Chapter Text
Link was exhausted. Sooga and his men had just fled Hyrule Outpost, and the town was in shambles. Granted, it wasn't so bad for being used as a battlefield, but...it was pretty bad. The Princess had opted to let a few members of their party stay behind and put out fires, get rid of debris, the usual.
So, now, it's just the Princess, Daruk, Mipha, Urbosa, Revali, and Link, trudging back to the Castle, everyone covered in dirt and ashes, except, of course, the Princess. They just got past Lake Kolomo, when Revali abruptly pauses in his monologue about his updraft technique.
The archer steps in front of the group, holding a wing out, signaling to stop. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, squinting at something no one else can see. "There. Look," he murmurs, pointing at a tiny blue speck in the distance, if Link had to guess, maybe just shy of Mabe Village and the Ranch.
"Look at what? I'm not seeing anything," Daruk comments, scratching the back of his head.
Revali scoffs, tossing his head back in annoyance. "Surprise, surprise. Naturally, I'll have to go and check out whatever this is, solo." He pauses for a moment, a challenging spark in his gaze. "Unless..."
"Unless, that is, you've got the courage to tag along."
- - -
A couple minutes later, they finally get to see what the blue speck was. Sorry, who it was. The strange man has a hood on, a cyan tunic, and regular trousers with standard boots. Simple enough, if it weren't for the fact that this guy had the Blade of Evil's Bane strapped to his back. He also seemed to be tapping at a slate that looked suspiciously like the Sheikah Tech Purah and Robbie are working on.
"Is this guy the prophesied Hero?"
Link almost jumps at Urbosa's hissed whisper, as they all hide in a nearby copse of trees. The Princess starts to whisper back, when her eyes widen, and she frantically points at the stranger, who is now leaving the outskirts of Lon Lon Ranch, heading straight for Hyrule Castle.
"Surely, we can't let him into the Castle?" Mipha breathed, wringing her hands.
Daruk nods, his eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah. Let's get the Princess to safety first, and greet guests later."
Link has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes, and Revali sighs exasperatedly, as the strange man immediately turns towards the trees and draws the Blade upon hearing Daruk's loud "whisper".
"You know what - just - great. You. You are fighting this guy. I, personally, would prefer not to engage in combat with a stranger with the alleged 'Sword that Seals the Darkness,' but, you seem pretty eager, Daruk."
The archer mutters, knocking five arrows in his bow. Urbosa just groans quietly, unsheathing her scimitar after making sure Zelda was going to be safe here with Link. The Champions discuss a quickly made plan, then act on it, starting with Revali aiming his arrows at the "Hero," who deflects them all with a shield.
Hylia, this is going to be funny.
- - -
Fifteen minutes. It took this guy fifteen minutes to give Hyrule's best warriors, (Link excluded) their asses handed to them. As the stranger somehow uses Daruk's own protection magic again, effectively blocking Urbosa's lighting, the Princess clears her throat, her firm tone wavering slightly as Link looks at her.
"I - uh, I want you to go help. Never mind me, I'll be fine."
He blinks, caught off guard. He can't do that, he's her knight! But, he can't disobey royal orders, can he? The Princess seems to know this fact, as she stares Link down defiantly. With a barely audible sigh, he steps into battle.
He immediately goes into analyzing mode, watching as the stranger never goes on the offense, always deflecting and dodging. Once he draws his sword, all eyes turn to Link, and an arrogant, "Took you long enough," reaches his ears. He doesn’t care. All he knows is that this might be a chance to show them what he's made of.
The four Champions back away, leaving him and the stranger. Link draws his sword, and is immediately intimidated by the green wisps of magic coming from the guy's glove. To his surprise, the Sword that Seals the Darkness is exchanged for a Royal Broadsword. Interesting swap. There must be a reason for that. He'll find out later. Right now, Link is focused on timing one of his flurry rushes perfectly. As he backflips away from the strange man's blade and rushes in to deliver a burst of attacks, he almost freezes as the stranger flurry rushes his flurry rush. What the actual fuck?
Link can sense the shock emanating from the Champions, who stand nearby, ready to help, but protecting the Princess at the same time.
As always, Revali is the first to speak up, his usual snark replaced by annoyance and curiosity.
"Alright, just who exactly do you think you are? And why can you use our own damn powers against us?"
The stranger slowly slides his sword back into its sheath, raising his hands in a quiet gesture of surrender. He reaches for his hood, hesitates, then lets his hand fall. When he speaks, his voice is soft - and strangely familiar. Link can’t quite place it. As the man turns to face the Champions, his words are laced with an old sorrow and long-held regret.
“Daruk. Urbosa. Revali. Mipha.”
He says their names like a prayer spoken too late. Like the kind of prayer you say at a grave, not a battlefield. His hands fall to his sides. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to fight you. But I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save you. To make right what time and fate destroyed.”
His voice catches, falters, then carries on, soft as falling ash. “I failed you once. I won’t do it again.”
The silence that follows is not peaceful. It’s dense, heavy with memory. The Champions look at him, not in anger, not yet, but in disbelief. Who is this man cloaked in sorrow? And why does it feel like he’s not a stranger at all?
It’s not just that he knows their names. It’s that he speaks them with the weight of love lost, and battles buried.
Urbosa stepped forward with the quiet assurance of someone who had faced uncertainty more times than she could count. Her fingers rested lightly on the hilt of her blade, not in threat, but in readiness, a silent reminder that she was not to be underestimated. The atmosphere around them grew taut with unspoken questions.
The stranger, cloaked and hooded, gave away nothing. His face was still shrouded in shadow, his posture neutral yet somehow unreadable. He had said little since arriving, and the few words he had spoken offered no comfort. Link watched him carefully, heart tensed like a bowstring. There was something unsettling in the way the man seemed unaffected by their suspicion, like he’d expected it, perhaps even welcomed it.
Trust was a rare thing in Hyrule these days, and even rarer among strangers who arrived cloaked in mystery. Link didn’t like it, and judging by the way Urbosa's eyes narrowed, neither did she. After a long, heavy silence, she broke it with a voice that cut through the tension like steel through silence.
“And how can we trust you,” she said, her tone calm but unmistakably firm, “when you keep yourself hidden? We don't even know your name, let alone your purpose here.”
To the surprise of everyone present, the man gave a quiet, heartfelt chuckle. It wasn’t the sound of a stranger or a threat, it was the kind of laugh that belonged to old friends and long-lost memories. “I really miss you guys,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Then he let out a sigh, and his posture shifted, his shoulders drooped, as if the weight of the years had just caught up to him.
Without hesitation, he turned, his gaze drifting toward the thick grove just beyond them, the one where Princess Zelda was hidden.
“She’s in there, isn’t she?” he asked softly, his voice filled with something unspoken. “Zel… sorry, Princess Zelda. I saw him leave the grove,” he said, inclining his head toward Link, “and where she goes, he follows.”
There was a faint glimmer of humor in his voice, as though he knew something they didn’t. But as he made the slightest motion forward, it was over. The instant his boot shifted toward the trees, Link was already in motion.
In a blur, he stepped directly into the man’s path, eyes locked, expression like flint. His glare was silent, but it spoke volumes: You’re not getting past me. Not a chance.
The man exhaled slowly, his breath catching just a little as he raised both hands in surrender for a second time. His voice was softer now, almost pleading, edged with exhaustion.
“I told you already… I don’t want to fight. Please. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m not going to kidnap Zel.”
There was a beat of silence before another voice cut through the tension - sharp, disdainful, unmistakable.
Revali stepped forward slightly, chin lifted, wings folded tight with irritation.
“Then prove it,” he snapped, arrogance dripping from every word. “Lower your hood and tell us who you are. Or do you only deal in secrets and riddles?”
The man sighs again - long, heavy, and hollow - and for a moment, that sound is all that fills the clearing. It echoes strangely, bouncing off the trees like a memory too old to belong here. His hands, wrapped in worn leather gloves, slowly rise to his hood. The motion is deliberate, careful, as though he’s done this before, and knows exactly what it means. As his fingers curl into the fabric, there’s a tension in the air, thick and coiled, as if the world itself is holding its breath.
He pauses. Just for a second.
Then, without a word, he pushes the hood back.
And time stops.
No wind rustles the leaves. No birds cry from the trees. The world around them stills, silent and reverent, like the unveiling of something sacred, or cursed.
What they see is... impossible.
At first, it's unmistakable, familiar in the most uncanny way. That hair, a cascade of honey-gold, catching faint light like spun sunlight. Those eyes, sharp and piercing, a shade of blue that doesn’t seem to exist in nature except for the sky itself. The same cheekbones, the same quiet strength in the jaw, the same quiet sadness just beneath the surface.
It’s Link.
Or at least, it should be.
But then the illusion fractures. Their eyes drift over his face, and the truth reveals itself like rot beneath the surface of a beautiful fruit.
The left side of his face is a map of ruin.
Scars run like rivers down his skin, twisted and angry, flesh warped as if it had once boiled in fire. The burns are old, faded to a waxy, almost pink - but the damage is deep. Muscle and skin do not move quite the same on that side, and his ear is deformed, twisted and gnarled, with the tip missing.
It’s horrifying. Not because of the disfigurement, but because of what it means.
This is not the Link they knew. Or if it is, then something did this to him.
No one speaks. Words catch in their throats. A breeze finally stirs, rustling the trees, but it feels distant, unreal. All eyes remain fixed on the man before them, as if looking away might shatter him like glass, or let him vanish entirely.
“I’m not who you remember,” he says. “But I remember you.”
And suddenly, the world begins to turn again.
- - -
Half an hour later, they were all in Zelda’s room like it was a war council, two royal guards stiff as statues, the King watching with barely restrained confusion, and a bunch of confused Champions who looked like they were stuck in a fever dream.
Daruk leaned forward, squinting. “Okay. Just to be clear here - you’re saying you’re Link? From the future? Not, like, Link’s cousin from the next village over or some other guy who happens to have the same name and face?
Future Link blinked, dragged out of whatever trance he’d been in, his gaze had been locked on Mipha, like she was a ghost he wasn’t sure was real.
He nodded. “The one and only.” A brief pause. He glanced over at the current Link, with a small upwards twitch in the corner of his mouth.
The King finally broke the silence, his voice like steel wrapped in silk.
“Prove it.”
Future Link didn’t flinch. He reached down to his side, touched the familiar Sheikah device clipped to his belt, and with a hum of ancient energy, the Master Sword shimmered into existence in his hand.
Link, standing across from him, stiffened. That sword...he feels a pull towards it. And yet, here it was, wielded effortlessly by someone who wore his face and stood like he’d already fought a hundred battles with it.
The King’s eyes locked onto the blade. Whatever doubts he’d harbored seemed to fade, his posture relaxing.
“I see,” he said at last, voice quieter now. “Then you must be the Hero. The one the prophecy spoke of, the one destined to face the Calamity?”
There was a quiet urgency in the question, a plea woven into the words.
Future Link's eyes drop to the floor, his posture tightening with quiet guilt. His fingers curl into a fist at his side. He shakes his head, not a quick denial, but something slower, like the words cost him.
“I... I wish I could,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Believe me, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t wished that.”
He looks up then, and the weight in his gaze is almost too much to hold. “Every night, I see your faces. I hear your voices. You were my friends, my family. I would have given anything to save you.”
His voice wavers, but he pushes through it. “But I was too late. By the time I woke up, by the time I could move again... it was already over. I fought the Calamity. I destroyed it. But the victory, it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t whole.”
He glances toward the window, toward the looming shadow of the castle in the distance. "So, I had to go on a second journey. One with the Heroes of Old. I was pulled away from them, to battle an ancient evil that lurked beneath the Castle. I lost my arm to it." The Hero sheathes the Blade, holding up the hand that Link had previously assumed was a glove.
A thick silence falls over the room, broken only by the faint sound of shifting armor from one of the guards.
Urbosa steps forward, eyes narrowing as she plants one hand on her hip. The fire in her voice cuts through the haze of grief.
“You keep saying it, like you failed us. Like we needed saving. What exactly are you not telling us?” Her tone isn’t unkind, but it’s sharp with suspicion. “You’ve danced around the truth long enough. What happened to us, Link?”
Her words hang in the air like a blade, suspended and waiting to fall.
“When the Calamity hit...” Future Link’s expression darkened, and he glanced downward, as though the weight of the past threatened to crush him. His voice dropped, filled with quiet sorrow.
“It was as if time itself fractured. The Castle... it fell in less than an hour. No warning. No second chances. One moment we believed ourselves prepared—that the Champions and the Sheikah technology would be enough. And the next? Screams. Fire. A sky painted in shadow and blood. Everyone inside... gone. Taken in an instant.”
He took a shaky breath before continuing.
“Ganon, it wasn’t just power. It was intelligence. Malice, yes, but deliberate. Calculated. He corrupted the Guardians, the very machines we created to defend our kingdom. They turned on us with mechanical precision. The Divine Beasts? They fell one by one. Our Champions were still inside, fighting to regain control. But Ganon had planned for that too. He unleashed the Blights - creatures sculpted from darkness, each designed to mirror a Champion’s fighting style... and counter it perfectly.”
His hands clenched into fists. “We didn’t stand a chance. Not because we weren’t strong, but because he knew us. He knew how to break us.”
Future Link let out a quiet sigh, barely more than a breath, before meeting the Princess’s eyes. His tone was even, but there was an edge beneath the calm.
“It was your seventeenth birthday. We were on our way to meet the Champions from the Spring of Wisdom. It should have been a celebration... but the tension was thick. You still hadn’t awakened your powers. The pressure was crushing you.”
His eyes flicked briefly to the King, then back to Zelda.
“I always thought... if you’d been allowed to stay with the Guardian research, if they hadn’t pulled you away from something you excelled at, you might’ve seen it. The signals. The pattern of malfunctions. The signs of what was coming. You might’ve predicted the Calamity’s arrival before it was too late.”
Zelda stood stunned, her expression frozen in disbelief. The King turned his gaze downward, the shame on his face barely masked by his royal composure.
Revali took a step forward, wings flaring slightly as his voice cut through the air.
"Alright, hold on. Just - hold on a second. You expect me to sit here and calmly process the fact that you came from the future? And not only that, but you somehow know how I’m going to die? You dropped that little nugget of horror like it was a weather report. Is this normal for you people?"
He turned, scanning the others for any signs of concern.
"No? Just me? Seriously - am I the only one even remotely disturbed by this? Did we collectively decide that sanity was an option?"
His gaze landed squarely on Future Link’s back, his eyes narrowing at the Sword.
"And while we’re at it, let’s talk about that thing. The so-called 'sacred blade.' We’ve been running in circles trying to find the Hero, and the only lead we have is you - standing there with that Sword and refusing to lift a finger."
"You act like you know everything, but you’re doing nothing. So forgive me if I sound frustrated."
Future Link exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face, clearly at the end of his patience.
"You really don’t get it, do you?" he muttered, unfastening the Sword from his back with practiced precision.
"This blade isn’t just some weapon. It’s not a toy or a tool or a prop in your melodrama. It’s sacred. Ancient. No one can wield it unless they carry the Triforce. No tricks. No shortcuts."
He held it out, still sheathed, offering it to Revali. His tone was flat, but the heat behind it was obvious.
"Here. Try. Be my guest. See what happens."
His eyes locked with Revali’s, then he looks away, towards Link.
"Here. Try it out. You'll have to get your own in Korok Forest, though."
Future Link offers the Sword, and Link accepts it with hesitation, burdened by doubt. "Hard to believe it took you all this long to see it," Future Link murmurs. The King starts to protest, but Link tunes him out. He draws the Blade, feeling its balance, its weight - perfect. The green runes pulse softly along the steel.
No one moves. No one speaks. The Champions and Zelda stand frozen, caught between disbelief and awe, as the Sword glows ever brighter in Link’s hand. Something undeniable passes through them all. Then, without hesitation, Link tosses the Blade back. The Hero catches it without so much as a glance.
Well..." he says, letting out a slow sigh, the kind that sinks deep into the ribs like it’s pulling something out of him. He gives the Sword a half-hearted twirl, not for show, not for flair, just habit. Something muscle memory does when the mind drifts elsewhere. He slips it back into the sheath with a soft, metallic click that sounds louder than it should in the quiet. His shoulders stay slouched, and he doesn’t look up. "What else do you need to know about the Calamity?"
- - -