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Chapter Text

The wolf lapped water from the river in a dainty manner more befitting a deer than a dog. Deliberate, delicate dips of the tongue ensured minimal splashing and slobbering. Once sated, it politely licked its muzzle clean, an act reminiscent of dabbing a napkin to one’s lips after a meal.

Waning sunshine glinted from the shackle clinched around its ankle, snapped chain clinking quietly against the metal as the wolf retreated from the river’s edge to scout its surroundings. To the west was a monster camp that the wolf and its pup cleared earlier that afternoon; to the east, twin peaks that seemed to have once been united until cloven by the river’s erosion. Views of the north and south were obscured by cliffs and hills that hemmed the river in.

Part of the river diverted into a shallow inlet, and from the inlet jutted the Sheikah-made tower that served as wolf and boy’s polestar since they ventured from the Great Plateau. Jagged rocks, presumably uprooted when the structure burst from the riverbed, encircled the tower’s base. Coiled strips of light, orange like bottled flames, laced the tower, and dots replicating constellations unknown to the wolf adorned the circular platform on top.

Bizarrely, the tower managed to feel both like an organic piece of the landscape and an artificial imposition upon it. This was an apt aura for a manmade structure, the wolf thought, since man couldn’t quite decide whether to conquer Nature or accept a position within it.   

Sensing no imminent dangers in the area, the wolf settled on the shore near the tower to wait for Link’s return. Earlier, he had scaled the tower while the wolf, rigid with tension for the entirety of the pup’s ascent, watched from below. Reaching the top was an impressive feat considering Link's one-hundred-year stasis, which no doubt atrophied his strength and stamina. Death, it seemed, had not tarnished his resolve. Hylia had chosen her hero wisely, and the wolf was proud of its resilient pup.

Languidly, the wolf watched the aqua water jet by, the salty, mineral taste lingering on its tongue and in the air. Green bass occasionally breached the water in mock-jeté. Tiny sparrows with coats of a similar shade pecked at the opposite bank, their airy chirrups as weightless as their delicate hops. If not for the mangled bokoblin remains on the other side of the inlet, the scene would have been rather picturesque.

Despite seeing only the slightest fraction of this Hyrule so far, the wolf believed the entire kingdom must be endowed with beautiful vistas. Not for the first time, the canine wished it could transform, if only for the blessing of opposable thumbs and flexible fingers. It wanted to climb that tower right alongside the pup and revel in the view, wanted to discover what else had changed between this era and its own. 

How much time had elapsed between the two eras was unclear, but given the radical discrepancies in the landscape, it must have been millennia upon millennia. The world’s very bones had shifted like clay pinched and pulled by an assiduous sculptor. Mountains had flattened; plateaus had risen; rivers had wrinkled earthen skin. At some stage of this metamorphosis, the artifices of human influence had succumbed to Nature’s power, dismantled and resorbed into the body of the earth, liberating the wilds to reclaim the world.

And the wolf could not wait to explore it all.

A mechanical whir from above caught the wolf’s attention. As the tower’s steeple extended, glittering blue streamers of light erupted to life, eddied around the structure, and then infused with it, erasing all trace of orange in a showy exhibition of melded magic and technology.

With the soft swoosh of breeze-blown cloth, Link paraglided from the tower in unhurried descent. The pup alighted on the silty bank not far from the wolf. It trotted to him, tail waving like a victory banner.

Though plainly fatigued, the pup sparkled like the river as he plopped to the dirt and whipped out the Sheikah Slate. He turned the screen towards the wolf and excitedly pointed at the new portion of the map he’d uncovered by activating the tower. Hylian runes, evolved beyond the wolf's comprehension, labelled each landmark, and the boy began to read them aloud.

“Squabble River,” he said, pointing to the gushing body of water they’d chased here.

The pair of mountains came next. “Dueling Peaks.”

Then he indicated the gleaming structure he’d just conquered. “Dueling Peaks Tower.”  

From here, he traced his finger through Dueling Peaks and along a road that winded through plains, swamps, and foothills, culminating with the blinking dot that marked their destination. “Kakariko Village.”

They studied the map together, the large wolf sitting behind the boy and resting its head on his shoulder. Link listed a few more landmarks before noting an unmarked icon of a horse’s head. “What’s this?”

The wolf gave an unsure grunt, and the pup hummed in response, contemplating.

“Too far,” he said. Choppy phrases were all he could manage for now, his speech out of practice. “Dark soon. Tomorrow.”

Approving, the wolf nuzzled the boy, who huffed a laugh and scratched behind his friend’s ears. From his Slate, he pulled a bundle of firewood and a piece of flint. “Dinner?”

The wolf lolled its tongue in anticipation, and Link smiled broadly in return. He constructed a campfire and used spears to prop two slabs of meat above the flames. The wolf had hunted a boar for them in the night, and this morning, Link had attempted to skin, debone, and butcher the animal. It was a bloody, messy affair, and the wolf wished it could teach the kid how to properly undertake the process. Now, leftover blood welled to the surface and dripped into the fire with a sizzle.

When Link determined the meat to be thoroughly cooked (a skill he’d mastered through unfortunate trial and error), he placed the bigger hunk in front of the wolf and plucked up his smaller portion, ripping chunks of it off with his canines.

Afterwards, Link washed his hands and face in the river and took several long sips of water; then he and the wolf wandered around the inlet, exploring until it was too dark to see. In that interval, they unearthed a treasure chest containing a ruby. Fascinated, Link flipped the raw gemstone over and over, examining its natural cuts, running his fingertips along the smooth sides.

He held it out for the wolf to see. “Pretty.”

It was. A wag of the tail sufficed as agreement. Link stowed the red stone for later.

Wolf and pup slept in the dirt back-to-back, pressed together.

In the morning, they continued up Squabble River, dispatching the bokoblins and octoroks that attacked them on the way. The route between the mountains spilled out into an expansive plain, and right away they spotted what was indicated by the map’s unlabeled horse icon.

Topped with a rudimentary horse-like effigy, the stable bustled with travelers swapping goods and stories. Stable-hands filled feed troughs and tended steeds. A being unlike any the wolf had seen—a colorful anthropomorphic parrot—played a solemn accordion ditty for onlookers gathered around an iron cookpot.

The boy’s task to track down Impa in a village implied there were other people still alive in this Hyrule, but they’d yet to meet a single soul. To see someone, much less a dozen someones, after absolute solitude jarred the wolf…yet the shock surely resonated much more powerfully for Link. Aside from the wolf and the King’s ghost, the boy had spent his three weeks of life in total isolation, only acquainted with the remnants of civilization: ancient technology, century-old rubble. This stable was Link’s first glimpse in his second life of living, breathing people.

That alone must have disconcerted the boy, but the wolf wondered if the magnitude of this moment was greater. Could the pup remember seeing another person ever? Could he recall the faces of anyone he knew? Could he even conjure the mental image of a Hylian at all?

Gaping at the stable, the boy’s face twisted into pained, wary awe, and the wolf could hear his heartbeat quicken, the urgent rhythm reminiscent of a fleeing mouse’s footfalls. The wolf nudged its nose into Link’s palm, luring his attention.

“Go there?” Link whispered, searching the wolf’s eyes for an answer.

Yes, the wolf thought. Go there. It’s where you belong.

Link worried his lip with his teeth. He glanced over the wolf’s shoulder and gestured to the Shrine adjacent to the stable. With finality, he said, “Go there.”

The wolf emitted a protesting whimper. Link shook his head and strode towards the Shrine, allowing the stable a considerable berth.

While waiting for its pup to reemerge, the wolf sat placidly and observed travelers stopping at the neighboring waypoint, merry chatter and horses’ nickers wafting across the winds. Considering the postapocalyptic state of the kingdom, the stable fostered an unexpectedly cheery milieu. Like its pup, the people here were resilient, extricating themselves from the mire of ruin to build their world anew. Scraped together with sparse resources, the stable, a helter-skelter plank-and-canvas construction, seemed a symbol of rebirth.

When Link exited the completed Shrine, he did not acknowledge the stable, opting instead to lead his friend further downriver to a forest. Wolf and boy melted into the opulent verdancy and were lulled into a leisurely afternoon of foraging and apple-picking.

In their roving, they had plenty of company. Horned beetles blended into gruff tree bark; fluffy-tailed squirrels chittered while collecting acorns. A fox darted among the trees, its tangerine coat striking against the mishmash of greens.   

Not all of the company was peaceable, however; their tranquil afternoon was interrupted by the arrival of a gargantuan bear.

Link stared at the predator with the same cautious wonderment he’d shown towards the stable, but this time, his apprehension did not restrain him. He started to approach the deadly animal.

The wolf clamped onto his raggedy tunic and tried to haul the overly adventurous pup away—but not before the bear roared out a warning and tottered up onto its hind legs to tower over them, huge, clawed paws ready to strike.

Link got the message. He scampered away, the wolf two paces behind as a protective buffer between its pup and the agitated animal.

The bear thunked back onto all fours and continued its business of perusing bushes for berries, but Link and the wolf continued sprinting nonetheless.

When they breached the treeline, they paused, breathless, listening for sounds of a pursuer. Finding none, they exchanged weary glances for a moment before Link’s face split into a jovial grin. Adrenaline spurred a bubbly laugh, the sound filling the wolf with the same fond exasperation he felt for the children in Ordon.

Link’s laughter tapered out into a pleased sigh as he gazed at the earth-toned stable partway across the field. In a playfully exaggerated display of determination, he planted his fists onto his hips, set his jaw, and pointed to the building with a firm declaration. “Go there!”

Huffing cheerfully, the wolf softly knocked its head against his hip in acknowledgement, and Link sputtered into snickers again. Apparently, the little adrenaline boost was sufficient to soothe the boy’s nerves.

Link spryly trotted toward the stable, the wolf bounding right by his side.

Chapter Text

From a distance, the wolf had thought the stable an inviting oasis, a reprieve offering much-needed shelter and companionship for its itinerant pup.

It had been mistaken.

The low fencing that ringed the stable’s property was a border between nations, an immune system filtering who and what was welcome within the microcosm. As soon as wolf and boy infiltrated that barrier, they were identified as intruders. The further they advanced into the ring, the further crept an unnatural hush, drifting in their wake like a shark’s silhouette, until reigned the eerie, charged silence indicative of impending disaster.

Dark memories stirred from their long dormancy as the wolf was reminded of its first transformation: the tremendous stress on its body, forcibly restructured; the sudden influx of intensified sensory input it couldn’t yet parse; the terror of waking in the castle dungeons, imprisoned and with no choice but to trust a mysterious, inhuman stranger. And when at last, confused and frightened, it could return to the refuge of Ordon, its family and friends, propelled by primitive fear, treated the wolf like a monster to be hunted, like a threat to be extinguished.

The experience cemented an important fact in the wolf’s mind: People were not especially receptive towards wild beasts wandering into their domesticated territory. In that regard, this era appeared no different. Time had altered Hyrule and its inhabitants, but some hallmarks of humanity remained unchanged.

At Link’s hip, the wolf tensed, its fight-or-flight instincts prickling. It was painfully aware of the other travelers’ open ogling, of the uptick in heartrates, of that knee-jerk fear of the wild that heightened the risk in each step they took. Yet the wolf, stalwart in its duty, stayed by its pup’s side. Link’s introduction to humanity might prove to be baptism by fire, but it was a requisite move to make.

Link, mercifully, seemed oblivious to the unfavorable impact produced by their presence. His gaze darted eagerly from one person, one object, one animal to the next, his curiosity riled to voraciousness by this brand-new world. The wolf dearly wished to bottle that innocent curiosity like an elixir, so the pup might keep hold of some reserves of it forever.

A mustached man with harshly-sloped eyebrows stood behind the stable’s counter, leaning on it with calloused, meaty hands. “Can I help you, kid?”

Though not quite hospitable, his tone was relaxed and casual, to the wolf’s relief. He seemed safe enough.

Upon being addressed, Link snapped his attention to the man, and he approached the counter. Beside him the wolf sat, head bowed and ears drooping in a demonstration of obedience and submissiveness. Unnerved by everyone else’s conspicuous staring, it curled its toes and watched its nails dig ruts in the dirt.

The wolf was seasoned in being a spectacle, and though that was always distressing, today was worse. Today, it was not the sole subject of judgment. The wolf was the pup’s accessory, seen by these people as an abnormal extension of an abnormal boy.
These people were staring at Link.

One hundred years ago, someone exhibited some measure of foresight when they left an outfit in the Shrine of Resurrection, but not enough, in the wolf’s opinion. Even in their prime, the thin cotton tunic and trousers couldn’t have been exceptionally pragmatic, for they offered scant protection against a chill, much less against the weapons of an aggressor. Spending a century inside a wooden chest, at the mercy of an underground corridor’s dank environ, had degraded their integrity beyond any function aside from covering skin.

In other words, the boy’s clothes were effectively useless from the time he acquired them. Now, after being worn twenty-four-seven for three weeks straight, they were more-or-less kaput, a loosely-connected collection of threads hanging from Link’s weedy frame. On what remained of the flimsy fabric, old and new stains sparred for dominance, resulting in a cacophonous collage of grass, mud, and blood smudges.

The wolf didn’t know the circumstances under which Link was placed in the Shrine, but it could extrapolate the obvious: It had been an emergency situation in which, no doubt, the survivors were laden with grief and panic and not thinking with their full faculties. The wolf certainly empathized with that, but still. Still. Empathizing with the struggling kid standing right here came much more easily than empathizing with faceless, nameless strangers who were probably long-dead.

Why didn’t anyone put some more thought into this? Why did they strip the pup of his clothing and weapons and belongings, abandoning him to the wilds, instead of ensuring he at least had something reasonable to wear when he awoke with virtually no memory and the self-care wherewithal of a toddler?

Why was the divine compensation for leaving this kid defenseless to send him a nonverbal wolf to guide him?

Sometimes, the wolf had to cynically wonder if the universe was a mere farce playing out for the amusement of some nebulous cosmic force. Some aspects of life made sense by no other explanation.

Shoddy clothes aside, the rest of Link’s appearance was also decidedly unkempt. Smears of dirt and blood decorated his pale cheeks and forehead like barbarian war paint. Half of his blond wisps had escaped his ponytail and tangled together, bits of twig and leaf caught in the knots. The exposed skin of his bony limbs bore constellations of scrapes and contusions.

Link looked like he had sprouted straight from the wilderness, looked like an embodiment of Hyrule’s untamed fields and forests. Some of the other nomads gathered at the stable appeared weatherworn, but beneath a grimy surface, they touted the trappings of society—decent and well-fitting clothes, knapsacks stocked with food and equipment, the residue of soap.

None of them were wild like Link.

And people did not appreciate wild creatures encroaching on their territory.

For now, though, shameless gawking seemed to be the extent of anyone’s hostility towards the pup. Better yet, the man behind the stable counter, with whom Link was speaking, displayed no special interest in his new customer, appearing rather unfazed by this disheveled boy and his otherworldly wolf. Perhaps a man staffing such a stop for travelers had seen people more bizarre.

“If you’d like a bed for the night, it’ll be twenty rupees,” the man was explaining. “Forty rupees for the soft bed. Your…pet will have to stay outside.”

The wolf couldn’t stop its tail from flicking with a bit of indignance. Pet?

Link seemed confused, peering past the man into the stable’s interior, where a half-dozen beds lined the room.

“So, you want a bed, kid?” the stable owner pressed.

Uncertain, the hero pointed inside. “Bed?”

“Yeah, we have some available still. Regular or soft?” asked the man.

Link glanced down at the wolf, seeking clarification on the question, his pitiful expression plucking the wolf’s heartstrings.

“Uh, how ‘bout just a regular?” the man supplied, giving Link a more attentive once-over. “That’s cheaper. How’s that sound?” When Link nodded, he added, “That’ll be twenty rupees, then.”

Link reached up to twist a dirty golden lock between his fingers. Quietly, he muttered, “Ru…pees?”

“Do you have any rupees, kid?”

At Link’s puzzled look, the man’s flat expression melted into something softer. “Sometimes there are merchants ‘round here who can buy stuff off you, but unfortunately, none are here right now. I’m sorry, but if you don’t have any rupees, I can’t offer you a bed.”

Rustling to the left caused the wolf’s ear to twitch. Without lifting its head, it eyed the source of the movement.

The large parrot-person—the musician that the wolf had glimpsed earlier—rose from a seat around the fire pit and came to stand next to Link. “Tasseren, if I may.”

Parrot Man slid a glittering red rupee across the countertop. The stable owner—Tasseren—looked up. “You sure, Kass?”

“Certainly. It’s no problem.”

Link glanced questioningly between the parrot and the red rupee on the countertop before some recognition twinkled in his eyes. He took out his Slate, and, with a couple of taps and a blur of blue light, the ruby he’d found yesterday materialized in his hand. He held it up with triumph.

Tasseren and Kass gaped, baffled.

“How did you…?” Tasseren began.

“Rupee,” Link declared, setting the ruby onto the counter.

Both men stared at the gemstone with confoundment for a moment; then the stable owner huffed a laugh. He pushed the gem back towards Link. “No, no, kid. That’s a ruby, not a rupee. Big difference. This is the perfect thing to sell to a merchant, though, like I was saying.”

Tasseren swiped up Kass’ twenty-rupee piece and stored it away, nodding. “So thanks to Kass here, you’ve got a bed secured for the night. Feel free to use the cookpot.”

Hesitantly, Link picked up his ruby and let it disappear into his Slate once more.

“What— What is that?” Tasseren asked, peering at the Sheikah Slate. “It kind of reminds me of those weird, uh, buildings? Yeah, those buildings that sprung up recently.” He pointed to the nearest Shrine.

“It bears the Sheikah crest,” Kass observed.

Link nodded, mulling over his words. “Sheikah…made them. Very old.”

“Old?” Tasseren laughed. “Looks pretty newfangled to me. Kids always have some new toy they’re playin’ with.”

The stable owner shook his head, braids jouncing against his cheeks, but Kass regarded the Slate thoughtfully. “How did you come to possess such a thing, if I may ask?”

A complicated question. Link stood in silence, considering his words. Fortunately, he was spared from answering as Kass held up a conciliatory wing. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t be so intrusive. I haven’t even properly introduced myself. I am Kass.”

“He’s a bard,” said Tasseren. “It’s nice, having some music around here every once in a while.”

“I’m glad you enjoy my teacher’s pieces,” Kass said, his crest feathers aloft with modest pride. “Young man, may I ask your name?”

“Link,” the pup said.

Kass’ eyes widened, but swiftly, he shooed his shock away. “Ah. That’s a good, strong name. The same as the hero of one hundred years ago, and ten thousand years before that. But you’re aware of this, no doubt.”

The pup squinted, endeavoring to dissect this information, but Kass was already moving on. “I was about to use the cookpot for supper. Perhaps you will join me, Link.”

Blinking, Link made a noncommittal hum, not understanding what was being asked of him. Taking this as a noise of affirmation, Kass turned around and headed back towards the firepit. The wolf nosed the small of Link’s back, urging him to follow, and Link obliged.

The few travelers flocked around the cookpot scattered like startled birds at the newcomers’ approach. Just as well. The wolf didn’t want Link too close to people like that, anyway. Unperturbed, Link settled onto a crate near the fire, the wolf curling up by his feet, and watched Kass search through his traveling pack for ingredients and cooking implements.

“I was going to make salmon meuniere,” Kass said. “A favorite of my daughters’. Would you like some?”

Link nodded and, as Kass busied himself with meal preparations, glanced down at his wolf with arched eyebrows and a little shrug. No idea what we’re getting into, the look said. Guess we’ll find out.

With affection, the wolf leaned against Link’s legs, but the Hylian wiggled them free and instead propped his feet on the wolf with a victorious smirk. The wolf wished it could roll its eyes.

Kass plopped a hunk of butter into the cookpot, then sat down with a wooden mixing bowl. As he poured wheat flour into it, he asked conversationally, “Where do you hail from, Link?”

Kass had stowed away the bag of flour and wiped his hands together, ridding them of residual powder, before he glanced up to notice Link’s frown. He changed tacks. “Have you traveled far from home?”

Link shifted in his seat. “H-home…”

Recognizing the discomfort his questions caused, Kass tactfully continued, “I’m from Rito Village, as I’m sure you assumed, so I am rather far from my home and my family. It’s difficult to be away, but I am dedicated to traveling across Hyrule to complete my teacher’s songs.”

After sprinkling some pink salt into the flour, Kass set the bowl aside and picked up two white paper packages thick with the telltale odor of fish. Carefully, Kass unwrapped the paper to reveal pre-prepped salmon fillets. He dipped the fillets into the flour, thoroughly coating both sides, before peering into the cookpot to check the butter.

Link said nothing in return as he observed Kass’ actions. The wolf wondered how much the boy understood. Studying the pup’s expressionless face, the wolf worried that perhaps this was too much for the kid, going from total isolation to dining with strangers, expected to hold full conversations when he had yet to recover all of his language capabilities.

But as usual, the resilient pup proved the wolf wrong.

“What’s this?” Link asked, pointing to the open instrument case on the ground. He scooted to the edge of the crate to attain a closer view, bumping the wolf collaterally; the wolf didn’t mind.

“A bandoneon.” Fondly, Kass brushed his wingtips against the wood of one end, scuffed from years of loving use. “Have you seen one before?”

Link shook his head, and Kass hummed. “There aren’t many minstrels left, I’m afraid to say, meaning beautiful instruments like this are hard to come by. This one has been my constant companion since I was a fledgling. Longer than you’ve been alive, I’m sure.”

The wolf huffed in amusement at that, although Link didn’t seem to register Kass’ statement as he studied the bandoneon, head cocked like a curious puppy. Watching him, Kass smiled, warm and parental.

The wolf decided it liked Parrot Man.

With the butter browning, Kass laid the fillets into the pan with a satisfying sizzle, magnifying the fishy scent. Link fiddled with his hair again. “What… Mm. What is—?” He huffed, thinking, and pointed again to the bandoneon. “For what?”

Nudging the fillets with a spatula, Kass said, “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Hmm.” Link began to jiggle his leg, jostling the wolf, as he computed how to phrase his question. “Use this for what?”

Kass blinked as he sat back down on the log. “The bandoneon? It’s an instrument, very similar to the accordion.”

“Instruh…?”

“Instrument,” Kass annunciated, brow furrowing slightly. “A musical instrument. I play music with it.”

Link reflected on this. “Music…”

“I’d be delighted to play something for you after supper, if you’d like.”

“Play music,” the pup clarified.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Link nodded. “Okay.”

Kass smiled again, although it was tinged with concern now. He bent forward to push the fillets around a little more. “So Link, is it…just you, then? You travel alone?”

The pup gestured at the wolf, who gave a pleased, throaty rumble akin to a cat’s purr.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Kass said. “Forgive me. What is your companion’s name?”

Link blinked and looked down at the wolf inquisitively, as if he had never considered the idea that the wolf had a name. He looked back to Kass and shrugged.

Head titled slightly, Kass, a tad confused, nonetheless smiled. “Well, it’s always better to travel with a friend. I’m glad you have one with you.”

“Friend,” Link agreed softly, bending over to scratch behind the wolf’s ears.

Amicable silence nestled in the space between Link and Kass, and the wolf rested its head on its front paws with a contented sigh. The pup was comfortable—maybe even happy—and that was all the wolf wanted. It closed its eyes, inhaling the fragrances of salmon and smoke, of horse and grass. Some other travelers, having lost interest in the newcomers, talked and laughed nearby. Their convivial white noise contributed to the humble, homey ambiance, now that they weren’t cagily staring at Link.

A while later, Link shifted, causing the wolf to crack an eye. Behind a thin veil of smoke, the sky was like an oil painting, rich and textured purples and blues blending together as the sun set. Link was awash in the lavender shadows of dusk as he leaned forward to accept a plate and utensils from Kass.

The wolf stood, arcing its back and stretching its limbs, before sitting again and watching the pup, who, in turn, was watching Kass. The bard was occupied with eating, delicately slicing his salmon with a fork and knife that appeared comically small in his large, feathered hands.

Balancing his plate on his lap, Link mimicked the way Kass held his utensils and hacked off a chunk of salmon, now speckled with crushed and fragrant green herbs, without any of the elegance the Rito displayed. Though his motions were stilted, Link ate the pink breaded fish politely and slowly, even waiting to take his last bite until Kass had taken his.

Meal consumed, Kass clucked his tongue with satisfaction. “Well, it certainly did not match the quality of my daughters’ cooking, but that was a satiating meal nonetheless, if I do say so myself. Did you enjoy it, young Link?”

The pup nodded, smiling.

“Excellent. I’m glad to hear it.”

Rising from his seat, Kass retrieved Link’s dinnerware, mentioning a water pump around back of the stable. Once Kass disappeared with an armload of dishes, Link took his Slate from his belt, flicked through his inventory, and brought out a small hunk of semi-bloody meat for the wolf to eat. The wolf laid down with its meal between its paws, digging in as Link wiped his hands on his trousers.

After a time, Kass returned with clean and dry dishes, which he packed away with care. He exhaled a quiet sigh when he reseated himself on the log he’d previously occupied. “So where are you headed next, young Link?”

“Kakariko.”

“Ah, now that’s a lovely little retreat. They have a public bathhouse and quaint little inn, and their general store stocks all sorts of supplies a traveler might need. I, for one, am fond of their signature pumpkins. Delicious seeds, they have.”

Link listened with interest, nodding along to words he may or may not have comprehended.

“I’m sure you’ll find anything you need there,” Kass said. The wolf didn’t miss the way the parrot’s eyes flittered across Link’s stained skin and clothes, but his gaze held no judgment, only concern. Yes, the wolf liked Parrot Man.

The pup hummed, leaning back on his palms and looking up to the sky. Nighttime black had spread across it like ink in water, and pinprick stars were beginning to awaken, winking open their bleary eyes.

“Shall I play some music now?” Kass asked, waving towards his bandoneon.

Link perked up, and Kass beamed. The Rito removed the instrument from its case with the tenderness of a parent lifting a newborn infant. Cradling the bandoneon, he slipped his hands into the leather straps on both ends and positioned his fingers on the buttons with practiced aplomb. When he stood, he started to sway a little, his long-taloned toe tapping metronomically as he found the beat.

Then he closed his eyes and began to play.

The bandoneon’s bellows expanded and contracted fluidly as they sighed out their reedy serenades. Firelight gleamed off Kass’ ocean-blue feathers and his instrument’s veneered wood as the bard rocked like a ship in tempo to his music. He effortlessly flowed from one melody to the next, plaiting chords together with elegance and finesse. Deep, enchanting notes intertwined, twisting with the ash rising to the sky and floating away across the plains.

The music subdued the stable, drawing other travelers towards the firepit. Enrapt, they forgot their earlier wariness, ignoring wolf and boy as they watched the bard perform.

Link didn’t notice the crowd. He was fixated on Kass. With jaw slack and eyes shining, he was caught in the musical undertow, allowing the medley to deliver him somewhere celestial, somewhere transcendent, to the spiritual plane that intangibly resides in the ether and hides in the heart.

Kass finished his concert without flourish, only grace and elegance, and let the last notes linger among the stars. When their final echoes faded, there was a soft smatter of applause; Link startled, blinking in surprise at the gaggle of people around him.

A few of the travelers nodded to Kass, tossed one-piece rupees in his empty instrument case, murmured laudations. As they all filtered away, Kass tucked the rupees into his purse and replaced his bandoneon in its case with the utmost reverence, sighing happily.

Belongings collected, Kass stood and again smiled warmly at Link, his only remaining spectactor, who still perched on the crate with the wolf at his feet.

“Well, I think it’s time I turn in for the evening,” Kass said. “It’s been a true pleasure, Link. Thank you for your company.”

Kass began to move away, but Link’s hand snapped out and snagged his arm, small fingers curling around elongated feathers. Link looked surprised at his own action, glancing down at his hand in shock, then back up at the gentle face of the parrot.

“…Ah,” Link tried, complexion turning rosy. “Ah, um… Th-thank you. Kass.”

“You’re quite welcome, young one. I have a feeling we will meet again. May Hylia bless you in your travels.”

Shyly, Link unlatched his grip and retracted his hand as the bard ambled into the stable.

The pup stayed a while longer, gazing thoughtfully into the fire, running one booted foot up and down the wolf’s back like a massage. Eventually, he sighed and hopped off the crate, rolling his shoulders. “Sleep?”

In response, the wolf stood, stretched, and circled once, twice, before curling up in the groove it had worn in the dirt. Link bent down and patted it.

“Good night, friend.”

The boy disappeared into the stable, eager for his new experience of sleeping indoors, of using a bed. Despite its earlier reservations and bitter thoughts, the wolf found itself slipping into slumber with ease, confident that they would, indeed, be safe for the night.

Some hours later the wolf awoke to smoldering embers beneath a pre-dawn pall of grey. The morning was silent, save for the beginnings of birdsong and the clopping of horseshoes from some restless steeds in their stalls.

The scent of Link’s particular brand of Hylian pheromones mingled with the other natural aromas, and the wolf lifted its head to see the boy tiptoeing towards him, shrouded in dimming shadows.

Link stopped, boots scuffling against dried leaves, and beckoned the wolf. The wolf obliged, padding noiselessly towards its pup. Smiling, Link crouched to greet it, both hands gliding through thick fur; in return, the wolf stepped forward and nuzzled its cheek against Link’s.

There were no eyes on them now as the two departed, escaping the stable’s private ecosystem and reentering the vast and undomesticated world that thrived around it. Following the dirt path tramped by generations of travelers, Link and the wolf continued their trek to Kakariko Village.

As the sky lightened to a hazy whitewash, Link remarked, “Nice bed. But. I miss you.”

Touched, the wolf licked his hand. The boy patted his head and added, “Good pillow.”

That earned him a playful headbutt to the thigh, which only made Link grin.

Watercolor pink streaks on the horizon heralded the oncoming sun, and Link and the wolf paused their journey to look across the field that abutted their road.

Monolithic metal contraptions cluttered the field. Half-buried in mud and strewn with moss, the unfamiliar mechanical debris seemed to have come from an alien world. Though it did not recognize these metal hunks with spidery appendages, the wolf was filled with an inexplicable dread as it gazed upon them. Its instincts told it to run.

The boy’s tense frown indicated that the wolf was not alone in sensing this foreboding. It gently bumped against the boy, jarring him from his thoughts, and the pair gratefully turned away from the strange junk hiding in the field’s long grasses.

Cocooned in the pink and pleasant quiet of daybreak, Link and the wolf carried on.

Chapter Text

Ropes lined with talismans crisscrossed the cluster of humble, dignified huts; the charms tinked together in the breeze, whispering prayers of protection. Simple wooden fences demarcated patches of upturned soil that were variously dotted with bulbous pumpkins, leafy carrots, and spindly plum trees. Snaking through the buildings was a brook, gently churned by a water wheel. It bled into a pond upon which floated a happy profusion of lily pads.

This version of Kakariko Village differed from that in the wolf’s era in every discernible way, from the architecture to the soil quality. In the wolf’s era, Kakariko felt static, an ancient place preserved, as if one day, time had grinded to a stop. The area was arid, barren; mismatched buildings sprouted wilted moss or rusty patches; wooden signs and steps were lopsided and decaying.

But in this era, Kakariko Village was undeniably alive.

Splendid green carpeted even the bluffs. Trees with healthy verdant crowns filled in the spaces between thatched roofs. Most remarkably, grand triplet waterfalls served as the regal backdrop for the town, their cooling rush a white noise that blended pleasantly with birdsong and soft conversation.

Beholding Kakariko’s evolution for the wolf was surreal yet gratifying, akin to folding an innocuous seed into dirt, careful and quiet like a secret, and then returning to find a full-bloom flower bursting with springtime vibrancy. The sight was mesmerizing, mystifying.

Next to the wolf in the unchecked undergrowth, Link huddled on all fours, peering wide-eyed at the town nestled in the shallow valley below their clifftop. The pup, too, was captivated by the village, which possessed an aura of permanence and surety, a sense of import and history, that the stable lacked. The travelers’ waypoint boasted a potpourri of people, all gathering together out of convenience and necessity, while Kakariko was defined by a single culture, shaped by specific traditions and visions over centuries.

Link’s first true glimpse at established, functioning society made his heartrate accelerate and his cheeks adopt a pink flush. He looked as if he’d spotted someone attractive across the room and now brimmed with the tortured thrill of debated approach.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Link sat back onto his heels and curled his hands into loose fists in his lap. “Big. Many people.”

The wolf whined sympathetically and pressed its nose to Link’s cheek. He lightly batted at the wolf’s muzzle, grunting with disapproval. “Cold.”

Garnering this reaction spurred the wolf to press its nose to Link’s cheek a second time, naturally, but the pup, in no mood for teasing, waved it away and stood up. “Let’s go.”

Although the road from the stable led directly into the village, Link had opted to hike across the hills and cliffs that bordered it. This circuitous route easily added a half a day to their already lengthy journey, but the wolf, as always, faithfully went along with Link’s desires. The wolf suspected that the pup had wanted to survey the village from a high vantage point before entering; he hadn’t seemed particularly interested in exploring, instead moving with purpose across the bumpy hills.

Wolf and boy descended into Kakariko in the way they always traveled: side-by-side, close together. They targeted the town’s centerpiece, the regal building perched atop a sloping staircase, in front of the triplet waterfalls.

Link was cagey as the pair picked their way along the town’s unpaved paths, though his curiosity didn’t falter. He swiveled his head around constantly as he tried to osmose every detail of the place at once. They passed a handful of residents—an old man tending a pumpkin patch, a young woman inviting them into a shop, two little children chasing each other—all of whom mirrored Link’s wary but inquisitive aura.

At the bottom of the staircase stood two middle-aged men with white hair, garbed in the same beige, red, and navy as all the villagers. They stood sentinel beneath an arching gateway framed by twin trees bearing delicate white blooms. Hands hovering over the daggers at their belts, the guards eyed their visitors suspiciously. In response, the wolf sank low, belly grazing the dirt, in a show of submission.

“Who might you be?” one of the men barked, noting the Soldier’s Sword and Shield, pilfered from some ruins, strapped to Link’s back and the moth-eaten tatters of his clothes. “And why do you bring such a beast with you? Is it tame?” With distaste, he scanned the silver wispy markings on the wolf’s forehead, the manacle around its ankle.

Hand on his dagger, the second man asked, “You’ve got blood on you. Have you been fighting monsters?”

“That’s a foolish and reckless thing to do, boy,” the first said.

Link opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it again, his previous uncertainty storming back, and the man narrowed his eyes. “What is your business in Kakariko?”

When Link stayed tight-lipped, the second man murmured to his comrade, “Perhaps he’s a foreigner and doesn’t understand.”

“Or maybe he’s feral. Raised by that wolf. I’ve heard of wild animals raising abandoned children as their own.”

The wolf could feel the hackles on its back beginning to bristle. The shift was subtle, yet the guard noticed and drew his dagger. “That thing isn’t going to attack us, is—”

Link, straight-backed and scowling, inserted himself between the wolf and the guard. “Friend.”  

Bafflement crossed the man’s face but quickly passed, and he glowered at the pup. “Excuse me? You are the intruder here. I’m merely trying to defend myself.”

“Calm yourselves,” the second guard commanded. “Lower your weapon, Cado.”

“No,” Cado snapped. “It’s rare to get visitors here, much less visitors caked in dirt and blood with damn tamed wolves for pets. Now what is your business here, kid?”

“Lady Impa.”

Cado scoffed. “I beg your pardon?”

“See Lady Impa.”

“You cannot be serious. You want an audience with the respected leader of our clan, looking like you’ve never bathed in your life? Preposterous!”

“Why do you want to see Lady Impa, boy?” the other guard asked.

The pup frowned, struggling to compose a response. Cado was impatient. “Forget that. Let’s start with your name.”

“Link.”

At that, the second guard narrowed his eyes in thought, scrutinizing the boy more thoroughly now, as Cado probed, “Where are you from, Link?”

Link shook his head, unable to provide an answer even if he wanted to. With skeptical annoyance, Cado opened his mouth to speak, but his comrade cut in. “What is that object at your hip, Link?”

Blinking, Link followed his gaze. With a measure of relief, he unlatched the brown, embossed rectangle from his belt and balanced it carefully on his palms, Sheikah crest plainly visible.

“What?” Cado exclaimed, stepping forward, dagger still in hand. Instinctively, Link stepped back, retracting the Slate towards his chest. “That’s ancient Sheikah technology! Where did you steal this from?”

“Come off it,” the other dismissed, waving Cado back. He released the hold on his dagger, and a touch of marvel glittered in his eyes. “You know the legends as well as I do. The bearer of this technology is the Chosen Hero of Hyrule!”

“Dorian, you can’t possibly think this imp is the foretold hero.”

“His name is Link, just as the hero from a century ago.”

“A coincidence! Why are you so hasty to trust? Why should we believe him?”

“I believe the stories,” Dorian retorted. “It is said that he who possesses the Sheikah Slate—”

“Yes, I know all that!”

“Then we should take him to Lady Impa,” Dorian stated solemnly.

“You’re proposing we walk this brat straight into the chambers of our leader? Don’t be such a fool, Dorian! He could be a disguised Yiga assassin!”

A dark expression skittered across Dorian’s visage at the suggestion, and though the wolf didn’t know what exactly a “Yiga” was, it could understand Cado’s suspicion. Frankly, the wolf had to admit, the man was behaving rather rationally. These people had no reason to trust some dirty Hylian runt with an oversized wolf for a pet.  

Link still hovered between the wolf and the guards, cradling the Sheikah Slate to his chest and uneasily shifting his weight from foot to foot. The wolf wished it could tell the kid to stand down, to relax, to—to do what? How could Link prove himself trustworthy?

The Slate’s map harbored that yellow blinking dot and a directive from the ghost of King Rhoam to seek Lady Impa, yet supposed orders from long-dead kings weren’t exactly adequate evidence to support Link’s hero status.

Still crouching low, the wolf snugged its claws into the dirt and was submerged by a tidal wave of helplessness. It was meant to aid and guide this era’s hero on his quest, but how could the wolf do this without the ability to communicate? How could it help the kid reintegrate into society when its presence frightened and repelled people?

From the abode above them sounded the swish of a door opening, too soft for anyone but the wolf to hear. A teenage girl in the village’s signature style of dress tiptoed onto the porch and timidly peeked down the stairs. She held one balled-up hand near her chin in an unconscious display of nerves; the wolf could feel, even from here, the anxiety radiating off of her.

Her wide eyes darted between each person (and animal) at the foot of the stairs. She swallowed before quietly stammering, “U-um… Excuse me…”

No one heard her. The wolf tried its best to appear nonthreatening as the girl met its ice-blue eyes with wavery brown ones. She shrank back nonetheless and tried again, her volume ticking up a notch. “Excuse me…?”

The wolf stretched out a leg and batted at Link’s boot. The pup glanced down, then followed the wolf’s gaze to the top of the staircase. Even through their nonstop bickering, the two guards both kept close watch on their intruders, and they both looked back as well.

“Ah, Miss Paya,” Dorian greeted.

“Yes, e-excuse me,” she said, completely bereft of boldness. “I-I’m sorry to in-interrupt, but Grandmother and I heard some…commotion.”

“We are terribly sorry to disturb you,” Cado said. His response overlapped with Dorian’s, which was an excited declaration: “Miss Paya! The Chosen Hero has returned to us!”

“He claims to be the Chosen Hero,” Cado swiftly corrected.

“Oh?” Paya squeaked, cheeks reddening. “Th-the Hero? Ahh! My goodness! Grandmother has been expecting h-him!”

“I believe your grandmother would want to see him, Miss Paya,” Dorian offered.

“Oh, y-yes, of course! Please, ah, Mr. Chosen Hero... Please come in.”

Callous expression unchanged, Cado reluctantly sheathed his dagger. “We should escort him up.”

Dorian nodded and motioned for Link to follow him. Not entertaining the thought of joining them, the wolf retained its docile pose, prepared to await its pup’s return. Three steps up, however, Link paused and turned around.

“Wolf?” he called quietly.

“Oh no,” Cado snapped. He tossed up an authoritative hand, palm out. “You are not bringing a filthy animal into Lady Impa’s abode, Chosen Hero or not!” Then he mumbled to himself, “And I’m putting my money on not…”

Trying not to scowl at the outburst, Link straightened, eyes locked on his companion’s. “Wolf, come.”

The wolf hesitated still, but Paya, wringing her hands together, interjected, “Oh, I-I’m sure Master L-L-Link could bring his, um, his f-friend in. I’m sure my grandmother would a-allow it, f-for the Chosen Hero.”

Link nodded solemnly. “Friend.”

Dorian failed to conceal a smug smirk as he turned to an affronted Cado. “Well, you heard Miss Paya. The beast can come. Let’s go.”

He resumed hiking up the stairs, Link and the wolf in tow. Bringing up the rear, Cado grumbled under his breath, “This is ridiculous. Am I the only reasonable person around here?”

As the group approached her, Paya shrank further into herself, as if attempting to take up as little space as possible. The clay-red Sheikah eye painted—or perhaps tattooed—onto her forehead popped against her porcelain skin. She declined eye contact with anyone, ducking her head as she pushed open the double doors with twitchy hands and then scurried out of the way.

“Please go inside, Master L-Link,” she tentatively requested. Her gaze flickered up to the hero, then back to the freshly waxed wood of the porch. A blush darkened her cheeks to nigh the same shade as her tattoo; embarrassed, she splayed her hands over her face, which muffled her next words. “W-we’ve been waiting for you.”

Link tilted his head curiously, no doubt attempting to decipher this girl’s shy behavior, but he was ushered in by the two guardsmen. Wolf at his heels, Link crossed the threshold into Impa’s palace, attention turning to the main parlor.

Banners emblazoned with the Sheikah insignia hung from the rafters. Prayer scrolls and red tassels adorned the stone toad effigies that stood watch over the room. Neat rows of sitting cushions were bisected by a strip of royal blue carpet, reminding the wolf of the river splitting the Dueling Peak mountains.

The river-carpet formed an aisle that led to a dais, whereupon a tiny elderly woman knelt atop a stack of three luxurious pillows. Along with the village’s trademark garb, she donned a massive conical headpiece, from which four simplified eye amulets dangled on chains. The wolf wondered how the heavy-looking headwear didn’t interfere with her balance, or at the least strain her neck, which age had compressed into her stooped shoulders.

Liver-spotted jowls quivered slightly as a grin spread across the old woman’s face. Her voice trembled with the frailty of great age, as did her arthritically-knobbed hand when she beckoned the pup forward. “Link! You have returned to us at last. Please, come in.”

Flanking boy and wolf, Dorian and Cado started forward, but a small shake of the head from Impa locked them in place. Paya quietly closed the double doors behind them all, penning in the sweet musk of polished wood.

When Impa cupped Link’s cheek, the wolf could practically feel the chiffon texture of her wrinkled fingers. The pup stiffened at the touch, but Impa didn’t acknowledge this as she studied him, her warm smile dimming to wistfulness. “It’s so strange. Even though it’s been one hundred years, you look exactly the way I remember you. I’m sure you cannot say the same for me.”

She chuckled dryly and pulled away from him. Link stared at her, brow pinched in concentration, and Impa’s smile faltered further. “You do not remember me, do you? Surely you at least remember the name Impa?”

Dropping his gaze, Link shook his head, a silent gesture steeped in shame.

“We expected the Shrine might have some unfortunate side effects,” Impa confessed. Sighing, she folded her hands neatly in her lap. She paused, then nodded to herself as if affirming her own thought. “To lose your memory… Well, perhaps for now it is a blessing in disguise.”

Despite Link’s questioning look, Impa smiled grimly and redirected the conversation. “How odd it is that an entire century has passed, that the world has changed so remarkably since you were last with us, yet you have stayed frozen in time. It must be very difficult for you, Link.”

He frowned and reached up to play with a lock of hair. When his fingers brushed a twig fragment lodged there, the frowned deepened, and he opted instead to clamp his hand around the opposite arm, walling himself off from discomfort.

In the temporary lull, the wolf, which had seated itself politely at Link’s side, now scrutinized the room more thoroughly. On the wall behind Impa hung an impressive tapestry depicting a blue-clad hero and white-clad princess squaring off against a draconian Ganon. Stylized animals—a lizard, camel, bird, and elephant—marched towards the battle. To Impa’s right, a pedestal held an orb infused with the same pulsating orange strips of light as the Dueling Peaks Tower and the Shrines. Although these items meant nothing to the wolf now, it felt the disruptive and irresistible tug of their gravity. Surely they would claim significance in Link’s story soon enough. 

“You’ve had an arduous sojourn from the Great Plateau,” Impa said, “so I suggest you wash up and rest a bit. We will meet again for supper.”

She looked past Link and the wolf to the guards standing at the door. “Dorian, Cado, will you please escort Link to the bathhouse and ensure that he has everything he will need?”

“Of course, my lady,” Dorian said. Cado echoed the sentiment, albeit with a tinge of reluctance.

Impa was prepared to dismiss Link and his wolf, but then she brightened. “Ah, wait. I have something for you, Link.” She turned to her granddaughter, who had come to huddle by the orb, and said, “Please fetch the chest, Paya.”

Surprised at the address, then flustered by the attention, Paya retreated, replying softly, “Y-yes, Grandmother.”

The girl retrieved a plain chest from a nearby cabinet, over which draped a painted scroll that portrayed a field with tangles of elegant grasses in front of an imposing fort. The wolf was reminded of the field next to the stable, the one dotted with those eerie metal husks. Why was this scroll the only decorative piece amidst the spiritual ornaments in the parlor? What significance did this locale bear?

Running a hand across the smooth wood of the chest, Impa stated, “I have saved this for one hundred years at the Princess’ behest. She sewed it herself, as she sewed similar articles for all of the Champions, to represent your status as heroes and your united front in protecting Hyrule. Please treat it with respect.”

Link accepted the chest, holding it like a religious relic. Looking Impa in the eye, he nodded somberly, then turned to follow the guards outside. 

---

The bathhouse, like most of Kakariko’s buildings, was a simple yet tasteful edifice. It was surrounded by a wooden fence that supported curling, sprawling vines, some of which grew bountiful burgundy blooms. Inside the gate, a quaint stone pathway led to the sliding front door, above which was nailed a sign with flourishing calligraphy.

“So you should have everything you need,” Dorian remarked, nodding to the basketful of toiletries in Link’s hands. “Is there anything else we may do for you, Master Link?”

Before he could answer, Cado, his arms grumpily crossed, cut in. “By the way, I hope you realize your wolf is not allowed in this facility. That would be inappropriate.”

Dorian shot him an annoyed glance, but ultimately looked back at Link with resignation. “Well, I’m afraid that’s true, Master Link. He can wait for you outside, just through here.” Dorian indicated the stubby fence that enclosed the bathhouse. “I will remain outside the gate to ensure your privacy, and Cado will return to Lady Impa.”

“And you need to make certain that beast stays in there,” Cado said to Dorian with no tact or subtlety. “We can’t have it running rampant through the village while the boy is indisposed.”

Giving the wolf a wary glance, Dorian didn’t rebuff this instruction.

Through the gate he ushered Link and the wolf, latching it behind them and stationing himself in front of it. When Link slid the door open, he glanced back at the guards—they were preoccupied with a hushed discussion—and smirked deviously before gesturing for the wolf to follow him inside.

The silent suggestion was met with a leveling, skeptical stare; Link countered with the pleading expression of a child begging to play.

Well, what harm could actually arise from the wolf entering the bathhouse? It wouldn’t carelessly damage or destroy anything. Besides, this way it could keep an eye on its pup.

That was its rationale as, in the end, the wolf capitulated and slunk inside the building. The truth was that, despite its inclination for obedience, it sometimes couldn’t help but indulge its mischievous side. There was a thrill to disregarding rules and manners that it couldn’t always deny.

Seeing Link’s devilish mirth as he slid the door closed, the wolf concluded that this penchant for playful misbehavior might be a trait innate to the Hero’s Spirit.

---

Washing away three weeks’ worth of grime proved an ambitious undertaking, and all together, the pair passed an entire four hours in the bathhouse. After such a long spell, the wolf anticipated that one of the Sheikah guards would barge in to insist Link vacate the building for the rest of the villagers to use, a demand they would undoubtedly punctuate with irked incredulity at the wolf’s presence indoors. To think it would be the cause of any extra antagonism towards its pup was dismaying.

But no one ever entered the bathhouse to scold them. Link was left in peace to preen each piece of leaf and twig from his hair and from the wolf’s fur, then rake combs through each painful snag; to scrub his skin until it was shining pink; to wash behind both of their ears and between each of their toes; to relax in the steamy natural hot spring water pumped into the manmade bath; and, giggling, to start a splashing war with the wolf, who swatted its big paws through the water in retaliation. (Though Link might disagree, the wolf knew it won.)

When he was, at last, clean and calm and dry, Link unfastened the chest from Impa and deferentially removed the garment therein. Embroidered in pristine white, the satiny, sky-blue tunic held a weight of holiness. It felt beatific, angel-touched. Despite going through war one hundred years prior, the Champion's Tunic was flawless, freshly perfumed with sage and lavender, its threads interwoven with unseen golden magic.

Link stared. He massaged the satin between his fingers, held the tunic to his nose and inhaled. Zelda had sewn this garment for Link to wear in the eons-old fight against Evil. She had brought this tunic into existence, spent hours perfecting each stitch, delicately handled the finished product. This tunic bonded the princess and her knight together, forged a physical connection between them that even a century of calamity couldn’t undermine.

This tunic transformed Link’s future and past into something tangible, something he could touch and see and smell, as Princess Zelda had done before him.

Lowering the tunic to his lap, Link sat back on his heels, a pensive and sedate pall drawing over his features. The wolf curled up close by and left him to his thoughts.

---

As soon as pup and wolf regrouped with Dorian, their secret was out. The man gawked with disbelief at the damp, clean wolf, then threw back his head in a hearty laugh.

Cado, who they met at the foot of Impa’s staircase, was nowhere near as amused.

“At least it’s not filthy anymore,” Dorian quipped, trying to stifle a smile as he clapped Cado’s shoulder. Cado rolled his eyes and impatiently herded them all up the steps.

The guards dropped Link and the wolf off in the dining room, which was decorated similarly to, though more sparsely than, the main chamber. Surrounded by plush sitting cushions, the low table shone with fresh polish, a thin veneer that almost concealed signs of wear.

Impa sat at the head of the table, maintaining an air of irrefutable authority and commanding respect in spite of her small stature, her age, and her amenable smile. To her right sat Paya, biting her lip. When Link glanced at her, she blushed and averted her eyes, fiercely gripping the hem of her tunic. Link seemed perplexed by this response, though the wolf watched the exchange with mild amusement.

“Please have a seat, Link.” Impa patted the table to her left. Link obliged, sitting cross-legged instead of kneeling as the other two were. 

Behind him, the wolf dithered, and Impa studied it curiously for the first time. Although the wolf was accustomed to immediate scrutiny, it understood Impa’s previous lack of interest. She’d been a bit preoccupied with her friend’s resurrection. Foretold or not, such an event was nothing short of miraculous.

“Where did you meet your companion here, Link?” Impa asked.

“Plateau.”

“He was there when you awoke?”

“Mm.” Link shook his head. “Later.”

“I have to wonder if this is not a divine beast sent to you by the Goddess, to aid you in your quest. Over time, we’ve lost many invaluable historical records, but from what we can glean, heroes past often completed their journeys with a companion’s assistance.”

Link did not seem to comprehend Impa’s explanation, but she didn’t elaborate, instead waving at the ample pillow at Link’s side. “He may lay here, if you like. The hero’s companion is welcome here.”

The wolf crept forward and settled onto the cushion, earning a smile and pat on the head from Link. Impa marveled at the enormous wolf a moment longer before clapping her hands together firmly once, twice.

A middle-aged Sheikah woman appeared to serve the meal: hot apple cider spiced with cinnamon and a beef and vegetable stew prepared in a scooped-out pumpkin shell. Aside from making it salivate, the aromas jolted the wolf. They were rich reminders of the Ordonian countryside. It pictured itself in Hylian form, reveling in such a meal with its adoptive family by cozy lantern-light, boisterous laughter swelling to fill the humble kitchen.  

“I seem to recall that this pumpkin stew was one of your favorites,” Impa commented to Link, swishing her spoon around the steaming bowl. “Funny, the things we remember.”

Link examined the utensils around his placemat, selecting the spoon as Impa and Paya had. At Impa’s statement, he looked up in surprise; then, like before, an introspective sadness shadowed his countenance.

Registering the hero’s mood, Impa said, “I know this is difficult for you, Link. But you must remember that people like you and I are meant for greater things. We have been chosen by the gods, and that is a gift.”

She raised a spoonful of soup to her lips and blew on it. Wispy steam dissipated and returned like a guttering candle’s flame, but she sipped nonetheless. Link watched and mimicked her actions, his eyes not leaving hers, attentive to Impa’s monologue.

“We have a duty to our destiny, to our kingdom and our princess. This duty comes before all individual needs.”

She cleared her throat, hesitated, set her spoon flat on the fine linen napkin that corresponded to the beige of her tunic. Gazing down at her weatherworn hand, she said, “Link. You have sacrificed so much for your kingdom already, but, as King Rhoam no doubt told you, we need you to help Princess Zelda fight against the Calamity that has been raging for one hundred years.” She drew a steadying breath. “Before giving you the details of what you must do, I must ask you something.”

Brow creased in earnest, Impa looked up and asked, “Are you willing to lay down your life?”

Buzzing silence permeated the room. Everyone froze. The only movement was the slow revolution of the ceiling fan’s blade, stirring the air the way Impa had stirred her soup.

Of course a quest to raze the rampaging incarnation of hate was a perilous one. Of course it was life-threatening. The wolf knew these facts. Yet to hear the notion presented so bluntly was sobering…and deeply disturbing.

To give one’s life in the effort to preserve another’s was the superlative form of altruism. Petitioning anyone, especially a teenager, for such a sacrifice seemed unthinkable. By his oath to the Crown, Link had honorably fulfilled this monumental duty as an elite soldier in the Royal Guard. Now that an unnatural mix of science and magic had granted him a second life, the powers that be were asking him to commit to the most supreme self-sacrifice once again.

On its own journey, the wolf, as a young and idealistic Hylian, had been willing to embrace its star-sealed destiny and sacrifice itself to foil unimaginable evils. Others who knew of its adventure—Rusl and Uli, Renado the shaman—believed it unfair that a boy of eighteen had been encumbered with such hefty responsibilities, but rarely had the wolf questioned its own role on the stage of cosmic fate.

Good and Evil, Heroes and Villains, Gods and Demons: these were dichotomies that guided the wolf’s actions, that were pillars of its life. The most salient flaw in the clear-cut diamonds of these dualities came with the Hero’s Shade. The wolf’s ancestor, too, had heeded the will of gods for the sake of Good, but for his complete self-sacrifice, he received neither reward nor rest. 

Instead, his spirit, warped into a red-eyed stalfos, remained chained to tarnished gold armor, to regrets, and to a material realm that demanded his subservience even after death. 

Now, the wolf was bearing witness to outrageous expectations shackling another hero in the same manner. It was bearing witness to a child surrendering his autonomy to become a plaything for fate to manipulate. 

This journey, regardless of whether or not Link died, would claim his life.

Link, like Impa, rested his spoon on his neatly folded napkin. Ambivalence and uncertainty had plagued the boy during this entire excursion to Kakariko Village, but now, his expression steeled into one of assured, stern resolve.

“Yes,” Link said. “I am willing.”

His avowal slid down the wolf’s gullet like a hunk of ice.

---

Late into the night, Link and the wolf emerged from Impa’s abode onto the moon-puddled porch. The caress of balmy air and the sight of a cloudless, starlit sky soothed the wolf like healing salve. Confinement, no matter how temporary, kindled its craving for boundless forests and fields, ignited the need for open spaces inherent to this wild form. The wolf wondered if the pup felt the same—if the stilted decorum and judgmental scrutiny of civilization made him long for the autonomy of an undomesticated life.

Whether spurred by that longing or by fatigue from a draining day, Link huffed in irritation upon noticing Dorian at the bottom of the staircase. Sitting on a step, he massaged the back of his neck as he, no doubt, awaited the reappearance of Kakariko’s newcomers. Above him, moths convened around an orange lantern’s halo, confused by this interference to their navigational instincts.

Link clenched the leather strap of his scabbard as he started down the stairs. The soft patter of boots and click of claws alerted Dorian to the presence of his charges, and, with wobbly arms and an effortful grunt, he pushed himself to his feet.  Link offered a nod of greeting as he passed by, walking somewhere with purpose. 

“Master Link,” Dorian called. “I have secured a room for you at the inn, and I would be pleased to escort you there.”

Link hesitated. Tonight’s weighty debriefing had chiseled into his features harsh edges and angles that now softened into a semblance of curiosity. Impa had mentioned sending Dorian to reserve an inn room for Link; she’d even tasked him with convincing the innkeeper to allow the wolf in. (The wolf hoped Cado had not been around when Impa made this request.)

“Room for sleep,” Link said, groping for clarity.

“Yes.”

“Bed?”

“…Yes, there is a bed.”

After a contemplative hum, Link shook his head, a staunch rejection of the proposal. He pivoted around to proceed up the road that, earlier that day, had carried them into Kakariko Village.

“Ah, wait!” Dorian said, hustling to catch up. “But where will you stay, Master Link?”

The pup pointed to the same clifftops that had served as his overlook this morning.

“But there’s no need for that. Please, stay at the inn. You will incur no personal expense.”

Not comprehending this vocabulary—and the wolf had to conjecture that he didn’t understand portions of Impa’s extended talk either—Link simply shook his head again.

“Ah, would you—? Would you prefer to stay at my home? I wouldn’t mind, so long as you don’t wake my girls.”

“…My home?”

“My home, yes.” Dorian pointed to a row of houses abutting the opposite cliffs. “It’s not much, but perhaps you’d prefer something like that over the inn?”

“Home,” Link murmured thoughtfully. Then: “No. Thank you.”

Dorian studied him a moment longer before finally nodding, resigned. “Well, Master Link, when next you come to town, please stop by for a meal. My daughter is a fine cook.”

With a gentle, albeit forced, smile, Link waved goodbye and continued up the road. The wolf, as always, trotted at his hip.

Half an hour later, they had settled down on the clifftop. Link surveyed the darkened town, its nighttime cloak pierced only by scattered circles of lantern-light that mirrored the stars.

“Not bad,” Link concluded. Verdict of the town thus rendered, he sighed and flopped onto his back with the wolf, comfortably spread on its side, serving as his pillow. Chirps from crickets and cicadas blended with the waterfalls’ soothing rush to form a quiet lullaby, the thrum of Link’s steady heartbeat keeping time.

Link vaguely gestured to their surroundings—the stars, the wildflowers, the grove of trees—and said, “This is home.”

Was it a sad realization? A stubborn denial of society? A statement of perceived fact? The wolf wasn’t sure what to make of this assertion, and it watched carefully as the boy wriggled around, resituating himself so he was parallel with his companion. Surprisingly, he appeared untroubled, as if he’d jettisoned the burdens that hours prior weighed him down and soaked in the night’s tranquility in their stead.

Link inspected the wolf, then smiled and poked its snout. “Home is with you.”

Heart brimming, the wolf nuzzled its pup.

Why the gods decided to send a beast—divine, domesticated, or otherwise—to assist this era’s hero remained a mystery, but perhaps, the wolf mused, the choice was quite purposeful. Perhaps they knew that two boys, both semi-wild by circumstance, could support one another in ways unfathomable to anyone else. Perhaps the unification of two heroes from worlds millennia apart was penned in the stars because in one another, they could, at last, find home.

Wolf and boy fell asleep side-by-side amidst the wildflowers, and the next day, they were gone before the first rooster crowed in Kakariko Village.