Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You wish for me to infiltrate their ranks, master?”

Dark Link tries to keep the incredulous disbelief from his voice. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how idiotic this plan or his master is being. If that was what Demise wanted, that would be what it got. Demise did not accept disobedience. Or failure.

As expected, his master’s power flares furiously, the shadows writhing around where Dark kneels before the massive pit of scaled tar-like substance that only barely contains Demise’s true form. “Are you questioning me, servant?”

Oh, it's 'servant' today, is it? That’s much nicer than usual. This new idiotic plan must have his master in a good mood.

“No, master,” Dark answers, careful to keep his usual caustic self in check. For now. Or at least while he’s in the presence of a being who could wipe him from existence and leave nothing but a smudge on the temple floors. “I simply wanted to be certain of my task.”

…Damn it. Dark bites his cheek, knowing immediately that he messed up. He could not have possibly picked worse wording. In response, an inhuman growl echoes through the chamber. Debris falls from the already crumbling ceiling.

“You do not want things, Dark Link,” the shadows surge, malice-scorched tendrils writhe from between cracks in the floors to wrap around him. They tighten around his limbs until his bones creak and inflamed burns sear through his clothes to the black skin below. Dark forces himself to be still. To not scream, or react in any noticeable way. Doing so would only prolong the pain. “You obey, and nothing more.”

Dark bows down further, despite the agony the movement causes. His voice is practiced, as even and calm as he can make it. “Yes, master.”

The scaly tendrils tighten further in one last warning, before slithering away slowly. Dark does not let himself sag in relief, or visibly acknowledge the pain of his burnt and bruised skin. He’ll scream later, like he always does.

“Good,” Demise rumbles, satisfied. At Dark’s words or his pain, he doesn’t know. “Now, GO!”

Dark stands, and goes.

He doesn’t go very far. The Temple of Darkness, isolated as it is from Hyrule in the Dark World, is the best source he has for supplies and weapons. If he’s going to face all nine heroes from across time at once, he’s going to make sure he is as prepared as possible.

The temple is a massive, sprawling, corrupted thing. It couldn’t rightfully be called a proper building, not with how the architecture warps in unfeasible ways. Ceilings became floors, walls turned into windows, stairs led to nowhere, and doors opened to shear drops. The walls, when they were actual walls, watched with thousands of malice-ridden eyes. The stones that made up the floors, which sometimes became ceilings, screamed and shifted as if to escape their wretched fate.

Reality is weak here, this far into the Dark World. The temple is constantly warping and shuddering against itself, occasionally making completely new hallways, rooms, and towers. Sometimes entire wings of the temple would collapse, only to rebuild as something different moments later. Needless to say, a map is useless in a place as corrupted as this.

The only lights besides the eerie glow of malice are the dizzying dance of poe lanterns floating through the halls. Dark will never admit the how those little spots of brightness comfort and calm him, even though he does not need light to see. Yet the spirits that held them are nothing like the playful and mischievous ghosts that have haunted Hyrule throughout the ages. These poes are vicious and malignant, hissing and cackling angrily at anything that comes near.

Dark, of course, hisses right back. The poe nearest to him scurries away in fear, accidentally phasing through the floor and tripping over its lantern in its haste to leave. Good. Dark is in no mood to listen to their deathly woes right now.

Most other monsters and creatures of darkness in the temple stay well clear of Dark’s path, sensing his foul temper. Or, perhaps, because he could easily wipe the floor any of them. Dark is one of the most powerful beings here, aside from Demise itself. Not that anything could truly compare to his master, who has single-handedly supplied the power to corrupt the lands of Hyrule repeatedly for ages. Dark, summoned to do Demise’s bidding, only uses a fraction of such power.

Still, Dark is strong in his own right. Thousands of years seeped in any sort of magic, especially dark magic, tends to do that to a person. Creature. Thing. Reflection. Whatever he is.

But is he strong enough to face all the heroes of the ages at once?

Seeing as they’ve defeated him repeatedly in one-on-one combat every time he’s faced them, probably not.

…Except he’s not fighting them, this time.

“Infiltrate the group of heroes,” Demise had commanded, “and destroy them from within.”

“How wonderfully vague,” Dark gripes. Quietly, because he’s never certain how much his master can hear within the temple walls.

So, he’s supposed to… what? Spy on them? Sow chaos? Poison their food? Break their equipment? Place some convenient bombs in their supply bags? Maybe take part in some light stabbing in the night?

…Befriend them?

Dark scoffs at the wayward thought. Yeah, right. That’s not going to happen. There’s no way in a million timelines that would allow for such an absurd thing to occur. The heroes would never let a dark being such as himself so close. Metaphorically or literally. He’s far more likely to get killed. Again.

Conquer yourself!

The Master Sword cuts through his chest, holy light burning him from the inside out—

Conquer yourself!

Thunder cracks the skies, bolts of lightning piercing down to tear his shadowed form asunder—

Conquer yourself!

A hammer slams him down into the bottomless waters and—

Conquer yourself!

The hero conquers himself. The test is passed. They win, Dark Link loses. The hero carries on with their adventure, and their reflection is left behind to wonder why things are the way they are without ever getting an answer.

Dark still has no answer, even after all this time. Such is the way it has always been across every era he’d been summoned to. It was always fight the hero. Attack and die. Over and over.

Not befriend the hero.

Still, the thought gives him pause. Could he befriend them? Not to actually become friends, of course, but to get them to like him to the point of trusting him? It would be one way to get close enough to the heroes to destroy them as his master commanded.

Certainly not an easy way. The heroes of the goddess are basically hardwired to attack anything with a lick of dark magic in it, and Dark Link definitely qualified. Especially since he has faced most of them before.

The thing is, they’re also hardwired to help and become friends with almost anything in existence. Half of their journeys involved talking to every single person they set their eyes on and helping them with random nonsensical tasks.

Theoretically, if Dark didn’t attack and instead tried talking to them, they’d listen.

Maybe.

…Probably not.

But! It's worth a try. Outside of disguising himself and praying for a miracle from a goddess that hates everything he represents, befriending the heroes seems to be the most viable way to complete his task.

He just needs to not stab any of them.

Or get stabbed. Or riddled with arrows. Or fried by a dozen different types of magical artifacts at once. The injuries Demise had given him would likely not compare to whatever the heroes have in mind. They could be so creative when dispatching their enemies.

Would they attack a friendly Dark?

“There’s only one way to find out,” Dark supposes, before pausing as realization sets in what this means.

…Ugh.

He’s going to have to be nice.

Chapter Text

Dark arms himself to the teeth before leaving.

Every weapon, explosive, poison, and magic potion he finds is subsequently stuffed into his shadow for later. If the others attack him despite his efforts of being… nice… he’s going to defend himself. Those Links might have a hero’s sense of self-preservation, which is to say none at all, but Dark does.

So, he prepares. Dark is not about to go waltzing up to those goddess-blessed warriors without some sort of strategy. For that, he needs information. He doesn’t even know where the happy band of idiots are right now, or when. Because thank you, time-travel.

A headache pulses between his temples as he makes his way back to his room. Which is less of a “room” and more of a cell carved out of a chunk of temple that the warped reality of the place had decided could be semi-permanent. Sometimes. He’s had to scramble to save his stuff multiple times as the walls and floors shifted or disappeared.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t truly own anything. What he does have are weapons and items scavenged or stolen from other corrupted creatures living in the temple. Dark would never admit it out loud, but he quite enjoyed collecting magical artifacts. And exploring, in general. Probably a side-affect from being a Link, but one he actually enjoys. Unfortunately, his existence rarely allowed for such a luxury.

Not only is Dark primarily a creature of chaos, as such creatures rarely existed in one place long enough to do such mundane things as explore, but he is also bound into service to a being that couldn’t care less about his wants.

As if binding a creature of chaos to anything isn’t bad enough.

Even now, the tether tying him to Demise is wrapped tightly around his core. It feeds him the dark magic he needs to sustain a corporeal form, yes, but at the cost of his freedom. With it, Demise could do whatever it wants with him.

Including sending him on pointless quests leading him into the hands of his enemies.

Dark sighs, taking a moment to despair his fate before entering the room.

The door tries to bite him as he enters, and Dark kicks it open, not in any mood to lose his fingers to an irritable slab of corrupted wood.

The small space beyond is mostly barren, with no personal affects or decorations. The only furniture is a plain wooden chair, the grain twisted, placed in front of a cracked table. Blackened chains hang from the ceiling, shifting lightly in an imaginary breeze. Malice leaks from the corners, oozing into piles and puddles of gloom given form. Dark has tried to remove the substance multiple times before, but it always returned to laugh at his efforts. Sometimes literally. Thick bars cover the only window, which was more of a broken hole in the stained bricks than an actual window. Outside is a maelstrom of soundless storms, endless as the abyss.

Dark ignores it all, gathering up his weapons, before crouching down to loosen the stone hiding his single most precious treasure.

A small moonpearl, folded carefully in small scrap of fabric.

The moonpearl glows with light all but forgotten in to the Dark World. Pure and bright, it is the only source of light that does not outright harm a being of shadows. Small but powerful, it can break most any curse.

He gathers up his pearl with gentle fingers. He only has the one, carefully strung on a nigh-unbreakable chain and protected under several layers of magic. Dark loops it reverently around his neck, tucking it safely out of sight under his tunic. It hums against his skin, cooling the ever-present rage.

A side-affect a curse from his dear master.

Dark is bound to Demise, and hereby its Malice. With a moonpearl however, the effect fades... Allows him to think. To not fall to madness and mindless wrath.

Demise must never know he has it.

So Dark hides it whenever he is summoned and makes sure the moonpearl stays far from his master’s many, many eyes. If Demise knew he has been using the artifact to resist its corruption, the item would be shattered along with Dark in moments.

Hurried now, the urge to leave growing exponentially, he leaves the room as quickly as he can.

He glances back one last time, to the toothy door and the desolate chair and bent table beyond it, and thinks: at least he doesn’t have anything to miss. There’s no such thing as home to a creature such as Dark.

When the portal activates, he walks through without a thought.

Wherever, whenever, it takes him would be better than here.

“Nevermind,” Dark spits out a mouthful of sand. “This is worse.”

Never, in all the eras he’s visited, is the middle of the Gerudo desert a good place to be stranded in. Especially as a being of darkness in the noonday sun.

Going from the portal chamber, a massive but dim and dingy place with nothing but a lone altar with the glowing Gate floating on it, to here was not dissimilar to headbutting one of the golden goddesses just to see what would happen. The answer? A headache, and lots of cursing.

Had someone tampered with the portal? The Gate, a small triangular artifact that Demise created as a bastardized version of Hylia’s power over time, is exceedingly powerful. It could not be moved from its pedestal, but is able to open rifts through time and space. The portals it created were small and limited, requiring a recharge time after each use, but that didn’t stop Demise from using it to dispatch swathes of monsters to Hyrule throughout the ages.

Dark is forever thankful that the artifact is not powerful enough to send Demise anywhere.

The fallen god had tried, once. Readied its armies, used the Gate to tear through time, and made to surge through to exact its unending revenge on Hyrule and the goddess who protects the land.

The artifact had shattered upon contact, forcing Demise to create a second one and delaying its siege of Hyrule by centuries.

Those were the most peaceful years Dark had experienced in a long time.

Regardless, the portal was meant to take Dark where he willed it, which was supposed to be near the heroes. If he ever finds out the artifact had been messed with, whoever did so is going to find several sharp objects sheathed between each of their ribs like a particularly hideous weapons rack.

…Who is he kidding? It was probably Demise itself. Smug bastard is probably happily writhing around in its bottomless pit of tar laughing its non-existent ass off.

Meanwhile, goddess-damned sun is melting Dark into the ground.

Literally.

Dark picks himself off the dune he’d been haphazardly tossed into, takes two steps into the sandy, scorched wasteland of the Gerudo region and says “Nope,” and melts himself down into the shadows. The sunlight wouldn’t kill him, but damn did it suck.  

The desert is mostly barren, but blessedly riddled with sparse rocks, ruins, signposts, and the occasional wildlife that offer shadows he could hide in as a reprieve. Any animals living in the region are sturdy in a way only survival can grant, and Dark appreciates that strength.

He also appreciates that birds can fly so fast. Dark hitches a ride in the shadow of a hawk as it sails over the dunes. Traveling in such a way is much better than walking the whole blasted desert, if horribly uncomfortable.

“Stupid desert,” Dark hisses into the uncaring sands and the scorching sunlight, as the bird’s shadow tosses him up and down each dune in nauseating succession.

“Stupid portals,” he spits as his shadowy form phases over a particularly dense rock. Why did the portal have to dump him in the middle of nowhere? It was supposed to appear near the heroes, or at least somewhere with viable resources. Not Gerudo desert.

“Stupid birds,” he grouses, as the bird decides gliding leisurely in circles for twenty minutes is a good idea, despite the obvious lack of any prey or water source. Eventually, the bird carries on.  

“Stupid mission,” he curses, quieter, in case his master is somehow listening. He doubts Demise would be snooping in on a random bird’s shadow, but still. It never hurt to be careful. The last time Demise caught wind of Dark’s sharp tongue, he’d spent ten years in isolation sealed in a crystal at the bottom of the temple.

Dark is so thoroughly distracted cursing at random inconveniences that he almost shrieks aloud when he passes directly over a hero.

The sheer amount of light contained within their skin is blinding, moreso than the desert sun. Though the contact barely lasts a split second, Dark feels the goddess’ favor scrape over his entire being. Had he known a hero was going to be right there, he would have changed forms or jumped to a different shadow out of their path. Facing that much light while in such a vulnerable shape as a shadow was the equivalent to skinny-dipping in Malice for a regular hylian.

Thankfully, the touch was brief, and Dark only has to wheeze painfully for a few seconds before he recovers. After determining that he’s not going to be burnt to embers by holy light before he even gets the chance to carry out his mission, he peeks out of the bird’s shadow to look back at whoever he brushed over.

…Ugh.

Of course it was the Hero of Time. That fairy-boy has so much magic infused into his soul that Dark wouldn’t be surprised if he sneezed rainbows. It's no wonder that passing through his shadow felt like licking a lightning rod.

Other heroes are there, too. Their travel momentarily paused as they looked around in alarm, peppering the Hero of Time with questions Dark can’t hear. The man has his sword drawn, however, his one eye searching the sands with suspicion.

…Oops. He must have sensed Dark as he passed through.

Good, Dark thinks, vindictively. Hopefully it was as jarring for him as it was for Dark. Like a bucket of ice dumped over his head in the night. Daringly, Dark sticks his hand out of the shadow to flip the heroes off from a distance.

He swears he sees one of them do a double-take, before the next dune blocks their line of sight.

Chapter Text

The bird continued to take him further from the heroes, but at least now he knew the portal hadn’t dropped him in some random empty corner of the timeline. His targets were nearby, all he has to do now is catch up to them.

Luckily (or unluckily, he couldn’t decide) the bird finally stops in the bustling city of Gerudo Town. The sizable city is a great place for information, however the notoriously sexist Gerudo vai would arrest him on sight if he appeared in his usual voe form.

It’s a good thing then that Dark didn’t give a lynel’s left ass cheek about the concept of gender.

He slides from shadow to shadow for a while, scoping out a form to copy. There are mainly Gerudo present of course, but there are also a few Hylian vai shopping the marketplace. Dark picks one at random, fully aware that his coloring is going to be suspicious no matter what form he takes. Unfortunately, while he can shapeshift into most any humanoid body, his skin tone always appears ink black and his hair pale as bleached bone. Any clothes he creates are equally monotone.

The only spots of color are his red eyes, which practically leak with dark power. Or so he’s been told. Dark can’t actually see the color. Regardless, he’d have to cover them, as well.

Some bitter part of him wishes he could just appear as himself without people screaming or taking a stab at him, but alas. That’s just not how Hyrule worked.

So, he shifts. Dark magic coats his form as he rises from the shadows, for a moment being nothing more than a shapeless void, before settling into an exact copy of the vai she had chosen. Her white hair grows long, tied haphazardly in a loose ponytail halfway down her back. Dark’s usual tunic restitches itself into the lightweight and breathable fabric of the vai’s outfit, complete with the face covering and headdress. The vai also has several weapons on her person, but Dark does not bother copying those. She has her own multitude of weapons tucked away in her shadow.

Shapeshifting complete, Dark looks down at herself. She flexes her fingers and stretches, adjusting to her new strength and height. The vai she had copied was surprisingly strong, if somewhat short.

And the scars… Dark had not been expecting them to cover almost half her form. Not that she minds their appearance, Dark has her own collection of scars after all, but she does wonder what could have happened to cause such extensive wounds.

Not wanting to appear as a doppelganger for someone else in the market, Dark pulls the tie out of her long hair and braids it (darkness below, did that vai even know what a hairbrush is?) and tugs her long bangs forward over the left side of her face to hide that she had the exact same scars.

The headpiece and veil get removed as well, and Dark steals a cloak from a nearby clothing line to replace them. She wraps it over the lower half of her face, leaving the rest to spill over her shoulders. Her moonpearl is tucked safely inside. Another stolen cloth covers the top of her head as a turban of sorts.

Disguise over her disguise done, Dark steps out of the shadows and into the market proper. She pauses there, waiting to see if her mere presence is enough to get attacked or arrested. When no spears or angry shouts come her way, she sighs in relief.

Gerudo Town is bright and lively. Merchants call out as Dark passes their stalls. Children laugh as they dart around her path. Others wave and greet her with kind smiles.

The change is jarring for someone like Dark, who is unused to such attention. Or people being so… nice… around her. It’s outright unnerving.

She finds herself walking faster. Breathes enter her lungs in shorter and shorter gasps. Her hands start to tremble, fingers twitching as if to reach for a weapon to ward them off. Eyes flick around, seeking a defensible position—

There! An alley: shaded, quiet, and away from all these people.

She barely stumbles into the small alley before sagging against the wall, cursing at herself. Dark is supposed to be stronger than this. If not brave like the heroes, then at least as stubborn as them to power through far worse situations than simply walking through a busy market.

“Come on,” Dark mutters, “This is stupid. You’ve faced death multiple times, you idiot. You can walk through a goddess-damned—”

“Are you okay?”

Dark yelps, spinning to face the intruder and pulling a dagger from the shadows in an instant.

“Whoa! Hey, it’s alright,” promises the person, raising their hands – familiar hands – in a placating manner. Only when Dark sees that those hands are empty of any weapons does she lower her blade.

The next thing she notices is that this is the exact same vai she had copied.

Wide, concerned eyes peer at Dark from above her veil. Everything about her body language is relaxed, and not at all suspicious about Dark’s very similar appearance. Either the cloak and head wrapping disguised Dark better than she had thought, or this vai is just that oblivious.

“What do you want?” Dark demands, taking a step back to put more space between them. Unfortunately, the alley she had darted into is a dead end. If she’s to escape, she’ll either need to fight or ditch her disguise to melt into the shadows. The vai hadn’t drawn that spear strapped on her back out yet, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to. Dark’s own dagger remains in her grip, arm tense at her side.

“Just to see if you were okay,” the vai says easily, unconcerned about the weapon. “I know how overwhelming crowds can be, and you looked upset.”

Dark glares at her. “I’m fine,” she bites out, only barely stopping herself from hissing in a very un-Hylian manner. “I don’t need your help, vai.”

She is fine. Already her brief stop in the alley had calmed her breathing, and her hands no longer trembled. Could it be because of being away from the crowds, or threatening a person with a knife? Maybe she should threaten a few more to test it. For research purposes, of course.

The vai just tilts her head in thought, ignoring the obvious dismissal. “Alright. How about some lunch, then?”

Dark’s thoughts of stabbing random strangers stumble to a halt. “W-what?”

“Lunch! A good meal can calm the nerves any day!”

Without any further explanation, or giving Dark a chance to object that she is not nervous thank you very much, the vai walks past her to a nearby sandstone bench and plops down. Dark stares after her, baffled. The vai just pats the open seat beside her in invitation.

“Have you no sense of self-preservation?” Dark questions, even as she stashes her dagger away and walks over to sit. “I just pulled a knife on you in a dead-end alley.”

“Sure,” the vai nods, “But I approached you fully armed in a dead-end alley first.”

Point. “I don’t see how any of this warrants food,” Dark huffs. Not that she wants any, but still.

Her company grins. “Anything can warrant good food! But first…”

The vai lifts up a peculiar object that had been clipped to her waist. It’s small, rectangular, and practically oozing magic. Dark’s eyes immediately latch onto it in fascination. If there was anything lacking in the Dark World, it was complex magical artifacts. Sure, there were the standard ‘destroy a small town’ ones, but any crazy sorcerer could make those. Useful in some instances, but boring.

This thing clearly had something more going on. There is a Sheikah symbol carved onto the back, which usually meant for some exciting magic. The Sheikah are ultimately sworn to the light, but often dabble in dark magic, making for some interesting combinations.

A theory which is proven correct a second later when the vai summons an object, some strange looking fruit, from the artifact’s surface. Dark gasps as tendrils of light pull together to form something where there had been previously nothing.

Fascinating! Some sort of storage device, like a bottomless bag or how Dark can stash stuff in her shadow? She wonders how much it can hold. Was it limited to food items? Does the magic preserve them?

Dark doesn’t notice how tense the stranger has become until she looks up from the slate and the weird fruit summoned from it. The vai’s eyes are squinted in suspicion, a look which would have alarmed Dark a few minutes ago, but she doesn’t let that deter her curiosity.

“How does it work?!” she demands.

The vai is visibly thrown. “The… slate?”

Is that what it’s called? Kind of a boring name, but whatever. She reaches for it, batting the fruit away. Dark pokes the surface, eyes alight as the front glows upon contact. Dark manages to poke it several more times before the vai pulls the artifact away, visibly amused.

“Hey, hey, has no one ever told you about not touching mysterious objects?” The vai is openly grinning now, the fruit left forgotten on the ground. “Especially ones that aren’t yours?”

“Literally never.”

“I—” she squints, as if in epiphany, “Okay, well, I can’t really talk to that point, because I do that all the time, but still.”

“How else is one supposed to figure out ancient magic without trying it out first?”

“I’ve been told doing things that may result in severe bodily harm are strictly forbidden, especially in populated areas.” The vai appears extremely put-out by this.

Dark scoffs. “How boring.”

“Right?!” she replies, bringing her slate back around. “To answer your question, the Sheikah slate can do a bunch of things, but it’s mainly for storing my stuff. Here, let me show you…”

The two spend a solid hour poking around the Sheikah slate, Dark’s mission momentarily forgotten. There is just something about being able to summon a multitude of sharp and deadly weapons from the abyss that sang sweetly to Dark’s soul. The vai also had a bunch of food (the weird fruit from before is called a banana, a name which Dark found equally as odd), outfits, and other items she didn’t bother summoning, as well as a collection of an absurd number of insects.

The chaos Dark could unleash by letting thousands of bugs and spiders out in the middle of town would be glorious. Alas, she refrains from stealing the slate to do so. Barely. And only because the vai distracts her with the slate’s map function.

“Were you looking for anything in particular at the market?” the vai had asked at one point.

The plan had been to gather information, and maybe some extra supplies to prepare for her mission to ‘destroy the heroes from within.’ But she couldn’t just say that outright, so she went with: “A map. I’m unfamiliar with the area.”

The area, the timeline, the everything. Time travel made things so overly complicated.

Thankfully, the vai hadn’t seemed suspicious that she somehow got to Gerudo Town in the middle of a desert without a map. “Oh! I can help with that!”

She then brought the slate forward again, poking at the surface until an image was displayed. Dark studied it, noting the markers and detailed topography.

“This thing has a map, too?!”

The vai grins and points out some of her favorite places nearby to visit, as well as places to avoid. Including, but not limited to, the Yiga Clan hideout.

“So, you showed me bananas before because you have banana obsessed lunatics after you,” Dark states in disbelief, not quite understanding the sentence she herself had just spoken.

“Er, well, yeah…” the vai rubs the back of her neck, somehow sheepish about this fact. “But they’ll attack anyone not sworn to the Calamity or Kohga, not just me.”

Ah, right. The Calamity. Dark must currently be very far into the future indeed. She had never been summoned to face the hero of this time, and therefore knew very little about it. All she knows is that Calamity Ganon had come very close to succeeding in destroying Hyrule, and that Demise was very angry that it hadn’t.

Asking about the Calamity would probably be strange, so she says: “Kohga?”

“Their leader, who may or may not actually be dead.”

Dark squints. “You don’t know?”

“He kind of accidentally fell into a bottomless pit, but I’ve seen people come back from deadlier things.”

Somehow, Dark completely believes her.

“Anyway, ever since I – I mean, the hero took out their leader, they tend to attack on sight,” the vai concludes.

Dark ponders this. A group of assassins working in the Calamity’s name sounds great in theory, but the assassins being a bunch of banana crazed idiots attacking random passerby is outright embarrassing. The Calamity had already been stopped in this era, so what the hell did they think they were going to accomplish? Revenge is all well and good, but this is just foolish. It makes Dark want to go stab some sense into them.

…Hm. That’s not a bad idea. If she survives this mission of hers, she may just pay the Yiga Clan a visit. Dark twirls her dagger through her fingers in thought, the warm light of the setting sun glinting off of the blade.

“…Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,” her companion says wryly, watching the blade dance. “As a hero, I am legally obligated to stop my friends from stabbing anything that might stab back harder.”

Once again, Darks thoughts of stabbing things grind to a halt. The dagger tumbles from her fingers and clatters to the ground.

“...Friend?” she says, the word foreign on her tongue. Then her brain wraps the previous sentence around again. Once, twice, three times. Wait. Hold on. “…Hero?”

The vai startles, looking surprisingly panicked. She waves her hands around in a frantic stop motion, like she could stop the secret already spilled. “No! Not a hero! I just meant as an… adventurer! Yeah, just an adventurer, who was in no way involved in impaling Calamity Ganon in the face.”

Dark stares, reality finally sinking in. “Your name is Link, isn’t it?”

“…No?”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Link wilts. “…Yeah.”

Dark wants to laugh. Or scream. At her own obliviousness or proximity to a hero, she can’t decide.  She opts for burying her face in her hands and groaning in despair as she mentally reviews the choices that led her to this point. Dark had literally just unknowingly copied the appearance of the hero of this world, had an entire hour-long conversation with them, and not been attacked once.

...Huh. She hadn’t been killed by the hero of this era yet. Odd.

“…This is not usually how people react once they realize I’m the hero,” Link admits, looking surprisingly worried over Dark’s apparent crisis.

“Oh, really?” She can’t help dripping some sarcasm into the words. What did the hero want? Fanfare? A song sung in her name? For Dark to hold still so she could stab her easier? “How do they usually react?”

“Well, if they recognize me at all, it’s either with a ‘thank you’, ‘you’re alive?’, or a knife. There are very few other options, apparently.”

Dark ponders the dagger that had fallen to her feet. As tempting as it is to end the hero now, that is not what her mission demands. She is supposed to be befriending the heroes, not fighting them.

Which… apparently already happened?

“You called me a… friend?” Dark says, unintentionally making the statement a question. The word is strange to her, especially when applied in context of Dark and a hero.

“Well, we are friends, aren’t we?” Link says, like it’s obvious. She picks up the fallen dagger and offers it hilt-first back to Dark, who just stares at her and doesn’t take it.

Honestly, heroes are so confusing. “We just met! You barely know me! I could be an assassin sent to gain your trust and then destroy everything you love.”

“Are you?”

Yes. “No.”

“Then we’re friends,” the hero states, and Dark throws her hands up in defeat. Darkness below, how the hell did any of these heroes survive long enough to complete their quests?

“You don’t even know my name,” she tries.

This does not deter Link in the slightest. Instead she brightens, ears perking up with interest. “What’s your name?”

Dark flounders for a moment, briefly cursing herself for not thinking of an alias yet. By default, she picks one she thinks would give the Hero of Time the worst headache.

“Call me Sheik.”

“Nice to meet you, Sheik,” Link smiles, “Call me Wild. Sorry for not doing introductions earlier… I’ve been told I have the social skills of a boulder.”

Dark ignores the fact that she also has the social skills of a boulder. “Wild, then.”

She ponders what to do next. Dark had, apparently and entirely by accident, just befriended one of the heroes. As fortuitous as this is, she doubts Wild would just lead her to the rest of the group to do the same. Not only would they not want some random vai tagging along on their quest, Dark knows for a fact most of them would not be fooled by her disguise. Five of them had faced Dark herself, and she has little doubt the others would sense her dark magic. Encountering Wild first, who apparently didn’t recognize either, had just been dumb luck.

As she ponders this new dilemma, a Gerudo walks by to light the lamps at the entrance to the alley. In their conversation and subsequent revelations, enough time had passed for the sun to set entirely and the moon to start peeking over the city walls.

“Oh, crap!” Wild exclaims suddenly, jerking to her feet and making Dark jolt in alarm.

“What is it?” Dark asks, eyes roving the area for threats. The hero still has her dagger, but other than that there’s nothing.

“I was supposed to meet up with my friends outside Gerudo Town before sundown,” she explains. Ah, the other heroes. Dark had passed them on the road here, though it was a brief enough encounter she hadn’t been able to count them. Wild must have traveled ahead.

“You had best be going, then,” Dark suggests, an idea forming in her mind. Dark might not be able to walk right up to them, but Wild could… “Before they start to worry.”

“Yeah… I do not want those idiots trying to break in here and ending up getting arrested,” the hero remarks dryly. “Believe me, they’d try.” 

Dark thinks idly of just how many places the heroes have broken into. Gerudo Town, as guarded as it is, would be nothing more than an unlocked door to a determined hero if given enough time. Dark’s only gripe with this being that they’d probably get caught multiple times in the process.

Amateurs.

All she says is, “I believe you.”

Wild laughs, amused. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Sheik. I hope we see each other again soon.”

Dark smiles, perhaps a bit too sharply. “I’m sure we will.”

Wild departs with a wave, jogging to the exit of the alley. The very moment the hero’s back is turned, Dark melts into the shadows. She darts forward, skipping though the torchlight to dive into the hero’s shadow.

Wild skids to a halt. Dark has a brief moment to panic, thinking the hero had somehow sensed the dark magic, even though she had showed no signs of doing so earlier, before Wild spins back around.

“Oh! Sheik, I still have your…” Wild calls out while holding out Dark’s weapon hilt first, before trailing off. “…dagger?”

The alley is empty.

Wild’s shadow is not, and is silently cursing at itself for being so hasty, and for forgetting about the dagger. Dark watches Wild look around the dead-end alley in confusion for several minutes, before heaving a sigh and storing the dagger in the Sheikah slate. She turns back to the main road, aiming for the town exit.

“This better not be another ghost thing,” Wild mutters along the way.

…Wait, what?

Another?

Chapter Text

Dark did not think this through.

Dark did not think this through.

He screams internally at his own poor life choices as Wild carries him along in their shadow across the desert plains to a camp full of light-bound goddess-damned stab-happy heroes. Some of which Dark knows can sense him, if the previous encounter with the Hero of Time’s shadow was anything to go by.

Which is fine, he’ll simply avoid touching their shadows. In a travelling party. Where they regularly camped together. And fought in close-quarters.

…He is so dead.

“Wild!” Someone calls, snapping Dark out of his thoughts. “Hey, you're back!” exclaims another.

His view from the shadows is not the greatest, limited to the small Hylian-shaped window stretching from Wild’s feet, but he knows he’s way closer to the heroes than he should be. With every step Wild takes, the more he can sense their magic looming. It practically leaks into the air and earth in a multitude of forms and flavors, leaving his currently insubstantial form itching in discomfort.

“Finally!” a third voice chimes in, “You can help us launch Wind over Gerudo Town’s wall.”

Dark fights down the small bubble of laughter that breaks past his potential doom. Wild had been spot on: they really are trying to break into the city.

“Sounds fun,” Wild agrees, “But why?”

There’s a pause. “To… rescue you?”

Dark rescinds his previous turmoil. If the heroes are going to be this dumb, he might just live after all.

“Consider me rescued,” Wild says wryly, walking up to the edge of camp. Dark had been too busy debating his chances of survival to notice, but at some point during Wild’s hurried jog out of the city they had changed out of the vai outfit and into a voe tunic with a cloak. They now appeared much more like the heroes Dark was used to seeing. And dying by.

This is, unsurprisingly, not comforting.

Dark has just enough of an angle to see one of the shorter heroes, the Hero of Wind, pout and scuff his boot in the sands. “Damn,” the kid says, then his smile twitches mischievously back into place. “…Can we try it anyway?”

Dark decides he likes this kid. Or his proclivity towards chaos, at least. He doesn’t think he could actually like someone who had killed him before.

“No,” several people say at once in response.

“Ugh. I’m travelling with a bunch of killjoys,” the Hero of Wind grumbles. Dark silently agrees.

While the heroes argue between the pros and cons of cannons versus catapults, a worthy topic, Dark takes the opportunity to observe the camp. They’d set up the site just outside Gerudo Town, up against one of the aforementioned impenetrable walls, with bedrolls laid out onto the still-warm sands. Each spot had supplies and weapons stashed near them that likely belonged to whichever hero owned the bedroll.

Not that any of the heroes are unarmed. Each one, from those Dark could see, still wielded at least one visible weapon or some form of defense. And that’s not counting the sheer amount of magic rolling off of some of them. Even the smallest ones, Wind and the split-tunic kid, had enough magic layered on them to make most witches he knows swoon.

“How many times do we have to tell you,” a voice breaks through his observations. The Hero of Legend. Ugh, another one that killed him before. Multiple times. Lovely. “Even if we did manage to launch you over the wall, and not splatter you on the side, you’d just get arrested once you were inside anyway.”

“I can be stealthy! I’ll sneak,” Wind argues, and adds when nobody looks convinced: “Sneakily.”

“…By flying down on a Korok leaf into the middle of Town.”

“…Yes?”

Legend sighs.

“They do allow children in, vai or voe,” Wild puts in, pulling out a giant cooking pot from their slate and ignoring the indignant gasp from Wind.

That gets a rumble of amusement from the others, and Legend grins sharply. “That’s a good point! You barely reach a Gerudo’s knee, maybe they’d mistake you for a child.”

Wild lights a fire beneath the cookpot, sending his shadow and its passenger smacking against the Town’s outer wall. The change in perspective gives Dark the perfect angle to see Wind nail Legend with a sock. By the way the hero screeches, it wasn’t a clean one.

“I’m surprised you didn’t stop this breaking-and-entering thing earlier,” a different hero says to the Hero of Time. One of the few Dark hadn’t fought before. The man looks to be a bit older than some of the others, early twenties maybe, and his forehead is adorned with sigils of shadow. Curious… So at least one hero here wasn’t opposed to sticking their nose into darker magic. It could be a curse, perhaps, but Dark would need to get closer or copy him to find out.

Time shrugs. “We don’t have a cannon.”

…That’s the only reason?

“A pity, really. They’re kind of fun,” pelt-guy muses.

This, Dark agrees with. Cannons are so wonderfully destructive. And loud. Just the thought of firing and blowing something up with one brings a sharp smile to his shadowy non-corporeal face.

Wild starts tossing food items into the summoned cookpot. Food is a strange concept for Dark to understand, so he ignores it in favor of studying the camp and the heroes within now that he has a better perspective. He has, technically and mostly by accident, completed the first part of his mission to infiltrate the heroes’ group. It would be foolish not to take full advantage of the situation and spy on them.

Closest to Wild is the Hero of Wind, who ran up to the cook to start pelting them with questions about Gerudo Town. Also, possibly, to escape the wrath of the Hero of Legend, who stomps across the sands to slap the kid upside the head with his own sock. This doesn’t deter the younger hero in the slightest, which is on par with the tenacious little gremlin Dark had come to know (and die by) on his adventures. The hero had barely grown since then, but with all the time travel nonsense happening, he isn’t certain how much older the kid actually is compared to then. At some point since, the hero had ditched the hat and tunic from his earlier adventures, opting for a longer tunic with a crab on the front and more layers underneath. From his neck hung a fairy-shaped pendant.

The Hero of Legend has probably changed the most since last Dark saw him. Still pants-less, for some goddess forsaken reason, but with so many layers of enchanted clothing and magical accessories that the lack of armor on his legs hardly mattered. He did keep the pointed hat though, so Dark gives him some extra points for style. The hero seemed to have acquired a tired, sharp, sarcastic look through however many journeys he’s gone on (Dark honestly lost count, and wasn’t present for some of them). Or, what Dark is going to kindly call ‘resting bitch face’. None of this changed the fact that he is one of the deadliest heroes present, and could fillet Dark a dozen different ways without so much as flinching.

Next up for the quickest and least hesitant to kill Dark is the Hero of Warriors. Visually, the Hero of Warriors looks mostly the same as then, pompous scarf included. Dark has personally seen the knight captain tear through hundreds of monsters in a single battle, and knows the man to have a particular distaste for dark magic. The crazy witch Cia, who had summoned Dark to face the hero mainly just to slow him down, probably has something to do with that. Dark has met many an insane sorcerer or sorceress in his time, but Cia was… persistent. She was infatuated with the hero, and had Dark not been bound to her service, he’d have avoided her like a plague. As it was, she often summoned Dark just to look at him, so much was her obsession with the captain. Dark was honestly thrilled the hero won in that particular circumstance, just so he didn’t have to deal with Cia any longer.

Shoving the thoughts of Cia away, Dark focuses on the next hero. Opposite of Warriors’ city-boy style is the Hero of Hyrule, dressed modestly and with a kind smile on his face. Dark isn’t fooled by the innocent look however, having seen just how efficient he is with that magic sword of his. The era he’d saved twice over was impressively viscous, Ganon having thoroughly ruined the land, so the survivor’s strength the hero has made sense. Dark honestly doesn’t know how Hyrule kept so positive after it all.

Then there’s the Hero of Time. Older than the other heroes and enough experience, be it good or bad, weighing on his shoulders that he seems more aged than he actually is. Which, in his case, might actually be true. Dark has no idea of the man’s true age, only that when they had fought in the Water Temple that there was time travel involved. Was he ten at the time? Seventeen? More? Less? Who knows. Age didn’t matter when there’s a foe in front of you blocking your way to success, even if that foe didn’t want to be there in the first place.

That had been the first time Dark had been summoned to face a Hero. He’d been alone, confused, and tied to an infinite room for seven years.

He will never not be bitter about it.

Worse still was that the trial, even though he failed, garnered Ganon’s attention, and through him Demise. A reflection of the hero, seeped in dark magic, that could be summoned over and over to thwart them?

Dark became one of Demise’s favorite tools, and has been under its thumb ever since.

He could still be summoned by others, usually sages or crazy witches, but his magic is forever bound to that ugly mass of oiled tar living in the Dark World. If it wasn’t for the fact that he got murdered every time someone other than Demise summoned him, he’d relish the small breath of freedom from the fallen god.

The current situation tracks then, seeing as this ridiculous mission is undoubtedly going to get him killed.

He sighs, returning his attention to the heroes. The remaining four he hasn’t directly faced, so he’s less familiar with them. There’s Wild, the guy with the pelt, an incredibly short one with a stitched tunic, and another with a long white cape. Something about the cape guy sends his instincts screaming, and he’s baffled for a moment until he realizes the hero has the damned Master Sword strapped to his back.

The goddess-blessed metal practically sings its desire to sear the darkness out of the world. Dark very much included.

He edges away from the blade, to the very border of Wild’s shadow.

“So, what took so long?”

The words startle Dark, and he pries his eyes off the threat to tune into Wind and Wild’s conversation.

“Oh, I made a friend,” Wild smiles, and it takes a second for Dark to realize the hero is talking about him. The unfamiliar word being connected to Dark is strange. “…She might have been a ghost, though.”

“Really?!” Wind perks up, excited. “What was she like?”

Wild ponders this for a moment. “Curious. And stabby.”

There’s a pause. “Wild, are you sure she wasn’t just another assassin?” pelt-guy reasonably asks, half-worried and half-exasperated. Because of the younger hero’s apparent tendency to attract assassins or their nonchalant attitude about it, Dark isn’t sure.

“She wasn’t!” Wild defends. “I did the banana test and everything!”

“…I still can’t believe that works,” mutters the one with the white cape.

“And she didn’t really look like any Yiga I’ve seen before,” Wild adds. “No mask or weird red bodysuit.”

They wear bodysuits? How horrific. Dark is looking forward to stabbing them even more now.

“What did she look like?” pelt-guy asks.

Wild shrugs. “About my height.” Exactly their height. “Dark skin, light hair.” More like ink-black skin and unnaturally white hair, but whatever. “Most of her face was covered by a scarf or her hair, though, so I didn’t get a good look.” Thank the darkness Dark had doubled up on his disguise. He’d have just let the hero stab him through rather than live with the embarrassment of getting caught. “She might’ve been Sheikah? Her eyes were red.”

They literally glowed, and the hero somehow didn’t think that odd enough to mention. Dark is both baffled and impressed by how terrible Wild is at describing her appearance. Especially when it had been a literal copy of the hero herself, only with a slightly different outfit and hairstyle.

“So a stabby and mysterious Sheikah woman,” pelt-guy concludes, amused. “…That narrows it down to about every Sheikah woman I’ve ever met.”

A few of the others nod along, long-sufferingly. Wild simply shrugs. “Her name was Sheik, if that helps.”

The Hero of Time chokes.

Dark can visibly see the headache forming on the older hero’s face, and it gives him no small amount of glee. He wheezes with the effort of restraining the laugh that would give away his position. If he dies here, at least he dies knowing he gave Time one more migraine.

“You okay, old man?” pelt-guy asks.

“Wild,” Time manages, rubbing a suddenly exhausted hand down his tattooed face. “…Your Zelda wouldn’t happen to have a secret ninja alter-ego, would she?”

“Uh.” Wild pauses to think about it. “…Not that I know of?”

Time looks resigned. “I suppose that is the point of a secret,” is all he says. He doesn’t elaborate. The others, apparently used to the man’s general vagueness, lets the comment go with only a few confused questions that go ignored. Dark, on the other hand, does not stop wheezing for several minutes.

“So, aside from my stabby new friend and Time’s endlessly confusing and mysterious past," Wild ponders as they dish out the food, "did anything else happen while I was in Town?” 

“Time got flipped off by a disembodied hand,” Wind says immediately.

Sweet darkness, this night just keeps getting better. Dark cackles silently. His only regret being not using both hands to flip the hero off for twice the offense.

Wild stares. “…Uh. Like a wallmaster?” They shudder. “Those things are creepy. Also, not in my era.”

Time looks very tired. “No.”

“’No’ as in not a wallmaster, or ‘no’ to them not being in this era?”

“Yeah.”

“To… to which part?”

“Yeah.”

“…I’m going to list that under ‘confusing and mysterious past.’”

Time sighs.

“…Yeah.”

Dark is still snickering silently to himself hours later, long after dinner had been tidied away and the heroes have bedded down for a night’s rest. The campfire, kept going to battle the chilled desert air, has him stretched leisurely across the sands behind Wild. 

The day was… informative, he decides. And annoying. And he still hates the jab of adrenaline that gets him every time one of the heroes passes by his hiding place. Dark is not a coward by any means, he’d fight them if he had to, but meeting their swords now would only mean a quick death and an angry Demise wondering how Dark could have possibly failed his task so quickly.

That’s what he truly fears, loathe as he is to admit it. Demise’s power over him, and how quickly the fallen god could end him. Or worse, how slowly.

Dark shudders, Wild’s shadow shivering slightly in response.

“Still laughing, are you?”

The voice is loud in the night, despite the words being spoken almost at a whisper. The only other noises are the snores of the heroes in their bedrolls, and the slight shifting of armor from the person keeping watch…

The Hero of Time.

Whose sharp, deadly, one-eyed gaze is staring directly at Dark.

Or rather, Wild’s shadow, which freezes as innocently as possible at the attention.

Welp, Dark thinks, a little hysterically, I lasted three hours before getting murdered.

Time stands, never blinking, and Dark starts thinking of backup plans. Or any plan at all. Which he should have done before now, but sue him: he’s never been one for planning things. Chaos is much more preferable. Usually, that is, when it doesn’t lead to him being skewered by a camp of heroes.

When Dark sees Time reaching for his bag, he prepares to fight or flee. Mission be damned, he wasn’t going to just let this bastard kill him. Again.

“Let’s see what you truly are,” Time intones, and pulls out not a sword or other weapon, but something even Dark could not fight:

The Lens of Truth.

Chapter Text

By the time the hero had raised the Lens of Truth to his eye, Dark had already fled.

“I’m going to shove that dammed Lens so far up Time’s shiny armored ass he’ll be singing his own stupid secrets,” Dark vows, kicking a rock out of the way of his path. His toes scream, but he ignores them in favor of watching the satisfying splash the stone makes in the water. The moonlight ripples over the disturbed surface, the oasis he fled to all but empty this time of night. Which is lucky for Dark, for once, allowing him to fume in peace.

His mission had been going so well! He’d befriended a hero! Infiltrated the camp! Gathered information! Not died!

But no. As usual, a hero had to go and ruin it all.

He could have stayed, Dark supposes. The Lens of Truth would have shown Dark’s true form instead of Wild’s shadow, and as awkward as that would have been to be caught like that, he could have tried talking his way out of the situation. The problem with that being that Dark’s tongue is often sharper than his sword.

And sue him, he’s used to fighting the heroes one-on-one, not nine at once. He’s no coward, but... This was a tactical retreat, okay? Dark had heard Time’s shout of alarm when he’d bolted, his darkened mass pulling free of Wild’s shadow to disappear into the desert, followed by the sound of eight other well-armed warriors jumping from their bedrolls ready for a fight.

No, thank you. Dark prefers all his limbs intact.

Still, the sight of Wild pulling out Dark’s own dagger to defend himself with felt a bit like he’d been stabbed with it instead.

“Befriend the heroes,” Dark scoffs, into the uncaring night. “Yeah, sure. Great idea. I’ll just do that.”

Demise may as well have asked him to skewer himself on a sword, or be a target dummy for a hail of arrows. The one friend he’d made was ready to kill him the second he revealed himself. The rest would do much worse.

Something shuffles in the distance. Sand under dunes, wind over dust. An animal, perhaps.

Dark continues his rant. “Stupid. The hell was I thinking, getting that close anyway?” He knocks his forehead into the one lonely palm tree that dared to grow out here. Thunk, thunk, thunk. “May as well have just asked them to murder me.”

The shuffling gets closer. Stops.

“Why yes, heroes, insert deadly weapons here, thank you.” He snarks to himself. Thunk, thunk, thunk goes the tree. “No, no. Please, let me draw the target for you. X marks the spot!” Dark criss-crosses an X shape over his heart with a finger.

Thunk, thunk, thunk. “…They’d be quick about it, probably. Merciful, or whatever.”

Something nearby growls. Protest. Concern. Confusion.

“Shut up. Let me have my crisis in peace,” he tells his unwanted company. Thunk, thunk, th—

…Wait.

Dark whirls around, and wow hey maybe bashing his head against solid objects is a bad idea, to dizzily face his foe. He pulls a blade from the shadows, because hypocrisy be damned, ready to defend himself against…

…An absolutely massive wolf.

The wolf tenses, hopping back a quick step, alert and wary. It growls in warning.

Dark growls back, low and guttural. Amusement briefly flickers through his mind as he watches it do a double-take at the animalistic sound.

“Just so you know, my teeth are far sharper than yours,” he tells it. They aren’t usually, but the wolf doesn’t know that. He shapeshifts his teeth into daggers of bone, then bares them sharp and wide.

He’s expecting the wolf to either get scared off, or maybe attack at the menacing display.

He is not expecting the beast to practically scoff at him.

The wolf rolls its eyes and sits, completely unimpressed. Dark is honestly a little offended.

“Wow, rude,” Dark mutters, “You could at least be a bit threatened.”

This is not a normal wolf, that much is blatantly apparent. Now that Dark is looking and not bashing his head against a tree, the beast is clearly soaked in dark magic. Or, no… Something with a bit of Light in it. Shadow, or perhaps Twili magic, maybe?

Regardless, Dark has seen curses like this before: Light worlders stumbling into the Dark World, only for their forms to twist into their own dark reflections. He rarely ever saw the effect reversed, and when it was the magic always left a mark.

The sigil on the wolf’s brow. A curse made, forever stained onto the skin… Or fur, in this case.

“Dipped your tail in the Dark World, did you?” Dark ponders aloud, as he tries to figure out where he’s seen that mark before. The wolf’s jaw actually drops open in surprise, its oddly expressive eyes widening. “Not the best place for light-bound Hylians to go vacationing, but I applaud your bravery in a terrible choice of deathly adventure.”

The poor wolf looks like its brain is stalling.

Well, no matter. It can think later. Dark taps his chin, regarding the cursed mark. He does have a moonpearl… “Hm. Do you want to be turned back to your original form?”

That gets a reaction.

The wolf jolts up, skidding back and away from Dark as if he’d just asked it to be skinned for a nice fur coat. It growls lowly in warning.

Dark rolls his eyes, mirroring how the wolf had reacted to him not a minute ago. He stashes his dagger, convinced if the creature was going to attack it would have done so by now, and fishes out the moonpearl from his tunic. It hangs from the chain around his neck, innocently glimmering in the low light. “Relax, dumbass. I’d use a moonpearl. They’re about the most painless way to undo a curse in existence.”

The wolf seems intrigued, but still backs away. A strangely concerned look furrows the wolf’s marked brow as its eyes repeatedly flick between the pearl and Dark. How this Hylian managed to retain so much expression as an animal is impressive. Most reflections Dark knows of lose their minds with the transformation, especially if altered for a long amount of time.

All the more reason to get this unfortunate idiot changed back as quickly as possible.

Slowly walking forward, he offers the moonpearl held carefully at the tips of his fingers. “Hold still. This’ll turn you back as soon as you touch it. Then if you want to bitch at me for preventing your descent into a mindless beast, you can do it when you actually have vocal cords.”

The wolf, irritatingly, dodges the moment he gets close. And continues to dodge with every attempt to get the pearl in contact with even a single strand of fur, leading Dark on an infuriating game of chase around and away from the small oasis.

After the third lunge, which misses, of course, Dark hisses. “Stop moving! I’m trying to help you, you dumb dog!”

The mutt trots further away, looking smug. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth, grinning through sharp teeth. Dark growls again, beyond annoyed. The cursed beast is just messing with him at this point.

“Fine! Fine,” he mutters, throwing his hands up. This is what he gets for trying to be nice. “See if I care, when your curse devours your mind!” Maybe it already had, and the wolf honestly thought it was just a wolf. Odd that it understood his speech if it didn’t remember being Hylian, but Dark has encountered stranger things before.

He yanks the moonpearl necklace back over his head and stalks angrily back towards the oasis. The wolf had led him surprisingly far away in that short time, back in the direction of the heroes’ camp. If he was a suspicious sort, and he is, he’d say he was being herded.

Well, not anymore. Dark glares at the wolf as it trails some distance behind him. It’s pensive now that the game is over, whatever trickery it had been planning having been spoiled. Dark sits down at the base of his head-bashing tree and scowls out at the small pond, pointedly ignoring the pest.

“Go away,” he hisses after a minute, when the wolf creeps closer. “I need to figure out how to not get killed on sight by a bunch of dark magic hating heroes.”

The animal seems somehow both amused and saddened by this.

Perhaps it had been run off as well. That wouldn’t surprise Dark any. The heroes have more swords than sense, in his experience. A cursed wolf would probably be in just as much danger from them as Dark himself.

His eyes sink to the pearl, where it hangs from his neck, glowing faintly like his own miniaturized moon. A very aptly named little treasure, he supposes. And currently the only thing keeping him decently sane.

Perhaps that’s why the wolf’s refusal for aid bothers him so much. Dark knows exactly how bad curses can get, if left to fester.

He shoves the moonpearl under his tunic, out of sight.

“Leave before I shave you bald,” Dark threatens, when he sees the wolf is still there.

The irritating creature scoffs. Dark glares at it studies him, seeming to come to some sort of decision.  It huffs and nods to itself, and before Dark can begin telling it some of his more creative swears, the air surrounding it warps. 

Fractals of magic envelope the wolf, blurring the four-legged silhouette. Dark can taste the tell-tale sweetness of Twili magic, the light and dark energies playing with each other in a discordant harmony. The silhouette shifts, growing taller, lifting from four legs to two. Then the shadows fade, and fur has turned to skin, hair, and armor.

There stands a Hylian man, a very familiar man, armed to his now non-canine teeth, “I’d like to see you try.”

Dark is on his feet at once. “You!”

This is one of the heroes. The pelt-guy with the tattoo on his face, which Dark belatedly realizes matches the one on the wolf’s fur. Link, or whatever stupid nickname he goes by. For all his eavesdropping earlier, he hadn’t learned this one’s hero title.

Dark has a sword drawn the instant the shock wears off, ready to defend himself. Nevermind the fact that Link has been here the entire time as the wolf and not attacked him. And still hasn’t attacked him. Still, Dark feels tricked. What would have happened if he’d followed the transformed hero earlier? Would he have taken him back to the group for execution? Or maybe somewhere more isolated to kill him off himself?

“Hold on there,” Link holds his hands up, gesturing in a placating manner. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Bullshit. That's all the heroes ever did when Dark faced them. Swords, hammers, bows, magic. Dark had been cut down by all he'd met. Except for Wild, maybe, but Dark had been in disguise at the time. All the others had not hesitated in the slightest.

Why would this hero be any different?

“Liar,” Dark hisses, the sound low and unnatural.

“I have no reason to lie,” Link responds, irritatingly calm.

Dark would laugh, if he wasn’t distracted by fight-or-flight response kicking him in the rupees. “Like how you tried to deceive me into believing you were a cursed wolf?”

Honestly, how could Dark have been so foolish? This hero had no doubt followed him from the camp. There might even be more heroes close by, waiting to attack. One-on-one he can handle, he’s done that plenty of times before (with varying degrees of failure), but nine? Not happening.

“Not intentionally,” Link says. He still, surprisingly, doesn’t not reach for the sword sheathed at his hip. Dark can tell he’s getting twitchy having a weapon pointed at him, though. Good. “To be fair, you figured out I wasn’t a normal wolf pretty quick. …Though you’re the first person to react more poorly to my Hylian form than my wolf form.”

Whatever that meant. “Aw, did your hero buddies attack you?” he taunts, wanting this weird interaction to be over, one way or the other. “Stick some swords, arrows, or holy relics into your hide?”

The hero growls, almost sounding like an animal again. “No, never.”

He says it with such conviction, Dark almost believes him. The sword in his grip wavers.

“None of us would attack you, either.” Link continues, one word after another stranger than the last. Link looks pointedly at the tip of the blade still aimed his way. “Not without reason.”

Without reason, he says. That could be anything. From trials, conscriptions, and unwanted summonings by insane witches, Dark simply breathing on the opposite side of the hero’s blade had always been enough.

Sometimes Dark thinks people forget just how many things any one of their heroes have killed.

Sure, some of the creatures had attacked them first, but that doesn’t mean outright murder is the answer.

“I’d rather not take my chances with your so-called ‘reasoning,’” Dark spits.

Link smiles, though it looks more like a grimace. “Alright, I get it. Our group can be a ‘little shoot first and ask questions later’ sometimes,” he admits. No shit. “But you said it earlier, didn’t you? You want to ‘befriend the heroes.’”

Dark’s thoughts seize, then promptly start screaming in mortified silence. Just how long had this mutt been eavesdropping on him?!

“I changed my mind,” he seethes, defensive. “You’re all assholes.”

Link laughs, actually laughs, at him. “You’d fit right in, then.”

Dark turns on his heel and stomps away. Turning his back on a hero is probably a bad idea, but he can’t stand there being openly mocked and be expected to hold his temper. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be liable to stab the idiot. Cathartic, yes, but not recommended when on a mission from an angry god for the opposite.

“Wait, wait!” footsteps fumble after him, “Sorry, that was the wrong thing to say. I just meant, you know, here I am,” he gestures vaguely to himself, ignoring the blade Dark warily points back his way when he gets too close, “One of the heroes, talking with you and not stabbing anything. That’s basically friendship levels right there.”

Wild and this Link must have about the same self-preservation instincts, if this is all it takes to make friends with them. “I’ve threatened you with a sword. It is still in my hand. Pointed directly at you.”

“Typical Tuesday, to be honest.”

It’s not even a fucking Tuesday.

“Arghhh!” Dark throws his arms up, infuriated with this whole evening, mission, and his own damned life. “What do you want??”

Link pauses, and Dark realizes they’ve both stopped walking, coming once again to another awkward standoff. He’s about to simply dip into the shadows and find a nice, solitary, non-hero-filled, part of the desert to scream in, when Link goes to reply.

“Look, I think—"

The world opens up beneath their feet.

Chapter Text

Dark is used to teleportation. He’s been summoned on many occasions across time, through dimensions, and frequently shifts through shadows as an incorporeal mass. He is conditioned to his form being twisted and reshaped by his summoners or his own abilities, be it of his own will or not.

He has never been wrenched through the fabric of reality before.

If the Gate from the Dark World was but a simple doorway, Hylia’s portals were a hurricane ripping that very same door from its hinges.

A hurricane that did not like him, in particular.

The very moment Dark fell through the sandy earth, the hero tumbling in along with him, he felt Hylia’s attention snap to him. A creature of the dark, hitchhiking in one of her portals?

The magic creating it was a peculiar twist of time magic unlike any summoning he’s experienced before. While the magic surrounding them did not lash out at him immediately, she wouldn’t dare with one of her precious heroes so close, the edges of it became noticeably sharper. Her Light flaring brighter, not strong enough to snuff him out, but clearly capable. A warning. A threat.

Well, she wouldn’t be the first god to do such a thing. Not even within the last day.

So Dark, being Dark, does what he does best:

Reflects the attacks right back at her.

His dark magic flares defensively, a wreath of black flames shielding him from the worst of the light.

The light does not retreat, and Dark already know this is just like any other time he’s faced her heroes: a loss just waiting to happen. A sword to the gut, a flash of lightning, a hammer crashing down—

“How about threatening someone that’s actually done something evil first, you self-righteous witch,” he seethes as he struggles.

Beside him, someone chokes. Oh right, the puppy Link was still here. Watching with wide eyes the equivalent of a pissing match between two mortal enemies. One of which was hilariously outmatched. Hylia, even though she wasn’t even physically there, could easily smite Dark out of existence if she desired.

Oddly, she doesn’t.

The light recedes with a curious, contemplative hum. The portal’s exit snaps open—

--Then promptly dumps the two of them into the rain.

Link stays upright. Dark does not.

The cliff they land on is soaked with a storm, the grass in the surrounding area sagging under the weight of water. Their clothes are immediately drenched, boots sinking into the mud. Dark does try to stay upright, but his recent jaunt through one of Hylia’s Shiny Temporal Sinkholes of Spite has left him feeling scraped thin. He flops facedown onto the wet ground, momentarily benching his caution in favor of not passing out.

“What was that?!” Link exclaims, staring where the portal had cracked closed. Dark groans, sinking slightly into the mud. Wolf-boy reaches to help him up, trying to be nice or whatever, but Dark hisses at him until he backs off. It was bad enough being this close to a Link, while prone no less, he was not going to be touched.

“Didn’t think Hylia was all sunshine and daisies, did you?” he snipes, exhaustedly, from the grass. He should get up. Find his sword, or summon a new one. Defend himself. A Link was right there, for Din’s sake.

There, and still freaking out for some reason. "Hylia?" he briefly mutters, before shaking off the confusion to continue his crisis. “But a portal’s never done that before! They never last longer than a few seconds; just drops us from here to there, that’s it!”

“I’m guessing you’ve never had an unwanted guest along for the ride before.”

Link startles to a stop. “Oh Spirits, I just yanked you out of your world, didn’t I?”

Dark snorts. “That’s what you’re worried about?” He finds the energy to roll over and sit up, if only to properly direct his sarcasm at the fretting hero. “Not the fact that you just got dropped in an unknown location, away from your friends, with a hostile entity of whom your goddess hates enough to threaten to kill in a passage between time?”

The poor puppy hardly looks like he knows where to start with that statement. Still, like any hero when given a complicated quest, he immediately starts to tackle it. Breaks it into smaller tasks. Takes them head on. No hesitation.

“Okay. First things first, we find the rest of the group—”

“No.”

Link visibly and verbally stumbles, wind dropped from his metaphorical sails. “…No?”

“No,” Dark repeats, finally standing. In this form he’s slightly shorter than wolf-boy. It didn’t bother him before, but it does now. “There is no ‘we’. And I am not going with you to get killed by a bunch of heroes.”

“I told you, they won’t!”

“Without reason, yes,” Dark repeats with a roll of his eyes. “The goddess’ hatred of me is reason enough for most.”

Link considers this. “Okay, but I also just watched her not kill you.”

Dark’s thoughts stumble, because Link is right.

Hylia had let him live. She could have easily killed him, but she just… let him go. With one of her chosen heroes no less, and knowing full well he could potentially wreak havoc on the whole quest she’s sent the group on.

Why?

All he did was stand up to and insult her. If he’d done that to Demise, he’d be nothing more than ash in the abyss.

“…That’s hardly a glowing recommendation,” Dark says, eventually.

This Link is surprisingly level-headed. Or he’s used to arguing with others more abrasive than Dark himself. Regardless, he shrugs. “Fine, then. I haven’t seen you do anything evil this whole time we’ve been talking. Longer, if what Time says about you hanging around the camp earlier is true.”

Spying. The word he’s looking for is spying. Not that Dark is going to say that, as the words would only dig his grave deeper. He crosses his arms, defensive. “I’m plenty dangerous.”

“Dangerous, maybe. Not evil.”

This dog-boy needed to stop using logic on him. It was annoying.

“You don’t know anything about me, mutt.” He scowls, turning to stomp away through the sodden grass. Link follows, sticking close like a stubborn thorn. “And I don’t know you, either. I’m not going with you to your happy camp of hero buddies.”

Link seems to finally getting exasperated now, though he maintains his composure.

“The most damage I’ve seen you do was to yourself, bashing your head into a tree.” Dark sputters, offended. “Did it knock the sense out of you, too? We need the group’s help if we’re to get you back to your world.”

Dark bets the others who have fought him would love to send him back to the Dark World. Via swords. This Link, however, doesn’t know he’s been sent from another dimension to ruin them.

“I don’t care which fucking world I’m in!” Dark’s already frail patience thins to its last strand. Why is he even still talking to this hero? Is he that desperate for conversation? …Come to think of it, it had been several centuries since he last spoke to someone even remotely normally. Except his recent chat with Wild, he supposes. Demise ordering him around certainly didn’t count. “Your friends will kill me on sight!”

Link tosses his hands up, frustrated. “I thought you wanted to meet the others!”

Dark opens his mouth to retort, then clicks it closed.

He does want to meet the others. His mission demands it.

…He just doesn’t want to die.

This hero hadn’t attacked him, though. Nor had Wild. They had both gone so far as to call him a friend.

He simply couldn’t understand why.

Is it that simple? Could this Link walk him up to the heroes, introduce him as a non-murderous and not-to-be-murdered creature, and everything be fine? They’d sing a song and have a spot of tea, or whatever heroes do when not hero-ing.

“…It’s complicated,” Dark mutters, eventually.

He is so, so confused.

Link, apparently a mind reader as well as a part-time dog, says similar. “It’s really not. We’re talking just fine, aren’t we?” Debatable. Arguing, more like. “What makes you think the others will be any different?”

It hits him fully then: this Link doesn’t know. He has no idea who Dark is, or what some of his incarnations had done to him.

Dark doesn’t know if he should smack himself for botching another first impression, or irritated that the others he’s previously encountered didn’t even bother to mention him. Oh, yeah, that random reflection of my darkest characteristics in that one temple/battlefield/area, just a minor footnote in my grand adventure!

“I’ve met some of them before,” Dark answers stiffly, looking away. “It did not go well.”

Understatement of the time-travel-fucked year, right there.

Dark knows he said the wrong thing the moment it leaves his lips. He watches Link’s eyebrows launch up in surprise, then furrow in confusion. The sigil on his forehead crinkles with the movement.

“You’ve… met them?” the strangeness of the whole situation seems to catch up with him. “Wait. Hold on. You already knew we were heroes… That we were from different eras,” he says, puzzling together the clues. With each word, Dark tenses further. “You know about the us, the portals, and dark magic…”

The game’s up. Dark is honestly surprised Link didn’t figure it out sooner, except he was called the hero of Courage, not Wisdom. He tenses, fully expecting that sword strapped to the hero’s hip to be drawn and pointed his way any moment.

But instead of getting violent, the hero grins brightly.

“Is your name Link?” he asks, almost eagerly.

…Uh.

Well. Yes, technically. His full name and title is Dark Link, but…

“Yes…? What does my name have to do with anything?” Dark asks, utterly confused.

Link makes an ah ha! sound. Proud, like this is some sort of success. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Dark can’t decide if he wants to strangle the guy, or just leave like he originally planned. He supposes it was too much to ask for a Hero of Courage to make sense.

“That there was something familiar about you,” Link claims, stepping closer despite the way Dark growls at him and leans away. “All of us look kind of similar. You’re the first Link I’ve met that uses dark magic so freely, but not that surprising given how many timelines there are. I mean, I use Twili magic, so dark magic isn’t that much weirder.”

Dark stares, attempting to process the words just spewed at him.

Oh. Oh no. He thinks Dark is one of the heroes. Dark recoils at the thought, horrified.

Link carries on, oblivious to his horror. “Which means you have to come with me to join the others,” he concludes, to Dark’s ongoing despair.

“What??”

“You’re a Link,” wolf-boy reiterates, as if that explains the secrets of the universe. “Which means you’re on the same quest the rest of us are.”

He’s got to be kidding.

Dark is definitely on a quest, but he highly doubts it’s even remotely similar to theirs. He doesn’t know exactly what Hylia has them doing, but he gave up long ago trying to figure out the whims of higher beings.

It could be useful information, though… “What are you talking about?”

Link blinks. “Oh. Right, so… Sky’s way better at explaining, but… You already know a bunch of heroes have been gathered together, right?” Dark nods, warily. Sky was one of the heroes, he assumes, but which one? “Well, we’ve been travelling between eras killing a bunch of black-blooded monsters.”

If Dark could pale, he would. As it is, his shoulders hike up, defensive.

The black-blood in his veins runs cold.

“…Monsters?”

His voice is quieter than he’d like. Around them, the rain continues to pour down. Heavy, heavy, heavy, pressing down on his inky skin like a blanket of rime. Link looks at him oddly, but answers.

“Yeah... Not sure where they’re coming from yet, but we’re working to stop it.”

Dark can’t stop the bubble of pained laughter.

Stop it? Stop Demise? The primordial god of wrath and hatred, the Demon King of monsters? The one that imprisons those tied to it like it was once imprisoned, forcing them to endure its endless cycle of evil? The one who stains the very soul and body of those near it over time, turning their blood blacker than the endless void it spawned from?

The longer spent, the darker the color.

The more corrupted.

The more monstrous.

Dark’s blood bleeds blacker than any other.

Of course. Of-fucking-course, Demise would send him, a black-blooded monster, on a mission to hang around a bunch of heroes whose goal is to eradicate those just like him. Dark can’t help but feel like entertainment at this point. Demise was probably happily writhing around in its tar pit, laughing itself silly at his expense.

“My life is a fucking joke,” Dark sighs, to a flabbergasted Link. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

Because if he can still complete this stupid mission - and survive - it might wipe the grin off of Demise’s smug mug.

Chapter Text

“Uhh…” Link stares, baffled at the abrupt change. “That’s… good? And sudden. You okay?”

That’s the second time he’s been asked that in his entire existence, and still has no idea how to feel about it. Nobody has ever cared if he was okay before today.

“Fantastic,” he grits out, bottling up the confused feelings and shoving them into a corner of his mind to never address later. He starts stomping toward the distant treeline, and Link hurries to follow. The pelt over his shoulders is so sodden that it must weigh several stone. Neither the added weight nor the weather seems to affect him.

Link chatters on, muttering to himself. “…Thought for sure I’d need to argue more. I had a whole other spiel planned and everything. I mean, Spirits, I’ve known you for less than two hours and can already tell you’re more stubborn than Legend.”

He’ll take that as a compliment. That bastard killed him four times.

“Do you even know where we are?” Dark asks, instead. Deflect. Distract. Use the hero’s innate ability to get sidetracked by multiple tasks. Don’t talk about the fact that he bleeds black, or that his new 'friends' would end him if he got so much as a papercut around them.

Hilariously, the tactic works. Link blinks, staring around them as if just now realizing that they were, in fact, walking along some random cliffside in the pouring rain. “Uh.”

Dark groans. “Are you kidding? Did Hylia just drop us off in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s okay!” Link hurries to reassure. “It’s true I don’t recognize this Hyrule, but we have a rule that if we ever end up separated by a portal, we just aim for the nearest town and stay put. And if that doesn’t work, Sky can always dowse for us. Well, me. Not sure if he can search for you yet, without knowing you.”

“…Fine.” Dark agrees, reluctantly. He doesn’t really want to visit another town so soon. Or people. Crowds, specifically. Because that had gone so well last time. …He wonders if Link would care if he just dipped into his shadow for the duration.

While they walk, he mentally notes the second mention of ‘Sky’ again. He must be another of the heroes, one Dark hasn’t fought. He’s already met Wild and this Link, so the only options left are Shorty and Capey.

Which reminds him: introductions.

“I go by Dark, by the way,” he tells the hero. “Not Link,” he clarifies, with a curled lip. Like hell he’d use the name of the people that have killed him so often.

“Kinda edgy, but okay,” Link shrugs. Dark chokes. He’s not edgy…! “Dark, then. My name’s also Link, but I go by—”

Dark drops into the hero’s shadow just in time to dodge the plunging dual swords of a stalfos. Only he finds he shouldn’t have bothered, as Link had his blade up to block the blow within the same breath. Link stares wildly at his shadow where Dark disappeared, momentarily shocked, before whirling to knock the skeleton back. The force of the blow dashes the stalfos against the ground, bones scattering away.

“Dark?!” Link calls out, a myriad of complicated emotions flit across his face, too much for Dark to parse. “How—What did you…? Are you Twili—"

Dark steps back out of his shadow, now fully armed with a sword in one hand and shield strapped to the other arm, in a ready stance. Around them, the forest they’d been walking through comes to life, and undeath in some cases, as a horde of lizalfos and stalfos start swarming through the trees. “Less questions, more fighting.”

Link clearly does not want to stop with the questions, but visibly bites them off as he turns to face their foes. “…Fine. But you’re answering me later.”

Dark snorts, derisive. He’s under no obligation to answer any of the hero’s questions. Nor is he going to take orders from any of them. Even if this particular Link is less murder-y than the others. So far, anyway. Or at least he didn’t try to kill him for the blatant use of dark magic.

Stepping into the shadows in front of a Hero might have been a bad idea… but Dark supposes the heroes already knew a dark magic user was among them at camp, so it shouldn’t be that surprising. The movement was simply reflexive.

Besides, what was he supposed to do? Get stabbed? By a measly stalfos?

These bones needed to learn their place.

In the dirt.

Dark bashes one into a tree with his shield, twisting to catch the next between the ribs with his sword and throwing it off into a third. The three skeletons scatter into heaps, the curses reanimating their bones twitching in their marrow. He crushes a boot down onto their skulls, ending the movement.

“Back to the grave with you,” he hisses, as the bones dissolve into dust.

“Behind you!” Link yells. Dark spins to catch a lizalfos on his shield, its sword clanging against the metal and echoing in his ears.

He about to shove it off like the stalfos, until the sword starts eating through his shield. The blade seethes with corrupted dark magic, not unlike the malice that coats the Dark World. Only, somehow worse. Concentrated. Potent.

What the hell… Dark thinks, momentarily distracted. He’s never seen such corruption applied to a weapon before, only living creatures. Like himself, or the other monsters they’re fighting. “That’s new,” he mutters, before shoving the lizalfos away.

“What was that?” Link asks, doing his best to destroy four enemies at once with… is that a wrecking ball? Awesome.

“Their weapons are cursed,” Dark replies. He makes a mental note to steal that wrecking ball later. “Or at least this one’s is.”

The lizalfos in question hisses and leaps back to its feet, brandishing the cursed blade. It is visibly eating through the scales and claws of its hand, but the creature doesn’t seem to notice. Concerning. Very, very concerning. Dark flicks his gaze around checking the other monsters, but the overgrown lizard seems to be the only one carrying such a corrupted weapon. That he can see, anyway.

The thing is fast, too. It darts up to him, and only Dark’s ability to mimic movement saves him a nasty gash. It cuts downward with its cursed blade, and Dark meets it with his own, falling into the familiar rhythm of battle. Jump back. Slash forward. Copy this. Dodge. Cut. Copy that. Don’t die. Repeat.

“Need some backup over here!”

The rhythm stumbles, the dance disrupted.

The lizalfos slams that cursed blade down onto his shield again, and the already damaged metal caves under the blow. His bracer blocks the worse of the damage, but still the sword sears through it, and his skin, like a fire rod to ice.

His arm screams. Dark knows better than to scream along with it, biting off the shout of pain in a practiced silence.

The lizalfos doesn’t stop at a single cut, either. It swipes at him a second time, but Dark, thoroughly done with this wretched creature and currently unable to block anything more than a leaf on the wind, drops. He sinks into the shadows, leaving the overly large lizard to slice through nothing but empty air.

It screeches, confused. For about one second, that is.

Until Dark pops up from below, and proceeds to show it, and its face, that shields can be excellent blunt force weapons when they need to be. Even broken, half-melted ones.

The lizalfos crumples, thoroughly concussed. Dark shakes the teeth off his busted shield, disgusted.

The cursed blade clatters to the ground. Dark stares at it with narrowed eyes. Should he pick it up? The thing apparently melted anything it touched—

“Dark?!”

Oh, right. Link needed help or something.

He looks over to find the hero surrounded. Despite the work of that lovely wrecking ball, Link had ended up swarmed by enemies. Probably due to all the stalfos archers loitering about, their arrows making him need a shield instead of a glorious one-ton sphere of metal and spikes. The monsters crowd in, and arrows pelt the area around the hero with increased frequency. It would only take a few more moments, and Link would be overwhelmed.

And Dark… doesn’t know what to do.

He’s used to one-on-one fights, not battles with a dozen foes. He has never worked on a team, never had backup, or someone to save.

All he has ever had is himself.

Himself, and a sword.

That, at least, Dark knows how to work with. He drops his useless shield, ignoring the jab of pain from his arm, and summons a second sword. With it, he focuses and –

The Hero of Warriors spins, tearing through the hordes of enemies, his scarf twisting on mesmerizing loops around him as if to embrace him. His feet dance in a practiced motion, his armor shining with the promise of death—

Dark whirls in a flurry of motion, carving a path through the bones and scales of anything in his way. The move usually is paired with a shield, but Dark finds he prefers the extra damage having two blades causes. Besides, Link had to go and get himself surrounded, the idiot, so—

The Hero of Legend dashes forward, sword held steady, light, lethal, cutting through all before him. Unnaturally fast, with magic boosting his speed and strength, jewelry and gear glinting in the light—

Dark thrusts forward, spearing one lizalfos on one sword, and a stalfos on another. He might not have all the fancy enchanted equipment, but the move alone does plenty of damage. An arrow pierces his shoulder, those pesky archers, so Dark whips around and—

The Hero of Hyrule suffuses his sword with magic, energy growing and glowing, licking off the blade like flames of a wildfire. He rears back and throws it, an echo of the blade shooting out—

Dark’s sword is plain unenchanted metal, but by the goddesses can it fly far. The thrown blade pins his target to the tree behind it, the stalfos uselessly scrabbling to pull it free, and two more summoned blades follow suit through the skulls of others.

Black blood spills across the grass, only to wash into the muddied ground by the rain moments later, forgotten.

“Sweet Ordona, you’re good!” comes a voice, and Dark whips around to face it, a new blade at the ready.

Except it’s just Link, significantly less surrounded, impressed with his fighting prowess. The moves are all stolen, but Dark isn’t going to tell him that. He takes a moment to catch his breath, shaking off the memories of when he’d last seen those moves.

“Thanks for the save,” Link continues with a grin, “Only a few left, now.”

Link leaps back into the fight to finish the rest of the enemies off, and Dark stares after him, bewildered.

He’s never been thanked before.

“No… problem,” Dark mumbles, belatedly.

He just… saved a Link.

Not fought one. Or died by one. Saved one.

He feels… off kilter. Like this is some sort of bizarre dream, or some sort of warped alternate universe. Except dreams don’t usually hurt, and his arm is currently throbbing to a staccato beat. The arrow sticking out of his shoulder didn’t help, either. This could be a different dimension, he supposes. Why would a Link be here though, fighting alongside him, if that were the case?

“Watch out!”

Dark jolts out of his existential crisis - he’d just been standing there like an idiot in the middle of battle, what the hell was he thinking?! - in time to get shoved off his feet.

Link blocks the blow meant for Dark’s back, catching the weapon on his shield. It’s only after the metal starts to hiss and steam that Dark fully recognizes the danger. It’s the cursed sword, wielded by the very same, extraordinarily persistent and exceptionally vengeful, lizalfos. Very much alive, if missing several teeth. The gaps are filled with black blood and fury.

It wants Dark dead, and Link is unfortunately in the way.

Dark doesn’t get the chance to shout a warning, before the Lizalfos whirls, batting the hero’s shield aside with its tail. The cursed blade slashes forward once more—

And sears into Link’s side.

Chapter Text

Why did he do that?

Dark cleaves the lizalfos’ head from its shoulders a moment after the strike lands. The monster dies with a satisfied look on its scaley face, smiling in a rictus grin as it dissolves into a puddle of black blood and smoke.

Next to where it had fallen, Link follows.

Why the hell did Link protect him?

Protect Dark, a random asshole he just met that day? Is it because Hylia didn’t fry him on sight? Or that his name is, sort of, Link? Or because he believes Dark to be a hero like him and the others?

He’s not. Dark doesn’t have their Courage. He’s the opposite of the Hero’s Spirit. He doesn’t help things. Only fights. Hurts. Hinders. He does whatever Demise wants of him. Dark is corrupted, cursed, and not even remotely worth dying for.

Why, why, why…

The cursed blade clatters down beside them, seething and angry.

“Spirits,” hisses Link, clutching at his injured side. Dark, after taking a frantic look around to make sure there are no more enemies, crouches next to him and… oh. Oh, that’s bad. Very bad. The blade had torn clean through the hero’s tunic and chainmail, both of which were staining rapidly with blood. “That, uh. Probably isn’t good.”

“No shit,” Dark says, instead of screaming the why did you save me? still looping on repeat through his mind. “Tell me you have a health potion or something.”

Because Dark doesn’t. He has a plethora of weapons, poisons, and magic potions stashed in his shadow. Veritable mountains of bombs, magic rods, and pointy lethal objects.

But no healing items. They aren’t something he usually lives long enough to use.

“Yeah, I think I do…” Link fumbles at a pouch on his hip, his other hand still pressed painfully to his side. He’s taking too long, so Dark bats his hand away from the bag and digs through it himself. Link lets him, sagging tiredly back onto the grass.

Like any of his light-bound counterparts, Link has a lot of shit. The small pouch, magically enchanted to be larger on the inside than out, carries a museum’s worth of gear and artifacts. Dark shoves them to the side, probably ruining any of wolf-boy’s attempts at keeping organized, and goes straight for the pile of shiny glass bottles.

There are only four, and two are empty. Dark pulls out the others, popping to cork on one and giving it a sniff. Some sort of oil. That gets hastily tossed back in the bag, and Dark ignores the distant shattering sound he hears from deep within.

“This it?” He offers the other to Link, after smelling it and confirming the scent to be like Hylia sneezed a blessing on it. Light, flowers, and feathers. The scent makes his nose itch.

Link nods tiredly, reaching for it, but stops abruptly before his fingers touch the glass. “Wait. Are you hurt?”

Dark, vaguely, wants to throttle him. “No,” he lies, through gritted, frustrated teeth. He shifts discretely so the melted bracer is out of the hero’s view. On the next of Link’s long blinks, he quickly plucks the arrow out of his shoulder and chucks it behind him. Thank the darkness his clothes are mostly black, as they easily hide the blood. “Drink the damn potion, you dumb self-sacrificing hero.”

He probably shouldn’t be insulting the guy who just saved his ass, but for Din’s sake, these heroes were ridiculous. There is a giant gaping hole in Link’s side pouring his lifeblood out into the grass, and he’s worried about Dark? The cut on his arm and the hole in his shoulder were nothing compared to the new valley opened up in the hero’s side. Dark is not above forcing the potion down Link’s throat if he dared to argue.

Link squints at him, trying to tell if he’s lying probably, but the wooziness must be getting to him because he just nods, pained, and takes the bottle. He downs the contents in one go, grimacing at the taste. Dark has no idea what health potions taste like, but they must not be pleasant. Regardless, healing his side is the important part.

…Which it is not doing.

“I thought you said that was a health potion,” Dark remarks, strained.

Link stares at the empty bottle, then down to his completely unhealed side. Blood leaks from between his trembling fingers. “It… was…”

“Then where’s the health part?” he stresses, not hysterical at all.

“…Good question.”

Dark swears, dropping the empty bottle back in the bag and pulling a cloth from his shadow instead. He bats Link’s bloodied hand away and presses it to the cut. The cloth, originally white, stains through almost immediately.

Dark has practically zero experience in first aid. Usually when he’s injured badly, he just rests in the Dark World for a few decades until the wounds heal. Even then, most of his deaths were from swords or magic, not… whatever this is. He usually just dies before he gets the chance to fully bleed out, or attempt any sort of first aid.

Regardless, he knows it’s probably best to stem the bleeding as much as possible. It is generally preferable for one to have their blood in their bodies, and most normal Hylians can’t just drown themselves in dark magic to heal mortal wounds. Bit of a fault on their part, but whatever.

Dark peels back the tunic, the chainmail, and another shirt under that – honestly how many layers does one need? – to better access the wound. And it’s certainly an impressive injury. Large, ragged, and festering with cursed light. Sickly tendrils of dark magic crawl under the hero’s now ashen skin.

Link stares at it blankly for a moment, then lolls his head to the side, looking more disoriented by the second. “Wha’ was on the sword?”

Dark looks over his shoulder to the blade in question, the one Link is blinking increasingly sluggishly at. The cursed metal sits in a burnt silhouette of itself made of dead grass. The rain, still falling and not helping at all, sizzles away the moment it makes contact. Which is fascinating and all, but unhelpful in answering the question of what the hell is wrong with it.

Or how to heal his new friend.

“I have no idea,” Dark answers honestly. “I’ve seen something similar, but not on a weapon. And not this… vicious.”

It reminds him of the malice growing throughout the Temple of Darkness. The viscous vines slithering between the cracks of the corrupted stone, occasionally growing eyes and teeth, ever spreading and near impossible to remove. Spawned, of course, from Demise’s ever-increasing hatred.

The cursed sword is somehow worse than that. More concentrated. Evil.

…What had Demise created, this time?

The wound in Link’s side is leeching the life out of him with every heartbeat. Whatever was on or in the blade prevented any healing, and seemed to be slowly draining whatever health he had left. That part could be the blood loss, but the malicious magic lingering in the wound has Dark thinking otherwise.

Dark pulls a dagger from his shadow and starts cutting another clean cloth into long strips, then wraps the strips tightly around Link’s chest. The hero chokes down his pain, the sound not unlike a wolf’s whine.

“We gotta… find the others,” Link gasps out.

There’s no argument from Dark, this time. “Think you can walk?”

Link gives an exhausted grimace, “I’ll manage.”

That’s not a yes, but Dark will take what he can get.

Together, they maneuver Link upright. There are probably a hundred different reasons to not move someone with such an injury, but at this point they really don’t have a choice. It’s either wait here and let Link slowly bleed to death in agony, or leave to find help. Dark opts for the latter. Hopefully one of the other heroes knows how to better treat the wound, or at least has a fairy or something. Until then, they walk.

They have no direction. No map. No idea even where or when they are.

But it doesn’t matter, because Dark refuses to let one of the few people that ever treated him kindly die in the dirt.

“Stay awake, wolf-boy,” Dark mutters, after the first few shuffling steps.

“M’wake,” is the unconvincing reply.

“Try that again, but with syllables this time,” because the best thing for dire situations is sarcasm, of course.

Dark ignores the mumbled reply, pausing briefly to stare at blade that had caused all this mess. It seems to glare at him from the dirt, waiting for his next move. Without thinking too much about it, Dark stretches his shadow forward and swallows the sword whole, into the vast in-between space he calls storage. He mentally nudges it into a distant corner, where it can’t melt or curse his stuff. Hopefully.

Link watches him manipulate his shadow with groggy fascination.

“Yer like Midnaaaa…” the loopy hero smiles like a sap, “She was all… all shadowy. Shadowy like you. In mah shadow.”

Oh no. This sounds like emotions. Dark changes the subject as quickly as possible.

“What do I call you? You never said,” he asks, remembering that he’d never gotten the hero’s nickname before the monsters —and that stupid sword that he’s going to pitch into the magma of Death Mountain at the next opportunity— had so rudely interrupted them.

“M-mah name’s Link,” the hero slurs in reply.

Okay, that one’s on him. “I know your name is Link, I meant your hero title.”

Link carries on like he hadn’t spoken, but answers regardless. “But they call meh Twi.”

“…Twi?”

“Twah-Liiighttt!”

If he wasn’t so injured, Dark probably would have dropped him. “The Hero of Twilight?”

“Tha’s me!!”

He should have guessed, with the Twili magic the hero uses. “And you called my name edgy,” Dark scoffs, with false levity. “Alright, Twilight. Stay awake ‘til I drag your ass back to the heroes.”

The heroes that might kill him. Still, Dark continues forward in a random direction, looking for signs of civilization or evidence of the others, the injured hero stumbling along with him. Thankfully, he’s still lucid enough to keep his feet under himself.

“They r’lly wouldn’ hur ya,” Twilight mumbles into his shoulder a few moments later.

“You are no more convincing while incoherent than not,” Dark informs him.

Twilight blinks at him, one eye at a time, then completely changes the subject. “Thought you were one of the Interlopers, at first.”

The what? “I know you’re dying or whatever,” Dark ignores how his voice trips over the word dying, “but please start making sense.”

“They looked like me, but wit’ creepy red eyes an’ black clothes. An’ they laughed. Never heard you laugh yet,” Twilight explains, and Dark bristles. He can laugh! He just… hasn’t had reason to in a while, that’s all. “An’ they were bent on conqu’ring the Twahlight realm, not bashing their head on a tree.”

Insults aside, Dark wracks his brain to try to remember if he’d ever been summoned to fight this particular Link. He feels like he’d remember one that had face tattoos and could turn into a giant wolf, but his mind comes up blank. Almost unnervingly so.

Except… A dream?

Dark is no stranger to nightmares. Centuries of… less than pleasant… experiences had granted his mind plenty of fuel to feed his dreams in twisted ways. Whenever he slept, rare as it was, his mind filled itself with visions of malice, Demise, and Dark’s own Light counterparts. Link killing him, in one way or another. The nightmares were almost always futile battles that he was doomed to fight in, only stopping when he woke.

He says almost, because there was one dream where that didn’t happen.

He’d been standing atop a hill along with two other copies of himself. As one, they reached out, and another Link standing in an abyss burst into ash. If that wasn’t strange enough, one of his copies was replaced by a different Link, except the thing was… definitely Not Link. It smiled, eerily wide, then screamed as three giant orbs of light destroyed the three of them shortly after.

Needless to say, it was creepy, and Dark would gladly never think of it again.

“Better than getting beat up by a lizard,” Dark says, instead of any of that. It’s a low blow, but a valid low blow. Except not really, because it’s not like the tree could fight back. The tree also hadn’t been wielding a cursed sword, or cut down his new friend protecting him from it.

Twilight wheezes out a laugh. “They nev’r joked, either.” A pause. “Or helped me.”

Yeah, because it was a dream. A nightmare. Where Twilight got dusted, and… died. Actually died.

Like he is currently doing, at Dark’s side.

Whywhywhy

“…it’s only because the other heroes would murder me if you died,” Dark lies. “Don’t over think it.”

“Sure,” Twilight says with a smile, completely unconvinced.

Dark grumbles.

They wander through the woods for a while, long enough for the rain to finally taper off. Both Twilight and Dark are drenched to the marrow, the injured hero starting to shiver where he sags against Dark.

Dark almost wants to suggest he change back into a wolf, just so he’d be covered in fur and warmer. Except he doesn’t know what such a transformation would do in combination with whatever magic tainted the wound. Could he even complete the change in such a state? Even if he did, then Dark would then be dealing with trying to transport a giant loopy wolf.

Twilight stumbles, his legs folding under him. Dark grunts at the sudden added weight. Alarmed, he sets the hero down, propped up against the nearest tree.

“Hey!” Dark says loudly, shaking Twilight’s shoulder as hard as he dared. “Wake up!”

To his relief, the hero stirs. Although barely, and only enough to slur some incoherent words at him.

Blood drips from Twilight’s nose. When he coughs, it chokes his lungs. The wound in his side, cursed and festering, seeps an ever-larger stain onto his shirt. Whatever is happening to him, it’s getting worse.

“Shit,” Dark swears, kneeling beside him and peeling away Twilight’s tunic and chainmail. The makeshift bandage has completely soaked through, and the dark tendrils have spread up his chest. He can only imagine how badly the curse is ravaging the inside.

“If you die, I’m going back in time to murder you,” Dark threatens, pulling another cloth and his dagger from his shadow to make more bandages. Not that it’ll help. Because the bleeding isn’t stopping.

Why isn’t it stopping?

Dark looks to his own arm, where the bracer had been eaten away to bare skin. The cut he’d received from the sword is burning with pain, but there is no blood, black or otherwise, dripping from the wound like Twilight’s is.

Why? Not that he wants to be bleeding profusely, but why had the blade affected Twilight more than him? Did the hero simply have too much light in him to fight the affect? Or was it Dark’s own natural resistance to darker magics? His previous, and current, experience with his own curse?

Except Dark obviously can’t resist all dark curses. He has to use a moonpearl to just to keep his in check, and—

“…Ah,” Dark says, in quiet realization.

Inside his tunic, the moonpearl hums.

Dark fumbles, fingers slippery with Twilight’s blood and the rain, pulling it free. The moonpearl shines in the night like the hope of a guiding star at sea, and Dark wastes little time in pressing it to the pale skin next to Twilight’s wound.

Immediately, the cursed tendrils writhe. Dark almost yanks the pearl away at the disturbing sight, until he sees them start to retreat. Slowly. Begrudgingly. Wilting and withering, like a plant scorched by the sun on a summer’s day. The moonpearl flares brighter, all but devouring the curse eating its way under Twilight’s skin. Dark’s own curse sizzles at his fingertips where he holds it steady, but it is a minor discomfort compared to the relief he feels seeing the dark veins vanish.

Twilight’s breathing eases. The blood, formerly flowing like it was its duty to do so, slowed. He was still pallid and motionless, but no longer looked like he was seconds away to a grave.

“Finally,” Dark heaves. He feels guilty for not thinking of using the pearl sooner. He slides the guilt right in next to the other pile of regrets, like Twilight getting injured for him in the first place.

Sighing, he loops the moonpearl back over his head and starts working on a fresh set of bandages. The one’s Twilight is currently wearing are soaked and desperately needing replaced. Taking the new cloth back up, which he realizes belatedly belonged to his vai disguise, he starts slicing it into strips with a dagger. Carefully, this time. More even and less liable to tear.

He cuts the used bandages away next, and that’s when he sees them:

Inky tendrils, curling their way out of the wound under the skin. Tiny, for the moment, but ever growing.

The curse is still there.

“Fuck!” Dark all but rips the moonpearl off himself and smacks it against Twilight’s skin.

The curse retreats. For now. Like a hunter biding its time, waiting for Dark to slip up.

He’d need something stronger than the pearl to get rid of it completely. But what? Dark doesn’t regularly carry around holy relics that could do such a thing. The moonpearl was the closest thing he’d come to combating any sort of curses, mainly because anything more potent would burn him to a crisp.

Well… there is one other option that comes to mind.

The Master Sword.

The sword of evil’s bane, that which seals the darkness. Deadly to any dark creature, including Dark himself, but to a Hero? That blade could easily dispel such a curse, and would probably delight in aiding one of her masters in doing so.

But since that isn’t exactly an option at the moment…

Dark slowly, carefully, loops his moonpearl over Twilight’s head.

The tiny glowing sphere rests gently on the hero’s chest. It looks strange there, hanging lightly beside the much darker crystal Twilight is already wearing. Yet the Twili magic drifting from the crystal curls around the light of the pearl, welcoming it all the same.

Something like relief slides off Dark’s shoulders.

Is this what it felt like, to help someone?

He’d helped Twilight before in the battle, but that was fighting. If there’s anything Dark knows, it’s how to fight. This is… different. This is literally risking his sense of self to aid someone.

Without the moonpearl, Dark feels his own curse start to dig into him. Small at first, like pinpricks across his skin. However, he knows from experience just how quickly that can worsen, change into claws curling up his spine and into his skull. A fury that isn’t his own would leak into his mind, making his thoughts muddied. More susceptible to rage.

But, it’s fine. It’s fine. So long as he stays out of combat, and doesn’t get injured more than he already is, Demise’s influence won’t have time to consume him. Dark has gone without the pearl before. Twilight needs it more than him, right now.

…Ugh.

“Your stupid self-sacrificing nonsense is contagious,” Dark complains, disgusted, to the unconscious hero.

Twilight, unsurprisingly, doesn’t reply. He is also still very much injured. The bleeding has slowed considerably with the curse held back, but additional help would not be remiss.

“…Where are those damn heroes when you need them?” Dark mutters.

Behind him, the bushes rustle.

Chapter Text

Footsteps.

Are there more monsters? Another threat?

Dark whips around, dagger at the ready and threatening snarl on his lips.

Twilight is thoroughly dead to the world – wow, terrible choice of words there, Dark – and defenseless. But not entirely: Dark would cut down anything that so much as pointed a blade at the hero. Twilight had taken a deathly blow for him; it was only fair to return the favor.

Yet the black blood itches in his veins… if it comes to a fight, it would be very, very dangerous to participate. Even if the curse is spurring him on, nudging his mind, making his fingers twitch around his weapon. His teeth sharpen. His fingernails curl to claws. His eyes, already glowing, burn brighter.

He mustn’t fight.

He wants to fight

He mustn’t.

The bushes part, and out steps…

An enemy, an enemy, an enemy

The heroes. The one in front wielding the Master Sword, her holy light suffusing the small glade with a haunting light. The blade gleams, pointing directly at Dark. Or more accurately, the still form of Twilight laying prone behind him. Behind him files in the rest of the heroes, who tense when the wielder of the Master Sword suddenly halts and drops into a ready stance.

Danger threat pain dangerdangerdanger

“Sky? What’s wro—”

It’s Wild. Wild’s here, and staring in shock in his direction. Eyes, growing wide and horrified, latch onto Twilight’s unmoving form. On the wound, still bare from where Dark hadn’t yet gotten the chance to redo the bandages.

It’s at this point that Dark realizes that maybe standing over the unresponsive body of their friend, covered in his blood and with a knife in hand, may not leave the best impression.

“Get away from him!”

Ah, shit.

Dark makes to drop the dagger and back away, but a sword is already swinging. The tiny dagger does hardly anything to block the blow the Hero of Warriors sends his way – did he get faster? Impressive – leaving Dark staggering back. Deflected, barely. And only sparing him enough time to dodge the downward cleave from Time – the biggoron sword seems a little excessive, honestly – that splits the ground where he once stood. Wind pops out of nowhere – clever little sneak – and attempts to take him out at the knees. Dark flips back out of range, the kid’s sword cutting through the fabric of his trousers for how close he’d come. An arrow whips past his ear – damn, Wild’s a good shot with a bow – nearly pinning his hat to the tree behind him.

They’re pushing him away from Twilight.

Smart, if Dark was actually a threat.

Which he will be soon, if these idiots don’t stop attacking him.

Fight them end them DESTROY THEM

Demise’s ‘blessing’ is starting to itch in his veins, a growing urge to fight back, to cut them to pieces, to get revenge. It’s not even his revenge, just some echo of a fallen god’s. Yet it demands his attention, his blades, his sanity with every passing second. He grits his sharpened teeth together with the effort of holding the rage back, tasting copper on his tongue for how tightly he clenches them.

If he loses control here, Twilight and the rest of the heroes would be in danger. While Dark doesn’t particularly like the Links by any stretch of the imagination, he wouldn’t want to see them hurt. He’s seen how they treat those they consider friends, and while it’s still a bizarre thing to have that kindness directed at himself, he’d be… he’s not sure. Disappointed? Sad? Regretful? if he lost such a thing.

For once in his long long life, he had felt something more than the empty slog of survival and slavery. To have tasted friendship only to have it torn away within the same day is difficult to think about.

Nothing quite like several swords in his face to remind him of his place.

Dark dodges a blaze of sword-shaped magic that singes his tunic – thanks, Hyrule – and hastily puts all the miserable facts together:

Wild doesn’t recognize him.

Twilight is unconscious, and unable to vouch for him.

He doesn’t have his moonpearl. The cut on his arm from the cursed blade seethes and bleeds, unable to clot properly without the pearl to fight the effects. By the same regard, the unhealed wounds littering his body only serve to coax on his own curse, each cut acting as a distinct cry for vengeance, of wrath.

Tear them APART

The heroes, trigger-happy as they are, see him as a threat. They believe they just found an evil monster carving up their friend. They’re wrong, but when did that ever matter?

KILL THEM

He sees the end in the heroes’ eyes, and knows, through his increasingly muddied thoughts, that there are only two options available to him:

Fight, or flee.

Except those two options, historically, haven’t done much good for Dark. Fighting just gets him killed, and that’s just with one hero at a time, not multiple. While his black blood sings screams shrieks for a fight, he knows giving in would only make things worse. Fleeing would only get him hunted down, plus he’d look extra guilty if he fled now when they thought he hurt Twilight.

So, he chooses to do…

Neither.

It is time to see if the heroes really would attack a friendly Dark. 

His dagger clatters to the ground, dropped from trembling fingers. Defenseless, he holds his hands up, bare and empty.

Several blades are already swinging towards him, and Dark watches them approach in shiver of slow motion. Observing how the weapons arc through the air, whistling a song only death could hear. Every detail etched into the metals highlighted in vicious contrast to the dim forest around them, shining and gleaming in the low light. Beautiful, in a morbid sort of way, and painfully familiar.

The silver of a sword, slotting itself snugly between his ribs—

The glint of an arrowhead, just the briefest flash before it—

The hiss of holy magic as the Master Sword defends her master—

The anger of a fallen god, shown in sharpened steel—

“I surrender.”

Air buffets his face, his hair flying back from the force. His eyes flinch closed, fully expecting the cold cut of death. No matter how many times it happens, he hates to actually witness his final moments. Thankfully, with how many heroes he has attacking him, the death would at least be quick. Dark has learned that to be a mercy, over the years.

But no pain comes.

He becomes aware of his heart beating frantically in his chest, hard enough it must be attempting to escape the confines of his ribcage. But what has Dark most fascinated is that it is still beating.

Dark tentatively pries his eyes open. There before him, so close he can see the reflection of his own glowing iris on the steel staring back at him, is Time’s biggoron sword. Warriors’ blade is tapping the side of his throat, just the slightest pressure away from meeting the artery. At his ribs is Legend’s reforged sword, ready to use him as a weapons rack. On the opposite side, Wind has the tip of his short sword pressed to Dark’s gut, about to turn him inside out.

Beyond them, in a defensive circle around Twilight, stands the others. Wild with a massive bow with no less than three arrows strung up on it, Hyrule with his magic sword blazing, Shorty with a shield raised, and Capey – Sky? – with the Master Sword in all her glowing glory.

Dark, very carefully, doesn’t move. He barely breathes, for how close the metal kisses his skin.

It… worked?

He’s… still alive?

“You… surrender?”

The words break through his astonishment. He flicks his eyes, the only part of himself he dares to so much as twitch, to the speaker. Time looks surprised, for some reason. This does not deter the fact that he is currently towering over Dark, one hairsbreadth away from cleaving him in two.

The others surrounding him look to be in varying states of shock or distrust, and honestly Dark doesn’t blame them. If he’d seen someone carving up his friend, he’d have hunted them down, too. The only difference being the heroes have these things called morals and honor and mercy, all of which seem to be holding them back from outright killing a defenseless person.

“Yep,” Dark breathes out, strained. “You got me. So if you could just not skewer me and heal the hurt hero over there, that’d be great.”

Time stares. They all do. Dark does his best not to wither under the attention, far too used to avoiding it. Attention from the heroes in the past always meant death, and he’d gladly avoid it if he could.

Finally, Time steps back, taking his stupidly big sword along with him.

“Weapons down,” he declares.

Wind sheathes his first, stepping back and looking at Dark confusedly. Legend takes a step back but doesn’t lower his blade. Warriors doesn’t move at all, sword still pressed to Dark’s neck.

“What?! We can’t just let him go!” Warriors protests loudly.

“He surrendered willingly, Warriors,” Time reasons, though he seems uncertain.

“It’s a Dark Link!!”

Dark remembers being annoyed that the heroes apparently had forgotten and never mentioned him from their journeys. He’d like to go back to that option, please.

“We aren’t letting him go,” Time says. Of course not. That’d be too easy. “He’s our only clue as to finding out what happened to Twilight.”

Well, what do you know: a hero can use logic. Amazing.

With his continued survival becoming increasingly likely, and no fighting currently happening, the curse in his blood settles slightly. It simmers there under his skin, ready to rage at the next flick of a blade.

Dark just has to cooperate. Keep the heroes calm, and not stabby.

Ha.

Sarcasm, his beloved. It feels great to use. And to be alive to use.

“Guys! Help me with Twi, he’s really hurt!”

He’d really like Twilight to live long enough for him to use it on, as well. Dark forcefully tears his eyes off the blades and pointy objects directed his way to the unresponsive hero, who's laying propped up against the tree where Dark had left him some distance away. Shorty is knelt by Twilight’s bleeding side, doing the smart thing of checking on the injury instead of lashing out at a mysterious ‘foe’.

Time gives Dark one more hard scrutinizing look, before turning to Warriors. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I won’t,” Warriors mutters threateningly, pinning Dark with a glare more potent than poison. His sword presses closer, enough that Dark has to lean away slightly to avoid getting cut.

“Go, old man,” adds Legend, eyes just as sharp at Dark remembers. “We’ll take care of this.”

Time nods shortly, then he’s off, all but jogging over to the downed hero to help. Dark still hates his guts, but at least the man has his priorities straight. His one eye meets the wound and immediately pulls out a glowing bottle, a tiny fairy floating within.

Time pops the cork, and the distinct sparkling chimes of a fairy follow. The tiny healer swirls around Twilight’s prone form, working to stitch him together as best she can.

Which is the most Dark gets to see, before his legs are swept out from under him.

With his arms still raised in surrender and unable to catch his fall, he lands hard on his front. The breath in his lungs exits all at once in a startled yelp, which turns to a hiss when a heavy boot between his shoulder blades none too kindly pins him down.

“Don’t move,” Warriors growls at him from above. Dark does his very best not to growl back, and keeps still as ‘requested’. Half his face is pressed into the mud, the ground still wet from the rain. It’s cold, but that’s not the reason he shivers.

Anyone not occupied with fixing up Twilight approaches and surrounds him, wary and still armed to the Sacred Realm and back. The heroes sure do know how to give a proper suspicious glare, too. Dark feels not unlike a small skulltula trapped under a glass.

He could just sink into the shadows. Escape that way. They can’t stab or otherwise murder an incorporeal mass… probably. Who knows, it might be possible with some of their tools and light magic. Yet the thought is becoming more appealing with every passing moment.

He just… wants to make sure Twilight is okay, first.

“Anyone have any rope?” someone asks.

“I do,” Wind says, and starts digging through his bag.

Dark’s arms are yanked backwards to bind them behind him, the arrow wound in his shoulder flaring angrily at the abuse, but the fact that the heroes think some measly rope is going to hold him is amusing enough to make him add in his two rupees.

“Rope?” Dark scoffs, insulted. “At least use chain.”

They use chain.

Dark pouts.

Chapter Text

Without reason, Twilight had said. The heroes won’t hurt him without reason.

Being misunderstood as someone who hurt their friend? An understandable reason, if incorrect.

Past experience with fighting and being attacked by Dark? Also reasonable, though less so because those that fought against him all won.

Ingrained hatred against or unease around dark magic users? Unnecessary and foolish; it’s not like dark magic is the only type of magic that can cause damage. The heroes are prime examples of this. The number of things they’ve killed with a wide range of magics and abilities is ridiculous. 

Then there’s the one reason Dark can’t argue against or justify… having black blood. Something the heroes regularly fight and kill at the behest of their goddess.

Now that’s something Dark doesn’t want them aware of.

So far, no one has noticed that his blood is far darker than it should be. Twilight had been loopy from the curse and blood loss when Dark had been hurt and didn’t notice. The rain, in combination with his black clothes and general grime from the ambush, has disguised the black blood trickling down Dark’s back from the arrow wound. His melted bracer has (disgustingly) contained inside any blood leaking from the wound as a sticky and uncomfortable mess. It is extraordinarily painful to have bent behind his back in chains, but largely hidden.

That, or his captors just don’t care.

Regardless, there are a couple tricks Dark can use to hide the blood further. His shapeshifting, for example, can be used for more than just his body. He wouldn’t be a master shapeshifter without knowing the simple task of how to reshape his clothes at will. The fabric is entirely made up of his magic, after all.

So, as subtly and discretely as he can, Dark stitches up the hole in the cloth of his shoulder, followed up by reforming the melted gash through his bracer. His wound Does Not Like That. At all. But needs must, and Dark grits his teeth through the pain as the sturdy reinforced leather chafes and presses incessantly against the cut.

Upon finishing his task, Dark feels eyes on him. Eyes with more than just the standard violence, that is. He looks up to see Wind staring at him with curiosity, a question clearly on his lips.

“What.” Dark snaps.

“You can talk?” Wind blurts.

Dark would be more insulted, if he didn’t understand where the inane comment had come from: Dark had literally never spoken to any of the heroes prior to today, outside of shouts of pain. There’s a reason for that, but not one he’s willing to discuss with his killers.

“I can swear, too. Want to hear?” he asks. Dark has plenty of choice words he’d like to express to the group.

There’s a surprised pause, then Wind’s “Yes” is loudly overruled by several other “No”s.

“What I want to hear is an explanation,” Warrior’s glare would be withering, if Dark wasn’t regularly glared down by a pissy god with the potential to spawn thousands of eyes at once. Perhaps Dark could give the heroes some pointers. …Hm. No, that’s a terrible idea. The dozen eyes currently set on him are bad enough. “Why are you here?”

To most of them, Dark should be dead. Warriors had killed him three times in Cia’s creepy Keep, supposedly forever. Time, Legend, Hyrule, and Wind had had similar experiences across various temples or trials. Legend is the only one that doesn’t look surprised at his state of life, thanks to having to fight Dark multiple times on his many journeys.

Yet here Dark is, alive and being interrogated by a bunch of people that had killed him. And are still threating to kill him.

Dark sighs.

“Shitty planning, mostly,” he answers honestly.

This, of course, implies Dark had much of a plan at all. He’s been stumbling through this entire mess since the Gate spit him out into the sands of Gerudo desert.

Warriors leers over him, sword pointed threateningly his way. “And what’s your plan?”

Meeting all of you without getting attacked or treated like a monster, he almost says, the thought quickly followed up by, and some insane god’s bidding to infiltrate this happy band of heroes to destroy them.

Huh. Come to think of it, Dark hadn’t thought about his mission in a while. Not since the ambush, at least.

Does getting chained up as a captive count as ‘infiltration’?

…Probably not.

“Not dying,” is all Dark says, looking pointedly at Warriors’ weapon.

Wind raises his hand, like this is some sort of bizarre academy. “…Um. Question. Why aren’t you dead?”

Conquer yourself!

Dark shudders.

“Wind!” Sky hisses, scolding. The Master Sword glimmers in his grip, though thankfully not pointed at Dark any longer. “You can’t just ask someone why they aren’t dead!”

The caped hero is blatantly shocked at Wind’s words. Understandably, Dark supposed. Sky had never fought Dark. Never cut down a mysterious foe for some senseless trial or test. Never painted that pretty sword with his black blood.

No, that would come later, in a small infinite room of water and a singular tree. By a hero with the same sword and the same spirit, yet different skin.

“It’s a shade, Sky.” Hyrule approaches, his blade still flickering with unnatural flames, and explains. Poorly and incorrectly explains, but whatever. “A monster created from a spell, taking on the likeness of its opponent.” He frowns, and tilts his head confusedly at Dark. “Except, it doesn’t look like Twilight…?”

Dark thinks back to the oasis when he’d met Twilight. The hero had held his hands up, in both surrender and calm. If he’d attacked then, Dark might have copied the hero’s form to match his strength in an effort to survive.

But Twilight hadn’t attacked.

…at least Dark hadn’t chained him up afterwards. Dark flexes his fingers, attempting to get circulation back into the numb digits. His claws, which he hasn’t quite been able to will away yet, poke at his palms. The chains, that Dark belatedly realizes belong to someone’s hookshot, clink with the movement.

“I had to fight three of these things at once during the war,” Warriors complains, like he wasn’t the victor in all three of those scenarios. He yanks on the handle end of the hookshot for emphasis, causing Dark to jerk slightly in place. “It’s an entity made for evil.”

Okay, that’s enough. Dark had been planning on keeping mostly quiet and cooperating to the best of his ability (sans sarcasm, of course) but this is just plain offensive.

“First off, I’m a fully realized person,” Dark snaps out. “Secondly, I don’t really give a shit about my pronouns, but if anyone calls me it or thing one more time I am going to pitch them into the nearest Lake Hylia.”

The lot of them jump, as if they hadn’t expected him to speak out. Or have opinions. Or pronouns.

At least they have the decency to look properly chastised.

Warriors keeps up his glare, however. “Was that a threat?”

Dark, fully aware that he’s in no position to be making threats, smirks. “Want to find out?”

The captian pulls up on the hookshot handle, making the chain go taut. “You do realize we could kill you, don’t you?”

He ignores the way those words make his stomach churn, and scoffs. “Again?”

An odd silence follows. Dark isn’t sure if it's because they now realize that it’s been the same person they’ve killed over multiple eras, or just the fact that an apparently immortal foe has come back from the dead to sass them.

“You are a persistent bastard, I’ll give you that,” Legend says after a moment.

Pot meet kettle. “How many journeys have you been on exactly?”

Legend blinks, startled, then bristles. “Hey!”

“Guys, stop.” Sky intervenes. Dark swears he sees the corner of the hero’s mouth curl up. Next to him, Wind makes a pfft sound. “This isn’t helping.”

“How about if you ask questions for the situation at hand,” Dark suggests pointedly, nodding towards Twilight, who is still being doted on by a fairy. Do they usually take this long to heal? Dark isn’t sure, “and not use insults or threats as punctuation.”

“He has a point,” Sky agrees, though seemingly confused to be agreeing with the supposed enemy. “Lashing out isn’t going to help us figure out what happened to Twilight. Besides, he’s been cooperative so far.”

“No, he hasn’t!” Dark notes, amused, that the captain is now using pronouns. Guess Dark won’t get to see how well he can swim after all. Pity. “He’s barely answered anything!”

“And I’m sure he’d answer more if he didn’t have a sword in his face.”

“That would be nice, yes.” Dark chimes in, earning yet another irritated scowl from Warriors. Dark blinks back innocently.

Still, the swords, somewhat begrudgingly, are lowered. Sky sheathes the Master Sword, and Dark didn’t realize how annoying the hum of holy magic had been until it vanishes abruptly, like a bug buzzing incessantly in his ear. Hyrule’s silver sword follows, the light from the enchanted flames causing the area to dim further when dispelled. Legend and Warriors lower their weapons, but don’t sheath them.

Dark finds this mildly hilarious, since the most Dark could currently possibly attack them with is the sharpness of his tongue.

“Fine,” Warriors grits out, like the word pained him. He glowers down at Dark. “What did you do to Twilight?”

Dark hums, deciding to summarize. “I got portalled with him. We talked for a while, walked some, fought stuff together,” he’d tick these off his fingers, but alas. “Then when Twilight got injured, I attempted first aid.”

He wonders if the heroes know any other expressions other than staring and glaring.

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable,” Legend scoffs.

“That is literally what happened,” Dark says, irritated.

“There’s no way Twilight just spent the night befriending a shade,” Warriors rolls his eyes and scowls.

It occurs to Dark that maybe the heroes don’t know shit about their friend. They’re so against dark magic users, yet Twilight can use Twili magic to transform into a wolf at will. Do they not recognize it as a form of dark magic? How? The dark sigil is literally painted directly on his forehead. He also apparently at one point had a shadow companion, and there were feelings.

“Why not?” Dark asks simply.

“Because dark magic is evil!”

Dark isn’t sure why he expected any other answer. “Any magic can be evil depending on how it is used,” Dark corrects. “If someone wanted to torch a town or a foe with a fire rod, they could. Want to freeze someone to death? Try an ice rod. Don’t particularly like your enemy having functional nerve endings? Fry them with lightning. It’s not hard.”

Any asshole could do any and all of these things, and the heroes don’t seem to like being reminded that they have, in fact, done some of those actions themselves.

Dark should know, he’s seen it several times. Personally.

“Know that from experience, do you?” Warriors accuses, though he looks unsettled.

Hypocrites, the lot of them. “Only from the receiving end.”

The silence is strained and uncomfortable, the heroes looking between each other with various conflicted and unreadable expressions.

Dark ventures further. “When someone attacks you,” he directs to Warriors. The chain between them has gone slightly slack, “do you blame the sword, or the person who wields it?”

This is, of course, barring the occasional sentient sword. Those are generally bound to serve those they were made by or for a certain purpose, but could still influence their wielder to some degree. The Master Sword, for example, could only be wielded by those chosen by Hylia, or whom the sword herself deems worthy. The Master Sword was made to seal away evil, and so seeks wielders that also wish the same. Nobody with evil intentions would be able to pick her up.

The logic of his argument is sound, but perhaps reminding the man that Dark had fought against him during the war was a bad idea, because the scowl returns. Warriors shakes off the reasoning and goes right back to glaring, pulling the chain taut again. “You’ve attacked me before, who’s to say you didn’t attack Twilight, too?”

This sounds... familiar. When Twilight had appeared before him, Dark had assumed he'd be like any Link that had attacked him before. Then Twilight had talked to him. Fought alongside him. Proven himself trustworthy. Maybe Dark needs to do the same...

“Prove it,” Dark challenges. “Or do you also believe in ‘guilty until proven innocent’?”

“You were standing over him with a knife!”

“Which, if you look at the dagger,” wherever it had ended up, “has no blood on the blade.”

There’s some shuffling, and Legend plucks the dropped weapon up from where it had fallen, half hidden in the undergrowth and leaves. The handle is stained, but not the blade. The metal shines clean, if bent and warped from blocking the force of Warriors’ sword.

“And your claws? Those are soaked in blood,” Legend asks.

Half-dried blood by now, which is sticky and flakey and feels disgusting. “That’s a sword wound and you know it. A dagger couldn’t have made a cut that big. My hands are bloodied because I was trying to stem the bleeding.”

“Then why even have a knife?”

“Neither of us had healing items, so I was using it to make bandages,” Dark answers, because apparently he has to spoon-feed the facts to these idiots. Yet still they look doubtful. “Here’s some proof for you: There’s a pile of cloth next to Twilight that I was cutting into strips.”

Wind goes over to check, while the others still surround him with suspicion. When he picks up the pile, a few strips slip free to flutter back to the ground. He looks back and nods.

“…Twilight could have been making his own bandages, and you came to finish him off,” Warriors offers.

Nayru, you have failed them.

“You won’t believe me no matter what I say, will you? Fine. When Twilight wakes up,” because Dark refuses to say if, “you’ll just have to hear it from him.”

Chapter Text

The fairy drifts over to Time, chiming sadly.

“What…?” Time’s voice sounds shocked. Worried. Scared, almost. “She says she can’t heal the wound completely. Something is slowing her magic down.”

All of the groups deadly attention returns right back to Dark. Just after he’d allowed himself to relax a bit, too. Perhaps it was foolish of him to entertain the thought that he might escape this encounter in one piece.

“I suppose you have an excuse for that, too,” Legend glowers.

He does.

He just knows they won’t trust a word he says.

“The wound is cursed,” Dark answers anyway, knowing he has to try for Twilight’s sake.

There’s a brief pause, the others apparently surprised that Dark actually answered. Then the anger returns.

“You cursed him?!” the captain demands, yanking Dark upright by the chains. This leaves him blinking dizzily at the sudden change in perspective, now balanced on his knees in the mud. The sword returned to his neck isn’t great, but at least he has a better view of Twilight now.

“No, I didn’t!” Dark snaps. Why won’t these heroes listen? “I was trying to help him before you all showed up and tried to murder me!”

None of them believe him. He can see it in their eyes, just as unforgiving and angry as Demise when Dark didn’t perform to whatever unspecified standard the god had demanded that day.

Well. Perhaps not as angry. It was difficult to beat the literal Demon King of Hatred in a match of fury. Still, the heroes are giving it their best shot. They want someone to blame, and Dark’s truths are nothing but convenient lies to their pointed ears.

Which is pretty much what Dark expected, honestly. History has told them dark creatures aren’t to be trusted. That they’re uncaring and cruel. Monstrous.

He doesn’t know what to do to get them to trust him either, other than hope Twilight wakes up to call them out on their bullshit.

Twilight doesn’t, the slacker.

“Then what did?” It’s Time that rounds on him, now. If there’s any recognition at the form Dark currently wears, he doesn’t show it. The hero walks up to and towers over Dark as the fairy flutters nearby.

For a moment, Dark isn’t in the forest at all. The water soaking the grass and his clothes becomes that of a shallow bottomless lake, with him fallen onto the solid surface. The trees vanish, all but one, into a pale misted place from which he has no escape.

Then Dark blinks. The forest returns. The feeling of being trapped remains, and it has nothing to do with the chains wrapped around his torso.

“Well?” Time presses when Dark doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t loom, but he’s tall enough he might as well. His one eye stares down, and Dark has to force himself not to think of back when he had two.

“Like I already told the others,” Dark grits out, trying to ground himself with his usual sass and failing, “We were attacked. One of the lizalfos among the horde of monsters was carrying a cursed blade.”

He still has the sword tucked away in his shadow. If he showed it to them, it would be irrefutable proof of the sword’s existence. However, with how well the rest of this conversation has been going, Dark hesitates to give it up. They’d likely think his possession of it as proof that he used it on Twilight. That, and he doesn’t trust these heroes to not stab him with a pin, let alone turn the cursed weapon on him if he handed it over. Be it as retribution, or whatever inane sense of justice they think they have.

Someone needs to tell these idiots that just because they have a goddess backing them and a blessed sword in their hand that it does not equate to being judge, jury, and executioner.

Not Dark though, because telling them that sounds like a quick way to the ‘executioner’ part.

Regardless, the group looks alarmed at the information.

“A cursed blade?” Sky asks, concerned.

Dark hums an affirmative, craning his neck to see the wound. The fairy’s magic seems to have at least partially closed it, so she did better than the potion at least.

“One of the worst curses I’ve encountered,” barring his own, of course, “It… I’m not sure what all it does, except that wounds just don’t seem to heal. The sword also corroded anything it touched, cutting through Twilight’s chainmail like it was nothing more than brittle parchment.”

Along with Dark’s shield, bracer, and skin.

He can hardly feel his arm anymore, aside from the pain. The blood may be contained, the cut compressed enough by the reshaped bracer to stem the flow, but the curse continues to spread, slowly eating its way through his veins. Without the moonpearl hold it back, it has crawled all the way up his arm, reaching past the arrow wound in his shoulder. He briefly wonders if the inky tendrils would show on his nearly pitch-black skin. Would the heroes notice? Or even care?

Dark needs help. Healing. His moonpearl.

He doesn’t ask for any of it.

Twilight needs them more. Besides, he doubts the heroes would waste the resources on him anyway, even if any amount of healing relieved the curse.

“Twilight drank a potion, but it may as well have been water for all the good it did,” Dark adds, exhausted and hurting and done with all of this. All he wants is Twilight cured, his moonpearl back, and to not die again. And to maybe live as a hermit on a remote island far away from both the heroes and any entitled gods. Is that too much to ask for? “I tried bandages next, but they were just as useless. So if you have any other ideas, that’d be great.”

They look around at each other and mutter, but at this point Dark has grown used to the suspicion. They asked their questions, got their answers, and didn’t like what they heard. But so far as Dark is concerned, they can scowl at him all they want so long as Twilight gets healed. It’s not like the anger is anything new.

What is new is Time’s, if hesitant, gratitude. His expression remains stoic, but there’s a softness there Dark had never seen in the Water Temple.

“Thank you for trying,” he says, oddly lacking the antagonism Dark is used to.

It’s Dark’s turn to stare disbelievingly at the hero. Time had just… thanked him? Believed him? Why?

“Um. Sure,” he stumbles out, feeling just as off-kilter as when Twilight had thanked him before. Then he remembers his sass, and adds: “Just fix him up already. That’s what you heroes are supposed to do, right? Fix shit?”

Fix shit or fight shit. If someone were to sum up all their journeys in as few words as possible, that would be one way to say it.

Time grumbles something about language under his breath, but turns to the others. “Any ideas?”

“You believe him, just like that?”

“This goes beyond just believing him, Warriors. We need to act on the information and evidence we’ve been given to help Twilight the best we can,” he says, with authority. The others listen, perhaps a little chastised for having focused so intently on the enemy as opposed to their friend. “The wound isn’t healing, even with the aid of a fairy.” The fairy chimes apologetically, landing lightly in Time’s hair. “Does anyone have any other thoughts or items that might help?”

Dark opens his mouth to mention the Master Sword, but Hyrule speaks first.

“I have a Life spell I can try,” Hyrule offers uncertainly, looking to his own palms. It may be a trick of the dim lighting, but Dark swears he sees them start to glow, magical energy wafting off the skin.

More importantly: “You have a Life spell and you haven’t used it yet?” Dark criticizes from the sidelines.

“I’ve never used it on another person before! I don’t know if it will work,” Hyrule reasons, before startling when he realizes who exactly had commented. He looks over to Dark with a furrowed brow. “Wait, why would you care?”

Because a dark creature being cooperative under duress, and a dark creature actually having befriended the hero are two very different things.

“Because I don’t want him to die,” Dark glares, to the startled traveler and his increasingly baffled audience. “Now hurry the fuck up and use it.”

Some people may call it unwise to keep lashing out at people who can, and have, killed him before. Those same people also probably have more patience than a bombchu, a severe lack of sass, and a normal mortal lifespan.

Dark has always had a short fuse, even before the black blood started to affect his temper. His sarcasm is all natural though, well-honed and practiced over his many years. He needed something to cope with being stuck in Demise’s service, after all. Not that he really had anyone to use it on, aside from a few unfriendly poes. He knows better than to chat-back to Demise, the god of assholery.

As for dying again… Well. He doesn’t want to. It’s an extremely painful and horrific process. But if these heroes do end up killing him, his body would just reform in the Dark World in another decade or so. With time travel shenanigans, he could be back and annoying the group again within the same day.

He might die anyway even without the heroes’ help.

Dark had been cut by the same cursed blade Twilight was. If a potion, a moonpearl, or a fairy can’t cull the curse, then Dark, who has none of those things, is already living on limited time.

The curse starting to crawl over his chest can attest to that.

In other words, Dark may as well speak his mind while he can.

“…Maybe we should gag him, as well,” mutters Warriors, as if to spite the thought.

“Try it,” Dark says daringly, baring his still very sharp teeth. “See how many fingers you have left when you do.”

Wind snickers. “Do it. I wanna see Wars get bit.”

“Please don’t,” Hyrule chimes in, his hands aglow. “I only have enough magic to cast this once.”

He presses his palms to Twilight’s torso, one on either side of the wound. His Life spell flares, brighter than any fairy, and ignites the injury with healing light. Dark has to squint and look away, blinking the spots out of his eyes.

When the light fades, the wound has almost entirely closed, leaving only a thin irritated line.

“Impressive,” Dark mutters, because he can recognize skill when he sees it. Even though it’s a healing spell, something Dark is regrettably unfamiliar with. The magic was precise and beautiful, almost elegant. It doesn’t really match up with the humble traveler look the hero has going, but Dark knows by now these heroes are full of surprises.

Hyrule gives him an odd look at the comment, but doesn’t otherwise reply. He inspects the wound, which, annoyingly and perhaps unsurprisingly, begins to bleed again.

Twilight remains steadfastly asleep.

The traveler sags. “It didn’t work…”

Darkness below, what is this curse? Perhaps it is more of a poison or toxin? Dark has several poisons in his repertoire, but nothing that comes close to this. It has withstood a moonpearl, a fairy’s healing, and a Life spell. Yet still it clings on.

They need something stronger.

“The Master Sword,” Dark says abruptly. Sky jolts slightly, but Dark is focused on the blade he carries moreso than his surprised expression. “She can break curses, right?”

That had been his original plan to start with: Get Twilight to Hylia’s holy butterknife and smite the curse out of him. Because if the blade can seal away Demise or Ganon or whatever corrupted spawn of itself it makes, then surely it could rid one of her masters of a single pesky curse.

He’d have mentioned it sooner, but things got a little derailed with all the attempted murder going on. Plus, he’d hoped with the moonpearl in place that any healing would be more effective than it has been. Clearly, he was wrong.

“She… can,” Sky says, drawing the blessed blade. Immediately, the irritating hum of holy magic fills Dark’s senses. Both of his curses skitter under his skin, making him finch in pain. “Sort of.”

“…Sort of?” Dark asks, disbelieving. Does the hero not know, or is it not possible? Because if it’s not possible then Dark is completely out of ideas.

“The Master Sword can damage or seal away evil,” Sky clarifies.

“…but not curses specifically,” Dark concludes. Shit.

“It’s worth trying,” Legend offers. “It worked on m… before. It worked before.”

“True… that wasn’t really evil, and it worked,” Sky says, approaching Twilight. He holds the sword steady, the tip pointed directly at the wound. Dark tries very, very hard not to panic at the sight. He’s been there, at the end of that sword, and in had never ended well. Dark half expects Sky to thrust forward, impaling his friend. But Twilight is a hero. Sky is a hero. He wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t.

Sky doesn’t. The Master Sword flares brightly, her holy light seeking out the curse embedded in her master’s form. It’s way too bright for Dark to watch, but he can feel his own curses recoil from the light, hissing and seething.

When the light fades, he peeks over. Did it work? The curse is still present in his own veins, pulsing almost retaliatory agony up from the cut on his arm, but Twilight got a direct dose. With any luck it would be enough to get rid of the blasted thing.

“Did it work?” Wind asks hopefully.

Twilight hasn’t woken, likely due to all the blood loss, but the cut seems… lesser, somehow. Cleansed.

“I’m not sure,” Sky says, uncertain. “She definitely did something, but…”

“But?” Wild asks, worriedly. He hadn’t left wolf-boy’s side since Dark had surrendered, more concerned with his health than the ‘enemy.’ Dark gives him additional ‘not a complete asshole’ points.

“Well, if a moonpearl couldn’t dispel the curse completely, I doubt the Master Sword can. She’s strong, but curses aren’t exactly her forte.”

“A moonpearl…?” Legend starts, finally spotting the little gem glowing next to the Twili crystal hanging from Twilight’s neck. “Hey! I thought he said he didn’t have one!”

Dark sighs, tiredly. “It’s mine.”

They turn to him in disbelief.

“Yours?” Legend asks.

Why is that still so hard to believe? “Yes, mine. Leave it on until we know for sure the curse is gone. It seems to stop it from spreading, at least.”

Without it, he doubts their healing would have been near as effective as it was. The heroes recognize that, and don’t seem to know what to do with the information. Their ‘evil’ prisoner had given Twilight a moonpearl, something to actively combat the curse. Is it manipulation? A lie? Twilight could have gotten his own moonpearl, except they’re incredibly rare, and when would he have had the time on this black-blooded murder spree adventure of theirs?

Black blood that still seethes under Dark’s skin, seemingly confused. There’s no fight to spur it on, nothing to attack, yet his injuries increase with every beat of his heart.

Before, Dark had Twilight’s situation to distract him. Now, he only has his own degrading health to think of, and Dark has never been good at worrying over himself. His arm feels like it’s going to fall off, his chest like its being carved out with a dull spoon, and his skull screams like a redead.

How much longer can he hold out?

“Now that Twilight’s not actively dying,” Dark says, ignoring the new rasp in his voice, “Are we going to stand around in the woods all night, or get somewhere safer?”

Chapter Text

“Warriors, you said a town is close?” Time asks, kneeling back down next to Twilight. Wind hands the bandages he’d been holding to Wild, who looks at them oddly for a moment, to wrap up the hero’s side. It’s not bleeding anymore, but still needs protection and something to keep the area clean.

Warriors nods. “It’s a short walk. There’s an inn we can stay at,” he pauses, looking at Dark. “And a guardhouse with a cell for our… guest.”

Dark rolls his eyes. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

Yes, his head is splitting and a curse is slowly devouring him from the inside out, but he will always have the energy to annoy the heroes.

“Is a cell really necessary?” Sky asks, sheathing the Master Sword. “He hasn’t really done anything evil or violent since we got here.”

Finally. A braincell.

“I’m guessing you’ve never fought him before?” Warriors asks, prodding at Dark to stand up. He does, and oh wow this is a terrible idea. Dark wavers there on his feet for a moment, trying to blink the fuzz out of his vision. His legs, at least, seem to be in working order. The curse hasn’t crept that far yet.

“No,” Sky says. “But I’m guessing you all have?”

Warriors, Legend, Time, Hyrule, and Wind all nod. Wild shakes his head, and Shorty – Dark really ought to ask his name – gives an odd little half-shrug. Dark frowns. Has he fought a hero that tiny? He can’t remember…

“I mean, I think so?” Wind ventures, studying Dark with a puzzled expression. “’Cause the guy I fought looked like me, not… whoever this is.” He waves an arm in a vague gesture at Dark’s current form.

Time is being suspiciously quiet over there, though Dark smirks when he sees his ears twitch at the comment. Twilight’s side is all bandaged up again, so the man studiously occupies himself with scooping the snoozing hero up into his arms.

“So he’s… not the same shade?” Hyrule asks as they start walking. Moving around is also not a great idea. His footsteps feel like thunder, vibrating up his spine to rattle his skull. How had Twilight managed this? Or, well, Dark supposes he didn’t… At least Dark succeeded in keeping most of his blood in his body, so that helps a bit.

“How would that be possible, anyway? We’re centuries apart in the timeline,” Legend ponders.

Ha. Centuries.

“And I definitely killed him before,” Legend continues, confused. “Multiple times. How does he keep coming back, if it’s not just a spell?”

These are all very good and thoughtful questions. All of which Dark doesn’t want to answer, but it is nice to see them using their brains for once. Maybe Nayru hasn’t completely abandoned them after all.

“He,” Dark says, startling the others, “is right here. You can just ask me.”

He might not answer everything, but it’s not like the heroes can force him to reply. There’s nothing they can threaten him with that’s more terrible than what he’s already experienced. Or is currently experiencing. At least the questions would distract him from the pain.

After a brief pause where he assumes they remember that he is not in fact a voiceless shadow and has been chatting back to them this entire time, Wind bounds up to him like a curious child. Dark leans away like the positivity might be contagious.

“Are you the same guy we all fought?” he asks, almost excited for whatever weird reason.

Conquer yourself

Dark sighs. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“But… How?” Legend wonders. “That would make you thousands of years old.”

It would, indeed.

“Time passes differently in the Dark World, or not at all,” Dark goes with. It’s not the reason he has lived so long, but the statement remains true. The Dark World has become so corrupted since Demise took root there that even the passage of time has become warped. It can quicken, slow, freeze, stutter forwards or back, whenever it pleased. Adding time travel on top of all that makes for a wonderful migraine.

Or is that just the curse trying to split his skull in two? …Whatever.

“Okay, weird time shenanigans we’re used to, but. Still. You—” Legend hesitates oddly here, “You died. Like, I killed you. Several times. Your body turned to dust.”

Thank you, Legend, for bringing up all that lovely trauma.

“Don’t like facing one of your victims?” Dark snipes, avoiding the implied question. Some angry little vindicative part of him enjoys the way several of them flinch. A small victory over his many losses.

“…Just answer the question,” Legend grumbles.

Ha. No. “You ever think maybe I don’t want to talk about dying over and over?” Dark seethes at them, who grimace. “And what would you do with the information anyway? Try to kill me again, more permanently this time?”

There is no permanent death for Dark, but the heroes don’t know that. Or need to know that.

“Aside from Twilight and Wild, I don’t trust any of you farther than I could throw you,” Dark glares at the lot of them, taking note of Wild’s startled expression. “And seeing as my arms are currently tied up behind my back, that isn’t very fucking far.”

He shuffles in his chains for good measure. He stops the motion quickly though, hiding his wince at the lance of pain going up his arm.

“Um,” Wild points at themself confusedly. “Why me?”

Dark tilts his head and hums. Yes, his form is different, but his skin, hair, and eyes are pretty damn recognizable no matter what shape he takes. “Forget me already? And here I thought we were friends.”

Wild’s face spasms oddly, eyes going distant in a strange sort of panic. Dark frowns. That’s… not the reaction he was expecting.

Just before the Dark can say something, or the other heroes get all huffy and protective, Wild gasps in a startled recognition, almost dropping their bow. They yelp and point at Dark, utterly shocked, “Sheik?!”

Dark gives a tentative smile. “Hey.”

Wild sputters incoherently, eventually managing a baffled, “But… How?!”

That does seem to be the question of the day. How have you fought so many of us? How are you so damn old? How are you still alive?

Dark just shrugs. “I followed you from Gerudo Town,” he admits, and continues before they can get grumpy about it, “I wanted to meet the rest of you, and thought doing so subtly may be the least lethal way to do it.”

That is severely underselling his mission to infiltrate the group and destroy them, but whatever. It’s true, at least.

“Hold on,” Hyrule starts, looking to Wild. “He’s the Sheikah ghost assassin you met before?”

Dark snorts. He’d forgotten they thought he was a ghost, or one of those banana obsessed lunatics. He’d be more offended if it wasn’t so entertaining.

Warriors cuts in, “Are we skipping over the part where he stalked Wild and spied on our camp??”

He's right, but Dark arches an eyebrow anyway. “Are you skipping the part where half of you have killed me before and would have – and did – attack me on sight? I was being careful.”

The captain’s jaw clicks closed. Then he glowers, defensive. “We attacked because you’re a dangerous dark entity that has attacked us before, and was actively threatening our friend.”

“You assumed I was threatening Twilight,” Dark corrects. “But I get it. You see a bad guy from your past and assume the worst. Can’t have possibly wanted to befriend the guy, or meet some heroes. Of course not.” His sarcasm bleeds out of him faster than his wounds. He sighs. “Hence the sneaking.”

The distrust is definitely still there, though they’re looking increasingly uncertain. Especially Wild, who studies him thoughtfully.

“Prove it,” Wild says suddenly.

Dark raises an eyebrow, confused. “Prove what? That attacking first and asking questions later is terrible in practice?”

“No!” Wild says, though they look flustered. “Prove that you were Sheik.”

Oh. Okay. “You have four hundred and thirty-seven crickets, nine hundred and fifty-six different types of beetles, and a large number of butterflies, dragonflies, and fireflies that I didn’t bother remembering because they’re boring, in your slate.”

They all stare at him. Then turn to Wild.

“I know I should doubt him, but…” Legend mutters.

Wild fumbles for their slate, swiping around to find the stacks of bugs they know they have. “You counted them?”

Psh, of course he did. Those things are prime chaos-causing material, right there.

Warriors groans. “Wild. Why are you carrying around thousands of bugs?”

That may be the least violent or distrusting thing to come out of the captain’s mouth so far. Dark takes it as a win.

“They’re good for elixirs!” Wild says defensively.

Sure. Elixirs.

“Was he right, though?” Wind asks. His eyes are a little too devious for the question to be purely confirming the truth.

Wild looks up from the slate, eyes wide. “Yeah, he is…” they answer, then: “You’re really Sheik?”

“I go by Dark, usually,” he says. “But yeah.”

He can see a whole slew of questions building behind Wild’s lips. What comes out first is, “Why lie about your name?”

“I was in disguise,” Dark shrugs. He does not mention that he forgot to think of an alias until asked, and panic-picked one mostly at random. “If you need more evidence, the dagger Warriors fucked up is similar to the one I dropped in Town.”

A quick swipe to another screen brings Dark’s dagger to Wild’s hand in a stream of light. Legend holds up the mangled one from the fight earlier, and lo and behold, they’re damnably similar. Dark has an impressive hoard of daggers in his shadow he could show them to further back up the claim, but doesn’t summon them. He doesn’t want the heroes to realize just how thoroughly armed he truly is, or remind them of his dark magic.

The longer they forget that he can travel through shadows, the better. Who knows what they’d do if they realized their chains are just a minor inconvenience? He’d rather not find out.

Although… not having a tangible body is starting to sound like a nice idea. By now, the curse has crawled its way over his chest to start down the other arm. If he shifted into a shadow, it might stop the spread.

Or, it might make the curse worse. Something about how the dark magic of the curse seems to cling to him, and his magic especially, makes him hesitate. If he uses dark magic more, it may simply feed into it, make it spread faster.

Is that why the blade affected Twilight so badly? Because he’s a dark magic user? That lizalfos was waving that sword around until its hand was a bleeding mess, and still it had the energy to sprint around like an angry cucco.

Yet one little nick had Dark wanting to crawl out of his skin. So until he’s certain how the curse would react, or until he gets back his moonpearl, he doesn’t want to risk turning into a shadow.

“Oh, shit,” Wild starts, looking up from squinting at the daggers to stare at him with sudden horror. “If you’re Sheik… I shot at you.”

Dark shrugs. “You missed.”

Wild flusters. “That’s not the point!”

“Look, if it’s the attacking me thing, don’t worry about it,” Dark offers, “You’re in good company.”

“Also not the point!” Wild stresses. “You’re my friend, and I attacked you!”

Oh. Right. Friends don’t normally do that. “I mean, at least you didn’t murder me?”

Wild makes a strangled sound. The other heroes that had, in fact, murdered him look distinctly uncomfortable. Dark doesn’t really understand why it matters if Wild attacked him too. Even outside of the heroes, that wasn’t exactly an uncommon thing to occur. He’s glad to be alive, of course. Very happy to not have to painstakingly piece himself together over the next decade or so in the Dark World.

Well. Sooner, anyway. The curse is still eating him from the inside out. If it ends up killing him, he wonders how long it would take him to repair the damage. The longest healing took him over a century to complete. He’d hate to have to wait a century to pester the heroes again.

Besides, when they aren’t being dumb and murdery, they’re actually kind of fun to banter with.

“Dark,” Wild catches his slightly fuzzy thoughts attention again. “I’m sorry.”

Dark stares at Wild, uncomprehending. “For what?”

“Attacking you!”

“…You were defending a friend,” Dark says, still not getting it. At least the attack was kind of justified, this time. Previous Link encounters… not so much.

“Which I’d have liked to do without attacking another friend.”

That… makes sense, Dark supposes. He just. Hadn’t thought Wild cared that much? Like, they talked for maybe two hours in Gerudo Town, was that really anything in comparison to a fellow hero?

Apparently so, given the distress on Wild’s face.

Heroes are weird.

“Let’s hold off on any friendships with shady, historically evil, entities until we talk to Twilight,” Warriors adds in, pointing a finger at Dark. “I still don’t trust you.”

Dark debates biting the finger. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Wild makes a conflicted expression, looking between Twilight and Dark, but lets the subject drop. Temporarily, if the determined glint in their eyes was anything to go by.

“I guess you do look different,” Wild tilts their head. “Actually, you look super familiar, I just can’t figure out why...”

Oh, this’ll be fun.

“Currently, my form is that idiot when he was, like, seventeen,” Dark nods to Time, whose stride stumbles a bit. Dark narrows his eyes. He had better not drop Twilight. They just healed the puppy.

Time looks back at him, unamused, like he somehow expected Dark to keep quiet about it.

Wind, for his part, is delighted. “No way! That’s how the old man looked when he was younger?”

“Yep,” Dark says. For all that he hates the attention, Dark thoroughly enjoys seeing the headache form on Time’s face.

“That is so cool,” Wind says, to Dark’s continued amusement. He looks back and forth between Dark and Time several times. “…Is it rude to say you look weird with two eyes?”

“Yes,” both Dark and Time say in unison.

They look at each other. Dark, because he’s a little shit, winks.

Time narrows his one lonely singular eye, unamused. “Why do you look like a younger me? We haven’t fought in years.”

Aside from the attack on his person fifteen minutes ago?

“I’m a shapeshifter,” Dark says, a bit uncomfortably. Is it a bad idea to reveal his ability? Probably. They kind of already knew, he supposes, but still… “I can change my form if I need or want to.”

“Awesome,” Wind exclaims. Dark blinks, startled. That is not the reaction he was expecting.

“Not awesome,” Legend scolds. Ah, there’s the reaction he was expecting. “It’s shady as hell.”

Hyrule seems to second this. “There are beings called Aches in my era who disguise themselves as villagers to spy for Ganon.”

Dark had honestly forgotten about those pesky creatures. They were rare even at the time of their existence, and have long since died out in the Dark World. Turns out that most of the time following Demise, Ganon, or other highly destructive evil entities usually makes for a rather short lifespan. Go figure.

“Then you’ll be happy to know you hunt them to extinction by the end of your era,” Dark tells Hyrule, somewhat aggravated. Shapeshifters are already so rare. So what if the Aches served an evil overlord bent on world domination? Everyone has their hobbies. “Not that there were many to begin with.”

“O-oh, um,” Hyrule looks surprisingly startled at the revelation of his to-be accomplishment. “That’s… good.”

Dark narrows his eyes and hums. “I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Please avoid sharing any potential time-related paradoxical information,” Time says tiredly.

Dark looks over at him incredulously. “You can’t tell me gathering nine heroes from across eras isn’t paradoxical.”

If his chest didn’t feel like someone left a stray fire rod in it, he’d have laughed. As it is, he’ll have to make do with the satisfaction of seeing the heroes’ brains briefly stall at the fact that they are the time paradox.

“…I’m sure Hylia has a plan,” Sky offers optimistically.

Yeah, it’s called: Throw as many heroes as she can at a problem until they fix it for her.

“Sky, I appreciate you not immediately condemning me to death upon meeting me,” Dark says as placidly as possible, “But if Hylia had a plan, none of this nonsense would have happened.”

Why put out fires when you could prevent them? Dark doesn’t blame Hylia entirely, of course. Demise is one hell of a fire hazard. But still. As a goddess tasked with the protection of this world, one would think she’d do a better job of it.

Or at least prevent cyclical curses trapping the world in a constant state of destruction and healing.

Whatever.

“Regardless, we’re going to help,” Time says, determined. “The black-blooded monsters can’t be allowed to keep threatening the peace and safety of Hyrule.”

Dark does his best not to react, focusing his attention pointedly on the path ahead. Which he realizes belatedly had become a road, leading out of the forest and towards a now visible town in the near distance. In another ten minutes, Dark would probably be tossed in a cell.

Which is honestly fine, because he really needs to sit down. Rest. Heal.

And, most importantly, not visibly bleed.

Dark has the feeling any leeway he’d been given from the heroes so far would be tossed like a stone into the seas the moment they found out he bled black.

“Sure, just spout off our mission in front of our enemy, why don’t you,” Legend admonishes. “The hell, old man?”

Normally, Dark would love to watch Time squirm, but right now he’s too damn exhausted. “I already knew,” then before the heroes could get all uppity over that too, because they’re suspicious bastards, he adds, “Twilight told me.”

Legend turns his grumbles to the passed out hero. “…gonna have a talk with that idiot about revealing information to weird shadow people.”

Dark would have sniped something back if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on keeping his feet under himself. As it is, Dark is pretty sure Twilight has talked to many shadow people other than himself.

The town looms ahead of them, the torches at the front gate as much welcoming as they are foreboding for Dark. He really doesn’t want to go in. He can imagine the fearful eyes of the people, the swords of the soldiers, the shouts of monster! echoing in his ears. Gerudo Town in disguise was one thing. Being chained up and paraded through the main thoroughfare was another.

It’s not until they get closer that Dark realizes that the torches at the gate is only one torch. And the gate doesn’t, in fact, have three blurry doors. Or that the single soldier standing guard doesn’t have multiple identical siblings.

The overcast skies above him swirl in a dizzying motion. Within him, the curse makes his mind spin just as much.

“Oh! Hey, Dark!” Wind’s voice is jarringly loud. Dark squints down at the three overlapping visions of him, trying to decide which one to focus on. “Can you shapeshift into me?"

“Can’t,” he says, picking the centermost one.

“Aw…” the three Winds pout. “Why not?”

Cause it’s a bad idea to shift while injured. Small cuts could end up over arteries, or arrow wounds in the shoulder could end up in a lung, and so on. Found that out the hard way.

“You’re hurt?”

Dark blinks blearily at the hero(es). Oh. Had he said that out loud?

“Yes,” Wind says worriedly, coming to a stop beside him. When had Dark stopped walking? “What’s wrong?”

Something drips from his nose. He watches the droplets fall in a jittery, slowed motion, hitting the cobblestone in a splatter of black. The sound echoes loudly in his ears. The gasps from the other heroes echoes even louder.

All the trouble he went through to hide his injuries and black blood, and it leaks out of his face. Figures.

“So,” he coughs, and more blood drips from his lips. “I may or may not have also been cursed.”

And he falls, rather abruptly, like a sack of rupees.

Chapter Text

When Twilight wakes, he feels a bit like he’d fought through all fifty floors of the Cave of Ordeals with nothing but a stick and a broken shield. Naked.

But he’s not Wild, so that’s probably not the case.

Twilight groans. The worst part is, this is actually better than how he’d felt earlier. Way better. After that crazy lizalfos (what was up with that monster anyway? It fought like a rabid animal, but with purpose) had tried to cut him in half, whatever was on the sword (poison? A curse? Something else?) felt like the first time he’d been devoured by Twili magic. But slowly. And infinitely more painful.

He can only be glad Dark hadn’t been struck by it.

Twilight’s thoughts grind to an abrupt halt.

Dark.

His eyes snap open with a gasp. He makes an aborted movement to sit up, only to have a hand gently, but firmly, stop the motion halfway up. Twilight sinks back into the pillow, exhausted from that simple movement.

“Careful,” comes a voice from above. Twilight looks over, and for a moment he thinks he sees Dark, alive and well. The brief relief is replaced by confusion when he takes a second look, because Dark definitely has two eyes, is younger, and has a totally different skin tone. The eye keeping a careful watch on him is a deep blue, instead of a searing red.

“…Time?” Twilight asks, his voice raspy. His mouth is dry, and all he can taste on his tongue is the metallic tang of blood and the overly sweet and salty remnants of a health potion. Some water would be a blessing right now.

Time must read his mind, because he turns and pours a cup of water from a pitcher and hands it to him. Twilight takes it, frowning at the slight shake in his fingers. Time steadies the cup as he drinks. The assistance would be annoying, if Twilight thought he could actually drink it without dumping the water all over himself. As it is, he just enjoys the blissfully cold and refreshing feeling. It has an herbal aftertaste, and makes his sensitive nose itch a bit. Medicine, most likely.

“Good to see you awake,” Time says when he’s done, setting the cup aside. “You had us worried there.”

Which means the others were freaking out, probably. “I’m alright.”

He almost wasn’t. Twilight had been close to death plenty of times on his journey, but… that wound. The curse… It had him wishing he’d gotten to see Ordon once last time, or that they’d been portalled to his world instead so he could whistle for Epona to give her a final pat. It was close, very close.

Twilight presses a hand to his side, feeling the immediate ache beneath the bandages.

Time doesn’t call him out on the lie, though he does raise an eyebrow. “It took a moonpearl, a fairy, Hyrule’s Life spell, and the Master Sword just to keep you from bleeding out.”

Okay, so maybe Time does call him out. He’s about to insist that he’s fine, even though he can barely consider moving, when the first part of that statement catches up to him. It has him worried, and he doesn’t immediately understand why. “A… moonpearl?”

Time nods pointedly to his chest. When Twilight looks, he sees that he’s bare from the waist up save for the bandages wrapped around his torso, his Twili crystal, and—

Dark’s moonpearl.

It hangs there, softly clicking against the crystal as he breathes, glowing gently in a pale blue hue.

“Where’s Dark?” Twilight says, holding it lightly in his palm, a growing feeling of dread building. The way Dark looked at the pearl at the oasis… This thing was important to him. Dark wouldn’t just give it away.

“So it is his,” Time mutters quietly, before closing his eye and heaving a sigh. Which answers nothing, and worries Twilight even more, before continuing, “He’s safe.”

“Good,” Twilight says plainly, “but that doesn’t answer where.”

He does trust Time’s word that he’s safe. The man is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Sure, he’s got the best poker face of all of them, plenty of secrets, and his journeys were just as confusing as they were mysterious. But Time’s as protective, honorable, and as kind as the rest of the heroes that share their Spirit, so when he says someone’s safe, he means it.

But it took Twilight hours to convince Dark the others weren’t about to attack him just for being there, and he’d really like to know why.

“Close by, with Wild,” Time answers, though Twilight gets the distinct feeling that’s a half-answer, and Time knows it. “We’re in an inn in Warriors’ era. If you’re feeling up to it, we have a lot of questions for you.”

The deflection is not subtle. At all. But Twilight allows it, because he has some questions, too.

Mainly, why Dark thought he was going to get killed.

“Alright,” Twilight says, shuffling himself up against the headboard. Slowly and more carefully, this time. There’s an angry pull in his side. The familiar stretch of a new scar, and given how deep that cut was, he wouldn’t be surprised if the scar stayed. “Let the eavesdroppers in.”

Even without his wolfish hearing, his ears are plenty sharp. The distinct sound of his brothers-in-spirit being idiots is one he’s very much attuned to.

Time pauses, then turns an unimpressed look to the door. It creaks open a second later, revealing several familiar faces. Some sheepish, some entirely unfazed about getting caught. Wind, namely, shoves past and bounds up to the bed.

“Hi, Twi!” Wind says, unabashed at getting caught. “You look much less like a pasty boatswain than before.”

Twilight has no idea what that means. “Thanks… I think.” Wind grins at him.

“Legend has potions if you need them,” Hyrule adds, walking in behind the sailor, “and I have a Life spell that seems to help.”

Legend digs through his bag (one of six, Twilight has no idea how the vet finds anything) and pulls out a red potion bottle. He distinctly remembers the one he drank previously doing next to nothing to help the wound in his side. Dark had thought it cursed… Was that why he had given him his moonpearl?

“Appreciated, but I’m fine,” he says, ignoring the fact that he still feels like he got rolled over by a Goron. The doubtful looks he’s getting don’t help, either. “…I’ll let you know if I need it.”

“You’d better,” Legend scowls at him, setting the potion on the bedside table within easy reaching distance. “You looked like shit when we found you.”

“Language,” Time mutters, and Legend rolls his eyes.

“It was awful,” Wind says, looking uncharacteristically down. “You wouldn’t wake up no matter what we did.”

Twilight can’t resist reaching out to ruffle the kid’s hair, which makes the sailor squawk indignantly. It reminds him of the kids back in Ordon, even though he knows Wind is a hardened hero. “I’m alright,” he reassures. “Tired and sore, but fine.”

“I’m surprised you all didn’t bust the door down when you heard he was awake,” Time says, as the rest pile in. All but Wild take up places around the room, which fills up quickly.

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice,” Legend states.

“I wanted to snoop,” Wind admits, unashamed as ever.

“I just wanted answers,” Warriors says, exasperated. “Which I voted for going in the room to get, but was vetoed.”

Time sighs. “Someone go get Wild, please. If we’re to get the whole story, we should start from the beginning. They met Dark first, so we should start with them.” Sky, who was closest to the door, heads out to do just that.

Something itches at the back of Twilight’s mind.

“I’ve met some of them before,” Dark had told him, looking haunted, like he was speaking of encountering monsters moreso than his friends. “It did not go well.”

At the time, Twilight had thought Dark was being unnecessarily cautious, and maybe a bit paranoid. He’d known the guy for just a few hours and could tell he breathed sarcasm more than he did air. And he was talking about Twilight’s friends, heroes, like they were a bunch of murderers. It just didn’t make sense.

“Except Wild wasn’t the first to meet Dark, were they?” Twilight asks.

A heavy pause.

“No,” Time says grimly. “No, they weren’t.”

What the hell is going on? Why does everyone suddenly look like Ganon just kicked their dog? Twilight had actually been excited when Dark had finally agreed to meet up with the others, eager to introduce him as another Link to join them on their quest.

Now, with how half of them won’t meet his eyes and how Time keeps dodging his questions, he’s not so sure.

“He said he met some of you,” Twilight starts, his tattooed brow drawing down.

Time grimaces. “That’s one way of saying it.”

“What’s the other way of saying it?” Twilight folds his arms across his aching chest. There shouldn’t be another way of saying it. “Because I’d really like to know why Dark was terrified of meeting you all.”

The way they wince and look askance is not promising.

“Terrified?” Legend scoffs. “The guy did nothing but sass us the whole way here.”

Which Twilight is fairly certain is simply how Dark deals with stress. Being dumped in another world with a bunch of people you don’t trust and think are going to kill you sounds pretty stressful.

“It took me over an hour to convince him you guys weren’t going to attack him on sight!” Twilight exclaims.

There’s a pause, where the occupants of the room shuffle awkwardly and look at each other guiltily.

Oh, sweet Spirits, no...

“…Tell me you didn’t,” Twilight is immediately infuriated.

“He was standing over you with a knife!” Warriors blurts, defensive.

A knife? Twilight thinks back, past the fuzzy blur of their trek through the forest, to the clearing they’d been ambushed in. He’d just been cut, blood was pouring through his fingers and the potion had done absolutely nothing, and Dark had started desperately cutting up a cloth. “He was making bandages,” he says incredulously.

“Which we know now,” Warriors grumbles, as if it pains him to admit it. “We didn’t then.”

“…You guys actually attacked him,” Twilight growls out, disbelieving. Except he does believe it, unfortunately. He’d have tried to defend a fallen ally, too. He had just hoped they’d use their brains and think before attacking. He’d stand and bash their heads together if he could. Maybe it would knock loose some braincells.

“We didn’t know he was friendly, Twilight,” Time reasons. “And when we said we’d met him before, we meant as enemies.”

That brings him up short. “…What?”

All of Dark’s hesitation. The fear. The worry that the others would try to hurt him… was because they had. As enemies? But that would mean Dark was evil, or actively working against them, and Twilight has a difficult time trying to match that up to the guy he found bashing his head against a palm tree alone in the middle of a desert.

“All of us have fought him before on our journeys, except for Sky, Wild, and you,” Legend states.

“And me,” Four adds in. “…Probably.”

Legend frowns. “I thought you said—”

“I’ve fought someone similar,” Four clarifies, looking… somewhat sad, actually. “I don’t think he’s the same person, though. He’d have said something, for sure.”

“Are you certain? He is a shapeshifter,” Hyrule asks. Twilight blinks at him confusedly. A shapeshifter? Like him? He had seen Dark turn into a shadow before, but shapeshifting is a whole other thing.

Four shakes his head, denying the words with a melancholic expression. “Unless he can turn his hair purple and his skin pale, he’s not the same. Went by a different name, too.”

“We don’t know the extent of his abilities, and he has used an alias before,” Time points out. “He might be the same person.”

Four’s face twists up, his eyes oddly purple. His fists clench, and he once again insists: “No. He would have said something.”

“…Alright,” Time says, knowing better than to push it. “I suppose you can just ask him later.”

Four nods tightly.

Twilight wants to ask what that was about, but he’s still caught up on that his friends and Dark have history. Bad history.

“What about the rest of you?” Twilight asks, because he has not missed the fact that most of his friends have admitted to fighting him before. Which… Doesn’t make sense, actually. The timeline may be more broken than the Mirror of Twilight, but that doesn’t make it possible for someone to have lived so long as to have fought heroes with hundreds or thousands of years between them. “And how is that even possible for him to have fought all of you?”

Legend tosses his hands up. “Hell if I know! The guy just said something about time working differently where he’s from.”

“If there’s time-travel involved, it’s possible,” Time says knowingly. He sighs. “I met him in a temple. I had to conquer him in battle to proceed. A trial, of sorts.”

“I fought the guy three or four times,” Legend grumbles next. “Most were challenges or tests of strength in different dungeons. I won, of course, but the fights definitely weren’t what I’d call easy.”

Hyrule nods in agreement, absently pressing a hand to his abdomen. If Twilight remembers right, he has a nasty scar there. Dark had done that? “I only fought him once, at the end of my second journey,” the traveler tells them. “He was my last challenge to prove myself worthy of wielding a piece of the Triforce.”

There’s a startled pause.

“What?!” Legend exclaims, “You never mentioned that before!”

“I didn’t think it was relevant?” Hyrule hazards.

“How is the Triforce not relevant—”

“He was guarding it?” Twilight wonders. That didn’t seem very evil to him.

Hyrule shrugs. “Kind of? A Sage summoned him to test me before I could claim it.”

Twilight’s personal feelings about being chosen by or earning the right to wield a massively powerful artifact at the crux of a possibly world-ending war aside, because that’s a lot of responsibility even when split among three people who can also be corrupted, he’s not seeing how someone guarding the Triforce is malicious.

He still has the brand of having held the Triforce of Courage himself, another mark forever inked into his skin of his hand. He much prefers the one on his face.

But that’s beside the point. So far all he’s heard is that Dark had tested the others in battle, and that was apparently enough to be designated into the same ranks as Ganon.

“My fight with him wasn’t even needed,” Wind says miserably, as if confirming the thought. He’s the only one so far that actually looks guilty about it, slumping dejectedly against the wall.

“What do you mean?” Time asks.

“It was a challenge dungeon, made up by this weird lady in Castle Town. I had to defeat all the enemies inside as fast as I could. Dark was the final fight in one of them,” Wind explains, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I didn’t even have to do it to beat Ganon or anything. The dungeon was just… for fun. To see if I could.”

That sounds a bit like the Cave of Ordeals. Twilight didn’t have to clear it, but he wanted to, if only to restore the fairies to their fountains across Hyrule. The Great Fairy's Tears were a powerful reward as well, able to heal most any wound and make him temporarily stronger, but not something he really considered going out of his way to get. Each of its fifty floors were filled to the brim with strong monsters, and even with the right tools he went through more potions and items than he felt the Tears were worth by the time he reached the bottom.

If Dark had been in there, would Twilight have fought him? Over a bottle of Fairy’s Tears?

“I didn’t even question it,” Wind whispers. “I didn’t even stop long enough to find out he could talk.”

Normally, Twilight would be trying to comfort the young hero. He has a soft spot larger than Hyrule field for kids, and often looked after the younger gremlins in Ordon. Many a hair-ruffle or shoulder-ride had been given. Tears had been dried and laughter restored, and he’d been happy to be the one to do it.

But they hadn’t fought or hurt one of his allies for fun.

“Let me get this straight,” Twilight begins, his voice strained, pointing to each hero in sequence. First, to Time: “A trial,” then to Legend: “A challenge,” to Hyrule, “A test,” and to Wind, “Fun.”

He watches as each of them sag under the weight of the words.

“And you think he’s evil for that?” Twilight concludes incredulously.

“I think,” Time starts, “that there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding doesn’t explain away the dark magic,” Warriors argues, stubbornly. “He’s soaked in it.”

Barking up the wrong tree there, Warriors.

“So am I,” Twilight says, pointedly.

The others startle, aside from Time, Four, and Legend, who already know about Wolfie.

Warriors chokes. “What?”

“Half my journey was travelling through dark realms,” as a wolf, but Twilight’s still trying to keep that a secret. The Twili Crystal tingles against his chest. In hindsight, he’s honestly a little surprised nobody has mentioned it. “I used artifacts that definitely weren’t light-based to defeat Ganon. Am I evil for it?”

Twilight tries to tamp down on the fear of judgement. Too many times had he been chased off or screamed at as a wolf.

And then there was Dark, who welcomed a wolf but tried to chase him off as a hylian.

A true contrarian.

A very stubborn, prickly, and sarcastic contrarian, but not an evil one.

“No,” Warriors says. “Of course you’re not.”

“Dark magic isn’t the issue here,” Twilight concludes, in the face of Warriors’ doubt. “The issue is why you lot thought he was an enemy, when all he did was duel you.”

Twilight is trying really hard to be level-headed about this. But if he’d condemned everyone who trained with or fought him to test his strength, half the soldiers of Zelda’s new guard in Castle Town would be ‘evil’.

Time as well, as the Hero’s Shade.

“My fight with him was more than a duel,” Warriors argues. “He was actively fighting against the Hyrulean Forces in the war, on Cia’s side. I had to fight three at once, and nearly lost.”

Okay, that sounds bad, but, “…Three?” Twilight repeats, baffled.

“Cia summoned him multiple times, all at once,” Warriors elaborates, with a haunted look. “I assume it was part of the spell.”

Twilight, who has very little experience with magic, decides to dodge that headache. “Okay, but… it was Cia’s spell.”

He has no idea how the summoning thing works. Or who Cia is, really. Or anything about the war Warriors went through.

But he does know that Dark probably didn’t go and summon himself three times over, especially since his main goal since Twilight met him seemed to be not getting attacked by the heroes.

“Are you saying it was out of his control?” Warriors says, challengingly. “Because he definitely fought like he wanted to be there.”

Twilight has seen Dark fight, witnessed the skill in which he tore through the monsters that ambushed them with ease. It’s not something Twilight would want to face in battle himself, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to spar with the guy.

“I’m saying that there’s more to Dark than trying to fight a bunch of heroes,” Twilight states. “He literally ran from us in Wild’s world. I spent hours convincing him he wasn’t going to get stabbed. Then when I got stabbed, he kept my ass alive ‘til he found you all.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Besides, I’m failing to see how him losing some fights against you is evil.”

The others seem to finally be seeing it, too. Time closes his eye and almost visibly adds another regret to the secret stash he has. Legend has his arms crossed, closed off and defensive, as he thinks. Hyrule digs his fingers into the scar hidden beneath his tunic, eyes distant. Wind’s eyes are watery. Warriors simply doesn’t know what to think anymore.

“Um. Yeah. About that,” Wind stumbles out after a minute, “We kinda… did more than just fight him on our journeys.”

Twilight frowns. “What do you mean?”

“So,” Wind fidgets. “He kinda… di—”

The door busts open, Wild bursting through with a grin. “Twilight! You’re awake!”

They bound over, grabbing Twilight in a suffocating hug. They’re careful not to jostle him or his injury, but Twilight still ends up with his face smushed into Wild’s shoulder. Their tunic always smells like the forest. And smoke. Twilight would blame all the cooking, except that Wild is a Link, and therefore prone to pyromaniac tendencies.

"Ack, Wild, get off!" Twilight growls and complains for the sake of complaining, though he's secretly smiling. "I’m fine!"

Wild relents, letting go and taking a step back. “Good. Stay that way.”

Twilight huffs. “I plan to.”

“Wild, did you have to sprint?” Sky comes wheezing in a moment later, clutching the doorframe and bending over to catch his breath. Then he blinks up, and takes in the heavy atmosphere. “Um. What did we just walk into?”

Twilight looks around at his gloomy fellow heroes, and sighs.

“A reality check.”

Chapter Text

“How disappointing.”

Far above Dark, in the endless void in which he stands, a malice-scorched eye stares down at him, in unblinking and uncaring judgement.

“I gave to you the simplest of tasks.”

The water beneath his feet begins to roil and churn in a dizzying motion, causing Dark to lose his balance and tumble to his hands and knees. The surface supports him, but barely.

“Yet still you fail me.”

Black blood drips from Dark’s nose and mouth. Where the droplets meet the water, the inky color spreads like a stain spilt upon wet parchment. It pollutes the area around him. Consumes. Infects. Devours all of the seas he can see.

The seas, in turn, start to devour Dark. His arm sinks in first, the clothing soaking through instantly, followed by his shoulder and chest. He tries to pull back, but his strength means nothing to the uncaring waters. The blackened depths draw him deeper, and no amount of struggling allows him to stay on the surface. Soon, Dark is left gasping and sputtering as all but his head and neck have submerged.

The water -the blood- burns.

Dark screams, or tries to, but the water floods in, and—

Then, suddenly, the eye screeches.

The blackened water rushes away as if repulsed, leaving Dark coughing and choking in a heap on the once again still and peaceful surface. When he opens his eyes, he finds the tempest has ceased entirely. The tainted waters are calm and clear. The eye is gone.

The gentle ripples of the water reflect nothing but a bright, pure moon.

Dark’s eyes snap open to reveal not a nightmarish eye or a moon, but the carved stones of a ceiling.

He spends several long minutes staring at it, dazed and disoriented and desperately trying to will away the lingering cold of the water from his dream. It wasn’t the worst he’s had, but it was certainly confusing. Demise doesn’t usually stop whenever Dark starts screaming.

So. If not in a nightmare, then where is he?

At first, Dark thinks himself back in his room in the Temple of Darkness. The stonework is similar, as are the blank four walls slowly crushing in on him with a growing feeling of being trapped. But his claustrophobia can shove it for now, because there’s no way this is the Temple. There’s no malice leaking into the corners of the small space, or an endless abyss swirling outside a barred window, and the only chains present are wrapped around his wrists instead of hanging from the ceiling.

Instead, the cell is just... Plain. With a cot, and a non-bitey door. It’s all very fascinating.

Mainly, because he shouldn’t be seeing it at all.

“How the fuck am I alive.”

It’s not even a question, just a statement of blatant disbelief.

He did just collapse in a puddle of his own black blood in front of a bunch of black-blood-murdering heroes, right? He didn’t just hallucinate the entire past day? Befriending a wildling and a stray magic dog? And the almost getting filleted eight different ways while trying to save the aforementioned magic dog? That was A Whole Thing. There’s no way he imagined it.

Dark definitely bled in front of the heroes.

So he definitely shouldn’t be alive and well.

‘Well’ being… a bit subjective.

Because Dark vaguely feels like a frox chewed him up and spat him out, then sat on him for good measure. Moving right now would be a questionable decision at best, but if there’s anything he has learned in the last day is that he’s really good at making terrible decisions with unintended life-altering consequences at an alarming frequency.

He’d hate to have to break the streak.

So, he sits up. The cot he’s laying on, which is little more than a slab of wood, creaks nearly as much as his bones with the movement. It’s a slow, momentous, effort to get himself upright. A long, rather impressive, slew of profanity wheezes out of his lungs during the process. By the time he slumps his back against the wall the cot is bolted to, many a Sage of Hylia would have fainted from the offense.

“Din’s tatted tits,” he concludes in a hiss, “I am never doing that again.”

Not the sitting up part, the self-sacrificing nonsense part. The heroes can keep that job.

Speaking of heroes, the room is distinctly lacking any of them. Friendly or murdery, Dark would have expected at least one of them to be around. Yet the cell is empty, except for him and his hurts.

Which reminds him, how in the deepest depths is he not dying from a curse right now?

His arm throbs with the familiar ache of an injury, but it’s not actively attempting to eat him alive anymore, which is nice. Doesn’t explain why he isn’t dead, though.

Dark sluggishly blinks down at his arm and stares, uncomprehending, at what he sees.

A moonpearl.

It’s not his— This pearl is slightly smaller and has a different swirl to it, and is wrapped in a braided leather cord. The length of which is tied snugly around his wrist, next to his wound. His bracer has been removed and the sleeve of his shirt, stained with dried blood, has been shoved up past his elbow and out of the way.

In their place are bandages, carefully wrapped over his skin from wrist to elbow.

Dark stares at them, baffled.

Questions tumble around in his groggy mind, but mainly it comes down to: Why?

Someone had patched him up. Then given him a moonpearl, a rare and invaluable resource, to stop the curse. It had to have been the heroes, but why waste the resources on him, a black-blooded enemy? Their braincells may be even more rare than a pearl, but they weren’t dense enough to not notice the color of his corrupted blood.

Yet here Dark is, alive.

It just doesn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand…” he mumbles, to the empty and unsympathetic prison cell.

Did they help him out of pity? Or some dumb hero’s sense of honor? It’s certainly not because they care about him. If their chat earlier was anything to go by, the group was suspicious of him at best. Twilight and Wild might have vouched for him, but that was before he kissed the ground and accidentally revealed himself as a ‘monster.’

Maybe they wanted to keep him alive to interrogate him? That seems the most likely. He’s never heard of any of them keeping enemies alive long enough to do something like that, but he supposes it’s possible. They had questions about the black blood for their quest, and Dark, unfortunately, has the answers.

“…Like hell I’m sticking around for that,” Dark scoffs, and immediately starts planning his escape.

This is, of course, ignoring the fact that he can barely move. And that the curse is still there. A moonpearl he may have, but that hadn’t rid Twilight of the curse, so Dark holds little hope of it doing any differently for him.

…He hopes the wolf-boy is okay.

Dark blinks and shakes himself, which isn’t very hard because he’s already shaking, and tries to shove the concern away. Twilight was healed earlier, for the most part, and is currently with the heroes. They’d make sure their friend didn’t die. He and the others were probably in the inn that Warriors had mentioned, comfortably chatting away about their kill counts or something.

And Dark... Well. He’s right where Warriors said he would be:

In a cell, awaiting their judgement.

“Not for long,” Dark mutters, managing a tired smirk, and shifts his wrists right through the chains. The metal clatters together as it lands in a heap in Dark’s lap. The brief use of dark magic brings a jab of pain from his wound, the curse reaching out hungrily for the magic, before the moonpearl snuffs it out with a shimmer.

Which is good. But also not, because that means travelling as a shadow is out of the question.

Dark glares at the wound, offended.

“You’re making this very difficult, you know,” he tells the curse, like it could listen to him, or care. “…And I’ve been talking to myself this whole time. Great.”

He sighs. Brief as they were, his conversations (arguments, really) with the heroes had been… kind of nice, actually. Minus the threats. It left him expecting an answer when he spoke, or a sarcastic quip. When nothing but his own echo bounces off the cell walls to answer him, he feels oddly disappointed.

Dark doubts they’ll talk with him, anymore. Not after all this.

“…Whatever,” he whispers. It’s fine. Dark has survived this long without friends, or talking to people on a regular basis, so going back to the silence shouldn’t be that hard. One day of kindness couldn’t possibly outweigh the rest. Besides, he’s practically immortal; he’ll get over it. Eventually.

(He won’t.)

Dark ignores the feelings, emotions are dumb anyways, and refocuses on the task at hand: He needs to get out of here. Heal himself, and figure out a cure to this damn curse.

Because if it’s still clinging to Dark, it’s certainly still clinging to Twilight.

He pauses.

“Oh, shit,” Dark jolts upright, which causes his whole body to say No, and then he proceeds to spend several long moments gritting his teeth through the pain. But that doesn’t matter, because: “Twilight’s still cursed.”

He’d smack himself, but he can’t move his hand that high. He’s been sitting here moping and having a crisis, meanwhile Twilight could be getting devoured from the inside out by malevolent magic.

If the heroes were smart, which he has some significant doubts about, they’d have left Dark’s moonpearl in place. So Twilight... might be fine? There’s the whole getting zapped by the Master Sword thing, too. He’d hoped she had rid wolf-boy of the curse, but Sky hadn’t seemed convinced…

Dark isn’t sure, so he sits there and wavers on what to do.

Escape? Find Twilight?

…Both, Dark decides. Both is good.

He needs to at least see if Twilight managed to shake off the curse before leaving. How, though? He has no idea where he is, other than in a cell in Warriors’ era, or where the heroes might be. He could wait for them to show up (the interrogation is coming, he knows it), but he’d rather talk to them on his own terms. Preferably with a solution to the curse in hand, just in case they’re feeling stabby again.

Dark looks around, seeking something, anything, that might help. Unfortunately, nothing and nobody else is around.

It’s just him, and the giant glowing portal swirling in the corner.

......

“…Um,” Dark says, staring blankly at it.

That was not there before.

Dark knows he’s not in the best shape, but he feels like he would have noticed a massive triangular temporal rift in the room earlier. It reeks of Hylia’s light, which causes his dark magic to prickle defensively against his skin. He leans away, wary and suspicious.

If previous experience has told him anything, she could’ve just snapped the portal open right under his feet if she wanted him to go through so badly. Yet the portal remains in place, spinning patiently. Waiting for him.

It’s an out. An escape.

…And way too convenient.

Dark scoffs at it. “Give me some credit, Hylia. I know better than to accept convenient gifts from enigmatic gods.”

It’s not a gift, of course. Dark isn’t so naïve. There’s nothing in this or any world that comes for free, or without a catch. What would she want in exchange for helping him? To bind him like Demise has? To give him an impossible task? An untold debt?

“You know Demise sent me,” he tears his eyes off the portal, instead staring at the slightly bloodied bandages wrapped around his arm. “I’m here to ruin whatever stupid quest you have your heroes on. So don’t bother with the tricks, your holiness. Just kill me and be done with it.”

There. Even if she hadn’t already known of his mission, she does now. He expects the portal to snap closed, or holy light to blast out and fry him, or for it to drag him in to dump him in Death Mountain, or something equally lethal. Maybe she’d just teleport him right onto one of her heroes’ swords. That would be fitting.

Yet nothing happens.

The portal remains where it is, humming peacefully.

What is she waiting for?

“…Whatever. Spin there all you like,” Dark says, derisive. He’d rather take his chances breaking out of prison and fighting past the guards than walk into that portal... To end up at Hylia’s mercy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find a way to uncurse one of your dumb heroes.”

Himself, too, but that’s not important. He forces his feet under himself, and stands.

Or tries to. What happens instead is his legs folding beneath him like wet parchment, sending him sprawling onto the hard stone floor. His vision briefly whites out from the impact, and he spends several minutes wheezing through the agony every inch of him has to offer. With it, he realizes there’s no way he could hope to escape or fight his way out of here. Not in his current condition.

When his vision clears, he sees the portal is still spinning there. Mockingly.

“…I hate you,” Dark informs her miserably, face pressed to the floor. Then he groans, defeated. “Fine, oh mighty goddess of Light. Get me the fuck out of here.”

He pretends not to hear the laughter in the glow of the portal as it whisks him away.

Chapter Text

Instead of cold, Dark wakes to warmth.

Instead of a blank stone ceiling, he sees a vast open sky.

Instead of a hard wood cot, he lays on soft grass surrounded by plants.

Instead of the stifling still air of the cell, a gentle breeze brushes over his skin.

Instead of being alone, there’s a guy falling freely through the air far above him.

…wait, what?

Dark blinks hazily up at the figure as they almost seem to stumble in midair when they spot him, immediately catching themself on a cloth contraption and course correcting towards him. Dark closes his eyes. This is obviously a dream. The prison made sense, but the vast open world around him and the person shouting his name in shock and concern doesn’t.

“Dark!”

Hm. That’s awfully realistic for a dream. The thump of feet hitting the ground nearby followed by them tearing across the grass to kneel at his side was strange, too.

“Dark!” the person yells again, annoyingly close to his ear. Ugh. He just wants to sleep. Fingers press searchingly into his neck, just under his jaw, and the touch is almost jarring enough to rouse him. Touch is not usually a good thing for Dark, and having someone so close to such a vulnerable spot is alarming. Or it would be, if he wasn’t so tired.

Another touch, less gentle this time, tapping incessantly against his cheek. “Wake up!”

Dark flinches away. The fog in his mind flinches away along with it, and Dark bemoans the loss of the dream-like haze he’d been lost in. What rushes in to replace the haze is the all-too familiar aches of injuries.

Right. The curse. The prison. Hylia kidnapping him, again, to some unknown destination.

He doesn’t remember the portal much. It had been way too bright, and his dark magic too weak to defend him, and Dark’s mind had promptly said nope and deposited him back into the peaceful realm of unconsciousness. At the same time, Hylia had deposited him… here. Wherever here is.

Which, while surprisingly restful, is apparently home to strange, loud, toga-wearing idiots from the sky.

Dark pries his eyes open to properly glare at the person, mouth fully prepared to unleash a torrent of profanities at the guy for daring to disturb him, when recognition cuts them off.

“…Wild?”

It is the hero, Dark is fairly certain, but their appearance is different. Older, perhaps, though Dark is a terrible judge of age given his immortality and ability to shapeshift to whatever age he wants. But the scars across Wild’s face and ear haven’t faded, only eased into the skin, and a few new marks have joined them like flecks of paint over canvas. Eyes, bright and kind, stare at Dark with a wonder he doesn’t understand, before Wild surges forward. “You’re okay!”

Dark yelps, startled, hissing and struggling as Wild… holds him? Their arms are wrapped around Dark’s shoulders, pinning his arms down and slightly lifting his back off the ground, to squeeze him tightly.

What is this? Some sort of attack? An extremely ineffective grapple? An attempt to pick up and throw him? Why is Wild so happy and laughing and crying about it?

Confused and aggravated, Dark rears back and headbutts Wild with resounding crack.

“Ack!” Wild exclaims, jerking backwards, thankfully freeing Dark from the hold. Dark weakly scrambles away as Wild sits back on their heels, rubbing their bruised forehead with… what’s up with the weird magic hand? “…Right. Not huggable yet.”

He hisses again, affronted. The hell is a hug? Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

“Sorry, Dark,” Wild says sheepishly, “I should have asked before grabbing you suddenly like that.”

Dark, having rarely ever been asked his consent to anything before, just nods warily. He changes the subject, wanting answers moreso than dwelling on his autonomy. Or lack thereof. “You… are Wild, aren’t you?”

Wild’s ears perk up at the name, and their face softens. “Yeah, it’s me.”

So, not an immediate threat then. Except from… hugs, apparently. Dark shudders.

He looks over this new version of hero he’d just met, gaze lingering on the weird arm to the cursed marks etched over Wild’s shoulder and chest. There are trace amounts of dark magic in the skin, but nothing actively malicious like the curse clinging to his own wound. More like Twilight’s tattoo; a curse long defeated, with only the marks left remaining.

Wild doesn’t bother hiding it either, having apparently forgotten what actual clothes are. The hero is wearing nothing but a short toga and string sandals. Their hair is longer and more windblown than before.

“…I see you still don’t know how to use a hairbrush,” is all Dark says, in lieu of the dozens of questions he has, and Wild is clearly expecting, about the whole… arm thing.

Wild lets out a startled laugh, easily firing back, “Yeah, well, not all of us can shapeshift themselves a new hairstyle whenever we want.”

That is true. “Sucks to be you, I suppose.”

Dark missed this. Talking to people. The banter. Sassing the nearest hero. It’s strange how relieving it is to not have to go back to the silence and solitude, even though he’d only known the others for less than a day. He doubts Hylia whisked him away into the distant future to chat with a friend about hair, but the brief reprieve is nice. However temporary it might be.

He sits up slowly, still very much injured and sore, to better study his surroundings. There’s a flat stone set into the ground behind him that he shuffles back and slumps against, gasping quietly as he accidentally puts pressure on his injured arm. Not quiet enough though, as Wild’s face snaps from smiling to serious in an instant, and Dark tenses up again as they lean closer to inspect the injury. Their hands hover, but don’t touch.

“Your arm!” Wild exclaims, unbothered by the black blood seeping through the bandages. Understanding blooms beneath the worry. “Wait… this must be when— Goddesses, that’s so early! No wonder you’re looking at me like a weirdo.”

Dark is still catching up to the fact that he hasn’t been attacked for his black blood yet. “…All you heroes are weird.”

“True,” Wild agrees, not even attempting to deny it, then pulls out their Sheikah slate. Or what Dark thinks is the slate; it looks different, but the magic oozing from it is similar to when he met her in Gerudo Town. “Hold on, I know what will help.”

A stream of light brings a bottle to Wild’s weird magic hand, which they immediately hold out for Dark to take. “Here, drink this.”

Dark eyes the bottle of mystery liquid dubiously, not taking it. “…What is it?”

Wild seems saddened by his suspicion, but smiles anyway, still offering the odd potion. “I call it a Sunny Elixir,” they answer. “It will help with Gloom damage."

Dark frowns. He’s never heard of either of those things. “Gloom?”

“The curse,” they point to Dark’s bandaged arm, where he has it clutched to his chest. “Well, it’s not really a curse, exactly,” Wild’s expression briefly shadows over, “but it might as well be. It’s damaging enough.”

The darkened fingers of Wild’s hand twitch around the bottle, and Dark once again finds himself studying the limb they’re attached to. The more he looks, the more it seems like the arm isn’t a part of Wild at all.

…Damaging, indeed.

“…I thought the curse similar to Malice before,” Dark offers tentatively, accepting the bottle. His fingers brush against Wild’s, and he finds the digits are oddly cold. “Was I right?”

Wild nods, grim. “It’s basically a shittier type of Malice.” Great, there’s a worse version of Malice? Demise clearly has entirely too much time on its hands. “Way more potent, and the damage lasts until it can be properly removed.”

“Which doesn’t include any of the attempts to get it out of Twilight, I’m guessing.”

“Or you,” Wild adds gently. “But no. There are a few ways to get rid of it completely, but usually you just need to consume something infused with sundelions, or be in direct sunlight.”

Dark looks pointedly to the vast open sky above them, where the sun shines down through the leaves of a nearby tree. He does feel slightly better, but the curse – or Gloom, he supposes – is still seething there beneath his skin.

“The sunlight trick only works if it hasn’t gotten into your bloodstream yet,” Wild adds, answering the unspoken question. “I wish it were that easy,” they lament. “Would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

As if a hero’s life was ever easy. Though Dark would wager his was just as complicated.

He sighs, and pops the cork on the bottle. It’s difficult to do with one hand, his injured arm being next to useless at this point, but he gets it done after a minute of struggle. Wild visibly twitches forward as if to help, but refrains from doing it for him, which Dark appreciates.

What Dark doesn’t appreciate is the absolutely foul taste of the concoction. His tongue revolts at the first sip, making him choke and swear. “Wild. The fuck am I drinking?”

“Sundelions!” Wild grins in the face of his absolute disgust, gesturing to the plants surrounding them. Hylia had apparently deposited him on top of an entire swath of them, though Dark had no idea what they were. Plant life is rare in the Dark World, so he has little hope of recognizing much of the flora and fauna from Hyrule. The sundelions are… pretty, he supposes. And useful. That doesn’t make him want to chuck this bottle into Death Mountain any less.

“Usually the flowers are cooked into food,” Wild continues cheerily, “but I know you don’t eat much, so this is the alternative. It’s just the cooked greens mashed up and mixed with water.”

Wild… made this specifically for him? …No. No, a bottled cure was just more convenient, most likely. It makes sense to have something easily drinkable than to stop to eat a full meal, especially if the Gloom affliction was particularly bad. He can’t imagine Twilight having been able to stop to eat a whole dish of food while bleeding out in the forest.

Dark sips at the elixir, slowly emptying it one disgusting swallow at a time. He isn’t sure if downing it all at once would be better or worse, but Wild is right: he doesn’t usually eat things. He doesn’t need to, since his body is sustained by dark magic. He drinks magic replenishment potions occasionally (they don’t taste nearly so foul) to help heal himself quicker, but that’s all. If he drinks this nasty flower goop any faster, he’s liable to choke or throw it up.

Beneath the bandages on his arm, the Gloom weakens and withers. The pain that had been steadily throbbing through his entire body eases, like a held breath finally released, and Dark visibly sags in relief. The magic of the moonpearl hanging from his wrist stops humming so loudly against his senses, the strain of its battle cutting back to half.

“…This feels too easy,” Dark says eventually, feeling the Gloom fade further with every sip.

“Did you want to try the cooked greens?” Wild offers.

“No,” Dark stresses immediately. Hylia, please, no. “No, I meant this whole trip here.”

Wild frowns, confused. “How so?”

“I needed to find a cure to the curse. Gloom, or whatever,” Dark glares at the nearly empty bottle. Only a few more sips of suffering to go. “Then Hylia just. Pops open a portal. To here, to you, who has exactly the cure I needed. It was too easy.”

Wild stares at him, incredulous. “You mean to tell me that almost dying, helping Twilight, then facing down eight angry heroes and surviving all while cursed by Gloom wasn’t difficult enough for you?”

Um.

Well. When it’s worded like that…

Still, Dark shakes his head. “I don’t know! I just feel like there should have been a fight or something.”

Wild’s expression eases. “Not every battle has to end in a fight.”

It has for Dark. If he hadn’t surrendered earlier, he’d have had to fight the heroes to the death. Of that Dark has no doubts; if the battle hadn’t stopped back in that forest, then Dark wouldn’t be here sipping away at a cure to the curse at all. Hylia wouldn’t have been able to portal him here if he was laying in pieces in the Dark World, after all.

If Dark had died, no one would know how to cure Twilight. Of course, this is assuming Dark can figure out how to get the elixir to Twilight after this. Would Hylia portal him back?

…Which doesn’t make sense, either. Hylia could have picked any one of her favorite heroes, who have proven themselves worthy, saved the world many times, and have no dubious connections to evil, than Dark. Or at least chosen someone that could properly move at the time. He couldn’t even stand up when she whisked him away.

So why him?

“I can see you ruminating over there,” Wild says, startling Dark out of his spiral. “Rupee for your thoughts?”

Dark huffs. “I’m trying to decide if Hylia just made me her personal postman.”

Wild laughs. “You’d burn the postman outfit before it got within ten steps of you.”

He would. Dark has only seen a postman once or twice, but that was plenty. Those shorts barely qualified as clothing, and one moon was already enough for this world.

“Well, she obviously wanted me to come here to get this for Twilight,” he says, swishing around the last bit of sludge in the bottom of the bottle.

Wild frowns. “I mean, maybe. I don’t claim to know what goes on in her holy head. But this cure is for you just as much as it is for Twilight.”

Dark highly doubts that. This is comparing one of her Heroes to an agent of Demise. Why on Hyrule would she want to aid Dark, unless it’s for the benefit of others? Dark is not so important as keeping the world of light at peace, and that includes keeping her heroes alive to defend it.

“Look,” Wild continues, sensing his doubts. “If Hylia wanted Twilight to get the cure, she would have sent him through time and not you. And, if I remember right, he was in way better health than you were at the time, so the trip would have been easier for him.”

Dark doesn’t know what to think of that, though it does make sense. “Why not just send you back?”

Wild shrugs. “Can’t have two of me at the same time. If you’re talking paradoxes, that’s a quick way to make one.”

“…Like the timeline isn’t a mess already,” Dark scoffs, and downs the rest of the elixir with a final grimace.

The last shreds of Gloom dissipate with a bitter farewell, and Dark sets the empty bottle aside to peel the bandages away. The cut is still there, but already starting to scab over now that his magic is finally able to start stitching him back together unimpeded. Dark flexes his fingers stiffly, moving them for the first time in hours. The arrow wound in his shoulder, which the heroes missed entirely, closes itself with a dull throb.

Dark pulls a magic potion from his shadow and downs it. Partially to replenish himself and help the healing process, but also to wash the horrid taste of the sundelions off his tongue.

“Do you have more of these?” Dark asks, gesturing to the empty elixir bottle. He should have asked prior to drinking it… Twilight’s going to need the cure, and it would be just Dark’s luck to have used up the only one.

Plus, Dark doesn’t want to be the only one to suffer the taste.

Turns out his worries over the lack of supply are unfounded, as Wild simply smiles and summons a dozen more from the slate. Dark fumbles as they tumble into his lap.

“Take them. I can make more if I need to. I’ll show you how to make them, too,” Wild says. “Getting the sundelions can be tricky though... They can only be found on Sky Islands in my era.”

Dark, vaguely overwhelmed by the bottles he’s been half-buried under, has to ask: “Won’t letting me take these back mess up the timeline, too?” then the rest of the sentence catches up to him. “Wait… Sky islands?”

Wild grins. “You didn’t notice?”

They gesture widely, to the vast world beyond the little patch of flowers and trees the two of them have been sitting in.

Dark stares confusedly at the cliff, or what he assumed was a cliff, until he realizes the sky meets the horizon way too close for comfort. The chunk of land they’re on simply ends, not ten steps away, into an open void of air. Beyond them in the hazy distance are other clusters, some larger or smaller, of land simply… Floating there.

“Din’s tits,” Dark swears, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Wild’s resulting laughter echoes out into the open skies.

He carefully extracts himself from the pile of Sunny Elixirs and stands. Slowly, and only slightly unsteady, walking over to the edge to peer over. Wild walks with him, close enough to catch him if needed, but otherwise letting him gawk in peace.

“Don’t worry about the elixirs messing with the timeline,” Wild offers after a few minutes, answering his other question as he stares down down down at Hyrule far below. “If Hylia didn’t want you to have it, she wouldn’t have sent you here in the first place.”

That’s… probably true. He can’t think of any other reason she would let this happen.

“Where… and when is here?” Dark wonders.

Wild hums contemplatively, plopping down on the edge of the island and dangling their feet over the side like a maniac. “About… five or six years after we met? Hard to say with all the time travel.”

Interesting, but: “That doesn’t really answer either of those questions,” Dark points out, tentatively sitting down next to his weird wild friend. He folds his legs under himself, safely not hanging over the abyss.

He gets an apologetic shrug in response. “Not sure how much I can tell you without getting spoiler-y. Hylia might let an elixir slip through, but telling you of past events could seriously alter them.”

Realization smacks Dark upside his brain so fast he mentally staggers. “You know how your journey with the other heroes ends.”

“Yep.”

“And you won’t tell me,” Dark is floored.

“Nope.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Nah.”

Dark wants to scream. Or maybe chuck Wild off this island… But only because he knows the hero has that glider thing and, apparently, zero fear of heights. “I can keep a secret, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“…You sure can,” Wild mumbles under their breath, quiet enough he can hardly hear it.

Dark narrows his eyes. “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Wild waves him off with their weird magic hand. Something else he wants to ask about. Wild then adds, cheerily and unhelpfully, “Look, you guys will figure things out.”

“That involves you lot using your brains,” Dark hisses back in frustration.

Wild sticks their tongue out at him like a child. “That includes you, too, you know.”

Wild speaks like Dark will actually be a part of the group’s journey, and not be cut down the second he gets back.

Dark rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. After I’m done being Hylia’s delivery boy with those elixirs, I’ll no longer be useful.”

A useless tool is an unneeded tool, as Demise would say.

“You don’t need to be useful,” Wild tells him, soft but serious. “There’s nothing you need to prove your worth or value for. Not with us.”

None of those words make sense in the slightest.

“…Is there anything you can tell me about my future that isn’t nonsense?” Dark gripes, crossing his arms.

Wild studies him with a saddened expression. Eventually they nod.

“They need you.”

“…What?” Dark asks, not understanding.

“They might not know it yet,” Wild adds, “but they do.”

“For what?” Dark says, baffled. What could they possibly need him for? He can stab stuff, but they’re plenty good at that themselves. The same could be said for magic. Maybe they need to interrogate him... get all the information out of him that they can on Demise, black blood, and the Dark World.

But all Wild says is, “To be there.”

Dark scoffs, incredulous. “No, they don’t. I was little more than an obstacle to most of the heroes, or a forgotten fight to the rest. There’s nothing I can offer that compares to the experience they already gained from their previous journeys.”

“You don’t need to offer anything,” Wild restates, like the sentence would make more sense the second time. It doesn’t. “Just be there, help if you want, and be yourself.”

Dark’s face scrunches up in confusion. Nobody ever wants him to be himself. Even now, Dark has taken on the form of one of the heroes. He’s a reflection. A doppelganger. A copy. He’s not sure if he remembers how to be anything else.

“You need them, too.” Wild continues, and Dark bristles at the words despite their gentleness.

For what? A free trip back to the Dark World when they kill him again?

“You don’t believe me,” Wild states. They don’t look surprised.

“You idiots did just chain me up and toss me in prison,” Dark points out. “Forgive me for thinking a monster has any other place among Hylia’s Heroes.”

The calm sadness hovering over Wild’s shoulders vanishes in an instant, replaced by defensive fury. “You aren’t a monster!”

“The black blood in my veins says otherwise.”

Wild opens their mouth to say something, reconsiders, and snaps it closed. They close their eyes and heave a sigh, running a hand through their messy locks and throwing it into further disarray. “I’m sorry, Dark. We shouldn’t have put you in that cell, it was a stupid decision based on suspicion and lack of facts… The others will apologize too, if you give them a chance.”

Dark isn’t sure he wants to. To him, it just sounds like another opportunity for the heroes to hurt him as they have many times before.

“You already know what’s going to happen,” Dark says tiredly. “Just tell me what I need to do so I can fuck up less.”

“Nope,” Wild says, some of the laidback attitude slipping back in. “You have to choose on your own.”

“…And if I choose to live on this island for the next few decades?”

“We could probably fit a cabin up here, if we blow up the trees,” Wild says easily, “I’d bring you cool shit from the surface to decorate it. And get you a glider, too, in case you want to travel.”

Wild makes it seem so simple. In fact, they sound almost wistful, like they want Dark to stick around a while longer.

Both of them know it’s not possible. Dark has to get the cure to the curse to Twilight, and Hylia likely isn’t going to let Dark take a vacation for the next quarter-century, regardless of any time travel shenanigans she could pull to make it happen.

Dark sighs. “…They really won’t take a stab at me if I show up with the elixir?”

“They wouldn’t take a stab at you with or without it,” Wild corrects.

Still sounds like a lie, to him. “Bombs, then?”

Wild snorts. “No bombs, or any other weapons.”

Dark opens his mouth.

“Or magic,” Wild adds pointedly.

Dark closes his mouth. Huffs. “Fine. I’ll go. But your nonsense about them needing me, or vice versa, can’t possibly be true.”

As if on cue, a portal opens nearby.

Wild grins at it, then back to Dark. “Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Chapter Text

As Dark picks up and stores away the last of the elixir bottles into his shadow, curling his lip at the sight of the nasty flower goop that resides within, he nearly trips over something hidden in the grass.

A glint of metal. Beside him, Wild frowns and picks it up. “…Ah.”

“…You know, your reassurances suddenly aren’t very reassuring,” Dark remarks, upon recognizing the chains and cuffs that had bound him a short while ago. It had been in his lap when he’d fallen to the floor earlier, so it must have come along with Dark to the distant future. The end of the links is abruptly severed, the other end likely hanging limp from the wall he’d once been bound to. “Those idiots might not hurt me, but they could simply toss me right back into prison.”

He’d just escape again, but that’s not the point.

“I promise they won’t,” Wild says, though they continue to scowl at the metal.

Dark takes the chains before Wild can chuck them off the island or something. He doesn’t know what lays below this gravity-defying chunk of earth, but he knows Wild would probably not like to have it destroyed by falling debris.

“Oh? Are these spoilers I hear?” Dark teases, dumping the chains in his shadow to tangle with who-knows-what and hopefully get lost forever.

Wild rolls their eyes. “The non-timeline destroying kind, I guess.”

“…Any others you want to share?” he asks, because no, he’s not giving up on this. Wild has Information, and Dark is Curious.

And he might be stalling. Just a bit. Giving up this peaceful non-murdery moment to go back to a bunch of heroes who may or may not attack him on sight is not exactly something he’s rushing to do. Dark eyes the portal as it swirls in his periphery, surprisingly not having snatched him up yet.

“Nope,” Wild says. “But, uh. I do have a request.”

Dark blinks. A request? Not that he really expected Wild to order him around, but a request implies he could refuse. What a novel thought. “…Like what?”

Wild takes a moment to look, almost forlornly, at the portal, as if he could see the group of heroes through it.

“…Could you not tell them about me?” is the eventual, surprising, reply.

Dark tilts his head, confused. Not tell them? Why? This visit seems exactly like something the group would want or need to know about: that their mission – whatever the hell Hylia has them doing, aside from hunting black blooded monsters – gets ‘figured out.’

Whatever that means. The hero hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with the details, but the fact that Wild lived through it is at least reassuring.

“…I’m going to have to tell them how I got the elixir,” Dark says, hesitantly. He’s not disagreeing with Wild’s request, but not agreeing either. It’s strange to have the option. “They’re not going to trust anything from me, but they will if it’s from you.”

Wild fidgets with the ornamental bangles decorating the length of their magic arm, and sighs. “…I know. Just… don’t mention, uh… how I look.”

Dark blinks. “Half-naked?”

Wild sputters, startled. “No! Not that!” they exclaim, though Dark notes with no small amount of amusement that they didn’t deny the statement. He arches a dubious eyebrow at the toga, then flicks his eyes over to what he thinks is the real issue here.

“…Is this about the arm thing?”

Wild stops fidgeting with the bangles of said arm, and slumps. “This is about the arm thing, yes.”

Ah. So, he was correct about the limb not being natural, then. Dark supposes it would be rather jarring for younger-Wild to find out they became an amputee in the near future.

“…You know I’ve been physically restraining myself from examining your cool magic arm this entire time, right?”

Wild snorts, some of the tension leaving their shoulders like he’d hoped. “You’re as bad as Purah,” they say, whoever that is, but obligingly hold out their arm. They’re smiling, so Dark must not have overstepped too badly.

He immediately reaches out to poke Wild’s arm. When nothing explodes, he pokes it again and looks closer at the magic coursing through it. The ‘veins’ thrum with not blood, but Light. Steady, yet oddly inactive… There’s definitely something more going on with it than acting as a simple replacement limb.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wild says, wiggling their magic fingers. The ends are tipped in claws, much like Dark’s own. “I’m glad to have it. Just… not glad to need it, you know?”

Dark does know.

The moonpearl hanging from his wrist suddenly becomes infinitely heavier. He’s glad to have it, to resist Demise’s influence and other curses, but if he didn’t need it… He’d never wear another moonpearl again for the rest of his existence.

Granted, not being able to use an arm is different from losing sanity, but the point stands.

“…I can imagine,” is all Dark says.

“This arm wasn’t, ah… pleasant to get,” Wild adds, with a wince. “So I don’t want other-me to know about it.”

Dark, who has long accepted that bodily harm and the occasional loss of limbs just… happens… sometimes, doesn’t quite understand the sentiment. “Don’t want to give yourself a warning?”

“Aside from the timeline mess that would cause, no.” Wild affirms, with a shudder. “I know the me from back then would not deal with the knowledge well. At all.”

Having known Wild for less than a day at this point, he really can’t claim to understand how they’d take the news. Personally, he’d want the warning, if only to know what part of himself he’d be repairing next. Though he understands that not knowing has its perks, too.

“Fair enough,” Dark agrees, with a contemplative hum. Then a thought occurs to him, and he points out: “But you already knew if I told younger-you about it.”

Wild smirks, “but you might have, if I didn’t ask you not to.”

Dark feels a headache coming on. “…Time shenanigans.”

“Time shenanigans,” Wild agrees, grinning.

Speaking of, there’s still a portal punching a hole through the fabric of reality right beside him. Dark narrows his eyes at it skeptically. “I still think meeting back up with your stabby friends is a dumb idea.”

“Think of it as an adventure!” Wild cheers, entirely unfazed by his pessimism.

Dark frowns. He’s never been on an adventure before. Aside from summonings, and the occasional task from Demise, he hasn’t been outside the Dark World. Which is hardly a place to wander freely in, unless you’re interested in Malice, corrupted monsters, and frequent fights to the death.

“What sort of adventure starts with nearly dying and then having absolutely no fucking clue what you’re doing?” Dark scoffs.

Wild makes a strangled sound, and coughs a laugh into their fist. “…More than you’d expect, actually.”

“…Great.”

This is going to be an absolute disaster, isn’t it?

“Well, whatever,” Dark continues. It’s not like the heroes could kill him permanently. “I need to go shove this disgusting flower goop down Twilight’s muzzle anyway.” Wild snickers. Dark pauses, gaze flicking to his wrist. “And find out who gave me this pearl.”

Because it was probably the only reason he lived long enough to get the elixir in the first place. Dark refuses to let the hero’s action, be it out of pity or honor, pass by without acknowledging it. He’s learned over the past day how important a simple thanks can be.

Even though the conversation is bound to be awkward, and potentially filled with pointy objects.

Wild hums. “It’s Four’s, if I remember right. They have a soft spot for strange shadow people.”

Rude. But ‘Four’? It must be Shorty, they’re the only one Dark didn’t have a name for or know the title of yet. He almost wants to keep calling them Shorty, because who the hell picks a number for a nickname?

Honestly, the rest of the heroes’ names are just as bad. Half of them are adjectives or places, for Din’s sake.

…Then Dark remembers that his name is an adjective too, and technically a place, and drops the subject.

“Alright. So, get the elixir to Twilight, thank Four, and don’t die,” Dark summarizes, with confidence he doesn’t feel. “…Sounds easy enough.”

It does not sound easy at all.

At least he has something of a plan? That’s better than ninety percent of his past day.

After one last forlorn look at Wild, the peaceful little island, and the great open skies around him, Dark turns towards the portal. The shape is flat, yet holds infinite depths. Endless possibilities. Unknowable fates. Staring at it too long would no doubt give him a headache, and probably an existential crisis.

“Ready, then?” Wild asks, almost melancholic.

“No,” Dark grumbles. That cabin Wild had offered is sounding better by the minute. “But I’m going anyway.”

Wild nods, having known, and expected, no different.

“…Hey, Dark,” they call, just as he’s about to step through. The swirl of time kisses his boots, his hair and clothes drifting with the pull of it. Dark looks back to his friend. Wild seems oddly small, in this vast world of theirs.

“Yeah?”

Then Wild has their arms around him again, another of those hug things, and Dark barely refrains from hissing at or headbutting them again. He stands there stiffly as Wilds says softly, “…It was good to see you again.” 

Dark blinks, baffled. They… missed him? Why?

“I’ll come visit, after this nonsense is over,” Dark says eventually. Getting out of the Dark World might be tricky, though. Demise would know if he used the Gate, so he’d have to find another way. Wild finally lets go, stepping back to smile at him with an unreadable expression on their face. He does not like the brittleness of it. “You owe me a cabin, after all.”

Wild had made no such promise, but grins anyway. “It’s yours. Whenever you want it.”

It’s a strange thought, to have somewhere safe to be. A place to call home. Even stranger still to have a friend want him around to be in it.

“…Thanks, Wild,” Dark says. For more than the cabin.

Wild simply nods, managing a cheeky smile. “See you soon.”

Be it in the future, or years in the past.

Dark turns back to the portal, and steps in. “…Hylia had better not dump me on top of you idiots.”

The last thing Dark hears before the void of time swallows him whole is the hero’s laughter echoing into the skies.

The portal is significantly less jarring to pass through, this time. Soft, instead of sharp like when he’d travelled through with Twilight, and less blinding than his trip while injured. His dark magic barely has to defend him at all as Hylia gently carries him through time.

“…You never told me what you wanted,” Dark whispers tentatively to the Light around him, knowing the goddess would hear.

What did Hylia want in exchange for freeing him from that cell? He understands playing fetch for Twilight’s cure, but there has to be more, right? If Dark knows anything about serving gods, is that the tasks are never so simple. They always want More. Usually more than Dark could give.

There’s no response. Dark didn’t really expect one.

He heaves a sigh. “For the record, I still think tossing nine heroes through time is a terrible idea.”

If she was hoping to keep the timelines from falling to tatters, tearing rifts through reality was probably not the best way to do it. There was a whole War over that, after all. But who is Dark to judge the will of powerful and mysterious deities?

Unless it’s to complain or sass them, of course.

The gravity around him shifts, and Dark suddenly feels like he’s falling backwards. Then he hears, like a whisper upon the wind, everywhere and nowhere all at once:

“Ten.”

The group had been discussing possibilities and motives of their strange quest, and the newest addition of Dark to it, for a half an hour now. Twilight is tired, and it had nothing to do with the curse he can still feel lingering in his wound.

“Look, until I see some actual physical evidence that Dark isn’t malicious or has some shady motive, I’m not buying it,” Warriors says, stubbornly. “Someone that serves evil for thousands of years doesn’t just change sides.”

Wild rolls their eyes. “What do you want, a sign from the goddess herself?”

“That would be nice—”

His complaint cuts off abruptly as the ceiling splits open, a familiar triangular rift forming above them.

“—the hell do you mean??” a person screeches as they plummet through. They hit the end of the bed, bouncing off the mattress and onto the floor in a tangled heap of limbs. It’s Dark, alive and well. And pissed off, for some reason. He pops up a second later, like a particularly bedraggled deku scrub, and continues yelling, oblivious to his audience. “Hey! Get back here!”

Dark grabs up the nearest object, a spare pillow, and chucks it at the portal as it closes. “Shove your mysterious holy portents up your—”

Time clears his throat.

Dark freezes, wide red eyes whipping over to find that he is, in fact, surrounded by heroes.

“Ah,” he says, apparently going through all five stages of grief all at once, before landing on acceptance. “Shit.”

Chapter Text

Dark tosses an elixir at Twilight and is halfway out of the window before anyone can blink.

“TwilightdrinkthisFourthanksforthepearlOKbye,” he says, in one rushed breath, and a cacophony of noise follows.

“Stop!” Go.

“Hey, wait!” Hell no.

“Oh no you don’t!” Yes, he does.

“Get back here!” He’d like to live, thanks.

“We’re on the second floor!” Sky islands are higher.

“Get him!” Quickly followed up by a different, admonishing, voice saying, “Don’t just grab him!”

Don’t? Oh, it’s Wild. Seems like the wildling had a sense of his personal space even this early on. Unlike the rest of the grabby heroes. Dark ducks a swipe, someone snatching his hat in the process. Jerk. Someone else catches his belt, and Dark has the brief satisfaction of elbowing the offender in the ribs.

“Dark, wait! We won’t hurt you!”

That last voice is Twilight’s, and actually gives him pause. Which is unfortunately long enough for another of the heroes to hook an arm around his waist and haul him back inside, foiling his escape. Not to be deterred, Dark hisses at the lot of them and struggles, making sure to bite at least one finger and kick another in the shin, resulting in some lovely swearing, as he’s deposited back on the bed.

He sits on the very edge, tense as a coil, surrounded once more.

This would be the perfect time to dip into the shadows. The only reason he doesn’t is because of Twilight’s and older-Wild’s reassurances echoing in his ears that, for some unknown reason, the heroes wouldn’t attack him.

And they haven’t.

In fact, aside from being grabby, there isn’t a weapon in sight.

Strangely, the heroes are without their arms and armors. Dressed down in more casual clothing, with only a handful of magical accessories and some chainmail visible. They crowd around him and the bed, which is already occupied by Twilight, preventing any further attempts at escape. So long as he remains solid, that is.

Dark’s wrists, and very sharp claws, are held bound in front of him by Time’s steely grip. He could phase his wrists through, but graciously gives the hero one last chance to not be a jerk. A tall order, he knows.

“Let me go,” Dark demands, wondering why the heroes are so… docile now.

“Are you going to run?” Time asks levelly.

“Are you going to attack me?” Dark shoots back. They haven’t yet, but he doesn’t trust so easily.

“Are you going to attack us?” is the annoying, predictable, reply.

Dark rolls his eyes, and summons his sarcasm like a second skin. “Did it look like I was attacking you when I was halfway out the window?”

“Yes,” Legend hisses, still shaking out his ring-covered fingers. To Dark’s satisfaction, there are small crescent-shaped indents in the skin.

Dark sniffs, primly. “It’s called self-defense, Grabby. Keep your hands to yourself if you want them intact.”

He does not like being touched. Unlike the hug thing, there was nothing gentle about how Legend tried to snatch him. Dark glares pointedly to Time’s hands. It’s a testament to the older hero’s bravery, or idiocy, that he does not let his grip budge.

He notes, belatedly, that Time’s hold on his wrists carefully avoids pressing on his bandages.

“Guys, stop. Nobody is attacking anyone,” Wild’s voice cuts in before Dark can decide to jab Time’s palms with his claws or not. “Time, let him go.”

“Don’t let him go,” Warriors orders, standing precariously on one leg, nursing his bruised shin. Ha. “He’ll bolt again in a second.”

Dark glares at the man, wishing he’d kicked the other shin, too.

“I might swear at you until your ears bleed,” Dark scowls at them. “But, no. I won’t run.”

He isn’t sure why he bothered trying. Probably just self-preservation upon seeing himself surrounded by his former murderers kicking him in the rupees. But if Hylia and Demise both want him here, then he really doesn’t have much of a choice.

Besides, he doesn’t feel like being chased down or chained up again. What he does feel like doing is taking a nap for a week, or maybe two. This has been an absurd stress-filled day, and he’s still healing himself from the Gloom. Dark is Tired.

Twilight looks similarly exhausted. He’s the only one besides Wild that didn’t immediately go after Dark when he tried to escape, and that’s mainly because he couldn’t. Wolf-boy is bound to the bed by blankets and the wound wrapped beneath the bandages around his torso. The Gloom affliction allows him to sit up, but little else. Judging by how the hero clutches at his side, he had tried moving and failed miserably.  

That doesn’t stop him from smiling at Dark though. Happy to see his friend, like he hadn’t just attempted to jump out a second story window a minute ago to avoid this entire conversation. “Hey, Dark.”

Dark gives Time another glare, because the bastard still hasn’t released him, before turning his head to Twilight. His back is to him, so turning in such a way makes Dark lose visual of some of the others. The vulnerability makes him twitchy. “…Hi, Twilight. You look a little less like shit since last I saw you.”

The elixir Dark had tossed at him sits unused next to wolf-boy on the bed. He needs to at least stay long enough to make sure he drinks it. Twilight speaks before Dark gets a chance to point it out.

“Thanks, I tried,” Twilight replies dryly. Then, more concerned, trying and failing to get a better look at Dark’s arm that is held out of his view, “What happened?”

What didn’t happen to him is the better question.

“Oh, you know,” he replies, nonchalantly. “Nearly died, got imprisoned, and was kidnapped against my will to distant lands. The usual.”

Twilight briefly nods along in understanding, before the words catch up to him. “Wait, what—”

“Are you okay?” Wild asks in concern as they elbow through the crowd, nearly tipping over Warriors. They kneel down next to Dark and hover their fingers over the bandages. The cloth wrappings are loose now, and the blood had long since dried in the ever-present breeze on the sky island. “You shouldn’t even be moving right now, let alone falling from ceilings or climbing out of windows.”

Dark still doesn’t completely understand why Wild (past, present, or future) cares if he’s okay. At this point, Wild and him have known each other for less than a day and all Dark has done in that time is spied on them, ‘threatened’ their friend, and revealed himself as a monster.

He flinches away as Wild goes to peel the bandages back, and the hero thankfully stops. There’s nothing except a tender scar underneath, but he’d hate more than anything to draw any further attention to the blood. Dark would rather not remind the heroes of similar creatures that they hop across timelines to hunt down.

“I’d be better freed,” Dark snaps irritably, hoping to distract from his former injury, with thoughts drifting further than the simple hold Time has him in. To a swirl of bottomless tar, endless nights, and malice-ridden stone walls. “Now release me, or I release myself.”

He doesn’t know if the heroes that have fought him have simply forgotten that he can turn into a shadow, or are somehow that confident in their ability to restrain an incorporeal being. Either way, he isn’t staying bound for much longer.

Several of them, Warriors, Legend, and Hyrule mainly, seem to take his words as a threat. Which, to be fair, they are. But not the ‘bodily harm’ kind, just the ‘them losing what they think is control of the situation and rubbing it in their faces’ kind.

“We have questions,” is Time’s reply.

“I bet you do,” he retorts. Unfortunately for them, Dark is only a little less lost than they are.

“Yes, actually!” Twilight growls out. Dark startles at the fury of it, unsure why the ill hero is suddenly so upset. “Starting with what the Spirits you mean by nearly dying, being imprisoned, and getting kidnapped.”

Dark stares at him blankly for a moment.

Had… had the others not told wolf-boy what happened? Aside from the kidnapped by a portal part, the being attacked and imprisoned definitely seemed like something he should know about. Especially with the not-so-little detail of him having passed out while bleeding black.

“I think I’m more concerned about those things being the usual for you,” Four mutters nearby.

“…Right??” Wind stage-whispers worriedly back.

Dark ignores them, addressing Twilight instead, “Oh? Did your hero buddies conveniently leave that part out?”

“They told me they attacked you,” Twilight acknowledges, with a withering look to the others. “Not that you nearly died.”

“We didn’t go that far!” Wind exclaims. This time, Dark silently adds.

“Yeah, Bitey here was already hurt before we found you,” Legend says. This is true, but being attacked in addition to being cursed twice over had not helped. At all.

Twilight is apparently thinking along the same lines, “He was hurt, and you still attacked him?”

Dark does not know why Twilight is so upset and defensive about this, but rather enjoys the way several of the others wince at his words. 

“We didn’t know he was hurt,” Wild says, eyes lingering on Dark’s wrapped up wound.

Not that the knowledge would have stopped the heroes from defending their fallen friend regardless. From their point of view, a weakened enemy is probably more of a target. Which is half the reason Dark hid his injury in the first place.

“They couldn’t land a hit on me, anyway,” Dark deflects with a shrug, somewhat smug. Aside from Wind, but the small gremlin’s swipe at his legs hadn’t broken skin, so it doesn’t count.

Twilight points a finger at him, surprisingly intimidating for someone that is currently bed-bound. “Don’t think I missed that you were injured before you met the others.” Oh shit. “When were you hurt, and how badly? You shouldn’t have been fighting at all if you were injured to the point of almost dying.”

“They didn’t exactly give me a choice!” Dark exclaims indignantly, ignoring the questions. “And I didn’t even fight, I just dodged!”

“He surrendered shortly after we engaged in combat,” Time confirms, studying Dark with an annoying and thoughtful look on his face. Dark kind of wants to poke him in his other eye, just so he’d stop looking at him like that. “We didn’t know of his wound until after he collapsed at the gate into town.”

“Don’t forget the part where you chained me up and paraded me there,” Dark remarks, adding more bomb flowers to the pile. “And then locked me in a prison cell while I was passed out.”

There’s a beat of silence as Twilight digests this. Then, “Guys, what the fuck?”

That might be the first time he’s heard Twilight properly swear. Dark is kind of proud.

“We had reason!” Warriors defends.

Twilight takes a breath, attempting to summon some of that level-headedness Dark knows him to possess. “I know you said you were enemies before, but come on. If he surrendered and was cooperating—”

“Sassing us,” Legend chimes in.

“—Sassily cooperating,” Twilight corrects. Dark smirks. “And then unconscious, why throw him in jail?”

“Caution,” is Time’s answer.

Then, much to Dark’s horror, the hero’s grip shifts and he lifts Dark’s arm up into full view of the room.

It’s at this point that Dark becomes painfully aware that he completely forgot to fix his sleeve. The normally light fabric of his undershirt is stained like he dipped it in ink, and his glove missing entirely. The bandages, while mostly clean, are spotted with black.

Twilight’s gaze snaps to the dressings, and his eyes only widen further when he notes the inky color of the cloth.

Some small, foolish, part of him hoped that Twilight never learned of his ‘monstrous’ status. He was the one to originally tell Dark the group was hunting down black-blooded beings, after all. It stands to reason that Twilight would not look upon him kindly once he found out.

Dark feels like he’s back in that clearing, with all the heroes’ swords and attention on him, ready to skewer him at the slightest twitch. He half expects them to get the hookshot chains out again.

Instead, he hears: “Spirits, Dark, are you okay?”

…Wait, what?

The words are… worried. Not angry. And Dark has yet to be stabbed for existing within the same space as these goddess-blessed warriors, so maybe…

Maybe it’s fine?

Maybe future-Wild was right?

Maybe Hylia didn’t just drop him into another death sentence?

Maybe Twilight isn’t regretting befriending a black-blooded monster?

But the heroes can’t simply be okay with this. They’ve got a mysterious former foe with the same corruption as the monsters they’ve been slaying, on a quest from the goddess no less, directly in front of them. That’s not something so easily accepted. It can’t be. Dark certainly wouldn’t be so trusting, were he in their boots.

By the look of it, several aren’t. Warriors, Legend, and Hyrule all carry a healthy level of suspicion. Wild, Twilight, and Wind seem surprisingly open-minded, or at least not outright wary. Four and Sky seem to be wavering between the two options. Time is... well. As impossible to read as ever.

And Dark… doesn’t know what to think anymore. He should be dead, not… sitting on a bed. Unharmed. Worried over.

In lieu of Dark’s stunned silence, Wild speaks up. “Dark got cursed, too. When he dropped outside of town, he was bleeding all over the place.”

“And his blood is black, obviously,” Legend says, waving his ringed fingers at Dark’s exposed sleeve and bandages. “We didn’t know if that was part of the curse or not though, so we put him somewhere secure until we found out more.”

That… could be a really good excuse, actually. Dark could simply tell them his black blood is from the Gloom affliction, instead of directly from Demise. That lie could quickly be disproven with one peek under Twilight’s bandages, however. Or Dark could say his blood turned black because he was exposed to the curse for longer, but… no. The heroes would only need to study the actual black-blooded monsters they hunt to see the blood has nothing to do with random cursed swords.

“The guardhouse was the safest place for that,” Warriors says. “If the curse had anything to do with the black blood, he’d be contained.”

If Dark went on a rampage, he means. Which, okay, Dark can see now where they came to that possibility; corrupted monsters are absurdly vicious and aggressive, but he had also been withering away in a bloody heap at the time. What did the heroes think he was going to damage, a piece of wet paper?

If it had been Dark’s other curse that triggered, though…

“You got cursed?!” Twilight exclaims, horrified. Dark is still too dumbfounded to do anything but nod. Twilight swears. “From the sword?” Another nod, and oh hey there’s the anger. Just not for what he expected. “Dammit, Dark, I asked you if you got hurt and you said no!”

This conversation is going so entirely backwards from what Dark expected that he doesn’t bother with sarcasm at all.

“You wouldn’t have drunk the potion otherwise,” Dark points out quietly, hating the attention and the considering looks on the others’ faces. He vaguely feels like strolling through Death Mountain may be a more pleasant experience than sitting in this room right now. “And it didn’t even work against the curse anyway.”

“That’s not the point!” Twilight growls out. He looks ready to pry himself out of the bed just to smack Dark upside the head. “Don’t hide injuries!”

“It worked out fine, didn’t it?” Dark snaps back defensively. “Besides, I didn’t figure out the moonpearl thing until later. I was okay when you asked me!”

He wasn’t, but he also didn’t know how effectively the pearl was holding back the Gloom at the time.

Dark belatedly remembers that his arm is still being held up in the air and yanks it back. Time lets him go, and releases his other arm, too, with a measured look. Dark makes sure to give the hero a proper death-glare before crossing his arms and muttering, “…I did my best in a shit situation. What more do you want from me?”

Twilight opens his mouth, then clicks it closed. He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “…I’m being an ass, aren’t I? You saved my life and I’m sitting here giving you a lecture.”

Dark huffs. “All I did was drag you through the woods and give you a pearl. These idiots did the actual saving.” He gestures with his non-bandaged limb to the surrounding audience. 

Wild raises their totally normal non-magic hand, “This not-an-idiot-don’t-be-rude is glad you’re both alright, but is still confused about what the hell is going on.”

Okay, that’s fair. Dark could admit that he maybe didn’t do a great job of explaining things when he was halfway out the window earlier.

“With which part?” Dark makes the mistake of asking, because apparently the answer is everything in existence.

“What are your motives?” Warriors asks immediately.

“Why do you have black blood?” Legend adds.

“What’s the curse and how did you heal it?” asks Hyrule.

“How did you know a moonpearl would work?” Four says, curious.

“Why are you so different from when we fought previously?” Time inquires next.

“Why did you fight the others before at all?” Sky wonders.

Then Wind pops up beside Dark, making him jolt. “And why did you drop from the ceiling?”

That’s… a lot of questions.

Dark’s eyes bounce between each of the heroes, overwhelmed and hardly knowing where to start.

“Guys, give him a chance to breathe,” Twilight scolds, exasperated. “…Although, I am curious about the ceiling portal.”

At this, Dark can’t help but snort.

“Haven’t you heard?” he says, smirking. “Hylia’s doing prison breaks now.”

Chapter Text

Half of them sputter. Warriors gapes at him, then up at the ceiling. “Hylia freed you?”

Dark isn’t sure why that’s so surprising. The portal reeked of Light magic. Then again, the only speck of magic Warriors has on his whole being is a faint glimmer on the back of his hand: The Triforce, long faded. It stood to reason the captain had little experience with the arcane. Not so surprising, Dark supposes, seeing as the sorcerers in his era seem to have more of an inclination for ripping holes in reality instead of teaching others kinder magics. The guy probably wouldn’t touch magic with the longest deku stick in the world.

“More than that,” Dark says, and leans back to swipe Twilight’s still-full elixir from the bed. “She sent me to where I could get this.”

He holds up the bottle, the contents swirling within. It glows slightly against his skin, holding on to the faint light of the sundelions even while pulverized into viscous goop.

It has the groups’ attention immediately, like most shiny things. As heroes, they naturally gravitate to sparkly, valuable objects. Dark can’t say much against that though… He does the exact same thing. The sheer amount of stuff he has in his shadow can attest to that.

“A potion?” Hyrule wonders.

Is there a difference between a potion and an elixir? Dark isn’t sure. Regardless, he nods. “A cure to the curse.”

If he didn’t have their attention before, he certainly does now.

Hope blooms on their faces.

Suspicion, too, but Dark expected that.

“…So that’s why you threw that bottle at me,” Twilight ponders with a smile, absently rubbing at a small bruise on his forehead. Had Dark bonked him on the head with the elixir earlier? Oops.

“Yes. And I didn’t get it just so you could stare at it,” Dark says pointedly, shoving the cure into wolf-boy’s space. It glows against his pallid skin. “I know that curse is still in you, so drink it!”

Warriors snatches the elixir from Dark’s fingers before Twilight can grab it, and Dark growls. “Hold on,” the captain says, “Don’t just drink random potions from dubious sources. We don’t know what’s in this.”

Dubious sources. They’re right, but there’s no need to be rude about it. “That medicine will fix your friend, who gives a shit where it came from?” Dark snaps.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Twilight says, holding out a hand for the bottle.

Legend plucks the elixir from Warriors’ hand and swishes it around, eyeing it suspiciously. “Yeah, no offense,” he says, offensively, “We’re not going to trust some weird liquid a stranger hands us, no matter how non-aggressive they currently seem.”

Aw. Legend called him non-aggressive. That’s basically a compliment by their standards. Which makes Dark’s existing feelings of wanting to pitch him out the window all the more ironic. “Don’t you idiots go around using or consuming shit you find off monsters and in ancient-as-fuck dungeons?”

The startled looks of horrified realization across all their faces are almost worth the interruption.

“Oh no, he’s right…” Four whispers.

“…Does anyone actually know what’s in potions?” Sky questions warily, with a tone that says how much he really doesn’t want to know. “Do… do they expire?”

“I mean, I know what’s in my elixirs,” Wild replies, cringing. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t want them festering in a chest for centuries.”

Sky gags.

“I usually just used whatever items defeated monsters dropped,” Hyrule says with a shrug.

“Same here,” Time agrees, “Although now that I’m thinking about it, that… probably wasn’t the safest option...”

Warriors pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you guys didn’t simply drink potions you found on the ground.”

“Well, what else was I supposed to do with them?” Hyrule objects. “Throwing away potions would be wasteful!”

“Did you even know what the potions did before you drank them?”

“…I didn’t get sick after?” Hyrule hazards.

Warriors facepalms.

“I purchased most of my potions from vendors,” Legend offers, after a moment of silence for Warriors’ blood pressure.

“…Trustworthy and reputable vendors?” Warriors asks weakly, peeking through his fingers with foolish hope.

Legend hesitates. Warriors’ expression drops to dread.

“Oh, come on!” the veteran says indignantly. “Who hasn’t bought sketchy shit from random witches in the woods?”

“Me!” Warriors exclaims, exasperated. “And most normal people with common sense!”

Dark snorts, amused. Like any of these heroes are normal, or have a speck of common sense. ‘Normal’ doesn’t lead to facing down or defeating world-ending catastrophes, and ‘common sense’ doesn’t equate to using little more than a sword, shield, and a goddesses’ love to do it.

Or consuming substances of questionable origin.

“Well, excuse me. Not all of us had standardized war rations,” Legend scoffs.

“I told you before, those meals were for fairies! Most of which I made myself!” Warriors protests. He pauses. “Also, that’s not the point!”

As hilarious as seeing the heroes bicker and question their life choices is, Twilight has yet to be healed.

Wolf-boy watches on as his friends try to protect him in the dumbest way possible, with an exasperated yet fond look on his face. Dark knows he’s in no immediate danger of dying, not with the moonpearl in place around his neck, but that doesn’t mean Dark is going to sit here and let the Gloom linger.

“Well, whatever point you’re trying to make, make it later,” Dark interrupts, irritably. “I’m still curing Twilight.”

Then he, very pointedly, pulls another elixir from his shadow.

Warriors squawks and lunges for it, but Dark leans back and brings his foot up to plant his boot on the captain’s chest, fending him off.

“Fuck off!” Dark snarls, stretching his arm out behind him as far away from the captain’s reach as he can get it. “I did not travel thousands of years through time just to poison my friend!”

…Ugh. He had not meant to say that last part out loud. Now Twilight has some dumb grin on his face, brighter than the stupid elixir, and melting into the shadows has never seemed so tempting.

“We don’t know that, and we don’t know you, so—” Warriors stops, eyes widening at something out of Dark’s view. “Twi, no!”

Dark feels the glass bottle leave his fingers, gently pried free by wolf-boy’s hand. Dark looks back to see Twilight already trying to pop the cork.

“Guys, it’s fine,” Twilight tells the room. “I’ll drink the potion.”

“Twilight—” Time starts.

“Judging by the conversation I just heard, this,” he raises the glowing bottle and swishes it around, “is not the worst thing this group has consumed.”

“But—” Hyrule says, with a distrustful look at Dark.

He knew the others didn’t trust him, and rightfully so given their history, but seeing the suspicion on blatant display when Dark is legitimately wanting to help is frustrating beyond belief. Honestly, if Dark was going to kill Twilight, he would have had plenty of opportunity to do so prior to being dumped in this room. Yes, he has a mission from Demise to destroy the heroes, but he personally doesn’t wish any of them dead.

Then there was Hylia and her dumb mysterious message. The hell did she mean by ‘ten,’ anyway? Was the group going to pick up another hero from some other era?

Ugh. That meant there were going to be more of them. Great. Dark can already feel the migraine coming.

Regardless, Hylia trusted him enough to deliver the Sunny elixir (and to drop Dark smack in the middle of them), but her heroes don’t. They’ll need more convincing if any of that cure is to pass Twilight’s lips.

Dark sighs. “Twilight, give me back the elixir for a second.”

Twilight furrows his brow, “Dark, I don’t think you’re trying to hurt me. I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, Dark thinks, doing his best not to act like those three words didn’t punch him in the gut. Demise’s orders hang heavy over his head, along with the impending fear of failure: The fear of failing Twilight’s trust. He’s never had someone believe in him enough to accomplish anything before, except to fail. The only thing he’s succeeded in doing throughout his entire existence is fighting. And failing at winning those fights.

Maybe he’d fail Demise’s mission, too.

He thinks he’d be fine with that.

“…Thanks,” Dark says, sincerely. Still, he holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers in a beckoning manner. “But they don’t, and I can prove the elixir is safe.”

Twilight frowns, but hands it back.

Dark sits up straighter, shoving Warriors away with his foot in the process, and pops the cork. Dark does not miss that Twilight had been too weak to open the bottle. He’s putting on a brave face, but the Gloom had clearly done a number on him.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Wild says, in an odd echo of their future self. “These guys are being paranoid—”

“I’m not paranoid, I’m careful!” Warriors protests.

“…You’re a little paranoid, captain,” Wind says, wryly. Warriors splutters.

Wild continues, past the squabbling, “—and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the elixir. If it’ll cure Twi, I’m all for it.”

Dark brings the bottle up to his mouth, bracing himself for the awful taste. “It’s good to have confidence in your own work, I suppose.”

A confused blink. “…Huh?”

Dark smirks. “You made this.”

“I… didn’t?” Wild says, baffled. “I tried a few different elixirs, but none of them worked for— hey wait, you don’t have to—!"

Dark knocks back a small sip of the elixir, proving once and for all the damn thing wasn’t poison. An insult to his tastebuds maybe, but not deadly. Dark is careful to keep his expression blank, not showing his disgust at the flavor. And by the Three, is it bad. Dark thinks this bottle might be stronger than the last.

He hands the near-full bottle back to Twilight, and this time nobody stops him.

“Happy?” Dark scowls at the others, who thankfully seem somewhat reassured. Good to know he had to theoretically poison himself just to prove his innocence.

“…I’d be happier if you actually explained anything,” Warriors complains, begrudgingly accepting of his good will.

He could explain things simply, but where’s the fun in that? “I told you, Wild made it.”

Blank looks all around, except from Wild, who looks increasingly confused. Time understands first. “…You mentioned travelling through thousands of years to get it?”

“The elixir is from Wild’s era,” Dark confirms. He points to the hero in question, whose eyes go from confusion to shock. “An older Wild, specifically. Who told me about the Gloom, the cure to it, and frustratingly little else.”

Well, little else that made sense anyway. Dark does not believe he’ll ever truly be welcomed into the group like the hero said.

“WHAT,” several voices screech at once.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he casually tells Wild, who appears to be having trouble restarting their brain. “You survive whatever debacle of a mission the goddess has you all on.”

The cacophony of noise grows in volume, filled with various shocked comments such as, “What do you mean by Gloom?” “That’s so cool!” “Why is it always time paradoxes?” or “Hyrule, do you still have that tonic for headaches? I need it.” “Yeah, but I got it off a monster.” “…Nevermind.”

“You should not have told Wild that, they’re reckless enough as it is,” Twilight says, after the chaos dies down a bit.

Wild snaps out of their stupor at the teasing. “I’m not that bad.”

“Twilight, you blocked a cursed sword with your body,” Dark rolls his eyes. “Unless Wild does something as dumb as that, I don’t want to hear it.”

Dark can still see, as if in slow motion, that lizalfos. How, in all its maddened rage, had cut through Twilight’s defenses in seconds. Melted away through his shield and chainmail like lava unto stone. How all this nonsense could have been prevented had Dark simply paid attention instead of zoning out at a simple thanks. One less existential crisis in his life could have stopped all of this before it began.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t be sitting in this room surrounded by heroes and not being killed if he hadn’t.

Hm. Perhaps he should have more existential crises.

…Maybe not in the middle of battle, though.

“Hey now, you got hit, too!” Twilight counters. And, well, he’s not wrong.

“That’s different,” Dark refutes. “I didn’t go jumping in front of the damn thing.”

“I’m not apologizing for saving your life, Dark,” Twilight says, like it’s the simplest concept in the world. Like he’s worth dying, or nearly dying, for.

He’s not. Not only does he not bring anything remotely beneficial to the group (except being Hylia’s delivery boy for the elixirs), but Dark can simply come back to life. Sure, the healing process is horrid and leaves him feeling more brittle and fractured each time he returns, souls really aren’t meant to do that as long as he has, but at least he can return. Twilight can’t.

Explaining all that would be more of a hassle than it’s worth, however, so he settles for crossing his arms and glaring irritably at the injured hero. “…Drink your damn elixir.”

Twilight huffs, likely sensing that that was not the end of that particular topic, and raises the bottle to his lips.

“Just so you know,” Dark says. “It only dispels the curse. You’ll have to do the actual healing part on your own.”

Twilight nods, retrieving what appears to be a health potion from the bedside table to have ready. Then finally, finally, drinks the Sunny elixir.

And promptly chokes.

“Also, it tastes like lynel dung,” Dark smirks.

Twilight wheezes. “By the Spirits,” he coughs out. “You could have warned me!”

“Could have,” Dark agrees. “This was funnier.”

Twilight glares at him through watery, amused eyes. Despite the betrayal, he pinches his nose closed and takes another drink. Dark watches as the wisps of the curse weaken and wither, dissipating from Twilight’s wound. The wolf-boy doesn’t have much natural magic, most of it tied to the Twili crystal hanging from his neck, but seeing the Gloom vanish is satisfaction incarnate.

The surrounding heroes watch on with hopeful trepidation. Was it a trick, or did Dark actually cure Twilight?

Wind, for his part, snickers at wolf-boy’s suffering. “Does it really taste that bad?” the gremlin asks.

Dark thinks the rather nauseated glower Twilight gives the kid is answer enough.

“Nevermind that, did it work?” Warriors asks, “Is the curse gone?”

Twilight grimaces through the last gulp, drinking down the elixir faster than Dark could possibly have managed. Perhaps he was used to drinking weird stuff as much as the rest of the heroes. “…I think so? Definitely doesn’t hurt so much.”

The collective sigh of relief is almost palpable.

“Gloom, you called it?” Time asks Dark, as Twilight hastily scrambles to uncork the health potion to wash the taste of the Sunny elixir away. Legend takes mercy on the man and pops it open for him.

Dark nods. “According to future-Wild, it’s a worse version of Malice.” Wild gains a look of grim understanding. “It’s a toxic substance that’s also been cursed to linger, weakening the victim and preventing any healing until it’s been removed.”

“Any healing…” Hyrule mutters, troubled.

“The moonpearl helped, though?” Four says, questioningly.

“The moonpearl held it back,” Dark allows, “but it can’t remove the Gloom completely.”

“And this elixir is the only way to fully remove it?” Legend asks, studying the unopened bottle Warriors had swiped earlier. He understands the concern: if there’s a limited amount of the cure, they were going to have to be very careful in battle. This was the heroes’ first encounter with such a thing, but given their luck, there’s no way it’ll be the last.

Dark hums. He could just tell them, verbatim, what Wild said about the Gloom and its cures.

Or, he could be a little shit about it.

“Well, you could always go streaking.”

Twilight chokes on the health potion as the others shriek in surprise and startled laughter.

“I’d pick a better day, though,” he continues, jabbing a thumb towards the window. Outside shows nothing but overcast and dreary skies, heavy with pending rain. There isn’t a speck of sunlight to be seen. “Apparently all it does is piss rain in Warriors’ era.”

The others are equally amused and baffled, except for Twilight who still has a health potion in his lungs. Warriors speaks up in defense of his crappy weather: “What does the rain have to do with anything?”

Dark rolls his eyes. “Sunlight. The curse weakens under sunlight.”

He isn’t certain how much or how long one would need to be exposed to sunlight for it to help, but assumes the more direct the better. Maybe that’s why future-Wild wore so little clothes.

“Are you telling me we got screwed over by the weather?” Twilight manages to croak, with semi-clear lungs.

“And the time of day,” Dark says. They’d been ambushed in the middle of the night. The rain, the time, and the fact that they were wholly unprepared for such a curse meant they would have been screwed no matter what they did. Unless neither of them got hit, which was unlikely. Especially since the sword was able to melt things.

Now with the danger past, Dark is more concerned about why a random lizalfos had such a powerful and unique weapon. The creatures are cunning and crafty, but Dark has never seen one forge armaments. They’re all usually stolen or pillaged.

The Gloom has Demise’s influence written all over it, but the fallen god would never lower itself to the menial labor of crafting a weapon by its own hand. Someone with the skill to do so would have had to make it. But who? And how? To handle such cursed material would be deadly to the metalcrafter.

“Wouldn’t have mattered in either of our cases, though,” Dark says, breaking out of his thoughts. “If the Gloom gets in your bloodstream, the only way to get rid of it is with the elixir. Since you decided to test just how deep your guts could go with that blade, you were screwed from the start.”

Twilight grimaces at the reminder. When he checks the wound, the room is relieved to see the injury has completely vanished with only a thin pearly scar and some dried blood on the bandages to show for it.

“So, if Twilight went streaking—” Wild starts.

Twilight sputters. “I’m not going streaking…!”

“—He still would have been cursed, even with sunlight?” the wildling finishes, ignoring the indignant puppy.

“Yep,” Dark says simply, then turns to Twilight. “You’ve got shit luck.”

Twilight’s complaints turn thoughtful. “Better luck than you think.”

Dark stares at him, incredulous. What part of this entire situation was remotely lucky? Is it a hero thing to be this positive after nearly dying? Maybe there was something they drank in all the weird potions that they picked up from the ground.

“The hell are you talking about?” he asks.

“Well,” wolf-boy starts with a smile, “I met you. I consider that pretty damn lucky, especially since you saved my life.”

Dark could argue that he caused Twilight’s injury in the first place. For being there, for not paying attention during the fight, for not properly warning Twilight of the danger of the sword...

But if Twilight had faced that ambush alone, they likely wouldn’t be sitting here talking at all.

“…You saved my life first,” Dark grumbles, instead of figuring out how to deal with such weird concepts like gratitude or kindness. “It was only fair.”

Twilight isn’t buying it. “See, you say that, but most people wouldn’t travel thousands of years through time to get someone a cure.”

Dark squirms under the attention, and – oh no, the heroes are smiling at him.

He looks back to the window, seeking escape.

“Oh no you don’t,” Twilight says with amusement, catching him by the shoulder before he can flee. The hold is gentle, despite wolf-boy’s healed and reinvigorated strength, and Dark could easily pull free if needed. “Stay and accept my thanks like a hero.”

Dark hisses.

Like a what?

Chapter Text

No.

No, that’s… impossible.

He’s no hero. Heroes are brave—

Like facing impossible odds, eight angry adversaries at once, and not faltering despite his fears.

Heroes are kind—

Like defending a fallen ally, and going to the ends of the earth to heal them.

Heroes are chosen by the Goddess—

“Ten.”

…Hylia couldn’t have meant Dark. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. She has to mean someone else. Picking some random, weary, accursed servant of the ancient god of hatred should be bottom of the list. Literally anyone else would be better suited to help defeat Demise.

“Um, Dark? You okay there?”

Or, he assumes this nonsense is about defeating Demise. Dark doesn’t actually know yet what Hylia has the others doing, aside from killing black-blooded creatures. The black blood is a side-effect of Demise’s corruption though, so it’s safe to assume their quest has at least something to do with the god.

Probably. Dark gave up on trying to understand the whims of deities long ago.

But why would she want him as a hero?

“…I think you broke him.”

Dark already has a mission from one powerful deity, he does not need or want another. He doesn’t even want the one he has. Like how the hell is he supposed to join the heroes and destroy them?

“To think all I’d have had to do to defeat him before was give him a compliment,” a voice mutters nearby. There’s the soft sound of a smack in response, followed by grumbled complaints.

What should he do? This was just supposed to be a simple “go disrupt the heroes’ quest” sort of assignment. Yes, the plan was to befriend them, but only to further his mission to destroy them from within. To eventually pull the rug from beneath their feet and ruin them. To aid Demise in all its evil world-ending desires.

Dark wasn’t supposed to become actual friends with them.

What changed? How did it change?

Why did he change?

Dark… cares, now. He cared enough to not let Twilight bleed out in the dirt. He cared enough to stay when he could have fled. He cared enough to get a cure.

This mission was not supposed to come with caring. It was supposed to be deceit in the simplest form.

As usual, the heroes had to go and make things complicated.

Which, according to an absolutely terrible decision by Hylia, includes Dark now.

…Is living as a hermit on a remote sky island still an option?

A hand waves in front of Dark’s face, the weight of concerned eyes pinning him in place. Or is that the panic? He isn’t sure. Dark flinches back at the motion, finding that he is still, in fact, surrounded by the others. Great.

“Are you alright, Dark?” Wild asks, worried.

No, he’s not alright.

He’s not a damn hero, either.

Beside him, Twilight squeezes Dark’s shoulder. The feeling, though it slightly twinges the half-healed arrow wound, is grounding. He shudders, dragging his scattered awareness back into his own skin. He hardly feels like he fits.

“You with us?” Wolf-boy asks carefully.

Dark heaves a sigh, beating back the remaining panic and confusion with a metaphorical stick into the furthest corner of his mind where it could fester and totally not come back to bite him later. “I should have picked the damn cabin.”

The bewildered looks from the others are almost worth the stress.

Dark is spared from explaining by, surprisingly, Time. “Why don’t we take a break? It’s nearly dawn and none of us have slept much, if at all.”

A glance out the window shows the same dreary clouds as before, with no noticeable difference in light. How Time could tell it is near dawn is a mystery to him, but one he’ll gladly disregard in exchange for the excuse of getting the hell out of this conversation.

The others do seem tired, now that Dark takes the time to look. Fatigue lingers in circles beneath their eyes, in their disheveled hair, and thin patience. The perfect deadly weapons of the goddess, brought low by the need of a nap.

Still, they hesitate.

“Dark hasn’t answered all of our questions,” Warriors points out, like there would ever be an end to a hero’s curiosity. To limit such a thing would be the equivalent of telling a fire to cool down.

Before Dark can tell Warriors where to shove his questions, Time replies with: “And the questions will keep until we all get some food and rest.”

For once, he agrees with the walking sundial. “If anyone asks me any more questions right now, I will fling them into the nearest body of water.”

Warriors opens his mouth. Dark raises an eyebrow, daring him to try.

He does. Sort of. “It’s important to find out why you're here and what you know, if it pertains to our quest.”

“He’s here to help,” Wild points out, gesturing to the freshly healed puppy. The wildling seems unworried by Warriors’ concerns, instead swiping through their slate to summon a fresh tunic for Twilight to wear. Wolf-boy takes it with a quiet thanks.

“And I’m grateful for that,” Warriors says, as Twilight wrestles on the shirt. He moves stiffly, so his side must still be sore. The scar visibly pulls, a feeling Dark can sympathize with. “Of course I am. But I want to know why he showed up in the first place.”

“You’ve only ever appeared to fight us before,” Legend adds, “and now you’re helping us. Forgive me for thinking that’s sketchy as shit.”

Forgiven, because it totally is.

“What, a guy can’t turn over a new leaf?” Dark asks, dodging the question. A new leaf might be the worst understatement he’s ever uttered. Befriending the heroes and joining them on their quest is less like a leaf and more like uprooting the whole damn tree.

“Yes,” Legend grits out, begrudgingly. “Usually for a reason. Of which, and I think I can speak for most of us here, we’d like to know yours.”

Dark thinks for a moment.

“How about this,” he suggests, already regretting the idea. However, if it staves off curious heroes and yet another existential crisis, it’s worth it. “Everyone gets one question, and then I’m going the fuck to sleep. Any more questions than that and you go for an early morning swim.”

The heroes look intrigued and amused. A far cry from the suspicion and hostility from a short while ago.

“Any question?” Wind asks, excited. At the same time, Warriors inquires, “What if you lie?”

“Yes,” Dark points to Wind, then to Warriors, “and I won’t. Next questions.”

Wind blinks, startled, then swears profusely. Warriors gapes, “Wait, no! That wasn’t my question!”

“Too bad,” Dark smirks. Smug, and perhaps a little pleased that they’re actually going along with this. “Unless you want to take a dip.”

The captain bristles, indignant. “You couldn’t actually—"

“He’s a terrible swimmer,” Wild loudly whispers conspiratorially in Dark’s ear, which perks up in interest. Ah, sweet blackmail. “Worse than a drunken Zora.”

Warriors sputters. “Don’t tell him that!”

“Landlubber,” Wind snickers, unrepentant. Several others stifle laughs, or poorly cover them with coughs. The captain fumes.

“I was going to reiterate that we could wait for answers until after we’ve all rested,” Time chimes in, humor glimmering in his eye. He puts a hand on his hip, posture open and relaxed. “But this is too good to pass up.”

Dark had heard that the Hero of Time had been raised among fairies and the Kokiri. Perhaps more of that childlike mischief lingered behind that stoic mask than Dark had initially thought.

Regardless, he wants this over with. “Well then hurry up,” Dark grouses. “Some of us have been wrenched through timelines and nearly died multiple times today.”

“Alright, alright,” Four placates, gesturing with his hands in a calming manner. He looks to the others. “Who’s going next?”

“You, apparently,” Dark answers. Four verbally stumbles, making to protest. Dark smirks, pointing out: “I said everyone gets a question. I didn’t specify who is to be asked.”

Four’s face seems to flicker through several conflicting emotions - defiant, amused, angry, impressed - before settling on defeat. He slumps. “…Damn it.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Legend rolls his eyes at the three who botched their questions. Something like humor flashes over his expression, gone the next moment to its default irritation. “Fine, I’m next: Why is your blood black?”

Starting out strong with stuff Dark really doesn’t want to talk about. He pauses, thinking of how best to bullshit his way through this. After a moment, he decides that honesty, sometimes, is the best kind of bullshit.

“All beings from the Dark World bleed black,” he answers. “It’s normal.”

Normal, not natural. He doesn’t remember what color his blood is supposed to be, only that he has watched it grow darker and darker over his many, many years. All living creatures, rare as they are in the Dark World, eventually met the same fate. Species are devoured whole by Demise’s never-ending vitriol. A plague from which nothing is spared.

“So, the monsters we’ve been fighting are all from the Dark World?” Hyrule asks, interest piqued. Dark does not appreciate how easily he gets lumped in with the regular monsters, no matter how true it may be.

“I don’t know how they could be from anywhere else,” he responds truthfully. Dark is not the only minion Demise has dispatched from the Dark World via the Gate, though he had no idea the fallen god was sending enough for nine of Hylia’s heroes to get involved. Plus one misplaced and very confused reflection.

“Kind of egotistical to have a whole world named after yourself,” Legend snarks. He may have meant the comment as teasing, but Dark is too irritated to care. And perhaps a bit impressed at the hero for cleverly wording his sass as a statement and not a question.

“I didn’t name the Dark World,” Dark scoffs. “And Dark is a title, not my name.” Technically.

“Before any of you waste a question,” Twilight chimes in, “He’s a Link.”

It was like wolf-boy had set a bomb off. When the brief fuse, a stunned silence, ends, the others explode into a cacophony of noise. Dark leans back and away from the onslaught.

“Twilight,” Dark scolds, after the shock dies down. He’s not sure why his name is so surprising. The five who fought him already knew him as Dark Link. “I’m trying to get them to waste questions. Don’t give out freebies!”

Twilight is amused and not at all apologetic. “I mean, it’s kind of obvious,” he shrugs. It is, but that’s not the point. “And in my defense, they already wasted three.”

“You’re a hero, like us?” Sky wonders, and Dark winces. Like he suspected, the name Link means something far more significant to this particular group of people. It’s the name of a hero, something Dark never thought of in regards to himself despite his connection to the others.

“Make that four questions,” Twilight frowns, disappointed. “He saved me, that’s plenty heroic.”

“It’s more of a question of whether or not he has the Hero’s Spirit,” Time points out. “A name is just a name.”

Dark is the reflection of the Hero’s Spirit. Where that puts him on the grand cosmic scales of Fate, he has no idea. Except that wherever he’s been placed sucks.

“I guess you’re right…” Wild supposes. “I met three parents who wanted to name their kids after me after defeating Calamity Ganon last year.” Wild looks so uncomfortable at the thought that Dark almost laughs.

“I hope you told them what a terrible idea that is,” Dark remarks. He doubts that Ganon, or Ganondorf or whatever dumb name Demise picked, would simply pop out of the grave so soon after being defeated, but why risk the chance of their child spawn having to fight the thing?

The name of Link is as blessed by the Goddess Hylia as it is cursed by Demise.

“And a name is not just a name,” Dark directs to Time, who said otherwise, glaring at the hero until he tips his head in acknowledgement.

“That’s true, I suppose,” the older hero amends, contemplatively. “You didn’t answer Sky’s question, though.”

Thanks for the reminder, Time. It’s not like he’d been avoiding answering the question or pretending Sky hadn’t asked or anything.

“No, I don’t consider myself a Hero,” he answers, through gritted teeth. And never will, or expect to be called one outside of false assumptions. Dark then directs a potent scowl at the ceiling where the portal once was. Hylia’s magic has faded to nothing more than a wisp of light, a whisper of ages, a scent of feathers. “Although certain other nosey, annoying, and meddling entities have differing opinions.”

The ceiling, predictably, does not reply to his ire. Dark imagines Hylia looking rather smug, wherever she is.

Yet no matter how many strings she pulls or inconvenient portals she places, Dark is not a Hero of Courage. He hasn’t saved Hyrule, or brought peace to the lands and its people. Spirits, he’s hardly been here except for short, painful durations. For the rest of his existence, he’s been trapped in the Dark World… and there is no saving such a place.

“Well,” Twilight says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know about the will of the Goddess and all that, but you have my vote.”

Dark rolls his eyes. “I don’t think heroism is something that gets voted on,” he says. “Even if it was, there are at least five other people in this room that would disagree with you.”

“Not necessarily,” Time says, who’s been looking at him thoughtfully ever since he stated he isn’t a hero.

More importantly, what the hell does he mean by ‘not necessarily’? Has he not been cut down by these heroes multiple times? Been summoned, tested, and died because of being their enemy? Dark was always on the opposite end of their blades; the only thing ‘not necessarily’ needed in the conflict was Dark’s survival at the end of it.

The glower Dark sends Time’s way must speak in volumes, for he explains further. “The others who have fought you can speak for themselves, however… after all that’s happened tonight, I believe you deserve another chance.”

Ah, yes, that’s exactly what he wants: A chance to be judged by the heroes all over again.

“How generous of you,” Dark replies bitterly. “I do hope you’ll keep your deadly weapons to yourselves this time.”

Time’s usual stoicism breaks briefly for a wince. “Ah, no… That’s not what I meant,” he corrects. “If you have no ill intentions towards any of us, I certainly don’t towards you.” Dark narrows his eyes. Ultimatums, is it? Stay in line and we won’t stab you is the better translation. “I don’t know why you fought us before, or why you’re not fighting us now, but I don’t see why we can’t continue peaceably.”

“Yeah, you seem nice!” Wind jumps in, ardently. Dark wrinkles his nose. He’s not nice. “If I’d known you were like this in the dungeon, I would have talked to you then!”

It wouldn’t have mattered if Wind had spoken to him, but the sentiment is appreciated. It’s nice to think at least one other hero may have talked to him instead of fighting him.

“If you’d stopped attacking me every time we met, we might have exchanged more than blades,” Legend adds. And, well, yes. That is true. Dark does recognize that he was set up purposefully as an adversary for these heroes, and fighting them only reinforced this claim, but his summonings were never intended for anything else.

“I don’t know why you were summoned to face me,” Hyrule states, tentative. “But I wish things had been different.”

Dark does too, honestly. He wishes he’d never been summoned at all.

Warriors hesitates, and begrudgingly adds: “…I’m… still conflicted about you,” he admits, which is fair and far more expected than whatever else the others have been saying. “I can’t simply set aside the role you played serving Cia in the war. Without knowing your motives or reason for being here, I can’t fully trust you.”

“That’s fair,” Dark agrees, deciding to focus on Warriors comment instead of floundering on the newfound knowledge that he could have been friends with, or at least not immediately murdered by, these people ages ago if the situations had been different.

Warriors blinks, surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree with me.”

Dark shrugs. “I wouldn’t trust me either,” he says. “And for the record, trusting people you’ve met less than an hour prior is a bad idea regardless.”

He directs this last statement to Wild and Twilight, who look rather unrepentant.

The wildling hums. “You had good vibes.”

Dark sputters. Good vibes? What does that even mean?! “I almost stabbed you!”

He has long been aware of the heroes' lack of self-preservation, it comes with the job after all, but for one of them to have a knife drawn on them by a suspicious individual in an alley and then decide to immediately befriend the person is a new level of absurd.

“You threatened Wild?” Twilight asks, though his tone is more amused than defensive. He also does not look surprised in the slightest. How often does Wild almost get assassinated?

“She cornered me in an alley! I was defending myself,” Dark snaps irritably. Then he vividly remembers drawing a sword on wolf-boy, too, when he proved himself to be more than a regular cursed wolf. “Also, I nearly stabbed you, too.”

“…This conversation is not helping me to trust you,” Warriors mutters. Dark ignores him.

“But you didn’t, and you didn’t hurt Wild, either,” Twilight says, also ignoring him.

Dark hadn’t known the two were heroes in the beginning, or had any intention of harming either of them outside of defending himself. At the time, his only goal was gathering information and find a way to infiltrate the group of heroes without getting killed.

And… he has succeeded in doing so, sort of. In a very complicated and headache-inducing way.

“No,” Dark says eventually. “I didn’t have reason to.”

“But you did for the others?” Wild asks. Curious, and surprisingly not accusatory.

Dark hesitates. That’s a… complicated question. “Kind of.”

“…You’re going to have to explain a bit more than that,” Legend states dryly.

“There were different reasons for each of you,” he snaps back. Then, quieter, “None of which were mine.”

—Conquer yourself—

—Challenge the Hero—

—Defend the Triforce—

—Test their strength—

—Protect me—

Dark’s soul aches. The chains of his bound will cut deeper than even the heroes blades, and yet… Without the summonings, Dark would never have seen anything other than the ruins of the Dark World, or met his counterparts. Dancing along the same double-edged sword, he’d have never become enemies with them, either.

“Is that why you’re so different from before?” Time asks quietly. Gently. Disturbed.

Dark stills. No. No, he refuses to talk about this.

Whatever expression he wears makes Time visibly flinch.

“Ask the Sage who summoned me.” The words are a cold hatred, tired and resigned.

It’s not an answer, but Time accepts it anyway. He nods, grim, and drops the subject. The others seem to take the hint, though Dark catches more than one worried look as they mutter amongst each other.

“Thank you for humoring our questions, Dark,” Time says after a long moment. Genuine, and a bit like he's speaking to flighty fairy. Cautious, yet friendly. “You’ve given us a lot to think about… but for now, I think we all need to rest. If you’d like, the inn has a spare room down the hall you can use.”

Dark could think of nothing he wants more right now than to end this conversation. He's answered everything they've asked. There will be more questions, he's certain, but that's a problem for later. 

There's just one more thing...

“Hold on,” Dark says, though the thought of rest is enticing. They all pause. “I said everyone got one question, and I haven’t gotten to ask mine.”

He could ask a myriad of things. What their quest is from the goddess, their strengths, weaknesses, how they’re dealing with the monsters they slay, if he could borrow Twilight’s wrecking ball, and so on. But there’s something else he has in mind…

“What do you want to know?” Warriors asks.

Dark smirks. He’s exhausted, but his day suddenly got much better. “Where’s the nearest body of water?”

The hero freezes.

“Son of a—"

Chapter Text

Warriors is spared, temporarily, from his future title as the Hero of Water by frantic footsteps coming from down the hall.

Hurried knocking follows and the others tense, though Dark isn’t sure why. It’s not like an enemy or monster would knock. The steps also have the distinct sound of armor, or metal plated boots, so whoever is on the opposite side of the entrance is likely hylian. Only one, at that.

This is confirmed when the person bursts into the room seconds later, looking harried and afraid.

“Captain!” the soldier says in a rush, addressing Warriors, though she stumbles a bit when she notices just how many people she intruded upon. “Er, apologies for the interruption--!”

Warriors hastily slaps on a calm and collected mask over his previous despair at his watery fate, raising instead a placating hand to the harried soldier. “It’s fine, private. What’s wrong?”

Hm. Should that question count towards a second dunking? Technically, Dark hadn’t set a limit…

The soldier flusters. “The prisoner has escaped!”

There’s a distinct, awkward, pause as the heroes turn from her to Dark.

Dark pulls the severed chains from his former prison out of his shadow and holds them up, “I assume you want these back.”

The woman promptly shrieks.

“…I’m going to take that as a no.”

She fumbles for the sword sheathed at her hip, and this sort of reaction, at least, Dark is used to.

He’s significantly less accustomed to the heroes rushing to defend him instead. The soldier barely has the blade drawn and body in a sloppy battle stance before several others step in her way.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Wild hurries towards her, with hands waving about in a stop motion. Somebody really needs to tell them not to approach people with weapons in their hands. At least it’s not taking place in an alley this time, or from a banana obsessed lunatic.

“There is no need for violence,” Time says levelly, his singular eye focused on the soldier instead of Dark for once. Which is as surprising as it is amusing, seeing as the woman appears to be more liable to trip over herself than to stab anything.

“At ease, soldier,” Warriors orders, stepping forward. “We’ve got everything under control.”

Dark snorts. Warriors’ eye twitches.

“B-but, sir,” she stutters, eyes never leaving the apparent threat. Dark blinks back at her placidly, an eyebrow raised. “That’s a—”

“An ally,” Warriors finishes for her, causing Dark’s other eyebrow to join the first, high in surprise. That’s one of the last things he’d have expected the captain to call him, despite Dark’s earlier aid. Perhaps he’s trying to prevent a fight.

Dark could not feel less threatened. When one goes around battling heroes to the death, participating in world-rending wars, and wandering the monster and demon infested ruins of the Dark World, a single untrained Hyrulian soldier is about as intimidating as an irritable fairy.

“Put your sword away before you stab yourself in the foot,” Dark scolds the soldier, who startles and nearly drops the weapon anyway. “I’m not here to harm anyone.”

Yet, his mind bitterly reminds him.

But maybe not, a different, brighter, thought whispers after.

Dark shoves both of the thoughts away. He is too damn tired to confront his mess of a life right now. Conflicting missions aside, he is still coming to terms that he has survived the last twelve hours, let alone that he’s sitting here defended by his former murderers.

“And you whined at me for not taking threats to my person seriously,” Twilight chimes in. Amused, though staring with unwavering focus at the soldier’s sword. His hand is back on Dark’s shoulder, ready to pull him aside if the woman proves to have as much lack of judgement as she does skill.

Dark scoffs, gesturing with his free hand to the horrible footwork and flimsy sword grip.

“That stance isn’t a threat, it’s an insult,” Dark says, unimpressed. The soldier stammers, unable to decide if she should be offended or not. “Like, if you’re going to threaten me, at least do it right.”

Any tension remaining in the room breaks.

The others, embarrassed soldier aside, look equal parts amused and incredulous. Wild visibly fights a grin. Wind nods along in agreement. Sky looks oddly concerned. Legend, Warriors and Four present wonderfully in-sync facepalms. Time turns his eye to the ceiling, as if in prayer, and sighs long-sufferingly.

“Dark,” Twilight groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t advise people on how to threaten you,” he says, exasperated.

Dark shrugs. If a soldier is to wield a weapon, they need to know how to use it. Or better yet, how not to use it. Waving a sword around with confident incompetence is a quick way to get your ass handed to you. Like pointing deku stick at a lynel and thinking the beast wouldn’t use it to roast you on a spit.

“Let me rephrase, then,” Dark says, waving a hand dismissively. He looks to the soldier, who flinches. “Don’t start shit with shit that can hand you your shit.”

In other, more polite, terms: don’t make enemies where there are none. Unless there are soul-binding enchantments involved.

“That was, by far, the most offensive way you could have said that,” Time states, disapprovingly.

“Thanks,” Dark replies, pleased.

“…That wasn’t a compliment,” Time sighs. Dark pointedly ignores him.

“Solid advice, though,” Hyrule offers.

Warriors mutters something under his breath like, “why does he have to be right?” as he ushers the increasingly baffled soldier out of the room, and Dark counts it as a third question. If this keeps up, Warriors may learn to swim by the end of this journey, if only by sheer amount of time he’ll be spending in the water.

“Thank you for coming,” the captain addresses the soldier, “But as you can see, and hear, apparently the worst Dark Link has to offer is his tongue.”

Dark doesn’t know if he should be insulted or flattered.

“Forgive me, sir, but…” the woman hesitates on the threshold, eyes flicking between Dark and the captain unsurely. Her sword wavers in her grip. “You ordered us not to let it out of our sight, because it's extremely dangerous.”

Dark decides on insulted.

“Look, lady,” he scowls and stands. The room tenses. “You lost that chance hours ago. But if you wish to test how dangerous I can be, you are welcome to try to recapture me.”

He drops the chains in a loud clatter to the floor between them, the challenge clear.

He has tried patience, friendly and unfriendly advice, and warnings. He doesn't know what else to do except to ask Nayru to smite some sense into her.

Regardless of what the soldier attempts, he will not be returning to that prison. He doesn’t know or care about the laws of this era, but he’s fairly certain existing isn’t illegal. He has done nothing wrong at this point to warrant an arrest, unless previously being forced to participate in the War of Eras counts.

Besides, that cell reminded him a little too much of his room in the Dark World. A few more puddles of malice, oddly placed teeth, and a swirling abyss of chaos outside of a barred window and he’d feel right at home. The inn might be full of deadly heroes, but at least it doesn’t have an ancient god of wrath raging in the basement.

“That won’t be necessary,” Time says, coming to stand between them. He steps over the pile of chains with a well-hidden wince. “He,” Time’s look is withering, “is welcome to stay with us.”

Dark is momentarily confused by his wording. It sounds like Time meant he is welcome to stay in general, not simply at the inn, but that can’t be right. Sure, he’s pretty much stuck with the heroes for the duration of this quest, but welcome? No. He assumes the feelings to be more like tolerated. Welcome implies a level of trust that can’t be built so quickly, Wild and Twilight’s terrible impulsive judgements aside.

Hylia’s, too, but that’s a whole other headache Dark doesn’t want to think about right now.

“Good,” Dark decides, still a little bewildered that Time stuck up for him and his pronouns. He’s too tired to bother with breaking out of prison again today, divine intervention or not. “That cot wasn’t comfortable anyway.”

There’s something like a sigh throughout the room, both exasperated and relieved nothing came to a fight. Which is strange to Dark, since he’s used to pretty much everything coming to a fight. Now though, the others are calm, if wary. Trying to keep the peace like the heroes they are. Twilight hasn’t stopped glaring at the soldier or the chains glinting from the floor, however.

“That’s what you’re complaining about?” Warriors asks, disbelieving. He’ll never be dry at this point.

Dark shrugs. The guardhouse wasn’t the worst prison he’s been locked in. “Maybe if it was comfy, your prisoners wouldn’t try to escape.”

“You were portalled out!”

“That means Hylia agreed with me,” Dark says, to the hero’s continued aggravation.  

“C’mon, Dark,” Wild interjects with a grin, waving their hand towards the door in a beckoning manner. “Let’s find you an actual bed, before Wars ends up swimming for this whole quest.”

Several heroes stifle laughs. The fact that Dark wasn’t the only one counting all of Warriors’ extra questions brings him no small amount of delight.

Warriors’ irritation is quickly replaced with confusion, then horrified realization. His eyes go wide.

“…Oh no,” he whispers in despair. Indignant fury follows, “Wh-" he cuts himself off, "Nobody said anything! I thought any extra questions only counted for the one swim!”

Legend reaches out to give the captain the most sarcastic consolatory pat on the shoulder Dark has ever seen. “To be fair, I wasn’t sure if additional questions counted.”

“I was hoping they would,” Wind snickers. “Hey, maybe now you’ll learn to swim!”

“Sounds like he’ll have to,” Four adds.

“I’ll help you dunk him, if you want,” Twilight offers, like the good friend that he is. Wild looks just as willing, a delighted shine of mischief in their eyes.

“Not until you rest more, you won’t,” Time tells the wolf-boy sternly, who grumbles something about being perfectly fine and the older hero being overly-cautious. Seeing as Twilight has yet to attempt to leave the bed, Dark has his doubts.

“Time, you’re supposed to be the sensible one,” the captain complains. “Don’t let him drown me over a word game!”

Time blinks, as if being called sensible was an odd occurrence. “We won’t let you drown. Most of us have water-breathing items.”

Warriors does not look reassured.

“You never answered my question, by the way,” Dark reminds him helpfully.

Warriors groans into his hands. Then he perks up with a spark of hope. “There isn’t a body of water nearby. This town draws water from wells.”

Hm. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to throw his new ally down a well. He’ll have to wait.

“Another day, then,” he decides, smiling sweetly. Warriors’ hope drops to dread. “After all, I never specified which morning.”

Dark follows Wild down the hall, leaving the Hero of Water, his traitorous friends, and one very confused hyrulian soldier behind. He expects to be followed, for the others to still be wary and suspicious, but all that trails after him is laughter.

It feels good.

Dark tries not to let his fascination of the inn show as they walk through it, even as his eyes dart around to note the smallest of details. He knows vaguely how the buildings work, in that people use them as temporary shelters, but that’s all. He has never been inside of one, or any hyrulian houses actually, so everything feels new.

Paintings adorn the walls, filling what would be empty space with images of vast fields, open skies, and varieties of plants and animals he has no names for. Warm sconces provide a bloom of light near each of the many doors they pass, entrances to what Dark assumes to be the separated rooms. The doors have small plaques on them, engraved with a script he doesn’t recognize. If he concentrates, he can sense the trails of magic from the great multitude of artifacts the heroes have packed away inside. The door Wild leads him to has no magic behind it.

“Hey, Dark,” Wild says, as they turn the doorknob, pushing the door open to reveal the room beyond. Dark watches in amazement as it doesn’t even try to bite or fall on them as Wild enters. “I have another question.”

Dark tentatively walks inside, looking around in curiosity. He replies distractedly, “You’ll go swimming with Warriors if you ask it.”

Wild shrugs, unbothered. “That’s fine. I’m a decent swimmer.”

Dark pulls his attention away from where he’d been examining the door latch (it locks from the inside, how strange) to roll his eyes. “Go on, then.”

“Can I check your wound?”

Dark blinks. He shouldn’t be surprised, given how often Wild has inquired over his health before, but he still doesn’t know what to do with the concern.

“No,” he answers anyway. Wild slumps, dejected. “Because there isn’t a wound left to check.”

Wild perks back up as Dark brings his arm forward and pulls away the bandages. By this point, they're so loose that they practically fall off. His black blood, long dried, marks the fabric. Only a few barely noticeable smudges stain the skin.

He offers the limb to Wild to inspect, much like how their older self had done for him. Like their magic arm, Dark’s body also thrums with magic, currently concentrated over his new pearly scar. The freshly healed wound is a lighter tone than the rest of his inky complexion, though Dark knows it will darken to match the rest within a few weeks.

Wild breathes a sigh of relief at the sight, their hands hovering over the former cut. “Looks like it healed well.”

Of course it did. Dark is an expert at patching himself up. That said, he would have died from the Gloom and been piecing himself together in the Dark World by now without Wild’s aid. “Thanks to your elixir.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for something I haven’t invented yet,” Wild replies wryly.

A thought occurs to him, and Dark groans and smacks his forehead. “…Ah, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Wild asks, worriedly.

“You were supposed to show me how to make the Sunny Elixir, but I left before you could,” he explains. There had been a lot happening during his impromptu trip to the far future, including many baffling topics like belonging and friendship, and Dark got distracted. Older-Wild had apparently forgotten, too.

“Oh,” Wild ponders over this problem for a moment. Then, “That’s probably okay.”

Once again, Wild’s optimism astounds him. “We’re talking about a cure to an extremely deadly curse here.”

“Which, if it was super important to know, I’d have shoved the recipe at you immediately,” Wild reasons. Dark isn’t so sure about that. The Wild on that sky island had been far more focused on Dark than the Gloom. Maybe that’s a good sign.

“Look, it’s not a problem that can be solved right away anyway,” they continue, in the face of Dark’s doubts. “Get some sleep first, then you can talk with the group about it later.”

Unfortunately, Wild is right. This mess has had far more group conversations than Dark knows how to handle. He sighs, a touch dramatically, “If I must.”

Wild snickers, elbowing him lightly. The casual contact makes him jolt. “Aw, c’mon. They’re not that bad once you get to know them.”

And he’s going to have weeks, possibly months or more, to do so. The thought of spending that much time with people that have killed him before is… not pleasant.

That said, this quest so far has been incredibly different and unpredictable than his usual missions and summonings, so maybe it will surprise him further. He finds himself hoping that it does.

“My room is right next to this one,” Wild is saying, pointing at the wall next to the bed as if they could see through it. “If you need anything, let me know. Oh! And the washroom is on the main level, at the bottom of the stairs.”

Whatever that is. Dark nods along anyway.

“I think that’s all…” Wild trails off. “I’ll wake you up later for lunch, if that’s alright.”

Hylians usually eat around midday, don’t they? That would be about six hours from now, if Time’s weird sixth-sense was accurate. Dark doubts he’ll be able to sleep for that long. He never does. But it’s six hours to try to figure out what to do from here, so he’ll take it. “Sure.”

Wild starts to leave, but pauses on the threshold. They turn back, the smile never having left their face. “I don’t think anyone said it outright, but… thank you for saving Twilight.”

Dark stands there for a few minutes after Wild departs, feeling lost.

The heroes keep thanking him, and treating him nicely, and bantering with him, and trusting him, and Dark doesn’t know what to do with any of it. Life was much simpler when all he had to do was show up, fight them, and die.

He looks around, seeking distraction.

A rug on the floor muffles his steps as he walks about the space, which is the same size as Twilight’s room; fitting a bed, a desk, and a chair. The bed appears immeasurably soft, with plush pillows and blankets, and the chair even has a cushion on it.

He leaves the door unlocked, because the thought of a locked exit, even from the inside, makes his skin itch. The walls surrounding him are bad enough, only made slightly better by the decorative pictures on display.

A large window dominates the wall opposite of the door, and Dark swiftly checks to see if it can open. It can, and Dark leaves it that way. A cool breeze drifts in, ruffling the cloths hanging at each side of the window frame. His hair, too, though Dark hardly notices. He stares out into the early morning, his thoughts cloudier than the skies.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dark whispers to the dawn, to Hylia, because he sure doesn’t.

Dark sighs, sinks into the shadows, and sleeps.

Chapter Text

“So did anyone actually sleep?”

Wild enters the dining room to find it already occupied, with half of their friends sitting in a groggy circle around the main table. Legend is muttering curses at his coffee, Time is reading his notebook with the wrong eye, and Warriors is polishing a part of his armor with a jar of jam instead of polish.  

Wild gently pries the jam jar and sticky rag out of the captain’s hands and replaces it with the appropriate tools. Warriors does not stop in his polishing motion or acknowledge the swap at all.

“You did,” Legend snipes grumpily, and Wild doesn’t understand how the two most sarcastic people they’ve met can’t get along. They could almost hear Dark saying the exact same thing.

“Yep,” Wild agrees, plucking the coffee cup from the vet’s fingers. This earns them a glare worthy of Ganon, but only until they replace it with a fresh cup. They only cup Wild is going to offer, because the pot is already half empty and he knows Legend is the main culprit. Too much caffeine makes him grouchy. Well… more grouchy. “And I feel a lot better than you guys look.”

“Excuse you,” Warriors argues, “We look great.”

“What he said,” Time adds tiredly.

They do not, in fact, look great. They look like they’ve been sitting here rethinking their life choices and the past murders of their new ally for several hours.

Wild… still doesn’t exactly know how that happened. People don’t usually die and come back to life repeatedly over the course of several millennia. But as a fellow unalived-and-returned person, maybe Dark and Wild could start a club.

They’re also… more than a little conflicted about the whole mess. On one hand, Time, Legend, Warriors, Hyrule, and Wind, people they’ve grown to know as brothers, killed Dark. On the other, according to what the others said, Dark had done his level best to do the same to them. Wild can’t blame their friends for defending themselves.

They can, however, blame whoever made Dark fight in the first place.

There might be several Sages on Wild’s shit-list now.

…Wild just has to figure out what a Sage is, first.

“Time, your eye isn’t even open,” Wild points out, setting aside thoughts of vengeance in favor of flicking through his slate for lunch possibilities.

Time pauses, then belatedly opens his left eye. Looks around. He doesn’t correct his statement, but he does grimace at what he sees. “…It’s been a long morning.”

That’s one way of saying it.

Everything had been normal (as far as normal can be while time-travelling with eight other incarnations of yourself) when they’d gone to sleep the night before, camped out on the warm sands of the Gerudo region. What Wild hadn’t known at the time was that Dark had been there, too.

Wild understands why Dark had chosen to hide in the beginning, especially since there was apparently a long list of grievances from the others, but they wish Dark had chosen to talk with them first. Maybe then they would have found out how friend-shaped he could be.

Sure, Dark had threatened both Wild and Twilight at some point, but that’s not that odd of an occurrence. Wild would argue that having a veritable stranger time-travel to their future self for an elixir that doesn’t exist yet to heal the mentor that aided Wild on their journey in the form of a ghostly wolf is slightly weirder.

Besides, if some of the stories the others have shared about their journeys are true, Wild’s fellow heroes have seen much stranger things. Which is why their reluctance to accept that Dark isn’t some evil entity trying to destroy them all seems so ridiculous to Wild.

Dark may be pricklier than a durian, with wit and a tongue just as sharp, but he’s also kind.

…A word that would probably cause Dark to actually stab Wild, if ever said to his face.

“Is everyone else awake, too?” Wild asks, pulling out some different fruits to simmer, including durian. It seems fitting.

“Mostly,” Time replies, tucking his notebook away. “Four said he wanted to visit the town’s forge, and Wind and Hyrule went to help.”

Wild wonders if that has anything to do with Dark’s dagger that the smithy had asked Legend for earlier. The weapon had been mangled pretty badly in the previous scuffle. If Wild had been the one wielding it, it probably would have shattered by now.

“Sky’s still sleeping,” Legend adds, in a deadpan tone that tells how unsurprising the information is. Sky could probably sleep through anything less than Death Mountain erupting. “Twilight, too.”

Wild isn’t sure if the phrase ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ applies here, but it feels relevant. “Good, he needs it. That Gloom stuff was awful.”

Time nods gravely. “You’re certain you haven’t seen such a curse before?”

Wild shakes their head. They haven’t… though they’re more than a little concerned that his future self was apparently familiar enough with Gloom to have needed to make an elixir for it. “No, only Malice… which is just this goopy stuff Calamity Ganon leaked everywhere. It would burn pretty bad if you touched it, but the damage was easily healed.”

Malice was nothing compared to the slow, lingering decay of the Gloom. To see their friends afflicted with it… Wild shudders.

Time hums. “At least we know of the danger now, so that’s something.”

“That’s barely anything,” Legend retorts, ever the cynic. “Two people nearly died from a curse we know nearly nothing about, for a quest we also know nothing about!”

It’s true. None of them really know why nine, now ten, heroes had been drawn together from across time or what’s going on with the portals they’ve been travelling through. Until Dark came along, the source of the infected monsters had been a mystery, too. Wild is curious about the Dark World their new friend hails from, though they can admit the place sounds… ominous.

“We know more than we did, thanks to Dark,” Time reiterates calmly. “Any information is valuable compared to nothing.”

“He definitely knows more,” Warriors mutters unhappily, as the one who asked the most questions earlier and got exactly zero answers.

“You really want to ask him more questions?” Wild teases, attempting to lighten the mood.

Warriors grumbles and sinks lower in his chair. “I’d at least like to know about the elixir. If we’re going to face similar curses in the future, we need a reliable way to counter it. If I need to swim for our safety, I will.”

“A Hero of Courage, indeed,” Time says, mischievously. Warriors glowers at him and throws the polishing rag at his head, which is neatly dodged. “You’re correct, though. One extra potion isn’t going to cover for all of us. I’d feel better if we had more.”

Wild hums contemplatively. Dark doesn’t have a recipe, but maybe they can puzzle it out… “Can I see the elixir?”

Legend pulls the spare Sunny Elixir from his bag and thunks it down on the table next to his coffee. Gently enough, though the golden liquid within sloshes around harshly against the glass. It appears similar to the Electro Elixir, except with more orange to the color instead of green.

Wild picks it up and pops the cork, giving it a sniff. It smells mostly like grass, similar to when Wild… allegedly… caught a quarter of Hyrule Field on fire when testing a meteor rod after a rainstorm. The glowing liquid has that same damp and burnt petrichor to it, with a note of something floral.

They swipe a finger through the gold on the underside of the cork and stick it in their mouth, ignoring the very Zelda-like voice in the back of their head telling them to not eat every random thing they set their eyes on. But this elixir has proven to be healthy, so they easily ignore the advice. As usual. 

She also made other-him eat a frog once, so her point is moot.

Wild doesn’t choke at the taste, but it’s a damn near thing. “…Well. It’s not the worst thing I’ve tasted,” they say, as someone who has eaten raw bokoblin guts just to see what would happen.

“Anything familiar?” Time inquires.

“Maybe,” Wild ponders. “I’d guess the main ingredient is a type of plant.”

Which isn’t odd, but it is rare. The majority of elixirs Wild makes include a variety of bugs, monster bits, mushrooms, and fish. Only a few use vegetables, and only one uses flowers. None of which glow this particular shade of gold.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much,” Legend remarks. “Plenty of witches or potion makers I know use plants in their brews.”

“But I don’t,” Wild points out. “Only a few recipes I know use plants.” Five, if they count mushrooms, but they aren’t sure if those are technically plants or not.

“So, we’re looking for something new to you,” Time taps his chin in thought. Lots of things are new to Wild, time-travelling nonsense aside, but that’s what only having a couple years’ worth of memories does to a person.

“Probably new to all of us,” Wild shrugs, recorking the bottle and setting it back on the table. They return their attention to making lunch, peeling and slicing several fruits.

“Except Dark,” Warriors mumbles.

“He doesn’t have the recipe,” Wild shoots the suspicion down before it can form. Honestly, this was getting old. “Told me earlier that he forgot to get it from future-me.”

“How convenient,” Legend grumbles. Wild flicks fruit juices at him, just to be petty.

“Just ask him about it, if it bothers you so much,” Wild tells him. “He’s easy to talk to once you get past the knives and sarcasm.”

Wild hadn’t been expecting to befriend a shadowy shapeshifter while shopping the Gerudo marketplace the day before, but was overly glad they did. They’d gotten to see a small sliver of a different Dark before all the fighting, accusations, and near-death experiences got in the way. He’d been curious, sharp, witty, and fascinated with the magic of Wild’s slate. Almost at Purah levels of excitement, if only for magic instead of technology. Wild can only imagine the chaos that would unfold if the two ever met.

Dark had also been very interested in the multitude of bugs Wild kept.

…Maybe they should worry more about that.

“…What are in your elixirs, anyway?” Warriors asks.

He probably really doesn’t want to know. There’s some stuff in elixirs that even Wild questions sometimes.

Then again, the captain has been so bereft of answers lately…

“Monster parts, mostly,” Wild says casually.

Warriors chokes. “W-what?!”

“Guts. Horns. Toenails. Wings. Eyes—”

“No, stop... please—"

“—Lots of lizards and bugs,” Wild continues happily, unrelenting.

“Tell me you’re lying,” Legend gags, shoving his coffee away with a queasy look. “We’ve drank so many of those!”

“Out of morbid curiosity,” Time deadpans, with an expression quickly filling with regret. “What are in the stamina potions?”

“The Enduring Elixirs?” Wild ponders as they fight a grin, knowing Time and Legend had both used one just a couple days ago, before cheerily answering: “Oh, those have frogs!”

There’s a beat of despair-filled silence. The door to the room opens just as Legend screeches: “The hell do you mean I drank a frog?!”

“Uh,” Four says blankly as he enters, followed by the equally confused Wind and Hyrule. “Do I want to know?”

Wild opens their mouth. Legend claps a hand over it before they can further traumatize their brothers. “No,” the veteran stresses. “No, you do not want to know.”

Four looks between the irate veteran, the horrified captain, and the stony-faced old man, and decides to take the mercy. He shrugs and aims for the coffee pot, apparently needing caffeine to deal with whatever chaos happens next. Which is valid, because Wild doesn’t think Four slept enough. There are bags under his eyes, though he looks happy despite the fatigue.

Wild licks Legend’s palm, and the vet shrieks and yanks his hand away.

“How did things go at the forge?” Wild asks, ignoring Legend as he wipes the spit off on Wild’s sleeve.

“See for yourself,” Four says with satisfaction. He sets a small metal object down on the table. It’s Dark’s dagger, fully restored. The formerly warped blade shines straight and sharp, polished and pristine. Wild is vaguely scared to touch it in case their, apparently strange, ability to break weapons infects it.

“Well done,” Time praises, taking up the small blade and looking it over. “I’m sure Dark will appreciate the effort.”

“Or hiss at you,” Legend adds, unhelpfully. “It’s a toss-up.”

Four shrugs. “Regardless, it felt right to repair it. We were the ones to break it.”

Warriors looks wary, but that seems to be his default state these days. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to arm him?”

Wild rolls their eyes. “No, we should just let him join us completely unarmed as we fight super strong monsters from across time and space,” they say. Maybe Dark’s sarcasm is rubbing off on them, but the point is valid.

Also, Wild is fairly sure Dark is already armed. The dagger on the table is not the only one Wild has seen him summon, nor is the elixir that sits beside it.

Which means he’d had plenty of chances to attack any of them and hadn’t.

…Well. He’d bit Legend and kicked Warriors in the shin, but that was deserved.

“Wild’s right,” Time says. “There are too many dangers to defend against. A dagger is the minimum he should have.”

“Dark might be one of those dangers,” Hyrule cautions, which somewhat surprises Wild. Hyrule had been among those that helped repair the weapon, after all. “He has made an attempt on my life before, but if what he said about being influenced was true… fixing his dagger may help make amends.”

“He did his best to kill me multiple times,” Legend points out defensively. “I’m not making amends for defending myself.”

“This is for the recent attempted murder, not the older attempted murders,” Wind says, smiling despite the rather concerning sentence he just spoke. Then again, that is pretty normal for heroes. Wild can’t remember the last time they went a whole week without at least one Yiga taking a stab at them. The frequency probably has something to do with why Zelda keeps telling them to stop breaking into the fortress to burn their hoards of bananas, though. “But we should probably say sorry for those, too…”

Wind’s smiles falls, and the others’ expressions dim, too. There wasn’t anything ‘attempted’ about the killing Dark before. That said, Wild doesn’t think their friends are the ones in the wrong, either.

“Whoever made you guys fight are the ones who should be saying sorry,” Wild says. They don’t remember much about their life from before the Calamity, but they do remember what it felt like to be forced into a role you didn’t want to be in. Their pre-Calamity self could attest to that, as could Zelda. “To all of you, honestly.”

There’s a sullen pause.

“So, we’re going with Dark being forced, then?” Warriors states more than asks.

“Every time?” Wind whispers worriedly.

“Sounds like it…” Four says, grim. “Or at least under duress.”

Time ponders this. “What do we know of the spell used to summon him?”

Silence, is the answer.

“So, nothing,” Legend grumbles unhappily.

“Not nothing…” Warriors says, contemplative. “I saw the spell be cast, I’m just not sure how it worked. All I know is that Cia threw some dark magic at me and then my shadow stood up ready to skewer me. And then multiplied. A lot.”

“That sounds similar to my encounter,” Hyrule frowns. “I had thought the Sage had brought my shadow to life, not summoned someone, so I had no reason to believe anything was wrong.” He pauses. “Except for, you know, someone trying to kill me again.”

It is difficult to remember as heroes that it’s not actually normal for a person to be attacked all the time.

“I’m still wondering why someone would bother to make him fight us,” Legend says grumpily, though Wild can see the concern hidden there. The veteran acts tough, but even he can see the injustice of the situation.

“To test us, I guess?” Wind offers.

“Sure, but there are tons of different enemies they could have summoned that would have attacked us to test our strength, without encouragement,” Legend points out. “So why Dark, specifically? Is it just because he can look like us?”

Nobody seems to have an answer for that, either.

“…Should we ask him?” Wind wonders tentatively.

Time hums. “I have a feeling it’s a sensitive subject.”

Wild wonders what could have possibly given him that idea. If looks could inflict damage, the glare Dark had directed at Time for asking about his summonings earlier would have needed a fairy to heal.

“You think?” Wild says flatly. “I can’t imagine anybody would want to talk about being forced to fight over and over.”

The others grimace. Time especially looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Legend, who isn’t called the veteran for nothing, appears exhausted on Dark’s behalf despite the multiple cups of coffee he’s had.

“So we wait, for now,” Time decides after a long moment. “Until Dark is willing talk about it,” So, probably never, “Or we find a Sage or sorcerer that can tell us more of the magic that was used.”

Wild sees begrudging acceptance in the expressions of those in the room. If they know their fellow heroes well, and on this at least they think they do, the others won’t let the puzzle go unsolved for long.

“What about the Sage in this era?” Wild asks, looking to Warriors. “That Cia lady?”

Warriors grimaces, which isn’t a good sign. “She wasn’t a Sage, but… no,” Warriors responds. “She’s gone.”

“…Like, gone gone?”

“Like faded into nothingness gone,” Warriors confirms.

“Damn,” Wild concludes, and disappointedly removes her from the shit-list.

“I mean, she almost ripped apart reality, so I’m not too upset about it,” Warriors says, then sighs despondently. “Cia left a lot of unresolved problems in the wake of her defeat. I guess I’m not surprised to hear she had a hand in one more.”

Wild is unfortunately just as unsurprised. It’s not like the crazy evil people, or massive mutated plumes of Malice in the shape of boars, have to deal with the cleanup after the destruction they seek. Cia probably didn’t care about the hurt she caused, be it to Hyrule or the people in the way of her goals. Or, apparently, those who worked alongside her. Willingly or not.

“Sounds like we’ve got something else to help with,” Four muses.

“Let me add it to the other fifty things on our list,” Legend snarks. “Right next to weird portals, near-incurable curses, and super strong monsters.”

“Don’t forget the time-travel!” Wind cheerily adds.

“Is that the same or different problem as the portals?” Hyrule ponders.

“Uhhh…”

Wild smiles as the conversation continues around them. While they don’t think much got solved in this discussion, they much prefer it over the blind accusations from before.

They finish prepping lunch, which consists of slightly over-simmered fruit (they’d gotten a little distracted by everything, so it stayed in the pot a touch too long), as well as bread and cheese they had already prepared that was stored in the slate. The inn has dishware and utensils available, so Wild lets the others sort that out as they head for the door.

“I’m going to wake up everyone else,” Wild says, preparing for the worst. Twilight was easy enough to wake, though he whined like an annoyed puppy sometimes. Sky is as unmovable as a Goron, and sleeps as hard as the rocks they eat, so he’s always a challenge. Wild isn’t certain of how Dark will be yet... but it will probably involve knives or teeth. Maybe both.

“Anyone want to take bets on if Dark’s still here?” Legend says.

Wild flicks the tip of his ear as they pass, earning a yelp and an irritated swat. “Of course he’s still here.”

“I dunno,” Wind says, uncertain. “He has tried to run away, like, three times.”

That’s… a good point. “That was when he thought he was in danger, though.”

Legend taps a red rupee on the table, looking pensive. “Who’s to say he doesn’t still? We weren’t exactly welcoming.”

…That is also a good point. Incidentally, it reminds Wild that they gave Dark the room with the largest window. Dark does seem rather fond of throwing himself out of them. He didn’t appear to be particularly flighty when Wild led him to the room earlier, though.

Besides, Dark wouldn’t just leave. He has very important things to do, after all.

“Of course he stayed,” Wild says confidently, patting Warriors on the shoulder as they pass. “He still has to dunk Wars.”

Petty it may be, but Dark would stick around for it. Mischief is a better incentive than most mysterious quests.  

Wind lets out a loud Ha! and nearly chokes on a bite of food. Wild leaves Warriors muttering miserably into a wedge of cheese, the others chuckling around him. The rest of the inn is quiet, the only noise coming from the dining area and the bustling town outside. The hylians who live here were at the height of their day, whereas the heroes are just getting started.

Wild knocks on Twilight and Sky’s doors as they pass, “Food and mysterious quest time, guys! Get up!”

They get a grumble from Twilight and a snore from Sky, which is expected. Wild reaches Dark’s door and knocks, and gets… nothing.

“Dark?” they ask the door. “If you need to sleep more, that’s fine, but lunch is ready and you should probably eat something.”

Still nothing. Hm…

They knock a couple more times, before trying the handle. It’s unlocked. “Dark? I’m opening the door, so please don’t stab me.”

Wild peeks inside.

“…Ah, crap.”

The room is empty. The bed untouched. The window, tauntingly, is wide open.

Wild bolts back down the hall, passing a very drowsy and bewildered Twilight. “Wild? What’s wrong?”

“Dark’s gone,” Wild says shortly, jumping to skip the steps. They hear a startled “What?!” as they hit the landing with a thump. Wild runs to the kitchen, throws a red rupee at Legend, and heads for the inn’s exit to start searching. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Ha!” Legend cheers, then abruptly sobers. “Wait, he actually left?!”

Upstairs, unknowing of the panic and chaos it just unleashed, the shadow beneath the bed snores.

Chapter Text

Dark stands upon an endless sea, deep aching mists curling along the furthest edges of his sight. Whenever he tries to look deeper, the fog shifts away; the whisps curling in unsettling motions. Instead, he turns his attention to his immediate surroundings, blinking bewilderedly.

Sundelions peek up through the water, surrounding him in a small circle. A couple have begun to bloom, their warm glow suffusing the air with light. Others are budding, some still firmly closed, and even more lie beneath the surface of the water. Distant, yet present.

He crouches down, tentatively reaching out to one of the flowers that has bloomed. At the first brush of his fingertips against the petals, he is immediately reminded of fangs and claws. Of a chase, a chance, a choice. Of stubborn protective idiots bleeding out in the rain. Of a cure, sought and found.

One of the leaves is marred, he notes. A drop of dew slips down the scar, recently mended, to fall to the water below.

The ripple it makes grows vast, echoing into the seemingly infinite depths.

The fog seethes.

Dark blinks awake, groggy and confused.

This isn’t the usual chunk of rubble he hides under when he sleeps. The Temple may have crumbled and rebuilt again, but… where’s all the Malice dripping through the stones? Or his bitey malevolent door? Or the chains clanking around as they hang from the ceiling?

And why is it so damn bright out? Ugh.

He hisses and grumbles, grouchily sinking further into the shadows. No. No, he is not dealing with the waking world yet. Whatever trick or torture Demise is playing on him can wait. He already has a ridiculous task from the god to destroy the heroes, which is probably impossible anywa—

Wait.

Dark’s eyes snap back open, and he jolts up out of the shadow as memories of the past day smack back into place. He remembers, too late, that he had decided to sleep beneath the bed. The resulting thwack sound echoes out into the room, the frame reverberating at the impact. What follows is a string of profanity that could round a hylian’s ears into a human shape.

He spends a few minutes nursing his new bruise, glaring out at the room as he regains his bearings.

This is not his cell in the Temple of Darkness, but the inn Hylia has dropped him in. There are no malice-ridden eyes staring at him, or poes cackling through the wretched halls, or monsters roaring in the distance. No angry deities writhing around in the depths of the abyss, either... None that he can sense anyway.

It’s… peaceful.

Dark squints suspiciously, not trusting the innocent space one bit.

When nothing immediately horrible happens, Dark cautiously shifts the shadow of the bed forward and climbs the rest of the way out.

He stands. Stretches. Tries to shake off the vaguely unnerving sensation of safety.

Dark feels… oddly rested. The usual lingering fatigue he has learned to live with seems… lesser, somehow. He could probably sleep more, but… had he actually slept well?

Dark can’t remember the last time he slept for more than a few scattered hours at a time. The Dark World simply didn’t allow for it, nor did his nightmares. He was so used to the ever-present destruction and chaos present in the Temple that the quiet of the inn seemed strange. He kept expecting the floor to fall apart, or the monsters to scream and scratch at the walls, or for Demise to drag him into another impossible task.

But, he thinks as he watches the daylight across his skin, this isn’t the Dark World.

His room at the inn has brightened considerably during his slumber, the open window letting in a stream of sunshine and a warm breeze. Dark walks over to it and peers out. Outside, instead of an unending abyss, is a small but bustling hylian town. The pervading rain that had plagued the era last night had passed; the skies now clear except for a few puffy clouds. The hylians, if any of them bothered to look up, would see a ‘monster’ staring around in wonder. He so rarely gets to be this close to towns or people without screaming being involved.

Then, for no reason other than the fact that they don’t have to deal with ancient deities or stab-happy heroes, Dark flips them off.

“Enjoy your day, assholes,” he tells them, thinking of his future headaches. Headaches, specifically, that have dumb nicknames, an affinity for stabbing things, and are probably waiting to assail him with a thousand questions as soon as he steps out of this room.

He eyes the open window, wondering how far he could make it before he got caught.

…Not far enough, he decides.

If the heroes didn’t hunt him down, then Hylia or Demise would probably just drop him on his ass back into this nonsense anyway. He’d rather not piss off any deities more than he already does.

Dark sighs, then pats the windowsill as if to console it. “Another time, friend.”

He turns back to the room, which is when he notices the door is slightly ajar. Dark frowns, walking over to it. Had he left it like that? Unlocked yes, but open? Nothing waits on the other side when he opens it the rest of the way except for an empty hall. The doors to the other heroes’ rooms are mostly open as well, some haphazardly or hastily shut.

Dark mentally shrugs. Maybe doors are just like this in hylian inns. At least they don’t try to kill you.

Still, just to be safe, he drops back into the shadows to travel down the hall. Wild was supposed to wake him for lunch, but Dark isn’t sure when that is supposed to happen. They probably wouldn’t care if Dark found them early, and Dark is too impatient to wait around in the weirdly peaceful room anyway. He’d rather go pester the heroes.

The oddly dark patch of living shadow moving across the floor of its own accord is terribly obvious in the daytime lighting, but Dark doesn’t let the lack of stealth bother him. After all, the hall is empty.

So are the rooms. No heroes linger here, nor do their supplies or weapons. The traces of the magical artifacts that had been stored inside as the others rested have been removed.

Dark pauses, staring into one of the vacant rooms.

The heroes had… left?

“…Are you fucking kidding me?” Dark hisses. After all that fuss over getting him to stay, building up trust, worrying over his health, and they leave?

Dark is about to say fuck it and go back to bail out the window, because if the heroes are allowed to ditch him like that then he could at least show them how to do it properly before he leaves to become a hermit, when familiar magic itches across his senses.

Artifacts; a lot of them. The cool brush of Twili, the burn of holy magic, a whisper of winds, of time, of fairies, fire, forests, floods. Of the goddesses’ favor, seared into both skin and soul alike.

The heroes hadn’t left, they’d moved. Not far, either.

Dark temporarily sets aside his irritation and resumes his travel to the top of the stairs. Nine overly-bright blobs of magic have gathered below on the ground floor of the inn. His shadowy form zigzags down the steps towards them, the dozens of magical items acting as more of a beacon than fairies in the night.

He hears the others before he sees them.

“—checked the rooftops twice! He’s not up there,” comes Wild’s frustrated voice. Dark frowns. Who are they talking about?

“Why the roofs, though?” Wind asks.

“He seems like a ‘brooding at high altitudes’ kind of guy,” is the response.

Wait. They’re talking about him?

Dark doesn’t brood. And high places are great for many things other than thinking, thank you very much. They’re more defensible, for one thing. Great vantage points, too. Just because they’re also usually solitary and a perfect place for having a crisis doesn’t mean Dark actively seeks them out for brooding.

…Often.

Dark makes it to the door and peeks inside, the top half of his head poking up from the floor.

The heroes have gathered in more or less of circle around the room; fully armed, armored, and agitated. Warriors grumbles about the guards posted outside being useless. Hyrule is attempting to wrangle a half-asleep Sky into dowsing, which seems to do nothing except make the Master Sword glow as drowsily as her wielder. There are further mutters between the others of plans to split up to cover more ground in the search.

None of them notice their ‘missing’ member is, in fact, right there. For being hardened heroes, they sure don’t seem very aware of their surroundings.

He should probably stop them before they waste more of their time.

And he will.

…Eventually.

But for now, Dark pulls himself further out of his shadow, settling in to watch the show. He props his chin on one hand, with his other arm resting on the floor. The lower half of his body dangles unseen into the void. He kicks his feet a little and waits.

“I’m going to check the forest next,” Wild continues. Dark is unsure why everyone is so worked up over him apparently disappearing. Sure, they’re all overprotective idiots, comes with the hero gig he supposes, but for Dark? He’s hardly worth fretting over.

Maybe they thought he ran off to cause chaos, or something equally evil and destructive. He’d easily admit to craving chaos, and destruction really depends on context. Break stuff in a town? Evil. Break stuff in a super important sacred and historical temple? Totally fine and necessary.

“Not alone, you won’t,” Time says sternly.

“I’ll go with you,” Twilight offers to Wild.

“No,” Time stops him, holding a hand up. “We need someone here in case Dark returns.”

“Don’t coddle me,” Twilight snaps, frustrated. “You know I’m – er, Wolfie, is the best tracker here,” he fumbles a little. Dark nearly chokes and gives away his position. Twilight named his wolf form Wolfie? Sweet darkness, that’s hilarious. Dark files the information away to tease the hero with later, “I’m plenty healed enough to fetch him to help.”

“I know you are,” Time says placatingly. “But let us look first, and if we can’t find anything then we’ll recruit Wolfie to track him."

Time pulls something from his bag. "Here, this may help." It's a piece of cloth, dyed black and stitched into a point. Wait a second… that’s his hat! Thieving little... His hat is an exact copy of the one Time wore all those centuries, or years for the hero, ago. Dark starts making plans to steal Time’s version, if the hero still has it. 

A huff of amusement breaks through Twilight’s annoyance. “You stole Dark’s hat?”

“I was going to give it back to him at lunch, but…” Time shrugs.

Twilight takes the hat. “…Wolfie can’t come into town,” he points out, turning the fabric over. Dark wonders if he even needs it to track him. Twilight seemed plenty capable of doing so without anything before.

“I think we can sneak him in," Time says, with a well-hidden smile. Oh, he totally knows. "And what the innkeeper doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” A fair statement. The innkeeper probably wouldn’t be pleased with a black-blooded monster wandering around his inn, either.

“Okay, but does it really matter if we look?” Legend asks, earning more than a few glares. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hear me out: if Dark is stuck on this quest like the rest of us, then a portal will snatch him up anyway when we get sent to the next era.”

Which is exactly why Dark hadn’t bothered leaving. He couldn’t if he tried. This quest might be… unique… compared to his previous summonings, but it’s not so unique as to let him do as he pleases. Future-Wild could go on all they want about choices or whatever, but all of the people in this room are still bound to complete this journey by some force or another. No matter the outcome.

“Says the guy betting his rupees that he left,” Wild snipes.

They placed bets on him? Dark isn’t sure if he feels amused or insulted. He goes with amused, because at least Legend will lose some rupees out of it.

“It was a joke! I didn’t think he’d actually leave,” Legend retorts.

“Enough!” Time cuts in. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We need to focus on the issue at hand. And no, nobody gets left behind, portals or no,” he directs to Legend. Turning to Twilight, he asks: “Wolfie was able to track Dark even in his shadow form, correct?”

Ah, so they do remember he can turn into a shadow. Dark waits for the rest to click.

“Yeah, he—” Twilight stops abruptly. There it is. “Wait. Wild, when you went to Dark’s room earlier, did you check the shadows?”

Finally.

“No,” Dark answers on Wild’s behalf, from directly behind them.

The hero yelps, jumping up half their height like a startled tektite. The shout has the hilarious chain-reaction of all the Links leaping into ready-stances. Swords are drawn, shields raised, and alarmed curses uttered.

Which is how Dark finds himself staring down the blades of nine heroes, wondering why this is his life.

“So,” Dark says, eyeing the weapons, “is this going to be a habit?”

Chapter Text

Sky abruptly yelps and drops the Master Sword, and she clatters to the floor with a small flare of magic.

Dark frowns. What was that about?

“Dark!” His attention snaps to Wild, who tosses their sword down alongside the Master Sword and dashes to him with a grin.

Oh no.

Recognizing the imminent threat of a hug, Dark pulls a shield up out of his shadow. Wild thunks into it a second later, the impact reverberating up his arm. Happiness undeterred, fingers appear over the top edge, followed by the face of his smiling friend.

“You’re here!” Wild exclaims, with a slightly bruised nose.

It’s not like Dark has anywhere else to go, demanding deities aside. Before he gets to answer however, Legend snaps out, “How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough to know you owe Wild rupees,” Dark says, tossing him a smug smirk. “Pay up, loser. I stayed.”

The veteran makes a strangled noise of pure frustration, and Dark promptly memorizes the sound. Ah, such sweet, if unintentional, vengeance. Wild laughs, easing off the shield and back onto their heels. They stand and go to pester Legend, their steps light. They wiggle their fingers at the vet in a beckoning manner, who begrudgingly sheathes his sword and starts digging for his wallet.

With the danger of physical affection thwarted, Dark drops his shield back into the void and hops the rest of the way out of the floor. His boots hit the wooden boards and he stands, brushing the non-existent wrinkles from his clothes as he observes the room.

The others, now past their surprise, have relaxed… somewhat. Swords and shields are tucked away, the former alarmed shouts diminishing into muttered complaints at the scare. A line of tension in Dark’s shoulders, that he hadn’t noticed until now, lessens at the sight.

Sky gingerly picks the Master Sword up off the floor. Several others observe the action with strange expressions on their faces. Hyrule appears baffled, Time resigned, Wind gleeful, and Warriors looks at the weapon as if she’d just insulted him personally. Dark doesn’t understand why Sky dropped her, or the other’s reaction to the act, but if he wants to go tossing around priceless divine artifacts, that’s on him.

Confused murmurs follow. Low enough he can barely hear, but concerned in a way that catches his attention anyway.

“She didn’t do this yesterday…” Sky ponders, studying the blade in his hands. Do what? Be dropped? But then, considering that small flash of holy magic… had the sword hurt him? He hadn’t thought the blade would be temperamental towards her heroes. Dark’s bones ache in sympathy, even as he wonders why.

“Or any time before,” Time adds grimly.

“He can’t possibly wield it… right?” Warriors looks aghast at the suggestion; a reaction Dark agrees with. The thought of even touching the Master Sword after all the times she’s aided in cutting him down makes his soul wince with phantom pain. The dark magic making up his body is equally as repulsed. But what does Sky dropping her have anything to do with him holding Hylia’s holy blade?

“That’s up to him, I suppose,” Sky says.

“…Is it?”

Time gives Sky a weighted glance, his one eye somber. Sky stares at the Master Sword for a moment longer, before sheathing the blade with a heavy sigh.

“Quit worrying,” Wind chides, elbowing Time in the hip. The metal tasset clangs dully at the impact. Wind immediately regrets this action, wincing and rubbing his elbow. Still, he smiles, “This is a good thing!”

None of them appear particularly convinced, Dark least of all. The Master Sword was made to aid the Hero’s Spirit, of which Dark is literally the opposite. He has no want or desire to ever touch that weapon again, let alone willingly. It would probably burn him into a crispy pile of dark magic dust.

The sound of boots reaches him, and Dark tears his eyes and mind off the blessed blade to see Twilight approaching. His sword, thankfully, re-sheathed on his back. He looks well, much more like the hero that had met him in the oasis yesterday. His outfit remains the same, though Dark can see new stitches on the part of his tunic that had been cut open yesterday, mostly tucked away out of sight beneath the large fabric belt he wears. His face is no longer so pale and drawn, and Dark assumes his sleep had been as refreshing as his own.

“Good to see you, Dark,” Twilight says, relieved and exasperated in equal parts. “Although, I could have done without the heart attack.”

Dark arches an unapologetic eyebrow. “It’s hardly my fault that you lot are as observant as a blind beamos.”

He has met rocks with better observation skills. Literally. How else would Sheikah Stones get all the best, if questionable, gossip?

“Maybe if you didn’t hide in the floor like some spooky stalfos,” Legend complains, smacking two resentful rupees into Wild’s waiting palm. The hero cheers, holding up their prize up in victory. Wind skips over to give Wild a spirited high-five. Legend rolls his eyes.

“What I’m hearing is that stalfos scare the pants off of you,” Wind teases, then pauses, looking pointedly at the hero’s bare legs. “…Is that how you lost them?”

Legend scoffs. “I’m not scared of Dark, or some shitty stalfos.”

“And your pants?” Wild adds not-so-innocently, much to Legend’s continued aggravation.

“Irrelevant.”

“Apparently so,” Dark remarks, as someone that had copied the hero’s appearance multiple times in the past and knew exactly how breezy his previous outfits could be. His current tunic is practically modest in comparison.

Legend looks like he wants to throw his remaining rupees at Dark’s head, with force. Twilight intervenes before anything can become airborne.

“Alright, alright, you can mess with Legend later,” he placates, fighting a smile and ignoring the veteran’s ‘he better fucking not’ followed up by Time’s scolding ‘language’ in the background. “Did you rest well? How are you feeling?”

More rested than he can ever remember being, and still plenty confused that anyone cares enough to ask. “Fine. Though I’m a little insulted you all thought I had left after all that nonsense yesterday.”

Dark did not go and nearly die again, start tentative friendships with his former executioners, and have a minimum of five existential crises within twelve hours, just to bail at the first opportunity. Divine intervention or a ridiculous mission aside, he was not going to simply leave like the heroes expected.

These people have, unfortunately, grown on him.

Like a fungus. Persistent and annoying.

And kind. Which is terribly inconvenient to his orders to destroy them.

Wild chuckles sheepishly. “That’s my fault, really. I saw the open window and sort of just assumed you left.”

Dark can accept that, despite the fact that he’d used Wild’s own shadow to stealth his way into the camp the previous night. Perhaps they didn’t see where he’d popped out of when he’d made his escape, or simply forgot.

“You do have a record of trying to fling yourself out of them,” Twilight adds dryly. Dark would be more insulted if he wasn’t right.

“The room did have a very nice window,” Dark muses. Very defenestrate-able. “But seriously, nobody thought that a person that can turn into a shadow, might be in a shadow?"

He used the shadows multiple times in his fights against the heroes. Twilight, however, really has no excuse; not after telling him of his shadow companion and seeing Dark drop into his shadow at the start of the ambush yesterday.

Twilight rubs the back of his neck, ruefully. “I’ll admit, I should have thought of it sooner.”

Dark huffs. Whatever. At least he got some entertainment out of it. Though, in hindsight, startling a bunch of armed, historically stabby, people may not have been the best idea. He’s still in one piece though, so he’s going to tentatively call that ‘progress’… Or something.

“As loathe as I am to agree with anything Legend says,” Dark states, referring to the veteran’s statement about being unable to abandon this quest due to the portals. Legend makes an offended sound, which Dark ignores, “You lot are stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”

And he with them. He still isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“It would seem so,” Time says. Oddly, his gaze lingers on the Master Sword instead of Dark as he speaks. Which is annoying, because he’d been doing really well at distracting himself from the blade in question.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Dark remarks sarcastically, “I’m sure this won’t be a complete disaster.”

Actually, all things considered, this visit to Hyrule has been fairly calm. Aside from nearly dying multiple times, Dark has mostly spent his time talking to people. It’s the strangest thing.

“If it was anything else I’d be concerned,” Twilight replies, amused. “But I’m glad you’re here with us anyway.”

Nevermind. That’s the strangest thing: to be welcomed. No duels or fighting, just… friendship. It makes him feel vaguely paranoid, like another asshole-ish lizalfos with a taste for eclectic cursed weaponry might pop out of one of the inn’s many doors at any moment to ruin everything.

Which reminds him…

“That said,” Dark continues nonchalantly, “I’m leaving.”

His words have the predictable reaction of the others getting shocked all over again. No swords this time, which is nice.

“What?!” Wind exclaims.

“Why??” Wild looks ready to start climbing rooftops again.

“Did you forget the conversation we literally just had,” Legend remarks.

Sky, Four, and Hyrule appear surprisingly opposed to the idea. Twilight and Wild, too, but they don’t count because they’re already… attached, or whatever. Time is… disappointed? Dark isn’t sure. And Warriors seems worried, though Dark doubts the worry is for him. He probably thinks Dark is going to set fire to the town.

“Not permanently,” Dark reassures, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back in a few hours, tops.”

The room calms, though curiosity takes its place.

“Oh,” Twilight replies, relieved. “Why are you leaving?”

Because something has been bothering him since the ambush yesterday, and he intends to go investigate. The cursed sword itself sticks out to him as strange... no lowly lizalfos should have had such a thing, especially for a seemingly random encounter. Survival in the Dark World has taught him that such things are never a coincidence.

“Does it matter?” Dark huffs. He’s never had anyone ask or care where he went before. Demise certainly didn’t, so long as he was ready to serve at a moment’s notice.

“It does,” Time answers, and the authoritative tone makes Dark bristle. “You’re one of us now, and we don’t let each other wander off into danger alone.”

Dark understood only half of those words, so he focuses on the one he knows best. “Who said there would be danger?”

Time gives him a flat look. The room becomes pointedly quiet. Someone coughs.

…Alright, that was a dumb question. They are Links, after all, including himself. Danger might as well be another title. That doesn’t mean Dark is planning on skipping right into it.

“I’m still going,” he insists, crossing his arms and glaring stubbornly.

“Okay, hold on,” Twilight raises his hands in a wait gesture. “Let’s start over. Where are you going? You sound like you have a destination in mind.”

This still feels very hand-holdy to him. He appreciates Twilight wording his sentence as a question and not an order, however. “To the area where we were ambushed.”

Twilight and the rest of them tense up at the words. The hero presses on. “…Why?”

“Three reasons,” he ticks them off on his fingers, “One, I want to pick up the weapons I dropped—” threw at high velocity “—before they rust or I lose them going through a portal.” He doesn’t really need the swords, darkness knows how many he has stuffed in his shadow, but it seems a waste to leave them. Well-forged weapons are rare in the Dark World, and he likes to preserve the ones he can.

He’s also a hoarder, but he blames the Links for that.

Anyway. “Two,” he ticks off another finger, “I’m going to make sure there are no other shitty cursed swords sitting around,” because he didn’t really have time to check while Twilight was bleeding out beside him, “and if there are, destroy them with extreme prejudice.”

If he can. The one floating ominously in the corner of his shadow included. He still isn’t sure how to destroy it, but there are very few dangers that he’s encountered that can’t be thwarted with copious amounts of explosives. He hopes Warriors doesn’t care about that particular chunk of woodland in his era, as it may become a crater in the near future.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Warriors begrudgingly agrees. Dark wonders if his ears were somehow damaged within the last minute; the captain actually agreed with him on something? “I wouldn’t want to leave something like that around for a villager to accidentally find.”

“Definitely not,” Twilight seconds with a grimace.

“And your third reason?” Time inquires, contemplative.

Dark ticks off the final finger. He makes sure it’s his middle finger, and not-so-subtly pointed at Time. The hero is unamused. “I’m going to see if I can find out where those monsters came from,” he turns his head to Twilight, “Because I don’t know if you noticed, you were a little busy bleeding to death, but it was fucking convenient how they found us when they did.”

Twilight’s expression goes grim. “You think the attack was planned?”

The monsters could have simply seen two travelers and decided to attack randomly. However, the timing makes Dark suspicious. The ambush occurred in the middle of the night when the curse would be most effective, in a time and place with no available cure, and while they were separated from the rest of the group. He doesn’t know if the monsters knew that Twilight was part of a much larger team of time-travelling heroes or not, but… everything about the attack felt targeted.

Dark may be overthinking this. He hopes he is. But if he isn’t… then the heroes and him will have something worse to worry about.

“Ambushes are rarely actions of opportunity,” is all he says. “I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t planned.”

The Links share a look. All ranges of concern, determination, and maybe a little vengeance, fill their expressions. A collective horde of protective courage, given purpose. It’s odd to see so closely, and not directed at him.

“You make a good point,” Sky says, easily accepting of the quest. Which was not supposed to be a quest at all. “We should check it out.”

Where did this ‘we’ come from?

“I can do it on my own,” Dark argues.

His protests go ignored. The heroes disperse to gather up their remaining gear, which had been piled in various packs along a nearby wall. Wild, who doesn’t have anything to pick up since they stash everything in the slate, walks up and bumps shoulders with him. He tenses at the contact, but lets it happen. At least it’s not a hug.

“You could,” Wild says, “but you don’t have to.”

Dark squints at them, trying to understand. “I don’t need nine other people to come along to look at an empty clearing.”

“What would you do if it’s not empty, and you encounter another horde of monsters?” Time asks pointedly.

“Commit violence,” he replies, with no hesitation whatsoever. 

There’s a pause.

“…I should have expected that answer,” Time muses. The rest of them look equally unsurprised.

Dark scoffs. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”

He says this, watching the heroes as they actively ready themselves for violence. Historically, they also have a reoccurring habit of running recklessly into whatever threats came their way, carving through swathes of Ganondorf’s minions. Alone, he might add.

Not anymore, apparently.

“If they threaten the world and hurt my friends, they’re gonna get all the violence I can muster,” Wild says, with a rather terrifying smile.

“We can handle some shitty monsters,” Legend states, one hand waving derisively and the other on his hip. “Even if they are stronger than usual.”

“The arsenal of this group is immeasurable,” Time agrees. “But we still need to be cautious, as well as improve our teamwork.”

Dark hasn’t seen them fight together except for when they attacked him last night, and their teamwork seemed efficient enough. He’s busy remembering exactly how efficient, when he belatedly realizes that Time is including him in that statement.

Is now a bad time to mention he has absolutely zero experience working on a team?

The closest Dark got to ‘teamwork’ was fighting alongside Twilight yesterday, which did not go well. So, unless improving teamwork includes accidentally causing your teammate to be cursed and perish a painful death, he’d say Time is right.

“We’ve done well avoiding friendly-fire so far!” Four says cheerily.

“…Mostly,” Warriors adds dryly.

“That was one time!” Hyrule protests.

“Half the forest was burnt.”

“…and the monsters.”

The lighthearted bickering continues around him, and Dark wonders if maybe being one of them might not be so bad. Not as a spy or a tagalong, but as a friend. It feels as impossible as one of Demise’s tasks, and yet… hasn't it already happened? Or at least started to? The heroes aren't killing him for existing, which seems like a good first step, and then there's the weirdness with the Master Sword... He doesn't understand any of it, but finds that he wants to try whatever those next steps in friendship might be.

Which apparently consist of teamwork, fighting monsters, and pyromania.

“I take back what I said earlier,” Dark states, watching as his friends pull out way too many bombs for what is supposed to be reconnaissance. “This is going to be a disaster.”

With ten Links along, what else could it be?

Chapter Text

“Before we go, I believe these are yours.”

Twilight offers Dark a familiar fold of fabric, black and stitched to a point. His hat, at long last, returned. Atop the pilfered cap rests his moonpearl, glowing gently.

Dark picks up his pearl first, taking a moment to listen to the familiar hum of magic. The one Four had lent him is nearly identical, but having held onto this one for so long has allowed him to notice the minute differences. He could probably pick it out of thousand such gems with little trouble.

“Thank you,” Dark says, trying not to sound too sappy about it.

“Of course,” Twilight replies easily, “I know it’s important to you. Thank you, for letting me use it.”

Dark scoffs and snatches the hat. “I prefer not to have my friends bleed out in front of me.”

Wolf-boy is annoyingly unbothered at the thought or his snark, the tattoos around his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Same here. How about we both resolve to not do that.”

Dark grumbles and pulls the moonpearl necklace over his head, tucking it back into place beneath his tunic. It’s not like he tried to bleed to death surrounded by potential enemies. The heroes might not be actively trying to stab him anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that this group is travelling around with the express purpose of ridding the Light world of black-blooded monsters, like himself.

Time chimes in. “Please,” he stresses. “No more grave bodily injuries.”

“Sure,” Dark remarks casually. “I’ll just politely ask the next monster to not stab me.”

The hat thief arches an eyebrow. “…Politely?”

…Touché.

“Very politely,” Dark reiterates. “With swords, arrows, and various explosives.”

“…I don’t think you know what polite means.”

Says one of the people who has politely introduced countless sword strikes, arrow wounds, and explosions to many, many enemies.

“That, hat thief, depends entirely on an individual’s definition of polite,” Dark replies, shoving his hat back onto its rightful place on his head. He jabs a judgmental finger at the man. “Fair warning, as soon as this nonsense is over, I’m travelling through time to steal your hat.”

Time pauses, looking rather bemused.

“…I always wondered what happened to it,” he mutters.

“Doesn’t that mean you’re also a hat thief?” Wind asks Dark, who’s attempting to not celebrate his petty revenge too early. Technically, anyone could have stolen the hat, or Time lost it in the same place as his braincells. Who knows, maybe Ganon ate it.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dark replies, smug.

Legend, as the only one of them remaining with a hat, narrows his eyes at him warily. Dark tries not to think too gleefully about the fact that so many of the others no longer wear any. He doesn’t consider himself a kleptomaniac, but he would absolutely do it just to be a bastard. If he ever finds a way out of the Dark World that doesn’t involve Demise’s stupid Gate, he may find himself with a new collection of headwear. Time’s hat is first on the list, however.

“Are you a glove thief, too?” Wild asks, amused. “Because I still have yours.” Strings of blue light summon his missing glove from the Sheikah slate, and Dark is yet again reminded that he still hasn’t fixed his sleeve. “It was gross and bloody, so I cleaned it.”

The phantom feeling of his Gloom-infected blood, sticky and flakey within the confines of the hardened leather, almost ruins his good mood.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the glove. Seeing it without a speck of evidence, Dark could almost pretend that he and Twilight didn’t nearly die a terrible death. …At least he wouldn’t need to spend the magic to reconstruct it?

Dark hesitates only briefly before slipping Four’s borrowed moonpearl from his wrist. He loops the braided bracelet carefully over the fingers of his opposite hand as he tugs his sleeve down, using a small burst of dark magic to purge what remains of the bloodstains from the white fabric. A few heroes twitch at this, but Dark ignores them in favor of pulling the glove back into place. The pale pearly scar, and the haunting thoughts that come with it, disappear beneath.

“Four,” he calls, distracting himself. The shortest hero looks over. “Since we’re all about returning ‘borrowed’ property right now,” he holds out the spare moonpearl, “This is yours, isn’t it?”

Perhaps selfishly, Dark had thought of keeping it. Pearls are so very rare, especially in the Dark World. But he heroically – ha! – keeps his hoarder tendencies in check. Who knows, maybe Four also has an absurdly dangerous and incurable curse of wrath writhing around in his blood. He might need it.

“It is,” Four confirms, accepting the little treasure. “How did you know?”

Right, because Dark had been passed out in the dirt when it was applied and shouldn’t have known. He shrugs. “Older-Wild said something about it.”

Four, judging by what little time he has spent with him, is a calm and quiet sort. The questions building behind his eyes now, however, are loud.

Wild beats him to it, “I’m definitely going to pester you about that later.” Dark arches an eyebrow, incredulous. Later? He’s surprised the questions haven’t been flung at him already. “I want to know more about future me!”

Dark thinks he should get some sort of award for not immediately looking to Wild’s intact, very normal, arm. “Well, tough luck. You specifically asked me not to mention anything about you.”

Wild pouts. “You won’t tell me?”

This feels familiar, and delightfully petty. “Nope.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Nah.”

He realizes, belatedly, that he just gave Wild ammunition. He bets that cheeky little shit had a terrible time not laughing when they’d used the same words Dark had copied.

Dark is definitely saving one of Wild’s swimming lessons for their future self.

“Aw, c’mon!” Wild tosses their hands up. “Nothing?”

“Hey, you were pretty cagey with any time-travel spoilers yourself,” Dark says. And yes, while he does crave chaos, the possibly-collapsing-a-timeline kind of chaos is a little much. “Just wait a while and you’ll know all about you.”

Five-ish years isn’t even that long. Maybe if it was a century, then Wild would have something to complain about.

“Aging normally doesn’t count!”

Dark shrugs. He wouldn’t know. “It’s technically still time-travel, just at a regular, boring, rate.”

This fact only serves to frustrate Wild more, making a strangled “Argh!!” sound and flopping dramatically against Twilight in their exasperation. Wolf-boy pats their shoulder in mock-consolation. The others watch the shenanigans, amused. They appear to have finished readying themselves for departure while Dark had been chatting. He notes, suspiciously, that the bombs seen earlier have vanished from sight.

“Is everyone finally ready to go for this completely-overkill-to-bring-ten-fully-armed-people-along quest?” Dark asks dryly.

“Yep!” Wind grins at him, unaffected by his cynicism.

“It would appear so,” Time seconds, checking over the group with a keen eye. His gaze goes to Dark, who doesn’t openly carry anything, and then lands on Four. “Four, didn’t you have something else for Dark…?” he asks, leadingly.

“Ah! Right, I almost forgot,” Four exclaims, hurrying to get something from his bag.

Something else? Dark stops and checks himself over. “What other pieces of clothing have you people stolen from me??” And how did he not notice? Dark is running out of ideas for petty revenge at this point, but he’s sure he can think of something.

Four snorts. “Not clothing, this time. Here.”

And he holds out… a dagger. Dark’s dagger. The weapon appears newer than new, honed to absolute lethality, so far from the mangled mess it had been yesterday that he wonders if it’s the same blade. He takes it, turning the reforged metal over in his hand. The edge is so sharp, so polished, that Dark could almost feel the line of reflected light cut across his skin.

“You fixed it?” Dark says, a grin growing on his face. This is absolutely his new favorite dagger. He can hardly wait to stab something with it. If he’d had this thing the night before, that damn lizalfos would have been dead on the ground before it could even draw its cursed sword.

Four returns the smile, clearly pleased that his gift was well-received. He nods. “I can’t take all the credit, though. Hyrule and Wind helped, too.”

That’s… confusing. Nice, but confusing. Why would Four want to repair the dagger at all? And then for two people that Dark, historically, hasn’t exactly gotten along well with, to help?

Wind he can kind of understand; despite having fought each other before, the kid is clearly too nice for his own good. Hyrule is a surprise, though. The man had a notable distrust of dark magic, and had battled Dark ferociously to boot. It has been ages since then, but Dark can recall the event vividly. He has no doubt the hero remembers it just as well.

“It’s an apology,” Hyrule adds, perhaps sensing his bewilderment. “For the… misunderstanding… yesterday.”

That makes slightly more sense. “You didn’t do anything wrong, though?”

There’s a pause as Four, Wind, and Hyrule share a puzzled look. The others eavesdropping on the conversation are equally baffled at the comment.

“We kinda attacked you,” Wind says pointedly. “And chained you up. And threw you in jail. And broke your stuff.”

It’s not like most of those things are unusual. “Sure, jumping to conclusions was stupid, and I could have done without the attempted murder, but you were defending a friend,” he says, shrugging. “It happened, and it sucked, and I would really appreciate it not happening again, but I understand why you did it.”

Dark couldn’t really blame them for attacking him yesterday. To them, he was an evil dark magic being trying to take Twilight’s life. The heroes had no other context to go on, aside from past encounters where he was an enemy. In the same regard, Dark had been ready to defend his fallen friend just as fiercely.

The important part is, they stopped their assault before any murder occurred. A fact that Dark is thankful, if still very confused, by.

And now all ten of them are on a mysterious adventure together, as allies.

…If Hylia were anywhere nearby, Dark would probably try to throttle an explanation out of her. Friendship certainly wasn’t any part of Demise’s doing. It probably didn’t even know the word existed.

“…Now I just feel worse for trying to take your kneecaps,” Wind says miserably.

Had he patched those holes in his pants yet? Dark looks down and, ah... No, he hadn’t. He does so, the two tiny lines near his knees stitching themselves closed as he listens distractedly to the others.

“So, you’re… not mad we attacked you yesterday?” Hyrule asks disbelievingly.

Dark snorts. “Of course I was mad.”

That brings him up short. “What? But you said—"

“I said I understood why you did it, not that it didn’t piss me off,” Dark clarifies, then grins sharply. “Thankfully for you, my forgiveness is easily bribed by pointy lethal objects.”

He flicks the dagger up into the air where it flashes in a fancy twirl before dropping back down, to be caught between practiced fingers.

“Just keep your pointy lethal objects to yourselves, and we’re fine,” Dark concludes. Rather reasonably, he might add, all things considered.

“It won’t happen again, Dark,” Twilight ensures, turning a serious expression on the others. “Right, guys?”

A collection of nods is the reply; some pleased, some not. He’ll take what he can get.

“No, it won’t,” Warriors agrees, begrudgingly. Then adds, “Not now that you aren’t hostile anymore.”

Translation: so long as Dark doesn’t become hostile. Dark hopes it sinks into their skulls that the sentiment goes both ways.

“…Still wondering about that ‘anymore’ part though,” Legend grumbles. Definitely still some distrust, which is fine, because Dark doesn’t exactly trust them either. One day of not-quite-murder does not a trust-filled friendship make. Aside from Twilight and Wild, the rest of them are allies at best and begrudging company at worst. Time’s plans for future ‘teamwork’ may be… difficult.

“Don’t wonder too hard about it,” Dark replies, flipping the dagger onto his index finger to test the balance. Perfectly weighted, end to end.

Legend squints at him. “And why’s that?”

Dark twirls the dagger between his fingers, thinking. He refuses to bring up the topic of his summonings again, and ‘hey yeah I’m here on a mission from a world-ending deity to destroy you eventually and am shocked I got this far’ probably wouldn’t go over well. And he definitely isn’t going to say anything sappy like friendship, or whatever.

“Because there is no ‘anymore’ about it,” Dark says simply, the dagger going still. “I have literally never wanted to fight any of you.”

He was never meant to, either.

Dark wonders, not for the first time, what his life would have been like without that damn summoning spell. Or rather, what the spell had become... It wasn’t originally intended to pit people against each other. But like most magic, or any weapon or tool, it was influenced by the caster’s intent. Twisted and corrupted over time, much like the Dark World.

Much like Dark himself.

Wind raises his hand, distracting him from his thoughts. “Question.”

Dark narrows his eyes. “If it’s about the Sages, your hat is next on the theft list.”

Wind lowers his hand, pouting.

Dark can see more questions building throughout the room, and decides it’s time to make his escape. This conversation has gone on long enough, and there will be plenty of time to be interrogated while they travel together, anyway. Unfortunately.

But first, he turns to Four.

“Thank you,” he tells the shorter hero. “For the dagger and the moonpearl. I definitely would not have survived long enough to get that elixir for Twilight had you not given it to me.”

Four frowns a little at this, for some reason. “For Twilight and you, you mean.”

Dark waves him off. “Same difference.”

“…Well, you’re welcome, of course,” Four states, then a complicated expression forms on his face. “I wasn’t going to let you die.”

Dark blinks, confused by the strange air of loss that pervades the words. Is this a hero-being-protective thing, or something else? He doesn’t want to venture too far into... whatever it is, so he goes with a simple: “…Appreciated.”

With stolen items un-stolen, thanks given, and petty revenge planned, Dark is now more than ready to get moving. Judging by the antsy appearance of some of the others, he isn’t the only one.

“If everyone is ready, let’s move out,” Time says, receiving several affirmations.

Dark flips the dagger one last time, before mentally scrounging around in his shadow for a sheath. Successfully finding one that would fit his new favorite pointy object, he attaches it to his belt and slips the dagger inside. He doesn’t usually wear his weapons, but finds he prefers it over hiding it away in his shadow with the dozens of other daggers.

“Finally,” Dark gripes, and heads towards the window.

There’s a pause as the others, who turned to the hallway instead, stop.

“Uh, Dark? The inn’s exit is this way,” Wild says, pointing confusedly.

Dark finds the latch and swings the glass wide open. A warm breeze drifts in from the alley it overlooks, along with muffled hylian chatter from the nearest street.

“One of the exits,” he corrects, swinging a leg over the window frame.

“Oh, for—” Warriors complains, “At least use the door! Like a normal person!”

Just for that, Dark flips him off. “Windows are less likely to attack.”

“…What,” he hears, as he hops the rest of the way out.

A considering hum. “He’s not wrong.”

“What.”

Chapter Text

Dark’s feet hit the cobblestone, his boots splashing in a small puddle that yet lingers from the previous night’s rain. 

Here in this little alley, with no walls or enemies pressing in, Dark takes a deep breath. As nice and surprisingly restful as the inn had been, he’s glad to be outside. He’ll take open skies, and the ability to move around freely, over any roof. 

Unless he’s climbing on top of them, that is.

He peers up at the roof of the inn, debating his route out of town. Unlike the heroes, Dark can’t just walk down the main thoroughfare. …Well. He can. There would probably just be a lot more screaming and swords than he’d prefer. He’d have a much easier time of leaving if he stayed out of sight. Using shadows, a disguise, or climbing to a higher vantage like the rooftops. Most people are terrible at remembering to look up.

Dark is still debating his options when a second set of boots lands beside him. He startles, not having expected anyone to follow him.

“Not going to use the door?” Dark teases, upon seeing who it is.

“Nah,” Wild replies, with a wry grin. “Not normal enough, I guess.”

Dark snorts. “None of you are.”

“Life would be pretty boring otherwise!” Wind pops his head through the window, and Dark steps aside as the younger hero plants his hands on the sill and does a forward somersault out. He sticks the landing, then straightens into a victory pose. Dark isn’t sure what kind of victory he’s celebrating, except for his ‘not normal’ status. Personally, Dark would prefer the ‘hermit’ status.

Twilight leans out next, though he remains firmly indoors. “The rest of us boring people—”

“—or heavily armored,” Time grumbles from somewhere behind him, sounding vaguely disappointed. Climbing over much of anything would be difficult with all that plate and chainmail. Time's old outfit, Dark’s current one, is much better in terms of agility. Dark wonders what made the hero decide to swap for defense over speed. After a moment, he mentally shrugs. It was probably just personal preference. After all, defense doesn't really matter to someone like Dark, who can't permanently die. Best to get in as much damage as possible before that happens, and then do better on the next round.

“—are going out of the main exit." Twilight concludes, speaking over the grumbles behind him. "We’ll meet up with you at the front of the inn."

Right. The front of the inn, on the main street, where dozens of hylians are going about their day. Dark can see no possible way for this to go wrong at all.

As if sensing his unease, Wolf-boy pauses. Worry creases his brow. "Are you alright with that? I understand if you don't want to."

He probably does understand, Dark realizes. At least as a wolf, since he mentioned having to 'sneak in' to town earlier. Dark doesn't know why wolves in particular aren't welcome, but maybe it has something to do with the Twili magic involved in the transformation. Hylians are particularly superstitious about darker magics... but they like animals, don't they? At least the fluffy kinds. Certainly more than black-blooded monsters, like himself.

As for if he’s alright with meeting the others while surrounded by people that will likely either be scared of him or take a stab at him: no. He’s not remotely alright with it.

Not that he’s going to say that, though.

“We’ll meet you there,” Dark says, avoiding the question.

Still, Twilight hesitates. “...Okay, but use the shadows if you want to. None of us will mind."

Dark doubts that to be true, but it isn't the heroes minding that he's worried about. 

“Villagers and terribly trained soldiers are hardly a threat to me,” he deflects, waving off the concern. He can avoid a blade… it’s the fearful eyes that haunt him. “I'll survive."

Who knows, maybe travelling through the town with a bunch of heroes would prevent people from panicking. The others would either draw more attention, or provide an excellent distraction. Time’s shiny armor might be good for something other than defense after all.

And if that doesn't work, he is not opposed to stealing Wild's slate to release a swarm of insects over the unsuspecting citizens. That sounds far more interesting than sneaking his way out, anyway.

"Feeling safe and surviving are two different things,” Wolf-boy replies.

Dark frowns, confused. Why does feeling safe matter? He has survived for a long time without a sense of safety, he doesn’t need one now.

Before he can come up with a snarky remark, Wind chimes in. “Don't worry!" he says, optimism radiating off of him so much that Dark feels the need to squint. "You're with us now! If anyone bothers you, we'll stop 'em!”

That’s... hm. Dark hadn't thought of that. Sure, the heroes defend people, that's like their whole thing, so it makes sense that they'd defend Dark, too. Not that he needs defending, he can take care of himself, but to defend a former enemy against other hylians seems like a step too far to consider. Then again, the heroes had stood up to that soldier earlier, so it stands to reason that they would do so again. 

It's a baffling concept, but the heroes are a baffling bunch, so. 

"I'm not worried," Dark lies, starting to get irritated at all the coddling. “And besides,” he continues, forcing some humor into his voice, "If the townsfolk do start getting stabby, I can always unleash the bugs in Wild's slate."

For some reason, Twilight's expression becomes strained. "...How many bugs are we talking about?"

"Over two thousand," Wild informs him cheerily, evidently not at all opposed to the idea.

Wind looks delighted. Wolf-boy does not.

"Ah," Twilight says, with a distinct sound of dread. "Let's, uh… Try to avoid that."

Dark smirks.

"No promises."

Twilight departs, joining the others to use the inn's, apparently non-lethal, door.

It doesn't take long for Dark, Wild, and Wind to make their way to the end of the alley, just a few short strides away. Dark cautiously peers around the corner to get an idea of what he's dealing with. Thankfully, there are only a few small groups of people around. Most are hurrying here or there, or chatting with one another as they walk wherever it is they are going. To his relief, none of them notice him.

As he watches, the front door opens. The others file out, some more ‘normally’ than others. The last two, Hyrule and Legend, opt for vaulting over the railing to skip the stairs.

“Stop climbing over the innkeeper’s property!” Warriors scolds, exasperated, which earns him nothing more than a few eyerolls. Wind grins and jogs over to them, hollering a greeting.

Dark lingers in the alley, hesitant to step out. Maybe he should just slip away into the shadows. He could meet them outside of town, past the gate or something.

“The first town I found after I woke up was a little place called Kakariko Village,” comes Wild’s voice from beside him. Dark startles slightly, surprised they had stayed with him. He arches an eyebrow, puzzled as to what a random village thousands of years in the future has to do with anything. And what did Wild mean by ‘woke up’? “I walked around, talked with people, visited the shrine at the center of town, shopped, et cetera. It was only after I spoke with the village chief, Impa, that she informed me that I should probably be wearing clothes.”

Dark chokes down a surprised laugh. “You were walking around naked?”

“I had underwear on!” they exclaim, like that helps. “And a shield and an axe.”

Dark may not be one-hundred percent certain of hylian customs, but at least he knows clothing isn’t optional.

“So, what did you do?” he asks.

Wild shrugs. “Nothing.”

“…Nothing?” Dark repeats, baffled.

“Yep,” they confirm. “I continued to run around in my knickers. The villagers looked at me funny, but we still talked and had a good laugh over the situation. Later, when I returned with actual armor on, they kept teasing me about my previous visit.”

Dark huffs, amused and not at all sure of what Wild is getting at. “Are you telling me to walk through this town naked?”

“You could,” Wild snickers, eyes bright with mirth. “But no. I’m saying people are going to think whatever they want, regardless of what you do. So do what you want, too. In the long run, people won’t care so long as nothing harms them directly.”

That sounds rather optimistic. “That might work for you, Wild, but you’re a hylian. I’m a black-blooded denizen from the Dark World that uses dark magic. They’re going to notice me.” With or without clothes.

Wild hums. “Yeah, but you’re a denizen from the Dark World that’s here to help.”

“They don’t know that.”

“Then show them.”

Dark sputters. “What??”

“Show them you’re not here to hurt them,” Wild reiterates. “If I can crawl out of the woods, naked and covered in leaves, ashes, and questionable substances-” where was that detail in the original story?? “-and still be welcomed by the locals, you can be too.”

In other, more comprehensible, words: prove himself trustworthy.

Dark understands, but still thinks Wild is missing the point. “Monsters are hardly welcome, Wild.”

Perhaps predictably, Wild bristles. “You’re not a monster!”

He does not feel like arguing about this again. “I look like one, and sometimes that’s all that matters.”

Hylians wouldn’t welcome a moblin if it suddenly started up a friendly conversation. Even if the villagers somehow looked past Dark’s appearance and black-blood, there’s still the not-so-small fact that Dark had served evil during the War of Eras. Cia was nothing compared to Ganondorf or Demise, but the point stands that Dark was fighting for the destruction of Hyrule. Dark’s form is different now, no longer stuck in the captain’s clunky armor and stupid scarf, but he’s still recognizable in this era.

“If I can befriend someone from the Dark World, then other people can, too,” Wild insists, though they look troubled. They’re watching the villagers however, so Dark doesn’t think the frustration is directed at him.

Dark heaves a sigh. “Maybe,” he concedes, because they’re not wrong. He has technically befriended multiple hylians within the last twenty-four hours, most with less than positive opinions of him. “There’s only one way to find out, I suppose.”

He steps out of the alley.

Almost immediately, someone gasps. A man across the way had spotted him, and the woman next to him drops her basket. It thuds to the ground, spilling fruit over the cobbled street, as she gives a small eep! sound and cowers back against a wall. This draws more attention, and like a crumbling tower of stones, soon half the street has seen him.

Fearful eyes bore into him, but Dark clenches his teeth and stubbornly ignores the gawkers, stomping over to the gathered heroes. Wild follows, hovering a step behind. Whatever their reaction is to the town suddenly gaining a collective fight-or-flight response, he doesn’t see. He’s too busy trying to ignore his own.

Time’s eye flicks around the suddenly tense street, then lands on Dark. Dark glares back, daring him to say something about it, but all he offers is a quiet: “Everything okay?”

Dark might suplex the next person that asks him that. “Great,” he grits out. “Can we go?”

Wild could talk all they want about making friends in unlikely ways, which Dark thinks he has done enough of lately, but if Dark isn’t out of this town in the next five minutes, he will find a way to escape as quickly as possible. If thousands of bugs are used in the attempt, so be it.

Time studies him for a moment. Dark isn’t sure what he sees, but the man starts walking immediately.

The others follow, talking amongst each other in a deceptively idle manner. Dark ends up wedged somewhere in the middle of the group. Whether this is intentional or not, he isn’t certain, though he does note their alertness. Sharp eyes, not directed at him, rove the area as they travel. No matter how Dark moves, he finds he’s never in a direct line of sight of one of the villagers for more than a moment.

They walk like this for a minute or so, and Dark mostly spends the time trying to decide if he’s being escorted or not. On one hand, not dealing with people gasping and freezing in place like they’ve been struck by ice keese is nice, but on the other, he’s surrounded. Dark does not feel as protected as his former murderers probably intended, being pressed in on all sides as he is.

“So,” Warriors starts. Hesitant, like he’s venturing into a room of blade traps and knows it’s a terrible idea. “Have you, ah… visited this town before?”

This earns the hero a pointed elbow in the ribs from Sky, accompanied by a disapproving look.

“Subtlety was never your strong suit, was it, Captain?” Dark says with a sigh. He should have figured Warriors might think otherwise, given the terrified reactions of the townsfolk. Warriors scowls at the comment, while rubbing his freshly bruised side. “No, I’ve never been here. My time in your era was mostly spent in the Temple of Souls.”

With Cia. Dark shudders.

Warriors has a similar reaction at the mention of the Temple, which is fair. The place was creepy, and that’s coming from a person that frequently resides in a room so corrupted that it grows its own eyes and teeth. The Temple of Darkness and the Temple of Souls are both uniquely disturbing, for very different reasons. The sorceress had filled the place with innumerable statues and paintings of the Hero’s Spirit. Every nook, wall, corridor, room, and garden, transformed by her… ‘love’. What was supposed to be a temple to watch over the timelines, had become a place of obsession instead.

He'd walk through a hundred towns like this before ever stepping foot in that place again.

“So these people are just being jerks,” Wind concludes, scowling when a man hurries his kids inside his home and slams the door shut. Dark idly wishes it would have bitten him.

“Fear makes people do foolish things,” Time replies. His expression remains passive, but his tone is distinctly unhappy.

“All we’re doing is walking,” Wild objects, dismayed that the ‘people won’t care if you’re peaceful’ theory is being actively disproven before their eyes. “What’s there to be afraid of?”

Generally speaking, the destruction of their world.

But more specifically, the beings they think may cause it.

“Unless you’re a particular type of person that has more courage than sense, a magic sword, and the goddesses’ favor,” Dark replies, because this would be obvious to anyone that doesn’t face down evil entities on a regular basis, “most people tend to stay away from things they deem dangerous.”

“But you haven’t even done anything!”

Dark blinks. “So?”

“So, it’s not right to judge someone on what they might do.”

True, but that never stopped anyone from judging him before. Arguably, both Dark and the heroes had done the same. He had believed them to be dangerous, but they hadn’t been. …Well. Not as dangerous as usual. The same goes for what they thought of him, at first. For good reason, given their bad past interactions.

These villagers have no such excuse. “You think these people care about that?”

Wild stares back, affronted. After a short second of deep contemplation, they pull out the Sheikah slate. “I’m releasing the bugs.”

There’s a brief scuffle as several heroes make a grab for the device to try to prevent this, while the other half cheer Wild on. During the struggle, items are accidentally summoned; sending gems, mushrooms, weapons, and fully-cooked plates of food, in various directions. Amid the chaos, Dark hears:

“No! No environmental disasters in my era!”

“That won't help, Wild!”

“Please don’t. Bugs taste awful.”

“…taste??”

Dark hops over the tangle of limbs currently wrestling over the slate, Wild and Warriors, and continues to the gate out of town. It’s within sight now, freedom just a few strides away, and Dark doesn’t hesitate in taking them. The guard posted at the exit stares, panicked, between Dark and the chaos unfolding beyond him, conflicted about which to worry about more.

Behind him, Wind cackles, apparently having claimed the slate.

“Unleash the swarm!”

Shouting, along with the distinct sound of wings and crickets, follows. Dark gives the guard a pitying look.

“Good luck with that,” he says mercilessly, and keeps walking.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you idiots got me banned from a town in my own era,” Warriors complains, stomping down the path away from the village. Dark watches the gate slam shut behind the group with no small amount of amusement.

“I can’t believe I got banned from a town not in my era,” Wind counters. Judging by the impish smile on his face, the kid clearly counts this as an achievement.  

“I can,” Legend mutters. Dark isn’t sure whose statement he’s referring to, so is just going to assume both.

Warriors groans, dragging his hands down his face. “They’re going to give me so much crap for this back home.”

“Dunno why,” Wild grouses, disappointed for other reasons. Namely: “We fixed it.”

Unfortunately, every single bug had been recollected. Time appeared particularly haggard over the ordeal, having taken on the heavy burden of ‘the responsible one’ and directing the containment efforts. Legend and Sky proved to be invaluable, both wielding large bug nets to gather up multiple bugs with each swing. Twilight and Hyrule brought out fancy boomerangs to pluck them out of the air and other high places the nets couldn’t reach. Neither Warriors or Four had tools that might help, so they focused on keeping the townsfolk from panicking. …Well. Panicking more. After a few more disappointed looks from Time, eventually Wind and Wild caved in and started collecting insects, too.

And Dark waited outside the gate, enjoying the distant sounds of chaos and not helping at all. He honestly wouldn’t have minded staying inside the town, if the guard would have let him back in, if only to have a better view.

“We caused it,” Warriors corrects, still fuming.

Wild waves him off. “Semantics.”

If Wild ends up strangled by a specific blue scarf one day, Dark wouldn’t be surprised. For now, Warriors opts for glaring at the wildling through his fingers.

Time pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just… move on, shall we?”

The ‘before anything else happens’ is heavily implied.

“Sounds good,” Sky agrees, squinting out at their surroundings. “Do we have a heading?”

“If you’re asking me if I know where a random clearing in unfamiliar woodland in a world not my own is, the answer is no,” Dark replies dryly.

He looks around. The paths from the town split into several directions. The crossroad they are currently loitering in marked by a signpost, but the one that makes the most sense trails off into the nearby treeline. The last leg of his journey to this town was, admittedly, a little blurry. But he remembers trees and grass turning into a dirt path, then that path becoming the cobbled stone of a paved road. Then meeting that road face-first, but that’s not important.

“How were you planning to find the ambush site on your own, then?” Legend snarks.

A fair question, one Dark has already considered and prepared a cheeky response for. “One fainted damsel, a captive, and a group of eight heavily-armed idiots tromping through the woods would have left enough of a trail to follow.”

The others titter and squawk in protest, and Twilight chokes. “…A damsel??”

“Carried along like a bundle of sundelions,” Dark affirms. Walking hadn’t exactly been an option for him at the time. Now that Wolf-boy has survived the ordeal, it’s free-reign to tease at him over it.

“Like a— wait, who carried me??”

“I did,” Time answers.

Twilight buries his face in his hands, much like Warriors had a minute ago, but for different reasons. The tips of his ears burn red with embarrassment.

“You look a little faint, Twi,” Wild grins, bumping his pelt-covered shoulder. “I’m sure Time could—”

“No,” Twilight interrupts, his voice strained. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Time watches, amused yet somber. “You can always count on me to help,” the man comments. “But I’d much rather use my strength for things other than life or death situations.”

Now there’s a novel thought. Dark has difficulty imagining not fighting for his life all the time. That said, this entire morning has apparently existed just to prove that belief wrong. He hasn’t had to fight once since waking up.

A different thought occurs to him. “Who dragged my ass into town?”

“You mean when you ate dirt?” Legend clarifies unnecessarily. “Four and Wild.”

“And we didn’t drag you,” Wild corrects. “After we found where your injury was, which I am still confused about how you got cut under your fully intact glove by the way, we patched you up as best we could and carried you in.”

Dark, logically, knows they had to get him into town somehow, but the thought of being toted around while he was unconscious makes a part of him want to scream. Just a little. Or a lot. Touch is already an iffy topic for him, but to have no control at all as to what was happening to him or where he was going…?

It was like his Summonings all over again.

If he was summoned by a bunch of overprotective idiots instead of Sages or insane witches, that is.

“I can shapeshift my clothes,” Dark replies, instead of addressing any of that. “Which made hiding my black blood from a large group of deadly black-blood-hunting-heroes much easier.”

Presumably until it ended up staining the long sleeve of the shirt he wears under his main tunic, one of the only parts of his outfit that isn’t black. He wonders if the sickly tendrils were visible on his body like they were for Twilight. The thought makes his, thankfully and currently tendril-free, skin crawl.

“Ah,” Wild winces. “That… makes sense.”

“I’m still mad at you for hiding your injuries,” Twilight adds, having seemingly overcome his embarrassment enough to redirect his energy towards lecturing his friend instead.

Dark resolves to not let him know that he’d also been shot. A minor detail.

“And I’m still convinced we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I hadn’t,” Dark returns, and starts walking in the direction that his vague and blurry memories of the previous night lead him. It helps that there’s a conspicuous black stain smudged over some of the stones near the beginning of one of the paths, which he pointedly steps over. The rain hadn’t quite managed to erase the evidence, apparently. Hopefully that means finding the trail to the clearing will be easy. “Now, are you going to scold me for doing something I legitimately thought would save my life at the time, or are we going to go investigate the area where we both almost lost our lives and maybe find the reason why?”

Twilight grumbles, but follows after. “…Could always do both.”

Heroes are such overachievers. “Save it for when I don’t have a decent excuse.”

“…If, you mean,” Wolf-boy narrows his eyes at him. “Not when.”

Dark shrugs his formerly-shot shoulder, and copies Wild’s remark from earlier. “Semantics.”

Twilight doesn’t have a scarf to strangle him with, but he seems to visibly consider smothering him with the thick fur pelt that he wears over his shoulders as a possible option. Joke’s on him, however; no amount of suffocation would be able to smite the sarcasm out of him.

“Don’t strangle him, Twi,” Warriors requests jokingly. Or what Dark assumes is jokingly. “He’s the best lead we’ve had in a while.”

Dark pauses. Okay, he knew they still wanted him for information. His black blood, his knowledge of its origin, and the reasons for his past attempts to fight them to the death… There’s no way the curiosity of the heroes would be sated by a few cleverly-worded answers. Even if the threat of swimming lessons was reinstated, he doubts that would deter them for long.

So, questions aren’t the issue. What has him confused is the wording. “A lead…?” he repeats, slowly. “What do you mean?”

Surely the heroes had some sort of direction before Dark showed up. After all, Twilight had said they were hunting black-blooded monsters and that they intended to stop them. Aside from the absolutely ridiculous thought of stopping an undying god, which Dark assumes Demise would have been mentioned by now if they knew of it, they must have a goal. A strategy or plan. Something to mark the end of their journey together as a success.

They can’t possibly just be… winging it.

“You know, for this mysterious quest.”

Oh, sweet darkness. They’re winging it.

“Mysterious??” he repeats, incredulous. “You don’t know why you’ve been gathered together?”

Dark stops walking entirely to stare at them in utter bewilderment. They continue past him, unbothered, like hopping aimlessly through multiple timelines to murder monsters is as common and boring as a casual stroll.

“Not really,” Wind says, then sneaks up behind Legend to shove wet grass down his shirt.

Legend’s stride doesn’t falter as he deftly side-steps the attempt. Wind overextends with a startled curse, nearly falling and having to catch himself with a roll. The grass in his hands goes flying, his blue tunic ending up covered in most of it. Legend smirks at the sight, then elaborates.

“We were figuring it out,” the veteran says snappishly. “Weird portals appeared, we went in, met each other, didn’t stab each other,” how nice for them, “then found freakishly strong monsters infected with weird black blood and fought them.”

The others nod along, and okay, Dark had assumed most of that to be the case, but:

“Hylia didn’t order you to do this?” he presses, still confused.

Because if there’s anything he knows about deities, is that they love to order people around. Demise certainly does, or Dark wouldn’t be in this situation. Usually, it’s their way, or no way. Hylia may be a bit more… convoluted… in her directions, but still. She was definitely the one behind all the portals he’s used on this journey so far, excluding the one made by the Gate in the Dark World, so she has to be involved… right?

Except she hadn’t ordered him to do anything, even after he’d asked her multiple times. She’d confirmed him to be one of the ten people travelling through time, but… no quest or demands had been dealt.

“No,” Twilight answers, helping Wind to stand. He brushes some of the grass off, then flicks the kid in the forehead in reprimand. Wind yelps and rubs the spot. “Honestly, the first time I’d heard Hylia mentioned was when you showed up.”

What??

“So you’re all just--” Dark begins, baffled beyond compare. He starts walking again, as if following them might also follow their logic. “--Wandering through the timelines and killing shit just because you can? That’s it?”

That’s not even a quest! They may as well be on a hunting trip, not a saving-the-world adventure.

“The black-blooded monsters are dangerous,” Warriors insists, like the heroes aren’t.

“Yes, they certainly can be,” Dark glares back, pointedly. Warriors winces, perhaps realizing his mistake, but Dark continues before the captain can put his own boot further in his mouth. “And so are nine people punching holes through reality with no plan whatsoever!”

Dark himself is, admittedly, terrible at planning things. Or, more accurately, fate tends to look at his plans and laugh wholeheartedly, then dump a bunch of complications and near-death experiences into them. But still. Even his half-ruined plans are better than nothing.

“To be fair, we don’t make the portals,” Four chimes in, as if walking blindly through them was much better.

“And the portals were just the first part of the mystery,” Hyrule adds. “We didn’t know who made them or why… We only noticed the trend of infected monsters later, as an added surprise.”

“Pretty shitty surprise,” Legend mutters.

“Language,” Time sighs, in an ever-losing battle. “You aren’t wrong, however. The monsters being in Hyrule at the same time as the portals appearing can’t be a coincidence.”

Oh, it definitely isn’t. Dark keeps his expression as neutral as possible as he ponders the Gate back in the Dark World. It had the capability to send a handful of creatures through at once, at a significant cost of magic energy and a long recharge time. Demise was certainly capable in that regard, but why bother? A few dozen black-blooded enemies is hardly a threat to a whole team of proven heroes.

“But Hylia would never make portals for monsters,” Sky refutes, and Dark has to wonder why she’d let him through, then. If having black-blood and dark magic is all it takes to be considered monstrous by hylians, then Dark definitely qualifies. This isn’t the first finicky god he’s dealt with however, so he lets Sky’s comment slide. “It has to be something else causing them.”

Wild nods in agreement. “So, the question is who, or what, is.”

Watching the heroes toss around the braincell is almost impressive. No mentions of Demise, but they had figured out enough to know something else is likely lurking in the shadows pulling the strings. Having faced so many different enemies, Dark supposes they can recognize when something More is afoot.

Should he be worried that Demise and its evil plots being a few short leaps of logic away from discovery? Probably.

Does he give a shit about Demise and its evil plots? Hell no.

Does he care about being revealed as a servant to Demise and its evil plots, and then losing this very fragile peace between him and his light-bound counterparts?

He’s a little startled by how much he does, actually.

“Well, don’t look to me for answers,” Dark complains defensively, when he notices the deliberate eyes glancing back at him. “I was dumped into this mess yesterday. How could I possibly have more information than you?”

To be fair, it’s not a complete lie. He knows of Demise, yes, but whatever world-ending nonsense it has planned is a mystery to him. It’s not like the deity cared enough to tell him why he’d been sent to infiltrate the group of heroes. Dark is convinced there’s more to it than simply trying to destroy them. Emphasis on ‘trying,’ because both Dark and Demise know he has never succeeded in that venture. He’s fairly certain that the god simply enjoys watching a Link fail.

Dark idly wonders what sort of punishments Hylia usually deals to those who fail her. He hasn’t heard of any, but that doesn’t mean the possibility doesn’t exist. Perhaps simply having her favor is punishment enough, considering the nonsense she tends to put her heroes through.

“’Cause you do,” Wind answers with a shrug. “At least about the black blood stuff.”

“Just because I have black blood doesn’t mean I know why the other monsters are wandering around in Hyrule!” Dark exclaims, frustrated. He tosses his arms up in an exasperated flail. “I don’t even know why I’m here!”

“Why are any of us here?” Wild replies, philosophically. They tap a knuckle to their chin, closing their eyes in thought and nodding along as if pondering the mysteries of the universe. Wind makes a pfft sound.

“No existential crises today, please,” Four requests politely. “I did not sleep enough to contemplate the meaning of life.”

Wild nods. “I’ll save ‘em for tomorrow.”

“Appreciated.”

Dark also appreciates this, having had far too many crises lately. He rubs a hand down his face, already exhausted, and sighs. “So, to summarize, nobody knows what’s going on.”

“Yet,” Twilight corrects. “Nobody knows what’s going on yet.”

“So, the goal right now is to gather as much information as possible, then see where that leads us,” Warriors concludes.

And Dark has that information. Some of it, anyway. He might not know the ‘why’ but he does know the ‘how’ regarding the presence of the black-blooded monsters in Hyrule, and that’s very likely to be a stabbable offense. He’ll need to be careful.

“Was getting banned from a town part of that goal?” Dark quips.

Warriors’ eye twitches. “No.”

“Do you think we’ll get wanted posters?” Wind gasps, a bit too excitedly.

“Ugh, I hope not,” Legend grumps. “They never draw my nose right.”

Dark thinks that maybe that isn’t what Legend should be worried about, but whatever. That said, he absolutely wants a wanted poster of himself, if anything just to confuse people with his shapeshifting.

“You have a wanted poster?!” Wind screeches, delighted. At the same time, Warriors mutters, “Of course you have a wanted poster.”

“Yeah, I— Wait, what do you mean by ‘of course’?!” Legend squawks, offended. Warriors holds his hands up in surrender, a teasing and unapologetic smile on his face. Legend punches him on the shoulder.

“The Yiga Clan drew some posters of me, too,” Wild offers.

“The banana obsessed assassins?” Hyrule asks.

Wild nods, oddly pleased. “They’re pretty good artists, actually.”

Again, probably not what the hero should be focused on. Dark supposes that when someone has monsters hunting them and large world-ending entities on their tail that regular law enforcement becomes rather laughable.

“How many of you have been arrested?” Dark asks curiously.

“Arrested, or imprisoned?” Twilight inquires, for clarity’s sake.

“Either?” Dark hazards.

The number of hands that go up doesn’t surprise him.

Chapter Text

“…aaannd here’s where you nearly bled to death,” Dark informs Twilight cheerily, gesturing to the tree he had leaned him up against the night prior. There’s a distinct red stain on the roots and grass at the base, large enough that even the persistent rain hadn’t washed it away.

Twilight stares at the spot. After a brief moment, he grimaces, and yeah, that’s about how Dark feels about it too. Last night was not something he wants to repeat.

Twilight looks away, studying the surroundings further. “And where you were attacked.”

Evidence of the scuffle is apparent. Boots of metal and leather left their mark upon the earth; The grass is trampled, smashed into the mud by quick and lethal steps. Small stones have been displaced. Sticks are snapped. Flowers flattened. Several bushes have a hole punched right through their leaves, singed by Hyrule’s sword spell. Higher up, an arrow is lodged firmly into a tree.

“That too,” Dark says, yanking the arrow out of the wood. He ignores the fact that it was exactly head-height for him, opting instead to inspect the tip of the arrowhead. It’s a little dull, but still usable, so he hands it back to Wild. The hero takes it with a wince.

“Sorry, Dark,” Wild says.

Dark shrugs. “You already apologized,” he points out. “…Although, if you want to apologize more, I’m not opposed to being given more weapons.”

A little bit of levity lifts the sour mood. Wild rolls their eyes. “Do you need more weapons?”

Dark actually laughs. No. No, he does not. Want them? Sure. Need them? About as much as Wild needs four hundred and thirty-seven crickets (plus or minus a few potential escapees).

“How many weapons do you have?” Warriors asks warily.

Dark snorts, amused. “I’ve lost count.”

He’d been trying to be careful about revealing that fact, but ultimately decides it’s not worth the trouble. If they’re going to be travelling together, they’re going to be fighting together. Dark’s battle ‘strategies’ are a collection of copied moves and chaos, which means his secret of just how many weapons he has was always going to be a short one.

Plus, it’s fun to see Warriors squirm.

Just to rub it in, Dark summons a sword and shield to his hands. The only ones that don’t look at least somewhat surprised by this are Twilight, who already saw him fight, and Wild.

“…Well,” Time remarks mildly. “I’m glad to see you’re prepared.”

Dark disagrees. If he’d been prepared, he would have had a Sunny Elixir on hand before Twilight decided to go all self-sacrificey on him. The next chance he gets, he’s figuring out how to make the elixirs. Health potions, too, since heroes tend to use them more than sense. He makes a mental note to pester Wild about it later.

“I kinda figured, after bonking off of your shield earlier,” Wild muses, rubbing their probably-still-sore nose. Then they look to the arrow they still hold. “…Why didn’t you use one when we attacked you?”

Because he’d been a panicked mess at the time and his black blood had been telling him to attack, not defend. Dark tosses the sword and shield back to the ground, which vanish into his shadow before making a sound. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance.”

“You had a dagger, at least. You could have fought back,” Warriors presses, gesturing to Dark’s hip, where the hilt of the dagger Four had repaired for him pokes out from the sheath.

Dark gives Warriors a flat look. “We both know how well that would have went,” he says. Badly, is the answer. “Surrendering was the only way to guarantee Twilight got help and to give myself the chance to defend my innocence,” Dark continues, shrugging uncomfortably. “Which I did. So.”

And he managed to not die in the process.

…Is it a bad sign that he’s proud of that?

There’s a first time for everything, he supposes. He’s not going to count it as a success until he survives this whole dumb mission. Which might be less impossible than normal, if only because the heroes are typically the deadliest part of his existence. With them not stabbing him, he’s likely to live longer than usual.

Speaking of stabbing, Warriors seems to be struggling with the fact that Dark could have stabbed them at any moment, but decided to sass them for several hours straight instead.

Dark wonders how he would react if he found out the chain they’d tied him up with had been useless, too.

“Well, it worked,” Twilight offers. “Though I wish you didn’t have to.”

Dark does too, but wishes don’t make reality, except in extraordinarily rare circumstances. He doesn’t see the Triforce floating around in the forest for such a thing to occur, so he’s going to say reality is just as dumb as usual.

“Whatever,” Dark shrugs again. “It was probably a test, anyway.”

There’s a pause as the others share a confused look.

“Uhhh, no…?” Hyrule says. “We weren’t testing you.”

“Not you,” Dark waves off the thought, though it might have some merit. He has no doubts that his actions have been judged from the moment they met in these woods, probably even earlier. His trustworthiness. His strengths. Weaknesses. “I’m talking about Hylia.”

Gods and spirits are notorious for handing out obscure and complicated tasks, and Dark is certain the heroes have encountered many such quests. If it wasn’t a direct order, it was probably a test of some sort. Want that sword or useful tool? Do this. Fetch that. Kill some monsters. Clear a temple or dungeon. Prove yourself worthy first, and then you can have the thing you need.

Dark needed to infiltrate the group. He needed to escape the prison. He needed to find a cure.

All things Hylia could, and did, help him to accomplish.

But first, she needed something from him.

Sky looks confused, his brow furrowed. “Why would Hylia test you?”

His best guess? To see whose side he was on: Hers or Demise’s.

The thing is, he isn’t really on either side. Or at least he doesn’t want to be. Demise is his master in title only, the one respect he begrudgingly grants to the Demon God of Hatred being the power it holds over him. That, and the fact that it literally corrupted almost every single forsaken speck of the Dark World. There is no other viable source of magic there, which beings like him need to survive. Most creatures in the Dark World had no choice but to serve, or were driven mad ages ago and no longer know any different.

And Hylia… Truthfully, he doesn’t know much about her or her motives. All he knows is that’s it’s probably best not to piss her off. …Which should have already happened. Spirits, he’d outright admitted he was working for Demise, practically to her face. He told her that he was here to destroy her heroes.

She’d helped him anyway.

It had to be a test. Nothing else makes sense to him.

“What other way is there to see if someone is worthy or not than to put them in life-or-death situations?” is all Dark says, only half-joking.

The heroes respond with varying expressions of concern and understanding. Legend appears particularly bitter at the thought, and Time just looks tired. Wild is muttering something about trials and... old magic monks? …What?

“There are other ways,” Twilight replies, though his tone says he has experienced otherwise. “But I still don’t get it. Why do you think Hylia was testing you?”

“Think about it,” Dark says, wandering over Twilight’s… artistically painted… tree. He squats down and studies the stain. “If Hylia has the precision to send me to Wild in the future where I could get a cure to the Gloom, then dump me into the exact room of an inn where I could deliver it to you, she damn-well could have made a portal where it didn’t leave us stranded in a monster-infested forest in the first place.”

He should have figured something was up when she decided not to fry him in that first portal with Twilight.

“Hylia wouldn’t portal you into a group of monsters,” Sky argues, appalled at the thought.

“The portal dropped us off on a cliffside. We went into the forest ourselves,” Twilight clarifies. “So, maybe it wasn’t intentional?”

Dark ponders this. Without being dropped away from the others, they wouldn’t have had to go through the forest. Without going through the forest, they wouldn’t have been ambushed. Without being attacked by monsters, they wouldn’t have been cursed by Gloom. Without Twilight’s wound, Dark wouldn’t have retrieved the Sunny Elixirs. Without the Sunny Elixirs, and his willingness to help Twilight, the heroes wouldn’t have accepted him into the group nearly so easily.

Or, the first portal was a test to see if Dark and Twilight could get along without murdering each other, and the rest were her scrambling to save Twilight when it had unforeseen consequences.

Was it deliberate? Or is Hylia just as terrible at planning things as her heroes are?

“Maybe,” Dark says, standing back up. If this whole mess was a coincidence, or simply a result of his shitty luck, he vows to find a new head-bashing tree and make ample use of it. “Still, she definitely could have dropped Twilight and I right on top of the rest of you, but she didn’t.”

Which would have been safe for Twilight, at least. Him? Not so much. He’d have preferred it over being cursed by Gloom, though.

“There are other ways to make portals or travel between worlds,” Legend points out. “How do you know it’s Hylia doing it?”

That’s a good argument, actually. It isn’t impossible to travel to different eras, but it takes an absurd amount of magical knowledge and power to do so. His Summonings, for example, are actually an incredible magical feat. To pull a being like him from an entirely different world is difficult. Even Demise has to use the Gate to send things through, which took hundreds of years for it to create, rather than performing the spell itself each time. All it has to do is supply the magic.

The fact that Hylia could make portals on a whim…

…Yeah, he definitely doesn’t want to get on her bad side.

“Future-Wild all but confirmed that Hylia has a hand in creating portals, after I asked why the hell she’d sent me to get the cure instead of one of you,” Dark answers. “I assume it was part of her test.”

As the others mull this over, Wind raises his hand.

“Question,” he says. “…Who’s Hylia?”

A beat of silence. Dark stares.

“What?!” both Sky and him shout in unison, utterly shocked. Nearby, birds startle out of the trees at the sound.

“Thank you, Wind!” exclaims Hyrule, tossing his hands up in relief and exasperation. “I’ve been wanting to ask that for ages!”

“You don’t know?” Dark starts, completely baffled and only slightly hysterical.

“Nope,” Hyrule says.

“Not really,” Legend shrugs.

“Never heard of her,” Four states.

“Me either,” Warriors admits.

“Same here,” Twilight confesses, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Sky, vaguely, looks like he’s been hit with an arrow with every denial.

Dark’s eye twitches. “Who did you think I was talking about this whole time??”

“A Spirit, or the like,” Twilight says, and okay, that’s not a terrible guess. "You mentioned her as a goddess before, but I didn't really know who you were talking about, so..."

“I thought it was just the name of a lake,” Time offers.

What??

“…You thought a lake was making portals?”

Time shrugs. “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Dark groans into his hands. How is this possible? These are Heroes of Courage! Each have the Hero’s Spirit, blessed by the goddess herself!

“None of you have heard of Hylia?” Sky questions, looking… rather sad, actually.

“I have,” Wild says, bringing a glimmer of relief to Sky’s eyes. “There’s a bunch of statues of the goddess scattered around Hyrule that people pray at.”

“Interesting,” Time remarks, looking thoughtful. “In my time, people tend to worship the Golden Goddesses: Nayru, Farore, and Din.”

Wild blinks at him. “Who?”

Dark decides Twilight’s blood tree could also make an excellent head-bashing tree, and thunks his head into it.

“The Golden Goddesses created the world,” he informs the bark, and any clueless heroes that cared to listen. “When they were done, they fucked off, leaving behind the Triforce and Hylia to protect it.” He pauses. “That lasted, like, two seconds, and the world became a shitshow of power grabs, wars, and heroes who should know this saving the day.”

“That’s, uh,” Sky cringes, “Not very accurate…”

Legend hums, considering. “Actually, no, that sounds pretty accurate.”

“Strange how history and myths tend to drift and change,” Time remarks casually, like he hadn’t just said that Hylia, one of Hyrule’s most important historical figures, had been reduced to a lake.

“Pretty sure we’ve made some ourselves,” Legend says, with a complicated expression. Not bitter, exactly, but something close to it.

“Using the Triforce or saving the world tends to do that, I guess,” Hyrule replies.

Mumbled agreements fill the clearing, and Dark recovers enough to detach his forehead from the tree.

Four lifts his hand for another question. Oh no.

“What’s the Triforce?”

…and he thunks his head right back down.

Chapter Text

Dark decides that following their tracks from the night before would be significantly less complicated than attempting to explain the lore and history of Hyrule and stomps off into the woods, throwing his hands up and declaring, “Someone else can explain those stupid triangles.”

If the heroes were hoping for exposition, he’s happy to disappoint. While an earlier explanation would have prevented some confusion, patience is a virtue that Dark had ditched ages ago. Besides, despite his long life, he doesn’t actually know a lot about the Light World, other than that fact that it and the Dark World have clashed since their creation.

But at least he knows the basics.

Like the goddess Hylia not being a literal lake, for example.

Sky catches up to Dark as he follows his own meandering steps from yesterday, smiling but with a question clear on his lips.

“How do you know Hylia?” he asks curiously, as Dark listens distractedly to the others as they debate the Triforce’s use, which Four compares to something called the Light Force. The Light Force just sounds like an absurd amount of Light magic to him, significantly less useful than the wish-granting ability of the Triforce. After all, what’s the point in limiting yourself to one element of magic, when you could invoke the reality bending powers of the Golden Goddesses?

Using either sounds like a terrible idea. The endless cycle of power-grabs and chaos that the Triforce, and apparently the Light Force, seem to cause can attest to that. So no thank you, that’s a mess better left to Hylia and her heroes.

Her actual heroes, not the very confused Dark Worlder she randomly decided could tag along.

Dark casts a sidelong glance at Sky, contemplating how best to respond to his question. Explaining what he knows of Hylia goes hand-in-hand with knowing Demise, so he needs to be careful.

…Except, does he? If barely any of the heroes know of Hylia, would they even know who Demise is?

Dark doesn’t risk it. “Hylia is… significant… to the history of the Dark World,” Dark settles on. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a soul there that doesn’t know her.”

Resent her, more like.

“Really?” Sky says, with interest. “What did she do there?”

It was more akin to what she didn’t do.

Demise had thoroughly ruined the Dark World long before Hylia fought the god back from conquering the rest of Hyrule, so the destruction wasn’t originally her fault. But there was still life there. Spirits. Stories. Hope.

Not anymore.

“Nothing,” Dark replies quietly. “She didn’t do anything at all.”

Why bother trying to save a place already considered a lost cause?

Instead, Hylia sealed Demise away just as her predecessors had, the equivalent of covering a stain with a rug. Except the stain was also on fire, threatening to burn through the rug, the floor, and the whole damn house, if not for the bucket of water she dumps on it occasionally.

Sky, one of the aforementioned water buckets, looks at him confusedly. “Huh?”

“…Nevermind,” Dark says, staring around at the forest sprawling out before him, wondering if the Dark World had ever been so beautiful.

Sky’s brow furrows. Thankfully, before he can ask any more questions that make him want to toss Hylia into her own lake, someone interrupts.

“Hey, do you even know where you’re going?” Legend asks snappishly from somewhere behind him, something Dark thinks he probably should have wondered about before following him further into the woods.

“Yeah, there are tracks to follow…” Dark trails off, looking around for the stumbling footprints he’d been following back to the ambush site. Lush forests aren’t exactly his forte, every tree and shrub look the same, but it had been muddy and neither of them had cared to cover their tracks the night before. Rain or not, there should be something to follow.

Except there isn’t.

“…Ah, crap,” Dark says, stopping and swiveling his head around, trying to catch a sliver of familiarity. A muddied footprint, maybe. A speck of blood. Some snapped twigs. There is nothing. Sometime between contemplating knockoff Triforces and Sky’s curiosity accidentally opening a den of unwanted keese, the tracks he’d been following had vanished entirely. “I’ve lost our trail.”

The group comes to a halt, grumbling.

“Should we double back?” Warriors suggests. Dark doesn’t think the group is too far off track, they hadn’t been walking for that long, but he’s irritated at the lost time his mistake has caused. He finds it strange that nobody else is annoyed or upset with him.

“We could,” Twilight tilts his head, thinking. “But I bet Wolfie could find the trail.”

Oh?

“Good idea,” Dark says, with an amused tone that clearly says ‘how the hell has nobody figured out your secret yet.’ “Why don’t you go find Wolfie, then.”

Twilight cringes slightly. “Yeah, I’ll just, uh… go get him,” he answers, with an equally baffled tone saying ‘I’ve been asking myself that for WEEKS,’ and shuffles away through the trees.

Twilight wanders some distance away, out of sight of the others. After a minute or so of walking, Dark watches the small spot of Twili magic, the crystal, suddenly surge outwards. It coats Twilight, making his Hylian form briefly visible before warping him down into the familiar four-legged menace of his animal self. The magic settles, fading from Dark’s senses, but not before he sees Wolf-boy begin to trot back their way.

“Wolfie!” Wind says excitedly, upon seeing Twilight emerge from the brush. The kid runs up to him with a grin on his face. Twilight’s ears perk up and he wags his tail. Dark makes a mental note to tease Twilight over it, and the nickname, later.

Or maybe now.

He waits until Twilight has begun his search, focusing intently as he sniffs around the area, to strike.

“What an adorable name for such a ferocious beast,” Dark remarks, mischief in his tone. Wolfie’s ears immediately flatten, and he growls warningly. Dark, of course, ignores this. “Did Twilight name him?”

“Kinda,” Wild replies, amused. “I originally just called him ‘Wolf,’ and it sort of evolved from that.”

The knowing, mischievous, glint in Wild’s eyes has Dark wondering if there’s something more to that story. Regardless, he can’t just let the fun end there.

“Any other nicknames for our resident wolf?” he asks the group, watching the dread build in Twilight’s expression. A horror-filled whine follows, as if to say ‘please no.’ Alas, the blade of embarrassment has already been drawn.

“Fluffy!” Wind cheers immediately.  

“Doggo,” Warriors declares.

“The goodest boy,” Hyrule says.

Each nickname is a visible blow to Twilight’s dignity, his hope of keeping his pride intact withering away with every word. He looks to Time for mercy.

He receives none. The old man smirks. “Pup.”

Betrayed, Twilight growls and stomps away, as if he could escape the shenanigans. A futile effort. He and the tattered remains of his pride weave through the area with his nose to the ground, grumbling and whining. Dark hasn’t heard Twilight swear often, but he has the distinct feeling they are receiving some creative canine curses.

As he searches, the nicknames continue, much to Dark’s delight. He bites back his laughter, knowing full-well that he may end up bitten because of this.

Worth it.

“All-bark-no-bite,” Legend snipes in a targeted manner, as if to counter the thought.

Wind scoffs. “That’s not even a name!”

“No,” Legend agrees, primly. “It’s a fact.”

As if to prove him wrong, Twilight snaps at the veteran’s ring-covered fingers as he passes by. Legend snatches his hand away with a yelp, even though the wolf was nowhere close enough to actually bite him, technically making Legend’s statement true.

Sky considers. “I don’t really have any nicknames for Wolfie, but I always thought he looked a bit like a large remlit.”

Dark does not know what a remlit is, but apparently Twilight does, because he droops in despair.

“Those flying cat things you told us about before?” Four questions, squinting at the offended wolf. “I guess I can see it.”

“I still don’t know what a cat is,” Sky states. Neither does Dark, but the thought of a small flying Wolfie makes him choke on his laughter. “But yes. Remlits are cute, but formidable fighters when they want to be!”

Twilight’s despair seems slightly stymied by the words. Disgruntled by being called cute, no doubt, but glad at least one of the heroes found his wolf form somewhat respectable.

“Cats are crafty creatures,” Four agrees ominously. He gives Twilight an appraising look, then smiles. “Wolves, too.”

“Do you have any nicknames for him?” Dark asks, because apparently Twilight hasn’t suffered enough.

“A part of me wants to call him Toe-beans,” Four admits, embarrassed. Twilight trips, staggering from the blow. “The forbidden kind. He won’t let anyone squish them.”

And never will, judging by the absolutely appalled look Twilight is giving them. He appears ready to use his unsquishable paws to dig himself a hole to perish in. Right next to the one he digs for Dark.

“And the other part?” Dark presses, struggling not to wheeze.

“The other parts don’t want to get bit,” Four finishes.

Parts? “That’s fair.”

Some distance away, Wolfie gives a weary bark. While Dark was busy guaranteeing himself a spot on Twilight’s shit-list, the hero had dutifully continued his search for the trail. He’d found it, though he appears to have barely survived the ordeal, like he’d done a round or two of battle with Ganon instead of simply walking through some woods.

“Hey, he found it!” Wild says with a grin, jogging over to the bedraggled Wolfie and waving the others forward. The heroes follow, making their way through the trees and foliage.

Dark keeps pace, though he does pause to wonder why the heroes are strangely okay with just ‘leaving behind’ Twilight in the woods, where he was supposedly still wandering around to ‘find’ Wolfie. You know, the guy who nearly died recently and that they were very protective of. What happened to Time’s ‘nobody gets left behind’ rule?

He catches Time’s eye, arching a questioning eyebrow. If his comment back in the inn about ‘sneaking Wolfie in’ hadn’t proved that he knew of Twilight’s shapeshifting, then his current lack of concern confirms it.

The others, he assumes, forgot to equip their braincell that morning.

Time subtly shrugs and shakes his head to Dark’s unspoken question. Dark huffs. Not that he was planning on saying anything anyway. The secret might seem dumb to Dark, but it’s still important to Twilight, so he leaves the subject be. If there’s one thing Dark is good at, it’s keeping secrets. If those secrets also include some of Wolf-boy’s, that’s fine too.

“What about you, Dark?” Wild asks, as they hop up to catch a branch to scale a tree, for some reason. Nobody bats an eye, so this is apparently a normal occurrence. “Any other nicknames for Wolfie?”

Twilight glares.

Dark is undeterred. “Oh, I had many names for him when he first tracked me down,” he says dryly. Mostly profanity, with a few actual nicknames. ‘Wolf-boy’ being the most common, but he can’t say that without shattering the very fragile secret Twilight is attempting to maintain. Dark thinks that task is going about as well as Twilight keeping his dignity. “But I think I’ll stick with Wolfie.”

Less chance of getting bitten, he thinks.

Twilight looks relieved. Wild scoffs from somewhere above them. “Boringgg.”

“Says the person who originally just called him Wolf,” Dark counters.

There’s some rustling, and Wild drops down beside him. There are several red fruits in their arms, which disappear into the Sheikah slate with a flash of blue light. The sticks and leaves stuck in their hair and clothes remain untouched. “Touché,” they say, with a shrug. “I wasn’t very creative at naming things, back then.”

“Back then?” he presses, curious.

“I travelled with him already, before this weird portal stuff,” Wild explains, only serving to confuse Dark further.

“What do you mean?” Wind questions, because Dark isn’t the only one trying to figure out the mess of a timeline. “Wolfie isn’t from your era, right?”

“No,” Wild confirms. “It was his future self...? Sort of... I could summon him occasionally for aid.”

Dark stops walking immediately.

“You Summoned him?” Dark repeats, not bothering to hide the horror in his voice.

Wild backtracks quickly. “No! …Or at least I don’t think so? Not like… I don’t understand the whole Summoning thing, but the wolf I knew was some sort of spirit that came and went… He would sometimes appear to help me if I asked, fighting stuff or finding things if I was lost, and then disappear.”

…Okay, intentionally Summoned or not, at least Twilight could leave if he wanted to. It makes Dark feel slightly better, knowing he wasn’t trapped there. That it was his choice. While neither fighting for or helping lost heroes seem like tasks Twilight would dislike doing, Dark would revolt if he found out Twilight’s spirit to have been bound unwillingly to anything. Even if that tether was to a friend.

What Wild is describing, requesting a spirit’s aid instead of forcing a spirit to obey, is much closer to how Summoning is supposed to work. He’d need more detail to be certain… Did Wild use a spell? A tool, or magical device? How did Wild even know to ask for a spirit’s aid, let alone specifically for Wolfie?

It would help, he thinks, if Dark actually knew what being Summoned normally felt like.

A small boof sound jolts him out of his thoughts. Twilight had ditched tracking duty and made his way over to his side, and is staring up with a serious expression. His furry face is hard to read, but his eyes are bright with concern. Whatever words he’s trying to communicate are lost, however, as Dark does not speak dog.

“If it’s any comfort,” Time says carefully. “I don’t think Wolfie would mind helping.”

Of course he wouldn’t mind helping. He is a hero, after all. But heroes are also known for being self-sacrificial idiots, as Dark can personally attest, so he wouldn’t put it past Twilight, or any of these heroes, to put helping others before themselves even after their time alive has passed. Being there to guide a future hero, a friend, on their journey was probably something they were more than happy to do. Eager, even.

“…So long as he was there willingly,” Dark decides eventually. He starts walking again, shooing Wolfie and his worried look away. Twilight huffs and resumes tracking. Instead of walking at the front of the group, however, he sticks close to Wild and Dark; only veering away to subtly direct the group if they start moving away from whatever invisible trail he is following.

Wild watches the wolf as they walk, fidgeting worriedly. “He seemed okay…”

Dark resolves to ask Twilight just how okay he is with the possibility of having his spirit summoned endlessly over the course of many millennia, once he’s in a form that actually has vocal cords. For now, Dark gladly drops the subject like an unwanted bombchu, deliberately ignoring the unspoken questions and occasional glances the others send his way.

“Maybe future-Wolfie was just tired of watching you get lost,” Wind offers teasingly, not-so-subtly trying to change the subject.

“Or wandering into monster camps,” Warriors chimes in.

“Or eating weird stuff,” Legend shudders.

“Or doing all three of those at once,” Time adds tiredly.

Wild sputters. “I’m not that bad.”

If the deadpan look Twilight is giving Wild is anything to go by, Dark is going to say yes. They are that bad.

Dark rolls his eyes, some of his previous discomfort easing away. “Wild. I’ve known you for one singular day, and can already tell that you probably do all of those things regularly.”

Wild gasps, placing a hand over their chest in mock-offense, and the conversation devolves into light-hearted jokes and bickering. The subject of Summoning, thankfully, stays lost somewhere in the trees behind them.

Soon, the endless wild growth of the forest gives way to a small clearing. It’s strange to see the space so empty. Calm, and not filled with the malicious presence of monsters. Only some broken bits of armor, weapons, and scattering of brittle bones and scales remain. The pieces are the only evidence of the fight, that the lizalfos and stalfos had ever existed, now left discarded and forgotten in the depths of a no-name forest. Never to be seen again, except by curious and slightly-vengeful heroes.

They wander in, dispersing as they look around.

Legend whistles, impressed. “Damn, looks like there were a lot of them.”

Dark shrugs, walking over to pry one of his swords out of a tree. The bark splits as it pops free, raining splinters down over the damp and broken bones of the stalfos he had slain. “Only twenty or so.”

“That’s not a number to scoff at,” Time says seriously. “Twilight and you were dangerously outnumbered.”

He blinks at the man, a little confused. Sure, Dark is mostly used to one-on-one battles, but a horde of twenty monsters is hardly impressive by Dark World standards. He’s actually somewhat miffed that such a small number almost killed him, let alone a hero.

He makes his way over to another weapon, kicking a small chunk of plate armor out of his path as he goes. The tarnished metal tumbles across the ground to settle at Time’s feet. His eye follows it, unreadable as usual.

“If that cursed sword wasn’t a factor, the only thing those twenty foes would have accomplished is regret,” Dark replies, with cold certainty.

The words may sound brash, but they’re true. If that blade hadn’t afflicted either of them with Gloom, then Twilight could have healed with a potion and been on his merry way. Dark could have patched himself up with magic, kept his black blood a secret, and still joined the group in a much less dramatic and deadly fashion.

Alas.

“Edgy,” Twilight remarks, stepping out of the treeline. He isn’t sure when Wolf-boy had snuck away to shapeshift back to his hylian form, but he does not appreciate the comment. Revenge for the nicknames earlier, perhaps? …Still worth it. Dark scowls anyway.

“Hi, Twi!” Wind greets. “Where were you? We came up with some great names for Wolfie, and you missed it!”

Twilight looks pained. “Ain’t ‘Wolfie’ good enough?”

Wind pouts, “I guess…”

Dark snickers, moving on to find another of his swords. How many had he thrown again? He doesn’t remember, but so long as he gets most of them, he’ll be satisfied. Maybe loot some of the scattered arrows and weapons the monsters left behind too, if there are any of quality. Lizalfos and stalfos aren’t exactly known for caring for their weaponry. In the case of stalfos, it’s usually what they died with, always rusted and tarnished. Lizafos just pick up and use whatever is around.

How that one Lizalfos had ended up with that cursed blade still bothers him. Had the creature just found the thing? If so, why was it just laying around and available for a random monster to grab? Thankfully, as Dark pokes around the clearing, he doesn’t sense any other cursed items. The one lingering maliciously in the corner of his shadow seems to have been the only one.

As he’s dropping the last of his recovered swords into his shadow, Twilight walks up to him. His face is serious, stern and… worried? Odd. Dark is expecting a scolding over the nicknames, but instead the hero holds out his hand. Held in his fingers is a single arrow, the tip stained black.

…Ah, crap.

“Do you want to tell me why this smells like you?” he asks, confirming the arrow to be the one he’d been shot by. Dark hadn’t seen when he’d found it, but the hero must have tracked his scent directly to where Dark had plucked it out of his shoulder the night before.

Damn Wolf-boy and his stupid nose. “No, but I will tell you how weird that sentence was.”

“Dark.”

He sighs. “The wound is healed, stop worrying.”

This, of course, doesn’t work. “I will, when you stop hiding injuries.”

“I wasn’t hiding injuries so much as prioritizing getting our asses to safety,” Dark reiterates. “Healing a minor arrow wound could come after my friend wasn’t actively dying. So shove it, Twilight. You know you would have done the same.”

Twilight opens his mouth. Closes it. He does not look happy in the slightest.

He does not confirm or deny this, only saying, “Don’t do it again.”

“You’ve made your point.” Several times. If this is how protective the hero is with friends he’s known for a single day, he wonders how bad it is with people he’s known for longer. Are the others like this, too? “And I won’t do it again. Happy?”

Twilight squints at him, as if to see if he’s lying. Satisfied, he gives a begrudging: “…Good.”

“Speaking of hiding things,” Dark continues, happily changing the subject. He plucks the arrow from Twilight’s grip, twirling it in his fingers. The black stained metal glimmers dully as it spins. “Are you going to tell them?”

Twilight fidgets, looking askance. “…Tell them what?”

“You know exactly what, Wolf-boy,” Dark replies, pointing the arrow at him. Twilight twitches at the name. “Although, I think I’m more surprised that nobody has figured you out yet.”

The others are still investigating the area, far enough away that Dark isn’t worried about them overhearing. Time and Warriors are discussing something, Hyrule and Legend are poking around some moss-covered ruins, Four and Sky are inspecting a few of the monsters’ weapons, and Wind is looking up at Wild…. who is in a tree. Again.

Needless to say, they’re plenty distracted. It’s the perfect opportunity to speak secrets, or lack thereof.

“Hey now, some of them do know about Wolfie already,” Twilight defends.

He had assumed, but it’s nice to hear his suspicions proven correct. “Who?”

“Wild, Time, Four, Legend, and you,” Twilight answers.

Dark sputters. “Half of them already know?? You’re shit at keeping secrets!” Twilight has the audacity to look offended. “Why even bother at this point?”

“…it’s complicated,” Twilight says eventually, conflicted. Why does this sound familiar? “My companion always told me to conceal my shapeshifting, and people generally panic seeing a wolf, so I’ve always tried to be careful about it.”

Dark thinks that would make more sense, if he was referring to people that haven’t fought boars the size of buildings. Or armies of monsters. Or him.

He tilts his head, considering. “Do you think they’ll attack you?”

Twilight hadn’t seemed to think so back in the oasis. He’d rather vehemently denied it, actually. Apparently the sentiment has changed, because Twilight hesitates. “…No, probably not.”

Probably? “Then what’s the problem?” He does not understand the issue here. The heroes have seen way weirder stuff than some shapeshifting.

“Originally, it was to hide my identity. But, well, everyone else already knows both me and Wolfie now… separately. It would be awkward to reveal myself now,” he admits. “Besides, with how they treated you, I’m not sure I want to tell them. It is dark magic, and they’ve made it clear how much they don’t like it. Hiding may be safer.”

Had the heroes broken that much of Twilight’s trust when they’d attacked Dark? It’s a strange thought… but with how protective he has been, it makes sense. Still…

“Take this advice from somebody that literally can’t hide their dark magic, and is somehow still alive despite being surrounded by heroes,” Dark advises dryly. “You’ll be fine.”

Twilight mulls this over. “They attacked you, though.”

“True,” Dark replies, because there’s no point in denying it. “But they also thought I was trying to murder you, so they had good reason.”

And the whole ‘have fought each other to the death before’ part for several of them, but he leaves that out. Relevant or not, he’d rather not bring up the whole ‘former enemies’ thing if he doesn’t need to. This is about Twilight, not Dark.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you to reveal your secret,” Dark says when Twilight continues to hesitate, with the certainty of someone that knows exactly how important secrets can be. “But I will tell you that the others like you and they like Wolfie, so there’s no reason they wouldn’t like those two things being one and the same.”

“And the dark magic?”

Dark shrugs. He can’t guarantee the heroes wouldn’t attack Wolf-boy for it, however: “If they get pissy about it, I’d stop them before they do something stupid.” Then, when that sounds too sappy, adds: “Besides, I doubt that Wild, Time, Four, and Legend would just stand there and watch you get attacked.”

Granted, he hasn’t actually stopped any of the heroes that he’d fought before. Those encounters weren’t exactly normal, but Dark was able to fend them off yesterday even with several of them attacking him at once. He could at least buy Twilight time. That said, it would be an interesting, and highly destructive, battle if the heroes ever clashed. He wonders if Hylia considered how much potential chaos she collected by grouping these idiots together.

Twilight’s eyebrows go up in surprise, before his expression softens altogether. “You’re right… Maybe I’m overthinking this.”

Heroes can do that? “If I get shot by another arrow while defending you, I’ll be sure to inform you promptly,” he teases, tossing the arrow aside.

Twilight’s smile turns into a scowl. “Not funny, Dark. And you’re forgetting the fact that I’d be defending you, too.”

Dark blinks. That… is how friendship is supposed to work, isn’t it? Huh.

Not knowing how to reply, he continues with his usual sass. “As you say, Toe-beans.”

Would he have to tell Twilight of injuries if the man himself is the one attempting murder? Dark cackles and slips into the shadows before he can find out, leaving behind Twilight as the man sets aside all talks of friendship in favor of vengeance. A litany of muffled swearing follows him as he makes his escape across the clearing, eventually popping up beside Time. The man startles, but doesn’t stab him, which is nice.

“Everything okay over there?” Time asks, eyeing the belligerent Twilight.

“Yep. Just asking Twilight if Wolfie would be able to track the monsters,” Dark smiles, lying smoothly.

Twilight grumbles as he stomps over, muttering something about if Hylia could revoke all Links’ naming rights. He should have known it would be bad, considering this group decided that random places, concepts, and numerical values were the names they wanted to go by.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he replies grouchily, after giving Dark one last withering look.

“Alright,” Time says, “We didn’t find anything other than scattered weapons and armor, so Wolfie’s help may be needed.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Pup’?” Dark asks innocently, then dodges the retaliatory kick aimed at his shin.

Time’s eye crinkles in amusement. “I have the distinct feeling that Wolfie didn’t like the name.”

He calls the others over. Corralling heroes historically known for their exploratory nature must be difficult, but Time accomplishes the task with a swiftness born in practice.

“So, where to? This place was a bust,” Wild asks.

“Twilight is going to see if Wolfie can find where the monsters came from,” Time answers. “If that doesn’t work, we make camp and wait for a portal.”

“Or travel to Castle Town,” Warriors suggests. “It would be a long walk from here, but it’s a good place to gather information.”

Twilight had better find a trail, because Dark is not going anywhere near Castle Town. Staying out in the woods with stabby Lizalfos would be less deadly for him than entering a place so populated by Hylians. So long as none of the lizards had Gloom-cursed weapons, of course.

“Finding a trail should be easy,” Twilight repeats distractedly, as he thinks hard about something. After a long moment, and a brief glance at Dark, he comes to a decision. “…but if any of you use those ridiculous nicknames, I will bite you.”

And he transforms on the spot.

Chapter Text

The screeching is immediate and profound, and Dark really wishes he’d thought to plug his ears. No blades are drawn, however, so he settles in to watch the show.

“Rancher?! You’re Wolfie?!” Warriors shouts, as if the point-blank transformation wasn’t obvious enough. Hyrule and Sky are equally shocked, but Wind is practically vibrating.

“Twi! That’s so cool!!” The kid runs up to him, just as excited as before.

Twilight is visibly stunned, apparently surprised that his worries of rejection didn’t pan out. Nobody even seems to care about the abrupt use of dark magic, too busy screaming things like: “How did I not notice that,” or “So that’s why he misses so many fights!” and “Holy shit, Four called him Toe-beans,” and other inane comments.

Those that did already know of the ‘secret’ are also in varying states of surprise, probably having expected Twilight to continue with his four-legged farce for a while longer.

“Pay up.”

Amid the chaos, Legend loses more of his rupees to a very smug Wild. He’s going to be broke by the end of this journey, if this is how often he loses bets.

At the sight, Wolf-boy snaps out of his stupor and immediately transforms back into a Hylian.

“You placed bets on me??” he says, offended, as soon as he has a proper mouth. At the same time Wind gasps out a dismayed, “Wait, you knew??”

“I bet that you’d reveal yourself unintentionally,” Legend explains grumpily, smacking a resentful rupee into Wild’s hand. “Probably by being all dramatic in the middle of battle, or picking up a random cursed object.”

…Yeah, that’s a pretty good bet actually.

“And I figured you’d you reveal yourself on your own terms,” Wild grins, holding his bounty up to his eye and looking at Twilight through the translucent blue gem. His smile softens, and he adds: “Like how you did for me.”

Wolf-boy’s ability to keep secrets is abysmal. He just straight up revealed himself to Wild, and three other people also found out somehow, and then he bothered to try to hide it from the few that remained? Wild’s tendency to befriend random time-travelling shapeshifters notwithstanding, they barely won that bet.

“You really shouldn’t be placing bets on people,” Time scolds. He pauses, then holds out a hand. Four swears lightly and starts digging for his wallet.

Twilight gapes. “You too, old man?!”

“Our bet was on the method you used to shapeshift,” Time elaborates, barely apologetic at all. “I thought it was dark magic, and Four thought it was light magic.”

Interesting… Time doesn’t seem to care that Twilight uses darker magic… Or, he already knew and is cheating Four out of his rupees. Either way, that stoic façade cracks a little more every time Dark looks at the man.

Four, on the other hand, is conflicted, and Dark can tell it’s not about losing the bet. Darker magic bothers him... He finds it strange that Four doesn’t like dark magic and still helped him, who is clearly a dark-magic being, but heroes do have the habit of not allowing people bleed out in the dirt if they can help it.

“In that case, you’re both wrong,” Dark decides to chime in, ignoring what that implies for him, who also did not let someone bleed out in the dirt.

Four pauses, his rupee held just above Time’s waiting palm. His troubled expression shifts into confusion. “Huh?”

“Or you’re both right,” Dark amends, shrugging a shoulder. “Depending on how you look at it.”

Now all of them are staring at him, Twilight included.

“What?” Wolf-boy has the audacity to ask.

Dark gives him a flat look. He really shouldn’t be surprised, but: “Are you telling me that you’ve been using powerful shapeshifting magic this entire time and don’t understand how it works?”

“Um,” Twilight sweats a little. “No? Not really. It just works.”

…It just works, he says. How these people survived their quests continues to astound him. Anyone remotely skilled in the arcane would know that messing with mysterious magic can be as dangerous as it is rewarding. Someone has to do it, Dark supposes... He himself has caused a small catastrophe or two in the Dark World – nobody really needed that temple anymore anyway – and he doubts Twilight had much choice in the matter. Especially if he had to use his shapeshifting to eventually defeat the evil that gave him his title as a hero.

“You use dark magic to change into a wolf,” he clarifies, keeping the explanation as simple as possible. Not because he thinks the heroes wouldn’t understand, they have way too many magical artifacts to be completely clueless, but because his patience perished somewhere back in the woods along with the ‘who’s Hylia’ questions. “And light magic to change back.”

In other words: shadow magic. A precarious balance of light and dark magics that coexist only because of what Dark assumes is raw spite. The Hero of Twilight had mentioned Twili before, but they used almost exclusively dark magic, or so he’s heard, something normal Hylians can’t do without consequence. The absurdity of calling any of the heroes normal aside, even they would need something to counter the effects.

The thread of gold stitched into Twilight’s hand, and the subtle hum of light echoing in his bones, definitely has something to do with that.

Twilight tugs the crystal out from beneath his tunic, looking at it thoughtfully. The gems hangs from the long leather cord, its spikey shape swaying gently in the sun. The dark magic within seems to press against the confines of the crystal, making the orange patterns etched into the form glow ever so slightly.

“This is what I use,” he explains. “It’s a crystal made of the same dark magic that I fought against in my era. Touching it transforms people into spirits or beasts.”

Similar to what happens to Hylians if they somehow stumble into the Dark World or other dark magic afflicted places, which is what Dark had assumed happened to Wolf-boy when they first met. However, the power has clearly been altered from its original state, tempered by light magic into a less hazardous item that Twilight could use without the worry of dark magic’s more risky effects.

“Sounds dangerous,” Warriors comments, leaning in to squint at crystal. “Are you sure you should be using it?”

“It’s safe,” Twilight replies. He hesitates, then adds: “For me, at least. I used it so often on my journey that the transformation has become second-nature.”

Dark suspects that it would be safe for any of the heroes to use, at least in regards to not turning them into mindless monsters. They all have plenty of light magic thrumming through them to counter that particular effect. As for being able to change back and forth at will, that’s a skill Twilight would have learned through repeated use. Shapeshifting is something that takes time and effort to master, as Dark can personally attest. The crystal allows Twilight to cheat somewhat, but Dark is still impressed at how well he wields it.

Twilight tucks the crystal back beneath his tunic, away from any curious fingers. Probably a good idea, given the heroes’ natural instincts to grab and collect items they probably shouldn’t.

“Wait, wait,” Wild interrupts. “Who wins the bet, then? Time or Four?”

Is that really the important thing here?

“Twilight wins,” Dark declares. “For suffering through those dumbass nicknames.”

Time and Four look at each other, then Twilight abruptly finds himself two blue rupees richer. He stares at the gems in his hands with resignation, like he didn’t really win anything at all. Alas, there are not enough rupees in the world that could buy him back his dignity.

“The names weren’t that bad,” Wild defends. They pause, then amend: “…Except for Four’s.”

Four nods in agreement.

“They were all bad!” Twilight objects. He shoves the pity-rupees into his bag. “Please don’t ever use ‘em again.”

Wind looks up at him with big, pleading eyes. “Can I still call you Wolfie?”

Twilight caves almost immediately. “…Yeah. But that’s the only one.”

Dark is still going to call him Wolf-boy. The nickname wasn’t mentioned before anyway, so technically it hasn’t been banned. He’d use it even if it was.

“I still can’t believe you’ve been Wolfie this whole time,” Hyrule laments. “It’s so obvious in hindsight!”

Twilight huffs. “Yeah, well, that’s hardly your fault if I was tryin’ to hide it.”

“Why did you hide it?” Warriors asks next. Curious, if a little miffed.

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Sky offers with a gentle smile.

“I’d like to hear them,” Warriors presses, stern. “If we’re to work as a team, it’s important to know about such things. If we had known, you wouldn’t have needed to run off into a bush or something to transform for battle, and I wouldn’t have thought you were missing half the fights!”

Twilight hesitates, casting a glance at Dark.

“Don’t look at me, Wolf-boy,” Dark deflects, crossing his arms. “I said I’d defend you from attempted murder, not questions.”

Warriors chokes. “Murder?”

Twilight winces. “Not murder. But, well… It is dark magic. All of you made your feelings clear on the matter last night.”

He watches the heroes put the pieces together, horrified realization dawning on their faces.

“What?! Twi, we wouldn’t have attacked you!” A shocked Warriors replies, quick to deny the claim.

“I didn’t think you would, originally,” Twilight interrupts, before the others can add in their objections. “But how you reacted to Dark made me wonder if I’d be treated the same way.”

Warriors looks vaguely like he’d been punched in the gut by a Goron, and the rest don’t look much better.

“To be fair,” Dark says, and ugh, defending the heroes’ past actions feels gross. “We were enemies before this quest.” Half of them, anyway. “The whole non-murdery thing is new.”

“And it will continue,” Time reiterates, shaken that Twilight thought otherwise. Although the heroes have already said so, it’s nice to hear the idea reinforced. Twilight’s place in the group is something Dark never doubted, but his own… well. Ancient forces bent on the destruction of the world may throw a bomb flower into that particular mix.

“I know that,” Twilight replies. “…Now.”

“I’m sorry our actions made you feel unsafe,” Time says with honesty. His expression remains troubled, almost haunted. “And am very thankful you gave us another chance to prove ourselves worthy of your trust. What changed your mind?”

Twilight gestures to Dark. “He did.”

Time turns his attention to Dark. His face shifts into surprise, or something close to it. A small, gratitude-filled, smile forms. “I see.”

Dark really wishes people would stop looking at him like that. It’s confusing, and he hates being confused all the damn time. “I also told him that you are all a bunch of softies that wouldn’t care about his side gig as a part-time dog.”

The softies squawk and complain at being called out, almost as loud as their initial shock at Twilight’s transformation. Legend and Warriors are particularly offended, as if the truth hurts or something. Wind puffs up like a tiny burr, which makes him even less intimidating. Four can’t seem to decide if he’s insulted or not. Time just looks amused.

“…That was not the phrasing you used,” Twilight argues petulantly, “And I’m not a dog.”

“Perhaps,” Darks allows. His vague knowledge of animals aside, he doesn’t think he’s too far off. “But you’re sure as shit a softie.”

Twilight sputters. “I am not!”

“Uh huh,” Dark replies, unconvinced. There’s no other reason that Twilight found a strange dark magic entity in the middle of the night, who then threatened him with a sword, and decided ‘yes, this is friend material’. While Dark much prefers this outcome over getting killed, and is still confused as to how it happened at all, it does little to lessen the softie allegations.

The other heroes, who have proven themselves to be non-lethal towards both Dark and dark-magic wolves, are just as bad.

Twilight’s continued protests go ignored as Hyrule asks: “What part of us attacking you and locking you in prison is soft?”

Dark rolls his eyes. “The part where you didn’t let me bleed out before I got there.”

They’d healed him, or tried to. Helped him, despite the distrust. A hardened soldier wouldn’t have done that, and such mercy would get you killed in places like the Dark World.

Hyrule cringes slightly. “That’s not a high standard.”

Maybe not, but it’s a good one. “You also didn’t kill me outright.”

Again. If they had, Dark would never have suggested to Twilight to reveal his dark magic to them, no matter how terrible the man is at keeping secrets. He also would have time-travelled right back to them after recovering and been an absolute bastard about it.

“That’s… That’s an even worse standard.”

Dark shrugs. If it keeps him alive during this quest, it is, quite literally, a standard to live by.

“So far a sword has been more dangerous than any of you.” A literal inanimate object has proved more deadly than all of Hylia’s heroes… What has the world come to?

“Swords can be plenty dangerous,” Sky replies, completely missing the point but bringing up another.

“Only as dangerous as their wielder,” Dark argues. The most powerful sword in existence would be completely useless without a hand to hold it, or that hand having the skill to use it properly. “But I’m not counting that dumb Lizalfos that was holding the Gloom-cursed blade. It was hurting itself as much as it was hurting us.”

The Gloom had been so potent that it had been eating away at the scales of the Lizalfos’ hand. A while longer, and it may not have had a hand. Dark shudders.

“That reminds me,” Twilight asks, apparently recovered enough from his denial. “Do you still have the cursed sword? It might help me narrow down the scents.”

Dark is honestly surprised Twilight remembered that he’d stored the sword away, as loopy as he was. Still, it’s a good idea. The sword is unique… Even if it doesn’t have a scent itself, Twilight would definitely find the scent of the Lizalfos on it. Which is probably going to smell gross, like burnt scales and gore, and Dark doesn’t envy Twilight at all.

“Yeah, one second,” he relies, reaching a hand out. Normally he’d summon items directly into the shadow cast on the underside of his palm, but this time he purposefully keeps his shadow firmly on the ground. Carefully extracting the sword, not wanting to come into direct contact lest he have a repeat of last night.

The shadow deepens, growing darker in color until the green of the grass all but disappears. Then, stretching forth from his shadow’s hand, the shape of a sword forms. He drags the weapon up from the depths until it breeches the surface, the darkness peeling away, to deposit the cursed weapon onto the earth at their feet. The grass beneath it quickly begins to curl and wither.

Immediately, several of the heroes flinch.

“By the Light, that’s what hit you?” Hyrule says, aghast.

“Light has nothing to do with it,” Four mutters.

“It reminds me of…” Sky whispers worriedly, “But how…”

“Dangerous, indeed…” Time remarks lowly, his right eye cracking open slightly as he observes the weapon.

At a glance, the sword appears average. Plain, boring, unembellished steel. The guard is straight, the grip wrapped in white bleached leather strips, and a rounded pommel completing the base. In any other circumstance, Dark would have taken one look at the weapon and considered it nearly worthless.

If it weren’t for the absolutely foul miasma rolling off of it, flickering in eerie red flames.

“You’ve had the cursed sword this entire time??” Legend complains loudly.

Dark blinks, confused by his sudden ire. Didn’t they already agree that leaving deadly artifacts laying around was a bad idea? “Yes?”

“And you didn’t tell us?” Warriors is quick to add, equally annoyed.

“No?” Why would he tell them? Dark may have won some hard-earned non-murdery points, but he’s still convinced that if he’d shown them the sword last night, that he would have been accused of cursing Twilight. The trust just wasn’t there. It’s barely here now.

“We could have tried to counter the Gloom, if we the source to work from,” Legend continues, still aggravated.

Maybe they could have, but Dark doesn’t think that’s the whole issue here. “And you don’t like a former enemy having such a dangerous weapon.”

He winces slightly, caught. “…That, too.”

At least he admits it. The captain had already made his dislike known about Dark having access to weapons at all, let alone cursed ones. It doesn’t surprise him that others may share the sentiment. Too bad for them, because there’s no way he’s giving up his hoard.

He’s happy to get rid of this one, though.

“Well, rest assured, the only thing I have planned for this stupid chunk of metal is its destruction,” he states. He ponders the blade, musing wistfully: “A pile of explosives would do, or maybe some holy smiting if the Master Sword is up for it.” He glances at the sword hanging off of Sky’s back, then to the increasingly perplexed captain. “How far away is Death Mountain from here? I’ve always been fond of throwing things in lava.”

Unfortunately, Warriors answers, thrown off but with a clear: “Uh… Pretty far.”

“Damn,” Dark pouts. It makes the most satisfying sizzle.

“I’d be willing to try the Master Sword, though,” Sky offers, hand reaching for the hilt. “It didn’t seem to do much against the Gloom once it afflicted Twilight or you, but maybe it’ll work on the source directly.”

Dark’s thoughts fumble. “…or me?”

Sky blinks. “Oh. Yeah, when you collapsed, one of the things we tried was using the Master Sword to counter the curse. It seemed to help Twilight a bit, so…”

He trails off with a shrug, smiling kindly, like he hadn’t just admitted to using the Sword that Seals the Darkness on a dark-magic being. Dark’s skin crawls at the thought, and the many other thoughts of the previous times the sword had been pointed at him. He’s suddenly very glad that he’d been unconscious.

“Did that… do anything?” He asks uncomfortably. He hadn’t had to heal any Light-related damage…

“About as much as it did for Twilight.”

So, not really. Still, the Master Sword was used on him… and had not burned him into a crispy pile of dark magic dust? He’s baffled, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it as Sky draws the sword in question. She hums brightly, apparently eager for some smiting other than Dark’s.

“Don’t touch it directly,” Dark warns, stepping back as Sky points her at the cursed sword. “It was able to corrode things on contact.”

Twilight’s chainmail and Dark’s reinforced glove, plus both of their shields, had been ruined by the Gloom. Aside from the practicality of not melting any more of their equipment, if he allowed the Master Sword to be damaged or become corrupted, Hylia might just smite him purely for the offense.

“Does storing the sword in your shadow hurt you?” Twilight asks suddenly. Dark looks away from the blaze of light magic as Sky activates her power, to see Wolf-boy scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. He should have figured his attention would catch on a detail like that.

“No,” he answers truthfully. “The space in my shadow is separate from me. So long as I keep it away from the rest of my stuff, it can’t curse or melt anything in there.”

That said, he’d rather not have to hold on to it. Despite its uniqueness, this is the one weapon his hoarder tendencies want nothing to do with. The more Sky can smite it, the better.

“How does your shadow store stuff?” Wild asks, toeing at the edge of his shadow with their foot as it dances and flickers from the light of the Master Sword. Dark is tempted to steal their boot, just for fun.

“How does your slate store stuff?” he counters, mercifully leaving Wild’s boot be.

Wild unhooks the Sheikah slate from their belt and stares at it for a long moment. “…I have no idea.”

Dark snorts, amused and not at all surprised. “The short answer is magic.”

“And the long answer?” They ask curiously.

“Is fucking long, and I’m not going to get into it now,” he says, with a dismissive wave. They’d be standing in this clearing for hours if he tried to explain the intricacies of folding together magical spaces, though it’s really no different than the bottomless bags some of the others have equipped, and he’d rather move on. Whatever forces they’re up against aren’t going to wait around. “We’ve got shit to do.”

Wild pouts as Dark returns his attention to the Gloom sword. …Which is looking significantly less Gloomy. The Master Sword blazes against the dark magic within the blade, burning away at the edges with an incessantly bright light. As he looks closer, though, he sees those edges grow more distinct. Steadier. More solid. Confined, as if compressed within an invisible barrier.

Then, her magic dims. The task, apparently, complete.

Sky opens his eyes, having closed them to focus her power. He looks at the Master Sword with a small smile, then down to the cursed sword on the ground. The grass around it is no longer wilting, and the unearthly red glow no longer present. Tentatively, he asks: “Did it work?”

Dark toes at the sword with his boot. When the leather sole doesn’t immediately begin to melt, he says:

“Yes.” Sky smiles, pleased, only to frown a second later when he continues: “And no.”

“What?” The caped hero says, confused. “But…”

“No, he’s right,” Legend says, kneeling down by the blade and looking at it with a keen eye. Dark wonders if his magic senses are as sharp as his own. Doubtful, since he couldn’t even sense Dark hiding away in Wild’s shadow. “There’s still dark magic in the sword.”

He watches the curse writhe angrily within the confines of the metal, bound within and unable to escape. He shivers.

The Sword that Seals the Darkness is an apt title indeed.

It also explains why the Master Sword was unable to help Twilight or him. She could contain the curse, seal it away, but not destroy it outright. This stopped it from spreading further, but any damage dealt couldn’t be undone by her power alone. Similar to the effect of a moonpearl, just more powerful and not limited to having it equipped all the time.

“But not outside of the sword,” Dark elaborates further. “Which is good, because that’s when it caused problems.”

He tenses a little when Legend reaches out to hover a hand over the hilt. The hero taps it once, testingly, with the tip of a finger. When that does nothing, he grabs on, lifting it from the ground as he stands.

“When I said it wasn’t actively cursing shit anymore, that wasn’t a queue to just grab it,” he remarks dryly, as the others lean in to inspect the now-harmless sword.

“Would you prefer I leave it on the ground?” Legend rolls his eyes, like he hadn’t just tested a formerly-but-still-kind-of cursed object with his bare hands and no protection whatsoever.

“I’d prefer to blow it up.”

Legend waves him off with his free hand. “Later. I want to see if there’s a way to counter this thing other than a mysterious, very limited, potion from thousands of years in the future.”

“Too late for that, don’t you think?” Hyrule asks. “If the Gloom has been sealed, there’s no point in trying to counter it now.”

“Maybe, but evil has a habit of popping back up at the worst times,” Legend says with a grim, yet resigned look. “I’d rather be prepared.”

Dark hums. He’s not wrong. Demise certainly never gave up with any of its world-ending endeavors. Dark has a feeling that it had something to do with the Gloom, with how similar to Malice it is. If so, he doubts it would stop at just one sword. Not when the Gloom could easily kill or seriously injure one of Hylia’s Heroes.

“In that case,” he says, stretching his shadow back out. “I should probably give you these.”

And he dumps out the rest of the Sunny Elixirs into a shiny gold and glass pile. The bottles clink and clatter as they settle in a haphazard mound, some tumbling off or rolling into the surrounding heroes’ boots.

Amid the gasps of surprise, Legend sputters. “You have more? Why didn’t you say anything earlier??”

Ugh, not this again. “Should I have waited for someone to be bleeding out?”

“No, but it would have saved us a lot of worrying over nothing!”

He wouldn’t call it nothing, since the Sunny Elixirs aren’t exactly infinite.

“Then keep worrying, because what you see here is all we’ve got,” Dark replies, gesturing to the pile. Exactly ten total. He does not like how… coincidental… that number is. He looks around the group of exactly ten people counting himself, and adds: “So nobody get cursed more than once.”

“How about if nobody gets cursed at all,” Time stresses. He gives Dark another appreciative look. “These are good to have and I thank you for sharing them,” he looks back to the group, “but we still need to be cautious. No one should take unnecessary risks just because these are available.”

“We’re not new at this,” Legend mutters irritably. Dark is, but he’s not going to admit it. “And there is one more, remember?” He digs his hand through the small pouch on his belt, withdrawing the Sunny Elixir that he’d swiped the night before. The bottle warps and grows as it’s brought out, the magic of the bag making items much larger than should be possible to fit within. “So we have an extra.”

Oh, good. Just in case someone is feeling particularly dumb or self-sacrificey.

“Give it to Twilight, he has terrible luck,” Dark suggests.

“Hey!”

Legend hands it to Twilight without argument.

“Hey!” Twilight repeats, aggrieved.

“Sorry not sorry, Twi,” Wild grins, nudging his pelt-covered shoulder. “The Gloom and you have history.”

“I’ve been hit with it once,” he argues. “And so has Dark!”

Dark does have the tendency to be stabbed by magical weapons… “I also have a moonpearl, which will counter the Gloom long enough to not die.” Hopefully. It’s not like he was able to test a moonpearl’s effectiveness long-term. “Just take the Elixir. You’ll probably be all heroic and try to give it away anyway.”

He really doesn’t have a paw to stand on, not when he was willingly going to give away his one and only health potion while he was actively bleeding out. Twilight seems to realizes this, begrudgingly taking the bottle.

“…Fine. Let’s just hope none of us need it,” he says, snatching up his second Sunny Elixir from the pile.

“Don’t jinx us,” Legend mutters.

The rest of the Sunny Elixirs are dispersed and tucked away into the various bags, pouches, or other magical storage devices, the pile dwindling down until there’s only one left. Dark stretches his shadow over it, the golden glow vanishing as it drops back into the darkness.

“Can you still track the sword’s scent now that it’s been zapped by the Master Sword?” Dark asks Twilight, since all the distractions featuring magic swords, elixirs, and wolf transformations seem to be over.

“Let’s find out,” Wolf-boy says, and his form is immediately swallowed by fractals of shadow. His shape shifts down from two legs to four, fur forming and face stretching into a canine silhouette. The sigil on his face glows with a white-blue light, almost inverted from the black-gray of the tattoo in his Hylian form. When the magic settles, the wolf is there, waiting.

Legend holds out the formerly-cursed sword.

Twilight sniffs it, sneezes twice, then sets off.

It doesn’t take long to find something.

They’ve been following Twilight through the woods for barely ten minutes, when Dark’s magic senses snag on something. He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes snapping to it, because that should not be here. Dark stares ahead, vaguely aware that his sudden stop has alerted the others.

“Did that tree do something to offend you?” Warriors asks after a moment.

Dark tears his attention away from the magic in the distance to find the group has stopped with him. Tense and wary, eyes roving the area for threats.

“I thought it looked a bit like you, and that was offensive enough,” he snipes back, unaware that he’d been staring at, or rather through, a tree the whole time.

Warriors sputters at the insult. The others relax slightly at the snark, apparently reassured that nothing was immediately wrong.

“Did something else catch your eye?” Time asks, amused yet serious.

Dark hums. He could just tell them, but it may be easier to show them. His eyes flick from the magic to Twilight. “I don’t think we’re going to need your nose anymore, Wolf-boy,” Dark remarks, then walks off into the forest.

Twilight shapeshifts back, his shadow magic looking downright pale in comparison to what Dark can sense looming ahead of them.

“What is it?” he asks, his sword already in hand.

Dark doesn’t say anything. In a few more steps, they’ll know anyway.

The forest gives way to a small clearing, and there, wedged between the crumbling stones of an ancient structure, lost between the overgrown trees with pillars sticking up from the ground like forgotten bones, is a portal.

Dark stares at it, and answers.

“The next step in our adventure.”

Chapter Text

What the hell is that doing here?

“Another portal?” Sky states, a bit redundantly.

Not just any portal… a Gate. Or, more specifically, the exact kind of timeline tearing made by the Gate back in the Dark World.

But… why is it here? Portals made by the Gate always snap closed the second it’s done sending things or monsters through, as if impatient or too bothered to care to stay open longer than necessary. They don’t stay open.

“Guess so,” Twilight stares at the portal contemplatively. “This is the direction the scent trail was leading, so I’d bet this is where the monsters came from.”

“Lots of tracks, too,” Wild notes, scuffing the toe of their boot through the distinct footprint of a Lizalfos. It’s surrounded by dozens of similar prints, having trampled the greenery and dirt. Lizalfos and Stalfos by the look of them, matching the bastards that ambushed Twilight and him.

“Time to find out where they came from, then,” Four states.

“And if there are any more,” Time intones.

Well shit, okay. Guess they’re doing this. Immediately. How foolish of him to think that heroes might hesitate to jump through mysterious rifts filled with the promise of danger.

“Finally! A real lead!” Wind exults.

“And only two people had to nearly die for it,” Legend states dryly, with pessimism Dark can sympathize with.

“…but they didn’t!” Wind presses on cheerily, with optimism he can’t sympathize with. Where does the kid get it from? Is it contagious?

“Let’s keep that record going,” Time requests politely. “Is everyone ready?”

No. Not really. Dark continues to stare down the portal as the others triple-check their gear, making sure they have everything they need for the adventure to come. After all, if they accidentally left something behind in another timeline, they’d probably never get it back. Or cause a paradox. The part of his mind not focused on the portal wonders if that’s how they find some of it, or why magical artifacts sometimes appear in strange places.

The part of his mind not debating on whether testing a time paradox by leaving behind a weapon or artifact that definitely shouldn’t exist in Warriors’ era, is quietly panicking.

The Gates only ever led to one place.

The Dark World.

“Something wrong?” Wild asks, breaking him out of his staring contest with the portal. Probably a good thing, as he was starting to get dizzy watching it spin.

The question is quiet, but it catches the others’ attention anyway.

“Not really,” Dark lies. To go back to the Dark World, to Demise… he shudders, dread crawling up his spine. He knew it would happen eventually, but so soon… “It’s just… why is this here?”

Wild frowns, not understanding. “I mean, the monsters had to get here somehow, yeah?”

How should he word this that doesn’t sound like he knows exactly how these portals are supposed to work, and that staying open for hours after isn’t it? “It takes a stupid amount of magic to tear a rift through time,” he goes with. “I’ve only ever seen them open for minutes, if that, summoning whatever they’re summoning, then snapping shut. They don’t stay open.”

Unless you’re a god or goddess of unfathomable power and can just do that. Including, but not limited to, ferrying around a small mob of heroes to fight against evil.

“Cia kept them open plenty long enough,” Warriors reminds him, tone cold. “Summoned entire armies of monsters into Hyrule.”

Including you, went unsaid, but Dark can practically read it on his lips.

“Do you see Cia around?” Dark snaps back, gesturing to the overgrown ruins around them. Which are, thankfully, empty of any insane witches. “She couldn’t have pulled that shit off on her own anyway, not without the Triforce.”

This is Warriors’ era, though… and the portal swirling in front of them is smaller than the ones Cia could create at her full strength, so it wouldn’t have needed as much magic to make. A wayward time sorceress wouldn’t be a bad guess, if Dark didn’t know any better.

“The crazy lady had the Triforce?” Wind asks.

Warriors grimaces. “Temporarily, yes.”

“Like, the whole thing??”

“Temporarily,” Warriors repeats, clearly hating being reminded of the defeat. Then he sighs, sobering. “But that’s all the time she needed.”

Cia had also used some sort of Gate, though it was different from the one in the Dark World. Dark can’t recall it in detail, he hadn’t been in any state of mind to ponder over the intricacies of the spell while dying repeatedly to the hero in front of him, but the magic had felt similar.

“The point is,” Dark interrupts before the topic could derail further. “Portals don’t usually stay open without a constant supply of magic.”

A magic supply that clearly isn’t here in the rubble of an ancient ruin in the depths of a no-name forest.

“Portals can be weird,” Wind offers. “Like the one in the ceiling that dropped you off last night.”

Dark waves away the suggestion. “That was Hylia’s doing.”

“And this isn’t,” Time says. A statement more than a question.

If Hylia is insulted at the implication that she might be responsible for the mess of dark magic tearing a hole through reality in front of them, she doesn’t smite anyone for it.

“Definitely not,” Dark replies dryly. “It’s all dark magic.”

“Hylia wouldn’t send monsters through anyway,” Sky repeats his words from earlier. “So, the real question is: who made this portal?”

Why are they keeping it open, is Dark’s question, because the answer isn’t likely to be good. Another ambush? A trap? If Demise was smart about it, which it does manage occasionally when not rotting in its never-ending hatred, it could easily send all the Heroes to the Dark World then snap the portal closed, trapping them within. The portal could even drop them right into its ugly, oily maw.

Needless to say, Dark does not trust this thing. At all.

“Nobody friendly, if they’re sending mobs of monsters through,” Twilight replies. He looks over to Dark, adding: “Guess your ambush theory was correct.”

He really wishes it wasn’t. “Maybe.”

“We’re not going to answer any of these questions here,” Time decides, regarding the portal a moment more before returning to checking over his gear. “Ready yourselves, we need to move forward.”

There is very little Dark can think of that would ready himself, or the others, they end up in the Dark World.

The portal might not lead there… Some other idiot could be running around with a dumb amount of dark magic and the knowledge of how to tear through time. It’s not impossible. In fact, he’s fairly certain even Cia hadn’t managed to reach that far. Most of the monsters she had gathered for her army weren’t native to the Dark World.

Dark thinks back to the Lizalfos and Stalfos that attacked them last night. The Dark World does have Lizalfos, but they look different. More animalistic, with horns on their heads. Same with the Stalfos, who wore the bones of Hylians. The ones in the Dark World usually rattle around as the remains of Stalkoblins or Stalizalfos.

He would assume if the portal led to the Dark World, the monsters from it would also be from there. So… maybe they aren’t about to walk right into the Dark World and die horribly at the hands of an angry god.

…Ugh. Is this optimism? Maybe it is contagious.

“Ready?” Time asks the group.

No, he almost says, but eight other affirmations overrule the thought.

He sighs. “Let’s go, before it snaps shut halfway.”

What would happen if it the connection closed with them inside? Best case scenario, they’d be scattered into random timelines, or maybe dumped together into a random one.

Worst case scenario… stuck in between.

“Can portals… do that?” Wind asks warily, poking into it with his sword. Despite the flat shape, the weapon does not stab through to appear on the other side. Instead, it disturbs the black and purple swirl slightly, the tip of the blade visually warping as it vanishes into the depths.

“I’d rather not find out.”

That seems to be a reasonable enough point, and they turn to face the portal. It swirls before them, waiting, like a maw waiting to be fed.

Ah, pessimism. Much better.

The dread doesn’t ease, but as he watches the heroes disappear into the time-lost depths, he thinks:

Well, at least I’m not going into this shit-show alone.

He walks through.

Dark blinks, squinting into a sunny courtyard.

So, definitely not the Dark World.

He stares back at the portal, baffled and relieved, before turning to stare at the entrance of the massive temple that stands before them. Like many such places, the building is large, imposing, and alive. Every brick, every pillar, every intricately carved façade hums with magic.

At the same time, this temple is old. Forgotten. The magic within the stones slumbers, slow and sluggish, without purpose or direction. There are other flickers of something in the depths, but it’s too far or faint for Dark to feel anything significant.

“So, the monsters came from in there?” Wind asks, his expression determined and excited as he faces down the entrance.

“The pillars look familiar,” Hyrule remarks, studying a weird statue of a… what even is that? A dragon? A rather short and shrunken dragon, along with the series of pillars that line the courtyard on each side.

“We must have travelled back in time,” Legend replies, looking around. “These look like the ruins in the forest, just not, well, ruined.”

Dark had not cared to remember the architecture of broken rubble of all things, but with a second glance, they are similar. However, the ruins in the forest were nearly unrecognizable from the building in front of them. Before, there were no artfully arranged pillars, or carved façades, or statues staring creepily at them from the grass... Here, there were no trees swallowing the stonework, or foliage covering the carvings. The entire three or four level structure was simply gone, in the future. Lost to time. It’s unnerving, to know this place will one day no longer exist, except to memory.

Memory, and the occasional time-travelers.

“Stay together,” Time orders, stepping forward to lead the way in. “We don’t know what we’re in for.”

Warriors falls in behind him, followed by Hyrule, Sky, Legend, and Wild. Dark hesitates for half a heartbeat before falling into line after Wild. The building is huge, but the entrance is small… the hallway growing even more narrow as it leads further inside. Twilight, Wind, and Four follow him in, but he’s too distracted trying to ignore the press of the walls to note in which order.

“Never do, with dungeon diving,” Four remarks, from somewhere behind him.

“A dungeon, huh?” Warriors looks around curiously, though there’s not much to see except for bricks. “Can’t say I’ve ever been in one. Are they all like this?”

…What.

The heroes jolt, shocked, as if someone jabbed them with a lightning rod.

“You’ve never been in a dungeon?!” Wind yelps, the sound echoing down the hall.

“Is that strange?” he asks, to his bewildered audience. Even Dark breaks out of his battle with the walls to stare.

Better yet, to tease. “What kind of hero hasn’t completed a dungeon?” he snipes, because annoying Warriors is an excellent distraction.

Warriors confusion turns into a glare. “And I’m sure you’re an expert.”

He isn’t, not by a canon shot. If they’re referring to just temple or dungeons in Hyrule, they only ones he’s familiar with are ones he’s been summoned to. Most of the time he was confined to one room, unable to explore so much as a step beyond it. Even when he could, like one of the fights with Legend, he could only ever go where the hero was.

He has explored temples in the Dark World, but most are in worse condition than this one ends up being in the future, so he doesn’t think that counts. The Temple of Darkness comes to mind next, but that thing is more of a beast than a building, so.

“Moreso than you,” he lies, returning the scowl. He had not missed the ‘monsters in dungeons’ jab.

“Enlighten me, then,” Warriors counters, and ah… The consequences of running his mouth. Lovely.

“Every temple is different,” Dark brushes off the question, not willing to admit that he’s almost as clueless as him. “The only way to enlighten you is to experience one.”

Which they are currently doing, and honestly, Dark isn’t impressed. This hallway is long, and no amount of teasing Warriors seems to make walking it go any faster.

“He’s got a point,” Twilight agrees. “Dungeons have all sorts of unique enemies and puzzles.”

“And treasure!” Wind chimes in. “Don’t forget the treasure!”

Ah, yes, looting. Can’t forget the looting. If there’s anything he’s looking forward to within these walls, it’s the possibility of adding to his hoard. Investigating the mysterious quest too, of course, but that can come after the looting. Priorities.

“Many of those treasures are left by the goddesses to aid us on our journeys,” Sky says.

“Yeah, and blessings from sages and spirits,” Legend adds. Dark wrinkles his nose in disgust. He wants nothing to do with any ‘blessing’ a Sage would bestow. “There are some tools I wouldn’t have been able to complete my quest without.”

Dark has trouble believing that. The whole point of Hylia’s Heroes is that they don’t stop. No giving up until the job is done, no matter the obstacle. He tries not to think about why she apparently needs nine of them for this quest.

“The spoils of the battlefield can be just as rewarding,” Warriors remarks. “I never needed to dig around in old tombs… never had time to, either. Ganon had an army, and we met on the front lines to fight for Hyrule. Plain and simple!”

Dark bets that additional tools, from a goddess, sage, or otherwise, definitely would have helped. None of Dark’s stolen or scavenged equipment had any such blessings, but still they’ve saved his hide plenty.

Something catches his eye, and Dark smirks. “Did Ganon have any skulltulas in his army?”

Warriors blinks. “Skulltu—”

“Above!” Four shouts suddenly, also spotting the danger.

With a hiss, the massive spider drops down between them, cutting off Time and Warriors from the rest of the group. The skull-shaped body has far too many eyes, legs, and teeth for Dark’s liking. It hangs there threateningly, with jerky skittery motions, having missed its prey in the first lunge.

It’s a little funny to see the heroes scrambling to stab the thing. The hall is too narrow for them to get a proper swing in with a sword, Hyrule and Sky even managing to accidentally whack their elbows together at one point. Eventually, Time shoots it, taking it out with a single arrow to the back.

Time’s expression is stern, almost angry. “Focus! We are in a dungeon. Places like these are dangerous, no matter how experienced you are. Complacency only ever means injury.” The man directs his irritation directly to Dark next. Ah, crap. “If you see danger, warn us, don’t make light of it.”

Dark gives him a flat look. “If all it takes is an overgrown spider to take out a hero, we have other things to worry about."

Time doesn’t budge. “Worry about your teammates first.”

“And now we don’t have to worry about Warriors not looking up,” Dark replies cheekily. He wouldn’t find that experience on a battlefield. Despite this, neither Time or Warriors look very appreciative.

“When I said to enlighten me, that is not what I meant,” Warriors replies irritably.

“But it worked.”

“No, it almost got me bitten by a giant spider!”

Time sighs, pinching his nose. “Let’s move on,” he interrupts. “If anyone sees a threat, say something.”

They continue, the conversation picking back up as they walk, passing through more narrow hallways and small empty rooms that Dark hates. Legend keeps peering around corners, wary about traps. Every once in a while, someone breaks a pot, or disappears behind a random wall. Nothing besides rupees are found, but it’s interesting to see the heroes at work. Work that doesn’t involve stabbing things, that is.

Then, light. Just a bit of brightness from the hall ahead. As they walk closer, it grows, until the hall finally gives way to an open room.

It’s vast. Made even larger by the open ceiling, which pours in sunlight from above. The floor is alight with it, highlighting the abstract mural carved into the tiles. Surrounding them on all sides are massive pillars, larger than the ones outside in the courtyard, which support two additional levels. As they all file in, Dark sighs quietly in relief. At least they aren’t trapped by so many walls, anymore.

There are two entrances on each side, plus the one behind them.

All at once, they slam shut.