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Chapter Text

Link had been plagued with nightmares for months. It had gotten to the point he was terrified to go to sleep, and tonight was no exception.

He wandered towards Zelda's room, feeling against the wall for support. He paused every now and again, listening for unwanted intruders. He knew the lanterns were snuffed out for the night, so anybody creeping around would be up to no good. Groose and his friends loved to play tricks whenever they knew he was alone.

He felt for each doorknob, counting as he went. Once he found the fifth knob, he tapped on Zelda's door. Twice, so she knew it was him. He backed away when he heard movement, appreciating the familiar sound of her steps against the hardwood floor.

The door creaked open, lending a blurry sliver of light to Link's poor vision. There was a pause, then: “Couldn't sleep?”

“Of course not.” Link shrugged. He looked towards the sound of her voice, hoping he was somewhere close to her eyes. “Did I wake you?”

She hummed. “I was about to go outside and practice the harp, actually.”

“Can I join you?”

“Of course. Just let me find the sheet music first.”

He leaned against the door frame while she rummaged through her things. He rested his eyes, but even that didn't work. He still saw the monster in the impenetrable darkness, the vivid colors giving him a headache.

Zelda flicked the center of his forehead to get his attention. “What did you dream this time? Was it the same?”

Link shook his head. “No, it was different.” They walked down the hallway, Zelda's reassuring hand ghosting his bicep. “This time... I could see.”

“That's impossible,” she said, pushing open the front doors. A cool breeze caressed Link's hot skin, and he could hear the screeches of monsters in the distance.

“I'm not sure what it was,” he admitted, “but it was more than just shadows and light.”

She sighed. “Link, I know your upset. Tomorrow would have been your chance to become a knight in the Wing Ceremony, after all.”

“That's not—”

“I just don't want you to perpetuate this false hope of yours. You've always been sightless, and that will never change.”

Link stiffened. Zelda stepped towards him, pulling him into a hug. He breathed in the strong scent of her hair, like the flowers she always put in his room. “I'm sorry,” she said softly.

“It's okay,” he said, even though it wasn't. He shrugged her away, walking up the hill with hesitant steps. Zelda quickly followed. “Go ahead and play your harp. Maybe then I will be able to sleep my sightless dreams.”

“Link, I said I was sorry.”

“Play,” he said coldly, crouching low on the ground. He felt around him for anything sharp. Groose once scattered nettles all over the yard. It took hours for the sting to fade. Satisfied, he sprawled out on the grass, closing his eyes.

For a long moment, he was afraid she left him behind. But then the harp began to play. It was a soft melody, and when her voice joined it, he felt himself finally drifting away into a peaceful sleep. But as soon as the song ended, his dreams returned with a ferocious vengeance. The monster was so bright, so intense, and there was that strange man with the cruel smile... He bolted upright.

In a flash, Zelda was beside him. She sat down, taking his clammy hand into hers. “Did they return?”

“Yes.” He took shallow breaths. “I know you don't believe me, but I could see.”

She gripped his hand tighter. “What was it?”

“A monster.” His eyes filled with tears, and he was struggling to breathe. “It's been happening for months, these visions. They're so bright they give me headaches.”

Zelda plucked a string on her harp. “I'm sorry I didn't understand. But if you've been… seeing this thing for months, what was the difference?”

He shook his head, and in effect, dismissed her question. “I should have told you when it started.”

“With the way I was acting, I wouldn't have told me either. But perhaps your mind is only making this up.”

“Maybe...”

“I know how cruel Groose is to you, and I know how much you wish you could become a knight.” She plucked a few more notes on the harp with her free hand, gripping Link's all the same. “You're the only sightless person born in Skyloft for years now, and I can't imagine how that feels.”

Link rubbed away his tears. “I would like to go to bed now. Can you take me to my room?”

“Of course.” She helped him stand up, and he gripped onto her hand tighter than necessary. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No, I'd rather be alone. I need to think.”

They were silent after that. Link kept his eyes closed. In a few hours it would be morning, and whether or not he slept would make little difference in the grand scheme of things. While in his daze, Zelda steered him away from sharp corners, carefully maneuvering him until they reached his bedroom. Without pause, Link opened the door with his key, waiting for her inevitable goodbye.

“It'll be better in the morning,” she said. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He waited until she walked away, then shut his door tight. He laid down on his bed, staring up at nothing. He could hear the muffled voices of Gaepora and Zelda, most likely talking about him.

As soon as his eyes fluttered shut, that man smiled cockily back at him. Morning couldn't come fast enough, and whatever the cause of these visions, he was sure it had something to do with Zelda and that harp.

Chapter Text

Link woke up on his own accord. Despite his exhaustion, Zelda was right; everything was better in the morning.

He stretched his tired muscles, wincing at the pain in his temples. He went about his morning routine, changing into everyday clothes and sending a prayer to the goddess. Hopefully Groose wouldn't win today; if he did, Link wasn't sure he could stomach it.

“Want to go for a ride before the ceremony?” Zelda asked, along with two taps on his door. She brought flowers, as always, and placed them on his desk.

“Shouldn't you be rehearsing?”

Zelda laughed. “I did last night, remember? Besides, I think hanging out with you is more important.”

Link nodded, gently running his fingers over the silky petals of the flowers. “Maybe later. I still have a headache.”

“You're still mad at me, aren't you? How many times do I have to say sorry?”

“How many times do I have to say I forgive you?”

“You never have!” Zelda yelled, slamming her fist against Link's desk so hard it rattled the vases decorating his room. They all fell, shattering against the floor. Link startled backward, throwing his hands up in self-defense.

Only a few moments later, Headmaster Gaepora was there. His hand weighed heavily on Link's shoulder, drawing him out and into the hallway. As soon as possible, he shrugged Gaepora off, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. “What's going on here?”

Zelda's voice was calm as ever as she spoke. “Nothing, Father. We've just having a little disagreement.”

“She finally broke up with you, huh?” Groose snarled, poking Link's cheek. He swatted his finger away, feeling the anger bubble up inside of him as Groose's cronies murmured their own foul words. “About time. I was beginning to think Zelda would never tire of you. I guess I was wrong.”

“That's enough, Groose,” Gaepora said firmly. “Whatever the argument was, let it go. Today is a day of celebration and it shouldn't be sullied by foul words between friends.”

Link stepped towards Zelda, sticking out his hand as a way of apology. She took it. “I'm sorry, too,” she said softly.

“Nothing to see here!” Gaepora boomed. Onlookers presumed whatever they had been doing before, and slowly the swell of conversation filled the air. Once it was only the three of them, Gaepora's voice lowered. Link withdrew his hand from Zelda's, scowling. “I don't know what's going on, but I expect you both to tell me.”

Link shook his head.

Gaepora sighed. “Fine. I expect Zelda to tell me, and I expect her to tell me the truth.”

“Link's upset because today's the Wing Ceremony and he's not in it.”

Link shook his head; it was almost an automatic response now.

“That's understandable,” Gaepora said. “Link, you have a bright future ahead of you, and I'm beginning to think that future isn't involved with this academy.”

“I'm not leaving,” Link said. If Gaepora was surprised to hear the hurt in his voice, he didn't act like it. In fact, he only seemed to become more stern.

“I'm not a fool, son, and I know when my students aren't happy. Perhaps you could live with Pipit's mother for a time; she's been wanting some help around the house.”

“I'm not leaving,” Link said, stronger this time. His whole body trembled. “Zelda's wrong. I'm not upset about anything as superficial as the Wing Ceremony.”

Gaepora sighed. “Let's speak in my office,” he said. “And without Zelda.”

“But, Father—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No. You should be rehearsing anyway.” Gaepora walked away with those words, his long legs taking him quickly away from his angry daughter. Link hurried after him, silently, until they reached the safety of his office.

“Sit,” Gaepora offered. “I see those bags under your eyes. I want to know their cause.”

Link obeyed, sitting down on one of the plush, cloth chairs. He rubbed the very bags Gaepora spoke of, wishing them away with the movement.

“Please speak to me. No matter what you say, I promise not to judge.”

The silence wore on. Link picked at a thread in the chair. He collected himself, running all of the words he was about to say in his head before saying them out loud. “I've been having dreams,” he whispered

“Nightmares,” Gaepora corrected. “I realize. Zelda told me about them last night.”

“Did she tell you everything?”

“No, she only told me they were troubling you. She seemed convinced that you were jealous of the others and that was the cause.”

He took another long pause. In the distance, he could hear Loftwings and their riders practicing for the Wing Ceremony. He didn't envy them, not at all, and it hurt him to think Zelda had such a low opinion of him. “I have visions,” he said finally. “In these visions, I see a monster. There is also a man. I can't describe them, but I see them.”

Gaepora sighed. “That's impossible.”

“Your daughter said the same.”

“Link, I want you to relax today and enjoy the festivities. Forget these nightmares while you can, and we'll discuss them more tonight.”

Link shifted in the chair. Now that he was talking about it, it was like he couldn't stop. “You don't understand. These visions feel so real, and when I wake up and see nothing, it feels so strange. The images have faded now. But the voice is still so strong, and that is what I remember most.”

Gaepora stood up. “Please let your mind calm. The race begins soon, and we can speak after.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” Gaepora swept past him, leaving the room. Link sat there for a long time, gathering his wits about him. Then he stood, consoled himself that the day had only just begun, and left the dreary old office.

Even though Zelda liked to guide him, Link could handle himself. As a child, he had explored every square inch of Skyloft. Sure, the knights would save him from falling time to time, but everyone had been through that. He walked outside, mingling with the crowd. They all chatted about the race, and Link was beginning to think Gaepora was right. He should just relax and enjoy the day; it was beautiful, after all, the sun warming his cheeks.

Soon, the steep walk towards the Statue of the Goddess began. Link gripped the railing, deciding to wait for the crowd to move on without him. It had been awhile since he made his way up here, and he was afraid one of the people would knock him off.

Pipit appeared, leaning against the railing beside Link. Either he didn't notice or he didn't care, but he said nothing about Link's apparent discomfort. He ate an apple, crunching loudly. The only thing that tipped off his identity was the smell of his cologne, dark and musky.

“Who do you think will win?” Pipit asked.

Link shrugged, relaxing his grip. Zelda had him too coddled. He could manage himself. Gaepora hadn't raised a coward, after all.

“Did you hear that my mother is looking for help?” Pipit asked. Crunch, crunch, crunch. “I really think you should go for it. You can't live at the academy forever, you know.”

Link continued up the steps, bumping Pipit rudely out of the way. He could hear Gaepora's opening speech and Groose's rude announcement of his own impending victory.

“Are you afraid of falling?” Pipit asked. “I've never seen you so pale.”

Link shook his head, but Pipit took his hand anyway.

“You don't have to act so tough all the time. We all know you've been having trouble sleeping.”

Link cocked his head, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“How?” Pipit guessed. “You're so quiet these days, for one thing. I miss my best friend.”

The walk was easier now with Pipit to hold onto. Most of the crowd had thinned, but the wind was picking up. Just as they reached the top, the Loftwings set off in the sky. The screech of the birds grated on Link's nerves. Pipit paused a moment to watch the riders take off.

“Wow,” he said, voice muffled by the shouts of onlookers. His hand was sticky from the apple juice. “Brings me back to my own Wing Ceremony.”

Link said nothing. With a heavy sigh, Pipit led Link further across the grass and up more steps. The tightly packed crowd was left behind in the courtyard, and Link realized belatedly Pipit was leading him to the very top of the statue, where soon the final ceremony would take place.

“Link!” Zelda exclaimed, running towards him. He let go of Pipit's hand, crossing his arms. “Glad you could make it.”

“Who do you think will win?” Pipit asked.

Zelda laughed. “Probably Groose. He's trained really hard for this.”

“Is it true the winner gets a kiss?”

Link sidled away from the conversation. He sat on the ground, listening to the sound of the birds above him. Zelda and Pipit's lighthearted conversation was soon over, and Link contented himself to this calm moment in time.

Gaepora settled down beside him. The silence was friendly enough, and without realizing it, Link relaxed and his eyes closed. Zelda and Pipit sat down beside them. The race seemed to go on a long time. Occasionally, sparks of a conversation would arise but they would quickly die down.

“Why do we have to be quiet?” Pipit asked loudly.

“Link is sleeping,” Zelda said. “We must be respectful.”

He wasn't sleeping, but they didn't need to know that. Eventually, shouts of triumph echoed above and the crowd below them screamed their joy. Then somebody dived off his Loftwing and rolled onto the ground.

Gaepora shook Link to get his attention.

“I won!” Groose shouted. “Now Zelda has to marry me.”

“In your wildest dreams,” she retorted. “But I do have to give you the sailcloth. I made it myself.”

Link stood up, feigning disinterest. Together, the three of them walked down the stairs to give Zelda and Groose their privacy. The crowd thinned, and that marked the end of the ceremony for the general public.

Groose yelped as he jumped off the side, the sailcloth whistling with the wind above him.

“Zelda were right,” Link said, struggling for his voice to carry over Groose's yelps. “I am jealous. For some reason, I can't shake the feeling it should have been me up there today.”

Chapter Text

“My offer still stands,” Zelda said. “Let's go for a ride.”

Link lolled on the grass lazily. He had been practicing swords with Eagus all morning, and with each practice swipe, the sting of Groose's victory had begun to fade. “I just got to take a break.”

Eagus chuckled. His sword clinked against the wooden fence as he stood. “Some break. I offered to make you tea but you refused.”

Link wrinkled his nose. “It smells disgusting. No thanks.”

“I'm trying to say sorry,” Zelda intoned, silencing Eagus's laughter.

“You already did,” Link said. He stood up, drawing his sword. “However, I've come to the conclusion you think I'm weak.”

Eagus set his hand on Link's shoulder. “Never draw your sword against friends. If there is anything I teach you, please let it be that.”

Silently, Link replaced the sword in the sheath. The bitterness crawled up his throat. “I know that you and Groose are together,” he said. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Zelda hummed her confirmation. “Is that what this is about?”

“I'm not going for a ride,” he said stiffly. “I need to take care of myself, and if that means away from you, so be it.”

He ran back into the training shack, slamming the door behind him. He buried his face in his hands. He didn't want to fight with Zelda like this, but he was tired. It was odd for him to be emotional; he had become so good at keeping all of these feelings to himself over the years.

“I think you should leave,” Eagus said softly. Link's ears pricked, straining to hear her response. None was given, the only sound indicating she left the screech of her Loftwing in the sky.

Minutes passed by, and it was soon apparent that Eagus wasn't coming in after him any time soon. He rubbed his face, willing the ghosts of last night to disappear completely. He unsheathed his sword, then set to practicing on the wooden posts around the room. He wasn't very good at it, but Eagus was confident Link would become sufficient eventually.

Of course, unlike the knights in the academy, Link was only learning swordplay for defensive measures, not offensive. At least, that's what Eagus had been telling everyone. Otherwise nobody would even let Link touch a sword, let alone wield it.

There were three paces between each post. Link hopped the distance, keeping his sword out and ready. Sometimes, Link would become disoriented, but whenever he would reach out his hand to feel the deep grooves that set the posts apart, Eagus would snap at him. In battle, he said, there would never be a chance to feel the enemy up close and personal.

Link sliced through each post the proper direction, adding another knick to the already battered surface of the wood.

Then the door creaked open. Two taps. Zelda. “Eagus told me to stay away but I couldn't.” Link pretended not to notice her, starting the process all over again. He completely missed a post, blushing furiously. He went back into position, going over the process slower this time. “Please talk to me, Link. Don't pretend I'm not there.”

He looked up at her, her outline dark against the sunlight hitting her back. “It's not always about you,” he said softly. He put away his sword, then removed the sheath. He threw it at the ground. “I am jealous, but that is not all. For the past few weeks you've been consistently reminding me of something I can never change.”

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” she said. Her words trembled into one another. “Groose and I love each other, but I loved you first.”

“If I had been different,” Link began slowly. “If I could see, and if I was a knight, and if I was like everyone else in Skyloft, would you treat me differently?”

“That's an unfair question. Of course I wouldn't.”

“So you would still parade me around the streets like a helpless little boy?”

Zelda mummed. He could feel the tension in the air but didn't know how to end it. He was in too deep.

“If I was different, would you believe my dreams? Something is coming, Zelda, whether you believe the poor little blind boy or not.”

Nothing was said. Link felt along the ground for his sword, reequipped it, then continued his practice. With each slice of the sword, he became more and more aware of Zelda watching him from afar. It was painful. Normally their relationship was smooth. If he wanted to, he could count their number of arguments on one hand. Each of them had been small and meaningless. Until now.

The door opened once again. “I told you to leave,” Eagus said sternly.

“She can stay,” Link said. He handed the sheathed sword off to Eagus. “I'm done practicing. Thank you for making time for me.”

“You're a talented student,” Eagus said. “I'll let you know of any free time I have later this week.”

Link bowed his thanks, then turned to leave the shack. Zelda was hot on his heels,

“Can we start over?” she said suddenly. “I hate fighting with you. Please, let's go for a ride or something.”

Link stopped in his tracks. Zelda bumped into him, but he couldn't manage to feel bad about it. “Sure,” he said.

“Really?”

Link shook his head, stepping away from her. “But we're not starting over. You've… hurt me. But I don't want to hold a grudge.”

“I guess I can live with that,” she said somberly. They made their way to a diving platform. Link had always disliked the unsteady wood underneath his feet, preferring the solid ground of Skyloft.

Zelda wrapped her arms around his middle. “Together, we fall,” she said. “Don't let go.”

Link jumped off, the wind whooshing past his ears. It was always exhilarating. He'd almost had a Loftwing of his own once. Zelda said it was an unusual crimson color, and when it came down to greet Link, everyone was dumbstruck.

Link was only watching the ceremony, after all. Nobody expected a bird to come for him. But the pride he felt in a Loftwing choosing him was short lived. The school council was soon to agree that Link was in no position to take care of a Loftwing.

Zelda whistled loudly. Next came the part Link liked least. The Loftwing flew beneath them, slamming their bodies against its bony back.

Link crawled out from beneath Zelda, gripping onto the bird's feathers for support. Zelda once told him her Loftwing was white, which wasn't unusual at all. Link didn't think that was fair. All he could see was the occasional bright light or shadow. Whatever color a Loftwing was, it honestly didn't matter. They were all the same to him.

Zelda guided them around the sky. It was a nice, warm day, perfect for riding. Link let himself relax. “I think I should say sorry,” he shouted over the wind. “I'm happy you take care of me. If you didn't, no one would.”

Those words went unacknowledged. Perhaps she hadn't heard. They flew for a long time, and Link was beginning to fear he'd crossed a line.

“No,” she said finally. “You were right. I need to let go of you. You've always been self-sufficient, and I was getting in the way of that.”

Link accepted her words. Maybe they could come to an agreement; they were both hurt over the same things, after all. “Why Groose?” he asked. “You know how he treats me. Out of everyone, why him?”

Zelda hesitated. “He—” She was cut off by a ferocious wind, the likes of which Link had never heard. It tore through him, almost knocking him off the bird. Zelda screamed, getting knocked off her perch. The wind smelled strong, like burning embers.

For a moment, he saw the colors of his dreams, dark and deadly.

He caught Zelda's hand, groaning as he struggled to pull her back up and onto the bird. The wind grew rougher, the bird growing unsteady.

Link couldn't hold onto her much longer, her hand slipping out from his grasp. He could almost see the shocked look on her face, the pure terror.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. Her screams pierced the darkness, sharp and clear, as she fell through the clouds.

Chapter Text

“I'm sorry,” Link whispered. He gripped his bedsheets, clawing into the thin fabric. Pure terror seized him. Zelda was gone, swallowed up by clouds, and it was all his fault.

“Wake up,” a gentle voice said. It was low and monotone. “I have been waiting for approximately six hours, hoping you would wake from your deep slumber and notice me.”

Anxiety pierced Link's gut. He sat up, staring deep into the darkness. His eyes searched for any sign of light, but none was given. “Who's there?”

A tinkling of sound occurred, a creature flying across the room. Its weight settled on his bed. “Do not be alarmed. However, I was disappointed that my efforts have failed. You woke up four times times over the course of the night. Each time you have somehow failed to notice the wisps of blue light I left behind.”

Link suppressed the urge to scream. Whatever this thing was, human or otherwise, it had no right to be in his room. But if had been out to attack him, it would have by now. And its voice was familiar, the one from his dreams. Those reasons, however shallow they were, were the only things that stopped him from screaming for help.

This time the voice altered slightly. Link thought it might be annoyance. “Human eyes are normally capable of seeing in the dark. Perhaps your eyes have yet to adjust.” The tinkling sound continued, this time more intense. “Here, let me light the candle on your desk.” Link could tell a subtle difference in the room, but that was all. Mostly the smell of the flame bothered his nose.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“That is a secret. You are meant to follow me to the statue, sky child. Why won't you follow?”

Link stepped out of bed, carefully walking across the floor. “Tell me who you are,” he demanded, searching the darkness for any sign or clue. He could make out a slight outline, a womanly shape. But he knew some monsters looked humanoid; perhaps he should be more wary.

And since when could monsters speak?

“Why can't you just follow me?” she snapped. The monotonous tone of her voice broke, raising in pitch. She quieted. “Sorry,” she said, resuming her natural calm. “It is unlike me to have an outburst.”

Link reached out in front of him, surprised to feel an unusually solid form. It was unlike human skin, polished and smooth. He worked his fingers over her outfit, a large diamond shape cut out of the fine material. “You can't be a monster,” he stated. “If not, what are you?”

“The child is blind,” she murmured. “For how long?”

Link stepped away from her. “What are you? Not a monster, nor are you a human.”

“Answer me,” she said. “For how long?”

Link stamped his annoyance down. “Practically since birth, or so they say. I could see more when I was little.”

“How much can you see now? I have no data. Blindness appears to be rare in this region.”

Link hesitated. His eyes searched her out. He really focused on her shape, but nothing more was revealed. “With the candle lit, I can see your outline. It's like a dark shadow pressed against light.”

“I suppose this can't be helped. Follow me, sky child. Zelda is missing and it is up to you to save her.”

Link winced. “Does Gaepora know what happened? Is she in the infirmary?”

“No, she wasn't saved like you. A lone, crimson Loftwing pulled you out of the sky. Zelda was not with you.”

All air evaporated from the room. “What?”

“I will tell you again. I appear to have upset you.” She whisked around the room, the tinkling sounding off her distress. “My plan was incorrect. The goddess did not inform me of this. However, one fact remains the same. Zelda is missing and it is up to you to save her.”

“Me?”

She didn't respond, snuffing out the candle. Once again, Link was suspended in pure darkness. “Follow me,” she said. “All will be understood in time.”

Link did as told. She chimed with every few steps, guiding Link in the correct direction.

They burst outside, into the cold and dewy night. “Watch out for monsters,” she said quietly. “I will warn you whenever they draw near.”

“Okay,” he said, listening close for her next signal. She didn't walk on the ground, and made no sound besides the tinkling. Whenever he began to walk in the wrong direction, she was patient, correcting him with firm instructions

She was true by her word. Whenever there was a monster, she maneuvered him carefully around them, taking paths where she detected no sign of danger.

He had no idea where they were. The steps were unfamiliar to him, and the path involved various jumps. There was one point where she needed him to hang on to a ledge and pull his way over across a chasm.

“No way,” he said. “Do you want me killed?”

With her next words, he detected a hint of amusement. “You do not need any assistance, sky child. You are stronger than you realize.”

“Can you at least tell me what to grab on to?”

She appeared beside him. “I'm not going to help you. I need you to do this on your own.”

Then she disappeared. Link felt no traces of her in the area. He figured he had no choice in the matter. He tried to turn back around, but the cliff he had hopped off was too steep to climb back up.

He hoped she was there somewhere, watching. If he fell he hoped he had someone to save him. Or at least someone to try to.

He felt along the wall. She spoke of a ledge and he struggled to find it. Precious minutes of his life passed before he realized the ledge was beyond the solid ground.

He stretched out his right arm, gripping onto the dirt wall for support. He felt the ledge, sent a silent prayer to the goddess, then threw all of his weight onto it. He focused on steadying his breath while his legs dangled beneath him. If he stumbled at all, he would fall to his death. Most likely the night watch wouldn't even notice him here, and it would all be over.

His heart beat painfully as he sidled along the edge. He went slowly and carefully, making sure the ledge was firm enough to grab onto.

Then he realized the ledge stopped abruptly. He would have to jump to the right, hoping that there was even land there to jump on to. Now that he thought about it, Fi could have just been floating in the air.

His arms ached, but he held on regardless. Maybe this was one of Groose's ploys, a plan to finally get rid of him once and for all. He wasn't sure how much time passed before the woman reappeared, but when she did, he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

“You are currently above solid ground,” she said softly.

“Do you promise?” he asked, voice tightly wound. He was sure this experience had shaved years off his life.

“There is no reason to lie to you, sky child. I see no gain. I assure you there is ground beneath you.”

Timidly, Link let go. He tumbled onto solid ground, relieved that it was firm and stable. He sat there, laughing manically.

“You required no assistance,” she said.

“I needed help at the end,” he retorted, laughter disappearing with the words.

“You only needed confirmation. Now let's continue.”

Link stood shakily, rubbing his arms. The rest of the trip was uneventful, leaving Link with plenty of time to think. Zelda was missing, most likely dead, and this somber creature was leading him with a series to tinkles and softly spoken words.

“Is this one of my dreams?” he asked, only half-joking.

“No, this is real.” She appeared beside him, touching him on the cheek. “If I had known about your infliction, I would not have sent those dreams to you. I can tell they were supremely distressing.”

“I think they would have been distressing no matter what,” Link retorted.

“Yes, but if I had known, the images would not have been included. Then you wouldn't have been arguing with your friends. I didn't understand it at first, but now I do.”

“I forgive you,” Link said. The familiar high winds of the Goddess Statue courtyard whipped around him. “Now can you tell me what's going on?”

“That is what I am here for.” A familiar hand weighed on Link's shoulder. Gaepora's voice was as booming as ever, if a little morose. “Link, here begins your destiny.”

His hand disappeared, and faintly. Link heard a door sliding open. Lights filtered through the entrance.

He walked towards the light, the doors closing behind him loudly.

“There is a sword in the center of the room,” the woman said. “Walk directly towards it, then pull it from its pedestal. Then I can tell you who I am.”

Link obeyed, walking with a confidence that felt unfamiliar. Nobody had ever taken the time to explain the location of objects before. This was strange. Skyloft was full of people who looked down on Link for his blindness. Everyone had always treated him like a child, expecting the least of him.

But not this woman. She guided him where to go, but allowed him to take his time and forge his own path for himself.

He stepped towards the center, reaching out to touch the cold hilt of sword the woman spoke of. The sword slipped easily from the pedestal, forming into his hands as though meant for him.

“You are now my master,” the woman said. “I am Fi, a creature created by the goddess to guide the hero throughout his quest.” She skirted around the room then slipped into the sword. He felt the burst of power, the thrum of energy.

Her voice still echoed in the room, a voice missing a body. Link felt unnerved but comforted all at the same time. It was a beautifully complex feeling.

“We will figure this out together,” she spoke. “I misunderstood my true purpose. Whether or not the goddess knew of this, we will never know. However, I will guide you best I can.”

“How do you expect me to find Zelda?” Link asked. “There is nothing beneath the clouds, only darkness.”

Gaepora coughed for attention, startling Link, who had forgotten he was there. Fi hummed in his head, for him and him alone. The sound was soothing enough that he relaxed the grip on his sword.

“Again,” Gaepora said, “this is where I come in.”

Chapter Text

“I was one of the people chosen to protect the Goddess Sword,” Gaepora said. ”Words have been passed down to me, ones that are meant to aid the hero of legend.”

Fi jumped out of the sword, her smooth skin brushing against Link's fingers. “Oral tradition is the least reliable form of communication. Master, I am sure these words will fly over your head. You do not understand the severity of this quest, do you?”

Link shook his head. In fact, he was still partly convinced this was all a dream and he would wake up soon, safe in bed.

“Zelda is missing. The two of you are children of destiny. If she is gone, there will be no way to save the world.”

“It has to be somebody else,” Link said timidly. Fi jingled, settling her weight down beside him. “I don't mean to offend you, but you're wrong about me.”

“I'm never wrong,” Fi stated firmly. “Master, if you wish to save Zelda, you will have to let go of your insecurities.”

With that hanging in the air, Headmaster Gaepora decided to speak. “I always knew you were destined for greatness, son. Maybe it's time you knew that, too.”

“Perhaps Groose should do it,” Link spat. This sword was longer than the one he was accustomed to, and he winced when it clanged against the ground. He lifted it up higher.

“Groose is not the child spoken of,” Gaepora said. “Link, this must come as a shock, but—”

“How do you know it's me?” he demanded, turning violently towards Gaepora.

Fi brushed against Link's side, directing his body towards where Gaepora actually stood. Link had been way off, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

“Let's all sit down and think about this,” Gaepora said. Fear etched his words. Slowly, Link lowered his sword.

“Fine,” he said. He followed the sound of Gaepora's voice. Fi hummed her approval. He sat down beside him, pleased that he'd found this bench all on his own.

“Please understand,” Gaepora said. “Zelda is missing.”

“If somebody says that one more—”

“She's missing,” he growled. “It is up to you to save her, whether you want to or not!”

Link slumped in defeat. He ran his thumb over the engraving in the hilt of the sword, wondering what it meant. “I need time to think,” he said sullenly. “Surely there is a better option. I don't even have a Loftwing.”

“Master, that is not true. Records indicate you have a crimson Loftwing in the area.”

“It was never mine. Any chance I had of flying was stolen from me the moment I was born.”

Fi sounded out her disapproval, a flurry of jingles filling the area. “You declined the hero of this world something so fundamental?”

Gaepora stood. “You two are irrational! The child is blind, there is no point in putting him on a bird he can't even steer in the proper direction!”

“Yet you expect him to go to the Surface, find Zelda, and defeat Demise?”

The two continued to argue. Link walked away, towards the far wall. He tripped over the pedestal, cursed where his life had gone, then felt at the wall. Sure enough, there was a crest similar to the one on his sword.

He realized Fi and Gaepora had went silent behind him.

Then he felt the now-familiar pulse of energy in his sword. Fi had returned to it. Her voice was in his head, calm and smooth. “Master, you must perform a Skyward Strike against that symbol. Lift your sword into the air, and it will fill with the sky's energy.”

Link stepped away from the wall, hoping he had put a good distance between it and the end of his sword. He did as told, lifting the blade towards the sky. It filled with energy, and he brought it forward, he felt the ray of light burst out in front of him.

It hit the crest, somehow filling the room with even more light. Link shielded his eyes.

“There is a stone tablet,” Fi said. “You are to lay it in the wall, in the left hand corner.”

Link felt along where the crest had been, picking up an ancient block of stone. He ran his fingers over the carvings. “A map?” he guessed.

“Correct. It will create an opening in the clouds that you will be able to pass through. That is how you will be able to reach the Surface.”

“The Surface is only a legend,” Link protested. “This is all there is.”

“Master, that is also not true. The Surface is very real, and that is where Zelda is currently hidden away.”

“Alive?”

“Yes, alive.”

Link let that sink in. “So all I have to do is find Zelda, then I can leave this all behind me?”

“I'm sorry, Link,” Gaepora said, interrupting Fi's answer to his question. “I will find your Loftwing in the morning. You two will be able to depart together.”

“I'm finding it myself.” Link set the tablet where Fi had instructed him. Whether or not the clouds had opened, Link didn't know for sure. He had figured there would be some sort of loud noise, but there wasn't.

Link turned around. “I'm tired of getting help. Fi and I will be able to handle this journey just fine on our own, thank you.” He left the room, leaving Gaepora behind. He ran down the steps, Fi sounding a warning whenever he came to close to the edge.

“I advise that you sleep until morning. You have a severe lack of sleep, which may cause unnecessary problems tomorrow.”

Link grimaced, leaning against the railing he had been so terrified of the other day. “Will the dreams be gone?”

Fi vibrated the sword in his hand. “Of course. However, my records indicate you've always been anxious about sleep.”

Link didn't reply, letting Fi guide him back to the academy. He found the way back to his room with this strange system, closing the door behind him. And for the first time in months, he slept a full and dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

“I have brought you clothes for your journey,” Gaepora said. He set the bundle in Link's lap. “They will be more sturdy that your everyday clothes.”

Link felt the fabric, wrinkling his nose. He'd always disliked rough textures. “Is this a knight's uniform?”

“Yes. As you are saving my daughter, I would like to make you an honorary knight.”

If anything, Link wrinkled his nose even more. He wished he were still asleep; it was barely morning, and rain was sprinkling against his windowpane. “An honorary one?”

Gaepora hesitated. He shifted on his feet. “Yes. You deserve it, Link.”

“Thank you for the kind offer,” Link said, holding the clothes out towards Gaepora. “But no thanks. I leave here on my own terms, away from the harsh rules of the academy.”

Gaepora left them in Link's hands, walking toward the doorway. “Ultimately, it's your decision. But whether you believe it or not, this academy has only tried to help you over the years.”

He didn't bother to close the door behind him. Link tossed the uniform into his satchel, throwing it over his back. Maybe he could fetch a good price for them at the Bazaar. Or maybe he could re-purpose them for something else, like bandages or rags. He figured the Surface would be crawling with creatures anyhow, so it was good to be prepared.

He then equipped his sword. Fi was quiet today, just a low current in the blade.

“I know you heard,” Link said, unsure of whether or not she actually did. It felt silly to talk to an empty room, and his cheeks burned with the effort. “What do you think?”

She didn't reply immediately, which gave Link time to recover from any potential embarrassment. He grabbed his wallet out of his wardrobe, comforted by the familiar weight of rupees in the thin leather pouch. Hopefully he had enough for a shield; at the academy, he had rarely ever had a need to buy anything special.

“I think you're being too stubborn,” Fi finally said. There were no hints of judgment in her voice, only truth. Link's entire body stiffened at her words. “Gaepora is not the enemy of this story. He is only trying to help you.”

“It doesn't feel that way,” Link replied.

After counting out his slim number of rupees and organizing them by size, he set off for the Bazaar. It was raining hard, and he soon became soaked. The knight's uniform weighed heavily in his satchel. Maybe it did make more sense than what he was wearing. He was stubborn, sure, but he wanted to be a real knight, not an honorary one.

Fi chimed to get his attention. “Master, I would recommend buying a potion and a shield before we set off on our journey.”

“Way ahead of you.” He slogged through the grass, mud weighing him to the ground and sticking to his boots. “Why do you think I counted out my rupees first? For fun?”

“Master, I realize you're in a bad mood. But don't take it out on me.”

“Sorry. But how are we going to find my Loftwing?”

“It will be fairly simple,” Fi murmured. “You jump and whistle, just like everyone else.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I've told you before. I'm never wrong.”

Link processed that as he ducked into the Bazaar. Noises pricked his ears from all sides, from the babbling of shopkeepers to the hammering of the swordsmith. “That's not true,” he whispered. “You were wrong about me.”

Fi didn't respond, and Link no longer felt her presence in his sword. He felt at the hilt, wondering if this would be a common occurrence. Wherever she went, he had no idea.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair. There was a fire burning in the center of the room, and it warmed his chilled skin. He cocked his head, focusing on the sound of potions bubbling. He had been shopping to the Bazaar before, of course, but always with Zelda. He'd never liked large crowds, and he didn't like them now.

“Link!” a woman called. She clapped her hands, drawing him forward. “Happy to see you here. Is your girlfriend busy today?”

“She isn't my—oh, never mind. I would like to buy some potions.”

She began rambling off the various potions and their prices. He couldn't remember her name for the life of him, not that it really mattered.

“I would like to buy a heart potion,” he interrupted mid-way through her speech. He bobbed on his heels, growing ever more impatient.

The woman made a sound of indignation. “Good luck with that. Do you have any bottles?”

“I could make a generous donation,” Groose said. He stepped right up, knocking Link out of the way. Link stumbled on his feet, catching himself on the counter.

“Don't try to make me feel guilty by narrowing your pretty blue eyes,” Groose continued. “It's such a shame. Our collective girlfriend is missing. The least I can do is help you.”

Link regained his balance. He crossed his arms, keeping his eyes narrowed just to annoy Groose. “I would make rather it be you going on this journey, actually.”

“Whoa, you're so cold!” He chattered his teeth for effect. “Aren't you worried about her at all?”

“Enough of your arguing, boys,” the woman snapped. “We don't want loiterers here.”

“We aren't loitering,” Groose said pointedly. “Are we, Link?”

Link didn't respond.

“Fine. Then I guess I'll have to keep these bottles all for myself.” He splashed around in the cauldrons, filling up what Link assumed to be a bottle. “They are awful special, you know. Spill-proof, air-tight, leak-proof...”

“Those all mean the same thing,” Link snapped. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to help! Didn't I make that clear before?”

“Not really.” Link hesitated. “Do you love Zelda? She said she loved you.”

“Does that answer determine whether or not you will accept my help? If so, you're even more of an idiot than I thought.” He laughed bitterly, unlike the usual guffaws Link was accustomed to. “That's a personal question, and one I think you already know the answer to.”

“Why do you want to help me? You never cared about me before.”

“Because our interests now intertwine.” Groose clinked the bottles together. ”We both love Zelda, and we both want her found.”

“How do you even know about this journey?”

“Gaepora told me, obviously. And he's worried about you. Just take the bottles already and get on with it.”

Link relented, holding out his hands. Groose handed them to him carefully. They were glass, with heavy corks sealing them shut. Link put them in his satchel, making sure to place them upright despite Groose's assurances they wouldn't leak.

Groose paid the woman, slapping rupees against the counter. They scattered, a few of them hitting the floor. “Now, then,” he said, putting his arm around Link's shoulders. “What does our young hero say?”

“Don't chide me, Groose. I still haven't forgotten the nettles.”

Groose led Link away, towards another shopkeeper. “You really think that was me?”

“Who else would it be?” He shook himself free of Groose's grip.

“Okay, it was me. You win, you win.” He shoved a shield into Link's chest. “Because you won, you have to buy a shield. The bank of Groose doesn't last forever, you know.”

Link felt the shield's grainy texture. There were small designs carved into the thin wood. This shield probably wouldn't protect from anything but the most basic of attacks, but it had to do.

He paid the shopkeeper, dropping rupees onto the counter. He didn't let them fly across the counter, however. He wasn't like Groose. (As in, he wasn't a jerk.)

Once Link equipped the sword onto his back, Groose wasted no time. He grabbed Link's arm, dragging him out of the Bazaar and back into the rain. “How do you plan to get to the Surface, anyway?”

Link ripped his arm away. “I thought Gaepora told you everything.”

“Only what he had to,” Groose admitted. The rain continued to pour.

Link began walking away. Hopefully Fi would return to his sword soon. He wasn't sure if he had the courage to jump into the sky alone. Groose's heavy footfalls sounded behind him, then abruptly stopped. Almost unwillingly, Link stopped, too. He turned his head only slightly, acknowledging Groose's presence.

“I guess this is goodbye, young hero,” Groose said gruffly. If Link didn't know any better, he'd think he was crying. “I know I haven't always been the best to you, but I still pray you come home safe. And, please, bring Zelda home to me. To both of us.”

Link turned away. And with that, he ran to the edge and dived into the air.

Chapter Text

Ghirahim dashed through the trees. Branches snagged his clothes and he was pretty sure his hair was all messed up, but it didn't matter. If he didn't run, he was going to die, and nobody wanted that.

At least, not yet. He was pretty sure the children of the sky would want him dead. Demise would want him dead, probably. And so would his sister…

Ghirahim snapped out it. Human thoughts could wait. He skidded to a stop, mud splattering everywhere with the abrupt movement. With a sharp glance behind him, he began scaling a tree. It was a massive one, all rough bark. The harsh glare of the sun prevented him from seeing how far he had to climb to reach the top, but it would have to do for now.

The herd of Bokoblins continued their stampede, fully unaware that their target had escaped.

“Joke's on you!” Ghirahim shouted after them. He pulled himself up onto a branch, fixing his hair with a simple flick of the wrist. He laughed hysterically. Those creatures were so stupid! He was only a few feet up from the ground, and they still hadn't noticed him! Falling was no hazard, and he could easily hop off the branch to solid ground…

No, that wouldn't be quite right. Maybe he shouldn't push his luck. He could still hear the Bokoblins gnarled voices, their grunts of annoyance at his disappearance.

Ghirahim leaned back against the bark of the tree, crossing his arms. Maybe it would be best to begin his scheming; how exactly would he destroy the sky child before he even had a chance to draw his sword?

*

Rain pelted Link's body. He was definitely sitting on a Loftwing—his forming bruises from the impact could attest to that fact—but whether or not this Loftwing was his was an entirely different question. Fi was still missing, so it wasn't like he could ask.

He ran his fingers over the Loftwing's feathers. He wondered if Zelda's Loftwing had survived, and if it had, whether or not it was mourning her loss.

At least every story about Loftwings appeared to be true so far. That was one small comfort. The people of Skyloft loved to brag about how Loftwings always remembered the human they chose, they always remained loyal, and they were the best of friends a person could have. Nobody had ever had to test the truth in the stories before, because nobody had ever abandoned their Loftwing. But Link had, however inadvertently.

The Loftwing seemed happy enough, squawking and gliding through the air. It didn't seem to mind the pouring rain and it went at a gentle pace, giving Link time to breathe.

He pulled out his sword. Fi was completely absent. If she was created by the goddess, and he was her “master,” why did she keep leaving without his permission?

A path had been created to the Surface, he knew that. But Loftwings never dared to come close to the thick clouds separating Skyloft from everything else, so how was he supposed to get there? He patted his Loftwing on the back.

“Come on,” he urged, “we're supposed to be in this together. Do you know how to get to the Surface?”

The Loftwing squawked in return. Link sighed. He felt around the hilt of the sword. He brushed his fingers over the diamond shape.

“You called me, Master?”

Link dropped the sword in shock. He grabbed for it before it fell into oblivion, cutting his hand in the process. He hissed. “Fi? Where were you?”

“Attending to business. I didn't realize you would attempt the jump without me. Congratulations.”

“Where did you go?” The wind whistled past his ears. He touched the cut on his hand. It wasn't too bad, but blood was definitely oozing out of the cut. Panic crept through him. How was he supposed to get back to Skyloft, even? He had no sense of direction out here! “Never mind,” he snapped. “Just tell me how to get down there already.”

“Did you ask your Loftwing?”

“If you hadn't disappeared, you would already know that!”

“Calm down, Master.” She flew out of the sword. “I'll be your eyes, but you must command the Loftwing yourself.”

Link shook his head, holding his wounded hand. “But I've never ridden a Loftwing before.”

“Didn't you ride with Zelda?”

“Yes. All sorts of times. But she never exactly gave me a lesson.” He wiggled his fingers in front his eyes. “Never seemed necessary, you know, considering these.”

“You worry too much about something you can never change. Master, calm down and remember those rides with her, what you heard and felt.”

Link took a deep breath. He tried to transcend into some state of peace, even with the annoying pain in his hand and the cold rain pelting his body from all sides. Gaepora used to meditate all the time. Zelda would laugh at him, saying he looked so silly doing it. She would describe his serious face, and Link would be laughing so hard it hurt.

“Ready, Master?”

Link nodded. He dug his feet into the Loftwing's sides, causing it to speed up. “Only if you do me favor.”

“Of course,” she replied. “What is it?”

“Can you stop calling me 'Master?' It gives me the creeps. It sounds like I own you or something, which I obviously don't.”

Fi laughed, the sound like a wind chime in the breeze. “Does it? What do you want to be called, then?”

“Just Link.”

“Okay, Just Link. No more 'sky child,' then?”

“No, that can stay.” His cheeks burned. “Well, if you want to call me that, I mean.”

Fi brushed against him, her cold skin making Link shiver. He had never been so cold, wet, and terrified in his life, but at least he had Fi beside him. “Of course I want to,” she said. “Now let's find our way down to the Surface. Together.”

Chapter Text

Link dived through the air. The fall was slow, and he could feel the clouds whipping around him. They were misty and cool.

Maybe the fall would be this slow until he reached the bottom. If there even was a bottom. Why didn't he think of this before? He had no sailcloth. No way to safely land.

He was going to die. He knew he was. The air was becoming thicker, and his lungs were struggling to understand what to do with all the extra air. The ground was coming closer, he could feel it, and soon it would all be over.

Zelda would miss him, probably. She was the only one who had ever cared, but he had no idea where she was. No matter what the others promised, she was most likely dead. Maybe this really was all a trick, and Groose had somehow convinced him to fall through the sky into oblivion.

Right as he contented himself to his early demise, Fi's voice filtered through his head. “Take caution. Soon we will leave the safety of the clouds. I directed us so we land in a body of water, but I doubt the landing will be very pleasant.”

Link braced himself. Sure enough, gravity seemed to catch up with him, and his fall became ridiculously fast. Before he even had a chance to scream, he hit the water. His body slapped against it, his senses quickly overwhelmed by the cold.

He struggled against the weight of the water, flailing his arms and legs. He could feel himself sinking, running out of air…

There was whooshing sound above him, somebody diving into the water. His arm was grabbed, roughly, nails biting into his skin, and a harsh yank pulled him upwards.

Link was thrown onto solid ground. He coughed out the water, ripping out clumps of grass in his frenzied state.

“Who woulda thought,” a man said. His voice tilted with the words. “I was just sitting there, enjoying the sunset, when I heard a boy splashing around in the water. At first I thought it had to be a Bokoblin, but usually their deaths aren't quite so loud...”

Link looked towards the voice, coughing incessantly. His throat felt ragged from the water, and his voice was lower than usual when he spoke. “What do you want from me?”

“Is that any way to thank your rescuer?” he hissed. “What a rude boy. If you want to sit on the dirty ground, fine, but this will be the last time I extend my hand to you. Look at me while I'm talking, why don't you?”

Link thought he had been. He swallowed his embarrassment, shifting his eyes towards the ground. “Thank you for saving me. I didn't intend to be rude.”

The man clicked his tongue. “So be it. What were you doing by the water, anyway? I don't see many humans around here these days. Where are you from?”

Link stood, brushing the dirt off his clothes. Fi chimed loudly in Link's head, causing him to wince. It served as a warning, and Link carefully measured his next words. “I'm only a traveler. I'm looking for a friend.”

“Indeed. You're very rude, but what can I expect from a primitive human? My name is Ghirahim.”

Link backed away. Fi's chimes grew incessant, but her words would never come. “Well,” he said slowly, “I better get going now. I need to find my friend.”

“The one who left you to drown?”

Link paused. “No. Nothing like that. Somebody else.”

“Perhaps I can help you. There was a Goron wandering through here by the name of Gorko earlier today. Could that be him?”

Link shook his head, walking away up a trail. He vaguely wondered what a Goron was, imagining something like a Remlit but more terrifying and with sharper teeth. He held out his hands, feeling against the rough edges of trees to make sure he didn't run into one. He didn't even know so many could be in one place, and if Ghirahim would just leave him alone, he would take the chance study them more. They seemed much thicker and taller than the ones back in Skyloft.

The man trampled behind him. “I knew the humans of the forest were primitive, but the least they could do is make eye contact.”

“I'm not primitive,” Link retorted. It was fun to pretend he could see like everyone else, even if it was with this idiot. And even with Fi's annoying chiming in his head.

“Okay, I stand corrected. I knew the humans of the forest were rude, but—”

Link stopped abruptly. “What do you want from me?”

“Just someone to talk to. I've been ever so lonely down here, waiting hour after hour for someone who never comes.”

It was nighttime now. Link could feel the subtle difference in the air, the more biting winds. His body trembled, and he wished he could take off the soggy clothes.

“You could at least ask who I'm looking for,” Ghirahim mumbled. “But since you didn't, I might as well tell you.” He waited a moment, forcing Link to wait in suspense. Not that he felt any. Whoever this guy was looking for, it obviously wasn't him, so what did it matter?

“It's a boy from a prophecy. He is supposed to be wearing a green tunic and be wielding a sword of legend. Have you seen anyone like that?”

Link's stomach burst with dread. “No, not at all.”

“Really? Too bad. You're carrying a sword, but it looks too small to a legendary sword.” He laughed bitterly. “And you're way too soft and small. Barely a man. You obviously aren't him.”

“Obviously. Can I search for my friend now? I want to find her before it gets too dark.”

There was a long silence, and Link was sure he realized his mistake before even Ghirahim had. His ruse was over.

“But it's already dark,” he mused. “Was that some sort of joke? Or—”

Link dashed away, fear gripping him. Fi's chimes finally softened, but she didn't offer any words of comfort. Nothing at all. She seemed exhausted herself.

Only when Link brushed against some sort of stone structure, did he finally allow himself to relax.

Chapter Text

The relaxation did not last long. Link sat down, resting his head against a pillar. He shivered in his damp clothes. Occasionally, he would cough up more water.

And his hand hurt. Really bad. He fished in his bag for the bottles of potion. Sure enough, Groose had been correct. The corks were ridiculously tight, and Link struggled to remove one of them with his bare hands.

The pop let him know he had succeeded. He set the bottle aside, pulling out the knight's uniform. He spread it over the ground in front of him, trying to make sense of it. The clothing was absolutely soaked, and all of the material seemed to run together.

With a sigh and a grit of his teeth, Link attempted to rip a section of fabric off for a bandage. He wasn't strong enough and only managed to hurt his hand more.

Then his stomach grumbled, and he realized he hadn't thought to bring food. Link rubbed the tears out of his eyes, then tried to rip the fabric again.

Link eventually managed to tear off a ragged strip. His hand was bleeding again, and he grimaced as he dropped heart potion on the deep cut. Pain blossomed as the liquid knitted the puckered skin together, sealing the wound.

He took the piece of fabric, knotting it around his hand. At least it wasn't his sword hand; that would have been bad.

He drew his sword, brushing his fingers over the diamond.

There was a delayed response. For a long time, Link sat there, listening to the scuttling of bugs somewhere in the distance and the wind through the trees.

Link hated sleep. He dreaded it. And there was no way he would sleep peacefully tonight in a strange place with an even stranger man searching for him. Even if the man was an idiot, he was still terrifying.

Link startled at Fi's sudden appearance, her skin brushing against his. “You called for me?” she asked innocently.

“Where were you?” Link hissed. “You keep disappearing. And you gave me a headache with all that chiming.”

Fi tutted. “You have to call for me, you know. Brush your fingers over the diamond.”
Link crossed his arms. “This isn't going to work unless we actually talk to one another. Tell me, how did you know that man was a threat?”

“I just had a feeling.”

“You're awful.” Link bumped his head back against the pillar. “I thought you were meant to protect me. And we might be wrong about Ghirahim. I wasn't wearing 'green clothes of legend' or whatever.”

Fi laughed faintly. “Headmaster Gaepora must have forgotten to mention this, but the uniform he gave you is a deep green color.”

Link scoffed. “So? He was probably just crazy. He said there are other humans down here, so there must be plenty of other legendary swords and green tunic-clad boys running around.”

“Don't be a fool,” Fi said. Her voice lacked warmth. “You have enemies, Link. Both you and Zelda. The sooner you realize that, the safer you will be.”

She swept back into Link's sword, effectively ending the conversation.

“Now let's get down to business,” she said. “You are currently sitting in front of a temple. Since you are the goddess' chosen hero it would be wise of you to enter it.”

“I'm tired. Can't we find a place to rest?”

“No. We must enter the safety of the temple tonight.”

Link scowled, throwing the bottles and knight's uniform back into his bag. He stood, wavering for a moment before regaining his balance.

“We missed a step in our progress,” Fi mused. “We were meant to visit the Sealed Grounds first, but this will have to do.”

Link wandered over, the sword thrumming with energy. Fi urged him where to go with a series of chimes, similar to the ones from his meeting with Ghirahim but softer.

“The door is a heavy slab of stone. You'll have to grip the bottom and lift it up.”

“My hand hurts.”

“Do it anyway,” Fi snapped. She took a few moments to collect herself, during which Link did as told.

“There are monsters littered throughout this area,” Fi continued. “Be wary.”

Link gripped his sword tighter, letting the door slam shut behind him. Sure enough, there was a snapping noise in the distance. And something like gnawing. And there was a scuttling noise, much louder and more intense than earlier.

Link stood stock still. “What kind of temple is this?”

“Skyview Temple. It has long since been abandoned.”

“How do you think I'll be safe here? What's wrong with you?”

“Ghirahim was right! You are so disrespectful! Just shut up already!”

Link shut up. He set his jaw, marching off to the right. The snapping sound became ridiculous fast. Link held out his sword.

The creature, whatever it was, drew back, and the snapping noise ceased. Link let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Then it jumped forward, clamping its mouth over Link's left shoulder. He struggled, flailing his sword around with no method. Fi screamed out a warning somewhere in his head. He whacked at the creature until it finally let go.

He ran backward, gripping his shoulder. Another injury to add to the mix, he supposed. The monster smelled so sweet it hurt his stomach.

“What was that thing?”

“It's called a Deku Baba,” Fi said. She seemed a little frightened herself, her words rushed. “Please don't run off like that. Forgive me for arguing with you.”

“No hard feelings,” Link said. The snapping was so constant it was annoying. Didn't that thing ever get tired? “Just tell me how to destroy it. Please.”

Fi explained, going over the details of each type of Deku Baba. Link listened closely, relating it to practice he used to do with Eagus.

“You'll have to tell me, then, each time I encounter one,” Link said. “There's no way for me to know which way the mouth opens otherwise.”

“Of course,” Fi said. “This one is horizontal. Listen closely to the snapping. Approach it swiftly, then broadly slash your sword.”

Link braced himself. “I still don't understand how this is safer.” He ran forward, doing just as Fi said. It seemed to work: plant goo splattered all over him.

“Good job,” Fi said as Link wiped off his face. “And you will understand how this is safer with time. Trust me.”

“Why can't you tell me now?” He slowly continued down the hallway, fingers brushing against the wall.

“It might scare you away.”

“As if I'm not scared now.” Link's ears pricked at the sound of another Deku Baba. “Which direction?”

“Vertical,” Fi said.

“How do you know? You don't have eyes poking out of the sword do you?”

“I just know. I can sense the currents of the monster, and I verify it's identity somehow.” Fi paused. “I don't understand it myself.”

Link destroyed the Deku Baba. The descent down the hallway was much the same, and little personal conversation continued.

The hallway twisted upward until he reached another stone door. He lifted it in the same fashion as the entrance, the pain in his shoulder serving as a sharp reminder as to the severity of this mission.

As soon as the door was lifted, the smell of stagnant water pierced his noise.

'There are Bokoblins in here,” Fi murmured as the door slammed shut. “They are rather… humanoid. This shouldn't bother you. Their only emotions are greed and hatred.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “How do I defeat them?”

'They're not difficult at all. Hit them side to side. Your sword won't pierce their flesh, but eventually they'll become weakened and vanish into smoke.”

Link stepped forward. The Bokoblins instantly alerted to his presence and began running towards him. He didn't think, only acted, bouncing his sword off of each of their bodies simultaneously until they fell. Just as Fi said, they burst into smoke. The fumes made Link cough and his eyes water, but it wasn't as awful as the Deku Baba goo.

“Now it's an easy walk,” Fi said. “There awaits a door in front of you. There should be Zelda beyond it.”

Link stiffened. “How do you know that?”

“I sense her presence. But do not think your journey will be this easy, much awaits you in the—”

Link shot forward, lifting up the door and running inside. Fi chimed out flurry of warnings.

“What?” Link asked, rubbing his forehead. “Where's Zelda?”

Then he heard a slow clap that really made him think he shouldn't have just said that.

Chapter Text

“I thought it was you,” Ghirahim said. “I didn't want it to be.”

There was the sound of glass breaking, then the warmth of Ghirahim's breath on Link's neck. “Such a sorry excuse for a hero. Covered in blood and dirt. How pathetic.”

Ghirahim burst apart once again, materializing somewhere in the distance. Link drew his sword, darting his eyes around.

“Do you really think that pathetic sword can save you? Really, I thought the goddess would have been kinder towards you, considering everything.”

“Considering what?” Link snapped. He sliced his sword towards the sound of Ghirahim's voice, angry when the sword met nothing but empty air.

“Such a temper,” Ghirahim mused. “And so, so rude. You never make eye contact or even take the chance to admire my outfit. I dressed up just for you, don't you know?”

The glass shattered. Ghirahim gripped the tip of Link's sword, wrenching it out of his hands. It clattered against the ground. Fi's warnings fell silent.

“It was a shame you met me before. I looked terrible, much as you do now.” He touched the bottom of Link's chin, tilting it upward. “You still won't look me in the eye. Am I that terrifying to you?”

Link couldn't breathe he was so angry. His stomach hurt, and he was probably going to hurl. He stepped backward, wishing his sword could magically fly back into his hand. But the chances of that were slim to none.

“I thought the people of Skyloft were supposed to be so great. Pick up your sword; then we can duel.”

Link edged over to where he thought it might be. He'd heard it clang somewhere to the left. Fi's chimes grew stronger the closer he came to it.

“Why so slow?” The breaking glass, then the sword pressed into his hands. “I know you must be tired, but not that tired.” He paused. “Are you? You did say that weird comment about it being dark when it already was.”

Link hugged the sword like the long-lost friend it was. He wished Fi would speak to him, but whenever she was around Ghirahim, she was reduced to a chiming mess.

“You have such pretty blue eyes, just like the sky. Too bad I'll have to end them soon.”

“Where's Zelda?” Link asked. “Did you hurt her?”

Ghirahim touched Link's cheek, causing him to flinch. “No. But I will have to. She's beyond the door, but first you'll have to get past me.” He brushed his fingertips over Link's cheeks. “What is wrong with you, sky child? Why won't you look my way?”

Link bristled at the familiar nickname. He stepped backward, holding out his sword. “I need to save Zelda,” he said, voice trembling. “She's my friend, and I can't let you hurt her.”

Broken glass. Ghirahim in the distance. “I'm afraid her presence is already gone. We were too busy chit-chatting.”

“You're lying. You said we would duel, so let's duel. If I win, you don't get to touch Zelda.”

“You think I'll abide to those terms? Do you really trust me, just like that?” Ghirahim sighed. “Fine. You can trust me just this once. But a little wisp of a boy like you doesn't stand a chance against a man like me.”

Link burst towards him, jabbing out his sword. Ghirahim caught it much the same as before, ripping it out of Link's hands. He toyed with it, clinking it against the wall.

“Your eyes are dead. I had hoped you were primitive rather than that. Anything but that. What a pity to be a so-called chosen one when you can't even see the world you are meant to save.”

Link clenched his fists. He felt like crying, but didn't know why. It was some sort of ache, an idea of the way things might have been. “How can you say that? And I'm not saving the world, only Zelda.”

“Doesn't anyone ever speak to you?” Ghirahim laughed harshly, clinking the sword against the wall. “And it's funny. Whenever I make a noise, your ears prick like a Remlit's.”

“Give me back my sword, Ghirahim,” Link said, reaching forward. His hand hit the man's shoulder. He twisted the fabric covering it. “I don't like being toyed with.”

“Friends call me Ghira.”

“I'm not your friend.”

“Ouch.” The sound of breaking glass. Ghirahim was behind him this time, sliding the sword back into its scabbard. “That's okay. We've wasted time; Zelda is gone.” He leaned in, brushing a kiss against Link's cheek. “But I promise we'll meet again. Next time, I won't be so kind.”

Ghirahim disappeared. This time the breaking glass was more like an explosion, and Link's ears began to ring with the intensity of it. Link didn't move for a long time, but soon it was apparent Ghirahim wasn't coming back.

He wished Fi would return already. Oddly, he felt alone without Ghirahim's endless chatter. He needed someone to talk to about this, about what all of this means. What weren't they telling him?

Link easily found the door Ghirahim had spoken of. It emitted strong heat. As soon as Link touched it, the door disappeared.

He slogged into an outdoor area. It was very bight, and Link could make out dim outlines in the distance.

Fi burst out of the sword, knocking Link forward with the impact. “Sorry,” she said. “Whenever he's around, it's like I disappear.”

“No worries. I feel nearly the same way.” He walked closer to the outlines. A waterfall bubbled in the distance, and birds chirped happily. “Is it daylight now?”

“Yes. The sun has just risen. It's going to be a very fair day.”

Link stopped in his tracks. “What do we do now? We have to get to Zelda before Ghirahim does.”

“Don't lose heart, sky child. There is a crest at the end of this walkway, and it will open another portal to the surface. It will also take you back up to the sky.”

“I don't understand how you know this stuff.”

“Neither do I. Now lift up your sword. Once we return to Skyloft, you will be able to rest.”

Link did as told. The sword filled with energy. “Promise?'

“Of course. I've told you before, I'm never wrong.”

Link smirked, drawing the sword forward. “I think we both know that's a lie by now.”

Chapter Text

Link materialized in the Statue of the Goddess. He knew he had by the dampness and chill in the air.

Link's shoulder throbbed. Somehow, another stone tablet had found its way into his hands. He walked forward, fitting it in into place. A beam of light shot forward, much in the same fashion as before.

Link's shoulder really throbbed, and if he didn't get his hand checked soon, it would probably get infected. In the duel with Ghirahim—if he could even call it that—he'd knocked the wound open again.

Fi had completely disappeared somewhere in the last few minutes, so he walked back to the academy with no company other than his own. The bridge back to Skyloft wasn't so terrifying anymore, even though the harsh wind was no different. It was odd how much one day could change everything. Link felt like an entirely different person.

The island was so peaceful, a jarring difference from the chaotic Surface. Link knew he must be quite the sight, but nobody stopped him on his way back to the academy.

But he could hear their whispers. Link struggled against the feeling of pride. Pride of what? He hadn't saved Zelda, or done much of anything, really. What right did he have to feel proud of looking like a war-torn solider?

He tamped the feeling of pride way down, and once he entered the safety of the academy, Pipit was to be met with an impressive grimace.

“What happened?” he burst. He touched Link's shoulder, causing Link to grit his teeth in pain. “It's oozing something purple!”

“Don't touch it,” Link breathed. Hypocritically, he touched the wound himself. Sure enough, it was wet with a liquid that clearly wasn't blood.

Other students from the academy rushed over. They crowded around Link, bumping him back against a wall.

“Everybody was so worried about you,” Fledge said. “I saw you jump off the edge and into the clouds yesterday. I was sure you were gone for.”

“What happened?” Pipit repeated.

Link worked his mouth. Something told him that the events of the Surface were something to keep private. So, he did what anybody would do in this situation: he lied.

“My Loftwing caught me,” Link said, as though it were a daily occurrence. “I didn't feel like I was going to die at all.”

“I saw it.” Karane sighed. “I was sure I must be dreaming.”

“It wasn't a dream,” Link said. “But I ended up crash-landing on some island. A Remlit attacked me.”

Instructor Owlan brushed his way past the students, given away by his flowery perfume. “Give Link some space,” he said. “He obviously needs to go the infirmary.”

“I'll take him!” Pipit volunteered. He grabbed Link's hand, delicately tugging it behind him.

“Delicately” was an overstatement. Link felt pretty woozy, and Pipit was gripping his already hurt hand. They found their way to the infirmary, which was actually Henya's room. Technically the academy's cook, she was also the most revered healer in Skyloft.

The door was cracked open, but Pipit knocked anyway. The old woman was busy at her desk, evident by her scribblings of this or that in a journal. “Link was hurt by a Remlit!” Pipit yelled.

“A Remlit?” The scribbling stopped. She stood, toddling over to where Link was barely standing. Her wrinkly old fingers touched Link's shoulder wound, barely skimming the surface. “Of course. Pipit, thank you bringing him here.”

“Anything to help a friend!” Pipit said. He slapped Link on the shoulder. Link emitted a grunt of pain, thankful when Pipit finally left the room. Henya was quick to shut the door behind him.

“Sit down, child,” she said, leading Link to her bed. He sat, and Henya's fingers ghosted over the wound once more. She tugged at his shirt, urging him to remove it. Once he had, she spoke. “This wasn't a Remlit, but I'm sure we both know that.”

Link closed his eyes as Henya cleaned the wound with a cloth soaked in heart potion. “Am I poisoned?”

Henya chuckled. “Obviously. Don't worry, I have just the thing.” She tampered with the bottles lining the shelves around the room, and Link could hear liquids pouring into a cauldron. Then the tell-tale smells of a fire starting filled the room. Henya slapped the cauldron on top of it. Liquid whooshed over the sides, crackling into the fire.

“My hand,” Link whispered. “It's also hurt.”

Henya paused in the midst of stirring the cauldron. She toddled back over, taking Link's left hand in hers. She removed the soiled bandage. “How in the world did you manage to get a cut this deep?”

Link blushed, embarrassed. Henya went back to her cauldron. It was bubbling now, loud and rolling. She stirred it, struggling to keep it from burning. The rancid smell tickled Link's nose. “I dropped my sword,” he admitted.”When I grabbed for it, I caught it by the blade.”

Henya chuckled. “You've always been clumsy. I remember your parents bringing you to me all sorts of times, for scratches and bruises. Such a reckless child you were.”

The cauldron was removed from the fire, and she brought it over to the windowsill to cool.

“I was clumsy because I was practically blind,” Link said. “And I wasn't always brought to you for physical injury. My father always thought you could fix my eyes.”

“And I wouldn't touch them,” Henya spat. “I refused to abide by such a selfish man. You're perfect the way you are.”

“You're lying. You were going to heal them, once.” Link mulled over the memory. “You said it would be impossible. There was a darkness in them. My mother cried and cried.”

Henya dipped her hands into the cooled mixture. She slathered the thickened medicine over Link's wound. She used her hands, roughly, and it burned terribly.

She rubbed in the mixture further for effect. Eventually the wound numbed, and Link could feel nothing. She tightly wrapped a bandage around Link's shoulder. It crossed over his chest, and Link thought the knot could have been a little bit looser. But he didn't argue.

“There, there,” she said eventually. “That was many years ago. I'm surprised you remember it.”

She wiped her hands off, then began to work on healing his hand next. She clinked around the bottles lining the walls, grunting once she found the right one. She poured more heart potion out of it and onto a cloth. It greatly lessened the sting of the wound. She then bandaged Link's hand.

“Now let's take you back to your room. Old memories are no good when spoken with sleep in your eyes. I don't want you blubbering to me about the past. I am a crotchety old woman, you know.”

Link didn't necessarily feel like blubbering. The pain of his parents didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to. But now that Henya mentioned it, going to sleep was a probably a good idea. Maybe then he would be able to face the next leg of his journey, and save Zelda once and for all.

Chapter Text

Groose wasn't angry. Not in so many words. But he was disappointed. Disappointed that Link had returned without Zelda. Disappointed that it had to be Link to return with her at all.

He stared up at the ceiling. Class was so boring today. And his yellow knight's uniform was itchy. He knew Link was in the vicinity, in bed, and with some pretty nasty wounds, but the disappointment persisted.

Disappointment burned in him, hot and vivid. This was unusual. Typically, his only feeling was annoyance.

Class ended. Late afternoon light filled the room, very orange and very bright. The other senior class members gathered their books, scurrying out of the room. He missed Cawlin and Strich; without them in class, everything was so boring.

Groose continued to stare at the ceiling. Eventually, even Instructor Owlan left. Only Pipit remained, diligently going over his notes. “You have to pay more attention,” he said. “You could always get demoted from knighthood, you know.”

Groose rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the warning.” He smoothed up his hair, then walked out of the room with a swagger to his step. He had to keep up his cool persona; otherwise, somebody else might steal it out from under him.

Groose didn't know where he was going until he was there. Link's room. The door was sealed shut, as always. He had tried to get into this room many times to pull pranks, but it was always locked.

Groose tried the knob anyway. For a moment, he stared at the open door dumbly. Then his eyes shifted to Zelda's one and only hero: Link.

He was lying on the bed, breathing softly. He was so bandaged up that even Groose's felt a tad bit of sympathy. The white bandages were terribly stained by that purple liquid people had been talking about earlier, and a foul odor filled the room.

The sword and shield sat next to the bed. Groose shook his head at how unsafe that was. Anybody could just come along and steal the legendary sword! If Groose wasn't so disappointed and sympathetic right now, he'd probably take the sword and hurl it into the clouds.

Groose disliked this new, deeper side of his personality. He set his jaw, sitting down at Link's desk. As soon as that pest woke up, Groose would lay it on him.

However, Link stirred with the movement in the room. He cast his baby blues on Groose, chilling him to the very core. Groose stiffened; whatever he was going to “lay on him” was lost to time.

“Groose?” Link asked, voice rough from sleep. “What do you want?”

Groose stood up to leave. “Never mind, I'll just—”

“Don't go,” Link murmured, closing his eyes once more. “It must be my sleepiness, but I'm not afraid of you right now.”

“You should be!” Groose said, but the words lacked their usual bravado. He hadn't known Link had been afraid of him. He thought it had just been a friendly rivalry. But now that he thought of it, Link had never exactly fought back.

Link grunted into a sitting position, his eyes still closed. Somehow, that was even more unsettling. Groose was glued to the spot.

“I know you're upset about Zelda, too,” Link said, pressing his thumb down on the bandage covering his palm. “You said you loved her, after all.”

“I've always loved her,” Groose said. “But she loved you more.”

Link laughed bitterly. “Loved me? A man with no future?”

Groose didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he looked around Link's room, at the barren shelves, at the empty desk. Without Zelda, there was nothing. Groose took a deep breath. He wondered what Link did in his spare time, while everybody else was away at lessons. Did he have any hobbies, any aspirations?

Link touched his hurt shoulder. “When did it happen?” he asked. “You and Zelda, I mean. It seemed so sudden.”

Groose shifted on his feet. “About two months ago. She was pretending she wasn't with me—for you—”

“I love Zelda,” Link admitted. Groose balled his fists. “I know that makes you angry.”

The fact Link was right only angered Groose more. “How could you say that? At last year's Wing Ceremony, you denied her.”

“She told you, did she?” Link began unwrapping his shoulder bandage. The wound was a gaping thing, long and angular. It oozed purple liquid, dark and deadly. The bandage was soaked with the stuff. Link threw it off to the side. “Did she tell you anything else?”

Groose stared at the bandage with distaste. But even that was better than looking at Link's damaged shoulder. “No,” he admitted. “She only told me that you broke her heart, and that you broke it on multiple occasions.”

“That's why we were fighting on the day she disappeared,” Link said. “Not about my dreams, really, even though that upset me, too. It's because I told her I loved her the day before.”

“I don't get it,” Groose snapped, eyes flashing to the injury. His stomach flip-flopped, and he quickly looked away. He crossed his arms in an effort to settle the uncomfortable feeling. “How would that break her heart?”

Link wavered as he stood. He walked over to his wardrobe, creaking open the doors. He pulled a shirt and pair of pants off a hanger, throwing them over his good shoulder.

Groose trained his eyes on the window, on the fading colors of the day. Skyloft was always so peaceful, so soft. The sunset was always so beautiful.

“I don't know why I'm telling you this,” Link said, “but I guess I'm going to. I told Zelda I loved her, but not in the way she wanted.”

“The way,” Groose repeated. “What does that even mean?”

Link laughed. His blue eyes were ghosts, untrained on anything but a memory. They shifted over Groose as if he wasn't even there. “I didn't want to kiss her. That's what I mean.”

“Oh.”

“Or do anything.” Link bumped Groose out of the way, pausing at the doorway. “I'm going to my bath now. I guess I told you all of this because—well, what I'm trying to say is—I'm happy she found you.”

Chapter Text

“You're still too wounded,” Fi said. She fussed over his injuries, inspecting the cut slashed across Link's palm.

Link ripped his hand away. He had almost been finished with his bath, and his cheeks warmed due to her sudden presence in the room. “No big deal,” he said. “More importantly, where do you always go, Fi? I want to know.”

Fi jingled, sitting down beside the washbasin. “I would rather not tell you.”

Link flexed his shoulder tenderly, worried the Deku Baba bite would rip open. It didn't—whatever Henya had stirred up, it definitely worked. His hand, however… It stung as it soaked in the tub, even more intensely than the shoulder wound.

“Fine,” Fi said. “I eavesdrop on people. That's how I learn.”

“About what?” He pulled the drain, listening to the water swirl away from him. He shivered in the cold, stepping out of the tub. Water dripped off and onto the floor.

“Other people and their habits. I watch them so I know how best to aid you. For example, I know a new shield is available at the Bazaar.”

Link nodded, drying himself off with a towel. He still felt exhausted, like he would never feel okay again.

He pulled on his clothes, an old shirt with embroidery around the collar and a plain pair of trousers. Fi paced around the room, and Link hoped she wasn't watching.

“I don't like it when you leave,” he said, equipping his sword and shield. His pack went on next, resting on his hip. “What if something happened to me and you weren't there?”

“You're more than capable of taking care of yourself, you know. You don't need me here.”

Link shrugged. “But I want you here. Could you at least warn me next time?”

Fi hummed her answer. Link wrapped a clean bandage around his hand, knotting it tightly. As soon as he opened the door out into the hallway, Fi swept back into the blade.

Students mulled around the academy. Link strode towards the exit, hoping nobody would stop him. Even though it was late at night, the lanterns were still lit, offering Link a smudge of brightness.

“Link!” Karane said, skipping over to him. She bounced on her feet. “You look so much better!”

“Thanks,” Link said, rubbing his neck. “Is there something going on tonight?”

“Yes,” she replied solemnly. The bouncing stopped. “You must have forgotten due to your injury. It's the school dance.”

Link had forgotten. School dances always took place a day or so after the Wing Ceremony. Usually, the winner and the maiden who played the part of the goddess danced together.

“Too bad,” he said lamely.

“It must be hard,” Karane continued. “You and Zelda were so close. Headmaster Gaepora won't tell anyone where she went off to.” She took a sharp intake of breath, taking Link's hands in hers. “But you'll tell me, won't you?”

Link stepped back. “I can't do that. I don't know where she went.”

“But—”

“I'm sorry, Karane. But I just don't know.”

She shifted on her feet. “So be it. I'm sorry you forgot about the dance.”

Link nodded. Without further ado, Karane swept past him. Music began to thrum from the hall, a light cheerful melody. Link was happy to be going outside.

The breeze tickled Link's cheeks. He walked towards the Bazaar, hoping to be more prepared this time. A sail cloth and food were his main priorities.

The new shield Fi mentioned would also be nice, he supposed. He drew his sword, summoning Fi with a brush over the diamond.

“Yes?” she replied in his head.

“Where are we going next? Is it similar to the forest?” Link brushed past the curtain, entering the lively Bazaar. There was singer tonight, giving her rendition of “Ballad of the Goddess.”

“Not at all,” Fi said. “I believe it will be very hot.” She paused. “Yes, it is called Eldin Volcano.”

“Disgusting,” Link muttered. “I guess a wooden shield wouldn't cut it, then?”

“Correct. I recommend the iron shield I mentioned earlier.”

“You didn't mentioned it was iron,” he said, approaching a merchant.

“Iron?” the guy inquired. “Yes, a new one in stock this very day!” He pressed it into Link's hands.

Link felt the rough surface of the shield. “Sure. How much is it?”

“One hundred rupees.”

Link grimaced. He knew his small wallet of rupees wouldn't cut it. “Can I barter? I'll trade you my wooden shield for it.”

“That's not bartering. That's stealing. No way, no how.”

The man ripped the shield away, setting down on the counter.

Link sighed. He bought other, more important necessities instead, rather than the shield. The sailcloth was a little pricey, but nothing he couldn't squeeze. (Where would he find more money? It wasn't like rupees grew on trees!)

He marched out of the Bazaar, saddened to still have an old, flimsy wooden shield on his back.

“We won't be able to leave tonight,” Fi murmured. “Loftwings can't see at night.”

“Neither can I,” Link said. He approached a diving area, forever disliking the feeling of thin wood underneath his feet.

“But he won't be able to catch you,” Fi persisted.

Link crossed his arms. “If he doesn't, one of the knights patrolling the area will catch me.”

“What if they don't? Records indicate many Skyloftians have fallen to their deaths in their attempt to do what you are about to do.”

Link swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “Aren't you always telling me to believe in myself?”

“I do. I am. Just not at the expense of your own wellbeing.”

“Fine.” Link walked away from the wooden platform, sitting on solid ground. He crossed his legs. “How long is it until daylight, then?”

Fi burst from the sword, sitting down beside him. “Sunrise is exactly seven hours and three minutes away. I recommend you rest back at the academy.”

“I'll rest right here,” Link said stubbornly. He cupped his chin in his hands. “I feel so stupid, just sitting here while Zelda is in danger.”

“She will be fine,” Fi soothed. “Ghirahim is all talk and no do.”

“Did you hear our conversation?” Link asked. “I know you said you disappear, but do you still hear?”

“Yes. I just can't speak. I'm trapped by the blade, almost. I feel detached.”

Link leaned back on the grass. “Ghirahim scares me. I'm afraid of what he could do.”

Fi laid down beside him. She felt so close, yet so distant. She took his hand in hers; her hand was cold, unnaturally smooth. Link disliked the sensation, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“There is no reason to fret, sky child,” she murmured. “All will fall into place. I'm sure of it.”

Chapter Text

“What's wrong?” Fi asked. “You look upset.”

Link sat up, stretching his stiff muscles. It was early morning, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. The breeze promised rain; Link was almost happy to be going to the Surface if it meant he didn't have to deal with a storm.

“Nothing,” Link said. “Just a bad dream.”

“I wasn't sending visions to you,” Fi promised. “Could you see in these dreams?”

Link shrugged. The edges of the nightmare slipped away into the corners of his mind. He searched for them, but failed; these dreams weren't nearly as persistent as Fi's. Most likely, the images were just leftovers from the old dreams—just imprints on his mind.

Fi swept back into the blade. He checked his shoulder and hand, glad the wounds seemed to be somewhat improving. He had wasted too much time here in Skyloft: two whole days he should have spent finding Zelda.

He walked over to the wooden platform. The confidence of last night failed him. He feared falling to his death more than almost anything. He took a deep breath, and jump off the platform anyway.

Sure enough, his Loftwing appeared. Link hit its back with more grace than before. Fi gave directions, and in no time at all, they were nearing the next portal to the Surface.

“Prepare your sailcloth,” Fi instructed. “You will definitely have need of it in this area.”

“As if I didn't before,” Link muttered. Regardless, he pulled out the sailcloth. With Fi's chime of approval, he dived off the bird.

He hit the clouds, much the same as before. He didn't let himself think of dying this time; he told himself everything would be okay.

The rush of air hit, and Link allowed the sailcloth to billow out above him. It slowed his fall considerably, and he thanked the goddess when he landed on the solid ground safely.

“We have reached Eldin Volcano,” Fi said. “As the goddess sent you to this location, it is highly probable that Zelda is here.”

“What's a volcano?”

Fi hesitated. “It's—well, it's like a mountain. It burns like the sun, with molten liquid called magma inside of it. When the magma hits the air, it's called lava.”

Link rolled up his sleeves. “Right. And you mentioned something about a Sealed Grounds. Are we going there, too?”

“We will soon. I was notified that we should visit that location shortly after we landed in the woods; however, Zelda has a much higher ranking on that list in terms of importance. She is more pertinent to our mission.”

Link fanned at his cheeks. The heat was so dry it was almost unbearable. “Zelda's important to me,” he said slowly, “but she's not important to everyone. So why has the goddess sent me to save her?”

“You are the chosen hero of the goddess. That is all I know. We do what she wishes; we do not ask questions.”

Link nodded. “Ghirahim mentioned I'm saving the world. So Zelda must be important in all this.”

“Of course. Now let's not dilly-dally for long. We must reach the top of this volcano by nightfall. There is a temple waiting for us.”

Link began the sharp ascent. Lava bubbled and the heat felt omnipresent. Fi guided him around the pools of lava, warning him whenever he got too close. He gripped his sword, expecting monsters at any moment. He didn't want any more wounds to match the ones he already had.

A sheen of sweat seemed to cover every square inch of his body. He pulled out his pouch of water, wishing he had packed more. It was while he was frowning at his meager supply that Fi spoke.

“There are Mogmas up ahead. They are peaceful creatures and no danger to humans, no matter their greed.”

Link hadn't the slightest clue what a Mogma was. He was beginning to think the Academy lacked in their lessons and the instructors didn't actually know very much. Link capped his water, then began to approach the Mogmas slowly. The creatures were scratching in the dirt.

“Oh, no! It's one of those guys again!” one of them yelped.

“Have you seen a girl pass through here?” Link asked. He shifted the sword around in his hand. “I need to find her.”

“A friend?” another one said. It was a different Mogma, its voice softer “Yes, there was another creature like you. It was in a hurry.”

The first Mogma yelped once again. “So it's not a monster?”

“Not many of your kind live near the volcano,” the other Mogma interrupted. “It's too harsh. What is your business here?”

“To find my friend,” Link said. “Nothing else.”

The Mogmas had a small conversation amongst themselves, burrowing underground. Link didn't know what kind of creature that could talk did that sort of thing. Maybe Mogmas were a type of human?

When the Mogmas popped back up, they threw a bundle at Link's feet. He bent forward to pick it up. Gloves. They were very thick and very warm—completely unsuited for the area.

“Thanks,” Link muttered.

“You're welcome,” the soft-voiced Mogma said. Its words held no hint of sarcasm. “My name is Ledd. I know what it's like to lose a friend. I hope you find them soon.”

Link felt around the gloves, surprised to find sharp claws attached to them. “In this heat, what good will these gloves do me?”

“They will help you, I am sure. Oh, and I'm Cobal, just so you know.”

Link shoved the mitts in his pack. “Thank you. I better get going now.”

“Of course!” Ledd said. “Don't let us stop you. Hurry along now, and find lots of treasure!”

Link waved goodbye, carefully stepping between the Mogmas so he didn't hurt them. Fi filled him in on what the mitts were for, explaining they could dig up treasure. Link zoned Fi out, focusing on his parched throat. He had never been so hot in his life, and wished for Skyloft's peaceful, breezy weather.

The descent up the volcano was annoying, to say the least. After walking for about an hour, Bokoblins began appearing left and right. Link easily destroyed them with his sword, but they each gave his heart a little jump and shaved years off his life. And the black smoke they emitted once destroyed made him cough and cough...

The mid-day sun burned heavy on Link's back, and he was sure by the end of this he would have a wicked sunburn.

“We're almost there,” Fi said. “The temple makes sense to go to. Since it's a safe spot, Zelda would most likely take refuge there.”

“You keep saying that, but temples don't seem very safe to me. And that's if Zelda even made it there. She probably died from the heat by now.”

“Don't speak like that. And if you don't want to save her, why are you even here right now? You could be at home.”

Link frowned. “No matter what, she's my best friend. I want her safe.”

“Then act like it. Here—we're at the entrance. It's locked tight. I've never seen a lock like it before.”

“Of course!” Link banged his sword against the ground. “How in the world would she have gotten in there, then?”

“Defensive measures—”

“Forget it. I'm sure there has to be some way to open it up.” Link swirled around. “Maybe these mitts would be helpful?”

“Link, that's highly doubtful. Even if you did manage to get underground, the magma swelling inside of this volcano would only burn you.”

Link rubbed his face. “Then what do you suggest?”

“Give me a moment. I'm thinking.” Fi burst out of the sword. She swept around the area in circles, brushing against Link with each revolution. “Mogmas could probably help. They most likely know this area very well.”

“Of course they do!” Link snapped. “I just want to get Zelda and go home. And apparently the goddess wants that, too.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Fi said stiffly.”I'll find a Mogma and report back. In the meantime, please don't go anywhere.” She swept away, and Link listened for her familiar chimes until he couldn't anymore. He hoped she would come back.

He sat down on the hot and dusty earth, eating some salted meat and downing the last of his water. He took off his shirt, balling it up and shoving it into his pouch, which was almost too full to buckle shut anymore.

“Need help?” It was Ledd, popping up beside him. “Did you find your friend?”

Link clutched his heart, recovering from Ledd's sudden appearance. “Yeah—no. Not at all, actually. I can't get into the temple.”

“Ah, it's been locked for a very long time.”

“Then I don't see how Zelda would get in there.” Link crossed his arms. His bandages were heavy and warm, but he didn't dare take them off. He was afraid of what he would find. Any healing they had seemed to do this morning had most likely reversed in this heat.

Ledd grunted. “She could have easily found the key and unlocked the door.”

“Where would the key be?” Link stood. “Or is there another way?”

“You could dig beneath the ground with the mitts I lent you.”

“Fi said magma would burn me.”

“Whoever Fi is, they're wrong. Mogmas go underground all the time and live to tell the tale. I'll go with you this time and guide you.”

“I have to wait for Fi. Then I'll join you,” Link said. He drew his sword, brushing his fingers over the diamond. “It will probably be awhile.”

Ledd sighed. “I don't exactly have unlimited time, you know.”

“Neither do I, you know.”

The minutes passed by very slowly. Link reclaimed his spot on the ground, brushing his fingers over the diamond repeatedly. Ledd dug in spots around the area, but he never found anything.

Treasure was overrated.

“You called?” Fi returned abruptly, materializing and crouching beside Link on the ground. “I discovered the key was burst apart into pieces very recently. I told you it was defensive measures!”

“Ledd told me it's safe to burrow underground,” Link said dismissively. He stood, shoving on the mitts. They were a little too large for his hands, but he could manage. “A key like that doesn't seem very easy to find, now does it?”

“I don't know about this. I don't want you hurt.”

“I'll be fine,” Link insisted. “You're my eyes, remember?”

“Eyes?” Ledd snorted. “Mogmas don't need those. We have noses that sniff our way underground.”

“Mogmas are seeing creatures regardless.” Fi chimed nervously, pacing back and forth. “I recommend finding the pieces of key. That's the safest option.”

Link crouched on the ground, digging a hole. “Are you coming or not?”

Fi groaned. "Do I really have a choice?"

Chapter Text

Crawling around underground was horrifying. Link was in the lead, with Ledd instructing him on how to crawl efficiently and quickly.

Fi consistently reminded Link about how dangerous this excursion was, how magma could jump out and burn him at any moment. Link tried to ignore her, but it was hard when he knew she was right.

Eventually, Ledd told him they had reached a safe spot in the temple. Link dug upwards, feeling for something to grab onto. He felt an edge and pulled himself up and onto solid ground.

“If you ever need me again, know I'm not far behind,” Ledd said. With that, he disappeared.

Link took a few moments to orient himself to his new surroundings. The room seemed very large and very empty. He ripped off the gloves, tossing them to the side. Dirt covered every square inch of him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't clean it off.

“You were right,” Link admitted, attempting to rub dirt out of his eyes. “The key would have been easier.”

Fi burst out of the blade. She sat next to him. “Will you be okay?”

“I don't know. I think my shoulder ripped open. Can you check for me?” The bandage was caked with grime and sweat, adhering to the skin surrounding the wound. “Should I try to peel the bandage off?”

“No. Keep it on.” Fi touched Link's shoulder, fluttering her hand over the bandage. “Does it pain you?”

Link nodded. He dug around his pack for heart potion. He pulled the cork, downing the remains. The pain numbed. Growing up, he'd always been warned never to actually drink heart potion—and now he was beginning to understand why.

It made the world feel far away. “Is Zelda nearby?” Link mumbled. He laid his head in his hands. The strong heat was just as unbearable as before, but with the heart potion drifting through his veins, it didn't seem so bad. Oddly, he shivered. “Do you sense her?”

Fi shifted on the ground beside him. “Yes. I believe she's been visiting the springs of these temples for spiritual purposes.”

“Where is this temple's spring, then?”

“It's very near. I would lead you to it; I just don't think you're very prepared.”

Link stood up, the world shifting beneath his feet. The heart potion weighed on his eyes, pulling them shut. “I'm fine. I can't let Zelda get away from me.”

“You shouldn't have rushed your recovery. Ghirahim may very well lie beyond that door. If he finds you in this state, he could kill you.”

Link shrugged. “But he could be killing Zelda.”

“Why did you drink the heart potion? That was a reckless thing to do. Didn't anybody tell you the side effects?”

Link shrugged again. He stepped towards the door. It was another one that he had to lift upwards. He did so, and Fi wasted no time sweeping back into his sword.

The door fell behind him. He walked up steps, not understanding. He felt no other presence in the room.

Then, a cool hand on his cheek. “How reckless,” Ghirahim said. Concern dripped off his words—all saccharine and sweet. “Is our little hero okay? He's burning up.”

Fi's chime of warning entered his head, louder than ever. Link winched away from Ghirahim's touch. “Tell me where Zelda is. I want to go home.”

“I can't do that.” Ghirahim paused. “You really are an easy creature to pity. I had so much planned, but here you are, covered in sweat and grime from head and toe. You also smell like a sewer.”

Link scowled. “Just end me, then. Take out your sword and kill me just as you plan to do with Zelda.”

The air managed to thicken. Ghirahim was very slow to respond. Link waited for the impending blow. It was like he was apart from everything, just waiting to witness his own death.

“No,” Ghirahim managed. The glass shattered like the vases in Link's room, sorry and sad but not without meaning. His hands wrapped around Link's waist, pulling him protectively to him.

Link didn't mean to do it, but he sighed into the gesture. Ghirahim was very cold and Link's skin was very hot. He shivered, and Ghirahim's hold tightened.

“Zelda left this area moments ago,” Ghirahim whispered. Even his breath was cold. Link's teeth began to chatter. “She's so quick, unlike you and I. We take our time.”

All too soon, Ghirahim pulled away, his strong hands leaving Link's frail and damaged body. Link wavered, steadying himself by his own willpower.

The glass didn't shatter this time. Ghirahim just walked, the heels of his shoes clicking against the ground.

“Won't you respond?” Ghirahim asked. “With your eyes closed like that, it almost as though you're already gone.”

Link opened his eyes, searching out Ghirahim's footsteps in the darkness. “Why are you sparing me? Do you really see me as that little of a challenge?”

“I like it better when my prey puts up a fight.”

Link drew his sword, holding it unsteadily in front of him.

“Begging for your own death? Really?” Ghirahim laughed, tugging the sword out of Link's hands. “Again with this cheap sword, wielding it like it's special.”

“It is,” Link muttered. He fought to keep standing. “It's a strong weapon.”

Ghirahim threw the sword at Link's feet. “You're taken by fever and strong medicine. I'm not going to fight with you.”

Link picked up his word. It was too heavy, sliding out of his hands. Fi's chiming ceased; there was only a ringing in his ears now.

The world tilted. Link fell into somebody's arms. Ghirahim's. “The next time I see you, you better not be so weak,” Ghirahim said. He lifted Link up, carrying him in his arms like a child. “I expected so much more out of the hero.”

Link felt too weak to reply. Ghirahim carried Link easily. He walked up more steps. Link closed his eyes, but wouldn't let sleep take him—not yet.

“Touch the door,” Ghirahim commanded. The heat emanated from the door similar to before, but this time it only felt cold. When Link didn't respond, Ghirahim bumped him against the door. Gently.

The door disappeared. They stepped outside into late sunlight. “I can't go any further,” Ghirahim said, setting Link in the spring. “Fi will help you, I'm sure of it.”

The water licked at Link's clothing, at his hair. Sleep swirled at the edge of his consciousness—actually, everything felt a lot like a dream.

Ghirahim sat as close as he could to the spring, watching Link's sleeping form. “Just remember, sky child. You are not my master. If I succeed, the next time we meet, I won't even remember how to be this kind.”

Glass shattered. And Ghira was gone.

Chapter Text

For a long time after, everything was a blur. Fi must have somehow managed to rouse Link enough to perform a Skyward Strike. She must have managed to rouse him enough to insert the tablet in the Statue of the Goddess.

And she must have roused him enough to faint in the grass outside. Nobody but Fi knows for sure—not even Link. He laid there for hours before Gaepora found him. Gaepora paused, sure that Link was gone. He was a dirty little thing, a smudge of black in the dying light of day.

Only when he had touched Link's shoulder and he groaned, had Gaepora hoped not all was lost.

He carried Link back towards the academy, and left him to the care of Henya. After being assured of Link's well-being, Gaepora retired to his office, where his intention was to brood about the fact his daughter was missing and and the boy he considered a son hated him.

Henya bathed Link and cleaned his wounds. She wrapped them in clean bandages. She worried about his fever that refused to break, and she worried about where he had been going. People just don't get hurt and get sick like this in Skyloft—they just don't.

Link was left to recover in his own bed. Ghirahim and his words and his touch consisted of Link's fever dreams. Zelda was there, too, urging Link to fight harder. The dreams felt very real, and sometimes Link almost believed his own mind—Zelda was okay, Ghirahim was here, and everything would be alright.

On the third day, the fever broke. Link sat up, grabbing for his sword. It wasn't there.

“Easy, buddy,” Groose said, pushing Link back against the bed.

“Where am I?” Link asked. He swallowed the sawdust taste in his mouth. His voice cracked as if he were going through puberty all over again. ”Where's Fi?”

“The sword's on your desk.” Groose laughed. “I don't know who Fi is, but you kept saying Ghira in your sleep.”

Link's heart jumped. “Ghira?”

“Yes. Are there people on the Surface? I didn't expect you to find a girlfriend so soon.”

“I haven't met any humans,” Link muttered. He tugged at his shoulder bandage. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days.” Groose laughed. “You'll be alright. As for your shoulder? Henya said it's gonna have a wicked scar!”

Link groaned. “What are you doing in my room, anyway?”

“I'm here to lend my charms. And to keep you from running off again.” Groose's voice took on a serious tone. He shifted in his chair. “Recovery's no joke, Link. What if you had died?”

“Zelda would be okay. I'm sure she would much rather have you save her, anyway.”

“You mean a lot to people,” Groose said. “And I'm not the chosen hero—you are.”

Link threw off his covers purposefully, stepping onto the cold hardwood floor. “Thanks. But that doesn't mean I'm suited for this job.”

Groose sighed. Link took the opportunity to pick up his sword, running his fingers over the embroidery of the sheath before slinging it over his back. Somebody must have had it cleaned, and it discomforted him to know someone had touched his sword without his knowledge.

“I need to train,” Link said. “I want to sword fight and learn all that knights know. Without limitations.”

“None of the instructors will teach you.” Groose said. “Eagus was lucky to not get fired for the little he did.”

“How did you know about Eagus?”

“Zelda told me. But that's beside the point. You're a liability. If you got hurt during one of these lessons...”

“You can teach me.”

“Me?” Groose considered it, tapping his fingers against the sides of his chair. “No, the instructors still wouldn't go for it. Two orphans swinging swords around, and one of them sightless? No way.”

Link slunk towards the door, edging his body so it seemed he was going to run off. “Whatever. I'm not going to beg. But if Zelda doesn't get saved...”

“Wait!” Groose stood abruptly. The chair hit the floor. “I'll train you. We just have to find a good place.”

“Keep thinking about it,” Link said. He walked out and into the hallway. “Let's meet at the diving platform near the graveyard in an hour.”

“Okay.” Groose stepped forward. “But Link, where are you going?”

“Not back to the Surface, if that's what you mean.” Link turned away. “Actually, I wanted to visit the graveyard before we left.”

“Oh. Well, that's acceptable.” Groose shifted on his feet. “Take your time. I'll meet you there.”

Link nodded. He still felt weak from the fever, and after walking up the steps and towards the outdoor entrance of the academy, Link just wanted to sit down and rest. But he didn't, he continued walking until he reached the graveyard.

Link sat down against a tree and dug into his pack, surprised to discover a new tunic. It was clean and folded. Link buried his face into it. Ghirahim had mentioned “legendary green clothes” during their first meeting, but Link didn't know if this tunic was green or not. It probably wasn't—how many green tunics did Gaepora have lying around, anyway? It would probably be okay to put it on.

He sighed. His bandage itched. And he didn't particularly want a “wicked scar” on his shoulder. He drew his sword, brushing his fingers over the diamond.

“What do you need, Link?” Fi's voice was low and soothing. Link closed his eyes.

“Why are you so quiet? Weren't you worried about me?”

Fi swept out of the sword. “I was worried sick. But we didn't exactly end on the best of terms last time we spoke.” She fluttered down beside him. “You need to listen to me. Otherwise we will both end up dead before all of this is over.”

Link ran his fingers over the material of the tunic, considering putting it on. “I know, I know. But Groose said I'll be alright. He's going to train me.”

“Good.” Fi stilled. “I know this place is of emotional importance to you. Do you want me to leave?”

Link shook his head. He didn't speak. He went through and organized his pack: his bottles, the mitts, bandages, and whatnot. He might have to upgrade to a bigger pack soon.

The hour wore on. He dozed until Fi told him it was time to get going. She swept back into his sword, and he walked to the diving platform.

Groose was late. He ran up, panting. “I know where we're going!” he announced. “Pumpkin Landing.”

“Instructors go there all the time,” Link protested.

“Nope—that's where you're wrong! It's finals weeks at the Academy, and the instructors will be busy dealing with all of that. And even if they were there, they can't do anything. Pumpkin Landing is independent of Skyloft; their stupid rules won't apply.”

Link nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good to know.” Groose took Link's hands, pushing a heavy box into them. “I spoke to Henya. She said you can remove your bandages in two weeks. In the meantime, keep the wound clean and change the bandages twice a day.”

“Alright.” Link handed the box back to Groose. “Keep all this stuff on you, though. I'll forget what Henya said—you'll have to remind me.”

“You just don't want to carry it.”

Link smirked. Then jumped off the platform, diving into the air. He hit the back of his Loftwing.

Groose was right behind him, whistling loudly. He expertly directed his Loftwing in stride with Link's. He shouted over the wind. “Why don't you whistle?”

Link shrugged. To be honest, he hadn't ever thought of it. The Loftwing had always come anyway. He ran his fingers through its soft feathers.

Groose led them towards Pumpkin Landing. Link's Loftwing followed Groose's the entire distance, and Link quickly grew bored. He decided use this opportunity on his Loftwing to relax. His bones ached and he wasn't sure he should even be out of bed yet. But Link had been waiting his entire life to actually do something. So nothing—not even a nasty Deku Baba bite on the shoulder—would stop him now.

Finally, after a good hour of flying, they landed. Link hopped off his Loftwing like an old man. He thanked his Loftwing for the ride, and the Loftwing squawked in return.

Then it flew off, free to the air.

“You're a real pro on the Loftwing,” Groose mused. “Such a natural.”

Link laughed.

“I wasn't kidding. If you were in the Wing Ceremony, you probably would have won.” Groose touched Link's right shoulder, directing him towards the Lumpy Pumpkin. “Now let's find Kina. She'll find you a place to sleep.”

“Aren't I coming back to Skyloft with you tonight?”

Groose shook his head, then opened the door to the Lumpy Pumpkin. Link was met with the strong smells of pumpkin and spice. He'd never liked pumpkin soup much, but Zelda had loved it. “No. You're in no condition to be flying around all hours of the day. If you knew what Henya went through to keep you alive, you would understand.”

Link stepped away from Groose. “What was so wrong with me? It was just a fever.”

“And poison from a mysterious bite, and poison from too much heart potion, and weakness from heat and hunger… I could go on and on.” He led Link over to the counter, where the owner of the Lumpy Pumpkin was talking to a man about the chandelier.

Link already longed to get off his feet again, but he wasn't about to tell Groose that. He crossed his arms instead, fighting against the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Groose said smoothly. “But I need to speak with Kina.”

“Not another suitor,” the man mumbled. “No way, no how. I'm not having more men after her and her voice!”

“We're not after her,” Link said. He sounded more bold than he felt. “We just need to speak with her. As friends.”

The man grumbled with renewed interest. “Ah, I know you. The little charity case Gaepora took in.” He hesitated. “Fine. Go ahead—she's in the pumpkin patch.”

“Thank you!” Groose said. He took Link's hand, tugging him outside. “And don't glower, Link. It's unbecoming.”

“I'm not a charity case,” Link said. They burst outside. Groose was walking so fast it was hard for Link to keep up. “Gaepora took me in because he was friends with my father.”

Groose stopped abruptly. Link hit his back. “He didn't mean it like that. Don't be so touchy.”

“Don't tell me how to be.” Link stepped away. “Now where's Kina? Can we train already?”

“Looking for me?” Kina jogged towards them. “How nice to see you two again. Groose, how's the girlfriend?”

“She's great,” Groose mumbled. “Actually, she's in trouble.”

Kina took Link's hands. “Did you finally steal her away? Groose always said you would.”

Link blushed at the contact.

“This has nothing to do with Zelda,” Groose amended. “But Link wants to learn how to be a knight.”

Kina squeezed Link's hands harder. She jumped up and down. “Really?”

“Yes,” Link said. “But the instructors won't let me, so we want to do it here. In secret.”

“Will you let him stay?” Groose asked. “It will only be for a week or so. And we'll train at night, so customers won't be distracted.”

Kina pretended to think about it. She let go of Link's hands. “Well, I dunno… But since you guys asked so nicely, sure! Link can sleep in the pumpkin shed.”

Link paled. “The shed?”

“Take it or leave it. Father definitely wouldn't let you sleep in my bedroom, now would he?”

Groose laughed. “Well that settles it! Link, our training begins this very night!”

Chapter Text

Link lay on the hard ground. Kina set out blankets for him, but it was nothing in comparison to a real bed.

Essentially, he was surrounded by pumpkins and shabbily-built walls. Groose had shoved the heavy box into the shed, and Link was surprised to find all sorts of things in it—clothes and food and other tidbits for his journey. He would have to thank Henya sometime for all she had done for him; without her, he would surely be a goner by now...

With the guidance of Fi, Link changed his bandages. The wound had sealed, but still had a while to go in terms of the healing process. To his great dismay, Fi told him it would most definitely leave a scar.

Link elected to not put on the knight's uniform. He put on a change of regular clothes instead, with the traditional emblem of the goddess stitched on the front of the shirt.

“You can't run away from your destiny forever,” Fi said. “A green tunic is a part of it.”

“Who says? There's never been another hero, has there?”

Fi told him that yes, there hasn't been. Then she went off and disappeared, leaving Link to his own devices.

Link decided to doze away some of his weakness. Now that they've gotten permission, Groose went back to Skyloft to gather more of the necessary training supplies. In the meantime, Link didn't intend on waiting up and doing nothing.

Instead, he did what everybody had been telling him to do for days now: rest. Usually, Link hated sleeping. Bad dreams and insomnia and all that, but he found that when he was properly exhausted it wasn't so bad.

And right now, he was properly exhausted.

Some time later, Kina opened up the shed door. “Oh, you poor little thing!” she exclaimed. “Here, I brought you some soup.”

Link sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Thank you.”

Kina set the soup down in front of him. It was so hot Link could feel the rising steam on his face. “It's so nice to see you and Groose getting along now,” she said. “Groose has always looked up to you, ever since you were little. When your parents died...”

“I wouldn't call me and Groose friends,” Link interrupted. He picked up the bowl of soup, wrinkling his nose at the smell—it was pumpkin, as always. “We just have intertwining interests now.”

“No, I'm sure it's not like that. I think Groose wants to actually help you. Not everybody thought it was fair when the Academy decided not to train you into knighthood. Groose was one of them.”

Link scoffed. “Well, that's how Groose described it to me.”

“Have it your way. And eat your soup before it gets cold.” She sashayed away, leaving Link once again alone and to his own thoughts.

Groose and Link had taken great strides towards being friends lately, but that didn't mean they actually were.

Link ate the soup regardless of the taste, then drank some of the water Henya packed. He thought and dozed and thought some more, until he heard Groose shout tremendously with a leap from his Loftwing.

Link stood, inching open the shed door. “You should probably be more quiet,” he hissed. “Isn't this supposed to be a secret?”

Groose laughed. “Yeah, yeah. But I still have to keep up appearances.”

“You're truly hopeless.” Link shook his head. “Now what did you bring to train me?”

“I have Loftwing manuals I thought would be useful, and some textbooks. What year did they kick you out of school?”

“They didn't kick me out.”

“Fine. What year did you leave the school?”

Link crossed his arms. “I think I was about twelve—so would that be a third year? I'm seventeen now.”

“Sounds about right. So you never got to the juicy bits about our history!” Groose ushered Link into the shed. He slapped the pile of books down. He also lit a candle, the flame tickling Link's nose. “Can you see better with the candle lit?”

Link frowned. “I can't see at all, Groose.”

“Oh, really? When we were younger you could see a little.”

“Just get on with the lesson. And, no, we won't be able to take turns reading the textbook.”

Groose began reading, then, all about Hylia and how she created Skyloft. Link dozed during some of it. Groose didn't say anything, because even if Link had his eyes closed it wasn't like he could say he wasn't paying attention.

After the lesson, they practiced swords outside. They used wooden swords—Groose said Link couldn't afford another injury.

Link didn't like the weight difference between the wooden sword and the Goddess Sword. It threw him off at times, but Groose was relentlessly patient.

Groose had some pretty good tips. He told him to listen for patterns in the footwork of the enemy, to remember his strengths, to never let his guard down.

“Also, remember you have the advantage in the dark,” he said. “Once it gets too dark out here, I'll have to quit. You won't.”

Link raised an eyebrow. “You told Kina we'd only practice at night anyhow.”

“Yeah, but not at midnight. The sun's setting now.”

“I don't think that's what she thought you meant.”

Groose laughed. The lesson continued. Somehow, Groose was an even better instructor than Eagus. Groose didn't tiptoe around. He treated Link like an equal, like someone to be reckoned with.

They trained until Groose complained about the darkness. Then they retired into the shed. Groose continued reading textbooks—this time about Loftwings. Most of this stuff Link already knew, but it had been awhile and it was nice to refresh his memory.

Link must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Groose was shaking his shoulder. “Link, I'm going back to Skyloft now.”

Link nodded. “Alright.”

“We'll continue lessons tomorrow. And Link, about your eyes—what's the truth? Sometimes you say you were blind since birth, sometimes you say it's gotten worse...”

Link stared into the darkness. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me. Zelda never did.”

“I'm not Zelda.” Groose laughed. “Obviously.”

“It fluctuates,” Link began slowly. When Groose didn't argue, he continued. “When I really little, I could see pretty well. I thought I could, anyway. But now there's nothing, not even a little bit. I realized after I woke from the fever.”

Groose hummed. “Really? Sometimes you'd look me straight in the eyes and I'd think you were peering into my soul.”

Link let a laugh escape. “It's just strange, you know? There's no rhyme or reason. It's easier just to say it's always been this way, than to explain outlines and shadows that may only exist in my mind.”

“Zelda was convinced your visions were all made up.” Groose blew out the candle, traces of smoke filling the area. “But they were premonitions, and as real as me and you. You should forgive Zelda for not believing you; she didn't know you until a couple of years ago after all... Before then, you two were only acquaintances.”

Link sighed. “There's nothing to forgive. Maybe she's right and it was all in my head.”

“I don't think so.” Groose stacked up the textbooks. “Link, I don't know what the goddess has planned with you and Zelda, but I know it's something special.”

“I guess.” Link rolled over. “Now let me sleep.”

“I will. But, listen—you're a chosen hero. Whatever that means, I know it can't be somebody else. It has to be you.”

Chapter Text

For two weeks they trained. During that time, Link could feel his strength return. Kina always brought him food, usually of the pumpkin variety.

Groose didn't delve into any more personal matters. Whatever had possessed Groose before seemed to have left him, and he returned to his usual, cocky self. But with Groose's instruction, Link grew more confident with the sword. Maybe next time when face-to-face with an enemy, he wouldn't be so bold.

Once the two weeks were up, Fi told Link he could remove his bandages for good, and he did. The skin was pink and puckered, and the scar ran beneath his collarbone and down his back. It was curved, and Fi said it was indeed “wicked,” but at least Link could flex his shoulder again without fear of hurting it.

And with the bandage gone, Link was free to return to the Surface. And maybe Zelda would finally be found.

“I recommend we leave this very night,” Fi said. “Groose said Loftwings can't see at night, but neither can you.”

“Like that's a good idea.” Link laughed bitterly. “Then nobody can see and we'll plummet through the clouds.”

“Those senior class members are always flying around at night with no issues,” Fi said.

“They have to get a special license. Groose doesn't even have one yet.” Link pulled on a shirt—it was a spare one Groose had given him, and it was way too large. He rolled up the sleeves.

“Just a few weeks ago you couldn't wait to fly at night. Now that I give you the go-ahead, you refuse me?”

“I changed my mind,” Link said stubbornly. “I'm trying to be more level-headed.”

“Which is why I think it's okay to fly now. Please, just do it for me? Time is wasting.”

Link nodded, gathering his belongings. Groose had given him a better shield and pack. The pack had a drawstring and fit snugly on his hip. The shield was more durable, and it made him feel safer.

He felt a little bad about leaving without letting Groose know first—but Fi was right. Time was wasting.

Link dived off the platform without another thought. His Loftwing caught him without fail. Fi directed them to the next portal.

“Are these portals visible?” Link asked. “Nobody has mentioned large, shining beams of lights to me.”

“Only to certain people. You and I, for example. Zelda most likely. Anybody who the goddess had intended to.” Fi paused. “It's a long beam of light. This portal is a yellow color.”

Link accepted that explanation. Once they were over the portal, he jumped. The sensation had become familiar. First, the slow swell of the clouds around him, then the rush of air. He pulled out his sailcloth, and before he knew it, he met with the Surface.

How quickly the climate changed was astounding. The air was freezing here, a sharp change from the gentle, warm breezes of Pumpkin Landing.

“This is the Lanayru Desert,” Fi said. “The substance underneath your feet is called sand.”

Link crouched down to touch it. The material was fine and powdery. He let it drift through his fingers, marveling at the sensation. There was nothing like it in Skyloft.

“Lovely, isn't it?” Fi mused. “If my calculations are correct, this place was once a lush area, filled with greenery and other forms of life.”

Link took out one of his bottles and filled it with sand. Zelda would probably love it once she came home—and she'd explain what it looked like. Fi could probably do that, too, but Fi was a tad bit more intimidating.

“I do sense a temple,” Fi continued. “It's close by—I expect only an hour of travel before we reach it.”

Link began walking at her words. It was freezing cold. Link realized that in adventures, there was a lot of time to think. Occasionally, Fi would give tidbits about the area, which he was grateful for. Without her, this journey would have been unbearably lonely.

And, not to mention, he'd probably be dead.

“Hoy, traveler!” A man ran up, panting. “Are you searching for the Temple of Time as well?”

Link stiffened. The last time a man spoke to him so freely, it was Ghirahim. “No, why would I be going there?'

“Well, why else would be walking through this desert?” The man laughed at his own joke. His laugh was gravelly and rough. “The name's Gorko. I'm an archaeologist who's researching the legend of an island in the sky.”

Link remembered hearing about Gorko from Ghirahim, but it was only in passing. Gorko continued chatting about his research, seemingly harmless. Slowly, Link let his apprehension fade.

“There aren't many humans in this area,” Gorko said. “Most dwell near Faron Woods. Is that where you're from?”

“Yes,” Link lied.

“That's quite a distance to travel for a human. If you're not searching for the Temple, then why are you here?”

Link wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in the cold. “I retract my previous statement. I am searching for the Temple.”

“Ah, the plot thickens! I'll forgive you for lying before. Humans do not easily trust.”

Fi chimed in his head that the Temple was fast approaching. She didn't tell him what he wanted to know—wasn't Gorko a human? But she couldn't read his mind and he wasn't about to ask the question out loud, so he forced himself to wait.

“The Temple of Time is beautiful,” Gorko said. He sighed with the words, as if the romance was too much to bear. “They say it was once home to the goddess of the sky.”

“Really?” Link asked. “What happened?”

“What else but war? There was a terrible one that took place about a thousand years ago. Gorons live a long time, but none live that long. Nobody remembers what the war was about—it's lost to history.”

Link let those words settle between them. Gorons were another thing the instructors had neglected to teach him about. Abruptly, the ground beneath him switched from sand to stone, and he knew they had finally made it.

“Ah, it's blocked off!” Gorko exclaimed. “The gate is sealed shut.”

“I suggest you explore the area,” Fi murmured. “I sense an energy around here. There may be an alternative route to the temple.”

Link walked towards Gorko, reaching out to feel the rough wall blocking the area.

“There's no way through,” Gorko said sadly. “I've been here many times before. It's such a shame.”

“Is there another way?” Link asked.

“I'll tell you on one condition. You tell me why you want to go in there so badly.”

Link hesitated. He picked the tried-and-true statement, “I'm looking for a friend?”

“Sure you are. But since you tried to tell the truth, I'll let you know. There was once a huge mining facility in this area. It empties out into the Temple. At least, that's what the legends say. Do you believe it's true?”

Link nodded. “I guess so.”

“Well, keep your wits about you. You're braver than me, that's for sure.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Link continued feeling along the wall. “You're pretty brave, considering you're traveling all by yourself.”

“Aren't you?”

Link didn't reply. He really needed to start watching his tongue around strangers. Once he rounded the corner and out of Gorko's sight, Fi jumped from his sword.

“In one of his ramblings, Gorko mentioned something called Timeshift Stones,” Fi said. She leaned in close, whispering so Gorko wouldn't hear. “I believe that if we find one, we will be able to manipulate the area and discover the entrance to the mining facility.”

“Do you actually believe they exist? Gorko said a lot of things. Not every legend can be true.”

Fi sighed. “I know. But what else do we have?”

“Not much. Unless we could somehow scale the wall.” Link touched the rough stone he spoke of. “I'm a pretty good climber. Don't you think I can do it?”

“Of course I do.” Fi swept back into the sword. “Just be careful.”

Link gripped the wall. There were grooves in between the stone, and he could get a pretty good foothold if he put his mind to it.

He remembered the ledge that Fi had forced him to cross. It was terrifying—but this was different. This time he knew he had something to fall back on.

And he wasn't as afraid. Not anymore.

Link channeled all of his strength, scaling the wall with more finesse than he previously thought possible. Fi urged him on, offering encouraging words.

When he reached the top of the wall, his hand grappling onto smooth stone, he allowed himself to rest. He smiled at his accomplishment, the cool wind of the desert misting his cheeks.

It was the dead of the night, but Link had never felt so awake. His breath came in short, jagged puffs, but his lungs filled with the freezing cold air and it exhilarated him.

“Zelda is close by,” Fi said. “I sense her.”

Link slung his legs over the other side. He jumped to the ground, falling on his hands and knees in the process.

Being within the walls of the Temple of Time gave Link a strange, calming sensation. He stood up, wincing at his skinned knees. The night was quiet, lacking any sound but the occasional breeze.

Fi burst from his sword. Her skin was as cold as the desert as she brushed against him. “If only you could see it,” Fi whispered. “There is a huge monument of the symbol of the goddess, wings spread out into the sky.”

“Do you think it's true?” Link asked. For some reason, his voice was hushed, as if in pure reverence of the area. “You know—that this was originally home to the goddess.”

“I can't be positive.” Fi ushered Link forward with a flurry of chimes, similar to their first meeting. “Hurry now—I have a feeling our journey will soon be over.”

Link hurried, the stone hard under his feet. He drew his sword, just to be safe, and then he heard her—

“Link?”

Chapter Text

“Don't speak to him!” a woman snarled. There was a burst of energy, propelling Link backward. “He's always late—this time more than ever.”

Fi returned to Link's sword, filling it with energy. Link jumped back onto his feet with one, fluid movement. He waved his sword towards the woman's voice.

“Don't be cruel, Impa” Zelda said. He could tell by her voice she was close to tears. The calmness of the area left Link; now a powerful energy set him on edge.

“Why shouldn't I be?” Impa laughed. “He's been searching all over for you, but for what? I was the one who protected you all this time.”

Link struggled to form a worthwhile reply. Zelda's voice caused a flurry of emotion in his chest. His heart beat so hard and fast he was sure it would give out.

Just as Link opened his mouth, his sword was knocked from his hand. There was a man. He pressed a knife to Link's throat, holding Link against him with a firm arm around the waist.

Zelda cried out, but Impa hushed her.

“I will kill him,” Ghirahim said. His arm was like iron, bracing Link with an unnatural strength. “If Zelda is not handed over, the boy will be dead.”

Link struggled against Ghirahim's grip. In response, Ghirahim nicked his throat. He gasped. The knife was sharp and blood swelled around the cut.

There was a blast of energy. It pushed Link backward, but Ghirahim's hold didn't waver. Because of Ghirahim's strength, they didn't end up moving at all.

“Forgive me,” Zelda called. There was another blast of energy, and she was gone.

“They left you,” Ghirahim said dumbly. He removed the knife, letting go of Link. He crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, beside himself with fear. “I can't believe they left you behind.”

Link didn't say anything, touching the trickle of blood running down his neck.

“Now don't look like that. We both know I wasn't going to kill you.”

“You said you wouldn't be so kind the next time we met,” Link murmured. “And you did hurt me. I'm bleeding.”

Ghirahim crouched down to Link's level, pressing something into Link's hands. “Here, now. Cheer up. Zelda left you a parting gift.”

Link realized the object was Zelda's harp. He plucked a few strings, the senseless notes hitting the air.

Ghirahim paced around Link in circles, like a predator would to prey.

“I hate you,” Link said. Ghirahim paused in his steps.

“Do you really? How many times have I spared you now?”

“I hate you anyway.”

Ghirahim stomped his foot like a child. “Listen now and listen well, sky child. If we were in love, I would never leave you to die at the hands of the enemy.”

“Zelda and I aren't in love,” Link stated plainly. He gave up on contemplating his near death experience, crawling around the ground for his sword. The stone was dirty and cold.

“Nevertheless and regardless. You just don't do that to anyone. What if I had slit your throat? Would Zelda feel remorse, or would she believe she had done the right thing in abandoning you?”

Link gave up on finding the sword, sighing in defeat. “You disgust me.”

“If you were searching for your sword, it's in my hands.” Ghirahim clanked the blade against the ground as proof. “I suppose I depended too much on the goodness of other people. It's a fatal flaw of mine.” He clanked the sword at different spots, chuckling when Link would startle from the sharp noise.

Link got to his feet. “Stop that. Now give me my sword; I would like to go home.”

“So feisty.” Ghirahim broke apart, the sound of shattering glass hurting Link's ears. Ghirahim then clanked the sword against stone somewhere in the distance. “You fascinate me. Perhaps if I wasn't always toying with you, Zelda would already be captured.”

The glass shattered. Ghirahim threw the sword somewhere to the left. Then he reached out, touching Link's cheeks.

“You've kept your eyes closed our entire meeting.” He brushed his fingers over Link's eyelids. “Such a pity. Has the darkness fully consumed them now?”

Link stepped away. “Stop this. Just give me my sword so I can go home.”

Ghirahim laughed. “You deny it to yourself, but we have an attraction, me and you.” The glass shattered. “To be honest, I don't even know what I'm doing down here anymore. Zelda's no longer necessary.”

Ghirahim stood behind him, replacing the sword in Link's sheath. It was a familiar sensation now. Link disliked that—it shouldn't be familiar at all. Fi's chiming entered his head, but it was only a minor discomfort compared to everything else.

“In the Sealed Grounds my master is reviving himself.” Ghirahim touched the cut on Link's neck regretfully. “Soon you and your kind will be gone. Zelda would have made him more powerful, but he will regain strength on his own, I suppose.”

Link stilled at the touch. The touch wasn't painful; it was gentle, a soft feathering that almost tickled.

“In the meantime, I hope you forgive me. I have never meant to hurt you at all.”

Glass shattered. Link stepped forward, but met with nothing. The calmness reentered the area, but his mind was haywire.

“Link,” Fi said. Her tone was urgent. She burst from the sword, her energy warming his skin. “We must go to the Sealed Grounds immediately—I was a fool to pass by it before.”

“How do we get there? There's no way to get back to Skyloft.” Link shivered from the sheer hopelessness of the situation. Ghirahim was such an overwhelming presence that, without him, everything felt empty and wrong.

“Use the Goddess Harp,” Fi said. “Quickly now—do you remember the Ballad of the Goddess? It will transport you to the Sealed Grounds.”

Link settled his breathing. He strummed the harp, but he had never actually played an instrument before. The notes were off, sounding only vaguely like the song.

Whenever he came close, Fi began to sing, her clear voice filling the area. The words were nonsensical, an ancient language. The area faded, and Link felt himself lift into the air.

He dissolved, piece by piece, until he blew through the wind. The music poured from his fingertips, almost unwillingly—

Link opened his eyes uselessly. And he could hear it—a monster howling into the night.

“We're too late!” Fi said, despair wrapping around her words. “What are we going to do?”

Chapter Text

“You're bleeding!”

“Groose?” Link turned towards him. The air stirred, cold and menacing. “What in the world—”

“I'll explain later. Put away that harp and draw your sword! Immediately!”

Link did as told, shoving the harp into his pack. Fi chimed with nerves, the sword heavy in his hand.

“Give him time!” a woman shouted. “You must be calm, Link. The Imprisoned will soon be released. The seal is breaking.” The woman's breath was short, her nails biting into Link's wrist. “Where were you? Why weren't you here before?”

Link wrenched his arm away from her. “Don't touch me! Groose, tell me what you're doing down here. Now.”

“I was worried when you disappeared. I saw a beam of light leading down here.” Groose groaned. “Then I met Grannie here, and she's going on and on about how the hero might be dead.”

“He should have been here weeks ago,” the woman called “Grannie” hissed. The monster—or maybe it was the wind—howled mournfully, and with it, the Link's chest blossomed with fear. “But we cannot look backward. Be calm, Link, and face the Imprisoned rationally. Do not be frightened.”

“I'll do my best,” Link said. He gripped his sword so tightly it hurt. “Just tell me its weak points!”

Groose pushed Link forward, teetering him over the edge of a cliff. “We don't know! Just run down there and attack it already!”

Groose gave him a rough shove, and Link was free falling through the air. He fumbled for his sailcloth, pulling it out and letting it drift him to the very bottom. As he landed, the evil presence grew stronger and more intense.

And Link was most definitely afraid.

“You are the hero,” Fi said. “I believe you can do this.”

The beast howled yet again. The air shivered, and tremors coursed through the ground. Link focused on taking deep breaths. “But what if Ghirahim was telling the truth?” he asked. “What if this is where it all ends?”

“This won't be. It can't be. If it were Demise it would be different—the evil would be more powerful, more intense.”

Suddenly, everything stilled. The air. The ground. Link's heart.

Then a monster ripped itself from the ground, bursting into the sky and petrifying Link into a state of motionlessness. He opened his eyes, straining to see the monster—but there was nothing. But Link wasn't a fool; he knew this was the monster that had plagued his dreams.

“Steady now,” Fi whispered. “Feel the energy. Every time the Imprisoned throws down his foot, you will have to attack. Time carefully. And remember—you have the advantage here. There is not even a star in the sky.”

Link burst forward. The monster stomped, electricity tickling Link's skin. And he timed it, listening closely. The monster's steps were rhythmic. He slashed towards the toes, feeling the skin burst apart and soak him with a thick liquid. The smell was foul.

The process was tedious. Fi was more quiet than usual, offering tidbits only when strictly necessary. The monster growled in pain with every toe Link destroyed, and its steps were growing slower, fainter.

The electricity jolted Link occasionally. His heart would jitter and skip a beat, starkly reminding him his own life was at stake. But there was nothing else to really think about—only this moment, and all of the people who depended on him to save their world.

Maybe the Imprisoned couldn't see him.. Maybe that's why it never fought back. Or maybe it didn't view Link as a threat. The latter thought angered him, made him work harder. The toes would splatter, the smell would intensify, the monster would scream.

Link raised up his sword, harnessing the power of the sky. It filled with a bright energy, and Link pulled it forward, destroying the last of the monster's toes.

The air stilled, much the same as before. The sweat cooled on Link's brow—just a moment—then the beast fell forward.

“Hit the sealing spike!” Fi commanded. “Quickly, now, before it gets up again!”

Link ran to the other side of the Imprisoned. “Where is it?”

“It's in it's head, directly in the center!”

Link broke Eagus's number one rule. He reached out, feeling the rough skin of the monster up close and personal. The rough scales scraped against his hand—and then he felt it—the sealing spike.

Everything stopped. Fi screamed in his head, and he lifted up his sword—there was nothing at all but her screams.

He hit the spike with the full force of the blade. The sword made a sickening noise, some sort of snapping. Link did it again, regardless, just ready for all of this to be over—the screaming, the howling, the agony of it all.

The Imprisoned went up in smoke. It twisted and snarled its way into remission, passing through Link's body and sending a chill throughout his very being.

Fi was gone, just a nonsensical chiming. There was nothing but a sword in his hand.

“Link!” Groose screamed. “Hurry! Grannie needs you to form a new seal!”

Link dashed, jumping off the cliff and somersaulting once he reached the bottom to soften the landing. The area was so quiet, so still.

He lifted the Goddess Sword. It filled with light. Somehow he didn't need the know what the seal looked like. He tugged the sword through the ground, and it was almost as if Fi was pulling the sword for him.

The sword tore easily through the soft dirt, avoiding the sealing spike in the center. There was a swell of power, a sense of urgency, then the feeling was gone.

Link didn't move. He knew the battle was over. The monster was sealed. Everything was back to normal. The air was cool, promising rain. There was no evil presence in the air—but something was wrong.

Groose jumped down beside him. “Are you okay?”

“My sword,” Link whispered. It was still wedged in the dirt. He didn't want to pull it—he could feel the faint traces of Fi still, the glimmers of her consciousness.

“Oh, Link,” Groose muttered. “It's okay; we'll get you a new one.”

Link swallowed. “You don't understand.” He tugged it out of the ground, praying to the goddess or whoever would listen, but it was of no use.

The sword was broken in half. Link held only the top half of the blade in the hand. He wasn't stupid enough to think it was repairable—even if could be, it wasn't like Fi could suddenly come back to life.

“It'll be okay.” Groose reached out, wrapping his arm around Link's shoulders. “Cheer up. Grannie said to use your harp. It'll take us home.”

Link shook Groose away. He tugged the other piece of the sword out of the ground, careful not to cut himself in doing so. “Take the harp,” he said hoarsely. “I don't want it; you can play the song.”

Groose hesitated only a moment. Then he tugged the harp out of Link's pack. He quickly strummed a melody, some old lullaby mothers liked to sing to their infants in Skyloft.

And Link began to sing the words, and slowly, he and Groose lifted into the air. The words made Link numb, and even if he didn't want to, he could almost hear Ghirahim's snide voice joining alongside his own.

And the goddess sent the child a servant
She will protect him; she will be forever faithful

Chapter Text

Link didn't speak. The sand he had bottled up weighed down his pack, so he dumped it out. The fine material lifted into the breeze, down into the clouds.

Link didn't cry. The cut on his neck hurt every time he swallowed. And he was covered in filth. And Fi was gone. But he didn't cry.

Groose didn't know what to do with Link's stony countenance, so he left Link in the graveyard all alone. Groose didn't understand what the sword had meant to Link, and that fact chipped away a piece of Link's heart he had been preserving just for Groose.

Link knew that wasn't fair. He himself hadn't truly understood it. He had never known how much he had loved Fi until she was no longer there. How could he have expected other people to understand, especially people who hadn't even known Fi existed?

When Link was younger, he had memorized the location of the graves of his parents. But it had been too long now since he had last sought them out, so now he wasn't entirely sure if he was approaching the right ones.

He sat down near the one he thought was his father's, and he traced his fingers over the carvings etched into the rough stone. He longed to feel a parental presence, longed to know his parents were still with him. It could have been anyone's grave he was touching, really, but it didn't matter—not when Link's intentions were good.

Link was so tired. He curled into himself, willing himself to cry just to get the pain over with. He knew how grief worked; it was a cycle, a long and cruel one that never truly ended. But crying always eased the sting, made everything feel a little bit more bearable.

“She's not gone, you know.” It was Ghirahim. For some reason, Link wasn't surprised. He didn't move, didn't acknowledge his presence—just kept his head buried in his knees, his body curled into a compact little ball.

Ghirahim didn't say anything for the longest time. Then he crouched down to Link's level, his hand wandering to Link's back. He rubbed soothing circles—it didn't feel forced, just natural and right. Ghirahim's presence alone offered Link comfort; just knowing he was there was enough.

“Every soul needs a temple,” Ghirahim continued. “Fi's temple was the Goddess Sword. Only because her temple is destroyed doesn't mean her soul is destroyed as well.”

“She's dead,” Link whispered. He uncurled, and finally, the tears fell. They were hot and stinging, ripping the breath from Link's lungs. “What did you come here for anyway?”

Ghirahim touched Link's hands, slowly wrapping them in his own. “I know how you feel about me. And I know this isn't the best time. But the clock is ticking, and your seal won't keep Demise down forever.”

Link shivered. Ghirahim traced his fingers up and down Link's wrists. Slowly, the tears ceased and Link's breathing returned to a steady pace. “What are you implying?” he asked eventually.

“I want to be your sword.” Ghirahim leaned in, and their lips met for only a moment. Long enough to be felt, but not long enough to be enjoyed. “My sword is resting on the Surface. It won't be too difficult to find, and—”

Link pushed Ghirahim away, hands pressing against the hard surface of his chest. “How will I ever be able to trust you?”

Silence. Then: “You won't. And you never will. Just give me this one chance; if I do one thing out of line, I'll walk away with a brave face.”

Link nodded. Slowly. “Alright. But can I ask you something?”

“Anything!”

“Are a lot of people swords?”

Ghirahim laughed soundlessly. “I'm afraid not—just me and Fi.”

“Won't your old master be upset? Demise doesn't sound very forgiving.”

“I suppose he will be quite angry. But I've never been one to play by other people's rules.” Ghirahim gently brushed Link's hands away, standing up gracefully. “Now let's be quiet; I think it's time you got some rest.”

Link stood, a little unsteady—Ghirahim was there, making sure Link wouldn't fall. Together they walked to the Academy. Skyloft was so quiet that Link could hear every sound Ghirahim made—from the crunch of his shoes over grass to his long, deep breaths. He didn't seem like a being that required a sword to exist; he seemed as though his body were a temple, just as Link's.

In a way, he felt more real than Fi ever had.

Link ushered them through the Academy's entrance. Once inside, he listened for footsteps, but there was nothing—it was too late, and everybody was asleep in their rooms.

Ghirahim didn't say a word while Link counted the doorknobs leading to his bedroom. He waited patiently while Link fumbled with the key to unlock his door. And he was silent while Link pulled nightclothes out of his wardrobe.

“I'm off to my bath,” Link said unnecessarily. “I have to clean the blood from the cut on my neck.”

Ghirahim took a seat on Link's desk chair, creaking it back and forth over the hardwood floor. “I think that small paper cut is the least of your concerns. How about the white toe gunk sticking all over your body?”

Link didn't respond. He walked quickly to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. The water was carried all the way from the lake through a pipe system. It was very cold this time of year, and it sent chills all over Link's skin. As he settled into the water he thought about Fi, about the ghosts of their conversation that took place in this very room.

The cold water wore away Link's aching bones, stinging the cuts he didn't even know he had. He felt his throat; the cut wasn't very deep, but it was definitely more than a paper cut. The pain made him think of Ghirahim; the man who was waiting in his bedroom—the man who had always been a mystery, ever since their first meeting.

Link cried into the freezing bathwater, trying to keep quiet so no one would hear. He had depended on Fi so much, but ironically, she had been the first to show him real independence. She had believed in him when no one else would.

Once the water became too cold to bear, he stepped out of the bath. The water swirled away noisily, but Link felt better knowing he was clean and free of any physical reminder of the darkness the Imprisoned had created. He pressed his thumb over the scar marking his palm, allowing himself to be swamped with memories of Fi. In this way—with this scar—she will always be a part of him.

He pulled on a pair of pajama pants, hoped his face wasn't stained with tears, and walked back to his bedroom. He wondered if Ghirahim would still be there. Maybe Ghirahim had tricked him and had ransacked his belongings. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But Ghirahim had kissed him. Only for a moment. But those soft lips on his were real, and he could tell Ghirahim was trying his hardest to be good.

Without another thought, Link pushed open his bedroom door.

“The hero returned,” Ghirahim whispered. He stood. “And now he's clean and smelling good. What a relief.”

Link smiled despite himself. He tried to hide it, but failed miserably. He crawled under his bedclothes, wrapping himself up into a cocoon.

“I suppose you won't let me sleep with you,” Ghirahim remarked.

Link pressed his lips together. “I didn't know swords needed to sleep.”

“Oh, they definitely do. I guess I'll sleep in the chair—or on the floor.”

“The floor's fine by me.” Link stifled a yawn. “Now goodnight, Ghira.”

A weight settled beside him on the bed. Ghirahim feathered his fingers over Link's wet hair, brushing it away from his eyes. “Goodnight, sky child.”

Chapter Text

Link woke up with Ghirahim beside him. It took him a few moments to realize their exact position, but it involved his head resting on Ghirahim's chest.

He didn't stir and kept his eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep. Ghirahim breathed rhythmically. Link focused on the slow rise and fall, letting himself be lulled away from any thoughts surrounding Fi.

Ghirahim smelled like flowers and his hands rested on Link's back, holding him close.

“Good morning,” Ghirahim said. He yawned hugely, but didn't make any other signs of moving away. “I don't know how we ended up cuddling, but it's fine by me.”

Link didn't respond. He kept his face pressed against Ghirahim's chest. Emotion was thick in his throat. Any words would surely end with tears, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with that right now.

Ghirahim seemed to understand. They stayed in the same position for a long time, Link's tears wetting Ghirahim's shirt. The Academy began to stir with life, students milling the halls and the smells of breakfast wafting from the cafeteria.

Then, there was a knock to Link's bedroom door. Link wasn't surprised, but Ghirahim was. His entire body stiffened, his hands pulling Link even closer.

It was Groose. His voice was muffled from beyond the door. “I came to see how you were doing. Gaepora wants to see you sometime today.”

Link lifted his head. He swallowed away his tears, hoping he sounded somewhere near okay. Ghirahim had stopped breathing altogether. “Alright,” Link said. “I'm fine. Tell Gaepora I'll see him soon.”

Groose tapped against Link's door. There was a pause, as if he wanted to say something more, then he turned and walked away.

Ghirahim let out a huge breath. “I'm happy he didn't walk in here. He might have attacked me.”

Link allowed himself to laugh—but even that sounded a little watery. He pulled away from Ghirahim all together, stepping onto the floor. “What do you suppose is next in my journey? Until now, it was all about Zelda.”

Ghirahim traced the the scar on Link's shoulder, eliciting a shiver. “We have to destroy my former master. And you have to find my sword. Maybe someone around here knows?”

“Fi would have known.” Slowly, Link stood. “But she isn't coming back anytime soon. I want to find your sword first—then I'll speak to Gaepora.”

“Sounds like a plan. While you change I'll get you some breakfast.”

Link crossed his arms. “What if the others see you?”

“I'll just flash in the kitchen and out.” Ghirahim snapped his fingers for effect. Then he actually broke apart, the familiar glass noise scraping against Link's ears.

Link took the moment to change, rolling his eyes when he heard screams down the hall. Just as he was pulling on a shirt, Ghirahim popped back into the room. He set a steaming bowl of porridge on Link's desk.

“Thanks,” Link muttered. “But did you have to scare them?”

“I didn't do it on purpose. Besides, they'll have to get used to me. I'm looking forward to you introducing me to people.”

Link picked up the bowl, sniffing its contents. “Who says I agreed to you being my sword? I don't remember agreeing.”

“Didn't you just cuddle with me all night? And I didn't add any poison to your food, if that's what you think.” Ghirahim began to eat from his own bowl, furthering the assurance.

Together, they ate. It was nice to do something normal; if Fi had to eat, Link didn't know. Maybe Ghirahim was only doing these things for appearances.

Once they were finished, Ghirahim clapped his hands. “Now off to the Surface we go! Take my hand and I'll take us to one of the diving platforms.”

“Will the glass sound effect be even louder?” Link complained, but he took Ghirahim's hand anyway.

Ghirahim held his hand very tightly, and without warning—they burst apart. It was a strange sensation, but only lasted a moment. The shattering glass was so loud it caused Link's ears to ring.

“Sorry,” Ghirahim said. “You get used to it.”

“Couldn't you have just taken us to the Surface?”

“Yes. But I wanted to meet your Loftwing. What's its name?”

Link wrenched his hand away from Ghirahim. “You're so unbelievable sometimes. Now wrap your arms around my waist. We'll jump together.”

Ghirahim did as told. Once Link grappled enough confidence to actually jump, he stepped off the diving platform.

The Loftwing caught them. Ghirahim was graceful about the whole thing, landing in an ideal position. Link, on the other hand, was sure he broke his nose.

He recovered quickly. Ghirahim led Link towards the portal that led to the woods.

“What's its name?” Ghirahim repeated. “I want to know. And did anybody ever tell you it's a beautiful crimson color?”

“Yes, they have. And we don't name our Loftwings.”

“Really? Why not?”

Link struggled to form an answer Ghirahim would understand. There had never actually been a need to explain before; everybody in Skyloft just knew—there never had to be reason. “We don't name them because we don't own them. Loftwings are equal to us; it would be disrespectful to name them like a pet.”

Ghirahim yawned. “How boring. I'll name it, then, since you can't manage to give it one.”

“We don't name Loftwings,” Link repeated.

Conversation ceased. Ghirahim gripped Link's waist. Shattering glass resounded in Link's head.

They reappeared in the forest. Link knew by the grassy, earthy smell. Ghirahim didn't let go of Link's waist, and any anger Link had from their little argument evaporated.

“I'm sorry,” Ghirahim said. “I'll try to be more sensitive. In the meantime—it's time for you to become my master.”

“Who's to say you won't turn on me?”

“I won't. Just trust me—I'm not a bad person, Link. And once you wield the Shadow Sword, betraying you would mean a sure death.”

Link wished he could see Ghirahim's expression. But he couldn't; he had to trust by his words, by the sincere way he pulled Link's body towards his own.

Ghirahim whirled Link around. “There now. Draw the sword; it's at your feet.”

“Out in the open, just like this?” Link reached out, and sure enough, his hands found the hilt of a sword. It felt identical to the Goddess Sword in shape. It slid easily from its pedestal. Link slashed it through the air; its weight was the same—everything.

Ghirahim sucked into the blade. This was where it was different; Ghirahim wasn't Fi, and he never would be.

“How do you like the sound of me in your head, sky child?” Ghirahim laughed. “Or should I call you my master now?”

The familiarity of the conversation pricked Link's heart. He didn't respond. After a moment, Ghirahim reappeared beside him.

“I know it hurts,” he whispered, touching Link's cheek. “And I know it will continue hurting. I'm sorry it had to end up this way.”

Link pulled Ghira closer to him. After only a moments hesitation, he kissed him—his mouth sure and wanting. They kissed for a long while out there in the woods, with nobody watching them but time.

And Link realized that even though he was sorry it had to end up this way—and even though he was mourning Fi with every part of him—he wasn't sorry that he didn't have to deny his feelings for Ghira any longer.

Chapter Text

Link stood in Gaepora's office. The Shadow Sword had fit snugly into Fi's sheath, and it comforted Link to feel the familiar weight on his back. He couldn't stop smiling from kissing Ghirahim only minutes before; if Gaepora noticed Link's unusual happiness, he didn't let it show.

Rather, he was even stonier than usual. “Still no sign of my daughter?” Gaepora growled. “What do you have to show for—running around all over the Surface like a madman?”

Ghirahim said a rather foul word in Link's head. Link ignored it. “I didn't come here to be yelled at. And Zelda isn't everything. The world is at stake.”

Gaepora creaked into his desk chair. “Is it, now? Whatever happened to that lady who was sent by the goddess? Has she told you this?”

Link shook his head. “No. But—”

“We can't just go by rumors, Link.”

“We went by rumors before. Zelda's wellbeing was just a rumor, yet you sent me after her without any reservations at all.” Link huffed. “Just tell me anything you've heard—I don't know where to go from here.”

Gaepora brooded so intensely that Link could actually feel it. The darkness and worry seemed to pour from him, and it wasn't exactly pleasant. “Within the thunderhead, there is a temple of sorts. Many of us have ventured there but have found it impossible to enter. Most likely that temple was left for you to explore.”

“Thank you. And Gaepora—Zelda is safe.” With that, Link ran from the room. Instantly, Ghirahim was beside him.

“What a jerk,” he spat. “What's his problem with you?”

“I don't know; he wasn't always this way.” Link hurried down the stairs. “And please return to the sword. What if somebody sees you?”

“Do you think I'm frightening? Nobody's watching us—and I look as normal as you do.”

Link thought about it. “I guess so. I just supposed you looked all evil, with pointy teeth and red demon eyes and all that.”

“I'm not a monster,” Ghirahim growled. “Now let's get inside that thunderhead—maybe the old man was onto something.”

“That thunderhead has been impassable for months now. Unless… can you flash us into it with your glass magic?”

Ghirahim considered it. They stepped outside and into the cold air. The early winter sun beat down on them, and Link wished he had thought to put on his coat. Somehow time had continued to pass—when he'd first set out on this journey, summer had only just ended.

“No,” Ghirahim said finally. “I can only go to places I've already seen. I have to visualize where I'm going beforehand.”

Link crossed his arms. “You've been in Skyloft before, then?”

“That doesn't matter. Come on, now. I'm sure some villager around here knows how to get into the thunderhead.” Ghirahim pushed Link forward. “Do you have any friends?”

“Not really.”

“That's a lie. What about Bruce—or was it Goose?”

“Groose. And like he would know anything.” Link sighed. “And stop pushing me. It's annoying.”

Ghirahim stopped. “So touchy. But you can't tell me you've lived here this long and have zero friends.”

“It's true. I think we can figure out a solution ourselves. There are plenty of weird things around Skyloft no one can explain, like the bird statues and the windmills and—”

“What'd you say?”

“Windmills.” Link rotated his hands. “You know. They turn and all that. But these windmills have never worked.”

“I bet that's it!” Ghirahim pulsed back into the sword. “Now let's go try and make them work!”

“How does that have anything to do with getting into the thunderhead? And don't return to the sword in public; it'll freak people out.”

Ghirahim laughed. “With the way you talk, nobody cares whether or not you have a strange man flashing into your sword. And I just have a good feeling about those windmills. There's so many strange things around here that they all have to lead to something, you know?”

Link rubbed his hands together for warmth. “I guess so. But our guardian, Levias, dwells within the thunderhead. Maybe we shouldn't disturb him?”

“Maybe he's already been disturbed. Now be a good little hero and find those windmills. I want to reach the next stage of our journey already.”

Link gave in. But he didn't hesitate to grumble the entire walk over there. He remembered the location of the windmills rather vaguely—Ghirahim helped him along. His precise knowledge of where they were was vaguely unsettling; how much time had Ghirahim actually spent in Skyloft, and what was he doing there?

Once he found his way to one of the windmills, Ghirahim instructed him to reach inside a square opening cut into the brick. Link did so, surprised to feel a small wooden spinner. It had a small divot in the center—perfect for a sword.

“It's no use,” Link complained. “How would this possibly make the windmills work again?”

“Jab me into the divot and turn it already.”

Link did as told. The sword fit snugly. He turned it carefully, not wanting to break Ghirahim as he had broken Fi. After a few turns, the windmill came to life. The bricks resettled with a loud rumble, and Link had to step in time to the turn of the windmill.

Then—without any warning—the rumbling stopped and the windmill clicked into place.

“Wow,” Ghirahim breathed. He flashed beside Link. “How cool. A beam of light just shot out of it. It's pointing towards that weird tower in the plaza.”

Link allowed Ghirahim his moment. Snow began to fall, large fluffy flakes that made Link shiver.

“Link! Who's your friend?” It was Pipit, running up to them. He huffed from the exertion. “I've never seen him around before.”

“His name's Ghirahim,” Link said shortly. “But shouldn't you be more worried about the rumbling—”

“Nice to meet you,” Ghirahim said, cutting Link off. He put his arm around Link's shoulder as an apology. “Are you one of Link's friends?”

Link groaned internally as Pipit prepared to sound off his affirmation.

“Of course we are!” Pipit enthused. “Now Ghirahim, you've sure been the talk of the Academy. Are you like Beedle and live on one of the outer islands?”

Ghirahim smiled so falsely Link didn't even have to see it to know it was there. “Sure am. Now if you'll excuse us, we have a date to go on.”

Link groaned externally. Ghirahim pulled him away from Pipit. They walked leisurely until they were out of earshot.

“You pick weird friends,” Ghirahim complained in a harsh whisper. “And I don't like how that kid looks at you.”

“He doesn't look at me like anything. And isn't it a little soon to be jealous?”

“Not at all.” Ghirahim pulsed back into the sword. “Now do the same thing to the windmill before you.”

Link felt for the cut square—this windmill was almost identical to the other one—and shoved the sword inside. It clicked around in the same fashion.

The rumbling beneath his feet didn't end when the windmill finally stopped motion. Link quickly ripped the sword out. Ghirahim was beside him in seconds.

“Now to the tower—something strange happened there. There's a new floor that has burst from the very top.”

Ghirahim wrapped his arms around Link's waist. The glass shattered—and Link found them in front of the ladder leading to the tower.

Link began the climb, Ghirahim close at his heels. As soon as they reached the top, Ghirahim ran forward.

“Do you still have the harp?”

“Yes. Groose gave it back to me as soon as we returned to the Surface.” Link stepped forward. “Why?”

“There's a tablet here that wants you to play the Ballad of the Goddess.”

Link tugged the harp out of his pack. He strummed a few chords, playing the song. He did better than the first time he played it, and Ghirahim's deep, melodic voice joined in.

The stone beneath Link's feet warmed, and he was sure something was happening with every word Ghirahim sang.

With the song completed, a beam of hot energy shot forward, piercing Link's chest. He moved out of its way; he was getting a little tired of energy passing through him like that all the time.

“Wow!” Ghirahim cried. “I've never seen a light like that before! It tore right through the clouds and into the thunderhead!”

“I guess that means we can go there now.” Link sighed. “And I guess I have to admit you were right. Thank you, Ghira, for figuring it out.”

Ghirahim didn't respond; just pulsed back into the sword. And that was that—Link supposed it was time to ride his Loftwing into the thunderhead.

To be honest, Link was rather ready for the next stage of his journey to begin as well.

Chapter Text

Passing through and into the thunderhead was an odd sensation. For a moment, it was as if Link floated through the air weightlessly—much like it felt when descending to the Surface.

Once they were through the portal, the air became thick with foul weather. A storm brewed, rain pelting Link's body and causing his Loftwing to express its discomfort.

Ghirahim handled most of the actual flying, directing the Loftwing through the harsh winds and around the monsters flying in the area. Considering Link couldn't see the monsters approaching, it only made sense for Ghirahim to be the one in control.

Link held on tight to Ghirahim, listening to the heartbeat hammering in his chest. Link longed to know what these monsters looked like—their screams were terrible, like what a Loftwing might sound like if in extreme pain.

“We're almost there,” Ghirahim soothed. His voice was calm, but Link knew what his heart sounded like. Ghirahim was the farthest thing from calm, but it touched Link to know he was pretending for his sake.

Link focused on the cold rain on his skin rather than the threats looming all around him. Then the Loftwing reared, landing on solid ground.

For a few moments, Ghirahim and Link were absolutely still.

“Here we are,” Ghirahim finally said. He slid off the Loftwing, forcing Link to let go of him or be pulled onto the ground. “This seems like an impassable temple, doesn't it? Don't you feel the air simmering with a divine presence? Or is it just me?”

Link gathered his wits, then jumped off the Loftwing. “I guess so,” he replied. Truth be told, he did feel the energy rather intensely, but didn't feel like giving Ghirahim the satisfaction of being right—this place was obviously spiritual.

While Ghirahim mumbled about some people being better attuned to their surroundings than others, Link turned to his Loftwing. He stroked its feathers, eliciting a sharp squawk of pleasure from it. “Thank you for your service,” Link said.

The Loftwing spread its wings and flew back into the air. Link hoped it would be safe within the thunderhead.

“Skyloftians and their birds,” Ghirahim said. “I've never understood it. Why haven't you just sprouted wings yourself already?”

“Loftwings are here to guide us—”

“I know. But what do Loftwings get out of this relationship? A few words of thanks? A pat on the back?” Ghirahim flicked Link on the forehead. “I don't know. It just seems like Skyloftians take advantage of them.”

“Loftwings understand they were sent to us by the goddess,” Link said stubbornly. “This is just the way it is.”

Ghirahim sighed. “It's not good to always accept things just as they are. You're doing that with your eyes, don't you know? I wish you would open them like you used to. If you don't the muscles will weaken—”

Link decided it was his turn to interrupt. “There's no point in opening them any longer. The goddess meant for me to be sightless and meant for the Loftwings to aid us. Why can't you understand that?”

“I'm done arguing. Let's get our work done here.” Without further ado, Ghirahim pulsed into the sword. He shoved Link forward with the impact. “Haven't you noticed? Your lovely goddess made this area impassable not only to everybody but also to you.”

Link wandered forward. Because Ghirahim couldn't see him do it, he forced open his eyes. He blinked them, straining for the lights and shapes he could see only a few months ago.

There was nothing. Disappointed, he closed them again.

“Stop walking,” Ghirahim commanded. “The bridge is divided into three sections. Draw me and hit me against the pedestal before you. I advise you to feel it so you know what you're supposed to be hitting.”

Link reached out, feeling an odd stone. It was frighteningly cold and sent chills through his body. There was a soft and gelatinous blob in three, precise directions.

Ghirahim thrummed all his energy into the sword—Link could feel it, crawling up his hand. Link sliced the sword into the leftmost blob of jelly. The bridges rumbled and the area spun around, leaving Link dizzy and grabbing onto the pedestal for support.

“Your lovely goddess also made the area a puzzle,” Ghirahim jeered. He ripped his energy away, throwing himself out of the sword. Link could feel the shift in forms, the tug as Ghirahim broke free of the blade that had been encasing him. “If she had meant for you to be as blind as a Keese, would she have made this a visual puzzle? I don't think so!”

“Don't take this out on me,” Link snapped. “What happened to the nice Ghira I've had the pleasure to get to know these last few days? I thought we were done being enemies.”

Ghirahim fumed. He stomped his foot. “Fine. You're right! You just infuriate me sometimes. How do you have so much faith in Hylia when she left all of you chosen humans alone on a scummy island in the sky?”

“I'm done with this, Ghirahim. I can figure this out myself.” Link paced around the area, paying careful attention to the subtle differences in the ground. There seemed to be parts of the ground that would rise whenever he hit the blobs. He returned to the stone, readying his sword.

“There's a turnstile,” Ghirahim said in a roundabout way. “I'll push the damn thing while you hit those blobs.”

Link took a calm, steadying breath. He hit the topmost blob with the sword. Ghirahim took the opportunity to push the turnstile, grumbling about it the entire time.

It went on like that for a long while. There seemed to be no logic to the puzzle—just luck. Link's arm was sore and he was tired of being pelted with rain and he was tired of feeling continuously dizzy. And his and Ghirahim's argument—what was the point?

Right when Link was ready to throw the sword down and dive off the island and into the clouds, Ghirahim gave a shout of triumph.

“We did it!” Ghirahim ran over, clapping Link on the shoulder. There was a lengthy pause while Link considered a response. When none came, Ghirahim continued. “I'm sorry for fighting with you. I just felt cranky.”

“That's no excuse,” Link said coldly. “We're a team now.”

“More than a team?” Ghirahim questioned, the words sending a flutter through Link's stomach. “Aren't we more than that now?”

“I'm not sure. I never know quite what to make of you. Who are you really?”

Ghirahim pulsed back into the sword. There was no extra push of energy this time, just a small fluttering as his spirit settled into the blade. “That's a question for another day,” he said softly. “Now enter—this place isn't a really temple, you know. It's the Isle of Songs.”

Link didn't know how Ghirahim knew that, but figured it would be pointless to ask. He stepped forward onto the bridge he and Ghirahim had spent so many hours constructing. Ghirahim warned him there was no true doorway, just a small cubbyhole to crawl through.

Link got down on all fours, pushing his body into the tight space. It was incredibly dusty, with the years-old dust sticking to his wet skin. It was reminiscent of the crawling he had done underneath the Earth Temple, which wasn't exactly the best thing to reminisce about.

Nevertheless, once Link pulled himself free of the cubbyhole, Fi's memory didn't hesitate to slap him across the face. Link struggled to put the memory away.

“Now you're positively filthy,” Ghirahim mused. He jumped out of the sword. “Now take my hand and stand up—there is still much to do here.”

Link accepted Ghirahim's help. Once standing, Link noted that Ghirahim hadn't let go.

They held hands, Ghirahim leading Link to an area far off. “This is a large and empty space,” Ghirahim said. “And it's very old. There are three markings carved into the ground.”

Link crouched down to touch them, Ghirahim following along and crouching beside him. The marks were deep and Link traced along their curves and lines.

“The mark of Farore,” Ghirahim said. “She is the goddess of courage and created all life that walks this earth.”

“I've never heard of her.” Link frowned, moving his hand to the symbol beside it. “What about this one?”

“The mark of Nayru. She is the goddess of love.” Ghirahim squeezed Link's hand affectionately. “Or some might be more technical and say wisdom. She created the laws of the world and magic.”

Link moved his hand to the last symbol. He didn't need to ask; Ghirahim already knew.

“And that is the mark of Din. She is the goddess of power and created the world as we know it. I'm sure you have noticed that the Surface is quite large and has diverse terrain; she is the one responsible for it.”

Ghirahim pulled Link into a hug, his wet hair brushing against Link's face. They sat like that for a long while, just listening to the patter of rain echo through the stone structure. Link listened to the rise and fall of Ghirahim's chest, his steady heartbeat, and realized that they weren't just a team—

Link opened his mouth, ready to admit that they were more than a team and they had been more ever since their shared kiss in the woods. But Ghirahim spoke first, his voice careful and steady.

“Have you ever heard of the Triforce, Link?” Ghirahim didn't wait for an answer, brushing the wet bangs out of Link's eyes tenderly. “The three goddesses created it when they left this world behind. The Triforce is the most powerful object in this world and its holder will have all of their wishes granted.”

“Is that what will defeat Demise?”

“Maybe.” Ghirahim pulled Link into a standing position. “I think you should play Farore's Wind. Do you know it?”

Link took his harp out of his pack. “Of course I don't. How should I?”

Ghirahim laughed softly. “I'm sure it will come to you.” He gripped Link's shoulder, tugging him so he stood on top of the mark of Farore. “I'll began singing the song and you just play along, alright?”

Link plucked a string. Ghirahim began to sing in a strange language, similar to the one the Ballad of the Goddess is sang in. The words were foreign, soft and tilting, filling Link with a sort of longing.

Link played the harp, and sure enough—Ghirahim was correct, and the song came to him without any prompting. The sky surrounded him, and he could see all the world.

The song ended. Ghirahim voice died down as a great rumbling occurred. “A statue of Hylia just appeared,” he whispered, pulling Link up against him. “She's telling me something, but I can barely hear it.”

“That's because Fi was probably meant to.” Ghirahim shushed him. Link strained to hear whatever Hylia was saying, but heard nothing but the rain.

Finally, Ghirahim relaxed. “She's gone now. It was a prerecorded message, thank goddess.” He pecked Link on the lips. “Good news for you! I'm about to get purified.”

“Purified?”

“There are four trials the hero must go through. I knew the basics of it, but it was incredibly helpful for Hylia to fill in the blanks. Our next step isn't the Triforce—it is to create the Master Sword!”

“The Master Sword?”

Ghirahim crushed Link to his body. “This is fabulous. We will be able to defeat Demise after all, even if he does get another sword!”

“Ghirahim, slow down. Tell me what's going on.”

“No time now. I'll explain later.” Ghirahim shattered glass, and they were back out in the rain. “Now let's get your poor Loftwing out of here—it's time to return to Faron Woods!”

“Faron Woods?”

Ghirahim laughed, shoving Link off the edge. “Don't worry—all will make sense in time!”

Chapter Text

Ghirahim both loved and hated Faron Woods. It was his home—the place where everything had both ended and begun. And it was the place he kept returning to, time after time.

Link was busy napping on a tree trunk. The poor boy was exhausted. Ghirahim was, too, but he was more used to the feeling. He was beginning to feel as though he had always been exhausted, always been one step behind while others were already where they were supposed to be.

The trees rustled in the breeze. The leaves were turning color. The seasons made no sense up in Skyloft; it was already wintertime there. But here, back in Faron Woods, everything made more sense.

Ghirahim watched the sunset, ruminating over the boy so close yet so far away. Link had so many questions, but Ghirahim didn't know the absolute answer to any of them. The trials were a mystery, the true extent of the Master Sword was a mystery.

Their relationship was also a mystery. Ghirahim was pretty sure he loved him; he had loved Link for a long time now, the feeling building up and brimming over the edge of Ghirahim's normal level of human emotions.

That was why he had spared Link so many times. Not because he pitied him—did Link really have anything about him truly worth pitying?—but because he loved him.

Somehow, the sunset blurred and Ghirahim found himself staring at Link. He was beautiful—golden haired and soft-skinned. Earrings dotted his earlobes, golden hoops that glinted in the sun.

If Ghirahim could go back in time, he would have made it so he had never aided in Link's suffering at all.

“I'm ready for the trial now.” Link yawned, opening his bright blue eyes for a moment before closing them again. “What will happen to me?”

Ghirahim sighed. “I'm not sure. You'll enter the silent realm and collect the tears of Farore.”

“And what if I fail?” Link stretched as he stood. Ghirahim tapped his fingers against the ground, gently letting Link know where he was sitting.

“You won't fail,” Ghirahim promised. “If you did, your spirit would shatter and you would be even worse off than Fi.”

Link scowled. Ghirahim ached to kiss away the expression, but he wasn't sure if that was something Link would appreciate. “I guess I'm not ready for the trial, after all,” he said. “Why do I even have to do it?”

Butterflies erupted in Ghirahim's stomach when Link settled on his lap. His fingers found the diamonds cut into Ghirahim's shirt, and he toyed with the fabric, tickling Ghirahim's skin. “It's necessary to defeat Demise. Only if you collect all of the tears will you be recognized as the true hero and be able to wield the Master Sword effectively.”

Link stopped toying with the diamonds. He bit his lip. “And what about you being purified? Will you actually be set on fire?”

“Nothing like that, silly. We'll find the three sacred flames and I'll soak up the power like a sponge.” Ghirahim bopped Link on the nose. “Together we'll be a true force to be reckoned with—Demise won't know what's coming.”

Link didn't respond, just frowned at nothing. Ghirahim took a deep breath, then: “Can I kiss you?”

Link's cheeks turned a lovely pink color at the question. He nodded, and Ghirahim didn't hesitate. He touched his lips to Link's, opening his mouth with his tongue.

It was less chaste than any of their others; Ghirahim allowed himself to roam Link's body, lifting up the hem of Link's shirt and feeling the smooth plane of his back.

Link was the first to stop, pulling away. He was flushed; his hair tousled. His blank eyes were open, pinning Ghirahim to the tree with their intensity. “Do you love me?” he asked.

Ghirahim smiled. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“Good. I know it's too soon to say such a thing, but if my spirit shatters in the trial, I wouldn't want it to go unsaid.” Link laughed, the sound filling Ghirahim's heart with something oddly similar to sadness. “I don't know how I'll feel about you in five years, but I know how I feel about you now. Is that enough?”

Ghirahim smiled. “That's enough. And besides, we all know you and Zelda are meant to be.”

Link groaned. “No way. She's already taken.”

“Would she be yours, though, if you had the chance? And if it's not Zelda—is it somebody else?”

“I'm not with anyone,” Link promised. “And Zelda was never a true option. Why? Do you have someone else?”

Ghirahim laughed. “Someone in love with a demon sword? Besides, you might be right—I could have pointy teeth and red eyes.”

“Your teeth aren't pointy.” Link touched Ghirahim's mouth for verification. “I felt them against my lip and they didn't feel too ridiculously sharp, anyway.”

Ghirahim allowed Link to touch his mouth. He continued exploring Ghirahim's face—his nose, his cheeks, his ears, down along his throat.

“What do you look like?” Link asked. “What color are your eyes?”

“They're black. They used to be green.” Ghirahim gently took Link's hands, bringing them back to his ears. The left one was deformed, the pointed part missing and with a jagged edge. “My hair is white; it used to be brown.”

Link touched Ghirahim's ear with interest, but didn't ask. “I didn't know I was in love with an old man,” he said instead. “I thought you said you looked normal?”

“I do. White hair isn't that strange; it could be easily dismissed as hair dyes.”

Link drew back. “Will you live forever in the sword? What happens to you once I'm gone?”

“No need to worry about such things. Do you know your colors? Can you envision what I was telling you?”

“I remember them fairly well. But I mostly have a better idea of what you look like because I touched your face.”

“Were you disappointed?”

“No.” Link touched Ghirahim's ear again; this time, the one that wasn't deformed. He fingered Ghirahim's diamond earring. “Your appearance means little to me, obviously. But thank you for allowing me to form an idea—it helps me to know what I'm up against.”

Ghirahim closed his eyes. Butterflies swarmed his body, his mind—their soft wings lending a promise of a life he never thought he would have.

It was a luxury, being so close to the boy he had only ever antagonized since their first meeting. Forgiveness—no, he wasn't quite forgiven. There were still so many things Link didn't even know he had to forgive—too many things Ghirahim knew required the right time to tell.

Ghirahim opened his eyes just in time to catch Link smile. “Now I feel ready—let's go get our first trial over with.”

Chapter Text

Link focused on his breathing. Whatever awaited him in the silent realm, he had to know that he was prepared. He plucked a few strings on his harp, and Ghirahim began to sing. They stood in the very center of Faron Woods—here, Ghirahim said, was where the first trial gate lay.

The song finished all too quickly, Ghirahim's strong voice faltering away with the last few notes of the melody.

“I won't be able to come with you,” Ghirahim said. “I won't be able to help you, either.”

Link nodded, drawing his sword. A large crest had formed beneath his feet; he could feel the grooves of it etched into the dirt. “I'm scared,” he admitted. “I won't be able to see the tears of Farore; what if this is where it all ends?”

“It won't,” Ghirahim promised. “Be brave. And sky child— please know I am eagerly awaiting your return.”

Link knelt, gave a quick prayer to the goddess, then drove his sword into the center of the crest.

For a moment, nothing happened. Nothing. Nothing existed at all. Then Link felt a scattering, a ripple of light, and—

The world burst with color. Link toppled onto his back. He closed his eyes. Opened them. The world was there—it had a strange glow to it, something similar to the color blue—but the world was there.

Link sat up and looked around. At the trees. The ground. The sky. He could actually see all of these things—not only see them, but vividly. It was more than his earliest memories; it was more than he had ever imagined.

Fear set in. Link looked down at himself; he began attaching his vague notion of colors to everything. He was wearing the green tunic of legend, the one everybody had been begging him to wear. His hands were covered by thick brown gloves, and his feet were encased by the thick brown leather of boots.

The crest beneath him was glowing a bright, bright blue. He felt the grooves of the crest—it was definitely the crest of Farore, the same as the one in the Isle of Songs.

A flower lay near his feet. It was a shocking white and about as big as Link's palm. Beside it lay a vessel. Link closed his eyes, picking up the vessel and feeling each of its grooves. There was fifteen of them—most likely for the tears of Farore. The vessel was strange and wherever Link bent it, it would mold to that shape. He twisted it back and forth for a while, then tossed it back onto the ground.

He picked up the flower next. He opened his eyes to stare at it, marveling at its beauty. It shimmered in the light. The flower lacked a stem, and it was more dreamlike than anything else. Then it began to dissolve, disappearing into Link's hand. Link ripped off his glove, and sure enough, on the back of his right hand was a tattoo of the flower. It held the same shimmering quality it held before.

Link pawed at the mark, but it didn't budge. Link counted ten petals, each of them pointed and lovely in size and shape. Whatever their importance, Link didn't know.

Link stood up, then, and found himself looking straight into the eyes of a statue. The statue was cloaked in a robe of a fine material, its red eyes glittering. Only a few feet away from it lay a clump of glass; something Link would call a teardrop.

He closed his eyes to rest them. He wasn't used to so much light; he was more used to living without it, and it was strange to try to understand the world using his eyes. He slung the empty vessel onto his hip, twisting it around a loop on the belt of his tunic.

Link opened his eyes. He wished Ghirahim were here to help him. There was music filtering through his mind, a softer version of Farore's Courage. It felt ancient, and his ears strained to make sense of the sound.

With a deep breath, Link took one step off of the crest. The colors of the world shifted—now a bright red. And the statue sprang to life. A pounding reverberated through the area, raising Link's heartbeat and quickening his breath.

The statue shifted into a large, walking suit of armor. It held a sword just as big as Link. In a panic, Link pounced for the teardrop shape, shoving it into one of the grooves of the vessel.

Calm resumed in the area. The soft music played in Link's head. The statue stared ahead ever so forlornly.

And the flower on Link's hand—it burned terribly; he looked down at it. One of the petals was slowly burning away into a dark brown, leaving a scorch mark across Link's hand. The mark wrapped around to his palm, and it hurt like hell.

Link didn't like the idea of being timed. More tears glittered around the trees. There was a building directly in front of him, great in its size and towering high into the trees. Link was sure that was Skyview Temple—but he didn't particularly want to go in there again. He hoped all of the tears would be outside; if not, he would have to deal with it later.

Link ran into the trees, brushing against their rough bark. He wanted to return to the Surface; he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to see, and he didn't want his spirit to be shattered. And he most definitely didn't want to feel his hand burn; it was too authentic of a feeling to him, too real.

Maybe Ghirahim was right and Hylia wasn't so great after all. Nobody deserved this torment.

Whenever Link saw a glittering tear, whether it be wedged in the ground or otherwise, he grabbed it and shoved it into the vessel. The burning intensified with every petal lost, and Link gritted his teeth from the pain. It was now a great smudge of brown, the flower's beauty lost to the overwhelming smear of pain.

Not to mention the search for the tears was a long work. Sometimes Link would have to scale trees. Sometimes he would have to tiptoe between statues, praying that they wouldn't attack him.

It was a long work. But he persevered. The woods were absolutely beautiful, a sheen of light filtering through the branches. The music was comforting, soft, and nostalgic. If Link didn't consistently have his life at danger, he would feel at absolute peace in the silent realm.

Link returned to the area of the crest. Skyview Temple had two sets of stairs that wound their way up to a balcony. Link ran over to the steps, wincing when he accidentally bumped his right hand against the brick wall of the temple. The burn now trailed down into his palm and up his wrist.

Only two tears remained—what if Link could never find them and the mark on his hand burned him alive? But Link had every intention of returning. He had a life to live, and he wasn't about to let it end here.

Link jogged up the last of the stairs. The balcony was a large, flat area and very white, hurting Link's eyes. A bird statue stood proudly in the center of everything. Bird statues were everywhere up in Skyloft; it was a monument of prayer. Oftentimes, Link had stopped at one to pray with Zelda, their words lifting together in pure reverence for Hylia.

There, wedged in the eyes of the bird statue were the final two tears of Farore. Link reached for them just as his time ran out, the last petal dying and burning up Link's arm. He gasped.

The world burst with red. The drumbeat fell in time with Link's beating heart. Link's shoulder burned, the flames trailing down his chest and over his body.

He fished out the tears, shoving them into the vessel with a wild panic. Nothing happened.

Statues burst to life and ran toward him, screaming in a language he didn't know.

Link dived off the balcony. The crest of Farore was glowing, a wall of light reaching up into the sky. Link ran for his life towards it. The statues were hot on his heels, slamming their swords at his feet.

With one, final bound Link jumped into the arms of the crest.

Peace resumed. Link panted, snapping the string of the vessel and holding it in his hands. The flower was back to its former beauty; it no longer burned, the brown scorch marks only a memory.

The vessel broke apart. Left in Link's hands was a necklace, its medallion a bright, watery blue. Carved on it was the crest of Farore, now a symbol as familiar as anything else.

Link closed his eyes, clasping the necklace around his neck.

When he opened them again, his hands were wrapped around the hilt of a blade. And there was nothing. His eyes filled with tears. He let go of the sword.

“Link? Are you alright?” Ghirahim pulled Link into his arms as Link began to cry. Tears ran down his face and soaked Ghirahim's shirt. Ghirahim rocked him, petting his hair and rubbing rhythmic circles down his back.

Link struggled to speak, choking on his own emotion. “Is it there?”

“Is what there?” Ghirahim asked softly. He brushed his fingertips over Link's cheeks, brushing away tears. “Link, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

“My hand,” Link breathed. “Is the mark still there?”

Ghirahim took Link's wrist. He didn't speak.

“It's there, isn't it?” Link wrenched his hand away. “I don't understand the point of that trial. I don't feel heroic at all; I feel more like a coward than I ever have.”

“It's a flower,” Ghirahim marveled. “Why? What happened in the silent realm?”

Link shook his head. “I could see,” he said. “It was horrible. How long was I gone?”

“Only a moment,” Ghirahim said. “It was as though you were never gone at all.”

“I hated it,” Link burst. “I was wearing that stupid green tunic and you weren't there—”

Ghirahim captured Link's words with a kiss. Link reciprocated. They kissed until the world made more sense; until the only thoughts circling Link's head were of Ghirahim.

Ghirahim pulled away. “Enough, now. Let's return to Skyloft so you can rest.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Ghirahim kissed Link again. The shattering of glass seemed distant.

They were in Link's bedroom. On his bed. Link knew by the familiar smell of the Academy and the familiar feeling of the mattress dipping beneath him.

Ghirahim pulled off Link's shirt. His fingers ghosted Link's shoulder scar, filling Link with a feeling unlike anything else.

Ghirahim kisses moved to Link's cheeks, kissing away the drying tears. Link knew sleep was close but he resisted it; he didn't want this moment to end.

“Sleep well, sky child,” Ghirahim breathed, kissing down Link's chest. “And don't worry—we can speak more tomorrow. Now is the time to rest.”

Chapter Text

Link lay awake for some time, the events of the silent realm tiptoeing around his head without mercy. Even Ghirahim brought him little comfort, his body pressed up against Link on the too-little bed.

The first trial was absolutely terrible, the pain fresh, and Link considered he had at least two more of those torture trials to go through. Would they all be the same? The medallion he had earned was unnaturally cold where it lay against his bare chest, giving him nothing more to boast about than a fashion statement.

Link disentangled himself from Ghirahim, careful not to wake him. Link knew where he needed to go—who he needed to speak to, and whose guidance he had ignored until now.

Gaepora. Link pulled on a shirt and a pair of pants from a heap on the floor. The pants were Ghirahim's and way too long—Link had to roll up the bottoms—but they would have to do. He combed his fingers through his hair, hoping it didn't look too obvious. Then he opened his door without a sound, slipping out and into the hallway

Night had descended on the Academy, lending a familiarity to Link's steps. He counted doorknobs. Five to Zelda's room—

He paused at her door. Emotions swelled in Link's mind, most of which he didn't understand. Was Zelda truly okay?

And what would she think of him now? Was she grieving his death? It had been months since they had truly spoken to each other, months since the fated Wing Ceremony. If Link had the pleasure to have a real conversation with her, would their friendship be strained and almost forgotten?

On the day Link was forced to live with Gaepora, he had begged to have his room on the same floor as Zelda's in case anything ever happened. Link's parents had adored her—practically worshiped her—and Link knew that if he had to rely on anyone, it would have to be her. Friendship was only an added bonus, something Link had always been so grateful for.

Link shook his head at the memories. He continued his walk, tiptoeing up the stairs and around the corner. When he found himself face-to-face with the door to Gaepora's office, he almost turned right back around. But he didn't—if he could survive Farore's spirit realm, he could survive anything.

Link knocked on the door firmly. After a moment, he heard the slow, heavy footsteps of Gaepora. The door opened, lending nothing to Link's vision.

Link kept his eyes closed.

“I was hoping you would come,” Gaepora said. “How long have you been back in Skyloft?”

Link wandered forward, making his way over to Gaepora's cloth couch. He had sat on that couch many times as a child, searching for the guidance of a father he had always craved. Gaepora would listen to Link's ramblings for hours on end, never interrupting, never impatient.

Somehow that had all changed in the past few years. Relationships were so fickle—they were so easily changed, so easily broken.

Link held up his hand, knowing that light would reflect off of its shimmering petals. “I need to talk about this,” he admitted. “I journeyed to the Isle of Songs. Hylia was there—at least, a reflection of her—and she led me to a trial of sorts.”

“You are the true hero,” Gaepora murmured. “That mark is of the silent realm.”

“I realize that. I just need to understand why it's me. I'm not special or unusual in any way; wouldn't somebody else do a better job?”

“Our goddess has chosen you, Link. And she has apparently chosen my daughter. Tell me—you said she is alive. Is she well?”

Link squirmed. He toyed with the necklace; the cold medallion sent shivers up his spine. He let it go. “The last time I heard from her, she was well. But we didn't have much time to talk before she disappeared again.”

“Such a pity.” Gaepora sat down beside Link on the couch. “May I see your hand?”

Link allowed him. Gaepora lightly touched the mark, his calloused fingers tracing the petals.

“It is funny how often childhood stories turn out to be true,” Gaepora said. “In ancient texts a silent realm was mentioned. All your life, I had a feeling you were the hero.” Gaepora drew away. “I want to apologize for holding you back in so many ways. After your parents had died, I wanted to keep you safe. Now I see I only hindered you.”

Link opened his eyes. “My father always said my eyes were the same as my mother's. Tell me, Gaepora, if I am the chosen hero—why did the goddess deprive of my sight?”

Suddenly, a shattering of glass occurred. A frantic Ghirahim grabbed Link's shoulders, shaking his body back and forth.

“There you are! I've flashed into every room searching for you!”

“A demon!” Gaepora screeched.

Link shoved Ghirahim away. “What's your problem?”

“You know exactly what my problem is! What if Demise had gotten to you? I can't just let you run off—”

“Tell me what's happening this instant!” Gaepora burst. “Link, who is this man?”

“This is my sword,” Link said, anger gnawing each of the words. “His name is Ghirahim. Usually I love him; right now I'm questioning if that's the right word to use.”

Gaepora stomped his foot. “You can't be in love with your sword!”

“I'm not just a sword,” Ghirahim grumbled. “I have feelings, you know.”

“Since when have you… liked men?” Gaepora asked. It wasn't said unkindly—just a little too bluntly for Link's liking.

Not to mention, Link wasn't sure what the answer to that question even was. It was something that had always been there, something he had never wanted to define—

“It's not about gender,” Ghirahim said. “It's about love. I am ready to die for Link if necessary.”

“Well, hopefully it won't have to come to that.” Gaepora set his hand on Link's shoulder. “I'm happy you've found someone, Link. That's all I've ever wanted.”

Link brushed Gaepora away. He beckoned Ghirahim over to him. Without hesitation, Ghirahim sat down beside him, taking his hand in his own.

“You've said it yourself, old man,” Ghirahim began grandly. “I'm a demon—not entirely, but I do have it in me. I am obviously not a Goddess Sword, but I am able to be purified. Tell me, what do you know of the hero's journey? What's the next step?”

Gaepora sighed. “There are three dragons: Faron, Eldin, and Lanayru. If all of this is true, I am sure the legends of those three must also be. I recommend you contact Faron first.”

“Since Ghirahim is a demon,” Link said, “won't the flames reject him? Aren't the sacred flames meant for the Goddess Sword alone?”

“They won't reject me.”

“But—”

“They won't,” Ghirahim said. “Just trust me on this.”

Link huffed. “Thank you for your help, Gaepora. You must be getting tired.” He stood, tugging Ghirahim along with him. “We must go now.”

“I wish you all the luck. Together, may you two find much happiness.”

Ghirahim wrapped his arms around Link. Glass shattered, and together they flashed back onto the Surface. Ghirahim fit the sword and sheath onto Link's back, as always.

“Thanks,” Link said. “I hadn't meant to forget it.”

Ghirahim pounced on the opportunity to make an exaggerated groan. “I didn't want to see Faron ever again, but I suppose it's useless to resist. Don't worry—I'm sure you'll hate her just as much as I do.”

“What are we even doing? I go through hellish trials, you get soaked in sacred flame—for what? What's our time limit, Ghirahim? When will Demise return?”

“I don't know. That's why we have to hurry. When Demise breaks free of his prison, the whole world will be doomed and be at his mercy. And let me tell you, that man has no mercy whatsoever.”

Link shivered in his short-sleeved shirt. He had forgotten his pack back in Skyloft, along with the harp and everything else. “Then why did you team up with him to begin with? And it just doesn't seem right for you to switch to my side. You said you would die for me, Ghirahim, and that isn't something I take lightly.”

“I have my own reasons.” Ghirahim began walking. Link trailed behind him. He stepped into the banks of a lake, his pant legs getting soaked in the cold water. “Everything I have ever done has always been with the best intentions. I knew you were the right choice when Zelda left you with a knife pressed against your throat. You have a small scar there, don't you know? If it weren't for her, it wouldn't be there.”

Link scowled. He was pretty sure that scar was Ghirahim's fault—but he wasn't about to say so. Ghirahim would only have a rebuttal like always.

They walked deeper into the water, until they had no choice but to swim. The water was ridiculously cold and Link could feel the cloud of his breath in the air. His teeth chattered—Ghirahim, on the other hand, was as perfect as always.

“Use your medallion,” Ghirahim said. “It will allow you to breathe underwater.”

Link struggled to stay upright in the water—he had never been much of a swimmer. “How do you even know that? Has this been an elaborate plot for me to drown?”

“If I had wanted you to drown, I would have let you drown during our first meeting.” Ghirahim returned to the sword, sending a tremor of energy down Link's spine. “Just do it,” he said. “Trust me.”

Link took a deep breath and dipped his head underwater. The medallion became very hot, burning through his shirt. It was hard for him to force a breath.

Soon, however, he found forcing a breath was completely unnecessary. A warm pocket of air formed around him. He reached out, feeling no end. The air was stuck close to his skin, fitting his shape and form perfectly.

Link swam through the air—or was it still water? Ghirahim gave directions, guiding Link to where the water dragon, Faron, dwelt. Link barely knew how to swim—he just made the motions that seemed right and propelled him forward. Sometimes people would swim in the river up in Skyloft, but Link had always been told it was too risky. The waterfall could easily drive those people over the edge and down into the clouds below.

“We're almost within Lake Floria,” Ghirahim said. Link swam upwards, hands gripping onto cold stone. He pulled himself onto solid ground, orienting himself to the new location. “She lives in a cave with all these weird fish.” Ghirahim pulled free of the blade. It took longer than it ever had before, the air crackling with the shift in forms.

“Does that pain you?” Link asked once Ghirahim was in front of him. “Fi always glided in and out with no problem.”

“It doesn't hurt. Once we find the sacred flames it won't be so bad. The sword is rejecting me in a way.”

“Why?”

“Too many questions.” Ghirahim grabbed Link's hand, pulling him to his feet. “Now it's time to speak to Faron. She'll lead us to the first of the sacred flames.”

“Will she? I thought she hated you.”

“Too many questions,” Ghirahim repeated. “And, yes, she dislikes me. But once she sees me with the hero all will be fine!”

Link wasn't sure about that. Ghirahim led him into the cave he had spoken of. Their steps echoed, and Link could hear water dripping onto stone periodically.

“You again!” A large presence loomed before them, ripping out of the water with a mighty splash. “Oh, cursed Ghirahim! What brings you here? To spite me?”

Link stepped forward. “We have come here for your guidance, Faron. I am the goddess's chosen hero. We have come here searching for the first sacred flame.”

Faron laughed. “I find it doubtful that a boy like you is a hero. Hylia told the hero would come with a beautiful spirit, not a demon...”

“I'm a different man,” Ghirahim said. “Please, Faron, help us in this quest.”

“What proof do you have this boy is the hero?” Faron reached forward, wrapping her long, slimy fingers around Link's middle. She lifted him into the air. Link squirmed in her iron grip.

“Let him go!” Ghirahim growled. “Tell us where the sacred flame is! Demise is returning!”

“How amusing.” Her voice held a regal twang to it. It echoed through the cave at an alarming volume, making Link's ears ring. Dejected, he stopped struggling. “You cannot demand anything of the great water dragon. Hylia means little to me, really. Farore was the one who granted me this power, not her.”

“Look at my medallion,” Link said, voice tight from his lungs being squeezed. “I received it from the silent realm.”

“Ah, that is my scale. Hylia had me develop it for the trial...”

“So that trial was your doing?” Link flailed. “Put me down already!”

Faron obliged, setting Link gently on the ground. “So be it. If you truly are the hero, which I can assume you are—after all, not many would have survived that trial—I will tell you where the sacred flame is. It lies within the Ancient Cistern; it is well-protected. Trust me when I say that.”

“We trust you,” Ghirahim sneered. “Come, Link.”

Link ran towards him. Ghirahim drew him away, towards the back entrance that emptied into Lake Floria. Soon they were out in the morning sunlight. Somehow, it grew even colder, Link's wet clothes sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

“Why did you make me swim?” Link asked. “Couldn't you have flashed us in there?”

“I went there a long time ago,” Ghirahim said shortly.

“Did you forget what it looked like?”

“Stop asking questions!” Ghirahim pulled off his sweater, tossing it at Link's head. “Just put this on; I'm tired of looking at you shiver.”

Link took off his sword and sheath, handing it off to Ghirahim. Ghirahim took it, grumbling. Link pulled on the warm sweater with a smile.

As always, Ghirahim replaced Link's sheath. Link enjoyed being enveloped in Ghirahim's scent. Even if they were bickering, he could say he still enjoyed the butterflies that erupted in his stomach whenever Ghirahim was anywhere near him.

“If only you could see this place,” Ghirahim said. “It's beautiful.”

“I don't have to see it,” Link said. He stepped forward, surprised to find he stepped onto a wooden bridge. “I know its beautiful in other ways.”

“How?”

“Now you're the one with all the questions?” Link continued walking, enjoying the fact Ghirahim was the one forced to follow. “I can tell by the sounds. The lake rippling and the birds singing. I can tell by the rustle of the trees, the distant sound of the waterfall.” Link stopped in his steps. “And I can tell because I'm with you, and I'm here, and I'm wearing your sweater. How much more beautiful could something become?”

Ghirahim sighed. “When you say things like that… It makes me wonder how I ever dreamed of being against you. Thank you for loving me despite everything.”

Link laughed. “Love is not all, but it is quite a lot, isn't it? Now, then—time for the us to find the first sacred flame.”

Chapter Text

Ghirahim had been to the cistern once before. He was just a little boy, then—a little boy who didn't truly understand its significance. His father, however, had called the cistern a triumph; he had said it was the beginning of a new era, where technology would rise and mankind would come one step closer to matching the power of the goddesses.

Faron had also boasted of the cistern. She had helped the humans plan its architecture and had helped them construct it. At the time, she was happy to say she had helped the humans come one step closer to a thriving civilization. And the cistern was definitely beautiful—it was made of pure gold, and it glinted in the sun so brightly that it burned the eyes of onlookers.

Nearly a thousand years later, the cistern still gleamed in the sun and looked just as impressive. But the cistern had most definitely aged along with everything else Ghirahim had ever known. There was a tint to the gold that wasn't there before, its surface no longer polished nor refined. Faron, however, had continued to keep the cistern well-guarded from any harm. The cistern was intact as far as Ghirahim could tell—none of the gold was chipped away or missing.

Link walked ahead, sliding open the entrance to the cistern as if it were no big deal. Ghirahim swallowed down his memories, catching up to Link in three long strides.

“Not so fast,” Ghirahim said. “Faron told us this place would be dangerous and crawling with monsters.”

“She probably tells that to everyone.” Link drew his sword anyway, holding the door open for Ghirahim. “Do you really think Faron would just leave the sacred flame exposed for monsters to take?”

Ghirahim shrugged. “She let us in here, didn't she? Our only evidence was the medallion around your neck.”

“Apparently that was enough.” Link tapped the sword along the hallway as he walked. Ghirahim cringed with every clink of sword against gold.

The hallway led to a very bright and open room, sunlight pouring through large, circular windows dotted all along the walls. A moat surrounded a statue of a woman, lily pads scattered aesthetically in the clear water. The place was absolutely empty; Link was right—there were no monsters to be seen. The only sound was the calming echo of water running throughout the cistern.

Ghirahim shrugged away the nostalgia. He focused his attention on the moat, surprised the water was still so clear and clean. Perhaps the cistern was protected by Faron's magic somehow—or maybe the cistern was just that well- constructed, somehow resistant to the marching of time.

“Have you ever heard a story about the spider's thread?” Ghirahim asked, turning to Link as he spoke.

“I'm afraid I missed out on that part of my education as well.” Link dipped his sword into the moat. He then leaned down to feel the water, letting it gather in his palms and trickle through his fingers.

Ghirahim watched Link's discovery for a moment. It was strange for Link to be so enchanted by something Ghirahim had already known to be there. It was easy for Ghirahim to forget that Link couldn't see; it came up in conversation, it was made into jokes—but Ghirahim didn't always remember to really think about it, to imagine navigating the world forever in darkness.

“The story about the spider's thread is an old tale passed along in my family,” Ghirahim continued. “My sister loved it.”

“I didn't know you had a sister,” Link said. He continued tracing his fingers through the water. “What was her name? Was she a sword like you?”

Ghirahim ignored his questions. “There is a spider's thread that leads to heaven. There was criminal who had only committed one good deed in his life—one day, while walking through the woods, he decided not to step on and kill a spider.”

“That's just like us,” Link said. “Remember? When I fell into the woods, you could have easily let me drown. But you didn't. You saved me instead.”

Ghirahim shook his head. “But that's not all of the story. When the criminal died, the silvery thread of that spider pierced the darkness of hell. The criminal and the souls of others latched onto the thread, but the man was selfish. He shook the thread and screamed at the others that the thread was his and his alone. With those words, the thread snapped in half.”

“How sad,” Link murmured. “I don't like that story very much. Why did your sister like it?”

“She thought the story taught a lesson about kindness. She thought that even if the thread wasn't for everybody, it wasn't right for the criminal to say so.”

Link shook his head. “I disagree. The thread was for that man, not for anybody else. It was wrong for the other criminals to latch onto it; they should have accepted their fates.”

“Perhaps you're right. But when my father helped construct this cistern, he kept the story in mind—he used to tell me and my sister there was spider's thread somewhere below ground.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No. Why would I? My father always lied. Now let's get going. There's a door that leads into a statue—we might as well check there first.”

Ghirahim led Link across the moat—hopping over lily pads until they reached the other side. The door that led into the statue was covered by a sprawling mass of leaves and vines.

At Ghirahim's direction, Link cut away at the vines and leaves with his sword. Behind the leaves, the door was locked with a contraption similar to the one from the Isle of Songs.

Ghirahim remembered the secret order of the cistern. His father had reminded him of it often enough. He took Link's hand, guiding to the contraption. Link felt each of the four spots, then nodded his head. “Do I hit them with the sword?”

“Hit the spots in this order: top, bottom, left, right.” Ghirahim stepped aside while Link slashed at them. Then the contraption fell to the floor, quickly disintegrating into a deep, black ash.

Link slid open the door, revealing a small room with a large valve in the center. It was rusted, and carved into the blue metal were ancient letters that Ghirahim knew were a warning of some sort.

On one hand, Ghirahim did not like the idea of potentially destroying a cistern that had taken years to build. On the other hand, he had always hated the cistern anyway—so what did it matter?

Link traced his fingers over the valve. “Should I turn this thing?”

Ghirahim nodded. “Go for it.”

Link placed both hands onto the valve, turning it to the right. The change was immediate—Ghirahim could feel the water swelling in the pipes. He pushed Link forward onto a grate, hugging him close. Whatever happened, they had to be together.

The valve continued turning on its own—and at an alarming pace. But water didn't burst from the pipes or even push them upward; instead, the grate beneath them opened, sending them plummeting to the ground below.

Link screamed. Ghirahim remained eerily calm, situating their bodies so when they hit the bottom, Link wouldn't get the full brunt of the impact.

They slapped into a deep, round pool of stagnant, purple water. For a moment, they were completely submerged—the water stinging Ghirahim eyes.

Ghirahim swam to the surface, lifting Link out of the water and setting him onto the cold ground. The water had throughout soaked Link's clothes, staining the previously white sweater a deep purple. Link groaned with pain, coughing up water.

Ghirahim's fingers shook as he ripped off the sweater. A rash formed wherever the water had touched Link's skin—it was a deep, ugly purple, and it was spreading fast.

Link gripped Ghirahim's arm. “Are you alright?”

“I think you should be more worried about yourself.” Ghirahim frowned as Link continued to cough up water. “Are you alright? Can you breathe?”

“I'm fine,” Link said, voice ragged. He sat up, clutching his chest. “What do we do now?”

Ghirahim glanced around the area. They were in some sort of basement—and in the distance, there was a long, silver thread dangling. Ghirahim wished the thread away.

The basement was filthy with dirt and decay. Bones scattered across the ground and purple water oozed from the stones above, sizzling wherever it fell.

There had to be another way out of here—but Ghirahim couldn't think of anything fast. Not with Link in pain and not with the idea of the scared flame so close.

“Link,” Ghirahim whispered. “I need you to stand up. Please draw your sword.”

Link's face was tracked with tears. “Why?”

“Just do it. I'm going to go into the sword soon, and I'm going to give all my energy. I need you to be brave.”

Link did as told, if a little slowly. The poison had become worse, his skin covered in blisters. He held the sword with a shaky hand. Ghirahim picked up Link, carrying him over to where the thread was waiting.

Link breathed shallowly—Ghirahim hoped this whole ordeal would be over soon.

Ghirahim set Link down, taking Link right hand and guiding it over to the thread. Link felt the thread quizzically while Ghirahim prepared the transition from human (or was it demon?) to blade.

He forced himself to do it. It happened rather quickly, however strained. Once his spirit filled the sword, he could see everything at a bird eye's view. He was looking down at Link, his small little form shaking with a sword in one hand and the thread in the other.

“I need you to climb up the thread,” Ghirahim said, voice more sure than he felt.

“Climb up the thread? Is this like the one from the story?”

“I hope not. Can you climb one-handed?”

“I don't know.” Link pulled himself off of the ground, wrapping his legs around the thick thread. He inched himself upward with one hand, then—

Monsters formed beneath Link's feet. Bokoblins. Their eyes were bulging and their mouths were gurgling foam. They latched onto the thread, inching themselves beneath Link feet.

“Use your sword!” Ghirahim demanded. “Slash at those things!”

They clawed at Link's heels. Link swiped at them—but it was of no use. He slipped from the thread, hitting the ground. Hard. It took him a moment to orient himself, but there was no need to stand up and fight. The Bokoblins were gone.

Link struggled to stand up again, legs shaking beneath him. “Should I knock them off like the criminal in the story?”

“Maybe. What if the thread breaks?”

“I don't know.” Link put away his sword. “Why can't you just flash us out of here?”

“I think we're close to the sacred flame.” Ghirahim felt a little selfish. But both of them needed the sacred flame—not just him. “Don't worry. If the thread breaks, I'll get us both out of here.”

Link grabbed the thread, wrapping his legs around it as he had before. He climbed up onto it, at a faster pace now without the sword bogging him down.

The Bokoblins reappeared. They clawed at Link's feet, urging him to fall. He shook the thread violently, listening to their screams as they plummeted to the ground. It became a process: shake, climb, shake, climb.

Suddenly, all of the Bokoblins disappeared. Link panted, holding onto the thread with the last of his strength. His body ached from the climb, the poison continuing to eat away at his skin.

“We've almost made it,” Ghirahim encouraged. “Just a little bit more to the top.”

Link continued, sighing with relief when the thread ended and he was able to climb up and onto solid ground. He lay halfway up and halfway down—his legs were dangling below.

“Come on, now,” Ghirahim said. He pulled free of the sword with determination, crackling into the room. “It'll be alright. Through this room is the first sacred flame—Farore's.”

“What will happen to you?” Link asked.

Ghirahim didn't know for sure, so he didn't answer. He helped Link onto his back. Link's arms latched around Ghirahim's neck gratefully, his legs circling Ghirahim's waist.

Ghirahim looked around the room they had found themselves in—a large suit of armor sat guarding a door. The guard was made of gold just like the rest of the cistern. Large swords were held in each of its hands.

“I hate Faron,” Ghirahim said. “She left us a present. But you're the hero—it ought to accept you.”

Link shook his head. “I can't fight—not like this.”

“You might have to. Do you have proof do you have of being the hero? You're not wearing the green tunic.”

“Who said I had to wear that stupid tunic anyway? Has there been other heroes?”

“No. But when Hylia was making her grand plan, she let all of us underlings know that the hero would one day arrive. His hair would be golden, his clothes would be green, his heart would be pure.”

“Alright. Maybe my pure heart will sway Faron's gift not to attack me.”

Ghirahim didn't laugh. He carried Link forward, into the realm of the guard's protection.

The guard assembled itself, standing up and towering over the two of them. “I require proof of the hero's arrival,” it said, voice echoing throughout the room.

“On the hero's hand is the symbol of the silent realm,” Ghirahim said, shifting so the guard could see Link's right hand reflected in the light.

The guard silently judged. Then it edged away from the door, pointing its swords towards the ground. “That is proof of admittance. I wish you well, young hero. Beyond this door is what you have been seeking.”

Ghirahim led Link tentatively forward. The guard made no sign of changing its mind, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Ghirahim slid open the door, quick to close it behind the two of them.

The room was very hot. In the far corner burned a flame that stretched towards the ceiling, its color a bright green.

Link drew his sword. He was shaking violently now—he couldn't even manage to keep the sword steady. It wobbled in his hand. “Do I place the sword it the fire?”

“No. Hold it skyward.” Ghirahim stepped towards the flame. He wasn't sure if it would hurt or not—it seemed dangerous to step into a fire. He waited until Link had the sword lifted, however unsteadily.

Without another thought, Ghirahim jumped into the flame. It tickled, settling deep into his being. Memories of Faron Woods jumped before his eyes—if Ghirahim had always known this would be his destiny, perhaps he wouldn't have always fought so hard against it.

The flame slowly died down, filling his body and spreading throughout his veins.

Ghirahim jumped forward, pulsing into the Shadow Sword. Green light consumed the area, and the force of Ghirahim shoved Link backward. Ghirahim's spirit consumed the blade—and the sword shifted to match his new power.

Link grunted in pain. The sword clattered to the ground. Ghirahim jumped out of the sword easily, pulling Link into his arms

A piece of the evil in Ghirahim had slipped away; he could feel it. His heart was lighter than it had been since he was a child; but not all of the evil was gone—there was still a long way to go.

Gently, Ghirahim took Link's left hand in own. He touched the glowing mark of Triforce—it was too hot to touch, burning with the power of Farore's flame.

“Why does being the hero have to be so painful?” Link asked, rocking back and forth. “I didn't ask for this.”

Ghirahim didn't answer—he just flashed them both out of there and into the safety of Skyloft. Ghirahim didn't have a good answer, and he was beginning to think he never would have one.

Chapter Text

Link woke up in a bath of warm water. It smelled like spice and it soothed his blistered skin—but it had turned cold and was making him shiver.

“Will he be okay?” Ghirahim asked. “He hasn't stirred for hours now.”

“Link will be fine,” Henya said. “But I think it was wrong of you to push him so hard.”

Link almost stirred at that remark, but he pretended to still be asleep. He wanted to know what Ghirahim would say about him when he thought he couldn't hear.

But the wicked never did get any rewards; Ghirahim ceased speaking with Henya. Instead, she left the room altogether, leaving Ghirahim and Link alone.

They must have been in the bathroom of the Academy. Link could hear a teacher lecturing in some far-off room and a student getting yelled at for failing a test. The sounds were distant now, small flickers of a different life.

Once all of this was over, Link didn't think he could just revert to his previous life and pretend everything was the same. His days of milling around Skyloft with Zelda were gone now—his days of being weak, they were also gone.

Link was an entirely different person; Zelda wouldn't even recognize him now.

With Henya gone, Ghirahim moved to sit on the edge of the tub. One of his feet dangled into the water, accidentally brushing against Link's face.

Link took the opportunity to grab Ghirahim's foot, tugging it down and knocking Ghirahim into the water.

“You little scoundrel!” Ghirahim seethed. He recovered quickly, splashing around pathetically in the water. “How long were you awake?”

“Long enough to know your foot was on my face,” Link said. His voice was as rough as an old man's and his throat hurt worse than any cold. He coughed, but if anything, it only made his voice sound worse.

Ghirahim splashed Link in the face with the bathwater, but didn't make any move to get out of the tub. He paddled over to Link. “Good job, scoundrel. Now my clothes are all wet.”

Link smirked. “Mission accomplished, then. Do you know how long I have to soak in this tub?”

“Henya said until you woke up, so I guess you're done now. Do you feel better?”

“Not really.”

“Too bad. I was really scared for you. You passed out and for a moment I thought you weren't breathing. I flashed us straight to Henya—do you remember?”

Link didn't remember. The memories of yesterday were fuzzy and felt disjointed, almost like a dream. “What about my hand?” he asked. “It doesn't hurt at all anymore.”

Ghirahim kissed Link on the cheek before moving away. “It shouldn't have hurt at all. But it's still as hot a stove; I don't think I'll be holding your left hand anytime soon.”

Link touched the mark. It was hot, but it didn't burn like it had the day before. It was like a piece of light that was coming from within.

“I didn't know I'd have a boyfriend with so many tattoos,” Ghirahim whispered. “Or with so many piercings.”

“None of them were voluntary,” Link said.

“Not even the earrings?”

“Zelda forced me to get them. She said they would make me more… attractive.”

Ghirahim pulled Link's earlobe, toying with one of the silver hoops. “Really? If you don't like them, you could always just take them out.”

Link swatted his hand away. “The earrings are fine. Now get me out of them tub; I'm beginning to feel like a raisin.”

“I didn't know I would be dating such an old man… first the rough voice, now wrinkles all over his skin.” Ghirahim laughed, stepping out of the tub. Water sprinkled from his clothes onto the floor.

Link stood up, a little wobbly on his feet. Ghirahim threw a towel at Link's head; Link blushed before wrapping it around his waist.

“I think my little old man needs to start wearing gloves,” Ghirahim said. “Henya was suspicious—especially about the yellow triangle.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing at all.” Ghirahim flicked Link on the forehead. “Why would I? And besides, she called me a demon and tried to kill me when I showed up with you, so I don't owe her anything.”

“She's saved my life twice now.”

“Okay, I suppose I owe her that. Now dry off and put some clothes on. You don't know what you do to me looking like that.”

Link rolled his eyes internally. His limbs were stiff and sluggish. The poisonous blisters from the day before were mostly gone now, swirling down the drain with the rest of the bathwater. Now the blisters were just rough patches on his skin—give it a few days, and they were sure to heal.

Once was dressed, Ghirahim scooped Link onto his back. Ghirahim was still wet, but Link pressed his face into his hair regardless. Ghirahim always smelled like flowers, and it soothed him more than the healing water ever could.

Link could get used to this treatment. Ghirahim strode Link out into the hallway. Girls snickered, making Link snicker as well. He felt proud for them to know that Ghirahim was his—and he felt proud of looking like a war-torn solider.

Even if they didn't know why he looked like one—it didn't matter; Link was beginning to realize it was okay to feel a little proud sometimes.

A few minutes later, Ghirahim deposited Link onto the floor of his bedroom. Link began to gather any necessary supplies for their next trip, making sure that the harp was in his pack. He also found a pair of fingerless gloves from another knight uniform Gaepora had delivered to his room.

Ghirahim was right; it was too risky to walk around with these type of markings up in Skyloft. Most tattoos were only done in reverence towards the goddess, may it be her symbol or otherwise. It was strange to have something else outside of that norm—especially a seemingly random triangle and a flower that looked out of this world.

“Where to next?” Link asked, wincing at the break in his voice. Every word he spoke was painful; he was beginning to think he should just stay quiet for awhile.

“The Isle of Songs should give us more information about our next location,” Ghirahim said. “We need to find the trial gate, find the dragon Lanayru, and then find Nayru's sacred flame.”

Link let that all mull over in his mind. So much to do, so little time—at least, it seemed like there was only a little time left. But what if Demise returned years from now—who's to say they had to rush?

But Link felt the urgency regardless. And he knew Ghirahim wouldn't push him this hard unless absolutely necessary.

Ghirahim's arms wrapping around Link's waist, holding him close. He kissed his neck as an apology, then flashed them both into the Isle of Songs.

“This time we have to perform Nayru's Wisdom. Go ahead and pull out your harp.”

Link did so, plucking a few strings. Ghirahim sang, as always. This song was more flighty than Farore's, a little more unexpected. The song jumped and dived through the air, and it filled Link's heart with something close to nostalgia.

The building began to rumble. Ghirahim held Link close, listening to whatever the goddess was telling him this time around.

“Same old stuff,” Ghirahim complained. “We already know to find Lanayru from that old man.”

“I don't want to go back to the desert. There's this weird Goron who lives there.”

“Gorko?” Ghirahim laughed. “Yeah, he's amusing all right. Well, that's where we're going. Are you prepared?”

Link shook his head. “I'm not sure. I guess I'll cross that bridge once I get there.”

Chapter Text

Link didn't realize the desert would be so hot. Wasn't it cold before—so cold that it chilled him to the bone?

Link slipped off his sandals, sifting the burning sand between his toes. Ghirahim went off to search for the second trial gate, promising to be back soon.

Link was grateful to be given some time to rest. He still wasn't sure if he was mentally prepared for another silent realm; he could still feel the flower burning up his skin, the feeling of dread as his time limit came closer and closer.

And the memories of seeing everything, seeing himself—it was still too much to think about. It was a strange mixture of both wanting to see and not wanting to see.

It was strange.

The first time he had been to Lanayru Desert, Fi was still alive. She would have hated knowing he had fallen into the arms of Ghirahim—she couldn't even think straight while she was around him, after all.

Link buried his face in his hands. How could Fi just die—just leave him behind? And as much as Link wanted to trust Ghirahim, wanted to love him, there were so many things about him that were still a mystery.

Glass shattered, startling Link to a standing position. He had his sword out in seconds, poised to attack, but Ghirahim only laughed. He tugged the sword gently out of his hands.

“I found the trial gate,” Ghirahim said. “It's deep within the desert, and there's a lot of sinking sand. I'll need you watch your step and be careful.”

Link nodded as an answer. Words were too painful. Every time he swallowed, he was reminded of the poison that had torn its way down his throat.

Ghirahim took Link's left hand, kissing his knuckles, then flashed them both to where the next trial gate lay.

If anything, the sun was only hotter. Link pulled out the harp, playing Nayru's Wisdom by muscle memory alone. The crest of Nayru soon formed beneath his bare feet—he had forgotten his sandals in the sand—and the air simmered with energy.

Ghirahim sang along with every note Link played. Once he was finished, he pressed Link's sword back into his hands. “Are you sure you don't need more time to rest?”

Link shook his head. And with that movement, he shoved the Shadow Sword into the sand.

There was nothing, but he was expecting that.

What he didn't expect was what happened when he opened his eyes. A vast body of water had spread out in front of him. It was something bigger than the river up in Skyloft, bigger than Lake Hylia, but Link had no word for it. Nayru's Wisdom played on, making the experience all the more like a dream.

This time around, everything was tinted blue. Link looked down at himself—he was wearing the green tunic of legend, of course. Statues stood out of the water, reaching high up into the clouds. They were the same as before, with gleaming eyes and great robes. They seemed innocent—but Link knew what would happen when he stepped off the crest, what they would turn into.

Link reached down to feel the grooves and curves of the crest of Nayru. There was a small vessel in the very center of the crest that had fourteen grooves, just the same as the vessel in Farore's silent realm.

With that thought, Link slipped off the glove covering his right hand—the flower marking his hand was still the same, but vines now wrapped around his wrist. The leaves on the vine were bright green and shimmering, wrapping around in intricate patterns.

Link took a shaky breath. If the first silent realm had been modeled off of Farore, it must have tested his courage. And it had. Link was definitely afraid, but fear was not a lack of courage by any means.

Nayru's realm must be testing his wisdom, then. The crest beneath him was carved into solid ground, but as soon as he stepped off of it, he would be stuck swimming in water. So was he supposed to dive off the edge and find Nayru's tears? Or were there more islands further off?

Link threaded the vessel through his belt. He peered deep into the depths of sparkling water. His own reflection meant little to him—it's wasn't like he would ever see it again.

Link kicked off his boots, took a long, deep breath, then dived off of the crest and into the water. The change was immediate, all of the colors tinting to red and the drumbeat marching to the time of his heart.

But Link knew to expect that. He kept calm—his medallion didn't work in the spirit realm, even though it was still hanging around his neck. The statues barreled after him, their weapons coming dangerously close to his back.

Link struggled to dive down to the bottom, straining to even keep his eyes open underwater. And then he saw it—there, nestled in the flower of a large plant, was a glimmering tear of Nayru.

Link shoved the tear into the vessel, relieved to feel the peace return to the area. Link swam upwards, meeting the surface and letting out the breath he had been holding. On his hand, the first petal of the flower died, shriveling up his wrist and burning up the vine.

Link ignored the pain; it was only temporary. He just had to find thirteen more tears, avoid all of the statues—that was all. Then he would be okay.

He paddled around, diving underwater whenever he noticed a statue. The tears were usually directly beneath them. The water stung the burns the flower left behind, leaving Link gasping and making it harder to hold his breath. But he managed.

Whenever Link dived to the bottom, his hands would meet smooth sand. There were no other lifeforms but flora in this realm. Some of the plants were huge, colorful creations he was sure he could never describe. It was a whole other world—something he was sure would never exist again. At least, not in his own lifetime.

Eventually, Link couldn't find anymore tears. He was afraid of losing sight of the Nayru's crest, so he swam back towards it. He only needed two more tears to complete the vessel; where were they?

Link held his burning arm close to him—time was almost up, ticking away. He didn't think the last petal of the flower would last much longer—and Link knew what would happen once it was gone.

Link struggled to control his fear; it was pointless to rush. Maybe he should make use of his time—maybe that was the lesson of this realm.

Link dived underneath the crest, finding nothing. What if the tears were far off—what if he didn't make it in time?

Just as the final petal burned away, tearing up his arm and down his chest, he saw them.

The two tears were nestled into the eyes of the statue, their pure blue matching Link's own.

Link struggled to swim over to the statue. He had a feeling that when he touched it, it would spring to life and everything would go red and—

Would Ghirahim know when this was all over? Would Link's body keel over, dead—or would it disappear completely, and Ghirahim would never understand why he didn't wake up?

Link hissed as the flower continued to burn up the vine like a fuse. He knew that he had to climb the statue and attempt to find the tears; he had no choice—which would be better, dying by a statue's blade or by the flower's burning?

Link wrapped his arms around the statue's solid middle. As he did so, it slowly came to life, lifting its weapon into the air.

Link climbed quickly, reaching up into the statues face for the tears. He ripped them out of its eyes, shoving them into the vessel. The crest behind him burst with energy, a curtain of blue rising into the air.

The statue flailed, trying to shake Link off of its face. The fire continued to spread, now down his stomach and onto his legs, and Link realized he could no longer breathe.

Link jumped off of the statue, diving into the water. The fire spread into his lungs, his heart, his very being. The statue swam after him, flinging its sword towards Link rapidly and in random directions. More statues joined in, just as menacing and just as terrifying.

Miraculously, Link swam, his vision spotting with black and the air wheezing in and out of his lungs. Somehow, someway, his hands met the solid edge of the crest, and he pulled himself upward and on to it.

Instantly, the pain was gone, lifting from his body as though it had never been there. He breathed heavily, glancing around the vast area. It was an ocean—that's what one of Groose's textbooks had called a body of water as large as this. It was something that was only ever spoken about in legends, something that could never exist in the sky.

But it could, of course, exist in the land below the clouds.

Link held the vessel close to his chest. It burst apart, revealing a small purple stone. Link brushed his fingers over it, closing his eyes.

Nothing happened. He opened them again, confused—he had returned the first time just by placing the medallion around his neck. What was he supposed to do with a hunk of rock?

Link tossed the stone in front of him, letting it roll into one of the crest's grooves. The stone had a symbol carved into it that Link didn't know.

The change from hitting the ground happened slowly. The stone turned from a deep purple to a soft blue. Link picked the stone back up, rolling it around in his palm—which, he noted, was now covered in a long, twisting vine.

Link examined the stone, surprised to find a small hole pricked through the center. Link unclasped his necklace, sliding the stone onto the chain so it rested beside the medallion.

Link put the necklace back on. As soon as he hooked it, the ends of the chain fused together. He didn't think he'd be getting this necklace off anytime soon.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, his hands were wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He sat there, very still, for a moment, then relaxed. He crumpled against the sand, coughing. Ghirahim was right—he had needed more rest.

“Was it as bad this time?” Ghirahim asked, pulling Link's head onto his lap.

“Terrible,” Link rasped.

“There's a vine wrapping around your arm now,” Ghirahim said, tracing the vine he spoke of. “How extraordinary.”

Link shook his head. “It's not extraordinary, not at all. Those silent realms are horrifying.”.

Ghirahim continued tracing the vines, his light touch making Link shiver. “I'll take you back to Skyloft. Then we'll search for the second sacred flame.”

“What if I don't want to leave so soon?” Link asked. “What if I need a longer break?”

“Demise won't allot us too much time to waste,” Ghirahim said softly. “Demise will destroy Skyloft without a second thought, and destroy all of the Surface. Only those who do his bidding will survive.”

“Why did you—”

“Why did I join him?” Ghirahim finished. “That's a question for another day. Let's take you home—I think you've earned yourself a few hours of rest. Then we leave. We have to be fast, Link. I can feel the call of my former master deeply—it's a chill spreading across my soul. He's going to return, Link, and he's going to return fast.”

Chapter Text

Ghirahim didn't want to push him. It seemed ridiculous for him to be the one doing all of the pushing. Link was the hero, after all—he should be the one in charge.

But Ghirahim could feel Demise calling for him. It was easy to hide something Link could never see; it was easy for Ghirahim to hide the way his skin was breaking apart, revealing the weapon he would have to die to become. They had to go faster, had to beat time. Otherwise it would be too late, and Ghirahim would be gone.

Ghirahim was thankful to know that once he was finally purified, and the Shadow Sword became the Master Sword, he would no longer have to worry about his skin chipping away. He would be normal—at least, as normal as sword spirit could become. But he would no longer be a demon, would no longer be torn between two masters...

Fi would not be happy with this turn of events; Ghirahim knew she wouldn't be. She had turned her back on him when it came down to it, after all, and she was probably begging Hylia to remove him from the hero's presence already. She had always believed in the hero so strongly, had believed he would be the one. She had believed in the hero more than anything else in the entire world.

Link slept soundly, clutching the pendants of his necklace in his hand. The beautiful vines crawled up his arms, around his chest. They would most likely spread with each silent realm—Ghirahim didn't think he would mind that too much; in fact, he rather liked that idea.

Ghirahim leaned down, giving Link a kiss. He moaned awake, wrapping his arms around Ghirahim's neck and pulling him closer. The kissing continued, Ghirahim's hands roaming over all of the new designs marking Link's body. The vines were on his chest, his stomach. Without thinking, Ghirahim reached to pull down Link's pants.

Link swatted Ghirahim's hand away.

The atmosphere grew very awkward, suddenly. Link blushed a deep rose color, the flush creeping down his neck. He buried his head into Ghirahim's shoulder, murmuring an apology.

Ghirahim patted his back, trying not to let himself feel hurt. “I should be the one saying sorry. I didn't think—have you ever been intimate before?”

Link hesitated. Every word he spoke was in a pained whisper, and Ghirahim struggled to hear them. “Yes, I have. It didn't end well.”

“I'm never going to leave you behind, Link.”

“I would like to say I know that, but I don't.” Link pulled away, crossing his arms. “I know nothing about you—who are you, Ghirahim?”

Ghirahim's heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He struggled to get any words out, the words getting trapped somewhere in his throat.

They sat there in silence for a long while, Link casting his blue eyes downward. Then: “Aren't you going to say anything?”

Ghirahim tugged Link's elbow, but he didn't budge. Ghirahim drew back, exasperated. “There's nothing to say. It's better my past is left as a mystery.”

Link's eyes filled with tears. He dashed them away. “When it comes down to it, you're going to betray me, aren't you? There's no good reason for you to be here, and it's too soon to say you love me.”

“But you said you loved me first,” Ghirahim reminded him. He felt at a loss as to what to do. The bedroom was so dark, everything so quiet, and they were fighting for no good reason. “Were you lying?”

“I wasn't.” Link got off the bed, feeling his way over to his desk. He pulled open a drawer, patting his hand around its contents for something.

“I don't know anything about you either,” Ghirahim said. “Love doesn't have to be explained.”

Link didn't find what he was looking for in the drawer, moving on to the next one. Ghirahim moved to help, the bed strings creaking beneath him, but Link put up his hand to stop him.

“Do you know what this is?” Link asked. He held up the item in question. It was a diamond-shaped earring, glinting in the darkness.

“How would I know?”

“My mother found that in my crib when I was a toddler, She sensed dark energy in it, and she gave it to Henya immediately.”

“So?” Ghirahim forced a chuckle. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Except I started going blind a few months later. It started slowly, the world becoming blurry and my vision eating away at the edges. Father was so sure an evil spirit was the culprit; he called me his failed son, a boy who could never live up to his family's legacy.”

Ghirahim didn't say a word. He jumped off the bed, marching over to Link with an anger in his steps he didn't quite understand. “I can't believe you would accuse me of such a thing,” he hissed, voice breaking with the last word.

Link dropped the earring to the floor. “I—I wasn't. I just—I don't understand my life at all—I don't understand anything. And I know you play a bigger role in it than you let on—”

“Maybe you have proper reason to suspect me.”

“I'm sorry,” Link whispered. He pressed his lips to Ghirahim's neck. “Forgive me, won't you?”

“There's nothing to be forgiven,” Ghirahim promised. Link moved, continuing his kisses down Ghirahim's chest, his stomach…

Ghirahim didn't stop him. He allowed his guilt to ebb away with every touch of Link's lips against his skin. After all, he never knew which touch would be last.

*

The next morning, Link made no mention of the night before. Ghirahim noted the earring forgotten on the floor, making sure to pick it up and shove it into his pocket.

That, he knew, was something that would have to be explained eventually. Whether he wanted it to be or not.

“Where do you think Nayru's sacred flame is?” Link asked, swallowing thickly. The poison from the Ancient Cistern was still bothering him; Ghirahim could tell by the pained way he spoke, his words jagged and rough.

“Beats me. I think we should start from the trial gate. And then use the stone you received and figure out what it'll do.”

Link nodded, busy looking over the contents of his wardrobe. Ghirahim watched as he pulled a blue long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants off of an hanger. He watched as Link got dressed, the way the fabric clung to his chest and shoulders, the way the pants were tight over his legs. The edges of a vine peeked out of his shirt, spilling onto his collarbone.

“How do I look?” Link asked, twirling around. “Can you see anything?”

“A little bit, but nothing that's too noticeable.”

“A little bit?” Link smirked. “Do I look like a bad boy now?”

“Terribly.” Ghirahim teased. He pecked Link on the lips. “Now get prepared for a shopping trip, sky child. We need to go visit your little Bazaar.”

Link wrapped his arm's around Ghirahim's middle. “I'm all ready; just take me there.”

Ghirahim harnessed all of his energy—it was harder to flash places now, his magic weaker now that he'd soaked up the sacred flame—and flashed them both into one of the nooks and crannies of the Bazaar.

“Are we in a closet?” Link asked. He coughed, eyes watering from all of the dust.

“Indeed. As you said, we can't let random people see us and start a panic.”

Link coughed violently. He wheezed, falling to his knees. Ghirahim knocked open the closet door, pulling him out into the better air of the Bazaar.

A girl glared at them, her two blond pigtails wagging around with each angry bob of her head.

Ghirahim ignored her, patting Link on the back. Link coughed up some purple mucus; it hit the wooden floor, leaving behind a darkened spot. It sickened Ghirahim to think of that stuff being inside of Link's body, but at least he was finally getting it out.

“What is the meaning of this?” the girl shrieked. “This is the item check, not a place for people to make a ruckus!”

Ghirahim hoisted Link onto his back.

“Shut up,” Link said, voice nearly gone. It was back to how it was last night, each word just a ghost. “Peatrice, stop being such a snob all the time.”

Peatrice—Ghirahim thought the name rather suited the girl—stuck her nose into the air. “I'll never forgive you for rejecting me, not ever!”

Link coughed again, making Ghirahim feel uneasy. “Whatever, lady. Link's sick; I think you should put your feelings aside for a moment.”

Ghirahim stepped forward, but Peatrice blocked the hallway.

“Huh,” she uttered rudely. “Who are you? His brother? I didn't know Link even had a brother, so why should I let you through? You could be hurting him, for all I know.”

“He's my boyfriend,” Link croaked. “Go away, Peatrice.”

When she didn't budge, Ghirahim flashed to the other side of her. He toted Link away, not missing her shocked expression.

“What a trick,” Ghirahim said. “But are you alright? Do you need Henya?”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't sound fine. Here—I'll let you sit down in the cafeteria while I get supplies.” Ghirahim slid Link off of his back, leading him over to one of the wooden stools.

Link slumped down, immediately setting his head down on the table. Ghirahim felt his forehead—it was hot.

“Don't wander. I'll be right back, okay?”

Link nodded. It was so early that few people were in the Bazaar; Ghirahim hoped nobody would bother him—especially that Peatrice girl.

Ghirahim walked towards the man selling shields, keeping his eye on Link. Soon, however, it became apparent that he should have been more worried about Peatrice bothering him.

“You're his boyfriend?” she said, marching up to him with her hands on her hips. “How weird. Girls have always flung themselves all over Link, and now—”

Ghirahim continued walking, ignoring Peatrice's continued babbling. He picked up an iron shield, looking it over for any marks or imperfections. He was surprised Link wasn't getting hurt more, actually; monsters crawled all over the Surface, each of them ruthless and more terrifying than the last.

“Link's always been weird,” Peatrice continued. “Considering he's sightless, he should have been happy to have a catch like me.”

Ghirahim narrowed his eyes at her, making her flinch. “Are you implying his blindness devalues his worth?”

She squirmed, petting her hair. “Well, no, I didn't mean it like that—”

“Item check girl, I would recommend that you stop talking to me before I do something we'll both regret.”

Peatrice grew very pale, the only hint of color a rising blush in her cheeks. She stamped her foot. “I only care about him! Everyone's been talking about how he's darting around Skyloft and looking worse and worse. Sorry that I care!”

“You have a funny way of showing caring.” Ghirahim sighed, paying the shopkeeper for the shield. He turned the other direction, displeased to find Peatrice still following him.

Ghirahim glanced at Link, surprised to find him sitting up and talking to someone. It was that boy from awhile ago. What was his name?

Pipit.

Suddenly, Ghirahim felt a cruel jealously sweep through his body. His feet were glued to the spot. Peatrice laughed at his unease.

“There was a rumor once that something went on between Link and Pipit, you know? But that's just what it is, a rumor. And—”

Ghirahim didn't wait to see what she would say next. He marched directly over to Link and Pipit, glaring vehemently.

“Oh! Hey, buddy!” Pipit said cheerfully.

“Who's there?” Link looked around, eyes seeming to settle on everything but Ghirahim.

“It's me,” Ghirahim said, placing his hand onto Link's shoulder possessively. Pipit shrank a little, a bit of his confidence waning. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Link whispered, motioning to a cup of tea in front of him. “Pipit bought me something hot to drink. My throat doesn't feel so bad now.”

“Nasty cold, is it?” Pipit stood up from his seat, looking Ghirahim up and down as if he were appraising him. “Nice to see you, Link. And you, Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim smiled pleasantly, waiting until Pipit was out of earshot to speak.

“That loser was your ex-boyfriend?”

Link blushed. He shook his head, taking another sip of the tea.

“Peatrice told me he was.”

Link's next words were so quiet they were practically nonexistent. “Pipit was never my boyfriend.”

“But you dated?”

Link shook his head. “It was more of a… friends with benefits kind of thing, you know? Nothing serious.”

Ghirahim realized he may have overreacted. He felt a little embarrassed. “Alright. I guess I'll just go grab the rest of what we need. Will you be okay?”

Link didn't answer, simply taking another sip of tea.

And Ghirahim figured this whole day was just a bust.

Chapter Text

Link felt like hell. It was just one thing after another, day after day. And now they were back in the desert, sweat pouring down his face and his cough only getting worse.

At least Ghirahim was kind enough to carry him around on his back, not minding Link practically choking him to death with his iron grip. Link wasn't about to deny that he appreciated it, that he liked being that close to Ghirahim.

Ghirahim huffed. “I hate deserts. I hate sand. I hate everything. This place used to be an ocean once, don't you know? It was so beautiful.”

Link lifted his head up, tugging Ghirahim's earlobe sharply.

“Ow! What?”

Link forced his words out, feeling them scrape up his throat. “It seems as though you talk from experience,” he rasped.

“Maybe I am. Oh, there's one of those little robots buried in the sand. I always hated those things.”

Link banged on Ghirahim's shoulder until he set him down. The sand sucked at Link's feet. He picked up his necklace, flashing it at Ghirahim.

“Oh, the gift. You know, I miss all of your chattering.”

Link sighed. He crouched down, patting around the sand until he found the robot Ghirahim spoke of. Its body was rough and gritty with age, and Link was surprised to find that it was still buzzing after all this time. He didn't know what a “robot” was, but if Ghirahim hated them they were probably useful.

“What are you doing?”

Link banged the stone hanging off his necklace against the creature's head. Energy poured forth, wrapping around the area like a blanket.

“What the hell?” Ghirahim burst. “We're on a boat!”

Sure enough, Link felt wooden boards beneath him. The robot buzzed, skittering around Link frantically.

“Thank you for reviving me!” it said. “But you are just a human! Where did you get a Timeshift Stone?”

“It was a gift,” Link said shortly. He coughed, then began speaking again. “Is this your boat?”

“Yes, it sure is!” the robot said proudly. “I'm on a mission— traveling to the forest to aid Master Lanayru.”

“Lanayru?” Ghirahim questioned. “The dragon?”

“Who else?” The robot continued buzzing cheerfully. “But now you guys are here to save us all!”

“Hold up,” Ghirahim said rudely. “We said nothing about saving anyone.”

“I'll help you,” Link said. Or tried to say. The words stuck in his throat, making his eyes water.

The robot pressed its hand against Link's cheek, as if feeling for temperature. “You're sick just like Lanayru!”

“Is he?” Ghirahim reached down, feeling Link's forehead as well. “I didn't know Lanayru was ill.”

“Lanayru is dying, just as the boy is,” the robot announced sadly. “He coughs and coughs. The only thing that will help him is the fruit from the tree of life. The same fruit may help this human. What ails him?”

“Nothing!” Ghirahim said, patting Link on the back as he continued to cough. “He just swallowed some bad water; it'll pass eventually.”

Link coughed so violently he thought he was going to be sick. And he hated them talking about him as if he wasn't even there.

“Ah, you can be in denial, but it will do you little good. That poison was created by the three dragons, and it will only continue to tear the poor human from the inside out.”

“It was on his skin,” Ghirahim challenged. “It didn't leave marks on him at all.”

The robot buzzed angrily. “Believe me or not. If you want the boy to die, leave him be. That poison you speak of will kill any human that ingests it.”

Link cursed his life as another round of coughs racked his body. He knew the robot was right—it had been days since the Ancient Cistern and this feeling had only gotten worse. His skin may have healed, but his insides were still being ravaged by the poison.

“I believe you,” Link said, attempting to sit back up. But he remained doubled over, clutching his chest. “Where do we find this tree?”

“I have some of the seeds right here,” the robot said solemnly. “I've been planting them all over but to no avail. The tree of life takes a thousand years to grow and does poorly in this climate.”

“I know a place,” Ghirahim said. “If you give it to us to plant, we will return a fruit to the dragon.”

“I don't know,” the robot said. “How do I know Lanayru will receive the fruit? The tree will only bear one.”

“We will,” Link promised. He could feel his words tear away—and he had the feeling these would be the last that he said in a long while. “The dragon is more important than me, and it is doubtful I will survive much longer, anyway—if this poison doesn't kill me, Demise will.”

“Ah, does Demise plague the future as well? I believe you, child.” The robot gently took Link's hand, pressing a small seed into his palm. Link held it close to his chest. “I wish you well. May the three goddesses spare you.”

Ghirahim pressed his lips against Link's cheek, and in a flash, they were no longer in the desert.

They were in the forest, leaves falling from the trees and scattering in Link's hair. Ghirahim's brushed them away.

“I'm not giving that fruit to the dragon,” Ghirahim said. “And don't talk like that; whatever the outcome of this journey, you will still be living by the end.”

Link didn't answer. Ghirahim picked Link up again, this time carrying him in his arms. The sudden movement caused Link to get sick. He twisted in Ghirahim's arms, feeling the terrible burn as the liquid seeped out of his throat and onto the ground.

“We're going to the Sealed Grounds,” Ghirahim continued, his voice shaking. He held the trembling Link closer, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “And I'm going to get that damn Impa to send me to the past so I can plant that stupid tree.”

Some time later—Link had trouble keeping any track of time, he only noticed the burning in body—they entered the safety of a temple. Link struggled to remain conscious; he just wanted to sleep, he just wanted all of this to be over.

“Link!” It was Groose. What was he still doing down here? Link wanted to know, but he couldn't even manage to lift his head.

“He's in bad shape,” Ghirahim said. “Where's Impa?”

“Who's Impa?” Groose reached out, his rough hands feeling Link's forehead. “Who are you? What did you do to him?”

Ghirahim moved to hand Link off to Groose. Link realized what was going on, grabbing onto Ghirahim's shirt with all of the energy he had left.

Ghirahim shoved his hands away. Link's eyes welled with tears, and he cried soundlessly. He wanted to be with Ghirahim right now—he didn't want to be with anyone else.

In the distance, an argument ensued between Ghirahim and Impa. Link struggled to hear it, make sense of the words. Groose set Link down on a bench, assuring him that everything would be okay. Link wanted Ghirahim near him, reaching out in vain.

Groose seemed to think he was searching for someone else. “Zelda's not here,” he said sadly.

Link shook his head. Consciousness was fading, dreams were setting in. But the dreams quickly turned to nightmares. Nightmares of the silent realms, of monsters and beasts. Nightmares of Ghirahim disappearing, of Fi dying…

The next thing Link new, a cool fruit was being pressed to his lips. He turned his face away.

“Link, you have to take it,” Groose said. Link kept his lips tightly shut. “This guy is saying it's your only chance.”

Link sat up at the mention of Ghirahim, instantly regretting making any sort of movement at all. He forced his eyes open, straining to somehow see him in the darkness.

“I'm right here, darling” Ghirahim whispered. He smoothed down Link's hair. “You have to eat the fruit.”

Link shook his head. All he heard was Ghirahim sigh—loudly, mind you.

And they flashed away.

The next thing Link knew, he was in Ghirahim's arms and holding the fruit close to his chest. It smelled like honey. Warm memories of his childhood sprung up in him, memories of his father and mother making breakfast in the mornings. Memories of playing outside, without a care in the world…

“Oh, cursed Ghirahim!” rumbled a voice. “What brings you here? To spite me?”

“No. The hero of the goddess offers you a gift.” Ghirahim set Link down on the ground before the dragon. Ghirahim's voice sounded different than usual—was it sadness?

“The fruit of life,” rumbled Lanayru. The words were followed by a few hearty coughs. “Is the boy dying?”

Link didn't hear Ghirahim say anything in return. He strained his ears for it, but heard nothing.

“I see.” The dragon rumbled over to Link's body, tugging the fruit out of his hands.

Then Link felt himself drift away, lost to another world.

“What are you doing?” Ghirahim screamed.

The air turned golden. Link coughed, opening his eyes to the bright light. The dragon lifted him higher into the air, currents of electricity swirling around and around him.

Link coughed again, feeling something hard settle in his chest.

“Let it out, boy,” Lanayru soothed. “Our poison is not for the weak. It is a miracle you have survived this long; hold onto that strength and sustain it.”

The golden cloud was soothing. Link watched the golden colors seep through the darkness, the rays of light pressing against his skin. He coughed again, the sharp lump pushing its way up his throat and into his mouth.

He spit it out and it fell into his hands. Link grew dizzy as it dissolved away, wanting to fall down, but the cloud held him upward.

“Let my spirit revive you as you have revived me,” Lanayru rumbled. Link felt steam rise to his cheeks, the poison release from his body. The steam ebbed away any pain Link still felt, leaving him renewed.

The clouds receded. Link's spirit returned to his body, straight into Ghirahim's arms.

“You killed him!” Ghirahim cried. “I know the three dragons hate me—but what did the boy do to deserve this?”

“Don't cry, Ghira,” Link whispered, reaching up to touch Ghirahim's cheek. “I'm going to be alright.”

There was silence as Ghirahim processed his words, his touch. “I thought you were gone,” he said dumbly. “Don't ever do that to me again.”

“I won't try to,” Link said. “I'm sorry I scared you. Does Groose know I'm okay?”

“No.” Ghirahim sniffled. “It's a good thing you can't see me right now—I'm such an ugly crier.”

“We'll need to let Groose know,” Link said, ignoring Ghirahim's latter comment. He sat up, pressing a kiss to Ghirahim's lips.

Ghirahim was still crying, his hands trembling as they pulled down Link's back.

The air shimmered, the dragon settling beside them. “I see how it is now. Love is the purest thing in the world. But please tell me, young hero, with your own life at stake, why did you save me? You owe me nothing.”

Link shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Hylia chose a wise spirit for the hero now, did she? I suppose I shall bring you both the sacred flame. With these actions, hopefully my debt towards you for my life is now repaid?”

Link smiled. “More than repaid. Thank you, Lanayru.”

With that, the dragon flew around, thundering into the sky. A great flame spread into the area.

“You know what to do,” Ghirahim said, pulling Link to his feet with a shaky grip. He let go of him with a lingering touch, stepping away.

Link nodded, pulling out the Shadow Sword and holding it into the air. It was up in the air only a moment, just long enough for Ghirahim to soak up the flame.

There was the intense pain, the second piece of the Triforce burning onto his hand. The sword clattered against the ground, and there was Ghirahim—holding Link closer than he ever had before.

“I love you, sky child,” he said. “I know you don't believe me, but I—”

“I love you, too,” Link interrupted. “However this journey ends, I want it to be with you and only you.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine, Ghira.”

“Are you sure?"

“I'm sure.”

They were standing at the very top of Eldin Volcano. Ghirahim was looking around for the next trial gate, being ridiculously overprotective. The heat was definitely uncomfortable, but besides that—Link felt perfect.

“Are you sure the the goddess didn't tell you anything new at the Isle of Songs?” Link asked, dragging his sword against the ground as he walked.

“Nah, nothing but her usual garbage. Blah-blah-blah, the hero, blah-blah-blah.”

Link sighed. “I wish I could hear for myself what Hylia has to say. Everyone back home would be so jealous.”

“Skyloftians are blinded by the goddess,” Ghirahim scoffed. “Including you. But I don't see you praying to her as often as you did before.”

“I pray often enough, thank you. We owe Hylia everything; why wouldn't we worship her?”

“Correction. You owe the three goddesses everything. But I suppose it's useless to argue—you are the goddess's chosen hero, after all. You probably know more about spirituality than I do.”

Link wasn't so sure about that. He continued dragging sword against stone, feeling the flutters in his stomach increase the closer they came to the next trial gate. He had been through two of silent realms now, but he didn't think he would ever get used to them.

“Here we are,” Ghirahim said. “Oh, look—it's right in front of the Earth Temple. You hated me then.”

“Did I?” Link struggled to remember that meeting—it seemed like a whole other lifetime now. “Didn't you tell me, 'friends call me Ghira,' or something like that?”

“I did.”

“What friends?”

Ghirahim laughed. “I was trying to sound cool. Come on, now. Take out your harp and play Din's Power.”

Link tugged it out of his pack. It twanged noisily—perhaps he should be taking better care of it. “Let me just tell you one thing before I go in there.”

“I'm all ears,” Ghirahim teased. “You don't have to always announce what you're going to say.”

Link groaned. “Just listen, why don't you? I love you, and if something happens to me in the silent realm I want you to continue this journey without me.”

“I can't do that. It has to be you to defeat Demise.”

“Who says?”

“Hylia.” Ghirahim hesitated. “Alright, that sounded unconvincing even to me. I say you have to do it. I'm not strong enough; only you are.”

Link huffed, plucking the strings of the harp. Ghirahim sang begrudgingly, the words filling the air around them. This song was noisier, harder to play—

Link didn't think he had a lot of power within him, but maybe this silent realm would prove him wrong.

Without another thought, he shoved the sword into the ground.

There was nothing—

Then—

There was light.

Smoke billowed from the top of Eldin Volcano, lava spilling and bubbling down its side. Link watched it, mesmerized by its vivid red.

Everything, he noted, was bathed in red. And it was very hot, hotter than anything he had ever felt—was that volcano going to erupt?

Link pulled up the sleeves of his tunic, not surprised to see more vines. They now trailed down his left arm, but they didn't dare touch his hand. The mark of the Triforce was too sacred, he supposed.

Link took a deep breath, reaching down to grab the vessel of this silent realm. There were only two, large grooves in the vessel this time. Link puzzled over it—there were no tears in sight, and this silent realm looked incredibly large. Apparently he should prepare himself for more searching than usual.

And the volcano—it was going to have a huge eruption any moment, ravaging mayhem across the land.

Link realized his breath was coming short, his heart beating like haywire. He wanted this silent realm to be over, and he wanted it to be over fast.

He wanted all of this to be over. But Link couldn't bring himself to imagine what was next, what the future held—

As far as Link was concerned, there would be no future for him. And maybe it would be better that way.

Link stepped off of the crest, the haunting, jarring melody of Din's Power quickly being replaced with crushing drums. Statues moved, assembled themselves, and began to chase him.

The vines spread like fire across his body. Frustration and pain curled up his throat. The agony of it, the slow burn, the feeling of everything going wrong. How was he going to fix this—how was he going to find the tears?

Link walked forward, the air so hot and dry it was almost worse than the burning. Pools of lava were everywhere, the statues chased him, the end was coming. If power was something reserved for the strong, Link knew it would never be attainable for someone like him.

Because he was weak. He had been told this, again and again and again by so many different people. He was weak—he shouldn't be allowed out by himself—he should always have someone to watch him—he would always have to live at the Academy—always have to be taken care of like a child—

Link pushed himself forward. The pain was only temporary; if he could remember that, everything would be okay.

The pain was only temporary. He limped forward, statues slamming their jagged, huge swords against his back. It was like his worst nightmare, but this was one he couldn't wake up from.

Link gritted his teeth, feeling his spirit pull away from him. But he continued, forward, inevitably—

The statues hit him again and again and again. Each time was worse. The flower continued burning, and Link no longer felt like himself. But he was so close—so far—

Link fell down. The statues hit him, destroyed him. But his spirit wasn't gone, it was still there—

Because Link had an unbreakable spirit. And he wasn't weak, and he wasn't anything else than what he wanted to be.

He pulled himself forward, forced himself to move. There, sitting stoically in front of him was a bird statue. Link pushed his flaming hand forward, the flower just a smear of brown, his flesh blurry in the red light of the silent realm—and ripped the two large tears out of its eyes.

The statues paused in their movement. Perhaps they were shocked to see that Link was still moving, still breathing at all. Link shoved the tears into the vessel, relieved to see peace resume in the area, the statues molding back into sentient beings of calm.

The volcano, however, wasn't peaceful in the slightest.

Link began crawling just as it erupted, lava spewing over the area and black smoke billowing down and making him cough. He crawled back the way he had come, pulling himself towards the crest—his body battered and ruined. And the bathing rays of Din caressed his body—

The pain was gone. Link blinked. The vessel shattered into light, leaving two earrings behind in its wake. Link laughed from the sheer ridiculousness of it—all of that work for a pair of earrings?

Link removed his golden hoops, replacing them with the new red ones.

And Link closed his eyes, laughing manically.

He continued laughing when he opened his eyes again, gripping the hilt of the sword.

“Something funny?” Ghirahim laughed hesitantly, the laugh small and unsure. “Nice new earrings—aren't those fashionable?”

Link laughed so hard it hurt. He laughed so hard that he began to cry, doubling over from the pain of it all.

Because Link just realized he had just achieved a growth in spirit, had conquered something that had been gnawing at his mind for so long. He finally realized that anybody could be powerful—even someone like him.

And he was thankful to finally know that.

Chapter Text

It was hard to realize people cared about you.

That realization came and went with Link. It ebbed with the day and faded by nighttime. Sadness was always so close to his heart, always so ready to eat away at him.

Love was something he had never felt he truly deserved. He felt sick to his stomach with it—the only constant in his life had always been being left behind.

It was just hard—so hard to realize people cared about you. So hard to realize you were worth being cared about.

“What's going on in your mind?” Ghirahim asked gently, wiping the tears from Link's eyes. “There's no reason to be so upset; you told me yourself that everything was okay.”

Link didn't know why he was still crying. He was okay, more than okay—he had survived three silent realms, had survived so many things. His chances were good—more than good; he would surely succeed in whatever came next—

Ghirahim flashed them back into the Academy. Their sweet spot. Their refuge. Link cried at the familiarity of all of it, the fading embers of a peaceful existence.

“Why are there four trials?” he found himself asking. He forced himself to stop crying, forced himself to focus on something—anything—else. “There are only three goddesses; so why are there four?”

Ghirahim traced the Triforce on Link's hand; apparently he had been lying when he said he could no longer touch it. Link whimpered at how nice it felt—how it soothed some of the lasting pain. “Each realm was created and designed by a dragon—you know, each to represent one of the goddesses.” Ghirahim continued to trace up Link's wrist, his arm. “The fourth and final realm—it was created by your lovely Hylia.”

“Why do you think she chose me?” Link asked. Ghirahim was now up to Link's shoulder, his neck; he began again, tracing down his body a second time. Link couldn't help but shiver, his voice trembling with his next words. “No one will give me a solid answer. Out of everyone in the world; why me?”

Ghirahim paused in his movement, his hands stilling at Link's elbows. “I know why she chose you, but—”

“You can't tell me?”

“Of course not. I want to tell you everything about me, everything about my life. But it would lead to nothing good; I wasn't—I'm not—a good person, Link.”

Link placed his hand onto Ghirahim's chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart.

“The heartbeat's not real,” Ghirahim said, answering Link's unspoken question. “I'm not real. The sword on your back? That's not real, either.”

“What are you, Ghira?” Link asked, balling the fabric of Ghirahim's shirt into his fist. “What are you really?”

“Just a soul. A wandering ghost with no true temple. Fi was the Goddess Sword, as you know. But I—I am stuck between, completely stranded in time.”

Link could feel heat rise off of Ghirahim's skin with those words. He could feel his apprehension in the air, the nervousness. But sometimes, like when he had pressed the knife to his throat—Ghirahim had felt otherworldly, his grip so strong and his body so deft.

And when they had fallen into the poison, he hadn't been hurt at all, while Link was left gasping in pain.

But there had been other times. When they had kissed, when they had cried, when Link had pleasured him the night of their argument, his lips tracing down his skin…

“We need to find that sacred flame,” Ghirahim whispered. “I need to become the Master Sword. If we don't kill Demise, my soul will never be free.”

“Tell me what happens once Demise is here. I feel like I'm fighting against nothing but hot air. I can't envision what we're up against—”

Ghirahim cut off Link's words with a kiss. “He's almost here,” he whispered, his breath hot and heavy. “Demise looks different to everyone; he is fear personified, he is your worst nightmare.”

Link traced his tongue over Ghirahim's bottom lip, pulling him back into a kiss. He pushed Ghirahim back onto the bed, straddling his hips. “What did he look like to you?” he asked, breathless.

Ghirahim's hands wandered to the top of Link's pants; this time, he didn't push his hands away. He allowed him to reach down, allowed him to touch what he found there…

There was no other mention made of Demise. Or what he looked like. Or what the next few days would bring.

All Link knew was—

Ghirahim's hands,

Ghirahim's voice,

Ghirahim's being—

And the heat that seemed to fill him from the inside out.

*

Ghirahim allowed Link to sleep in the next morning. The memories of last night were still fresh, and whatever happened next, he knew they would bring him comfort.

But they would never be enough.

Ghirahim regretted so many things—more things than he ever dreamed of. He stared at his wrist, the cracked skin, the black of the sword within showing through.

The last sacred flame was so close. Once he had it—hopefully it would be enough to reverse this process for good.

But what if he was wrong?

Link stirred, yawning as he woke up. He opened his eyes blearily. The sky blue of them was faded now, black at the edges. The pupils were dilated, far past repair.

“What's wrong?” he mumbled, sitting up and stretching. The blanket fell off of him, exposing his body all over again.

“Nothing,” Ghirahim said. “Just admiring your beauty this fine morning.”

Link blushed. “Whatever. I'm going to go take a bath.” He hopped off of the bed, grabbing a change of clothes out of the wardrobe.

Ghirahim forced Link to give him a kiss before leaving the room to bathe. Then Ghirahim laid back onto the bed, breathing in the scent of Link still lingering on the pillow.

Ghirahim must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew there was a very warm, clean Link kissing him.

Ghirahim traced his fingers through the boy's golden hair, kissing him for who knows how long. Link pressed down, his wet hair tickling Ghirahim's check.

Then he pulled away, leaving Ghirahim more than a little flushed. “Are you ready to go find the third sacred flame?”

Ghirahim couldn't do much more than nod. Realizing Link couldn't see him, he used his words instead. “Of course. And I know exactly where Eldin is hiding out.”

“How?”

“I paid him a visit once. Let's just say he'll definitely remember me.” Ghirahim kissed Link again—he didn't think he could ever get enough of it—and flashed them both into the Fire Sanctuary.

They continued to kiss through the heat.

“Excuse me!”

Ghirahim flashed his eyes towards the source of the noise. It was none other but Eldin himself, towering above them in his great majesty. Fine red robes trailed the ground, dipping into pools of lava but never burning.

“Oh, cursed Ghirahim!” the dragon rumbled. “What brings you here? To spite me?”

Link flushed all the way to his toes. His earrings sparked in the heat; just as Ghirahim expected, they protected him from the intense heat from the inside of the volcano.

Otherwise, he would have had to have gotten Link out of there. And fast.

“We need to know the location of Din's sacred flame,” Link said bravely. His hair was still damp, but it was steaming in this heat—a wave of humidity rose above his head like a halo.

“And who might you be? One who kisses a demon is not someone I would call a hero.” The dragon lolled lazily onto his back, stroking one of its long whiskers.

“I am the hero of the goddess.” Link stepped forward triumphantly. “My whole body is proof of it now.”

The dragon appraised him. “I suppose it is. Some tattoos you got there. Some might call you a bad boy!” The dragon laughed at its own lame joke, huffing and puffing.

Link edged back towards Ghirahim, reaching out for his hand. Ghirahim took it, rubbing soothing circles into his palm. Eldin was the least dangerous of the three dragons, but he definitely had the largest personality.

“But why Ghirahim?” the dragon asked once recovered, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Honestly, son, out of everyone to make out with in front of a divine presence, it had to be him?”

“Your silent realm was hell,” Link spat, surprising both Ghirahim and Eldin. The dragon cocked its head in shock, while Ghirahim almost flashed them out right then and there. “Honestly, divine presence, out of everything you could have created, it had to be that?”

The dragon rolled over, squinting its eyes at Link as if truly seeing him for the first time. “Hylia told me to create a realm of power, and I did. A little boy like you to speak to me in such a way—preposterous! But the realm taught you power, did it not? Oh, how the lines blur between the three—courage, wisdom, power. Sometimes they are truly interchangeable. It always takes one to achieve the other.”

Link bowed his head, letting go of Ghirahim's hand and stepping forward. “I apologize, Eldin. We just need the sacred flame—please, show us where it is.”

“Ghirahim, be more like this boy! I like him—he truly has some spunk.” The dragon spit at the lava beneath him, breathing a fire that molded a sliver of the lava into a rocky bridge. “The flame is directly through this door. Congratulations—the challenge was getting past me!”

Eldin continued to laugh as Ghirahim guided Link forward. The bridge was very thin and wobbly, and it terrified him to imagine Link falling in.

The walk was very slow, the dragon only laughing harder at their struggles. But they eventually made it, sweat pouring down Link's face from the effort.

“I think I'm going to need another bath,” Link muttered, offering Ghirahim a wobbly grin.

Ghirahim accepted the offer, kissing Link for a split second before moving to open the door.

Sure enough, on the other side lay a huge, red fire that enveloped the room.

Link drew his sword, lifting it up into the air while Ghirahim positioned himself within the heart of the flame.

This was it—he would be the Master Sword. Something he had never wanted to be, something that he was had always been so against…

His father had once told him that he would be the greatest weapon the world had ever seen, a great sword that would tear through the hero like he had never even existed.

But his sister had told him he could be gentle, a flickering breeze on the wind. He would be a weapon that would match no other—the Master Sword. He would be a weapon that could hurt no good, only evil—

Ghirahim opened his eyes, watching the courageous, wise, and powerful man standing before him. He wielded a weapon that looked evil—demonic, even. Its blade was black and its hilt was a deep, bloody red.

But Ghirahim knew better. He pushed his spirit towards the blade, consuming it with all of his newfound energy.

As always, the sword fell out of Link's hand, clattering against the ground. Link fell onto his knees, hard—holding his freshly branded hand close to his chest. And as always, Ghirahim comforted him.

The Triforce was complete, burned into Link's hand and glowing with an unparalleled power.

“I know what I need to do,” Link whispered. “Before the final silent realm—I need to speak to Zelda. I have to know how she's doing.”

“Of course.” Ghirahim wrapped his arms around Link. “Of course. And I know exactly how to make that possible.”

Chapter Text

Zelda had been waiting a long time. She didn't know why all the waiting bothered her so much. It was such a little matter—all she had to do was wait a dozen or so years before the next hero would reveal himself.

Impa entertained her. She told her stories about the Sheikah and answered all of her questions. She was a good friend, never tiring of Zelda's endless questions about this, that, and everything.

Zelda had been waiting a long time. It was a long enough time for her to forget the painful parts of her human life—

Link was slain by that demon. And she had allowed it to happen. But that boy only mattered in her human life. In the grand scheme of things, who the boy was and what time he arrived did not matter.

Because Zelda had all the time in the world. And she had plenty of time to wait, plenty of time to let go of trifle human emotions.

“Did you hear that?” Impa asked. She stood, staring at the Gate of Time. Sure enough, it began to move and turn. It was a great gear, making a hearty noise as it was brought to life.

Zelda swallowed down her rising apprehension. “Isn't it too soon for the hero to arrive?”

Impa drew her sword. “It is nothing to fear, your highness. It must be one of Demise's minions. Remember when one arrived the other day?”

The Gate of Time opened. Walking out of its darkness— confident and sure—was a boy she thought she would never see again.

“Link!” She leaped up, but Impa stopped her from running towards him with a raise of her hand.

“Speak,” Impa commanded. “Who are you?”

Link was almost unrecognizable. He was taller, his hair longer—and there were the most intricate patterns painted onto his skin. Swirling green vines and leaves wrapping around both of his arms.

“There is no need for him to prove himself,” Zelda said. She sat back down on her throne, smoothing out her skirts. “However, I thought he was dead. Tell me, Link, how you managed to survive.”

Link stepped closer to her. There was no searching, no reaching out for something to guide him. He walked surely and steadily. This was a different boy than the one she had left behind.

Zelda could not deny the flutter in heart no matter how hard she tried.

“There was never any real threat to my life,” Link said simply. His voice was deeper than before. There was a small, white scar slashed across his neck. And his eyes—they weren't open, not at all.

Impa ducked away, leaving the throne room entirely. Zelda measured her next words carefully. “Tell me how you survived. And tell me why you have come here.”

“Ghirahim—”

Zelda gasped. “The demon?”

“Yes. Ghirahim had never intended to kill me; in fact, he was quite shocked when you left me behind.” Link touched the scar on his throat with those words. The Triforce shown on his left hand triumphantly, displaying he had succeeded in three of the four silent realms.

It disquieted Zelda to know all of this had been going on without her knowledge. If she was meant to be the queen of a new world, she had to keep better track of her subjects.

“Do not trust him. Ghirahim of Faron is a wicked, wicked man. I forbid you from speaking to him ever again.” Link didn't make any signs of accepting her words, so she plowed forward. “How is Fi serving you?”

Link stepped backwards, back towards the Gate of Time. “Fi was killed,” he said. “The Goddess Sword snapped in half.”

Remorse flooded in Zelda's chest. Memories of a person she had never known burned like a fire within her—the burn spread all through her body, reminding her sharply that she was no longer Zelda, but she was somebody else.

“Did she, now?” Zelda struggled to keep her voice even. “Then, tell me—how did you pass the three trials without a sword?”

“Zelda, I didn't come here to be bombarded with questions. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Zelda stood up, the white of her gown spilling onto the floor. “If you don't have Fi, then I suppose you didn't have anyone to explain this to you.” Zelda took a deep breath. “Your worries about me are unnecessary, for I am the goddess reincarnated. I am Hylia.”

Link took another step back.

“You don't believe me, do you?” Zelda walked towards him. “To be honest, I didn't believe it myself at first. And you and I—we are destined lovers.”

Link turned his head just as Zelda's lips brushed against his. He took her wrists, holding her away from him.

The last piece of Zelda's human heart shattered, gone with the wind.

“I'm sorry,” Link whispered. “I've told you so many times.”

“Do you not believe me? I am Hylia—”

“I believe you. I think I've always known; it seems so obvious now. But you're also Zelda.” Link let go of her wrists, taking another step back. “Please—don't forget who you are in all of this. I haven't.”

“Have you, now?” Zelda shook her head. “You're a completely different person, and I don't think I like what you've become.”

“You can't say that. Don't you know how worried I've been?” Link reached out to touch her, taking her hands in both of his. “This whole journey started as a search for you, after all.”

Zelda disliked the rough feel of his hands, she realized. And there was a long scar—similar to the one on his throat—that was slashed across the palm of his left hand. And his touch felt different than Groose's—but Groose, he was someone she had to let go of, someone she had to put away.

Zelda was Hylia. And Hylia's destined lover was the man whose body housed the hero's spirit. Who was Zelda to play with destiny in such a way?

She decided to change tactics. “You're right. Let's talk sensibly. Sit down with me and we can catch up with one another.”

Link obliged. Zelda led him to the steps leading to her throne. They sat down. It almost felt undignified—Impa hadn't let her do anything but sit down on thrones and do queenly exercises in so long that it was almost strange to be sitting down so casually, so carefree.

Life was different; she was different.

But Link—he was different, most of all.

“Groose has been worried sick about you,” Link said. “Everyone is. And your father never laughs anymore. He's always in his office, studying ancient texts.”

Zelda took in those words unwillingly. She didn't want to hear about those people. Because if she heard about them, she'll remember them, and then—

“Ghirahim's my sword now.” Link blushed, the sudden color causing an uneasy flutter in Zelda's stomach. “In fact, we have sworn our love to one another.”

“You couldn't have!” Zelda jumped up, stomping her foot. “Ghirahim? He's the very definition of evil—he turned his back on me when I called his name.”

Link looked as though he'd been slapped. “He's different now. I trust Ghirahim with my life.”

“You don't understand,” Zelda said wickedly. The words burned their way up her throat—and she knew the damage they would cause. Any innocence left in the hero's soul would disappear, be replaced with a sharpened edge.

But so be it. If it strengthened the hero, then it would have to be the right thing.

“Ghirahim blinded you as a child. It was a failed murder—he had intended to kill you but you had somehow managed to resist the brunt of the dark magic. Ghirahim is nothing but a puppet to his master's bidding; he is nothing good.”

Link's chin wobbled. He stood up, a little unsteady. “You're wrong! Ghira would never—”

“He would,” Zelda spat. “Remember that in this game, I am the only person you can trust.”

“That's not true,” Link said. He was seething, his whole body trembling with an energy Zelda had never seen before. “I've never been able to trust you. Where have you been? If someone had a knife pressed to your throat, do you think I would have allowed even one drop of blood?”

Zelda reached out to touch his jaw, pressing her lips to his smooth skin. He allowed it to happen, didn't push her away. He kissed her back, his breath shaky and his hands trembling as they wound their way through her hair.

They kissed for a long time. Longer than Zelda had ever expected or had ever allowed herself to dream. His cheeks were wet with tears, and his lips tasted like salt—but he didn't stop and he didn't make any sign of stopping.

Until, of course, he did.

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, stepping away from her. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand— roughly enough to show Zelda exactly how he felt about kissing her.

Zelda didn't answer the question; rather, she focused on keeping herself from collapsing to the ground.

“It had to have been,” he continued. “There was no other reason for you to tell me those things—for you to be so cruel. You can't expect me to have feelings for you that simply don't exist.”

“I won't apologize,” Zelda said, licking away the taste of salt still lingering on her lips. Her stomach was in knots; she felt like she was going to be sick. “I know the truth is hard to take, but Ghirahim has brainwashed you into believing in a love that can never be true—”

Something snapped within him. He became very quiet, his words sharp and said only in a whisper. “I came here to speak with you as a friend. I thought you would give me good council—do you know that Ghirahim told me to come here alone? He opened the gate, ushered me through and gave me well wishes.”

Zelda didn't answer.

“And then there was Groose. He told me to tell you how much he loved you. And Grannie told us you were important to the fate of the world; she said you would be a calm creature, almost ethereal. What fools we were to believe in you so strongly; Ghirahim was right when he said Hylia did not deserve our praise.”

Zelda didn't answer. She wiped away her unwanted tears—there was no reason to cry. These people he was talking about—they meant nothing to her, not anymore.

“Romance isn't everything. Love isn't all. If there is anything you take from our one and only kiss, please let it be that.”

Link waited for Zelda to respond. When she didn't, he turned towards the Gate of Time. He walked with a purpose, sure and steady—calm and strong.

He was quickly swallowed into the darkness of the gate, disappearing into his own time. The glow of the Triforce was all that remained in the inky black; a bright, yellow mark that burned in the very center.

But Zelda didn't let it bother her. She was sure he would run back. As soon as he understood Ghirahim's evil, he would run back to her, straight into her open arms.

Slowly, Zelda sat back down at her throne, face hot and flushed, tears running down her cheeks. Impa came to meet her, opening her mouth to rebuke her.

Zelda silenced her with a raise of her hand. She had been waiting a long time. What would be a little while longer?

Chapter Text

“You really love him, don't you?” Groose asked. It was probably a good idea to talk; they had been watching the Gate of Time for a long time now, and Ghirahim was tired of waiting for Link to return.

“Of course I love him. There's no other choice.”

“I've been here for quite a while now,” Groose continued, tapping his feet against the stone floor. “I've learned so much about the Surface. This gate was just lying here—who knew that all it needed to work was a touch of Link's hand?”

“I knew,” Ghirahim said blankly. “When I went back to plant the tree, I made Impa open it for me. She has the mark of the Triforce as well.”

“Stop calling Grannie by her first name! That's weird!” Groose laughed. When Ghirahim didn't join in, he became all serious again. “Isn't this gate something else, though? What's up with it?”

“Hylia made two of them for this purpose. It goes between two times; in both places, the hero is needed.”

Groose laughed.

“What?”

“You're not human, are you?” He poked Ghirahim's cheek for emphasis. Ghirahim scooted away from him.

“I was human once,” he said. “Then I was turned into an evil demon.”

“How cool!”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Groose pouted. “I don't know what Link sees in you; you're so serious all the time.”

The Gate of Time began to turn suddenly. Ghirahim jumped to his feet just as Link's outline began to form.

“How was Zelda?” Groose asked eagerly. “Did she ask about me?”

Numbly, Link shook his head. Tears stained his cheeks. “Ghirahim? Are you there?”

“I'm right here.”

Link looked very weak suddenly. Lost and out of sorts. Ghirahim pulled him into a hug, and Link slumped against him. “Is it true?”

Groose searched Ghirahim's face for answers, but he had none to give. With a whistle, Groose went outside, letting the heavy doors slam behind him.

Link began to cry. It was a different cry than the others—it was heavy and deep and it came from a primal part of him. Ghirahim flashed them both of out there—to a more secluded spot.

In the heart of Faron Woods. At the place they had shared their first kiss. Link cried so hard he began to hyperventilate, his breath short and choppy.

“What's wrong?” Ghirahim asked. Tears sprang to his eyes as well. “Tell me, darling. What's true?”

Link pulled away from Ghirahim's arms, scooting away from him. He opened his eyes. The bright sunlight highlighted them—the dead black, the unfocused haze, the murky blue. “You did this to me, didn't you?”

Ghirahim reached out to touch him, but Link flinched. The pain was unparalleled—the remorse.

“Answer me.” Link's chest heaved up and down—he looked crazed, his face red and his heart beating so loud Ghirahim could have sworn he could hear it. “You did this to me—why would you—how—”

“I ruined your eyes,” Ghirahim admitted. The words were too simple to say; too easy to say for the affect they had on Link.

They took all the warmth from Link's features. They caused a heartbreak to sweep over his entire body—there was trembling, a change—and Ghirahim knew nothing would ever be the same.

“Tell me everything,” Link said. “I want to know everything about you—I want to know why you would harm somebody you don't even know.”

Ghirahim knew it was useless to resist. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to anymore—it would be such a relief to tell the truth, to let it all go.

And he knew he would never be forgiven—would never be forgiven for doing such a thing to Link, would never be forgiven for keeping it from him when there had been so many opportunities to explain.

Ghirahim reached out again; this time, Link didn't resist, allowing Ghirahim to pull him onto his lap. Ghirahim cradled him, wishing away all of Link's pain and suffering.

And Ghirahim knew exactly where to begin.

*

“Why do you say things like that?” Fi was brushing her hair, staring at herself in the mirror—the long blond strands framed her face like a princess's.

“I was only telling the truth.”

Fi was just about to retort this statement as Hylia entered the room. Her presence was immediately suffocating, her cold blue eyes going directly to Ghirahim.

“You were lying,” Hylia agreed. “The sooner you accept me as your goddess the smoother things will go for you in the afterlife.”

Ghirahim swallowed down an insult. The three goddesses had left Hylia in their stead, after all—maybe she did have something within her that Ghirahim should praise.

But with his life about to end, and considering what was going to happen tonight, it seemed pointless to worship her. And it was difficult to praise someone who was just another human; her transformation into a goddess did not detract her humble origins.

“Your father won't stop asking for you,” Hylia continued. “Since I do not entirely hate you, I will allow you to speak with him one last time.”

Fi paled, giving Ghirahim a panicked look. “Don't I get to see him as well?”

“No, my child. You're too pure to be in his presence any longer. And, besides, he asked for Ghirahim.”

“But I don't want to see him. Wouldn't it be better if Fi did? She's always been Father's favorite.”

Hylia ignored him, walking over to Fi. She ran her fingers through her hair. Ghirahim wanted to smack her hands away, but he was so tired of fighting. She would only end his life all the sooner, which would only inflict unnecessary pain unto Fi.

After all, her life was going to end as well.

Ghirahim marched out of the house. It was crumbling shack—not much was good about it, but it was home. The other houses were empty, the village absolutely still.

Besides a few other stragglers—the cretins Hylia didn't think deserved to be in her new world—Fi and Ghirahim were the only people left on the Surface.

His father was kept within Skyview Temple, kept prisoner in one of its chambers. Faron had always favored the man, and she had wept, causing a great flood in the woods. Ghirahim was up to his knees in water by the time he reached the steps to the temple.

Hylia, of course, was already there. It must have been magic, the way she jumped place to place. But it didn't feel like magic to Ghirahim; it just felt properly annoying.

“Did you really think I would let you speak to him alone?” She kissed his cheek; Ghirahim disliked the way she still affected him, the way his body still yearned for her touch.

“Of course I didn't,” Ghirahim said, turning away from her. “You haven't been that kind in a long time.”

Hylia ignored him yet again, continuing to speak as though he had never spoken. “Fi has accepted her fate more gracefully than you have. She has sworn allegiance to me; perhaps you should be more like her.”

Ghirahim decided it was his turn to do the ignoring. As punishment, Hylia took his hand in hers. The butterflies were unwarranted—unwanted.

But Ghirahim was too tired to push her away.

Together, they began waking up the steps leading to Skyview Temple. It had been a place Ghirahim had come to worship the three goddesses many times, especially Farore. Ghirahim didn't like the way Hylia's influence had already begun to spread within its sacred walls. He didn't like the way she had destroyed everything he had ever known with a few flicks of her wrist, as if life on the Surface had never even mattered.

“Here we are,” Hylia said, lifting her hand up to the door keeping Ghirahim's father contained. The Triforce marked onto the door shone golden. Once the door disappeared, she pushed Ghirahim inside. “I'll be listening, so don't say anything you shouldn't. You have ten minutes.”

The door reappeared behind him, solid and sturdy. Ghirahim pressed his forehead against it. He had planned to die today; that he could accept—but he didn't think he could accept speaking to his father.

And he didn't want to turn around and see his father in this weakened state. He didn't want to see him chained, in misery—no matter the things he had done, he was still his father.

It was just—it was all so strange. Before his father had returned triumphantly as a beast called Demise, Fi and Ghirahim had thought him to be dead. When he was suddenly alive—it was too much—and when he challenged the goddess—

“Turn around and face me,” his father said, ripping Ghirahim out of his trance. “Ghira, you've always been a weak little thing, but what point is there to be afraid of your own father?”

Ghirahim kept his eyes trained on the door, almost wishing for Hylia to pull him back through. “I've heard the stories. You don't even look human now.”

His father laughed. “Yes, that is true. I suppose I look rather terrifying… but what if I look the same?”

Slowly, Ghirahim turned. It wasn't his father who sat there, but Hylia—her face twisted and her blue eyes wide and mocking.

Ghirahim turned away as jolts of fear trembled up his spine. He twisted his hands together, praying to Farore—but Farore was no longer here.

It was Hylia he should be praying to now.

“What do I look like to you, son?” It was still his father's voice. But it couldn't be. He looked back.

It was Hylia, her smile cruel.

“I am your greatest fear,” his father said simply. The voice was all wrong coming out of Hylia's mouth. “Ghirahim, I know that this so-called goddess is planning to punish you and Fi. But I'm here to offer you an alternative—”

“She's listening,” Ghirahim said, voice small. His entire body was shaking. “And I don't want any part of your plan. Tonight, we will all be put to death. Just as we should be for all you have done.”

His father laughed as he stood up, Hylia's long, white skirts trailing the floor. His hands were chained to the wall, and Ghirahim could almost smell the magic keeping him contained. “Hylia has disillusioned so many, even the three goddesses. How can she fault children for the faults of their father? And she won't seal me away that easily—it will take someone stronger than her, and she knows it.”

Ghirahim shook his head. “This is goodbye, Father—”

“It won't be,” he said. “And you and I both know it.”

Hylia reached through the door—her long nails biting into Ghirahim's wrist—and dragged him back into the hallway.

“Don't listen to him.” Hylia smirked, caressing Ghirahim's cheek with a gentle touch. “I let you see him for a reason—I thought it would help you understand his evil.”

“I already did,” Ghirahim said. “You didn't have to let me speak with him; in fact, I wish you hadn't.”

Hylia's smirk faded. “Really?”

“Really.”

Hylia continued to study him. “You do understand that I'm doing what is best for this world? I can't let Demise's two children walk free.”

Ghirahim nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, flashing them back into his crumbling old house, with the crumbling old paint and the crumbling old memories.

Ghirahim let himself soak in the feeling one last time. He was sure Hylia would go easy on them—at least, he hoped so.

Fi was still staring at herself in the mirror, her eyes wide and frightened. Her hair was braided, up in an intricate hairdo—Ghirahim supposed it was a good idea to look pretty for your own execution. He hadn't given much thought to it himself.

Ghirahim hated Hylia more than ever. For what she had done to his family—for what she had brought to his people. For how she had stumbled upon Faron Woods, wide-eyed and innocent. For how she had tricked everyone into believing in her so blindly—

“I have a proposal,” Hylia began grandly. “Rather than executing you both tonight—as you both deserve—I want to give you an alternative.”

Fi looked at Ghirahim with a newfound hope. But Ghirahim only shook his head. Whatever this proposal was, he didn't want to hear it.

“My chosen hero will need a weapon. But he will also need a guide, someone who knows this world better than he ever will. The hero will be from a new world—Skyloft will be the only thing he has ever known.”

“But that will be hundreds of years from now,” Fi said. “Ghirahim and I are only human; we won't live that long.”

“Good point. But that's where my plan begins. I will transform one of you into a weapon—the Goddess Sword, if you will. However, this comes as a price. Your humanity will slip away…” Hylia laughed. “But that isn't too much of a pity, now is it? And, of course, the hero only needs one sword. I will give you the night to choose which one of you will accept this fate; the other will be executed.”

“We don't need the night,” Ghirahim said. “Fi knows more than I do about the Surface. You have to choose her.”

“You're always lying.” Hylia stepped towards him, an evil glint in her eyes. “I suppose I will choose you, then—you've always been the worst, don't you know? Rejecting me as the goddess at every opportunity. Perhaps in the hands of the hero, you will be more malleable.”

Hylia placed both of her hands onto his chest. She kissed him—memories of other kisses sprang up in him. When they had first met, and everything was so new—but she had only used him to learn more about Demise, and Ghirahim knew that now.

All of those feelings—they were only temporary.

Hylia pushed Ghirahim away. He screamed as an intense pain ripped through him—he could feel his body change. Fi jumped up to help him, but held herself back.

Ghirahim watched Fi fall to her knees—begging for her own mercy just as his soul was wrenched from his body. Fi wouldn't even pray for him—wouldn't even scream his name.

That pain, he thought, was worse than this. Knowing his sister cared about her own fate more, that was worse than this.

For a moment, Ghirahim saw everything at an overhead view. He watched as Hylia stepped towards the praying Fi. She placed both of her hands on Fi's shoulders—the entire room rippled with energy. Fi's screams met Ghirahim ears—

Then he saw his father—the more deranged Hylia—tear into the room. He picked up Ghirahim's lifeless body, using his power to warp them both away.

Then there was nothing.

There was nothing for a long time.

Ghirahim had the sense that he was waiting for someone, or something.

There was nothing in his mind, until there was. And it was a need—

Ghirahim opened his eyes, staring up at a crystal blue sky. There was a sword and a pedestal beside him, but it meant little to him.

Ghirahim stood up, dusted off his pants. The woods were deathly quiet—there was nothing around him at all but trees, and silence, and—

Nothing.

Ghirahim slowly began to remember. But he couldn't figure out why he was alive—there was no swashbuckling hero wielding his sword.

There was a great pain in his left ear. He reached up, hissing when he felt the jagged edge.

Something had awakened him—but what?

And something had torn off his damn ear.

“Looking for me?” A woman stepped forward, out from a tree. “My name is Impa. Sorry about your ear; it was already like that.”

“Are you the hero?”

Impa laughed. “Me? No. But I found a random sword here and I could feel your spirit. You've been caught up in some evil energy, just so you know.”

“I know.” Ghirahim felt an emptiness inside of him; it had been years, he knew that now—everything he had ever known was gone to time. “Why am I here?”

“I don't know the answer. Faron may help you.” Impa smiled sadly. “I'm sorry, young man. But I have my own mission to attend to—and it doesn't involve you.”

With that, she walked off, leaving Ghirahim more alone than ever.

But he knew there was something he had to do. There was a boy somewhere—he could feel him, wandering around somewhere above.

And Ghirahim knew he was supposed to kill him for his—

“Master!” Ghirahim fell to his knees, trembling as a new current of strength crept over him. He knew his master's bidding; each step was laid out in his mind.

Ghirahim struggled to keep the images at bay. The violent images—of what he was capable of, of what he was supposed to do.

It was like he had already been there, above the crib of a child with golden hair.

Ghirahim laughed wickedly, the sound foreign to his own ears. He couldn't believe that laugh had come from his own mouth—that he was capable of such a cruel, evil sound.

Impa was there again. She patted him on the back. “Poor man,” she mused. “Hylia's reject, no doubt.”

Ghirahim clapped his hand over his mouth. He felt embarrassed at his outburst—Impa, however, didn't seem to mind it at all.

“Hylia's not perfect,” she said. “She's only human. I'm sorry for what she did to you and your sister.”

“Fi?” Ghirahim blinked away sudden tears. “Is she—”

Impa shook her head. “No, she's up in Skyloft as the Goddess Sword. She's more than okay. You, on the other hand? You're stuck between two forms.”

“I am?” Ghirahim stared at the sword beside him. It was red and black. Nothing called him to it—the sword was just another thing in the area. Nothing special.

“Yes.” Impa sat down next to him, staring up at the sky calmly. “And I don't know what Demise did you after he stole you away, of course; I'm only a Sheikah, I don't know everything.”

Ghirahim struggled against the rising impulse. His father's voice was in his head—telling him what he was supposed to be doing. He touched his sore ear instead.

Demise had ripped it off for his blood. Ghirahim could remember it now—the dark magic being pushed into his body. Somehow, he had managed to turn him into a demon before Hylia had gotten hold of him and sealed them both away.

But Ghirahim could feel two magics flowing in him, each incomplete. One was Hylia's; the other Demise's.

The longer Ghirahim sat there, saying nothing, the stronger the impulse grew. Impa closed her eyes, dozing peacefully—she didn't view him as a threat, which Ghirahim was almost thankful for.

Ghirahim struggled against the need to do his master's bidding, to begin the steps laid out in his mind: kill the hero, kill Hylia's reincarnation, revive Demise.

With a screech, Ghirahim tore away into the sky. Breaking glass echoed throughout the woods, causing scared birds to burst out of the trees.

Up in Skyloft, it was already nighttime. Demise was his master; all of the things that had scared Ghirahim in the past—they didn't scare him now. He craved them, craved their dark power.

He didn't feel like himself. He felt different—it seemed like somebody else was doing this. Somebody else was laughing manically; somebody else's face was twisting into a snarl.

Somebody else was creeping into the home of a small child. Somebody else waited in the shadows, watching the small child sleep without a care in the world.

It was the hero. Ghirahim knew it was. The spirit Hylia had searched so hard for—the spirit she said was different from anybody else's. The spirit that was supposed to be perfect, that was supposed to form a flawless human under the right circumstances.

A hatred for the boy burned so hard and deep that Ghirahim had to keep from screaming out his rage—he had never been an angry person before.

But everything was different now.

Ghirahim let his father's dark power push to the tips of his fingers. He touched the bars of the baby's crib, letting the darkness settle into the wood like a current of electricity.

The baby struggled for a moment, cried out—but the darkness continued to push and pull its way through the child's spirit, covering him in complete and total shadow.

The boy opened his eyes—they were blue and scared, and—

Ghirahim wrenched his hands away. Snatches of his humanity returned to him. The old flickers of himself—the memories—they all came swarming back, cruelly and wickedly—

Ghirahim urged the magic to subside, but it didn't. There was a piece of it still there, lingering deep within the child's soul.

But he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't even know what he had been doing, after all.

Ghirahim unhooked one of his earrings—they had been a gift from Fi, forever ago—back when life was happy and Ghirahim wasn't standing a thousand years in the future, away from everything he had ever known.

He dropped it into the crib. A token of his deepest regret.

Ghirahim closed his eyes, ripping himself out of the room and back to the Surface.

Ghirahim couldn't believe what he had done. But it hadn't been him—it had been something else that had swept over him, something beyond himself. But he knew a part of him had enjoyed being evil, a part of him had enjoyed lashing out against everything that had ruined his life.

The years following, Ghirahim traveled all over the Surface, acquainted himself with the world and what it had become. He ended up visiting each of the dragons in turn; none of them offered any useful advice, only hating Ghirahim more once he left.

And, sometimes—he would visit Skyloft and watch the boy. Nothing had ever seemed wrong, so Ghirahim had allowed himself to rest easy. It comforted him to know he hadn't hurt the child after all—that the lingering dark magic hadn't been enough to damage him.

Years passed slowly. Ghirahim almost wanted to end himself, but he knew that was the easy way out. He ignored the steps to his master's plans when he could, but sometimes he couldn't help but obey them.

The worst of it was when he wrenched Hylia's reincarnation out of the sky—when the girl cried and he had to give her to a disappointed Impa, who told him she had expected better of him.

But the years weren't so bad. And one day—while he was watching the sunset—he heard a scream pierce the air. When the screams didn't stop, he decided to go investigate.

And it was a boy with golden hair and blank eyes. He was drowning in Lake Hylia, flailing in the deep water. Without hesitation, Ghirahim dived in after him, knowing in his heart who the boy was but not wanting to admit it.

It became harder to resist his master's urges after that. He played with the boy, taunted him. For awhile, he was evil and cruel—everything his father had always wanted him to be.

But—one day it stopped being a game. And every time he spoke with the hero—he realized he wanted to follow the boy's will. Not Hylia's, not Demise's—

But that of the boy.

Chapter Text

Link didn't speak to Ghirahim for a long time. They went back to Skyloft, back to the Academy.

Link didn't speak. It was too much—Fi and Ghirahim were siblings, Demise was their father, Hylia was evil.

It was too much. Link crawled into bed, holding his pillow close to him. When Ghirahim moved to lay down beside him, Link shook his head.

He wanted to sleep by himself tonight. Ghirahim grabbed a blanket and sat down on Link's desk chair, crying all the while. He wasn't crying loudly, not at all—but Link could hear the small sniffles in the stillness of the room.

Link knew he was being cold. He didn't feel like a perfect spirit—Hylia was wrong about him. The ingredients weren't right; somehow Link had turned out the furthest thing from the hero, from what she had imagined.

Link was blind. He was an orphan. He liked boys, no less.

It soon became apparent to Link that he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. And he couldn't help thinking that if the dark magic had spread to the point he couldn't see at all, who's to say it wouldn't continue until it killed him?

What was the end to all of this?

Link got out of bed, letting the pillow fall to the floor. He walked over to Ghirahim, sitting down on his lap with a slight hesitation. Ghirahim didn't entertain his hesitancy, wrapping his arms around Link and holding him close.

And Link pecked him on the lips, just for the comparison—

He didn't feel guilty about kissing Zelda. Or Hylia. Or whoever she was—because it would never compare to the feeling Ghirahim gave him, the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach.

Link would never like girls. Never. It gave Link a sick thrill of pleasure to know Hylia had failed to predict the future in that way, had failed to have the hero perfect and with his tail between his legs.

“Do you still love me?” Ghirahim asked. His smooth voice wrapped around the stillness of the room, causing a jump in Link's heart.

“Of course I do,” Link whispered. “Love isn't something that just goes away.”

“Then why won't you talk to me?”

“I'm talking to you now, aren't I?” Link kissed Ghirahim again; he knew it was too soon for him to do so. He didn't want Ghirahim to think all was forgiven—but he needed Ghirahim close right now, needed to know he was there.

What Ghirahim had done—it was something Link knew he could never forgive. But that didn't mean he couldn't love him in spite of it, couldn't love him regardless..

“I want to do the last silent realm now,” Link said. “I want all of this to be over.”

“Not tonight, darling. You're too upset up for that.”

Link shrugged. “I just want all of this to be over, I guess. I know you're right—I need to wait, but—”

“This will never be over,” Ghirahim whispered. “Evil will always be in this world, and the hero's spirit will always be—”

Link cut him off with another kiss. He brushed his hands down Ghirahim's arms, exploring his body. Every touch felt so good—but it was only a solvent for the pain; it wasn't a cure.

But Link kissed him regardless. Come morning, he would have to be prepared for the fourth final realm—and he would have to be prepared to face whatever cruel game Hylia had created for him there.

*

Link woke up with a crick in his neck. He was still tangled up in Ghirahim's arms—still sitting on his lap. He kissed Ghirahim awake, trailing the kisses down his neck.

“I don't know what I have done in this sorry life to deserve you,” Ghirahim whispered.

Link stopped kissing him, stretching as he jumped off his lap. He wavered a little as he stood, feeling weak and sorry for himself. He needed a year to sleep, to get over all of this.

But time—that was a luxury he didn't have.

“Ghira,” Link began, struggling to keep his words light and easy. “Do you still have the earring?”

Ghirahim shifted in the chair. Only a moment passed before he walked over to Link, taking his hand in his. He pressed the small diamond into his palm.

Link removed one of the earrings he had earned in the third silent realm—it came off easily enough, dissolving away in his hand. But that didn't shock Link at all. Nothing surprised him now.

He replaced the earring with the diamond. “Does it look stupid?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Ghirahim said.

“I'm ready for the fourth silent realm.” Link winced as he voice shook, and he wished his tears away. He had been crying so much lately, and he didn't want Ghirahim to see—

But of course he did. Because Ghirahim noticed everything.

He pulled Link into a tight hug, running his hands over Link's back. Link buried his head into Ghirahim's shoulder—all of this pain, it just wouldn't go away.

“I'm so sorry,” Ghirahim said. “I would do anything to go back in time. I would change so many things—”

“I'm not upset about being blind,” Link whispered. “I don't even know what I'm upset about anymore; I just am.”

Ghirahim held him for a long time. Link managed to compose himself enough—enough that he thought he wouldn't cry again; at least, not until later.

Link pulled away from him, teary eyed and exhausted.

“This silent realm is close by,” Ghirahim said. “It's right here in Skyloft. We need to play the Ballad of the Goddess to enter it.”

Link nodded, forcing himself to be brave. Only a little while ago, he had felt so complete and sure of everything.

Now, he felt like such a fraud. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he didn't think he could bear it much longer. Good morale was important—but for Link, it just wasn't there.

Ghirahim held his hand. Link leaned onto him for support. He doubted Ghirahim could flash them much of anywhere now—that must have been why they walked.

They walked through the Academy. They walked outside, and it was freezing—Link's boots were crunching against something—

And Link realized it was snow. Time just kept slipping, just kept fading away.

“The trial gate is right here,” Ghirahim said softly, kissing the top of Link's head. “We're near the two windmills—do you remember when we had to figure out those?”

Link nodded numbly. He lifted up his head, taking his harp out of his pack. It was the same one as Hylia's—and most likely, she had written all of these stupid songs they had to play all the time.

“We play the Ballad of the Goddess here,” Ghirahim said. “And just so you know—there are some people milling around. Maybe we should wait.”

Link shrugged, playing the first note of the song. “It matters little to me if they notice us. They'll just see me stick a sword into the ground and hear a pretty song.”

“True.”

Link continued playing the harp, his fingers drifting over the strings—he remembered Zelda had once played this song for him. But that was before she knew who she was—what a burden it must be for her, to remember everything from a previous life.

Ghirahim sang quietly, no doubt embarrassed to know other people could hear him sing. But Link wanted him to sing louder—he had such a pretty voice, and Link liked the idea of the entire world hearing it's power.

Once the song ended, Link removed the Master Sword from its sheath. He didn't give Ghirahim any final words, didn't kiss him goodbye—

Because Link knew he would be coming back this time. He had no other choice.

And he shoved the Master Sword into the ground.

Nothing, then:

Soft, pretty music filtered through the area. It was the Ballad of the Goddess—but slower, softer. And in this realm, Link could understand all of the words. Link kept his eyes closed, letting the lyrics seep into his very being.

But when he finally opened his eyes, he wasn't looking at a statue. He was looking straight into the eyes of Hylia herself.

He screamed, falling flat on his back.

“There's no reason to be frightened.” Hylia offered her hand to help him up, but Link refused.

He scrambled to his feet, immediately wary of her. He disliked how he had immediately recognized her despite never knowing her; how she looked so innocent in her white dress. And her eyes looked so kind—

But Link refused to trust them. He turned away from her, roaming his eyes over Skyloft. It was his home as he had never seen it before—but it was empty, desolate. It was all the buildings, but none of the people—

And Link realized it was the people that made Skyloft home, not the architecture.

“I want to apologize,” Hylia said. “I've been waiting for you here—and I want to explain some of my actions.”

“I don't want to hear an explanation,” Link spat. “Nothing you say will make me hate you any less.”

Hylia's serene smile wavered. She regarded him anew, roaming her eyes over Link's body in a way that made him feel very exposed.

And Link disliked how she didn't even have to say her name for him to know her; Link knew she was Hylia as firmly as he knew himself.

“Here, in the silent realm, your body is just as I meant it to be.” Hylia held out her hand, and the front of Link's tunic ripped apart. There were now shimmering, white flowers decorating Link's skin, blooming among the vines. “However, your spirit is not what I expected—not at all. It's so strong that even in the silent realms it does not waver.”

“What do you want from me?” Link struggled to maintain his composure. He still felt respect for her—she was still his goddess, the woman he had prayed to and had loved for so long. But now—knowing what she had done—

“I'm not perfect,” Hylia said, She lifted up her hands, and the rest of Link's clothes fell away. The world fell away around them, and she stepped towards him. “I was happy for the longest time. Ghirahim was a good match for me, but then his father had to ruin it for us.”

Link wanted to push her away, but he couldn't. Jealously flared up in him just from the way she said Ghirahim's name—but he was stuck motionless as her body pressed to his own. Her touch whispered across his skin.

“I was always such a good girl, and the three goddesses loved me for it. When they asked me to take care of the world, how could I say no?”

Link couldn't even speak. He was trapped as Hylia kissed each of the flowers on his skin, as trembles shivered up and down his spine.

“I realize now that I wasn't strong enough for such a task. But there was a spirit out there who was—and that spirit was yours.”

White flooded Link's vision as Hylia continued to bless him, her lips trailing across every single flower—

“I shall entrust the Triforce to you. Find it, child, and use its power to shake this world. Make a wish that only a spirit such as yours can make.”

The darkness within Link disappeared with those words. When the world came back to him, when the white melted away—they were back in Skyloft, standing on top of the Statue of the Goddess. Link wasn't wearing a tunic, but his everyday clothes—a blue, long-sleeved shirt and black pants. Laying in his right hand was a white flower, shimmering and beautiful.

“There,” Hylia said. “Now your body matches your spirit. I'm sorry, Link, for choosing you so blindly. And I'm sorry for how everything has played out.”

Link continued staring at the flower. He still couldn't speak or move. Hylia walked around him, touching each of Link's scars in turn—the one on his neck, his hand, his shoulder—

“I thought you would love my reincarnation. How funny it is for you to love Ghirahim so strongly. I have grown to accept your love, but I don't think Zelda will.”

The flower dissolved into Link's hand, the spell broken. Without thinking, he darted forward—grabbing Hylia's wrist.

She startled. But she didn't move any further; she just looked down at his hand with a sort of resignation.

“I'm going to end this,” Link said. “I'm going to find the Triforce—and I'm going to make it so you can't hurt anyone. Not ever again.”

Hylia's eyes filled with tears. “But Demise isn't the only evil. You and I—we shall be reborn along with each cycle; there is no end to this.”

“There will be,” Link promised. He let go of Hylia's wrist. The Triforce marking his hand was so bright; it was something beyond even this realm—beyond this world—

“We all believe in you,” Hylia said. “I'm so sorry for everything—I thought the sake of the world was more important than the sake of my own; if anything is my tragic flaw, let it be that. But if anyone can change the course of history—it's you, Link.”

Link closed his eyes as Hylia kissed him—he felt her warmth all over—felt his life suddenly have perfect clarity.

“May this be the last time you ever know darkness,” she whispered. “Now—open your eyes and meet the world you've fought so hard to save.”

Chapter Text

Link opened his eyes to an intense brightness. He screamed, covering his eyes with his hands.

“Are you alright?” Ghirahim shot forward, trying to pull Link's hands away but failing. “What happened?”

Link shook his head weakly. His eyes hurt like hell—even with them covered the light filtered in, pushing against his eyelids.

“Sorry,” Link breathed. “I just—didn't expect—”

Ghirahim pressed his fingers to Link's neck, feeling for a pulse. “I'm going to go get someone to help—”

“Don't do that,” Link whispered. Slowly, he pulled his hands away from his face. He let one of his eyes crack open.

There was a lot to take in. The sky was gray and cloudy. And hovering above him with a pained expression—was a man.

Link opened both of his eyes, staring at Ghirahim. At the curve of his lips, at his nose, at his eyes. There were deep, black cracks running down the left side of his face. Link reached out to touch them, but held himself back.

“What's going on?” Ghirahim repeated. His lips moved with the words, and Link was mesmerized by the way his mouth moved, by the way the words tripped off his tongue.

“I can see,” Link whispered. He sat up, staring at everything around him. At the white snow, the blanket of clouds, the Loftwings perched on the diving platforms—their feathers were so bright, so colorful.

“What do you mean?” Ghirahim forced Link to look at him, turning his cheek.

“I can see,” Link whispered again. His eyes jumped around by their own accord—from their years of misuse, they weren't truly focusing on anything, just drifting over everything in a haze. “And Hylia—she removed the darkness from me—but I didn't think she meant—”

Link closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by everything, by all of this. It was too much for his senses—what had Hylia expected? Did she think Link would open his eyes and everything would be fixed?

“It'll be alright,” Ghirahim said, brushing his hand down Link's cheek. “We'll deal with this—it'll be alright. I won't let Hylia hurt you any longer.”

Link allowed Ghirahim's words to comfort him. It was so much better with his eyes closed, with the light kept at bay. It was too much, too soon—

The world was so… different. Link shivered in the cold air. He didn't want to see again—he didn't want this.

“I hate Hylia,” Ghirahim continued. His fingertips ghosted Link's ear, trailing down the diamond earring. “She's so cruel. Why would she do this to you? Just to hurt you?”

Link opened his eyes. Everything was so bright, brighter than he ever thought it could be. “No,” he said softly. “She must have thought this was for the best.”

He could feel his eyes dart around—it was an extremely unpleasant sensation; and Link had a feeling that his eyes would never truly work. His sight had been given back to him—but it was too late, and they weren't strong enough to do what they were supposed to anymore.

Link glanced back at Ghirahim. His eyes were a dead black, but Link was captivated by them. “We need to talk to someone about this,” Ghirahim was saying, but Link didn't truly hear—he was too focused on the cracks running down Ghirahim's face, the glassy black showing through. “This is a huge change for you. You need time to adjust.”

“You're beautiful,” Link said. He traced Ghirahim's jaw, ran his fingers down the cracks, touched his jagged ear.

Ghirahim shuddered at Link's touch. In a way, he looked more terrified than Link was by this sudden change; maybe Link should have been more scared, but he wasn't.

“I need to go to Sky Keep,” Link said; he didn't know how he knew this—he just did. “It's the place Hylia hid away the Triforce; I need to go there as soon as I can.”

“What do you mean?” Ghirahim frowned; Link wanted to kiss it away. “The Triforce isn't for just anyone. It will corrupt a mortal.”

“I'm not just a mortal anymore; I'm the hero.” Link didn't blink—he held his breath, watching the truth of that statement wash over Ghirahim's features. “Sky Keep will be a trial that will test my convictions. The ultimate prize will be the Triforce—and I can wish away all of this pain and suffering. I can end Demise once and for all.”

“But at what price?” Ghirahim shivered, but Link knew it wasn't from the cold—it was from fear. “My father still calls for me. I thought that the sacred flames would wash me clean of him, but they didn't. If you end Demise, I will be ended, too.”

Link ghosted the cracks marring Ghirahim's wrist, his arm. The harshness of the cracks contrasted with Link's flowers, the sacred designs of the silent realms. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said simply. “I'm not foolhardy enough to think I can end evil for good—but I can end this evil. Isn't that enough?”

Ghirahim nodded. “Of course it is. I believe in you, Link. We all do.”

“I know that now.” Link stood up, shivering as he dusted snow off his clothes. He scanned his eyes over Skyloft, but with some difficulty. His eyes—they just wouldn't focus on anything. They eventually drifted over the Statue of the Goddess; but it didn't really look like Hylia, not at all. Angel wings jutted out from her back, her hands held out in a praying gesture.

“Within the statue lies the Triforce,” Link said, blinking away the tears in his eyes. He wished away the deep ache in his temples; it was similar to the ache he would get when his blindness was still progressing. “And I will be met with another silent realm. But this one will be different and more intense than the others.”

Ghirahim jumped to his feet, snow falling to the ground. None of it had melted or clung to his clothes; he still looked perfect, as always.

After standing in a sort of ambiance for longer than necessary, Ghirahim took Link's hand in his own. Together, they walked to the Statue of the Goddess; Link was more than happy to allow Ghirahim to lead him there.

They walked onto the bridge. Link knew it by the wind, by the change in texture beneath his feet. He had been so terrified once to cross it. Pipit had helped him, chomping on an apple all the while.

Somewhere deep inside of Link hurt. He needed days to sleep—he needed to rest. So much had led up to this—and he just wasn't sure if he could handle it now that he was there.

“The statue's coming up,” Ghirahim said. “Are you sure you don't need more time?”

“I'm sure.”

An entrance revealed itself by its own accord. Link began to walk towards it, but Ghirahim held him back.

“I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“It will be okay,” Link promised. He widened his eyes—everything was still so blurry.

Ghirahim shook his head, and with that movement, Link was reminded of the cracks marring his face, his body. The pain Link felt—it deepened. The love he felt for that man was unparalleled. Nobody else had ever felt love this strong; he was sure of it.

“I'm going to keep you safe,” Link said. “I can handle whatever is waiting for me here; I've made it through everything else, haven't I?”

Ghirahim bit his lip. He didn't say a word, following Link within the statue. The entrance disappeared behind them, leaving them stranded in darkness.

But the darkness didn't last long. Blue flames spread among the torches lining the walls. In the center of it all was the pedestal meant for the Goddess Sword.

The pedestal meant for Fi.

Link stepped towards it, mesmerized by all of the blue fairy lights. He reached towards the light, almost blinded by it—

Then—

Link was sitting in a classroom. He stared at the blackboard, Professor Owlan writing down words he just couldn't understand.

Beside him sat a girl. He felt like he should know her, but he couldn't. She was doodling into a notebook, but Link couldn't understand what the shapes and swirls meant.

“The Wing Ceremony is tomorrow,” Professor Owlan was saying. “Link, snap to it!”

Link's eyes flashed to the professor. The sensation felt unfamiliar—his eyes jolted—and he squinted them. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

“If you want to be promoted to senior class, you're going to have to pay more attention.” Professor Owlan sighed. “And, Groose, there's no need to look so smug. Your test scores have been rather disappointing lately.”

Groose retorted something, but Link couldn't hear it. There was something wrong with all of this. Link looked down at his hands, and there was something missing on both of them—his skin was absolutely clean, free of any mark or deign.

Link looked over at the girl. She was still doodling, her little pink tongue poking out. What was her name?

Professor Owlan wrote more words on the board. Link didn't know any of them.

“Hylia,” Professor Owlan said. Link glanced at the girl. She looked up, eagerly awaiting the professor's question. “What are the origins of the Wing Ceremony?”

Hylia cleared her throat—but Hylia wasn't the girl's name. Link knew that. It was something else—this girl—she was somebody else.

“Zelda?” Link questioned, the word foreign and strange in his mouth. The girl turned to him, then—

The classroom fell away. They were outside, in the field, and Zelda was playing her harp.

“I just don't want you to perpetuate this false hope of yours,” she was saying. “You've always been sightless, and that will never change.”

The cool breeze caressed Link's skin. Zelda's long, white skirts trailed the ground. But she was saying these words in the wrong setting, the wrong place.

This life—he would never get it back. The life he was meant to live, it would never exist.

Link met Zelda's cold blue eyes, searching for the warmth he knew had to be hiding somewhere within her. “I forgive you,” he said simply.

The world fell away.

Then it rearranged itself. Link stood with the Master Sword in his hands, hordes of monsters running towards him.

And there—in the center of it all—was Ghirahim. But it was a distorted version of him. He looked as strong as marble—all of his skin had cracked away, revealing prisms of black.

“I thought it was you,” Ghirahim was saying. “I didn't want it to be.”

There was the sound of glass breaking, then the warmth of Ghirahim's breath on Link's neck. “Such a sorry excuse for a hero. Covered in blood and dirt. How pathetic.”

Ghirahim readied a sword, and Link felt pure terror as he realized what Ghirahim was about to do. Only a second—then the sword pushed right through him—blood trickled down Link's body—and—

Consciousness faded. Everything faded. The man he loved, his breath on his neck—

But this man. It wasn't Ghirahim.

Link felt the tip of the sword pushing through his stomach. All of this pain—all of this pain that lingered deep inside of him; it just wouldn't go away.

“I forgive you,” Link said. “I forgive you for all of the things you have done.”

The world exploded with color. Link was free falling through the air—but there was no Loftwing to save him.

Then he hit the ground. Blood still trickled from the wound—the knowledge that all of this was an illusion was the only thing that kept him going. But the pain—it was real.

Link was in the woods. He looked up at a house set deep among the trees. Smoke billowed out from its chimney. He stood up, wincing in pain as he walked up the pathway. He felt as if he had known this place once, in a different life.

Every step was a labor. The pain—he felt it everywhere. The people he had loved the most—they were the ones who had given him the most pain, in the end.

Link's hand grappled for the doorknob, letting the door slowly creak open. There was a girl sitting in the center of the room, long blond hair piled intricately on her head.

He felt as though he knew her.

“I'm sorry,” Link said. “I'm dripping blood all over your floor.”

The girl frowned, her eyes sweeping over the crimson blood spilling from Link's stomach. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You have endured so much pain in your life; these silent realms reflect that. That's why they've been so difficult for you.”

Link winced as he sat down across from her. The table was set for tea, white china painted with blue flowers. And the girl—she looked so familiar, by the tilt of her head to the way she spoke.

“Fi?” he questioned.

She laughed. “I'm happy you can still recognize me. I thought it would be my voice, but that obviously wasn't it.”

“You look like Ghirahim,” Link said. “If this is a silent realm—what am I supposed to do here?”

“Just talk. Ever since the Goddess Sword was broken, I've been sitting here waiting. I'm sorry I left your life so soon—but look where my death has led you.”

Link couldn't think like that. He just couldn't. The pain in his stomach only deepened—as if Ghirahim was still thrusting that sword into his back. “You meant so much to me,” Link managed. “How could you just leave?”

Fi smiled. “I didn't want to; I never wanted any of this. I expected to grow up and travel the world just as my father had. I wanted to learn everything I could about this world. But when Hylia came, and my father returned, those wishes would never hold true. We never know where the wind will take us, now do we?”

“I suppose we don't.” Link took a sharp intake of breath as the pain spread further. And the sword was still there, he realized—wrenched deep into his body, and it was very real. “If this silent realm is meant for me to come to terms with my life—why won't this pain go away?”

“It never will. But you'll grow to live with it eventually.” Fi stood up, walked over to him. She laid her hand on top of his head, petting his hair. “Oh, young hero. I loved the time we spent together. But it's time to look towards the future, don't you think? Do you have it within yourself to forgive me for leaving you behind?”

Link took a deep breath. “Yes. I forgive you, Fi.”

“Then it's time for you to receive the Triforce.” Fi lifted her hand away, and Link watched as she studied him.

Link didn't know what she was searching for. Then she pushed his shoulder, forcing him onto his back. Her hand reached into his wound—and Link screamed—every bad moment that had happened in his life played back to him—

But the good—it came back to him, too. It was funny how often the good and bad in your life intertwine; and each of the people Link had loved most, they were the people who had hurt him most, in the end.

Fi was just a blue form when she was finished. She was back to the form she had taken to be the Goddess Sword. Rich, purple fabric swathed her body; her eyes were glassy and blue.

Link reached out his hands to receive the Triforce. It was glistening—bright and golden, and it fit perfectly into his left palm.

He held the Triforce close. He could feel the combined power of the goddesses within it, could feel all of their power course through him.

He only hoped it would be enough to shake the world.

Chapter Text

Link was surrounded by the sky. Fluffy white clouds swirled above him—it was endless, all encompassing.

Ghirahim was crying over Link's body. Blood stained his shirt, pooled onto the ground beneath them. “I would never hurt you,” he said. “I didn't actually do that, did I? I would never—”

“I'm alright,” Link said, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was true. He grunted as he moved to sit up; the wound, he realized—was very much real. Whether or not it existed outside of these silent realms, he wasn't sure—but it didn't make the pain any less. “Everything will be alright.”

Ghirahim kissed Link on the mouth rather hard. His fingers combed Link's hair, raked down his hurt back. “I love you so damn much,” he breathed. “If you have to kill me today; I understand.”

“That isn't going to happen.” Link glanced around them. Their bodies—they were sitting on top of a clear water, the sky all around them. Their reflections rippled, stained red with Link's blood. “I can't have a happy ending without you.”

“I don't have much longer.” Ghirahim laughed manically, tears scattering in his eyes. His skin, it began to crack away even more so—the cracks deepened, widened. “Demise is coming for me—and it's too late for me.”

Link stumbled to his feet, drawing the Master Sword. He didn't want to draw it against Ghirahim, and he didn't want to admit it—but he was afraid.

Ghirahim struggled against the change. He clawed at the ground, and Link watched as his lover slowly lost himself, as he slowly became the truest definition of a monster.

The sky turned cloudy and turbulent. A harsh wind picked up—and Link was terrified at every laugh that burst from Ghirahim's mouth.

Because this wasn't a dream.

It was a silent realm—

But all of this would translate to real life in some way; Link knew that now, as sure as he knew the slow burn creeping up his skin—as sure as the petals slowly died from each flower that was littered across his body.

Time was running out.

Ghirahim shattered, glass breaking and ringing in Link's ears. Shards flew at Link, cutting into his skin. A sword was left behind—an absolute parallel to the one Link held in his hand.

But the sword was white and blue, not red and black. That sword—it looked like the good weapon; the sword Link held was the one that looked evil.

The storm clouds disappeared, sucked right into the blade. The blue sky spread over the area, the clouds drifted lazily.

Link took a step back. The sky below him rippled, blood dripping at an alarming rate. The pain was getting harder to ignore the longer he stood. And he was so afraid—was Ghirahim dead—was everything going to end here?

There was a shift. Link stared at his reflection—it began to move. Its clothes shifted, turned into a green tunic. His hair was golden, his eyes bright blue.

The form stepped out from the reflection, morphed up to meet Link. It was Demise; Link knew that now. He ripped the white blade out of the air, grinning boyishly. This reflection looked exactly like what the hero should be; he was the person Link should have been had the goddess succeeded in all of her plans.

“My son loved you.” Demise looked at Link with distaste, wrinkling his nose like a child. “When he was little, he told me he fancied a boy down the road; I stifled that part of him so well I thought it would never emerge. I suppose I was wrong.”

Link could still feel the ghosts of Ghirahim's touch, could still hear his voice. If he was going to live through this battle, he would have to hold on to the hope that Ghirahim was still alive—he had to.

“I can assure you that Ghira loved Hylia more.” Demise smiled with Link's mouth, sashayed with Link's hips. “And look, when it came down to it—he had more allegiance to me. He gave up everything. He cried for his master like a puppet tied to string.”

Link ran at Demise, slashing out his sword. But Demise disappeared—he was gone.

Then he was behind him. “I look like you, don't I? How sad for the hero's greatest fear to be himself.”

Link began to run just as Demise moved in for the kill. His sword hit Link in the back—a long cut joined into the wound Link already had. Black dotted his vision.

Link ran into the sky, but it didn't lead him anywhere—

Demise laughed cruelly behind him. “And what a foolish wish for a hero to make. Wishing away Hylia's influence only granted me escape, and it killed your lover.”

Link turned around. Watched as the sky changed back to gray. Demise's form rippled, revealing the beast within. But the rippling only lasted a moment before the triumphant hero returned, Link's smile curling over his features.

“There is no way you can defeat me,” Demise said. “You haven't honed your skills at all; have you even used your sword once?”

It began to storm. Link realized he could control the sky with his mood—they were still in a silent realm, after all. This had been the one Demise was contained in—but it was still a silent realm, and still one within Link's influence.

Fi had told him the silent realms were so hard because Link had suffered in his life. They were a reflection of his pain, his suffering—

Link was the one true hero; he would be the only one to ever exist—and this was his game to play.

With a mighty show, Link dropped the Master Sword; he let it clatter to his feet, make ripples in the water. Demise stared at him dumbly.

“Has the legendary hero given up so quickly?”

Link nodded. He fell to his knees, his blood was everywhere—and it hurt so much. He should have listened to Ghirahim; he should have given himself more time.

“It's over,” Link said. “There is no way for me to defeat you like this.”

Demise charged forward, and Link remembered his days of counting doorknobs and holding hands.

The sky turned pitch black. There were no stars and there was no moon—only darkness. Link grabbed the Master Sword and jumped to his feet, running as far as he could. Demise screamed after him—it was so dark that nothing could be seen. Nothing at all.

But Link—he was used to that.

“Damn you!” Demise growled. “Show yourself!”

Link panted. Every breath was difficult—this was is worst nightmare. And he was so scared. There was no one to save him this time. Only his mind. And what if that wasn't good enough?

“I know you're not all bad,” Link said, voice shaking with pain and frustration. He clawed at his stomach—the wound wouldn't go away, the blood dripping between his fingers. “You could have let Ghirahim die, but you stole him away from Hylia instead.”

“You know nothing!” Demise charged towards him, but Link was one step ahead. He created a barrier, and Demise ran into it, slamming into it and falling to the ground.

“What a waste to a life that could have been.” Link allowed the calm blue sky to return. Demise stared up at him, eyes bright and innocent. “If I kill you, the cycle will only start anew.”

“And if you don't?”

Link shrugged. The sword felt so heavy in his hand; it was a burden he had never wanted to carry—and Link hoped it was one he never had to carry again.

“I haven't made my wish yet,” Link whispered. The world was dimming. The flowers burned up his skin, mingled with the pain he was already feeling. “Didn't you know that?”

A fear sparked in Demise's eyes. “You haven't?”

Link shifted his sword to his other hand. The Triforce jumped from his bloodstained palm, levitating into the air. “I only have one wish, so what should it be?”

Demise grabbed for Link's ankles. Link stepped away. He let the area fall back into darkness.

The darkness was more familiar, after all.

“I wish for the cycle of the hero to end,” Link said. The Triforce spun on his palm, seeped deep into his spirit.

The wish was in motion. The area was bathed in a pure gold. Demise was just a demonic creature now; he was screaming at Link, but the words meant little to him.

Link held up the Master Sword, driving it straight into the Triforce marking Demise's right hand. His body shattered and blew away like smoke.

The silent realm disappeared.

And Link was alone.

Chapter Text

Link had been plagued with nightmares for months. But these nightmares weren't at night; they were etched into each and every day. These nightmares were never ending, never ceasing.

“You have done well,” Hylia said. “Look at your friends—they weep for you.”

Link looked into the clear water, into the scene reflected back to him. Zelda was holding his bloodstained body. Groose was blubbering, crying hideously.

“You still have a life to live. You are not meant to be here with me—at least, not yet.”

Link watched the scene calmly. It was strange to see his body so lifeless, so strange to see how much they cared.

“Without Ghirahim, there's no point,” he said after a moment. His voice sounded flat and lifeless—even to his own ears. “I can't have my happy ending without him.”

Hylia sighed. Everything around them was white—they were alone, just with the pool of water in front of them. Hylia held up her hand, and the miserable scene disappeared.

“I've made you unhappy yet again,” Hylia said. “I thought you would be happy to have your eyes back; I never took your own feelings into consideration.”

Link turned to her. She was just a young girl, her life wasted by the burdens she was forced to carry. “I was happy just the way I was. Was that wrong of me?”

“Of course not.” Hylia began braiding her long, blond hair. “I can make you blind again, but I don't think you would want that, either.”

“I don't see a point in living without Ghirahim. Whether or not I can see, it doesn't matter. Life is pointless without love.”

Hylia laughed. “But weren't you the one who said just the opposite? You told Zelda love wasn't everything.”

“And I meant it.”

“Well, do you mean it now?”

“Of course I do. But I don't think I can brave the world on my own.”

“You have a choice. What do you want?” Hylia lifted up her hand. The scene returned, vividly splashed into the clear water. Groose was no longer crying. He holding Zelda close, face stony and silent. “Do you want to be with them, or do you want to be with me?”

Link shrugged. “I guess I don't know what I want.”

“You did a smart thing, ending the cycle. You will continue to be reincarnated, as we all are, but without duty to the world.” Hylia smiled. “How lovely it is, to know that all of this is over.”

Link peered into the water. He dipped his hand into it, and the scene rippled away. “If I go back to them, what about you? Will I see you again?”

“Anytime you wish. Whenever you need good council, I will be here.”

“Will you be okay all alone?”

“I won't be alone. I have silent realms to transverse, the world to watch over. Don't worry about me.”

Link hesitated. After a moment, he removed the diamond earring Ghirahim had given him. He tossed it to her, and she caught it. Her cold blue eyes filled with an understanding—and she looked wiser than she ever had before.

“Ghirahim's not dead,” she said. “I would know it if he was; his spirit still lingers within the twin blades.”

“Can he be saved?”

When Hylia didn't answer, Link slipped into the water—let it wash over him. All of his material gifts from the silent realm dissolved into nothing, faded away into the past. His eyes slowly became blurred, strained, and the pain resettled throughout his body—

“The hero has saved us all,” Zelda was saying. Groose laid him before the Gate of Time, gently closing Link's eyes. “He gave us everything, and we should always be thankful.”

Link stepped back into his body, accepted the sharp pain he would feel all over again. He sputtered his first intake of breath, his lungs filling with air.

“Link!” Groose screamed. “You're alive!”

Link couldn't talk for all of the pain. He was bleeding, the fresh blood trickling out from the wound.

“Ghirahim,” Link said—or tried to say. The name was lost in his throat. “Where is he?”

Link was met with silence.

“Where's Ghirahim?” he asked again.

“We don't know,” Groose said. He gestured to Zelda, and she gave a firm shake of her head.

Link realized they didn't know he could see again; his eyesight was hazy, but it was still there. Everything hurt so badly. And he didn't recognize his surroundings—they must have been somewhere within the Sealed Grounds—but Ghirahim wasn't here, and his sword was gone, and nothing was making sense.

Everything faded to black.

Some time later, somewhere amidst all of the haze, Link realized Zelda was there. They were in a pretty little room; she was playing the harp—most likely, she thought the music would be soothing. But each song only reminded Link of the silent realms—of Ghirahim's beautiful voice.

“Ghirahim's trapped,” Link whispered. “He's in the sword.”

The music stopped. “Link, there is no sword.”

“There is—when I battled Demise—” Link sat up, the stiff bandages pulling tight against his torn flesh. His body was littered with designs, each flower taunting him with their beauty; there was no escape from the person he had become.

Zelda touched Link's shoulder, but Link brushed her away. He stumbled off the makeshift bed and onto his feet. “Where's the Master Sword?”

“I don't know.” Zelda stood up soundlessly. She stepped over to a wardrobe. “In any case, you are in no condition to wield a weapon.”

Link watched as Zelda pulled the sword out from the wardrobe, watched as she held the sheathed sword close to her chest; she didn't know that he could see her, didn't know that he could see right through her lies.

“You still think I'm weak,” Link whispered. “But I'm not.”

“I don't think you're weak.” Zelda walked across the room. If Link was still blind, he would have never known she had moved at all.

An anger burst in Link's heart, hot and vivid. He slammed his fist against the wall, causing the candles to flicker in the room. “Just give me the damn sword already!”

Zelda shook her head. “Never.”

The Triforce on his hand began to glow, burn up his skin. The sword disappeared, fading out of Zelda's hands and into Link's own.

The sword was white and blue. It was a good blade, but Link knew better. Deep within it was Ghirahim soul—his humanity.

“This sword needs to be put to rest,” Zelda said. She was just holding onto the sheath, not realizing the sword was gone. “It's necessary for the future—”

“This isn't my sword,” Link said. “Where's mine?”

Zelda's eyes flashed to him. She blanched when she realized what he was holding. “I—I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I know you do. Where is it?”

Zelda frowned. “What are you going to do with it?”

Link didn't reply. He flashed himself into a different room; the one where the Gate of Time stood proudly. The sword lying in front of it was red and black; it was an evil sword—but Link knew better.

“Link!” Groose ran up to him, wildly flailing his arms. “That's Demise's sword! Don't touch it!”

“This is Demise's sword,” Link said offhandedly. He held the impostor up, and it gleamed in the light—white and blue.

Groose stared at him but didn't speak. Link sighed, lifting up his right hand. The true Master Sword flew into it.

And Link was holding two swords; each of them equal in weight—each of them equal in power.

“What are you doing?” Groose looked petrified. Zelda burst into the room, running towards them. “Zelda was going to send that sword into the past and destroy it; it's dangerous!”

Link focused his power within the twin blades, felt for Ghirahim's spirit.

The swords began to crack. The world shifted. Link collapsed to the ground just as the swords shattered into a thousand pieces. They swirled into a vortex of red and blue, black and white—and it surrounded Link, consumed him entirely—

And there was a voice.

“Did you really think I would leave you all alone, sky child?”

Link reached out for Ghirahim through the wind—the pieces of glass cut into him, drew blood—but Link stood up regardless, walking towards those precious words.

There, standing in the middle of it all—was a man. His hair was brown; his eyes were green. But Link would know this man anywhere, no matter what he looked like.

Without a moment wasted, Link ran into Ghirahim's arms. He collapsed like a rag doll, and Ghirahim struggled to hold him up. He needed to rest, he needed years to get over all of this.

But those years would be spent with Ghirahim. And that was enough.

Groose let go of Zelda. She stepped forward. Her skirts were stained with blood, Link realized—and it was his own.

“You told me love wasn't everything,” she said. “But seeing you two together—I'm beginning to think you lied.”

“I think we should go back to Skyloft.” Groose sniffled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Zelda can take us there. I think this is the last time any of us needs to be on the Surface—we need to go home.”

Link was hardly listening. Ghirahim was so warm, so much softer than he had been before—and his heartbeat was strong and he was alive—and he was everything, everything Link wanted and more.

“I think I'm ready,” Link said. “I'm ready to brave this world; I'm ready to go home.”