reasons known only to the two of them.

His son never returned from the battlefield. He was among the hundreds lost in a war that was never given a proper name—because remembering it hurt too much for the living.

Some called it The Shattering War, simply for what it did.

Orville’s memory of that fateful day was foggy. But he vaguely remembered the blood, his father shouting, and trying to get Master Rosso to sit still while he cleaned the wound on the old smith’s bleeding ear. In the master’s hand, he was clutching something tightly, mumbling about returning it to “him”.

Later that day, Master Rosso went to the temple—that he hadn’t stepped foot in since becoming a guildsman. Dad and Grandpa accompanied him. Though he usually let Orville come along, this time Grandpa told him to wait at home.

 The next day, Master Rosso left Castle Town for his home village.

Gloom followed Dad for years after the master smith’s “retirement.”

Orville eyed a patch of grass along the path—softer and greener than the rest—and stepped on it carefully.

Nothing happened.

Symon had warned him that Master Rosso’s grandson had taken the village fortifications into his own hands, digging holes and setting traps to catch any monsters or bandits straying too close. Orville had been told not to trust even the most innocent-looking patches of land—he could easily end up like Symon, who had once fallen into a hidden pit simply for being in a hurry and unaware of a newly fortified route.

And, of course, Symon had artfully avoided explaining why the village suddenly needed such intense fortifications.

So, Orville tiptoed forward, his progress toward the village much slower than expected. Eventually, the hilly path led him to the village gate, marked by the Sheikah eye symbol. Red talisman papers fluttered from the arch.

Perhaps it was the eerie nature of the eye itself—or something hidden among the fallen leaves and tree stumps lining the road—but Orville couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He turned around once more.

Nothing.

Orville lightly scolded himself for letting his nerves get the best of him. But just as he was about to step into the domain of the Sheikah, a stray seed shot out of nowhere and struck him on the head—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him leap into the air like a startled cat.

“Who’s there?!” he cried, hand flying to his sword as he frantically scanned the trees, the bushes—anything to prove he hadn’t imagined it.

Only the rustling of leaves and the chirping of a blue bird answered him. Still shaken, Orville hurried the rest of the way to the village gates without looking back.

But if he’d straightened his ears just a little more—

He might have caught the soft, mischievous laughter riding on the wingtips of the little blue bird.

Kakariko Village was like the Sheikah themselves—ancient and steeped in quiet wisdom. Orville had never been here before, but Symon—and occasionally General Impa, when she was in a generous mood—had prepared him with enough stories to feel somewhat familiar.

Though the village had been a Sheikah home for centuries, its history was deeply intertwined with the kingdom of Hyrule and its many peoples. It wasn’t just the Sheikah who lived here—residents from all across Hyrule had built their homes in Kakariko since time immemorial.

So Orville wasn’t all that surprised to see villagers with hair colors other than white, dressed in Sheikah-style robes, going about their daily routines. Nor did anyone seem particularly startled by his arrival or his non-Sheikah appearance.

What he did notice, however, was the absence of young children. Most of the villagers he passed were adults—a sorrowful reminder of Symon’s concerns about the future generations of the village.

Maybe that was why the child quietly reading in the big tree outside the inn caught Orville’s attention immediately.

He wasn’t a Sheikah—blond, probably no older than ten, wearing a purple hooded tunic embroidered with golden thread. A feathered earring hung from his left ear, catching the breeze.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the kid said, without looking up from his book.

Orville startled.

“You’re thinking I’m wearing a purple tunic,” the boy continued, still reading. Then he glanced down at Orville, gaze unexpectedly sharp. “But it’s violet.”

“Huh?”

“And you’re too jumpy,” he added, snapping his book shut with a crisp clap. In one smooth motion, he leapt from the branch and landed lightly—steady as a mountain. “Thinking is good. But overthink, and you dull your awareness. Plant your feet firmly—like this.” He demonstrated. “That way, your head stays level. Reign in your thoughts. Curate them. Like you’re the underpaid librarian at the Royal Library.”

Somehow, despite his better judgment, Orville shifted his feet to mirror the boy’s stance.

The kid grinned. “You’re teachable!”

Orville opened his mouth—to ask who he was, or how long he’d been silently perched in that tree—but the moment he glanced down at a cucco pecking at his boot, the boy vanished.

“You mean the master smith and his apprentice?”

With help from the friendly innkeeper, Orville was directed to a small cottage where Master Rosso lived with his grandson.

He knocked on the door. It flung open almost immediately—but instead of an old man, it was the mysterious kid he’d just seen in the tree.

Except now, he was wearing a blue tunic, along with a brown leather apron and gloves. His blue headband kept his hair tied back in a small ponytail.

“How did you change clothes so fast?” Orville asked, flabbergasted.

“Ooh, sword. Confiscated!” the kid declared, ignoring the question entirely.

Before Orville could react, the boy reappeared behind him—somehow—already holding his broadsword. He weighed it in his hands, inspecting the blade with a scrutinizing eye.

“Not bad. But not as good as my sharpening technique,” he said, glancing up at a dumbfounded Orville. “You, on the other hand, get caught off guard too easily. Think on your feet.”

He demonstrated a set of footwork steps—slowly at first, so Orville could follow. It resembled a strike maneuver taught at the academy, one designed to dash behind an opponent and land a quick blow. But the way the boy moved… it was different. Fluid. Like a swift river instead of a rigid drill.

“Thank you… I think,” Orville managed. “Are you Master Rosso’s grandso—?”

“He’s paying respects at the family tombs. Don’t interrupt him. He’ll be back for dinner,” the boy cut in briskly. “But you can be helpful. Go fetch me from the weapon shop. And me from the general store.”

“Fetch you? But you—”

“Did I stutter?”

“He went to grab some arrows from the storeroom. Hasn’t come out yet,” the weapon shopkeeper said cheerfully. She chatted as she worked, explaining how Master Rosso’s grandson liked to help out—especially when they were rolling explosive powder to make bomb arrows. He loves the idea of big fire. More explosive, more festive, the kid had once said.

Following her directions, Orville found the boy—now in a red tunic—perched on a top shelf in the back of the storeroom, huddled and hissing at a white cat on the floor.

“She’s trying to eat me!” he accused, glaring at the nonchalant feline. “Go hunt someone your own size!”

Orville, fairly certain animals didn’t hunt things their own size, asked wearily, “Do you need help?”

Without warning, the kid leapt onto him. Orville yelped as the boy clambered up and settled on his shoulders like a squirrel claiming a tree.

“Alright, I’m comfortable now,” the kid declared, pointing toward the door. “Onward, horse!”

Then he tugged on Orville’s hair like they were reins, steering him toward the exit.

Stumbling a bit under the weight—and the indignity of being turned into a reluctant steed—Orville muttered, “I can walk without your command.”

The tugging became frantic.

“Run like you’re on fire! No thinking!” the boy screamed as the cat began following them—and yanked Orville’s hair again, hard.

Orville sighed. Then he started running.

“Whoop!” the kid cheered. His laughter crackled like summer firecrackers.

As expected—because it was becoming a bit of a pattern at this point—the kid vanished the moment Orville stepped out of the shop.

Still panting from his stint as a steed, Orville dragged himself toward his final destination.

He was just about to push open the door to the general store when someone hissed from nearby.

It was him again—Master Rosso’s grandson. Now wearing a green tunic.

“I’m on a secret mission and I can’t be found,” the boy whispered gravely. “But I also need to run an errand, so—”

“So—?” Orville echoed, already wary.

The boy pointed to the rooftop. At the very top, a shiny green rupee gleamed in the sunlight.

“Go get it for me.”

“I can’t!” Orville sputtered.

“Not with that attitude,” the kid scoffed.

“How did the rupee even get up there?”

“Everything forges its own path,” the boy said sagely. “There is always a way. Think outside the box.”

Then, without warning, he shoved Orville toward the vines climbing the side of the store. “And be brave—fortune loves the bold!”

And somehow… something in the air sang.

When Orville finally climbed down—with the rupee now in his pocket—the boy was, unsurprisingly, gone.

In his place stood a little girl with golden hair, hands on her hips, looking like Orville had just ruined her entire day.

“I missed him!” she huffed.

“Who?”

“Link! He’s my hide-and-seek partner. I just can’t find him—he’s too fast!” she pouted.

Orville sighed. Of course. He should’ve figured it out sooner. That boy had Link written all over him—though this one leaned a little harder into the strange side. And that was saying something, considering he’d met his seven weird brothers.

The little girl poked Orville’s leg, jolting him out of his quiet lament on life, and handed him a crumpled piece of paper.

“Found this on the ground. He left it for you, I suppose.”

It was a grocery list. Ingredients Link was supposed to collect for dinner. Now, apparently, that task had passed to Orville.

“Oh, and mister stranger?” the girl said, peering up at him with big green eyes. “Link said whenever you pick up a rupee you find, you have to say thank you. So the Minish will be happy.”

Orville blinked. “Thank you for telling me… and thanks to the Minish, too.”

She beamed and darted off—likely chasing after her elusive playmate.

 Orville stood there a long moment, list in hand. He still hadn’t managed a proper conversation with Link. And he wasn’t sure if he ever would.

But maybe… maybe he just needed to try a little harder to appease this one.

His thoughts drifted to the Links’ strange advice he’d heard that day.

When Orville finally returned to the cottage, Master Rosso was calmly seated with a teapot and two cups. He looked up as Orville approached, his gaze calm, though tinged with surprise.

Orville’s memories of the man were vague, but one thing stood out clearly—he had never once seen Master Rosso sober before.

“Master Rosso?”

“Raven’s kid?”

“I should’ve known you were a Sheikah,” Orville said later, helping Master Rosso prepare dinner in the small kitchen. “You age slower than us Hylians. The neighborhood kids used to whisper that you were an automaton secretly controlled by mice—because of how often you talked about them.”

Master Rosso snorted.

His 'grandson' was nowhere to be found. When Orville asked, the old smith just chuckled and said he was ‘busy as a mouse’—but would pop up once the food was ready.

“Like your grandfather, I grew up discontent with my heritage,” Master Rosso began, slicing vegetables with the practiced grace of someone who had long since mastered the blade.

“We Sheikah are not children of the sky,” he went on. “We were left behind. And yet we are expected to be devout—servants first to the White Goddess, then to the royal family that bears her blood.”

He swept the chopped vegetables into a pot of simmering broth.

“In our obsession with insight and prophecy, we forgot how to see ourselves—as anything independent. When the other races began to question our loyalty, we abandoned our advancements. Our ambitions. We chose a rural life to appease them. We welcomed stagnation. We embraced servitude— I didn’t want that life,” he said gruffly.

At the sight of the green peppers in the basket, Master Rosso raised a single eyebrow but said nothing. A smile tugged at the corner of his bearded face.

“I found freedom in smithing. My work belongs to the craft—not to the Sheikah, not to the Hylians. And when I’m gone, it will become part of an unbreakable legacy—one not built on divine command, but on the perseverance of men.”

There was a fire in Master Rosso’s gaze. And Orville could finally see why his father had admired this man so deeply.

Though he often boasted about his knightly son, Master Rosso viewed knighthood as merely a form of practical training—a way for a blacksmith to truly understand the weapons they forged.

“All blacksmiths must know how to hold a blade,” he would say when Orville’s father asked why he let his son join the military instead of working in the forge.

“A few years of service,” he once advised Dad, “then retire, earn a pension, open a business—and now you’re armed with stories to impress customers.”

Grandpa, from what Dad said, couldn’t stand that view. He believed Master Rosso was too dismissive of the knight’s honor. But for Dad—who’d grown up in Castle Town, where mighty knights looked down on artisans—Master Rosso’s pride in his craft was exactly the validation he needed.

“All paths of the blade begin and end in the forge,” Master Rosso once told Orville’s father. “Knighthood is too glorified these days. No one remembers that the first to forge, the first to wield, and the first to teach swordsmanship—were us blacksmiths! The great masters of old learned to harvest the forces of nature and channel their power through steel. Our work is no less honorable. No less sacred. We don’t need to bother going to temples—our work is our prayer. And when we hold our craft in our hands, the grace of the heavens becomes clear to our eyes!”

“What happened to you?” Orville asked quietly, the question he had longed to ask the man who had abruptly left his life before Orville had the chance to truly know him.

“I was a coward. Blinded by my own hubris,” Master Rosso said, his voice softer than a whisper. Orville had to strain to hear him over the bubbling of the broth. “They told me they were sending my boy to war. And what did I do? I did their bidding.”

“I don’t think you had much choice,” Orville said softly, recalling his father’s haunted expression.

Master Rosso shook his head.

“I feared what would happen if I resisted, yes. But I was so damn arrogant. I told myself I was doing it so our boys could come home. My wife begged us to leave. I ignored every warning, every plea.”

His looked to Orville, sorrow dulling the fire in his eyes.

“We built our home here, in Hyrule. I thought this would be the place where our son, and his children after him, could have a better future—better than in some quiet, forgotten village. If we stayed, we had to support the kingdom’s war effort. I thought that was the price.”

He reached up, fingers hovering near his left ear, where a long scar sliced through the skin.

“All blacksmiths wear an earring,” he murmured. “It’s an old tradition. It’s a symbol that we’ve completed our apprenticeship—that we are trusted members of the guild. For us, maturity isn’t about age—it’s about this honor. This trust.”

Orville’s thoughts flickered back to the feathered earring swaying in the breeze.

Though they weren’t particularly devout, there was a tradition passed down in blacksmith guilds: once an apprentice completed their training, they must embark on a journey to further their self-study. Life on the road was dangerous, so it became customary for the newly-minted guildsman to pay tribute to the statue of the Hero of the Four Sword, asking him to watch over their path until their return home. To the forge.

Dad once wondered aloud if blacksmiths sought divine inspiration from their smithy hero—and was promptly scolded by Master Rosso. “Blacksmiths don’t have patron deities. We have teachers.”

To blacksmiths and guildsmen, the Hero of the Four Sword wasn’t some distant figure to be worshipped or beseeched for inspiration. He was a master. A teacher. One whose monumental footsteps they strove to match, for every blacksmith dreamed of forging a masterpiece with their own blood and sweat.

Though many swords of wonder had been forged, but it was the Four Sword that first lit the path—a pinnacle of mortal craftsmanship that inspired countless techniques and traditions, all striving to replicate its marvel.

And the smallest of the nine heroes had always been the silent giant upon whose shoulder they stood, peering further into new horizons.

“When someone betrays the craft—we slit the ear. Strip the earring. It’s a mark of shame.”

Master Rosso’s eyes sparked with bitterness, his teeth gritted. “Steel rusts from within, Orville. There were too many swindlers in the guild. They used cheap metals. Passed off blades that wouldn’t last a week. They profited from the blood of their fellow men.”

Orville’s breath caught.

“I exposed them. Thought it would matter. They threw me in jail—said I was slandering good men. Those twisted bastards let me keep my earring like it was some kind of sick joke,” he scoffed. “When I got out, the war was over. My blades had cut down our own allies. And the cheap blades from my guild had killed my son.”

There was nothing Orville could offer but to listen in silence as Master Rosso drowned in old grief.

“The only honor I had left was as a blacksmith. Not a husband. Not a father. Just the forge that—I couldn’t show my face in anymore.” His head bowed, eyes closing in shame. “I tore the earring out myself. And left. Should’ve done it a long time ago, instead of being a burden to your family for so many years.”

“They were worried, I remember,” Orville said quietly. “I visited my mother a few weeks ago. She was glad you stopped by. Said you looked… happier than we’d last seen you.”

“…He was very insistent that I pay your family a visit.”

And slowly—steadily—the light returned to Master Rosso’s eyes.

So, Master Rosso told Orville—while they waited for the rice to cook and the soup to simmer—that not much had changed for him since moving back to Kakariko. He had simply changed the place where he drank and slept.

Then, one day, there was an insistent knock at his door.

At first, Master Rosso ignored it, confident in the strength of his fortified lock. But to his surprise, the unwanted guest was persistent. Then he heard the click—and the door swung open as a boy marched in.

With him, sunlight poured through the open doorway.

The boy tilted his head at Master Rosso, as if listening to someone whisper on his shoulder. Then he smiled brightly and held out a hand.

“Open your palm,” the boy said. “I believe you dropped this.”

Too shocked to argue, Master Rosso complied—and found himself staring at the earring he had cast away long ago.

“Don’t forget to thank the Minish who kept it safe for you,” the boy added cheerfully. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he asked, “Can you get me into that forge in Castle Town? That sleazy scrub of a smith said I wasn’t allowed because he thought my earring was fake. I need to judge his work—really harshly—and also make him eat his words. And his anvil.”

And so began Master Rosso’s unexpected adventure: escorting the teenager (yes, “he is in fact sixteen”) to every place he wanted to go, and watching as Link annihilated every so-called master in the sword dojos, and terrified every arrogant guild leader into absolute submission.

And for the first time in years, the shadow that had long veiled Master Rosso’s home—and his heart—was lifted. Banished.

Orville looked at Master Rosso, surprised. “Could you say that again?”

“I said I’m working to earn the earring back,” Master Rosso said with an amused smile. “I’m not a master here, Orville. I’m just an apprentice.”

Then, his eyes grew distant, his voice quieter.

“I told him I couldn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. And he started dragging me around—to visit every place and every person I’d ever known. We went to Crenel Hill, the first place I visited after leaving the village—the place I named my son after. Castle Town…

That’s when I realized—I’ve lost many chances to mend what was broken. Many of the people I loved are already gone. But there are still others. And if I can find the courage to make amends… maybe I’ll be able to tolerate my reflection again.”

“So, the master smith everyone’s been talking about…”

Master Rosso laughed—a happy, belly-warm sound. “No one deserves that title more than him! People judge too fast—even us blacksmiths, who should know better. It wasn’t ambition or glory that drew us to smithing. We just like tinkering! That sense of wonder—we have it in common with children. We’re all just adults who never grew up.”

He paused his chuckling before glancing at Orville, his voice softening. “Thank you, Orville—for listening. And thank your family… for keeping me alive long enough to find myself again.”

Orville returned the smile. “My father must be really happy to hear from you again.”

“I believe he’d be happier to hear from you.”

Master Rosso’s words pulled at something deep in Orville’s soul—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face—

Just then, a sudden flash lit the doorway, followed by a bang as the door slammed open.

“Stop!”

Link of Picori burst in, clad in a tunic stitched from all four colors, and pointed a furious finger directly at Orville—who was holding a plate of sliced green peppers in his hand.

Before Orville could react, Link stormed across the room, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him down until they were eye to eye.

“Don’t you dare put poison in the food!” hissed Link. His eyes blazed—shifting from an impossibly pale blue to a shimmering silver, like fine steel catching ancient light.

Master Rosso insisted sternly that they must not waste food. Since the peppers were already chopped and prepared, they might as well be served.

Link kept glaring at Orville and the stir-fried green peppers on his plate, as though they had personally offended his entire legacy.

It was, without question, the most uncomfortable dinner Orville had ever endured.

“Which one of the idiots told you I liked green peppers?” Link demanded.

“…All of them,” Orville said, swallowing his growing dread. “Except Twilight.”

“Good. He’s spared. The rest are dead to me. I just need a bit more time, and then they’re going to be dead for real.”

Orville gulped.

“I think peppers aren’t that bad,” said the little girl who had somehow joined their dinner. “You’re just being a baby.”

Link gave her a disgusted look—but at the same time, he began picking every single pepper off his plate and piling them onto hers.

“Be a good friend,” he told her grumpily. “Have mine. Grow strong.”

The girl shrugged and started eating. Orville tried to finish his own as quickly as possible, hoping to sneak out and run back to Hateno.

Sadly, nothing got past Link’s sharp observation.

“You’re not off the hook,” Link said, like a threat. “Meet me at midnight.”

“Four’s forgiving,” Warriors reassured like the irresponsible captain he was. “The commander will live.”

“But y’all sure are dead meat,” Twilight scowled, his accent thickening with indignation. He sulked like a brooding dog, back turned to them, still offended that they’d ganged up on him.

“It was a harmless prank,” Legend said with a grin. “The little guy’s too level-headed. He’s as boring as you, Rancher—so this quest won’t be too dull for the commander.”

“If everything goes wrong, we can always blame Hyrule,” Sky chimed in.

Hyrule bowed dramatically, like the cheeky bastard that he always was. “Pardon my fairy urge to be whimsy.”

“You’re not a fairy,” Warriors said flatly. “You just knew a spell. And you’re stinky for not teaching anyone.”

“Keep lecturing me and see if I’ll ever teach you,” Hyrule retorted.

Warriors squawked, and Wind—ever the gracious one—mockingly patted the captain’s head. “You could always try asking Smithy. Isn’t Hyrule’s spell just a shrine maidens' version that survived?”

“It still amazes me that you guys live so far apart across eras, yet Four’s legacies still come to your aid,” Sky said softly. “His techniques. His trial. His heirlooms.”

“He’s like a squirrel burying nuts everywhere,” Wild observed. “For all of you to dig up from old tombs and caves.”

“Are you alright, Featherhead?” Twilight asked, noticing how quiet Sky had become. He was always the first to spot when his brother’s mood shifted.

Everyone grew silent, their concern turning toward Sky.

“Worry not.” Sky shook his head, a gentle smile touching his lips. “It’s just… whenever I think of him, my heart is filled with gratitude.” He placed a hand over his chest, where his heart beat steady. “I’m so relieved that this spirit could take the form of a warrior so bright—that he left for all of you more than just a sword and the cursed path of no return.”

“Damn it, Sky,” Legend cursed under his breath, as tears began to stain Sky’s face. It forced him to do the most nauseating thing—be nice. The vet tentatively pulled Sky into a hug, and soon the rest of the group followed, dog-piling their sniffling sky knight.

“I hate it when one of us goes down this self-deprecating sail,” Wind wheezed, his voice muffled as he tried to breathe beneath the weight of his brothers.

“Agreed,” grunted Wild, as Sky hugged the air out of his lungs. “Who wants to help me come up with the most outrageous pizza?”

When Link handed Orville his sword, Orville braced himself, thinking he was about to be sliced to pieces and fed to the Kakariko carp.

Instead, he was met with a soft chuckle.

“Just take the sword,” Link said, his tone amused. “Swing it. Tell me—how does it feel?”

Thus began Orville’s midnight practice, guided by Link’s firm yet encouraging advice. Though Orville knew it was his knight broadsword, it felt different now—lighter. Freer.

 Pride glowed in Link’s voice as he spoke. “I tempered it a little. It’s balanced now. You’ll find it can cut pretty much anything. Just don’t test it on a rock, though!”

“Can it cut grass?” Orville asked.

Link frowned, rubbed his chin, then sighed. “I’ll allow it. Though the fire rod’s more effective.”

Orville gripped the sword tightly in his hands. “Thank you,” he said softly. As the words left him, his heart swelled with even more gratitude.

“Thank you for returning Master Rosso to us,” Orville continued. “My family thought we’d never see him again. And I never thought I’d know him—the real him. But now I’ve met him, not just a shadow of who he was.”

Link looked at him, his eyes like a silvery pool—clear as a mirror. For a moment, Orville felt as though his own soul was staring back.

“Forgiveness is hard,” Link said quietly, “because people forget that shadows never tarnish the light we carry within. They’re part of it. Like strife and harmony, two halves of the same kinstone. We’ve grown enough to face the parts of ourselves that fractured our bonds and split our sense of self. Just as blades can be reforged, hearts can mend. We’re not so easily broken because we aren’t alone.”

Then Link unsheathed his own sword and pointed it skyward. Amidst the encroaching darkness, it gleamed like a starbeam—a marvel that left Orville breathless with awe.

“Together, we shall fight and struggle,” Link grinned, “for we’re meant to triumph through the trial by fire.”

The Hero of Men was but one of many titles claimed by the Hero of the Four Sword—and so, too, was his mantle as the Hero of Light.

The Age of the Goddess had long passed, never to return. Yet for some proud people, a difficult truth lingered: they still felt like children, toddling forward with the Goddess holding their hand.

But with his rise to the mantle of Hero, their independence—and their mortal ingenuity—had been heralded to the heavens. And now, they could claim it, loud and proud.

“The Age of Men had come!”

Hyrule was never again left defenseless, even if the divine blade—a gift of the sky—slumbered deep in an unreachable place. For from the humble earth, another light shone. No matter how many times evil arose, he always returned to vanquish it—reforged, sharpened, unbreakable.

 And the realm of the heavens may look down upon men, and truly marvel—

Indeed, the light had reached every corner of Hyrule.

A gull swooped down toward them, carrying a small wooden bento wrapped in cloth.

Inside was a pizza—topped with tiny, baked croissants.

Link pulled a strange nut from his pouch, chewed it angrily, and immediately began squawking at the gull.

Orville took that as his cue to retreat back to Master Rosso’s cottage and sat beside the little girl in the yard, who was giggling at the sight of Link yelling at the cackling sea bird.

“Get your heavy hides over here right now, so I can kick you all into your personal cells in the Dark World for your crimes against croissants!” Four snarled, barely restraining himself from throttling the poor gull. It wasn’t the bird’s fault it had eaten a pear and gotten possessed by a certain sailor.

“No, I’m not going to Hateno. You’re all coming here. I found her.”

The gull froze, its head swiveling frantically until its beady eyes locked onto the little girl. Then it shrieked.

Four winced.

“Yeah, yeah. I can explain. I’ve got the whole story—history, gossip, everything. Apparently, I’m the only one doing his job while the rest of you are fooling around.”

The gull snickered in that infuriating way only Wind could.

The smithy raised an unimpressed brow. “Rupees? I have none. I fused every kinstone I could find. Don’t give me that look. Do you have any idea how expensive materials are around here? I needed plenty to set proper traps.”

The gull chirped inquisitively.

“Stolen crown?” Four snorted. “When would I even have the time? Thank Sky anyway for betting on me.”

A low croon followed, and Four’s expression darkened.

“That old coot’s getting his own special cell in the Dark World,” he growled. “He ambushed and tagged me just as I stumbled out of the portal!”

At his words, the gull flapped in alarm—but Four was faster. He snatched the Wind-possessed bird with a grin, all teeth and malice.

“You’re it now, Windy,” he cooed. “Go tag the others. If I have to be the Responsible Adult for one more day, I’m dropping the big bomb on that castle.”

“That tag doesn’t count! I was possessing a bird!” Wind shouted indignantly, as everyone scattered—like he carried the plague.

Which, in a way, he did.

See, the whole dreadful game of tag had started when the old man—fed up with booking inns, apologizing for property damage, and being the designated voice of reason—decided he wouldn’t shoulder the cursed mantle of Responsible Adult alone.

“Once you're tagged, you're it—and you have to act like you actually have a conscience. At least until you pass the curse to the next victim,” the smirking old man had explained. This, of course, came right after he obliterated an innocent clock tower in some unknown Hyrule just because he ‘felt like it’, then made the rest of them apologize to an enraged town mayor on his behalf.

Since then, every time they switched eras, they had to constantly watch their backs—dreading the moment they’d be tagged. The old man, at least, had been gracious enough to save his “game” for rare, special occasions.

And if the smithy had been tagged this early?

That meant Time had been on the loose this whole time.

“Oh shit,” they said in unison.

Because nothing was more terrifying than the old man’s game—played the same way he fought.

Mercilessly.

Chapter Text

The old man took a deep breath and sighed as he felt the first breath of spring caress his weathered face. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that he was still alive to greet this year’s blossom.

He knew the town would soon be bustling, with houses and shops preparing for the fast-approaching festival. But here, in the little woods near his home, everything remained quiet and calm in the realm of the wild—save for the squeals of laughter from his grandchildren as they explored the small creeks and tree stumps, searching for trails and treasures left behind by the Minish.

He wished he could join them, but alas, his body insisted on resting by a small log, guarding their picnic basket. A half-piece of a green kinstone sat warmly in his pocket, as it had for six decades, still waiting for its missing half.

The first few decades had sadly been a fruitless search. But now, as the land healed and the Minish population returned, people had begun building tiny homes for them. The little friends responded in kind, leaving behind small gifts—nuts, berries, even rupees.

People knew he was searching. Whenever someone found a half-piece in their homes or gardens, they brought it to him. But none ever fit.

He was in no hurry—though he would confess, he remained curious about what great treasure might be revealed if the kinstone were ever made whole.

His grandchildren, on the other hand, were much more eager to find the missing piece of his gift.

“I’ll be the one who finds the other piece for you!” they promised.

Their competition left them ravenous when they returned to the tree log, where a picnic blanket lay and food awaited his little explorers.

“What do you wish for the kinstone to grant?” his eldest granddaughter asked, looking upset that no one had found the missing half yet.

The old man chuckled softly. “Well, according to the Hero of the Four Sword, we have little to no control over what fortune the kinstone may bring.”

Suddenly, there came the sound of hooting as a curious owl flew down and stared at them—or, more precisely, at their picnic food.

“Now, now, children. The bird of wisdom has appeared!” the old man cried, brimming with childish excitement. “You might want to pay attention, or he’ll repeat his message until you understand it.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “Listen closely. Perhaps he’s about to tell us something we've never known before. Perhaps something passed down from his ancestor, who once guided the greatest hero in Hyrule’s history—"

“The Hero of Time!”

Orville sat by the cooking pot near the head villager’s house, quietly examining the half-piece of green stone that Four had proudly presented as a kinstone, while half-listening to the Links bicker nearby.

According to the smithy, a kinstone was a magical medallion that, when fused with its other half, would bestow a fortune. Though, of course, Orville would have to find the missing piece on his own—because that was all Four had in his kinstone bag and, “It’s more fun searching for the other half on your own!”

The smithy’s brothers had leveled him with the collective stares of grand disappointment.

“We had faith in you and your stones to elevate us all from poverty,” they muttered among themselves.

Four’s eyes narrowed as he puffed out his chest.

Sky elbowed Hyrule, and both started snickering, knowing that Four was about to go off defending “the misunderstood magic of the Minish” again.

“You guys are too materialistic,” Four said primly, nose lifted in indignation. “I’ll have you know that wealth isn’t the true purpose of kinstone magic. It’s about building and deepening connections—with your family, your friends, and strangers! When you fuse a kinstone together, you become kin. That’s the true Minish magic. Bonds are the real treasure. The rupees are just a little reward.”

Orville found the speech quite profound, even if the brothers continued to stare at their smithy with unimpressed expressions for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Why are you talking like you’re a contender for the Triforce of Wisdom?” Wild scratched his head.

Sky nodded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was Dot talking.”

“W-What are you t-talking about? This was my thought! My pure, original thought,” Four stammered, his ears turning pink. All the Links locked eyes on him like hawks spotting a field mouse.

Warriors let out a scandalized gasp as he started fanning himself, his voice turning insincerely sweet. “Could it be that you somehow copied her speech, Four?”

“Impossible,” Twilight whispered, eyes wide in mock disbelief. His ferocious grin, however, told the true story of a predator going for the kill. “Why would he do that—unless he wants to look wise and mature?”

“I paraphrased it! I didn’t copy her!” Four crossed his arms and glared at his brothers, deeply offended.

There were so going to be revenge pranks because a Link never took teasing lying down.

Orville could only pray that Kakariko would still be standing when he returned.

“Also, I didn’t do it to look mature. I am already mature,” Four grumbled.

“We literally just witnessed you throwing yourself on the ground and thrashing like a fish out of water to make Master Rosso get rid of green peppers,” Legend deadpanned. “You threw a tantrum, my little dude.”

“It’s not immaturity if it works. It’s—strategy,” Four sniffed, unrepentant and entirely unembarrassed. If they thought he’d blush because they witnessed his brilliant execution of a tactic, they were wrong. He’d endured enough humiliation to get them inns’ child-discount to care.

“Now you sound like a Link,” Legend smirked, “albeit a dumb one.”

“That sounds about right,” Sky said, genuinely relieved that his brother hadn’t been possessed by actual rationality.

Orville looked up just as the sailor dropped beside him with a huff of annoyance. Since Wind was still the designated Responsible Adult, his brothers had sent him to discuss matters with the Sheikah elders. Wind had said it wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to people—he did like talking to people, especially old people—but it “sucked” to do it under the curse of the Responsible Adult.

“They're goofing around, but none of them have exposed a weak spot I can exploit—yet,” the sailor muttered, eyes scanning with the sharp calculation of a hunting gull.

Orville thought back to two days ago, when the rest of the Links arrived in Kakariko and were told about their ongoing game of tag. The entire concept had baffled him so much, his brain had decided to forget half of it for sanity preservation.

(He had also restrained himself from saying out loud that he wished all of them were tagged permanently—as it would have made his life much easier—for self-preservation.)

“Can’t you just ask the rancher to take the tag?” Orville suggested, slightly confused. Relatively speaking, Twilight already seemed more responsible than most.

“He’s never lost a game of tag. And he has some dumb dog pride about it,” Wind rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Swabbie. I’ve already chosen my curse successor. I’ll make my move eventually. You focus on your own quest.”

At the reminder of his quest, Orville sighed and looked down at the half-piece of kinstone in his hand again.

A reward in advance, they’d said, because he’d need all the luck he could get.

“It’s a useless piece of stone that does nothing right now, but it’s still half of a fortune dispenser. It’s better than nothing,” Wind consoled, clapping his shoulder in sympathy.

Orville felt it the moment he stepped outside and saw the rest of the Links arriving in Kakariko—

Something had drastically shifted in the air.

The smithy was already there, gently coaxing the little girl who was hiding behind his back (not very effectively, if you asked Orville. Four was barely large enough to shield her) to say hello to his brothers.

“They’re not taking you away from me, right, Link? You promised to be my best friend,” the girl asked. Her tone was defiant, though her eyes betrayed her nervousness at meeting these new people.

“I’ll always be your best friend, Dottie. Always,” Four said, squeezing her hand. “Come on, say hello to my brothers. I promise they all make great horsies.”

Dottie smiled faintly and gave the Links a shy little wave.

It was Sky who approached her first.

He knelt to her eye level, his smile soft as clouds and warm as the morning sun.

“Hello, little daughter of the sun.”

The girl giggled. “That’s not my name! You’re like Link! He keeps calling me silly nicknames too.”

“Well, perhaps because I’m also a Link,” Sky winked, and she squealed with delight. “And we have dear friends who share your name, so we give them nicknames. You can give us silly ones too, if you like. Mine is Sky.”

The Links went around with introductions, each breezily coaxing a giggle from Dottie. Before long, she was chattering excitedly, as if she’d known them forever.

“Is it a family thing? Silly nicknames?” she asked innocently, patting the fur pelt on Twilight’s shoulder, clearly enchanted by the soft texture.

“It is,” Twilight replied with a small smile. “Where’s your family, Starlight?”

“The whole village is my family,” Dottie said matter-of-factly. “I live in every house. Though I have to let Anjean know where I’m having a sleepover.”

“Is Anjean your parent?”

“No, she’s my guardian. Mom is a hide-and-seek expert now. She’s been hiding since I was little.”

The Links looked to Four, who only shook his head sadly.

Unaware of the silent conversation around her, Dottie happily chirped, “That’s why Lin—Four—is training with me, so I can get good fast and find her soon!”

A crack of lightning split the distant sky, and the wind began to howl.

“Did anyone do that? Whoever did it, please—stop,” the captain called, looking at the darkening sky. His voice was calm, his smile still in place, but something in his tone was sharp and final. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but Hyrule quietly relaxed his shoulders.

“And you’re supposed to be responsible now, Sailor.”

“Not for too long,” Wind muttered, though his grin returned as he turned to the girl.

Hands on his hips, he asked, “Hey, small fry, how old are you?”

“I’m six. I’m practically grown up!” she declared proudly, puffing out her chest. “Why do your brothers give you a wide berth?”

“They are ass—”

“He’s got cooties,” Hyrule cut in smoothly.

Dottie screamed in horror and backed away from Wind.

(Orville backed away as well. His barracks had once been infested with lice. Even if he knew the traveler was lying, he wasn’t about to take any chances).

“You’re paying for this,” the sailor growled through his gritted teeth. “All of you.”

“I think we should probably head back inside,” Warriors said, gracefully steering the conversation back to civil ground. “Well, young lady, would you like to hear a tale from a faraway land? Legend here’s been dying to bore someone into oblivion.”

Legend glowered but turned to Dottie with a smile softer than anything Orville had ever seen on him.

“Don’t believe a man draped in curtains. I’m an amazing storyteller. And I can do even better than simply tell a story.”

“What can you do?” Dottie asked curiously.

The veteran cleared his throat and began to sing*:

“Won’t you look down upon your feet,

This road is yours to take,

Look ahead—that is yours too,

All the stars shine brightly to guide you,

Reach out—this hand is here for you.”

Dottie clasped her hands with delighted excitement and immediately took Legend’s outstretched hand as they headed toward Master Rosso’s cottage.

She had no idea that Legend was now receiving death glares from his brothers.

The veteran only ever sang to dial up his charm—and somehow, it was considered cheating.

Wild hurried after them. “No good tale without snacks! I’m a great cook. I can whip up anything! What’ll it be?”

“Fruit cake!” the girl shouted without hesitation.

“Of course you do, little blossom,” Wild murmured fondly, though sorrow faintly laced his voice.

And just like that, the competition to become Dottie’s most favorite Link had begun.

Warriors, Twilight, and Four were the three Links who remained outside, speaking in hushed tones.

“I don’t like it when your hunches are right,” the rancher muttered. “Please go back to dreaming about durian pizza.”

The captain let out a long sigh, then turned to the smithy. “You promised us an explanation, right, Four?”

Four grinned. “I’ve prepared a diagram just for you, Captain.”

“No time to dawdle, then,” Warriors said with a chuckle, watching the others try to make Dottie laugh with an unreadable expression. Then he turned to Orville. “I suppose this will be your last quest—”

Four kicked him in the kneecap.

Warriors winced, dramatically hunching over to clutch his injured leg.

Twilight wisely stepped back to avoid becoming collateral damage.

“Wanna do the honors, Smithy?” the rancher offered diplomatically.

Four cleared his throat and turned to Orville, raising both hands with theatrical flair.

“A dark time is approaching. Willst thou run? Or fly? Willst thou sink? Or swim? And in the end, willst thou soar? Or willst thou suck? Willst thou finish? Or die trying!?”

Orville stared, jaw slack. All he could do was blink helplessly as his brain tried to process the ominous nonsense.

Twilight let out a long, suffering sigh. He walked over and lifted Four by the scruff of his hood.

Dangling in the air like a misbehaving cat, the smithy screeched, “Release me!”

“Air jail,” Twilight declared, holding up the hissing smithy without remorse.

“Why can’t any of you give out a quest like a normal quest-giver?” Warriors groaned, rubbing his temple. “Finding the old man is already a terrible fate on its own. No need to scare him any further.”

And as usual, Warriors had somehow made it worse. No one bothered correcting him as they were too busy pointing and cackling at Four’s undignified struggle.

Maybe Orville really should finish writing his will.

“We call him the Hero with a Thousand Faces.”

That was Dad’s explanation as they stood before the Hero of Time’s altar, gazing up at what Orville thought was the scariest statue in the Temple of Heroes.

Everything about it was large—from the massive sword strapped to the hero’s back to the fearsome armor he wore. It looked as if the sculptor had chiseled him with one intent: to capture the larger-than-life presence of a hero whose feats had never been forgotten.

But maybe the sculptor had poured so much energy into making him big that they ran out of ideas when it came to his face and left it blank… and in a disturbing pose that made it look like the hero was tearing his own face off with his hands.

It was supposed to be symbolic, his father had said—to represent how, despite his heroic deeds, the Hero of Time’s face had been lost to the sands of time.

That he, too, couldn’t escape the obscurity that cruelly reduced men to myth.

Symbolic or not, Orville still found it terrifying.

That’s why it didn’t surprise him that the statue had collected ghost stories.

Almost everyone who visited the temple had a horror story—strange mysteries with no explanation, all tied to the towering statue of the Hero of Time.

Some swore they heard the laughter of children echoing around the statue at night. Others whispered about a ghostly lament that went, “Big little brother left our home. But never ever did he leave our heart.”

Most dismissed these stories as nothing but drunken hallucinations.

But no one could explain why moss and flowers always bloomed on this statue, no matter how diligently the temple caretakers cleared away the seeds or spores dropped by birds.

None of the other statues had the same problem.

Orville stood at the mouth of the Great Forest, eternally engulfed in an eerie mist that seemed to both beckon and drive him away. No birds sang. No leaves rustled. If he strained his ears, he could make out the faint, bell-like laughter of something surely inhuman—or perhaps no longer mortal.

The champion had assured him the Lost Woods would simply send him back if he got lost.

He stared into the misty, abyssal curtain and took a deep breath. Orville wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t anyone special. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t linger in this place any longer than he should, or he risked getting devoured by the forest’s mythical beast.

Or becoming one himself.

With a torch in hand, its flame flickering strangely in the windless woods, Orville carefully braved the way, trying to stay on the presumed path. He forced himself to stay calm whenever his eyes caught the harrowing shapes of dead trees with limbs twisted like grasping hands.

Eventually, he reached a clearing with crumbling ruins and many abandoned torches scattered across the ground.

He swallowed hard.

But just as he took a step deeper in, a shrill, high-pitched voice called out.

“I’d go home if I were you.”

Orville’s soul nearly jumped out of his body.

However, despite his heart violently hammering against his ribs, he still remembered the smithy’s first lesson. So, Orville planted his feet firmly and turned toward the voice.

In a dead tree perched a strange creature—small, wooden, clad in a scant green garment and a large green hat.

“Who are you?” Orville asked. What are you? might have been the better question, but he held it back. It did sound rude.

Still, the doll-like creature huffed, displeased. “Do you make a habit of walking into someone’s home and asking the homeowner who they are?”

Its eerie yellow eyes glowed with what seemed like amusement. As strange as it sounded, Orville got the feeling that this thing was messing with him.

“…Sorry. I’m just trying to find someone.”

“Is this someone wanting to be found?” the creature mused, needling at Orville’s uncertainty. “Have you ever considered that? If someone truly wished for you to find them, you would have met already! No need to trek into a realm no mortal should tread.”

Orville was speechless. He wondered if it was the forest dulling his mind, or if eating dubious food had finally caused permanent damage to his brain.

He had no good answer for the spirit, so he asked instead, “Do you always speak in riddles to anyone who enters your home?”

“Well,” the creature sniffed, “the last group of Hylians didn’t seem in the mood for lighthearted conversation. They were too busy writhing on the ground, screaming, as their bodies twisted into Stal monsters.”

A chill ran through Orville. He took a step back, eyes locked on the creature’s blank, wooden face.

“Did you curse them?” he asked, panic rising in his chest like bile.

The creature shrugged. “Why would I waste my magic? They did it to themselves. Tried to burn the forest.”

Only now did Orville notice a patch of scorched ground. And how thick the mist had become.

“…Is this forest truly cursed?” he whispered to himself.

“Don’t blame the woods for reflecting the cruelty of this kingdom,” the creature scolded, its voice suddenly deeper, laced with cold fury. “Forest magic is old. Older than our flimsy ideas of morality. It doesn’t discriminate in how it protects its children. As men crook, so do the woods. Go home, Orville.”

Suddenly, something resembling pipes sprouted from the creature’s back. It raised them to its mouth and blew a sharp, ear-piercing warning.

Orville didn’t need to be told twice.

 He ran like his hide was on fire. No looking back, no thinking.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to Rauru Settlement that the panic subsided enough for thought to return.

“…How did that thing know my name?”

Truth be told, Orville wasn’t particularly looking forward to finding the mythical Link of Kokiri.

Not because he hadn’t gleaned anything useful from the other Links—who had gleefully taken turns giving him enigmatic, unhelpful answers (“His father was a tree.” “He saved the kingdom when he was 17 and 11, in that respective order.” “Don’t ask us about his true age.” “He became a god once. Didn’t like it. Came back to mortality to shit on taxes.” “The moon!”)—but because this was supposed to be his last quest, too.

And Orville had no idea what he was supposed to do with his life after the quest.

He tried not to think too hard about it.

Nearby, Wind was closely watching Legend, Hyrule, and Sky compete to make the most beautiful flower crown for little Dottie, his eyes tracking them like a cat preparing to pounce.

Orville felt a little bad about interrupting his scheme.

“What’s the Link of Kokiri like?”

The sailor’s annoyed expression quickly curled into a sly grin.

“Swabbie, don’t you remember my awesome song?”

Orville sadly did, and wished he didn’t. It was so confusing and unhelpful. “Aren’t you supposed to be responsible?”

Wind groaned. “Ugh, this isn’t fair. You’re taking advantage of me when I’m at my lowest. One question only!”

“Can you tell me why his father was a tree?”

“Have you ever heard of the Children of the Forest?” Wind asked.

Orville thought of ghost stories kids told at sleepovers—about spirits of eternal youth who lured and trapped lost souls, turning them into Stal beasts.

“How much luck do I need?”

“Never enough!” Wild shouted from the kitchen, where he was kneading dough to make an apology fruit pie for Four. “One day I’m going to start my own Groosenator project and shoot them into the moon.”

“Don’t be mean to them!” Wind cried, glaring at the champion. “They’re funny.”

“Do you know how many times I almost died from their games? One of them hid under a rock near a Lynel!”

“Playful spirits are like that,” Four said wisely, also from the kitchen. He was keeping close supervision over the champion because he hadn’t fully forgiven him for the croissant pizza yet. “They’re immersed in their play. In that way, playfulness isn’t so different from violence.”

They all groaned. “Just like the old man!”

Erra, though surprised to see Orville standing dumbly in Rauru’s market square, immediately invited him back to her home so her family could get an update on the traveler. They spent hours with Orville reciting Hyrule’s latest shenanigans, and Erra giggling in relief that her miracle was doing well.

Her warm smile vanished the moment he let slip about his visit to the Lost Woods.

Koko cheerfully informed Orville, with the absolute confidence of a child, that he was totally cursed, then promptly ran outside to play with the other children.

“Orville, that wasn’t very wise,” Erra scolded, though her concern was evident in her gentle voice. “Haven’t you heard the stories? Deep in the Great Forest live the Children of the Forest. And whoever disturbs their eternal play is fated to meet a terrible end.”

“But… soldiers have gone in there and come out, right?” Orville asked. He remembered Erra mentioning a campaign—unsuccessful though it might have been, but last he heard, there were no reports of casualties.

“Barely,” she murmured.

She gave him the names of a few soldiers who’d passed through town afterward—ones who’d been polite to the locals. Coincidentally, they’d all served under Captain Alonso.

Orville made a mental note to get Hoz something nice as a thank-you gift later. The young guard had helped him quietly track down the others, without alerting Captain Alonso. If the captain ever found out, Hoz would be in serious trouble.

…Orville, too, would be in deep, deep trouble for going behind his former superior’s back.

Most of the soldiers who’d participated in the campaign had resigned. Only two still served in the squadron: Keeta and Agus.

“It was a joint campaign with other squadrons,” said Keeta, scratching his head, clearly bewildered that a commander from a different unit had pulled him aside for a private chat. “Captain Alonso wasn’t happy about it—it was outside our guard duties, he said. But it was the king’s order. We volunteered, thinking it’d just be reconnaissance—”

“—and a chance to skip latrine duty and go sightseeing,” piped in Agus, the younger soldier, with a cheeky grin. “Of course we took it.”

“We started regretting it real fast once we realized we’d be working with that bastard Snottin’s squadron,” Keeta recalled, grimacing like he’d swallowed a rotten egg. “The townsfolk already hated us, and those pompous brats just made it worse.”

“We figured getting rotten tomatoes on the head would be the worst of it,” Agus sighed. “But we were damn wrong.”

“We entered the forest, and let me tell you, sir? The second I stepped in, I wanted to tuck tail and run,” Keeta said with a shudder. “We wandered in circles. Then that stupid captain and his goons started provoking the forest that’s older than their nan—screaming insults, and then they—”

“—they lit their bloody torches and tried to burn it,” Agus finished.

“Shit,” Orville muttered.

The soldiers both nodded in grim agreement.

Before their eyes, the soldiers who’d set the fire began to collapse, writhing and screaming as their bodies twisted and contorted into hideous monsters. The flames they’d sparked raged higher, encircling them in a fiery prison.

“I thought we were dead men,” Keeta said quietly. “Either killed by our own brothers, or roasted alive. And then… music started playing.”

“Music?” Orville frowned.

Agus gave a somber nod. “I might’ve been hallucinating, sir. I breathed in lots of smoke, but I swear it was real. There was a melody on the wind. Then the heavy rain came! It drowned the fire before it reached us. But it didn’t stop the monsters…”

Keeta swallowed, looking deeply exhausted just remembering what happened in the forbidden forest that day. “I thought we’d have to kill them. Assholes though they were, they were still my comrades—”

“And then, deep in the smoke, we saw him,” they said before falling quiet.

“Who did you see?” Orville prodded gently.

“A man in a menacing skull mask, walking toward us.” Both Agus and Keeta shivered at the memory. “He spoke to us—”

‘To borrow my old friend’s words, would you like to play?’

“We raised our swords,” Agus recalled with a distant gaze. “He raised… an ocarina. The song changed.”

“And suddenly, the monsters collapsed like leaves. One by one,” Keeta whispered. “Something happened to us too. We felt… peace. Like our souls had been calmed.”

“When we came to, we were lying at the mouth of the forest. Every one of us was Hylian again. Some thought it was just a bad dream. Some believed it was real. Many of us resigned after that,” said Agus.

Orville hesitated. “And you? Why are you still here?”

“I’m poor, sir.” The young soldier shrugged. “Don’t know what else to do. This job feeds me. Besides, I don’t think the masked man was… a bad guy? I mean, he saved us. Otherwise, I’d be dead. Or worse—undead.”

Keeta shook his head. “Doesn’t mean that wraith was any less terrifying. I hate masks now. My soul jumps every time I see someone in one.”

“Yeah.” Agus frowned. “That guy gives me the fright every time he comes delivering milk to town.”

Orville blinked. “Who?”

“Don’t know his name. The townsfolk just call him ‘the Happy Milk Salesman’. What a weirdo.”

Orville began asking around. Turned out, the mysterious milkman had a delivery route close to his parents’ neighborhood. He asked local shopkeepers, but no one knew much—just that the man delivered exceptional milk from Romani Ranch, claimed to be “very busy,” yet always lingered just long enough to charm homeowners into milk subscriptions.

Yet once he was on the road, no horse or wagon could catch up with him. At least, that’s what people said about this urban legend.

And oddly, no one had ever seen his face behind the mask.

Romani Ranch stood where the old farm ruins used to be, lovingly restored and tended by Romani’s family, whose ancestors proudly hailed from Hateno. As Orville arrived, the sight of the lush green pasture and cows grazing peacefully brought a smile to his face.

For many fortune seekers from rural villages, Romani Ranch was the closest thing to home they could find near Castle Town. It had everything to soothe a weary soul—a sprawling field with a great old tree at its center and a cozy farmhouse where all visitors were treated to fresh bread and milk, whether they had a single rupee or not.

Romani’s father used to say it wasn’t much, but young Orville disagreed. To him, a piece of oven-fresh bread dipped in the ranch’s warm milk was a feast fit for a king.

The old rancher had been so delighted by the compliment that he let out a booming laugh and declared Orville could eat for free whenever he visited.

He must’ve been lost in memory, because he didn’t realize how long he’d been standing at the fence, staring. Nor did he notice the woman who had quietly approached, arms crossed, but with a familiar smile on her lips.

“Long time no see, Orville.”

“…Romani?”

“Here’s your usual. On the house,” Romani said, placing a plate of warm sliced bread and a wooden cup of milk on the table.

They were sitting in her kitchen, which looked just as Orville remembered from childhood—save for a peculiar new owl statue in the corner.

“Let me pay for this,” Orville said, reaching for his pouch.

“Pa said you eat free. I’m not about to break his promise.”

“Your father was too kind to me.”

“That’s because your grandpa helped him. And his pa helped your grandpa—back when he first arrived in Hyrule Field with nothing but a big dream and the smallest satchel of rupees. Small people stick together. Now eat.” Romani shut down Orville’s offer with a firm smile.

Small people stick together, Grandpa always said.

He had told Orville stories of how he ran away from Hateno to try his luck in Castle Town. He had nothing. No job. No shelter. No food. Young Grandpa had walked barefoot out of the city, too stubborn to go home in defeat. He wandered the fields until he came across the ranch, and Romani’s grandfather had taken him in without a single question.

The Romani family’s kindness had given Grandpa not only the strength to get back on his feet, but also the courage to offer helping hands—and ears—to people in need.

Grandpa had made so many friends across the kingdom. His passing had changed everything. When he died, it was as if those bonds had died with him.

At least, that’s how it felt to Orville during his funeral.

“Do you want to visit your grandpa’s tomb?” Romani asked gently.

She still smiled at him like in the old days, when they were young and she had taken him to see her newborn pony.

Maybe it was just Orville who had let those bonds fade… because he was too scared to fight for them.

Near Grandpa’s tombstone lay Romani’s departed family—her ancestors, her grandparents, her mother. And most recently, her father.

His gravestone was still new, unclaimed by old moss.

Romani’s eyes dimmed with a look Orville knew too well—fresh pain.

“We aren’t ambitious people,” she said quietly. “We live a simple life with what we have, so problems wouldn’t find us. That’s what my Pa used to say.”

She crouched down and gently brushed her fingers over the cold gravestone.

“But then some mighty lordships decided they wanted our ranch for their fancy equestrian course. We declined their offer to buy the land... as politely as lowly farmers could. They started raising taxes. Sending thugs to harass us. Our savings quickly turned into towering debt. They were forcing us to sell. And Pa... he was about to give in.”

Romani closed her eyes, willing herself to continue.

“I got stupid. Because I knew losing our home would break his heart. So I groveled. I begged them to take me as an indentured servant instead. So Pa could keep the ranch.”

She smiled at the memory, her voice forlorn but free of regret.

“Working in the manor was a nightmare. Even though I made friends with the other servants, we were always hungry. Your dad came sometimes.”

Orville blinked. “…My father?”

“I owe him so much,” she chuckled softly. “Me and Pa never told a soul about our problem. But your father somehow found out. Probably through his long grapevine of gossips. He pretended to offer free tailoring to the lord’s many mistresses. Slipped in food when no one was watching. Gave me news about Pa and the ranch. I was always a mess when he had to leave. But he told me to hold on. That they were working to buy my freedom.”

Romani let out a sigh, closed her eyes again, and let the soft breeze caress her auburn hair.

“I was lucky, compared to others,” she whispered, her voice laced with guilt. “There was this lad from Faron—a musician. They made him play until he collapsed, then whipped him until he stood and played again. His back was full of blistered wounds I never saw heal. He cried every night for his little daughter.”

Her voice trembled. “Last I heard, they sent him to Eventide. No one comes back from there. That’s a death sentence. And we couldn’t do a thing! All we could do was send his last letter to his daughter.”

“He lives.”

Romani froze. “…Truly?”

Orville gave her a reassuring smile, finally able to offer some good news to console her.

He told Romani about the great storms that had cleansed the evil off Eventide, and the sweet winds that had delivered the weary father home.

“News travels slow around here. His unknown fate always haunted me,” she whispered, as tears of joy began to flow. “I’m so, so happy for him.”

Six months into her indentured servitude, Romani’s father died. He had collapsed from exhaustion trying to raise money to bring his daughter home. Romani never got the chance to say goodbye. She didn’t even get to bury him.

She only heard the news when Orville’s father finally found an opportunity to visit. The other servants did everything they could to distract the lord and ladies while she slipped away.

Romani found a cupboard, crawled deep inside, and let the tears pour from her grieving heart. But she refused to give in. Her family’s ranch was still waiting. So she put on a smile and went back to work.

Orville’s father had managed to save up enough money and promised to lend it to her so she could buy her freedom.

“He said that,” Romani said, shaking her head. “But I knew he’d never ask for the money back.”

“Sounds like him,” Orville agreed.

But before they could follow through with their plan, a new servant arrived at the manor—a girl no older than ten. Her name was Crème. Her parents had sold her.

Crème made a lot of mistakes. She cried when she was scared, or hungry, or missed her parents—like any child would.

The lord and his mistresses simply said, “Some good ten lashes will make her a proper servant.”

Romani did what every adult should do, she threw herself over Crème to shield the girl from the whip.

The next time Orville’s father came with the money. Romani begged him to use it to buy Crème’s freedom instead.

“I couldn’t watch the light dim in a child’s eyes, Orville. I was raised good. I was raised loved! That’s why I could take it. Why I could be stubborn like an old mare. But that child? She barely even knew what happiness was. Why should she be in pain?” Romani’s eyes shimmered with unshed, angry tears.

Orville clenched his fists.

“I’m always scared of nights, you know. Pa liked to tell this spooky story about otherworld beings that came at night to steal our cows. But I remember thinking the sky was so beautiful that full moon night when I walked them to the gate to send them home. Crème was crying so hard. Your dad didn’t—thank the goddesses. I’d have bawled if he did. I needed to save my strength to survive the next day.”

Romani tried to smile, but it never reached her sorrowful eyes.

“I’m a farmer. If you want something, you’ve got to work for it yourself. Who’s going to save you, then?”

Then she choked on the words, and broke, sobbing openly.

Tentatively, Orville put an arm around her. Romani leaned in, and confessed what she believed to be her deep, shameful secret.

“But I wanted to be saved so badly. I was so, so tired. I just wanted to go home.”

The next day was horrible for Romani. And so was the day after. And the one after that.

Romani kept getting distracted. Each mistake earned her ten lashes. And the more the other servants pleaded for mercy on her behalf, the more the lord raised the number.

“I thought I was going to die,” she said quietly. “All I could think was that maybe it was over now. Maybe I’d finally get to go home. So, I lifted my head to stare at my tormentor’s whip—just one stupid act of bravery. And when it came down... it bounced off.”

“Bounced off?”

“I didn’t fully understand what was happening,” Romani admitted. “But it was like... there was an invisible shield protecting me. The manor guard tried again and again, but the whip kept bouncing off. Until it finally knocked him out cold. I wanted to laugh at him, but I was barely conscious. Everyone around me was screaming, so I curled in on myself like a newborn calf, trying not to cry like one too.”

Then, a small smile graced her lips as she recalled a comforting memory.

“That’s when I felt... a hand on my head. Normally, I’d flinch, I’d scream. But this gentle touch was… familiar. Like my Pa’s calloused hand. I hadn’t felt that safe since he died.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, as if still feeling the loving warmth of it.

“Then came a music like no song I’d ever heard before. My soul felt like it had grown wings. I was flying, soaring... and when I opened my eyes, I was back in my old bedroom. Crème was there. Your dad and mom were there. They helped me up and walked me out the door to show me this wasn’t a dream. The sky was still dark—but dawn was breaking, getting brighter and brighter. It felt like the darkness was fading.”

At last, Romani let out a bright smile through her tears.

“I wept like a babe.”

The day Romani was saved was also the day Orville was summoned to General Impa’s headquarters—the same day he was assigned to the mission in Outskirt Village.

In the official reports detailing strange phenomena across Hyrule, there was no mention of the disappearance of the noble family that had tormented Romani.

Because no one ever made it out of that manor to file a report.

It wasn’t until days later that the court noticed their absence. And weeks after that, a few scattered survivors, who were spirited away by the dreadful masked man, were found.

He had abandoned them across the kingdom in desolate, unforgiving places. From the scorching, Molduga-infested deserts to the goddess-forsaken foothills of Hebra.

Most didn’t make it back alive.

Even years later, travelers occasionally stumbled upon sun-bleached skeletons or mysterious bones gnawed by cold-footed wolves.

Those who survived never slept soundly again, their fates permanently sealed in doom, forever haunted by the memory of that man’s cruel laughter and the last thing he ever said to them:

“Let’s play good guys against bad guys. You be the good guy, and I’ll be the bad guy. And when you’re the good guy, you just. Run.”

Romani narrowed her eyes at his silence, then punched him in the shoulder with the full strength of a farmgirl.

“Ouch!”

“Stop it,” she said firmly. “If I wanted your sad, guilt-ridden face, I’d ask for it. I’m fine. I have my ranch back.”

Romani, then, looked at him with a fond gaze. “And we’ve just built a milk bar!”

She grabbed Orville’s hand and dragged him toward the ranch’s newest addition. The bar buzzed with the warm laughter of Romani’s workers—all former manor servants.

A little red-haired girl came barreling in and tackled Romani’s legs.

“Romani! Cara and Anju are being meanies to me!”

The two women waved from a nearby table, where the rest of the staff were enjoying their break.

“We told your sister she has to be an adult before we’ll serve her anything,” Cara giggled.

“I am an adult!” Crème huffed, stomping her little feet. “Link said so!”

“Well,” Anju teased, sipping her drink, “Link’s not here, is he?”

“…You know Link?” Orville asked Romani.

“Link’s a new farmhand,” she explained. “He came looking for work. Keeps to himself. Hates wells more than anyone in this room and Hyrule combined. Loves milk with the same passion he hates wells.”

That sounded weird enough to be a Link.

“Where is he now?”

Everyone glanced at the old wall clock.

“He’s probably an automaton,” snorted Mido, another ex-servant now helping with the ranch. “No real person could be that punctual. You could tell time by what task Link’s doing. Milk deliveries at five. Back by eight. Frowning at the cucco coop? That’s nine o’clock. Finishes everything by noon, then disappears to… wherever only the Goddesses know.”

Orville looked at the clock. It was just past three.

“And where would he be now?”

Mido shrugged. “No clue. I stopped trying to map his weird schedule after he tried to give me a dance lesson at ten and showed up wearing that creepy man-headed mask. I quit on the spot.”

Orville rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Mido narrowed his eyes. “Dude, don’t even think about it. We all tried. All you’re gonna get out of this is a headache.”

Orville did exactly what he always did when it came to finding a Link.

He abandoned all common sense.

Despite Romani’s offer to let him stay in the guest room, he insisted on camping just outside the ranch.

“I only need to catch him on his milk delivery and have a chat,” he told her.

Some deity of the ranch must have overheard Orville’s arrogance and decided he needed a good punishment.

He was still drooling into his bedroll when he heard the ranch gate creak open. A silhouette moved under the starlight.

He scrambled to his feet. The man had his back to him, wearing a bright yellow bunny hat.

“Sir! Wait—are you Link?” Orville called.

The man paused.

Then, methodically, he rolled his shoulder, stretched his legs…

And took off.

Orville cursed and ran after him.

Somehow, the faster he ran, the further the man slipped out of reach, until he vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but dust and a faint snicker.

By the time Orville stumbled into Castle Town, there was no trace of the bunny-hatted man. And when he returned to the ranch, Link of Kokiri had already completed all his chores and disappeared again.

Orville gritted his teeth.

The next day, he tried again.

And failed. Orville thought he had him cornered this time—until the man backflipped over his head and disappeared in the other direction.

By day three of this humiliating cat-and-mouse game, Romani had finally had enough.

“Would you like me to just ask him to meet you at the milk bar?”

Orville blinked. That’s right, Romani was basically his employer. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

The next day, Orville did finally meet “Link.”

Except Link couldn’t speak. He just stared lifelessly into empty space.

Because “Link” was a life-sized wooden sculpture of a blond boy in a green tunic, wearing the creepiest smile Orville had ever seen. It sent a shiver down his spine.

Romani stood beside him, red-faced and mortified. “I-I’m so sorry, Orville! He said he’d wait here. I even got him to promise not to run away from you, and I just—”

Behind them, her work friends were already cackling.

“You’ve got to be more specific, Romani! That guy’s more slippery than a Sora!”

“It’s okay, Romani,” Orville said, and he truly meant it. This was exactly the kind of humiliation he was intimately familiar with.

So, instead of exhausting himself chasing Link, Orville spent the rest of the day helping out around the ranch. Or at least trying to. Mostly, he just made a fool of himself with his clumsy attempts.

But the clue came from an unexpected place—while he sat beside Crème, helping her color a drawing.

“What is this creature?” Orville asked, pointing to a little figure she was coloring in brown and green.

It looked exactly like the wooden spirit he’d met in the Lost Woods.

Crème beamed. “Oh! That’s a Deku Scrub! Link said they’re all gone in my Hyrule.”

The memory of the wooden creature’s cryptic message hit Orville like a blow to the head.

Usually, Orville visited the temple with Grandpa, who always had fun stories to cheer him up. But Grandpa was getting old, and there were days when he had stayed in bed, fighting off a cold.

So sometimes, Dad volunteered.

It wasn’t that Orville disliked spending time with him. Dad was simply just—different.

Orville’s father was a soft-spoken and polite man. He never raised his voice, but he never sugar-coated his words, either. That bluntness often made Grandpa and Dad bicker, especially when he said things Orville “wasn’t supposed to hear.”

Orville often wished he could grow up faster, so Dad wouldn’t have to fall silent to protect his “baby ears.” He hated being excluded from important conversations.

Dad always said he didn’t have a favorite hero. But, whenever they visited the temple together, Dad always took him to stand before the statue of the Hero of Time.

Orville believed this scary one was his favorite.

They never prayed or made offerings. They just stood there, silently watching the other visitors.

Orville was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He always felt like his head might explode from all the unsaid thoughts. His father, on the other hand, was very good at the game of silence. So good, he sometimes tricked Orville into playing it whenever he needed to concentrate on his work.

But even Dad had rare moments when silence wasn’t enough and he needed to get something off his chest.

“I like to imagine heroes know what weary feet feel like. What despair tastes like,” Dad said once during one visit. “I like to believe that, even if our prayers are too broken to reach the goddesses, they’d find them—because they lived here alongside us, once.”

Orville wondered if he had to grow up to understand what Dad meant.

“But whenever I look at their mighty statues, with their youth and their triumphant poses, I wonder—are they truly like us?” Dad continued with a bitter chuckle. “This one, though, looks old. Maybe that’s why I feel like I can have a little silent conversation with him.”

“Can I be part of this little silent conversation too?” Orville asked timidly, his tone hopeful.

“Nosiness runs in our family, does it not?” Dad replied with a wry smile, full of his favorite dry humor.

He glanced up at the towering statue.

“Did time once bend your knees too? Did time ever make you wade the seas of pain, begging for mercy?” he whispered, his voice softer like a prayer. “Did time ever heal—like the old sayings promise?”

Orville tilted his head. “Does he answer your questions?”

Dad shook his head.

Spending time with Dad was never bad—it was just confusing.

Orville didn’t know what else to do, so he simply let Dad retreat into his silence, and squeezed his hand tighter.

Once again, Orville found himself standing before his parents’ house, just past one in the afternoon. He pushed the door open—

His father looked up from behind the counter and blinked slowly. The only sign that he was surprised by Orville’s unannounced arrival was the slight widening of his eyes before his face settled back into polite calmness.

Sitting across from him, a man in a white tunic and a foxlike mask continued his rant, completely unfazed by Orville’s presence—or the awkwardness now filling the tailor’s shop.

“It shouldn’t be this difficult, but I still can’t, for the life of me, figure out how taxes work—what with deductions and allowances. And what do you mean a priest is exempt from taxes, but I, who work around the clock, have to pay—”

“Link?” Orville asked.

“—and these so-called tax farmers,” the masked man spat. “They had the audacity to call themselves farmers. I’m a farmer—”

“Link,” Orville said again, more tired this time.

The man continued to ignore him.

“—those well-lickers came to count my cows, with their scrolls and fancy pens, then arbitrarily decided how much I owed the kingdom for feeding its people—”

In desperation, Orville turned to his father. He must have looked pathetic enough to warrant pity, because his father sighed and gave the masked man a firm tap on the shoulder.

The man paused and slowly turned to face Orville, who stood awkwardly by the door.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Link,” Orville greeted politely.

 Link tilted his head. “Do you make a habit of assuming the identity of masked strangers you’ve just found?”

“I think we almost met. You’ve been running from me for three days straight. Wearing a bunny hat.”

“How can you be so sure I’m the same man? I wear no such hat now.”

Orville swore this man was thriving—flourishing—on his torment, just like the rest of his kind.

“…Just because you change masks doesn’t mean you’re unrecognizable.”

“Curious. But life’s taught me a different lesson.”

“Link,” his father cut in evenly, “stop tormenting my son.”

Something stirred in Orville’s chest. Dad still called him his son?

He shook his head and refocused. “Your brothers are waiting for you in Kakariko.”

“Nah,” Link said with a dismissive wave. “Not feeling it.”

Orville blinked. “What do you mean, not feeling it?”

Link tilted his head again, as if Orville were the one being unreasonable. “Did they all just... comply? Did they let you easily collect them like Gold Skulltulas?”

Orville had no idea what a Gold Skulltula was—and really didn’t care. He also wouldn’t call any Link easy. Goddesses, he’d nearly drowned, unwittingly walking straight into a river after Hyrule.

Who apparently could walk on water.

“Couldn’t be me,” Link sniffed, a strange determination settling in his voice.

Orville gasped. This unbelievable ma—

“But,” Link interrupted, “I’ll let you do it for once. If you earn the right to collect me.”

Orville straightened up. “How do I earn it?”

Link tapped his fingers on the counter. “Hmm, let’s play a game.”

Then he turned to look at Orville. Though Orville couldn’t see his face, he could feel the weight of judgment in that stare.

Link sighed, clearly unimpressed with whatever he saw in Orville’s spirit.

“This is going to be very dull, because nobody’s life is on the line.”

“W…what?!”

“Very well—”

“See if you can solve this riddle.”

“I live never know the cradle,

I move mountains in silence,

I see truths without eyes,

I speak without voice,

I come and go with my own choice.

I am old and new as life,

Fears bury me, still I rise,

I am one with a thousand faces,

I am well-known to death,

But I never die once.

What am I?”

Warriors was appreciating the full moon from the tallest, moss-loved hill behind the village, by his handsome, lonesome self, when Twilight appeared, shaking a bottle of enticing milk liquor in front of him with a knowing grin.

The captain tried to snatch it, but the rancher was faster—and the bottle was tragically out of reach.

“I knew you weren’t boring, Rancher!” Warriors grinned.

Twilight snorted and sat down beside him, rummaging through his pack until he came up with two clean cups.

“This flattery won’t get you a drop of my prized moonshine. You always vote me as boring.”

Warriors pouted. “The dog has a long-term memory!”

Twilight uncorked the bottle and was about to take a swig when the captain squeaked in horror.

The rancher cackled and instead poured the liquor properly into the cups.

Warriors groaned after his first sip. “Damn it. I thought you used all the milk to make cheese.”

“I’m a good ranch hand. We Ordon lads perfected the art of multitasking since we were but wee babies still needing a stool to milk the goats.”

Warriors nodded and took another sip. “I think this one’s stronger than Chateau Romani at Lon Lon Ranch.”

“That’s because cow milk is inferior to goat milk in every way—especially in brewing. But if you want higher alcohol content? Mare’s milk is your best bet. Though it’s hard to produce commercially.”

“You do know that first sentence’s gonna get you disowned by the old man. And Malon too.”

“I know. That’s why I never say it in front of them,” Twilight replied, downing his cup in one go and sighing in contentment as the alcohol burned down his throat. “Even though it’s true.”

“You sly dog.”

“Says you, the sneaky bastard. The commander’s tearing his hair out trying to get information out of Sky and the kids, and you just left him to come brood at the moon.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’re here because I’m here. We brood at the full moon,” Twilight pointed out. “Because it reminds us of him—and his obsession with it.”

Sometimes, Warriors envied Twilight. He was such a true hero of courage—facing pain with ruthless honesty. And he hated that this country boy’s influence, and his booze, had loosened his tongue too.

“You know, I was really quiet long before my ‘adventure.’ Some of us lost our voice from the crushing expectations. I never found mine,” Warriors said, taking a large gulp.

He waved his empty cup. Twilight wordlessly refilled it.

“There was no expectation for a street urchin or a foot soldier. I just needed to follow orders. So, you can guess—I struggled badly after my promotion. I had to speak. Give orders to troops.”

“Bless your fairy,” Twilight chuckled.

“You should’ve seen Proxi bellowing at my idiots. She was glorious.”

“So what changed?”

“Young Link,” murmured Warriors. “He arrived in the throes of war and complicated my already complicated life. I never wanted him on the battlefield—or in my scorched, war-torn Hyrule. But he was looking for his lost family. And I was searching for a purpose beyond the next battlefield.”

He stared into his cup. “We stuck together—Link and Young Link. People kept confusing us for father and son—stop laughing, Rancher,” he glared at the snickering Twilight, face red from both alcohol and embarrassment. “’Tis not funny.”

“But it is! You were 17 and he was like 11?” he guffawed.

Warriors punched his shoulder. Twilight just laughed harder.

“Try fighting a war, asshole. It’s a bad time for skin. And that kid was malnourished enough to look 5!”

Twilight smirked but raised his hand in surrender.

“And the next thing I knew, I was using my spare time to plan retirement.”

“You? Retire?”

“It was a novel concept to me too—thinking about the future. Surviving the war. I had a master plan. I was going to dethrone Linkle as her grandma’s favorite, siege that farmhouse, and we’d live happily ever after, with Linkle’s grandma, me, and my… son, who was actually born millennia ago.”

“You’re still not retiring,” the rancher observed, voice gentle but brutally honest.

“I still visit my grandma and my unwanted adoptive sister. But he wasn’t, by the goddess’s design, for me to cherish. Our parting was sealed since the day we met.”

“What a messy relationship.”

“Hello, pot. I’m kettle,” Warriors said dryly. “I never tried to name our relationship. He was—my Young Link. But because of his appearance, I was lured into believing I was the one protecting him. When it was him who had saved me all along. Always smiling. Scheming. Pranking. Snarking. He coaxed emotions out of me I didn’t know I still had. My bratty beansprout of happiness.”

Then, suddenly, his soft smile from reminiscing about the boy he lost, curled into a snarl. His eyes burned.

“Then one day, while Impa and I were on another campaign, the other generals sent him to one of the bloodiest battlefields—without even notifying Her Majesty. He collapsed after the enemy stronghold was seized. When I found out... I marched straight into the generals’ tent. And I just erupted. The more they threatened me with court-martial, the louder I screamed at them. Impa had to hold me back and drag me out.”

Then the captain shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “After that, I never had problems finding my voice again.”

“Ordona be my witness, I’d kill to see that,” Twilight breathed.

“I had no regrets. Even when they threw me into military jail for insubordination. Though, they broke me out as soon as a stray bokoblin wandered near their precious keeps,” the captain snorted. “I was in the middle of an important lesson. My inmates were teaching me how to brew hooch strong enough to knock out a dragon.”

“You went to jail?!” Twilight shouted, delighted and outraged. “You lied to us! You said you never went there!”

“Well, I’m not a priest, Rancher. I can and will lie for convenience. And for shits and giggles.”

“You’re horrible.”

“My squad keeps saying that. They beg me to let Proxi yell at them instead. Say she’s got a better voice. Fucking rude.”

Twilight laughed, full-throated and fang. Then his tone softened.

“Hey… since this is the hour of honesty… you know, his powers used to upset me.”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever looked at him and wondered... what is his true face?”

“Hero!” Orville guessed immediately.

“Boo,” Link said.

Orville hesitated. “…Hero of Time?”

Link let out a loud bark of laughter. “Lame!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent like that—Orville guessing desperately, and Link taking great pleasure in shooting him down with increasingly ridiculous variations of “no.”

By the time Orville’s mother returned from visiting her friends, she found her son slumped in a chair, utterly defeated and humiliated. Link was nowhere in sight.

She arched an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” both Orville and his father said in unison.

Orville was about to excuse himself, when his father said softly, “Would you stay for dinner?”

They glanced at each other.

A brief, hopeful, almost-smile touched Dad’s lips.

Mom had banished them from the house, saying she couldn’t cook when the air was soured with awkward silence.

“Go outside. Get some fresh air, the both of you. And let me have my peace.”

So, they wandered the quiet streets of their little neighborhood.

The moment Orville’s father spotted a bench that looked only slightly less dirty than the others, he sat without a word. Orville hesitated, then joined him. They watched the full moon rise behind the tall buildings.

As always, it was Orville who broke the silence.

“Did you get your answers?” he asked. “The questions you told me you asked the statue, back when I was a kid?”

His father calmly stared ahead. “No.”

Orville nodded. He had a feeling that would be the answer. His father was never generous with words.

Dad had found Link at the old Temple of Time on the Great Plateau—a birthplace of the kingdom, long abandoned and, as people often said, forgotten by time. Only a restless soul would crawl up there through all that punishing terrain, to a place filled with ruins and fading memory.

When Orville had asked why he’d gone there, his father only said, “To have a silent conversation. Without prying eyes.”

They traded a few more questions and answers—like an old childhood game between them. Orville asked nosy questions. His father tried to give the shortest answers possible.

“I remember thinking, when I was a kid, that I’d understand you better once I grew up,” Orville admitted with a quiet, bitter chuckle. “You were right about a lot of things. I was arrogant. You were right not to have faith in me.”

“No,” his father said. His gaze dropped. “I had no faith in myself. I couldn’t survive it, so I thought you couldn’t either. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt. But instead of telling you the truth, I let fear speak for me. Like a coward.”

“No,” Orville said. His voice came out fiercer than he expected. “You’re not. I might’ve been young, but even then, I knew you helped people. You still help people. You’re the bravest—”

He paused mid-sentence, his eyes widening as realization struck.

His father looked at him with the faintest smile—one filled with quiet pride.

“You figured it out, didn’t you?”

Orville blinked. “You knew the answer all along? Wait—does it break the riddle’s rules if I had help?”

His father shrugged. “Heroes aren’t the most lawful lot. Haven’t you listened to that man’s rant? He’s about to commit tax fraud.”

“If I hadn’t interrupted him, how long would it have gone?”

“Forever,” Dad chuckled softly. “I used to tell him he droned like that owl he said he hated. Then he’d go sulk in the corner and scare my customers away.”

They fell into a peaceful silence. The moon cast its soft glow over them.

“But really,” Orville said eventually, unable to leave the thought unsaid, “he didn’t answer your life-long questions?”

“No,” his father replied. “Because I never asked.”

His father had gone back to check if they were allowed home yet.

Orville stayed behind, sitting alone on the bench, replaying his father’s words.

“I never asked the statue any question, Orville. I wasn’t a scholar looking to solve philosophical riddles. I prayed for impossible things like any desperate man. I begged him—and every higher power—to leave the suffering to me and let my people be happy… let you be happy.”

He felt someone sit beside him.

It was Link, in his yellow fox mask.

“It’s a Keaton, actually,” Link said.

Orville turned to him. “Did you just read my mind? I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”

“It’s for the best that I don’t. I’d be too powerful,” Link said gravely. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Orville genuinely couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Instead, he said, “The answer is courage.”

Link didn’t move for a moment.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hands to the rim of his mask—and pulled.

“So, how’s the race going? Who’s in the lead?” Warriors asked, trying not to stare too longingly at the empty bottle.

“Last I checked, still Four,” said the rancher, plucking a blade of grass to make a whistle. “He got ahead of us for months, but Legend’s breathing down his neck. I think Hyrule and Wild are plotting their downfall.”

“Everyone’s in a hurry because they know once a fluffy Wolfie enters the field, it’ll be all over. Small kids love dogs.”

Twilight rolled his eyes. “You do know I am that wolf, right?”

“Wolfie is snippy but, undeniably, cuter.”

“Me and the wolf are one and the same.”

“I’m starting to understand what you meant earlier,” the captain mused. “Whenever he transformed… I couldn’t sense him. He disappeared. Became the mask—that mask. And it scared me. Some of us have masks like his, but none of us can borrow their god-like power like he does.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” Twilight said. “You saw a god. I met a ghost.”

Warriors hummed.

“I once came across a specter who lingered through the ages to aid me in my quest,” Twilight said, bringing the grass whistle to his lips, though he didn’t yet play it, his gaze distant. “He always shifted forms to guide me. Transformation magic hurts, you know. You get used to the physical pain… but having your form estranged, your soul contorted? It’s anguish. And he’s done that—I don’t know how many times. Countless. Only the most selfless person could bear that pain.”

“He always cares too much,” Warriors scowled, angrily shredding grass between his fingers. “Always puts others’ needs before his own.”

“That’s why a ghost and a god aren’t so different,” Twilight observed. “All it takes is—to forget yourself, and become something for whom the world despairs.”

“…Is that your relationship with him? He was your ghost father?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said, then frowned. “Despite the sailor’s ridiculous song, I don’t actually think of him as my father. I have Rusl. But the Hero’s Shade called me his child once, and I…”

“You’re an orphan,” Warriors said, not unkindly. “There’s always that deep, insatiable longing in us. You never stop wondering about your true parentage, Predecessor.”

“People like us always mess with things that shouldn’t be touched. Time. Kinship. Our relationships will never fit inside those narrow lines again,” Twilight lamented—

Then his face lit up as the captain’s last word settled in his mind. “You just admitted the bond between us!”

“I have no choice, Rancher. There’s no way I’m accepting those kids as my predecessors,” Warriors said flatly. “They already have no respect for their seniors.”

“You have no respect for the old man. You challenge his authority all the time.”

“Because once upon a time, your old man spat mushed veggies—veggies I had slaved over, trying to make them palatable and healthy for his baby taste—right into my face. And I never forget.”

“Think of it this way, being a picky eater is a mortal thing. Gods don’t eat.”

“Always the optimist, aren’t you?”

Twilight shrugged, finally playing his childhood song on the grass whistle. When he lowered it, a soft smile finally touched his lips.

“I’ve got good reason to be. When I found Lon Lon Ranch, I could finally ease some of my many regrets. For at least, one moment in time, he was a happy man.”

Warriors leaned forward conspiratorially, testing the waters of the rancher’s generosity. “You know this calls for a toast.”

Twilight reached for another bottle. Warriors perked up—only to wilt when the rancher poured plain water into their cups.

The captain shot him an annoyed look.

Twilight just smirked and raised his cup. “To the son you lost, whom you never failed.”

“You know what, for lack of a better word, I’ll allow it,” Warriors huffed, reluctantly accepting his cup. “To the father you never had, whom you made proud.”

They clinked their cups.

“And cheers,” they said together. “To our brother. The greatest Hero of Time.”

The face that looked back at Orville was young—maybe slightly older than him—but definitely younger than he had expected from someone known as the old man.

Though, Orville kind of understood why this man had earned the moniker. With strange tattoos and a long scar running across one eye, he had the look of someone who had clearly seen the world in all its cruelty and despair.

Yet somehow, his one remaining eye still shone with the innocence of a child—a deep blue spark of unwavering hope, untouched even by time.

“What happens to a warrior after the quest?” Orville asked quietly. It came out more like a plea than a question.

“He goes home.”

“What if home’s… far away?”

Link turned his gaze to the moon and softly hummed a tune.

“I’m a man of meager possessions, Commander. My spirit isn’t mine—it belongs to my brothers. My life isn’t mine either—it’s for my princess and my people. But my heart is mine,” he said with a small smile. “When it sings my wife’s song, home’s never far.”

He turned to a silent Orville, his face lit up with impish mirth.

“I’ve seen you struggle to meet my brothers’ whims.”

Orville’s jaw nearly hit the cobblestones.

“…What?”

“Raven was worried, so I set out to find you. But you’re already in good hands.”

“Y-you’ve been spying on me?!”

Link scoffed and pulled out a notebook.

He let Orville get a brief glimpse, just enough to reassure him that Link hadn’t only been spying on him—he’d stalked everyone.

Orville was pretty sure, even though he couldn’t read Link’s language, that half the Hyrule population and their schedules were documented in that notebook.

“You’ve been all over the place… following people?”

“I also run errands. But mostly people-watching when I’m not helping at the ranch. It’s good fun,” Link said with a casual shrug. “Why the gloomy face, Commander? Live a little.”

This one is the worst, Orville thought miserably. Definitely the worst Link.

“You only live once, Orville. As you fight for others’ dreams, you must fight for yours too. Build a home, and let others in. Happiness will invite itself into your life once you do.”

Orville suddenly deflated.

“…It just sounds so… impossible.”

Link hummed and reached into his bag, pulling out a small stone that shimmered with cerulean light—so bright it lit the entire dark alley.

“No one ever believed the moon could shed a tear,” he said. “Its very existence was deemed impossible. And yet, here it is. The Moon’s Tear.”

He dropped the shining stone into Orville’s awestruck hands.

Link’s grin softened into a gentle smile—one more beautiful than the moon in its fullest grace.

“Think of it as an exchange in good faith. An impossible stone for your impossible dream.”

It was, indeed, an impossible stone—the shiniest one. Even through tear-stained vision, Orville could still see its timeless light.

“Believe in your strengths,” Link said with a wink—or did he blink? “You’ll do fine.”

He remembered it now.

Not everything about the statue of the Hero of Time had been frightening.

His altar always drew in the merriest of crowds.

It was there that Orville first saw Sora, Goron, and Gerudo pilgrims.

Over the years, as the palace’s relationships with other races soured, their visits became fewer, despite the kingdom’s proclaimed, empty peace.

Still, these proud peoples came.

To visit the hero of their heroes.

The temple strictly prohibited selling on sacred grounds, but sometimes, traveling salesmen would sneak in to sell handmade masks—carved from what people imagined the Hero’s face looked like.

Everyone would wear one and laugh at each other, because the masks always had silly, pointy noses.

One masked Goron pilgrim had once told Dad and Orville, “Now we’re all heroes. That means we’re all brothers!”

Then he invited them to sit and listen to their play.

The Goron pilgrims brought out their traditional instruments and were soon joined by other merry visitors, who began singing in their native tongues and performing dances that captivated the wider crowd.

Before his altar awakened the oldest magic—one that bridged the distance between hearts.

Music was always the all-speech balm, with the power to soothe both gods and men.

Perhaps through music, old grudges could be forgiven.

And perhaps the restless souls of warriors—worn down by fear and spite—could finally begin to heal.

The moment they stepped into Kakariko, Link grabbed Orville by the collar and threw him aside—just in time to duck a massive sword slash.

“Time, you foul beast,” Sky growled, brandishing the largest blade Orville had ever seen.

“Ho! I didn’t expect our best duelist to stoop so low as to ambush a poor old man,” Time teased, dancing away from another swing. His own massive sword was already unstrapped and in hand, though he looked more amused than alarmed.

“Is slaying one god not enough for you, Sky? I’m not even wearing the mask!”

“I have no interest in killing a god. It’s you, Old Man!” Sky snarled, effortlessly dodging the old man’s swing, which cleaved a nearby tree clean in half. “Let me tag you lightly. Please.”

“Have you ever entertained the idea that your ‘light tag’ might kill this fragile old man?” asked the man who was definitely neither old nor fragile.

“I’m so ready to go through with it.” Sky let out a maddening grin, swinging again. “I’ll end this curse once and for all!”

Time flashed a feral smirk. “I’ll take it back… if you say please.”

And then they began parrying each other’s ruthless strikes without breaking a sweat.

Orville crawled out of the way of the battlefield and found several other Links scattered throughout the village. Some were perched in trees, others hiding behind roofs or crouched in bushes.

The villagers, wisely staying indoors, had still opened their windows to watch the brawl unfold like a free street performance.

Hiding in a bush beside Orville, Wind was clinging to Twilight’s shoulder. Due to his short legs (“But I’m still growing!”), the sailor had decided to pair up with the rancher for improved survival odds in case they needed to make a quick escape.

Apparently, Wind choosing Twilight over Warriors had—according to the rancher’s too-cheerful words—broken the captain’s heart.

So now, Warriors was sulking on the roof with Legend, listlessly munching on Wild’s roasted nuts while the veteran, currently holding Sky’s blade, ignored the captain’s gloom and passionately narrated the death match below to an audience of curious birds and squirrels (who had actually come for the snacks).

According to the smug sailor, he had finally managed to tag Sky, though he kept his tactic as his trade secret.

Conveniently, it had happened right before the annual Sheikah meeting, when elders from all across Hyrule gathered to discuss important matters.

The gathering was notoriously known to last from sunset to sunrise.

And no Link wanted to spend all night sitting on their knees, proper and polite, while being bored to death by ancient wisdom.

 Which meant Sky’s bloodshot eyes might have been caused not only by rage, but also by sleep deprivation—which, in turn, fueled his rage.

“You’re merciless, Sailor,” Twilight said to the little monkey clinging to his back, equal parts impressed and horrified. “You planned this. You timed the tag to line up with the droning meeting.”

Wind rubbed his nose proudly.

“Wise people have lots to say,” Wild chirped through the little blue stone hanging around the sailor’s neck.

The champion had been keeping them updated on Hyrule and Four, who were currently sharing a tree branch with him. It seemed what began as a friendly discussion about Sky and Time’s weapon choices had escalated into a heated debate over whose sword was superior.

They both, of course, believed it was theirs.

“Can somebody ask the old man about the crown?” Four’s high-pitched voice echoed from Wind’s Gossip Stone. “Does he still have it? I want to melt it down and resell the gold. The wealth will be shared equally. Except Hyrule. He doesn’t get any because he insinuated my sword was imperfect.”

Then came Hyrule’s equally high-pitched protest.

“W–what that word even means?! I just said maybe your sword is the reason you’re so short!”

There was a sound like a tiny mouse-like hiss, followed by the angry chime of a bell.

“Guys, I just washed my hair. Get off my head if you’re gonna fight,” Wild said, alarmed. “Hey, listen! Don’t make me bottle both of you! Ouch!”

Then—silence.

Until Wild’s voice came through the Gossip Stone again, tired but victorious.

“Can anyone tell Wars and Legend not to hog the roasted nuts?”

Twilight reached his hands up and signed to Legend, perched on the roof far out of earshot. Legend poked the captain’s ribs. Warriors glowered at him, then turned to Twilight and furiously signed something that made the rancher roll his eyes.

“So mature. He says he’s not going to share any—in a very, very rude way.”

“Is no one going to stop Time and Sky’s fight?” Orville asked desperately.

“No,” came the unanimous reply.

Orville refrained from whimpering as the sound of clashing swords thundered like divine wrath, drawing ever closer to the bush he was hiding in.

“Feast your eyes on this rare match, Swabbie. Usually, they compete by reciting sappy poems and drive the rest of us crazy,” Wind explained, patting Orville’s head. “This is much more fun.”

A flash of thunder split the sky.

Everyone turned their heads toward the once-merry battle that had suddenly gone still.

Sky lowered his massive sword, his expression grim.

Time drove the Biggoron Sword into the ground and raised three fingers high for all the Links to see, his face cold and unreadable.

Three days.

Chapter Text

The coolness from the so-called Moon’s Tear still lingered on his fingertips as he carefully placed it back in Grandpa’s trinket box, returning it to the shelf above the fireplace, where the old bunny figurine sat with its eternally grumpy face.

Grandpa had insisted he carry the blue stone with him, because Grandpa was always sentimental like that.

He let out a small smile.

His good mood was immediately soured when his elder sister emerged from the kitchen, rubbing her hands on her apron, wearing a teasing grin he felt nothing but distrust toward.

“Congratulations on your promotion!” she greeted. “The first captain in our family!”

“We have the ‘General of the Hylian Army’ in our family,” he said dryly.

She stared at him, then shrugged.

“The cake offering still stands, once you stop being a grump.”

He rolled his eyes at her, then noticed the unusual quietness of the house.

The old man insisted he could live here by himself, though none of them had ever left him alone. He was already old when they were kids, and now, he was, as Calatia not-so-eloquently put it, ‘old old’.

“Where is Grandpa, Ordonia?” he asked.

“At Pico’s house. Grandpa rushed out when he got his letter, and Koki ran after him to make sure he didn’t break any bones in his hurry. For a 109-year-old man, he sure ran like a teenager.”

Both his eyebrows quickly climbed up his hairline.

“Why?”

“Maybe Pico finally found it,” Ordonia guessed as she settled into the armchair by the fireplace, beckoning for him to do the same. “That missing piece Grandpa’s been searching for over eighty years.”

“It can’t be—” His eyes widened, then he let out a huff. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if Pico did. That kid has too much free time for his own good.”

Noticing his pout, his sister smirked. “Someone sounds salty!”

He crossed his arms as he plopped into the chair petulantly.

“I have duties. I’m too busy for childish whims.”

“You took the Moon’s Tear to your promotion ceremony.”

“I took it because Grandpa insisted, and because I respect him. Not because I believe this stone really came from the moon,” he argued, trying to hide his blush. “Don’t tell me you still believe every word he’s told us.”

Ordonia stared at him with her piercing hazelnut eyes.

“You know, Grandma once said the older you get, the more you look like Grandpa when he was young. And I always wondered why she compared my snot-nosed little brother to our beloved grandpapa. Now I’m starting to see it.”

“Humble, realistic, and strategic-minded?” he asked with a smirk.

Ordonia snorted.

“A faithless stick-in-the-mud,” she said. “Military life has killed your imagination.”

“I’d rather say it grounds me in reality,” he replied smugly. “Once you take out the elements of magic and miracles, Grandpa’s stories always cleverly hide messages that are quite historically grounded.”

It was his sister’s turn to arch her delicate brow at him.

“Are you trying to kill all the fun?”

“I’m trying to act my age. You should too. You’re pushing thirty—”

“Hey! That’s rude!” she gasped, placing a hand on her chest in mock offense. “Never speak to a lady about her age!”

“Then act like a grown-up,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We all know Grandpa told us stories of the heroes of old as parables.”

Ordonia crossed her arms and hummed.

“I’m exercising my right as an adult to believe in Grandpa’s stories, word for word, because it’s more fun that way. He really is the greatest storyteller.”

“Dad told me Grandpa has always been a little loose in the head because he saw something so horrific in his youth, it snapped his common sense in half.”

Mirth danced in his sister’s eyes as she grinned.

“You mean the Links.”

“Come on!”

Still, they both let out a chuckle at the fond memories of their parents scolding Grandpa for encouraging them to be more mischievous with pranks.

He shook his head before getting up.

“Let’s go get Grandpa. Tomorrow is the first day of the festival. And may I remind you—it’s also the day the temple reopens to the public again.”

  “You are such a worrywart,” Ordonia said, but she rose to her feet too. “Everything will be fine with the ceremony.”

“Everything can and will go wrong if we leave Grandpa with our cousins. They always let him do whatever he wants!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” his sister pointed out gleefully. “His greatest enabler has always been the Queen herself.”

She laughed at his despairing face and patted his head affectionately.

“Worry not, dearest brother mine. Grandpa always says: if all goes wrong, it will eventually turn right!”

“We aren’t Grandpa,” he grumbled, his eyes fixed on the road ahead while waiting for Ordonia go lock the door and tuck the key beneath the potted plant.

And then, more quietly, to himself, he said, “We can’t all live a life with the absolute certainty that what we’re doing is the right thing.”

Orville had absolutely no idea what he was doing with his life.

Everything was still confusing, especially after Time’s three-finger signal that had made every Link crawl out and climb down from hiding, all silent and somber.

Not that the quiet lasted very long.

Like tramped but stubborn weeds, the Links sprang back to life. Then all nine heavily armed men and teens swept into Master Rosso’s cottage like grasshoppers discovering a new rice field.

The old smith surrendered his home without protest, taking a reluctant Dottie’s hand and excusing themselves to the village head’s house for the child’s nap time. But before leaving, Master Rosso pulled Orville aside and firmly asked him to stay behind and keep an eye on the Links.

Because Master Rosso loved that cottage, and also, couldn’t afford to fix it if anything bad happened to it.

“Can you do this old man a favor and make sure they don’t accidentally bring my place down?”

And what could Orville do but let out a resigned sigh and agree to the hand-tied request?

Still unsure whether he should feel honored or horrified to be the sole witness to a gathering of these legendary figures, Orville strategically sat in the smallest corner of the living room, closest to the door, and tried to appear as invisible as humanly possible while the Links bickered and bustled about like they owned the house.

The smithy was struggling to unroll a massive scroll across the floor. It was taller than the tiny smith himself, and not a single one of his eight brothers cared to offer help; they were too busy bargaining over seating positions, like Orville once had—as a child, whose top priority was to sit next to his best friend at school.

Because that’s what they essentially are, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Children with the powers of gods.

He jolted as a cup of tea and a small plate of roasted nuts were placed in front of him.

Wild winked at Orville before returning to brew more tea for his brothers.

Orville stammered his thanks, took a sip, and instantly melted by the warmth and refreshing fragrance.

Now relaxed, Orville chastised himself for being too pessimistic about the Links.

After all, these were legendary warriors. Surely, they must have some wisdom worth preserving for posterity?

He glanced back at them with renewed determination and pulled out his journal, telling himself to seize this once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something useful.

Even when doing the most, innocent, mundane things, the Links still triggered a normal man’s fight-or-flight instincts, as Orville unfortunately discovered.

Something must have happened in that tree to make Hyrule mad enough at Wild to refuse to sit next to his best buddy. Though, the champion didn’t seem to mind the pouty face and silent glare, humming a cheerful tune as he waited for the tea to brew.

Sky had seated himself between them, unbothered and happily sipping his tea.

So, something really had happened in that tree, if Sky got his tea before Hyrule.

Orville noted it silently, for the sake of future generations... and his own survival, in case this spiraled into a full-blown fistfight and he had to run for his life.

Oh.

And now, Four was trying to get everyone’s attention to his height-sized scroll he’d somehow managed to pin to the wall.

No one noticed his growing scowl or his hand angrily slapping the wall beside it.

Except Wind.

But Wind was deliberately ignoring the smithy and instead focused on flicking the tip of Legend's prized (and very protectively guarded) blue hat.

Orville, quickly but stealthily, edged even closer to the door.

But before Legend could explode, Time—now acting like the old wise man instead of the prankster who once trolled Orville to tears—planted himself between the two firecrackers, shooting the sailor a warning glare.

Wind obediently ceased his prank, though not before sticking his tongue out at the eldest Link.

Quietly, Orville let himself take a breath he hadn’t realized he'd been holding.

Time’s tactical move also ended the snarking match between Warriors and Twilight, who had been arguing over who got to sit next to the old man.

Now both looked genuinely crestfallen that their rightful spots had been claimed.

Legend cackled in glee at their disappointed faces.

Ah, who am I trying to fool, Orville thought, almost hysterically, even as his hand kept steadily taking notes, because writing was the only thing he could control in his entrapment.

There would be no nugget of wisdom to be had from these people.

As memories of his many side-quest traumas came crashing back like war flashbacks, Orville found himself settling more confidently than ever—on horrified.

Time let out a loud, exasperated sigh, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply, bringing everyone’s attention back to the smithy’s scroll, all while ignoring Wind’s pout.

(“You’ve spoiled the fun! I wanted to see how fast the colors could flash in his eyes before he snaps!”).

Finally, everyone was paying attention to Four’s scroll now, which was good.

Though... not so good was that their attention wasn’t on the actual information Four had crammed onto said scroll.

But on the crayon colors the smithy had used to make it.

“Did you seriously make a diagram with crayons?” Legend guffawed. “Are you a toddler?”

Four’s hands were already on his hips in a defensive stance.

“And what’s wrong with crayons? They’re a legitimate stationery item, meant for both drawing and writing,” the smithy shot back.

“Why’d you use only four colors?” Sky asked, pointing to the scroll, which Four had drawn with just green, blue, violet, and red crayons. “Where are the rest?”

“Maybe he ate them,” Warriors snickered.

But when Four lifted his nose in silent defiance, without denying the accusation, the captain’s face paled.

“Where did the other colors go, Four? Four? Please tell me you didn’t eat the crayons.”

Four ruthlessly crushed the captain’s fragile hope by looking them all dead in the eyes.

Warriors made a strangled noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

Beside the petrified captain, Twilight frowned.

“Were they the kid’s crayons you ate?” he asked.

(His tone was concerned for all the wrong reasons. Orville had no idea why he still found that surprising. This man had proven, time and again, that his priorities were always questionable.)

“I didn’t steal Dottie’s crayons for myself!” Four snapped, clearly more offended by the idea that he stole Dottie’s crayons than by the accusation of eating them. “She wanted a new set, but Anjean said she’d only buy them if the old ones ‘went missing.’”

Twilight let out a relieved sigh, unsurprisingly not questioning Four’s dubious method of making the old crayons disappear.

(Orville could easily list several methods off the top of his head that didn’t use one’s stomach as crayon storage. Silently, he begged anyone besides the captain to realize that crayons weren’t food.)

Raising his hand, Hyrule asked, “Which color tasted best?”

His curiosity was alarmingly genuine. He looked like he might want to find his own set of coloring supplies and taste them himself.

“Black had the best texture,” Four answered confidently.

“Why didn’t you eat these four colors?” It was Wind’s turn to ask the question that, in Orville’s humble opinion, was never supposed to be asked.

“Cannibalism.”

“Buddy,” Warriors groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Using big words doesn’t make you more respectable. You ate crayons!”

“I don’t see why eating a crayon should affect my respectability.”

“I don’t understand why you ate them in the first place,” Wild said, scratching his head. “They smell bad. Did I not feed you well?”

(Suddenly, Wild rose in Orville’s book as the lone voice of reason. The champion stayed there for a mere, flickering minute before plunging to the bottom for what he said next.)

“It’s not like the captain’s soap. At least, that smelled good.”

“Wild!” Sky cried.

Wild clapped both hands over his mouth.

“Oops. Shit.”

Warriors immediately clasped his hands together.

“I was just about to suggest we prove our princesses wrong—that we can get things done without getting sidetracked. But that little slip changes things. So, let’s fucking take a detour,” the captain said. Seeping out from his sunny smile was a fury so cold it dropped the room’s temperature to that of Hebra’s tundra.

“You see, I happened to lose my soap right after we left my home. I didn’t even get to use it once! But I thought, ‘Hey, maybe the rat that took my soap at least used it as intended. You know, as soap.’ But now…” Warriors closed his eyes as if trying to will away the pain from what he was about to say. “Now I must ask: which one of you fuckers ate my soap?”

Suddenly, every Link in the room found something extremely interesting to look at.

None of it was the captain’s murderous glare.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Warriors said again, voice still deceptively cheerful. “Are all of you fucking ate my soap? I promise I won’t be mad. I just want the truth.”

“You’re never not mad when you say that,” Time replied, his face perfectly devoid of all emotion, including guilt. “Lying is not good, Captain.”

Something finally snapped in Warriors, possibly his frayed patience.

“I AM ALWAYS MAD BECAUSE THIS KIND OF SHIT WARRANTS RIGHTEOUS WRATH!” the captain bellowed, jabbing his finger into Time’s breastplate with each word.

The eldest Link just smirked while letting Warriors commit self-injury.

“Why did you eat my soap?!”

“First of all, it wasn’t your soap,” Legend scoffed, arms crossed. “You stole it from your sister. So technically, you lost nothing.”

Warriors whirled on Legend.

“I lost my faith in all of you! Goddesses help me—even you, Legend?! What happened to that tiny hare-brain of yours?!”

“Duh. You were going to yell at everyone. I didn’t want to feel left out,” Legend admitted with a nonchalant shrug.

Unlike his idiot brothers, who ate soap out of dumb curiosity, Legend had done it deliberately and diabolically, and he was proud of every ounce of pain he’d successfully inflicted on the captain.

Seeing everyone had fessed up, Twilight rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sky and I just licked it? We were curious if it tasted as sweet as it smelled.”

“Soap shouldn’t smell like candied fruit,” Sky complained, shaking his head like it was the soap’s fault for deceiving him.

“The disappointment when smell and taste don’t match. The bitterness of crushed expectations that linger on the tongue… and through life…” Time lamented. “That’s how a child becomes an adult.”

“What a waste of eloquence!” the captain groaned, slumping back and nursing his bruised finger. “You’re already an adult, Sprite. Why did you enable them?”

“I learned from the best,” Time said, voice low and suspiciously too serious. “Camaraderie is best forged by consuming random stuff on a dare. Like boot soup.”

Instantly, Warriors’ face did something extraordinary as he sped through all five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, flushing red and turning ghostly pale at the same time. 

“Yuck! Yuck!” Wind gagged. “Why’d you have to remind me?! I almost forgot!”

“Do I want to know—no, I don’t,” Sky asked and hastily answered his own question. He shoved his fingers into his ears and began loudly humming his ballad to drown out the noise.

“My childhood was ruined that day,” Wind moaned. “I shouldn’t have followed Tetra through those weird portals.”

“Ravio still has nightmares about that—whatever that thing was. DO NOT tell me, I don’t want to know,” Legend said, raising a finger in warning just as Wind opened his mouth. “He’s still looking for a magical tool to erase that memory.”

“Has he tried dying? It’s very effective,” Wild offered.

Legend gave him the blankest stare. “No. I don’t think he wanna.”

“It was an emergency,” Warriors grumbled. The fire in his eyes had dimmed to a cold ember as he avoided everyone’s judging gaze. His ears were bright red, and now twitching.

“He’s lying!” Twilight crowed, clearly relishing the captain’s humiliation.

“I am not!”

“You are. Your ears twitch like Legend’s when he lies,” Hyrule pointed out, with far too much glee to be just an innocent observation.

Legend squawked and immediately covered his ears.

“Why are you watching my ears, you little shit?! That’s a breach of personal space!”

“Legend, privacy doesn’t exist between us. And we all have twitchy ears because Sky’s a bad liar,” Four said matter-of-factly.

Sky pouted. He was still covering his ears, but he knew, by spiritual design, that he was being badmouthed.

 On the other hand, Four’s words barely registered in Legend’s ears, because the veteran was busy letting out a battle cry and tackling Hyrule, grabbing the traveler’s ears in retaliation for exposing his secret.

Hyrule yelped but rolled them both onto the floor until he ended up on top, yanking on the veteran’s pink locks with equal spite.

The Downfall’s scuffle on the floor hit the others like a splash of cold water, jolting them awake to a simple truth.

That violence was far easier than civility.

The captain lunged at a smug Time, who breezily dodged the sloppy attack.

“Damn the timelines,” Warriors growled, masking his fluster behind a furious snarl. “I’m going to murder all of you.”

Shaking his head at his brother’s tactlessness, Time cast a well-placed glance at the rancher.

Twilight cracked his knuckles and jumped in, to defend the honor of his ancestor.

Wind joined in too, because dogpiling the captain had become his personal mission ever since the captain tarnished the good name of soup.

“We’re never getting anything done,” Four said mournfully. Somehow, he had already unpinned and rolled up the scroll, now hugging it to his chest like a beloved child as brawls broke out around him. “No one appreciates my effort.”

“I would if you wrote in a language I could read,” Wild said, surprisingly not instigating or joining the fight.

Yet.

“Bite me,” Four retorted, then squeaked as the champion bared his teeth at him.

At that point, Orville had already tucked his journal back inside his tunic.

The environment had become too hostile for life or sanity; it was no longer safe to take notes.

He was seriously contemplating evacuating himself from the battlefield when the door creaked open and Symon’s head popped in.

“My apologies for interrupting your important meeting,” the Sheikah said with a polite bow. The Links paused mid-mauling—some even had to un-sink their teeth from their own brothers’ flesh—to greet him.

“Hello, Symon!” they chorused cheerily.

Unfazed by the bizarre scene before him, Symon, who, in Orville’s opinion, had the steeliest nerves known to mortals, let his eyes drift calmly over the disarrayed room before landing on Orville, who was currently attempting to become one with the wall.

“But may I borrow Commander Orville for a moment?”

Symon was now Orville’s favorite person in the whole wide world.

Orville sprang to his feet and followed him out without hesitation.

“You are my savior,” he whispered to Symon as they walked toward the village head’s house.

Symon chuckled. “Did you get anything interesting from their meeting?”

A laugh that slipped from Orville’s lips sounded far less sane than he intended it to be.

“They all eat shit that isn’t meant to be eaten.”

It wasn’t Symon who wanted to talk with him.

Orville hadn’t expected to see General Impa in Kakariko.

Somehow, it had never crossed his mind before that she could be anywhere outside Castle Town or her headquarters.

He supposed he’d forgotten that the Sheikah elder wasn’t just a general of Hyrule.

As she sat gracefully on a red cushion in the village head’s hall, dressed in Kakariko’s traditional white robes, a wide-brimmed woven straw hat shading her face in the full dignity of a Sheikah matriarch, Orville was now reminded that Impa was, and always had been, the leader of her own people.

Symon gave a deep bow to his village head, who nodded silently in return, before excusing himself and leaving Orville alone with his general.

“Commander,” she greeted, beckoning him forward. “Please, have a seat.”

“General, sir.” Orville bowed and sat across from her.

“There’s no need for titles. I’m no longer a general, Orville.”

“Sir,” he replied faintly, out of habit, trying to keep his calm even as his mind spiraled through the anxious possibilities behind that unexpected reveal.

General—no, Lady Impa regarded him with a glint in her eyes beneath the shade of her hat, serene and searching.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked over a cup of tea,” she said, gesturing to a set of teacups arranged between them.

Orville glanced down at them and straightened his back, bracing himself for what was sure to be one of the longest conversations of his life.

The history of Hyrule had always been the history of the Triforce—the primordial artifact left behind by the Golden Goddesses.

At the dawn of the young earth, there was the Triforce of Power. Bestowed only upon the indomitable heart whose strength rivaled that of Her creations, worthy of the blessing of She Who Shaped the World.

Then, from She Who Wove the Truth came Her greatest mystique, the Triforce of Wisdom. Granted to the finest mind who sought only to grasp the excellence of Her Wonder.

And last, the Triforce of Courage. The illustrious gift, freely given to the bravest soul who triumphed over the silent trials of She Who Breathed Life.

When these legendary relics came together, the full grace of the Golden Power would be revealed, and any desire imaginable would lay within mortal grasp. Even the power to make man into a new god.

After millennia of absence, the Triforce had returned once more.

And the kingdom of Hyrule was shaken to its very core…

“Oh, the Triforce looks like this? This is basically triangles,” Wild cut in, pointing at the drawing on the scroll.

Four glared at the champion, clutching the paper script tightly in his hand. He hadn’t sacrificed his precious sleep drafting the most poetic presentation just to be rudely interrupted.

Unfortunately for the smithy, the champion’s comment had given the rest an opening to jump in with their own opinions.

“For someone who never came across the Triforce in his quests, your drawing is actually on point,” Legend admitted reluctantly, as if it pained him to give a compliment.

Four’s eyes twitched, clearly not appreciating the half-hearted praise.

“They’re like Force Gems, arranged into a bigger Force Gem. Not that hard to get it right.”

“What is a Force Gem again?” Hyrule asked.

Four opened his mouth, only to be cut off again by Wild’s observation.

“It looks like the mark on Flora’s hand when she used her sealing power on the Calamity.”

“Perhaps that’s why it reappeared,” Time speculated. “The evil of your era was vanquished, and the Golden Power no longer needed to reside in the royal bloodline. So, after some time, it returned to its materialized form.”

“Why?” Wild asked, still staring with rare intensity at Four’s drawing of the Triforce.

“The cycle is restarting itself,” Sky murmured, eyes cast downward. He’d unconsciously wrapped his sailcloth tighter around his shoulders, something he always did when they spoke of the eternal divine dance that he had played his fair share in trapping their spirit within.

Hyrule gave his shoulder a gentle rub, quietly reminding Sky that none of them actually blamed him.

Twilight smoothly picked up the thread of the conversation.

“We’ve already established that there are in-between eras with no great evil,” he began, turning to Wild. “In your time, the Triforce seemed to pass down from the Princess of Hyrule to the next in line, only manifesting as sealing power. But if we assume this era is a transitional one, then we’re witnessing the divine play reshuffling itself—” then grimly, he added, “preparing for the next age, when their destined wielders awaken again.”

“Joy,” Legend grinned humorlessly. “Another reminder that the pawns can’t choose the play.”

Wild considered the rancher’s explanation and Legend’s ominous implications for a moment, then gave a sharp nod.

“Good,” he whispered. “As long as the princess is no longer shackled with the entire burden of the Triforce alone.”

“It isn’t that simple, though,” the vet cautioned. “I’ve seen a world darkened by desperation. The world that pushed both its princess and hero to the brink of despair.” He paused, and for someone who was never shy about sharing his thoughts in their crude and unrestrained form, his next words came carefully. “The Triforce, in its tangible form, always invites greed—”

The reappearance of the divine relic had sent ripples of turmoil through every corner of Hyrule, spanning across centuries.

For generations, the royal family of Hyrule had strictly upheld the ancient order to protect the Triforce. They had sealed it within the castle’s sanctum to ensure that it could not be misused.

But the temptation of its power was too great—

And men, too weak.

Over time, doubt and frustration began to seep in.

With each passing year, ambitious factions grew bolder, their discontent echoing loudly through the House of Lords and the streets alike. Through manipulation and deceit, the noble families swayed public opinion and fractured the kingdom’s unity.

“Why not wish upon the Triforce?” the nobles would argue, their words dripping with venomous pleasantries, poisoning the public mind. “It can grant limitless desires! Isn’t it the Goddesses’ gift to us—to be used?!”

“To wish upon the Triforce, your spirit must be of a certain kind. To wish with an unready, imbalanced soul... the consequences could be dire,” Sky explained to his brother, as one of the few who had come into possession of the full Triforce—and the first among them to wish upon it.

Hyrule pondered in silence, his eyes drifting to the back of his own hand, as did the others. His mark was hidden beneath his brown leather glove, but he could always feel it.

The faint hum of the divine symbol carved into his skin, the only proof of their permanently tempered soul.

He quietly wondered what kinds of excruciating trials the others had endured.

Would there have been a Thunderbird? A shadowy reflection of oneself, standing between them and the golden power?

After a moment of silence, Wind let out an “aha!” like he’d just figured something important out.

“As dire as my drowned world,” the sailor said. His voice was light, though lacked the youthful chip it usually carried.

“They always said the Goddesses flooded our land as punishment for the evil. But... if the old man’s tree-dad was right, and the Goddesses had already abandoned us long before, then it must’ve been the Triforce’s power,” Wind concluded with a confident nod. “Pretty effective, honestly. It kept Ganondorf away from it for many years.”

Time shut his eye tight, taking a deep inhale.

“The Triforce has its own way of protecting itself from unworthy hands.”

“Though its understanding of worthiness can be... less than desirable,” Twilight muttered.

“The Goddesses favor those who exhibit the virtues they decree, and the Triforce reflects their sanctions.” Time sighed. “Not that its way is kind or caring toward mortals. Like that cold blade, it lacks fresh to feel pain.”

Sky squinted at Time. “Old man—”

“Guys,” Wild interrupted nervously, urgency coloring his voice, “Four’s eyes are turning blue. You’d better start paying attention to his scroll.”

“Whenever problems arose, nobles and commoners alike began calling for the Triforce to be used. For generations, the Sheikah stood with the royal family of Hyrule, protecting the sacred relic from falling into the wrong hands,” Impa recalled, passing a cup of tea to Orville.

“This conflict was, sadly, passed down to my friend, the crown princess.”

At the mention of the former queen who had vanished, Orville felt his throat go dry. He doubted the tea would help; his unease clearly wasn’t from thirst.

How had his day gone from listening to soap-eating nonsense to being pulled into an inner circle of political revelation?

“At that point in time, the royal family was losing favor in the court. There were whispers of usurpation. And in desperation… to preserve the monarchy’s relevance, the foolish king arranged a political marriage between his daughter and a cowardly, foul lord from the strongest noble house… one that coveted the Triforce.”

Impa spat the words, her voice heavy with bitterness and anger.

“The late king’s witless attempt achieved nothing but placing a coward on the throne and electing greedy men into the court. My poor friend had just turned eighteen when they forced her to wish upon the Triforce.”

Barely feeling the warmth of his now-cold tea, Orville forced himself to take a small sip anyway; his fingers had gone cold with nervous sweat.

“…Did she make a wish?”

A faint, proud smile touched the corner of Impa’s weary face.

“I remember it like it was yesterday. ‘We must persevere for the prosperity of Hyrule within our humble limitations!’ declared the queen, whom I had watched grow from a little girl into a graceful woman. She made the bravest wish in front of the court of vultures and snakes—for the primordial power, older than the sun and the moon, to disassemble itself!”

Believing it to be the best course of action, the young queen wished for the Triforce to split and hide itself.

Only the Triforce of Courage vanished.

The other two, however, remained within the kingdom’s grasp.

“Why did it act like that?” Wild asked, once again interrupting the presentation.

This time, Four didn’t look irritated. His expression mirrored the champion’s puzzlement; he too seemed to be asking himself the same question. Neither of them was familiar with the Triforce or how it worked.

Warriors heaved a deep sigh.

“Anything to share with the class, Captain?” Legend asked wryly.

“It’s just like what Time said…” the captain said, fiddling with the hem of his long scarf, as he always did when upset. “Each piece of the Triforce gravitates toward those who embody the sacred virtue of its creator. What I suspect is that the other two might not have seen the queen’s wish as fulfilling their respective aspects... to put it softly.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” Legend said, nodding in somber agreement.

“I don’t see.” Wind furrowed his brow. “Say it again, in Hylian.”

“Think of it this way,” Time offered. “The Triforce of Power always responds to Ganondorf’s call because he covets power above all else. Somehow… in doing so, he honors Din.”

“Eiwww!” Wind cried.

Hyrule’s face also twisted into a grimace deeper than the one he usually reserved for when Warriors tricked him into swallowing bitter medicine disguised as candy.

Despite the younger Links all sporting disgusted expressions, Time pressed on,

“I don’t find it less disgusting than any of you. But I’ve had time to think about it. You can’t apply mortal logic to something that predates the concept of morality.”

“To seek power is to acknowledge its sanctity,” Warriors added, building on Time’s point. “But to command it to hide itself, even for noble reasons, is… sacrilege. You’re actively rejecting power in its essence. Din’s mountains and deserts never conceal their might from sight. Power does not hide.”

Four blinked. “So… by that logic, the Triforce of Wisdom didn’t move because it thought the queen’s wish was… what, unwise?”

“Nayru has the highest standards. Look at the Zeldas,” Legend pointed out. “Maybe the Triforce of Wisdom decided planting itself back on the pedestal was the better course of action than granting her wish.”

“Who’s supposed to know all that?” Wild muttered, rubbing his face in growing frustration. “She tried her best with what little knowledge and time she had. But it feels like no matter what she did, those ancient, dusty triangles just refused to be pleased!”

“Hey, hey, don’t work yourself up over the thing that already happened,” Twilight said gently. “Also, Courage heeded her plea.”

“Farore, whose richest soul gave life to playful spirits like the Kokiri and the Deku, always humors even the smallest attempts by her creations,” Time murmured. Then, with a mischievous grin, he gestured broadly to the room, where his brothers sat with brooding frowns and frustrated glares.

“No matter how foolish. Just look at her champions in this room.”

Everyone froze—then burst out laughing when they realized the old man was joking.

“Alright, alright,” Four said, clapping his hands together. “That’s enough of the old man’s dry humor for today. Let’s get back to the briefing so we can actually use the three days we’ve been given before the portal yanks us away again.”

Wild raised his hand. He was brimming with curiosity today. “By the way, where is the Courage Triangle now?”

Legend’s eye twitched dangerously at the word triangle. “Just look at your fucking hand, Champ. Have you never noticed it glowing when the portal dumped you here?”

“Oh! I thought my hand flashed because of that luminous stone I snacked on earlier.”

Twilight smacked his forehead in secondhand embarrassment; the mark on his hand was glowing faintly as well.

“So, what are we going to do with the Triforce of Courage?” Four asked, squinting at his own hand. “That’s shattered into pieces and now… freeloading with us?”

“Farore loves secrets. So, we’re going to give her piece a hide-and-seek game. My way,” Legend declared. “I’m going to hide them so well, no one’ll ever find them again. If the next Link isn’t half as smart as me—” at Hyrule’s large, hopeful eyes, he quickly amended, “Or Hyrule, he’ll never get the pieces together either.”

Sky cleared his throat.

All heads turned, shocked that he was still awake.

Sky returned their rude stares with a flat look.

“I, too, have a plan.”

Orville wasn’t sure he fully understood how divine power worked, but he attempted anyway.

“But without Courage, the full power of the Triforce would be out of reach, right?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Then… what went wrong?” he asked. He knew stories like this never ended with easy triumphs, though his heart still dreaded what her answer might be.

“Everything,” Impa rasped.

“Blinded by greed and rage, the palace scoured every corner of the land for the missing piece of the golden power. From that frenzied, desperate search came accusations and blame directed at our allies. The event that followed is now known as the Shattering War.”

 Impa’s eyes were still hidden beneath the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat, though streaks of tears glistened on her cheeks.

“We were naïve. We underestimated what lust for power could do. What happened afterward is… well remembered. You may already know some of it.”

Orville nodded slowly.

The one-year war ended in a stalemate. Though the palace boasted of victory each year during Memorial Day, those who had fought and lived through the consequences of their elders’ decisions saw only debris and ruin.

Lives lost. And friendships sundered.

The Zora, long-lived and wise, accepted the truce with grace but refused all diplomatic ties with Hyrule, retreating into the depths of their underwater domain.

The Rito followed suit, cutting off their bridges and withdrawing into the sky.

The Goron sealed their mountain passes, guarding their homeland with fierceness instead of warmth.

And the Gerudo permitted only trade within the sandstone walls of the Kara Kara Bazaar. The cup of kindness was no longer extended to Hylians, nor was their presence welcome in the desert town of the proud warriors.

Though, there was one thing that history had never spoken of.

“What happened to the queen?” he asked quietly.

“What have you heard?”

“Many unkind rumors,” Orville replied truthfully. “Some say she was executed. Others believe she was exiled. Some think she fled the kingdom and abandoned her people.”

“Unkind, indeed,” Impa agreed.

“For years, she was placed under house arrest in her tower. Though, you could call it a prison, because that’s what it was. But she knew the palace would never stop searching for the piece. So, when the war broke out, she escaped. And for decades, my friend wandered across and beyond Hyrule, evading the king’s hunting hounds while following whatever clues she could find that might lead her to the missing Courage before the palace could.”

“…Did she find it?”

“No. And ever since she made the wish, my friend’s health had weakened. She once told me that godlike power wears down the untrained spirit of any mortal.”

Orville’s hand clenched into a tight fist, trying his best not to let despair show on his face.

“That isn’t fair at all.”

“Don’t feel sorry for her,” Impa said, though her voice softened, grateful for his sympathy.

“She lived a fulfilling life. She found freedom. And love. She got to hold her beloved daughter before her untimely passing.”

The queen had a daughter.

Somewhere out there, there lived a princess—a true heir to the throne.

The sorrow on the Sheikah elder’s weary face gave way to a faint light in her eyes.

An image flashed in Orville’s mind.

A little girl with golden hair, and bright green eyes that shone like crown jewels, whose laughter rang like precious pearls when the Links regaled her with stories.

Then, realization struck him like a lightning strike.

He looked up from the cup he’d been staring into, eyes wide with panic, heart pounding against his ribs.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he whispered, his voice fainter than silence, fearing that any louder and this secret would reach the wrong ears.

Lady Impa didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she took a slow sip of tea.

“I’m giving you choices, Orville,” she said at last, her tone unnervingly calm. “I’ve resigned. The Research Unit is no more. All the Sheikah have left with me. The court’s suspicious of your ties to us, but you’re a capable knight. You can still keep your knighthood.”

“I—I don’t know,” Orville stammered. “I have nowhere to go, Lady Impa.”

“Well, someone did fight for you.”

“…Who?”

“Captain Alonso.”

Orville stared dumbfounded at his teacup, frantically searching his thoughts, trying to understand why Captain Alonso of all people would vouch for him.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just think about it,” Impa advised. “Under Captain Alonso, you’ll be protected.”

Then, as if she hadn’t already upended his entire world, the Sheikah elder pulled a bundle of letters from her robes—all the letters Orville had ever exchanged with her during the investigation.

Reports on the Links.

Complaints about the Links.

All the precious memories he’d documented of the villagers’ activities, the Links’ shenanigans, and how it had changed his life.

“These are yours now. I’m no longer in a position to keep confidential documents. Once you transfer, take these to your new superior. This may be your only chance to prove your loyalty—and salvage your career.”

Orville still clutched the letters to his chest as he made his way back to Master Rosso’s house, his mind still numb from all the revelations.

There was a decision he had to make but Orville’s feet remained cold.

Would he be able to make the right call?

Would he have the courage for it?

As he reached the door of the cottage, Orville shoved Impa’s offer to the back of his mind.

The cottage was quiet. Too quiet.

A new concern surged.

Had they killed each other?

Orville slammed the door open.

And was greeted by an empty, but surprisingly tidy room. It almost felt like the cottage had never seen, let alone housing nine heroes of legend.

On the table, however, sat a small piece of paper, written in bright blue crayon. The evidence that they had been here. That they existed.

Judging by the scrawny handwriting, it was probably Wild’s.

It read: “Meet at Tarry Town, three days later! Dress super, super nice!”

And just like that, the feeling rushed back into Orville’s body like the first breath of spring thawing a frozen river.

On his way out, Orville passed the small fire burning by the Kakariko goddess statue, said to have never gone out in hundreds of years.

He cast one last glance at the letters in his hands. Invaluable information he had bled and sweated to collect for his kingdom.

Priceless history.

Political advantage.

He threw them all into the fire and watched until every trace of their existence turned to ash.

Then, without looking back, he departed for Castle Town.

Time, he has discovered, passed quickly but so uneventfully in the castle barracks.

To his own surprise, Orville slipped seamlessly back into old, military life, as if the past few months had been nothing but a fool’s dream.

On his first day under Captain Alonso’s command, Orville found himself roped into too many briefings about surveillance assignments and royal guard placements for the king’s upcoming banquet.

Apparently, he’d completely forgotten that tomorrow was Memorial Day.

Small thanks to the Goddess that he’d been transferred after the final duty roster was assigned, thus, narrowly avoiding the dreadful “babysitting duty”.

Though, his fellow commanders warned, he wouldn’t be so lucky next year.

Life was normal again.

And miracles had retreated back into the realm of fabled tales.

Since before dawn, Orville had been shadowing Captain Alonso, following dutifully behind as the old captain strolled the castle walk, inspecting and barking at the royal guards stationed at each turret.

The sight of these young knights standing ramrod straight brought back so many memories.

Orville had once been one of these young guards, stationed along this very wall, arms aching from holding a spear all night, struggling to keep his eyes open, lest the same Captain Alonso catch him dozing and assign latrine duty.

Down below, castle staff began bustling about, preparing flags and banquet decor. Wagons rolled through the gates, bringing in supplies for the king and his noble court’s luxurious dinner.

The streets, however, remained eerily quiet.

Townspeople had been ordered to shut their windows and remain indoors.

Every year, the list of absurd rules grew longer because of the coward king’s paranoia.

Now, anyone caught wandering would face a heavy fine, or worse, prison.

After all, the celebration was always for the nobles. Never for the people.

Perhaps that was why Captain Alonso looked furious this morning.

The Castle Guards was always forced to double its patrols on Memorial Day, both on the walls and through the streets, just so the nobles could dine undisturbed by the sounds of commoners beyond the castle walls.

Orville’s thoughts drifted to Impa, whom he still sometimes thought of as his general.

They had always spent Memorial Day together.

She would feign illness to skip official duties.

They’d wait until sunset, then walk the silent streets to the temple.

She would pray.

And he would let his thoughts wander through the empty hall, reminiscing on childhood dreams and what his life could have been.

Orville nearly collided with Captain Alonso when the man abruptly stopped.

Still facing forward, Captain Alonso noted, “You look unhappy to be back under my command.”

The stern captain’s tone was sharp, cutting straight to the point as he always did.

“Was that old hag a better superior than me, Commander?”

Orville straightened. “I’m honored to serve under your command, sir.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Captain Alonso was a soldier through and through. He was feared as much as he was respected. Who in their right mind would turn down promotion, choosing instead to honor the knight’s oath over easy fame? Men like him were rare now.

Captain Alonso snorted.

“If that’s the best lie you’ve got, don’t expect anyone to help your ass up the ladder.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll do better, sir.”

“What did you do last year? Swatting flies with the hag in your storeroom?”

“No, sir. I accompanied General Impa to the Temple of Heroes as part of our duty to protect the sacred historical site and ensure no break-ins occurred during the important day, sir!”

“Well, you’re in luck then,” Captain Alonso said, his tone dismissive. “Heard about a break-in just yesterday. We’re short on knights. My men are too busy making sure the lords have enough paper to wipe their royal asses. You’re on your own for this patrol.”

Someone was breaking in.

And with that came a feeling Orville hadn’t expected to miss dearly.

The old, familiar headache—

And a thrill of unbridled excitement.

“And drop off your resignation papers before you leave. I’ll sign them after this shitty day’s done,” ordered Captain Alonso.

Orville froze, staring at the captain’s back in alarm.

“Sir!”

“Kid, I’ve eaten more salt than you’ve eaten bread. You’ve been dancing around it since you came back.”

“…Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.” The old captain waved his hand. “But be quick. I’ve got to change for that blasted banquet.”

“Why did you help me?” Orville asked quietly. “It’s unlike you to pull favors for a lowly knight.”

“You’re right,” Captain Alonso agreed. “I wouldn’t pull strings just to save any commander’s career. But I would if that’s what it takes to keep this army from losing another good man.”

Shaking his head, he chuckled, “Not that your decision surprised me. After all, I’m not the captain you want to follow.”

Orville’s breath hitched.

Then, he bowed deeply, his head nearly touching the floor, overwhelmed by gratitude and renewed respect for the man in front of him.

“Thank you, sir!”

“Now, get out of my hair!” the old captain barked, waving him off before continuing his rounds alone.

Orville nearly flew down the stairs to his office.

Noon had come and gone. He barely looked up from his desk, clearing paperwork at the speed of sound, only pausing to nod at passing knights.

By now, the news had already made three laps around the barracks and every soul now knew that Commander Orville was resigning.

Some stopped by to offer him farewells. And some, their unwanted opinions.

(“You’re throwing your career away!”)

Hoz arrived with a lunch tray and somehow lingered by the door, watching Orville’s paperwork frenzy in silent awe.

As Orville rose, triumphant, and marched his resignation papers to Captain Alonso’s office, the young knight followed him like a second shadow.

Hoz waited patiently as Orville placed the papers on the captain’s desk.

Then, at last, he mustered the courage to ask the question he’d been holding in since noon.

“Why are you resigning?”

Orville paused, then carefully, he said, “This life didn’t offer me chances.”

“What chances?”

Orville turned around to look at the knight.

Hoz’s face was— he looked lost.

An understanding smile tugged at Orville’s lips.

“A chance to get chased out of the Lost Woods. To pocket stray rupees. To get punched for breaking into someone’s house—”

Hoz’s jaw hit the floor.

But Orville kept going, holding up his fingers as he counted.

“A chance to shout into the wind. To nearly get run over by a bear. To dig holes in graveyards. To freely run across Hyrule. To get stuck on a rooftop of an abandoned farmhouse.”

And to embark on a side-quest.

“Almost all of that is illegal,” Hoz pointed out hesitantly. “Do you want to be a criminal?”

“No, Hoz.” Orville laughed as he stepped through the barracks door, into the quiet street, and into the open sky painted in the golden hues of a setting sun.

“I want to live.”

Orville bolted across the street toward the temple, with freedom in his heart and wings on his heels.

Just as he came within earshot—

BOOM!

All the exhilaration he’d felt just moments ago swiftly drained from his body, replaced once again by the familiar perpetual anxiety.

“Goddesses, are they wrecking the temple?!” He cursed and picked up speed, sprinting the last few steps before bursting through the temple’s heavy doors.

He arrived just in time to witness Hyrule raise an enormous hammer and smash a replica of the Hero of the Wild’s tome into smithereens.

Orville’s heart shattered along with the priceless history, now scattered in fragments across the empty hall.

He let out a strangled shriek.

All four Links turned to look at him.

Legs swinging from atop the Hero of Legend’s statue, Four called cheerfully, “Hello, Orville!”

“Fancy meeting you here,” Time greeted. He was standing beside the massive wolf statue beneath the Hero of Twilight, absently stroking the stone creature’s head. “Here’s a long way from Tarry Town. Would you make it to the wedding tomorrow?”

Orville sputtered.

“W–what wedding?!”

“Jeez, did Wild not leave you the message?” Wind asked, lowering his red contraption—the pictobox—after snapping a life-like image of the Hero of Warriors’ statue.

Orville crumpled to the floor.

“He didn’t mention a wedding! What wedding? Whose wedding?!”

Four pocketed a red rupee off the statue’s head, then hopped down, casually sidestepping around Orville’s heap of a body.

“Sky’s bandmates.”

“Oh, Carene and Piper…and what are you all doing here? Why did you destroy a historical relic?!”

“Wild said no tomb. It was creepy. We agreed.” Four answered.

Hyrule nodded, resting the hammer on his shoulder. “Also, we don’t like the statues’ positions.”

“…You what?”

“Boys,” Time called, not looking up from the picture Wind was showing him.  “We are on limited time. Seating arrangements are a lower priority. We have a message to send.”

“Yes, sir!” the brothers chorused in mock salute.

…What message?

“Where are the others?” Orville asked, eyes darting around nervously. The thought of another five unaccounted Links roaming Castle Town during Memorial Day while the guards patrolled in full force was— terrifying beyond imagination.

“They’re in Tarry Town,” Hyrule said, as if reading Orville’s anxious thoughts. “Wild said the last time he was at the castle, he slayed something. If he wasn’t allowed to slay anything, he’d rather bake the wedding cake. Right now, Legend’s probably harassing him with his unhelpful advice.”

“And the rest?”

“Captain’s probably also begging Twi and Sky to not climb Death Mountain to get a pet ostrich, as we speak,” Wind giggled.

“Also,” Time said, looking strangely proud of himself. “This is my turn to lead the sightseeing trip.”

“I’ve been here before,” Four said dryly. “Multiple times.”

“I meant together. Like a family trip.”

“No family ambushes their brother and saddles him with a job he doesn’t want,” Four grumbled.

“Are you still mad about that?”

“Four-ever.”

“That was such a bad, bad pun,” Time said, pretending to wipe away nonexistent tears of pride.

Then he turned back to Orville.

“Do you need help fast-traveling to Tarry Town?”

Orville took a cautious step back.

“Oh. Uh. No, thanks? I could ride all night. It’s fine.”

All four Links shook their heads in unanimous disapproval.

“You’ll be exhausted!” Hyrule cried. “Tomorrow’s an important day!”

“Perhaps I should give you a lift,” Time offered sweetly. “Whether you like it or not.”

“Please no. Thank you, but no,” Orville pleaded.

Hastily, he attempted a distraction. “Oh, by the way! What are you doing in the temple?”

“There’s an old custom I read it in the archives,” Four eagerly explained. “The current king never honors the first king of Hyrule. Which is unacceptable. Sooo—”

“We’re taking the king to the banquet!” Hyrule finished.

“But you said—”

Orville spun around, half-expecting Sky to leap out from behind the statue of the Chosen Hero.

But it wasn’t Sky.

It was Wind who stepped forward.

“I’ve always wanted to play this melody!” the sailor exclaimed, raising his white baton high, a storm building behind his youthful grin. “Mine’s way better than Twi’s Dominion Rod. Witness!”

In the still, stale air of the temple, the wind began to stir, awakening at the command of the Wind Waker.

Orville stared in disbelief as the empty stone eyes of the First Hero’s statue flickered with light.

And the marble fingers wrapped around the divine sword twitched.

Oh, fuck.

Four and Hyrule whooped.

“This surprise isn’t for you, Orville.”

A heavy hand clapped his shoulder. Orville turned to find Time winking at him, nothing but mischief dancing in his lone eye.

“Your time to go. See you at the wedding.”

Orville vaguely remembered the blue ocarina touching Time’s lips.

Then everything went blissfully dark.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up in a moving wagon, warm little hands not-so-gently slapping his face.

“Good morning, Orville!” Cremia beamed down at him, then turned to call over her shoulder, “Romani! Orville’s alive!”

Still groggy, Orville slowly sat up from the wagon bed he’d apparently shared with Cremia and a few wooden boxes. It smelled faintly of sun-dried hay.

“W–wha…?” was the only half-formed sound his sleep-fogged mind could string together.

Romani turned from the driver’s seat to give him her amused smile, the morning sun bathing her auburn hair in golden light.

“We were halfway to Tarry Town when we heard something fall into the back of the wagon. Found you snoring there.”

Cremia giggled. “You looked like you could use the rest, so we let you sleep!”

Romani chuckled softly, before turning her focus back to the road.

“Having your soul soar in the blink of an eye can give you nasty vertigo, in my experience! So, sorry we didn’t wake you—”

Suddenly, her voice lit up.

“We’re here!”

Cremia squealed, scrambling up to the front beside her sister and shouting in delight, “TARRY TOWN!”

Orville lifted his head—

And there it was.

Tarry Town.

A settlement built from the ground up, where dreams from every corner of Hyrule had gathered in celebration of love and unity.

Romani parked the wagon in a plain field alongside other carriages that had arrived earlier.

Together, they crossed the rocky bridge leading to the colorful little town built on a small island in the heart of Lake Akkala.

As soon as they stepped inside, a tall Gerudo woman approached them with a warm, welcoming smile.

“I’m Mattison, the current mayor of Tarry Town,” she introduced herself.

Without questioning their sudden arrival, Mattison gestured for them to follow her toward the town square, surrounded by colorful homely buildings.

A large crowd—visiting guests and townsfolk of every race and size—had already gathered before the Unity Bell, the sacred monument that had stood proudly since the town’s founding and witnessed generations of couples pledging their vows of eternal love.

“The ceremony’s about to begin,” Mattison said, her voice glowing with pride for her town and her people. “Because we have so many guests, the wedding feast will be held across the lake, on the far side of Tarry, in the Torin Wetland. You can take the rail from here—it’s free!”

Almost every person Orville had ever met during his side-quests was here, along with many he hadn’t met yet, gathered in small groups and pairs, talking and laughing under the bright, sunny sky.

He hadn’t even taken more than a few steps in when he heard the voice calling from the crowd.

“Orville!”

“Gonzo!”

The village head pulled him into a tight embrace, which Orville returned wholeheartedly It had been far too long since they’d last spoken, whether in person or through letters.

“You look good, Orville,” Gonzo said warmly, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder.

“How have you been?!” Orville asked, his eyes stinging with the unexpected joy of their reunion.

Instead of answering, Gonzo’s gaze landed onto Romani who was watching them curiously. Cremia had already been pulled into the play by the other children.

“But first,” Gonzo said with a grin, “Will you introduce me to this fine young lady you arrived with?”

“Oh! Right,” Orville said, a little flustered. “Romani—this is Gonzo, the village leader of Outskirt Village—”

And just like that, in the company of friends, the hours began to slip by.

Orville left Romani in the company of Gonzo and his wife, excusing himself to go greet the bride and groom.

His journey was repeatedly, though very pleasantly, interrupted by familiar faces calling out to him, insisting he stop to chat and catch up.

And he always did.

He also spotted Dampé in a heated debate with his own father and some folks from Lurelin… and wisely decided to let them be. His mother also had gathered her own circle of women, all trading secrets while keeping watchful eyes on the little ones playing nearby.

It seemed the children of Mabe had already found friends in Riverside’s kids, and were now playing fetch with Tarry Town’s dogs.

Not far from them, little Koko was showing her new friends—Cremia and Dottie—how to weave flower crowns.

Orville smiled and kept walking.

At last, he reached the altar.

Carene, in a beautiful white gown, jumped into his arms. Piper was grinning ear to ear, pure joy radiating from the soon-to-be-married couple.

“Congratulations!” Orville beamed.

“A sunny wedding! Just like I’ve always wanted!” Carene laughed, squeezing Orville tightly.

She eventually let him go as the maestro came over to shake Orville’s hand.

“I think we’re ready to begin the ceremony!” Carene’s father announced, lifting a spoon and gently tapping it against his glass of Noble Pursuit.

The crowd’s attention shifted toward the altar, where Orville now noticed a small stage, its curtain still drawn shut.

Then it struck him. He hadn’t seen a single Link since arriving.

The curtain slowly open.

Ah. Never mind.

There they were.

Orville couldn’t help but smile at the sight of all eight of them—and Wolfie—onstage, dressed in the colorful uniforms of the Hero Trotters, each holding an instrument.

Except for Wolfie, who wore only a bowtie.

Wind stepped forward, baton in hand, and a jovial breeze singing around him.

“Call me Awesome Link! I’ll be your conductor for today’s wedding music!” he grinned widely, gesturing behind him. “And these are my bandmates—The Chain!”

“Please welcome our harper—Sleepy Link!”

Sky gave a shy wave as the crowd cheered. Carene whooped the loudest.

“And on the drums is Young Link!”

The eldest Link gave a sharp nod from behind an impressively large set of Goron-inspired drums. His face remained stoic, but amusement twinkled in his lone eye.

“And, after torturing his poor brothers to death with his indecision, Grumpy Link has decided on the marimba! Finally!”

Legend flipped him off. Wind cackled and carried on.

“The one with the accordion is our beloved Cook Link!”

Wild grinned at the crowd, then shot Wind an annoyed glare as the sailor chirped, “Let’s hope he doesn’t break his friend’s instrument!”

“Now, for our wind instrument trio! Our Not-Cook Link’s on the flute—”

Hyrule pouted at the lackluster and rude introduction. Revenge was clearly brewing.

“—Nagging Link and Shorty Link are on ocarinas, because that’s literally the only instrument they own.”

Warriors and Four gave the sailor their matching unimpressed stares, but still waved at the cheering crowd.

“And last, our vocalist—Wolf Link!”

The wolf gave a polite bow.

The crowd erupted into coos of adoration.

“He’s here on behalf of Boring Link, who couldn’t make it today because of urgent business. He had to take a huge dump in the bush!”

His brothers immediately howled with laughter, and soon joined by the thunderous applause of the crowd.

Wolfie didn’t even growl.

He just lunged, teeth angrily snapping at Wind, who twirled away with a gleeful snicker.

“Okay! Enough talk! Let’s make music!” Wind exclaimed.

Orville’s parents moved to stand beside him, and together they watched, in respected silence as the bride and groom exchanged vows beneath the Unity Bell, while the ancient melody wove the moment into their hearts.

Orville once again weaved his way through the crowd of wedding guests at the banquet in the Torin Wetland.

Wild’s enormous wedding cake was certain to be the talk of the town for years to come—right alongside the whole roasted ostriches, which, as Orville had heard, were the disastrous result of Sky and Twilight’s failed attempt to befriend the wild birds.

Sky was inconsolable. And somehow, he blamed everyone but himself, though mostly, he blamed Wolfie.

Orville glanced up. The moon was nearing its peak. Yet the air remained festive.

Many guests, especially the young and the elderly, had already retired to Tarry Town’s inn. And still, more kept arriving, even at this late hour. Some had just dismounted their horses, likely coming straight from work.

The way a few carried themselves struck Orville as too familiarly militant.

He tried not to think too much into it.

The Hero Trotters—and the Links, too, he supposed—must have made friends in all kinds of places.

Since arriving, Orville had barely spoken to any of the Links. He still hadn’t told the captain about his resignation.

Then a gentle tap touched his shoulder.

Speak of spirits, and they shall appear.

Orville turned, and found Wild smiling at him.

“Come with me.”

Without waiting for his reply, the champion took Orville by the wrist and pulled him away from the party.

“I want you to meet someone.”

The champion led him to a quieter spot by the lake.

Just as they reached the shore, something broke the surface of the water.

Orville’s hand flew instinctively to the hilt of his sword, only for Wild to gently place a hand over his, coaxing him to stand down.

Because that something... was a someone.

Towering over Orville was the largest Zora he had ever seen, his sheer size easily rivaling that of a small hill. His scales were deep crimson, and atop his head rested a regal crown adorned with intricate silver jewelry.

Orville didn’t need intelligence to know this was no ordinary Zora.

“Orville,” Wild said brightly, “meet King Sidon of the Zora.”

Thanks to years of military discipline beaten into him, Orville dropped to one knee immediately.

He only hoped he wasn’t too late in offering respect, and that the king wouldn’t take offense at the way he’d been rudely gawking moments ago.

But when he lifted his head, King Sidon’s attention was no longer on him.

The Zora king had both of his massive hands enveloped Wild’s arms in a handshake.

“Link, my dearest old friend,” the king said, his voice powerful yet laced with deep sorrow. “It has been hundreds of years. To see you so young… to hold your hand in mine again fills my heart with such unfettered joy.”

Wild gave him a crooked grin. “There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?”

The weary lines of the king’s timeworn face softened with a small chuckle.

“I have mourned you, my friend. And I have grieved the loss of my people.”

His golden eyes shifted to Orville.

“Blood has been spilled,” King Sidon said coldly. “And decades are but a short span to a long-lived Zora to find forgiveness.”

Orville fought not to flinch under the weight of that piercing gaze.

The champion stood silent, his expression patient.

The king closed his eyes. Then, under the silver moonlight, a faint smile touched his lips.

Wild smiled back.

“But I have sworn fealty to the Kingdom of Hyrule,” Sidon continued. “That in both triumph and hardship, the Zora shall offer their wisdom and lend their strength to Hylia’s people. Perhaps now is the moment for me to honor that oath once more.”

He turned to Orville, and when he spoke, his voice boomed like a waterfall, yet gentle as a pond blossoming with water lilies.

“For the Hylian Champion who dove into my underwater domain without a single thought for his own safety—”

“It was safe!” Wild whined, “I borrowed Twilight’s diving gear!”

The Zora king ignored his protest.

“As I was saying—for Link, who actually can’t swim underwater, but went out of his way on your behalf, I now offer your people this chance.”

Orville bowed deeply, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Link and I have spoken with the Gerudo Chief, the Rito Elder, and the Boss of the Gorons. We have agreed, Hylians’ affairs are theirs to resolve. But once the rightful heir ascends the throne, we may begin efforts to restore peace between the Four Races and Hyrule.”

“But I must emphasize this.” He then fixed Orville with a hardened gaze. “My judgment of Hyrule’s sincerity in amending her mistakes will rest not on my respect for my Hero, but entirely on her people.”

Beside a trembling Orville, Wild grinned and gave the enormous king a thumbs-up.

“You’re such a fair and wise king, Sidon!”

And just like that, the king’s regal composure cracked. He returned the champion’s gesture with a thumbs-up of his own, his grin broad and bright.

Then King Sidon turned once more to Orville, his voice now truly warm.

“Sir Orville, may we hope for the best, that friendship and prosperity may once again be shared with open hearts!”

Immediately after the Zora King departed, Orville whirled on the grinning champion and hissed,

“What was that?!”

He knew he was being rude. But in his defense, he was beyond stressed!

One moment he’d been enjoying a relaxed evening at a wedding, the next he was dragged off to discuss the fate of Hyrule’s diplomacy with the literal King of the Zora.

Wild only laughed heartily at Orville’s plight.

With the same old mischievous gleam in his eyes, he grabbed Orville’s wrist, tugging him, once again against his will, on another stroll.

Just ahead, by the lakeshore, Orville spotted Twilight chatting with a small group of wedding guests.

The rancher didn’t even glance over as he and Wild passed them.

Or… maybe he had noticed.

Maybe they were all conspiring.

Orville narrowed his eyes.

“Is this what you’ve all been up to while I was off doing your errands?”

“Well, we’re simply trying to return your favors!” Wild hummed. “You know, Legend has too many shovels. And Twilight has too many eyes all over Hyrule.”

That answered nothing. And raised even more alarming questions.

Wild pointed upward.

Orville followed his gaze, and spotted hawks circling in the moonlit sky.

Those... those weren’t nocturnal birds.

“Because he always prefers the company of animals, he might not look like a people person. Compared to, say, the smithy.” Wild giggled, flashing him mischievous smile. “But he did help a resistance once.”

Orville suddenly felt lightheaded.

He needed to sit down.

No. He needed to lie down.

“…What,” he croaked.

“If you’re going to be pissed at someone for conspiring,” Wild continued breezily, “don’t blame me. Blame Twilight. Or better—” his eyes sparkled, “Wars!”

And just like that, the very captain Orville had been trying to find all night was suddenly standing right in front of them.

“You take it from here!” Wild yelled, throwing a cheeky salute before scurrying off toward the lake. “I gotta go swimming with Sidon!”

Warriors shook his head with exasperated fondness as he watched the champion go.

Then, he turned to Orville.

“Care for a walk, Commander?”

And once again, Orville noticed it.

That despite the hour, the sun seemed to always rise in the captain’s eyes.

“Have you found the answer you were searching for?”

Orville turned his gaze from the path to the captain walking beside him.

They had forgone the rail, choosing instead the long, quiet route around Akkala Lake, back toward Tarry Town.

Warriors’ hair gleamed beneath the moonlight. He seemed almost aglow.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the celestial light at all. But something shining from within.

“I think…” Orville wet his lips, then shook the hesitation from his voice, and tried again. “I do.”

“That’s good,” the captain said with a relieved smile. “I panicked when you asked me what the Hero was made of. I didn’t have the answer. So, I threw you at my brothers so you could see for yourself. What courage looks like in the flesh.”

Orville’s eyes widened.

“I’m a soldier, Commander. Not a hero.” Captain Link admitted, his voice was too casual. Too factual. “If I were one, I’d be the deadliest. The kind who sends thousands to the grave, and the rest wading home in their brothers’ blood.”

Too cruel.

“No—”

But the captain didn’t let him interrupt. His gaze burned forward.

“I can’t teach you any heroic lessons. But there is one thing only I can do for you. Think of it as your final reward for completing this side-quest.”

With a playful wink, the captain began to recite names.

“Remember their names: Captain Alonso of the Castle Guard. General Wright of the North Keep. General Harkin of the Gerudo Watch. Captain Raph of Eldin Patrol. Their men have attended the banquet. You probably already noticed them.”

“How did you find them?”

The captain tilted his head.

“If you were a usurper king and his new court,” he asked suddenly, “what would you do with the opposing faction still loyal to the crown?”

It was such a Captain Link thing. To answer questions with more questions.

“…I’d seize power?”

“But not by force. Good commanders are beloved by their men. They’re not easily disposed of. That risks mutiny,” he said, his grin crooked and grim. “But that’s what politics is for, a well-oiled machine of divide and control. And so convenient, too. Why not issue transfer orders? Send them to the borders under the pretense of guarding against the other races. Spread them thin. And apart. Make it easy for assassinations to be blamed on monsters or bandits.”

All of these knights of Hyrule would never rebel without just cause, too loyal and too honorable.

They would endure. They would wait.

But under the banner of the rightful heir, they would raise their swords. And fight.

“You met them while ‘sightseeing’ along the border?”

The captain hummed.

“I know traitors, Commander. And by knowing them, I know where the good ones are.”

His sunlit gaze caught Orville’s for a moment, before turning back to the road.

“But caution never hurts,” Warriors chuckled. “So, I brought the rancher along for a second opinion. Animals, after all, have better judgment of character than most people.”

Orville was too overwhelmed to laugh.

Instead, he did what he always did worst.

He blurted.

“I’m not a commander anymore, sir. I’m no longer a knight.”

Warriors froze midstep. Orville’s panic rose in his throat.

Then, the captain threw his head back and laughed.

“You’re now Legend’s favorite! My condolences!”

“Sir!” Orville cried, indignant.

Then, quieter, he asked. “Aren’t you disappointed in me?”

“Don’t seek approval from the dead, Orville. I’m but unfeeling dust in your time. Let your heart beat with the present.”

But you’re very alive, Orville thought, clenching his fist. All of you are still so alive.

The captain’s gaze softened.

“I’m proud of the man you’ve always been, Orville. And the one you’ve let yourself become too. There’s a long march ahead, a battle that you must. And an even longer road for rebuilding.”

In Captain Link’s smile, there were a thousand suns.

“Don’t fight alone this time, all right?” he said gently. “You have people to watch your back now.”

Orville closed his eyes and let the tears flow openly down his cheeks.

There were so many things he wanted to say to this man. He feared a lifetime would still not be enough to convey how much Captain Link meant to him.

But most of all—

“Sir, I don’t agree with you saying you aren’t the hero or that you’re the deadliest one. Because it isn’t true. You’re not. You’re—”

But his words were cut short by a loud, anguished wail from the town gate.

The captain instantly sprinted toward the sound, and Orville followed.

They found Dottie in her white nightgown, beating her tiny fists against Four’s chest as he held her tight.

Symon and all the Links stood nearby, silent and red-eyed.

“Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!” Dottie screamed through her sobs. “You promised! You said you’d be my best friend!”

“And I am. I am, and always will be your best friend,” Four said, his voice miraculously steady despite the pain on his face. “Like the Minish, Dottie! Sometimes we can’t be seen, but we’re always there. You might not see me. But if you believe in me, I’ll always be with you!”

Dottie shook her head, still clinging to his tunic, refusing to let go.

Between hiccups, she asked the most heartbreaking question no child should ever feel the need to ask.

“Is it because I’m not the promised princess? Because I can’t awaken any power... that I’m not worthy? Is that why you’re leaving?”

They are…leaving?

Sky knelt before her, gently lifting her chin and wiping away her tears.

“Zelda,” he said softly, “before you’re a princess, you are a girl. And I swear on my soul, you are worthy of everything. All the love you will have and give, all the beauty you will experience! Not because of power or prophecy. But because you are you.”

Time knelt beside him, pulling something from his bag and holding it out to her.

A tiara, golden and gemmed, glittering like starlight.

“There goes our surprise,” Legend muttered, blowing his nose into a handkerchief he’d stolen from the captain. “We went through Eldin fire to make that epitome of craftsmanship out of the ugly, chunky crown.”

“It’s too big,” Zelda sniffled.

“It was meant to be given to you when you came of age,” Time told her kindly. “It’ll fit eventually.”

When she grew into her role. But that was left unspoken.

Time smiled at the little girl, warm but heavy with sorrow.

“I know I’m not in any place to ask promises, but could you hear this old man’s plea and ease his heart?”

Zelda glanced around at the Links, then gave a small nod.

“Please, don’t rush to grow up before you’ve had your fill of joy with your friends. Be a child, Zelda. While you still can. Let the adults do the fight for once.”

In her emerald eyes, shining with a light far older than her years, a quiet determination settled.

“…Okay.”

“Also, let Four breathe. Hug me instead!” Hyrule chimed in, arms wide, his easy smile like glimmering fairy dust, cleaving the sorrow in the air—and finally coaxing a tiny laugh from Zelda.

She let go of Four and threw herself into Hyrule’s waiting embrace.

Beside Orville, the captain shook his head.

“What a cheeky rat.”

Mirth danced in his voice, but Orville knew his captain, and caught something flickering in those blue eyes. Something akin to desperation.

“Remember when we talked about a child forced onto the sword? I—”

Before he could finish, Orville spoke, “I promise.”

“…Thank you,” the captain whispered.

“I think I’ve gotten used to watching people leave,” spoke the rancher. Somehow, like a sneaking wolf, Twilight had moved to stand beside Orville and Warriors. “But it hurts more to be the one going.”

Orville tried to offer him a smile. “I suppose… this is when I send you all off?”

Twilight’s grin widened, sharp and toothy, and untarnished by the shadow of looming farewell.

“I much prefer ‘see you later.’ Keep all the chances open. We might not. But also, we could. If fate is kind.”

The captain huffed, slapping Twilight’s shoulder. “Are all bumpkins this optimistic?”

Twilight slapped him back. Harder.

Both let out a growl.

“Are you two morons fighting now?” Legend glowered over his shoulder, still hugging his little princess. “Seriously, for once, can we leave on a graceful not—”

A white, warm light bloomed around them, brighter than a falling star colliding with the earth.

When Orville opened his eyes again, only those of the present remained.

The ghosts had returned to the past.

He stood on a little cliff, where his legs had carried him without thought. Alone, he watched the sun rise over the Akkala Sea.

Dawn had come, and the fabled had returned to rest in the realm of dreams.

He had imagined this moment countless times since meeting them. He’d prepared himself, fearing the farewell would shatter him completely.

But now that it had happened, all his spirit could feel was calm.

 And yet.

If he was truly honest with himself, lingering still at the edges of his mind was a little regret.

“You’re not the deadliest hero, Captain Link.” Orville smiled, whispering their unfinished conversation with the wind. “You’re the gentlest one. And you saved me in all the ways that mattered.”

The ghosts had returned to the past.

But in his heart—they lived still.