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The sky was rather cloudy today, and there was a hint of rain in the air. A certain smell, and perhaps a tingling feeling, that preceded any bout of precipitation. It wasn’t dark enough to rain yet, and some patches of blue sky could still be glimpsed, but it was an unwelcome omen that hung, quite literally, over their heads.
It may not be raining yet, but the dour sky absolutely aided in dampening all of their spirits. Not that they were all that high to begin with. The strain of travel without a clear goal was annoying enough but add in strengthened monsters and a slippery target and you had a slow cooking recipe for disaster.
And what a cruel irony it was that their cook seemed to be the one that was happiest, alongside Traveller. Well, one could expect that some travelling wouldn’t phase someone nicknamed Traveller. The cook on the other hand was simply odd like that.
They had been walking for days with no set destination. There had been no monsters and nothing else to break the monotony of the journey. Nine heroes used to action and waiting for the other shoe to fall did not make good travelling companions.
Wind, the youngest, had been the first to start grumbling, complaining of blisters and nothing to do. Slowly, oh so slowly, like an insidious illness, the complaints and snappy remarks had skipped from one Link to another.
Silence only prevailed now because the most experienced of them, Legend, had snapped at them.
“If you have nothing kind or useful to say, then don’t say anything at all!”
So, now they were all playing that time-honoured parental favourite game of How Long Can We Stay Quiet?
The atmosphere was not in the least bit playful though. The air between them was tense and heavy, almost thick enough with negativity to slice through with the Master Sword. If Sky were to draw it, would the blade glow at the presence of such darkness amongst them?
What would the Blade of Evil’s Bane do if the hand wielding it was no longer a hero?
Not a single one of them were hoping it would rain. It would likely be the final nail in the coffin, and no one was looking forward to such an outcome. It would happen one way or another, sooner or later, but delaying it was something engraved in each of their minds.
A hero had a job to do. Personal stuff had to be put aside for later, when there was a chance to sit and think and process.
But yet all they had was time to think and process. An inactive hero was, quite often, a bad thing. A hero needed to be active, whether it was slaying monsters or doing chores. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop after all. The fact that the sailor hadn’t tried anything was a minor miracle in and of itself.
The clouds drifted leisurely along, uncaring of the woes of the lives below, plant or animal, content to go where the wind carried them. They grew thicker and darker as the sun inched its way to the horizon. The threat of rain grew more and more imminent. A breeze picked up, stirring leaves and tugging at any bit of loose clothing.
Legend took off his blue hat and stuffed it into a bag with a grumbled curse before the wind snatched it away. His fringe was blowing about, tickling his eyelashes and making him close his eyes for a moment on instinct.
He was not the only one grumbling.
With the sun just beginning to set, the group finally stopped to make camp. The dark yellow and orange tones of the setting sun cast everything in a harsh light, a fiery hue that could mean comfort or conflict. The various campsite chores were eagerly sought after and vied for, as something to do, and resulted in wills being tested and small scuffles being fought.
Hyrule and Wild merely walked away in almost the same moment, off to forage or gather firewood, no one was sure. Perhaps both.
The eldest and the captain began setting up the fire with whatever dry brush and wood was close to hand, while the rancher gathered stones to ring it with. Wind had grabbed a bucket and made a dash for the river the group had run across nearby earlier in the day. They would need water to cook with, and to fill up any canteens.
There were no stories told around the campfire that night. Any words spoken were chosen carefully and kept short, such as the call for dinner and orders to get to sleep as if they were young children had the sailor bristling, though the smithy somehow managed to calm him down.
Oh yes, this group was a powder keg waiting to explode.
The dawn offered little relief. A good sleep helped somewhat, but the likely promise of an upcoming day’s aimless trek quickly smothered any remaining positivity. Breakfast was as silent and terse as dinner last night and camp was broken with more than one sigh.
Step after step after step. It was an endless sound, multiplied by nine and none of them in time with the others, creating a strange discordant chorus amongst the breeze, birds, and whatever critters were nearby. Would it truly be better if they were marching in time? That would be a bigger dissonance amidst the ambience of nature.
The sun crawled ever so slowly across the sky, like the world’s roundest, slowest caterpillar. Perhaps a snail would be more accurate. Not that the chosen analogy mattered much when the end result was still the same. Time ticked on and their shadows changed alongside the sun’s path, sometimes sharp and sometimes blurry.
A vague ringing instantly caught everyone’s attention, frayed nerves reacting instantly and putting them all on their guard.
Ring ring ring ring ring ring! Ring ring ring ring ring ring!
Such a sound usually meant monsters were not far away.
Finally, some action!
Strange little imp-like creatures began to swarm them, waving tridents and screeching out war cries. They were colourful, with skin of different hues, and there were plenty of them.
“What are these things?” someone asked.
“Miniblins!” shouted Wind.
“Are these baby Bokoblins?” asked the rancher. His tone was an odd mix of awe and disgust.
The sailor wrinkled his nose while drawing his sword, crouching a little. “Ew, gross, and no. I think. Maybe? I don’t know and I don’t want to know!”
They did resemble the sailor’s Bokoblins in miniature, just with wider and wicked grins, full of sharp fangs. The Miniblins leered and gnashed their teeth, poking away with their weapons. Wind swept his sword in a wide but low arc, catching several of them attempting to block the swing. His momentum carried their small bodies along for the ride and they were left staggering back and bowled over by the force.
One or two that hadn’t blocked disappeared with despairing wails, their death grins visible only for mere moments.
“Ow!” cried Legend. The sharp tip of a trident had caught him on the side of his knee, leaving a bloody gash behind. “Son of a Leever and a Buzz Blob!”
An orange-gold blade was rammed right through the offending Miniblin’s torso. It barely had time to gurgle before it vanished in a puff of dark smoke. The veteran’s eyes were dark with vengeful promise, and he waded into the fray with clenched teeth and a sword arm powered by spite and fury.
With how low they had to sweep their blades, for most it felt akin to cutting grass. There were no helpful surprises once the Miniblins were cut down though, just splatters of dark blood, high-pitched growls, wails, yells, and wispy dark smoke that quickly dissipated.
Some monsters in spotty and ratty underwear came to back up the miniature horde of ‘blins. Some had piggish snouts with big floppy ears, while others had more human and rounded features, though all of them were ugly and smelled gravely offensive. They moved in on the group, shoring up places where the Miniblins had been thinned out.
A number of the newcomers had shields and were actually doing a semi-decent job of fending off attacks while returning with their own.
There were just too many. The heroes were boxed in close quarters; there was hardly room enough to safely swing a sword between them.
Sky slashed one of his Bokoblins across the face, blinding it at the very least, but then let out a yelp.
The Blade of Evil’s Bane had gotten caught between the prongs of a Miniblin’s trident. Two more Bokoblins stepped forward, a club swung by one making a nasty crunching sound as it hit Sky’s right arm. The sword fell from his now slack grip and the Miniblin wasted no time in swinging its trident around, sending the blade away from its master.
The champion, spotting the blade heading right for him, took half a step to the side and caught the handle as it whirled by.
Honestly, he was lucky not to have sliced his hand off with such a stunt. But the luck was indeed with him as he used his newfound weapon to great effect, slashing and slicing at any ‘blin that lay in his range. In his wake were cries of pain and dismay, with the occasional grunt as one managed a lucky block.
Then the sword vanished into wisps of bright cyan light.
Oh.
Oh no.
Sky had already chewed Wild out over the Master Sword’s disappearing act once before. He had no intention of sitting through a repeat performance. But for it to happen in the middle of a fight?
The caped hero was laying about his foes with his whip, sharp cracks splitting the air whenever the whip was flung forward. It was not the best weapon for close quarters combat or melee, but he’d managed to clear a space around himself so that he could get in some good swings.
He was too busy to have noticed the sword vanish.
But now the champion was left almost defenceless. He had a wooden shield, but it was damaged from previous battles and trying to attack with it would only break it quicker. Wild reached into his weapon stash, pulling out the first thing his fingers closed around.
A halberd. That would do.
The cook hacked and slashed, making mincemeat out of the monsters despite their attempts at teamwork and strategy. The others were not slouching about either, and the horde gradually thinned out until there were only a few stragglers, desperately trying to rally together and mount a defence to escape.
They stood no chance against nine heroes on the warpath.
Finally, the last of them was dispatched. There were no monsters left, but there was also no Master Sword. A fact which did not go unnoticed.
“Where’s the Master Sword?” Sky asked as he cast his gaze around the battlefield. His voice had an unyielding edge to it, and it sent shivers down more than one spine.
“I saw the cook with it at one point,” said Hyrule.
Sky immediately turned toward Wild and looked at him imploringly.
Wild shuffled his feet and poked his fingers together, hanging his head and giving the Skyloftian a helpless, pleading look. “Gone,” he said in a near whisper.
“I’m sorry,” said Sky cheerfully, “did you say gone?”
The champion could only nod.
“Gone how?” Sky’s tone had gone from bright and bubbly to something low and dark.
Wild was sure that voice would feature in his nightmares from this point on. His own voice failed him, and he tried to mime the wisps of light awkwardly.
“It did that disappearing trick again, right?” asked the veteran.
The champion could have kissed Legend right then. He settled for quickly nodding. Maybe he would get a chance to pay him back later if Sky left him alive and didn’t sever his limbs one by one.
Sky’s face flushed red with anger, his brows drawing down to create deep furrows. He visibly kept himself in check and took several deep, calming breaths.
That is no Hylian, Wild thought. That is a predator!
No wonder the guy was not afraid of cuccos!
“It will show back up later, will it not?” Time asked.
Both Wild and Sky nodded.
“Then shelve this for later,” the eldest ordered. “We need to keep moving.”
No one seemed to be quite sure where they were moving to, but no one dared to speak up or contradict Time’s words. Seeing Sky get angry was bad enough.
They cleaned weapons, got themselves sorted out, and resumed walking. If it had been tense before, it was nothing to how things felt now. The heavy atmosphere was such that all nine heads were hanging somewhat low, and shoulders were hunched up defensively. It was evident that Time was trying to bear up under the weight, but this was something his armour would not help block.
Wild studiously avoided Sky and his dark gaze.
Every step seemed ridiculously loud. The crunch accentuated the shifting noises as the foot moved, like incessant buzzing in his ears. The actual buzz of insects reminded him of Sheikah technology – that awful hum of power that signalled a Guardian of any sort. It set him on edge, and he clenched his teeth, ignoring the ache that began in his jaw.
After a short time that ache became fierce, and every single tooth felt like it hurt. He finally released the pressure and the lower half of his face tingled with an odd sort of vague pins and needles sensation.
Nobody spoke. Wild had his own reason for keeping his silence and he spent several minutes thinking up possible reasons why everyone else was keeping quiet. These reasons ranged from being afraid to draw attention, to having their mouth glued shut from eating something sticky.
Okay, so that last one wasn’t exactly feasible, but it was fun to think of. Would someone be able to speak with an Octo balloon on their head? Would it distort the sound beyond recognition?
Now his thoughts were getting a little ridiculous.
The silence remained however, still thick and heavy. The sun was crawling along as slowly as ever, and the shadows the heroes cast grew longer and longer.
When a suitable campsite was found, the group unanimously – and silently – decided to set up camp. Chores were decided individually, and things were done quickly and efficiently. Soon enough there was a pot hanging over the fire, a stew slowly cooking away.
“Our enemies are getting smarter,” said Warriors.
It was a poignant statement that cut through the quiet like a hot knife through butter.
“They are,” said Time, his one good eye narrowed in thought. “We need to adjust for that.”
“I’m so used to monsters screaming, giving war cries while stampeding, running around almost mindlessly, that it’s weird to see them work together and implement any sort of coherent strategy,” Hyrule said, his hands moving to help illustrate his point.
“Like they needed another thing that stupid black blood does for them,” Legend muttered.
The cook was unable to tell if the veteran’s tone was angry or sulky. For all he knew it was both. He was definitely unhappy about it, although Wild could relate. Nothing, not one single thing about the situation was good.
“We don’t need anyone getting disarmed again,” said Warriors. He wasn’t looking at anyone, but everyone else glanced towards Sky anyway.
Sky’s brows furrowed. “Trust me, it won’t happen again,” he said firmly. “But speaking of being disarmed…”
There was that look. That angry, I’m so disappointed in you look that Sky seemed to master effortlessly. With his shoulders raised like hackles, his white cape like cumulus clouds, the Skyloftian resembled a storm cloud, ready to lash at him with strong winds, flashes of lightning, and a barrage of stinging rain.
“It always does that, I never mean for it to happen,” Wild said defensively.
“You took hold of it and used it even knowing it would disappear on you?” Time asked, his tone bordering incredulous. Murmurs of agreements rose from several others and the smith was glaring darkly at the cook.
“You knew the magical sword would vanish if you used it?!” Smithy burst out, throwing his hands in the air.
“It was the only weapon to hand, what choice did I have?” he shouted back.
“How you got to be a hero with your weapons like that I’ll never know!” Four said loudly. He turned his back to the champion and sat down, pointedly staring at the cooking pot.
It was getting heated around the campfire, and it had nothing to do with the crackle and pop of the flames.
“Are you even a true hero after failing originally?” asked Time. His gaze seemed far away, but his words cut like knife wounds.
“I did my trials,” he said darkly. “I’ve earned my heroism.”
After waking up from the Shrine of Resurrection, everything had been a trial. Then there were the Shrines. Dozens and dozens of them, each with their own trial held within, just waiting for him to finally come along and solve them. Some needed a trial just to get them to appear in the first place!
Then there was the Sheikah Slate. Finding and climbing those towers, gathering the different runes, cataloguing this and that. Exploring places that needed special elixirs or equipment that let his fragile Hylian body survive. Braving not only the elements, but the monsters and wildlife that seemed determined to end him no matter where he went.
Surely freeing the four Divine Beasts counted – he had defeated the very evils that had claimed the lives of the original four champions after all, and that was no small feat.
There was, of course, the trial the Master Sword had put him through; testing his strength and spirit before allowing itself to be drawn. That had almost been as gruelling as all of the shrines combined.
Wild firmly thought he’d earned back his title of Champion and Hero.
“I don’t think you have,” said Warriors, folding his arms.
“I am a hero and a champion!” he shot back.
“You’re such a disgusting coward that you can’t even wield the Master Sword properly!” the captain spat.
Wild recoiled as if struck.
No.
No.
NO!
He’d earned it! He’d done so much! He was no coward!
Wild had no idea why the Master Sword disappeared and reappeared for him, and only him, but the sword’s behaviour did not brand him as any less of a hero!
…didn’t it?
It had to, right?
He’d bested the four Blights that ruled the Divine Beasts and taken down Calamity Ganon itself! Was that not what the fabled hero did? Defeat Ganon?
That automatically made him a hero, even if he hadn’t managed it the first time around, didn’t it?
…didn’t it?
Wild desperately wanted the answer to be yes, but he honestly wasn’t sure. The Master Sword never vanished on any of the others on the rare occasion Sky had handed the blade over. In their hands, the Blade of Evil’s Bane was a steadfast, reliable weapon; a proper extension of the fighter that wielded her.
In his hands the blade proved to be one of his sturdier weapons but, after a short time, use of the blade against foes sent it disappearing into the ether. He could always summon the weapon back after a time, but the sword was never a constant companion like it was for the others that had wielded her before him.
Did his initial failure really rank him as unworthy in the blade’s metaphorical eyes? In the few scattered memories he had of the time before the Shrine of Resurrection the blade was always with him. He could train and fight as much as needed and the sword remained with him.
But now… Now, despite the many trials, shrines, towers, and tribulations, the Master Sword only granted him its power for a short time before leaving.
Was he really nothing more than some unworthy coward playing at being the hero?
Did Hylia think of him as some child that got limited time to play with repaired toys after breaking them the first go around? Did she worry he would damage the blade again if left to play with it long enough?
Wild took a step back, wide eyes focused on the captain. Warriors’ hands were balled into fists, his stance was wide and ready, his shoulders tense. Every inch of him seemed ready for a fight.
The world turned blurry and Wild tried to blink away the tears that had built up. They spilled over his cheeks freely, instantly building back up and distorting the world once more.
He took another step back.
Then he turned and ran.
There was barely enough light left to see the ground properly but Wild charged ahead, stumbling here and there. He jumped over a big, exposed tree root only to roll his ankle on a rock that had lain hidden behind it. He hissed and dragged himself back upright, forging ahead in a lanky, limping gait, like a dog with one injured paw held up.
He had no idea where he was. Nothing looked familiar aside from being the same sort of place they’d walked through for hours.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
No, the only thing that mattered was getting away from the others – from the true heroes.
It was clear Hylia loved them more, especially the first among them, Sky.
Perhaps she’d only let him try again because there was no one else while he was still alive, hogging the spirit that was said to be passed down and possessed by every hero.
Would Hyrule be better off if he’d never been placed in the Shrine of Resurrection, but passed away to let another inherit the spirit? Surely in the past one hundred years there had been people that would’ve made amazing heroes if given the chance. Had Zelda made a mistake by saving him?
Was him being here now nothing more than a mistake that Hylia tolerated for some reason?
His run had slowed to a very hobbled jog, his ankle screeching at him, but he ignored it. He glanced back over his shoulder, but no one seemed to be following him.
Was that a gift or a curse?
The ground dropped out from beneath his good foot, and he pitched over, flailing and windmilling his arms desperately. His injured foot couldn’t gain enough traction to stop him, and he fell. The thought of rolling into a ball to lessen the impact hit him a mere moment before the ground did.
He lay there, prone and sprawled like a tossed doll, and gasped air into his lungs. His ribs protested the movement and his vision blurred again. Wild let the tears fall, quietly sobbing and sniffling.
He had no desire to move.
What would be the point?
Perhaps Warriors was right. He was nothing more than a coward. After all, what had he done but run away like some scared little child?
He certainly hadn’t acted like a brave, courageous hero.
He’d taken the easy way out. The coward’s way.
Hylia had obviously decided to prove what a bad decision that had been as his ankle throbbed in time with his racing heart. He hurt all over from the fall, though he was thankful that nothing was broken. Well, hopefully, he mentally amended, his focus drawn to his painful ankle.
He couldn’t even run away properly.
After several long moments of hitched breaths and quiet sobs, the champion rolled onto his side and curled up the best he could, hands hugging his knees. He would stay here for a while and then…
Then what? Would there even be a point in returning to the others when he wasn’t truly a part of the group? They could manage without him, he was sure.
Maybe Hylia would take pity on her broken doll and send him home somehow.
Once back home he could pretend to be the Champion his blue tunic portrayed him as and help keep the roads clear of monsters. That much, at least, he could manage. Hopefully that was enough.
The grass was cool and tickled his exposed skin slightly, but he paid it no attention. His tears were watering a tiny patch of grass beneath his head, and he absently wondered if the salty water was good for it or not.
His heart finally began to slow from his frantic dash, and he felt every beat thud against his ribs as he lay there. It wasn’t exactly safe out here alone, yet he didn’t want to return to the others. He’d left the cooking pot over the fire too. One of the others could surely manage to finish cooking it and serve it up. Even if he did go back, he wouldn’t eat any of it. His stomach was roiling, doing its utmost to tie itself into as many knots as it could manage; his stomach acid being wrung out and eating away at all of his other organs, leaving him feeling hollow.
Would anyone bother to come looking for him?
They would only find an empty husk unfit for travelling with them if they did.
Hylia wouldn’t mind if he just stayed here, would she? He would waste away, leaving only bones behind, and she could find another hero. Or perhaps she would want him to at least finish this current quest first – no hero should leave a quest unfinished after all.
He had learnt that particular lesson better than anyone.
With a weary sigh, his heart so heavy it felt like a stone settled in his stomach, Wild got onto all fours. He pushed up onto his feet and immediately fell down with a hissed curse. Of course, his injured ankle. He’d been feeling so much that the pain from it had felt negligible and he’d clean forgotten all about it.
The ankle was eager to make its presence known and he groaned, bracing himself and trying again. He wobbled but remained upright, most of his weight leaning on his uninjured side. He gingerly turned around to survey the small cliff he’d fallen down. It was only a foot or so taller than him and seemed easy enough to climb in the low level of moonlight.
Well, easy enough to climb if he was completely hale. He wasn’t sure his bad ankle was up to the task. He put his foot flat against the ground, winced, and immediately raised it again. Even meagre weight upon his toes sent twinges and pangs zipping up his foot and leg.
Climbing on that ankle was going to be an iffy prospect at best. Perhaps there was a way around. Although the idea of walking was not an attractive one either. He limped to the cliff and raised his hands, looking for firm handholds. Dirt crumbled under his fingers and palms.
Yeah, okay, there was no climbing that. Looking for a way around it was.
He grit his teeth, set his jaw, squared his shoulders and started walking along the cliffside. It was a reassuring barrier visually and physically. Now and then he’d reach out and press a hand against it to help him limp along when the pain spiked too much.
Time passed much slower than it had seemed to during his dash earlier. Now he could hear various insects serenading the night with chirps, buzzing, and tiny clicks. It was a melody of pure nature, and it brought a small, tired smile to his face. There was hardly any breeze to rustle leaves, leaving the air feeling still and expectant, just waiting for something to happen.
Wild moved slowly. He was in no rush, and his ankle did not allow for anything faster than a limp anyway. Part of him wondered if anyone had tried to follow him. Would he encounter them along the way? Would they miss each other? Had anyone even bothered to come after him in the first place?
Half of him hoped no one had. It was far safer to stay with the group around the campfire instead of roaming around alone in the dark. The other half of him clung to some frayed strands of hope – tucked deep away in a corner of his soul – that someone cared enough to follow him and offer comfort and support.
He heard no footsteps and saw no approaching light. The strands frayed further, becoming wispy things just barely hanging on. He limped on, eyeing the cliff hopefully as it gradually descended. When it was chest high he hoisted himself up, pushing off with his good foot. He flopped over the edge, rolled away from it, then wearily got to his feet and started off in the direction he hoped the camp was.
How far had he actually gone while running? Without that speed, it would likely take him quite a while to get back to the others – if he didn’t get lost along the way.
But wasn’t he already lost? Adrift in time with companions he couldn’t hope to live up to. He was a stray sheep in wolf’s clothing, hiding amongst the pack. And now he was returning, shorn of his disguise, to throw himself at the mercy of their fangs.
The champion was used to being alone, but this trek was nothing short of lonely. Bleak bits of moonlight dappled his surroundings now and then, barely giving enough light to let him see by. He was slowed further by the knowledge that there were likely tree roots waiting to trip him up again, his steps almost a shuffle.
Time dragged on, seemingly slower than he was moving, and he perked his ears, waiting to hear voices from the others.
If someone had indeed gone after him, then he should have met them by now. The knowledge that no one cared enough to chase after him hurt, stinging like salt water on an open wound. The fraying threads started to snap one by one.
It seemed he wasn’t needed or wanted.
He continued on anyway and – there! Voices! And a faint orange light! He limped closer as quietly as he could manage, determined to get the lay of the land before revealing himself.
“Don’t you think it’s been long enough?” asked Twilight. He was frowning and seemed tense, like a coiled snake about to strike.
“He’s a capable guy, he knows how to keep himself safe,” said Hyrule.
“Yeah, in his own time in familiar surroundings!”
Time stared directly at the rancher. “We agreed to give him some space. It hasn’t been all that long. Give him a little longer before you chase him down. He might not appreciate our company right now.”
“I know I wouldn’t if I were him,” Legend muttered, poking at the fire with a stick.
“I can’t believe I said such a thing to him…”
There was Warriors, sitting on the ground in a hunched little ball, his brow furrowed and his teeth gently worrying at his lower lip, one hand running through his hair.
“You better apologise,” said Wind sternly. He was frowning at the captain, arms crossed, an unhappy pout clear on his face.
“He’ll likely never want to speak to me again…”
“Doesn’t matter,” snapped the smith. “You’re still going to apologise. Whether it’s accepted or not will be entirely up to him, and you’ll just have to live with whatever his answer may be.”
The fraying strands grew a little stronger as a seed of hope sprouted, its tiny, fragile vines reinforcing them.
“You alone are not to blame,” said Sky. His head was in his hands as he sat cross legged on the ground. His shoulders were hunched and his gaze, from the bit he could see, seemed far away.
Time sighed. “I, too, must seek his forgiveness. I cannot take back my words, but I will try and make up for them if he grants me the chance.”
Twilight shifted, staring at his lap. “That’s if he ever returns and decides to speak to any of us ever again.”
“Let me go look for him!” the sailor said.
“No,” Time rebutted immediately. “Having one of us roaming around alone in the dark is bad enough.
“You were gonna let the rancher go,” Wind argued.
Time narrowed his good eye at the youngest hero. “Because he is far more familiar with this type of terrain and tracking things in it.”
Wind hmphed and sat down like an angry child that was denied dessert.
“Surely there’s no harm in tracking him down by now?” Twilight tried again.
The champion swallowed heavily. “No need,” he said quietly, stepping out from between the trees.
“Wild!”
“You’re back!”
“Champion!”
Various exclamations met his ears. He wanted to move forward and sit down, to finally take the weight off his ankle completely, but some small part dug its cold claws through his limbs, keeping them rooted to the ground.
Warriors scrambled to his feet, his expression contrite. “Champion, listen… I had no right to say that to you. It was utterly wrong of me, and I fear I cannot apologise enough,” he said, the words delivered in the deliberate, clipped tones of a soldier.
Time also stood to face him. “I apologise as well. You are indeed a true hero, and I had no right to say what I did.”
It was as if a balm had been rubbed over a burn, cooling and soothing it. It didn’t heal the burn right away though. His gaze jumped from one hero to another, settling on Time and Warriors last. “I’m not going to pretend an apology will make everything better,” he said.
Time nodded in acceptance and Warriors’ eyes were pained as he slumped a little.
“But it’s a good start.”
Time gave a tiny smile and Warriors nodded, looking hopeful. The cook limped over to the fire and gingerly lifted the pot’s lid. It was almost done.
“You’re limping!” exclaimed Wind.
“What happened?” asked Hyrule.
“Rolled it on a rock,” he admitted with a shrug. Warriors appeared even more guilty at this and Wild tried hard to ignore him.
Legend was standing before him, a roll of bandages held in his hands. “Get that boot off,” he ordered.
Wild sat down with a small groan and grabbed his boot. He pulled and winced. His ankle was swollen, and getting his boot off was going to be a chore. He watched as Legend went over to his bag and pulled out the Ice Rod and a piece of cloth. The blue crystal at the tip of the rod glowed a brilliant blue as Legend activated it, before covering the crystal and blocking the light with the cloth.
“Boot off,” Legend reminded him.
Wild pulled again, jiggling the boot this way and that in increments. Slowly, bit by bit, the boot was wiggled off. He hissed, which turned partly into a sigh of relief. Legend used one hand to peel off his sock, then wrapped the now cold cloth around his ankle, the rod laying innocently off to his side.
The sailor scuttled around to sit right behind the cook, their backs touching. He was a warm, reassuring presence, and Wild leaned lightly against him happily. He could almost feel the younger boy’s grin.
After several minutes, in which the cold cloth had nicely numbed his ankle, Legend removed it and grabbed the roll of bandages. With deft, practised movements, the veteran wrapped his limb from mid shin to the ball of his foot. He had clearly done this before, probably on himself, and it made him sad and grateful at the same time.
Sad because the veteran shouldn’t need to have such knowledge, but grateful that he did since Wild wasn’t good with bandages. He was pretty sure he didn’t even own any in the first place. That was something he would have to remedy.
Legend tied the bandage off. “There. Stay off it for the rest of the night.”
Wild hummed his agreement easily. Then he realised he couldn’t check on the pot of food without getting up and frowned. The veteran’s eyes tracked his gaze and he motioned for Twilight to tend to the food. Wild gave him a grateful smile and the veteran smiled back, giving his wrapped foot a quick yet gentle pat.
The tendrils from the seed of hope grew stronger and thicker, filling some of the newly hollowed space. There was still a considerable amount of cold, empty space left behind, but it was slowly being filled with warmth and care from the others.
He leaned a little harder against Wind and happily accepted a bowl of food from Twilight. Maybe he had failed once, but he had made up for it many times over. He wasn’t sure why the Master Sword acted the way it did with him, and this may not be the last time an incident would arise regarding it.
But he was not alone on this quest.