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The melody of windchimes and the dry clacking of wooden pinwheels drift through the air, carried by the cold, unforgiving Tabantha winds. Rito Village is otherwise perfectly quiet, nobody in sight in the hours before dawn — nobody but one silent figure passing through.
Link can feel the beginnings of winter seeping into his bones as he makes his way up familiar spiral stairs, old wood creaking with every step despite his best efforts to be quiet. He knows the Rito are early risers by nature and that they would be overjoyed to see him return at long last, but he doesn’t think he has it in him to accept their airy brand of kindness right now. Or yet another celebration in his honor. Not if he wants to see this through.
Not if he wants to remain whole.
He could have warped to Akh Va'quot Shrine to make things easier, but it does not feel right. Having ridden Epona straight from Hyrule Field to Rito Stable, he welcomes the familiar ache in his bones and the way his muscles protest with every step. After all they had been through together, such a trip probably did not bother his horse much, or so he tells himself. She had been the first horse he had tamed in the wild and his most loyal friend and companion since, no matter how many enemies charged at them. Still, Link had felt guilt coil in his gut as he stroked her weary face and fed her some apples. Her eyes had locked on his, gentle and understanding, before nudging him towards the bridge crossing Lake Totori. Link had opened his mouth to thank her, but Epona had turned around to join the other horses, leaving him out of time and excuses to stall.
Climbing staircase after staircase, he makes a mental note to buy her some swift carrots before returning to Princess Zelda’s side. He also vows to take it easier on the way back, if not entirely for his horse’s sake. He thinks he will need time to process what’s to come.
Another creak rends the air, and Link itches to grab the paraglider at his back. A mere month ago, he would have propelled himself from the base of Rito Village in a whirlwind of ghostly feathers, laughter in his ears and pure euphoria coursing through his veins. He would have searched for that familiar face in midair, a cocky grin belied by raw longing hidden in deep green eyes.
But Hylians cannot soar the skies without wings.
He lingers by Teba’s house despite himself, glancing at the occupied hammocks swaying gently with the wind. He thinks he can hear Tulin murmur something in his sleep. Will such a small child truly grow up to carry on the Rito Champion’s legacy? Link’s eyes drift to the open diary on a nearby table, barely visible in the darkness, and he wonders if Tulin, or anyone else, will figure out the trick to Revali’s Gale and gain mastery of the skies; if he would be allowed to experience it again, if only just once; if he could be selfish and take that diary with him now, even though he has committed every word to memory.
He walks away from that home and his foolish thoughts.
Dawn deigns to break the horizon as Link walks into Revali’s Landing, bursts of color slowly spreading across Hyrule and gentle rays of sunlight doing little to warm his numb body. The wind is strongest here, and a shaky hand sneaks up of its own accord, tucking a nearly unraveled braid behind his ear and grasping for—
Don’t. You know better by now.
Link closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Nobody is looking at him, but his face still betrays nothing. After Calamity Ganon fell, it was easy for him to fall into old habits he thought he had forgotten, donning a stoic mask and keeping his voice to himself. The mask does not fit quite right, though: there is no destiny left to fulfill, nobody to embarrass or disappoint. Those he met during his journey know him for who he truly is, and Princess Zelda watched over him the entire time. Celebration and praise meet him wherever he goes, everyone’s relief palpable and contagious, yet he cannot share their sentiment. He cannot plaster a smile on his features, force a cheeky joke past his lips or allow himself any respite, no matter how many happy faces offer him free meals and a place to stay. He cannot be the quaint, charming wanderer everyone grew to know.
So, he stubbornly ignores the buzzing in his mind and the needles prickling underneath his skin as he keeps the world at a distance, his grief locked deep within. He does talk to Zelda when prompted. He truly appreciates her company and efforts to restore Hyrule alongside him, but the wealth of understanding and worry in her eyes whenever she looks at him feels suffocating.
How can she worry about him when the weight on her shoulders is so much heavier?
He had felt her eyes on his back as he rode away from their makeshift camp in Hyrule Field the day before. It was the very first thing he had truly done of his own volition since their victory over Ganon, since he had felt the Champions’ spirits leave this world for good, and he knew Zelda knew where he was headed. Her silent blessing had washed over Link as their Sheikah guards turned a blind eye to his sudden departure. Clutching Epona’s reins, he had mouthed a voiceless prayer to the Goddess that tasted like ashes in his mouth.
A nearby sparrow chirps loudly, startling Link out of his reverie. He forces himself to open his eyes, stretch his aching limbs, and walk towards the edge of the platform. Part of him expects something to happen here. Perhaps a blue silhouette will land gracefully on the railing to berate him about his shortcomings. Perhaps he will challenge Link to a duel once more, eyes filled with carefully crafted disdain…
He knows Revali would find such hope foolish: the proud Rito warrior with a wounded ego in his old, fragmented memories is long gone. The spirit Link freed from the clutches of malice months ago had dropped all pretense in the face of Link’s tenacity and insufferable wit, forgetting his hauteur in favor of a rare, almost frail fondness — fondness that Link eagerly returned despite Revali’s weak attempts at deflection. On the eve of Link’s final battle, the Rito wove a single, ghostly feather into Link’s braided hair as a parting gift. He offered no explanation, but Link’s heart understood.
The feather had vanished once Link stepped outside the confines of Vah Medoh for the last time, but he had nonetheless felt it as he fought Ganon. He had vainly grasped at it when Revali’s Gale abandoned him in the wake of his victory, leaving him earthbound and hollow.
Link’s fingers clutch at the railing, unseeing eyes turned towards the rising sun. What had he come here for?
Slowly, he reaches behind him and draws the Great Eagle Bow, willing his hands to steady. It was a gift from the Rito, but it feels wrong for him to keep it now that he is no longer a fated hero. He had already returned the other Champions’ weapons to their respective peoples and said his last goodbyes to the friends he had found, one hundred years later, in the realm of the dead. Zelda’s steady presence by his side had made it easier for him to remain composed, both finding quiet solace in their mutual memories of their companions. In their desire to fulfill the wishes of those departed souls.
But he had stubbornly clung to Revali’s bow. The faded blue cloth fastened to it flaps around in the wind, and Link desperately wants to untie it and keep it for himself as a memento. Instead, he picks a lock of his hair and makes short work of looping it into a thin, sturdy braid. He secures it with some string and cuts it off with one of his smaller blades, attaching it to the bow with the same string. The braid looks nearly golden against the blue of the cloth, and Link cannot help but wonder if Revali would have agreed to weave a sloppy Hylian braid into one his own, neater braids. If, in another life, they could have had a future beyond duty and fate.
That thought alone almost makes him toss the braid over the railing.
Link had intended to just leave the bow here for the Rito to find later while he made his way up to Vah Medoh to offer his last goodbyes, but he could feel the weapon calling to him. He has not used it often, too afraid to break it despite Harth’s numerous offers to repair it whenever necessary, but the feeling of it in his hands compared to other bows is certainly unparalleled, sentimental value aside. It is a weapon made for a true warrior, unforgiving and sharp, like its owner.
In one practiced motion, he plucks an arrow from his quiver and aims skyward, careful to ensure its trajectory takes it somewhere uninhabited. As he draws the string, he sees an eagle on the horizon and wishes, from the bottom of his heart, that the Goddess grants Revali the chance to fly once more, wherever his spirit goes. His arrow soars in a beautiful arch, reflecting sunlight as it falls far, far away from the landing. Link swears he can hear the soft rustling of feathers in the air, a quiet scoff in his ear.
A shrill, terrible cry shatters the calm and Link’s heart stops.
Before he realizes it, he whips around and stares right into one of Vah Medoh’s eyes, which watch him from above. The Beast has not stirred from its usual perch atop Rito Village, but its machinery creaks as it leans forward, seeming to appraise Link. The Hylian shudders slightly under its scrutiny, but he does not back down. Neither does Medoh, gaze piercing and all-knowing despite its impassive features.
It seems to be waiting for something.
A second cry, more subdued than the first, rips through the wind, and Vah Medoh breaks eye contact with Link to take off into the air. Link hears distant shouts and glimpses a flurry of movement around Revali’s Landing as many disheveled Rito gather to stare in awe at the scene. Link looks at them all, an apology dying in his throat. His hands fly to the Sheikah slate at his hip. Before anyone can ask questions, he dissolves in a flash of electric blue, taut heart and frayed nerves reduced to nothing.
If he had lingered for even a moment, he would have heard Kass play the first notes of Revali’s Theme in unspoken encouragement for his friend while Teba and other Rito prepared themselves to pursue Vah Medoh. The bard always seemed to know more that he let on about everything concerning Link, and Teba…
Teba had a debt that must be repaid.
When Link materializes on top of Vah Medoh, the first thing he notices is the main terminal aglow.
He feels the same thrumming, ancient energy surrounding him that he has come to associate with the Divine Beasts. They have a way of projecting their own life source onto whomever boards them, the Champions had told him, for they have much of it to spare and limited ways to communicate with anyone besides their pilots.
It is not the first time the sensation raises the hairs on the back of his neck, but the rapid fire beating of his heart has nothing to do with it, and the goosebumps on his skin are unrelated to the cold.
Strong, pulsating blue light beckons him towards the terminal, and he approaches it warily, Sheikah slate held in front of him like a shield. He feels a gentle nudge in his mind and an increasing numbness where his skin touches the slate as he gets closer, and he stops just short of the empty slot in front of him.
The strange feeling subsides.
He takes a deep breath and slides the Sheikah slate back into the pouch at his hip before reaching towards the empty slot. The lack of resistance encourages him, and he places his hand on the terminal, closing his eyes.
For a second, nothing happens except for a warm feeling in his fingers and a stillness in the air. Then, the world comes to a grinding, screeching halt.
The familiar pull of a memory forces its way into his mind, but the ringing in his ears is off-key, the piercing headache that ensues foreign…
And the scene that plays before his eyes is one he’s certainly never witnessed before.
The world becomes a painting in shades of vibrant blue, green and yellow, other colors turning dull and faded. Vah Medoh can see everything around it for miles and miles from its perch on top of the home of the Rito, as well as what goes on inside its ancient machinery. Standing atop it is the restless spirit of its pilot and faithful companion, Revali. If the Champion were still alive, his talons would have already carved deep circles into the rugged surface of its head for all that he has paced endlessly for the past few hours, his feathers a ruffled mess.
Vah Medoh whirrs pointedly at its pilot. The pacing stops, and Revali glares in the direction of Medoh’s crest, aware his companion can see him clear as day from any angle.
“I know, I know!” Revali huffs indignantly. “But that stupid knight should have already made it to the castle, and we have yet to be asked for our valuable aid!”
Another series of whirrs and a short, quiet cry. Revali visibly bristles, then looks away.
“I am perfectly aware he has a name, thank you very much,” he spits at Medoh, but there is no venom in his words. He resumes his pacing, making exaggerated gestures with his wings as he moves. Medoh would roll its eyes, were it able to.
Revali is not finished, however. “I am also aware our help will be called upon when the time is right, but I have waited long enough for my revenge! A hundred years, mind you!” He stops and taps at Medoh’s head with his talons, hands on his hips. “I do not know how long that is for an ancient rock creature like you, but as a Rito, I would say I’m long overdue!”
Medoh does not reply. Instead, it presses a single image into the Rito’s mind: Link plopped in the dirt by Revali’s side as the Hylian champion nonchalantly dresses a ghastly lynel wound on his slight, featherless torso. In the memory, Revali reaches for him and his touch barely registers, ghost that he is, but Link still smiles tiredly at him.
The weariness in memory-Link’s eyes is apparent even to Medoh, and it knows it has hit a bullseye when Revali flinches and remains silent, his feathers drooping; Medoh also knows that Revali’s personal revenge is not his primary concern right now, regardless of what he may claim.
He wants Link to make it out alive.
And — although he will never admit it aloud — he doesn’t want to leave Link behind.
At that moment, the earth trembles with the power of corruption, a deep quaver that Medoh senses down to its very last gear. Revali must also feel it, for he holds on to Medoh and peers in the direction of Hyrule Castle. The swirling clouds of malice condensed around the castle's heart, and they seem more frantic now, as if twitching. Eager for a fight.
“He made it.” Revali whispers, choking down a sudden storm of emotion. A rueful laugh leaves him, and he casts his eyes downward, feathery fingers curled in a tight fist. Medoh whirrs quietly, a soothing sound coursing through its ancient engine, offering a weak semblance of the physical comfort it knows its pilot needs.
If the fiercely determined look he directs at the castle immediately after is any indication, Medoh would say its intervention was successful. Revali clears his throat and all fragility is gone in the wake of his war cry, ringing loud and proud alongside Medoh’s blinding beam.
The world shifts once more in a blur of color and refocuses on the same location, many moments later. Vah Medoh can no longer see clouds of malice surrounding Hyrule Castle, nor can it sense the rotten taint in the air it has felt for over a hundred years. It felt the thrumming of Hylia’s power rip through the land, saw the blinding light of what must have been the final blow. For the first time in a century, Hyrule feels truly at peace.
Medoh can hear the distant cries of its brethren as their pilots, now avenged and their mission fulfilled, leave them behind to watch over their beloved land.
Revali’s spirit is being called away, too.
Medoh’s companion — no, its friend — has not said a word since being summoned to Link’s side one last time in a whirlwind of green. He merely stares ahead, perfectly still, his form flickering ever so slightly. It is done. He is free and will soon join the other Champions on a journey from which they cannot return.
And yet, he lingers.
With slow and deliberate movements, Revali turns around and faces Medoh. His countenance is the very picture of peaceful resignation. Medoh may have seen the rise and fall of endless generations of Hyrule’s inhabitants, and Revali certainly is not the first warrior to pilot the Divine Beast, but it cannot help the sad, quiet humming that runs through it at the sight.
“There is no need for that, old friend,” Revali whispers as he gently strokes rugged stone, resting his forehead against Medoh’s crest. “This is what we wanted for so long, did we not? Calamity Ganon has been defeated, you are free to roam the skies, and I… I will take my leave. My people will carry on the Great Revali’s legacy!” He says so with a small flourish, but his cocky grin doesn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose it is regrettable that I could not take any apprentices under my wing, but my Gale is too wondrous a skill for no one to pursue and hone it for themselves.” For a moment, wind coils around his feet in a weak display of the power he worked so hard to make his own, but he lets go of it with a flick of his wings. He has already given it away, and Link has put it to good use. Perhaps too good, if Revali’s constant, fleeting disappearances have been any proof.
Not that Revali ever complained in earnest.
Medoh whirrs once more, a brief, tired turning of gears. Revali sighs and his façade falls.
“I will miss you, too… I suppose.” He leans back and seems to consider Medoh for a second before taking off his Champion scarf, wrapping it gently around a small carving on Medoh’s crest. They both know it is an empty gesture: the cloth will likely disappear the moment Revali leaves this world.
Medoh still wishes it had hands with which to clutch it.
Revali steps away and turns sharply, striding to the edge of Medoh’s beak. He looks painfully young without the weight of his championship to ground him. Without the chance to grow into adulthood.
For an instant, Medoh sees the silhouette of its previous pilot standing in front of its eyes, proud and mighty. White and grey overtake her once deep brown feathers, and there is a slight limp to her tired stride, but Medoh can still see the young girl saddled with a responsibility beyond her youth. Even with her ties to the legendary Sage of Earth, she had barely been older than Revali when she’d placed her Sheikah slate on Medoh’s terminal for the first time, and her hands had trembled just as much. Medoh thinks its Champions would have been as two birds in one nest, given time.
Revali extends his wings as his form flickers more violently, ready to answer the call.
He pauses, turning his head ever so slightly.
“Will you—” Revali’s words are little more than a croak, and the gears within Medoh seize up. “Will you tell that idiot, Link, that he did… a satisfactory job?” His voice is high-pitched and strained. “Sealing the darkness, I mean. Who would’ve thought that pesky little Hylian had it in him?”
Medoh hums.
“Good.” Revali breathes out. He is slowly fading now, his spirit tugged towards the castle. Towards the others. He looks up to the sky, and Medoh can see tears gathering in his eyes. “I guess in the end, we just did not have enough time. Did we, Link?” His voice echoes, barely audible, but Medoh hears it loud and clear.
“But you… you still have time.” Revali whispers, turning to Medoh one last time with a look so full of warmth that it is unsuited for his proud face, a single tear getting lost in his feathers. Medoh knows who he sees in front of him. “Time to live your own life. Not for the sake of those like me, but for yourself. Do you think you can do that, you insufferable hatchling?”
The wind rustles through his feathers in a flurry of blue and he is gone. The shadow of his scarf soaks into the sky.
Divine Beast Vah Medoh lifts its head and wails.
Link is thrust back into his body. His ears ring, his head all but splits in half, and colors blind him; but none of that brings him to his knees, shivering uncontrollably, breaths coming out shallow.
Revali had just spoken to him.
It may have been only a memory, and not his own, but it had felt like he was truly there. Link understands what Vah Medoh felt and thought at that exact moment, and the soft, almost imperceptible feeling of Revali’s ghostly touch burns him as he clenches his fists hard enough to hurt, desperately trying to regain control. His treacherous brain keeps replaying Revali’s last words to him in his head and he cannot, he will not—
Vah Medoh whirrs softly, and the floor under Link’s knees rumbles in a way that is all too familiar. He looks up and sees the main terminal once again aglow. Something emerges from it in a blazing orb of light, and Link shields his eyes as it shatters in front of him.
Blinking away red spots, he stares at what the orb left behind, and his heart seizes up in his chest at the sight of a familiar piece of blue fabric. It is not the scarf in Vah Medoh’s memories: that had been a vibrant sky blue, and it had looked brand new, as if Revali had just been dubbed Champion. The frayed strip of cloth in front of him is old and faded, a little worse for wear, but it is undoubtedly Revali’s scarf, miraculously preserved somewhere within Vah Medoh’s ancient machinery after its owner’s demise a hundred years ago.
Vah Medoh may not have hands to hold Revali’s parting gift, but its message is clear in its offering of the real thing to Link.
Do what I cannot.
And Link does.
Teba pulls ahead of the other Rito in midair, beak clacking in distress. They had launched themselves from the updrafts at the Flight Range to survey the Divine Beast from a safe distance, but someone must bite the bullet and approach it for a better look. He does not think Vah Medoh poses a threat right now: Ganon is gone and Medoh has been free of his influence for a long time. Still, it cannot hurt to err on the side of caution. He remembers, not without embarrassment, the last time he had approached the Beast; it had left him with a singed leg, a wounded ego, and a debt to pay.
He slowly approaches Vah Medoh’s tail. He must make sure the village is not at risk and that Link, who presumably boarded the Beast just now, is safe. He owes him that much, even if he does not know what is going through Link’s mind.
He is a few meters away from Medoh’s mighty claws when he hears screaming, and blood turns to ice in his veins.
Feathers bristling, he signals for the other Rito to follow as he darts towards the middle of Vah Medoh’s back, where the screams originate. There, by a strange bulbous structure he has only seen once before, a small figure lies curled up on the floor. He dives towards it; the blond hair and familiar Rito clothing are a dead giveaway.
“Link!” He yells, claws skidding against stone as he lands in a stumble. He sprints towards the Hylian, but Teba stops just short of touching his friend once he realizes there is no obvious threat. Link seems to be unharmed and completely alone, but the ice in Teba’s veins does not subside. The violent sobs racking Link’s body make him look impossibly small and vulnerable, a stark contrast with the skilled, confident archer Teba fought alongside. Link clutches a blue, frayed piece of cloth in his hands, and the Rito slowly approaches him, trying to get a better look at what so distresses Link.
The Hylian whirls around and snarls at him, dull eyes fixed on Teba’s face as if daring him to come closer. Teba finds no recognition in his gaze, no trace of the earnest warrior who would teach his son archery at the Flight Range without asking for much in return. Not a glimpse of the famed knight that sealed the darkness barely a month past.
He sees a lost, broken child, and he does not know what to do.
A subdued rumbling breaks the silence. Teba recognizes the tell-tale sound of Vah Medoh as the ancient beast changes its seemingly random course and turns towards Rito Village once more. He holds his breath as the bulbous structure radiates a dim, blue light, sparks flying from it. The sparks swirl around Teba and Link, warm and ethereal and, suddenly, Teba’s ears are ringing, limbs numb. Before he can draw his bow in alarm at the unexpected onslaught, a shrill cry rips through the air.
An image forces its way into his mind.
An aerial view of Revali’s Landing a few weeks past, where Teba and Tulin are sitting side by side. Tulin is crying out of frustration: his wings are still too weak to keep him airborne long enough to fire more than two shots in a row with his small bow. Teba’s features, usually hard and severe, have all but melted into a look of deep understanding and affection. Teba wraps his wings around his son, gently patting his back as he desperately clings to him.
Teba comes to his senses. The quiet reverberation has not stopped, and Link still lies crumpled and whimpering at his feet, watching him warily. One short and sharp whirr resounds, and the Rito makes up his mind.
There will be another time for Teba to process what just happened. Perhaps a couple of sleepless nights where he wonders at the fact that an ancient rock bird spoke to him and that said bird has been watching him and his son for some time. He has always known Vah Medoh to be a protector of the Rito, but he surely did not expect it to be so… cognizant.
But right now, there is a crying child in front of him, and Teba is a father first and a warrior second. He takes a step forward, eyes never leaving Link’s, and carefully, very carefully, he places a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder, long feathers brushing against his face. The boy flinches and goes taut, like a bowstring being drawn. Teba does not move.
“It’s alright, kid.” He whispers, squeezing Link’s shoulder ever so slightly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. You’ve done a great job.” He hears Link’s breath catch, and he takes that as a sign to continue. He grabs Link’s other shoulder, framing the boy between his wings and holding him steady. Link trembles under his grasp but does not resist. “You are not alone. You can count on me and everyone in Rito Village, the same way we’ve counted on you up until now.” Teba’s voice steadies, feeling Medoh’s encouragement through the vibration under his feet. “Do you think you can do that?”
Do you think you can do that, you insufferable hatchling?
Link’s eyes shine in the morning light, and Teba barely has time to brace himself before the boy crashes into him, clinging to his feathers as though Teba might slip away if he lets go. Link wails until his throat is too hoarse to make a sound. Teba holds him through it all, awkwardly patting his back and soothing him with reassurances. The others have caught up to them now, but Teba shakes his head and wills them to return to the village and give Link some space. Everything is alright; there is nothing to see here.
After all, all warriors must cry sometimes.