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Chapter Text

What is a tree?

If anyone should know, it would be the Great Deku Tree. His roots begin in the fertile soil of the Great Hyrule Forest, and stretch into ancient depths. His branches shield its secrets from sight. He has watched the land settle and grow. Change comes slowly to forests, and yet over millennia the Deku Tree has witnessed magnificent change.

So then, what is a tree?

A tree is growth, the renewal of green life. Though a tree may shed its leaves each year, it blooms anew in spring.

A tree is harmony, elements together in an act of creation. It feeds on the earth’s soil, and water from the seas, and sunlight from the sky. Three parts in perfect synthesis.

A tree is sanctuary. It grows tall and casts shade. Gives shelter to those beneath.

And as he looks upon the peace of the Korok Forest, the Great Deku Tree is proud of all that he has provided.

“Grandpa? Did you like my song?”

Truthfully, the Deku Tree is a little wearied of the familiar tune. Hestu stumbles upon the same songs time and again, always thinking them new…but the Tree will not dampen his spirit.

“A wonderful rhythm, my child,” he pronounces.

Hestu raises his maracas in joy. “Yaaaaaaay!”

The Tree chuckles. Koroks, like Hestu, are children of the forest. Formed of elemental magic, they do not age. Neither does their laughter fade with the passing of years. When each generation reaches the end of their long lives, their green energy returns to the forest to sire the next.

A beautiful process of rebirth…the Deku Tree has watched every iteration of his children return to the forest’s magic, and watched over every new one that emerges. They dance among his roots and rest within the hollows of his bark, until the time comes to start the cycle anew.

They still find ways to surprise him.

Hestu is a unique Korok, several times larger than his kin. Most sit at the height of a Blupee, small and easily overlooked. An excess of magic in his birth, the Tree thinks. A full canopy of leaves sits atop his wooden head where his smaller siblings have twigs. And yet, his maturity is every bit as shallow as his peers. Bark hiding young wood.

The magic mist that permeates the Lost Woods protects the Koroks’ isolated innocence. Without it, any intruder could stumble upon their hidden glade. Those who do not belong…those of ill intent, those who bear arms…the mist disorients and frightens, snatches them away when they stray from the path. Addles their mind, so they forget why they even came.

The Deku Tree’s focus drifts to metal near its roots. A foreign element in natural beauty. The Master Sword, target of treasure hunters and warriors for glory alike, slumbers in its stone pedestal. As it has since the goddess Hylia left it in his care.

One day, Hyrule and its people will have need of it again. Until then, it is best the burdened blade remains in rest.

The Deku Tree has never had strictness in him, he knows. He indulges his children’s every whim. When the sun’s rays shine bright through his leaves, they reach the Koroks with only the gentlest warmth. But the Master Sword is a weapon for warriors. The inhabitants of the Deku Tree’s forest had made a choice, long ago: their home would forever be a place of peace.

His children know not to approach the sword’s shine.

A southerly breeze stirs the forest floor. The Deku Tree turns his attention to it; it seems as though the wind carries news.

That alone is nothing strange. All winds do, for those who know how to listen. For the Deku Tree, rooted firmly, it is important to keep up with the world outside. But there is insistence in the way this one brushes through his branches, curling in something like apology.

“Oh,” the Tree says, in the middle of the quiet afternoon. “Oh, my.”

“Something wrong?” asks long-masked Irch.

“The Queen of Hyrule…has just died.”

The Koroks will not understand. To them, each outsider who finds their way through the mists is the same–foreign, and frightening. They hid themselves away during her visits. But just as a woody forest needs light and earth and water, so too does Hyrule need all its pillars.

The Great Tree will miss the confident woman who spoke with him for long hours. She had wielded her gifts with wisdom.

If the wind tells the story true, her daughter lives. Divine blood runs through Princess Zelda’s veins, the same as her mother. But she is young. At the rate Hylians grow…she would be helpless as a Korok, still. Not a pillar to depend upon.

And Calamity is rising. He can feel it, deep in his roots.

His children share confused glances. “What does ‘died’ mean?” asks lanky, gregarious Natie. “That a game?”

The Great Tree sighs. “No, child. Not a game at all, I’m afraid.”

If the princess had a hero of courage beside her, a knight of unbreakable spirit…the Deku Tree looks again to the Master Sword.

“Hestu,” he asks. “Would you play us another song?”

-

It is not simply Zelda, who is young.

That thought keeps the Deku Tree up late into the night, long after his Koroks have settled down under the soft glow of the forest’s sky. Thoughts of their princess, and their hero.

When the queen lived, and they knew of Calamity, it had been different. True, she could not have banished the threat with her gifts alone. Against Calamity…the demon that rages even now against his prison, who draws power from primordial evil…Hyrule needs the sword that seals the darkness.

It is known that the Master Sword does not tolerate inferior bearers. But if Hyrule’s Queen Regnant had requested its aid…a brave and devoted knight, chosen with her blessing, may have been allowed its partnership.

Would it have been enough?

The Deku Tree does not know. Ganon, the demon at the heart of Calamity…he is as much a piece of the kingdom’s destiny as the royal line is. As much as its heroes. Sometimes, in the fight for Hyrule, he wins. Dark days, those. Many dead and gone. It may have been such, against the queen.

But young Princess Zelda will be the one who faces him now. A knight devoted to her mother will not suffice.

No. In Hyrule’s destiny, a Zelda always needs a Link.

The first are simple to locate…in times of peace. Descendants of Hylia, all–abilities and wisdom passed from mother to daughter in a single unbroken chain. Links are different. They are born when a soul of great courage enters the world. Their destiny varies, as do the dangers they face, but whatever task is set upon their shoulders is borne proudly.

There has not been a Link born to this land, in this time.

The winds would know it if there had.

If Hyrule is fortunate, the princess will be an adult before Calamity emerges. Eleven years from now. If a worthy soul were born soon…any Hylian would be a child still in that time. When a threat like this faced Hyrule before, and a Link was too young…

But these thoughts are not for the Deku Tree. His most important duty has always been to provide shelter. The land needs sanctuary as much as it needs warriors.

And where better to rest, than under the leaves of a wise and mighty tree?

The Great Tree’s role is, as it has always been, far from the fighting. The missing Link is not his problem to resolve.

(Of course, evil has tried to corrupt the Tree’s strength before. To remove the shelter he provides, and weaken the balance of the kingdom.

If darkness pierces the Korok Forest once more…will they be ready?)

-

“Great Deku Tree!” Prank-happy Zooki floats with the aid of a spinning leaf. A crowd of his children has gathered near his roots, as is normal for a sunny morning. “You look kind of…not-fun today.”

The other Koroks–Kula and Pepp, nervous Oaki–murmur at Zooki’s observation.

The Tree moves his face into a vast smile, to reassure them. “I am simply thinking heavy thoughts, my young ones. Nothing for yourselves to worry over.”

It has been a month. There is no news. Destiny is a fickle force, indeed.

Pepp nods seriously. “You want a seed?”

He is a tree. “Very thoughtful, thank you.” But it hardly serves to chase off his troubles. Even his children seem to sense that.

The littlest of the Koroks offers instantly: “I can get Hestu.” They hop down from a large, curling root and scamper off before he can give a reply.

Careful Tasho calls, “Don’t get lost!”

“I won’t!”

The Tree smiles fondly. While few Koroks grow as large as Hestu, it is common for a few in each generation to be born especially small. With bright voices and soft bodies, even the other Koroks recognize these little ones instinctively as something to be protected.

“They’re a baby.” Kula shakes a rueful head after them. “Still get scared during hide-and-seek.”

They are little, and often the last to be found by whoever is seeking. They had confided in the Deku Tree once, on a somber night with stars glittering behind the mists, that they do not mind being alone sometimes. But when they hide, and it takes too long to find them…they grow afraid that no one wants to come looking.

The Koroks would never leave one of their own to be lost forever. The little one could not quite be persuaded.

“Their help is appreciated, nonetheless,” he tells his children.

It will not be enough to distract him from the problem of Link. Yet, he is heartened by his children’s kindness. Sometimes, when the Koroks are absorbed in their play, he wonders if games really are all that they are capable of. The Kokiri would have…

“The Kokiri would have solved this problem,” he murmurs. They would not have waited for a Link to find them. Not when they could charge forward themselves.

Drona tilts her stout head upward. “What’s ‘Kokiri’?”

It’s an innocent question. The only kind a Korok can ask.

“Warriors.” The Tree tells it like he would a story, his children listening with rapt attention. “Or they were, once upon a time. Mighty, tireless, able to best any foe.”

“Scary,” Oaki breathes. The others shiver, leaf masks rustling as if in a chill breeze.

“There are many kinds of warriors in this world,” he reminds them. “Both good, and evil. The Kokiri…it was never their fault. Much like you, they loved games. But, with their might…they saw the world itself as a game to be mastered.”

The little one returns with Hestu. The larger Korok must stoop to take the little one’s hand, and it is only their eager energy which allows that tiny body to ferry him forward. They declare, “I got him, Great Deku Tree!”

He smiles. “Many thanks, my child. We were telling the story of the Kokiri.” Hestu has never heard the story, either. “You might appreciate it, Hestu. The Kokiri liked to travel as you do. They would venture across Hyrule, seeking trials of all kinds.”

“Oh, wow. Trials!” Hestu scratches his chin. “Is a ‘trial’ the one that goes–ting!”

“Triangle,” the Tree corrects. Hestu is their forest’s musician. It is expected he would not understand a warrior’s ways. “A trial is a…a challenge, of some kind. A monster to fight. A dangerous ruin to explore. Feats of strength and agility.”

Hyruleans would tell stories of the Kokiri. The Great Deku Tree heard them all, carried to the forest by the winds. First, it was adoration. Admiration of their strength.

“You know the archer who slew that dreadful Gleeok? She passed through our village yesterday. She looked even mightier in person!”

The Kokiri were legendary figures, larger than life. To see one of these mysterious wanderers was a wonder, a tale that would be shared for generations to come.

But they were too strong not to draw scrutiny.

“If they live in a place like this,” said one, as he and his companion fled the Kokiri’s home and its magical protections, “what do you think it is they’re hiding?”

Suspicion soon became anger, became grief. If the Kokiri had to fight, Hyrule asked…why was it always so close to villages and homes? Why did they never care who got in the way? And in time–

“Kokiri warriors herald nothing but disaster and bloodshed.” Dire warning was all that remained. They hurt, more than they had ever helped.

“Perhaps it is true…they did not always think who might be harmed in the search of their fun.” It is a heavy admission, and hangs in the air. “But there was no malice in it.”

There are no stories told of the Kokiri now. They have been forgotten. Both by Hyruleans who wander close to the forest, and by the Koroks who live there now.

But the Deku Tree remembers.

How could he ever forget his own children?

“They were creatures of the earth, like you,” he tells the Koroks. “Not the hard rock of the Gorons at Death Mountain, but soft and fertile soil. Their bodies were vessels for the magic of the forest, one with nature and the land.”

“Were they good at hiding, too?” Linder asks.

“The Kokiri’s gifts were…wilder. Their stamina knew few bounds, bolstered by the sun and the green land itself.” A Kokiri could walk the breadth and length of Hyrule without once stopping to rest. Food was a curiosity, rather than a need.

And in combat…

“The Kokiri could master a weapon within minutes of picking it up,” the Tree goes on. “Climb mountains with their bare hands, shoot birds out of the sky. They were explorers, as well as warriors.”

Their chosen forms looked very much like Hylians. Every so often, a Kokiri might be born with hues of green in their hair that betrayed their origins. Otherwise, they could wander and mingle with the common folk as they wished.

The resemblance only ever faltered in the mischievous gleam of their eyes.

“That’s pretty cool,” Kula says. Then, “What happened to them?”

The Kokiri had never meant harm. They could even be heroes, in the right circumstance. It was never their fault.

But the Great Deku Tree had watched his children set out for adventure only to return…defeated. Light gone from their eyes, a lethargy in their bones. Mistrust and fear were hard to set aside. Until finally, he was approached with a heartfelt request–his own dear children wished to be remade. To set aside their ways of war, and become creatures of peace. They would give up everything, if only they would no longer be treated with such fear.

The Tree never could refuse his children.

Change comes slowly to the Kokiri Forest. But with the Deku Tree steering the Kokiri’s cycle of rebirth, every generation grew closer to their wish. Their human shapes ceased to grow. Born as children, they remained so their entire lives. They formed bonds with fairies drawn to the forest, and rarely ever left it.

They never seemed to mind that the Kokiri Forest village had been built for a people that found adulthood. That they could now only play pretend at the hard truths of the world. Their mighty weapons, replaced with wooden shields and children’s swords.

And its inhabitants now…the strongest blade in Hyrule rests in the Korok Forest. But they have lost all ability to wield it. Alien to their own ancestors, ignorant of the past they came from, the Koroks cast aside human limbs for wood and leaves. They hold no memory of what it means to be Kokiri.

But…

The Deku Tree chokes back a gasp. Indeed, any Korok could return to what they had been. That remembering is within them, if only they should think to ask for it.

It would mean surrendering…everything.

“A Kokiri could not live in this forest,” the Deku Tree says aloud, careful. “A knight, sworn to the way of the sword…”

“Scary,” Oaki repeats, solemn.

Tasho moves to shelter the little one, who squirms in the embrace.

The Tree chides them gently: “There are knights and warriors who are also great heroes. Who fight not for power, but to defend those in need.”

But he doubts his children will take that lesson to heart.

The Deku Tree’s young Koroks know little of hardship or strife. They fill their days with games, and death is a concept unknown. They understand fear, small and childish though theirs may be, and the land responds in kind.

Warriors do not belong in the Korok Forest. It is an unchanging truth, no matter how noble their reasons. Old and binding promises shape the nature of the place, like roots finding their path in soil. A warrior bearing the trust of the Koroks could enter their glade. But it will never be home ever again.

And therein lies Hyrule’s solution. If a Link will not be born, one must be made. A child of the forest, in choosing to take up arms, would be cast out from its shelter. And the choice would mark that Korok as a soul of true courage.

The transformation cannot be undone. One of the Great Deku Tree’s children will leave the forest forever. And that may save all of Hyrule.

(He is a tree. He is meant to give shelter.

How can he even think to hurt one who loves him?)

-

“Is there no other way, Goddess?” the Deku Tree asks. The night air is still. Even the stars seem dull. “Must I do this, to find the hero we need?”

The goddess is a force of the divine. She does not speak directly, not even to him. But he is used to interpreting the weight of the air, the energy of the ground. Imagining what it is Hylia might say, should she speak. It is a solid and unshakeable conclusion that meets him:

The story of Link is painful, however it begins. A happy home, with loving family–

And suddenly the Deku Tree can smell ocean on the air, hear a young girl’s laughter.

–or setting out through darkness alone.

Pumpkins and livestock, an earthy scent. A distant, mourning howl.

A Link will always meet with great strife. It is not…fair, the burden given to them.

This thought, this memory that is not his, is the faintest of all. He can only grasp a flash of red, soaring between clouds. And a taste of guilt, always lingering.

And yet, it must be borne.

Whatever the goddess feels, it does not stop her. Nor can it stop the Tree. All will be in danger if the Sword is not drawn–including his precious young ones.

“Um,” Peeks murmurs, days later. The Great Deku Tree has asked the children to avoid his rooting spot for a while. There are many Koroks, and he intends to speak with each of them in private. “That sounds really hard. So. No, thank you!”

The child who becomes the hero of Hyrule will have to offer their aid willingly. An act of courage cannot be forced.

The Deku Tree smiles down. “An honest answer, young one. Thank you for it. You may go and please, send Maca in.”

“I like the forest. It’s perfect!” Maca tells him. “I’d prefer not to leave, if it’s all the same.”

“Is there something smaller I can do to help?” Daz asks. “I do like seeing things from outside the forest. Like, arrows are nice and shiny, but I guess I don’t understand why you’d throw them.”

Walton does not wake from his nap long enough to listen.

The Koroks all have reason enough to refuse. Chio is responsible and mature for his kind, but does not see an appeal in travel. Hestu, who is brave enough to leave the forest on his own, quivers at the thought of fighting.

By the time he gets to Linder, the Deku Tree is tired.

“I like playing hide-and-seek,” the clover-faced Korok says. “I can hide for aaaaaaages if I want.”

It’s not quite a refusal. So he tries: “Adventure can be much like a game of hide-and-seek, young one. The mystery of exploration…the thrill of discovery. Are you not at all interested in playing the seeker in your games, instead of being the one hiding?”

Linder considers this. “No.” Of course not. The Tree’s spirits sink. His children argue over who should have to play seeker whenever they start a new game. They like to hide.

And they do not wish to try new things.

Had the Kokiri understood, when they begged the Great Tree to allow them peace, what it meant to live a life fully free of strife? Had he known what he was doing when he agreed?

The innocence of the Koroks is its own prison, at times. They do not think to step outside it. To explain to them pain, and loneliness…those Koroks who get so far in his request recoil from it, and leave him with a haunted look in their masked eyes that only slowly fades.

It may be, the Tree thinks…it may be that his children’s hearts no longer possess the capacity for courage such as Hyrule needs. But he must, at least, try.

The littlest Korok is sent in, stopping midway between the Deku Tree and the Sword. They take in the clearing, and remark: “This place looks different with everyone gone. It’s quiet.”

The glade where the Tree roots is wide and vast. The Koroks that cluster so closely bring it life and song. There is a different kind of beauty to its center without them. One silent, and still…but the little one has said they do not always mind the quiet. They sway with the wind and keep glancing away, as if in their own world.

But their green leaf mask is wide-eyed and curious, so he explains Hyrule’s plight.

“...you see,” the Tree finishes, “if the Calamity is allowed to take the kingdom, many of all kinds of people will die. The chosen hero…they will face great difficulty in fighting it. Hardship, and pain. But it is necessary to prevent even greater sadness. Do you understand, thus far?”

“Um, yeah. Okay,” they say. “I have a question.”

The Tree blinks. “Of course, little one.”

“What’s ‘die’, again? I heard…you said somebody died a while back. I don’t know…”

They trail off, and the Deku Tree breathes a sigh. “Imagine, if you will, that you were playing hide-and-seek with your friends–” He remembers their sadness at the thought of being left alone. “–and you could never, ever find them. No matter how hard you searched.”

It takes the young one full minutes to think on his words. Then they turn to the archway leading out to the Lost Woods.

“But they’re right over there,” the little one points out.

“They are,” the Tree concedes. “But imagine that they were not. And you wished to play, but could not find where they were. How terrible it would feel, to lose them forever.”

The young Korok’s mask always looks like a frown. It seems to grow as the little one insists, reaching with a small arm, “But they’re right over there.”

“And you are quite lucky, to always have your family in close reach,” he says. “The rest of Hyrule…many have suffered loss. Their young princess’s mother is gone forever. That sadness will never truly heal.”

There is silence. More fright, he thinks. Another refusal.

That is fine. All it means is that this Korok will continue with the life they have always known, the happiness that was promised to them at birth. The Deku Tree will ask another, and he will find a Link or he will not.

“Thank you, young one,” he says, hurried. “You can send the next–”

“Wait.”

The Tree waits.

The little one seems deep in concentration. When they look up at the Deku Tree, the eyes of their mask fix on him with intent.

“Um, so…my friends are right there,” they start. “And we get to play all the time, whenever we want.” There’s a short intake of breath. “But there are other people, who won’t? Who could lose their friends…forever…if the bad thing comes back. And then they won’t be happy. Like how I am right now.”

“Yes,” the Tree says. “There are many in danger, I am afraid.”

“And I can make them happy?”

The wind catches in the back hollow of the Deku Tree’s wooden throat. He feels a churning deep in his stomach.

“Not in quite that way,” he has to admit. “The world is vast, and unlike our little forest. No one can make anyone else find happiness. Yet…sadness can be fought. The hero who faces Calamity will do much to help others feel the way you do right now.”

“All I have to do is say yes?”

It is not so simple. He cannot let this little one think the matter is simple. There is courage in a simple act of bravery–but the hero of Hyrule will need much more.

“It will help. It is not all you’ll have to do. You will make hard choices, and keep making hard choices. And you may not succeed in making everyone happy.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” the little Korok grumbles.

“The world outside our forest is not always fun,” the Tree says. “It is the duty of those who live in it to press on, nonetheless.”

“But I can help them not be so sad. I can stop their friends from going away forever?”

“…For some.”

“I’ll do it.” The words are fierce. The Deku Tree had not known his children still possessed such determination. “If you need someone so everyone gets to be happy…I can do it.”

It is not the answer the Tree had expected. Let alone from one so small.

“You will have to leave this place, forever,” he warns, breathless. “You won’t be able to play with the friends you have had all your life. You may not find new ones where you go. It will be lonely. And one day, you will die…whether or not you defeat the Calamity.”

“No more friends,” they murmur.

“No more family,” the Tree adds. Hylian children have mothers, fathers to look after them. Brothers and sisters. This new Link will have no one. “Your memories of this life will disappear. You would not recognize the Koroks, when you saw them next. And they would not know you.”

“Lonely.” It’s a whisper, soft and mournful. That is what they fear most of all, the Deku Tree knows. They look up. “I can do it. Do you have to…will I lose my memories now?”

The Great Deku Tree had asked for bravery. But this is too much, too soon. He witnessed this one take their first steps, toddling carefully out into the forest. Heard their first excited words. This kind of heroism…he is glad it is so rare. He does not think he could bear it a second time.

“Come back in a week,” he tells them, trying to keep the aching grief from his voice. “Seven days. Give yourself time…to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” the young Korok murmurs. “Good-bye. Buh-bye. Hey, everyone!”

And the most courageous Korok in the entire forest runs back, to the rest of their family.

“I’m gonna leave forever soon! Buh-bye!”

Chapter Text

One week. Seven cycles of the sun across the sky. For the Great Deku Tree, it passes all too swiftly.

If the little one remembers that their time is limited, they do not show it. They play games with their siblings in perfect cheer, dance merrily to Hestu’s songs. Cause slight troubles and ruckus, with laughs of joy. Have they simply forgotten their promise, as Koroks are wont to do?

Traitorously…the Tree hopes.

But at dawn on the final promised day, while the other restful Koroks still doze, the Great Deku Tree opens his eyes to see the little one at the foot of his trunk. Waiting.

They ask, simply, “What do I do now?”

“You still wish to do this?” The Tree blinks carefully. “There is nothing left you want to do, while you still remain…here?”

The little one thinks about it. “Nuh-uh! I played seeker in hide-and-seek and I got to throw a arrow.” They speak of these events with reverence. Wondrous feats, never to be repeated.

The Tree murmurs, “That cannot be all you wanted out of this life.”

Their masked face tilts to the side. “You need this,” they say. “I can help. I already said buh-bye to everyone.” They had. Every single Korok in the forest. Such persistence is rare, for one of their kind. “So…”

He grimaces. A life cut short must still come with regrets. “Touch the sword.”

They hum, confused. “You said never to do that.”

“The Master Sword is not a weapon for Koroks,” he explains. “You are creatures of peace. But you…you will not be, soon enough. So you may touch the sword. It, and I, will handle the rest.”

“Okay.” The little one turns. “Oh, um. I forgot to say, earlier. …Buh-bye, Great Deku Tree.”

Something within the Deku Tree cracks. “Little one–”

They make a prancing run toward the pedestal. Always so impatient, so impulsive: before them, the sacred weapon looms, its shine harsh and blinding in the morning haze. The little one cannot reach more than a small way up the edge of its biting blade.

It only takes a brush against the metal.

Light bursts from the sword.

The Great Deku Tree’s magic–the magic of the forest–is one of growth and rebirth. Leaves which decompose on the forest floor may provide fuel for extant green. So, too, do the souls of old Koroks find transformation in their passing. And in that way, their descendants are born into the forest–a cycle of new life, as rich as the forest’s own delicate balance.

Once, that cycle helped the Kokiri to change their own nature. Now…

The gasp of pain his child gives echoes in the silence. Unfamiliar, and all the more haunting for it. He had not warned his child it would hurt, so much change all at once. Better, he thought, that they not have to be brave for it. The pain will pass.

It is the only thing which will.

Light cracks their small form open, roots inside drinking the power in like water. Wood shifts and swells taller, the green-leaf mask twisting in place as the body beneath lurches upward. The shadows it hides are no longer simple affectation. This darkness is a true void, sight slipping into endless depths until something at its core ignites.

The Deku Tree plants himself against the sword’s burning white light. He must steer the transformation. This one has chosen a destiny; the Great Tree will ensure they are ready for it. His child will be a true Kokiri warrior. He ignores the sick feeling of what he is betraying to do it.

Growth, twisted.

The missing piece of Hyrule’s harmony, taken by force.

A sanctuary, ripped away.

Radiance surges. The leaf flies off in a sudden gust. Unmasked for the first time since birth, the light almost obscures the little one’s horrible rictus scream.

And when it fades, the forest holds its breath.

A child of flesh and blood lies on the grass of the Korok’s glade. His chest rises and falls in gentle breath. It could almost be sleep, the Tree thinks.

He looks just like the heroes of old. Blond hair fans across the forest floor, picking up the dawn’s light to gleam with a brassy warmth. Rounded cheeks and tapered ears. Sharp brows even in rest, that make a delicate face into something striking to behold.

The Master Sword does not accept inferior bearers. She has a spirit and soul of her own. For the child to look as he does…she must have accepted his sacrifice as an act of true courage. Joined her own soul to his.

“Ugh,” the boy groans–for that is what he is now. A young, Kokiri boy. Unfocused eyes the blue of a cloudless sky squint upward, as he pushes himself from the ground.

It has been so long since a Kokiri was born to the forest.

The Deku Tree feels faint as he murmurs, “Hello, little one.”

The child gives him a pouting frown, cute in a way that tears the Tree’s heart. He has become too used to how Koroks show emotion, moving their whole bodies to express feelings hidden on covered faces. A Kokiri child is soft and open. They have no mask to hide behind.

“Hi,” the boy says. He must have had enough of the Tree’s staring.

“Hello,” the Tree repeats, feeling not at all like the wise and mighty protector of the forest. It takes so little for this child to unbalance him. He instructs the child, quickly, “Put on the clothing by the pedestal. You will need it when you reach your new home.”

The shirt and breeches are worn, and dusty from disuse. He had done his best to remember what a Kokiri might need, what might help him on his way. Little remains of their people, and getting the Koroks to even find these remnants was difficult. But they will suffice. Then there are nuts and mushrooms, a threadbare blanket and sack. Simple comforts. The boy will have few enough of those.

The child needs no help to don the clothing. He dresses and murmurs, “Pretty.” He looks up at the Deku Tree. There is an ache of curiosity in blue eyes when he asks, “Um. Who am I?”

And that truly is a terrible question. There is no solace the Deku Tree can give him in explaining he belongs to a people that no longer exist, that no Hyrulean alive has ever heard of. “Your name is Link. That is all that matters now.”

Link takes it, and nods. “And who are you?”

His family. His tormentor. The one who must send him away. “I am no one of significance. But I am afraid to say you must leave.”

“Oh.” The child that is Link has only been aware of himself a short time. He does not think to argue. “Right now?”

“Right now. There is no home for you here…you must find it elsewhere. Please,” he adds, “take the supplies before you. They will help you on your journey.”

“Okay.”

Link crouches on the forest floor and packs away his supplies. Each time he comes across something new–a mushroom, a nutty seed–he stops to examine it. As if never having seen its type before. It is unfair, the Tree reflects, to force one who knows so little of the world around him to make his own way through it.

But what else can he do? If the Deku Tree takes the time to teach him–takes him under his shelter–he will never be able to send him away. He does not have the strength.

And then Link finds the slingshot.

It is a child’s plaything. Barely a weapon. Some Kokiri youth in ages past had dropped it inside a rotted stump, to be found when the Deku Tree asked the Koroks to scavenge for supplies. Irch had held it out to the Tree upside-down, clueless to its true purpose.

There are dangerous creatures outside the forest. He had wanted Link to have some method of self-defense.

There is still something that feels to the Deku Tree like doom in the way Link’s fingers close instantly on the grooves of the handle. The boy hums, loading the sling with a hard nut. He did not know his own name when he awoke. He knows this. Link pulls back the band, and–

“Stop!” A panicked command, harsh and booming.

Link wilts. He lowers the weapon with hurt on his face.

He had not known what he was doing. He had not meant harm. And the worst of it is, the Deku Tree cannot say if he was afraid for his child in that moment…or of him. What he might do to the helpless Koroks, waking up all across the glade.

They had wanted a Kokiri hero. Someone for whom the ways of war come naturally.

An intruder, in safe haven.

The Deku Tree feels the magic mists roil outside the bounds of his glade. He cannot protect this child from their judgment. Not without confining him to this small circle. In his heart, Link has already made the decision to fight…and already, the forest begins to reject him.

The Tree closes his eyes a moment, and says, “Not…not here, child. You cannot stay for long. Once you have made your way outside the forest, look for a castle on the horizon. Follow it, and you will find…”

A home, he hopes. Lacking the most prominent signs of a Kokiri, the Hylians will see him as one of their own. Like a child of six or seven in their years, in need of protection. And Hyrule Castle is where the Hylians train their best knights. It is the only kindness the Deku Tree can give him: to send him to those who might look after him, and lead him swiftly to his destiny.

Before their change, the Tree’s children grew just as Hylians did; when the princess reaches the age of wisdom, Link will be at adulthood as well. Ready to fight alongside her as prophecy demands.

It was the only way they could have ensured it. They needed their hero to be ready.

The thought fails to convince.

“Okay.” Link bites his lip, and stands with the sack. “Thanks, I guess.”

If the bright spectacle of Link’s rebirth had not awoken the remaining Koroks, the Great Deku Tree’s frightened yell would do it. Curious and worried masks dot the glade, peering from behind roots and branches when they think the boy will not see. Do they remember their littlest sibling had been there, moments before the light?

They cannot hide forever. Not with so many. Natie stumbles out too far, as Link turns to leave. She seems surprised when the boy blinks and says, “Excuse me.”

And oh, the Tree feels terrible at the gentleness in Link’s voice when he sees something small. He never should have doubted in it.

Natie jumps in shock. “You can see me?”

“Yeah.” Link would not know yet why that is strange.

Many fey spirits of the land glow with supernatural aura. Others cannot help but notice them. But Koroks are of a piece with nature. When mortal eyes perceive a field, they do not count the blades of grass. Nor trace every leaf in a tree. And when a mortal finds the Koroks’ glade, their eyes pass over the Koroks themselves. But Link is a child of the forest, too.

He asks Natie, “Can you move, please? I have to go outside.”

“Outside the forest? That’s so scary!”

Young Link looks to the mouth of the glade. Dead trees, withering in place. Darkness, so different from the light of the glade. “I guess,” he says. “But you gotta do scary things, sometimes.”

The Korok looks at him, in silent bewilderment. “Why?”

“To help. To make sure…” Link looks confused by his own words. He sways in place. “Someone has to…I have to…I have to go.” His voice drifts like one in a dream, eyes clouding over. The magic of the forest works quickly; he will remember little of this time, this moment.

“Uh. Bye.” The child waves to Natie. “Buh-bye, big tree face.”

“Good-bye,” the Great Deku Tree whispers. “Be safe.”

And Link walks away. Little Oaki lifts himself up to the Tree’s face on a spinning leaf and asks, “Great Deku Tree, who is that?”

“That…” the Tree sighs, heavy. “That is the hero of Hyrule, young one.”

There is no recognition in the Korok’s expression. “Heroes are so big.”

The Deku Tree cannot agree. When the mists of the forest swallow Link up, his child looks impossibly small.

-

Months pass, and the Korok’s glade becomes just a little bit quieter. He should not be able to hear the little one’s absence at night. Should not be able to count the breaths of his children and know there is one short.

He dreams of them, when he rests his eyes.

(The little one had often liked to sleep close to their family. It was common to spy their tiny form curled up to sleep in Hestu’s leafy branches, snoring in shared repose. They would nap in the Deku Tree’s own protective boughs. A gentle comfort of family.

When Link sleeps now, does he have the same?)

Months pass. The existence of a hero is not known beyond the Korok Forest. The dire promise of Calamity hangs over Hyrule Castle–one day, its royal knights storm the glade. They seek the Master Sword, nothing more. Their mortal eyes overlook the fearful children that cower around them. But they are warriors in armor, armed with bow and blade. The Tree keeps silent.

A stern-faced Hylian leads the squadron forward with quick hand signals, looking sharply around for potential threat. One by one, he directs them to the pedestal.

The Deku Tree does not know what frightens his children more that day: the knights, or their screams.

The Master Sword is a heavy blade. To even touch its hilt extracts a price.

And they are not its chosen hero.

(The arrow had been taken from Daz’s collection of scavenged Kokiri projectiles–though light, it is taller than they are. The little one can only clutch it clumsily between small hands. They ignore concerned cries from Chio and Tasho as they run to find a place to throw it. They pick a spot and hop in place, tossing the arrow into air as they might a sparkle of magic.

“Fly, Mr. Arrow!”

A little Korok does not know how to use an arrow. It plummets to the ground. The little one stares at it, curious, while Tasho leads them away.

Chio asks later why the Great Deku Tree had not stopped them. The Tree looks aside in shame.)

Months pass.

“Did you say…” the Deku Tree begins carefully, “something missing?”

Tasho shifts in place. “Yeah. It’s felt like that for a while. Did the knights take something from the glade, maybe?”

“The Sword remains in its pedestal. As it will until its bearer returns.”

“Oh. Hm. Okay. I’m just…all the little ones wander in the woods a lot. Like–um. Oaki, I think? I get worried, with all the scary knights coming through–”

“Heroes,” the Deku Tree corrects. The Koroks should recognize a hero when they see one. “The knights of Hyrule seek the sword only to defend themselves against danger. The hero who will draw it…he fights to protect all of Hyrule. Including our own little forest.”

Tasho looks down, chastened. “Sorry, Great Deku Tree.”

This young one is not the only Korok more cautious of late. None remember why their faith in the forest’s protection has been shaken…and the Tree cannot bear to name what is lost.

“I am sorry as well. I wish that I could tell what has gone wrong in the forest.” The Deku Tree feels hollow as he says: “I am just one tree.”

(The little one counts down at the trunk of the Tree, hands clapped giddily over their eyes.

It had surprised the others when they volunteered to play seeker in the latest round of their game–no one usually wants the role. The little one does. They wiggle with excitement when they hit zero, look up at him as if to speak. The Deku Tree’s heart sinks–he has been trying to avoid this–tells himself he ought not cause a panic over things his children should not hear.

But with everyone else in hiding, he and the little one are, for once, alone.

“You ought to begin searching, young one,” the Deku Tree says. Words chosen slowly and with care. “They’ll be missing you, soon.”

The little one is…little. Too much a Korok, surely, to understand what he means. The Tree cannot say more; if he does, he knows, he will keep speaking and never stop. This one has so little time left with a family that loves them. The Great Tree cannot take any more of it away.

He feels a gentle pat on his trunk. Koroks do not show expression on their faces, but he can feel warmth shine through the little one’s mask. They turn to the woods with a cry: “I’m gonna find all of you now!”

Then they’re gone.)

-

It haunts the Deku Tree, as he listens to his children squabble over their games. Sees them cower from Hylian knights. What was it that had made the little one so different from their kin? They were always the smallest. Always treated with delicate care. Yet in the week before their departure, they proved a bold and lovable troublemaker. A Kokiri at heart.

It is possible the little one would have always been limited, in the only life the Korok’s safe haven allows. Perhaps simply making the choice was enough.

To see the problem, and choose to face it, works great magic on its own.

One day, the Tree asks his children still remaining: “Do you ever tire of this? Playing games. Hiding from danger. Do you not wish…to be something more?”

Chio is the Koroks’ elder, a position of leadership and responsibility. He looks to the other Koroks, stopped in the middle of a game of tag, and tilts his head. “More what?”

“Grown. Mature. Capable of seeing beyond this.”

Blank stares. Somebody asks, “Beyond the forest? Like outside?”

“Outside is scary.”

It is. That is why it was so terrible to send his child into it. And yet, “If you do not try, you will spend your entire lives here in this glade. You will never see anything. Never become anything. Do you not see?”

If his children understand, he sees no sign in their frozen stances. Even Chio can only scratch the small mushroom knot on his head in confusion.

The Deku Tree sighs. “My apologies, children. I am weary, and I have allowed that to upset me. Please permit me some time…to rest.”

None of them possess the courage the little one had. He thinks that will be the end of it, until he is approached one day by a trio of young ones. Daz, their spokes-Korok, tells the Tree, “We want to make…that thing where people trade other people stuff for the shiny rupees. A…shoppe, I think?”

“Why?” The Koroks do not sell or buy items. They have everything they could need.

“For the hero!” Daz replies, cheerful. “He’s like a knight, right? Knights always carry a big stash when they go fighting. I can gather food and arrows he can use–there’s a lot on the ground, these days.”

“Forest mushrooms, too,” Natie adds. “They’re delicious.”

“And Mr. Hero is going to need to sleep.” Pepp waves their arms. “I’ll make a bed for him! Nice and comfy, full of leaves!”

“But I don’t think humans like sleeping in rain,” Daz finishes. “So we need some place with a roof. For shelter. Can we use that room in your navel for it?” He twists his hands behind his back. “I know it’s not much. I don’t really want to leave the glade, or go on big adventures. But we thought, if we have to be something…this could be enough.”

“Oh, dear ones,” the Deku Tree breathes. “It is more than enough.”

They are not the only ones with new ideas, in the following weeks. “The Kokiri and Mr. Hero, they’re grown-ups.” Chio jumps with excitement as he explains his. “So I wondered how they did it. And I figured it out, it’s because they did things! They did trials and went places and fought monsters and gave stuff to people. We can’t fight monsters, of course,” he adds seriously. “But we can do the other stuff.”

Some Koroks even wish to leave. Just for a little time, and only to hide-and-seek in new and more exciting places.

“You are not frightened to step outside?” the Tree asks the first to go.

“The hero goes outside,” replies clover-faced Linder. “Even if he’s scared.”

And so it goes. Koroks ask Hestu for places around Hyrule to visit, and return with tales of minor adventures, hidden pleasures. Koroks who stay spend their days ‘play-testing’ Chio’s new Trials. They still have fun, seek happiness. But there is purpose in it now.

The Deku Tree finds his remorseful dreams begin to fade.

The Koroks of the forest are not a courageous people. He doubts any will ever find the same bravery which had led their little one to leave the woods forever. But there is a bravery in choosing to try something new, and it is beautiful, all the same.

“The hero shouldn’t pay rupees to use the bed,” Pepp insists, in planning talks about their small inn. Words like that remind the Tree who is truly responsible for his children’s change. “He’s Mr. Hero. He should get to sleep for free if he wants.”

“He cannot stay forever,” he reminds the Korok. “It will not be his home.”

Pepp falls quiet at that; something about the statement concerns them. “Okay. Yeah,” they finally say. “But he can have something here, right?”

He ought to. That does not mean he can.

Years pass, and the ache remains in its own way. Until one day, Hestu approaches the Tree. “Hey, Grandpa. I found this in the woods. It looks like…I've seen it before.”

And the Deku Tree does not think he will ever be able to gaze into the empty eyes of the little one’s abandoned green-leaf mask, and not feel the grief of losing them anew. Yet there is something healing in the pain, to look upon it once more.

To find one leaf in a forest is a near-impossible task. Even for its own children.

How fickle fate rears its head, once more.

“Thank you for finding this, Hestu,” he says, and fights to keep tremors from his voice. “It is an important item for our forest’s future. Would you please keep it safe for me?”

The Koroks had adopted the leaf masks when they first took their new forms. Simple things, only enough magic in them to endure. Each passed from one Korok to the next, lines of descent marked with mere leaves. In this way, a small thing becomes precious: a relic of a past its owner does not remember.

But their hero should have something.

Koroks are shaped by their ancestors. So, too, has the little one left a mark. Change comes slowly to forests–and yet the Great Deku Tree wonders what else his children will think to do, once Link shows them that it is possible.

Hestu tucks away the hero’s old mask. And Tree hopes that someday, far off in Link’s new future…it may help him, to have some piece of home.

-

Link is not alone, when he returns.

The path of a hero is lonely. That, the Deku Tree was promised. And yet…a Hylian knight follows, when Link enters the Korok glade for a second time. It is too soon for him to claim his destiny. His strength is not yet honed. His form, too small.

(The Tree has become used to children who are unchanging and eternal. His Koroks will look exactly the same in a hundred years as they do now. It has only been four since he last beheld Link. And yet, this child of his has changed.

There is new pain in that thought. There will be more change, more growth; rooted in place, the Deku Tree will witness none of it.)

But Link is not alone. He could weep, in his relief.

The Hylian looks tired, face lined with decades of worry. Alert, even in that–hand near his sword, watchful gaze scouring the forest. The Deku Tree has seen this knight before, many times. Leading squadrons of brave warriors on desperate quests through the Lost Woods. His determination had never faltered.

He must be here to protect Hyrule’s hero. Its future.

It is more than the Tree could have hoped.

Bright blue eyes like sky fix on the Sword. “Wow,” Link whispers. The Tree is not surprised when the boy darts forward, reckless courage on full display. He is surprised the knight stops him.

The man must know. He needs the Sword as much as Link needs to help. And still, he stops him. Scolds him for running into danger. When the Deku Tree sees his restless child’s eyes flick to the side in distraction, so too does the knight.

He pulls the boy’s attention back: “No, Link.”

The Deku Tree has never had strictness in him. It may be what the boy needs now. And yet, it is with surprising care that the knight meets his eyes–Link squints, confused–to ask, “Promise me this time that you will not push yourself more than you can handle.”

And the Deku Tree sees the moment their hero’s stubborn expression changes.

It does not matter how Link has been transformed; the Great Tree recognizes the wonder in his eyes. A little Korok used to look at him that way, swaddled in his careful branches with a promise that no harm would befall them in his forest. It is warmth. Endless love.

It could drive a Tree to terrible jealousy, he thinks, that it is someone else Link looks upon now with such open adoration. Someone who seems not to understand the precious treasure he has been handed. Link approaches the Master Sword, and whatever has just changed between them, the knight lets Link go.

But the Deku Tree had done much the same. If the Tree must live with the guilt of what he has done to Link…he can live without his child’s love.

He had earned that love, once. No more.

When he speaks, the Great Tree chooses careful distance. A mentor’s voice, and a mentor only. His Link keeps sneaking glances back at the knight: a Kokiri leaf seeking sun, and he finds none brighter than the Hylian who brought him here. The knight does not notice, too busy asking after Link’s destiny. So focused on the practicalities that he cannot see.

The Tree tells the man, before he goes, “And you, Sir Knight. The Master Sword is a heavy weight to bear. I hope that–” His child. “–our young hero will not have to bear it alone.”

The Hylian listens to his words too seriously, takes them as duty. He is not one the Deku Tree would have chosen to watch over a free spirit such as Link.

But Link loves him already. The Great Deku Tree could never deny his children anything.

So he sets his attention to the mouth of the forest, where Link and the knight will emerge. He hears a plan on the air, hatched outside his forest’s borders. A ruse, a lie. It may have to be that with this man, with this knight.

Yet duty is what lost Link his first family…the boy deserves better than duty. Perhaps one day, he will have it.

Link deserves a joyful life, full of everything he lost when he left the Korok Forest. Family. Friends. Love that is never left unspoken.

A tree can do many things.

For now, he must listen to the wind, and hope one day to hear that his child is happy outside his shade.