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It was late afternoon in Kakariko Village. Paper lanterns hung from wooden posts, casting shadows across Princess Zelda’s hair as she and Link trotted beneath dangling willow branches. Damp loam muffled the sound of their horses’ hooves. Mist rose from a waterfall that tumbled out and under the bridge they crossed.
The houses, smooth and square with black thatched roofing, opened their doors. The Sheikah bowed to the princess and waved at Link, billowing sleeves of ivory and scarlet. Children bounced up and down next to stoic stone frogs who matched better with the princess herself, quiet and judgmental.
They dismounted at the foot of an imposing house with curved gables and a long staircase. Link hurried behind Princess Zelda, wondering why in Hylia’s good name she was skipping steps, just to have the double doors slammed in his face once they reached the landing.
He stood with his nose to the wood, swallowing the protests in his throat.
“Champion Knight!”
Link turned to three Sheikah waiting on the stair. They bowed until the brims of their flat straw hats touched the step before them. “It is an honour to host Hylia’s chosen on your first visit to Kakariko Village. While the princess is, er, preoccupied, we would be delighted to show you around!”
Their eyes shone with expectancy. Link straightened his stance, clasped his hands behind his back, and nodded.
Plum trees in bloom scented the air. Wooden tags swinging from ropes clattered in the breeze, a soft and friendly sound. Link was steered from statue to shop to mill to shrine until finally, the tour pivoted down a dirt path along a narrow ravine. He tensed at the sounds of shouting and clashing metal, but the Sheikah smiled and patted his arm reassuringly.
The ravine opened to a forge nestled between the rolling hills. Workers stripped to the tunic stepped down on bellows that fed the red-hot furnace, grunting and sweating with each heave. Others with soot-streaked faces raked steaming ashes out of the way. Blacksmiths furrowed their brows in concentration as they slammed hammers upon anvil, unflinching even as sparks fluttered into their eyelashes. Each hit rang out through the din of spinning whetstone, roaring fire, and warning cries. Young children, crouched along the cliffside, waved fans furiously at the smoke that billowed from the stone chimney. With their efforts, the smoke dissipated well before it cleared the mountaintops, and the secret of Kakariko was kept safe.
For the first time since arrival, Link relaxed. It was a comfort to watch how focused they all were, how they all stayed in time together without falling out of step. It reminded him of the barracks and the steady routine of the guard.
He’d much rather be there than here.
“Sir Hero!” His Sheikah hosts held open a curtain that led into the interior of the smithy. “The Master requests your audience.”
Link ducked beneath the curtain. An elderly man knelt upon a stack of cushions. Wrinkles wore grooves across his forehead and down his cheeks. The end of his long beard grazed the floor when he nodded at Link to sit. Link sat.
In the Master’s spotted and veiny hands was a sword. Link blinked at it. He had taken note of the Sheikah’s weaponry even before coming to the forge by glancing at belts and wrists, even down at the hems of boots. Kakariko favoured short knives and daggers that were easy to conceal, well-balanced tools that could be flung from a distance. The guards sported long, curved katanas more for statement than utility. But this sword was different.
At first, he thought it was a traditional Hylian longsword, the shape and size was similar. Upon closer inspection, Link saw the differences. The blade was a touch longer and slimmer, forged from a dark iron glazed with a coppery sheen. The Sheikah had smoothed the cruel angles of a claymore into graceful curves, allowing the crossguard to rise gently out of the blade, their scarlet eye symbol inlaid in the centre. But the hilt was all Hylian again: royal gold and blue shining proudly beneath the flickering lantern light. Kakariko’s Master Blacksmith tilted the sword towards him so the eye seemed to wink at Link.
One of his hosts spoke first. “From the founding of this kingdom, only the Sheikah Tribe and the Knights of Hyrule have wholly pledged themselves to Hylia’s bloodline. You may even say that we are of one motivation: to protect the royal family.”
The old Master gripped the hilt and twirled the heavy sword on its point with just one hand. Link leaned back as the blade suddenly flashed double true edges at him. “This sword represents that ancient alliance. A treaty between those who know actions are more powerful than words. That skill and time beget trust and understanding. That fire forges stronger mettle and promises that cannot be broken.”
“It is but a paltry weapon compared to the Blade of Evil’s Bane—” All four Sheikah flickered their gaze towards the old sword peeking out from behind Link’s shoulder. “—but nonetheless, we offer this sword as a gift.”
The Master Blacksmith held out the Edge of Duality to Link with both hands. “Remember, Champion Knight, that we share the same goal: to fight for the Goddess. Preserve her legacy. Keep back the darkness that would have Hyrule.”
Link reached for the blade, his fingers grazing the Master’s calloused skin. The Edge of Duality sank its cold and heavy bulk into his palms. Though the Sheikah turned their proud and shining faces towards him, Link knew that this was nothing compared to the weight of the looming battle hanging off his back.
The midday sun bears down on the Gerudo Highlands. A skinny teenage Hylian covered in scars and a hot-pink-and-turquoise belly dancer’s outfit grunts against a boulder that rests in the shadow of a small plateau. He gives up quickly, untangling a slim tablet from the gold medallions hanging off his belt and tapping once, twice upon its smooth surface.
Coyotes lurking in the shadows yelp in alarm when a clatter echoes across the empty highlands. Boulders rolls away from the secret cave’s entrance and the Hylian enters, victorious. He snatches up the treasure without any sign of discernment: a spear, a shield, a bow, and a scimitar. A sword lies upon a flat stone, the red and gold eye on the crossguard glinting when a stray beam of light finds its way through the cracks. He strides over and lifts the double-handed weapon with ease. Without a second glance at its design, the Edge of Duality disappears into the Sheikah Slate’s magical inventory, and Link turns greedily to the three treasure chests behind him.
The Edge of Duality suffers only indignities in its new master’s hands. It sinks into the bark of Tabantha evergreens to fulfill an exponentially growing request from a town in Akkala. Electricity crackles from pommel to tip when the sword is placed in a haphazard chain along with other discarded weaponry between two glowing green conductors. The closest it comes to real battle is on a sunny day in eastern Lanayru when Link sneaks up on a slumbering black hinox. When the monster lurches to its feet and begins pounding the ground with its gnarled fists, the would-be hero backs away, hefting not a loaded arrow to his shoulder but the two-handed sword. Before the hinox can blink its single eye, the Edge of Duality sails through the air, Link’s aim ridiculous but true. He finally whips out a spear to jab at the whining monster sat upon the ground while the battered sword falls into a nearby bush, nearly forgotten until after the battle when Link notices its glisten. He yanks it out of the thorns without ceremony and stuffs it back into the Sheikah Slate.
Trust and understanding and protection mean little to Link, even though a princess’s distant voice whispers to him atop lonely hilltops. Instead, he turns away and rushes to deliver his ten crickets to the slouching youth by Hateno Inn, making a wide berth around the village hidden in the karst mountains.
The sword waits in its magical suspension. Flameblades and Stone Smashers come and go, even a Korok Leaf wilts before the Edge of Duality is summoned once more. And when it is, it is on a moonless night within a wood. Link stands upon a bridge. His grip on the sword is tight as he listens to the conversation between shadowed figures.
“So you’re the ones who stole the heirloom!”
The Yiga Blademaster lets out a scornful chuckle. He towers over Dorian from his place atop the pedestal. His silver and black windcleaver seems to ripple in the glow of blue nightshade all around them. “Such anger. It seems this thing is truly special to the fools of this village.”
“Why did you steal it?”
“Don’t play dumb, Dorian. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you decided to leave the organisation.”
Even from a distance, the breath that hitches in Dorian’s chest is clear. His arm trembles with rage and guilt, unsteadying the knife in his fist. His eyes dart to the bridge where Link stands with the Edge of Duality. Waiting, unmoving.
“You did well to tell us about the heirloom.” The Blademaster takes a deliberate step forward, forcing Dorian back. “Unfortunately, your usefulness has come to an end, as must you. But first…”
He turns toward the bridge, flicking a practised wrist downward. Link stumbles from the miniature gale that buffets around him, the tip of his sword scraping along the edge of the rough logs on the bridge. When he recovers, the Edge of Duality stares up at a very familiar eye, this time in scarlet ink painted upon a canvas mask.
The Blademaster points his weapon right at Link. “It appears we have an audience!”
Link charges in, arms already raising the Edge of Duality in a high arc to smash the blade into the Yiga’s kneecaps before they can make a move. He dodges as the windcleaver swings down, squinting against the blast of air that slaps against his cheek and sends his ragged ponytail flapping. The Blademaster retaliates with a dramatic slash, but Link somersaults, taking the old Sheikah sword with him head over heel before slipping beneath the new gust that surges outward. Time suspends, and the Edge of Duality slices, spins, stabs in tandem with its wielder to the rhythm of the fight.
Link again slides out of range as his enemy staggers upon their knees. He squares his shoulders instead of shrugging blithely, his arms taut to steady the Edge of Duality. Fingers are curled around the blue and gold hilt rather than picking idly at another scab. His eyes are focused, ears alert, mouth drawn in a serious line. Travelling merchants and stable hands would be drawing away in alarm and whispering in confusion upon seeing such an expression on Link’s face. Princess Zelda knows otherwise.
She knows that Link will always choose action over words. He has the skill, though it has been decades since he earned it. He has spent more than enough time in the heart of an old mountain. He has been through fire and emerged to fulfill a promise. When Link delivers one last blow with this Sheikah-made longsword, he does so to protect the citizens of a kingdom he swore an oath to over a century ago. Whether he remembers is irrelevant, for memory does not a hero make.
The edge of duality is a thin, thin, line. A superficial separation of two sides that make one whole. Though he seems a different soul than to the Knight of Hyrule from a hundred years prior, the truth is that Link has always held his true calling within his heart:
To fight for the Goddess. Preserve her legacy. And keep back the darkness that would have Hyrule.