Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They had been on the road for weeks now, just shy of two months if Warrior had kept count correctly. It was always hard when they went so long that not even after almost four years did it get any easier.

So the moment the Chain had stepped through the portal, Warrior had been hoping for some form of respite but the sight was he greeted with…

Warrior had his breath stolen from his lungs the instant he appeared on the other side through the shimmering golden portal.

Before him stood a familiar cream-coloured building, its red roof gleaming under the sun, and a sturdy wooden door that creaked open to reveal Atari. Overcome with emotion, he staggered forward, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as she rushed toward him.

“Link.” Her voice, as melodic as he remembered, resonated with the same breathlessness that enveloped him.

The sound of her voice shattered the disbelief that momentarily held him captive, and with a surge of joy, Warrior swept his beloved wife into his arms. Atari’s laughter rang out—bright, joyous, and infectious—and it filled the empty spaces within him. Goddesses, he had missed that sound.

They shared a kiss, soft and tender, followed by a second, and then a third chaste peck, each one igniting a warmth that radiated through him as Atari cradled his face in her hands. After a moment of lingering closeness, he set her back on her feet, allowing himself to drink in the sight of her. He basked in her beauty, his heart swelling with love and longing.

“Ari,” he murmured, releasing her hips to stroke her cheek. Her own smooth down from his bearded jaw to his shoulders. He just…admired his wife after so long without because Warrior had been expecting this day to arrive. This—this would be the last time he would ever see his wife alive.

A lump formed in his throat as the weight of that realisation settled over him like a heavy shroud. He had braced himself for this day, yet a part of his heart clung desperately to denial, refusing to accept the inevitable. The aching truth loomed over him now, and Warrior was going to have to tell her.

Warrior desperately shoved those thoughts aside as he took his fill that felt nowhere near enough. His eyes dropped to her belly with a laugh. She looked ready to pop—like she had swallowed the moon whole.

“Welcome home,” Atari whispered, nuzzling her nose against his. Those green eyes of her’s sparkled like they always did. “Now, some introductions?” Atari pulled away, turning to the Chain with a warm, welcoming smile.

Oh. Warrior had completely forgotten. Clearing his throat, heat rushed to his cheeks as Warrior turned to the Chain to see them all watching him with various looks of amusement.

“Bout time you remembered us,” Legend jeered playfully.

Warrior laughed sheepishly, hooking an arm around Atari’s waist. “How much did Zee tell you?”

“Everything she knew,” Atari assured. “It’s lovely to meet you all. I’m Atari, this silly man’s wife.”

Warrior made a soft, protesting sound at being called silly.

When Time stepped forward to greet Atair, shock and recognition flashed across her face. “Time? You’ve all grown up! Look at you!”

Time grinned lightly. “Hi Atari, lovely to see you again.”

Wind barged closer. “What about me! I’m here too!”

Atari closed, ushering both men close to give them hugs. “Oh, it’s lovely to meet you both again.”

“And you! We didn’t even know Warrior was married for almost a year after reuniting,” Wind complained. “But after he wouldn’t shut up.”

Warrior coughed into his fist as Atari chortled. But hearing her laugh…it brings a goofy grin to his face. He knows the smile is besotted. It had been Atari’s laughter that had led Warrior to even meet her in the first place. He had fallen in love with the sound the moment he had heard it.

Finally, one by one, his brothers began to introduce themselves to his wife before Atari waved them all inside. His wife, Time and Wind wasted no time in getting caught up, catching up on missed time.

Inside, Warrior met the midwife currently staying at the farm, here to be ready for their children’s arrival. Warrior recognised Etta immediately as the midwife who helped Artemis deliver Zelda.

“Her Majesty employed me to help Ms Hawthorne,” Etta explained. “And I am always more than happy to be of service when it comes to welcoming babies into this world of ours. You have no need to thank me, Sir Hawthrone.”

“To you, maybe, but you’ve been helping Atari where I couldn’t. Thank you,” he iterated.

But Warrior left it at that, knowing Etta just enough to know she would fight this battle. Hardy midwife, that woman, he thought affectionately. But Warrior swallowed thickly with knowledge of the talk he and Atari were going to have to have. He needed to tell her sooner rather than later.

“—And then there’s Rook!—” Warrior tuned back into the conversation at Wind’s voice. He panicked, heart racing as he realised Wind could be able to reveal what Warrior wanted to break to Atari. So he swooped in, hand shoving Wind’s head down. The sailor was far too tall for the hands on the shoulders anymore.

“Hey!” Wind protested.

“Hush,” he scolded, and Wind blinked at him a bit dumbly before realisation struck across his face.

“Oh,” he winced. “Right, sorry. I’ll leave that to you.”

“Who is Rook?” Atari questioned curiously. The others all awkwardly shuffled before Warrior sighed. “Time, the chores are pretty much the same. Could you…?”

Time nodded. “Right. C’mon everyone, out we go,” he waved, and no one protested, shuffling their way out a dash bit awkwardly still. They all knew what conversation was about to take place, and none of them enjoyed the thought as much as Warrior.

Atari leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and brows furrowed, observing Warrior with a blend of curiosity and concern. “Did something happen?” she asked, her voice laced with tension.

Warrior let out a shaky laugh, a sound that echoed his unease, before sinking into a chair at the worn, wooden table. He beckoned Atari to join him and once she settled into the chair opposite him, Warrior reached for her hands, gently clasping them in his own. His thumb brushed gently over her wedding ring, the glimmer of the pearl and metal contrasting starkly with the tension that enveloped the moment.

“We’re having twins if you weren’t already aware,” he choked out.

“I guessed with how large I am,” she said softly, something aching settling into her gaze.

“A son and daughter,” Warrior continued.

She squeezed his hands, sighing softly. “He draws the sword, doesn’t he?”

“It gets worse,” Warrior whispered. “I don’t—I’m not sure. I don’t come back after whatever quest this is.”

Atari closed her eyes, tears clinging to her lashes.

“Zelda, she…” he can’t get those words out. “Rhoam makes for a terrible King Regent,” is what he settled on. “Even to his own daughter.”

“I never have liked him,” she murmured.

Warrior laughed, and it came out incredibly bitter. “Yeah, very few do.”

“Everything goes to shit, but…he does it in the end,” Warrior explained, words heavy on his tongue. “Took him a hundred years but he does and—shit, Atari, he’s gone through so much.”

Atari clutched his hands tightly, bringing them up to her face, pressing kisses to his knuckles. Tears trailed down her cheeks. “And our daughter?”

“A doctor who lived to a hundred and fourteen. I don’t know much about her, but Rook, he said he was told she spent her life helping anyone who needed it,” Warrior said, wishing he had asked more about Lainy now.

“What made us choose Rook?” she asked, voice a whisper.

“Not Rook, that came later. Link and Lainy,” he murmured gently, a fondness in his voice. “Rook was given to him by a Rito couple who took him in as their own. Teba and Saki. I never got the chance to meet them while Rook was with us, but I hope to in the future to thank them.”

“Good. Make sure to let them know I said thank you too, right?” Atari breathed, voice shaky, and Warrior nodded.

Wanting to put some space between them and the topic, he asked, “Has Zelda been well?”

“She’s been coming at least once a week with Ellie,” Atari smiled softly. “Wanted to make sure I had some company and to help me prepare.”

He chuckled. For as stern as Artemis liked to act, she was soft at heart.

“Glad to hear. Zelda, she’s been such a good friend,” Warrior remarked.

“She has, and that’s why we’re going to send a letter to inform her that you’re back,” Atari said, voice leaving no space to argue. Not that Warrior would argue. This was his best friend—Warrior wasn’t about to let the chance of seeing her one final time slip between his fingers.

He released Atari’s hands to wander to the desk, where they kept their parchment and quill. He dropped into the chair, fingers deftly plucking paper and opening the ink pot. Atari followed, hands resting on his shoulders as he penned his letter.

Warrior found himself pausing, breathless, as everything began to hit him all at once without even an ounce of sympathy.

Atari squeezed his shoulders. “Just take deep and calm breaths,” she instructed.

He let out a shaky laugh and finished, signing it off with his signature. But his fingers find a second piece of paper, one for his parents. He wasn’t about to leave them out of this too.

“My parents?”

“Help where they can. Your mother comes around twice a week, and your father when his work permits,” Atari explained, rubbing his shoulders. She pressed a kiss to the back of his head, then pulled back. “Stinky.”

Warrior made an offended noise. “Ouch.”

“I bet you all need a good soak.”

Warrior groaned, but a smile crept across his face. He had missed Atari so much.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Wait, the Light Festival?” Four questioned. “Isn’t that the one you and Rook mentioned? The one where the fourth dragon appears?”

“Uriel,” Atari offered with a patient smile. “And yes. The Light Festival is a celebration of unity and hope. It’s been a tradition since…well, long enough for its origin to be forgotten. It brings all of Hyrule together, and people send personally decorated lanterns into the sky with a wish, believing that Uriel is a beast of luck, and part of the festival is a celebration of Uriel himself.”

Warrior nodded. “Castle Town always goes all out for the weeklong celebration. You guys should go into town if you have the chance.”

“I’ll have to take you up on that,” Sky hummed thoughtfully. “Skyloft doesn’t really have any festivals like this. Especially on such…grand scale.”

“Same. I think your Hyrule’s the most…condensed?” Hyrule commented hesitantly, visibly unsure of how to word it. It brought a small smile to Warrior’s face. “There are a lot of people, and you’ve said it all works like a well-oiled machine in the past.”

Again, Warrior nodded. “It is. Population-wise, we have Hylians, Zora, Gorons, Rito, and Gerudo. That’s not mentioning tourists from neighbouring countries that come just for the celebration and to see Uriel.”

“The Flendora Dominion to the southwest of the Gerudo desert consider it a must-see at least once in your life,” Atari mused. “The King himself is here again this year but with his daughter now that she’s old enough to make the journey.”

Warrior snorted. “King Vesstan has been coming since he was a child himself. I never doubted he would miss the opportunity to share it with his daughter.”

“You said something about lanterns?” Twilight questioned.

“It’s a long tradition to release a lantern and make a wish,” Atari explained. “If you run into town, you should be able to get some cheaply, and it’s encouraged to decorate them with drawings to personalise them.”

“Awesome,” Wind grinned, turning to the others. “How about it, guys? Wanna go get ourselves some lanterns?”

“I don’t see why not,” Time agreed with a warm smile.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Dawn was poised to break any moment now, and Link stood at the fence with Atari, their lanterns flickering gently in the crisp morning air. In stark contrast to Atari’s elegantly crafted Farosh lantern, which shimmered with intricate patterns, Link’s creation was a hastily thrown-together effort. It showcased nothing more than rough sketches and hasty doodles, yet he felt a swell of pride in its simple charm.

The camaraderie shared with the others had infused the tradition with a newfound energy, allowing them all to embrace the joy of the Light Festival. But at this moment, it was just Atari and Link. He wasn’t embodying Warrior; he was simply Link, standing side by side with his wife. A melancholy weight settled in his chest as he grappled with the knowledge that this would be the last time he celebrated the Light Festival with her.

A bitter taste lingered in his mouth, mingling with a sense of grief. Yet, amidst this ache, a flicker of warmth blossomed within him, the first lightness in his heart he had felt in what seemed like ages. Link had always envisioned himself witnessing the births of Rook and Lainy, but it was only upon his return that he suddenly realised the significance of when their birthday.

Rook had never uttered a date. The realisation hit him like a wave, overwhelming and poignant, and he felt tears well up in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” Atari questioned gently, turning her eyes away from the sky.

“…Rook, mostly,” he admitted. “I only managed to spend so little time with him in the grand scheme and would have had more time with him if I hadn’t been a coward about telling him.”

Atari tsked softly, playfully nudging her hip against his. “Don’t overanalyse it, Link. You have a tendency to spiral into deep thoughts when, sometimes, it’s really just a simple matter.”

Link pouted at her which earned him a soft, melodic laugh from Atari. “It’s just that he never did tell us when his birthday is. That’s what’s been on my mind,” he explained, his tone laced with curiosity.

Atari hummed thoughtfully, a small smile curving her lips as she rested a hand on her belly. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of fondness and mischief. “Perhaps he shares more of my traits than I initially believed. I wasn’t exactly open about my age when we first met, remember?”

Link blinked in bewilderment, caught off guard by her comment, before bursting into laughter that rang out across the paddock. The sudden sound startled the cows, sending the calves scurrying back to their mothers with wide-eyed alarm. Atari snorted, amusement dancing in her gaze as she watched the flurry.

She was two years his elder, and from the very start, she had made Link’s attempts to pursue a relationship feel like an uphill battle, as any Gerudo would with a prospective husband. Her presence was both alluring and intimidating, and each interaction was tinged with an electric tension that left him feeling inadequate. He was, of course, a coward in those moments, unable to muster the courage—ironically enough—to take the bold step of formally asking for her courtship.

In the end, it had been Atari who had put him out of his misery. He was incredibly lucky to have met and married such a wonderful woman as Atari.

Atari brushed her fingers tenderly across the warm, bare skin of his neck. “Did you give it to him?” she inquired softly, her gaze probing yet playful.

The scarf.

Initially, the absence of its familiar weight had been a jarring sensation for Link. He had worn it everywhere since the moment Aari had wrapped it around him, a cherished gift that had begun their courtship. For weeks, he felt as if a part of him had been stripped away. His hand would instinctively reach for the void, seeking the comfort it once provided, only to be reminded that it was no longer there.

With a slight nod, Link replied, “I did, with the promise that he would return it to me when we reunited.”

“That’s a good promise,” Atari said, smiling brightly, her eyes sparkling with that playful light. Then her gaze shifted mischievously, and she teased, “And you traded it out for a beard, huh?”

Caught off guard, Link coughed into his fist, feeling warmth flood to his cheeks, a rush of embarrassment mixing with the lightness of their banter.

“Oh no, don’t take that as a negative. The beard suits you. My dashing husband finally getting the chance to grow a beard. You didn’t need to worry about being clean-shaven and…I like it, a lot,” Atari remarked before seeking a kiss. One Link happily gave her.

“Thanks,” he murmured against her lips, a smile tugging at his. “My hair’s a little longer but…I mostly kept it the same.”

“Just as you always have,” Atari noted, brushing her fingers through his fringe. She traced a small nick that Link had gotten a few months back, one that ran down through his brow. It hadn’t needed a potion or Hyrule’s healing, so Link had let it scab over and scar naturally. He thought it suited him nicely.

“I—” he began and stopped again. “Atari…”

“You needn’t worry about me,” she assured him, her voice soft yet steadfast.

Atari had an uncanny ability to sense his inner turmoil, always appearing to know the thoughts that weighed on his mind. Link often marvelled at the idea that she might possess a gift of reading his emotions, or perhaps the truth was far more simpler—he wore his worries like a second skin, plainly visible for her to see.

As his eyes burned from unshed tears, Atari gently brushed her fingers against his cheek, a calm presence amidst the storm of his feelings. There were no tears in her eyes, only a tranquil strength that both comforted and bewildered him.

“How do you do it? This will be the last time we’ll ever see each other,” he choked out, his voice thick with a mixture of heartache and disbelief.

“My silly, handsome husband,” Atari whispered, resting her temple against him, her warmth a tether he desperately clung to. “I am a Gerudo woman. One of the first creeds we learn as children is to hold close those we love, even when they’ve departed. Though you are leaving my life, you inhabit every corner of my world. In the paintings that adorn our walls, in the warmth of our shared bedroom, and even in the quiet spaces filled with your clothes and memories. You are giving me two beautiful children who will carry forth your spirit and do great things.”

Link could only stare, his heart aching as he blinked away the tears that threatened to spill. Atari tenderly brushed them away with her thumbs, her touch both gentle and grounding, as if she could absorb his pain, if only for a moment.

Above them, Uriel heralded his arrival with a resonant roar that echoed through the skies.

“Now, let us make our wishes, hm?” Atari teased, releasing her grip on him to reclaim her lantern, its light flickering in the dawn.

Link watched her, his gaze drifting to the doodles of the chain he had crafted earlier. With a focused breath, he raised his hands skyward, allowing the gentle wind to whisk his thoughts away into the open air.

Atari’s lantern joined his, and together they cast their dreams into the morning sky. In the distance, Caste Town blazed with life, vibrant orbs ascending like fireflies against the brightening sky. Behind them, the Chain released their own wishes, a cascade of shimmering lights filling the night.

Link swallowed thickly, his heart heavy as he watched Uriel descend. The first rays of dawn kissed his iridescent white scales, reflecting a dazzling array of colours that danced in the morning light.

I hope to reunite with Rook, to find solace in his presence, and to see my son thriving in the world he cherishes so deeply, Link wished, his thoughts filled with longing and hope.

Beside him, Atari emitted a small, bewildered sound, drawing his attention. He turned away from the morning sky to find her staring down at her skirt, worry etched across her features.

“Love?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Atari lifted her gaze, her wide, panicked eyes meeting his with an intensity that sent his heart racing. “I think my water just broke,” she said, urgency lacing her words.

“What?” he stammered, his mind momentarily blank, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation.

“My water just broke!” she reiterated, her voice rising in pitch.

“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, the gravity of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Three hours later, Warrior cradled his newborns in his arms, a sense of awe washing over him as Etta helped clean Atari, carefully removing the remnants of birthing fluids. The soft murmurs and playful chattering of the Chain drifted in from outside the room, the sound eliciting a warm chuckle from him, but his heart and focus remained entirely on the precious little bundles nestled against him.

Link had quickly settled, his bright, curious eyes blinking up at Warrior with a mix of wonder and innocence, while Lainy fussed gently in his hold, her tiny features scrunching in discontent. Despite his soothing rocking, she seemed reluctant to find peace, her soft whimpers tugging at Warrior's heartstrings as he showered her with gentle coos and whispered reassurances.

He and Atari had created these little miracles together, yet it still felt surreal to him. It hadn’t felt real when they first learned of Atari’s pregnancy, and even now, as he cradled their children in his arms, there was a lingering sense of disbelief.

It had been nearly four years since he last laid eyes on Atari, and while his experience with time travel had distorted his sense of time, he had spent countless days yearning to be in this very moment. Warrior had long pondered whether he would ever witness this beautiful scene, but he clung to Purah’s words, finding solace in them.

And as he looked down at his children, a sudden realisation washed over him: he was now older than Atari. A fresh tide of tears threatened to spill over, a mixture of joy and bittersweet longing surging through him.

“I thought the babies were supposed to be the criers,” Atari teased.

Warrior raised his gaze to see her grinning lightly. Although she looked tired and exhausted after the ordeal, Atari had never looked better in Warrior’s eyes.

“Now, give me one,” Atari pouted at him and Warrior chuckled, leaning forward to allow Atari to do just that. She took Lainy, quickly helping to settle her where Warrior was unable to. She was a natural already, and it made guilt stir that he would be unable to help Atari raise their children.

This wasn’t how Warrior had wanted his life to turn out, but there was no going back. He found himself ensnared in a fleeting moment of the past, a fragment of time that had long since slipped through his fingers. This was just another piece of history, one that Warrior had to cherish for the rest of his life, as bitter as that made him feel that there was nothing he could change.

But he turned his gaze back to baby Rook, his heart swelling as he caught sight of the little one’s unfocused, wide eyes locked onto him.

“Hi,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he gently brushed a finger against Rook's round, chubby cheek, feeling the warmth of innocence beneath his touch.

To Warrior’s astonishment, the back of his hand began to radiate warmth, prompting him to turn it over. To his disbelief, the Tri-Force was glowing—a vibrant, pulsating light that seemed to echo his own heartbeat. His heart stuttered as the realisation struck him like a lightning bolt. He had often pondered how Rook had come to possess the Tri-Force of Courage, and now, the swirling mystery was unravelling before his eyes.

He had bestowed it upon his son.

With a gentle, almost reverent breath, Warrior cradled Rook’s minuscule right fist in the warmth of his palm. It was a primal instinct, an innate understanding of how to transfer the essence of the Tri-Force piece, as effortless and vital as the act of breathing itself.

I relinquish my Claim unto my son.

A surge of heat enveloped Warrior, searing yet fleeting, as the intricate golden tattoo on the back of his hand began to dissolve, its brilliance gradually fading into nothingness. With careful tenderness, he turned Rook’s delicate little fist over, revealing the translucent shadow of gold etched upon his soft tanned skin. After a moment, the tattoo faded entirely, leaving not a trace of what Warrior had done. The Tri-Force of Courage would slumber in Rook until it was time to awaken.

A heavy sigh escaped him as a profound sense of relief washed over him, lifting an immense burden from his shoulders and leaving behind a quiet stillness, as if the universe itself had conceded for this moment of peace.

Atari rested a hand on his knee, and he raised his gaze. “You’re going to meet again, and you and Rook will live the rest of your lives together. Promise me.”

Warrior’s eyes burned, and the smile on his face wavered but he took her hand in his and squeezed. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Their equine companions tread quietly through the Gerudo Canyon.

Zelda had tried several times to speak—to say something to Link in the wake of the Yiga Clan attack this morning. It was her own fault—she had wandered off toward the Bazaar while Link and Urbosa had taken a moment for a private conversation. It was foolish and reckless, and Zelda already knew what her father would say if Link told him.

But she also knew Link’s punishment would be far more severe.

It had been a mutual understanding set early on that somethings…somethings were better left between them.

It reminded Zelda of how Link had been her Appointed Knight for only a month now, and how it saddened her to see him partly freeze her out. Before his appointment to her side, Link had not been so scared to interact, and Zelda feared his superiors had instilled new fears into him.

It was taking time for Zelda to get Link to open up again and after what happened this morning…

Yes, it would be best to leave the incident between the parties involved.

Finally, Zelda found her voice, breaking the silence between them. “I am…sorry for wandering off.”

Link twisted in his saddle to face her. He shook his head. “It’s fine. You…” he choked on his words a bit. Link had progressed so well with his speech since he and Zelda had reunited when he was twelve, he was so much more confident now that he was out of the constant shadow of his superiors. But sometimes, he struggled to find the right words and Zelda had no doubt they had doubled the pressure upon his shoulders now that Link was her Appointed Knight.

“I just got so worried when I realised you weren’t there,” he finally said.

Zelda flushed in mortification. The situation had been of her own making, she supposed. Wandering off alone somewhere that was known for Yiga Clan activity. Zelda was acutely aware of the dangers, and yet…she had still done it.

Her reasons did not matter—it hadn’t mattered that she merely sought to return to their horses to begin preparing them for their return journey. What mattered was the consequences of her reckless, thoughtless actions.

“I still owe you an apology,” she said, intent on taking accountability for her actions. “You were forced to take another’s life because of me.”

It wasn’t a burden Zelda would ever wish upon anyone, let alone Link of all people.

But she had forced him to make such a choice. She had put him into a position where he had no choice but to take a life. Yes, it had been a Yiga Clan member, but a life was a life.

Again, Link shook his head. “I’m your Appointed Knight, Ellie.” The nickname sounded so lovely coming from his mouth. It made her heart flutter and reminded her of the days when neither of them was burdened with the weight of the prophecy. “Your safety is my top priority, even if that means taking another life in doing so.”

Zelda knew that the guilt would lessen in time, but for now, it lingered like a spectre.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 17th - Day of the Final Battle

“Holy shit,” Wind exclaimed as his dizzying vision finally steadied, revealing the breathtaking skyline of this Hyrule they had just arrived in.

Floating islands adorned the horizon, suspended in the sky like whimsical dreams come to life. This wasn’t Sky’s time, and the unexpected sight left him utterly awestruck. Wicked!

“This is—” Four choked on his words.

But the landscape was recognisable because they had just come from a time with familiar sights. And so that meant—

“Rook,” Warrior breathed.

Wind was excited. How couldn’t he be? They had just come from Warrior’s time, they had been met baby Rook! He was so cute! Both he and Lainy were! Cutie patooties both of them.

But Wind set that aside because there was more than just that realisation that they were back in Rook’s era. The castle, grand and imposing, was not anchored to the earth but rather suspended effortlessly in the damn sky. This was…something serious was a play, Wind had no doubt about it.

“Something serious has happened,” Sky noted the obvious.

Wind withheld the duh he wanted to make to spin instead, taking in everything he could from their vantage point. “The islands are everywhere!”

“And the Cloud Barrier is gone,” Warrior choked out in shock. “Was this what it was hiding all along?”

Wind recalled the Cloud Barrier he had managed to see during Uriel’s arrival. It had seemed to shimmer in and out of existence a lot while the dragon had spent the week below the clouds. It was strange, almost an optical illusion; it was there and yet wasn’t. The sun, sky, and typical clouds were all visible through the Cloud Barrier.

From what Wind had understood, the strange magical barrier and what it had been hiding was invisible for almost the entire year, apart from brief glimpses during seasonal changes or intense weather.

Ms Atari had said some people saw it more than others, likely as a result of innate, untapped magic. Warrior was one of them, and that it might be related back to how his entire family had strange ties to the Spring of Farore.

Saying that…Wind had been meaning to ask about it.

“Hey, Captain?” Wind nudged the man out of his staring.

Warrior snapped his gaze away from the islands to Wind. There was a beat of momentary silence as if Warrior was still trying to wrap his head around the reveal, which is fair.

“Yes?” he acknowledged eventually.

“What did you mean by your family having ties to the Spring of Farore? I’m pretty sure I heard Rook say the same thing too,” Wind questioned.

Warrior hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tapping gently against his bearded chin. “Once, there were rituals and elaborate ceremonies held at each of the Springs during specific times of the year. My family was incredibly involved with the Spring of Courage customs to the extent that we were entrusted with the honour of conducting the Faron ceremonies ourselves. Though those days are long gone, my family had always made it a point to return, paying homage to both Farosh and Farore for the blessings they bestowed upon us.”

“Is that how you knew about the Springs’ purification abilities?” Hyrule inquired, curiosity piqued.

How none of them had thought to ask this all that time ago, Wind had no idea. Perhaps it was the overwhelming realisation that they were back in Rook’s Hyrule—an exhilarating prospect! The thought of reuniting with Rook sent a thrill through him—and how, with the nature of Rook’s departure and events leading up to them having to go to the Spring itself, the topic had just…fallen to the wayside.

Thinking about Rook made Wind wonder how tall he had gotten or how much time had passed for him compared to them.

Warrior nodded. “That’s right.”

“Why don’t we head toward that town where Castle Town used to sit?” Time suggested.

Wind turned his gaze back to the town that Time had mentioned, recalling the brief details he had caught during his previous spin. The settlement appeared well established.

A grin spread across Wind's face as his thoughts rewound, taking him back to the evenings spent in Rook's company—those nights filled with dreams and fervent discussions about reshaping Hyrule into a thriving kingdom once more. He felt a surge of certainty as he surveyed the town, nestled just beyond the ruins of what had once been Castle Town. It was unmistakable; Rook had succeeded in breathing new life into this place.

Wind was so proud.

There was also a tall tower that was reminiscent but very different from those Sheikah Towers that had once dotted the landscape, and Wind wondered if Purah had a hand in its creation. That woman was crazy enough to try her hand at something like that. It had a modern Sheikah design written all over it, from what Wind recalled from their trips to Rook’s Kakariko Village.

“Best place as any to start,” Twilight agreed and pushed to his feet.

The portals never have grown easier. Damn future-Rook for making them suffer like this.

“I wonder how tall Birdie has grown,” Legend remarked, unknowingly having the same thought as Wind had as he walked after Twilight.

“Not any taller than me, I bet!” Wind crowed and was rewarded with laughter.

Wind had gotten quite tall at five-eight, but he was still the second smallest, with Four being the shortest considering his stunted growth. Rook had all but acknowledged his hundred-year nap had stunted his growth too, and if he had inherited any Gerudo height, he would have already come into it prior to his death.

At fifteen, Rook had given up any hope of getting anything beyond five feet, and Wind still found it funny. So he was excited to see if Rook had surpassed the five-foot mark.

So, with a prep in his step, Wind followed after, making sure to grab Warrior’s elbow to ensure that he started moving too and wasn’t left behind because he was busy staring at the castle, something tight pinching his brow.

Whatever had caused the castle to float…Wind was sure everything would be all right. If not, well, they were here to help with whatever it could be.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

They arrive at the town—village?—as the sun is closing in on the horizon, painting the sky in dusk’s colours.

It was larger than Wind had initially believed, the distance distorting his perception. There was a remodelled Lon Lon Farm, a market square, houses, a stable with a paddock, and even some barrack-looking buildings. It was amazing to see what was once considered a dead zone flourishing in only Wind suspect was only four years. Of course, that implied that Rook’s era was running on the same time scale as the Chain, which for a majority of the time was what happened. One of the few outliers was Warrior’s era.

The style of homes reminded Wind of the cubed ones from Hateno, a recent architectural design in comparison to the buildings that were likely constructed prior to the Calamity. It was a nice change, a modernisation. Perhaps a change needed for Hyrule’s rebuilding effort, something to begin anew.

Rook had spoken a lot about his plans and desires regarding the rebuilding efforts he had plans for. During the latter half of his time with them, Rook revealed more about his memories, which he was using as a basis to plan off. They were still significantly patchy, but some were clearer than others. Sometimes, all he had to go off were just stills from places or locations he had been. It was never enough to coax a whole or even partial memory out of it, but he had said stills were sometimes the clearest, often invoking a sense of déjà vu where memories never could.

Wind wondered if Rook’s memories had improved and if he had managed to remember more about his family.

But his thoughts were halted when they stepped foot into the village's border, and Wind immediately noted how…there was an atmosphere of nervousness and unease. People chattered, but it was subdued, and their eyes constantly turned toward the floating castle. It unnerved Wind a little, and his stomach knotted the closer they got to the centre of the town.

And then, there was a familiar face. Sheik. He was almost running toward the fort looking at the structure with a handful of books in his arms.

“Sheik!” Hyrule called and hurried forward.

Sheik came to an abrupt halt, almost stumbling over his own feet as he whirled around, eyes wide and widening further at the sight of them. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.”

That was…an unexpected welcome.

“Why now of all times?!” he panicked and turned on his heels. “This way!”

“W-wait! Hold on a minute!” Warrior stammered, but they all ran after him toward the town's central-looking fort, where that tower was also positioned.

“Come on!” was all Sheik said, hurrying past the guards, who, other than sharing a confused glance, didn’t pay Sheik’s actions any mind, nor them as they sprinted past them.

Wind scampered after them, falling toward the back of the group with Warrior at the front. Something was wrong, Sheik’s reaction alone…it made unease stew, churning his stomach sickly with worry.

Something was wrong, and Wind had the sinking suspicion none of them were going to like the outcome.

“Purah!” Sheik called.

Purah stood on a first-floor balcony, her silhouette tense as she paced back and forth, arms tightly crossed against her chest. The air around her bore the same unmistakable scent of anxiety, mirroring the unease that gripped the villagers.

She stopped abruptly at the sound of Sheik’s voice, her already knitted brows deepened, and her lips formed a frustrated frown. Something deeper was in her gaze, a heavy weight of worry and desperation that transformed into shock and then settled into a mounting horror at the sight of them standing there.

It was a reaction that mirrored Sheik's own turmoil—a silent reaction that something was terribly amiss.

With urgency, Purah rushed down the stairs, nearly losing her footing on the last step, and hurriedly crossed the expanse of the fort, each stride fuelled a growing sense of dread inside Wind.

“Why is everyone acting so strangely?” Legend questioned, his voice full of concern.

“How long have you been here?” Purah asked simultaneously, her eyes narrowing with urgency.

A palpable silence hung between them, both parties suspended in anticipation of a response. Wind pushed past Twilight with irritation etched on his features. “Purah, what’s going on?”

She turned to him, the corners of her eyes tight with barely contained distress, a heaviness weighing down her expression.

“What happened?” Warrior demanded, his tone edged with a mix of anxiety and authority.

“You’re not going to like this,” Purah warned, swallowing hard as if the words were stuck.

“What happened?” Warrior insisted, his voice firmer, the unyielding pressure of his gaze intensifying.

Purah began to speak, but her words were lost as the ground beneath them began shuddering uncontrollably.

Chaos erupted—yells and confused cries cut through the air like jagged shards.

“What the hell is going on?” someone unknown to them shouted, panic rising in her voice.

Then, from the depths beneath the castle, a colossal dragon began to rise, a being that was the very embodiment of terror.

“He ate the fucking stone!” Sheik screamed, his face contorted into sheer horror.

Colossal was a fucking understatement.

Wind felt the blood drain from his face as the black dragon loomed larger than anything he had seen before, unfurling from condensed shadows. A line of scarlet flames snaked along its spine, and its sickly pink hues twisted in a way that churned Wind’s stomach uncomfortably. Even at this enormous distance, he could make out the grotesque cluster of horns adorning its massive head.

The very air suddenly felt choked, a foreboding sense of dread settling over him like a heavy fog.

Wind wasn’t sure if it was him or—

“Tell everyone to take shelter!” Purah began barking out orders left and right. “Now!”

Yet Wind remained frozen in place, his eyes wide with terror as they were drawn to the grotesque form before him. Just then, a thunderous roar erupted from the distance, reverberating through the air like a storm warning. In that moment, Uriel was surging forward, propelled by a fierce determination as he raced toward the other dragon.

It was the cusp of chaos, and a battle was about to unfold. One unlike anything Wind, or anyone, had ever seen before.

Chapter Text

March 17th — Cont’d

An oppressive silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, as they stood frozen in place, watching the aerial clash unfold above them in grim fascination. The cacophony of battle rang out, but to them, it felt surreal—no cheers erupted, no gasps of disbelief broke the stillness; only a muted horror enveloped those on the surface. The four guardian dragons soared through the sky, their scales glinting in the dying sunlight, united in a fierce struggle against the menacing demonic dragon that loomed ominously above.

“Guys!” Purah’s urgent voice sliced through Warrior’s concentrated gaze, dragging his attention away from the breathtaking yet horrifying spectacle.

He turned, his brows knitted in confusion and concern, as Purah and Sheik rushed toward a gathering that had materialised at the base of the tower. Teleportation, perhaps? The group was a curious motley crew—a towering red Zora who bore signs of royalty, a short Gerudo with twin swords, a stout Goron with a Boulder Breaker on his back, a young grey and white Rito, and a peculiar robot that appeared utterly foreign in design, defying all that he knew of Sheikah craftsmanship.

Was it even Sheikah? It was too different in design.

“He ate it!” the young Rito squawked in panic.

“We know,” Sheik said grimly, pointing skyward.

“By the Seven,” the Gerudo breathed, her wide eyes on the scene above them. “They’re all there to battle against Demise.”

“Demise?!” Sky whirled around, something horrified and enraged crossing his face.

“Yes. We don’t know how, but he managed to get himself resurrected completely!” Purah hurriedly answered. “And he—”

A bold of lightning shot across the sky, striking the demonic dragon—Demise? The dragon was Demise?!—but it seemed to do little. Yet it didn’t deter the other dragons one bit.

There was an unmistakable sense of harmony among them as Farosh, Dinraal, and Uriel worked in perfect unison, moving with an elegant grace that contrasted the chaos of battle they were engaged in. They weaved and spiralled through the air, ensuring that Demise didn’t even have the chance to land another devastating strike.

Curiously, Naydra hovered at a distance, her icy blue form soaring in an expansive circle above the sky bound battlefield. She seemed to be observing the battle and—

Something fell from Naydra’s head, and Uriel caught it. Someone? Rook? Was it Rook? Warrior’s heart lurched with worry and hope and—

“He ate it and transformed, taking Hylia with him,” the Zora explained.

“Hylia?!” it was Legend butting in this time. “What the fuck do you mean by Hylia!”

“What else do you think he meant!” a young Sheikah appeared from somewhere said, glaring at Legend. “She’s been around for the last three years! She—”

“Not now. This can be explained later, Josha,” Purah cut her off. “We have more important things to worry about!”

Naydra had now joined the battle, her icy magic swirling around her like a winter storm, casting shimmering frost upon Demise and slowing his movements. Though he broke free from her grasp, Demise was growing sluggish, and that struggle only bolstered the resolve of the dragons surrounding him.

Uriel unleashed a torrent of Light magic, blasting it directly into Demise’s face. The force of the attack sent the dark dragon reeling. But Uriel wasn’t finished. He paused for a mere moment, just long enough to allow Naydra to strike. She dragged her crown of horns up Demise’s body and the ice expanded rapidly, engulfing a larger portion of Demise’s twisted form. Sensing his moment, Uriel surged forward, releasing a second, more powerful strike.

Demise screeched in fury, flailing wildly, his movements unpredictable and erratic as he tried to recover. In that instant, Dinraal barrelled into Demise with incredible force, knocking him off-centre and causing him to tumble wildly through the air.

Before Demise could regain his centre of gravity, Farosh summoned another bolt of lightning, his body crackling with raw power, and sent it hurtling toward the dark dragon. The combined assault of the four dragons left Demise reeling, his strength faltering under the unrelenting barrage.

And then—

They could only watch in stunned silence as Hylia—it was not Rook; where was Rook?—soared from Uriel’s head, plunging through the air in a free-fall toward Demise. In a breathtaking moment, she made contact, and almost immediately, a tempest of magic erupted from Demise’s head, a violent cascade of shimmering gold and shadowy black erupted into the sky like a celestial firework. A tiny form goes flying. No doubt it was Hylia flung from her perch atop of Demise.

As a collective breath caught in all their throats, Demise ascended higher and higher, a tense anticipation hanging in the air, until—without warning—he exploded. The brilliance was overwhelming, a blinding flash that obliterated Demise in his entirety.

In an instant, he was gone. Dead. Just like that.

The air around Warrior erupted with jubilant screams and gleeful cheers, a chorus of celebration that filled the atmosphere. Yet, he stood immobilised, his heart pounding ferociously in his throat, utterly detached from the fray. It felt as though he were submerged underwater, the vibrant sounds around him warped and distorted, muffled by an unseen pressure.

Where was Rook?

Amidst the cacophony, Wind let out a boisterous laugh, and Twilight replied with an amusing quip. Their words swirled around him like wisps, yet they remained beyond his grasp, untranslatable to his dazed mind.

His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, an unsettling weakness pooling in his bones. Strangely, it felt as though the world itself was collapsing around him, an inexplicable weight pressing down on his chest. He couldn’t comprehend the source of his turmoil—he just felt it, deep and unsettling.

With trembling hands, Warrior's gaze remained fixed as Uriel began to descend further than he had ever before, a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying in nature. A profound silence enveloped the crowd again, celebratory cheers now hushed to excited murmurs.

Uriel was a breathtaking sight, larger than life, radiating an ethereal beauty that Warrior had always recognised. Yet, there was something profound about this moment—something that stirred in the air as the crowd's awed murmurs quieted, giving way to Uriel's majestic arrival. He arched gracefully around the tower, revealing a missing front left leg and scarring on his head. He bowed his head, moving with a tender elegance, and there, perched upon his temple, was a woman.

But it wasn’t just some random woman.

As Uriel inclined his head, revealing the intricate extent of scars that adorned the left side of his head, Hylia tumbled off. The Zora rushed forward, and he caught Hylia in his arms, lowering her gently back to her feet, concern etched on his features.

But Warrior's gaze was firmly fixed on Uriel. He staggered forward, an irresistible urge to touch the furred and scaled surface that shimmered curled within his gut. Whispers and questions about Hylia’s well-being flitted around him like distant echoes, but Warrior’s attention remained tethered to Uriel, captivated by his otherworldly allure.

Yet Uriel’s focus was on Hylia, blinking slowly as if lost in thought. Those mesmerising eyes held a depthlessness that stirred something unsettling in Warrior’s gut; he felt an inexplicable recognition, a sense that he had encountered that gaze somewhere before—where had he seen them before? Each heartbeat felt like a thread pulled taut.

With tenderness, Hylia reached out, her hand finding a gentle resting place upon Uriel’s nose. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft yet filled with thick emotion.

In response, Uriel blinked slowly, his eyes conveying a myriad of emotions Warrior could not comprehend, and a low, soothing purr resonated from deep within Uriel. It was a sound that seemed to echo with a distant familiarity.

It brought forth the comfort of cuddling beneath his scarf, the sensation of a more diminutive form huddled against his side as a content purr escaped.

A thunderous roar echoed from above, and Warrior watched, captivated, as Uriel’s unblemished ear flicked with acknowledgement. The dragon’s vivid eyes swept skyward, drawn by the sound. It dawned on Warrior that Uriel was being called back to his kin, a realisation that lodged like a stone in his throat.

With a graceful turn, Uriel surveyed them all, his eyes lingering on each individual as if he were committing their faces to memory.

Then, like a whisper of wind, he began to unfurl from around the tower, his massive form swooping low. Sheik instinctively raised his hand, fingertips brushing against Uriel’s shimmering belly scales.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, the majestic creature soaring back into the vast expanse of the sky, leaving behind an echo of his presence.

The young Rito choked on a whimper and the Gerudo cuddled him close, her own expression distraught.

Why were they…

“He wouldn’t want you to cry,” the Gerudo whispered. “Remember the letter he left Hylia?”

But the Rito just sobbed.

A numbing chill crept through him, icy tendrils snaking up from his toes, clutching at his chest. “Where’s Rook?” he asked, the distance of his own voice echoing like a ghost in his ears.

An oppressive silence enveloped them, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the quiet sobs of the Rito. All eyes—filled with a potent mix of pity and grief—were locked onto him, their collective sorrow wrapping around him like a shroud, deepening the ache inside his chest.

Hylia stepped forward, her gait marked by a palpable hesitance. The peculiar, feathered ears perched atop her head drooped sorrowfully, echoing the weight of her distress. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, painting a picture of sleepless nights and unspoken worries. Around her neck dangled Lainy’s charm—a precious token that Rook never parted with. The Mastersword rested against her back, its blade gleaming faintly through its sheath.

“I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, tears threatening to spill over and cascade down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Those were the only words that escaped her lips, an apology laden with despair.

“Where is my son?” Warrior asked, his voice low and strained, as if each word was pulled from the depths of his anguish. A choking sensation gripped his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

A series of thumps echoed through the air as the green and orange robot, unfamiliar in its design and not of Sheikah origin, made its slow approach. It came to a stop, and from within its metallic shell, a ghostly presence began to materialise. The ethereal figure was unmistakably female, her form shimmering with an otherworldly glow, yet what she was eluded Warrior.

“My name is Mineru,” she introduced, a deep sorrow that matched Hylia’s was etched into her features. Mineru raised a hand, resting it above her heart in greeting. “I am a Zonai.”

Zonai.

“Like…the extinct race?” Four questioned slowly.

“Yes,” Mineru nodded. “I was alive during the re-establishment period of Hyrule fifty thousand years ago. When I was alive…Rook arrived, injured. It…” Mineru’s gaze dropped, solum and aching. “It began simple enough, but in the end, everything went wrong.”

“For us, it began three months ago,” Purah picked up where Mineru stopped. “Something that we came to call gloom began seeping up from fissures and caves making anyone who came into contact with it ill. Eventually, we discovered a tunnel in the castle. Rook and Hylia descended to investigate it.”

“What we found…Demise was sealed there by Mineru’s brother Rauru,” Hylia recounted, eyes squeezed closed. It sent the gathered tears falling. “He woke up and…Rook, having picked up a Zonai artefact that amplified his magic, time travelled back to Hyrule re-establishment, as Mineru said.”

“Demise, wearing the form of Ganondorf, turned violent when my brother and my sister-in-law began attempting to unite Hyrule. It continued all the way up to not long after Rook’s arrival. His supposed change of heart was sudden, and we were all suspicious but…we bartered a peace treaty. In the end…it was probably what allowed Demise to strike. Our borders became lax, and we did not…” Mineru stumbled on her words. “Despite knowing how strange it was, we lowered our guard and Demise killed Sonia, Rauru’s wife, and stole her Secret Stone. The very stone that allowed him to become the dragon you just saw.”

“But there are four other dragons,” Time remarked, his brows pinched.

“Yes, and all were once mortal too,” Mineru acknowledged solemnly, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.

A chill turned glacial as the implications sank in. Warrior's stomach churned, and he felt lightheaded, as if reality itself was slipping through his fingers. There was an undeniable truth now lurking in the corners of his mind—a truth that had been prodding at him since he had seen Uriel’s gaze that he had tried desperately to ignore, but now, it had clawed its way into his consciousness, unwanted and inescapable.

“He ate his, didn’t he?” Warrior's voice trembled, betraying the turmoil within him.

“Yes,” Mineru confirmed, her voice a fragile whisper that seemed to echo with ancient sorrows.

“Who? Who ate what?” Wind exclaimed, confusion lacing his tone.

“To heal the Mastersword, Rook swallowed his Secret Stone and became Uriel,” Hylia stated, her words striking like a thunderclap in the silence that followed.

Tears gathered thickly, threatening to spill as the truth crashed over him, suffocating and relentless. It felt as if the breath had been knocked from his chest, each inhale a struggle against the tide of despair. His head spun violently, the world tilting around him as reality distorted.

“Wars—” Sky’s hand brushed against Warrior’s arm, a brief touch that ignited a surge of motion in him, propelling him into a whirlwind of movement.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, the edge of his voice sharp with anguish as he slapped Sky’s hand away. Desperate to escape the oppressive weight of the piercing eyes, Warrior turned and fled the area, the world fading into a blur around him as his tears escaped.

Chapter Text

March 17th — Cont’d

Hylia's throat felt constricted, as though a vice were tightening around it, as the Chain pressed them with a relentless barrage of questions, their inquiries soaring above her like arrows shot into the sky, elusive and ungraspable. Mineru attempted to provide clarity, but Hylia found it nearly impossible to focus; everything around her swam in a haze.

The adrenaline that once coursed through her veins had ebbed, leaving behind a dull heaviness that enveloped her body. Each injury throbbed with a persistent ache, a reminder of everything she had just endured. Her muscles protested with every slight movement, and a sharp twinge, a painful souvenir from the moment she had fallen onto Uriel’s head, shot up her back, intensifying the overwhelming sense of fatigue that weighed her down.

“There wasn’t anything those in the present could have done,” Mineru snapped, her voice sharp as the tension in the air thickened. Her patience was visibly fraying, frustration woven into every syllable. “Do not try to lay blame on them!” The weight of her words hung heavily. “And I searched tirelessly! Rook made this choice on his own! Nothing anyone said could have swayed him!”

Mineru's voice faltered, the fire in her tone dimming as she continued. “We did what we could to aid him and to ready ourselves for what lay ahead. Do not stand before me and speak of—speak of—” she stammered to a halt in the face of her emotions, burying her face in her hands, an urgent plea for respite.

Hylia watched, her heart aching as Mineru seemed to crumble under the weight of something she had spent so long trying to push aside. “The moment the Mastersword arrived,” she continued quietly. “Rook realised that this had already been set in motion—Uriel was destined to happen. There was not a shred of hesitation in his eyes!” The revelation hung in the air, a bitter reminder of the inevitable path that had laid unknowingly before them.

Sheik pressed a potent elixir into Hylia’s trembling hand, his gaze intense and unwavering. “Drink,” he urged softly, his voice full of quiet concern. “And go after him.”

Sheik did not need to say a name for Hylia to know who he was speaking about. She nodded, steeling herself, and swiftly swallowed the liquid.

A wave of nausea surged in her stomach, a familiar discomfort from the concoction on an empty stomach. Yet, within moments, the elixir began to take effect, weaving through her veins. The gnawing pain that had gripped her subsided, and she felt her skin stitch itself back together.

As Hylia regained her bearings, the world around her suddenly felt so much more in focus. Hylia turned on her heels and began walking. There was a call after her from Legend, but Hylia didn’t pay him any mind. She walked straight out of Lookout Landing.

Finding Warrior was effortless; he hadn’t ventured far at all, just beyond the sturdy walls of Lookout Landing. He was sat by the moat bank, face buried into his hands as he sobbed.

Hylia hesitated a moment, unease and guilt stirring heavily before she pushed through it and slowly approached. Warrior heard her, sitting upright as he turned with a glare, venomous words clearly on his tongue. But he faltered, only for a moment, when he realised it was Hylia who had followed after him. The glare was back, however.

“What?” was his sharp, biting demand.

“I want to take you up to the sky island,” Hylia explained, pointing a shaky finger skyward where Uriel had returned, seeking rest and time to heal from his wounds.

The thought of the injuries the Demon Dragon had managed to inflict lurched her gut, churning it nauseatingly, but if there was anyone who could soothe Warrior, it would be Uriel.

Warrior stared at her, a tense breathless moment hanging between them before he pushed to his feet. It was a hasty, uncoordinated movement and Warrior wavered on his feet. Hylia made an aborted movement to stabilise him but the anger in his eyes stopped her short.

“Well?” he snapped after a moment of them just standing there.

Hylia fumbled for the Purahpad and offered her elbow. Warrior stared at it for a moment, and Hylia waited patiently for him to wrap his hand around it. Once he did so, Hylia tapped the Shrine of Light closest to the Temple of Light. Their forms dispersed before condensing in only a moment.

Warrior released her immediately, shaking off the teleportation jitters almost scarily quickly. Hylia, on the contrary, took more time despite how she was far more familiar with such odd travel.

But from where they stood, the Temple of Light was there for their eyes to feast upon and curled atop the structure was Uriel. His head rested on the edge like a dog curled up on a dog bed, and Hylia’s heart stuttered when she realised he was very clearly watching them.

“This way,” she said, swallowing thickly as she led Warrior toward the stairs.

They moved in silence, but the world around them filled the atmosphere. Birds sang, the trees rustled—the gentle world around them remained oblivious to the grief that hung from them both. It was why Hylia loved nature so much—it would never temper itself for those it did not acknowledge.

Hylia offered her elbow once more, Ascend at the ready. Again, Warrior stared at her elbow, a heavy, distant glaze in his eyes. Hylia’s heart stuttered, the organ clenching tightly and threatening to steal her breath. She took them to the top of the Temple of Light, and when they emerged, Uriel was waiting for them.

He exhaled deeply, tiredly, his eyelids low, but he remained awake.

Hylia remained motionless, her heart heavy as Warrior stumbled forward, each step a struggle as though his feet were encased in lead. He collapsed before Uriel, a torrent of sorrow erupting as he buried his face deep into the fur of the beast.

Uriel responded with a gentle croon, shifting his massive form until his lone foreleg curled protectively around Warrior, creating a tender barrier against the world. Yet, this gesture only intensified Warrior’s anguish, his cries erupting louder, filled with raw emotion.

“You foolish, self-sacrificing boy,” Warrior lamented, tracing an anxious line along Uriel’s snout with trembling fingers. “Why did you have to do this?”

Unable to bear the heart-wrenching scene, Hylia turned away, retreating to the farthest edge of the temple roof. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she desperately sought to distance herself from Warrior’s voice, but the echoes of his despair still reached her ears.

“I was going to spend the rest of my life making amends for the time I wasn’t there for you,” he choked out, every word seeping with regret. “And then you had to go and turn yourself into a dragon.”

Another low, warbly croon emerged from Uriel, filled with an aching resonance. It struck a chord deep within Hylia, and she found herself drawn back again, against her better judgment, to witness an unexpected sight. Tears had welled in Uriel’s eyes, shimmering like dew in the morning light.

In that moment, she wished to cry out, to tell him ‘Uriel doesn’t remember he was Rook.’ It seemed that all dragons lived in this fog of forgotten truths, but the pain etched across Uriel’s features unsettled her, igniting a flicker of dread deep within her soul.

Was there truly any evidence that the dragons remained oblivious to their pasts?

No.

Hylia shook her head, frustration simmering within her. Uriel and the others were simply attuned to the world around them, their awareness sharper than she had given them credit for. Sonia and Zelda had previously discussed Rook and the dragonification process in Uriel's presence, yet he had displayed no indication of awareness or reaction to their words.

Hylia turned away once more, deliberately severing her connection with the pair behind her. Settling onto the ground, she crossed her legs in a practised pose of patience, all the while struggling against the tug of heartache carried in the soft, mournful tone that whispered from behind her.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“You can come over here now,” Warrior said after a long pause, his voice hoarse and weary. It took Hylia a moment to realise he was addressing her.

Startled, she pushed herself up, wincing as the pins and needles of circulation rushed back into her legs. With a less than delicate grace, she approached Warrior and Uriel.

Warrior's tired, bloodshot eyes met hers, revealing a depth of exhaustion that felt palpable. Tear tracks carved lines into his cheeks.

With a soft sigh that carried the weight of her unspoken thoughts, Hylia settled down beside Warrior, her gaze shifting to Uriel. She watched as his heavy eyelids fluttered slowly, each blink a struggle against the pull of sleep.

The silence between them felt suffocating, a shared heaviness that lacked words. Hylia chose to keep her focus to Uriel, her fingers reaching out with a gentle touch to stroke his scarred lip.

“I’m, sorry for how rude I was earlier,” Warrior said quietly, breaking the silence.

“You were not rude,” Hylia assured him gently. “Not that I would blame you if you were. We’re all mourning. It was a…big shock, to put lightly. No one would ever hold it against you.”

Warrior took a deep, steadying breath. “I just…it’s been almost four years and every moment I wanted nothing more than to see Rook again. I just—we just came from…” he choked on his words. “I literally just witnessed his and Lainy’s birth, and now here I am, learning I’ve also lost my son too after saying a final goodbye to my wife and daughter.”

Hylia swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Warrior warned, but it lacked any bite, just…exhaustion. “You don’t have anything to apologise for. I’m not an idiot. There wasn’t any way in hell you could have stopped something that had already taken place.”

Hylia let out a bitter laugh, rubbing her face. “I managed to sleep through Demise getting himself resurrected. I think part of this lies on my shoulders.”

Warrior was silent for a beat before he shook his head. “No.”

She shot him a bewildered glance, brows furrowed.

“This is…this is more than just something you ‘should have known’.” Warrior made air quotes and Hylia’s lips pursed into a tight line, about to argue when he continued. “Rook…when he began to open up to us before I managed to get the courage to tell him I was his father…he always said everything happens for a reason. Fate…it’s not kind nor is it cruel, it simply is despite how much he hated it after all he had gone through. Rook just…got dealt a shit hand.”

With a breath, Hylia reached for the Purahpad, opening up the letter Rook had left for her. She handed the pad to Warrior. “He left me a letter, and there are…there are photos of his time prior to his transformation.”

Warrior gingerly took the pad, his hands shaking as he read through the note.

“Silly boy,” he whispered, tears renewed. Warrior wiped them away quickly, sniffling as he moved to the gallery. “He looks so grown up.”

Hylia nodded. “I haven’t asked Mineru how long he was there before he swallowed the Stone yet, but Rook likely had his eighteenth birthday.”

Warrior stroked a finger across the photo of him holding baby Zelda at Sonia’s bedside.

“He fostered Zelda after Sonia and Rauru died,” Hylia explained, seeing how captured by the photo he was.

“Zelda?”

“Yeah,” Hylia chuckled softly. “She was born a month or two into his stay. Sonia wanted to bring back Zelda as a name as it had fallen out of use after the timeline convergence.”

“So Sonia is a descendant of Sun?”

Hylia nodded. “It’s the eyes, yes?”

Warrior stared at the image and flicked to another. It was Rook with a slightly older Zelda, closer to a toddler than a baby now, with her parents’ features beginning to take shape more. Rook himself was smiling, his hair at his shoulders in a graduated bob. He looked older and mature. His face had slimmed down where he had lost that remaining baby fat that clung to his cheeks, leaving behind high-set cheekbones and sharp, warm eyes.

But it was the soft and light in his eyes. There wasn’t any sign of what he was about to do—no grief, no fear, just happiness.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“As much as I would hate to break up this spirited back and forth, we have a far weightier matter at hand,” Purah interjected, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The bickering came to an abrupt halt as if a spell had been cast to silence them all.

“More important?” Hyrule retorted, a flash of incredulity flickering across his face, distaste etching deep lines into his brow.

“Yes,” Purah replied calmly, her demeanour unyielding, unaffected by Hyrule’s simmering anger.

Wind pressed his lips together tightly, feeling the tension coil in his jaw. Every instinct urged him to snap back, to articulate how nothing could possibly eclipse the urgency of learning about Rook’s fate. Yet, the gravity of Purah’s expression—a blend of resolve and concern—silenced the words that danced on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” he asked instead, his voice low but steady.

The others exchanged incredulous glances like they couldn’t believe he was willing to drop the subject of Rook.

“When Demise exploded, I spotted what might have been shards of his Secret Stone go flying,” Purah began to explain, turning to point northwest toward the Hebra, then south toward Faron and finally toward the Akkala region. “Mineru, do you know anything about broken Secret Stones?”

Mineru shook her head. “Unfortunately not. If something like that had happened before…it was not recorded, or was lost by the time it was just Rauru and I left.”

Wind’s stomach churned. Did she mean…the last of the Zonai? How had the others all died out?

“But…it could be something serious. The Stones are dangerous, even fragments could retain some of their power,” Mineru theorised. “It would be best to gather the pieces.”

“Then we go searching and find out immediately,” Purah said gravely. “If Ghirahim or Mirage get their hands on them…we don’t know what they could do.”

“Actually, I think it’s important to note that when we were fighting Mirage, he… sort of turned on Ghirahim?” the Zora noted in confusion, something uneasy in his voice and expression.

Mirage…was that the name the shade had taken, or was this just an entirely different person they needed to worry about, too?

“Yes,” the Gerudo agreed. From Rook’s description, could this be Riju? “After Hylia went on ahead, he battled us for some time before the demon said something and it turned Mirage on him. They both left after that.”

That was…strange.

“Ghirahim?” Sky echoed, brows pinched with distaste. “He’s still alive?”

“Hylia said he was a sword spirit, so she wasn’t surprised to hear his name originally,” Purah explained with a shrug. “But the why is not important. I’m sure they would want to retaliate after Hylia destroyed Demise.”

“I would also suggest not handling the shard pieces bare-handed,” Mineru added thoughtfully. “We do not know what they can do in this state if they did indeed shatter.”

“Sheik,” Purah turned to Sheik, who straightened up attentively. “Gather the other captains and inform them of what’s happening. Each crew will head out in these directions to fetch the items,” Purah turned toward Time. “Time, split your group up into threes and tag them with one of the patrol crews. I don’t care who goes where but do not tag Warrior.”

Time pursed his lips. “Understood.”

This wasn’t how Wind had wanted their return to Rook’s Hyrule to turn out. What a bitter twist of fate.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Would you still like me if I was a worm?"

Zelda paused, staring at her notes blandly for a moment as her brain registered Link’s words. Finally, she looked up from her notes to stare at Link, who was blessfully a Hylian and not a worm.

“Pardon?” Zelda just wanted to ensure she…heard Link correctly.

"Would you still like me if I was a worm?" He repeated, eyes twinkling as he smiled. "Y'know, keep me around. Worm-like."

What on…

Zelda was glad Link was so much more confident in expressing himself these days but…

“Worm-like?” she questioned incredulously. Zelda subtly pinched herself just to make sure she was not dreaming. “No?”

Link did an entire one-eighty at that response. She had never seen his smile drop so fast that Zelda swore she felt whiplash. He wilted, shoulders sagging as his already small frame hunched in on itself.

“Oh,” he sounded so…upset, but desperately trying not to sound so. His lips twitched downward, fighting a pout. “Um, okay.”

Oh Goddesses, now Zelda felt terrible. He had such a forlorn expression on his face that it physically hurt Zelda to look at him.

“It’s just…worms?” she questioned. “I don’t like worms, and…they don’t really make good research partners, either.” The last part was added in jest, hoping to cheer Link up as she pointed her pencil at their Sheikah tech calculations.

It had utterly delighted Zelda to realise how intelligent Link truly was—how effortlessly he could understand math complexities and mechanical aspects that came with it. Zelda was always eager to drag Link to the Royal Research Lab when she had the chance. Purah and Robbie had also been duly excited.

Speaking of those two…

Zelda fiddled with her pencil, acutely aware of Purah and Robbie on the other side of the room, desperately trying to appear as though they were not eavesdropping.

"Right. Research partners."

Uh.

Maybe Zelda should have just pretended she hadn’t heard Link initially. On top of that, her attempt at teasing him failed.

“Just out of curiosity...Link, where is this question coming from?  Did you…have you acquired a pet worm or something of that nature?” Zelda had seen Link around animals and how he adored them, from tiny critters to horses.

He had even nursed a bee back to health before, keeping flowers in his room for it to feed on until it could leave. His attention to animals had always made Zelda a little jealous—they did it so effortlessly! How did she get Link’s attention in such a way? How did she get to hear that sweet, loving, tender voice speak to her in such a way?

Link blushed, the colour spreading across his cheekbones, the hue standing out against his tanned complexion. “No…”

Zelda squinted. “You can keep it. I don’t believe you need my permission.”

Evidently this worm thing was causing Link some level of distress, and Zelda would always be accommodating to Link. “I mean…I don’t know if worms are really pet material, but we can build it a little terrarium.”

Link huffed out a laugh, covering his lower face as his eyes creased. He was amused, trying to hide his smile, and Zelda was pleased to see the forlorn expression gone. “No worm, Ellie. Just a thought experiment.”

Link pushed to his feet, glancing at the clock. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I have to get you back to the castle in time for dinner.”

Had it gotten so late already?

Ah…but Zelda knew she had missed the mark on this worm thing and promised to make it up to him since she had clearly not given the answer he wanted.

Yet Zelda can’t stop thinking about the damn question. Why…a worm? What was so…important about a worm and why did Link even ask it?

"What are you thinking about so deeply?" Link’s voice cut through her thoughts as it so often did because Link was always worth listening to. 

"I always think deeply,” Zelda sniffled primly as she slid off her stool. “I think you could stand to learn a thing or two about such."

"I love it when you're mean to me,” he said adoringly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Zelda turned her back to Link to hide her smile. "You love many things. It doesn't take much."

Link handed Zelda her coat, and she spotted a look in his eyes that was indecipherable to her, much to Zelda’s chagrin. "You'd be surprised." 

"Few things surprise me, Link." 

He considered her for a moment, another smile creeping across his face again, this time wider, edging a grin, with his dimples on show. "Like my worm question?"

Zelda cocked a brow as she buttoned up her coat, not being subtle in watching as Link pulled on his own coat, effortlessly flicking his collar into place.

“I suppose. What was the question actually about?”

Link blushed again. “It’s just a silly thing where you ask someone if they'd still like or look after you as a worm. I believe it’s a worm specifically because it’s well, a worm. Something insignificant to a person's daily life.”

Oh, that was interesting.

"So, it's a, what do you call it…a test of affection?"

Link hummed a sound of confirmation as he slipped the Mastersword’s sheath onto his back.

Well, crud. Zelda had failed spectacularly in that department. But she was intent on making it up to Link in some way.

…in some way that related back to a worm of course.

Chapter Text

March 17th — Cont’d

Warrior clenched his teeth, pushing aside the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as he and Hylia materialised at the base of the towering edifice at Lookout Landing. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, surrendering the sky to the cloak of night, yet the air still buzzed with an undercurrent of life.

Within Lookout Landing itself, there was a quiet flicker of activity still. People going to and fro.

He wondered whether the townsfolk had gathered in celebration after Demise’s defeat. Did they know that Uriel was Rook, the very Champion who had once saved them? Were they aware of the profound sacrifice Rook had made for their sake? Did they comprehend that a fragment of his very soul now roamed the vast skies, forever imprisoned in the form of a majestic dragon they worship and celebrate?

Forcing the grim thoughts aside, Warrior followed Hylia down the stairs as she approached a light brown-haired woman in Sheikah attire who was one of the few people who still wandered.

“Jerrin, what’s going on?” Hylia asked, her brows furrowed in concern.

Evidently, Hylia was just as confused as Warrior was about the late-night activity. The woman known as Jerrin paused, her focus shifting toward them as she adjusted the box of supplies cradled in her arms. “Purah noticed something go flying through the air after Demise exploded. She suspects it might be shards of Demise’s Secret Stone,” she explained, her voice laced with worry.

A frown creased Warrior's forehead as he watched Hylia’s expression harden. From their earlier conversation before Warrior had stormed out at the news of Rook, he recalled that these Secret Stones bestowed the power to transform into dragons when ingested. The very thought of fragments of such a dangerous object being scattered in the wild sent a shiver of unease down his spine. What if someone unaware of their significance stumbled upon them?

“That’s not good, right?” Warrior asked, his tone cautious as he tried to gauge the implications.

Jerrin shook her head slowly, her features etched with concern. “Lady Mineru has never encountered anything related to a broken Secret Stone, which is why she’s so anxious about exercising caution. Purah has organised the monster patrols to set out first thing in the morning. I believe your companions are splitting up to join them.”

Warrior took a moment to absorb the weight of the situation, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could unfold if these shards were left unguarded.

“But for now, I recommend you both get some rest. It’s been a long day,” Jerrin continued sympathetically.

“Thank you,” Hylia nodded, her hand brushing Jerrin’s elbow.

“Of course.”

With that, Jerrin took her leave, carrying on with her task. Warrior and Hylia stood there for a moment, lingering in a beat of stagnant hesitation, and so Warrior occupied himself with finally letting himself absorb the sight of Lookout Landing. It was a simple fort of sorts, with the village looking like it had been constructed afterwards. It was a cute contrast, where the fort was more of a central hub of operations.

“What’s the town's name?” he asked.

“Dragon Roost.”

Warrior choked on a laugh, coughing into his fist. He’s pretty sure Wind had never told Rook about that name. “After the dragons?”

Hylia flashed him an amused look. “Yes. I also told him about Wind’s Dragon Roost, and it made him even more determined to use that name.”

With a soft smile, Warrior took the village in again with a new light. Rook had done so much in such little time.

“Would you like to see Rook’s place?” Hylia asked, pointing toward the building with the telescope on top.

With words lodged in his throat at the revelation, Warrior nodded eagerly and allowed Hylia to lead him up the staircase to the first-floor balcony. As he did, his gaze fell upon the plaque that proclaimed it as Ellie’s Lookout—a tribute to Zelda, no doubt. The gesture felt bittersweet; Rook’s effort to honour his Zelda in such a poignant way stirred a mix of admiration and sorrow within him.

Hylia halted at the door, her silhouette framed against the soft glow of the lantern on the wall. “I’ll let you be,” she said gently, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Warrior paused, taking a moment to observe Hylia. He noticed how she fidgeted slightly, her fingers nervously tugging at the hem of her tunic, a subtle sign of her apprehension. A twinge of surprise coursed through him at the thought that she wouldn’t accompany him inside, but he respected her choice to grant him this solitude—to allow him the space to explore his son’s home on his own terms.

“The ground floor is an office we’ve been using for our investigation, so it’s a bit cluttered,” Hylia continued, her tone apologetic. “But everything upstairs hasn’t been disturbed except by Jerrin, who occasionally comes through to dust,” she added, her feathered ears flicking with nervous energy. After a moment’s hesitation where Warrior got the suspicion she wanted to say more, Hylia dipped her head, offering a slight smile. “Goodnight.”

With that, Hylia turned and began her descent down the stairs, her silhouette gradually fading into the night. Warrior watched her go, his gaze lingering on the way she blended effortlessly with her surroundings. The realisation that her home lay in Dragon Roost struck him as oddly comforting; there was something inherently endearing about the thought of her nestled among the populace there rather than squirrelled away somewhere secluded.

With a deep breath to steady himself, Warrior slid open the front door. He was immediately enveloped by a rich, enveloping aroma wafting through the air. It was the unmistakable scent of sandalwood, and it ignited a warm smile across his face.

The interior of the building greeted him with a harmonious palette of warm hues—deep mahogany intertwined with vibrant reds and soft creams. In the centre of the room stood a table, its surface strewn with a chaotic array of documents, sketches, and half-formed ideas.

At the back wall was an untouched desk adorned with a familiar Farosh statue. It was Rook’s desk. Warrior knew it right away. To his right, a sprawling map dominated the wall, intricately marked and interspersed with photographs and snippets of information, all delicately linked by snaking red string that wove an elaborate tale.

Warrior couldn't help but absorb the glorious chaos around him; he completely understood Hylia’s comment about the room being ‘full of mess’. It truly appeared as though a tempest had danced through the space—books lay strewn haphazardly across the floor, and papers eagerly jostled for attention atop every available surface. Yet, Rook’s desk remained a sanctuary amid the disorder, preserved with a kind of solemn respect, as if patiently awaiting its owner’s return.

A return that would never come.

Warrior turned toward the ladder, its rungs beckoning him upward. As he ascended, the first floor unveiled itself as a cosy library nook, complete with a plush green beanbag inviting quiet contemplation. Emerging onto the top floor, he found himself in Rook’s sanctuary—a bedroom brimming with personality.

Warrior paused at the top, a hand lingering on the handrail as his heart began to race in his chest.

Against the railing stood a sturdy desk cluttered with the remnants of an unfinished knitting project. The walls were adorned with an array of vibrant banners, one particularly captivating—a dragon weaving an ouroboros. Unlike the ones he had glimpsed at Lookout and Dragon Roost, this version was grander and intricately detailed. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Uriel, evoking a rush of emotions that stung at the corners of his eyes, forcing him to inhale deeply as tears threatened to spill.

To the right, a bookshelf crafted from interlocking cubes stood sentinel, its structure modern. A smaller bookshelf framed one side of the bed, serving a dual purpose as a bedside table and a gentle partition. The bed itself was a cosy haven retreat, draped with an inviting canopy. Every surface was adorned with an eclectic mix of knickknacks and vibrant plants, each telling its own story. A small shelf, anchored to a sturdy wall support beam beside the bed, cradled a thriving potted ivy with its cascading vines gracefully tumbled over the edge.

But it was the bed that truly captured his attention—a familiar scarf was draped across it as a runner. Warrior approached with hesitant steps, his fingers trembling as they reached out to caress the fabric. As he gathered it into his hands, he pressed it to his face, allowing the scent to envelop him. It was a fragrance rich with nostalgia, evoking a deep well of emotions that made his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

It was distinctly Rook. Warrior detected a sweet, honeyed note intertwining with something more complex beneath—a hint of dried citrus that evoked a distant summer afternoon. The aroma was distinctly different, yet achingly familiar. It was unmistakably Gerudo in origin, reminiscent of a perfume Atari adored, the very one she would mischievously withhold, knowing how much he cherished it. Her laughter echoed in his mind as he recalled her playful antics, hiding the treasured bottle away just to tease him.

Now, as he inhaled the scarf's intoxicating scent, Warrior felt as though he were clinging to a fragment of not only Atari but also Rook—a bittersweet reminder of love, laughter, and loss.

Warrior sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping the scarf back around his neck. Opposite the bed were several photos, some of which he recognised. There was a group photo of the Chain, as well as others that Rook had taken during quiet outings with the guys. A few pictures featured just Rook and Warrior together. The centrepiece was the photo of the Champions. Among the collection was also a photo of Rook with a Rito couple and the young Rito from earlier. Was that Teba and Saki? Was the young Rito Rook’s little brother?

Determined, Warrior resolved to seek out the young Rito tomorrow, hopeful that their paths would cross once more in hopes of sharing a conversation.

But for now, Warrior kicked off his shoes and removed his armour. He sank back against Rook’s bed, the soft mattress giving way beneath him, and let his gaze drift upward to the canopy overhead. Its fabric was a whimsical scene of dragons soaring amidst a sea of stars, each stitch a testament to the artistry of whoever had crafted it. He found himself wondering if there was a story woven into its design.

Rook had always been fond of the dragons. He had shared how when he needed solitude, he sought them out, their otherworldly nature reassuring and comforting when things got too much for him. Warrior wondered if Dinraal, Naydra, and Farosh knew or had some strange sense that Uriel was Rook.

He wouldn’t be surprised if it were so. They were Guardians for the Goddesses.

But Warrior remembered that they had also once been mortal too. If that was true, who or what was Uriel meant to represent? The Light Festival had always been about hope and togetherness. He could remember learning how the festival itself had stopped disputes between the regions from getting out of hand centuries before Warrior’s birth.

But the others had a Goddess they acted as proxy for.

Was Uriel, as part Light, mirrored with Hylia? It would make sense, but something in his gut rebelled against that idea. It felt wrong. Hylia herself certainly didn’t act like it, nor had she mentioned any form of connection that had been established between them.

Was Uriel just…a singularity? He had no Spring to guard, no Goddess to represent. He merely was.

His reason for creation was different, unique, an idiosyncrasy.

His son had sacrificed himself for Hyrule, and Warrior would dedicate himself to seeing Rook’s wish to see Hyrule flourish fulfilled. That, Warrior promised to himself.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Zelda could faintly hear Lainy teasing Link outside, and if she tilted her head just right toward the window, she could spot the two of them tussling. It brought a smile to her face. Lainy had only just returned from Gerudo Town with the intent to study medicine at the Institute of Medicinal Matters here in Castle Town.

It was the sole reason Lainy was allowed to leave the walls of Gerudo Town at age fourteen. She was still far too young by Gerudo Law, but there were workarounds, and Lainy, as bright as the sun, sought to further her knowledge even at such a young age.

It impressed Zelda incredibly.

It also made her a bit envious to have such freedom.

“I am glad to see them both together again,” Atari remarked from her seat beside Zelda.

Zelda turned to her, seeing the mother smiling at the window. There was a deep sadness in her gaze and Zelda understood why. At eight, not long after Link had drawn the Mastersword, Lainy had made the journey to Gerudo Town. Link had not been allowed to say goodbye.

“They called her a distraction,” Link hissed when Zelda had tentatively asked him some time ago when the news of Lainy’s return reached him. The bitterness on his face had been startling, because it was the first of such that Zelda had seen. In all the time Zelda had known Link, he had never been verbally aggressive or hostile to anyone, not even behind someone's back.

“I shall try to visit as often as possible so that Link can see Lainy,” Zelda murmured, her heart aching.

They were twins who never got to grow up together. Zelda had always known Lainy would travel to Gerudo Town as dictated by Gerudo Law, but Link drawing the Mastersword had not been on her mind as a ten-year-old.

Zelda had only ever heard the stories of Sir Hawthorne and the Mastersword from her mother, and after her passing…everything had been hushed while they simultaneously began pushing vigorous prayer and training onto Zelda.

“You have no need, Your Highness,” Atari assured, a knowing smile on her face. “I have a feeling Lainy will be brute forcing her way into visiting her brother.”

Zelda giggled at the thought.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 18th

Four shuffled behind him, adjusting nervously in the saddle.

“You okay?” Twilight asked, leaning slightly to peer over his shoulder, concern etched in his features.

“Yeah, just…I don’t think I’ll ever get used to riding on a horse,” Four admitted quietly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, followed by a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his unease.

Twilight turned his gaze back to the winding path ahead, his eyes focused on the horizon as the sun reached its peak in the sky. They were trailing toward the rear of the group, the steady clop of hooves echoing around them amid the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze. After nearly four hours of travel, they were drawing closer to Hyrule Ridge. This journey was the shortest of the three groups, yet the anticipation of what they were searching for was anything but minimal.

“…How much sleep did you manage to get?” Four inquired barely a minute later.

Twilight swallowed hard, the weight of the group’s silence pressing in around him. No one had dared to speak much beyond to reiterate instructions, and neither Rook nor Uriel had been mentioned—and it was a gaping absence that hung heavy in the air.

“Tossed and turned,” he confessed, the admission barely above a whisper. “What about you?”

Four nudged his head against Twilight’s back, a gesture that offered a fleeting sense of comfort. “Not well at all. I don’t think anyone got a proper night’s sleep. When we gathered, everyone looked absolutely shattered.”

With a weak laugh, Twilight allowed himself to slump forward in the saddle, his gaze drifting toward Sheik, who was leading the group with a quiet determination. Sheik appeared to be slightly more rested, but the weariness etched on his features suggested otherwise. The truth was that everyone in this Hyrule has had days to begin grappling with their loss.

Yet, Twilight knew better than to be deceived by outward appearances. Sheik’s demeanour had an unsettling quality to it; he seemed far flightier than Twilight remembered. It wasn't just him—everyone felt off-kilter, even unfamiliar faces among the group. They moved with an air of caution, almost as if they were trying to skirt around unacknowledged grief. Physically present, yet pieces of them lingered unmoored.

“What… what do you make of Hylia?”

Twilight hesitated, searching for the right words, and it was not an easy task. The very concept of Hylia was one he had long since accepted, as natural to him as drawing a breath. Yet, he had always viewed her as something otherworldly, an ethereal observer, a spectator quietly watching the events of the world unfold from a distance.

He knew that Zelda, Dusk—all the Zeldas—were intricately tied to her existence. Before the call of this quest, the whispers of their lineage were common knowledge. The royal family was said to be descended from Hylia herself. Whether one chose to believe that truth was left to the discretion of the individual. To Twilight, it had always felt distant and irrelevant, a mere echo of a myth while he had lived a simple life as a humble farmer.

After the harrowing ordeals with Zant and Ganon and Midna's bittersweet departure, Twilight had forged a deeper bond with Dusk. Together, they found solace in shared memories and the ache of longing for their lost friend. They had become quite close, something Twilight was hesitant to put into words as romantic in nature but it was mutual—something they had discussed in the past. Whether that something led to marriage was yet to be determined.

Though the thought of inquiring about Hylia had lingered at the edges of his mind, he had never felt the need or desire to ask Dusk what her feelings were on the Light Goddess.

Yet now…

“I don’t know,” he finally murmured, thoughts tangled. “It doesn’t feel real, but here she is… and she’s not what I expected.”

But what had he honestly expected? A transcendent divine figure? Perhaps something more akin to the Light Spirits—beings distinctly non-Hylian in appearance?

“I always imagined her as some majestic bird, with her winged depiction and often bird-related motifs,” Four added, his tone bleeding toward hesitation. “Or... kind of like…”

“Like?” Twilight prompted, intrigued by his companion’s sudden uncertainty.

“Rook. With his wings?”

Twilight paused, contemplating the comparison. “Oh, now that’s an interesting comparison.”

It truly was. Rook’s winged appearance was born from his embodiment of Courage and Wisdom, and it was no secret that even a single fragment of the Tri-Force wielded immense power. But for someone to have two of them, it was surreal and profound. How Rook managed to keep it a secret for so long was beyond Twilight.

But then again, the kid had always worn a glove and scarcely touched anyone, even with the covered hand. Twilight had never spared a thought to someone getting their hands on more than one piece of the Tri-Force. Why should he have? It had never been relevant to him, and yet, Rook had been in their midst for months before it was revealed.

Although to note, Rook had never actually said it, but that day in Sky’s era, when he revealed his wings, it hadn’t needed to be said. Twilight could recall how his piece had warmed, had responded, to Rook’s use. It was like Twilight’s Courage was acknowledging Rook.

“What about you?” Four inquired, his voice low and curious. It brought Twilight from his thoughts.

“I don’t think it’s her real form,” Twilight confessed, her brow furrowing in thought.

Four tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “Yeah? In what way?”

Twilight hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just…she appears too…mortal? to Hylian? If you catch my drift?”

Four fell silent for a long moment, mulling over his words. “Yeah,” he murmured eventually, voice sounding distant. “I can see that, but that raises the question of why she chose this form.”

Why indeed.

“We’re here,” Sheik called from up ahead. He tugged his horse to a stop, twisting in his saddle to face them all. Twilight and everyone else came to a halt. “We’ll split into pairs and search. Under no circumstances are we to touch it, understood?”

A chorus of “understood” escaped the other people in the group.

“Good. Now go,” Sheik ordered, nudging his horse back into a walk, joined by a dark-haired woman.

Twilight gently squeezed Spot with his legs, coaxing the horse back into a measured walk as he veered off in a direction different from the others.

“How long do you think this will take?” Four asked, leaning around Twilight’s arm to survey their surroundings. “It’s such an expansive area. That thing could have landed anywhere.”

“But it’s an open expanse, like you mentioned. That has to count for something,” Twilight countered, his gaze sweeping across the horizon for anything that seemed amiss—perhaps a freshly stirred crater or a hint of unnatural displacement. Unfortunately, this terrain was anything but level. It was a patchwork of peculiar not-quite tree formations, with the remnants of dried-up riverbeds and depressions that dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see.

“This… feels like it's going to be more difficult than it should,” Four murmured, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

“We’ll only uncover it if we actively search,” Twilight replied with a resigned shrug, prompting a dramatic groan from Four as they pressed onward.

Twilight expertly guided Spot up a gentle embankment, encouraging him into a brisk trot. They hadn’t ventured far when a voice rang out, cutting through the air with urgency.

“Found the spot, but it’s empty!”

“Shit,” Four hissed, his frustration palpable.

With a swift tug of the reins, Twilight turned Spot around, urging him into a canter. They closed the distance just as Sheik arrived, his presence commanding and focused. The Sheikah dismounted fluidly, his movements echoing the precision of a seasoned warrior. Four grunted in irritation, struggling to contain his impatience, but Twilight anticipated the struggle, snorting with a hint of amusement.

Four jabbed Twilight’s side as he finally slipped off Spot’s back, landing with a soft thud in the grass. Twilight, graceful as ever, followed suit, his feet barely making a sound. Four shot him a disgruntled glare, to which Twilight responded with a playful smirk. Together, they approached the crater.

It was unmistakably the location. The earth was churned and disturbed, fresh soil scattered like confetti.

Sheik knelt at the edge of the crater, his expression tense. The hole was modest in size, roughly five feet by five feet, yet the implications loomed large. He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation settling in. “Not good. Either a curious animal snatched it up, or…”

He didn’t need to finish his thought because the gravity of the scenario was apparent.

“Or Mirage and Ghirahim got it,” Four filled in, his voice grim.

A collective grimace passed among them, an unspoken dread hanging thick in the air as Four and Twilight shared a worried look.

Chapter Text

March 18^th — Cont’d

Sky had a lot going through his head. There was so much to unpack, and he felt as though the explanations had only just scratched the surface. He wanted to sit down with Hylia, someone who, to him, he had only encountered several weeks ago but who hadn’t seen him since time immemorial.

And Sky doesn’t know how to process that, but he tries because it’s easier than thinking about Rook and what happened to him.

A horrible, terrible guilt sat like a boulder in Sky’s stomach.

It hadn’t seemed real. The moment he had heard Demise’s name, Sky felt as though he had been trapped in one of his nightmares.

Even now, it stirred a sense of cold dread.

Demise was gone. For good. The cycle was over, and yet he still scared Sky.

It had been surreal to watch the sky-bound battle, to witness how the dragons had fought against Demise.

Rook had given everything to save them, and Sky had never felt so much guilt. He was part of the reason this cycle had begun, and the youngest of them was the one forced to end it. It festered in his gut, leaving him nauseous.

But something else wasn’t sitting right with him.

“Was it Uriel opening the portals all along?” Sky’s voice cut through the silence, laden with disbelief.

Hyrule’s head snapped toward him, a look of shock etched across his features. “Pardon?” he breathed, as if trying to comprehend the weight of Sky’s words.

Sky’s brow furrowed in thought. “We—Rook said it was his magic, but that can’t be true,” he argued, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Rook’s gone, so he can’t be the one opening the portals. That only leaves Uriel, but that opens up a whole other can of worms.”

Hyrule sat silent, a whirlwind of emotions playing across his face, but his grief locked away any response he might have had for Sky.

“If Uriel is the one manipulating the portals,” Sky pressed on, a hint of hysteria lacing his voice, “then it means he’s far more attuned to the unfolding chaos than Warrior and the others have ever acknowledged. Sure, Uriel and his kin aided in the battle against Demise, but those moments felt distinct, separated by a veil of duty and obligation. But where does that leave us now?”

Sky had been ruminating on this for some time. He had been since the moment when he realised it was Rook, or Rook’s magic, that was tearing the fabric of reality to create these portals. It had always left a strange nagging unease in his stomach whenever he spent time thinking about it. How could one individual wield such immense power? It defied reason. Even Sun, the living embodiment of Hylia, seemed incapable of such extraordinary feats.

(“I am but a fraction of what made Hylia,” Zelda explained, her fingers delicately plucking the strings of the Goddess’s Harp, producing a gentle melody.

“Granny called you Hylia’s Spirit Maiden. What does that mean? Impa was cryptic about it all,” Groose asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Zelda paused, her expression shifting as she pondered the question. “I…am a piece of Hylia. A sliver of her soul given mortal form,” she revealed, her voice imbued with a bittersweet resonance.

“And so you possess only a fraction of her power?” Link ventured, curiosity and concern mingling in his tone.

With a cautious smile, Zelda met his gaze. “A mortal’s body could never possibly withstand the power of a god, Link. It would tear you apart from the inside out.”

In that moment, a flicker of something profound danced within her eyes—deep, knowing, and ancient—before it vanished as swiftly as it had come. But the lingering intensity left Link’s stomach churning, as if he had caught a glimpse of a truth too immense to comprehend.)

Sky bit his lip, his fingers tightening around the leather reins as unease prickled at his thoughts. If only Sun were by his side, or perhaps if he had thought to consult Hylia sooner. He hadn’t seen her before they set off, and he could only imagine the toll the battle with Demise had taken on her.  No doubt she was exhausted after the months she's had. Sky couldn’t blame her for catching up on as much rest as she could now that the threat of Demise was over.

“Sometimes things just don’t have an answer,” Hyrule murmured. "Not one that can be explained to us anyway."

With a sigh, Sky looked down at the saddle, expression pinched. “But this is important. With the shade, uh, Mirage and Ghirahim running around…”

“Sky…”

“I just think it’s important if we—”

“Sky!”

“What?” Sky snapped, turning to glare at Hyrule in annoyance.

Hyrule pointed ahead, eyes wide. “I think that’s it!”

Sky surged forward in his saddle, his eyes widening as he gazed ahead. In the distance, something caught his attention—a patch of earth that was unmistakably disturbed. The soil, dark and uneven, contrasted starkly with the surrounding landscape, suggesting it may just be what they had come out this way searching for.

“Let’s go!”

He urged his horse into a brisk canter, and Hyrule followed closely behind. Their hooves thundered against the earth, the powerful rhythm startling birds from their roosts in the nearby trees. A startled pack of wild horses lifted their heads, wide-eyed and frozen in place as Sky and Hyrule galloped past, a blur of movement.

As the landscape unfolded before them, the sight grew ever clearer, igniting a spark of hope within Sky’s heart. The soil was upturned, as though a mighty force had come crashing down.

He couldn’t contain his relief, letting out a laugh as he pulled gently on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt. The creature shuffled restlessly beneath him, her hooves scraping against the ground as he quickly dismounted. With urgency, Sky approached the edge of the crater, his breath catching in his throat.

There, nestled at the centre of the crater, lay a piece of stone glowing with an iridescent radiance that danced with vibrant hues. It was cracked and jagged, unmistakably having broken off from something much larger, yet its size was surprisingly modest—more akin to the familiar size of the Secret Stones that the Sages wore.

As Hyrule knelt beside him, Sky carefully extracted a piece of fabric from his pocket. He reached into the crater where the fragment lay. It shimmered with an otherworldly glow that hinted at its magical abilities, even in its fractured state. Mineru had been wise not to underestimate the power of the Secret Stone, even as broken as it was.

With deft fingers, Sky scooped the fragment up using the fabric, holding it aloft. The way it caught the light brought to mind glistening sea glass, polished by the relentless waves of the ocean.

“Wow,” Hyrule murmured, leaning in closer, his eyes wide with wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

Sky nodded in agreement, adjusting the fragment within the cloth. He could feel the energy pulsating through the fabric—a strange, exhilarating sensation that throbbed in sync with his heartbeat. It was a potent rhythm, alluring and almost hypnotic in nature.

With a deep breath, Sky rose to his feet. “The vial?” he asked, his voice steady.

Hyrule nodded, reaching into his bag and producing a small glass jar that had been handed to them by Purah for this very purpose. He pulled the cork free with a delicate pop and extended the vial toward Sky, who expertly guided the fragment inside. It made a soft clink as it settled at the bottom.

Hyrule replaced the cork, watching intently as he gently shook the vial. The stone piece inside rattled softly, its enchantment undiminished, casting a steady, ethereal glow that bathed their faces in gentle light.

“It’s incredible,” Hyrule breathed, bringing the vial closer to his face. His eyes sparkling with awe as he peered at the elusive stone, Sky chuckled softly, finding amusement in Hyrule’s wide-eyed fascination. Some of his fae heritage was no doubt peaking through with the allure to the glow.

But something uneasy stirred in Sky’s stomach, and he glanced around, lips pursed. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the quiet, grassy canyon. The wind whispered softly through the area. There was no sign of danger—nothing but the familiar peaceful hum of nature...it wasn't there.

Sky glanced back at Hyrule to see the fae looking at him, puzzled.

"It's too quiet. Or is it just me?”

Hyrule grimaced. “It does feel too easy. Best keep our guard up."

Suddenly, the air shifted—growing thicker, colder, and unnatural. A dark presence filled the space, and the ground beneath their feet trembled slightly. They both froze.

“What the—?” Hyrule didn’t get to finish.

In the blink of an eye, a violent burst of black diamonds took shape, and a figure materialised from within. Ghirahim stepped forward, eyes glinting with malevolent intent. "I’ve been waiting for you to show your faces."

The demon stood tall in the midst of the remaining swirling magic, his eyes gleaming with an eerie, knowing light. Both Sky and Hyrule were momentarily stunned by his sudden appearance, too shocked to react at first.

Ghirahim used that to his advantage. In an instant, his blade was drawn. He lunged toward them with incredible speed—but his strike was off. The blade missed entirely, slicing through the air just inches from Hyrule’s arm. It was deliberate.

The two stared, wide-eyed, barely able to comprehend what had just happened as they backed away. The air crackled with magic as Ghirahim took a graceful step back, his smirk widening.

“Pity that didn’t take your hand off,” Ghirahim mused.

His gaze shifted to the vial in Hyrule’s hand—the hand Ghirahim had just tried to slash. Hyrule pulled the vial close, trying to hide it from view. Ghirahim’s eyes burnt with greed as he took in the sight, every word dripping with hunger.

"But that? That’s what I want."

Without another word, Ghirahim’s blade swirled with the dark magic as though it was an extension of himself. Sky reacted first, drawing the Mastersword and charging forward with a battle cry, but Ghirahim was already moving. His blade moved in a blur, deflecting Sky’s strike effortlessly.

"Is that all you have after all this time? How disappointing, Sky Child," Ghirahim crooned mockingly.

Sky stumbled back, stunned by Ghirahim’s sheer speed. But Hyrule, determined and focused, stepped in to press the attack. His sword clashed against Ghirahim’s with a sharp ring, but the demon sidestepped, effortlessly dodging and countering with a thrust of his own. Hyrule barely managed to parry it, but the force of the blow sent him skittering backwards.

Hyrule gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the sword. "Sky, any ideas?"

“Play keep away, I guess,” Sky said helplessly.

Hyrule clutched the vial, watching how Ghirahim’s hungry gaze locked onto it. The fragment glowed faintly, pulsating with power. Hyrule knew it was the key to whatever Ghirahim and Mirage were planning—he and Sky were being depended on to keep it safe.

Ghirahim’s smile widened as if he could hear Hyrule's thoughts. His movements became more fluid, almost taunting, as he toyed with the two of them. With a swift, almost too-fast movement, Ghirahim aimed his blade at Hyrule’s exposed side, and Hyrule just barely managed to dodge it as Ghirahim's strike grazed his tunic.

Ghirahim grinned. "You’re quick, but not quick enough."

In a sudden surge of power, Ghirahim spun, launching a magic attack directly at Sky, who sought to land a surprise attack and was instead knocked back. The impact left Sky gasping for air, and Mastersword landing several feet away. With Sky temporarily out of the picture, Ghirahim turned his full attention to Hyrule.

Hyrule struggled to keep up with Ghirahim’s relentless speed. His sword moved like a blur, each strike almost too fast to follow. Hyrule was panting, his heart racing, but he gripped his sword tighter, determined to protect the vial.

Hyrule grimaced.

Ghirahim’s eyes glinted with amusement as he watched Hyrule’s every movement. Hyrule’s attempts to strike were futile, as Ghirahim weaved around his blade with inhuman grace.

"You’re getting slower, fairy. Just as disappointing as the Sky Child,” Ghirahim scoffed.

Hyrule parried the next strike, but his footing fumbled on uneven ground, and, in that moment, Ghirahim’s blade knocked Hyrule’s sword from his hand.

Hyrule stumbled again, thrown off balance, but before he could recover, Ghirahim was already there. With a swift lunge, he struck at Hyrule’s offhand with the flat edge of his blade, knocking the vial loose. The vial slipped from Hyrule’s fingers like a stone tumbling down a cliff as he fell, and in one elegant move, Ghirahim plucked it from the air, his fingers curling around it with an almost tender touch.

"No!" Hyrule cried, eyes wide in horror, as he shoved up onto his forearms.

The vial, now in Ghirahim’s grasp, shimmered more burnt orange, and he held it up to the light, admiring the way the stone fragment inside pulsed with its almost hypnotic rhythm. His smirk widened as he turned his gaze back to Hyrule, who stared up at him in shock.

Ghirahim smiled with a mocking sweetness. "You did so well to protect this but not well enough, unfortunately."

Hyrule scrambled onto his feet, trying to reach for the vial, but Ghirahim held it out of reach, effortlessly staying just beyond his grasp. With a flourish, he twirled the vial between his fingers. "Now I have what I came for, you two are nothing more than distractions."

He looked down at Hyrule, his expression almost...cruelly amused, as if playing with a toy. With a flick of his wrist, the dark magic flared again, sending Hyrule tumbling backwards, his body crashing to the ground as if struck by a powerful gust of wind.

With a graceful movement, he vanished, leaving Sky and Hyrule in the field, panting, defeated, and staring at the place where Ghirahim had been standing just moments before.

Sky, still recovering from his earlier struggle, staggered to his feet, but Ghirahim was gone. He’d won. The Stone fragment was his.

“Shit,” Sky cussed.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wind watched as the others organised so they could begin the trip to the stable for the night. The journey here had been simple enough, with not even a monster in sight. Wind was a little disappointed about that. He wanted to fight something; he wanted to take his anger, grief, and pent-up emotions from the reveal of Rook out on something.

He looked down at the vial in his hands, quietly fiddling with the glass that contained the Secret Stone shard. Time had asked if Wind could keep hold of it to ensure its safety.

Wind had agreed with an air of caution, and now he sat here. Such a small, pretty thing was the cause of Rook’s transformation. He wondered if there might have been an alternative—some way that meant Rook hadn’t needed to sacrifice himself.

But Mineru’s words ring in his ears, and Wind knows the thought is pointless. They had spent a year searching, and now Wind was fifty-odd thousand years too late to even be contemplating such.

With a sigh, Wind clutched the vial close, running his thumb over the rough cork keeping it closed. There was nothing unnerving about it—the stone pulsed softly with magic, yes, but it didn’t feel inherently bad in any way.

The sun finally began to duck behind the mountains and Wind was called over, the group ready to depart. Pushing to his feet, Wind began ambling his way over.

He doesn’t get far.  A hand yanked his hair, ripping a pained yelp from him.

“Wind!” There was panic in Legend’s voice.

As Wind found himself flailing, balance thrown, a blade tucked itself beneath his chin.

“Hand me the shard,” a familiar voice spoke in a low purr.

Rook. No. No, it couldn’t be Rook, and so that meant—

“Well?” Mirage queried, lips tucked close to Wind’s ear as he spoke lowly. “We don’t want you getting hurt now, do we?”

“Release him!” Time demanded.

Wind’s breath caught in his throat, the sharp coldness of the knife pressed against his neck a stark reminder of the danger he had found himself in. His grip tightened around the vial, the only thing keeping him alive, yet he knew that holding it might be the very thing that would get him killed. Mirage wanted it. Mirage needed it. And Wind knew, deep down, that if he let go of it, he might as well be handing over Hyrule’s safety.

Mirage's arm is firm around his waist, locking him in place with a strength that felt almost suffocating. The shade’s breath was warm against his ear, and Wind could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. “So easy...one quick movement, and you’re dead. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

Every muscle in Wind’s body was screaming at him to move, to do something—anything—but the knife at his throat kept him still, frozen in terror. Wind could feel the steel against his skin, every breath making the blade inch closer, and his body trembled with the knowledge that if he made the wrong move, it would be over.

Mirage’s words kept echoing in his mind—he’s after the vial. Not Wind’s life. The shard. Wind’s hand tightened around it, the glass sticky against his sweaty palm.

His eyes flickered over to Time and Legend. Both of them are there, so close, but so far away. The other members of the patrol lingered back, deferring to Legend and Time. He can see the tension in their postures, the way they hesitated, the flicker of uncertainty in their eyes. Time looked like he was about to do something, but Wind knew he couldn’t. Not with the knife at his neck. Not without making it worse.

Don’t do anything stupid, he told himself. Stay still. Stay alive.

But with every passing second, the sense of impending danger grew.

Mirage’s voice cut through his thoughts, his words curling almost prettily with the familiar hint of an accent Rook had always had. Gerudo, Wind knew from having asked Rook himself so long ago now.

“What are you waiting for, Time? Come and try it. Try save your precious Wind and see what happens.”

Wind felt his throat constrict. He didn’t want to be the reason for this standoff. He didn’t want to be the one who forced Time and Legend to make a choice they would regret. But at that moment, with the blade so close, all he could do was hold his breath and hope.

He looked into Legend’s eyes for a fraction of a second, searching for something that might give him hope. But Legend’s expression is unreadable, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword, but not yet drawing it. Time’s face is more intense, a quiet storm swirling in his eye, but even he knew that one wrong move could end it all.

“What do you want with the shard, Mirage?” Time asked, his voice low but firm, his gaze unwavering.

Wind felt Mirage tilt his head, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around Wind’s torso. “What I want is none of your concern. You should be more worried about your friend here.” His voice is smooth and even, without even a hint of uncertainty. “But if you must know… it’s not for me. It’s for someone else. Someone far more powerful than you can even comprehend.”

Wind doesn’t have the time to acknowledge the words, just log them for later. Later, once Wind was out of danger.

Legend stepped forward slightly, his hand inching toward the sword at his side, but Time held him back with a mere glance. Mirage’s blade to Wind’s neck is a threat, and any sudden movement could make it all unravel. Wind could see the frustration on both of their faces—they needed answers, but Mirage was seemingly always one step ahead, always in the position to keep them on edge. It had been that way for four years now.

Wind’s chest tightened. The longer this dragged on, the worse it got. His mind raced, searching for any possible solution. His eyes darted between Time and Legend, then fiddled with the vial still clutched in his hand.

If he doesn’t act now... it will be too late. Mirage might not kill him, but if he got the Stone shard, what did that mean for everyone else? What did it mean for the world?

I can't wait anymore.

The decision hit Wind like a lightning strike, sudden and sharp. His body moved before his mind caught up. He slammed his elbow back into Mirage’s side, the force of the blow catching the shade off guard. For a brief moment, the pressure on Wind's throat eased. He didn’t think. He just acted.

But as Wind struggled to break free, Mirage reacted quickly, the blade sliding upward from his neck, an instinctive strike meant to slice through the chaos.

The tip of the blade caught Wind across the face—his eye, to be specific.

A shock of agony erupted as the blade raked across his skin, and before Wind could fully process the pain, his vision was obscured by a flood of red that fizzled out into nothingness. His hand flew to his face, but it was too late—his eye was gone, or at least too damaged to save. The pain is searing, blinding, overwhelming. He staggered forward, his legs nearly giving way beneath him, but he forced himself to stay standing, to keep moving away from Mirage.

Don’t drop it.

That single thought cut through the pain. His fingers clenched tighter around the vial. The only thing Mirage wanted, and Wind was the one thing that was standing between Mirage and total destruction.

His breath is ragged, and his mind is struggling to keep up with the reality of what’s just happened. The world seemed to tilt and spin, his body overwhelmed by the shock of the injury. The blood poured down his face, but all he could focus on was the single fact that he was still alive.

Time’s voice shouted something, urgent and full of alarm, but it was drowned out by the pounding in Wind’s head. He’s vaguely aware of Legend moving toward him, hands reaching out, but he’s too disoriented, too shaken by the pain to fully process anything beyond the need to escape.

Wind’s breath hitched as he finally collapsed to the ground. His hand still clutched the vial. He doesn’t know if it’s instinct or desperation at this point. The vial is the only thing that mattered now. He can’t let Mirage have it, not like this.

Mirage chuckled. “You think that’ll stop me, Wind? You think you’ve won just because you managed to get away?” The words are cold, mocking. But there’s something behind them, something more that Wind doesn’t fully understand yet.

His heart pounded. He can’t let Mirage get what he wants. With a last, desperate burst of strength, Wind scrambled along the floor with one hand clutching the vial as his other covered the remains of his eye. He’s not going to let this be the end. Not when so much is at stake.

But the world around him swirled in a dizzying haze as Mirage moved to intercept.

Legend is the one he meets. With a swift motion, he stepped between Mirage and Wind, his body a shield as he drew his sword in one fluid motion. The sound of the blade unsheathing cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

"Stay away from him," Legend growled, his voice low and full of a barely contained fury. His stance is unyielding, and the sword was held in front of him as if to draw an invisible line in the sand.

Time, not far behind, mirrored Legend, his Biggoron sword at the ready, but his eyes narrowed, studying Mirage with calculating precision.

“I’ll ask again: what are you trying to do?” Time questioned, his tone steady, but there’s a sharpness beneath it that betrays his own anger. “Whatever it is, we won’t allow you to do it.”

Mirage’s laugh rang out, a low, venomous sound that only grew more dangerous as he stepped back, his anger mounting. His eyes narrow, lips twisting into a sneer. “You think you can stop me?” he spat, his grip tightening around the bloodied dagger at his side, red eyes glowing with malice.

Mirage’s glare was sharp and full of contempt as he gazed at Time and Legend. His eyes flickered briefly to Wind, and a cruel smirk pulled at his lips. “You’re only in my way of achieving what I want. All three of you.”

Legend and Time readied themselves, each in a battle-ready stance.

“You’re wasting your time,” Mirage’s voice was sickly sweet, yet the malice behind it was unmistakable. “Give it to me. Now. There’s no need for more bloodshed.”

Wind’s grip tightened on the vial, his pulse quickening. “We’re not giving it to you, Mirage.”

Mirage tilted his head. “We shall see about that.”

With a sudden, fluid movement, Mirage surged forward, faster than any of them expected. In an instant, the shade’s hand was outstretched toward Wind, but Legend was there, blocking Mirage’s path with a swift slash of his sword. Mirage sidestepped, a laugh escaping his lips as he effortlessly dodged the strike.

“Impressive,” he sneered. “But not enough.”

Time moved next, launching forward with a burst of energy, but Mirage was quicker, skittering backwards.

The shade raised his hand, a flicker of energy crackling around the dagger. Mirage’s form flickered for a moment, a trick of light that made it nearly impossible to track his movements. Without warning, Mirage lunged, dagger aimed at Legend's side, but Time reacted first.

In an instant, Time moved to intercept, slashing his blade in a powerful arc that sliced through the air. Mirage twisted, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike, but Time’s blade caught his left arm, the force of the blow sending a splatter of black blood flying as his non-flesh arm was sliced clean off just below the elbow.

Mirage paused, taking a moment to peer down at the stump without an ounce of emotion. No pain, no shock—nothing. Mirage blinked at Time.

"You’re faster than I thought with that heavy thing," he stated, without an inch of inflexion in his voice. But a smirk pulled at his lips a moment later. "But it doesn’t matter."

In another blur, Mirage disappeared, leaving a gust of wind in his wake. Both Time and Legend whirled, eyes scanning their surroundings. Mirage reappeared behind Time, faster than a blink, the dagger aiming for his exposed back.

Legend was quick. He was already there, his blade meeting Mirage's dagger in a clash of metal. The force of the collision vibrated through them both. Legend staggered back from the force, but Mirage retreated too.

Mirage, now clearly irritated, twirled the dagger in his hand as the stump of his non-flesh arm fizzled and wafted with a dark miasma, reforming the cut-off section. He flexed his regrown fingers as his eyes flashed with frustration. "This game is becoming tiresome," Mirage said, his voice low and agitated. “You just had to do this the hard way."

Legend stepped forward, his sword held firmly in both hands, his stance unwavering. "We won’t let you take it. Not now, not ever."

“Enough!” Mirage roared, his voice cracking the air with an intensity that made the ground tremble. With a violent sweep of his empty hand, a wave of dark magic surged out with Mirage as the epicentre. It threw Legend and Time back, the force sending them crashing into earth, leaving them momentarily stunned.

Wind crawled back a few paces, the vial still clutched tightly in his hand. Mirage, sensing an opening, lunged toward him, his taloned hand outstretched.

But before Mirage could reach him, one of the patrol members shot an arrow. It landed in Mirage's stomach and the shade yowled in a cat-like fashion. Mirage staggered back, his non-flesh hand clutched around the arrow lodged below his ribs.

Legend threw himself back to his feet, scrambling for his sword as he slipped in front of Wind. “Not this time, Mirage!”

He went in, using Mirage's disadvantage to slash at the shade but Mirage's distance gave him ample time to avoid the blade. He withdrew further, calculating, fury and frustration warring in his expression. The shade’s eyes flicked from Legend to Wind, then to Time, who was now recovering, reaching for his sword. Mirage’s lip curled just shy of bearing teeth, but his gaze was tight with defeat.

Mirage took a step back, ripping the arrow from his stomach without care. There was no gush of blood nor a sound of pain beyond a grunt.

“This isn’t over,” Mirage snarled, form flickering. “I will have that shard piece one way or another. Mark my words.”

With that, Mirage vanished in a gloomy wisp of miasma, leaving only the echo of his voice and the fading ripple of magic in the air.

Wind slumped back against the ground, trying to calm his pounding heart as Legend stood up straight and Time approached, tentatively sliding his sword away. Only after several seconds had passed did the tension finally begin to subside.

Legend turned to Wind as he sheathed his own sword, voice softer now, laced with concern. "You alright?"

Wind moved his hand with a grimace. He didn’t dare try to open his wounded eye. The pain was raw and scorching. He was pretty sure his eyelid had been sliced as well during the attack.

"I’m...as okay as I can be,” he breathed, voice twinged with barely stifled pain.

Time glanced at both of them, eyes flicking to the place where Mirage had disappeared. "We need to be prepared for him to make another appearance but for now..." Time knelt beside Wind, helping him to his unsteady feet. “For now, we’ll head to the stable for some rest and get a potion into you. See if it’s capable of repairing your vision.”

He didn’t sound very sure, and Wind’s shoulders slumped with defeat. Time didn’t inspire much confidence in Wind that he would have two functioning eyes after this.

Just Wind’s luck.

But that wasn’t what Wind was most concerned about. Worrying his lip, Wind turned back to Time. “What did Mirage mean by the stone being for someone more powerful than we can even comprehend?”

Time and Legend just shared concerned looks. Neither of them had any more of an idea than Wind and that…whatever Mirage was up to…it spelt trouble—more than they initially believed.

Chapter Text

March 18th — Cont’d

He dug his claws into the ancient stone as he scaled the temple's smooth face, his gaze fixated on the feathery tail that cascaded tantalisingly over the edge, igniting a thrill that coursed through his veins. With a final push, he reached the summit, where Mirage nimbly darted over the precipice, revealing the magnificent sight of Uriel before him.

His heart raced, a flutter of awe constricting his throat. Until now, he had only caught fleeting glimpses of Uriel from a distance, yet here he was, standing in the dragon's glorious presence.

Uriel lay partially coiled, reminiscent of a snake, his head resting languidly upon his opalescent body. His ears drooped low, and the peaceful rhythm of his deep, slumbering breaths filled the air, creating an atmosphere of serene majesty. There was a subtle twitch of his powerful talons, curling and uncurling as the feathers on his middle legs ruffled. Uriel exuded an ethereal beauty that both captivated and humbled Mirage, leaving him breathless in the presence of such splendour.

Allowing his form to settle into something more Hylian-like, Mirage stood up on two legs, taking a moment to bask in the sight. With the moon’s rise, Uriel had retired for the night, but even then, he had done so earlier than typical.

Mirage's gaze fell upon the wound inflicted by Demise, a grimace of distaste crossing his features. That hadn’t been what he wanted when dangling the idea of dragonification in front of Demise. Yet, that initial revulsion softened as he noted the remarkable healing that had taken place in just two days. The injury, once no doubt raw and jagged, now bore the appearance of newly healed skin, with delicate scales beginning to emerge.

Mirage assessed the cracked crystals that adorned Uriel's back, aware that their restoration would demand time and patience, as they were of lesser importance to his overall well-being. Nonetheless, the healing process was a hopeful sign.

Uriel exhaled deeply, each breath a rhythmic cadence that made his entire form swell and contract. As the shade drew nearer, he moved with grace, his presence quiet and unobtrusive, yearning only to bask in Uriel’s ethereal beauty. A low, pleased purr rumbled from Mirage’s throat, reverberating softly in the stillness as he knelt mere inches away from Uriel, anchored by a sense of reverence.

Mirage's fingers twitched with desire, aching to bridge the distance, an almost electric longing to touch the exquisite beast before him. Succumbing to temptation, he let his hand drift gently, fingers gliding over Uriel's cheek, tracing just beneath his striking golden lashes. For a fleeting moment, the lashes flickered like the wings of a butterfly, yet Uriel remained blissfully slumbering.

The overwhelming sensation of awe washed over Mirage and it threatened to swallow him whole, his eyes burning with the intensity of his admiration.

“Magnificent,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

His breath hitched as a large, luminous eye slowly opened, revealing the depths of its otherworldly nature. Uriel’s lidded eye was fixated on Mirage, a gaze that felt simultaneously penetrating and surface level, as if it could see through to his very soul.

“Hello,” he greeted, tilting his head in a playful, inquisitive manner.

Uriel’s eye flickered with an uncanny awareness, absorbing every detail of Mirage's presence. In response, Mirage preened under the weight of that intense gaze, eager to be the centre of such attention. He reached out to caress the velvety fur beneath Uriel’s eye once more, feeling the warmth radiating from the creature.

Any lingering anger from his earlier failure dissipated like mist in the morning sun. Mirage found a profound serenity in simply being the object of Uriel’s focus. He let his hand glide over the soft fur again, savouring the sensation.

“I’m Mirage,” he introduced softly, a hint of reverence in his tone.

You are who I desire most. To kneel before you, to worship at your feet…

Uriel shifted slightly, his eye narrowing in cautious scrutiny.

Mirage’s smile widened at that. He bowed his head, pressing his face against Uriel’s warmth as his fingers continued to stroke the luxurious fur.

“Your beauty is unmatched,” he complimented, fully aware that the divine dragon could comprehend his every word. Mirage pressed closer, nuzzling into Uriel’s warmth. “Truly, I’ve never encountered anything as magnificent as you.”

With a heavy sigh, he allowed his weight to sink comfortably against Uriel, gazing into the depths of his luminous eye, where he found Uriel’s intense gaze reflected back at him from his inner periphery—shimmering and haunting in its ethereal glow.

“I must confess,” he continued, a spark of smug satisfaction dancing across his face, “I was the one who planted the idea of dragonification in Demise’s mind. He was but a remnant of the past, an ancient tale awaiting its overdue conclusion.”

Mirage felt a thrill coursing through him as he recalled the battle of dragons. “He had long outlived his relevance, a weak, pathetic relic striving to cling to an era forever lost. It was time for him to step aside to allow a new age to be ushered in.”

Sprawling out with his back against Uriel, Mirage tilted his face to the sky, his heartbeat quickening as excitement filled his chest. He rested a hand over his heart. “My God, oh, how I yearn to stand before him once more! To kneel at his feet and feel his burning gaze upon me, to be the sole focus of his attention.”

Butterflies flew rampant in his belly, and he released a longing sigh.

Uriel shifted, and Mirage let out a surprised laugh, falling onto his back as the dragon raised his head. “Oh, did I upset you, pretty?”

He grinned up at Uriel as the beast cocked his head to look down at Mirage, eyes narrowed. It was different this time—the atmosphere ladened with…disproval.

“I did upset you!” Mirage gasped, eyes wide in shock. “Oh, I didn’t mean to! I promise you this has long since been set into motion! My God has shown me it himself! I am simply ensuring his foretold arrival rings true! He shall herald in a new age unlike anything else!"

Uriel rumbled, displeased, and Mirage rolled onto his front, pushing to his knees. He clasped his hands together against his chest. “Forgive me, sweet dragon. I am merely fulfilling my role. Demise may have created me, but he is beneath us. I serve a much grander purpose. My God has given me a reason to exist beyond the wants of my creator. He showed me I am not to be a mere puppet on strings!”

Uriel cocked his head in a dog-like manner with visible confusion in the depths of his otherworldly eyes. Mirage smiled again, hands pressed to his cheeks. “Everything is almost ready. I am just waiting for the last few pieces to fall into place, as they say.”

Eyes turning half-lidded, Mirage purred again with smug delight. “I have found a glorious purpose, but to stand before the one I worship, I must make my final preparations. One of those is removing Ghirahim from the equation. He is just as old news as Demise was.”

Uriel slumped back against the temple, squinting at Mirage in lingering confusion. He reached out, petting Uriel’s nose. “All will make sense in time, sweet dragon.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Father,” Zelda greeted, her voice steady as she executed a graceful curtsy, then stood tall once more, a picture of poise and elegance.

Impa, her loyal friend, stood protectively behind her at the grand oak door of her father’s office—once her mother’s sanctuary and, in the near future, destined to become Zelda’s own if everything unfolded as planned. At present, Impa was Zelda’s sole confidante, a reassuring figure in the heavy atmosphere of the room.

Link’s absence weighed on her; his superiors had kept him away on supposedly urgent matters. Yet, she felt a surge of resolve; this meeting would be Zelda finally drawing a definitive line in what her father could and could not have a say in anymore.

Her father raised his head from the cluttered expanse of paperwork that lay before him, his brows knitted tightly together in an expression that mingled annoyance with concentration. It was evident that he was deeply engrossed in his duties and reluctant to be interrupted. Standing close by, his advisor maintained a posture of deference, arms neatly tucked behind his back, gaze fixed upon the intricate patterns of the polished wooden floor.

“Zelda,” her father finally acknowledged, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of exasperation. He set down his quill with a deliberate motion, linking his fingers together as if to contain his rising indignation. “I did not summon you. Has something happened?”

Zelda swallowed hard, the tension in the room tightening around her like a noose. She fought against the instinct to fidget and instead positioned her hands demurely in front of her, embodying the very essence of decorum—prim and proper. “I have come to inform you that I will be proceeding with the marriage contract that Mother once arranged with Mrs. Hawthorne.”

The air thickened with an oppressive silence in the wake of Zelda's declaration, as if the very walls were holding their breath.

Her father’s gaze bore into Zelda, his eyes a storm of unyielding scrutiny, rendering his thoughts utterly inscrutable.

“Link is to turn fifteen soon, and thus, it is within our right to initiate this as we see fit,” Zelda proclaimed, her voice steady, unwilling to backdown in the face of her father’s reaction.

“Surely there are far better options, Zelda?” her father replied with a forced lightness, a hint of exasperation pricking the edges of his tone. “I have meticulously curated a list of excellent suitors just for you. In fact, I was considering presenting you with that very list not even this morning!” His words flowed with a soft chuckle, an attempt to mask his disdain, yet Zelda perceptively recognised the undercurrents of tension swirling beneath his playful façade.

“No, thank you, Father,” she replied with a calm poise, the subtle steel in her tone betraying her intense resolve. “Link and I will be proceeding with the contract our mothers created.”

Her father’s longstanding animosity toward Sir Hawthorne loomed in the air like a dark cloud, having morphed over the years into a thick, palpable resentment aimed squarely at Link.

How utterly despicable, she thought at how enviously bitter her father had become over a man long deceased. All because her mother had cherished Sir Hawthorne—not with romantic fervour, but with a deep, abiding friendship that had begun as childhood friends and only ever strengthen through the trials they had faced together.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As Zelda arrived that evening on the Temple of Light's roof, she sensed an unusual tension radiating from Uriel. His typically composed demeanour was replaced by a palpable agitation, an unsettling sight that troubled her deeply, especially since she had never witnessed him in such a state—not even during the initial chaos of the Upheaval.

With a furrowed brow, Zelda approached, her concerned gaze fixed on the majestic beast as he shifted uncomfortably, the scales on his massive body shimmering in the moonlight.

“What troubles you?” she asked softly as he finally turned his attention to her. The rumble of his response was low and hesitant, filled with unspeakable worries that hung heavily in the air.

Zelda's eyes travelled along his massive body, finally resting on the healing wound that marred his otherwise majestic body.

“Is the injury bothering you?” she inquired gently, her heart aching for the guardian whose gentleness had always been a source of comfort.

Scabs had always posed a temptation to scratch, a memory that tugged at her. She understood all too well the discomfort that accompanied wounds in the healing process. Uriel, however, had likely never experienced such pain, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him, realising he was unfamiliar with the vulnerabilities of injury and the slow journey toward recovery.

She stepped closer, her fingers delicately brushing against his nose. “It’s okay. Healing takes time,” she reassured him.

A sudden snort escaped him, and Uriel pulled away from her hand, his eyes drifting across the vast horizon. Zelda frowned, sensing an undercurrent of something. Maybe it was not the injury bothering him. Was he searching for something? Perhaps Sonia?

“Sonia has finally moved on,” Zelda explained, her tone tender yet firm.

Uriel turned back to her, and the fierce intensity of his gaze took Zelda aback. It pierced through her like a bolt of electricity, rendering her words momentarily stuck in her throat, and her hands trembled at her sides.

(Ellie.)

Zelda gasped, choking on air she no longer needed in her shock. “What?” This wasn’t—this was—how could it be?

Uriel approached her with gentleness, his large, warm nose bumping softly against her midsection. The sensation was oddly grounding, rocking her like a ship on calm waters.

(Listen.)

“Okay!” she squeaked, her voice trembling with confusion as she struggled to unravel the reality of what was happening. Uriel was—Rook was—

(The shade, Mirage, visited me earlier, and he spoke of something troubling. His allegiance to Demise has long since dissolved. Instead, he has tethered himself to something—someone else. He never revealed who, but he’s scheming and plans to act soon. Something dangerous to everything, I’d imagine . He… seeks to herald a new age. A… new god?)

Zelda nodded vigorously, her mind racing to piece together the fragments of urgency swirling around her. “Mirage is planning something, right. But—Roo—Uriel? How are you—?” Her words faltered, caught in the tumult of disbelief that clouded her.

Uriel—Rook??—let out a heavy breath that felt like a confession.

(I…) Uriel’s gaze flickered away, brimming with anxiety, his usually steady eyes darting restlessly. (I started to remember after Hylia pulled Fi.)

Rook. It was Rook. Her sweet, beloved Rook.

(But that does not matter.)

Zelda would vehemently argue otherwise.

(Mirage needs to be stopped.)

“Okay, so why can’t you—” Zelda began, but Rook cut her off.

(No. Not me. It cannot be me,) he rebuffed, his ears drooping sadly like wilted flowers. (I cannot do that to them. I’m sorry. They shall grow old and pass on while I…won’t. I forfeited my mortality the moment I swallowed the Secret Stone. It is a mercy for them to remain oblivious.)

Tears brimmed in Zelda’s eyes, grief swelling within her like a storm at sea, heavy and relentless. “Okay,” she whispered, nodding slightly as she wiped away the gathering tears with trembling fingers. “I’ll do it.”

(Good,) Rook continued, his crinkled gaze sharp and focused. (Mirage mentioned something… it gave me the feeling he plans to kill someone named Ghirahim?) His tone turned apprehensive, filled with concern. (I don’t know what he intends or how he’ll carry out this plan. I don’t even know who this supposed god he’s following is. I’m sorry for not having more information. The others may be able to piece things together better.)

Zelda shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll pass the message on. I’ll…say I overheard him.”

Rook nodded, a soft purr emanating from his throat as he leaned affectionately against her hands. The sob that Zelda was desperately trying to restrain finally broke free, and she sunk against his warm, reassuring nose.

“Rook,” she cried, her voice thick with anguish.

(I’m sorry.)

“No, don’t apologise!” she exclaimed, frustration bubbling over as she lightly smacked her palm against his snout. Rook snorted, his wide, expressive eyes reflecting a blend of surprise and concern as he gazed at her.

(Zelda—)

“No! Do. Not. Apologise!” she insisted fiercely, pulling back to meet his gaze with intensity. She tangled her fingers in his soft fur, a grounding gesture as she glared at him defiantly. “I love you, you silly man!”

(Ellie,) he breathed, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. (I love you too. I could never have loved another, even if I had survived.)

“You could have!” she retorted, the words spilling out with a mixture of stubbornness and sorrow. But she held back the truth that weighed heavily on her heart—that she had known Rook was Uriel since her death. She had been aware of this inevitable outcome, and the knowledge haunted her. It branded her a liar that fateful day in Farore’s Spring.

(They would never have been you,) he murmured, his voice a tender caress amidst the turmoil.

Her tears spilt over once more, tracing a path down her cheeks.

Rook withdrew slightly, his eyes turning skyward. (You must go. Before everyone retires for the night.)

Zelda nodded, brushing her fingers beneath her eyes to dab away her tears. “Okay. I love you.”

(I love you too. Always and forever.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Well, it took you long enough to get back!” Ghirahim snapped, his voice laced with irritation as Mirage finally emerged from the dark shadows of the depths. He shook off the remaining wisps as he approached the demon. Mirage ignored the Yiga Clan members who went about their duties.

They still had some use to Mirage, one that was rapidly growing to a close.

Ghirahim turned sharply to face Mirage when he didn’t answer, an annoyed snarl curling his lips as he let the vial slip from his fingers, the glass clinking sharply against the table.

Mirage remained unfazed by the rising tension. “I only retrieved one of the pieces,” he replied, his tone measured and calm. “However, I did succeed in blinding Wind when he proved…uncooperative. So, perhaps it’s a fair exchange,” he mused thoughtfully.

“Fair trade? Fair trade?” Ghirahim spat, his voice dripping with incredulity. “That is no trade at all, you imbecile!”

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Mirage stood his ground against Ghirahim's furious demeanour. “We possess two shards of the Stone. Acquiring the final piece will be of no issue,” he stated confidently.

“If it's so easy to obtain, then why don’t you have it?” Ghirahim shot back, his frustration evident as he glared at Mirage, arms crossed.

A brow twitched. “You’re being irate, Ghirahim,” Mirage said coldly. “Watch your tone.”

“Me? I am the one who needs to watch their tone?” Ghirahim bristled, baring his teeth. “How dare you! You are nothing but a creation born from Demise’s magic! You are no Hylian—and certainly no demon! You are an abomination to existence!”

Mirage cocked his head. Ghirahim’s face was flushed in his anger and his fists were clenched.

Slowly, Mirage ambled closer until he stood before Ghirahim. He tilted his head to meet the demon's eyes. “Maybe I am an abomination but at least I’m not a complete failure at his purpose for existing.” A slow, smug smile curled Mirage’s lips.

“You—” Ghirahim reared back, drawing his blade but Mirage was faster.

Purple blood went flying.

A headless body collapsed to the floor. Its head followed shortly thereafter.

Mirage watched as Ghirahim’s body twitched in the throes of death, blood squirting from his decapitated neck.

“You’ve outlived your usefulness, unfortunately,” Mirage intoned blandly.

He blinked, sliding his sword away as his gaze swept over the Yiga Clan members who stood frozen, their expressions hidden behind their masks yet he could sense the wave of shock and fear radiating from them. With a brow arched curiously, he queried, “Why are you all standing around?”

With a palpable urgency, they shook off their stupor and hastened back to their duties, the air thick with unease.

Mirage stepped over Ghirahim’s corpse, his fingers reaching for the vial that Ghirahim had carelessly thrown onto the table. He plucked the single piece he managed to retrieve and dropped it into the vial alongside the other.

Lifting the vial into the flickering light of a nearby lantern, he tilted the bottle slightly, watching as the shards within caught the glow and sparkled a brilliant rose gold. A satisfied smile spread across his lips.

Soon.

Chapter Text

March 18th — Cont’d

Warrior stood leaning against the railing, looking out toward the castle. It was still floating, held up by some kind of force. None of them had any sort of idea what could be the cause, Purah having originally theorised it to have been Demise’s power since it had risen upon his awakening.

Was it perhaps like the other sky islands? Was it held up with unknown Zonai technology?

Still, Demise was gone, but the castle remained afloat. For how long it would remain that way was the more pressing issue. One none of them could calculate.

With a sigh, Warrior dragged a hand down his face, rubbing at his beard. He went back to leaning his weight on the railing.

It had been just a day since all three groups had set off, and Warrior already felt an unsettling restlessness gnawing at him, an impatience born from worry for their safe return. He hoped everything went well and that they returned safely and with the shards of this Secret Stone.

He should be winding down for the night, but Warrior found himself unable to shake off the remnants of the restless sleep from the night before. The weight of fatigue clung to him like a heavy shroud, but he had no illusions that tonight would offer any respite.

A soft shuffle echoed behind him, the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs—quiet yet distinct enough to be noticed. Warrior turned to find Hylia, her presence illuminated by the dim lights that lingered in Lookout Landing. She cradled two cups in her hands and with a small smile, she extended one cup towards him.

Instinctively, Warrior accepted it. The aroma wafting from the cup caught his attention immediately—it was marked by hints of earthiness and sweetness, unmistakably alcoholic in nature.

“It won’t be the strongest of drinks,” Hylia said with a hint of excitement, “but some farmers have recently begun experimenting with beer brewing.”

Warrior raised the cup closer to his nose, taking in the scent more fully. “Malt?” he asked, his brows raised in curiosity, and Hylia nodded.

He took a cautious sip, the liquid gliding over his tongue. It was pleasant—far from overpowering, just as she had said. The flavours danced lightly, a delightful balance of sweetness and grain that went down smoothly, leaving a warmth in its wake.

“I’m guessing Purah finally released you if you’re here?” Warrior remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Hylia responded with a crooked, weary smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes. I’m not quite sure what else I could offer her. She wrung me dry of every scrap of information about the battle.”

“Scholars will be scholars, I suppose,” he mused, his tone light.

Hylia let out a soft laugh, leaning back against the wooden railing of the balcony. Her gaze drifted upward toward the distant central sky island. Warrior followed her line of sight, though it was too far away to discern any details, especially not Uriel.

Instead, he turned his attention to Dragon Roost below.

Tonight, the townsfolk had gathered to commemorate their hard-won victory. The atmosphere was far from the raucous celebration he had expected; it was subdued and reflective, a blend of sombre mourning and heartfelt remembrance. The people congregated, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns, raising their glasses not just in joy but in honour of Rook and the sacrifice he had made and toasting to Demise’s defeat.

Warrior couldn’t help but reminisce about how things had once been in Hyrule. A century ago, such an occasion would have erupted into a cacophony of cheers and boisterous laughter, a riotous affair where voices fought to be heard over one another in crowded taverns or bustling streets. People would have been more inclined to revel in their victory than to pause and reflect upon those who had lost their lives.

Hyrule had undergone a profound transformation over the last hundred years. Humility had seeped into the very core of its people. Warrior now understood where Rook had learnt it. He had always been too modest for his own good, never quite knowing how to accept the praise he deserved.

The memory stirred a warm fondness within him, and he took another sip of his beer, attempting to cloak the feeling.

“You said you’ve been here since we left, right?” Warrior asked.

“Yes,” Hylia said softly, eyes dropping to her cup. “At the time, I did not know why. The Mother Goddesses merely said they…wished for my return to the mortal realm so I went. I thought…since Zelda died, I was to remain and ensure any future cycles did not fail.” A pause. Then, a low, grieving: “But the reason turned out to be much worse than I expected.”

Warrior felt as if he had taken a punch to the gut. He swallowed thickly.

Rook had made it no secret that he adored Hylia, as little as he had spoken of her anyhow. Why wouldn’t he be when Hylia adored him just as much?

Hylia took a steadying breath, straightening up slightly. She turned her gaze onto Warrior, eyes heavy with emotion. “Once this is over, I plan to journey to one of the Springs in hopes of…seeking perhaps some closure. And…if maybe there is a way to reverse what happened, they would surely be capable of that.”

Warrior nodded. “Then I would join you, if you’d have me.”

“Never think otherwise,” Hylia assured him, a flicker of warmth threading through her eyes, though an aching sorrow lingered just beneath the surface—something Warrior perceived all too clearly. “I never wished for this to happen.”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” he offered gently.

“No. Not that,” she whispered. “Demise…” a complicated expression contorted her face. “I once thought he was a friend. I was young. We both were. There had been…signs, I suppose, in hindsight. But I was young, barely out of my infancy.”

Warrior could only stare, words locked in his throat.

“I thought him a friend,” she repeated, eyes swelling with tears. “And he turned around and begun burning everything I sought to prosper.”

“I offered him my hand, a gesture of trust, yet it was nothing but a deceitful ploy. He always craved more than what was rightfully his. He fancied himself above the fleeting desires of mortals. Countless demons coexisted harmoniously among humanity, finding contentment in their lives but Demise was not one of them. It was not inherent to his kind to rebel—Demise simply hungered for more than his place in this world.”

Hylia heaved a sigh. “I know…I know now that Demise’s actions reflect no way on me, but…I will live with the guilt of what he has caused. All that suffering…” she shook her head. “It did not need to happen.”

“I—”

“Pardon the intrusion.”

Warrior lurched and Hylia whirled around in shock. There, floating before them, was Zelda. Rook’s Zelda.

“You—” Warrior choked out.

“Zelda,” Hylia said softly. “Why are you down here?”

“Down here?” Warrior questioned, head snapping back and forth between the two.

Zelda swallowed, meeting Warrior’s gaze. “I…keep Uriel company during the night. I will remain as long as I am able too. But that is not why I am here. Something urgent has happened.”

“What happened?”

Zelda’s face tightened with worry. “Mirage visited Uriel.”

“What? Why would he do that?” Hylia began pacing back and forth.

“I…I only overheard the end of his visit,” Zelda stammered, worrying her lip. “He plans to kill someone named Ghirahim and…well…he worships someone…an unknown entity. He called them a god who will herald in a new age.”

She stumbled over her words, fear and worry etched onto her face.

“That’s not good,” Warrior breathed.

It really, really wasn’t.

“But we knew Ghirahim and Mirage weren’t on good terms after the battle with the Sages,” Hylia pointed out, pressing her cup against her cheek, brows furrowed deeply in thought. Her ears perked right up before immediately flattening against her head. “This…this isn’t good.”

“I only overheard very little,” Zelda repeated, her fingers twisting anxiously together.

The nervous gesture sent a ripple of unease through Warrior’s stomach, an unsettling instinct whispering that she was withholding something crucial. Yet, despite the palpable tension in the air, he chose not to press her further; there were more pressing matters that demanded his attention.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?”

Zelda shook her head. “Unfortunately not. That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Hylia soothed, and Warrior found himself nodded in agreement. “This is…this is big. Bigger than I initially believed. Someone out there is powerful enough to gain Mirage’s attention and even worship. An unknown in all of this.”

“Where would we even begin to look for clues?” Warrior questioned.

“Was the Yiga Clan not working with them? You mentioned them the night you visit,” Zelda questioned.

Hylia paused her pacing and nodded, her brows pinched. “Yes…the only locations I know currently…would be their base in Gerudo Highlands…and…there were things left in the mural room. What’s the chance something important was left behind?”

“A gamble but one we need to investigate,” Warrior answered. “Where is this mural room?”

“It’s in the depths,” Hylia said quietly. “It’s…it shows the events from Rook’s arrival to him swallowing the Secret Stone.”

Warrior swallowed. “Right.” The words were choked out. “So, head down first thing in the morning? We don’t have the time to wait for the others to return.”

Hylia squeezed her eyes closed before nodding. “Yes. That’s likely for the best. This all… seems to be time sensitive. Ghirahim…as mortified as I am to admit it…looks to no longer be our problem if Mirage truly does plan to kill him. Mirage would be doing us a favour by removing him from the equation.”

Zelda nodded grimly but cocked her head. “Who is Ghirahim?”

“A sword spirit much like Fi. He is, was, very much loyal to Demise and has much more…free will, I suppose, in which form he takes as his body is the sword while Fi inhabits the Mastersword,” Hylia explained.

“Oh,” Zelda blinked, her eyes wide in curiosity. “Fascinating. How is that possible?”

Hylia’s shoulders slumped. “They…Fi and Ghirahim…were not always sword spirits. They were once people.”

Another punch to the gut.

“What?” Warrior breathed.

Guilt flashed across Hylia’s face, and she downed the rest of her drink. “Fi was once a Sheikah,” she admitted, not meeting either of their eyes. “She…Fi was…she lost her entire family during the war against Demise and offered herself. I did not want to but…Mene, my sister and her husband Polaris made a point. We needed a weapon that would withstand the power embedded within it. A normal blade, even crafted from stardust as the Mastersword would be, would erode and break. Binding a soul to the sword…it would offer the longevity and power needed to face Demise upon his return.”

“What would have happened had Demise been defeated originally and not cursed this cycle?” Warrior demanded.

“She would have been released. I…we did not have the time for more in-depth plans. We were running out of time,” Hylia explained, face twisted in pain. “Fi…she did not hesitate to offer herself up. But then Demise cursed us and—and she never should have needed to grow so old.”

Warrior leant back against the railing, face buried into his hand as he clutched his cup tightly. He quickly took a sip, wishing for something much more potent in that moment—anything to drown out the realisation of what Hylia had just said.

Fi used to be mortal—a person, someone who hadn’t been created solely to be a sword spirit.

Sky had taken the renewed Mastersword with him at Hylia’s behest as the youthful version he carried had dispersed upon their arrival. Did Sky know? The thought made his stomach churn sickly, and Warrior thought he might throw up.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Link, please,” Zelda pleaded, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Her hands quivered with desperation as she clung to him, pulling him closer into her embrace. She folded over him, her heart aching, not caring that his blood stained the delicate fabric of her prayer clothes, not when they were already soaked and muddied. At that moment, nothing else mattered but the fading warmth of his presence and the desperate wish to keep him alive.

“’El’da,” he rasped, the blood pooling in his mouth spilling from the gaping wound in his cheek. His unmangled eye welled with tears.

It was a miracle he wasn’t dead yet.

“I’m sorry,” she cried.

She brushed his fringe from his face, avoiding the wound that covered half his face and down his neck. Chunks of muscle were missing—she could see his bone.

Zelda felt the weight of her failure pressing down upon her like the relentless storm that raged around them. For years, she had sought to unlock her power, yet now that it had finally awakened, it came too late to save the one who meant everything to her.

The sky wept in sheets of torrential rain, each drop a reminder of the chaos that enveloped her world. She could hear the distant echoes of despair—the cries of the dying, the crumbling of the castle that once stood as a beacon of hope. All throughout Hyrule people were dying, lives extinguished in an instant, while she remained paralysed by grief, desperately cradling Link in her arms as his strength faded.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a slow, torturous stretch of time that felt like a dagger to her heart. A swift end would have been a mercy, yet here he was, lost in the throes of agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips, laden with remorse and despair.

In that moment, Zelda felt nothing but the crushing reality of her inadequacy. The whispers of doubt echoed in her mind; the people had been right—she really was a failure.

“S’kay,” he choked out.

A weak, trembling hand rose, and Zelda’s heart shattered all over again as she felt the warmth of his touch slipping away. Renewed tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed, her grief palpable in the air. “Love…” he gasped, the word barely escaping his lips, and despair enveloped her. “…you.”

But as if responding to her anguish, his hand fell limply to his side, his once vibrant eyes now vacant and glazed over.

“Link!” she wailed, her voice echoing with desperation. “Please!”

Zelda clung to him, rocking them back and forth in a frantic attempt to rouse him. But deep down, she knew it was futile. There was nothing she could do; it was pointless.

Link was gone.

Suddenly, a gentle chime danced on the wind, drawing her startled gaze to its source—the Mastersword, glinting with a dim light.

“What…?” she murmured, confusion cutting through her despair.

Princess Zelda, Master Link can still be saved, the Sword spoke to her, its voice resonating with an ancient wisdom that sent ripples of disbelief through her.

“He can… he can be saved?” she breathed, hope igniting within her as her eyes widened in realisation.

The Shrine on the Great Plateau. It shall heal him even from death.

A surge of determination coursed through her.

“Princess!”

Zelda snapped upright, a newfound resolve solidifying. She knew what she needed to do. The moment the two Sheikah appeared before her, kneeling in reverence, her instincts kicked in.

“Take us to the Shrine on the Great Plateau,” she commanded, her voice steady yet urgent. “Link’s life depends on it.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Zelda watched quietly as Purah and Robbie worked to settle Link into the basin. He had been stripped of his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his undergarments.

But the blood.

The bleeding had long ago stopped, and attempts had been made to clean away the worst of it, yet the raw, mangled flesh, muscle and bone were there for all to see.

Zelda held the Mastersword tightly against her chest, its dirtied blade trembling as she quaked in her lingering shock. The weight of the sword felt both reassuring and heavy, a tangible reminder of the weight of her situation.

Slowly, she approached the basin, collapsing onto the lip. Zelda fumbled as she set the Mastersword against the basin to instead reach down to stroke Link’s unmarred cheek. There was no warmth remaining. He was as still and silent as the corpse he was.

“Princess,” Purah said gently. She rested a hand on Zelda’s shoulder. “We must make a move.”

Zelda nodded, yanking her hand back from Link’s cheek as though burned. She picked the Mastersword back up again and stood. Her heart pounded in her ears as she watched Purah slide the Sheikah Slate into the pedestal. It chimed, and then she was being ushered outside into the still pouring rain.

Her tears mingled with the rain.

The door into the Shrine rumbled closed at last, but Zelda kept her back to it, knowing if she looked now, there would be no stopping her from rushing back inside.

Robbie moved silently ahead, casting a fleeting glance back at Zelda, his expression one of pain and concern. Beside her, Purah stood resolutely, the two women gazing out at the ominous silhouette of the castle, shrouded in a veil of malice that pulsed sickly pink. The Calamity loomed ever closer, preparing to spread its devastation across the beautiful expanse of Hyrule.

“I will go to the castle,” Zelda declared at last, her voice firm but filled with an undercurrent of vulnerability. “I will… I will hold the Calamity at bay for as long as it takes for Link to awaken.”

“Your Highness, you know that…” Purah began, her voice laced with concern, but Zelda cut her off, shaking her head to silence the words she anticipated. She was acutely aware of the dangers that lay ahead and the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

“I will return the Mastersword to Korok Forest, where she will await Link’s return,” she stated, her resolve crystallising with each word, final as the closing of a book.

“And... I’ll do everything in my power to prepare for that day,” Purah replied, her lips quivering slightly with emotion, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Impa and I will support Link in every way we can.”

“Thank you,” Zelda breathed, hoping Purah knew the depths of her gratitude.

A profound sense of resolve settled within her like a long-awaited promise finally fulfilled. Yes, this was Zelda’s destiny, her inescapable fate—etched in the stars, foretold in the very fabric of the universe. Zelda understood that she had always been destined to arrive here.

Zelda vowed to protect her people, that she would stand as their steadfast shield until Link awoke to confront the Calamity. She understood the gravity of her choice; it would very well demand the ultimate sacrifice—her own life. Yet, in that crucial moment, she made a solemn pledge: Hyrule would endure, and her beloved land would live to see the dawn of the fateful day that would be the Calamity’s defeat.

Chapter Text

March 19th

“I’m going down there with you both,” Tulin said, not taking a no for an answer.

They had been the first words out of his mouth after Hylia and Warrior had explained everything Zelda had told them to the people remaining at Lookout Landing the following morning.

“Okay,” Warrior had agreed without complaint, something knowing in his gaze.

Hylia didn’t protest either, not when she knew Tulin was capable of holding himself in battle.

And so, an hour later saw them within the abandoned passageway that led to the mural room. Just like the last time, there was little said. Hylia was not sure what she would even say if she were to engage in conversation. After everything that had been said yesterday…it had not been hard to see how sick Warrior had been at the reveal of Fi’s origin.

She could not judge him because Hylia knew she would have been exactly the same within his position.

Instead, Hylia focused her attention forward. For a third time, it was largely devoid of monsters, seemingly too soon for any to make this area home after the descent to battle Demise.

Her stomach twisted at the thought. It still felt raw and tender. Phantom sensations of wounds linger on her skin. The squeeze of the Demon Dragon’s teeth around her middle remained.

Absently, she rubbed a hand across her side.

“You said this mural room showed the events from Rook’s arrival to his transformation,” Warrior spoke up eventually. “What…”

“When Rook and I originally came through here, the mural room was partially blocked by a cave-in,” Hylia explained, suspecting what Warrior was trying to ask. “Unfortunately it was the most crucial part.”

The man nodded, his lips pursed into thin lines.

She continued. “Because of our hurry to figure out the cause of the gloom, we resolved to return at a later date to uncover the mural…but…we didn’t need it in the end.”

Hylia sighed, adjusting the torch in her hand.

“It’s really pretty,” Tulin said, voice soft. “I was surprised by how…devoted its creators were to its creation. They used all sorts of gemstones, and the details left little up to interpretation.”

“Different from anything Zonai in nature that was left on the surface,” Hylia interjected thoughtfully. “It’s all pristine, untouched by time.”

Tulin nodded. “They made sure Rook’s actions were remembered. Alongside the Light Festival, of course.”

Warrior faltered slightly at that, a sadness casting shadows across his features. “I’ve always cherished the idea of celebrating the Light Festival with Uriel as a beacon of hope for Hyrule. Yet, there was always an undeniable bittersweetness that accompanied it. He spent all but one week each year above the Cloud Barrier, isolated in his lofty realm. As a child, I often wondered the depths of his loneliness during those long stretches of solitude.”

“Sonia kept him company during the nights,” Hylia murmured, her voice tinged with sadness as she remembered the jolt of surprise that had coursed through her upon seeing Sonia.

It wasn’t just her presence that astonished Hylia, but the revelation of why Sonia had chosen to linger. Hylia’s mind wandered back to Sonia’s words, the way she had spoken of her memories, and how they had become cloaked in a thick fog, faces reduced to mere shadows in her mind.

“And now it’s only Zelda who remains,” Warrior said softly, an aching sorrow evident in his tone.

Hylia winced. “We can’t dictate her path,” she pointed out gently, her heart heavy with understanding. She knew Zelda would cling to her vigil for as long as she could, the depths of her love for Rook binding her to this realm.

The thought stirred memories of Mene and Polaris, and Hylia fought back a shaky breath, blinking rapidly against the sting in her eyes. It felt like witnessing an echo of their tragedy played out once more, albeit in a different form—one beyond the reach of the other.

Warrior let out a weary sigh. “In her shoes, we would likely choose the same,” he conceded quietly.

Hylia offered no retort as they descended to the base of the staircase. The hallways stretched before them, adorned with those pillars and the stone likenesses of Rauru standing sentinel at the end.

“We’re here,” she murmured.

Warrior took a deep breath and nodded, gesturing for Hylia to go first. As the one with the torch, she did so, manoeuvring down the hallway and into the ancient mural room. As they entered, the gems embedded in the walls responded to the torchlight, shimmering brilliantly and flooding the room with a kaleidoscope of vibrant colours—rich reds, deep greens, and lustrous golds danced before their eyes.

Staggering to a halt beside Hylia, Warrior was visibly awestruck, his breath catching in his throat as he absorbed the breathtaking scene. He spun around, his gaze sweeping eagerly across the intricate images that adorned the walls—from Rook’s arrival standing between Sonia and Rauru to the moment of Uriel’s birth.

“It’s—” he’s breathless. “Oh, sweet Nayru.”

He choked on tears, hand reaching up to cover his mouth.

Tulin shifted nervously, casting a glance at Hylia, his eyes reflecting concern. In response, she made a gentle gesture, lowering her hand slightly, a silent signal for him to allow Warrior this moment of vulnerability. Understanding her unspoken words, Tulin nodded.

Hylia cast her gaze back to the final mural. A part of her felt more…settled now, the tumultuous grief that had once roiled within her beginning to ebb. The sight no longer invoked that visceral churn in her stomach. Perhaps, at last, her sorrow was finding its way to acceptance.

Yet, as her eyes roamed the dimly lit room, scanning for any signs of life or lingering traces of the Yiga Clan activity, her thoughts inevitably drifted to Mirage. Who was this enigmatic god he worshipped? The weight of uncertainty hung heavily, and it was a constant reminder of their precarious position.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Anything connected to the shade could only spell disaster for them because Mirage was a wild card, and she knew he could strike without warning—chaos could descend upon them at any moment, for anything worshipped by the shade could not bode well.

As Warrior remained absorbed in the murals, Hylia and Tulin began their own exploration of the remaining Yiga crates. Hylia handed the torch to Tulin so that she could pry off the top of the nearest crate. With a sudden, loud creak of wood, the lid gave way unexpectedly, nearly causing her to stumble as it slipped from her grasp and clattered dramatically to the floor.

She winced, acutely aware of how the sound echoed through the cavernous space, drawing a light snicker from Tulin beside her.

“Oh, hush you,” she muttered, trying to mask her embarrassment.

Tulin merely giggled softly, the flickering torchlight casting playful shadows on his face. Hylia’s brow furrowed in concentration as she reached into the crate, her fingers brushing against various tools, each one no doubt used to excavate the murals. The first crate yielded nothing of interest, prompting them to move on to the next.

Though Warrior's movements had a faint presence behind them, Hylia chose to ignore it, unwilling to disrupt the quiet contemplation that the murals seemed to inspire in him. She hoped it could give him some form of closure. They had done the same for Hylia after all—that she could admit.

Closure... yes, that word felt particularly fitting. Hylia had found her own version of closure, a balm for her grief. With a determined shake of her head, she immersed herself once more in the task at hand, continuing to sift through the crates. Suddenly, Warrior’s voice cut through the stillness, pulling them back to the present.

“There’s a journal of sorts here,” he noted, his voice a blend of curiosity and caution.

Hylia and Tulin diverted their gaze to see Warrior crouched beside a mass of scaffolding, prying the red-covered book free from its resting place. It appeared to have been dropped and forgotten in haste in the wake of the Yiga Clan’s hurried departure.

“What does it say?” Tulin asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Warrior flipped the book open, standing upright with a slight grunt as the pages rustled in the stillness of the room, the sound stark against the silence. He skimmed through the pages, searching for the final entry with a hint of urgency.

Hylia reclaimed the torch from Tulin as she and Tulin approached Warrior, who wore a deepening frown.

“Not much,” he replied, flipping back a page with a growing sense of unease. “It’s primarily filled with notations. Progress reports regarding the excavation…” He paused, his brow furrowing further as he scanned more lines. “…And notes on not angering Mirage, apparently.”

“Master Kohga doesn’t take the shade seriously, and I don’t understand how. The creature that wears the hero’s face is terrifying, plain and simple. It shredded the prototype construct we had been labouring over for weeks in mere moments, its claws tearing through even that bizarre Zonite material without resistance,” Warrior read aloud. “It made it abundantly clear it would have no qualms about turning those talons on any of us if we dared to displease him. Demon Lord Ghirahim was undeniably cruel, yes, but the shade exudes a different kind of malevolence.”

“Yikes,” Tulin murmured, his expression shifting to one of apprehension.

“There’s more,” Warrior said and continued reading. “Perhaps to label the shade as sane is a misnomer. He’s obsessive. I’ve watched him spend hours fixated on the mural of the hero, his gaze piercing and unblinking. It’s utterly unsettling.”

“Uh…double yikes?” Tulin echoed, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.

Hylia let out a long sigh, massaging her brow as anxiety settled in her chest. “Honestly, I think this may be the only thing we are going to find—” Her sentence abruptly halted, tension coiling through her as a sound echoed in the stillness.

It was distant at first but growing closer.

It was—

“Footsteps,” Tulin whispered, the fear palpable in his voice.

“Hide,” Warrior hissed urgently. The air became charged with urgency as they instinctively sought refuge from what could be an impending threat.

Without skipping a beat, Hylia pressed the torch to the Purahpad to store it, knowing the action would extinguish the flame. Then, all three of them rushed toward the wooden crates to hide behind them. The sound of footsteps drew nearer, echoing off the stone walls until a faint flicker of light began to illuminate the shadowy stairway beyond.

In the pitch black, Hylia and Warrior exchanged a tense glance over Tulin. Their eyes, better adept at piercing through the near darkness, quickly adjusted, while Tulin, a Rito, was no doubt struggling to make out the shapes surrounding him, his vision evolutionarily hindered by the darkness.

Warrior raised a hand, a subtle gesture that caught Hylia’s attention. She squinted, trying to decipher his intent. With a swift flick of his hand, he clenched his fist—a signal that sent a ripple of understanding through her mind. He wanted to confront the Yiga, if indeed it was a Yiga descending the stairs.

The soft glow from the emerging torchlight cast dancing shadows along the walls, and Hylia chewed anxiously on her lip, weighing the risks. With a resolute nod, she turned her attention to the Purahpad, her fingers flying across the screen in a frantic search for any tools or devices that might aid them. Meanwhile, Warrior knelt closer to Tulin, his voice a low whisper as he explained.

Offering Warrior and Tulin sneaky elixirs, Hylia downed her own and began shimmying towards the wall, making sure to stay low and behind the crates until she was close to the doorway the person was coming toward. There, she waited. Vaguely, Hylia was able to make Warrior out by his hair as he followed behind her. But he stayed back, waiting for Hylia to make her move.

Closer and closer. Each moment wound the tension in Hylia tighter, like a spring lock ready to pop.

And then, as fate would have it, a Yiga Foot Soldier sauntered into the room, his presence both a threat and an opportunity. Hylia’s heart raced at the sight—this was precisely the opportunity they had been hoping for. She held her ground, watching intently as the soldier scanned the dimly lit space, his torch slicing through the darkness, casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls.

Just their excellent luck. Some things were looking on the upside right about now.

Hylia didn’t immediately leap into action. Instead, she watched as the Yiga seemed to scan the room, raising his torch higher to better illuminate that area. Warrior ducked even lower. He wasn’t wearing any of his plating, so there was no metallic reflection, but they did not need to be caught just yet.

The Yiga approached the area where Warrior had discovered the journal. Was it his?

Either way, Hylia moved slowly, the sneaky elixir ensuring her silence, and then—she caught him in a headlock.

The man yelled, and in his surprise, the torch fell, clattering to the floor and rolling away. Hylia tightened her grip, applying pressure on his airway as the Yiga fought desperately. Warrior leapt over the crate and seized the Yiga’s wrist as he attempted to brandish his sickle.

“Can’t have you hurting anyone with that, can we?” Warrior taunted, tossing the blade aside with a loud clatter.

Tulin finally emerged as Hylia gradually lowered the man. His struggles had quickly begun to subside, but Hylia wasn’t going to let him pass out, not when they still had questions. So, she eased her grip just enough to allow the man to gasp for air.

“You crazy bastard!” he thrashed in Hylia’s arms at the inch of freedom, but she just tightened again.

“Is that any way to speak to a Goddess?” Warrior interrupted with a jeer, and the Yiga froze.

“You are going to answer our questions, and we might just let you live,” Hylia threatened.

“I’m not telling you anything!” the Yiga spat.

Warrior picked up the sickle again and inspected it. “In my era, the Yiga Clan were irritable at best, and it seems you remain incompetent even after a century.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” the Yiga snarled.

“My name is Link Hawthorne the First, and I was the hero before my son, Link Hawthorne the Second, who now prefers the name Rook,” Warrior said darkly. He pressed the tip of the sickle to the bottom of the Yiga’s mask. The Yiga audibly swallowed. “My son is all but dead because of the man you claim to worship. So you’re going to tell us what we want, and I might refrain from killing you as a reward.”

Hylia clenched her arm, tightening her grip. “We’re not above inflicting a bit of harm to get our answers,” she promised.

Unfortunately, torture was no stranger to Hylia. In the end, the war against Demise came with many costs.

“Tulin,” Warrior began, not turning his lidded gazes away from the Foot Soldier. “Get that rope by the boards, would you?”

Tulin wordlessly did so while Warrior patted the Yiga down, removing any weapons and teleportation scripts from his person. When Tulin handed over the rope, Warrior met Hylia’s eyes. No words needed to be traded.

Hylia let go, flipping the Yiga down onto his front in a fell swoop to immediately yank his arms behind him, allowing Warrior to tie his wrists together. The man fought against them, but it went nowhere, and soon enough, Hylia pulled the man back to his feet and began pushing him until his back was against one of the scaffolding poles still up.

He was forced to sit, and Warrior began tying him to the pole. Hylia held him there until they secured him, which wasn’t easy because the Yiga was still intent on trying to fight against them.

“Tulin, you should probably leave,” Hylia remarked.

“I’m not leaving,” he argued, shaking his head, but there was an uneasy shake to his voice. He wasn’t oblivious about what was about to take place.

“This isn’t going to be pretty, kid,” Warrior warned, giving the Rito a pointed look. It made Tulin falter, but he straightened up, something determined filtering through his eyes.

“I’m staying.”

Hylia and Warriors shared a glance, knowing they wouldn’t win that battle. Tulin was too stubborn at the best of times.

“Okay, but you leave the moment you feel it’s too much, understood?” Warrior ordered.

“I understand,” Tulin nodded.

“Good,” Warrior breathed, shaking himself out and turned back to their prisoner.

“We’ll start simple. Where is Mirage?” Hylia questioned.

“Go fuck yourself,” the man snapped. No doubt he would have spat at them if the mask wasn’t in the way.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Warrior dragged the sickle across the Yiga’s leg, slicing long and deep. The man screamed, the sound echoing down the long, abandoned hallways.

“Fff-uck! You bastard!”

“Answer the question,” Warrior demanded, pressing the sickle against the edge of the wound.

The Yiga trembled, panting. “Fine! Fine! He’s—he’s using our main depths base!”

“So you’re still all working with him?” Hylia asked, eyes narrowed.

Her thoughts turned to the conversation at the Spirit Temple. While Mirage had spoken only of his distaste of Kohga, it wasn’t a far stretch for it to have spanned to all the other members of the Yiga Clan.

“Using us more like,” the Yiga spat angrily. “He straight-up beheaded Ghirahim. Said he’s outlived his usefulness or something, I dunno!”

So Ghirahim was already dead. At least one of their problems was officially out of the way. But it also confirmed Hylia’s hypothesis regarding Mirage’s…attitude toward the Yiga. They were just a means to an end for him.

“Does he have the Stone shards?” Hylia grilled next.

The man didn’t answer, and Warrior grabbed the meat of the Yiga’s thigh, directly over where the slice was. Warrior dug his nails in as he hooked the sickle beneath the Yoga’s knee and lifted it upwards, forcing the Yiga to bend his knee at the same time. There was a sharp gasp, a whimper, and a tremble as the sharp blade dug into the hamstring tendon. Hylia could easily tell skin had been cut, but the blood from the first wound was far too much to tell how much the second wound was bleeding.

But it was a threat, and the Yiga caved immediately.

“Yes! Two of them!”

Warrior removed the sickle but not his hand as he and Hylia shared a long, knowing glance. Evidently, two of the patrols failed before they arrived or because there was a fight that broke out. Hylia at least hoped for the former because that way, no one was injured.

“What does Mirage plan to do with the shards?” Warrior questioned.

“I don’t know! He doesn’t say shit! That thing is a total nutjob!” The Yiga was breathless, his voice twinged with pain, and he sniffled from behind his mask. “We’re nothing more than chess pieces he can order around! If even one person steps out of line, he’ll kill three!”

“So you’re scared of him,” Warrior drawled blandly, his voice dripping with indifference. “So, why don’t you fess up everything you know about Mirage?”

The Yiga took a moment to gather himself. A moment too long for Warrior’s liking. He placed the sickle back beneath the Yiga’s leg with more force this time, yanking the blade upward as he shoved his hand on his thigh down. There was a rush of splattering blood.

“FUCK! Okay, okay!” he cried, and he tried to curl into a half ball when Warrior removed the sickle. He sobbed, his injured leg trembling uncontrollably. “I’m just a foot soldier. I don’t know much! Mirage, he—he worships some god. He calls them a herald of a new age! That’s all I know!”

“Herald. That lines up with what Zelda said, right?” Tulin murmured, shifting his weight between his feet.

Hylia nodded, dragging a hand through her hair thoughtfully, brows furrowing as she turned back to the Yiga. “What else?”

The Yiga flinched, whimpering. “I don’t know anything else, I promise!”

“I’m guessing this Depths base is below your surface one in the Gerudo highlands.” It was more of a statement than a question from Warrior.

A rapid, shaky nod.

“Good.” He sounded pleased, even if Warrior’s expression lacked the emotion. He met Hylia’s eyes and jutted his chin toward the stairwell. “Go.”

Hylia narrowed her eyes, understanding immediately what Warrior was planning.

“Go, I’ll catch up,” he repeated when she didn’t move.

Hylia pursed her lips but nodded, submitting to his judgment. The man couldn’t be allowed to leave and return to the rest of his Clan. He would spill everything, and they would lose the element of surprise.

“Tulin, let’s go,” Hylia said.

“Wait—wait!” the Yiga baulked, head snapped rapidly between them. “What’s going on? You said you—"

“We suggested that it could be a possibility,” Warrior replied in a low, ominous tone, his lips curling slightly as a flicker of malice danced in his eyes. The air around him seemed to grow heavier in the wake of his words, filling the silence with thick tension.

Hylia picked up the discarded torch and guided Tulin from the room. She urged him to hurry along, wanting to get Tulin as far away from the scene behind them as possible. Yet, in the dimly lit hallways' oppressive silence, the echo of what transpired filled the air.

A blade through flesh, the wet sound of someone choking on their blood.

Tulin shuddered beneath Hylia's gentle touch, yet he remained silent, allowing her to lead him forward. They reached the end of the hallway, where Hylia paused, raising the flickering torch higher, its golden light cutting through the darkness like a blade.

From the shadows, Warrior’s figure emerged, his outline sharp and defined against the wavering glow. His expression was a mask of resolute indifference, but Hylia noticed the tension in his gaze—eyes clouded with a storm of emotions, a tumultuous blend of frustration laced with an unsettling satisfaction.

“Let’s go,” he commanded, his voice smooth yet authoritative, the order sliding effortlessly off his tongue.

It was an order Hylia was content to follow, and her hand dropped to the Purahpad.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Purah,” Twilight called, pushing open the door to the cluttered office. The scent of old parchment and faint traces of ink filled the room. There was incense lingering in the air, one Twilight wasn’t able to name, but it was nice and made the space more homely.

Within the dim light, the Sheikah was hunched before a chaotic semblance of an investigation board, previously devoted to analysing the Upheaval but now cluttered with notes and findings about their recent troubles. However, something instantly drew Twilight’s gaze to the centre of the board. There was a collection of notes in large writing.

Mirage worships an unknown god.

Who is this supposed god? Is this person already a deity, or do they simply possess great power? 

Mirage plans to or has already killed Ghirahim.

Why did Mirage visit Uriel?

“What…what happened while we were gone?” Twilight questioned, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief as he scrutinised the notes' cryptic implications.

“Uh… what does what mean?” Four piped up, clearly puzzled, tilting his head as he glanced at Twilight after closing the door.

Twilight’s finger shot forward, pointing to the note. Four moved closer, squinting at the board before grimacing.

“Last night, Zelda paid us a visit,” Purah began, her expression serious as she recounted the conversation. “She shared some unsettling news about Mirage when he visited Uriel. She overheard some…concerning things.”

Twilight was not going to touch the Zelda thing with a ten-foot pole at present.

“All right, but what exactly does this whole god business entail?” Four inquired, his voice measured and cautious as he tried to grasp the magnitude of the situation.

Purah's face contorted in discomfort. “The truth is, we don't have any information on this matter. What Zelda revealed was that Mirage appears to… worship an enigmatic entity—one we know nothing about. It seems his goal is to bring this being into existence, or perhaps even summon it to our realm. The details are murky. We just…don’t know.”

“I’m going to take a guess and say you don’t have the shard?” Purah continued, her voice tinged with fatigue as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Did she even manage to catch a wink last night?

“No, it was gone before we even arrived,” Twilight replied, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where are Wars and Hylia?”

“Right,” Purah sighed, massaging her brow as if trying to alleviate a headache. “Hylia, Warrior, and Tulin ventured into the Depths towards the mural room, hoping to uncover something the Yiga Clan might have left behind. Even a hint—perhaps a few base locations—could prove invaluable since the Yiga were confirmed working with Ghirahim and Mirage prior to Demise’s…well…demise. They set out early this morning, so they should be back soon.”

“But this makes Mirage a far greater threat than we initially realised,” Four remarked, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Here’s to hoping Wars and Hylia uncover something useful,” Twilight said, a knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach as dread washed over him.

Chapter Text

March 19^th — Cont’d

Wind was bubbling with anger and frustration as he righted his head once more, not realising he had been tilting it to the right in an unconscious attempt to compensate. His neck ached from the tension. His jaw was clenched tight, grinding through his molars. Heat brewed in his cheeks when he spotted Legend sparing a glance his way—not mocking, just... observing. Probably just concerned. That only made the shame twist tighter in his gut.

There was a constant, deep nauseous feeling in his stomach, and Wind knew it wasn’t from the horse riding. His body felt wrong. Out of alignment. Every step of the horse jarred that feeling.

His head ached, throbbing behind the eye in a rhythm that matched his heartbeat, a dull but unrelenting thrum like a drum played slow and steady. The bright afternoon light only seemed to make it worse.

The vision was gone. Completely, irreversibly gone. And all Wind had to show for it was a thin scar and a deep-seated throb. He was starting to realise it would probably be some time before the pain settled, until it soothed into something less noticeable.

Chronic pain, ugh. Time had said it so easily—like it was a fact of life, not something devastating.

Rook had been the same. Wind had known early on that Rook probably spent his days with constant low-lying pain, but Wind hadn’t realised just how…unsettling it was until he was experiencing it.

How Time managed with one eye for so long baffled Wind. Not even twenty-four hours had passed, and Wind already wanted to scream—or maybe cry. Either option felt like it would split his skull open.

Time had developed ptosis in his right eyelid—Wind remembered the older hero explaining it once, as if it were nothing, just a casual inconvenience. It had helped him train his eye closed. Wind had never been so envious of someone before. His own eye stubbornly refused to close without deliberate effort, as if it didn’t know it had been rendered useless.

Despite the blindness, Wind was acutely aware of the sun. Painfully aware. Legend had suggested covering the eye to ease the strain—apparently, the eye still retained light sensitivity, which made sense, even if Wind hadn’t a clue how eyes really worked. The cornea was ruined, but the retina hadn’t been damaged. That mattered somehow.

Wind sighed. He knew next to nothing about anatomy. He was a sailor, not a scholar. But what he could tell was that this—this strange, clumsy, uneven new existence—was going to take a hell of a long time to adjust to.

And that’s what was genuinely pissing him off.

He could handle pain. He had handled pain—broken bones, burns, bruises, near-death experiences. But this sudden, jarring, almost humiliating loss of basic coordination? That was something else.

He couldn’t even walk in a straight line for fuck’s sake!

“I know this is frustrating,” Time said gently from behind him, his voice sympathetic.

Wind let out a breath that deflated his whole posture, slumping forward in the saddle. “I’m just… tired.”

His voice cracked a little more than he wanted it to. Against his will, the molten anger drained away in an instant, replaced by the dull, sticky weight of exhaustion. He’d tossed and turned all night, plagued with phantom images, the echo of the moment he lost his sight replaying behind his eyelids. It was final. No magic to fix it. No fairy to blink it away. He wanted to hold onto his anger—it felt safer than the grief—but it was slipping.

“When I first lost my vision, I became very destructive—both to myself and the things around me,” Time said quietly. “I felt like it was the only way to make the world understand how angry I was.”

Wind pouted slightly, childishly, even as he nodded. “I know. I think the headache and lack of depth perception are the worst things at the moment.”

“We’ll try an eye patch when we get back to Lookout Landing,” Time offered, still calm and steady. “I used one at first, though eventually, my condition worsened and I didn’t need it anymore. But your injury is different, so the outcome may not be the same. It depends on how you manage it.”

“I think it’s the light,” Wind murmured, raising a hand and waving it in front of his face. He flinched at the weird, dizzying sensation that followed. His good eye twitched and strained, like it was trying to make up the difference—like it had to work harder to fix what the left eye couldn’t do anymore.

The scar itself had healed perfectly, thanks to a healing elixir. No pain there. But the eye…

It was like having a rock in his skull, weighted and wrong, and constantly reminding him of what he had lost.

“Here,” Legend said, guiding his horse closer. He offered a long, dark strip of fabric—soft and slightly frayed at the ends. “Tie that around your head for now. Might give it a break. If it eases the headache, that confirms it’s the light irritating it.”

Wind blinked at the offered strip and leaned over to take it. His hands were a bit clumsy, fumbling with the knot, but he got it secure. The moment the eye was covered and shrouded in darkness, he felt it—the pressure lessening, like the air itself was a little easier to breathe.

He let out a shaky breath. His eyes welled with unexpected, stinging relief.

“Thanks,” he said, voice small.

“No issue, Sailor,” Legend replied with a short nod, turning his gaze forward again.

Time gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re adapting already. That’s more than most can say on day one.”

Wind didn't answer. He just focused on the feel of the cloth over his eye and the sudden clarity that came with the darkness. For the first time since the injury, he didn’t feel like he was drowning.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn’t break him.

But it was still going to take time.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Hylia pricked her finger with the needle and grimaced, but she stared at the faintly golden-hued blood. She sighed and stuck the injured digit into her mouth. As she waited for the bleeding to stop, Hylia looked over her work. Rook’s old paraglider was officially fixed and could now join the collection of other paragliders that the Chain would use to descend into the depths.

At the sound of horses and carriage, Hylia lifted her gaze to look down at the entrance of Lookout Landing to see Sky and Hyrule return with their designated patrol. Both looked uneasy, and it was easy to unfortunately conclude that they had failed to get the shard pieces like Twilight and Four had. She hoped that the others at least got their fragment.

Hylia had no idea what Mirage could even use the broken Secret Stone for, but it could not be for anything good.

What worried Hylia the most was this supposed God. It haunted her thoughts. Surely if a new god was genuinely in the midst of being born, the Golden Mothers would have told her, right? Hylia was always aware of when spirits of great importance were born. The most recent had been Satori over ten thousand years ago after the previous Calamity’s defeat.

Rationally, that could only mean that if Din, Nayru, and Farore were not bringing forth a new God, then this supposed one Mirage worshipped could be more in line with Demise’s origins. Not an actual god, merely a god-complex, someone with delusions of grandeur.

But to reach such a stage, one needed the skills to be able to consider oneself capable of it.

Still, that meant they were mortal—that they were defeatable—hopefully without some grand curse this time. Hylia didn’t think she could withstand a renewed cycle. It might just break her.

Her thoughts also lingered on Warrior and his actions. Hylia knew the Yiga Clan member couldn’t have survived to expose their plans, but she was still a bit unnerved by the lack of emotional response from the man in the aftermath.

Her eyes sought the man out as he greeted Sky and Hyrule, likely catching them up on what had already transpired. Would he tell them? Would Warrior tell them what he had done in the depths of the mural room?

It was not her place, Hylia knew, because it was either Warrior or her who would have ended the man’s life, but Hylia couldn’t help but feel as if Warrior had gotten some form of satisfaction from it. It stirred unease in her stomach.

They were all emotionally compromised, but Warrior by far the most. It was his son who had sacrificed himself. It was his son who had forgone mortality, forever condemned to a life as a dragon who didn’t remember the Hylian he had once been.

With a sigh, Hylia pulled her legs from over the edge of the ledge, pushing to her feet. With the sewing equipment tucked into the Purahpad, Hylia tested out the fixed paraglider by leaping off the observation tower and gliding down to Ellie’s Lookout.

When her feet touched solid ground once again, Hylia nodded to herself, satisfied with her fix, and began her journey into the office, where all the others had been placed for storage with prototype pads that were functional enough to teleport and communicate via messaging.

Since returning from the mural room, all Hylia had been doing after debriefing Purah had been preparing for descending to the Depths to scout and attack the Yiga Clan base.

Going ahead of the group to activate the lightroots was a risk decided to much too take—not when it could alert the Yiga Clan—and Hylia had no experience in the Depths beneath the Gerudo region. They would be entering this blind, both physically and metaphorically.

“When was the last time you slept because you look like you need it.”

Hylia startled, turning to see Dusk napping under the table.

“How long have you been here? I thought you returned to the Twilight Realm?”

Dusk’s ears drooped. “I did for a while but…I’ve grown too restless. I’ve spent the last four years wandering Hyrule and going back…it no longer feels like home.”

Hylia groaned softly as she lowered herself onto the floor, using the bookshelf as a back rest. She stretched her legs out in front of her. “I felt something…similar when I first regained a body,” she began to recount quietly, feeling a sense of parallel at his words. “For the entire winter season, I felt as though I had ants beneath my skin. This body was foreign and unfamiliar. I had spent millennia without a body, merely a spirit adrift. Even now sometimes I feel strange. Perhaps it is because this body…it is merely a façade, an attempt to play mortal.”

The Twili snorted. “I always wondered why you constantly scratched like you had rolled in poison ivy.”

Hylia gave him a wry grin. “Rook even made me that salve because he was so concerned, remember?”

Dusk sniggered, burying his snout beneath his front paws. It was silent between them for a short time, and Hylia closed her eyes, listening to the faint sounds of talking outside and basking in the incense that clung to the walls of the office. She had always found a sense of comfort in here. It was always so warm and inviting, no matter the time of day.

She could fondly recall times Rook and Purah had fallen asleep in here, slaving over their more scientific-based research rather than rebuilding efforts. Hylia could almost hear them still like faint whispers.

(“What about this set? I think the previous calculations were too…low, it needs something with more power,” Rook noted, pointing at his reworked numbers with his chalk.

Purah hummed thoughtfully, hands on her hips as she examined his work. “Good point. But this is all theoretical until we can test it, I suppose…But I think this is the closest we’ve gotten so far. Good job.”

Purah playfully reached out, ruffling Rook’s loose, tousled hair after their all-nighter, which they should really stop doing. Rook protested at the affection, leaning away almost to the point of staggering on uneven footing.)

Hylia smiled softly to herself. At the time she had been unimpressed by the second all-nighter the pair had pulled. It had become something of a recurring situation as Rook and Purah finalised the calculations and details for the Skyview Towers.

But their work had paid off, and thus, shortly after, the construction of the Skyview Tower at Lookout Landing began, followed by the others that now dotted Hyrule.

“We managed to accomplish so much in such a short amount of time…” she murmured, her heart squeezing with grief. “And it all went wrong even quicker.”

Dusk exhaled.

“And now we have Mirage causing trouble,” Hylia sighed heavily, rubbing her brow. She was tired—more than just physically. Hylia had been tired mentally for a long, long time. Her hope that the cycle would end had prevailed, but it was not over, not yet.

There was a knock at the door before it slid open a fraction. Hylia blinked and spotted Sky hesitantly peering inside. When his gaze landed on her, Sky pushed the door open entirely.

“Hi,” he greeted. His smile was slightly stilted, as though unsure.

Hylia nodded. She understood the group were still unsure about her and Hylia did not blame them. “Can I help with something?”

“Something else happened. A Goron arrived in a panic saying he had a letter from the Astraterra Empire?”

Oh. Oh no.

Sky grimaced at whatever face she made. “Purah and Wars looked the exact same.”

Hylia shoved to her feet, almost stacking it over in her panic. “Where is everyone?”

“Uh, below,” Sky stammered, stumbling out the way as Hylia hurried past, Dusk at her feet.

Hylia ran across Ellie’s Lookout and scampered down the stairs into the room below, just in time to hear the end of Warrior’s explanation.

“—the Astraterra Empire is a war-mongering country. They will take any chance to invade and conquer if they believe it will end in their favour.”

“Close to two years ago, the Empire sent a battalion to invade the Akkala region. They didn’t make it far, not against the monsters that populated the area and what was left were sent packing when Rook rode on Dinraal to meet them,” Purah added.

“It’s no surprise he’s trying again,” Hylia noted, brows pinched. Everyone turned their attention to her. “When the gloom started to emerge from below, we sent out missives to inform our neighbours of the situation and that any minor trade or travel was being prohibited for safety. We didn’t want an issue on our hands if tourists fell ill.”

Hylia recalled the hasty, grim conversation those in Lookout Landing had regarding the sudden emergence of the gloom.

“And…Rook has been networking with the other kingdoms to strengthen ties, but he’s so far denied Astraterra due to their attempt to invade Hyrule. Emperor Haldir is not entirely impressed with Rook as a whole, believing him to have been ill-fitted for the job. A child playing an adult’s game, if you will." Hylia explained, crossing her arms and tapping a finger rapidly against her elbow. "Purah, did you send another missive out?”

“I did. It was to inform them that the Upheaval had been dealt with, but Hyrule is still in a state of lingering danger. It’s probably why,” Purah answered, distaste curling her lips. “I was trying to buy a little time for us to figure something out now that Rook, our designated leader, is no longer here.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Leaving aside the whole Rook being leader thing, are you saying we could have a war on our hands here?” Hyrule panicked.

Oh. Had no one told them about Rook’s elected position?

“Unfortunately,” Warrior sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He continued. “Bad timing. But not hard to coordinate against.”

“We don’t have the sort of army we did a hundred years ago but our people are strong, stronger than any outsider,” Sheik explained. “They had trouble dealing with a single lynel in their attempt to invade, taking more than a dozen men and most took a brutal beating.”

“A…lynel?” Four questioned incredulously. “I mean…they can be trouble when unprepared but a dozen men?”

Hylia swallowed a laugh. She understood his disbelief.

“In a worst-case scenario, I could approach Dinraal again, but I would prefer not to,” Hylia offered. “The dragons are meant to be peaceful and to ask something like that of them again so soon…”

“It’s not off the table but definitely not to be our focus,” Warrior agreed, and that gave Hylia a sense of relief. While the other members of the Chain might not understand the true depths of the dragons' existence, Warrior certainly did as he had been raised to worship Farore and Farosh.

The guardians were extensions of the Goddesses and their will. While they did not interfere in the more intricate battle of good and evil, they watched over the land ensuring it thrived.

The reason the malice had not spread far and wide was by their doing, and while Naydra had become corrupted, she had fought against its control and stayed curled upon her Spring away from mortals until Rook had freed her.

“Then we figure out if we have a challenge or a proclamation of war on our hands,” Sky replied, making a vague gesture at them. “You said that this Astraterra Empire uses anything in their favour, right?”

Several nods answered him.

Sky continued. “Then we make a united front. We station people in clear view, people from all races, and I think we should perhaps approach Dinraal, even if to ask if she can adjust her route for the time being. Seeing her might make them rethink their strategy.”

“Sheik?” Purah murmured.

Her grandnephew leapt into action, immediately knowing what Purah was asking, scrambling for a pencil and paper to begin writing everything they were discussing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

They arrive back to what Wind would call a shit show. Not only had Twilight, Four, Sky and Hyrule failed to get their pieces, but apparently Mirage had slipped up where ghost-Zelda could hear him, revealing his worship for some god. On top of that, a neighbouring country might be seeking to engage in combat with Hyrule.

Perfect, Wind thought tiredly.

It was…a lot, Wind acknowledged, only partly listening. His head throbbed with a migraine that would not ease for even a moment, and Wind had been willing to put his stubbornness aside and take the hearty elixir offered to help. So as it worked its effects on him, Wind watched them discuss the voted more important topic that was Mirage.

“We have a location to work off, only downside is where it is,” Hylia explained.

Wind had never encountered a Yiga Clan member, but from Rook they seemed more like a nuisance than a threat, and from what Hylia and Warrior had learnt when down in the mural room, the Yiga were nothing more than fodder for Mirage.

“I’m guessing the Yiga are personally using that chasm you mentioned in their base as their way to ascend and descend into the Depths,” Legend said, brows furrowed.

The mere idea of these Depths made Wind shudder, reminded of his sunken Hyrule and how claustrophobic he had felt being unable to see the sun.

Warrior nodded. “We’ll have to use another chasm and walk the distance in the Depths which poses a danger.”

“It’s pitch black down there,” Purah noted, tapping her pencil against her chin. “We discussed the lightroots that Hylia can activate down there with Rauru’s arm, which lessens some of that danger, but we’ve decided that it is too much of a risk. Additionally, there are monsters down there we’re unfamiliar with.”

“So we take it slowly,” Time stated.

“I’ve been preparing the paragliders and prototype pads which will allow for communication and emergency escapes,” Hylia offered. “It’s a matter of preparing ourselves for whatever we might find down there.”

Wind stared, watching as the conversation continued around him, silently making a promise to himself to begin practicing on his coordination so he could join this mission. Wind wanted to see this shade dealt with once and for all.

Chapter Text

Zelda knew that she had been sulking for weeks now. But she had a reason too—her research had been confiscated. Stolen! Her father had snatched it out of her hand and demanded she go pray instead on the one day a week that Zelda was allowed to herself. Her father had refused to return it to her despite Zelda's demands and reminders that it had been her day off and she was allowed to spend it however she pleased.

That had been close to two months ago now and Zelda was scared to try asking again for its return. Last time, three weeks ago, her father had blown up at her. Zelda could still feel the phantom sensation of his hand around her wrist when her thoughts lingered on the interaction.

It had bruised, and Zelda had worn long sleeves until it had faded. She was mortified when Link realised what had happened, and he immediately tattled to Impa, who then went to have a stern talk with her father. Impa was a well-respected figure despite her young age.

But it had just angered her father more. Zelda had spent ten hours praying before the Goddess Hylia statue in the Castle’s chapel as a result. Still, the Goddess continued not to hear Zelda’s desperate pleas and begging. The Goddess was deaf to Zelda’s devotion and anguish.

Zelda had always heard how her mother had inherited the Goddess’s magic so effortlessly from the moment she had turned ten. Yet Zelda remained unable to summon even a spark. There was no ebb or flow within her as her mother had once described. There was no warmth beneath her skin nor golden light from her palms.

Zelda was subpar. Zelda was a budding failure.

So why could her father understand Zelda might be able to help elsewhere if this avenue was not working?

So here she was, glum and moping in her bedroom. It was getting late, and she had just returned from dinner with her father. Zelda had been psyching herself up to ask again, politely and had even had a speech prepared that would explain her reasoning, but then the moment Zelda had sat at the dinner table, her voice had been stolen from her.

There was a gentle knock at the door, one Zelda knew was Link immediately. Today had been extra busy for him, purposefully, Zelda knew. The high ups liked to taunt him, pull him away, and today of all days was always the worse.

Zelda had not even seen a single hair of Link's today, and she knew now was one of the few precious moments he had to visit her. Zelda was glad, excited, that Link had managed it before having to head back to the Hawthorne estate where his family could finally celebrate his birthday.

“You may enter,” she announced.

Twisting in her chair, Zelda supported her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the back of her chair, to watch as Link entered. He was dressed in some more relaxed clothing, but something still up to par for someone of his station. his shirt was a dark green with a beige with brown accent waistcoat that had his family's broach pinned to the left breast. his trousers were a few shades lighter than the brown on the waistcoat and his shin high boots were almost black. His hair was only slightly out of place, a few strands falling across his brow in almost a tasteful way that most men always tried to style but could never so effortlessly get it like Link's.

So handsome. So cute. Neither of which Zelda says aloud.

“Evening,” he greeted softly, eyes gentle and a slight smile on his lips.

Despite her mood, Link’s presence brought a smile to her own face. There was more to that of course and Zelda reached into her desk to fetch her present. She was eager to finally give him his present.

“Happy birthday,” Zelda said, pushing to her feet. “Fourteen years old, big number.”

Link blushed, the colour spreading across his cheeks sweetly, but he scrunched his nose at her. “Fourteen is not really a milestone, Ellie.”

Zelda just laughed, crossing the room to hand him the wrapped box. “Here.” She handed it to him, watching with eager eyes as Link slowly unwrapped it as though savouring the gesture. “And to me, every birthday is important!”

He gave her a momentary dry look, pausing his unwrapping to do so before turning back to it. Once the ribbon was untied and the fabric gave way, the box underneath was revealed. It was a dark green velvet, but it wasn’t the box itself that was his gift.

Laying the ribbon and fabric over his arm, Link popped the box open. Zelda adored the way his eyes widened in awe. “Ellie…this is…it’s beautiful!”

He gently took the brooch out of the box, and Zelda beamed as Link traced his thumb over the Farosh, who had been designed with an elegant curl around an H for Hawthorne.

“Originally, my first thought was something with your house crest but then I, ah, remembered that was a bit…” Zelda stammered, heat rushing to her cheeks and the tip of her ears. Link mirrored her.

A bit too intimate.

A sign of courtship.

And as much as Zelda wished to enter one with Link, he was still a year too young for them to enact their mothers’ arrangement. Link had to be fifteen years of age to activate the contract, the age in which he was considered an adult in the eyes of the kingdom.

And…well, Zelda had yet to express the extent of her feelings for Link. She had been aware of her own feelings for close to three years now, but Link was a bit confusing to see through. Sometimes Zelda thought he returned her feelings, and other times it was hard to gauge from his reactions.

Now for example, it made Zelda believe her feelings were returned—the way he blushed so prettily seemed to suggest so, and that it wasn’t out of embarrassment for Zelda’s almost intimate gift. It made her fingers twitch for her pencils. She wanted to draw the sight, wanted to memorialise the image of Link’s blush with her paints in hopes that she captured even a fraction of his presence.

“Thank you,” he whispered lovingly. “I’ll wear it at the next gala to show off your thoughtfulness.”

Zelda barely withheld her giddy grin. She was by no means a fool. She was aware that other women were vying for Link’s attention. Fathers wanted to marry their daughters to the knight who wielded the Sword that Seals the Darkness.

Link would be declaring without outright saying it that he was off limits.

The Princess had gifted him such a thoughtful present, something so close to a courtship offering, and others would know. It might not stop them from trying their hand, but it would ward some away.

If Link allowed her, Zelda intended to initiate a courtship the moment he turned fifteen, and now, it was only a year away.

“I’m glad you like it,” Zelda nodded.

“I’ll always love any gift you get me, Ellie,” he mumbled, unable to meet her eyes.

Her heart fluttered. Ugh, he was too cute.

“An-anyway!” Link cleared his throat. “I noticed you’ve been rather down recently, and I recalled how your father still hadn’t returned your research and…ah.”

Link gave a little crooked grin, and Zelda was instantly suspicious. She narrowed her eyes. “Yes…?” she said slowly.

He reached into his pocket and something rattled. He pulled it out and there, hanging from his fingers was a key chain with a collection of keys.

“Guess where one of these leads to,” he grinned deviously.

“No,” she breathed, baulking and crossing her arms in an x. “No, no! That’s—that’s—Link!”

“Eh…you gotta live a little, isn’t that what Urbosa is always telling us?” Link retorted, tapping his chin in a mockery of thoughtfulness. “It’s for the servants’ passage, Ellie. We’ll be in and out. You said he put the journal in that box hidden in the cupboard. What’s the bet he’s forgotten about it entirely?”

Zelda stared, her eyes wide in disbelief. She had never seen Link so…so devious before! Zelda hadn’t known he had it in him.

“No, no—what if we get caught or he realises it’s gone!” she rebuffed.

“How would he know it was us?” Link blinked at her all doe eyed. “As long as you make sure to keep it somewhere safe in the meantime…”

He trailed off, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Link,” she breathed in bewilderment.

“Zelda,” he mirrored but he was grinning.

Zelda pursed her lips, worrying her bottom lip.

It took less than a second for her to break.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“Atta girl!”

Devious indeed.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 19th— Cont’d

It was just past sunset, and night had claimed the land.

Mirage was perched high up on the mountain side, his lips twisted in irritation as he scrutinised the soldiers amassing on the other side of the border. The barrier, a mere four feet high, stood as a crumbling relic of the past, its stones worn smooth by time and neglect over the last century.

The Astraterra Empire had always been a persistent thorn in the side of Hyrule, ever hungry for expansion that stirred unrest even in the calmest of times. Now, they were brazenly preparing to invade once more, and the thought gnawed at him like a festering wound. Mirage had only learned of this brewing conflict by a Yiga foot soldier, who, under his command, had infiltrated Lookout Landing.

Why had they chosen now of all moments to stir the pot? He thought with distaste.

A war declared by Astraterra would have made an excellent example in the coming weeks once his goals came to fruition, but now?

Mirage tilted his head, turning his eyes to the Hyruleans who had also set up camp within sight of the border. A mix of races had set up tents in a matter of hours after the first missive had been received.

He hummed. Hyruleans were nothing if not effective in what they did.

He would say that the emperor was an idiot to try to invade Hyrule again, but the Upheaval had supposedly presented a momentary weakness, one he sought to take advantage of no doubt.

But Hyrule had never been weak, even at its lowest. It was only Astraterra that always seemed to miss that notion when compared to Hyrule’s other neighbours. Hyrule had stood as a never-faltering country since the first Link and Zelda had been born, perhaps even at Hylia and Mene’s creation.

Hyrule was the birthplace of gods and guardian spirits—it would not be taken by kingdoms and empires that would eventually fall to ruin, as all but Hyrule did with the passage of time.

Even during the three hundred years after the Timeline Convergence, where the kingdom was nothing but ruin, the country held firm, uniting when outsiders tried to invade before dispersing once said outsiders were dealt with.

Mirage had to admire Rauru and Sonia in that regard. They had brought almost all of Hyrule back together, and Rook had succeeded where they failed in the year after Demise had been sealed. The Gerudo Sage, who had become Chief, had accepted it was time to change, to seek peace and not war. She held onto the treaty that Rauru and ‘Ganondorf’ had signed and even made ways to improve it.

But the peace Rauru and Sonia had sought that held, even during times of hardship and strife between the regions. Uriel lived as a reminder, a symbol of peace and hope, even when his origins had been forgotten.

Mirage’s heart fluttered and he went breathless at the thought of the dragon.

Perhaps, he mused, this attempted encroachment would instead prove useful in another way. Mirage was no fool. While the Chain and Hylia would focus on him, Purah would set her sights on Astraterra. It was a distraction, one Mirage could use to help encourage his desired outcome. It could stir the pot, as some liked to say.

If tonight went as planned and he got his hands on the remaining shard piece, Mirage would have what he wanted by the week’s end. The thought fanned the flames of excitement within him. He was so close that it was almost palpable.

Mirage also knew the Chain planned to head to the Yiga Clan’s Depths base tomorrow in pursuit of him and he would be there waiting for their arrival.

Absently, he spun the dagger between his fingers then grabbed it within his palm. The Gerudo blade gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and the script embedded into it shimmered a soft, almost imperceptible gold. He gently dragged a finger over the ancient runes.

His thoughts turned to the fight he had with Wind, Time, and Legend. Well…fight would not be the most accurate term, he supposed. But despite the way the fight had turned out, Mirage had not gone with the intention of causing such a wound to Wind. He had…hoped, perhaps naively, that they would hand it over because why would they hand it over to him? Why would they have it over to their enemy?

So, Mirage had already known he would have to pull something to get the shard, and Wind had been ripe for the plucking. He had been an easy target to single out. Wind had been on his lonesome away from the group and he had been unarmed at the time with no sword in sight.

Wind had been the perfect bargaining chip. Alas, the confrontation went differently. Mirage wished they had just handed it over to him because now Wind was blind in his left eye.

Dropping that line of thought—what was done was done after all—Mirage turned his focus to what was to come instead.

Oh, he loathed the events that had to transpire, but it would be worth it. He hadn’t spent his long life hunting for the answers he craved to bow out now. He had a duty, one preordained before his existence had begun.

Mirage slid the blade back into its sheath nestled in the folds of his outer shirt, hidden from view.

Taking one last glance at the Astraterra soldiers, Mirage allowed his form to dissolve. He then travelled through the world's darkness to his destination: Lookout Landing.

He traversed through the shadows, darting around the lantern lights that still lingered this late at night. His eyes turned to the observation tower when he felt the shard fragments react to the close proximity of their final piece. He allowed his body to reform, shaping into his most Hylian form before he slipped from the shadows just outside the door. Casting one final glance to ensure he wasn’t spotted, Mirage slipped inside.

The lanterns were off, and the office was as still as the dead.

Mirage turned his eyes first to the board with red sting and he stifled a laugh at seeing the information pinned on it. There was information regarding the Secret Stones—nothing he didn’t already know—and what they knew about him.

Curious.

His eyes found a piece of most intriguing information. They knew where the main depths Yiga Clan base was. It had been gathered by interrogating a Yiga, that Mirage knew. But where had they managed to get their hands on a Yiga? He would have known if it was the one posted at Lookout Landing.

But what was most fascinating was that they knew about his god but only the bare minimum. They knew nothing but what had been overheard. He pursed his lips. So Zelda had been watching him. That was not the worst outcome, if anything. She may prove fruitful herself.

His lips curled as he spotted a note about the Yiga Clan being scared of him. Mirage was not oblivious to that fact. Skimming over the rest, Mirage moved on, wandering to Rook’s desk where he brushed a finger across statue Farosh’s head before turning his attention to the ladder that would lead to Rook’s bedroom.

It seemed that this was also where the shard piece was being kept. Clever. Perhaps there was a safe of sorts located in Rook’s bedroom, somewhere that he kept his most valued items.

With a smile tugging at his lips, Mirage climbed the ladder to the top floor. The wood creaked faintly under his hands, but the rest of the tower was silent, hushed like it was holding its breath. The moment his head rose above the floorboards, he stilled.

Eyes locked onto the bed.

Ah. Warrior.

The man lay there, unmoving, but even in slumber, there was tension in his frame—like a drawn bow waiting for release. Mirage hadn’t expected this. But perhaps he should have. Of course Rook’s father would choose to sleep nearest to where his son had once called home, perhaps hoping the lingering presence might keep his grief company through the night.

Mirage softened at the sight, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. Loss had its own language—one he’d long since learned to speak. So, as quietly as he could, he climbed the last few rungs and stepped onto the floor, moving like a ghost.

The room was cozy—well-kept, lined with old books and things that held sentimental value to Rook. A desk in the corner. Drawers shut tight. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and old parchment, with a hint of something citrusy—perhaps orangey?

Mirage’s eyes lingered on Warrior, who lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other stretched out limply, tangled in the sheets. A little vulnerable. A little mortal. Mirage tilted his head, taking in the scene like a painting. He had no desire to disturb the man.

He slid the vial from his pocket. The shard pieces within shimmered faintly, casting an eerie, opalescent glow that spilled across the floor and danced on the walls, brighter than the pale sliver of moonlight that slipped through the window.

The pull grew stronger as he approached the desk.

He paused, casting one more glance at the bed, then gently eased open the top drawer. No sound. Good. Inside was a small box—twenty by twenty centimetres, and about fifteen deep. Polished mahogany with a delicate gold inlay. Mirage lifted it free and set it carefully on the desk, fingers ghosting over the latch. The hinge creaked in protest—just enough to make him wince.

Inside: charms. Gems. Trinkets. Keepsakes. All carefully arranged. Nestled among them like a crown jewel was the final shard piece. Mirage’s breath caught.

He plucked it up, running his thumb along its smooth, sharp edge with reverence. A pleased smile spread across his lips. Finally.

A whisper of movement.

The unmistakable kiss of cold steel brushed the skin of his neck. The blade bit in slightly—not enough to be fatal, but more than a warning.

Ah.

“Drop it,” Warrior growled, voice raw with sleep and fury.

Mirage hummed softly, almost amused, turning slowly despite the blade dragging a thin black line across his throat. He met Warrior’s glare with a grin, eyes bright with mischief and something darker.

“I don’t think I will,” he said lightly.

The fury simmering behind Warrior’s eyes ignited, his lip curling back in a snarl. “Drop. It.”

Mirage merely smirked, twirling the shard between his fingers like a coin. “I went through the effort of not waking you up, you know. The least you could do is let me leave with my prize.”

The joke landed like a stone in still water. Warrior stepped closer, blade digging deeper. A droplet of blood slid down Mirage’s neck, warm and slow.

Mirage sighed, not out of fear, but out of something almost wistful. “You think my actions are selfish, inexcusable. Yes?”

Warrior didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed, flickering with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

“I was given a new purpose,” Mirage murmured, eyes distant now. “Something greater than myself. Something glorious. My life has meaning—more than Demise ever believed I deserved.”

Warrior sneered. “Is this about your so-called god?”

“So-called?” Mirage’s head snapped back, eyes sharp with offence. “Do not for one moment mistake him for a delusion. His arrival is long overdue. And just because Hylia buries her head in the sand doesn’t mean I must.”

His voice had risen despite himself. He forced it down, pressing his lips together. He would not lose his composure here. Not now.

“Who is it then?” Warrior challenged, voice edged like his blade.

Mirage’s face broke into a radiant smile. “He is the missing piece. The final fragment. The end and the beginning—what this world has always lacked and desperately needs.”

Warrior stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“You think me mad,” Mirage said softly. “I can see it in your eyes. But I assure you, while I might have a few screws loose, I am very much sane. He simply… has not chosen a name yet. When he does, you’ll know it.”

Then, a spark lit behind Mirage’s eyes. An idea. Wicked and sharp.

“But for bringing about his arrival, I’ve been promised something, you see. If you lower your blade… I could speak on your behalf. Perhaps—” his grin widened. “—perhaps you could have your son returned to you.”

Warrior flinched like he’d been struck.

The silence between them grew thick and suffocating.

“Stop,” Warrior rasped. “Stop with the nonsense.”

Mirage tsked, wagging a finger as if disappointed. “I try to be generous, and this is the thanks I get? Perhaps Rook doesn’t mean as much to you as I thought.”

“YOU—”

But the insult was cut off as Mirage melted into the shadows, vanishing like a wisp of smoke. His laughter echoed from the corners of the room, playful and cruel.

“Oh well,” he called. “I guess I misjudged you after all.”

Warrior spun, sword flashing in the pale light, trying to find him in the darkness.

“Get back here this instant!” he roared.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Mirage replied, voice distant now, already fading. “Goodbye…Hawthorne.”

Chapter Text

March 20th

“Bullshit!” was the first thing Wind said after Warrior finished telling them of his late-night visitor.

“Volume,” Time sighed, but it lacked any scold.

“We have no idea what can even be done with these fragments, but Mirage evidently does, so what happens now?”  Legend questioned, tapping his foot rapidly in a nervous tick.

“We do not know, simple as,” Mineru sighed.

“So we’re not closer to anything than when we started,” Sky noted, rubbing his brow. "In fact, we've gone backwards."

Hylia worried her bottom lip, her gaze flickering toward Warrior. She observed the tightness in his features, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface—offence, perhaps, but also a flicker of hurt. The words he had spoken about Mirage's recent visit echoed in her mind, their weight heavy and unsettling. She understood why he felt this way; Mirage’s comments had cut deep, a cruel jab that lingered like a bitter aftertaste.

“We can only proceed with our plan and hope that whatever Mirage has in store isn’t ready to be put into motion just yet,” Hylia voiced, her tone laced with uncertainty.

She had no idea what Mirage had meant by her supposedly burying her head in the sand. Hylia had no clue whatsoever about his supposed god. It was beginning to make her doubt things. Was she just…to magically weak to sense it?

“It’s the only option we have left,” Four interjected, his voice tinged with irritation.

“Regardless, Hylia still needs to register the pads with the Gerudo Canyon Skyview Tower. Until that is done, we have a crucial window to prepare,” Twilight countered.

“I think you all should venture down to the Chasm just outside Dragon Roost to gain a better understanding of the Depths,” Purah suggested, her brows knitted together with concern. “It’s…not a place easy to navigate. Having even a few hours of experience will serve you better than plunging in blind.”

Yes, Hylia was inclined to agree with Purah’s idea. She nodded. “Purah is right. The Depths…its environment is treacherous and disorienting.”

“Do you think it will slow us down?” Hyrule inquired, worry etching his features.

“Absolutely,” Mineru affirmed, her voice steady. “It’s pitch black down there. No natural light filters into the Depths which creates an eerie darkness that swallows everything, and I mean everything. When we used to mine in that abyss, we had to design functioning facilities with bright lights and even utilised luminescent armours to ensure safe passage and prevent casualties.”

“It’s a place that demands respect,” Purah added with a grimace, her tone sombre. “Even a simple torch can illuminate only a small pocket of such an expansive, dark void.”

“Then I suppose we have our next steps laid out for us,” Time sighed, rubbing his temple in exasperation.

And while they did that, Hylia needed to sync the prototype pads.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Hylia’s form converged at the base of Lookout Landing’s Skyview Tower and she jogged down the stairs, noting that the Chain were still here. She had expected them to have descended into the Depths as a whole group while she was busy at the Gerudo Canyon Skyview Tower to sync the prototype pads.

She spared Legend and Sky a confused glance, noting that Four, Hyrule and Twilight were missing so perhaps they had descended into the Depths, but the duo was far more occupied with Time and Wind to notice Hylia’s reappearance.

Hylia ducked into the workspace beneath Ellie’s Lookout to find Purah working there. Slipping off her bag, Hylia began unpacking the prototype pads, lining them out on the table with a few other supplies that had been gathered during the interim.

But she paused when her ears caught the argument going on outside. Hylia turned to it, her brows pinched.

“I want to!” Wind snapped. “I’m walking in a straight line and I—”

“Wind, it’s not that simple,” Time cut him off. “Have you even picked up your sword since? Have you tried using it? It took me months, months, before I could use a knife to cut vegetables without almost nicking myself!”

Wind’s face burned in anger, Hylia knew, but also embarrassment. The argument had devolved from quiet to loud in a matter of moments. People were doing their best to avoid looking at the arguing pair, but Wind was making it hard to ignore at this point.

Hylia sighed, her lips pursed as she resumed organising the pads with supplies. There was no questioning that each would be equipped with elixirs and first aid.

Still, she tried her best to ignore what was going on not even twenty yards from her. Hylia had been gone for all of ten minutes, and the argument had gotten nowhere in that time. Without a doubt, she was sympathetic to Wind’s plight, but Hylia could also see that he was in no condition to join them.

He did not want to feel useless, he did not want to feel as though he was dead weight. But unfortunately, Wind just wasn’t in any state to be fighting. It was a feeling Hylia knew all too well even if from the viewpoint of a different situation.

Maybe she could offer something to Wind instead. Something that would keep him distracted—give him something to do while they went to hunt down Mirage and hopefully put a stop to whatever his plan was.

Hylia reached for the remaining spare prototype pad that she had left behind, not having needed it. An idea wiggled to the forefront.

“Purah,” Hylia started, turning toward the Sheikah.

Purah gave a hum of acknowledgement but didn’t turn away from her work.

“Could you upload the travel medallion runes into one of the prototypes here? Or do I need to go to Hateno for that?” Hylia asked.

Hylia only knew how the pads functioned, not their more intricate workings.

“Hateno. It was the last rune used, so you shouldn’t have to reshuffle anything, just put the pad into the pedestal and activate it,” Purah explained. She finally looked up from her notebook. “This got to do with the kid?”

“—How about this. We spar. If you beat me, you can come with us,” Warrior finally interjected.

Hylia winced, turning away from Purah to see that Warrior had approached Wind and Time.

Wind clenched his jaw. “Fine!” he snapped.

“Good. Now get your sword,” Warrior ordered.

He was just shy of cold—detached. Time spared the other man a worried glance as Wind ran off to fetch his sword. Something quiet passed between them but Warrior was not dissuaded by whatever Time said.

“He’s going to get his butt handed to him. Warrior is not playing around,” Purah mumbled, her pencil scratching against paper.

“Yeah. I want to give Wind something to keep him distracted. Maybe put a medallion up on the roof of the Temple of Light,” Hylia explained her idea quietly.

The final spare pad hadn’t been taken to be synced because Hylia had the unfortunate sinking suspicion that Wind would have tried to follow after them if one was left lying around.

Tucking the pad into her bag since pads couldn’t be stored within one another, Hylia watched as Wind returned. His strides were fuelled by a determination that Hylia knew would not win him this fight and she heaved a sigh.

Warrior drew his own sword and the spar began.

It was over in a matter of seconds with Wind landing on his backside, sword clattering to the ground.

Wind’s face burnt red. “Again! I wasn’t prepared.”

“Wind,” Time tried to start, voice gentle, but Wind slapped his hand away as he stood.

He raised the sword again. “Again.”

Warrior only blinked and settled back into position.

Wind lasted only a few moments more before he was disarmed. Time said nothing this time, crossing his arms and looking away as Wind ground his teeth.

“Again!”

“Wind, you aren’t going to win,” Warrior stated, speaking gently—the first time since he had entered the argument.

“Again,” Wind demanded, snatching the sword up.

The battle just repeated itself.

Unable to watch anymore, Hylia tapped the warp point for the Hateno Research Lab. At least it was one less set of eyes on him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“This is bullshit,” Legend whispered the moment the hot air balloon descended out of the Chasm and into the Depths. “Fuck this.”

Warrior acknowledged with a grimace that the others really had not been joking. He knew he would barely be able to see his hand in front of his face had it not been for the fire burning in the centre of the nest. This darkness wasn’t like the one from the passage to the mural room. There was just something utterly all-encompassing about the Depths.

It made his stomach sink to his feet. It made fear crawl up his spine.

“Aw man,” was all Sky said in response, shoulders slumping with a sense of defeat.

Josha tittered softly. “Your eyes adjust quickly, I promise.”

“And here I thought the others might have been exaggerating just a bit,” Time murmured, more to himself than anything.

Josha lowered the hot air balloon onto the ground, where a small campsite had been set up. There was a desk with research notes, a cluster of collected flora, and even a pair of cots nestled within one of the tents.

Emerging from the nest, Warrior set his hands on his hips, worrying his bottom lip as he tried to scan their surroundings. The strange organic tree root structure—which Warrior knew was this so-called Lightroot—was the only illumination beyond the campsite.

It was intimidating on a grand scale. He could not believe that they would be traversing this pitch-black landscape for miles to find this Yiga camp. It stirred a sense of worry deep in his gut, twisting his innards. There was a sense of claustrophobia despite the fact that the Depths were endless—just the darkness alone was enough to instil fear.

Sky stepped up next to him. “You could have gone a little easier, you know.”

Warrior didn’t get a chance to answer as Legend beat him to it.

“It was the only way Wind was going to get it through that thick head of his.”

Warrior sighed, turning back to the two. “Wind’s stubborn in the best of times. We needed to put our feet down. At present, sparring was the only way for Wind to understand he’s not ready to fight.”

“I know but…” Sky grimaced before heaving a sigh.

“I know,” Warrior echoed in acknowledgement. Sky didn’t need to say it for him to know Warrior might have gone too far, that he pushed Wind until a breaking point, but Wind needed to understand.

None of them liked it, but it was an undeniable fact that Wind was not fit for battle.

He was not a burden—Wind would never be a burden, none of them would be while injured and recovering—but Wind had to understand he was in no shape to join them.

“Wind needed to get his frustration out,” Time added. “I was in his place once. Wars took the best approach.”

“Let’s just…get this over with,” Legend groaned, taking one of the lanterns from Josha, who just sniggered at his misery. Legend flipped the kid off and Sky sighed because of it.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was late, the moon almost at its peak, casting silver ribbons across the worn stone and shimmering water of the Spring of Power. A faint breeze trickled through the air of the sacred space, whispering through the leaves of the flora that make the Spring its home.

Zelda stood still, spine straight with the weight of tradition, her fingers interlaced in the prayer pose she had repeated countless times before.

She turned her gaze away from Din’s statue—its fierce, unmoving presence—tilting her head skyward to catch sight of Dinraal.

The guardian dragon, with her vast and impossibly graceful, had encircled the Spring’s summit. Her mane flickered like flame, trailing speckles of air that fizzled into nothingness before they could touch the earth. Dinraal’s head was low, her nose dipped to the right the Din’s statue.

The great beast blinked, heavy-lidded, the motion slow and ponderous, like she herself was caught between dream and wakefulness.

Did they sleep?

Zelda had read dozens of tomes, pored over scrolls so old the ink had faded to ghost-like impressions. Not one spoke of the dragons resting. They simply were—eternal, untethered by time or fatigue. And yet… Dinraal looked tired, or perhaps only calm. Watching.

She let her hands fall, prayer forgotten, and dipped them into the Spring’s surface. The water warmth always surprised her, despite how it was like that for all three Springs. But the Spring of Power’s water was hotter, the heat seeping up her arms like a balm and a burn all at once. A soft splash echoed in the silence, barely more than a sigh.

At the far end of the ancient path, her escorts waited—shadows against the firelight of their torches, unmoving. They could not join her. None were permitted to set foot into the Spring itself while she communed, while she prayed.

Zelda’s shoulders slumped.

It wasn’t the solitude she minded—it was the kind of silence that pressed against her ribs and reminded her of all she had not become.

Why? Why couldn’t she access her birthright?

The Calamity loomed on the horizon like a stormcloud, promising devastation, and she… she was powerless. In another time, perhaps, she would have believed the magic had simply passed her by. But the signs were undeniable, the prophecy inescapable. The power was within her. And yet…

Yet it eluded her.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She looked up again at Dinraal, the dragon’s great eyes. “I’ve spent years seeking this power…and I have nothing to show.”

Tears stung her eyes. She bit her lip, pawing at her face, trying to hide the emotion even here—alone, watched only by stone, stars and a mighty beast. Her wet hands only smeared water across her cheeks, adding heat to the shame already burning behind her eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked.

Dinraal said nothing. She couldn’t. But her presence remained—immense and still and undeniable. The dragon’s warmth drifted on the wind like the scent of hot lava cascading down Death Mountain. Zelda could feel it, grounding her. Yet it brought no answers.

She turned her gaze back to the statue of Din—majestic and unmoving. The great Gerudo-like goddess stood poised, staff in hand, with a miniature depiction of Dinraal curling around her arms and shoulders. Her eyes were carved to look beyond, into eternity. Never down.

Zelda bowed her head.

“I need a sign,” she murmured, voice trembling. “Something. Anything. Just… so I know what I’m doing is right.”

But no divine wind stirred. No whisper of power shivered through the air. No sudden spark or glowing sigil bloomed on her hand. Just the breeze…and the ever-present silence of gods who did not answer.

Zelda closed her eyes.

Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep, aching breath. For a moment, she let herself feel the weight. The loneliness. The unbearable proximity of hope—and the cruel distance of its reality.

And still, Dinraal watched.

(Not in pity—in patience.)

Chapter Text

His heart pounded in the wake of his provocation and his skin tingled with the phantom sensation of Rook’s hands upon him. He could still taste the sheer raw magic that had extruded from his exemplar.

Mirage laid sprawled out in Hyrule Field, the castle looming in the distance. He stared up at the starless sky, eyes wide and manic.

His body was trembling in the aftermath of such a glorious sight.

A giggle of disbelief escaped, and Mirage pressed a hand to his chest, feeling how his heart pounded wildly against his ribs. He had never felt anything so wondrous before.

He raised his hand, staring as it shook, then he brought it to his cheek, still able to feel the coarseness of Rook’s prosthetic hand. Mirage shuddered, breath coming and going rapidly.

A deranged gleeful grin spread across his face.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It’s like a potent drug, an insatiable addiction coursing through his veins. Once he had gotten a hit of that elusive thrill, there was no turning back to the mundane existence he once knew.

It was a tantalizing temptation that Mirage initially resisted, yet he found himself allowing the memories to wash over him, surrendering to the intoxicating rush they induced. He denied the frequency with which he fantasized about it, the way he craved to provoke Rook just enough to relive that fateful night once more.

It was a gradual descent—a struggle to deny his inner cravings. Crafted with precision to serve King Demise, Mirage had been designed to adhere to Lord Ghirahim’s orders without question. He had been engineered solely to enact distraction, a role he had fulfilled with remarkable success. And then, as fate would have it, King Demise was sealed away, leaving Mirage to grapple with the chaotic remnants of purpose that still tugged at his psyche.

King Demise had been bested by King Rauru and the Sages.

Demise…he was not as much of a king as Mirage had been created believing and worshipping.

The realisation felt sacrilege—his very core of being rebelled against it. He was here to serve King Demise! He was not created to question his king’s abilities. But he was. It made Mirage realise that…he was more than just a puppet. That recognition stewed within him, fermenting over time. It was not like the original click of King Demise being weak.

It was more akin to a string pulled to taut, slowly fraying at the edges until it could hold no more.

By that point, Mirage had lived a long time—he was there to witness the first Calamity’s rise. It was a mighty beast, a fragment of Demise’s power sprung loose.

But with each Calamity, Mirage realised something…profound. It was drawing upon magic from Demise, yes, but he was not regenerating such strength afterwards. Each time the Calamity was defeated, sealed, Demise lost more and more power.

It tickled Mirage funny. It made him giggle and roll around in the grass the moment he had realised. Demise, in his bid to ravage Hyrule and seek retribution for his imprisonment, was making himself weaker.

And Mirage? He only grew stronger.

He was no longer shackled by Demise’s existence. Mirage had successfully severed those chains, liberating himself to a sense of freedom he had never expected—to gather power and explore what it means to exist. Though naturally he bore a striking resemblance to a Hylian, Mirage was anything but; he was a creature of shadows, capable of warping his form at will, and the rigid laws that governed Hylians held no sway over him.

Ghirahim had quickly become a bothersome thorn in his side, yet Mirage, crafted with an innate understanding of guile and subterfuge, skilfully played his role to perfection.

Mirage knows what he wants by the second Calamity, and he will do everything in his power to get it.

He will worship at the altar of his god no matter who or what stands in his way.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

From the moment Mirage acknowledged his wants and desires, he worked his way to achieve them, using Ghirahim to further himself, making the demon believe he was merely a subordinate who always complied. He infected and planted monsters where they are needed when ordered, messed with the Chain when required, and during times that Ghirahim had no need for Mirage, he went off on his own.

He’s fascinated. He’s besotted.

From the shadows and watching from afar, Mirage spent countless hours silently observing Rook as he navigated life before the Calamity had reshaped the world. Never once did he intervene, nor did he allow himself to be discovered—such exposure would be far too perilous. Yet, despite the risks, Mirage couldn’t help it.

With each passing moment gathering insights like precious gems, he learned, he observed, and above all, he yearned.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When Mirage realised what Rook had become, there was a swell of frustration, of anger, of rage.

Such emotions are natural. Even the oldest beings are weak to the whims of their emotions, after all, and Mirage is no better. But Mirage had lived long enough to know that such would benefit him nowhere.

But he could not so easily temper the anger, it had taken time, an age almost, to settle his emotions, abandoning the present to sulk in the past. Ghirahim and Demise knew nothing; they never realised the extent to which Mirage’s power had grown. He dwarfed them in prowess now. It would take nothing at all for Mirage to deal with them.

But they have a use, and this cycle must end, and so Mirage doesn’t dispose of useful pawns.

There is irony there, that he was once the pawn but was now the unknowing coordinator.

So Mirage did what he did best: he sought answers.

And he goes to the best place to start. To the very beginning, to the very Goddesses who allowed such a process as dragonification to be possible.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The Spring was warm. Welcoming.

Once, these waters rippled with hymns and laughter, with prayers carried on the wind. But the rituals had halted in the wake of the Calamity. The celebrations halted, and the people stopped coming. They had far more important things to worry about.

The Springs stood empty now. Just as he wanted.

The Divine Beasts were hidden, the Guardians buried. The Kingdom, fractured and in fragile repair. Mutiny brewed like a storm on the horizon. The Princess and the Hero conspired to depose a King who had lost the people’s trust—his reign marked by ruin. The Sheikah were split. The Gerudo, scorned. And the citizens? Starving, neglected, while the King hoarded what they needed most. They needed help, yet the King had none to give. Or refused to.

Mirage had come here once before, as a watcher of war. But now, he came as a seeker of truth. And Farore would answer.

The moment he stepped into the sacred waters, he felt Her awareness. Her presence blanketed the Spring like mist—gentle but inescapable. And Farosh had come too, coiling protectively around the outer cliffs, a silent guardian in the dark.

“Greetings, child of shadows,” came the voice of Farore, serene and low.

Mirage looked up from his reflection flickering in the sacred waters to meet the statue’s eyes with a divine glow nestled within its gaze.

“Do you know why I’m here?” he asked, skipping formality.

A pause. The kind that fills the lungs and pricks the skin.

“I suspect,” she said at last. “But I do not assume.”

That old line. Assumptions make an ass out of you and me. Mirage’s lips twitched with a brief, ironic smile. Then he sobered.

He met her gaze again, or the illusion of one. “Then I’ll speak plainly. How do I change him back?”

Another silence. He could feel Her watching, as if tilting Her head in quiet scrutiny.

“Why would we allow such a thing?” Farore asked. “He suffers no longer. He is free from pain.”

Mirage clenched his jaw. “Don’t take me for a fool. You know his potential. He bears both Courage and Wisdom—and he does so in harmony.”

“That means little,” She said. “Many could if given the chance.”

“No,” Mirage snapped, almost bristling. “Not like Rook. Not to his level. Rook was the balance you always wanted—a perfect vessel. Don’t deny what you helped shape.”

She didn’t respond immediately. When she did, there was something like amusement in her voice. Or was it challenge?

“Then tell me. Why should we care? Why should we interfere? Convince me.”

Mirage took a breath, running his tongue over the sharp edge of a molar. “He is my God. Is that not reason enough? Rook sacrificed more than any mortal has a right to. He gave everything so his people could live. And now he roams the skies as Uriel, knowing nothing, fixing a blade he doesn’t even remember dying for.”

Farore hummed, the sound layered with thought. “The Guardians lost their memories because their mortal minds were never made to be eternal. Their minds would fracture beneath the weight of timelessness. Uriel is no different. Rook was no different. Why would apotheosis change that?”

Mirage’s gaze sharpened. “Because this is different. I told you—don’t treat me like I don’t understand. I’ve watched him evolve in ignorance, still choosing good. Still choosing sacrifice, and never abusing which was given to him.”

Farore didn’t reply right away. The Spring was quiet, save for the soft rustle of wind, the chirping of night creatures, and the steady breath of Farosh at the threshold.

“Why should we grant you this?” She asked at last.

A beat passed. Mirage inhaled deeply, the scent of moss and mineral clinging to his senses.

“My desires…” he began, slowly, reluctantly. “This is more than desire. It’s purpose. I’ve lived lifetimes pursuing this. I’ve broken and re-formed myself. I shed the shackles that had once chained my purpose for existing. This isn’t fate—it’s choice. My choice. I choose to believe in Rook. In who he’s meant to be.”

Farore hummed again, this time with something like approval. Hope flickered in Mirage’s chest.

“No host has carried Power since the Convergence,” he continued, voice steady now. “Demise’s rebirth severed that line to the Gerudo Sons. But Uriel—he still holds Courage and Wisdom.”

Farore’s tone shifted—soft, but commanding. “The dagger you wield and one of the shards you carry. Offer them to the Spring.”

Mirage hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. With a smooth motion, he unsheathed the dagger he had carried for as long as he had existed, a curved Gerudo dagger, and let it drop into the water. A hollow splash. It sank.

Then, from his pocket, he drew the vial containing the fragments of Demise’s Secret Stone. He uncorked it carefully, tilting it until one jagged shard dropped in after the dagger.

The reaction was immediate.

The statue behind Farore flared with sacred light, casting the entire Spring in hues of gold and emerald. The water shimmered with swirling colours—green, blue, yellow. It bubbled gently, humming with divine energy.

Then, just as suddenly, it stilled.

“Take it,” Farore ordered. “Retrieve the dagger and visit my sisters’ Springs. You will seek their blessings too.”

Mirage’s heart thundered as he reached into the Spring, fishing the dagger from its depths. The Gerudo dagger had changed. Etched near the crossguard was a rune he didn’t recognise. But he didn’t need to.

The shard was gone.

He looked back toward Farore’s statue. “Thank you.”

“Go,” She said again, with the finality of a command. “Seek the blessings of my sisters, child. What you ask is not yet finished and my sisters will not be as easily convinced as I.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 20th— Cont’d

Mirage patiently awaited Uriel’s approach as he basked in the warmth of the setting sun, watching how the sky turned to hues of orange and pink.

The silence and stillness of the Great Sky Islands were broken as the Temple of Light’s bell rang, signalling the day’s end and with it came a low croon that filled the air.

Mirage turned his eyes away from the sun, a pleased smile curling his lips as Uriel finally arrived. Effortlessly, the dragon clutched the edge of the Temple with his sole front claw to steady himself before his head lowered and his body curled.

A satisfied hum escaped the dragon as he settled, stretching and ruffling his feathers. What a sweet sight.

Mirage finally slipped off the small ledge he had been perched on as he had not wanted to be in Uriel’s way. The sound of his feet alerted Uriel to his presence, or perhaps merely drew his attention to Mirage to acknowledge him, and the dragon blinked at him, a single eye locked onto Mirage. His heart fluttered at the attention.

The sheathed dagger tucked into his tunic sat heavy against his chest with the knowledge of what he must do to get what he wanted. Everything was so close now that he could taste it, could taste the magic that radiated off Uriel, so familiar and yet so vastly different, evolved.

It has grown beyond that which once belonged to a mortal.

Anticipation swelled within him and Mirage continued his approach.

Uriel greeted him this time, rumbling and shifting until his head rested flat against the roof. Mirage smiled, settling on his knees, very pleased by Uriel’s response. Seeing as he had been permitted, Mirage pet Uriel’s nose, stroking his fingers through the soft fur.

“Hello again,” he greeted lovingly. “I’m slightly more put together this time, darling.”

A snort. The eye locked onto him creased, becoming crescent-shaped, but there was also a hint of confusion swirling within the depths of his majestic eye.

“Oh, you find that funny, huh?” Mirage grinned. “And I bet I look a little strange, too, yes?”

Uriel rumbled, shuffled, and stretched his back half. Mirage watched as his stretching reminded him of something akin to that of a cat.

Biiiig stretch he resisted cooing, stifling a laugh.

“I…gave myself a bit of a makeover recently,” Mirage hummed, leaning against Uriel as he continued his petting. “I adore the one I was modelled after, but I felt perhaps I deserve to finally make something of myself.”

It had been some time since he was last here, but in the present, it had only been three nights at most. That also meant that his makeover had been close to a year ago now—it had been a defining moment for Mirage, a moment where everything had begun to finally fall into place for him.

Mirage dragged his shadowed hand down his flesh one, fingers tracing the tattoo that curled around his forearm. He made sure Uriel could see it.

“It’s you, darling,” he said proudly.

Uriel blinked, his gaze locked onto the tattoo. There was a curious spark in that eye and it excited Mirage. He had other tattoos on his body, but none that he was as thrilled about. The artist had captured Uriel’s likeness incredibly from the drawings Mirage had given her.

It was by no means realistic. A softer approach had been taken, which gave Uriel a sweet and gentle appearance, but it did not miss anything from his design—just a cute, simplistic take. Mirage felt that was a better version than the realistic one, which had felt too sharp and defined for Mirage’s liking. It hadn’t captured Uriel’s essence as well as the one he had settled upon.

“Your gorgeous, darling. I just had to get a tattoo of you,” Mirage explained.

Uriel snorted, ears twitching as he turned his gaze away and Mirage grinned. Was the dragon perhaps flustered?

Mirage took a breath and reaffirmed his reason for coming tonight. He pushed to his feet and after only a hesitant beat, crawled onto Uriel’s head. The dragon made an inquisitive noise.

“It’s okay, darling,” Mirage assured.

It would be. He had been promised.

Mirage continued up Uriel’s snout until he reached his temple, where the scar from where the Mastersword once sat remained. It had healed nicely leaving only a slight blemish. No fur grew there, the skin was too damaged for that, but the scar was mostly hidden by the fur that surrounded it.

He petted the area and Uriel hummed deeply, the vibrations reaching Mirage’s bones. For a long time, Mirage sat there, trying to ensure Uriel didn’t begin to suspect anything and merely watched the sunset until twilight settled across Hyrule.

He had to be hasty now, before Zelda appeared for her nightly visit.

With a steadying breath, Mirage reached into his tunic, quietly drawing the dagger. He tightened his grip, feeling a wave of sweat slick against his palm, his fingers trembling with a mix of anticipation and worry. His free hand continued to gently caress Uriel’s temple.

He lifted the dagger high, its blade gleaming in the sliver of moonlight.

“What are you doing?!” Zelda’s voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with panic.

Well, there goes the pretence of keeping her in the dark.

In that heartbeat, Mirage brought the dagger down with a swift, determined motion. Just as Uriel startled, the blade found its mark. A piercing wail erupted from the dragon, a sound that echoed through the silence as he whipped his head back and forth frantically. Mirage was propelled from his place on Uriel’s head as he writhed in anguish.

“Uriel!” Zelda cried, her voice laced with urgency as she rushed forward, only to be forced back by the dragon’s violent claws raking against the temple roof. A brilliant burst of light erupted around the dagger still embedded in his temple, casting flickering shadows across her worried ghostly face. 

“What have you done?!” she shouted, panic lacing her voice.

Mirage grinned, staggering to his feet as Uriel’s majestic body began to shimmer, ethereal magic spiralling and coalescing around him like a vibrant storm. A haunting wail escaped Uriel's lips as he dragged himself toward the edge of the Temple of Light’s roof.

With a sudden, desperate motion, he plunged over the precipice, plummeting towards the island below where the entrance to the temple awaited, not even attempting to fly, merely allowing himself to fall.

“Don’t ignore me!” Zelda implored, her voice tinged with desperation.

Mirage, however, paid her no heed. With a swift, fluid motion, he launched himself over the temple's edge, letting his form dissolve into shadow as he embraced the fall. As he landed on the stone steps in a cascade of darkness, his body coalesced once more.

His wide eyes were fixed on Uriel, who was being engulfed by the overwhelming radiance that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, shrinking his form as he forced his way through the temple’s entrance.

The ancient stone groaned under the immense pressure, cracking and splintering as if protesting Uriel’s invasion.

A guttural cry echoed from the dragon, laden with agony, resonating through the air. Then he surged into the space, his massive form filling every inch with potent raw energy.

Mirage strained to follow, but the sheer magnitude of magic emanating from Uriel pushed against him like an invisible wall, prompting him to shield his eyes. The atmosphere around him shimmered and throbbed with power, whipping his hair into a frenzy, as if the very air was alive and agitated.

“What have you done?” Zelda begged, her voice almost breaking.

She reached out, but her hand passed through him like mist, unable to find purchase in the realm of the tangible. A whimper escaped her lips.

“What was necessary,” he replied, his voice distant as he remained unable to tear his gaze away from the extraordinary spectacle unfolding before him.

Deep within the ancient temple, the light transformed into a mesmerising fractal pattern like a blooming flower while curling like a caterpillar spinning its delicate cocoon. Its surface exhibited an unmistakably organic quality, and beneath it, currents of raw power surged, enfolding Uriel’s diminishing form in an ethereal embrace.

Mirage stepped cautiously into the chamber, captivated by the sight of the cocoon. Its extruding tendrils slithered along the walls and ceiling, anchoring it in mid-air with an almost sentient grip. The cocoon's milky, translucent surface refracted the light, distorting the view beyond the shadowy silhouette of Uriel’s shrunken body, revealing the twirling tendrils that intertwined with him, forming a connection that seemed almost placenta in nature.

Beside him, Zelda hovered, her breaths shaky and frantic as she whispered, “Oh gods, oh goddesses.” Her wide eyes were filled with terror and disbelief.

“Incredible,” Mirage breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

While Zelda was consumed by panic, Mirage felt an exhilarating joy bubbling within him, an anticipation that thrummed in time with the pulsating energy of the cocoon. The pieces of his grand design were finally converging.

Allowing the shadows cast by the cocoon to envelop him, Mirage stepped deeper into the darkness, leaving Zelda behind. There was nothing she could do now; the inevitable had begun.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Zelda hovered unsurely, unable to tear her eyes away as her vision blurred with tears.

Slowly, hesitantly, she moved closer. The phantom sensation of her heart beating wildly pulsed inside her chest. Panic. Worry. She swallowed thickly.

Tentatively, a shaking hand reached out toward the cocoon. It tingled her fingers. It buzzed through her nerves. Zelda gasped, drawing back and worrying her lip anxiously as she stared at her hand. Her eyes widened as the transparent digits fizzled, wisping and yet…for a brief moment, had been solid.

Zelda had felt it, had felt the rush of blood through her fingers.

She cast her eyes back to the cocoon.

“What did he do?” she breathed.

Again, Zelda reached forward. This time she tapped it, watching as a ripple of light warped beneath the surface at her touch. Within, Rook did not stir.

He was so small now, perhaps a fifth of his original size curled into a ball. Zelda could just about make out his head tucked between his middle legs, almost hidden by the feathers.

Zelda didn’t dare try to pry it open, if she even could as a ghost. Instead, she laid her hand against the warmth. She shuddered as the sensation of buzzing traversed down her arm.

The cocoon’s surface rippled again, this time with a fractal pattern that spread out from her touch. She removed her hand, and it tapered off.

“Curious,” she murmured.

Once more, Zelda laid her hand. She watched that fractal pattern blossom, skirting along the cocoon before fading just before the surface began to curve. The colour shifted between gold and blue-green, similar in nature to Uriel’s colouration.

The scientist within her itched to examine, to understand, just what was happening. Zelda had no idea what Mirage was trying to accomplish or what his goal was by making this happen. Did it have to do with this... god Rook told her Mirage had mentioned?

In her moment of distraction, Zelda realised too late that something had changed. The fractal pattern had rippled and begun to spread—not across the cocoon but on her.

Zelda gasped, her fingers curling against her will until they dug into the cocoon. She yanked. She grabbed her wrist and tried to pull, and yet nothing was working. She whimpered.

“No, no, no no no,” she whispered desperately.

There was nothing Zelda could do but watch in horror as her body began to shine, the very air around her pulsing and whipping wildly.

Something went askew inside her and she choked on a breath, her eyes widening. Something shifted, something clicked and—

A surge of explosive energy rippled through her, entwined within her nervous system with the fire of a thousand suns. Zelda can’t help but scream as the energy blistered through every inch of her body, and her eyes exploded open with a blinding radiance.

Zelda lost consciousness as the energy swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

Tap, tap, tap—a pause. Tap, tap, tap.

Zelda gave a heavy sigh, dropping her pencil onto the desk and letting it roll away from her. She only reached out to stop it from tumbling off the edge of the desk.

“You should just say it, Princess,” Purah chimed from across the lab.

Zelda groaned, burying her face into the crook of her elbow. She murmured a few incoherent words.

“What’s that?” Purah said in a sing-song voice. “I can’t hear you~!”

Zelda raised her head, glaring at Purah half-heartedly. “This is not—” Zelda blushed brightly, worrying her lip. “I did.”

Purah stumbled, almost dropping whatever she had been holding to whirl around, eyes wide. “You did?! Wha—what happened?”

“I think there was some… miscommunication? I don’t think…Link understood what I was trying to explain? I do not know,” Zelda said glumly. “He…left not long after, claiming he needed to report in with his superiors.”

“That boy is besotted, Princess,” Purah said seriously—something so rare from the Shiekah. “Did you try saying it in some…weird way that Link did not seem to understand? Because you’ve gotta be on the nose with that boy sometimes.”

Zelda pouted, chin resting on her arm again. “I don’t know? I mean…I asked what I meant to him? And…maybe it was the way I phrased it?”

“…How did you phrase it?”

Zelda fiddled with the pencil.

“…Princess?”

She slid down in her seat, trying to hide.

“Zelly~” Purah cooed, coming up behind Zelda and grabbing her by the shoulders. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Zelda pouted, half turned away, a hand covering her face. “I…don’t want to repeat it.”

“C’mon, it couldn’t be that bad!”

“He was…it was just after he was released from the infirmary,” Zelda began.

“Okay, and?” Purah prodded.

“Well…when signing in to visit, about my reason and who I was to the patient, uh, Link, because even I need to do that as the Princess, right?” Zelda began rambling.

Purah hopped onto the desk beside Zelda, staring at her with plain amusement. “Carry on.”

“So…we have been working together for a while, yes? On Sheikah tech?” Zelda babbled.

Purah waved her on.

“I…wrote partner!” Zelda blurted.

Purah began sniggering.

“This is not funny!” Zelda almost shrieked, her face as red as a ladybug.

“Of course! Of course,” Purah agreed, trying and failing to straighten her face out.

Zelda glared, crossing her arms. “Link…saw it, right? I admitted I was…perhaps a bit panicked because I was worried for him! I had just heard he had been harmed in an attempted assassination by the Yiga Clan!”

Purah nodded, growing a little more serious at the mention of the Yiga Clan.

“So then I began stammering so—so stupidly while trying to explain, and then I asked what he would have written, and—and he said friend! Like it was the most obvious thing!” Zelda squawked.

Purah began wheezing with laughter.

“So then I…I asked what I meant to him! Because I—I was feeling confident! We were standing outside the infirmary, out in the open and I was—I was so scared I might have lost him when I heard the news and—I thought now as good a time as any!” Zelda continued, unable to stop now. “But then I froze, and Link saw something was bothering me, yes?!”

Purah was still laughing, trying desperately to catch a breath, fanning her red face.

“So I said nothing, then he retorted with ‘clearly there is something’. I tried to avoid it, because I’m a coward! But he couldn’t let me! So I came out with ‘I want to ask you what I mean to you but I’m afraid to know the answer’. You know, like any non-rational person would ask instead of just saying ‘I love you, are these feelings returned?’”

“Princess—”

“And he kind of stared at me red faced, fidgeted and then made his excuse to leave!” Zelda buried her face into her hands, her face burning with embarrassment. “I can’t face him again! This is mortifying! I’m an embarrassment to the Zelda name!”

“Princess,” Purah said with extreme disappointment.

“I know! Do you see why I’m moping now?” Zelda cried.

“I think,” Purah began dryly. “That Link didn’t know what to say to your roundabout confession.”

Zelda paused, peering at Purah through her fingers. “You…think so?”

“Oh, I know so. This is Link, remembered? Any time he’s faced with his own emotions, he flees the first moment he has.”

“Oh.” The realisation hit, and Zelda’s eyes bulged in shock. “Oh!”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 21st

By the time that the sun had begun to rise, casting a golden hue across Hyrule, Hylia and the Chain had already set out on their journey to find Mirage and stop whatever plan he was trying to set into motion.

Their first action of the day had been to use the prototype pads Hylia spent the previous day syncing up with the Gerudo Canyon Skyview Tower to teleport there. From that point, the plan had been to decend into the Dpeths via the Chasm south of the Skyview Tower.

However, that initially plan was put into question when a second Chasm was spotted. A Chasm that was far closer to where the Yiga Clan hideout was suspected to be.

A spur-of-the-moment decision was made to head for the western Gerudo Chasm instead of the Southern one. It brought them not only closer to their desired destination but also allowed the Chain to navigate the familiar terrain of the surface, avoiding the lurking perils of the Depths below.

It had been a reasonable change. One Hylia saw no reason to fight. However, the only downside was that she had not yet activated the Gerudo Highlands Skyview Tower. Hylia had bypassed the Tower during the Upheaval, not deeming it important enough at the time to make a diversion during her hunt for the Sonia Geoglyph.

That meant, using the Gerudo Canyon Skyview Tower’s propulsion to shoot them skyward, it allowed the group of eight to traverse the sky by paragliding toward the large Chasm. It shortened the journey exponentially.

The heat of the desert was much preferred over the unknown dangers of the Depths below. It was another reason Hylia did not protest the idea when Legend first suggested it. Chilly elixirs had been one of the selected elixirs that had been brewed with haste. Being prepared for the desert was crucial, even if the original plan had been to divert into the Depths as soon as possible.

Josha had spent the last few days brewing a whole collection of elixirs to the point Jerrin had to intervene and send her sleep-deprived daughter to bed. She even threatened to tie Josha to the bed when she protested.

It had been good forethought in case they needed to improvise. After all, they were entering the unknown.

The change of direction saw them landing at the base of the Great Cliffs, and the trek carried on via the surface, where they followed the cliff faces and sloping hills toward the Chasm. By then, it had reached midday. Time had been arguably saved. A worthwhile shift in course that had shaved down their journey time.

Had they gone through with the original route, they would have had to navigate the Depths in the pitch black. It would have taken twice the length of time, or even more so, to arrive at the vague location they needed to reach.

“We are going to have to camp down there for a night,” Sky murmured grimly, eyes skyward.

That had already been acknowledged, but Hylia could not blame any of them for wanting to spend as little time as possible in the Depths. She understood the feeling very well, although for slightly different reasons.

“It’s not the end of the world. No one knows we’re coming, right?” Hyrule questioned.

Legend crossed his arms. “Besides perhaps Mirage if he was sneaking around.”

There was a shared grimace all around.

“But Mirage is…” Hylia hesitated a beat, trying to find the right word. “He seems like he wants us to find him or, at the very least, come after him in retaliation. Perhaps to even spring an attack?”

Warrior frowned. “It’s not entirely out of left field for him, not after the four years we’ve been chasing after him. After we parted ways with Rook, there was an…uptick in physical meetings with Mirage. It was around that time he started wearing Rook’s face more than the lizal form.”

“It felt strange at the time. I thought he was taunting us,” Four murmured, brows pinched. “But if that Mirage was a more recent version…”

“Then he was setting his plan into motion,” Twilight finished.

“What plan exactly, is the question,” Time sighed, shifting his gaze back to the Chasm.

“This supposed god of his…whoever or whatever they are, we can’t let him help them,” Legend replied.

“But we may already be too late to stop whatever Mirage has planned, so we must be cautious,” Hylia added grimly.

A sense of unease settled heavily in Hylia's gut. Weakness coursed through her, a painful reminder of her diminished magical prowess. Hylia had spent a lot of time actively ignoring the feeling, but now she felt it twofold.

Hylia was always alarmingly aware of how diminished she was these days.

She feared that if a being of immense power were to manifest on this plane, she might not even possess the capacity to sense their presence.

When she had been but a spirit afloat in the Astral Plane, she remained aware of the process of spirit creation only because it had been granted to her by the Golden Mothers.

After her failure to stop Demise, they had never been unkind or distant when addressing her. In anything, they were sympathetic to her plight. But the Golden Mothers were observers of this plane. They had created this universe, tended to it lovingly, and then gave it to those who called it home.

They watched. Observed. Did not interfere.

But there were minuscule occasions. A…sleight of hand. A guiding winding. A surge of power. A cold day to huddle in the library.

They did not like to interact.

Used to, Hylia absently corrected. They used to not like to interact or interfere.

They had been more present, more watchful, ever since Rook’s birth. Hylia hadn’t the faintest idea why. At the time, she supposed that with Warrior’s unintended skirmish forcing the Tri-Force to awaken within him, the Golden Mothers had to actively try to fix the things that Cia had caused when she meddled.

(Hylia knew what became of her and Lana and tried not to spend much time thinking about it.)

But it does not explain anything about the whys. Neither of the three answered her questions. They acknowledged her but refused to answer questions—like why Hylia had initially been given a chance to return to this plane. She knew why now, of course, but…why couldn’t they have prepared them more? They had known Demise had returned, they knew. Something else could have been done to…

No.

Uriel was always going to happen. The Golden Mothers knew that. They knew better. Hylia had never, could never be, impartial on anything about this realm. She loved it too much. She was biased and the Golden Mothers knew that.

Hylia shook her thoughts off. Instead, she approached the edge of the Chasm, fiddling with the Purah pad to get some brightblooms at the ready. She had no idea if dropping them from this height would just destroy them or not. It seemed reasonable to guess that.

Besides, she had no idea what was at the bottom. It could be water for all she knew.

“I’ll head down first and send a message,” Hylia announced.

She looked over her shoulder just briefly enough to see the Chain’s eyes turn to her before she did a run and jump into the Chasm. Behind her, there were surprised shouts at her daredevilish action.

Wind whipped against her cheeks. The gloom that had once clung to the sides of the Chasms was gone, making the descent even darker than the last time Hylia had explored the Depths.

After falling for ten seconds, Hylia finally dropped her first brightbloom before whipping out the paraglider to observe. She grimaced at the elevated plateau and pond that awaited her below. Any later and Hylia feared she might not have reacted quickly enough.

As Hylia's feet landed on solid ground, she swiftly scattered a few brightblooms to light up the area and ensure that the guys who followed her down knew where the water was.

She cast her eyes skyward, just barely able to make out the blue sky so far above. Hands plucking the Purahpad from its pouch, Hylia sent Time, who was the first on the contact list, a message to inform them she had arrived at the bottom safely and they were okay to follow her lead.

Hylia got an affirmative after only a moment.

One by one, the Chain descended into the Depths.

“We’re…going that way, right?” Four queried from somewhere behind her. “Are we heading toward that structure?”

Hylia looked up from the Purahpad and turned to see Four facing northwest, leaning more toward the west. In the far distance, a noticeable light caught her attention. It was a Yiga Clan camp, Hylia was sure of it. The Yiga were the only other outsiders currently exploring the Depths.

“We could probably paraglide a good distance but…we are also going to need to climb,” Twilight noted, stepping up beside Four and Hylia.

The others were quick to join them to peer out into the vast distance that they would need to cover. It was almost daunting. Even in the pitch black, Hylia could make out the vagueness of shapes and structures that made up the Depths. Winding stone and sheer drops. Even a monster camp or two, scattered just far enough to be spotted by their torches.

“If they have set up a well-established camp…we may find ourselves facing issues with a stealth, or any form approach,” Warrior remarked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He ran his hand across his beard, scratching at his cheek.

“We have elixirs to help with stealth, and I doubt the Yiga have suddenly gained night vision,” Hylia replied, offering something, because Warrior was right. This was going to be difficult. Hylia had never thought otherwise.

“At some point, we are going to have to camp for the night,” Sky reminded, as he had earlier. “We have to plan this carefully.”

“Is a good time as any to say there’s something big moving down there?” Legend said, pointing to the lower elevation.

Hylia squinted, instinctively reaching to shield her eyes from sunlight that wasn’t there. At first, she couldn't identify what Legend had spotted.

“Ah, yeah. That’s…big,” Hyrule murmured, grimacing. “Yikes.”

Slowly, Hylia could begin to make out a vagueness that kind of looked like some…odd frog-looking creature.

“Is it a…dodongo?” Time asked incredulously.

“I don’t think so?” Twilight answered sceptically.

“But we’re avoiding it at all costs,” Four said dryly.

There was a round of agreement from everyone present. A fight like that… not only did none of them know how to fight it, but it was bound to catch the Yiga Clan’s attention. It was just asking for trouble.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Mineru remained on standby as Sheik stepped into the tent, ducking beneath the flap. His lips were pursed, his brows furrowed tightly.

“Any movement from their side?” he asked.

Bandaga shook her head. “No. Just silence, which is what is unnerving us.”

Sheik worried his bottom lip, stepping up to the table where notes had been left organised. “Your thoughts on their plans?”

Scorpis sighed, crossing his arms. “We think they’re waiting to see how we respond. We don’t wish to engage but they might be trying to draw it out. Make us antsy and hope that it causes us to do something they can take advantage of.”

Sheik mulled over the limited information his grandmother had provided him. He had sought her insight before heading to the border. Impa understood what the Astraterra Empire was like a hundred years ago, and it was likely they were not too different now with their long-standing war-mongering ideals.

He had met the emperor only once, having joined Rook at the weeklong Summit gathering. It had been Sheik’s first official act as Rook’s acknowledged right-hand.

They had learnt very early from those who loved to gossip that Emperor Haldir was a man who wanted his hand in every pie. He sought to capitalise on any opportunity to gain the upper hand. Sheik had witnessed the slimy man’s attempts to butter Rook up at the first Summit meeting that took place not long after the invasion attempt.

Rook had been cordial but aloof. His brother from different blood had made his thoughts on Emperor Haldir’s actions very clear.

(“If you want access to Hyrule, earn it,” Rook said, meeting Haldir’s eyes unwavering. The gold was prominent, the blue sharp. Sheik swallowed, glad he wasn’t the one subjected to such a piercing gaze. He had experienced it enough, and it always made him try never to again.

The Emperor floundered at Rook’s response, likely used to others rolling over—used to using his wealth and standing to pressure the people around him into submission.

If Haldir was an unstoppable force, then Rook was the immovable object.

There would be no cowing Rook into submitting. Not anymore. Those days had long passed.)

Sheik sat in a vacant chair, the wood creaking softly. A leg began jittering. “Any signs of high rankers?”

“A few that look it. They have…more refined armour and capes that are navy on the outside and red on the underside,” Bandaga reported, brows furrowing. She cast a glance at the tent flap that was facing directly toward the boundary wall. “They also tend to be atop a horse with small-headed spears. More…decorative than practical. They are accompanied by another on horseback who is a flag bearer with the Astraterra flag.”

“How often do they patrol?”

“A few times a day, often every three or so hours. During the night, once or twice, likely feeling it unnecessary and…wanting to sleep rather than patrol.” Bandaga’s voice turned dry at the end. It earned a snort from Sheik.

Scorpis leaned onto the table as he added: “They have kept at least ten or so meters away from the wall. When a group patrols, they try to sneak a bit closer. The keyword is try, since we’ve gotten good at warning them back. They are likely trying to investigate our side, see what makes us tick and how far they can push us, but we’ve made sure to retain fifteen at most, using the surrounding mountainous elevation to our advantage.”

Sheik nodded. “Hylia and Purah want to reframe from anything that could be seen as a slight or declaration. With Hylia and the other heroes gone to deal with the shade wearing Rook’s face, we don’t want to take that risk until Hylia is here.”

“You think Hylia being here will dissuade them?” Bandaga asked, her expression wavered with hesitance. “I’m aware most of the neighbouring countries still worship her, but Chief Riju said Astraterra has never shown any of the sort. Not within the royal family anyhow.”

With an exhale, Sheik rubbed his brow. “I don’t know. We’re hoping her appearance might make them rethink. While Hylia didn’t join the Summit meeting itself, her presence was very much felt and acknowledged. Maybe the Emperor jumped the gun with the Upheaval. We can only theorise at this point.”

“Tomorrow, as Rook’s chosen right-hand, I’m going to officially approach seeking a mediation to understand what precisely the Emperor wants with this posturing,” Sheik explained.

“Who do you want to accompany you?” Scorpis questioned without skipping a beat.

“Someone from each race, a show of unity,” Sheik answered, brows pinched. “Could you both go through the gathered people and pick out who you think is best?”

Bandaga nodded.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was a delicate operation—something that required caution. After ensuring they gave the unknown creature a wide berth, to the point where they couldn’t even catch a glimpse of it, the group made good time despite being all but blind.

Their lanterns were purposefully dim, providing just enough light to see each other's faces and the immediate surroundings to avoid any unfortunate falls and injuries. However, it still didn’t prevent people from tripping on uneven ground.

When it reached six in the evening, the group located a small nook to hunker down within to rest. No fires were coaxed into being. Instead, the lanterns were cranked up just enough to eat before a rotation was set up so people could sleep.

Hylia took the first watch, sitting at the entrance of the small nook, her eyes on the landscape around them. The Yiga Clan camp felt so close, and yet, it was still so far. Elevated up higher, Hylia could make out the Chasm in which the Yiga Clan camp was situated beneath.

After what felt like an hour of eerie, heavy silence, punctuated only by the sound of the Chain’s breaths as they slept, Legend sat up abruptly

The movement broke Hylia’s focus and she turned her eyes to him. She said nothing as he buried his face between his knees, taking deep, even breaths. Nightmare, perhaps?

When Legend finally lifted his head, he met her gaze, and Hylia gave him a questioning look. He sighed and pushed to his feet, carefully navigating the sleeping bodies. He settled opposite her, tucking his legs close to his chest, arms resting on his knees.

“Were you sleeping or having trouble?” she asked, mindful of the volume of her voice.

“Trouble,” he replied.

Legend had yet to converse with Hylia in a one-on-one setting like this. So it had been more than a little surprising to her that he had gotten up to approach like this. It was like that for a few of them, and Hylia saw no reason to push it. They would come to her on their terms if they wanted to speak.

Hylia went back to watching, content to stay in silence unless Legend broke it.

“I know—” he began and stopped about five minutes later.

Giving Legend her full attention, Hylia gestured for Legend to continue. “You have no need to worry about offending me.”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “Over the years, I’ve probably spent a quarter of it cussing you out.”

“I know,” Hylia assured him, lips twitching before her expression softened into something sympathetic. “You have all suffered because I failed to deal with Demise.”

Legend ran his tongue over his teeth. “I…hated you for a while. Cursed you out whenever something bad happened because I thought it was your fault.”

“I’m not that influential,” was her dry response. “I don’t enjoy seeing the pain you all have gone through. Please never think as such.”

Legend averted his gaze, saying nothing, and so Hylia chose to continue, hoping it would bring him out and help him engage and ask what he wanted too.

“I am…weak,” Hylia continued. Legend startled slightly, blinking at her. “Flora spent a hundred years channelling my magic, and even before that, when…when I was not needed, I slept for years or centuries at a time to gather my strength.” Hylia choked a little, her eyes burning. “I slept through Demise’s resurrection, and I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for it.”

Hylia had accepted it. Acknowledged it. But forgive herself? Unlikely. Not for a long time. Not after what her failure had taken.

“My power has waned, and it’s all but non-existent at present. I can hardly summon a spark,” she added, looking at her hands. The right her own, the left Rauru’s. “It will take a long time for me to regenerate enough to use it in a defensive attack, let alone offensive.”

Her mind drifted to the Water Temple and the mutated octorok. In her fury, she had unleashed all the magic she had managed to store to destroy it. Looking back, it was reckless and foolish. That energy could have been saved for Demise. Yet, in that moment, she hadn't thought to consider it in such a monumental way.

“How?” Legend asked.

“How what? How did Demise resurrect himself? My guess is the way that the Timelines converged. How am I so weak? With each Zelda as a conduit to use my power, the weaker I grew,” Hylia confessed. “I already essentially split myself in half to create Sun, and that half never returned. It couldn’t. I had severed my soul in two, something like that…it can’t be undone, not when the other half became mortal.”

Hylia avoided Legend’s probing stare, silent for a moment as she fiddled with the bottom of her tunic.

“Conduit? They…acted as the middleman to use your magic. Is that what you’re saying?” Legend questioned, brows furrowed deeply.

Hylia huffed out a laugh. “Yes, and it was magic I freely gave. I had no use for it as a spirit stuck in the Astral Plane.”

“Astral Plane?” Legend paused, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Legend didn’t seem reluctant to carry it on with her. Though Hylia was not overly surprised by the way Legend perked up. Most were unfamiliar with the Astral Plane.

“The plane of existence that gods and guardian spirits reside within when not present here. It is where the Golden Mothers call home,” Hylia answered. “Different from…has Sky ever mentioned the Spirit Realm to you?”

Legend shook his head and Hylia pursed her lips. There goes that comparison.

“The Astral Plane… naturally, it is a void of stars—souls of those not contained within a flesh body, in actuality. It’s…the universe,” Hylia confessed, watching the way Legend’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open in shock. “Or the between space outside this Realm. That is the best way to describe it with words. Made up of the arcane, pure and unrefined, not yet able to be called magic as you would know it.”

It could be manipulated in small pockets, which is what happened with the Sages of Old. Their souls had held on because they had dedicated themselves to their cause even after death, and when the new Sages had touched the stones, it had awakened them with enough power to contort the Astral Plane for a brief time.

It was why the area had appeared different from what the Astral Plane actually looked like—a black void with golden speckles that were souls scattered far and wide awaiting their next life. The area had briefly reflected the needs of the Sages of Old.

“That’s…” Legend wildly shook his head, a soft, quiet laugh of disbelief escaping him. “Unbelievable. I don’t want to know, can we drop this?”

Hylia grinned wryly. “If you want.” She softened. “Why don’t you try your hand at sleeping again? We’ll need all the energy we can for tomorrow.”

Legend exhaled. There was a moment where he stared at her, eyes searching for something Hylia was unsure of. Whatever it was, Legend did not give away if he found it. Instead, he pushed to his feet and returned to his bedroll, leaving Hylia alone once more to keep watch.

Far more relaxed now, Hylia was aware of how quickly Legend drifted off. The remaining tension rolled off Hylia’s shoulders at last, eased now that Legend had relaxed.

Chapter Text

“You’re planning to ask Link to enter an official courtship when we turn fifteen, aren’t you?” Lainy asked out of the blue.

Zelda jumped, nearly spilling her tea. Her cheeks flared with heat as she scrambled to regain composure.

“I—I, well…” Zelda stammered.

Lainy grinned mischievously, dimples appearing on both cheeks—the same ones she and Link had inherited from their mother. “Sorry, Princess.”

“It’s fine,” Zelda replied, clearing her throat. She placed her teacup down with a soft clink. “You just caught me off guard, that is all.”

“But you are going to ask him, right? I know about the contract our mothers made when Link and I were just two,” Lainy pressed.

Zelda felt the warmth on her cheeks intensify. She hummed thoughtfully before responding. “I… I am,” she confirmed. “We have been dancing around the subject for a little while now. Technically, we have been courting for months already, but... well, considering you and Link are still fourteen, and only a month from fifteen…”

“You couldn’t make it official yet,” Lainy finished with that mischievous glint in her eyes again.

Zelda nodded. It’s been quiet affection and stolen kisses behind closed doors. A few trusted people know—the Champions, Impa, Purah, Robbie... not to mention Lainy and Mrs. Atari, the latter of whom somehow knew when Zelda and Link hadn’t had a chance to visit her.

Zelda was convinced that it was Impa who tattled. The Sheikah advisor had let slip once that she and Mrs. Atari were close friends, and Zelda had no clue when that had happened.

“I’ve told my father, though,” Zelda continued, her voice steady. “Despite his objections, he has no say. Link and I are the ones who decide, as the future Queen and Prince Consort and the ones who are the subject of the contract.”

A knowing grin spread across Lainy’s face. “Oh, I bet dear old dad hated that.”

Zelda’s lips twitched into a smile. “He tried not to show it, but his eyes always give him away.” She leaned back, almost able to forget the pressure on her shoulders, even if for just a moment. “It’s not easy for him to hide his contempt. But honestly, I’m not sure he will ever get used to the idea of Link being so close to the throne.”

“Especially when your father has such a specific idea of who should be by your side,” Lainy teased, raising an eyebrow.

Zelda sighed, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of her teacup. “Yes, exactly. He has had plans for me since I was a child no doubt, and Link doesn’t exactly fit into those plans. But this isn’t about what he wants. It’s about what’s best for Hyrule—and what feels right for me.”

Lainy’s expression softened, her playful grin fading into something more sincere. “I think you and Link make a great pair, Zelda. And despite what your father might think, I don’t think anyone can argue with that.”

Zelda’s smile deepened at her friend’s words. “Thank you, Lainy. That means more than you know.”

Lainy gave a dramatic sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Just promise me you won’t turn into one of those overly formal, sappy couples when it’s official. I can’t handle that.”

Zelda chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “I promise, I’ll try to keep the sappiness to a minimum.”

The two shared a quiet moment of understanding. Both were aware of the weight the future would bring, but for now, they allowed themselves to enjoy the simplicity of the present.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 22nd

The Yiga Clan base loomed ahead, more like a fortified stronghold than a mere camp.

From their low vantage point, Hylia could see the sophisticated layout of the fortress: intricately designated buildings adorned with the clan's ominous insignia, elevated lookout posts perched strategically at the highest points, and a network of pully systems that crisscrossed the terrain, enabling swift movement between different levels.

Even from afar, it was clear that sneaking into the fortress would be a formidable challenge. The area was abuzz with activity—Yiga patrolled the perimeter with wary vigilance, scanning for any signs of intruders. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed as they practised their weaponry, and the shouts of commanding officers echoed in the silence and vastness of the Depths.

Hylia felt the weight of the situation settle heavily on her shoulders. She had always known that the Yiga were capable of constructing a sophisticated base; it was naive to think otherwise. But witnessing its scale and complexity was a stark revelation that made her stomach churn. The defences, the well-coordinated movements of the patrols, and the watchful eyes of the lookouts combined to create an atmosphere that was palpably hostile.

It was clearer than ever that infiltrating the fortress would be far more daunting than she had initially imagined. Approaching the base without a plan seemed like a fool's errand; there was no straightforward route to breach such a well-guarded stronghold.

“What are we gonna do?” Hyrule asked.

“Scout?” was Four’s hesitant response. “We’ve got to find a way to approach this without risking ourselves too much.”

“There just isn’t a way,” Time hissed with visible frustration. “They’re either expecting us or making an effort to keep this place a well-guarded fortress.”

“We can’t do it. We have to abort,” Sky said.

It gained him a few startled glances.

“Are you sure?” Twilight questioned.

“Don’t think we have much of a choice,” Legend muttered.

“Retreat back to the nook and re-strategise,” Warrior ordered, already scooting back to move.

Hylia watched him for a moment, shifting to follow. Yet before anyone could react, shadowy figures emerged from the depths of the craggy landscape. They moved quickly—too quickly—surrounding the group in a blink. They barely had time to draw their weapons before they were struck down, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and speed of the attackers.

Hylia whirled around, drawing her sword, but a well-timed jab to her wrist knocked it from her hands. Warriors and Sky fought back, but the Yiga were just too swift.

Within moments, the group had been disarmed and bound, their wrists roughly lashed with coarse, biting rope. The cords cut into their skin with every slight movement, a constant reminder of their helplessness. They were dragged—shoved, really—into the heart of the Yiga Clan’s camp.

Hylia grunted as she hit the ground, her knees slamming against the cold, unyielding stone. Pain shot up her legs, but she forced her expression to remain stoic, even as the guard’s hand shoved her forward with more force than necessary. Around her, the others were forced into a rough line, each one dropped to their knees in the same brutal fashion.

She lifted her head slowly, the sting of the ropes and the pounding in her chest making every breath feel heavier than the last. Her gaze flicked across the room, noting every archer on the upper balconies, every blade unsheathed and ready. She worked her jaw to keep calm, but her heart sank. This wasn’t just a setback—they’d really messed up.

Almost every eye in the room was on them. And not just with curiosity. Hatred. Anticipation. Triumph.

Then the crowd shifted. Whispers rippled like wind through dry leaves. The Yiga Clan foot soldiers parted, a deliberate, theatrical movement—and from between them stepped a figure that sent a chill crawling up Hylia’s spine.

Mirage.

He didn’t just walk into the circle that surrounded them—he commanded it. The very air seemed to bend around him, heavy with something unnatural. Power. Madness. Something that made the hairs on Hylia’s arms rise.

He approached with slow, deliberate steps, the soft echo of his boots clicking across the stone floor. His eyes gleamed with a feverish light, sharp and wild like a predator that had finally cornered its prey. The subtle smirk on his face didn’t belong to a man who had won—it belonged to one who knew he was fated to win, as if the universe itself had promised it to him.

“Such gall,” he said, voice oozing with condescension as he looked over them. “And look where it got you.”

He let the words hang in the air, savouring them.

“Still,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I’ve waited so long for this moment. So long… to finally see you all kneel before me.”

Time, even bound and bloodied, lifted his chin with that unwavering calm that made him seem untouchable. “What are you truly trying to achieve with the shards of the Secret Stone?”

Mirage’s smirk twitched wider as he came to a stop in front of Time, looking down on him with something that was almost pitying. Almost.

“I want what is mine by destiny,” he said softly. “I seek to bring about the rebirth of the world. A new world. His world.”

Hylia felt her throat tighten as she glanced sideways at Four, then Sky. Their eyes met briefly—shared confusion, fear, and fury in one glance.

Twilight’s voice cut through the tension. “What do you mean? Who is this god you keep talking about?”

Mirage's expression shifted again—this time distant, almost dreamy.

“He is the one who will save the world. The one who will give it renewed purpose. The one who will reshape everything. This world... it is broken. Decaying. But he—he will make it whole again. He will remake it.” His voice trembled with fervour. “He is a god who has not yet been born, but I am the one fated to bring him into existence.”

Legend, ever the sceptic, scoffed. “A god who hasn’t even appeared yet? You’re telling us you’re going to create a god?”

“Yes!” Mirage snapped. He threw his arms wide, spinning slightly as if basking in a vision only he could see. “Born from the shards of the Secret Stone. He will come. And when he does, everything will change.”

Hylia stared, horror and disbelief churning in her chest like a storm. “You think the world needs a new god?” she asked, her voice low. “What makes you so sure? What if this god doesn’t want what you want? What if he tears everything apart?”

Mirage’s voice lowered to a near whisper, like a prayer. “It’s not about what he wants. It’s about what he must do. The world is broken. Lost. He will fix it. I’ve seen it… in dreams, in the winds that speak in tongues, in the stones beneath my feet. He is coming. And I am the one who will guide him into this world.”

Sky’s anger boiled over. “You might bring about the end of everything! For what? A god that only exists in your head?!”

“You still don’t understand,” Mirage murmured, his voice almost gentle now, eyes distant as if remembering something intimate, sacred. “He wasn’t born in the usual sense. He wasn’t summoned, or awakened. He will… became.”

He began to pace again, slowly, like a priest before an altar, his words spinning reverent and strange in the dim air.

“I found him in the silence beneath the old world’s bones. Not in the scriptures. Not in the temples. No prophecy named him, no ancient king spoke of him. He rises—not from legacy, but from loss. Sacrifice.”

He paused, his gaze catching the flickering torchlight like fire in a fevered dream.

“I watched it happen,” he whispered. “Like the breath between a dying star’s collapse and its final flash of light. A moment no one else noticed. But something did. It chose him. A residue. A fracture. A power without true name. Not evil. Not good. Simply… vast. The breath left behind after creation. It has lingered, waiting since the first breath of time. Silent. Patient.”

A sense of unease and confusion stewed in Hylia’s stomach.

“Others have touched pieces of it. Felt it—through the Tri-Force, through the Stones, through the rifts where reality thins. But none were right. None were chosen. They were too small. Too full. But him… he was different.”

Hylia’s eyes narrowed at the word—Tri-Force—as if tasting something bitter on her tongue. Mirage continued.

“He was born with a fracture already in him. And when he finally stirred, it poured into him. Like a river long dammed. Like a baby’s first breath with lungs that had never known air.”

A tremble entered his tone—not fear, but exultation.

“He didn’t seize power. He didn’t ask for it. It sought him out. As if all the discarded divinity of the world was waiting for someone…empty enough. Someone the world had broken and left hollow, a vessel ready to be filled.”

He glanced the Chain over, his expression fevered with devotion.

“And now he is more. Something new. Something formed in the crucible of loss and raw potential. He is not born from heaven. He is born from the ashes of the heavens.”

There was a flicker of tense silence. Mirage stepped forward again, his shadow stretching long across the stone floor.

“You can call it madness. But I have seen what he is becoming. I’ve felt it in my marrow, in my dreams, in the air itself. He is divinity redefined. The unmaking of what was—and the first breath of what will be.”

His voice dropped, reverent and electric: “And I will be the one to bring him into this world. Not as a priest. Not as a servant. But as his harbinger. His witness. The only one who saw the signs of what he was becoming.”

“You mentioned the Tri-Force,” she said, quiet but unmistakably sharp. “What does that have to do with this?”

As its once guardian, as its guardian still in any way she could, Hylia’s instincts would always seek ways to protect the Tri-Force—it was buried within the very marrow of her existence.

For a moment, Mirage didn’t answer. He only looked at her, head tilted slightly. Then he laughed—softly, breathlessly. Not mockery. Something gentler. Sadder. As if the question itself broke his heart.

“The way you say that,” he murmured, almost wistful. “Like you’re still convinced it has nothing to do with this. Maybe you really are just out of the loop. You of all beings should know better.”

He paced a slow half-circle. “The Tri-Force has everything to do with this, Hylia. With him.”

His gaze flicked up to meet hers.

“It always did. You are just too blind, as usual, to see it. All nine of you are,” Mirage said, almost mournfully as he looked Hylia and the Chain over. “You always speak of the Tri-Force like it’s a symbol. A gift. A sacred thing to be revered and guarded—but it was never just that. It is not a tool. It is not an object.”

He stepped forward, eyes glowing with fervent light.

“It is the remnant. The lingering echo of creation itself. The divine essence of Din, Nayru, and Farore—split, yes. Manifested, yes. But never truly whole. Never truly complete.”

He began to pace again, his voice soft, spinning a tale too large for the vast openness around them.

“The Goddesses… they did not stay. They could not. Their work was done—but they knew, they knew, that something remained. A ripple. A question unanswered. They left a seed. A fragment of will and power, wrapped in golden balance. But even they did not know what it would become.”

He stopped in front of Hylia, staring into her with something that was half pity, half triumph. “Everyone mistook the Tri-Force for a gift. A test. A prize to be obtained. But it wasn’t any of those. It was a becoming. Waiting. Watching. Quiet. It needed a shape. A vessel. A soul who would not try to wield it, but would become it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “And now… he has arrived.”

Hylia’s heart pounded in her ears. Impossible. This was simply impossible. Hylia knew the Tri-Force inside and out—she had protected it for a span of a hundred Hylian lifetimes before Demise had come into the picture. She had still been young by all counts, still learning who she was and what power she held, but Hylia knew the Tri-Force more than she did herself even then.

Mirage turned slowly, reverently. “He is not born from the Goddesses. But he is what they left behind. The culmination of what they began but were unable to finish.”

He closed his eyes, smiling like a man hearing music no one else could hear.

“The Tri-Force was never meant to sit in temples. It was never meant to be broken across eras. It was meant to become him. And I…” His voice trembled. “I am the only one who saw it. The only one who understood what the world has been preparing for since its first breath.”

Beside Hylia, Sky sucked in a sharp breath as Mirage’s words. She didn’t have time to question his reaction, her attention locked onto the shade.

Mirage opened his eyes again, sharp and bright with divine madness. “The world doesn’t need saviours. It needs its ending. Its answer. And he—my God—is that answer. The Tri-Force given flesh. The unfinished will of creation… finally made whole.”

Hylia felt the air around her still—thick and suffocating, like the world itself was holding its breath. His words twisted like vines, curling into places she hadn’t let herself think about since time immemorial. Not since before the world had names. Not since before she had one.

When he spoke of the Tri-Force—not as sacred balance, not as divine order, but as a living will, waiting to become—her blood ran cold.

That’s not what it was meant to be.

It couldn’t be.

Hylia and Mene were created for a reason—the first of their kind. The memory was fuzzy after existing for so long, but Hylia could recall their words as the Mother Goddesses left this realm to flourish on its own. Hylia remembers the duty bestowed upon them and the importance of what they left behind. Not just power, not just balance—responsibility.

She and Mene had been made for the responsibility. Created to carry it. To guard it.

Protect the Tri-Force from those who would selfishly covet it.

She remembered standing before the Tri-Force for the first time, her form barely shaped, still flickering between physical and concept. The way its golden light shimmered like a held breath—beautiful, powerful, dangerous. She had felt its pull even then. Not malicious. Not sentient. But vast. Vast enough to be feared.

The Mother Goddesses had entrusted her and Mene with that burden—not because they were worthy, but because someone had to stand between it and those who would seek to own it. That was their reason for existing.

And now…

Now Mirage was speaking as if Hylia’s duty had been a mistake. As if she had been the mistake. Or a misinterpretation of the Golden Mothers’ wills.

Her fists clenched behind her bound back. Rope bit into her wrists, but the ache was distant. Her pulse thundered louder in her ears.

“I was created to protect the Tri-Force,” she said, her voice low. “To safeguard it. Not because it was fragile, but because it wasn’t. Because it was too powerful to be understood, to be used wholly without tearing the world asunder.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his, steady and burning.

“You think you’ve seen its truth, Mirage? That it was waiting for a vessel? That it was meant to become some god?” Her voice cracked on the word—not with fear, but with heartbreak. “No. That’s not the truth. That’s hubris dressed as revelation.”

She turned her gaze slightly, toward the others—Time, Sky, Twilight, all of them.

“My sister and I were shaped by the Golden Mothers to protect, to guard, and their words used to create us reflected that. They didn’t leave the Tri-Force behind as a promise. They left it as a warning. A test of restraint, of balance. Not something to be fulfilled, but something to be resisted.”

She looked back at Mirage, and now her eyes shone—not with faith, but with fury.

“You’re not heralding a god, Mirage. You’re watching someone drown in the power they were never meant to contain. And you’re calling it divinity.”

Mirage tilted his head. And smiled.

Not the sharp, mocking grin but something slower. Softer. Like the way someone might look at a child refusing to believe the fire is hot.

“Oh, Hylia,” he said gently, almost with affection. “You still speak as though you understand the world better than the rest of us. As though time and duty alone have given you clarity.”

He stepped forward again, slowly, as if not approaching a prisoner, but an old friend who had simply lost her way.

“But all those aeons have done is blind you. You’ve stood still while the world burned. You’ve watched the wheel turn, over and over, spinning through generations of suffering, of war, of sacrifice, and still… you cling to the same truths. The same balance. As if any of it has ever worked.”

He crouched in front of her, his eyes level with hers now.

“You were made to protect the Tri-Force, yes. But even that was an act of desperation. The Golden Goddesses left something behind that they couldn’t finish. A fragment of power too volatile to destroy, too sacred to control. So they made you and Mene—keepers of the lock.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“But have you ever truly questioned why it needed to be guarded? Why it inspired such ruin? You only ever protected. You only ever endured.”

He rose again, slowly.

“Tell me, Hylia—how many times have you watched them die? Your heroes? Your Zeldas? How many times has Demise’s curse looped through the world, carving pain into every one of them?”

His gaze flickered across the others, still kneeling, still silent beneath the weight of his words.

“You speak of hubris, but you’ve grown complacent. You’ve mistaken stasis for wisdom. You’ve spent so long trying to keep the world as it was that you’ve blinded yourself to what it could be.”

Mirage began to pace again, more animated now, his voice gaining strength.

“You think this came from nowhere? That he simply rose overnight? No, Hylia. This has been building for a long, long time. The signs were everywhere.  Not ones etched into stone or sung by spirits—no. Subtler ones. The weakening of divine patterns. The fading of wieldable magic. The way your Heroes and Descendants started to fray at the edges—more broken, more uncertain, more tired with each cycle. Every crack, every death, every betrayal—it was all pointing to this moment.”

Mirage tilted his head at her.

“And you—Goddess though you are—missed it. You’re mistaking a becoming for a blasphemy. You call it drowning in divinity. You call it a warning. A test of restraint, of balance. Not something to be fulfilled, but something to be resisted. But don’t you see? That’s what makes him perfect. He was forged by the pain you were unable to fix.”

He knelt once more, looking at her now not with arrogance, but with conviction, pure and unwavering.

“You were created to guard, and you tried to keep that gate locked for eternity. But now I hold the key. You weren’t waiting for him because you failed to see him. But I did—the world has.”

His gaze gleamed with something both terrible and awed.

“And now, he comes. Not summoned. Not created. But drawn forth, the answer to the question the world has been screaming for millennia.”

Mirage’s voice softened now, as though in sympathy.

“You tried to preserve what was broken. I understand. Truly, I do. But don’t mistake your endurance for clarity. You’ve grown blind in your faith. So busy trying to hold the world together… you never saw it was trying to shed its skin.”

Mirage leaned in slightly, his voice dropping again—quiet, and unbearably certain. “You were created to hold the line, Hylia. But the line has already been crossed. You just refused to see it. You’re not witnessing a tragedy. You’re witnessing a culmination. You’re not watching a man drown. You’re watching a god wake up.”

She refused to look at him at first, her gaze locked onto the floor where Mirage knelt. She couldn’t.

Not because she lacked the will but because his words struck closer to home than she would like to admit.

“…You think I haven’t seen it.” Her voice was quiet. Steady, but fraying at the edges like a thread pulled too taut. “You think I haven’t felt it. Every failure. Every return. Every death.”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his—not with anger, but with sorrow so ancient it felt like the wind between stars.

Mirage looked so open, so welcoming to her challenge, to her words—even with the conviction still within the depths of his eyes. As if he wanted this debate.

“I didn’t just watch the world burn, Mirage. I watched it and did nothing. I lingered as a spirit, powerless but for the echoes I could send through my bloodline. I poured everything I had into Zeldas who bore my spirit, my light, my burden—because I had no other way to reach the world I once bled for.”

She shifted in place, heart heavy with her ever-present guilt she had carried for epochs.

“I sealed Demise because I couldn’t destroy him. That was my great failure. And knowing I couldn’t stop him, I gambled everything on hope. On a mortal girl with my spirit, and a boy with courage I no longer had.”

Sky shuddered beside her.

Hylia’s voice caught, but she forced herself to continue. “I hoped they would end it where I could not. That their love would be enough. But Demise cursed them for it. Cursed all of us. And instead of peace, I created a cycle. Of death. Of duty. Of war masquerading as Fate.”

Her eyes shimmered. “Do you think I wanted to preserve this? Do you think I didn’t scream at the stars, powerless to intervene as my champions were forced to fight, over and over? All I could do was give them power. Never hold the sword myself. Never shield them. Just… watch.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch. Heavy. Sacred.

“You call it complacency. You think I held the line out of some desperate clinging to balance. But the truth is…” She took a breath. “The truth is I held it because I didn’t know what else to do. Because I was afraid that if I let go… it would mean their suffering was for nothing.”

Another breath. Shallow. Barely there.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I am blind. Maybe the world no longer needs a goddess who clings to balance like a lifeline.” Her gaze dropped again, briefly, as her eyes burned with tears she refused to allow. “But do not mistake my guilt for ignorance. Do not mistake my silence for indifference. I carry every death inside me. Every Zelda, every Link. Not as symbols. As people.”

Her voice dropped. A confession.

“I gave them everything I had. And it still wasn’t enough. I was never enough. So maybe you’re right. Maybe this is a culmination. Maybe the world is done waiting. Maybe something new is rising in the ashes. But if this supposed God was born from the pain I couldn’t heal, couldn’t stop… then I need to face him as the one who caused his need for existence.”

“Hylia…” Four’s soft murmur barely reached her ears.

Mirage’s expression didn’t shift. Still calm. He exhaled slowly, like a man humouring a familiar song and dance.

“You’re still missing the point,” Mirage said, his voice soft—not cruel, but pitying. “I’m not denying your sacrifice. I’m saying it was in vain.”

Mirage shifted from his kneel, settling cross-legged on the ground. He wasn’t looming—just present. The reverence and near-manic worship were gone. In their place sat a calm man, offering only understanding. The change was subtle, but to those before him, it felt jarring—like watching a storm dissolve into still water.

“And in all this time,” Mirage continued, “you never asked why. Never saw the root. You were so focused on protecting the Tri-Force and Hyrule, on preserving what the Goddesses left behind, that you never saw what was waiting within it.”

“Yes, Demise is finally gone. The curse has ended. The wheel has stopped spinning. Bravo.” He offered a mocking, theatrical clap, the sound echoing far too loudly in the stillness of the Depths. There were several flinches all around, from the heroes to Yiga Clan members.

He leaned in, voice dropping low—intimate, like he was sharing a secret only they would understand.

“But look around you, Hylia. Does the world feel healed to you? Do you feel the golden peace you so longed for, coursing through the air?” His gaze darkened. “Or is it just… quiet now? Like a graveyard after war?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. His words were like poison seeping into her confidence.

Then, Mirage smiled—cruel and quiet—as he twisted the dagger deeper.

“And what of Rook?” he asked, casually, as if mentioning an old friend. “Do you still see that as a shining victory? His noble sacrifice?”

His words hit like a slap, and again, there were flinches, solely from the Chain this time.

“He gave everything,” she said, a low murmur.

“Yes,” Mirage said, voice almost gentle now. “He did.”

He leaned back on his palms. “And what did it buy you, truly? A sword restored? A beast vanquished? And yet here you kneel, bound like the rest of them.” He gestured a hand toward the rest of the Chain. “Even now, with the curse broken and Demise buried, the world still teeters on the edge. Suffering hasn't ended—it’s simply changes shape.”

Mirage got back to his feet with a heavy sigh, as if frustrated and disappointed. There was a flare of anger and chagrin in Hylia’s gut.

“That’s the truth you won’t face. That maybe—just maybe—you didn’t win anything at all. Maybe all Rook did was delay a new inevitable. Maybe the world was never meant to be saved. Not by you. Not by them.” Mirage pointed at the Chain. “And certainly not by the Golden Goddesses who created this world and left it to its own devices.”

Hylia’s jaw clenched, her wrists straining against the coarse rope that bound her. She refused to look at him anymore. She refused to believe him. But still, his words rooted in her chest like thorns.

“I saw his fire, you know? His dedication to protecting all that he loved,” Mirage murmured with quiet awe. “I saw what he was capable of, and I never doubted he had undergone Dragonification the moment I realised it. And I’ll admit… it was beautiful. Fitting. A perfect mythos for someone who deserved so much more than having to sacrifice himself again and again and again.”

There was something off in the way he said it. A flicker of something just beneath the surface—too calm, too satisfied.

Warrior broke his silence, eyes sharp with suspicion and anger. “What are you getting at?”

But Mirage only smiled, stepping away, out of reach, out of clarity.

“Does it matter?” he asked breezily. “He’s gone, after all. Just another sacrifice to Hylia’s long, bitter legacy of giving and giving, but never truly being able to fix a thing.”

He turned away, his back to them, waving to the Yiga Clan members.

“This is what the end of a cycle looks like, my friends. Not a celebration. Not salvation. Stagnation. A hollow world, gasping in the absence of its familiar suffering, waiting for something new to take its place. I intend to fix that.”

He didn’t look back as rough hands seized the group. The scraping of boots and muffled protests echoed through the chamber as they were forced to their feet.

Then—

A cough. Dry, deliberate.

Everything stopped.

A ripple of tension sliced through the room like a blade. The Yiga Foot soldiers yanking the Chain to their feet froze. Mirage turned slowly, his expression unreadable.

From the shadows, two silhouettes emerged.

Hylia froze, disbelief crashing through her like a wave.

Wind stepped forward with his usual swagger, a crooked grin on his lips. “Hi,” he said, too cheerfully, “hope we’re not interrupting?”

But Hylia didn’t hear him.

Her gaze had locked onto the second figure.

Zelda.

Alive.

But not as Hylia remembered. There was something different now—something deeper. She wasn’t just changed; she had become something more. There was something deeper in her eyes now. Something ancient. Something powerful.

And for the first time since their capture, Hylia felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Chapter Text

Zelda jerked awake, choking on air.

Her lungs seized. Her throat burned. Each gasp was like swallowing fire and ice at once. She hacked and sputtered, curled on her side, the ragged sound of her breathing the only thing grounding her.

The world around her was still. The snow beneath her was like glass dust, tingling against her skin. She blinked and flinched—sunlight stabbed at her eyes like needles. Her limbs felt leaden, her skin icy, and her whole body trembled.

She lay there for a moment, stunned. Air rasped in and out of her chest in shallow pulls, her lungs unsure how to do something so basic. She curled her fingers into the snow, into the frozen crust of the mountain. It bit at her skin. It hurt. The cold burned. It soaked through her thin prayer dress, stiffening the fabric against her legs. And yet—

She lay there, heaving for breath, every inhale shaky, painful—but real. Breath. Real breath.

Her lungs were working.

Air rushed in, and this time it stayed.

Zelda sat up abruptly, the movement jarring, almost too much as blood rushed to her head. She clutched the snow beneath her hands again, embracing the frozen powder against at her skin. The sting was sharp, electric—too vivid to be a dream. Her palms stung as if to confirm: this was real.

She was alive.

Somehow—impossibly—alive.

The wind whispered through the pillars of icy crystals around her with a distant, twinkling chime that filled the silence. The morning sun glinted off the snowy cliffs of Mount Lanayru, casting long golden beams through the still air. No snowfall, no storm. Just pale light and silence

But something was wrong.

Terribly, undeniably wrong.

Zelda turned her gaze slowly toward the Spring—toward Naydra. The dragon was there, coiled protectively around the edges of the sacred pool, as she always had been, but…

Zelda’s breath caught again—but this time, not from pain. From horror.

Naydra’s body, once alive with motion and elemental light, now lay dim and slack. Her scales, once iridescent, shimmered with dull frost, lifeless like tarnished silver. Her chest rose and fell in a shallow, laboured rhythm. When she blinked, the movement was sluggish, and her usually vibrant eyes were cloudy.

It was like looking at a dying star.

“Naydra…” Zelda whispered, voice cracking through the ice in her throat.

She scrambled upright—or tried to. Her legs wobbled beneath her, nearly giving out. The cold had settled deep into her bones, and her joints screamed in protest from disuse. Every breath she took was conscious, forced, as though her body had forgotten how to be alive.

Zelda almost believed herself to be dreaming. Yet the cold is real, the aching in her body is undeniable, and her heart pounds against her sternum.

She staggered upright, arms out for balance. The sunlight was brighter now, climbing higher, painting the mountain in pastel pinks and golds. But none of that warmth touched her beyond surface level, not when Mount Lanayru was so high up and cold.

Zelda squeezed her eyes shut. Her memories were stuttered, fragmented. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remember.

The Temple of Light.

The cocoon.

Uriel.

Mirage.

The cocoon.

The light.

It had swallowed her whole. She had felt it take her—mind and spirit—and then… nothing. A great, infinite silence. Until this.

Zelda’s eyes snapped open, her gaze flicked back to the Spring, then toward the horizon—and that’s when she saw it.

The tower. Or…what used to be one.

The structure in the distance should have been a beacon, one of Rook and Purah’s marvels. But the wooden tower now stood abandoned, half-collapsed and partly buried in snow. Despite its dilapidated state, Zelda could identify it clearly—it had once been one of those towers. But it looked old, left to rot decades ago.

Zelda’s heart began to race. Her pulse echoed in her ears. She stared, unblinking, at the ruined structure.

She turned toward Naydra again, her voice trembling as she tried to form a question she didn’t know how to ask. “Naydra…what happened?”

Naydra groaned lowly, eyes fluttering. She made no move to respond—only that same tired look, filled with exhaustion and resignation.

Zelda’s chest constricted, panic rising.

Maybe the Spring could give her answers.

She stumbled toward it, her steps unsteady. Cold crept up her legs the moment she waded in—real cold, not sacred or numbing or gentle like before, but a brutal, icy bite. She gasped, nearly crying out.

Still, she pressed on until the water kissed her calves. Her entire body trembled, and for a moment, she couldn’t feel her feet at all.

“Lady Nayru?” she called out softly, desperate. “Please say something. Give me a sign…”

But nothing. No, it wasn’t just nothing. It wasn’t just...silence. It was absence. Deafeningly so. Devoid of even a hint of the divine. The divinity she had always sensed here, the ever-present omnipresence of something greater—it was gone.

There was no hum of magic, no echo of the divine. The Spring felt like a grave.

The Spring, once humming with ancient magic, was just a pool of water.

She staggered back with a splash, retreating from the water as if it had burned her. Her feet slipped on the ice, and she landed hard in the snow, gasping.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

She stared into the Spring as though it might suddenly awaken and correct itself.

But it didn’t.

It just sat there. Still. Dead.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the wind. “What’s happening?” she whispered, curling her arms to hug herself in a bid for comfort. “I don’t understand.”

A low, pained groan drew her gaze upward again—Naydra. The dragon shifted, barely. Her massive head lifted with great effort, eyes dull but focused.

She looked west.

Zelda followed her gaze, then looked back. “West?” she echoed, the word tasting like frost on her tongue. “You… want me to go west?”

The great dragon gave the smallest of nods, then let her head fall again, a gust of shallow breath leaving her like a sigh.

Zelda swallowed, steeling herself.

“I can…I can go west.”

She had to. She couldn’t stay here.

Her body screamed in protest as she pushed herself up again, clothes soaked, skin numb, every step a test of will. She was weak—so much weaker than she remembered. She had no supplies, no weapon, no warmth.

But she had direction. She had purpose.

Kakariko. It had to still be there. Someone would be there. Someone who had to know what was going on.

She began walking—slow, unsteady steps that dragged through the snow. Not running. She couldn’t run.

Not after a century dead.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By the time Zelda reached the familiar east gate arch at the base of Mount Lanayru—pushing back the memories it threatened to wrench forward—she had not seen hide nor hair of a monster. No tracks in the dirt. No rustle in the underbrush. Not even the chirp of a bird pierced the silence.

It was unnatural. The stillness clung to everything like a shroud.

Worrisome. Eerie. Just another sign that something was amiss.

Still, despite the fear that had long since burrowed into her chest, Zelda pushed onward into the Lanayru Promenade, her footsteps echoing faintly off the stone.

At first, the pain in her stomach didn't register, not when her legs throbbed with each step and her spine aching from all the walking her body wasn’t used too. But when her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her lips cracked with dryness, it clicked. She was hungry.

Hungry and parched.

Zelda hadn’t felt hunger or thirst since before her death. As a ghost, she had no need for such living things.

She had nothing to soothe the gnawing emptiness, so she walked on, dragging herself forward with grit alone. Surely there would be something in Kakariko. The Sheikah were not the kind to turn away someone in need, especially not someone with Hylia’s blood.

The promenade grew darker as the sun began to dip in the sky, shadows creeping along the mossy stone. When she came to the flooded section, Zelda climbed onto the ledge, careful to balance as she stepped lightly across the parapet. Her toes had only just begun to regain feeling after walking for hours through snow. It was luck alone she hadn’t gotten frostbite but Zelda was in no hurry for another dip anytime soon..

Rationally, she knew this water was lukewarm. But her skin still prickled at the idea, a phantom memory of cold wrapping around her ankles.

Halfway across, she paused. Her gaze drifted out over the flooded walkway, trailing from the thunderous waterfall down to the stone walls that had long since begun to crumble.

This promenade had once been a path of elegance and ceremony. Now it was half-drowned. Forgotten.

The water level was far higher than she remembered. It hadn’t been anywhere near flooded in her time, only in the rainy seasons with water level rise enough to encroach but this much and erosion on this scale—it couldn’t just be the work of time.

It was deliberate. Or at least, unnatural. Right?

The scientist within her stirred. She wanted to measure the silt, examine the algae, scrape the moss from the stone and catalogue it. But even more than that, a more haunting question emerged:

Where was she? When was she?

The power that had torn through her—it had been divine. That much she could not deny.

Perhaps this was a different Hyrule. Another timeline. Another possibility spun into being by the Goddesses’ hands. She hated the thought of it. Hated how possible it felt.

A gust of wind stirred the treetops. Rocks tumbled from above.

Zelda jumped. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a battering ram. She looked up, eyes scanning the cliff face, watching the loose stones clatter down from a ledge and bounce into the water below.

The hairs on her arms rose. A crawling sensation tickled the back of her neck.

With a breath, Zelda forced herself forward. It was probably nothing—just the unstable terrain. Just the wind. Just the silence getting to her.

Zelda made sure not to look back.

At last, she exited the west gate. Kakariko was close at last. She could feel its pull in her bones—an anchor of memory pulling her toward the only place that still felt real.

Her body screamed for rest. Her limbs trembled, and her knees threatened to buckle. But she made herself continue.

Zelda paused when she reached the place where the Great Fairy Cotera had once claimed home for her Fountain. A chasm yawned where it hadn’t before, a massive scar in the land. From the sky, she had seen how vast some of the chasms were, but standing beside one...it made her feel small. Powerless.

Still, Zelda kept going. The familiar curve in the path, the bend in the river—her feet knew the way even if her mind rebelled at the decay she found.

Then she saw it and her breath caught in her throat.

The scaffolding that had once surrounded the ancient ruins had crumbled, rotted into splinters. Not dismantled—abandoned. Forgotten. A bad sign. Zelda’s pulse quickened as she scrambled up a low ledge, needing the higher vantage, needing to see for herself.

Kakariko lay silent below, a hushed whisper of what it had been. The village was a tapestry of decay and wild growth, smothered beneath ivy and creeping vines. Thatched roofs sagged with time, long bowed under the weight of seasons gone by. The walls stood crooked and broken, worn down not just by time but by absence. It looked… deserted for years—too many.

Zelda stood frozen, scanning the emptiness for movement—for life. There was none.

A chill brushed up her spine despite the sunset’s warmth. Everything was too still. Too quiet. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears as a knot of dread tightened in her gut. Her eyes stung, but she blinked fast, refusing to let the tears fall.

The setting sun spilt gold and rose over the ruins, draping the bones of the town in a beautiful, aching light. It looked like a memory more than a place, like a painting meant to be mourned.

A sob rose in her throat, sharp and unwelcome. Zelda clenched her jaw, forcing it back down. There was no time for that. Not now.

She reached for an apple from a nearby tree—strangely ripe, untouched. Her teeth sank into it, the burst of flavour startling in the dead silence. She whimpered at the taste, too sweet against the dry ache in her throat, and greedily took another, then a third to carry with her.

The silence pressed in around her as she entered the village. Each step echoed too loudly in the still air, like an intruder’s footsteps. Her destination was Lantern Falls as one of the only intact structures and one that held significant meaning to her. The roof had held, and the stairs, though cracked, remained passable.

Zelda placed her hand on the railing, hesitating. The air felt...off. Tense, like the house itself was holding its breath. She climbed carefully, every creak of wood setting her nerves on edge.

The door gave with a whisper, revealing the room beyond.

Pillows and blankets still lay in place, as if Impa had only just left. The bonsai trees had grown wild, curling their roots overgrown from the pots and weaving themselves into the building’s structure, while their branches tangling around support beams and spilling across the stairs like veins. She hesitated in the doorway.

Right… Paya was Chief now, wasn’t she? That’s what Hylia had said. Paya, granddaughter of Impa. And Paya had a brother—Sheik, named after Zelda’s mother’s masked alter ego.

Zelda left the front door cracked to let in the last of the fading light. Dust floated in the sunbeams like snow. Everything inside looked untouched—eerily so. There were no signs of struggle, no damage. Just... silence, as if everyone had left mid-thought.

The Journal of Various Worries lay open, its ink faded with time but still legible. Notes and papers were strewn about in an organised mess, frozen in time.

Zelda moved carefully, rustling through the papers in search of matches. The creak of the floorboards under her weight made her stomach twist. Finally, she found a box of matches tucked into a drawer, struck one, and lit a nearby candle. Its glow flickered, offering meagre light.

She closed the door softly, then latched it just in case.

That feeling returned. Not quite fear, but a prickling awareness, as if something unseen was watching. Her skin crawled with it. She shook it off and made her way upstairs, mindful of the bonsai’s branches.

More candles waited there, and she lit two, craving the light—craving a sense of control.

The wardrobe was partially open. Inside hung a few garments—traditional Sheikah wear, ceremonial silks, and more practical outfits.

She passed over the robes in favour of something simple and warm. The boots she found were a size too big, but better to be a size too large than too small.

Zelda changed quickly, eager to get out of the soiled prayer dress and headdress. To her relief, Zelda found a hairbrush tucked into a drawer, which she used to untangle her hair before braiding it out of her way again.

Satisfied, Zelda had no complaint in crawling onto the futon nestled in the corner beneath the sloped ceiling.

The sheets smelled faintly of cedar and dust.

Zelda pulled them around her and curled in tight. Her body ached. Her mind raced. But exhaustion finally, mercifully, drowned out the rest.

She was asleep in moments.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The boom of thunder woke her up, and Zelda heaved for a breath, shaken.

The rain battered the roof and walls, and a low groan emanated from the structure.

Zelda curled up, burying her face into the pillow as she pulled the covers over her head—anything to block out the lightning.

It didn’t work very well.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When daybreak arrived, Zelda roused with it. Pale gold light sifted through the wooden shutters, threading across her face in quiet stripes.

She welcomed it, basking in the warmth. It had been so long since Zelda had felt anything as a ghost.

At some point during the late hours of the night, the thunder and lightning had come to an end, and Zelda had managed a few hours of sleep undisturbed listening to the rain that had lingered.

Her body ached in protest, every muscle tight from the trials of yesterday, but Zelda pushed herself to her feet. She needed to understand—perhaps uncover some clue as to what had happened here. She was only going to find that if she looked.

Eating the third apple she had plucked last night, Zelda pulled on the boots and descended to step outside. Unhooking the latch, Zelda breathed in the scent of petrichor—earthy and rich. Droplets still fell from rooftops, slow and uneven. She closed her eyes and basked.

Zelda had no idea why she was alive. The thought clung to her like fog, constant and formless. Still, it wasn’t going to stop her from drinking in the world—smell, sensation, food—anything to be reminded that she was once again alive, if only until she returned home.

At the base of Lantern Falls, Zelda finally examined Kakariko Village. It looked so familiar and so different. Zelda had not returned to the surface besides to inform Hylia and Sir Hawthorne of Mirage at Uriel’s request—Rook’s request?

What would be the more appropriate name? Zelda had not gotten to ask him, merely basking in the knowledge that Uriel remembered. But now…whatever Mirage had done, Zelda feared for Rook. Something was happening, and Zelda was here without any idea of how to return home from what could possibly be another timeline.

Zelda started her investigation in the ruined house at the base of the slope. It had been transformed into what looked to be a research area, likely to do with the strange, likely Zonai ruins that now called Kakariko Village home.

There were translation notes for carvings now located in the village, and journals and notebooks were left scattered throughout the building. Drawings and paints were pinned to the wall.

The area more exposed to the elements had ruined items, writing and drawings that were all too far gone. This only disappointed Zelda a little bit. If anything, it might have been something to read while she walked.

But what was there explained nothing of what might have happened. It had all merely been related to the Upheaval.

House to house, Zelda searched, opening cupboards and searching beneath beds, but nothing turned up. It truly was as if everyone had merely vanished into thin air. The dust lay undisturbed on counters, shoes still by the doors, a half-knitted shawl folded neatly in one corner. Here one moment…and gone the next. No screams. No struggle. Just stillness.

It was worrying. Confusing.

Maybe…maybe this was an alternate timeline after all. Maybe this version of Hyrule failed.

Maybe Demise had won.

But…where were the monsters? The eternal night?

This Hyrule…it was just empty, devoid of people. Something more was at play. It was the only reasonable explanation. But the question that was beginning to haunt Zelda was what? What had happened?

Instead of heading up the hill, Zelda instead wandered toward the inn but stopped at the apple tree before the bridge to the Hylia statue.

She had noticed it briefly last night and then again this morning. Just like the bonsai trees inside, it had grown. But this apple tree was different. It towered over the houses, grown around a small, roofed stall, and its roots pierced up from the soil to reveal the coiling, snaking root system.

It was stunning. The sunlight sneaking through dappled her as Zelda stood beneath its wide and healthy canopy.

Yet, it was not the tree's beauty that caught her attention. It was the carving on its trunk. Zelda stepped closer, fingers outstretched, tracing the weathered image. The bark was rough beneath her touch, and deep grooves dug with deliberate patience. Old, but not ancient. A message left behind?

It was a scythe about two of her hands wide and two tall. It was positioned downward with a nondescript bird perched upon the handle.

“Who could have…why…” she murmured aloud, voice trailing off.

Who would have carved this and why? A scythe had many meanings, from something mundane such as tending to the fields, to…well, death. She had seen gravestones carved with scythes before.

Zelda racked her brain—what type of gravestones had scythes? What did they mean in the context of the dead?

A life cut short, she believed. It might be on a knight’s grave, or even a child’s. It was symbolism at the end of the day. People mourned and remembered the dead with gravestones that often hinted at the reason why that person had died. It was grim but…there was something honourable about it too.

To remember the whys and hows of a life lost. A quiet kind of mourning, etched not in words but in symbols.

Her mother’s headstone in the mausoleum had a bell and a bird. The bird had been detailed, carved after Hylia’s winged animal symbol, more akin to a phoenix than a bird in truth.

This carving was old. It reminded Zelda of the tree in one of the castle’s courtyards, the one she and her mother would frequent more than others when her mother was alive. At the courtyard’s centre stood an old, towering white cherry blossom. It had been planted by the Princess and Hero ten thousand years prior on the day of their wedding.

A bouquet of Silent Princesses and Blue Nightshades, tied together by a ribbon, had been carved onto the trunk at some point.

It had been Zelda’s desire to mirror that, to one day plant a cherry blossom with Rook on the day of their wedding. She wanted to honour her ancestors, celebrate the defeat of the Calamity, and welcome a new era for when she ascended to the throne with Rook at her side.

But neither of those had come to pass. They never would.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Zelda had spent a hundred years trapped within the Calamity, and she had learnt to grieve and accept that this was her fate, despite how unfair it was.

Choked up, Zelda swallowed, pulling away from the carving. Instead, Zelda turned her attention to the Hylia statue. Wildflowers had grown wild around its base, and moss dotted the top, almost covering Hylia’s face, but it remained otherwise untouched by erosion. Not that Zelda was surprised.

Zelda didn’t try to seek her out—not after Nayru’s missing presence. The silence of the gods echoed louder now than any prayer ever could, and Zelda had no more questions to offer the empty sky.

She spent the rest of the day exploring Kakariko, searching for something, anything, that might offer a clue. She found nothing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Bright and early on the second day, Zelda found herself staring at the horizon, her mind restless and knotted with uncertainty. Naydra had pointed her west, but the west was vast—endless, almost. A single gesture toward an entire quadrant of the kingdom. What exactly was she meant to find in that sweeping wilderness? Should she just…walk until something happened?

She shifted her weight, tapping her fingers against her elbow in thought. Maybe she had missed something, some sign she’d overlooked. But every corner of Kakariko she had searched yielded nothing.

With a sigh, she packed a small bag, tentatively but with growing resolve. Logic dictated that she would learn nothing new by staying here. No one was left to guide her, and there were no words of wisdom to be had from people no longer here. The village was as silent as the grave.

At The Curious Quiver, she found plenty of arrows left, their fletching still sharp and proud. A bow too—simple, slightly worn, its grip faded from use. It would serve. She hadn’t loosed an arrow in a long time, and her skills would undoubtedly be rusty, but something in her doubted she would need them. Not with how empty the land had seemed so far.

Still, she slung the bow over her shoulder.

By the time she reached the base of Lantern Falls, the sun had climbed toward its zenith, washing the sky in sharp, pale light. The falls were as serene as ever, cascading in gentle sheets, casting glittering mist into the air. Zelda stood there for a long moment, eyes tracing every glint of water, every moss-slick stone.

She wanted to remember this—this final moment before the unknown.

Then she turned, squaring her shoulders, determination set like steel in her chest.

She glanced skyward. The sun was just shy of its apex. Zelda was about to take her first step when—

Movement.

A sudden flicker in the corner of her eye.

She froze.

Her breath caught like a snare tightening in her chest. At the crest of the high ridge that wrapped around Kakariko’s eastern edge, something stirred in the trees.

Four-legged. Dark, sleek—furred, yes, that was fur. The creature moved with a casual grace, its form feline in a way. Not overly large, yet not small either. Its presence disrupted the landscape, stark against the muted greens and browns of the surrounding brush.

Zelda's heart slammed against her ribs, her limbs paralysed by some blend of awe and unease. She didn’t dare blink.

It hadn’t noticed her.

Or had it?

The creature moved slowly, stretching its forelegs in a long bow, then shaking itself with a ripple that shivered through its coat. It exuded a kind of quiet intelligence. Then, with no fanfare, it turned its head and looked directly at her.

Zelda’s lungs locked. Her arms clenched tightly around her bag.

The creature’s eyes were unreadable from this distance, but she could clearly see its lashes—long, strange, and golden, standing out vividly against its dark face. Almost regal.

Their gaze held. One second. Two. Then, slowly, it turned and padded toward the eastern path—toward the edge of the village. Before it vanished from sight, it paused, looking back at her once, tail tip flicking.

Then it leapt, gone from view in a single bound.

Zelda didn’t know what it was.

She didn’t know if she wanted to.

But she knew one thing for certain—it was something. Something new. Something alive. And in this version of Hyrule that had felt so hollow and still, something was everything.

Without thinking further, she bolted after it.

Chapter Text

Whether she ran or walked, the creature always remained just ahead—never close enough to see clearly, only a vague shape cloaked in dark fur. Sometimes it disappeared entirely, only to reappear minutes later, standing sentinel, as if waiting for her to catch up.

It was eerie. Unnerving.

But it was the only lead Zelda had.

The creature—whatever it was—wanted her to follow. And so she did. Maybe it was guiding her to the place Naydra had pointed out. It wasn’t west now, not directly, but the path through Dueling Peaks would eventually bend back westward, through the southern edge of Central Hyrule.

It was startling how overgrown everything had become. Kakariko should have prepared her, should have steeled her for the sight of a Hyrule reclaimed by nature. But each step still chipped away at her expectations. Trees cracked stone. Moss swallowed paths. Vines strangled what remained of manmade structures.

Kakariko Bridge was little more than rubble, forcing Zelda to leap between the crumbling segments that still stood. Each landing sent a tremor through the fragile stone, pieces flaking away beneath her boots.

By the time the sun began its descent behind the horizon, Zelda had reached the remains of the Dueling Peaks stable.

She moved slowly now—more than tired. Her pace and stamina a result of her hundred and four years of being a ghost. She had forgotten what it meant to be winded, to ache. The weight of a mortal body, once shed, was now hers again.

The sight of the stable struck her like an arrow to the chest. Just like Kakariko. Just like everything else.

She had stayed in these stables many times before the Calamity, nestled in worn beds after long journeys, hiding from the castle's expectations. When she wasn’t praying, she was travelling. Anywhere was better than the castle. The Royal Research Lab. The wilds. Even a hay-strewn stable.

Now, what remained of that once-proud place barely stood.

The supports that once held the massive horse's head had rotted away, leaving nothing but stray planks that hinted at what it once was scattered on the floor. The tent walls were tattered, shredded by wind and rain.

Inside was no better. The elements and time had claimed it all. Beds sagged. Floors warped. Yet some scraps remained usable. Zelda scavenged every intact sheet she could find. She pulled the mattresses from their frames, gathering the least damaged into a makeshift nest at the stable's centre.

When her bed was ready, Zelda collapsed onto it and tugged off her boots. Her feet throbbed—hot, swollen, blistered. Curling her toes made her wince. The soles burned as they met the cool floor, a prickling wave of sensation rushing over her skin.

She exhaled sharply and leaned back.

Food was scarce. She had only the apples she’d taken from Kakariko’s trees. She ate two, trying and failing to pace herself.

She had no reliable water source to keep herself hydrated. The apples were her only food.

Zelda knew she couldn’t keep going like this. A few more days, maybe. No more. If the creature didn’t lead her somewhere soon, she would have to stop and reassess. She needed a plan—a real one.

Survival demanded it.

── ⋆⋅ ☆⋅⋆ ──

She tossed and turned, struggling for what felt like hours to fall into something resembling rest. Sleep, when it came, was light and broken, never deep enough to block out the wind or the groaning of the battered structure around her. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, her aching body dragging her restless mind into a deeper slumber.

With eyes sore and heavy, Zelda stirred as the first light of dawn crept through the tattered remains of the tent walls. The sun’s arrival chased away the lingering chill of night, and Zelda exhaled in quiet relief.

She devoured two more apples before tugging on her boots, having long accepted that her feet were going to be a problem—one she would simply have to endure.

The creature was already waiting across the river.

The wooden bridge over Squabble River was long gone, but rocks—fallen from above, likely during Uriel’s destruction of the Cloud Barrier—dotted the water. Zelda scrambled across them, palms scraped and her ankle nearly twisting on a loose stone. Her boots only got slightly wet with her final leap, but her knees bore the brunt of the landing.

By the time she reached the other side, the creature was already farther up the mountain path. Zelda sighed. Her feet throbbed, and she had barely begun the day—but there was no time to linger. She pressed forward. She was burning daylight.

The sky islands still floated high above—unchanged, distant.

A second crumbled Skyview Tower lay scattered across Popla Foothills, another casualty of a world left behind. She passed the remnants of monster camps, long deserted, like so much else she’d come across.

But there were signs of life. Fish darted in the river. Birds flew in the sky. At least some things hadn’t vanished. Maybe the desolation of Mount Lanayru had just been a fluke.

Zelda reached Proxim Bridge before her feet gave out. They simply refused to carry her any farther.

She found shelter beneath the remains of an old structure—half-collapsed, but still offering a roof should it rain. Wrapped in one of the stable’s thicker blankets, Zelda sat for a long while, unmoving.

As night fell, the cold crept back in. She had no fire—no wood, no flint. She didn’t even truly know how to use flint. Well, she knew the theory, but that was different. Not that it mattered. She had none.

The thought pulled a laugh from her—dry and brittle. It escaped in short huffs as her eyes burned.

A hundred years she had been dead, and in all that time, she had never truly been alone.

At first, she had been trapped within the Calamity, its presence a constant pressure—never fully physical, but always there, pulsing in the back of her mind like a second heartbeat. Even in the worst moments, she had never truly been alone. The Calamity had watched her. It had whispered. Sometimes it had screamed. But it had been there.

And then, Rook defeated it, and along came Sonia. Kind, knowing Sonia—herself long dead—who had found Zelda in the afterlife’s strange folds. A soul untethered, but not forgotten. Together, they kept Uriel company, who had been left behind in life with too much burden and too little company.

Zelda hadn’t questioned it, not really. Death hadn’t felt like an end. It had been quiet, yes—but filled with presence. There was purpose, companionship. A shared vigil. A rhythm. Something to anchor her.

But now… now she was alive again, and more alone than she had ever been in death.

The silence was different here. Heavier. Hollow. It wasn’t full of memory or thought or watching eyes. There were no gentle glimmers of Sonia’s smile, no familiar pulse of Uriel’s presence nearby. Not even the dreadful hum of the Calamity. Nothing.

Just Zelda. Her breath. Her footsteps. The ache in her bones. The wind.

Everything was still. Still, and empty. No welcoming voices. No explanations. No warmth.

There was no one to speak to as night fell. No ghost-spirits that lingered flitted by. No weight of a familiar presence brushing against her own. Just the distant sound of water and the stretch of sky that seemed too vast.

She wrapped herself tighter in the blanket and let her head rest against the crumbling wall behind her. She had once been part of something enormous—destiny, divinity, duty. Even in death, she'd had a place. But here?

Here, she didn’t even have a fire.

Her shoulders shook—not quite with crying, not quite with cold. Something in between. Something worse.

She clutched the blanket closer, pretending it was Rook, though it wasn’t. It never would be. His arms would’ve pulled her close. His voice would’ve teased the worry out of her chest like thread from a hem. His heartbeat would’ve been something to hold onto in the quiet.

But Rook was gone. Sonia was gone. Uriel—if he even still existed here—was nowhere to be found.

And for the first time in more than a century, Zelda was truly, terrifyingly alone.

Alive, and untethered.

── ⋆⋅ ☆⋅⋆ ──

Zelda woke long past sunrise. The strain she’d put on her body had finally taken its toll, and the hard earth beneath her had done it no favours.

She struggled to sit up, her spine aching, muscles stiff and sore. Her joints cracked as she moved, and she grimaced. At least her feet no longer throbbed? Was that a good trade-off? At this point, she wasn’t sure.

With a sigh, she pulled on her boots, stuffed her blanket into the pack, and ate an apple as she walked.

The first glimpse of the creature was it weaving between the east post ruins.

It was significantly more visible now. Constantly stopping to look back at her to the point Zelda could make some of its distinct, nondescriptive features out finally. It looked feline in nature with pitch-black fur that was long around its head and neck. Its tail was longer than its body, the base full and fluffy like its neck.

It’s eyes, however. Their lashes were golden, their eyes red.

The creature, whatever it was, was striking in nature. Zelda was sure nothing natural could be so black in colour to the point it almost absorbed the sunlight touching its coat.

Zelda walked on.

Surely she had to be close now—the creature was making itself more visible, more distinct in where it was leading her. It didn’t vanish from view anymore. It was leading Zelda on a straight path.

But it never allowed her close. If she tried to close the distance on her own accord, it would dart ahead, far swifter than Zelda could hope to keep up with.

Then, she saw the walls of the Great Plateau.

That’s when something shifted. The creature halted at the ruined entrance—once grand, now buried beneath time and rubble. It looked back at her, then slipped through a narrow gap.

Zelda broke into a run, stumbling over her own feet in her rush. She arrived at the base gasping. The old entry wasn’t entirely sealed; a gap remained, just wide enough.

“The Great Plateau, huh?” she muttered. There was irony there. Of course it had brought her here.

She shrugged off her backpack, shoved it through the gap, and took a deep breath. The rocks were rough and unyielding. She got stuck at the waist, panic rising. She kicked, squirmed—then slipped through.

Scrambling upright, she scooped up her pack. Her urgency was her downfall—literally. Jutting rocks caught her steps, and by the third time she fell, knees cracking against stone, Zelda gave up on rushing.

She knelt, fingers curling into the loose gravel. Her eyes burned.

She shut them tightly, forcing the tears to fall.

Ten breaths. Slow. Even. Calm.

Once composed, she took a final, steadying breath and stood—

—only to freeze.

Someone was walking the old stone path up to Hylia’s Temple.

They wore a white cloak that draped to their ankles, hood up, face hidden. They walked with a staff, weathered and overgrown with ivy—but not a branch. This was something crafted, deliberate. The top curled like a shepherd’s crook, and suspended within it, a pale gem floated freely, untouched by anything visible.

“H-hey!” she cried.

The figure didn’t turn, didn’t pause. Just kept walking.

Zelda gave chase, but no matter how fast she ran, the distance didn’t close. They walked at a casual pace, and yet she couldn’t catch up.

She reached the temple steps winded, bending over to catch her breath.

A Hylian, maybe. Their shape and size suggested as much. Or a small Gerudo? But if so, what were they doing so far from the desert?

They vanished inside the Temple.

Zelda straightened.

Slow and steady. This time she wouldn’t rush. She needed to understand.

Something more was at play, Zelda was beginning to understand. The creature had led her here—was the creature this person? A shapeshifter?

No. Something innate within her refused that notion. It didn’t feel right. Zelda was not able to put it into words, but it just didn’t feel like the correct conclusion.

With a steadying breath, Zelda continued. She took each step one at a time.

Hylia’s Temple, though aged and worn, had withstood time. The walls were tired, but firm. Alone among the ruins, it still stood tall.

Was it because, after placing Rook within the Shrine, Purah had ordered the entrance to the Plateau destroyed? The Calamity hadn’t touched this place. Nothing else had, either.

The temple doors were ajar—only a quarter open, just enough to slip through.

The first thing that caught her attention was Hylia’s statue. It was overgrown at the base, ivy and moss covered it, reminiscent of Kakariko’s statue.

The creature was laid at the base of Hylia’s statue, head on its paws contently. Her observations were right. Its coat almost absorbed the light touching it. Its eyes were red, surrounded by thick golden lashes. Along its chin toward its ears wasn’t fur, it was feathers—a shade just different enough to make out. It was the same at the base of its tail, that thick and full fur intermingled with long feathers.

But her attention drifted and her heart fluttered as she realised the flowers flourishing were not some random flowers.

Silent Princesses. Blue Nightshades.

Then she saw the figure again, kneeling among them, tending the blooms with care.

She took ten steps closer.

“Hello? Can you—can you tell me what happened here?” Zelda asked, her voice unsteady. She worried her bottom lip. The person stood slowly. “I—I don’t know how I’m…”

The words died in her throat when they turned around.

She would know that face anywhere.

“Rook?”

He didn’t say anything, those unique eyes seemingly taking their fill of her face.

Zelda stepped closer, a flicker of confidence igniting now that she knew who was beneath the hood. He was almost as she remembered—suspended between the person he had been and the shadow he had become after the Calamity.

There were no visible scars, no ragged wounds revealing teeth or bone, but his face carried the shadow of it—faint discolourations, as if the world had left its mark on him. His eyes mirrored Uriel’s—strange, unsettling—and from the bridge of his nose, across his brow and eyelids, ran pale streaks of white. His neck was obscured by a high-necked black shirt, not a hint of skin exposed.

“What happened here?” she asked again.

Rook’s expression softened, impossibly so, as if his face was too weary to carry the weight of his own sorrow. “I happened.”

Zelda inhaled sharply. “Wha…”

Grief clouded his features before he averted his gaze, as though the burden of meeting her eyes was too much to bear.

“I… I came into magic that was too much for me. It overwhelmed me. And while I was trying to navigate it…”

The creature stirred, rising and making its way down the steps to sit beside Rook.

Zelda froze. Something buried stirred inside her, recoiling. Her gaze locked with the creature’s—its eyes, so achingly familiar, like staring into a fragmented dream. Her breath hitched. Those were Rook’s eyes, but they were twisted, inverted, suffused with regret and sorrow. It was like seeing the ghost of someone she loved—only hollowed out, broken by time.

Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. Confusion and fear clawed at her, and something deeper—a cold, unbidden pity—seeped in.

“Mirage,” Rook said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because of his unique connection to me as my shade was able to get my attention. My emotions were a storm, everything was out of control. And in that chaos, all I could feel was… rage. For what he had done. For what he had set in motion.”

Zelda drew in a breath as his voice cracked, the last word barely audible. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, as though the burden of his memories was too heavy to lift. He looked like the boy he used to be—small, worn, and unbearably lost.

There were no tears, only the weight of loss and silence.

How long had he carried this burden? How long had he wandered through a world without hope?

“How long?” she whispered, the question barely escaping her lips.

“A long time,” he said quietly, eyes distant. “That’s all you need to know.”

Zelda clenched her fists, her heart aching at the hollow finality in his voice. He was trying to protect her, to shield her from the painful truth. But the silence between them spoke louder than any words ever could.

“And… everyone?” she asked, though she could barely stomach the question.

“Gone,” Rook replied with a heavy sigh. “My magic…it’s tied to time. Mirage and I… we were the epicentre. The magic rippled outward, erasing everyone. Everyone in Hyrule—gone.”

Her heart shattered. She could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to shed them—not yet.

“Now only Mirage, I, and the dragons remain,” he added quietly.

Mirage wilted beside him. Ears drooping. Guilt seeping from every corner of his shadowy form.

“So how am I here?” Zelda asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“I brought you here,” Rook said, his fingers tightening around his staff with a soft creak. “I saw an opportunity. And I took it.”

“Opportunity?” she echoed, confusion lacing her voice.

He nodded, a weary sadness clouding his features. “You need to stop the present version of me from walking the same path.”

“I’m… I’m dead,” Zelda stammered, her voice trembling. “I don’t even understand how I’m here. I’m supposed to be gone.”

Rook’s shrug was almost apologetic, as though he, too, was helpless in the face of the impossible. “It wasn’t my doing. I thought you’d remain a ghost, but here you are—alive, in the flesh.”

Something flickered in his expression, something quiet and aching, something that suggested maybe he did have an idea. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he pressed forward, his voice taking on a quieter, more solemn edge.

“I need you to be my anchor,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “Someone to guide me when I emerge from the cocoon.”

Zelda took a step back, panic rising in her chest. “But… but I’m dead! And Rook—my Rook—he’s a dragon! How am I supposed to change anything?”

Rook tilted his head, humming pensively. “Not for long.”

Zelda’s arms fell to her sides, frustration blooming into something deeper, more helpless. Her mouth opened, but the words caught in her throat.

“He needs you,” Rook said, each word deliberate. “To change this future, you must be his anchor before Mirage reaches him.”

“How?” she cried, the heat of frustration boiling over. “I can’t! I’m dead, Rook! How can I fix this? How can I be your anchor? How can I help him?”

Rook stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Zelda’s breath caught. His presence was overwhelming, yet filled with such a quiet sadness.

Zelda’s eyes traced the ageless lines of his face, the eyes that held centuries of torment, yet still held a flicker of the person he had once been.

He was still Rook. Even after all he had endured—all the pain, the solitude, the loss—he was still her sweet Rook.

He reached for the pale, teardrop-shaped gem hovering near the top of his staff. It glowed softly, opalescent, as if it contained the last light of a dying star.

He held it out to her, and without hesitation, she took it. The weight of the stone was warm in her hand, though the coldness of the truth settled in her chest.

“What…” she whispered.

“I’ve spent centuries channelling my magic into the Secret Stone,” Rook murmured, his voice filled with something close to regret. “It’s an extension of me now. Changed. Twisted. It will do what’s necessary. Even if you don’t know what it is yet.”

Her hand shook as she curled her fingers around the gem. It pulsed gently, glowing with a soft blue hue, and Zelda felt it stir in her palm—alive, like it had its own heartbeat.

“What will it do to me?” she asked, the words trembling on her lips.

“It will bind us,” Rook said softly. “Unequivocally. You’ll be my anchor. It’s the only way.”

Zelda swallowed, her heart heavy. “Are you… sure?”

“I love you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to say something, anything, to stop the suffocating inevitability of it all. But there was nothing to say. It was too late.

Rook took her hand and pressed it to his lips in a kiss so gentle it barely touched her skin. “I’ve loved you for as long as memory allows and longer still, in the shadows where memory fades. I will always love you. And... I ask that you show Mirage mercy.”

Zelda froze. Her grip tightened around the Secret Stone, its edges biting into her palm. Her eyes flicked to the creature—Mirage—and for a breathless moment, she saw that even he was caught off guard by Rook’s plea.

“Why?” she asked, her voice low. Steady, but laced with hurt.

Why should she? Mirage had manipulated timelines, resurrected Demise, and plunged Rook into endless grief. Mirage had brought ruin and pain without remorse. And yet here Rook stood, asking for mercy—for understanding.

“Because Mirage never knew any better,” Rook said, quietly but firmly. “He was never given the chance to grow, to learn like we did. No guidance. No love. Just... Ghirahim, and an obsession that consumed him. He never had the tools to be anything else. But he could.”

Zelda let his words settle in her mind. She turned them over, again and again. She saw the truth of it—the compassion behind it—and saw Rook not just pleading for Mirage, but for a world less defined by vengeance.

“I promise,” she said at last.

Relief flickered across Rook’s face, fragile and fleeting. It softened the raw sorrow that clung to him. “Thank you.”

But Zelda’s chest tightened with a different kind of ache. Her thought drifted back to the present she would return to, the path she was choosing. If she changed things—if she went back to help him—what would become of this version of Rook?

“What will happen to you?”

Rook’s smile was bittersweet, the kind that carried the weight of inevitability. “I will cease to be. This future... this version of me, will vanish when you rewrite the present.”

“You won’t feel it?”

“No,” he replied, voice thick with melancholy. “I will not. Changing the past, rewriting the outcome—it unravels this future. Once you return… I will cease. I won’t even know it.”

Zelda’s heart cracked open. “You just… disappear? Without even knowing?”

He paused. “Yes. Rewriting the past—it’s not something I will feel. But whatever future follows... it will be better than this.”

Tears gathered in his eyes, golden lashes trembling. “I failed. And now, I’ve given up. I thought nothing could change it. But then—you. I felt you. Something shifted. And in that moment, I acted in a bid of desperation to change what has already happened.”

“How?” she whispered, voice breaking.

He reached for her hand again, his touch gentle. “I’m connected to myself no matter where in my existence. The moment you touched the cocoon…there was enough power to bring you here.”

He took a step back, letting go of her hand. “Swallow it. When the transformation begins, I’ll send you back.”

Zelda hesitated, her mind spinning. Then, her voice broke through the storm of confusion and despair. “Kiss me?”

Rook froze, eyes widening in shock. “Pardon?”

“Kiss me,” she demanded, her voice firm with an urgency that felt almost final.

“…Okay,” he squeaked. He was still the boy who floundereds when faced with his emotions.

Even after everything, even after everything he had lost—he was still Rook.

Zelda closed the distance, reaching beneath his hood to curl her hand around the back of his neck, drawing him close.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative. But then Rook whimpered, and the sound cracked something deep inside her. His staff clattered to the floor, his hands lifting to cradle her face, and the world around them seemed to stop.

When they pulled apart, her lungs burned, but she didn’t care. Her hand was close enough to his pulse to feel the pounding of his heart.

“I love you,” Zelda whispered through her tears. “No matter the version of you. I love you.”

Rook’s laugh was broken, half-sobbed, and his tears fell. “I love you too. Always and forever.”

“Always and forever.”

Zelda stumbled back, clutching the Secret Stone against her chest as if it could hold all the pieces of her heart. And then—

She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and swallowed.

Power surged—raw, blinding, and absolute. It tore through her like wildfire, searing every nerve, burning through her very soul.

The pain swallowed her whole.

── ⋆⋅ ☆⋅⋆ ──

The evening bell finally rang. Wind nearly leapt to his feet, barely containing his excitement. He ignored the pitying looks from Purah and Josha, grabbing the prototype pad Hylia had given him before she and the Chain departed.

He had been waiting all day for this, trying to keep himself distracted by helping Josha with her Depths research or assisting Purah in her endless planning over the Astraterra Empire situation.

Mineru and Sheik had gone to the border not long after the Chain set off. Part of Wind had wanted to ask to join them, but after the argument with Time and Warrior, he knew Sheik wouldn’t tolerate him—not with his current attitude.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, one Wind begrudgingly accepted. He was crippled until he figured out how to live like this—with only one eye.

So, Wind wandered around Lookout Landing until Josha took pity on him and invited him to review her Depths notes. Grumbling, Wind agreed. For the first hour, he was no help at all—but eventually, he gave in, admitting—at least to himself—that it was more interesting than he'd initially thought it would be.

After that, the day passed faster, distracted as he was from his worry over the Chain and the people at the border watching the Astraterra Empire’s soldiers.

After lunch, he pestered Purah until she rolled her eyes and told him to drag over a chair. “I’ve been needing someone to bounce ideas off anyway,” she muttered.

Wind wondered what the people from Astraterra looked like.

“Their ears are shorter but still pointed,” Purah had said, brows pinched. “Brown and ginger hair is common. They don’t really… do immigration. They just absorb people from the places they conquer. Forcefully. I wouldn’t be surprised if no one wanted to move there—it’s not exactly a well-loved place.”

The more Wind learned about Astraterra, the worse his opinion of them became.

Mrs. Jerrin showed up around dinner, herding the scientists like unruly cuccos to make sure they remembered to eat. Wind was amused to realise it was a common habit among researchers—forgetting to eat or drink when their noses were buried in work. Purah, Robbie, Josha—even the rest of the researchers in Lookout Landing—were all the same.

It must just be a nerd thing, Wind had concluded with a nose scrunch.

But now—now Wind could finally do what he had been waiting all day for: visit Uriel.

He wanted to touch him, pet him, have a chance to mourn Rook. He’d never say it aloud, but Wind had been jealous that Lady Hylia took Warrior up to the Temple of Light and hadn’t offered the same to the rest of them.

He didn’t hesitate to tap the warp point on the screen.

The sensation always disorienting—his body splitting apart and reforming again. It yanked the air from his lungs, made his head spin like he’d just spun in a circle for a full minute. Wind gagged, the taste of bile rising in his throat. He tucked the pad away and leaned against the Temple wall, palm pressing into his churning stomach.

It took far longer than he liked for his gut to settle, but eventually he straightened, relieved he could finally do what he’d come for.

But Uriel wasn’t here.

Wind turned in a full circle, scanning the clearing. No dragon. No rustling. No sound. Just… nothing.

He pouted. Uriel should’ve been here by now—or at least on his way to settle in for the night.

A frown tugged at Wind’s brow as he looked around, his eye catching on something strange—the edge of the Temple was shattered. And not just damaged—fresh. Stone untouched by time or weather stood out like a sore thumb.

Worry churned his stomach, and he rushed forward. Peering over the edge, Wind saw the break more clearly. Something had smashed the stone outward—from above.

His heart leapt to his throat.

He tapped the pad for his paraglider and jumped, wind catching beneath him as he drifted down toward the Temple stairs.

What he saw inside made his breath catch.

Wide-eyed, Wind stared into the Temple. He worked his mouth, but no words came.

A massive, shimmering cocoon dominated the space.

And inside was Uriel.

Wind nearly dropped the paraglider in shock. Instead, he pressed it against the pad’s screen, allowing it to be stored away, and slowly stepped forward.

The doorway was fractured and broken—just like the roof. Uriel had forced his way inside. But he should’ve been far too large to do that.

Yet now, curled within the cocoon—so impossibly small—was Uriel. Not even a quarter of his usual size.

Wind should go back to Lookout Landing.

He should get Purah.

He does neither.

Instead, he stepped inside, eyes locked on the cocoon. It was white, silky, and layered—thick strands stretching out to cling to the Temple walls, suspending it in the air.

It shimmered with gold, light pulsing just beneath the surface.

Compelled, Wind climbed the stairs.

The moment he got close, the cocoon pulsed—violently. Bright white light flared and Wind hissed, throwing an arm over his face. When it dimmed, he lowered his arm and froze.

“…Wha—”

A cough echoed through the Temple, and a woman lay half sprawled on the floor just in front of the cocoon.

Wind knew her.

He recognised her.

She was supposed to be dead.

Rook’s Zelda looked at him, eyes wide.

But she was… different.

Not entirely Hylian.

Her face was the same, untouched. But sprouting from her head were golden, frond-like antlers that twitched faintly. From where her neck met her collarbones and down was…different. Altered. Her body was a pale blue with a golden filigree, decorative and beautiful in its simplicity. It made up her collarbone, marking the change from skin to that blue. It curved beneath her breasts—mounds? She was…kind of naked but…lacked anything in that department.

She had build-in shoulder pad-esque things. They curled out where the arm became the bicep in almost a petal fashion. Its edges were gold too, even a twirl to form a heart shape on both sides. From her biceps down was flesh, but her nails were white.

The blue extended all the way down to her ankles, where she had more petal-shaped things. This time, it was edged in white. Her feet were bare—flesh and her toenails were white like her fingernails. Just below her knees was a swath of gold before the thigh that created a segmenting pattern that just emphasised the petal theme.

Wind finally found his voice.

“What the fuck?”

Zelda just stared at him, breathing heavily.

Oh—and her pupils. Diamond-shaped. Gold. Like Rook’s had been when his wings and horns were out. But her irises were still that deep emerald green.

She pushed herself to her feet, wavering only slightly, and turned back to the cocoon. A wave of relief washed over her face.

“Okay… I made it in time.”

“Can you, like, explain?” Wind asked, only a little hysterical.

He’d seen some strange things in his life, but this might just top the list.

“Right,” Zelda nodded, drawing a shaky breath. “Mirage visited… last night? I… I don’t know how much time has passed since I was teleported.”

Teleported, Wind mouthed silently.

“Okay. Continue?”

Zelda turned to him, her brows drawn tight. “Mirage stabbed R—Uriel. Right in the head. Where the Master Sword once was. You saw the fight against Demise, right?”

Wind nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was… definitely a sight.”

She gave a bitter laugh, shaky and dry. “Yeah. Uriel reacted in a very reasonable way but… he just crawled in here. Surrounded himself with that. The cocoon. I don’t know the specifics.”

“Right.” That answered exactly zero questions. “And… yourself?”

Zelda looked down at her hands like she barely recognised them. Maybe it was exactly that. “I touched the cocoon. It… took me somewhere. Changed me. I was given a task. A job.”

“And that job is?”

She met his gaze but didn’t get the chance to answer.

The cocoon behind them pulsed again, bright and wild. Fractal patterns danced across its surface, and the light flared so strongly it became opaque—blocking Uriel from view.

Wind stepped back instinctively. “What’s happening now?”

“I think… I think he’s—” Zelda’s voice caught in her throat.

The pulsing faded. The cocoon returned to its translucent state.

But something inside had changed.

Gone was the dragon. Gone was the massive curled-up form.

Inside, a humanoid figure floated in the golden shimmer, and from the murky depths, familiar, otherworldly eyes fluttered open.

Wind sucked in a sharp breath.

Chapter Text

Amidst the chaos that brewed within him, he stirred into wakefulness—aware, yet strikingly absent. Consciousness returned slowly, like dawn creeping across the horizon. Thoughts rippled through him in fragments, untethered from meaning.

He was adrift. Grounded, yet unmoored.

Untethered.

Yes. That was the word he was searching for.

A slow breath escaped him, though there was no air to draw. He opened his eyes and drifted, weightless.

The vastness of his surroundings unfolded before him—an infinite canvas of black velvet ink. Far beyond, galaxies spiralled in slow, luminous dances—delicate pinwheels of lavender, sapphire, and fire-bright orange, scattered across the void like divine brushstrokes. Nebulous star clouds bloomed in the distance, vast and ethereal, their colours diffused like watercolour: deep magentas fading into silver-blues, pale greens shimmering at the edges.

It was a place where time itself seemed to stretch and dissolve, and the sheer scale of existence pressed in like a beautiful, incomprehensible weight.

It was as though he were suspended at the heart of the universe, adrift in the space between everything he knew and didn’t—at the centre of all things and nothing.

He stared. Searching. Not for a meaning—just for a sign for something that made sense.

It went on for as far as Rook could possibly perceive.

He watched them, trying to understand. The stars pulsed with a gentle rhythm he couldn’t name, yet recognised distantly.

Then he felt it.

A presence.

Someone else was here.

The sensation wasn’t like hearing or seeing—more like being gently nudged. He turned. Slowly. Warily.

Floating just ahead, wrapped in silence, was someone he had never seen before.

And yet…he knew her.

Not by her face, which shimmered and shifted with every blink, as if made of dozens—or hundreds—of faces layered one upon another, constantly flowing like a river of identities. No single feature stayed long enough to memorise, but her essence rang out like a familiar song. Ancient. Eternal.

Her body pulsed with verdant light, waves of green energy cascading across her body like a Aurora Borealis. It coiled and wove through her, part of her and beyond her, halting only at the base of her throat, where the glow condensed like breath against glass.

Rook found her eyes next—diamond-shaped, inhuman, burning with diamond rings of violet and blue. Lashes of luminous green curled from them like comet trails. He recognised the features—the similarities to the divine beast from Faron, Farosh.

Her skin—where it wasn’t glowing—was sun-kissed and scattered with faint, scale-like flecks that pulsed with a faint glow.  Flowers of all kinds seemed to grow from her wild, almost otherworldly hair—a flowing cascade of green and gold, weightless in this dreamlike void.

She was the wild made divine. The forest given form.

He looked down at himself and stilled.

He wasn’t too dissimilar to her.

His hands—he had two hands, two full arms—shimmered in gold and green, like his feathers touched by morning light. His hair, wispy and soft, floated around his face, a mess of wheat-blonde locks with an almost pearlescent underside.

But it was what lay at his centre that stopped him.

Where his heart should have been, there was something else. His soul. It flickered like a flame in still air. The edges glowed sage green, and at its core blazed a radiant gold, pulsing in time with something far beyond his understanding.

He raised his head again and met her eyes.

“Where am I?” he asked, voice hoarse, almost afraid it wouldn’t work here.

Farore smiled—warm and slow, like the first thaw of spring. “The Astral Plane.”

Her voice was music wrapped in thunder. Rook felt the words in his bones more than he heard them.

She drifted toward him with the fluidity of wind across still water. As she drew closer, he realised how tall she was. Farore towered, statuesque, over Hylia or any Gerudo. Farore dwarfed any mortal being—closer, he thought, to ten feet in height.

He swallowed thickly, heart stammering. “And…why am I here?”

Farore tilted her head with an owl-like grace, stopping just within reach. She extended a hand, slow and deliberate, and touched his cheek. Her palm engulfed half his face—comically large against his cheek—but her touch was impossibly gentle, like the whisper of petals across skin.

A strange, warm tingle radiated from where she touched him, spreading down his spine like a ripple.

When was the last time he’d been touched like this? When was the last time he’d seen his own face? Would he even recognise it now?

Her thumb brushed against his cheekbone.

There were no scars.

None.

His skin was smooth. His arms were complete. He was—whole. Complete in a way he hadn’t been in years.

Could this be a mere reflection of his inner self?

Farore’s hand lingered a moment longer, her gaze distant, as though lost in thought. Then she spoke.

“A long time ago,” she began, voice full of contemplation, “after Sky defeated Demise, we felt something stir—a shift in the Weave. A magic both foreign and familiar. Like a forgotten melody returning in a new key.”

She withdrew her hand from his cheek, and the absence of it sent a shiver across his skin. Her eyes turned to the vast blackness surrounding them, to the stars that blinked in and out of existence. She watched them with a kind of reverence, like one might watch a child take their first steps.

“We sensed a disturbance,” she continued. “Why else would mortals be chasing a creature of shadow that was corrupting the blood of monsters through time? But it was not that, no, it was how such was possible.”

Rook’s throat tightened. He didn’t have to guess what she meant.

His magic.

His unasked-for gift.

Farore’s tone changed slightly—still ethereal, but touched now with the faintest edge of exasperation, like someone who had waited too long for answers. “For epochs, we could only watch. Time unfolded slowly, like a tapestry woven in knots we could not yet unbind without starting from the beginning.”

Her gaze drifted back to him, and when she spoke, her voice was not loud, but the stars themselves seemed to pause to listen.

“My sisters and I have waited long enough.”

The weight of her words settled on him like snowfall that somehow carried the weight of a mountain. Rook felt himself laid bare beneath her eyes—every version of himself, exposed and trembling in her gaze.

“Rook,” Farore began again, her tone holding both understanding and something deeper—an ancient anticipation that made the air feel heavy, like the moment before a storm. Rook’s skin prickled at the sensation. "You stand here now because it was always meant to be this way. It has been written in the stars.”

His mouth felt dry. His voice, when it came, was small. “I don’t understand.”

He wanted to look away from her, but couldn’t, transfixed in place. “I’m just a man. How could this—whatever this is—be meant for me?”

Farore’s smile was almost motherly—soft and sad.

“Just a man?” she echoed gently. “Rook, from the moment your magic first rippled through the timelines, your Fate was sealed. The first breath you took was like a stone cast into an ocean—quiet, but far-reaching. The ripples reached us long before you ever existed.”

She lifted a hand again, not to touch him, but to motion through the air.

Golden strands shimmered into being between her fingers—threads, faint and glowing. They wove themselves into a pattern that pulsed with ancient rhythm—the very threads of Fate.

“Every step you’ve taken, every fall, every triumph—it all led here. The Tri-Force did not know exactly what it was waiting for,” she said, “but we did. We felt your soul stir long before it had the chance to nestle within your body.”

Rook’s knees weakened slightly. He didn’t fall—couldn’t within this space—but he drifted downward, folding into himself in the void.

A part of him had always suspected something like this. A seed of inevitability, planted long ago the moment he received Wisdom. It was a truth, raw and binding.

“You’ve…been watching me?” he asked, something meek in his voice. He had been aware, distantly. Always aware of how present the Goddesses were when he visited their Springs, but this was…

Farore’s gaze softened, and something vast and tender shone through her eyes.

“Not just watching,” she said. “Waiting.”

Rook's breath hitched.

“From the moment your magic stirred the weave of this universe,” she continued, “we felt the pull of your future. Like the first chord of a song echoing across Time.”

She moved her hand in a wide, graceful arc, and the threads responded once more. They quivered—then tightened around him. He felt them, their presence brushing against his soul like static on skin.

Rook gasped.

“I, and my sisters, have known you since before your spirit took form,” she said. “You drifted through Time like a current beneath the surface. We waited for the day when the Tri-Force would truly sing in harmony. Our unfinished symphony. Our magnum opus.”

Her gaze pinned him in place, and he saw within her devotion—an artist’s pride in her creation, tempered with reverence.

“And when we began to understand the picture being painted, you were always at the centre of it.”

And suddenly, something shifted in him.

A surge of energy. Familiar. Wild. Not just Courage or Wisdom—but something deeper. Something older than language. A force that whispered of creation itself. And though fear still gripped him, it was now mingled with something else—a strange sense of purpose, colliding with the maelstrom of uncertainty and confusion inside him.

He tried to breathe. The sensation twisted inside him, not painful, but heavy. Pressing.

Farore’s tone changed again, soothing like balm. “It’s alright to feel unsure,” she whispered. “Fear is a shadow cast by that which we do not understand. But this moment was always going to come. It was etched into the marrow of the universe.”

Rook clenched his fists. The feeling of the threads around him intensified, curling inward, brushing against every piece of him he had tried to bury.

“I never asked for this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He began to drift backwards, away from her. Away from the truth.

“How could I possibly be what the Tri-Force wants? I’m not—this isn’t—I’m not—I can’t be the one you’re looking for.”

Farore’s expression remained unchanged. Serene. Steady.

“And yet,” she replied, “you’ve carried Courage and Wisdom for over fifty thousand years. You’ve endured pain most would have drowned in. Not once have you faltered beneath the weight.”

“I never wanted this!” Rook snapped, voice cracking with desperation. “I didn’t ask for Wisdom. Zelda gave it to me. I didn’t ask for magic, or destiny, or this...this divine burden!”

Farore’s gaze didn’t waver. If anything, her voice grew prouder.

“That’s why you were chosen.”

Rook stared at her, stunned.

“You never wanted power. That’s why it didn’t corrupt you. You never used it for control. You never let it become your crown. Or your crutch. You never let it unmake you.”

Rook turned his face away.

“That’s not true,” he said, voice raw. “I’ve made mistakes. I—when I lost control, when I hurt Mirage—I was angry. I was broken. I wanted to hurt him.”

Farore inclined her head, listening without judgment.

“Yes,” she acknowledged gently. “You were grieving. Barely more than a boy. And even then, you didn’t let that moment define you. You carried it. You learned from it. You grew.”

She floated closer, closing some of the distance Rook had put between them.

“You bear those scars, Rook. But you never let them become your armour.”

He looked up, eyes stinging.

“You are not that fifteen-year-old anymore.”

And she smiled—not as a goddess, but as someone who had seen him, truly and wholly.

“That is how it always begins. The greatest powers rise from the humblest soil. Your bloodline. Your sorrow. Your scars. They are threads—woven into something greater than the sum of their pain.”

Rook trembled as the unseen threads of Fate began to hum louder, brighter, as though unwilling to let him go.

Farore's voice deepened with finality. “And now, the Tri-Force is whole once more. The time has come. Will you accept it?”

His heart thundered. Every part of him wanted to run, to retreat but beneath that was something else.

A calm.

A truth.

Farore placed a hand on his shoulder. Solid. Warm. Like the turning of a season.

“It’s not the power that makes you a god,” she said. “It’s what you do with it. The choices you make, the lives you touch—that is what defines you. That is what Demise fundamentally failed to understand.”

She smiled. “But you? You’ve waited long enough.”

“I’m scared,” he admitted. Quiet. Honest.

Farore chuckled, removing her hand. “Fear is not something to be rid of, Rook. It is something to be held. It is the thread that binds you to your humanity. And you will find your balance, in time.”

She extended her hand.

“So I ask again. Will you accept?”

Rook closed his eyes. The breath he drew was deep and steady. Within him, something ancient stirred.

The full force of Courage and Wisdom—alongside something that blazed Powerfully—rose to meet him.

Not as a burden.

As a birthright.

This time, he did not resist.

He straightened his back, his soul quieting in the presence of clarity. Then he opened his eyes.

“I accept.”

It happened all at once.

A pulse of light exploded from within him, like the universe itself exhaled.

Power tore through him. White-hot. Cleansing. Terrible. Beautiful.

He screamed—not in agony, but in release—as the light scorched through every nerve, every vein. His body convulsed. His soul twisted and bloomed.

It was as if his very mind were being rewired with strands of living flame.

The light kept coming. Brighter. Brighter. Unbearable.

Rook threw back his head and wailed.

A voice, both everywhere and inside him, spoke the final word:

“Welcome to the rank of Godhood, child.”

Then—

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He stirred, eyes fluttering open.

His lungs spasmed, trying to draw in air, only to inhale a milky fluid that filled his lungs. It was rank, leaving the taste of raw, slimy chicken on his tongue.

With a grimace, his body slowly became aware of itself. The warm, disgusting liquid down his throat made his lungs contract painfully, as if trying to expel it. It clung like thick blood clots to the back of his throat.

His chest heaved, instinctively trying to breathe, to cough, to expel.

Retches seized his airway next—his body, desperate, trying both to breathe and to purge.

He opened his eyes again. A milky film blurred his vision—or maybe it was the fluid he was encased in, cloudy but translucent enough to make out vague shapes beyond.

Emerald eyes stared at him, wide and bright with an emotion he couldn’t place.

Another figure—a single visible eye, the other covered—watched him too, their brow creased in concern.

He tried to read them, but everything felt distant. Fuzzy. His memories were shards, but he remembered himself. He knew who he was. He had a vague impression of where he was.

This translucent cocoon was his second womb.

Panic did not find him.

The spasms of his lungs began to taper off. His body no longer fought the fluid. Maybe this was just instinct—an urge to breathe where breathing wasn’t needed.

He flexed his fingers and toes. Twitched his limbs.

Every movement was deliberate. A test. A feeler. A reminder of how it felt to have two arms and two legs after an epoch as a dragon.

His control was perfect. No stiff muscles. No stuttering nerves.

Satisfaction bloomed quietly.

Satisfied, Uriel-Rook-Link? turned his attention elsewhere. He was curled into a foetal position, but his arms were black, feathered from wrist to elbow in shifting gold and teal—an echo of his draconic middle legs.

He could see the way his legs were no longer flesh but something else, more doll-like, with delicate white thighs and teal calves with gold filigree. His thighs were patterned in flowing black that vaguely mimicked musculature. His feet were the same black as his arms, his toenails as blue as his nails and slightly clawed.

His chest was the green of his feathers, adorned with raised golden filigree where his collarbone used to be. He traced a tendon-like structure up his neck, tapering at the back. Where his collarbones met, they formed a diamond shape. He could feel his soul flickering behind it, a glow escaping through an embedded blue, diamond-shaped crystal.

Pauldrons flowed naturally from where his shoulders became biceps, filigree trailed to blue gems in the centre of a heart-shaped crest at the edges of both pauldrons.

Link-Uriel-Rook? could not see his stomach or waist, not with how he was curled, but he wanted to know.

He’s confused. But only for a moment because the memories of Farore and the Astral Plane slammed into him with the force of a Molduga.

His lungs spasmed again on the milky fluid. His body jerked, curling tighter, waiting for the pain to pass. He drifted.

The sensation of something touching the cocoon’s surface stirred him. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he felt it, the ripple spreading across the membrane. A presence. Familiar. Known.

He opened his eyes. The cocoon’s film shimmered. Beyond it, a hand pressed gently against the membrane. His own hand reached out in kind, mirroring the touch.

Recognition bloomed. Familiarity crashed into clarity.

Zelda.

He stretched, limbs flexing, this strange new body finally feeling whole—ready.

The urge to leave the warmth of the cocoon flared in his gut, crawling outward to his limbs like static.

His hand curled. Claws dug into the soft, not-flesh. The hand on the other side withdrew.

He tore at the membrane. Inch by inch. He kicked. Pulled. Pushed harder.

He needed out.

Desperation took root, primal and urgent. He thrashed, and for the first time since waking—panic flared.

His other arm joined, claws slipping through the split. That was all he needed—his grip tightened, and a flurry of desperation bloomed inside him.

Voices beyond. Chatter. Incoherent. But…encouraging.

That was enough.

His arms broke through. Cold air bit at them. He squirmed, shoved, pushed.

Finally, his face broke the surface.

From the shoulders up, he was free. His head hung forward, heavier than expected after the buoyancy of the cocoon. His lungs seized, forcing the foul fluid out. It gushed noiselessly from his mouth.

Hands caught his head—cupped his jaw, held him gently.

His eyes rolled as another spasm wracked him, more fluid spilling. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed, loud in his ears.

He hung awkwardly. The lower half of his body still in the cocoon’s fading warmth. Slowly, the torn shell began to sag beneath his weight. The membrane strips down his spine peeled away—one by one.

It was the final tether.

Finally, he was free.

A gasp. Another set of hands caught him. The ones on his chin moved, helping ease his limp body to the floor.

“Rook?”

He lay trembling, trying to process it all—the cold stone floor, the sensation of hands on his skin, the rush of sensation in this alien body.

It was almost too much.

But the name landed. Rook. Yes. That was his chosen name, wasn’t it?

He spat out the last of the fluid.

Fingers combed through his hair, soothing. His strength returned in small waves. He reached to wipe his eyes—only to smear the muck.

He hissed, the sound rattling from deep within, foreign yet right.

“Here,” the other voice said. It, too, was familiar but more distantly. Rook knew who it was but couldn’t grasp a name.

Fabric rubbed across his face, cleaning it of the gunk. He shuddered at the feeling but it made his eyes feel so much better, and so, finally, he pried his eyes open.

Light stabbed them, and he flinched, shying away from it and into the hands that cradled his jaw again.

“Sweetheart?” Zelda whispered. Her voice was soft. Loving. Hopeful.

He needed to see her—touch her—know she was real.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw her.

Emerald eyes. That expressive, beloved face.

Zelda.

She was alive.

And more than that—he could feel her. Her energy. It resonated with him, even if he didn’t yet understand how.

“Hi,” she choked, tears in her eyes. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks.

He surged forward, hand cradling her neck, pulling her into a kiss. She clutched him, lips eager, arms pulling him half into her lap.

She was warmth. A drug. A lifeline.

“Not to, uh, break up the reunion,” came the other voice. “but I think we have something slightly more important at hand?”

Rook drew back, breathless, and turned.

Wind.

He looked so familiar and yet so different—grown up. He had grown up. He had an eyepatch now too!

Rook blinked at him, dazed from the kiss, from everything.

“You look good, Wind,” Rook rasped with a small, crooked smile.

Wind laughed—a bright, incredulous sound. He fell back onto his hands, head thrown back. “That’s what you fucking say?”

But the next look Wind gave him was soft and tender. “It’s good to have you back, Rook.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands. Some of the goop still clung to him but it had rapidly cooled and begun to solidify into something crusty. He peeled some off and flicked it away.

“I’m forgetting something, something important,” Rook said, brows furrowing, a hand pressing to his temple. The air felt too still, like the world was holding its breath. Whatever it was, it was urgent. Time-sensitive. A warning crawling beneath his skin.

“Mirage?” Zelda said, her voice cautious, careful.

His head snapped up.

Mirage. Yes.

The name struck him like a thunderclap. Rook surged upright, a little too fast. His balance shifted awkwardly, his muscles not quite used to supporting him on two legs again after the time spent as a dragon. The world tilted.

“Whoa! Careful!” Wind scrambled to his feet as well, moving quickly to steady him.

“I’m fine,” Rook muttered, brushing off the help, though his legs trembled slightly.

“You don’t look fine,” Wind said, his tone laced with concern, though he stepped back.

“Mirage,” Rook repeated. “Did the Chain—did Hylia—have they already gone after him?”

Wind nodded but frowned. “Yeah, left at sunrise this morning, yesterday? I don’t know what time it is, really late, I reckon. But they wanted to move fast and not give Mirage a chance to put anything into action now he has all three shard fragments from Demise’s destroyed Secret Stone.”

“Then why aren’t you with them?” Rook asked, scanning Wind’s face.

Wind’s face twisted, almost defensively, and he looked away. “I...I’m benched. They didn’t want me going after Mirage.” He tapped his temple lightly. “Lost vision in my left eye after the last fight. Can't wield a sword properly anymore.”

Rook’s expression softened, the urgency momentarily tempered by sympathy. Before he could say anything, Wind added, “But yeah. They’ve gone after him.”

Zelda gave a small nod. “I’m guessing that he killed Ghirahim?” she asked.

Wind nodded to confirm. “That’s what the Yiga foot soldier said.”

Rook stared at the ground, his jaw tightening. He could feel something twisting in his gut. They needed to stop Mirage before this spiralled even further out of control.

“He’s...trying to create something,” Wind went on, brows knitting. “A god. Or...maybe he’s trying to become one? I dunno know, this is all so crazy, but Mirage is a maniac.”

Wind didn’t see it, but Zelda did. She watched how Rook’s body went completely still.

His breath caught. He felt something shift in his mind, puzzle pieces clicking into place with sickening certainty.

It was him.

It was always him.

Wind was wrong. Mirage wasn’t trying to become a god—he was trying to make one.

Rook looked up slowly, locking eyes with Zelda. She had already realised the same thing. Her lips parted, just slightly, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to.

Wind blinked between them. “What? What’s with the look? You two—do you know something?”

Rook hesitated, then said quietly, “It’s me.”

Wind’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m the one Mirage was trying to turn into a god.”                                          

The silence that followed was deafening.

For a moment, Wind just stared. Then his gaze swept over Rook properly, for the first time—his changed posture, his aura, the quiet gravity of his presence, the fact he was no longer entirely Hylian. His voice failed him for a moment.

“Wait, so...are you saying you’re a god now?” he asked, almost whispering. “Like, actual divine?”

Rook nodded. “Mirage succeeded.”

Wind took a step back, visibly reeling. “Cap’s gonna have words.”

“I’m sure Pops will,” Rook said with a dry note, before shaking his head. “None of that matters. What matters is stopping him before he goes further.”

Zelda stirred then, as if waking from a distant memory. She opened her mouth, closed it again. The weight of a memory settled on her. A version of a future, gone now, but still vivid in her mind. His voice echoed in her ears.

(“And...I ask that you show Mirage mercy.”)

“Rook, there’s something else,” she said.

He turned toward her, sensing something more than nerves behind her words.

“In another timeline, one that won’t come to pass now, I met another you. It’s how I’m here now,” she said softly. “But that you, he had seen the world end. He asked something of me before he returned me here.”

There were a thousand questions in Rook’s eyes, but none left his lips. The trust between them had never been tested or doubted, and it was no different now.

Rook tilted his head and asked a simple: “What did he ask?”

Zelda reached out, her hand slipping into his.

“He asked to show Mirage mercy,” she said. “To try and reach him, if there was any chance. That he’s never had a chance to be his own person, he’s only ever been chasing your shadow. Chained to the idea of you.”

Rook stared at her. “You want me to spare him?”

“I want you to offer him your hand,” she said.

Rook looked down at their hands, then into her eyes. He searched them, found no deception—only hope. Only faith.

“I don’t understand it,” he said slowly, honestly. “But...I’ll keep it in mind. When we find him, I’ll try.”

Zelda’s shoulders eased, and she gave him a small, grateful smile.

“Try, that’s all we can do,” she agreed.

Wind let out a long breath. “Okay. So let me get this straight: Mirage is manic possibly trying to sway you to the bad side, you got turned into a god, and now we’re chasing him down with mercy as plan A?”

Rook gave a tired smile. “More or less.”

Wind groaned. “Why is this our lives?”

Rook glanced toward the Temple of Light’s exit. “We need to go quickly.” He looked at himself then Zelda. “But first, a stop at Lookout Landing. We might be genderless like this, but…we are still very much naked.”

Wind blinked and the realisation filtered across his face before colour blossomed. “Right.”

Chapter Text

The night was still, wrapped in the kind of silence that felt too full to be empty. A pale breeze drifted across the high stone balcony just outside Zelda’s private chambers, stirring the sheer curtains that fluttered behind her. She stood at the balustrade, fingers curled loosely over the cool stone, eyes raised toward a sky scattered with stars.

The full moon hung low above the horizon, heavy and glowing. From this height, the kingdom stretched out in soft greys and blues, distant torches flickering like fireflies along the edges of the watchtowers. The castle was asleep. But she wasn’t.

This had become something of a habit in the last few days. Since she had tried—awkwardly, vulnerably—to tell Link what she felt for him.

“I want to ask what I mean to you, but I’m scared to know the answer,” she had said like an idiot who had no idea how to navigate her emotions.

And he had gone quiet. Too quiet. Eyes wide, mouth parting with no words to follow. Then he had mumbled something about needing to report to one of the captains and disappeared down the hall before she could say another word.

She hadn’t gone after him. Not because she didn’t care, but because she did, too much.

A sound stirred behind her—light, deliberate footsteps on stone. She turned, expecting maybe one of the Shiekah to be checking in on her. But it was him.

Link stood in the doorway, one hand braced lightly against the frame, the moonlight turning his tunic and hair to shades of soft silver. He looked as uncertain as she had ever seen him—shoulders drawn tight, hands clenched and then unclenched, like he was trying to steel himself against a battle he couldn’t train for.

She didn’t speak. Not yet.

“I hope I’m not waking you,” he said, though it was clear that Zelda hadn’t been asleep. Not even dressed for it.

Zelda turned back to the railing, offering a slight, welcoming tilt of her head. “You’re not.”

He came to stand beside her, not too close, just near enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence, grounded and real.

“I’ve been meaning to come sooner,” he said, voice barely audible despite the silence the night brought. “But I didn’t know if I should. I wasn’t sure if I’d ruined everything.”

Zelda tilted her head, her expression calm but curious. “Why?”

He drew in a breath, eyes flickering up toward the stars before they found hers again.

“Because I ran away,” he admitted. “When you asked me what you meant to me. I’ve never felt more caught off guard and I panicked.”

Zelda’s eyes softened, sensing how much it cost him to speak openly.

“I’ve been told for years that feelings are…dangerous. That they're distractions. That I should bury them. I’ve been praised for my silence. For composure. For putting duty first, always.”

“I’ve been trained to bury feelings,” he continued. “To stay composed. To lead without distraction. I thought, if I said anything wrong, I might lose what little we had. And then…then I started thinking you’d only said that because you were trying to let me down gently. That I’d misread everything between us. Every look, every moment we shared. That it was just me.”

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped forward, eyes shining. “No, Link. I said that because I didn’t know how to ask for something I was scared to hope for.”

Link stared at her as if the world had tilted under his feet.

“You mean…” he started.

“I mean I’ve been afraid to hope too,” she said. “I said it because I was scared you didn’t feel the same. I thought if I was too direct, I’d make things harder for you. For both of us.”

Her voice wavered, but not with weakness—with the weight of holding it in for too long.

Link exhaled a quiet, uneven breath. “You didn’t,” a pause where he left out an almost-hysterical giggle, one Zelda wanted to mirror for how stupid they had been. “Or maybe you did. But only because I wasn’t ready to hear what I’ve been trying not to say.”

He stepped closer now, slowly, as if the act itself required trust. He lifted a hand slowly—hesitantly—and brushed it against her cheek. His fingers trembled.

“I do feel the same,” he said quietly. “I love you, Zelda. I think I’ve loved you longer than I’ve understood it. And I’ve been so scared to lose what we have by saying it out loud.”

They stood in silence for a moment, eyes locked. The night wind carried the scent of roses from the gardens below. From their high place, the world felt impossibly far away and yet, in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the space between them.

Link brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, careful and reverent. Her hand found his in return, lacing through without hesitation.

Zelda’s smile bloomed, slow and radiant, and the breath she had been holding released with a quiet laugh. “Say it again.”

His smile is small, tender, the soft kind she rarely saw from him but always treasured.

“I love you,” he said, steadier this time.

“And I love you,” she replied.

They leaned in—not for a kiss, but until their foreheads touched, the barest contact anchoring them in a shared stillness.

They stood like that for a while—under the vast sky, stars twinkling distantly, the moon bearing silent witness to something new being born between them.

There was no kiss.

No rush to fill the quiet with anything more.

In the quiet glow of the moonlight, above a sleeping kingdom, the moment wrapped around them like silk. Their closeness was enough. The words exchanged—long overdue as they were—had stitched something deep-seated and sacred between them.

They didn’t speak again. They didn’t need to.

They simply stood together on the balcony, wrapped in the safety of truth, letting their hands and silence speak the rest.

And in that stillness, they finally knew: things might just be okay.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 22nd— Cont’d

A cough. Dry, deliberate.

Everything stopped.

A ripple of tension sliced through the room like a blade. The Yiga Foot soldiers yanking the Chain to their feet froze. Mirage turned slowly, his expression unreadable.

From the shadows, two silhouettes emerged.

Hylia froze, disbelief crashing through her like a wave.

Wind stepped forward with his usual swagger, a crooked grin on his lips. “Hi,” he said, too cheerfully, “hope we’re not interrupting?”

But Hylia didn’t hear him.

Her gaze had locked onto the second figure.

Zelda.

Alive.

But not as Hylia remembered. There was something different now—something deeper. She wasn’t just changed; she had become something more. There was something deeper in her eyes now. Something ancient. Something powerful.

And for the first time since their capture, Hylia felt the faintest flicker of hope.

A ripple of tension seized through the air like a predator’s jaw snapping shut on its prey. The air, thick with unease, turned razor-sharp as Wind and Zelda stepped into the open from the shroud of darkness surrounding the Yiga Clan’s hidden base. The torchlight scattered across them, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the uneven ground.

Wind still had that cocky grin on his face, all mischief and bravado, but there was something rigid in his shoulders—like his body was betraying the tension he felt. He moved with his usual swagger, but his feet landed just a touch too carefully. Alert. Ready to bolt or brawl. Like he wasn’t sure which way this would go.

Zelda’s posture, by contrast, was regal. Composed. But it belied the storm churning just beneath the surface—her expression calm in the way a tsunami might look before it crests. She was changed—palpably, irrevocably. Not older. Not just wiser. Her presence now carried a weight that bent the world around her. Divine, but the soft kind. Like something had laced its essence through her veins and now wore her skin like armour.

The light didn’t quite touch her anymore. The torchlight didn’t fall evenly on her figure. It arced, just slightly, like it feared to touch her skin.

The silence that followed their arrival was brittle, fragile as glass.

“What the fuck?” Legend breathed. His voice cracked against the sudden silence, a rasp of disbelief and a growing, gnawing concern.

Mirage, however, straightened. The lines of worry and calculation melted from his face like snow under fire. A wide, gleaming grin cut across his lips, far too large, too bright, too eager. His eyes lit with a feverish sort of recognition—childlike awe, reckless joy, and something far, far more dangerous.

He had been waiting for this. Praying for it.

The shift in his demeanour was a stone dropped into still water. The Chain exchanged wary glances. Twilight’s muscles coiled. Hyrule inched closer to Warrior, eyes flicking between Mirage and Zelda. The Yiga Clan members—who had up until now tried to remain statues at the fringes—grew visibly nervous and twitchy like prey sensing a shift in the wind. They didn’t know whether to prepare for battle or to bolt.

Time’s voice cut through the hush, low and taut. “Wind,” he said, each syllable slow, controlled. “What is going on?”

Wind opened his mouth, but the words never came.

Another figure emerged.

At first, only the darkness moved—tendrils of shadow reluctant to release the form hidden within. It was as though the darkness itself clung to him, unwilling to let go. And then, he stepped forward.

Rook.

His footsteps made no sound, and yet each one fell with the weight of thunder in their chests. It was like the world exhaled—and then forgot how to breathe.

He was different.

He was more. And less, in ways that defied the senses. Less mortal. Less familiar. More Other. Transcended.

Gone was the scrappy, sharp-eyed teenager they had once known who had laughed at stupid jokes and scruffed his boots on the stone floors. Before them stood something other. Taller. Stronger. His form shimmered at the edge of comprehension, something not meant to be wholly understood. Divine, yes—but real. Tangible. Terrifying.

But it was his eyes.

Stars.

Not a metaphor—literal stars, burning quietly against a night sky. His stare carried weight, depth, time. When he looked at them, it wasn’t as though he was seeing them—it was as though the world itself was taking note. Everything bent around him: memory, gravity, breath.

This version of Rook carried no weapons, no armour, but his body radiated power, quiet and immense.

Zelda had changed, yes.

But Rook was something else entirely.

Hylia felt the blood drain from her face the moment her eyes landed on Rook. She staggered on her feet, almost as if to instinctively withdraw in her shock, her lips parting in disbelief. “No…” she breathed. “That’s—that’s impossible.”

Her body trembled. For years—decades, even—she had watched over him, first as a spirit, then in her returned form. She had watched him, stood beside him. How had something so monumental slipped past her? Her knees nearly gave.

Beside her, Sky didn’t move. He simply stared, expression unreadable. There was no surprise to be found. There was no shock in his gaze—only a quiet kind of satisfaction, almost imperceptible as if a long-held suspicion had just been proven true.

Then Warrior surged forward.

The Yiga who flanked him didn’t even try to stop him. They backed away, almost reverently, like they too understood something enormous had just shifted.

“Rook…” Warrior’s voice cracked under the pressure of everything his mouth refused to say.

Tears traced silent paths down his face, unchecked. Warrior stared at the boy—no, the man—standing there, radiant with some unspoken power. Alive. Whole. Changed beyond recognition, and yet still—somehow—his.

His son.

His face crumpled. Hope, grief, awe—they collided inside him in a single shuddering breath. His knees threatened to give way. The weight of the moment knocked the strength from him.

Rook met his eyes.

For a beat, the expression that crossed Rook’s face was unbearably soft—brief and unguarded, like a sigh on the wind. Then, gently, inevitably, his gaze turned toward Mirage as if pulled by an invisible string.

Zelda stepped closer. Her hand rose, featherlight, and rested on Rook’s elbow. He glanced at her, the motion small. There were no words between them, but her eyes said everything. And his nod—a quiet, decisive motion—was the seal to a vow unspoken.

A promise remembered. No blade before an offered hand.

Rook turned toward Mirage and began walking.

The world seemed to slow with him. Each step deliberate. Measured. Like time bent to him, not the other way around. Torchlight swayed but did not flicker. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, watching.

Mirage bowed.

Not in mockery. Not performatively. He lowered himself. It’s deep, deferent.  A motion full of reverence, like a knight before his sovereign

“You came,” he said, his voice ragged with awe.

Rook studied him.

“Why?” he asked. Calm. Curious. “Why did you do all of this?”

There’s no accusation in his voice, only honest confusion.

Mirage lifted his head slowly. “It started the night you tackled me off the balcony.”

The Chain remained frozen in place, held captive by the unfolding gravity of the scene. Zelda let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“You were ablaze with magic. I had never felt anything like it. It wasn’t just power—it was pure, raw, unfiltered Courage. Wisdom. A divine spark. I knew, then, what you were.”

Rook tilted his head slightly.

“And so, for the last ten thousand years,” Mirage continued, “I’ve worked. I’ve built. I’ve bled—for this. For you.” He grinned, mad and gleaming. “To raise you to the divinity you were born for.”

He paused. “Since that day, I devoted everything to bringing you to this point. I found the Goddesses. I sought their favour. Did they not tell you?” His voice tightened. “Did Farore not speak of me?”

Rook, calm and still, replied quietly. “No. She didn’t.”

Mirage stiffened, a strange, trembling stillness falling over him. A long, eerie silence followed.

“They played me,” he whispered. And then he laughed. Sharp. Broken. Like glass shattering underfoot.

“That was always their plan, wasn’t it? To make you into this?”

Rook didn’t deny it. Just gave a small, almost apologetic nod.

Red flushed Mirage’s face. He lunged and—

—froze.

Mid-motion. Inches from Rook’s serene expression.

The world stuttered. Reality hiccupped.

The air folded inward like paper crumpling in reverse, colours blurring and snapping back into place with a sound like cracking ice.

And then, Mirage was back where he’d been, untouched. Unmoving.

Mirage stood there, arms at his side, as though he had never moved. A small collection of Mirage’s white fringe fell before an eye. He blinked. Tilts his head, stunned.

His face shifted with anger the moment it registered what happened, and he tried again. And again, the moment he neared Rook time buckled.

For a second time, Mirage was returned, untouched and unharmed. He breathed hard, shaken. This time, he halts himself just before attacking. He stood there before Rook, a mere foot away.

Rook remained passive, unreadable. Patient.

Mirage, breathless, eyes narrowed, asked, “What are you trying to do?”

“I don’t want to fight,” Rook answered. “I made a promise. I will not fight you unless you leave me no choice.”

Mirage’s lip curled, his teeth clenched. “Why? Why did they use me?”

“It was never about you,” Rook said gently. “This would’ve happened either way. You were just...the only one mad enough to try it.”

Mirage shook with rage. “So it was all a lie?! They used me anyway?!”

He swiped.

Time rewound until Mirage was back in his original place once more. Rook’s magic faded like a rush of wind scattering dust, sending hair flying.

“Listen to me,” Rook snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Did you even hear what I said?”

The Chain stirred at his tone. Hyrule leaned toward Legend, brows furrowed in bewilderment. “What’s happening?”

Legend squinted. “It feels like we missed the entire second act.”

Mirage heaved. Angry. Raw. His claws twitched, but he didn’t try to strike this time. He glared at Rook, frustration bled into his features.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to fight,” Rook repeated. Calm. Unshaken. “I made a promise.”

This time, the words hit.

Mirage faltered, and his shoulders trembled as his fists clenched at his sides. “Why? Why would they…”

Rook’s voice softened, but the words struck with force. “They didn’t use you. You made your choices. They tested your dedication and you passed.”

Mirage blinked, stunned. His brows furrowed with growing confusion.

Rook sighed softly.

This time, it was Rook who closed the distance between them. He walked slowly, calmly, as he approached Mirage.

“You’re not evil, Mirage, not by nature. You were shaped. You rose above the one who created you. You proved you are more than Demise created you to be. But you never had the chance to learn and grow as one should. You only had the wrong influence to rely on. I cannot fault you for latching onto something, anything. You’ve done terrible things in your belief, but I don’t fault you for that.”

The Chain and Hylia watched in rapt, confused silence.

“What is Rook trying to do?” Four whispered.

Zelda, watching closely, murmured: “He’s offering him mercy.”

“Mercy?” Legend scoffed. “After all this? Seriously?”

Zelda didn’t respond. She only watched.

Mirage and Rook remained in their own little bubble.

“I sought them out because I knew they could elevate you,” Mirage admitted quietly. He looked cowed now, uncertain and even perhaps slightly frightened. “Farore was easy, I thought it was because of you. Because you carried Courage. Naydra asked for a blood promise. Din...Din gave me a trial—one inside my mind. It almost tore me apart at the seams until I had sufficiently proven my worth to her.”

There was bitterness in his voice now, something not angry but close, perhaps aimed not at anyone but himself.

“They don’t do that for just anyone,” Rook said. “They could’ve said no. They didn’t. Doesn’t that tell you what they thought of you?”

Mirage looked away. “I thought it meant they believed in you.”

“They believed in you, too,” Rook argued gently. “They knew what you are capable of. But they wanted to see if you were ready.”

Mirage’s posture slumped.

Rook stepped even closer, voice still so soft. “As I said, you weren’t made evil. You were shaped. Conditioned. You latched onto me which fuelled your obsession...it wasn’t your fault.”

Mirage looked away again. His jaw tightened. Shame crept into his expression.

“I can’t undo what you’ve done, and I don’t want to fight you,” Rook exhaled. “But I can offer you a future. Stand with me. Please?”

Rook offered his hand, palm up and inviting and…

…and Mirage hesitated. He stared with a touch of bewilderment. But he responded. Slowly. Hesitantly. He reached out and laid his hand atop Rook’s.

And Rook? He curled his fingers until he was truly holding Mirage’s hand. He squeezed gently, reassuringly, and Mirage shuddered, returning the gesture.

Magic rippled outward, quiet and golden, like a gentle sigh as the bond settled into place between the God and his Shade—quiet, absolute.

The Yiga Clan, having been silent witnesses to everything happening, realised the gravity of the situation as Rook curled his other hand over Mirage’s as the shade trembled. His shoulders shook, and he desperately fought back tears that glistened in his carmine eyes.

One member acted first, setting off a chain reaction as one by one, they vanished into plumes of smoke, teleporting away.

“Cowards,” Twilight muttered.

Wind and Zelda finally began untying Hylia and the Chain. Warrior barely waited for his ropes to fall. The moment he was freed, he bolted forward, eyes wild and wet. “Rook!”

Rook had only a moment to release Mirage’s hand, who flinched back as Warrior scooped Rook up into his arms, clutching his son tightly as if he was afraid to let go ever again.

“I missed you so much,” Warrior whispered through his tears, face buried against his son’s shoulder. “I thought—” he choked on his words.

Rook gasped, his body stiff at first, not used to such an encompassing touch. Then, with a shuddering breath, he leaned into the embrace. His own tears fell freely, quiet and warm.

Rook clung to his father, face buried against Warrior’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Hi Dad.”

Chapter Text

March 22nd—Early Morning

Stretching out from the northwestern skirts of Death Mountain, the land was a tapestry of red stone and dust—rugged, uneven terrain rising into jagged peaks and weatherworn ridges.

The air was dry and sharp in the throat, thick with the scent of sand and old rock, as if the very bones of the earth were ground fine and carried on every breeze. Small stones shifted underfoot, and heat clung to the land like a second skin.

The landscape offered no comfort. There were no trees, no water, no shade. Only the wind, whispering through the stone teeth of the land.

Sheik stood firm at the head of the Hylrulean delegation, the weight of leadership pressing heavily on his shoulders now that Rook was no longer here. The border itself was unmarked beyond an old, decrepit stone wall, yet the space between them and the approaching Astraterra envoy felt like a chasm.

Despite the early time, the budding heat of spring had already begun warming Eldin as it always did. His Sheikah armour felt heavier than usual beneath the sun, sweat already sticking to his back beneath the dark weave. Yet he stood straight, shoulders squared.

Stood beside him was Scorpis, representing the Hylians, grim-faced and silent. Bandaga of the Gerudo stood with her spear, tall and unmoved, her eyes scanning the oncoming figures with cool disdain. Mazli, feathers ruffling in the rising wind, stood alert as any Rito sentry, while Gaddison of the Zora stood with calm poise, her Zora-crafted spear gleaming faintly in the morning sun. Yunobo’s Goron frame loomed like a stone wall beside them all, warm but steady.

Together they formed a wall—a quiet defiance etched against the red earth of Hyrule’s Eldin.

And across from them, like a shadow cast on the horizon, the Astraterra envoy arrived.

The Astraterran party came in stark contrast to Hyrule’s colourful collection of races. At their centre rode the Crown Prince Harmir—oldest son of the Emperor of Astraterra, his presence not one so easily disregarded.

His armour was black and gold, polished to an almost unnatural sheen, trimmed with a deep crimson cape that barely fluttered despite the wind. Behind him rode five mounted officers, each in matching livery announcing their importance. No scouts. No messengers. Only command. A show of calculated arrogance.

The prince radiated the kind of disdain honed only through a lifetime of unquestioned power.

As the prince reined in his horse just short of the line between nations, he let his gaze pass lazily over the Hyrulean party before settling on Sheik, who stood front and centre.

“You’ll forgive me,” he began, tone casual and laced with disdain, “but I was under the impression I’d be speaking to a king today.”

No one responded. Sheik didn’t blink, merely clenched his fists behind his back to control his budding anger.

Harmir clicked his tongue. “Unless that boy of yours is invisible, I assume something has...happened to him. Such a shame. Hyrule never does seem to catch a break, does it? Calamities. Upheavals. Endless monsters crawling from the dark.”

Mazli bristled at that but held his tongue.

Sheik’s voice cut through the dry air like a knife.

“What is it Astraterra seeks to gain from this? If you came to intimidate us, Prince Harmir, I suggest you return to your empire and seek new advisors. You will not find fear here.”

The prince gave a dry chuckle, nudging his horse forward half a pace. The movement was slight, but enough to remind them he sat higher than anyone else here.

“You mistake my presence for a threat. I assure you, we are here in the spirit of…diplomacy. We simply like to negotiate from strength.”

“We’ve seen your strength,” Bandaga said coolly. “It’s loud and brash. But fire without discipline burns itself out.”

The prince turned slightly, amused. “The Gerudo speaks now. What a charming gathering this is.”

Sheik raised a hand, silencing Bandaga before she could speak further.

“We know what you want, Your Highness,” Sheik said. “Territory. Control. Tribute. And we’re telling you, you will not have it. Not now. Not ever. Hyrule does not submit.”

The prince’s smile faltered, just slightly. A flicker of frustration passed through his posture, but he smoothed it away.

“And yet you bring me words, not a ruler. Where is your boy-king, Sheikah? If he has abandoned his people, say so. If he is dead, say so. But do not insult me by pretending you speak with the same weight.”

Gaddison stepped forward, voice calm and rich. “You may not understand this, Prince Harmir, but we do not stand here as subjects. We are delegates. We speak for our people together.”

“That may be,” Harmir said, gaze now colder, “but only one wears the true crown. Where is he?”

The silence hung heavier this time. Sheik’s hands itched. His mind spun.

He could tell him the truth. That Rook, the not-yet-crowned king, was gone. That he had vanished into the past and returned as something else entirely—an immortal dragon named Uriel, bound to the skies and unable to recognise those who loved him.

But that truth would break them.

And the prince could see it. He could smell blood in the water.

“You speak so proudly of Hyrule’s history,” Prince Harmir continued, the edge in his voice growing. “But history does not fight wars. Kings do. Or have you forgotten what happens when a throne is empty?”

Again, Sheik said nothing.

A sharp gust struck then, kicking up loose earth. The banners behind Harmir snapped violently, then went still.

Sheik swallowed, every nerve taut.

Prince Harmir sat back in his saddle, voice low now, intimate. “Do you truly believe your people can survive a war with the Astraterra empire in the state your kingdom is in?”

Sheik didn’t flinch. “We don’t believe. We know.”

The prince’s gaze sharpened. “Then show me your king.”

Silence.

“I will not ask again,” he snapped. “Rook is Hyrule’s chosen ruler. Not crowned, not tested, barely of age—and yet you hide him from me. That is a slight. I want that child playing king before me by noon or there will be war.”

Sheik’s jaw clenched. The temptation to snap back was fierce. Rook has better things to do than indulge your ego. But he bit it down.

He forced herself to answer with control. “The king is not available. But this land is not leaderless. I speak for Hyrule today.”

Harmir didn’t respond. Not immediately.

He turned his horse without a word, riding a slow circle before facing him once again.

“So you have until noon,” he said, quiet now. Deadly. “Bring me your king. Or bury your people beneath another legend.”

He turned, spurring his horse away, his soldiers falling into silent step behind him. The Empire withdrew from the border with the kind of calm that only comes from certainty.

They believed they had already won.

As they disappeared back into the midst of their camp, Sheik exhaled slowly. His legs felt heavy. His mouth tasted of metal and dust.

“Now what?” Yunobo asked.

Sheik turned, just enough for the others to see his face. To see the fear he couldn’t voice.

They had until noon.

Somehow, they had to navigate their way through this without their king.

Without Rook.

And without giving Harmir an excuse to strike first.

“We think,” Sheik said. “And we move fast.”

He turned toward the camp.

“We need a plan before noon. Because Rook is not coming.”

Because he couldn’t.

Because Rook was gone.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

March 22nd—Present Time

“I apologise for the delay,” Rook said once Warrior had released him. “We had to make a stop at Lookout Landing. Needed something to wear.”

That earned a few blinking stares. ‘Clothes’ was a generous word.

The robes he and Zelda wore weren’t garments so much as artfully draped layers of deep navy-blue fabric, held together by belts, hooks, and folds that revealed more than they concealed. The cloth clung to the curvature of his shoulders and waist, revealing the refined build of a body not born, but sculpted. Godlike.

Zelda’s robes mirrored his in tone but were draped differently. They matched not just in tone but also in presence and implication.

It was Hylia who broke from the cluster first, approaching Rook, Warrior, and Mirage. The latter withdrew slightly, his eyes wary of what reaction the others may have to him.

Her steps were hesitant, as if unsure she was even permitted to cross the space between them. But when she reached Rook, all caution broke. She cupped his face between trembling hands, fingers curling at the edges of his jaw, and stared.

Disbelief etched every line in her face, regret filled her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears filled her eyes. “I should have seen it. I should have realised when the Mother Goddesses sent me back…I failed you, Rook.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t withdraw. Instead, he brought his hands up to rest over hers gently. “No. You didn’t fail me. This was always meant to happen. Maybe not this way, but…this was a long time coming.”

She tried to speak again, but her throat closed around the words. Instead, she gave him one final, searching look and stepped back, hands falling to her sides.

“Then tell us, how did it happen? All of this?” Sky asked, gesturing vaguely toward Rook’s robes, his aura, the metal crown that shimmered faintly at his temple.

His gaze drifted across the circle of faces watching him closely before Rook sighed, reaching up to the strange crown fused to his temple. The diamond-shaped sigil of gold at its centre pulsed faintly.

“It began,” he started, “when Hylia pulled Fi from my temple. That act…it disrupted something. Shattered the stasis I had lived in as Uriel.”

Hylia flinched.

“You remembered then?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Only after Fi was removed,” Rook said quickly. “Not before. You didn’t trigger anything on purpose, Hylia.”

Still, she withdrew further, her shoulders hunched inward. The guilt was plain on her face, old and fresh all at once. Rook wished he could take that pain from her, but some wounds were hers to heal.

“And then?” Four prompted.

“The night before, Mirage arrived.”

Mirage rocked back and forth on his heels from his place, partly hidden behind Rook. “I returned to the Temple of Light as instructed. I was given a method and I used said method.”

“A dagger to the forehead,” Rook added, his tone even.

Again, Rook brushed his fingers against the crown affixed to his temple. It was a strange, metallic, and unfamiliar weight that settled there. The structure curved over the side of his forehead, unattached and acting as a crown that came together in the centre to form a diamond-shaped golden crest set where the scar—the one where the Master Sword had once been lodged—used to be.

Gasps and indignant sputters rippled through the group. Warrior took a step forward, as did Time. Hyrule looked outright murderous.

Warrior bared his teeth at Mirage. “You stabbed him?”

“In the scar where the Master Sword once sat,” Mirage clarified, his tone unapologetic but not cruel. He shrugged. “Din said it would begin the process.”

“And what process is that, exactly?” Twilight asked, his brow furrowed.

Mirage shrugged again, glancing toward Rook. “Apotheosis. Farore’s words, not mine.”

Rook closed his eyes briefly, feeling again the way the blade had pierced not just flesh but something deeper—something metaphysical. “I remember entering the Temple. After that…Contraction? My form collapsing in on itself? It’s a bit foggy.”

Rook glanced at Mirage. “The blade you used—what was it?”

Mirage hesitated for once. “A dagger blessed by the Golden Three. I don't know the specifics. Only what they promised it would do.”

The group absorbed that with varying degrees of disbelief. Legend let out a scoff, and Twilight muttered something that sounded like "of course it was."

Zelda stepped in, picking up where Rook had finished.

“I was there,” she said. “Once the light dimmed…all that was left was a cocoon. Rook was curled up inside—Uriel, I mean. His dragon form had shrunk to a fraction of what it was. It was like…watching a star collapse into itself.”

That left silence again.

“And you?” Time asked, tilting his head at Zelda. “What happened to you?”

Her smile was strained, too sharp around the edges. “Outsider interference,” she said breezily. “I’m connected to Rook now. I act as an anchor of sorts.”

The Chain did not let that go so easily.

“How does that work?” Four asked. “Who made the link?”

Zelda folded her arms. “That’s not important right now.”

Sky opened his mouth—likely to press—but Rook gently waved a hand, diffusing the conversation.

Mirage’s gaze, sharp and knowing, slid toward Zelda, but he said nothing himself. However, his attention was diverted when Hyrule edged closer, his concern evident in the pinch of his brow. Mirage reacted without missing a beat—his hand slipped to Rook’s robe and grasped it, holding just behind his shoulder while he glared at Hyrule, who returned it with a glower, trying to get closer but Mirage just pressed against Rook’s back.

Not aggressive, but unmistakably territorial.

Rook didn’t acknowledge it.

Hylia’s voice broke the tension. “So what happened after the cocoon?”

Rook hesitated. He could still feel the echo of that divine warmth wrapping around his body, the touch pressing into his soul.

Legend crossed his arms. “The Golden Goddesses were involved. That much is obvious.”

The words struck a chord, unease fluttering through the air. The idea of divine involvement unsettled many of them, Legend most of all.

Mirage shifted from his space still behind Rook, peering over his shoulder. “Like I said, the dagger was blessed by all three. I don’t know exactly what it did—just what they said it would do.”

Rook’s voice was soft. “I saw Farore. On the Astral Plane.”

That drew several sharp looks. Even Hylia stiffened at the mention of the plane that mortals weren't meant to touch unless they were merely souls without flesh. Legend glanced at her again, recalling their conversation the night before.

Rook didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Whatever had passed between him and Farore was his alone.

“Has anything else happened while I was… gone?” he asked, changing the subject.

The chain exchanged looks before Twilight spoke up. “The Astraterra Empire approached the border.”

Rook’s expression shifted instantly. A flash of anger sparked across his features. Magic pulsed just beneath his skin, racing along his new form. He could feel it, rising like a tide—uncontrollable, dangerous.

Zelda reached for his hand. Her fingers slipped into his palm without hesitation.

The moment she touched him, his magic found hers and stilled. Her calmness bled into him like the slow bloom of warmth beneath ice. Her presence soothed him, calming the storm under his skin. He met her gaze and nodded once.

“Let’s go deal with this once and for all,” he said, voice like stone.

“Do you need time to gather yourself?” Hylia asked tentatively.

“I am calm,” Rook said. His expression was blank. Even his eyes had gone unreadable. But the smile he wore was razor-thin. “I will not allow my people to suffer for another’s greed.”

Then Rook cocked his head toward Hylia. “Is the Purahpad linked to the closest tower?”

“No,” she replied, though her voice wavered.

Rook’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then I need to make haste.”

Time took a step in. “Shouldn’t we discuss this? Astraterra is no trivial enemy.”

“They wouldn’t realise a threat if it kicked them in the face, but they’re not to be underestimated,” Warrior added, eyeing Rook. “And neither are you now. That makes this complicated.”

Rook let out a snort. “I plan to make sure they never think Hyrule is a prize to be taken again.”

Sky glanced at him. “Sheik and Mineru went ahead. Sheik’s attempting negotiations, but we left for here before Sheik had even left himself.”

Mirage hummed. “I can get someone there directly, especially since I’ve already visited. I’ll take Hylia first—she can drop teleportation medallions on both sides. Instant teleportation because I’m not lugging you all that far by myself.”

The Chain stared.

“You can do that?” Hyrule questioned sceptically.

“Of course I can,” Mirage snapped, brisling with visible offence. “Did you all think I just go invisible when I vanish?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, damn,” Wind complained.

Mirage rolled his eyes and offered Hylia his arm. After a beat of hesitation, she fumbled for the Purahpad, dropping a warp point in place, the blue marker humming faintly beneath her feet.

Hylia took the offered arm, and Mirage dragged her into a shadow.

Rook tilted his head slightly. He had seen Mirage do this before, but now, something about his movement flickered differently. Less Hylian. More…true. Another shape beneath the illusion that Rook had missed previously.

“Do you know how you’ll face them?” Warrior asked quietly, placing a hand on Rook’s shoulder.

“With everything I must,” Rook replied. His voice had softened once again.

Sky added, “We had Dinraal fly over the area as a warning. Maybe they’ll have backed off but that’s wishful thinking.”

Four snorted. “They’re probably stupid enough to try anyway.”

Rook nodded, thinking. “I must ensure Hyrule is never seen as vulnerable again.”

Mirage and Hylia returned, the former looking frazzled. “They tried to attack on sight,” Mirage said, brushing dust from his shoulders when he got questioning looks. “Not a great start.”

Wind let out a laugh. “She was with you, what did you expect?”

“Two at a time,” Hylia said, stepping up beside Wind to look out at the group questioningly. “Who’s the first two?”

As the Chain began splitting up into pairs for Hylia to transport, Zelda lingered near Rook, her expression unreadable. They exchanged a glance—no words, only mutual understanding when Rook juts his chin toward Hylia. Only then does Zelda step away from Rook.

“Mirage will bring me along, but I wish to speak with him before we follow,” Rook said, meeting Hylia’s gaze. “Please go ahead.”

Hylia searched his face, her eyes giving nothing away about what she was looking for. After a moment, she offered one end of the Purahpad to Zelda, who grabbed hold. Their forms dispersed, leaving Rook and Mirage behind.

Once the area emptied, Mirage turned to Rook, head cocked and eyes curious. “You want something.”

Rook studied him. “Drop the form. I want to see you.”

Mirage blinked. “This is my form.”

“No,” Rook rebuffed. “It’s close. But not your real form.”

Silence stretched, and after a beat, Mirage sighed, lips twitching in amusement, but he let the glamour drop. His shape remained humanoid, but with feline ears atop his head and a long, dark tail curling at the end. Dark, golden-hued feathers clung to the sides of his neck and across his shoulders and spanned not quite to the width of them.

He looked…not like Rook anymore. Not a mirror. Something adjacent. A kindred creature. A brother, perhaps.

“Better,” Rook said with a satisfied nod.

Now, Mirage was not so much a shadow of him and more so his own person, as it should be.

A pause. Mirage watched him curiously, carmine eyes holding much depth within them. Knowledge, experience, wariness and yet so eager to learn. “How do you know it wasn’t my real form? I…I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve worn it.”

Rook smiled faintly. “When you merged with the shadow, the illusion gave way. I barely noticed it, however.”

“Why mention it, though?” Mirage pressed.

“Because you deserve a chance to find who you should be, not dictated by obsession and evil intent,” Rook explained. “And to start that, you must begin by separating yourself from what you once clung to, my shape being one of them, despite the few modifications you made.”

Mirage had ditched the face scarring at some point between his two visits, but Rook would be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge how much time that could have been for Mirage. He was different, much different, to that first visit at the Light Temple. A part of him was calmer, settled, despite his actions and worship toward Rook.

That was why he had been willing to agree to Zelda’s request. Mirage deserved this chance and he had already shown himself capable and amenable to growth.

After another moment of pause, Mirage huffed out a not-quite-laugh, lips quirking. There was a flicker of relief, hope, bemusement—a mix of all three. His shadow arm dragged up his flesh one, absently tracing the Uriel tattoo.

Rook eyed the movement. “I’m flattered. I could not say it before.”

Mirage looked away, ears drooping as red crept onto his face. Even his tail curled around an ankle. “I, uh.”

He was embarrassed. Rook smiled.

“I’m flattered,” he repeated. “Before I travelled back in time, the Light Festival had always been an important event for me and everyone in Hyrule. I’m glad I was able to bring so much joy through my time as Uriel.”

Mirage, still red-faced, turned back to him. “I…well, you were pretty and...Uriel also meant a lot to me, more than just knowing it was you.”

Rook’s lips twitched up into a smile as he dipped his chin. “I’m honoured.”

Slowly and finally, Mirage offered his elbow to Rook. As the new God slipped his arm across his shade’s, Mirage hesitated a beat, lips parting, but no words left.

“Go on,” Rook encouraged.

“Why did you spare me?”

“As I said, you deserve this chance,” Rook hummed, patient, knowing it would take time before Mirage truly understood. “Shortly after I awoke, Zelda asked something of me. At the time, I didn’t quite understand myself but…she was right. You were chained to the idea of me, chasing my shadow.”

“I was ready to fight, believe me. After everything you had done, that outcome seemed reasonable. But…something I’ve learnt is that…life is all about cycles, good or bad,” Rook sighed, a soft, wary smile on his face. He met Mirage’s eyes. “Since I was a child, all I had been taught was to wield a sword—that being the Hero was my sole worth. After I reunited with Zelda, met the Champions, I learnt that…that I’m more than what I was perceived as. I was stuck in a different type of cycle, one created by those around me who wished to demean me. But with help I broke that cycle, and since then, I’ve learnt sometimes the greatest power is knowing when to walk away from situations.”

Mirage was quiet for a long moment. Then, without a word, he drew them into the shadows.

But Rook doesn’t miss the small, soft smile on Mirage’s lips.

Chapter Text

March 22nd— Cont’d

The Badlands were silent—a thick, heavy silence, only heightened by the noon sun’s heat. The wind swept across the area, stirring the banners of the Astraterra Empire.

Rows of armoured soldiers stood in formation like a wall of steel, disciplined and quiet, but not still. You could see it—the shifting feet, the twitching shoulders, the averted gazes—especially when their eyes landed on the divine presence standing beside Sheik.

It was perhaps Hylia’s presence alone that was dragging the tense standoff on. Shiek was by no means a fool, having Hylia here was their best bet until Rook arrived.

(And that thought alone was enough for Sheik to fight back tears. His brother from different blood was alive—he had been returned, different but alive.)

The Light Goddess did not speak, but she didn’t need to because her silence was unnerving in its weight. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, scanned the opposing army with a kind of detached compassion—like a mother mourning a war before it began.

The Astraterra Empire’s soldiers didn’t worship her—only the Golden Goddesses as the creators of their world—but gods needed neither devotion nor shrines to unsettle mortal hearts. She existed, and that was enough to sour the bravado in many of them.

Behind Sheik and Hylia, stood with the other gathered warriors of Hyrule, the Chain and Zelda were gathered, eyes sharp, weapons sheathed but not unready. They were watching. Waiting.

Still, there was no sign of Rook yet.

Sheik knew their king was coming. That he was close. But time dragged, and every second became a beat in the drum of dread.

The Prince of Astraterra shifted in his saddle, smug and radiant in armour polished to the point of vanity. His horse snorted, sensing the tension in its rider.

Prince Harmir sneered, finally breaking the silence. “Still no king?” He smirked at Sheik, but it was performative. His eyes were searching. Watching. “Or is this the best you can offer in his absence?”

Sheik didn’t blink. “King Rook will be here.”

“Will he?” Prince Harmir said with mock surprise. “I assumed perhaps he’d run off. Found somewhere else to play at being ruler. A real king does not abandon his post.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Then where is he?” Prince Harmir barked a laugh. “An enemy stands on his doorstep, and he lingers elsewhere. Some king he’s turned out to be.”

Sheik stepped forward. “Let us not escalate this—”

But the Prince cut him off with a raised hand. “Escalate? Sheik, I come not to escalate. I come to conclude.” He sat back in his saddle, expression smug. “My father and his father before him—perhaps even further back—have long desired Hyrule as part of our dominion. Last time? We were unprepared. But now?” He gestured behind him to the rows of soldiers. “Now, we are more than equipped to handle whatever little resistance you think you can muster. Hyrule will submit to the Astraterra Empire.”

The words struck like a hammer but before Sheik could refute, a voice rang across the open expanse of the badlands, cutting through the air like silk through steel.

“Oh? And what gives you that impression, Prince Harmir?”

It was quiet, at first. But it didn’t need volume.

It carried authority.

Heads turned.

The Hyruleans parted, instinctively making way for the figure approaching from behind. He walked slowly, as if time bowed to his steps.

Rook.

His approach was steady, unhurried. Regal in its restraint. He was unarmed, but he didn’t need a weapon. Not when his presence alone was felt in the air, pulsing faintly with power.

He did not wear a crown. He didn’t need to. Horns curled elegantly from his brow, blue as the sky, and his body different, no longer Hylian in appearance but something Other. His eyes, star-shaped vibrant blue and golden, were a deep, too ancient for someone so young.

He didn’t walk like a man. He walked like something old remembered.

Sheik’s heart skipped a beat and his breath felt stuck in his throat. He could feel Rook’s presence immensely, wholly. It felt as though he stood before a star, bright and awing.

The soldiers of Astraterra fell silent with not even a hint of a shuffle.

Even the Crown Prince couldn’t speak right away, a flicker of something like unease darting across his face.

Then, trying to reclaim his footing, he let out a loud laugh. “So he has blessed us with his presence at last! I was beginning to think your people made you up. And look at you—returning like some horned demon. What a show.”

He gestured dramatically toward Rook. “Is this what leads you now, Hyrule? Some...thing cloaked in mystery and cheap magic?”

Anger spiked within Sheik but he clenched his jaw.

Rook, who had yet to stop walking, finally swept past Sheik. He halted there, front and centre. “You’re louder than I remember,” Rook said mildly.

Prince Harmir's smile faltered for the briefest moment before his lips curled with distaste “You come late to your own defence, and you dare insult me?”

Rook slowly tucked his hands behind his back, posture loose and unapologetically so. “Interesting, coming from someone whose only strength lies in the number of men behind him.”

Prince Harmir’s nostrils flared. “You arrive late and still act superior. Typical.”

“I was attending to more important matters,” Rook said evenly.

Was Rook trying to wind the Crown Prince up? Sheik barely resisted gnawing on his lip in worry, shifting his weight between his feet instead. Anything to keep hold of himself.

“You think yourself too good to greet an invading force, then?” Prince Harmir snapped, sliding off his horse. His boots landed with a solid thud.

“I think myself too wise to waste time on a greedy tantrum disguised as a declaration.”

Prince Harmir strode forward until he stood as the decrepit stone wall that separated Hyrule from the Astraterra Empire. “You humiliated my father at the Summit,” he said, voice lower now, bitter. “Talked circles around him in front of half the continent.”

“He tried to buy Hyrule’s submission with hollow gifts and thinner threats,” Rook replied dryly, entirely unimpressed. Sheik could vividly remember the many attempts the Emperor had made during the course of the Summit Meeting. “Then, when I did not bend, he sends you.”

“I came to finish what he started.”

“No,” Rook said, rocking on his heels, acting nonchalant, but the hands locked behind his back, tightening to the point it looked painful, gave Rook away. “You came hoping I’d be weak enough to let you.”

Silence.

A challenge lived in that quiet.

“I won’t let you stand there and insult the Empire,” Prince Harmir snapped.

“And I won’t let you step foot into my home uninvited,” Rook replied, still not raising his voice.

Then, slowly, Prince Harmir stepped across the line.

Sharp inhales echoed from both sides. There were shuffles of metal and fabric. Everything fell silent again beside the banners that flapped in the wind.

Sheik’s fingers twitched to his sword at his waist, aware every other Hyrulean had their hands on their weapons too.

As if to further prove his point with a smirk, Prince Harmir unsheathed his sword. “Then stop me.”

He raised the blade and pressed the tip against Rook’s throat.

The tension in the air wound even tighter.

And Rook…didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe harder.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked, calm as can be.

Prince Harmir’s jaw clenched, flustered anger rising on his face when his actions failed to get the desired response. He pushed the blade closer.

Rook raised a hand, gently brushed the sword aside, and then—with a flick of motion too fast to follow—grabbed the blade, twisted it from Prince Harmir’s grip, and flung it into the ground. The weapon embedded itself in the earth at an awkward angle.

“Your posturing is tiring,” Rook said, voice low now, touched with something deeper—something vast.

And then it happened.

Power surged from him in golden waves. The earth trembled. Cracks formed beneath his feet, and from them, a collection of flowers bloomed—blue nightshades, Silent Princesses, Sundelions—all luminous under Rook’s power.

The sky, too, dimmed as if unwilling to outshine him.

Shiek could only stare in awe.

The Astraterra army recoiled. Shields were raised instinctively. Horses neighed in panic.

Even the Prince stepped back, eyes wide.

“You come here thinking I am something you can conquer,” Rook said, now glowing like the sun behind clouds. “But I am not a pawn in your father's plans. I am not a crown to seize. I am not yours to defeat.”

His voice cracked like thunder.

“If you return, I will not need an army to defend this land. I will level the Empire myself. Your greed will be your downfall, and your arrogance will be its spark.”

Prince Harmir stumbled back across the line into Astraterra territory. “What…what are you?”

Rook’s eyes narrowed.

“More than you ever will be. Now run back home with your tail between your legs to inform that man you call father that I am not some child to be cowed. Nor is Hyrule some ripe fruit for the plucking. Your hunger will be your ruin.”

There was no movement. The Prince merely stared at Rook aghast and fearful, the colour leeching from his face.

Rook bared his teeth. “If you do not leave now, I will not send you back. I will send your corpses.”

The Astraterra army didn’t wait. In a rush of clanging armour and rising panic, they turned—fled—leaving tents and tools in their haste. They left everything.

No one from Hyrule moved until they were long out of sight.

Only then did the tension begin to thaw.

Sheik, still stunned, let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours. “You cut that very close.” He couldn’t stop the tremor in his voice in the wake of Rook’s actions.

Rook didn’t answer right away, nor did he turn to face them. The glow faded slowly, like embers in a dying fire.

Then he murmured, “If I had come sooner…I might have started the war I was trying to prevent.”

Sheik swallowed thickly. He had known Rook long enough to hear the truth in his words.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Night settled over Hyrule like spilled ink, stars stretched wide above the land. In the distance, within the boundary of Thyphlo Ruins, campfires flickered faintly. But here, at the edge, stillness pressed against the ribs—heavy and close.

Rook sat alone, cross-legged. He hadn’t moved in hours.

His arms rested on his knees, eyes on them as he could feel the pulse of a slow, steady rhythm beneath his skin. The glow wasn’t visible to anyone, but he could feel it—humming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.

His entire body had rushed with power beyond comprehension when he had torn the blade from Prince Harmir’s grasp. Flowers had bloomed at his feet. The ground had trembled. And the worst part was…it hadn’t even felt like effort.

Power like that wasn’t meant to come easy.

Rook closed his eyes, but that made it worse. Behind his lids, memory flickered.

Fifty thousand years’ worth of memories swam through him in chaotic fragments. Sometimes the memories trickled in. Sometimes they crashed.

He had once been Uriel.

The dragon above the clouds, the guardian of the Master Sword, the eternal healer. He remembered the wind on his scales and fur. The endless loop above the world, watching, waiting, never interfering. A creature of sacred patience.

And now he was Rook again. A boy with a complicated past, dragged awake from the Shrine, mind fractured, time broken. A champion in a kingdom scarred by calamity. He fought. He bled. He lost Zelda—Zelda—and still rose. Became an acting king. Tried to rebuild what had been shattered.

Tried to be Hylian in ways he never truly felt able to be, but always, always feeling as though something was never quite right within him.

But now?

Now, he wasn't sure what he was. Everything had been stirred up again. He was soil turned over once more. After having finally felt settled within his own skin, Rook had been thrown into the distant past, an ancient time loop coming to fruition.

Rook’s entire existence was a paradox, an absurd anomaly. He was a creature following its own tail, an ouroboros forged through his mere existence.

He exhaled through his nose, the breath curling in the night air. It was spring, where days were getting warmer but the nights still brought a chill. His shoulders hunched slightly, but not from the cold. There was something inside him now—more than Uriel, more than Rook.

Divinity.

It burned beneath his skin, not painfully—but with the pressure of something vast, barely contained. Like sunlight waiting behind stormclouds.

Godhood.

And yet he sat here, afraid to move. Afraid to feel. Afraid that the more he used this power, the more it would overwrite him. The more it would change him into something unrecognizable.

I don’t know where Rook ended, Uriel became, and I start.

That thought circled him like a hawk, again and again, every time he tried to piece together who he was. He remembered what it was to fly, to breathe gold into the wind, to heal the very blade that defeated evil itself. He remembered Zelda’s laughter from centuries ago as clearly as the scorn in the Astraterra Crown Prince’s voice just hours before.

Fifty thousand years. In his head. In his bones. In his soul. And he still didn’t know where to begin.

"I don’t know if I’m cut out for this," he whispered, memories of the Astral Plane churning over within. He remembered the conversation with Farore, her words, her wisdom, her guidance. “Did I make a mistake?”

No one was there to hear him, and he wasn’t sure what he would’ve said if someone had. Not when he could already imagine what would be said in response. Everyone had been so kind and loving since the moment Rook had met them, and all he wanted was to return that kindness.

Rook had reluctantly accepted leadership because that was what they wanted. He knew what they would say once they learned what he had become.

You deserve this.

He’s seen it already—in their eyes, in their expressions.

His eyes burned, not with tears, but with the weight of memory. So many lifetimes. So many endings and beginnings stacked on top of each other like worn pages in a book he was too tired to keep reading.

Before the Calamity. The Shrine. Zelda. Becoming king. Becoming Uriel. And now...this.

He raised his hand, fingertips brushing the crown on his temple. He could feel the magic behind it, could feel the scar it was hiding, and swallowed thickly. There was no resistance as he removed it, and he felt the faint magnetic sensation that kept it there give way.

It merged with his head feathers, and the grey, green, and gold plating melded into the greens of his feathers. Rook had no idea what it was meant to be, but he could feel his power burrowed within.

His attention drifted, and a hand again reached up to his forehead, this time to feel the scar. It was distinctly almost star-shaped, longer than it was wide, however. Was it the colour of a normal scar? What did his face even look like? He could feel the difference where his neck became his face; the black of his neck crept up into his cheeks as it gave way to something softer, more flesh.

This entire body felt…familiar. Every new angle and proportion radiated a sense of normalcy. He had expected to feel out of place. This new body of his was foreign after all. There was none of that, maybe because it had been crafted from his mortal body, reformed and contorted into this godly construct.

He even felt a weight on his back akin to his wings, but there were none, and he was unable to look over his shoulder to confirm if any markings on his back like he’d once had to signify as such. Still the present weight of his horns gave him the impression that maybe he did still have wings, merely hidden until he wanted them. Rook would like that.

He missed the wind through his fur and scales, the weightless sensation. Using his legs…it felt strange to be walking after so long as a dragon.

With a sigh, Rook set the crown aside.

How do I lead a kingdom when I don’t even know what I am anymore?

A breeze stirred the trees around him. Somewhere distant, an owl hooted. The earth hummed faintly, resonating with the magic that clung to him. It recognised him. That was the problem.

Everything recognised him.

But he didn’t recognise himself.

He dropped his head into his hands, eyes slipping shut, golden lashes brushing his cheeks. He braced his elbows on his knees and stayed like that for a long while—still, quiet, small in the shadow of his own becoming.

“How am I supposed to do this?” he whispered, the words not meant for anyone but the trees.

Maybe tomorrow, he would find a way to carry it all. To rule. To lead. To pretend he wasn’t breaking apart under the sheer weight of it.

But the trees didn’t answer.

Someone else did.

Rook didn’t hear her footsteps, but he felt her. A warmth brushed at the edge of his awareness, subtle but unmistakable. He didn’t lift his head right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, he basked in her presence.

Her warmth was slow and soft—like sunlight through thick clouds. Familiar. Real.

He lifted his head slowly.

She stood there at the edge of the tree line. A faint aura of light clung to her skin like morning dew, soft and impossibly alive. Not the fading shimmer of a ghost, not the untouchable radiance of a spirit.

She was here.

Rook felt the air catch in his lungs like the world had tilted.

Zelda sat beside him without a word, her movements graceful, quiet. Her presence, even now, didn’t demand attention. It offered it.

For a time, they just sat in silence.

Rook stared at the ground. “You always find me,” he said softly.

“I’ve always known where to look,” Zelda replied, just as quiet.

Another pause. Then—

“You saw what I did,” he murmured.

“I did.” Her voice held no fear. No judgment.

“I didn’t mean to...show that much. I didn’t even try, it just—”

“I know.”

He finally turned his head to look at her. His gaze was exhausted. Not physically. Soul-tired.

“There’s too much,” he said, voice cracking around the edges. “Too many memories. Too many lives. Link, the Champion, Rook, the king they wanted me to be. Now this. Godhood.” He laughed, but it was a hollow thing. “How do I rule like this? How do I live like this? I don’t even know which version of me is the real one.”

Zelda looked at him, eyes soft. There was no pity in them.

“I can’t give you answers,” she said. “Not the kind you want. But I can give you this,” She reached over, took his hands in hers, warm and grounding. “You’re not meant to carry it alone.”

He looked down at their joined hands, fingers tangled together like the memory of something sacred.

“You were never meant to carry any of this alone.”

He didn’t answer.

So she kept going, her voice steady, gentle like sunlight on a winter morning.

“You said you don’t know where Uriel ends and you begin. But that’s not something you need to decide in one night. It’s not something you can. You’ve changed—yes. You’re still changing. But so am I. So is everyone. That doesn’t make you lost.”

“I am lost,” he acknowledged. Quiet. Barely above breath. “I’ve been lost since the Calamity. Since—since you died. Since the Shrine. Since waking up with pieces of someone else in my mind and being told to save a kingdom I couldn’t even remember.”

His voice cracked, but Zelda didn’t flinch.

“I was just trying to protect them,” he whispered. “That’s all I wanted. Not this. Not divinity. Not eternity. Just…peace.”

“I know,” she said again. “I know.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Her features were calm, touched with sorrow and strength and reminiscence. She had always been that way—light forged under pressure, golden not because of power, but because of her strive.

“How are you here?” he asked, voice barely audible.

She looked at him, and her smile—small, sad, soft—was the same as it had always been.

“Because you need an anchor,” she said. “And I need you.”

He stared at her, stunned by the simplicity of it. The truth of it.

His throat tightened. Words crowded behind his teeth, aching to be let out, but none of them were right. None of them were enough.

“You came back for me.”

She shifted a little closer, her shoulder brushing his. “You carry too much, Rook. And I’m not letting you flounder in it.”

“But what if I lose myself?” he asked.

“Then I’ll help you find your way back.”

He stared at her, and for the first time that night, the tension in his eyes softened—not dimmed, but warmed. Something quiet unfurled in his chest. Not clarity. Not certainty. But something like relief.

He swallowed hard. “Zelda…I—”

She squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to say it.”

“But I want to.”

He looked up at her, and his voice was raw, barely holding together.

“I love you. I’ve loved you through every version of myself. Before the Calamity. After. As the king they never warned me I’d become. Even when I couldn’t remember my name, I felt you. Like a piece of me was always reaching out.”

Zelda’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I know,” she said. “And I’ve loved you in return. Through death. Through silence. Through everything. That’s why I’m here now.”

She leaned in and rested her forehead gently against his.

“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

And just like that, the air in his lungs loosened. Not all the way. But enough.

They sat like that for a long time, side by side beneath the stars, her hand in his and the silence now less heavy. Less lonely.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. He didn’t know if the power inside him would hollow him out or lift him higher than he was ready for.

But he knew this:

He wasn’t alone.

And for the first time in longer than he could name, Rook didn’t feel like he was drowning.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Morning came with no sign of Rook—or Zelda, for that matter.

Warrior stood at the edge of camp, boots rooted in the soft earth, eyes locked on the treeline and the crumbling ruins beyond. For the past three hours, ever since the earliest risers stirred, there had been no rustling of branches, no familiar figures emerging from the brush.

He told himself he wasn’t worried. But his jaw ached from clenching, and his stomach had been in knots so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to be calm. His mouth was dry, like all the water in him had been used up while waiting.

A light smack to the shoulder startled him. Warrior turned to find Time standing beside him, arms crossed, gaze steady.

“They're fine,” Time said, his voice low, reassuring. “Probably just needed a little time to catch up, yeah? They’re not kids anymore.”

The implication was not subtle.

Warrior pressed his lips into a flat line and turned his gaze back to the woods. He didn’t rise to the bait. He knew they were capable—fierce and grounded in their own right, and stronger now than ever. But knowledge did little to soothe the ache beneath his ribs.

Not even twelve hours ago, his son had been dead.

Not physically, perhaps, but in every other sense, changed beyond recognition. Warrior had barely begun to grieve the loss when Rook had returned, transfigured, radiant with a divine power that didn't belong to any mortal. And though he had spoken like himself, he hadn’t moved like himself, he hadn’t looked like the boy Warrior had known nor the young man from the photos he had been shown.

Rook had crossed some invisible threshold. He wasn't just changed. He wasn’t Hylian anymore. Not really.

And Warrior didn’t know how to process that.

He had always believed Rook would do great things. It was in his nature—relentless, brave, impossibly kind despite some hang-ups. But godhood? That had never been on the table. That wasn’t something a parent imagined for their child.

Warrior wasn’t sure it ever should be.

His gaze flicked to Sky, who still sat by the makeshift firepit, staring into the dying embers. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were far away, and his brows furrowed as if caught in the grip of a thought too large to speak aloud. Warrior watched him for a long moment, then broke the silence.

“Hey, Sky,” Warrior called.

The First twisted around, blinking as if waking from a trance. “Yeah?”

“Did you know?” Warrior asked, voice lower now. “That something was going to happen with Rook?”

Sky didn’t answer immediately. His gaze dropped to the ground, jaw working in quiet contemplation.

“What are you…” Time began, brows knitting, but Sky held up a hand to silence him.

“I had my suspicions,” the Skyloftian admitted slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Since Rook visited Skyloft for the first time and, uh, showed us his additional appendages.”

Warrior blinked. “That was four years ago.”

Sky offered a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I didn’t know what it meant at the time.” He stood as he spoke, crossing a few steps closer, boots crunching on the scattered leaf litter. “Before that, when we were at Lon Lon and Rook revealed he had Courage and Wisdom, it started clicking. I told you then what I felt holding all three was nothing like what he described. It was like…” He hesitated. “Like the Triforce was behaving differently for him.”

Warrior crossed his arms. “And you talked to Sun about it?”

“And Hylia,” Sky said. “Neither of them could explain it. Even they were confused. Even after what Mirage told us in the Depths, I don’t think Hylia understood the full picture.”

“But you did?” Time asked, scepticism edging his voice.

Sky shook his head. “Not exactly. I didn’t think Rook was becoming divine. I was trying to figure out Uriel's part in everything—the portal aspect, I mean. And then Mirage started talking, and... it all made a weird kind of sense.”

“And is that why you looked so unsurprised at Rook’s appearance?” Hylia’s voice broke through the conversation as she stepped out from behind a supply wagon. Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were sharp.

“Oh, uh. Yeah,” Sky replied, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Mirage was being all, you know, Mirage about the whole thing. But the way he said it…”

“You can call it obsession if you like,” Mirage said, strolling up beside Hylia with all the ease of someone intruding into a conversation he’d clearly been eavesdropping on. “It wouldn’t be wrong.”

Warrior's eyes flicked over him. Mirage didn’t look like Rook anymore, just a step to the left, enough not to confuse them—had they shared a hair colour that is. That wasn’t touching on the feline features and the unnerving stillness—he was something else. He didn’t radiate the same sense of danger Warrior was familiar with and he was…

And he was disturbingly...calm.

It was hard to reconcile that serenity with the violent, chaotic creature who had once delighted in toying with them. But now—now Mirage looked like a servant who had finally seen his prophecy fulfilled. And Warrior didn’t know if that was comforting or terrifying.

There had been little overall interaction with Mirage since Rook had scared off the Astraterra Empire. The shade had remained steadfast by Rook’s side until Rook had wandered off last night and then Mirage had been glued to Hylia of all people.

The pair had been quite chatty with a calm discussion that was beyond Warrior’s knowledge, but the implications lingered in every glance between them. Something had been settled between them.

“I can admit,” Mirage said casually, “that the path I took to elevate Rook wasn’t…conventional.”

“Conventional,” Warrior echoed, dryly. “You dragged us across time. You manipulated monsters. You weaponised us for your own gain.”

Mirage tilted his head, tail flicking lazily behind him. “It hadn’t begun like that as I was still chained to Demise and Ghirahim then but in the end…I got what I wanted. Rook offered me his hand. Isn’t that what matters?”

Warrior swallowed the acid rising in his throat.

Rook wouldn’t have reached out if he hadn’t believed Mirage deserved it. But that didn’t make it easier to accept.

“You’re wary,” Mirage said, eyes flicking across the group. “That’s expected. Trust is earned.”

Hylia alone seemed untouched by the tension, amusement ghosting her features.

“Ghirahim was the one who gave the orders about moving monsters,” Mirage began to explain. Warrior found himself eager to hear what he had, what reasoning Mirage claimed. “I would’ve stayed out of your way otherwise. But fate doesn’t always offer alternatives.”

Mirage tapped a finger against a thigh. “When everything began, I worshipped Demise, as that was how I was created. I knew nothing else besides what I needed to know for what I was created for. Choosing the worship Rook…” he faltered, blinking rapidly. “was the first time I chose to do something for myself. I will not apologise for something that freed me from Demise.”

Warrior had always envisioned Mirage to be manic, to be evil with maybe a few stupid reasons for doing what he was doing but everything they knew now…

Everything Mirage was freely offering just…made him sound Hylian. A Hylian with a messed-up childhood who was trying to find his place and not understanding why his actions were not the best way to get what he wanted.

Yet Mirage did know better, and maybe that is where Mirage just had a fundamentally different outlook. He knew it was wrong, yet did not see an issue with it if it got him what he wanted.

Warrior wasn’t sure which version of Mirage unsettled him more—the manic, volatile creature of the past, or this calm, devoted shade.

“But we are straying from the original topic,” Mirage hummed as he turned his eyes to Sky. “I was surprised no one else noticed. It wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Sky shook his head. “I didn’t make any real connection until today. I recognised the way the portals felt—like the Triforce, but… off. Until then, I just thought he was learning to use his powers with the boost of Courage and Wisdom.”

Mirage smiled, sharp canines peeking through. “The world has been waiting for him. Hylia was created to guard that future.”

Hylia’s expression turned between exasperation and poutiness. Warrior wasn’t surprised if what Mirage said was true; her understanding of the reason for protecting the Tri-Force was entirely wrong. By design or by misinterpretation, Warrior had no idea.

“You’re being ostentatious,” Warrior muttered. “Speak plainly, for once.”

With a smirk, Mirage clasped his hands behind his back. “The Goddesses assigned her to watch over the Triforce because it couldn’t yet…understand what it needed.”

Hylia picked up the thread with a sigh. “Unfiltered arcane…is overwhelming, immeasurable. It has no shape, no will. It doesn’t obey the laws of this plane like the magic you are familiar with. Rook now holds more power than mortal minds were ever meant to wield. If he’s not careful…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t have to.

Warrior’s stomach dropped like a stone.

“It’s fine,” Mirage said brightly, as if they weren’t casually discussing the potential end of everything. “That’s what Zelda is for.”

“What does that mean?” Sky asked, sharp with concern.

“She’s his anchor,” Mirage explained and carried on when he got three blank looks. “You know, his balance? His tether to the world? You saw how she tempered him when Astraterra was mentioned.”

Warrior frowned. He had seen it. The way Rook had unravelled—terrifying and godly all at once—and how Zelda had pulled him back with a mere hand hold.

“And what about you?” Time asked. “What did Rook do to you?”

Mirage’s voice dropped. “Something similar. But lesser.” His ears drooped slightly, the gems hanging from them chiming faintly. “I got what I wanted. I serve my god.”

Warrior stiffened at the word. God.

The quiet reverence in his voice was chilling.

Warrior had grown up honouring Farore—gentle prayers at the Spring, small offerings of thanks. But this? Mirage’s actions weren’t faith. It was devotion. It bordered on fanaticism.

“Why are you so passive now?” Warrior asked, squinting. “You used to be…”

Unhinged. Dangerous. Maniacal.

“Unstable?” Mirage offered, unfazed. “Because I was. You encountered me at...volatile stages. I was young. Hungry. But I’ve had ten thousand years to evolve. Obsession has a way of refining itself. And I adapt. I always have.”

Mirage hummed. “Besides, I have what I want. My god has arrived. I no longer need to fight. And you—” he looked around the group, “—you haven’t been my enemies for a long time.”

The casual honesty made Warrior falter.

“An apology would be a good place to start,” Time muttered, unimpressed.

“If you mean Wind, I apologised last night,” Mirage said with a shrug. “I never meant to harm him like that. Most of our physical fights happened when I was young. I stopped engaging as I got older. Eventually, I just...played with you. That was more fun.”

“Fun,” Sky repeated flatly.

“Fun,” Mirage said again, baring his teeth in a grin.

Warrior exhaled hard through his nose, dragging a hand down his face.

This was his life now.

Gods. Shade-disciples. Miraculous rebirths. The looming threat of divine annihilation offset only by one girl’s ability to keep a boy tethered to himself.

It was too much.

Yet, it was the only life he had, and…Warrior was just happy to have his son back.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Dusk painted the sky in blues and purples, and the stars were finally making their presence known when Warrior had a chance to get Rook alone. Camp had been effortlessly set up with so many hands, and now firepits had been lit with dinner cooking.

While Zelda had joined one of the circles, Rook had kept his distance, sitting on a small rock outcrop just far enough away to let people know he wanted to be left alone.

It tightened that budding feeling within his chest. All day, despite Rook engaging, there was no denying the distance that had been put into place. He skirted the edges of the group, spoke when spoken too—and while that was pretty typical of Rook from four years ago, this time it felt different, as though he didn’t want to engage rather than not knowing how to. It broke Warrior’s heart because it was evident that Rook was struggling and trying not to let it show.

So, after eating his fill of dinner, Warrior finally pushed to his feet and closed the distance. The voices of others dulled to a murmur that ebbed and flowed like a distant surf.

Warrior nor Rook said anything as he sat beside his son, and Warrior took that moment to observe Rook.

Rook was sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees. His hands were clasped loosely—nervous, Warrior thought. Or just tired.

He was motionless save for the wind teasing his hair. But Rook looked at ease in the darkness, like it suited him. Like he remembered more of what it meant to belong to the wild places than to civilisation.

Warrior studied him quietly. His son looked older. Not just the way his face had slimmed to reveal high-set cheekbones or how the godly appearance gave him a timeless feel—it was the weight behind every glance, every breath, like the years had stacked up all at once and never quite lifted. The power was gone from his skin, no gold or radiance now, but Warrior could still feel something vast beneath the surface. A silence held too tightly.

He cleared his throat. “You’ve been hard to pin down alone.”

Although Warrior wouldn’t be afraid to admit he himself had been nervous for this chance to talk. How ironic, he thought to himself. He had been scared all those years ago to tell Rook he was his father, and now…

Rook blinked, turning toward him with a faint smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Warrior said. “Just…wanted some time with you to catch up.”

Rook’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked more like the boy Warrior remembered—the one with scuffed boots and hid behind his poncho to avoid conversations.

“Okay,” Rook smiled. “I can do that.”

They lapsed into silence again. The wind shifted through the trees.

Then Warrior asked, “You were rebuilding things, before the Upheaval. What was it like?”

Rook’s gaze drifted to the sky. He leaned back on his palms, breathing in slowly.

“Busy,” he said. “Endless, some days. But…good. It was a good kind of busy.”

He glanced at Warrior. “We started with Lookout Landing since that was going to be our main base of operations. Our first task after was stables, to help make improvements and fix up any ageing materials, but it was after that when the houses began popping up in Dragon Roost. Something more permanent for the people helping directly with the rebuilding efforts. There were days it felt like it would never end, but there was this…sense of hope. Like everyone believed we were actually doing something worth the effort.”

Rook laughs softly, the sound full of fondness. “I didn’t sleep much that first year.”

“Busy,” Warrior hummed with a smile. “Sounds like you’ve done so much more than we’ve been able to see so far.”

“Hyrule’s people were the ones who kept going, even when they didn’t have much. Farmers hauling stone. Blacksmiths repairing old tools. Even the kids helped—delivering water, sorting nails.” He smiled, faintly. “It was messy and tiring and thankless, but…it felt like building a brighter future.”

Warrior felt a pang of something he couldn’t name. Pride. Regret. Relief. Maybe all three. He nodded. “You did well.”

Rook offered him another small smile. But Warrior saw the weight behind it. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Warrior nodded again, letting that settle. He could picture it: the grit, the sweat, the stubborn determination. Rook had never been one to shy away from hard work. But there was something deeper in his voice, something almost reverent.

“Sounds like you were proud of them.”

“I was,” Rook said softly. “I still am.”

The silence this time was more comfortable.

But curiosity itched at Warrior’s tongue, the same way it had since he’d seen the images on that Purah Pad—Rook in a different time, standing beside figures of ancient history. Not dressed for battle, not even carrying a blade, just…smiling. Peaceful.

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask,” Warrior said. “Hylia showed me some of the pictures. From your time in the past. With Rauru, Sonia, and Mineru.”

Warrior was ashamed to admit he had yet to have a proper talk with Mineru. His grief had been too painful to even consider speaking with her.

Rook stilled.

“You were happy, weren’t you?” Warrior continued gently.

Rook didn’t answer at first. His eyes had gone distant.

Then he said, “They were good people.”

He spoke as if from memory, like reciting names carved into stone. “Sonia. Rauru. Mineru. Arianna. The Old Sages. Sonia and Rauru didn’t even hesitate to take me in. I don’t know what I did to earn such level of trust, but they did.

He smiled, a little wry. “I tried to repay them in any way I could. Never felt like I managed it.”

“Rook,” Warrior said exasperatedly. “I know for a fact you took over acting ruler after Rauru’s passing. You helped raise their daughter. You didn’t allow the kingdom to flounder in the wake of Demise’s actions. And I know for a fact you just being yourself was enough for them.”

Rook just shot him another wry smile and Warrior sighed—because it was so like his son to underestimate his own self-worth—but he smiled anyway. “You looked close with Sonia.”

“I was,” he said softly. “She reminded me of Lainy.

Warrior blinked, taken aback. “Really? How?”

Warrior had never had the chance to meet the person Lainy grew up to be, and that fact pained him, even after he had made peace with it.

“Yeah. Lainy was loud. Bright. Used to boss me around in a well-meaning manner because I had always been so shy as a child.” Rook mused thoughtfully. “She was relentless. Sonia wasn’t like that, not exactly. She was calm, kind—one of those people who could read you before you said a word. But she nudged and encouraged. She teased the same way. That gentle ribbing that feels like love. Sonia definitely wore the pants, always there to drag Rauru back when he tried to avoid work.”

Rook chuckled softly, visibly reminiscent. Warrior said nothing, merely basking in the way Rook loosened up, grateful for the cracks opening in his son’s armour.

“Rauru was the opposite. Quiet. Thought too much and allowed his emotions to control him more than he liked to admit. But he matched Sonia’s cheekiness, often bantering back and forth on topics that probably should have been a bit more serious.” Rook grinned then, and it made Warrior want to match it. He could hear the passion in his son’s voice, the adoration he held for them.

“Mineru is very much like Purah, smart as a whip and always willing to take on a challenge. I’ve…been meaning to speak with her,” Rook choked out, the grin vanishing.

Warrior rested a hand on his shoulder. “You have time, and Mineru more than likely knows you’re trying to adjust.”

Rook’s shoulders slumped under his hand, and he nodded. “I’m honoured I got the chance to meet them. So much of our history has been lost or rewritten that seeing something so fundamentally important in Hyrule’s history was…It made them so much more real.”

He looked down. “And they’re all gone. I knew…before everything happened, I knew I would say goodbye to them, but…I hadn’t…it wasn’t…”

There was the grief—quiet but deep.

“Do you miss them?” he asked.

Rook nodded, eyes misty. “Greatly.”

Warrior hesitated, unsure if what he wanted to ask next was sensitive, but pushed on. “And what about the Secret Stone? What did that feel like?”

Rook flinched. His hands curled in his lap.

For a long moment, Rook didn’t answer as he shuddered, rubbing at his throat. “Swallowing it felt strange. Nothing happened at first, but then it lodged itself at the base of my throat.” Rook rested a hand just below his Adam’s apple. “There was a delay where i…choked, basically. My body tried to reject it, understandably. It was a foreign object too large to swallow.”

Warrior winced, feeling his own throat tighten in sympathy.

Rook exhaled, eyes narrowing in memory. “Then it began all at once, like something was trying to claw its way out. Not painful exactly, just this…pressure. Overwhelming. Like I wasn’t made to contain it. It lasted not even thirty seconds before I ceased being Hylian.”

A beat of silence.

“It felt like I was being pulled apart at the seams and stitched back together.”

Warrior grimaced.

“And after?”

“I wasn’t me anymore.” His voice went distant. “I was Uriel. And I didn’t remember being Rook. Not at all. My first memory is emerging from the light. No pain, no memory. Just understanding. My name. My task. My siblings. The world felt…smaller. Slower. Mortal things didn’t register the same way. Emotions, time…they didn’t matter in the way it would a mortal.”

Warrior swallowed. “You didn’t miss anyone?”

Rook shook his head, a faint amusement crossing his expression. “No. I didn’t even know there was anyone to miss. Eventually, some of me knew I had forgotten something, but it felt natural, and that whatever had come before was meant to be forgotten. It was, of course, because the mind of a mortal wasn’t built to withstand immortality.

Warrior’s hand returned to his son’s shoulder, and Rook didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Warrior wondered if he needed to now with this new godly body.

“I wasn’t entirely alone, though,” he continued after a moment. “Sonia remained as a ghost, keeping me company.” His voice grew quiet. “I think a part of me still knew her. Somewhere beneath everything else.”

Warrior’s throat tightened. “You’ve been through too much.”

Rook gave a humourless laugh. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Try me,” Warrior encouraged, rubbing Rook’s back. His son leant into the gesture just slightly, seeking the comfort and Warrior doubts he even knows he’s doing it.

“My memories,” he said, in frustration, his expression bitter. “Some memories—Rook’s and Uriel’s—they’re still muddled. Blurry, or just gone entirely. It’s like someone took pieces of my life and scrambled them, and I don’t know if they’ll ever fall back into place.”

Warrior doesn’t miss the separation. He feels his heart pound a little harder to hear his son refer to himself as if he weren’t still Rook or even Uriel. It hurt to hear that his son had again lost memories, precious memories or not. Rook has suffered enough already.

Rook shook his head. “I had already lost everything once. When I first woke up in the cave, four years ago, I didn’t remember anything. No name. No past. I fought so hard to get it back. And now I’ve lost some of it again.”

The anguish in his voice was sharp, bitter. Warrior ached to close the distance impossibly further. He wished to tuck his son inside his chest to keep him safe from more pain and suffering, but Warrior couldn’t do that.

Now more than ever, Warrior wished he had been able to raise his children. To love them and nurture them. Instead, they had all been deprived of that familial relationship.

He had never gotten to see Lainy grow up, and he had only known Rook for four years, and even then, had spent only a few achingly short months together before parting ways. It wasn’t fair.

Trying to lift the mood, Warrior nudged him lightly with an elbow. “You know…parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children. But this is a bit more than I expected.”

He meant it as a joke.

But Rook froze.

When he turned to look at Warrior, there was real panic in his eyes.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he whispered. “I’m going to outlive you.”

“Rook—” Warrior began worriedly.

“I’m going to outlive all of you.”

The horror in his voice pierced deeper than anything else that night.

“I didn’t—when I came back—I didn’t realise…” He looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “I can’t lose everyone again. I can’t.”

“You’re not going to,” Warrior said, trying to cut through the rising fear. “It’s a long way off. You’ve got time.”

“But I could fix it,” Rook said suddenly, and his voice turned manic. “I could do something. I am divine, I could extend your life, or—find a way to keep you here. I could—”

“Rook.”

“—I just got you back, I can’t lose you—”

“Rook.” Warrior gripped his shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Breathe. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Rook’s mouth opened and closed. His chest heaved. He looked close to unravelling.

“You’re here now,” Warrior said, steady. “You’re back. You don’t have to fix everything tonight.”

“But—”

“Later. Maybe. If it matters then, we’ll talk about it. But not now.”

Warrior loosened his grip and softened his voice. “Right now, I just want to sit here with my son. Is that okay?”

Rook stared at him, breath still ragged.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“…Sorry,” he murmured.

Warrior released his shoulders, brushing a hand across his cheek. “Don’t be. You’ve carried too much for too long.”

They sat in silence again, but this time it was companionable. The stars above were clearer now, glittering like dust across the sky. Warrior tilted his head back to look at them.

“For now,” he said, “let’s just talk. About stupid things. Tell me, any new favourite foods?”

Rook exhaled, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “We learnt how to make cheese again, so pizza. I learnt I love it with Goron Spice.”

Warrior moaned, his mouth watering. “Gods, I miss pizza, but Goron Spice of all things? C’mon, kiddo, don’t insult me like that.”

“Only cause you’re weak and can’t stand a little spice.”

“A little?” he squawked. “Goron Spice is not some spicy pepper, thank you very much!”

Rook sniggered. “Weak.”

And just like that, something in the air softened. The weight on Rook’s shoulders didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Became something bearable, at least for a while and that was all Warrior could ask for.

Chapter Text

They saw Dragon’s Roost long before they reached it, rising out of Hyrule Field like something planted and grown, not built.

The midday sun beat down on grasslands that stretched for miles in every direction. Wind rushed across the open field, bringing with it the smell of wildflowers while it flapped the banners strung from the wagons.

To the north, the silhouette of Hyrule Castle loomed. It was still suspended high up, its moats feeding endless waterfalls. At the base of the surrounding area, where the chasm sat, were the crumbled remains of what was once Castle Town.

Zelda’s gaze lingered there, finally able to see the true extent of ruin the Calamity had brought a hundred years prior. The thought of the ruins and lives lost never failed to stir something deep and conflicted inside her—memory and mourning, guilt and grit. The past never seemed to rot in Hyrule. It only lingered, watching.

But Dragon Roost was new.

The town had been built from the ground up through love and dedication. Zelda had only been able to watch from afar during the nights, which would never afford her good visibility, especially from so far up as the Temple of Light.

Seeing something go from bare bones, as tents and temporary structures, into full-fledged houses and markets was incredible. It was beautiful. It was simple, no large, towering stone walls as Castle Town once had as Dragon Roost had no need for such defences, not beyond a few watch towers scattered by one of the numerous entrances.

There were no grand buildings with intricate detailing, nothing like the nobles of a century ago who like to pride themselves on always striving to outdo one another. The homes and even commercial buildings had the same stylistic details, with a colourful array of colours.

Zelda sat at the front of the lead wagon, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden bench. Her eyes never left the path ahead. She heard Rook shift beside her, the creak of the wood as he stood, hands braced on the rail.

Neither of them spoke.

The road curved in a lazy S-shape as it neared the town, passing by the remains of old, shattered structures before the wagons crossed Boneyard Bridge. They went around Castle Town, not through it’s remains, and Zelda was thankful.

“You can see everything from here,” Rook said quietly.

Zelda nodded. “You have all accomplished so much.”

He was quiet a long moment, then said, “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see it all again.”

She looked at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze. His eyes were locked onto Dragons Roost, now much closer, and the sentries were already reacting to the slow but unmistakable approach of their wagon train.

As if in confirmation, a bell rang—sharp and twice-struck—from a bell tower located within the town.

“They’ve seen us,” she said, her voice just above the wind.

“I wonder what they’ll think.”

Zelda gave a small smile. She could have said so many different things but settled for nothing, knowing no matter the answer she gave, it would all have the same effect on Rook. He had been struggling to come to terms with things, but this—the sight before them, the vision of all his hard effects, was what spoke the loudest.

As they crossed the final stretch of field, the packed earth slowly began to give way to stone.

A crowd had gathered the moment the bell had been rung, its population so much smaller than a city’s but no less overwhelming. Researchers, builders, guards in mismatched armour, farmers, merchants, and children—all of them rushing forward, voices rising in a mixture of confusion, joy, and disbelief.

As they caught sight of the arriving figures, they caught sight of Rook, a wave of cheers rose like a tide.

Zelda saw the moment Rook faltered. His shoulders jerked in a breath that hitched halfway. He slipped from the wagon onto solid ground, lips parted, eyes wide. He stood unmoving. Not like a warrior. Not like a god. But like a man overwhelmed. His eyes were shining, jaw slack, the wind tugging gently at his drape and his blonde-white strands.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t crying.

He just looked undone.

Zelda slipped her hand into his without a word.

He flinched slightly, then looked down, his expression softening. His fingers closed around hers with startling force, like he needed her anchor to stay grounded.

"You are home," she said simply, her voice quiet under the swell of noise.

And he was. Rook had only seen Lookout Landing briefly on his way out—no time then for reunion or rest after his divine return—but now he stood among familiar faces, alive and whole. His people wrapped him in their joy without hesitation.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“As I’ve said, you don’t have to know today.”

People were reaching them now. Some called names. Others simply looked, wide-eyed, stunned. There was reverence in it—not the kind given to kings, but the kind given to those returned from the dead. Zelda recognised it. She’d worn it herself, once.

But the next voice Zelda heard shifted her attention. “Well, well, well, look who it is.”

Zelda whirled around, her eyes growing with. She broke into a run, grinning widely. “Impa!”

“Child,” Impa said, her voice tight, and then the old Sheikah matriarch gathered Zelda into a hug with a force that belied her years. “Purah sent a missive faster than a hawk, bless her.”

Zelda held on fiercely, pressing her forehead to Impa’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Impa said softly. “That’s what terrifies me because you have no reason to be.”

They parted with reluctance, and Zelda took a deep breath, trying to steady her pulse, her heart. Around her, the crowd was starting to disperse into smaller knots of conversation, excitement crackling in every voice, every handclap and exclamation.

Behind them, Rook approached, slower, quieter but Impa turned to him as if she’d felt him coming.

"You," she said, jabbing a finger at him. “Vanished into legend and didn’t send a single letter.”

Rook grinned crookedly. “You’d have found a way to scold me from across time.”

Impa barked a laugh and then reached forward, pulling him into a hug too. “You were worth every moment of worry, you overgrown fool.”

There was laughter all around them, warm and close, and Rook looked overwhelmed, his smile cracked at the edges by emotion. Zelda watched him, heart full.

And then Impa said, half in jest, “Now what? Gonna run off again before dinner?”

Rook turned to Zelda.

“No,” he said, something shifting in his expression. A flicker of thought behind the eyes. Zelda watched the gears turn, fast and decisive. He looked between her and Impa, brows furrowing slightly in a way that meant he was about to do something deeply impulsive.

“Rook,” Zelda warned lightly, though she was smiling.

“Impa,” he said abruptly, “I want to marry her. Tonight.”

The crowd around them stilled. Impa’s face twisted into one of the most spectacular expressions Zelda had ever seen—staggered, affronted, amused. She clutched her chest as if he’d just asked her to officiate a duel in her nightgown.

“Tonight?” Impa repeated. “You’re completely unprepared!”

“Tonight,” he echoed. “Right here. If that’s alright. If you’re willing. I want you to officiate. We’re already here, and—” He looked to Zelda. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Zelda’s heart stuttered. Her breath caught in her throat, and a strange, giddy heat flooded her chest. She hadn’t expected that—not today, not like this—but the moment she saw the earnestness in his eyes, her answer rushed up like water breaking a dam.

“Yes,” she said, before Impa could sputter again. “Yes. I want to plant a blossom right here, in Dragon Roost. Let its roots take hold in the square.”

Rook’s eyes lit up. “A blossom?”

“A new start,” she murmured. “A life that blooms.”

Impa put a hand to her chest. “Oh, Lady Din, grant me strength. You two have always been this way.”

But there was laughter in her voice, buried beneath the fluster and theatrical despair. Zelda caught it—so did Rook—and they exchanged a glance, one that said nothing’s changed. Not really. Even after everything, they were still them.

“Fine,” Impa said at last. “Give me until sunset. I’ll see what I can do with the time I have.”

Then she barked orders into the gathered chaos. “Hylia! Jerrin! Josha! You three, help me prepare the bride. Get her cleaned up, fluffed up, and polished like an artefact. Mirage, you too.”

Zelda caught Mirage’s startled expression in the corner of her eye and grinned. She squeezed Rook’s hand once, then let go.

“Don’t be late,” she whispered.

The moment she stepped away, Rook was immediately seized by the Chain. They hauled him off with laughter and cheerful jeers, slapping his shoulders, demanding answers, and teasing him mercilessly. His wide-eyed look over his shoulder made Zelda laugh again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Dragon Roost buzzed with the clamour of preparation—feet hurrying past, muffled voices conferring over fabrics and flowers, the occasional bark of Impa’s no-nonsense instructions. Zelda heard Josha drop something with a clatter and yelp somewhere in another part of the house they had commandeered. Jerrin and Hylia laughed at her.

Zelda sat with her hands in her lap, her breath finally beginning to slow. The air smelled of sweetgrass and old wood, and the warmth of the day still wormed its way through the windows. Her pulse had been fluttering ever since she’d said yes—tonight—and she wasn’t quite sure it would settle.

Her face was flushed with the kind of quiet, aching joy that made her feel like the breath in her chest might lift her off the ground.

Behind her, Mirage shifted his weight by the doorway.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as Josha, Jerrin, and Hylia quickly stepped out, claiming they needed to find more flowers.

Mirage had been a small participant, but it was clear he was unsure and struggling to find a place in all the excitement. It was the lack of trust, and Zelda knew that with time, that would be remedied, but for now…

Zelda had an idea to give Mirage an out.

“I have a favour to ask,” she said, turning to meet his gaze. “Under my old bed in the palace, there’s a wooden box. Inside are two pieces of folded parchment and a pair of rings wrapped in silk.”

Mirage tilted his head. “Your vows?”

She nodded. “Yes. We wrote them just after we officially got engaged, and I would like to use them still, as they meant a lot to us. Could you bring me mine and deliver the rings and other parchment to Rook?”

He blinked. “You trust me with that?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “You're family now, Mirage. I would trust you with something that important.”

Mirage didn’t speak right away. But the look in his eyes shifted—something flickering there, not quite gratitude, not quite disbelief. A kind of quiet reverence.

He left without another word, fading into the shadow that dominated the corner of the room. And for a moment, she sat there, the hush curling around her like fog. She clutched her drapery tightly.

It was only a moment before someone else bustled in—the seamstress, a young woman dressed rather peculiarly with a mushroom theme. She was wide-eyed and apologetic, already tugging pins and folded cloth from her satchel.

“I panicked over what I should bring, and I don’t have anything for a wedding,” she said breathlessly and excitedly, “but we’ll make do!”

Zelda nodded, unable to withhold a smile at her infectious energy.

The seamstress, who introduced herself as Cece, and that Purah had warped to Hateno just to fetch her, unfastened the long navy fabric from Zelda’s waist, turning it thoughtfully in her hands.

Cece didn’t try to reshape Zelda into a typical bride, remarking that Zelda deserved much better. She didn’t fuss or embellish. She draped the cloth with care and reverence, wrapping it around Zelda’s frame like something sacred. She used pale golden thread to stitch a soft sash at the waist and pinned the folds into elegant lines that flowed like water.

Zelda watched herself in the mirror—simple, solemn, and still undeniably herself. That was all she wanted. She would marry in what she had. She didn’t need gold or silk.

When the others returned, Josha had an armful of Silent Princesses—the rare blue and white blooms cradled in careful hands. They wove the flowers into a delicate circlet, and Zelda held her breath when they placed it gently on her head. The petals glowed in the evening light, as if remembering the sun.

Then, Zelda turned to Josha and took her hands.

“I need a favour,” she said quietly. “Would you find Warrior and bring him to me?”

Josha blinked, then nodded and darted off without question.

It took a little while. Long enough for the light to shift from gold to amber, long enough for Zelda to start pacing slowly near the window, fingers threading and unthreading in front of her. When the door opened again, Warrior stepped in.

He paused when he saw her and for a moment he looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“You look like—” He shook his head, a soft smile curling his lips. “You look like your mother.”

Zelda smiled, giddy inside at hearing that. “I hoped you’d say that.”

Warrior rubbed the back of his neck, visibly struggling to keep his composure. “Josha said you wanted to see me?”

Zelda walked to him with a nervous breath, taking his hand in both of hers.

“Growing up, all my father ever did was try to smear your name and memory,” she said. “He tried for years to turn me and everyone against you. But he never could.”

Warrior looked away. “He hated me the moment he met me.”

“He was jealous of you,” Zelda corrected. “Because you reminded him of what he wasn’t. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being so close and having my mother’s love too.”

Warrior swallowed, tears misting his eyes. She pressed on.

“She never stopped talking about you. She told me stories, even when she was sick, even while she lay in her deathbed. You were her knight, her shield, her friend, her brother.”

He blinked quickly, trying to force the tears back. His jaw tightened.

“I would be honoured,” Zelda began at last, “if you would give me away tonight.”

He looked at her then. And in his eyes, she saw everything she remembered hearing in her childhood—his strength, his willingness to emote so clearly, and his stubborn devotion. The man her father was jealous of and feared, even after Sir Hawthorne was gone.

Her father had never needed to live up to what Warrior had done to earn her mother’s love—he already had it. Rhoam had never needed to be anyone but himself, and yet he failed to see that still long after her mother passed and unfairly turned that hatred onto Rook.

“I’d be proud to,” he said, his voice thick. “Truly.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, and he returned the hug carefully, reverently, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold her this way. Zelda held on a little tighter, not letting go until he did.

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon now. Through the open shutters, Zelda could see the square filling with people. Lanterns were being lit, and music was starting to play as more than background.

And in the distance, through the hush of expectation, she felt it—the quiet pull of her heart, reaching for someone it had never stopped calling home.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sky was fading into dusk.

A veil of lavender stretched across the heavens, soft and endless, with the last strokes of sun brushing golden against the western sky. The stars had begun to emerge—quiet, watchful, as if they, too, were witnesses to what was about to unfold.

Zelda stood just behind the threshold of the square, her fingers curled lightly around Warrior’s arm. From here, she could hear the murmur of the crowd gathering, the occasional laugh, the shuffle of movement over stone. And above them all—vast and distant—the low thrumming cry of dragons echoing like thunder.

Her heart lifted at the sound.

At some point unbeknownst to her, they had arrived, Dinraal, Nayrda and Farosh—their silhouettes catching the last rays of the sun as they circled above. They were distant and massive and ancient—and yet, somehow, impossibly present as if they had come not out of obligation, but reverence, for love.

For their youngest brother.

Zelda closed her eyes for a breath. She felt Warrior shift beside her.

“Nervous?” he asked gently.

“No,” she whispered. Then, a beat later: “Not in the way you mean.”

He glanced at her. She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. The weight of the Silent Princess crown sat light and cool against her brow. Her gown—if it could be called that—was simple. Her drapery had been complemented with a pale gold sash. Her bare arms were wrapped in golden ribbons, gifts from Josha and Jerrin. She had chosen not to wear gloves. She wanted to feel everything.

She heard Impa’s voice, clear and commanding from the centre of the square:

“May I have your attention.”

The hush that followed rolled outward in waves. Even the cicadas seemed to pause.

“Let us now welcome the bride.”

Zelda took a breath. Warrior tightened his arm, and together they stepped forward into the square.

The world didn’t vanish so much as blur. Lanterns lined the stones underfoot, casting warm light across the path. The townspeople stood in rows, shoulder to shoulder, all united in quiet awe. Flowers crowned every post and window, woven into braids and garlands, strewn along the stones. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and sweetgrass.

At the end of the path, standing beneath a handmade arch of wild blossoms and branches, was Rook, dressed the same as she had been. That same navy drape but Cece had gotten to him to, adding a decorative golden sash around his waist.

Zelda’s breath caught.

He looked…nervous, certainly. His fingers kept twitching as though they weren’t sure what to do, and his shoulders were squared in a way that betrayed just how tightly he was holding himself together. But his eyes were fixed on her with such depth—such wonder—that it stopped her heart.

His metal crown was gone. In its place was a circlet of nightshades just as Silent Princesses adorned her head. It threatened to make her eyes misty, to see something they had always wanted and imagined for their wedding so visible.

The arch behind him was adorned with sundelions that glimmered in the dusk. A cherry blossom sapling stood beside it—short, delicate, its bark still a deep maroon and its white blossoms just beginning to open. Magic hummed faintly around its roots.

Zelda recognized it—the castle’s tree. Somehow, Rook had retrieved a seedling, nurtured it with his magic, and brought it here. All because she had asked.

Her throat tightened.

Warrior released her arm only when they reached the arch. He hesitated for just a moment before lifting her hand and placing it in Rook’s.

“She’s yours,” he said softly. “Take care of her.”

Rook looked like he wanted to answer but couldn’t quite form the words. His free hand trembled slightly as he took Zelda’s fingers in his own.

Mirage stepped forward from the line up beside Hylia and offered them the ribbon. Rook and Zelda brought their hands together, right to right, palm to palm. Mirage gently wrapped the ribbon around them, binding them together. The silk caught the firelight, glowing red and warm.

Mirage fell back into his place as the square went silent but remained alive with emotion. So Impa stepped forward, her expression as sharp and steady as ever, though her eyes gleamed with tears.

“Tonight,” she said, voice steady, “we bear witness to something beautiful. Something older than any one kingdom. A vow that transcends bloodlines, that endures across lifetimes, across wars and peace and time itself.”

She glanced to Zelda. Then to Rook.

“And though this place is newly born,” Impa said, “its soil is already rich with memory. Let this tree, planted tonight, be the first root of many. Let it grow tall and bloom brightly, just as this love has endured. We ask no goddesses to bless this union—for the goddesses are already watching.”

Zelda felt her gaze flick instinctively upward. The dragons above spiralled slowly.

Then Hylia stepped forward, offering the matching rings. They rested in a carved wooden dish, gleaming with soft, brushed gold. Mirage had returned them intact, and Zelda’s breath caught.

She had hoped they had survived and somehow, against all odds, they had.

Rook took the first ring. His hand was steady now as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He looked at Zelda, and she knew—knew he would never look away again.

“By the power of Din, who forged the land in fire, by the wisdom of Nayru, who sang order into the stars, and by the breath of Farore, youngest and wildest, who set all hearts into motion—I vow myself to you.

We wear no crowns of gold, but of living bloom— flowers that will fade, but still carry beauty. Just as time may wear us thin, but never unmake the choice we’ve made tonight.

This ribbon, red as Din’s flame, binds not our bodies but our spirits. You are not mine to keep. You are my equal to walk beside.

I vow to walk beside you through shadow and sun, to be your shield when storms rise, your stillness when winds howl, and your laughter when silence grows heavy.

Let Farore grant us courage, let Nayru lend us wisdom, and let Din make strong the life we will build.

And when the last leaf falls, and the world grows quiet—still, I will stand with you. Still, I will choose you.”

The whole crowd held a breath as he finished.

Then Zelda smiled, reaching for his ringto slide onto Rook’s finger and through the tears that threatened to rise in her eyes, Zelda began to speak.

“Under the gaze of Din, who shaped the mountains with her fiery hands, before Nayru, whose wisdom poured the stars into the sky, and with Farore’s breath in the trees around us—I bind myself to you.

We wear crowns not of gold, but of living things—for love, like the forest, must be nurtured, must bend with the wind and still rise with the dawn.

This red ribbon between our hands—it is no chain, but a promise. One I give freely, and forever.

I vow to honour your spirit as I do the sacred earth: with awe, with tending, with fierce protection and quiet devotion.

I vow to be your quiet when the world is loud, your fire when the night is long. To see you as you are—even when you forget who that is.

To be your compass, your anchor, your home.

So let the stars mark our union, let the rivers carry our names, and let the Goddesses bear witness—that in this life and the next, I choose you.”

Something ancient stirred in the air—an unseen breath passing through the crowd. The stone beneath their feet hummed, low and almost imperceptible. The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of fire, rain, and green things.

No one spoke. No one needed to.

Impa stepped forward once more, raising her voice now: “Let all who bear witness remember. The vows have been made, and the bonds are to be sealed with a kiss.”

Then Zelda leaned in, and Rook met her halfway.

The kiss was soft and deliberate, grounded in a truth neither of them had to speak aloud—a sealing of something that had long been awaited.

As they parted, cheers erupted across the square. Flowers flew into the air like snow, petals tumbling through the golden lantern light. Children shouted, people clapped, and someone started playing a tune on a flute that was immediately drowned out by roaring applause.

Above them, the dragons cried out in unison—a chorus of thunder and wind and fire that echoed through the twilight. The sound rumbled through Zelda’s bones, and she felt it down to her core, the weight and joy and magnitude of what they had done.

And then Rook squeezed their tied hands, warm and sure.

“Together,” he whispered.

Zelda nodded.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Together.”