Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

) : =I= : (

“Don’t mind me,” I mumbled under my breath, slowly creeping closer. My heart stammered in my chest. This would be the defining moment. Maybe it’ll all be worth it. Maybe it was a good decision after all. Maybe this’ll actually work the way I thought it would.

I hadn’t fooled the guardian one bit, but that made sense to me. It wasn’t exactly a naturally-occuring monster like keese and bokoblins; it was an ancient machine corrupted by the purest form of evil in the world. So when it attacked me like all other guardians did, I was a bit disappointed, sure, but I had kind of expected it.

Now, as I carefully walked nearer to the several fire chuchus hopping up and down on the Death Mountain climbing path like some sort of deranged bouncy balls, I felt sweat breaking out on my brow that had nothing to do with the rising temperature and everything to do with whether or not Kilton’s crazy experiment would actually work.

I hoped it would, because if it didn’t I was potentially stuck this way for maybe the rest of my life. And judging by how the people at Foothill Stable had driven me out with torches burning and pitchforks swinging, I wouldn’t exactly be accepted into everyday society like this. At least if it worked, I thought dryly, the monsters might take me in.

The nearest chuchu slowly rolled to face me. I gulped and went still, my heart leaping up into my throat. My instincts urged me to run as it began oozing towards me, but that would look suspicious, right? And monsters didn’t like suspicious things - in my experience, they tended to attack them.

I have nothing to worry about, I told myself for the umpteenth time. Monsters don’t attack other monsters unless it’s by accident or a bokoblin happens to be the closest ‘weapon’ on hand.

I’d seen it loads of times since waking up in the Shrine of Resurrection. Bokoblins shared their stories with moblins, moblins tried to teach lizalfos how to roar, lizalfos performed their bizarre handstand dances for the other monsters, and chuchus and keese just kind of… hung around. I’m not sure if they had the mental capacity for much else, honestly.

But the point was, monsters got along together. And since Kilton’s mask had apparently turned me into a monster, they would get along with me, too. Or at the very least they wouldn’t attack me.

The people at Foothill Stable had given me even more of a reason to believe the mask worked. They’d certainly treated me like they would any monster, and didn’t seem to understand when I tried to explain I didn’t mean any harm. Their reaction stung, but… it meant that the mask worked, and I really had become a monster, right?

The fire chuchu began bouncing up and down in front of me, and a few of the smaller ones started rolling over to investigate. I chuckled nervously, taking a small step back. “Yeah, that’s it - I’m a monster, just like -”

The chuchu lunged, flames spurting from its gelatinous flesh, and I just about leapt out of my skin with a startled yelp, barely managing to throw myself to the side as a wave of fire whooshed over the stone.

“Oh, come on!” I grouched, resisting the urge to stamp my foot in a most bokoblin-esque manner. “I’m one of you guys!”

But the chuchu, flanked now by its companions, oozed towards me once again. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I slipped my simple broadsword from its sheath and darted towards the blobby monsters, jabbing my blade into one of the smaller ones and bursting the thin, fragile skin that held it together. It exploded apart, sending flaming goop in every direction, and I quickly backpedalled and stepped to the side to avoid the big chuchu’s next attack.

They were only chuchus. Not much of a threat. The battle was over within a minute, and I turned back up the trail, singed but mostly unharmed.

“Well, Kilton,” I muttered under my breath. “Your monster mask is useless against chuchus.”

I heard a familiar angry squeaking from above me; three fire keese were flapping down to meet me, and a fourth was glaring at me from its cozy position sitting on a torch, although it looked - at the moment - like it was content to stay there.

“Make that chuchus and keese,” I sighed, shaking my head.

I can kill monsters. I can make those split-second decisions in the heat of battle that could cost a life or spare one. And if it’s something truly evil, like a Yiga assassin or a corrupted piece of machinery or reanimated corpses, I don’t bat an eye.

But when it’s a camp of bokoblins that I wasn’t sneaky enough to get past without them noticing, I feel pretty bad. They were minding their own business, having a dance party to celebrate the seared steak they managed to cook for themselves, and all of the sudden they heard something and decided to go investigate and it turns out to be a Hylian.

I’m not a very threatening-looking person, as I’m told, and neither are most people I’ve encountered (in a good way, of course), so I have no idea why bokoblins and other monsters feel the need to attack any human they see. Kilton was mentioning a bokoblin mask he was working on; maybe it’ll let the wearer communicate with bokoblins well enough to come up with some sort of treaty.

But in the meantime, I don’t enjoy killing innocent monsters at all. I’m quite content to just let them go on living their happy monster lives, unless I find them attacking or chasing other people. Kilton’s mask that was supposed to turn me into a monster seemed like a really great way to never have to kill off monster camps again.

I glanced down at my hands after vanquishing the fire keese, grimacing. There was a small burn across a few fingers, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst was that the color of my skin was… well, it didn’t even have a color anymore. It looked like someone had taken shadows and plastered them all over my body. And replaced my eyes with glowing red coals and bleached my hair.

I didn’t blame the people at Foothill Stable for panicking. I’d also panicked when I finally put on the mask…

 ) : =I= : (

“Hmmm… is that… lizalfos? Or perhaps…” Kilton spun around and jumped, screeching in surprise. He blinked several times. “Oh… it’s only you. Well, what can I do for you this monstrous night?”

“I have a couple more bokoblin horns for you,” Link sighed, placing a bloodied burlap sack on Kilton’s tabletop. Might as well not go to waste…

“Ah, yes!” Kilton crowed, hopping up and down with delight. “The world of monster research greatly benefits from your generous donations!” He swept the bag off the table and turned around, storing it up and out of sight on a high shelf. “Have I told you about my latest creation?”

“The bokoblin mask?” Link asked with a slight grin, remembering the ridiculous - but also somehow adorable - design sketches. “I think so, yeah.”

“No, no, no!” Kilton cried, whirling to face him again. “I was getting a bit stuck on that mask - but it’s all worked out now, of course - and to get over my creator’s block I decided to go back to the basics: what makes a monster? Is it the smell? The horns? The teeth? The shape? And I found out that anyone could disguise themselves as a monster if they had the right gear!”

Link frowned, intrigued. “Disguised… as a monster?”

Kilton nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! And so I created something absolutely horrendous!” Beaming, he pulled from one of his shelves a mask of a Hylian face, attached to a shock of white hair, with empty eyes and holes for the nose and mouth like any other mask. It looked like it hadn’t been painted yet; it was a dark, bland shade of gray.

Link squinted at it. “Er… what, exactly, is this?”

“I call it the Dark Mask,” Kilton beamed, patting it fondly. “It will, a hundred percent guaranteed, turn you into a monster! It helps if you wear ragged dark clothes, too, or even just a bokoblin loincloth, but still - it works!”

Turns me into a monster, eh? Link moistened his lips thoughtfully. Monsters didn’t attack other monsters. If this really does work, I won’t have to feel like a jerk breaking up any more bokoblin dance parties.

And without having to worry about fighting monsters, he would be able to get to the remaining Divine Beasts even sooner, and free the Princess trapped in the castle. She had already waited a century - Link hated every delay that kept her waiting even longer.

More often than not, those delays came in the form of bokoblins. And recovering from the resulting battle wounds.

“Is it… for sale?” he asked hesitantly.

Kilton’s eyes bugged with excitement. “You want to try it out!” he howled in delight, banging a fist on the tabletop. “Take it! Take it for free! And tell me how it works!”

Link nodded, grinning, taking the mask into his hands. “Thanks! You’re… sure it works?”

“Absolutely! It turns you into a monster!” He clasped his hands together, gazing longingly off into the middle distance. “Ah, what I wouldn’t give to become one with the monsters, too… but it’s hard to make a mask that would actually fit my face!”

Link turned the mask over, expecting to see a band of elastic running from one side to the other to keep it in place, but there was nothing. And the texture - the mask’s surface felt disturbingly like real, living skin. “So… how exactly am I supposed -”

He stopped, taking a slight step back. Kilton had vanished, along with his cart; the lonely little slab of dirt forming the left eye of Skull Lake was just as desolate as it usually was.

Link glanced up to the sky; sure enough, the pale light of dawn was creeping across the sky. He shook his head in bewilderment. Of all suspicious, quirky characters out there, Kilton’s got to be the quirkiest and most suspicious of them all, he thought. He found it best not to question how the monstrologist managed to disappear at the first hint of morning lighting the sky.

He turned the mask back over in his hands, feeling a chill creeping down his spine at the sight of the empty eyes. He held it over his face and gasped as it burned hot against his skin; reflexively he tried to pull it away, but it was stuck fast. Searing pain erupted across his head and he bit back a scream, tearing blindly at the mask and barely realizing that it felt like he was tearing at his own skin.

The pain swiftly spread downwards, gripping his arms and chest; it was especially fierce against the more sensitive skin over his stomach and he doubled over, unable to hold back a groan. When it reached his waist and thighs his knees buckled and he tumbled sideways, scratching viciously across his arms as if somehow that would help. It felt as if every inch of his skin was on fire.

Dimly remembering that there was water nearby, he weakly dragged his way across the tiny island, closer to the edge. His limbs protested; pain gripped them in a tight vise, so tight that he could barely move them at all.

So tight that when he finally reached the water, he realized belatedly that he wouldn’t be able to swim.

The fires cooled on his skin but he sank like a rock, struggling to get his seared limbs to move. Water sloshed in his lungs, water that he’d accidentally inhaled the moment he fell in; his chest heaved but he clamped his teeth together, resisting the urge to try and cough.

The pain died, but his arms and legs still felt stiff and sore. It was like trying to operate a thoroughly rusted crank or lever - indeed, it felt like his joints had rusted over somehow.

Light faded above him as he sank deeper, and his lungs screamed for air; he convulsed again, fighting with himself not to breathe. His mind ached. First the intense pain, now this lack of oxygen… it made him feel muddled and dizzy.

He wrenched his arms back and forth and sluggishly kicked his legs, trying to loosen the joints before he lost consciousness. Blackness was stealing across his vision and he resisted the urge to shake his head to clear it. Fighting with everything he had, he forced himself to move faster, faster, until at last he was clawing himself upwards, back to the little island.

His chest heaved again and this time he felt a bout of nausea grip his gut; he doubled over, clutching at his chest, yearning to break free of the terrible emptiness in his lungs and throat but feeling the cold water surrounding him and knowing it was impossible. Teeth clenched, he struck out upwards once again, keeping his gaze fixed on the blurred, distorted shapes of the canyon walls on the other side of the water; his heart banged frantically against his ribs.

At last he felt air on his face, freezing his skin, and he sucked down a desperate gulp of air before striking out eagerly for the flat slab of land so close by. Coughing, he flopped over the edge and pushed himself to his knees, vomiting lungfuls of water onto the soul. Shivering, feeling miserable, he eased himself onto his side and rolled over on his back, lying limp for a moment as his racing heart finally began to slow and his ragged breaths returned to normal.

Well, Kilton, your mask would make a great torture device, he thought glumly, letting his eyes flutter closed. But that wasn’t exactly what you intended.

He wondered, briefly, if Kilton was a member of the Yiga Clan and this had been an assassination attempt, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Kilton was completely harmless - even Hoz at East Akkala Stable agreed, when he saw the picture Link brought back to him. Weird, perhaps a little touched in the head, and a bit spooky, but definitely harmless. And he hated bananas, which ruled him out entirely as a Yiga assassin.

Link finally sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s what I get for using the first draft of something,” he mumbled, pushing himself to his knees.

He gave a start, staring at his hand. With a startled cry he shook it rapidly, rubbed at it, dipped it into the water and scrubbed at it violently with his other hand - 

Which was also covered in this awful gray color.

And in bending over the surface of the water, he caught a glimpse of something staring back at him - something monstrous. A chill snaked down his spine and he recoiled, his pulse gathering speed. Merciful Goddesses above…

Naively he tried to tell himself that perhaps there was just a monster in the lake. A monster that for some reason hadn’t attacked him when he fell in. A monster that looked almost just like him.

His mouth dry, he leaned back over the edge and gasped again. The monster in the water gasped too. His heart raced and he slowly moved his hands up to feel his face. It felt completely normal. But the reflection staring back at him told another story, and he couldn’t bite back a soft whimper of horror.

His hair was white. His eyes were red and glowing like flames. His skin was a dark gray, almost black. Even his teeth had changed; running his tongue over them he found that his canines were longer, sharper.

His breaths came faster and faster. He was already soaked to the skin from his little swim in the lake, and now the perspiration breaking from his skin threatened to keep him that way. There just wasn’t enough air!

Breathing heavily, he lurched to his feet and tugged at his tunic, yanking it up and over his head along with his undershirt. With his heart in his throat he glanced down at himself, and another weak cry escaped his lips.

It wasn’t just his arms and his face. His torso was every bit as unnaturally colored. The familiar old scars stood out in unfamiliar shades on an unfamiliar body. A slight breeze drifted through the canyon and he shivered, curling his arms tightly around himself, squeezing his lungs even as they struggled to take in enough air. His mind spun dizzily and he slumped back down to his knees, bowing his head and gripping it tightly in shadowy hands, curling his fingers around thick clumps of hair.

He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think at all - it was too much. Monster… monster in the lake… me… Kilton… mask…

A jolt of panic seized his heart and he whimpered again, his hands flying to the edges of his face, his chin, his brow, his ears, feeling desperately for some sort of seam. Something that could pull off whatever wretched mask he was wearing.

But there was nothing but smooth skin. The mask had melted right into him.

“No…” he whispered, shaking, clawing at his face. “No! No! Get - get it off!” He scratched, tugged, yanked twisted at his skin, but it did nothing. At last, his face sore, he let his shaking hands fall into his lap.

Well, Kilton, it worked - you turned me into a monster.

He felt a wave of revulsion sweep nauseatingly through him and he doubled over, clutching his stomach, teeth bared in a grimace. What have I done? What have I done? I could be stuck like this for -

He quickly cut off the thought, focusing on the sound of his rasping breaths. Swallowing with difficulty, he squeezed himself harder and slammed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself. But that’s what I wanted, isn’t it? To become a monster so that monsters wouldn’t attack me? So that I wouldn’t have to slaughter them unnecessarily? This is a good thing, right?

He peeked down once again at his terrifying reflection and shuddered.

No. This is not a good thing. Anything but that.

Chapter Text

) : =I= : (

Seven fire chuchus and five keese later, I was a good deal more singed and a good deal less hopeful about how this ‘disguise’ would go over with other monsters. And as the temperature continued to climb, trapping me in my own sweat, I realized that perhaps I should’ve tried a little harder to speak with the people at Foothill Stable.

Because I didn’t have any heat protection with me.

I finally stopped to rest for the night beneath a short ridge separating me from the rest of the trail. I was too tired to climb it tonight, and there was a sign warning non-Gorons of extreme heat ahead. I wasn’t keen on getting to that area until I absolutely had to, especially since I wasn’t exactly prepared.

I didn’t bother setting up a campfire. It was warm enough up here as it was. I didn’t have a whole lot of food on me, so after a small meal of jerked elk meat, I stuffed myself into a cleft in the rock and fell asleep.

Dawn arrived much too soon, and breakfast was much too small and flavorless, so it was with a heavy heart that I clambered up the ridge and continued to the next part of the trail.

The temperature steadily increased over the course of the first hour, and from there it seemed to stay reasonably steady. In other words, the Sheikah Slate thermometer read 120° and then ERROR from that point on.

The trail took me right around a lava lake - the first I’d ever seen, or at least that I could remember seeing. It was fascinating and terrifying all at once, moving like thick mud beneath a thin layer of cooled rock. I stayed as far from it as I could, and even then my arms and face and pretty much my whole body felt as if it were about to catch on fire. Or as if I was standing too close to a campfire. I didn’t want to think about how hot it would be if I tried getting any nearer.

At around mid-morning I spotted a lizalfos resting right in the middle of the trail up ahead. I stopped for a moment, wondering if I should try to sneak around or if I should put my faith in Kilton’s creation once again.

Keese and chuchus are kind of mindless, I reasoned. Maybe I looked enough like a human that they couldn’t tell I was actually a… a monster. Perhaps more intelligent monsters should be able to tell the difference.

I hoped so. But I didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks, so I tried to stay towards the edge of the trail, carving a path in a wide circle around it.

The lizalfos hopped to its feet, flinging its arms out in surprise as it spotted me. I grimaced and didn’t stop, watching out of the corner of my eye as it bent low and then straightened, head tilting from side to side as it scrutinized me.

I’m not a threat I’m not a threat I’m not a threat…

The lizard monster squawked, hopping up and down again before darting towards me, clutching its boomerang close to its body. I rolled my eyes in frustration, unsheathing my sword. Come on, Kilton! It doesn’t work against keese, chuchus, or lizalfos!

Our blades met in a clatter of steel, and I noticed that this lizalfos was of the red-skinned variety. It could breathe fire. Perfect.

It slashed at me, missed, and leapt backwards before I could counterstrike. Then, a low screech rasping from between its jaws, it swung its head around and its chest inflated before it vomited a stream of flame my direction. I jogged in a circle around it, staying just ahead of the fire, waiting for it to run out of fuel.

And when it did, its shoulders slumped and it bowed its head, breathing heavily, smoke spiralling up from its nostrils. I waited for it to catch its breath; the mere thought of striking now, while it was pitifully struggling to recover, made me feel horribly guilty. I wasn’t about to stoop that low.

The monster panted heavily for several moments more until, without warning, it lunged towards me with its jagged boomerang slicing towards my side; caught off guard, I lifted my sword to deflect the attack but it nonetheless caught my stomach, cutting through my light chainmail, and I flinched as sensitive skin tore apart. Not a fatal wound but not a minor one either.

“I was trying to play fair, and you go and do that on me?” I glared at the lizalfos. “Cheap move.”

The lizalfos hopped up and down, making a sound that could have been derisive laughter. What a jerk.

It lunged, and our blades clattered together again. This time I angled my blade to catch one of the grooves forming the boomerang’s serrated edge and yanked backwards, tearing the weapon from its claws. “Sorry,” I muttered, stabbing my blade through its heart. It died quickly, mercifully, which was a relief for me. I didn’t like causing pain. If there was a way for me to save the world by catching butterflies, I’d take it in a heartbeat.

I wiped my blade on my trousers before dragging a sleeve across my dripping brow. I closed my eyes briefly, grimacing against the heat engulfing me. As I looked down at the cut across my stomach, the thought occurred to me that I was most definitely not dressed for this kind of weather. My chainmail was growing hotter and hotter; if not for my undershirt I was certain it would be burning me. And my undershirt was long-sleeved, which offered more protection but also felt incredibly uncomfortable now.

I bit my lip, wishing I had something to put excess clothes in. Some sort of magical weightless pouch, perhaps. It would certainly be convenient.

As it was, I carried only some food and water along with my sword, shield, bow, and arrows. And chain mail was expensive, especially for a guy who woke up after a century without any money to begin with.

But I knew I’d be coming back this way after I freed Divine Beast Rudania. So maybe if I could find somewhere to hide my things…

My gaze settled on the massive Sheikah tower just over the next rise. I’d only ever seen two other people at the top of those towers, implying that most people didn’t even come near them. Most monsters, too. That’ll do.

I didn’t want to climb all the way to the top - it would take too much time - so I stopped at the first ledge and began pulling off my clothes and armor until I was left in just my trousers, stockings, and boots. I pulled my tunic on over my bare skin; it was short-sleeved, so I hoped it would keep me cooler.

I kept my leather armor, consisting of gauntlets, a pauldron, and a chest pad; everything else I bundled away with my chainmail and shoved up against the side of the tower, mumbling a prayer to Farore that it wouldn’t get blown off.

Feeling lighter, and thus cooler, I continued along the trail in much better spirits.

More chuchus and a few rock octoroks were waiting for me as I continued. Dodging explosive chunks of rocks and massive flaming jelly blobs left me regretting leaving my undershirt behind; I walked away with several more burns than I’d started the morning out with. The edges of my tunic had been scorched black in some places.

I was really feeling the heat as noon came and went. Sweat poured across my skin; no matter how much water I drank my mouth always seemed to be too dry. I was about halfway through my water supply already, but I hoped it would be enough to get to Goron City.

The ash-choked air stank of sulfur; it was hot and heavy when I breathed it in, as if I was breathing through a thick cloth. My body burned from the heat around me; sparks drifted along around me, occasionally landing on me, starting small fires in my hair or on my clothes, or scalding my skin. I thought longingly of the cool, wet, forested area of Zora’s Domain, or the misty lands of Akkala, or biting cold of the Hebra Mountains…

Honestly, I preferred pretty much anywhere in the kingdom to here at the moment. Why was it that the friendliest people in Hyrule lived in the most un friendly landscape?

I stumbled over a chunk of stone, sending it skittering forward along the trail. My eyes followed it and I froze in my tracks.

“Din, preserve me,” I murmured, my eyes widening.

A massive chunk of rock that looked as if it had only just rocketed from the volcano’s crater lay in the trail before me. Either it was one massive Korok waiting to jump out and scare me out of my skin, or it was some sort of Talus.

A Talus that looked like it was seconds from bursting into flame.

With a nervous gulp, I unhooked the Sheikah Slate from my belt, aiming the camera rune at the lump of stone. Once I took the picture, it would tell me if this rock was a rock or something more malicious.

I winced at the loud snap the Slate made when I tapped its screen, storing the image of the rock. I didn’t think Taluses could hear, but… you never know.

Dreading what I would find, I navigated my way to the Hyrule Compendium, searching for the image I’d taken.

And sure enough, there it was, right with the other Talus pictures I’d gotten. Igneo Talus. Fantastic.

Well, it was elemental, meaning it would be particularly susceptible to ice attacks. Unfortunately I only had three ice arrows, so if things turned south, I’d be in trouble.

Maybe if I just walk around it, it won’t notice me.

I licked my lips anxiously, looking around at the towering walls rising on either side of the canyon. Ever since leaving the tower, the trail had descended into a narrow ravine, meaning there wasn’t much room for me to walk around the Talus while keeping a safe distance between the two of us.

But I wanted to try, at least. After all, it wasn’t as if there were any other routes to Goron City.

Breathing in a shaky, nervous gulp of burning air, I veered to one side of the ravine and pressed my back against it, slowly stepping forward. In places the ground burned against my boots; I grit my teeth and pushed past, treading as lightly as I could. Taluses may or may not have been able to hear, but I was certain they could detect vibrations.

My vision wavered and I closed my eyes briefly. The heat was definitely getting to me. And the closer I got to the Talus, the hotter the air became. Even without anything covering them, my forearms felt as if they were wrapped in thick wool and held next to a blazing winter fire. It hurt.

I reached the narrowest segment of the ravine and stopped, watching the Talus carefully, my heart dancing in my throat. Biting my lip, I slid one foot carefully across the ground, tip-toeing forward -

And the ground began to tremble.

The mound of stone pulled itself from the ground, leaving a small crater in its wake. Connected, as if by magic, were two massive stones - one on each side, forming fists - and several smaller ones that made up its waist and feet.

Dang.

I slipped my bow from my shoulders and quickly strung it and snatched an ice arrow - marked by pale blue fletchings - from my quiver, pulling it back to my cheek. The Talus hobbled towards me and I let the arrow fly, striking its main body and sending steam hissing up from its surface. I darted towards it, dropping my bow, and leapt upwards, clawing myself to the top of its back and ignoring the pain in my palms. The instant I could stand straight, I yanked my sword from my back and began hacking away at the ore deposit protruding like some deformed stalagmite from its body - the source of the magic holding it together.

The Talus trembled like an earthquake beneath my feet and I lost my footing, tumbling from its back and falling painfully to the rock-hard trail below. Grunting, shaking off the sting of the landing, I pushed myself to my feet and dashed over to where I’d dropped my bow, quickly snatching it up again along with my second ice arrow.

The Talus pivoted to face me and drew its arm back. I felt the blood rushing from my cheeks in fear and dashed to the side just as it hurled its arm at me, the tip breaking off and collapsing into smaller chunks when it struck the ground. I pulled my arrow back and fired it into the Talus’ body, cooling its rocky skin as I darted up its back once more and resumed my attack on the ore deposit, sparks and slivers of stone flying off. This time, when it quaked beneath my feet, I was ready; I braced myself, spreading my stance wider and pressing one hand against the ore I was striking at. The flinty stone shards cut at my fingers, but I couldn’t be shaken off -

A wave of heat and fire erupted from the Talus’ skin and I howled in surprise and agony as I fell once again, flames erupting from the ends of my hair and my dry clothes. My heart spasmed; I slapped at my head and clothes, rolling desperately on the ground, beating back the flames before I could be incinerated, suddenly faced with the very frightening possibility of burning to death. Groaning at the searing pain of the heat I desperately snatched a waterskin from my belt and poured it all over my head, sagging in relief when at last the flames abated, leaving me mostly intact.

Then the Talus’ other arm crashed into me, hurling me into the side of the mountain. My head struck stone; white flashed across my vision before everything went dark and numb.

) : =I= : (

Volcon prided himself on being a good judge of character. He had plenty of practice, of course, standing outside of the Rollin’ Inn day after day, greeting the tourists. He’d gotten less practice recently, what with the lizard machine thing wreaking havoc on the volcano, but still - a skill was a skill, and he was of the opinion that once it was learned, it was there for good.

He saw all types of people coming into town from his post. Never a Zora, though. Or a Rito. Something about being amphibious or being covered in feathers that ignited easily seemed to scare ‘em away from Goron City.

But of the people that did come, he could tell what sort of people they were at first glance. A middle-aged gentleman, well-dressed, with a hungry look in his eye… he was probably there for the gems Gorons dug up. Volcon couldn’t understand the appeal in those things; rocks that didn’t serve as food were poor excuses for rocks.

A Gerudo woman had come through recently; she didn’t have that same hungry look, but she was well-dressed enough to clearly be wealthy. And she was adorned from head to toe in gems. She was probably also in town for the gems.

The painter that had come in just today was one of the strangest people Volcon had encountered, dressed in a unique rearrangement of traditional Sheikah garments. Parchment and paintbrushes spilled from his pack, and paint was splattered across his face, hands, and trousers - but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were perpetually wide, like an owl’s.

That man Volcon judged to be at least a little eccentric, but unattached to worldly things such as wealth or pleasure. He was solely devoted to his craft.

It was getting late now - very late. Volcon yawned widely, covering his mouth with a massive hand. Gotta stop taking these night shifts, he told himself. Takes a toll the older you get. There were aches in his joints that hadn’t been present years before.

“Evenin,’ Volcon!”

He turned; Boss Bludo was walking towards him, or rather, limping. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Back pains an’ all… Figured you’d be up, though.”

“Yup!” Volcon grinned. “Gotta job to do. Y’never know when some poor traveller’s gonna walk into the city. It’s not much to do, but… maybe that’s why I like it. No heavy lifting.” He chuckled heartily, and Bludo slapped him on the back with a grin of his own.

“Tell me about it.” The Goron Boss shook his head, his mirth fading. “That lizard guy up there, man… really weighs on me.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Volcon murmured, not exactly knowing how to offer comfort. He squinted, a hint of movement from just beyond the city gate. “What the - well, speak of the devil…”

There was someone coming into town, and in bad shape, by the looks of it. Volcon’s burning volcanic blood ran cold as whoever-it-was limped closer. Bludo’s jaw dropped.

“What in Din’s name…?” He tilted his head and scrunched his eyes, trying to see farther.

“That’s… that’s no Hylian or Gerudo or nothin,’” Volcon gulped.

The figure had dark, colorless skin, and hair as white as snow was rumored to be. Far more disturbing were the figure’s eyes - red like coals, glowing with malice.

“That’s a monster,” Bludo gulped.

And it was coming right towards them. Right towards the inn.

It didn’t appear to be attacking. Although Volcon could see a sword sheathed on its back, it hadn’t made any move to draw it. And as it drew closer, he could see that its clothes were tattered and scorched in several areas, and its skin was scraped up, in some places quite severely. Its tunic was ripped at its stomach and wet with blood.

“Hi,” the mysterious figure croaked as it - he - neared, and Volcon nearly flinched in surprise. “Is this… the inn?”

“Er, sure is,” Volcon said with a forced chuckle. “Uh… welcome.”

The exhausted monster smiled, and Volcon’s eyes widened. Fangs! He had fangs! “Thanks. S’been a long day; you’ve no idea how happy I am to hear that.” He laughed wearily, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.

“That… this is the inn?” Bludo gaped, glancing at Volcon in a panic.

“No… that you said ‘welcome,’” the monster mumbled, his gruesome smile fading, which made him look much less evil. “Are there… any more beds open?”

“You want to stay?” Volcon’s eyes bugged in terror. And eat all our guests?

The monster was beginning to look a bit panicked. “Please?”

Bludo nudged Volcon’s side and forced a laugh of his own. “Of course, of course, go right in!” he said, waving him through the door. The monster shot him a grateful look and trudged wearily through the doors.

“Boss, what’re you thinking?” Volcon whispered fearfully. “That - that thing is dangerous! He could kill us all!”

“I know,” Bludo said, stroking his beard. “But… that thing on his belt. Looked like somethin’ Sheikah-made. Like Rudania.”

Volcon nodded slowly. “You’re sayin’ it could help us get rid of that beast? So we’re gonna sneak in there when he’s asleep and nab it from ‘im?”

Bludo raised an eyebrow. “What? No! I’m thinkin’ maybe he could help us get rid of it. We don’t know how Sheikah stuff works, but looks like he might.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “But we do hafta make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

And you just let him right into the inn, Volcon thought accusingly. “How do we do that?”

“Well… we offer Goron customers masages, right?” Bludo’s grin was horribly mischievous. “‘Cause they’re the only ones that can handle it. So I’m thinkin’ you go in there and… give ‘im a massage! Just like you’d do for a Goron!”

Volcon winced. The monster was most similar in shape to a Hylian, and he was the smallest adult male Hylian he’d ever seen. “He’ll be sore for days…” he mused, mulling it over.

“Exactly!” Bludo clapped him on the back. “And that way he won’t be able to hurt anyone, and we can talk ‘bout Rudania with him without fear. Now go on in and do it! I’ve gotta get myself some more painkillers - this back of mine…”

“O’course, Boss,” Volcon agreed, cracking his knuckles in preparation. Steeling his nerves, he ambled into the inn, where Tray was all but cowering behind his desk, holding out a shaking hand as he took the monster’s rupees. Volcon didn’t want to know where those rupees came from. Some poor corpse, most likely.

Biting back nerves, he forced a cheery laugh. “Ah, hey there, Tray!”

“Volcon!” The innkeeper had never looked so relieved to see a brother. “Wh-why aren’t you… outside?”

He cracked his knuckles again. “Boss said to give this one deluxe treatment,” he said, winking and hoping his coworker got the message. “So I’ll be givin’ him one of our best Goron massages!”

Tray tilted his head, confused, before his eyes went wide and he nodded slowly. “Ohh… I get it! Yeah! Hear that, little guy? You must be tired from your long journey - a nice massage’ll loosen those tiny muscles right up!”

The monster looked a little uncertain. “Are… are you sure? I don’t… think I can afford…”

“It’s on the house!” Volcon grinned, laying a heavy hand on the monster’s slender shoulder. “Right this way, little brother! We’ll have ya feelin’ better in no time!” Or not.

He steered the creature over to one of the unoccupied rock beds. Looking confused and a bit nervous, it - he - unbuckled his baldric and set his weapons on the ground. Instantly Volcon felt safer.

“Do I need to… er…” The monster gestured uncertainly at his tunic.

Volcon frowned, thinking. He’d only ever done massages for Gorons - who, of course, never wore anything to cover up their torsos. “Uh, sure.”

The monster seemed to be thinking about it for a moment; then he shrugged and pulled off his leather chest armor, gauntlets, and tunic before lying facedown on the rock bed. Volcon glanced at his hands, then at the monster, then back again. Maybe this is a bad idea, monster or not, he thought suddenly, realizing that the thing’s back was just barely wider than one of his fingers.

It was his turn to shrug. Boss’ orders. Flexing his hands once more, he went to work, pounding away at the monster’s back and trying to ignore how human he sounded, grunting and groaning out of pain.

Maybe it’s not pain, he told himself. Maybe he’s just enjoying it!

) : =I= : (

Even long after the Goron left, it felt as if his fists were still pummeling my back. And my arms - his hands had been so big that, more often than not, he missed my back and got my arms and legs instead. I hoped he hadn’t broken anything, but at the moment everything hurt so badly I couldn’t tell.

I grit my teeth tightly together, struggling not to sink into an empty pit of self-pity. It wasn’t easy.

I was bone-tired, thirsty, burned, bruised, dizzy from the heat and wondering how I’d survived for so long already without any heat protection or elixirs. And that was before the Gorons tried to help with their massage.

Now it all felt much worse. My chest stung from getting pounded into the rock bed beneath me; my back throbbed and ached so badly that even the slightest movement sent pain shooting through me. The cut over my stomach had started bleeding again after getting ground into the rough stone, and even before that it had begun to burn with infection. My head hurt as well; a lack of water coupled with the massive bruise left by the Talus’ attack resulted in a splitting headache that made thinking nearly impossible.

It had been a long night, and because of the pain and the uncomfortable position I couldn’t move myself from, I hadn’t gotten much sleep, no matter how much I wanted to. When morning finally came, I earnestly hoped that someone would come in to check on me, because otherwise I didn’t see how I would be able to get up.

I didn’t have long to wait, but dread settled deep into the pit of my stomach when the three Gorons walking in with the hunchbacked elderly one I’d met last night wore helmets and held large stone weapons. This can’t be good.

“How d’you feel?” the old one asked gruffly as he neared, and I relaxed slightly. Or not. Maybe it’ll all be fine.

“Not great,” I admitted, my voice rasping from the dryness in my mouth. I was still lying face down with my head turned to the side, so it wasn’t the best position for having a drink of water, but I wouldn’t refuse it if they had any.

“Good,” the Goron nodded, and my eyes widened. What? “We needed to be sure you couldn’t attack us.”

“Why would I -” I stopped, remembering my current state. Despair sank claws into my heart and dragged it down. They thought I was a monster, just like everyone else. Din curse it, Kilton! “This isn’t what I usually look like! I promise I’m a very normal Hylian; I just had a run-in with some… some really messed-up magic!” How else could one describe Kilton’s experiments?

The Goron snorted. “Sure. But you’re not Hylian; the Hylian males I’ve met were much taller. You couldn’t be one.”

“I am!” I protested, but my heart sank even further. There was no use arguing; I had nothing, no proof of any kind, to back up my claim or my story. “Look, I - I want to help you with Divine Beast Rudania. I can free it!”

The Goron did a double-take. “Huh, weird! I was just gonna ask you about that!” His eyes went wide and then suddenly narrow. “Wait a minute… you read my mind! Our thoughts aren’t safe from you! You’ll attack us with your mind!”

“No!” I tried to shake my head and immediately regretted it when spots danced across my vision. “Please - I don’t mean any harm! I was cursed! You have to believe me!”

“He’s using magic to try and convince us,” the Goron whispered to his companions, who instantly looked frightened.

I felt myself on the verge of tears, as I hadn’t been since waking up on the Great Plateau without memories. But an identity crisis was one thing, and this… this was quite different, and not in any good way. “Please,” I whispered brokenly, but I didn’t have any more hope that they would listen.

“Whaddo we do, Boss?” one of the other Gorons asked quietly. “We can’t let ‘im take over our minds!”

The Goron boss tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well… he can’t read our minds if he’s not in our city, right? That’s how it always works in stories…”

“So we kick ‘im out, Bludo?” a second Goron chimed in, glancing at me and looking uncomfortable with the idea.

“That’d kill me,” I protested weakly. I couldn’t move, and my stomach wound was getting infected, and I was lucky to have survived this long without heat protection. I had no idea how much longer I could last. “I can’t die! I need to free Rudania and Naboris and then go defeat the Calamity and save the Princess!”

Bludo frowned, looking a little less certain.

I seized the opportunity. “Get Kilton! He’ll explain everything! You can find him at night around some of the cities, like Zora’s Domain and Hateno Village and Kakariko Village and stuff! He’s the one who gave me the mask that did this!”

“Hrm.” Bludo frowned. “I feel like I wanna give you a chance and see if this is true… but how do I know you’re not making me feel like this by controlling my mind?”

“I can’t read minds or control them,” I promised, desperation making my pulse race. Please, please believe me!

Bludo shook his head. “I dunno. You look like a monster, so we’ll just take you out to the monster fortress just outside of town and they’ll take care of you. We won’t just leave you to die.”

My heart raced faster. Sweat coursed across my skin and I felt dizzy. That would only serve to get me killed even faster. “But they don’t see me as a fellow monster - they attack me just the same!”

“Preposterous!” Bludo snorted. “Who’d turn someone into a monster… without really turning them into a monster?”

My teeth clenched. Kilton. That’s who. “It was an early design,” I mumbled, but they were starting to turn away. Just as well, perhaps… what little energy I had was quickly fading.

“We got a couple bridge materials lying around,” one Goron offered. “Could turn that into a stretcher…”

“Or we could use one of them mine carts, and roll it down the hill,” another suggested.

“Pikango!” Bludo exclaimed, interrupting the third before he could even opened his mouth. “What… are you doing right here?”

I tried to push myself up to see, but my exhausted, beaten arms wouldn’t support me.

“Oh, good morning, Chief Bludo,” he heard the old Sheikah painter say. “I was just… erm… trying to find the best angle to sketch the four of you. Such an intimidating scene!”

In other words, you were eavesdropping, I thought glumly, before a bolt of clarity struck my mind. “Hey, Pikango!” I called out with as much force as I could muster. “Over here!”

“Link? Is that - oh sweet Hylia!” As he came into my limited field of view he jumped, losing a paintbrush or two from his pack as horror struck his face. “Is that… er, really you?”

“You know ‘im?” Bludo asked skeptically. “And it’s Boss, not Chief.”

“Right, sorry,” Pikango said, wringing his hands anxiously. “I, er, know someone named Link who, uh, sounds like this… this fellow here.”

“It’s me!” I insisted, a thread of hope curling around my heart. “The monstrologist Kilton gave me a mask that turned me into this!”

“You’re about the right size,” the painter nodded slowly, biting a fingertip as he scrutinized me. “Yes… could be him… But he had the Sheikah Slate on him…”

“I have it!” I tried again to sit up, and again it didn’t work and awakened more pains in my body. “It’s just on the other side of this bed with all of my gear.”

Head tilted in curiosity, Pikango slowly walked around the slab of rock, the Gorons watching with a blend of fear and curiosity. I couldn’t see him when he went behind me, but I heard him rummaging around through my gear. “Ah… here it is, sure enough. But you could have stolen it from the real Link…”

“You took me to the Great Fairy’s Fountain just outside Kakariko Village,” I said quickly, trying to convince him, clinging desperately to that thread of hope. “You didn’t make it all the way, so I took a picture and brought it back to you. I’m telling you, it’s me!”

“He could’ve read your friend’s mind,” Bludo warned. “We think he can do that.”

“I can’t,” I whispered feebly, the tears threatening again to spill. I shut my eyes tightly.

“This Kilton character… I’ve heard of him,” Pikango mused. “If this is really one of his creations, and it did this to you, then… perhaps the Master Sword would cleanse you. It repels evil, which in many cases means it repels monsters, and Kilton makes things out of monsters…”

“Hmm…” Bludo nodded slowly. “Well then, seems like goin’ to find this sword is our best bet. I think I’ve heard tell of it before… sleeps in a forest somewhere…”

“The Lost Woods.” I’d already figured that much out from talking with a couple other people throughout my journey.

“Oh, that’s practically right around the corner!” Pikango exclaimed. “Convenient!”

“So here’s what we’ll do,” Bludo went on. “You go on an’ leave Goron City, find this sword and let it free you or whatever, and then come on back if you’re really set on facin’ ol’ Rudania. Got it?”

I fought the urge to nod. “Yes,” I murmured.

“Right, then.” He turned to his companion. “Brothers? Let’s go get that stretcher ready.”

My gut twisted into knots. So they really were going to kick me out after all, just… not into a monster camp.

But I still couldn’t move, and if I couldn’t move I couldn’t go anywhere or tend to my wounds or even lift a waterskin to my lips. Goddesses above, please preserve me, I thought, my heart aching with worry and unhappiness.

Chapter Text

) : =I= : (

The Gorons just didn’t understand. I felt awful. Halfway through their trek east from their city I started feeling nauseous. I couldn’t get enough air; thick and sulfurous, it burned my throat as I sucked it in, and my chest felt constricted, as if it were being squeezed by something.

And they placed me on my back, too, which wasn’t the least bit comfortable. They couldn’t get me back into my tunic and neither could I, so instead they set it over my chest and let my bare back rest against the metal of the ‘stretcher’ they’d constructed out of broken bridge pieces. It burned against the already-hurting skin on my back, and there was nothing I could do about it.

My stomach wound burned hotter than, it seemed, the lava around us. It felt at times as if the edge of the lizalfos’ boomerang were stuck inside.

My mouth and throat ached for want of water, to the point now that I could barely speak. Sweat coated my body. I felt lightheaded; world around me might just have been a dream. And part of it probably was. I think I lost consciousness at least twice on the way down - setting me on my back also meant that the back of my head, bruised from the Talus battle, jostled around with each step they took.

Or maybe it was just because of the heat that I lost consciousness.

Before I knew it, I was alone, slumped against the side of a cliff looking over the Minshi Woods and, beyond that, Hyrule Castle. I closed my eyes, and the next time I opened them I was sprawled on my side, silver moonlight bathing my skin. I tried to move and managed to crawl a few feet away from the cliff before my tired, aching limbs gave out and I lost consciousness again.

Somewhere during this time, I stopped sweating. The heat was no less intense, but I didn’t have any moisture left. My breath was coming very fast, and my heart racing to keep up with it. My vision was fuzzy, indistinct; I couldn’t quite make out any details, but I could distinguish the sky above from the violet haze of Hyrule Castle in the distance from the orange stone all around me. My thoughts, when they came, were just as muddled as the images flashing through my eyes.

I think I managed to crawl a little further then, heading towards the Lost Woods. I’m not sure how I knew which direction to go; it was as if there was a compass in my gut, compelling me. But one moment I was making steady progress forward, and the next, everything tumbled around me and my mind distantly registered pain flaring up all over my body as I slammed into rock from every direction, falling down a stony hillside I hadn’t even noticed in front of me.

I wasn’t aware of stopping; I think I lost consciousness again, probably hitting my head on stone. Once again I could barely move; a hundred different pains burned across my body. My side was splattered with blood; it had gotten badly scraped up during the fall. I had no idea if I’d broken any bones, and my head felt too muddled and dizzy to tell.

When night fell again, it was cold. I’d fallen far enough down the mountain to escape the terrible, all-consuming heat, but now in its place I found myself shivering violently, tucked into a little ball with my bruised, tender back pressed against the cliffside. Fever had set in by then, and I finally gave in to tears, hot tears that streaked down my face as I whispered, over and over again, “I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster.”

I think I knew I was dying. I blamed this monster skin I wore - if not for that, the Gorons wouldn’t have been so afraid of me. They would have let me stay in their city, they would have given me fireproof elixirs to keep me alive, they would have offered to help with my wounds.

Instead, fear drove them to abandoning me in the wilderness. I was grateful that Pikango had been there and convinced them to at least give me a chance instead of throw me to the monsters. But they weren’t willing to risk having me in their city long enough to let me heal. And it made sense - if I were a bokoblin, they would have killed me on sight. Anyone would have.

I was lucky to be alive, lucky that they had left me somewhat close to the Lost Woods, lucky that they’d tried to leave me with most of my supplies. Not the Sheikah Slate, of course; Pikango had told the Gorons of its importance and they’d decided, understandably so, that if I was a monster and everything I said was a lie, it shouldn’t be left in my hands.

As for the rest of my supplies, they were useless. I’d barely had the strength to crawl, let alone pull on my clothes, gauntlets, armor… They were gone now.

I knew I was dying, but I wasn’t willing to give up. Too much rested on my shoulders, and if I died… 

Impa hadn’t told me about a back-up plan. It was either me, or nothing.

I slept fitfully that cold night, and in the morning searing nausea drew me into consciousness and I vomited, clutching my stomach, my limbs shaking with pain and fatigue. I heaved until there was nothing left in my stomach, and then I either lost consciousness or fell asleep again - I was having difficulty distinguishing between the two.

The bright noonday sun next awakened me, and I managed to drag myself farther than I ever had before; I collapsed next to a steep hillside, promising myself that I would climb it and hopefully get even closer to the Lost Woods the next time I woke up.

The nausea continued the next day. I convulsed, spitting up nothing but stomach fluids, dry-heaving over and over and over again until at last the nausea stemmed somewhat and I went limp, my skin too hot, my mouth too dry, my now badly-infected stomach wound practically on fire. I dragged myself up the hillside, closing my eyes because if I kept them open, the world spun and tilted and whirled around me, making me feel even more nauseous; it was easier, I thought, if I just closed them altogether.

I reached the hill’s crest and crawled across it, my breaths rasping much too loud in my ears. My limbs trembled with each small movement; my knees ached from getting dragged over stone again and again. It would be so much nicer if Death Mountain were covered in soft, grass, I thought, amazed that I could string together a concise thought and yet completely oblivious to the ludicrousy of that particular thought. Violently active volcanoes didn’t get along well with grass.

The ground began to slope downwards again; I’d come to the other side of the hill. Cracking my eyelids open, I could see in the west the Lost Woods, just beyond the northern edge of Minshi Woods. I was getting closer, but as I gazed at the long, steep, rocky slope I knew I’d have to descend, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss.

Can’t make it that far, I decided, but I started crawling down anyways, feeling the blood rush painfully to my aching head. When I reached the nearest boulder I slumped against it, sliding my hands upwards and trying to pull myself to my feet. Head above heart, I thought sluggishly. It would make my head stop pounding, right?

But I’d forgotten about how weak and dehydrated I was. The instant I’d dragged myself to my full height, my vision went black, clouded over by millions of hovering black specks, and bolts of pain struck at my shoulders and head and ribs and arms and legs. The world was tumbling around me again - or rather, I was tumbling around the world, tumbling down the steep hill I’d wanted to descend. Head over heels, arms and legs flailing and throbbing with each impact, I finally stopped when my stomach collided with a tree trunk at the very bottom of the slope, knocking the wind from my lungs. I lay still, cold spreading through my chest as heat pulsed through my stomach wound, my heart throbbing with each passing moment that I couldn’t draw breath.

It was too much. I lost consciousness again, the world fading to black.

I didn’t ever want to move again when I finally awakened, seeing moonlight filtering through a leafy canopy above me. Even though I was lying still, my limbs trembled with exhaustion.

You’re not supposed to move when you’re weak and dying, I scolded myself. But there was something I needed to do, and I was so close…

Craning my neck, I could see tendrils of mist creeping over the grass. The tree I had fallen against was right next to the trail leading into the Lost Woods. If I followed the mist, I’d find myself there.

I didn’t know how I would find my way through the mist, but I wanted to at least try. And if that was where I died, then… so be it.

Whimpering, overwhelmed in my weakened state by the pain and sickness coursing through my body, I pushed myself to the knees and promptly collapsed forward again, my face crashing into the dirt. I closed my eyes for just a moment…

And when I opened them again, it was morning, but clouds had blotted out the sun. And my skin was damp, and my chest was muddied -

It was raining.

A weak laugh escaped my lips and I tried again to kneel, looking desperately around for a puddle or a concave stone or something that would have caught the water. When I spotted a large pool caught between the roots of a tree, I lurched towards it, dragging myself there as fast as I could before crumpling before it, burying my face in it and slurping down mouthful after mouthful until I needed to come up for air.

A few moments passed and I panted heavily; then I plunged my face right back in, desperate to get as much water as I could hold. It was filthy; dirt crunched between my teeth when I put them together, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the water.

I drank until my stomach ached, feeling ready to burst; then I used the tree as a brace, holding myself up as I splashed the cold water on my burns. It was a bit of a shock on the abnormally hot skin, but it felt better than anything else I’d felt since coming to Death Mountain. I fell asleep leaning against the tree, feeling more refreshed than I had in days.

The nausea had returned when I next awakened, but my mind felt a bit sharper. I didn’t try to stand, remembering how that had turned out the last time; instead, I crawled forward into the mist and left the tree behind.

My head was down as I moved - I didn’t have the strength to lift it up - so when I next turned my gaze from the muddy grass beneath my hands I was completely surrounded by a thick fog. A chill crept down my spine, along with a shudder of uncertainty.

Where do I go from here?

The forest looked the same in every direction. Dead trees, with gnarled limbs twisting out in every direction or lunging out of the mist like a monster’s claw, littered the desolate landscape. My pulse quickened, and I looked over my shoulder behind me, panic striking my heart as I realized it looked just like everything else. And as I scanned the grass, I was stunned to find that there wasn’t any trace of my passing. I wouldn’t be able to follow my tracks out.

Idiot! I scolded myself. Woodland Stable was just down the trail; I could have gone there instead, gotten patched up, headed into the forest with more supplies…

But I couldn’t have done that. I looked like a monster, and people treated me accordingly. They wouldn’t have helped me any more than they would have helped a moblin.

Anger, frustration, and despair swept over me in an agonizing wave. “Why?” I screamed into the mist, slamming my fist down with what strength remained in my arm. Tears burned again in my eyes and I let myself collapse, lying down in the mud and scratchy grass. “Why?” I whispered again.

It wasn’t fair! I was just trying to help! Why did something like this have to happen to me? I was going to die here, lost in the mist, and everyone would think that Link had been eaten and his memories stolen by a red-eyed, charcoal-skinned monster.

I was alone, more alone than I’d ever been before, and no one knew. The few that did know I was down here believed I was a monster; they wouldn’t care if they never saw me again. No one was going to help me.

The tears came faster, and I closed my eyes, pulling my knees close to my chest as I huddled in a miserable little ball alone in the mist, surrounded by dead trees, dead grass.

Once again I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I could remember opening my eyes to find that nothing had changed. The mist wrapped around me like an uncomfortable sweater, trapping me in a thick, moist vise that made it hard to breathe. I felt cold, as cold as the Hebra Mountains; my skin was pale clammy and I shivered incessantly. Sweat dripped down my brow, and my thoughts were painfully slow. The fever was worsening.

I tried to move forward; tired of crawling on all fours like a beast, I lurched to my feet, staggered several paces, and collided with a tree, the rough bark scraping my skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing heavily. Mustering what fading resolve remained in my failing body, I left the tree behind, taking a step forward on wobbling, uncertain legs. It was as if my blood had turned to chuchu jelly.

I don’t know how long I lasted. Time seemed to have no meaning. I couldn’t see shadows lengthening, or light to cast shadows in the first place. There was only the unending gray mist and the army of dead trees, all around me, always.

Eventually I couldn’t stand anymore and I toppled to my knees, bracing myself with a fist planted in the ground. My mind blurred; my vision smeared. When at last I lifted my head, there was a light before me, like… a fairy.

Hallll...usss...ination, I thought groggily, blinking at the light. It couldn’t be real.

But I followed it anyway, forcing myself onward, twisting and turning through the trees. Sometimes the fairy was just that - a fairy - and other times it was a blue woman floating above the ground, with a face like a statue. My senses, my cognizance, faded with each painful movement; my body pulsed with pain, my stomach worst of all, and I gradually became of nothing else. Life felt like a dream… one that was quickly fading away…

My eyes slipped closed. Fever took hold of me; I remembered nothing more.

) : =I= : (

Chio sat tall upon his stump, wishing he could reach up to touch the new mushroom on his head. It was really pretty from what he’d seen in his reflection, but he wanted to touch it. Mushrooms felt so nice, so smooth and soft, like a little pillow. Maybe if it grows big enough, it will be a pillow! he thought excitedly, doing a little twirl on his stump. How nice that would be… 

But he didn’t sleep, so it would be kind of useless. Unless he wanted to lie down and read a book or watch birds somewhere… then it would be nice and cozy…

A sudden agonized scream startled him from his peaceful, pleasant thoughts, and he jumped in surprise. “That came from the Sword pedestal,” he whispered, and a sick feeling settled in his little body. He could guess what had happened - some poor soul had tried to draw the Master Sword, wasn’t worthy, and died.

And yet… wasn’t the Great Deku Tree supposed to wake up and warn whoever it was before they tried? Chio hadn’t heard the forest guardian stir at all, and he was sitting practically right inside his navel! I would’ve noticed if he woke up!

Disturbed, he hopped down from his stump and waddled towards the sword pedestal, pushing tall grass out of his way and shaking a foot at the hot-footed frogs jumping across his path, warning them that he was about to step right there.

A particularly fat frog was refusing to move right in front of the sword pedestal. “Shoo!” Chio exclaimed, wishing his little arms were just a bit longer. “You don’t want to get stepped on, do you? Shoo!”

At last, with an exasperated croak, the old frog halfheartedly hopped forward, getting out of Chio’s way.

“Thank you,” he called after the amphibian, and turned to look at the Sword pedestal.

And instantly gasped in fright, leaping backwards.

A young man was slumped against the blade, his skin frighteningly pale, his golden hair hanging in damp, sweaty strands over his eyes. He was shirtless and covered in mud and injuries - burns, bruises, scrapes, and a particularly nasty gash in his abdomen, badly swollen, oozing dark blood and sickly white pus.

Chio gulped. “Hello?” he asked softly, waddling closer. “Can you hear me?”

The boy didn’t respond, but he groaned weakly, his features contorting in a grimace of agony. His skin glistened with sweat, and yet he was shivering, and when Chio prodded his hand it was as cold as ice. Oh, dear… he’s really sick!

There was something familiar about him, something that Chio couldn’t quite put a branch on. Almost like he’d seen the kid before.

Well, he didn’t try to draw the Master Sword, he deduced, noting that the young man’s pulse was pounding fast and hard enough to be seen in his throat. He’s not dead. But he could be, soon!

“Hey, Oaki!” he called out, turning to examine the peaceful slumbering forest around him. Much too peaceful - almost suspiciously so - considering both the poor boy’s scream and the curious nature of Koroks. “Maca! Pepp! I know you’re there; come on out!”

Slowly, shy little Korok faces emerged from their hiding places. Oaki popped up from a clump of silent nightshade while Pepp released the tree branch he’d pulled in front of his face and Maca peered around the side of that same tree. With careful, embarrassed steps, they waddled towards him.

“Who is he?” Maca asked curiously, leaning forward. “Looks familiar…”

Okai gasped. “It’s Mr. Hero!” he exclaimed, rushing up to the young man’s side. “Look! Look! See? It’s him!”

Chio stared at the boy and gave a slight start. Of course it was him! How could he have forgotten what the most recent wielder of the Master Sword had looked like? “You’re right… I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!” It was clear as day now that it had been pointed out to him.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Pepp gulped. “Maybe he needs to catch some zzz’s on the bed of leaves I made for him!”

“More than that, my children…”

The four of them spun around and found the Great Deku Tree gazing fondly, but sadly, down at them. “I am glad that you found him.”

“Were you awake this whole time?” Chio asked, slumping a little as he realized that maybe he needed to pay more attention.

“I was awakened by his scream,” the Tree admitted, “just the same as all of you were. I am proud of you - I did not even have to call you to help.”

“What do we do?” Oaki asked, hopping up and down in distress. “Mr. Hero’s hurt, and he’s not waking up!”

“You know the earth and her inhabitants well, little ones,” the Great Deku Tree reminded them. “Turn your minds now to the sleeping ones, and they will guide you as you care for the hero. As for right now… dear Pepp, your suggestion about bringing him in to rest in the bed you crafted is a grand course of action. Gather the others - you will need their help to carry him inside.”

Pepp bowed his head bashfully. “Thank you, Deku Tree!”

“Chio,” the Tree called, and Chio jumped in surprise. “Come closer, and place a hand upon my trunk.”

Being a giant tree with a giant mouth, it wasn’t easy for the Great Deku Tree to say anything quietly, let alone have a private conversation. However, since Koroks could communicate with plant life merely by touching it, they could speak privately with their guardian the same way. Chio waddled closer and obediently touched the weathered bark.

“The wound in his middle is badly infected,” the Great Deku Tree explained mournfully. “The others will gather herbs to help him, but it will not be enough. There is a task which must be done, however… I do not wish my innocent forest children to be burdened with performing it.”

He explained what it was that had to be done, and Chio swayed, feeling sick. “I can see why,” he squeaked, shuddering.

“Summon the lost spirits who wander these woods,” the Tree said. “These are they who sought the Master Sword or the power in the forest for selfish reasons. They will be able to do this thing, and it will be another step forward for them, bringing them closer to eternal rest in the Sacred Realm.”

Chio gulped. He didn’t much like the lost spirits, even if he kind of felt bad for them, but if they could help Mr. Hero…

“Okay, Great Deku Tree,” he agreed, and the Tree smiled down at him as he left the root and waddled off towards the mist in the distance.

He passed the other Koroks - Maca had woken everyone else up, it seemed, and they had already fashioned half of a stretcher made of branches, vines, and wide leaves.

You guys get the easy job, he sulked, shaking his head.

Maybe the Great Deku Tree just knows I’m braver.

He followed the gruesome scattered trail of blood Mr. Hero must have left when he made his way to the heart of the forest, knowing that the lost spirits - Skull Kids, Stalfos - would be drawn to it. Blood meant life - something that they had not tasted in only the Goddesses knew how long.

The mist soon encircled him, and he waddled just a little further before his tiny heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t stand it. The Great Deku Tree didn’t mean for me to go all the way into the woods, he told himself, trembling. This is far enough. Farther than anyone else would have gone, for sure!

Well… except for the nine hundred or so Koroks currently hiding out in the wide, wide world with the seeds Hestu used in his maracas, refusing to return until he gave up his strange delight in ‘nekkidness.’ Honestly, Koroks were plant people! Just because they didn’t wear anything but masks, it didn’t mean they were naked! Or, maybe it did, but he didn’t have to make it all weird like that.

Nonetheless, those nine hundred Koroks were holding those seeds hostage. But word was that Hestu was planning to bribe Mr. Hero into finding them all for him!

He’d never agree to it, Chio thought, feeling confident in Mr. Hero’s goodness. He -

He stopped and went still, seeing a glowing pair of eyes materialize out of the mist, followed by a skeletal body draped in ragged clothing. Chio began to shiver again, all thoughts of Hestu’s schemes vanishing from his mind.

And he almost lost his wits completely when four more sets of eyes appeared, each attached to a tall skeleton.

He gulped. Five was enough, right?

“L-l-lost sp-spirits of the L-lost Woods,” Chio squeaked, trying to be brave like Mr. Hero. “Th-th-the Great Deku Tree h-has a f-f-favor to ask of you. F-follow me!”

He turned tail and ran, as fast as he could on his stubby little legs, without looking to see if the Stalfos followed. But he could hear the crunching of their bony feet on the ground and knew they were hot on his heels.

His cozy home in the heart of the forest had never seemed more welcoming - or more unreachable.

Chapter Text

) : =I= : (

It wasn’t long before Link’s screams of agony once again tore through the Lost Woods. His face was white as snow, his eyes open but unseeing, every muscle in his body rigid and trembling. Vines wrapped around his arms, chest, legs, and even neck (not too tightly), keeping him still as the Stalfos worked. Three braced him, helping the vines hold him down; the other two worked with wickedly sharp knives, cutting away the infected skin around the wound over his stomach.

The Great Deku Tree had considered using maggots to eat away the rotting flesh and disinfect the wound, but his dear little Koroks didn’t have hands to gather them or knowledge on how to clean them. And he felt it was too cruel, to tedious, a task to give to the Stalfos and Skull Kids.

And Link didn’t exactly have time to wait for them to gather all of those maggots, anyway.

So, instead, the Great Deku Tree ordered the Stalfos to do what they could not wait for maggots to do: get rid of the infected flesh, clean the wound thoroughly with hot saltwater to discourage a second infection, and stitch it closed. The Koroks could take care of the rest without getting traumatized; he was sure of it.

It hurt his soul, hearing Link’s anguished cries and knowing what had brought him to such a state. These were frightening, suspicious times… and the deceptions of the Yiga Clan did nothing to foster trust and acceptance even of normal travellers, let alone one wearing a monster’s skin.

Link had been incredibly foolish to want to disguise himself as a monster, no matter how merciful his intentions. But, then again, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The monstrologist, Kilton… another example of good intentions gone wrong.

Although… even he, the Great Deku Tree, very nearly omnipotent (when he chose to be), did not know how Kilton intended to apply his research. He could think of many possibilities, both foul-minded and innocent. The man is a mystery.

He turned his attention back to Link. The Stalfos had finally finished their gruesome task, and he bid them to leave. The Koroks piled inside the instant they were gone, carrying impressive bundles of leaves and herbs and swarming around the hero’s bedside, washing the blood from his torso and the grit and mud from the rest of his body, placing compresses of herbs over his various wounds and bruises and a cloth damp with cold water over his fevered brow. They whispered anxiously as they worked, and the Great Deku Tree noticed one of them gently patting the top of Link’s head in comfort. It was incredibly touching how much they cared.

But then, the hero’s life has been closely connected with the forest, and specifically the forest spirits, for thousands of years…

) : =I= : (

Everything was dark and blurred and horrible for the longest time. I felt searing pain spreading from my stomach and jolting to the rest of my body. I felt cold and hot and cold all at once, which sent nausea tearing through my innards, although I wasn’t cognizant enough to know if I vomited or not.

Occasionally I was aware of color, mostly green, but I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or half-awake. I was mostly certain that at least part of it was a dream, but at the moment it felt pretty real; probably because of all the green around me, I thought I’d been turned into some sort of leafy lettuce monster. Vegetarian Gorons armed with forks, cheese, tomatoes, and other things to go with salad were chasing me no matter how I protested. As soon as they caught me they went right for my face.

It wasn’t a pleasant dream at all. But it was ludicrous enough that I was pretty sure it was a dream, and I was just aware enough that I thought I might laugh about it later, if I ever woke up for real.

But when I finally did open my eyes to find myself more aware of my surroundings than ever before, my mind felt as if it had been stuffed with thick mist. I could see the strange wooden cave around me, a little bit like the inside of a log; my vision was clear enough to make out the details of the swirling grains. A few strange lamps that looked like beans cast gentle golden light around me, flickering slightly but not like candles - more like fireflies.

I was surrounded by leaves - hence the Goron vegetarian nightmare, I supposed. Somehow, someone had crafted a blanket - several, actually - out of greenery. The one on the bottom of the pile, touching my skin, was surprisingly soft. I don’t think I had known that leaves could be soft.

Beyond that, faces made of leaves surrounded me. Or, well, they looked more like masks, worn by strange little creatures with bodies like ginger roots. I recognized them, but at first I couldn’t remember what they were called.

Then one of them squealed and hopped up and down. “Mr. Hero!” it cried out with delight, and the others instantly began to stir. Just like that, a word popped into my head, one that I knew described these creatures: Korok.

“You’re awake!” one of them chirped, waggling its arms happily. “How do you feel? Are you alright?”

They crowded close around me, echoing the questions, calling me ‘Mr. Hero,’ dancing or hopping in place in absolute ecstasy.

It was adorable, but truth be told, they were also freaking me out just the tiniest bit. And my head was starting to pound.

“Hey, hey, hey!” A new voice joined the others, and pushing above the crowd was a red mushroom. As it neared, I could see that the mushroom was sprouting from a taller Korok’s head. “Calm down! Let him breathe!”

“He’s not breathing?” a Korok asked in horror, instantly taking a step back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hero! Can you breathe now?”

I managed a small smile. I could remember a deep fondness for these little forest spirits - their innocence, their sense of wonder…

“Back off!” the mushroomed Korok insisted, waving his arms frantically at his companions, and the rest of the Koroks took several steps back. The throbbing in my temples began to ease. “Mr. Hero, can you talk? How do you feel?”

I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. “Much… better,” I whispered slowly. My mind felt more awake, but it seemed my tongue still wanted to sleep. “What… happened?”

The Koroks shuddered collectively, like a miniature forest caught in a windstorm. “We don’t know,” squeaked the first Korok that had spoken. “We heard you scream, and then we went to see what happened, and then we saw you with the Master Sword and you were really, really sick!”

“Not with the Master Sword,” the Korok with the mushroom added apologetically. “More like… like you fell down next to it!”

“Exactly!” the first Korok agreed.

My mouth went dry. I remembered that now - or at least, I remembered parts of it. I’d been so out of it by then that everything was a haze, indistinguishable from dreams. I could understand why my mind had blocked that ‘dream’ and replaced it with the lettuce one.

I had been hallucinating, following a tiny fairy through the Lost Woods, but I guess somehow I’d actually made it. Or maybe the fairy hadn’t been a hallucination. If it wasn’t, then maybe the floating blue lady was the hallucination.

My mind was a mess at that point, if the fact wasn’t clear enough already.

Eventually I found myself in front of the Master Sword. I didn’t try to draw it - how could I draw a sword embedded vertically in the ground while barely able to hold myself up on hands and knees? And I was confused and distracted enough by intense pain and discomfort that I don’t think I could quite grasp that I was supposed to try and draw a sword from the ground when embedded like this. All I knew was that this weapon could help me.

I saw the blue lady again; she spoke to me, maybe, but I didn’t remember a single word she said. She was probably trying to help.

As she spoke, I felt an overwhelming desire to touch the sword. It felt like it was a part of me - which I guess it was, a hundred years ago.

I didn’t have the strength to raise one hand from the ground, so instead I slid my hands and knees along the ground, slowly pulling myself closer, until I could rest my forehead against the blade.

The pain was immediate and unforgiving. I might’ve screamed; I don’t remember. It was worse than anything I’d ever felt - claws raking through my very soul, tearing at my skin, squeezing my heart… 

It cleansed me, but with a price. After that one terrible moment of agony, I lost consciousness. And as muddled and confusing as everything was before, it was even more so afterwards, to the point where I couldn’t make sense of anything whatsoever and my mind had to resort to vegetarian Gorons.

“Mr. Hero? Mr. Hero, are you okay?”

The Koroks were staring at me, and although their masks didn’t do much to convey expression, I could sense their concern.

“I’m much better than I was,” I told them truthfully. My body didn’t hurt half as badly, my stomach wound didn’t burn, and my mind and muscles felt groggy but well-rested.

“Then go get the sword!” one of them - a smaller one - cheered, hopping up and down.

“That way if this happens again, you won’t have to come find us, because you can use the sword to get rid of the evil,” another added excitedly. His posture drooped slightly. “But I hope you visit us anyways, lots and lots and lots of times!”

“Get the sword!” another Korok exclaimed, and the others quickly joined in, clamoring for me to get out of bed and claim the Master Sword. I raised my hands, trying to calm them.

“I’ll get the sword when I feel a little better,” I mumbled, and a chorus of  “awwww”s greeted my response. I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and was asleep again before I had time to think about it.

The little guys were nothing if not adorably persistent, and the next day they managed to convince me to make my way to the Master Sword again.

“It doesn’t test physical strength,” the mushroom Korok, Chio, had assured me. “It looks on the inside!”

“That means the heart,” the small one added. Oaki.

Which was just as well, since as I stood up for the first time in only the Goddesses knew how many days (Koroks couldn’t count very well) my vision clouded over and my knees buckled. I would have fallen for sure if not for the sea of Koroks holding me up on every side.

My body was painfully weak and I was starving; my limbs trembled as I dragged my feet forward but the Koroks were too excited about what I was doing to let me fall.

I felt a slight tug in my chest when my gaze rested upon the Master Sword. All at once a hush went over the forest and the forest spirits surrounding me. With my next step forward they didn’t follow, and this time I didn’t want them to. This was something I needed to do on my own.

“I see you decided to return,” a deep voice like creaking timbers resonated through the woods and I whirled around with a startled gasp. Blood fled from my cheeks; the massive tree that the Koroks had placed me within had a face - brows, a mouth and nose, and - and even a moustache.

I knew I should have been feeling more awed or shocked or terrified that the giant tree I’d been recovering in had a face and could talk, but… I wasn’t. And, as with most things I’d come across that logically should have frightened or disturbed me in some way, I took that to mean that I’d met this tree somewhere before.

Probably when I drew the Master Sword the first time.

“Your… er, the Koroks… I mean - I had some help making that decision,” I finished all in a rush, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

The tree chuckled. “You are a legend brought to life among them, young one. When you arrived here… well, after a hundred years, we had nearly given up hope on seeing you again. And then to have you with us once more, but so near death… It was quite the ordeal.”

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” I murmured, dropping my gaze. “But… thank you, er…” I tried to act like I was trying to remember the tree’s name, or title, or anything, hoping that he would notice and fill in the gaps.

“I am the Deku Tree,” the tree obliged. “I have watched over Hyrule since time immemorial.”

“Then, I thank you, Deku Tree, and I thank the Koroks as well, for saving me,” I said gravely, bowing. It felt like the right thing to do; giant talking trees deserved respect, right?

“My children would be devastated by your death,” the tree rumbled. “They have already been through that once already; I would not presume to see them go through it again. And… for that same reason, I offer you now a warning.

“The Master Sword stands as a test to anyone who would dare attempt to possess it. As you are now, I cannot say whether you are worthy or not. If you sought to free the sword in any sort of weakened state, you would surely loose your life where you stand. For my children’s sake, I will stop you from finishing the task should you be unworthy, this time and this time only. Best of luck, young one.”

I gulped. Any sort of weakness, eh? I hope you’re right, Chio…

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, placed my hands around the Master Sword’s hilt, and pulled.

) : =I= : (

Volcon thought he was good at sitting still, but at the moment, he couldn’t keep himself from fidgeting.

The entire village had gathered and watched anxiously as Boss Bludo and the Sheikah painter Pikango fiddled with the mysterious ‘Sheikah Slate.’ A very heavy silence had fallen over them - heavy and uncomfortable, hence the fidgeting.

“Y’sure this thing works?” Bludo asked finally, holding up the Sheikah Slate and examining it from every angle. “Makes lotsa colorful lights’n all, but I don’t see nothin’ that could help with Rudania.”

Pikango gulped loudly. “Well, er… I actually may not be the best reference for this,” he muttered under his breath, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I’m an artist, not a scientist…”

“An’ you’re tellin’ me only now?” Bludo gaped. “After we spent hours workin’ on this thing?”

“Maybe I can help,” a new voice chimed in, frighteningly familiar, and Volcon just about jumped out of his skin.

But the newcomer was not a charcoal-skinned, red-eyed, fanged monster. He was just a normal Hylian, with normal-looking blue eyes and no fangs, wearing bulky armor meant to protect the wearer from the volcano’s heat along with a heroic-looking sword on his back. Volcon relaxed slightly.

“Link!” Pikango slumped in relief and hurried over to him. “You’re alright! Er, you… you are alright, aren’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” the young man asked with a small grin.

“Well, er… the mask,” the Sheikah painter said in a hushed theatrical whisper that carried to everyone. “That you said… turned you into a monster.”

“Ohhh…” Link nodded slowly, his eyes distant. “You’re talking about that thing with the red eyes and creepy face, right?”

The looks of lingering fear and uncertainty floating across the villagers was answer enough. Volcon felt a stirring of hope. Maybe it really was a monster. Maybe I didn’t really hurt an innocent kid! He’d felt terrible about it for weeks, ever since Pikango had first brought up the possibility that the strange creature was actually a Hylian. On the off chance that it really was just some kid, who’d already gone through a tough time from the looks of it, then he, Volcon, had only made it much, much, worse.

“That thing is dead,” Link said. “I… killed it.”

A hushed murmur echoed among the crowd of Gorons. Volcon was feeling better and better, but also more and more confused.

“What was it?” Pikango asked solemnly. “It looked a bit like you - it even sounded like you and knew who you were!”

“It was just another one of the Calamity’s creations,” Link said with a shrug. “Probably trained by the Yiga or something - the Yiga have been following me since I woke up; they know everything I do.”

“Well, we have your Sheikah Slate thingy,” Bludo growled, holding up the ancient tablet. “Tryin’ to figure out how to use it on Rudania…”

“Thanks!” Link exclaimed, rushing forward. “I think I accidentally forgot it in a stable or something… thanks for keeping it safe!”

It was the final little grain of proof Volcon needed. At last his conscience felt clear. I didn’t hurt him! It really was a monster, and I really did do my brothers a service by keepin’ ‘em safe! He grinned widely, feeling lighter than he’d felt in weeks.

He would be able to sleep soundly now, confident in the knowledge that he’d done the right thing.

) : =I= : (

I couldn’t stop smiling as I made my way towards the Akkala Ancient Tech Lab with materials for Robbie. Other travellers looked at me funny, as if I’d grown an extra eye, but I didn’t notice much. I couldn’t dispel this wonderful feeling inside of me.

A part of me had been resentful towards the Gorons. Looking at the facts, I’d almost died because of them. And it wouldn’t have been a nice, merciful death, either. It would have been slow and painful. In fact, it was slow and painful, but thanks to the Koroks I didn’t actually die at the end.

So there was that part of me that wanted revenge. I could imagine myself walking into town, finally with evidence that proved I had been telling the truth (namely my memories of what had happened, and my now monster-free appearance), and letting them know exactly how much they had hurt me.

But when I considered that, I could also see in my mind’s eye the Gorons’ downcast faces. Their horror and regret and guilt. And I reminded myself that in their eyes, I had seemed no better than a moblin or bokoblin that learned to talk. Perhaps even worse - I had been wearing more sophisticated clothes than just a simple loincloth, so maybe they thought that in addition to being a monster and having the traits that go along with that, I was also intelligent. And cunning and monsters together didn’t mean anything good for the rest of the world.

So it wasn’t really their fault, and I told myself this over and over and over again on my journey from the Lost Woods to Goron City. By the time I arrived, I didn’t have the heart to make them feel bad about what happened. I made up a story about meeting an evil shadow of myself created by Ganon, and they believed it. I could almost see the burden lifted from their shoulders as the guilt and remorse for what had happened faded away, and I realized that it was so much better that way.

Sometimes, it’s much better to let things go.

The Gorons’ relief had been contagious. The desire for revenge lifted from my soul, leaving me feeling just as light and happy as they were. It was a feeling that had lasted all through the battle to free Vah Rudania, all through the hike down the mountain, and so far, all through the journey through Akkala.

I was in such a good mood, in fact, glorifying in the simple pleasures of being alive and healthy and surrounded by green and growing things, that I decided I might as well check on Kilton.

“So, uh… the mask didn’t work,” I explained awkwardly.

He looked perplexed. “It… didn’t turn you into a monster?”

“Well, it did, but monsters didn’t think I was a monster.” Which defeats the whole point.

I was stunned by Kilton’s response. “Then it did work!” he cheered. “It’s supposed to give us the terrible experience we put monsters through, so that we can all have more empathy for the difficult lives they live!”

My jaw dropped. “What?” I was almost killed by that mask!

Which… which I guess really was the point.

Kilton tsk-tsked. “Don’t you feel so bad for them now? Knowing what they go through each and every day…” He shook his head sadly.

My good mood was fading. “Kilton, I wanted something that would disguise me as a monster among monsters. That way I won’t have to kill as many!”

“Oh, you’re in luck, then!” he beamed. “I finished my bokoblin mask! And, er, since it looks like the Dark mask wasn’t, uh, to your liking, I’ll give this to you free!”

As much as I liked the idea of getting something for free (I think I had, at the moment, maybe ten rupees on me), the last thing I’d gotten for free from Kilton hadn’t turned out too well. “And it’ll convince the bokoblins I’m one of them?”

Kilton nodded eagerly. “I tested it myself, and it was amazing! I got to see the bokoblin feast dance firsthand! And they accepted me as one of their own and initiated me into their band!” He clapped his hands giddily, grinning from ear to ear. “It works, I promise!”

Still I hesitated. Then Kilton pulled out the mask, and I relaxed slightly. It wasn’t like the other one, which went right up against my skin. It was… it was more like the top piece of a child’s costume, shaped like a bokoblin’s head, with button eyes and the usual leaf-shaped ears and gaping jaws that I would peer out of. “Well…” I sighed heavily, scratching the back of my head. “I guess I’ll try it out.”

Kilton leapt up with a cheer of delight, pushing the mask towards me. “You’ll love it! I guarantee it!”

I chuckled halfheartedly, taking the mask into my hands and studying it, unaware of the growing light of dawn in the sky above me. Maybe this time it’s real, I thought. And this time he actually tried it out first…

Holding my breath, I stuffed my head into the hole at the bottom. A sudden flare of pain across my body and a thrill of horror piercing my soul as I staggered backwards and fell onto my back. My pulse raced. No. Oh, no. Goddesses, please, no!

With a groan I rolled onto my stomach and crawled to the edge of the little island and peered back at my reflection. My eyes went wide.

“Kilton!”

But he was gone.