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Throughout Link’s journey, he’s only had three constants: his own body, the Sheikah Slate, and the paraglider. The first of which being very much mortal, the second being nigh-indestructible, and the last falling somewhere in between. He’s flown the paraglider in the rain, and the droplets just bounced off the fabric; he’s flown it on Death Mountain, and the frame somehow didn’t burn like the rest of his wooden equipment; he’s flown it all over Hyrule, and somehow, it’s shown little sign of wear and tear.
But the paraglider does have limits. Link discovers this fact in less than fortunate circumstances.
He heard rumors about a giant horse somewhere in the Taobab Grassland, so of course he had to investigate and become its friend immediately. What he didn’t expect to find on the way was a very different, far less pleasant kind of large, four-legged beast.
The lynel roars, head rearing back for another burst of fire, and Link absolutely sprints in the opposite direction. His eyes scan over his surroundings: grassy ground with cliffs rising at either side, only a single thick tree as any sort of cover. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The safest bet would be to get high enough to trigger his time-slowing power, and pelt the lynel with as many arrows as fast as he can.
Plan resolved, Link dashes toward the tree and pulls out his paraglider. He crouches down, calls for the gift nestled in his chest—
Wind swirls around him, gusting far past the tree’s height in one powerful column. Revali’s spirit manifests, and lifts Link up just as the lynel’s fireball whizzes past beneath his feet.
“Too close,” says Revali as he spirals upward around Link, gaze cutting to the lynel in the distance. “Maybe try to exercise the slightest bit of caution before—watch out!”
The abrupt urgency in his tone has Link’s head snapping back toward the lynel, but the paraglider doesn’t offer enough maneuverability to dodge with any speed. He has just enough time to see the yellow-green flash of a shock arrow before it—
Doesn’t pierce straight into his head, as he was bracing for. Instead, Link hears a ripping sound, and then suddenly he’s losing altitude.
“Link!” Revali shrieks, eyes wide—voice laced with a horror that Link hasn’t heard since he took that nasty tumble fighting Windblight. The wind around him picks up, managing to slow Link’s descent even despite the massive tear through the paraglider’s fabric.
And then Revali’s spirit and the wind dissipate. Link hits the ground, knees buckling, but at least none of his bones are broken. Finally, the Master Sword reforms in her scabbard with a chime, energy replenished; Link draws her, glaring at the lynel lowering its bow across the field.
Now it’s personal. A rage he can’t quite explain surges in his chest—how dare the lynel damage something that’s been with him for so long, that means so much to him? (Of course the paraglider has been an irreplaceable asset on his journey, but why…?)
After the lynel is dead and his new, beautiful horse is safely registered at Highland Stable, Link goes to Vah Medoh.
That last expression he glimpsed on Revali’s face, fear underscored with something Link couldn’t read—it unsettles him. Maybe it was just because he rarely uses Revali’s gift during combat; Daruk only ever sees Link with some hulking monster or a large group of smaller beasts bearing down on him, and the whole purpose of Mipha’s gift is to pull him back from the brink of death. But either way, he figures it can’t hurt to pay Revali a visit.
When Link teleports onto the rock of Vah Medoh’s perch, the chill hits him first, a stark contrast to the warm weather out in the Faron Grasslands. Link shivers, tucking a ruby-tipped braid out of his face, and waits.
Soon enough, Revali materializes, flames surrounding his body, both glowing that bright turquoise of the dead. His eyes, though, remain the same vivid green from Link’s memories—sharp like the rest of his expression.
“Hmph,” says Revali, wings folded behind his back. He regards Link at an angle: body turned, head tilted, drawn up as if to look even further down at Link than he already is. “So you didn’t perish to that beast after all. Wonders never cease.”
Link doesn’t dignify that with a response. Coolly unaffected Revali may act now, but it doesn’t erase the cry of panic Revali let out in the face of that lynel.
But then—what should Link say? Suddenly it feels ridiculous that he came up here at all. Maybe Revali had some complicated look on his face, but when did Revali not? There are no answers to be found here; there are no questions Link dares to ask in the first place.
The silence breaks with Revali’s huff. Finally, Revali meets Link’s gaze, extending a wing. “Show me,” he says, matter-of-factly. When Link only stares at him, Revali rolls his eyes. “I’m not about to wait for you another hundred years. Your paraglider. Show me.”
Link stares some more, processing this. Impatience simmers in Revali’s face; his shoulders draw up, the wing still at his side curling into a tight fist.
“Well?” Revali demands, and at last, Link obeys.
Normally, he keeps the paraglider on his back, ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. But he didn’t want to risk the paraglider being damaged any further, so this time, he pulls out the Sheikah Slate and navigates through its menus, tapping the tiny icon of the paraglider.
It forms in his hands from wisps of Sheikah-blue energy. Carefully, Link unfolds it all the way, the fabric stretching taut to show the gash from the lynel’s arrow. The tear pierces the wing of the bird symbol woven into the paraglider and rips across to the tail.
Revali reaches out as if to take the paraglider, but of course, his wing passes right through. He yanks it back like he’d been burned. “…The Great Fairies’ blessings should have been enough to make it puncture-resistant,” Revali says instead, and stares down at the paraglider in Link’s hands. He paces in front of Link, studying the paraglider at different angles. “Though I suppose there’s only so much magic can do against a savage lynel bow.” His voice is clinical, but hard—rough with that same unreadable thing from before. “Still…unacceptable. I should have…”
Link frowns. Is that what this is—guilt? Well, Link has plenty of experience with that. “Don’t blame yourself,” he says quietly. “Your Gale is why I’m still alive at all.”
Revali’s feathers ruffle upward, and it can’t be from the breeze. The world and the weather cannot touch him anymore. “That was the point, you know,” Revali says. “But my Gale shouldn’t have had to—to play as a mere safety net in the first place. Your paraglider…” He glances down at it again, expression inscrutable. “…You ought to get it reinforced by more magic. One hundred years must have taken their toll.”
“You really think it’s Great Fairy magic?” Link says, turning the paraglider over in his hands. Now that Revali has pointed it out, it does make sense—it must be the same blessing on his clothes, making them shield him against blows normal fabric never could have survived. “Well, I guess the old man wouldn’t’ve sent me off to fight the Calamity with just plain old wood and cloth stuck together.”
Revali’s gaze slices toward him. Something burns in his eyes. “Old man?” he says, voice strange, suddenly sharp. “How did you end up with this, anyway?”
“Well, it was really King Rhoam,” Link explains. “His ghost. He gave me his paraglider after I passed his tests on the Great Plateau.” He adds in a (somewhat) lighthearted grumble, “He was so annoying, he kept taunting me with it, holding it over my head. Changing the rules of our deal.”
After this long, it’s just a funny story—the boiling indignation Link felt at having the paraglider torn again and again from his grasp mellowed by time. But when Link glances up at Revali, he’s not amused like Link might have thought. Instead, Revali’s expression is dark, stormy, cold.
“His paraglider,” Revali repeats, voice a low hiss. “King Rhoam. Withholding the paraglider from you.”
“…Yes?” Link says slowly. “But you know he gave it to me in the end. Best gift he ever gave me, so I can’t complain.”
Revali’s expression twists, at that. “It wasn’t his to—” Revali cuts himself off with a harsh click of his beak. He spins around, taking one deliberate step away from Link, another. And then, without looking back, voice uncharacteristically soft: “Do you…remember anything else? About the paraglider?”
Link barely remembers Revali. He didn’t think there was anything to remember about the paraglider. He opens his mouth, but again—as always—he doesn’t know what to say. If only his brain wouldn’t keep only the worst parts of his century-past self, and lose all of the good ones. If only he could stop causing his old allies so much pain.
The silence speaks for itself. At last, Revali scoffs, still not turning around. “Of course,” he grits out. “What else was I expecting?”
“Revali—”
“Go get the paraglider fixed,” Revali snaps. “Try an armor shop, they should have the right kind of thread. Of all the things in Rito Village that have changed over a hundred years, I’m at least fairly certain that sewing can’t be one of them.”
With that, Revali’s spirit vanishes into Vah Medoh. Link stays there, stomach churning, looking at the spot where Revali disappeared—and then he stares down at the torn paraglider.
The white bird crest, the one Link has only ever seen in three places—his paraglider, Revali’s Landing, and the Flight Range—stares back.