Chapter Text
Got you!
Dark Link, in a practiced swipe, swiftly bottles the anti-fairy. The little creature pings angrily off the inside of the glass as he corks the top closed, her red aura bubbling and flickering in irritation. She hisses and pops in agitation, her normal chimes changed by her current form. In a bittersweet way, he is glad she doesn’t currently have wings; or else they’d be terribly bruised by the constant ricochet.
Smiling, he cradles the bottle close to his chest, hushing her gently. After a while, and some soft whistling of half-remembered songs, the corrupted fairy calms. Her skull-like form stares at him with hollow and sightless eyes, yet Dark is certain she can see him.
Don’t worry, he tries to convey, smoothing a thumb over the glass, I won’t hurt you.
She must sense something, because she settles slightly. With a slow spin around her new and temporary home, the anti-fairy bobs down to the bottom of the bottle and, presumably, falls asleep.
Dark huffs. Of course, the tiny thing just gets to nap after all that nonsense she put him through. The former fairy had given him quite the chase, running him around half the building before finally getting caught in an old, thankfully empty, skulltula web. Dark had gone through and rid the place of the eight-legged creatures and any other monsters months ago, when it became apparent that he’d be staying here a while.
“Here” being an ancient and forgotten Temple, its purpose long lost to time. Any traps and puzzles present had been solved long ago, the place merely an obstacle to conquer to a determined hero. Of that, Dark can sympathize.
Dark isn’t certain what the Temple’s original purpose was, or what it may have represented. The only remaining hints come in the form of owl motifs, cracked with age and covered in moss, that appear frequently throughout the place. Statues, pillars, and almost every doorway has some of the winged animals carved above it. Whatever meaning they once held is a mystery to Dark.
He pays them little mind as he weaves his way through the well-remembered paths, his weathered boots crunching through dried leaves and steps occasionally softened by grass and other foliage that had grown over the floors. Dark takes care not to accidentally trod on any flowers or mushrooms that bloom between the stones. Occasionally, he has to climb over piles of rubble where the ceilings or walls have collapsed. Very carefully, now that he has precious cargo in the form of his flighty friend.
The overgrown forests and maze-like paths feel familiar to him in a way that makes his soul ache. Still, he picks his way through the place, before ducking into a small alcove off to the side of the central atrium.
A camp waits within, weary yet welcoming. Tucked between the broken slabs of stone is a small firepit, smoking softly with the embers. A dented kettle is spilled on the ground next to it, hastily left behind when Dark had ditched it in favor of diving after the fairy.
Wedged in the corner, shielded from the worst of the drafty cracks and crevasses, is a tent. More akin to a lean-to, really; a well-patched cloth tied up with a thin rope, with a pile of equally worn blankets inside. The stone floors suck up heat like nothing else, so Dark ended up pillaging any and all fabric he could find. Old banners or formerly decorative cloths from around the Temple were quickly repurposed. Most of them were brittle and moth eaten, but some fabric had magic woven into the threads that made them last much longer than they normally would have. They were clearly supposed to be more than mere bedding, but they keep him warm on the more bitter nights, so Dark tries not to let the defamation of historical artifacts bother him.
Next to his tent is a chest and rectangular slab of stone he calls a table. The chest was dragged in from elsewhere in the Temple, from behind a hidden illusory wall, and had originally contained a single red rupee. It still does, as Dark doesn’t have a use for them as currency anymore, but now also holds all of Dark’s spare blankets, empty bottles, and other tools that he doesn’t want to carry on his person.
Welcome to my home, he wishes to the anti-fairy, before gently setting the bottle down on the cracked and crooked surface of his “table”. Dark thinks it might have once held an owl statue, but the rubble he’d cleared away when making his camp hadn’t given him enough clues to tell. Regardless, the former fairy doesn’t seem to mind.
Dark smiles at her, exhausted yet satisfied.
This fallen Temple had been rife with corruption when he first travelled here. Having been exposed to the elements and its original magical protections long withered, the Temple had become filled to the brim with monsters and dark magic.
Such magic had attracted him, too. A dizzying and seductive call - power, blood, battle, let go let go, destroy all within your sight - but instead of steeping in it like one would expect, Dark had other plans.
Suffice to say, the Temple is now empty. Not a single monster remains.
Aside from himself.
And the anti-fairies, but he’s loathe to compare them to such things like stalkin and moblins; creatures that crave nothing but destruction. The most anti-fairies want is magic. Sure, they can be a little… bitey, sometimes, Dark’s fingers are still bandaged from his previous arduous battles with the little fiends, but that’s hardly within the same realm of something like a skulltula.
He has found six fairies so far within the Temple, each as elusive as the next. His most recent catch was no different.
Well worth the trouble, he muses to himself as he digs through the chest for the rest of his supplies. Magic Mushrooms, bottled fairy fountain water, mortar, pestle, an empty pouch, all of which get piled onto the table next to the anti-fairy.
She floats forward within the confines of her bottle, inspecting the small hoard, and hisses inquisitively.
Dark has no way of telling her what he’s doing, so he simply pats the top of the bottle gently. Patience, he tries to reassure.
Making Magic Powder is a process that takes some time, after all.
Six anti-fairies he has caught in this Temple, before her. Six fairies now fly freely, no longer bound by the corrupted dark magic that had once consumed them. A dash of Magic Powder is all it takes for them to return to their natural state, to feel the wind beneath their wings, to chime and dance and play with their siblings, to return to the Light.
This is not the first Temple Dark has liberated, and he doubts very much that it will be the last. Temples are usually left to rot after their purpose is complete, after a hero comes and goes, becoming a prime location for creatures that hylians regularly regard as unwanted. Anti-fairies, though once thriving Light spirits, are no different.
Temples are not the only places with anti-fairies, but they are the most common. Through all of Dark’s travels, through all his many years, he always takes the time to cure them.
None of the fairies are the one he’s been looking for, but he loves them all the same.
Dark Link whistles an old lullaby, and sets to work.
Outside of the Temple, a triangular rift rips open.